A Place for LGBTQ Atheists, Skeptics and Humanists

A public school district in northern Mississippi canceled their prom after Constance McMillen requested to attend with her girlfriend who would be wearing a tuxedo. School policy dictates that all prom dates must be of the opposite sex. Ms. McMillen’s request was backed by the American Civil Liberties Union. The ACLU reported that McMillen talked to school officials before information about prom went out to students because she knew same-sex dates had been banned in the past.

The district officials told McMillen that she and her girlfriend would not be allowed to appear together, that she would not be allowed to wear a tuxedo, and that she and her girlfriend might be asked to leave if their presence made any other students “uncomfortable.”

As much as this is a civil rights issue and will be treated as such in mainstream media, I would like to point out a different perspective on how the school board is harming all of its students in its actions. The statement by the school district that McMillen and her girlfriend might be asked to leave if their presence made someone uncomfortable is absolutely absurd. What if one of the students felt uncomfortable with the content of the songs being played at the dance? Is the school going to not allow music to be played? I am going to side with Albert Ellis and state that if a person feels uncomfortable it is their own fault.

Albert Ellis is a famous psychologist that came up with the A + B = C Model or Activating event + Belief = Consequential emotions. Managing your thoughts and feelings by using this model is very difficult, since our emotions are powerful, but it is ideal, especially for a rationalist. This method is an effective way to reduce a person’s unnecessary suffering.

No one can make you feel uncomfortable, angry, sad, or even happy. Your emotions are a result of how you choose to view the world around you. If you see something you don’t understand or do not care for you may choose to ignore it or you can choose to emotionally invest energy into feeling negative emotions toward it, in turn increasing your own suffering.

Yes this is an outrageous violation against a student rights. But telling students to fall victim to their own irrational based emotions is just as bad. It’s irresponsible for a school board to teach people that outside influences control a person’s mood.

It is fair to say that the LGBTQ community can get angry about the issue and rant about how horrid the school board is and how religion has it’s evil claws all up in our public school system… Or we could decide to view this as further progression of human rights and commend McMillen and her bravery. It’s your choice.

My novel reached 850 pages in February.  I have been working on it since 2005 when I was a junior in high school.  I remember times when I’ve quit a job, skipped school for a couple days or ditched important plans in a desperate attempt to save my novel.

Two weeks ago, I deleted every existing copy of my novel and burned all of my notes and paper drafts.  Since then, I’ve finished four more short stories, a skit and four pages of notes for a memoir.  Also, for the first time in years, I can sit down and write without the sense of futility that I’ve become accustomed to.  My greatest literary achievement is unquestionably the moment when I realised that my greatest literary failure–my heaviest ball and chain–was not Martinsville, the zombie farce I puttered around with after high school, but the giant and ever-growing turd The Tucson Guild of  Yarn Spinners and Tall-Tale Weavers with its apposite working title Tactless Faggotry.  As soon as I was able to recognise that I had wasted four years of my life on a bite too big to chew, I was able to move on and start writing good stuff again.

This really has nothing to do with this blog.  I just wanted to encourage you all to cut loose whatever ball and chain has been holding you back from being everything you want to be.  Find it, recognise it, and cut the chain.  Do it; whether it’s asking that cute boy in your class out on a date, organising your bookshelf, coming out to your family or ending your crack addiction, you coked-up tool.  It is three days before International Steak and Blowjob Day, after all!

I have religious family members.  They range from devout to those who attend church for weddings, funerals and perhaps at Christmas and Easter.  There are some that believe in a personal god; others ascribe to more of a deist worldview.  A portion are touched with a fervor that the most dedicated marketer couldn’t hope to achieve; others are stoically apathetic.

My husband and I are both out atheists to our respective families, and some have handled it better than others.  I have a couple relatives that have become distant, others that have gotten fairly good at passive-aggressive evangilisation.  So my husband and I have gotten pretty good at not engaging.

