Leftover Turkey Noodle Soup

Each week The Jason Show sends scouts out into the blogosphere, scouring blogs both well-known and yet-to-be-discovered for those single lines that are attention grabbers. Single sentences that resonate for their element of humor, touch of the bizarre, or ability to provoke thought are prestigiously linked to their author, in hopes that viewers of The Jason Show like you will be able to savor a serving of Single Sentence Soup just as our scouts have.

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Special Note: This serving of soup has one sentence in it that isn't really talking about what it seems. . . can you guess which one?

"I am an enigma sitting on a quandary, steeped in a mug of mystery, shrouded by riddles, and wrapped in a slice of bacon."

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"Hint to anyone reading–four inflatables on an 1/8th of an acre does not scream “holiday spirit”. It says “I’m a tacky mess with a maxed out KMart card.”

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He says to me: "Excuse me miss, but you look like you can read."

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"I like to "turn it on" when I'm on pain meds and giggle and giggle at the rotating *bleep*."

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"His fingers parted the opening to reveal the delicate, yet meaty nub that lay hidden within. It was toothsome, nourishing, tender and swelled with life."

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Q & A With Your Token Gay, Volume IX

Your question is important to us. Please stay on the line. Questions will be answered in the order in which they were received.

Domestic Spaz asks:

Okay, I want to know if all gay men have "Gaydar" and if you automatically just know when someone else is gay. And if so, do you ever find someone who swears they're not gay and you're like... "yeah... right..." cause I could swear that one of The Man's friends IS and he's totally not admitting it... :)

These are some very good questions. Yes, I believe all gay men do have gaydar. It's built in, it's natural, it's necessary for our very survival. And usually it is accurate. Usually. There have been, and currently are, men that I know, men that are my friends, who in one sense or another, set off my gaydar detector. But they swear they're straight. They swear they like sex with women, and don't want sex with men. But yet they love The Golden Girls, musicals, Madonna, and immaculate sports sedans. Some of them have highly flamboyant mannerisms, others not as much. These men do not come from particularly religious or political backgrounds that might keep them from coming out of the closet. Maybe they just want a "normal" life, wife, kids, 2 car garage, so they're just not being honest with themselves. Or maybe, just maybe, there is such an anomaly every once in a while, just to keep us from becoming too smug.

Grandma J asks:

Jason, this may be too personal, but I swear, If you tell you, I will keep it between you, me and the wall. Do you wax? If you do, what, where and how much. No I'm not a perv, it's just that my two close friends who are gay wax most of their bodies, and I was just curious. You are a brave man putting yourself out there like this. I love you for that.

Janice, you can keep it between you, me and the wall, but I'll just go ahead and broadcast it across the whole world wide web. No, I do not wax, nor have I ever waxed. However, I do own a Manscaper and I'm not afraid to use it. I own a razor, too, and I'm not afraid to use it. I keep my body hair neat and tidy with the Manscaper. And one certain particular area of my body gets attention from the razor. And I'm not talking about my face and neck. I have also had laser treatments for my lower back. It is essential to me to keep the back hairless, I do not like back hair on me or anyone else. But I do like a hairy chest and tummy, it just must be maintained.

So...you little perv. . . is that what you wanted to know, or more than you wanted to know? Or do you still have body hair questions for me?

g asks:

OK - how about this - what's with the stereotypes about "gay" music? You know, Judy Garland, Liza, disco tunes, et. al. Is there really a sub-catalog of music that gay men like (updated for today, of course), or is that just some made-up stereotype? And if it's made up, how did it get started? Was it based on some movie or story, or book or something?

I do not know how the stereotype about gay music got started, or how gay men became so infatuated with certain kinds of music. But I do know that it is an accurate stereotype, in general. I don't love Judy Garland or Liza, I can take Barbra Streisand or leave her, but I do love me some disco and dance music, along with Madonna, Tori Amos, Sia, Regina Spektor, and a few others. Perhaps these are the more updated versions of the stereotype. One person that does not fall into this stereotype at all? Giancarlo. He can't stand any of the stereotypically "gay" music. He likes Chris Isaak, Neil Diamond, Van Morrison, jazz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . huh? What? Did I drift off there for a minute? Sorry.