There was a bit of an e-mail kerfuffle that went on between family this week, prompted by invitations to a religious activity.  While it’s (hopefully) been dealt with, I did quite a bit of navel-gazing.  Since I claimed Nick as my mate, I now have a large portion of family that didn’t see me walk away from the Catholic Church.  For all they know, I’ve done it on a lark, to chase after my (very handsome) man.

Part of this ambiguity is my fault.  I choose to let other people engage me on the subject of religion – I even (usually) do a good job of keeping a civil tongue and trying to use words that won’t engage a “fight or flight” response.  No one can hear anything with adrenaline pumping through their system, and I’m uninterested in being a cause of strife amongst family.  (Yes, mother, this statement is not always true regarding my discussions with you.  Feel honored – it means I think you’re safe to talk to about these things).

So family that reads this blog, read on after the break only if you’d like to truly know how I feel about religion.  I’m not pulling any punches, and I’m not avoiding the fight or flight response.  I would also like to make it clear that this has nothing to do with belief in a god, only actions and deeds.

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Troutville church leader indicted on sex charges

A youth leader at a Troutville church was arrested Thursday on charges he inappropriately touched a 16-year-old girl, the Botetourt County Sheriff’s Office said.

James A. Wertz, 54, of Roanoke was charged with sexual battery by force, taking indecent liberties with a minor and simple assault.

The acts were reported to have happened last summer, said Maj. Delbert Dudding.

The Shenandoah District of the Wesleyan Church Web site lists Wertz as a youth leader at Living Hope Fellowship. A phone message left at the church was not returned.

Wertz was released Thursday from the Botetourt County Jail on an unsecured $1,000 bond. A judge ordered him not to have unsupervised contact with anyone under age 18.

- The Roanoke Times

Personally, I don’t like that a rapist is walking around on a light $1,000 bond.  Who wants to bet he’ll still milk the youth minister gig to get at more little girls?  And because he has religion on his side, he should have no trouble getting the parents to sign waivers.

Here’s to hoping the trial is soon and severe.

I am madly in love with my fiancé, Sabino, but I’m in a bit of a bind at the moment.  Cash is very tight since I’m paying to support my deadbeat roommate in an apartment I can’t afford by myself.  The bare minimum I need to get to Paris, where Sabino is going to school, is around $1,500.  That includes the cost of a cheap plane ticket, the fee to get a passport and $500 to keep my head above water until I find a job in Paris.

I’m not going to badger you about this, since I hate when bloggers try to suck money out of their readers, but if a generous reader out there wants to help out a bit, I’m not above taking charity at this point.

Donate here, if you would like,

or email me at reedbraden@gmail.com.

I recently picked up the book Nutureshock: New Thinking About Children by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman.  I had heard that it was a good book for people who have children, are thinking about having children, or work with children and their families to read.  I fall into at least one of those categories (depends on how long a time line is implied for “thinking about having children”), so I figured I’d give it a whirl. 

I’ve got to say, really excellent book.  Focused on the newer research and studies that have focused on families, children and how children “work”, Nutureshock reinforced some of the way I already approach working with children and their families.  It also gave me some new ideas to chew on regarding kids and my current way of relating to kids, specifically about praise and rewards.  The thing that really struck me, though, wasn’t what was in the book.  It was what was missing from the book.

There was no mention of sexual identify or orientation.  Not so much how to talk about the differences that exist (the science about in-group/out-group behaviours and identification from the chapter entitled “Why White Parents Don’t Talk About Race” can easily be extrapolated to almost any teaching regarding non-normative persons and family), but that they didn’t find this difference in family structure harmful or beneficial to kids.  It is ultimately more about how families interact and less of how they are comprised that influences how our children turn out.

Granted, I might be reading a bit much into this omission.  Ashley Merryman is a Catholic, and I’m unsure of what religious ideology Po Bronson may ascribe to (if anything).  Perhaps they didn’t tackle the non-heteronormative family because they didn’t want to ruffle feathers, or felt uncomfortable about it themselves.  But it certainly didn’t stop them from ripping apart the idea that if we ignore race, our children will be colour-blind, which I’m sure makes quite a large portion of the book-buying population exceedingly uncomfortable.

But this omission leaves me hopeful – if a sexual orientation of parents radically changed the difference in the outcomes of children, it would have been noted.  Nutureshock did a thorough job exploring the differences between class-status, location, previous upbringing and even religious environment with regards to specific behaviours or education.  But never was the non-normative family singled out as destructive, detrimental or harmful to children.  It was rather refreshing.

So James Dobson is leaving “Focus on the Family” as their radio show host to… start a new radio show?  Called Family Talk with James Dobson?

This man who advocates inflicting pain on unruly children (“It is not necessary to beat the child into submission; a little bit of pain goes a long way for a young child. However, the spanking should be of sufficient magnitude to cause the child to cry genuinely”) and feels that essentialist gender roles within marriage are necessary for the proper raising of families, is given yet another radio show in which he wants to talk about families?  The Pope and Catholic clergy might be less qualified to host a radio show about families than Mr. Dobson is, but only just. 

I can’t help but have a bitter taste in my mouth while reading the Colorado Springs Gazette’s editorial regarding James Dobson and how “he has improved the human condition”.  Blergh.

There is a poll on the Gazette stating “James Dobson has helped our culture” with the standard array of responses.  Sadly, there’s no “Are you high?!” option.  This makes me thing that the Gazette has figured out how to game P.Z. Myers and his hoard of pharyngulites – stick in a poll and watch the hits run away.  But, you know… go vote.  If only because it’s amusing to have “No, James Dobson’s a douche” next to a glowing review of the child abuser.

My friend Krista is in a criminology class at Christopher Newport University.  As part of her curriculum, she did a project on deviant behaviour which involved dressing up like a prostitute and attending a church service.  She asked me to come with her and take notes on people’s reactions.  How could I say no?  I donned my Sunday Best, hopped in the car with my tarted-up friend and we drove to St. Andrew’s Catholic Church.

(Please ignore that my shoes and belt don’t match.  On my way out the door, I got mud on brown shoes and didn’t have time to go hunting for a black belt.)

When we got to St. Andrew’s, the sanctuary was already completely full and we stood in the back.  She stood next to a few of the church’s youth and I stood in the doorway with four or five ancient, white deacons.

When the service started, Krista got a few odd looks from the participants, but most people were too busy distracting themselves from the service to notice.  People were reading magazines and novels tucked into their lap so the priest wouldn’t see, rocking their veritable plethora of infants back to sleep, hammering away at the keys on their cell phones and doing anything within their power to (so they thought) subtly distract themselves from the homily.  A handful of people were seriously paying attention to the service, but not even with me standing near the hooker, hacking up that morning’s dose of Smoker’s Lung, no one cared enough about who they were worshipping with to look around and notice the top-dollar hooker standing in the back.

The elementary school-aged children were the participants who, at first, made the biggest deal about there being a stereotypical prostitute standing up in the house of God.  They made faces that ranged from disgust to amusement, but made no effort to hide their feelings.  A father walking with his son to the back doors of the church pulled his child to the other side of his body and held him tight when they passed Krista.

One of the deacons, after the homily, turned to another deacon and asked in a whisper, “Did you see The Whore?”  Not, “the lady in lace,” or, “that woman over there;”  as if it were her proper name, Krista was just “The Whore” to these old men.

Not everyone was mortified at Krista’s appearance.  Some of the teenaged boys were quite pleased with a Perfect Ten rack standing in the back of the church where they could occasionally glance before turning back to the front of the church and continue focussing on ignoring the Father.  A hefty boy with a catechism textbook stood next to Krista for the duration of the service, shamelessly and dreamily staring at her more-than-ample bosom.  (Krista has the most wonderful fag-hag breasts.  When when Krista and I go out, her bountiful bazooms never fail to attract the cute, straight eye-candy.  But I digress.)

A Mexican family of four brought baskets of donated food to the altar at some point between the homily and the Eucharist, and on their way back to the rear of the church, all four noticed Krista and her fabulous outfit.  The two sons simply stared, the mother curled her lip and the father executed a most impressive double-take to rival even Bugs Bunny.  This attracted the attention of the two blondes sitting in the back row of chairs immediately in front of Krista who whispered to each other and made sucking-on-a-lemon faces at each other until the end of the service.