Katy asks:

What is the hardest thing about living in a multi-generational household? I know what MY answer is but I'm curious about your thoughts on the subject. And maybe just to make sure we don't give people the idea that it's all sticks and stones, what's the BEST thing about living in a multi-generational household?(If you write it in 500 words or less I can use it as my application essay for grad school! ;-)

For a while, our household was a four-generational household, for all intents and purposes. But the usual is three generations. There are several things that come to mind, however, I'd have to say that the most difficult aspect is the different points of view that arise regarding child-rearing. We're currently raising and teenager AND a preschooler, and our approaches on both of them vary, sometimes a lot. For example: We usually punish Diego by putting him on time out. The older generation would like us to spank him, and when we put him on time out it just "breaks her heart" to see him "suffer so much." Also, Diego's grandmother tries to discipline him by using guilt and shame and manipulation, like "you look so ugly when you cry like that," or "you better be good, or else I'm going to Mexico and I'm never coming back!" She also tends to engage in fights with him--honestly fighting a four year old? We are much more straightforward, non-emotional, and matter of fact about disciplining him.

And when it comes to the teenager daughter? We've gone around and around and around and around with them about her, too. Primarily about the fact that she likes to spend a lot of time alone in her room, mostly doing homework. They do not understand that. They think she should be downstairs with the rest of the family most of the time. I don't agree. I distinctly remember needing my alone time as a teenager--it was very self-therapeutic for me. Don't even get me started on the boyfriend issue. That's a whole 'nother Q & A.

I think I've well surpassed my five hundred words, but I still have to answer the question about the best thing about living in a multi-generational household. Aside from the practical things, like saving money and being better positioned to take care of them when they need it, it is nice that my children are really getting to know their grandparents. I only knew one set of grandparents, and I only saw them a couple times a year. So when my kids look back on their time they had with their grandparents, they will have plennnnnty of stories to remember!

Hula Girl at Heart asks:

What is the one thing (other than family and friends) that you can't live without?

I would definitely have to say air. Or water. Maybe food? Shelter? Clothing? Nah, clothing's optional. Ummm, let's see here. . . sex? My computer? My blog? Your blog?

I'm sorry, Hula, for being a smart-ass. I guess other than the obvious things, I don't really know what I couldn't live without. Metaphorically speaking? Maybe coffee. Wine. My car. Quesadillas. Music. Colgate Whitening Tartar Control Gel. Chapstick. Cheese.

I give, Hula. You decide for me and let me know.

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Your question is important to us. Please stay on the line. Questions will be answered in the order in which they were received.

Blindness, Underwear, and Fried Fish

School was starting again and we were beginning our holiday program rehearsals. I am the director of the program so it was imperative for me to be there. I thought I was feeling better, so I tentatively got ready for school, drove Amelia to her school, and then made my way across town to my school. As I looked through the day's plans, the pain in my throat and my head came back hard and strong. Luckily, I had brought my Tylenol with Codeine in my bag, so I popped one and then went to the stage to make sure it was ready for practice. I arranged chairs, hung up song posters, and positioned the overhead projector. A very heavy tiredness descended on me. Luckily, there just so happened to be a very comfy bed on the stage, so I just stripped down to my boxers, got in, and fell fast asleep.

I slept soundly until I heard the muffled sound of a hundred second grade voices struggling to learn "O Christmas Tree." I could not open my eyes because I was indescribably drowsy, but I could tell that they were seated all around me, learning their songs, while I slept cozily in my stage bed, in my underwear.

The rehearsal ended, and nobody, not even one of the other teachers (who are actually some of my best friends) said a word to me. Well, I knew how ridiculous this was. Pretty soon students would be coming into the multipurpose room for lunch and I couldn't very well just be laying there in bed on the stage while they had their lunch, could I?

I still couldn't open my eyes, but somehow I managed to sit up, find my clothes, and get dressed. Blindly I made my way out of the multipurpose room, out the back entrance, and stumbled across the playground. Eventually I came to a grassy area and then a chain link fence. I didn't know what else to do, so I climbed the fence, still without sight. Then I rolled down the long steep hill behind our school, and into the wash at the bottom. Unfortunately, the wash had water flowing through it, so I panicked and began grasping for something grab onto. Luckily I softly bumped into a large sand bar, so I dragged myself out of the water and to safety. But what was I going to do? How was I going to get myself out of this mess? I sat contemplating my predicament, when all of the sudden, Claire pulled up to the edge of the wash in her new red Dodge Caliber. She helped me out of the wash and into her car. I didn't even ask how she knew I was down there. She just knew.

"So, do you want to go see the new farm we bought in the English countryside?" I asked.

She didn't miss a beat. "Sure! Just tell me where to drive."

Fortunately my eyes were beginning to open just a little bit, so I could see somewhat. I was still upset at the day's ordeal, and Claire could see that, so she grabbed my pinky with her pinky and we held pinkies all the way to the English countryside.

It didn't take long for us to get there. And the farm was breathtaking, what I could see of it. Verdant, lush, and old. But there was nobody there to show us around so we just hopped back in the car and Claire drove me to her place, since she lives closer to the English countryside than I do. And she had lots of cold drinks in her fridge, which was good because I was soooo thirsty.

I went into one of the bedrooms to take a nap. I slept for quite a while, and then I woke up. To the smell of frying fish. "UGH! Why is Claire frying fish?!! She knows I'm sick and I can't stand the smell of frying fish when I'm sick!"

Then I really woke up. I was able to open my eyes all the way this time. I slowly crept out of bed, and I opened my bedroom door to a blast of fried fish smell. And Pietro was downstairs frying fish.

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Really, I've been taking antibiotics for over 24 hours now. This will end soon.

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Happy Strepsgiving

It hit me in the defunct Linens n Things as I stared at the new shower curtain and the towel possibilities. One minute I was fine. The next minute, I knew I was doomed. That old familiar feeling--the pounding head, the achy body, the chills mixed with feverish skin, and that sore throat. Yep. Strep throat.

Strep throat and I have had a long relationship. When I was a boy it came for a visit every six months, like clock work. The first couple of nights in any strep episode are sure to bring the aforementioned symptoms along with hallucinations. Yes, hallucinations. Growing up, I lived in the basement and there was no bathroom down there. Whenever I got strep, I would have to pee in a coffee can because there was no way in h-e-double toothpicks that I was going to make it up the stairs, through the kitchen, dining room, and down the hall to the bathroom. Wait--coffee cans? Why in the world did we have coffee cans? But I distinctly remember peeing into coffee cans. Maybe that was part of the hallucinations.

Now that I'm older I don't get strep as often, but it does come back to me every now and then to make sure I don't forget it. And it tends to rear it's ugly head at the most inopportune times, like Thanksgiving, or the middle of the work week, or when I first responded to the personal ad in the LA Weekly that linked me to Giancarlo. Maybe that was a hallucination, too?

After coming home from Linens n Things I was greeted by an empty house, except for Giancarlo. Everyone else was gone. Amelia is in Nevada for Thanksgiving, and Pietro and Elsa had taken Diego to a family function in Fontucket. So we were all alone, just the two of us, and approximately thirty thousand little streptococcus microorganisms. I went to bed and Giancarlo had a nice quiet evening reading and watching TV.

Then the hallucinations began. I know I wasn't asleep. Maybe I was mostly awake and just a little bit asleep. I don't know. But for 10 hours I hallucinated that I was inside my body counting and recounting all of my cells. Have you ever been inside your body trying to count each and every friggin' cell? It's no cakewalk, I'm here to tell you right now! I tried to stop. But I couldn't. I just kept counting and counting all of my cells over and over again, all the while cycling from chills to burning fever to drenching the sheets in sweat.

And in the morning I felt like I had been hit by a Mac truck. It was all I could do to drag myself into the bathroom to pee (in the toilet) and take some Advil. Giancarlo wanted to take me to Urgent Care. The very idea! How was I going to go to Urgent Care if I could barely struggle across the room?

I went back to sleep and pretty much stayed in bed until 1:00, when Elsa knocked on the door and came in wanting to know if she made one of her home remedies, would I take it? "NO!" I grumbled. She wanted me to rinse my mouth with a mixture of honey, lemon, and IODINE. "Uh, NO!" She turned around and walked out of the room saying, "Kids these days, don't want to try the remedies of the old people that have been tried and proven over generations...."