At the Passing of the Peace, where the congregants stand and shake hands with those around them, the deacons shook Krista’s hand quickly and grudgingly and the only other people to do so were the two teenagers standing next to her.  I, however, racked up about fourteen handshakes.  When the time came to go up for Eucharist, she walked to the front of the church to be blessed by the priest.  (She hasn’t had her First Communion, so she was denied a wafer.)  I stood in the back and watched heads turn as the rest of the church noticed the prostitute strutting up the centre aisle.

One of the deacons, sensing an impending commotion, said to another, “Is that allowable in church?”

The other responded, “I wouldn’t let my daughter wear that!”

Not one with the ability to stay quiet, I chimed in, “What’s going on?” and the deacon pointed Krista out to me.  “Oh my God!  I’m a Baptist, and if anyone showed up to my church dressed like that, they wouldn’t make it as far as the sanctuary.”

The deacon responded, “Well, I’ve never had to throw someone out before—” and I cut him off with a heartfelt and guilt-inducing, “But at least she’s here.”

On his way back up to the loft in the back of the sanctuary after receiving the Eucharist, a choir member almost literally jumped into the row of chairs set up behind the last pew to avoid brushing up against Krista on his way back.

After the service was over, I took a picture of Krista with the priest.  He only agreed to the picture after she covered her shoulders with her coat, but her shoulders were showing and her risqué pin-up girl tattoo was on full display during the service.

The part of this experiment that most amazed me was the length to which the average Catholic churchgoer went to disguise their disgust from Krista and how far out of their way they went to register their exaggerated disgust with those around them.  It was almost as if each person who reacted was reacting for the enjoyment and peace of mind of those around them, but none of them was seriously disgusted enough to have the guts to show their disgust to Krista.  If any of these people were legitimately offended by her outfit, Krista went from somebody else’s problem to somebody else’s problem until she was simply nobody’s problem.

It’s up at Barefoot Bum!

The next edition will be up at Melliferax on March 14, which, coincidentally, is International Steak and Blowjobs Day.

I’m back!

In the past three weeks, I’ve had several recognisable turning points in my life.  The moment with the deepest impact on my online life and the work I do on this blog is the night I met my new, dear friend Morgan Freeman.  (Name changed out of courtesy.)

Morgan Freeman is a Christian who believes in the teachings of Jesus Christ more fervently than most people I’ve met in all my time growing up in various churches.  He also has a very tall mohawk, listens to music that would torture any angel, plays with knives and smokes pot.

Between my long talks with Morgan Freeman and having him with me as a friend  while I went though some unpleasant health issues I’ve learned a lot about myself, mainly that I haven’t learned anything worth knowing about myself in my twenty years of studying those around me and trying to figure out how other people work.  On the night I met Morgan Freeman, I met the straight version of who I would have been if I stayed with the Christian faith.

All of my other friends are either Atheists, agnostics or apathetic about their stated religions, so my conversations with Morgan Freeman are an eye-opening refresher course on real Christians and how they think.  Unlike my other Christian acquaintances, Morgan Freeman isn’t just someone to debate and occasionally tease; he’s someone I can stay up all night with and climb a parking garage to smoke a cigarette and watch the sunrise.

We both keep each other in check, challenging each others’ beliefs and demanding evidence were necessary.  Occasionally our conversations seem like a rapidly cycling demonstration of the old hypothetical of what would happen if an unstoppable object met an immovable surface, but because of those conversations I am forced to look back on what I believe and reconsider the evidence with an open and rational mind.

I can safely say now that Morgan Freeman is one of my most cherished friends, simply for the way we’ve been able to challenge each other and shape each other’s perspective on life.  I went into my hiatus worrying that I might be at the end of my life with escalating health problems and came out of it three weeks later with a brand new life and a good friend to share it with.

Oh… and expect a podcast to come out of this new friendship.