I managed to drag my carcass into the shower and then relented to Giancarlo. "Will you please take me to Urgent Care?"

And guess what? I was right. My old friend, Strep throat came to join us for Thanksgiving. It looks like I'll be having Amoxicillin with my turkey this year instead of Chardonnay. And it's a good thing we ordered one of those bland, cop-out, premade Thanksgiving dinners from Ralph's!

Yes, yes, yes but what am I thankful for? That's probably what you're asking. Okay, okay, I'll tell you. I'm grateful for my general health and strength and energy. I'm grateful to have a stable job that I enjoy. I'm thankful for my nutzo family. I'm grateful that the horrific events of this year have managed to come to a positive resolution, and that Elijah is active and happy.

But most of all, I'm thankful that Hilary is here with us today. I'm grateful that she sat in the chaise next to my bed this afternoon and talked to me as I lay in the throes of agony, and giggled her Hilary giggle, and started talking about going to college.

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Q & A With Your Token Gay, Part VIII

Your question is important to us. Please stay on the line. Questions will be answered in the order in which they were received.

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Cheri asks:

Can I buy you a cup of coffee any time soon?

There is a group of bloggers in San Diego that I've been dying to meet. Cheri is one of them, and she is part of a group that has affectionately dubbed themselves the San Diego Blog Bitches. Also belonging to the SDBB are the illustrious Jen from Juggling Life and Jamie of Choosing My Own, among others. They're all funny, passionate, lighthearted, and pretty damn cool.

So, Cheri, the answer is a resounding, "Yes!"

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Philly (also known as Sista #1) asks:

Are you anything like Will Truman on Will and Grace? I love Will Truman and I picture you cooking, baking and having his personality . Please don't dissapoint me. Tell me you are just like him!! Or even better yet Jack McFarland !!

I am like Will Truman in some ways. I am tidy, I like to cook, and I have a whole bunch of great girlfriends like Grace. However, I am not controlling like Will is, and I don't fight with my best friends on a regular basis. I'd say Will and I also share similar physical attributes and mannerisms. I'm certainly more like Will than Jack! Although while Will and Grace was still in production, my friend, JLo, and I would pretend like I was Jack and she was Karen, and we'd reenact some of their goofy antics, like when Jack stuck his tongue in Karen's ear and she totally got off on it, or like the little thing where they lift up their shirts and bump bare tummies, and when Jack uses Karen's cleavage as a magnetic credit card reader, and she quips, "Declined. Declined." Then Karen turns around and he slides the credit card down Karen's ass crack and she purrs, "Approved."

Yeah, we did stuff like that. Sometimes she still calls me "Poodle" and I occasionally ask her "Who's your daddy?"

Good times. And good questions, Sista #1!

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Katrine, my sister, asks:

Why do all gay men wear tank tops? Seriously.

Does anyone detect a slight note of scorn and sarcasm in this question? But she's right. There is something about gay guys and tank tops and I fall smack dab into that stereotype. I like wearing tank tops in the summer because they're cooler than t-shirts and I love the feel of the sun on my skin. I suppose other gay guys wear tank tops because they want to show off their muscles that they've been working so hard on at the gym. (That is SO not my reason!)

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Gary asks:

hey, here is an IMPORTANT question--are you a sports fan? football, hockey, baseball? tennis?

Oh, Gary, Gary, Gary, isn't he cute with his little sports fan question?

You'll have to forgive Gary, for he is new to The Jason Show, and he doesn't know me well yet. Or maybe he does and he asked his question tongue-in-cheek. It's okay, Gary, forgive me. This issue has been brought up before here, and as I've stated in the past, "My favorite spectator sport is tonsil hockey." I grew up just loathing sports, both playing and spectating, for reasons that you can read about here and here if you really want to. I do, however, believe it is important to keep one's body healthy, so I try to eat a balanced diet and I take vigorous walks a few times a week. That and I walk about 5 miles a day doing laps around student desks.

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JLo asks:

Ha! Ha! That was a funny question about being a sports fan. Anyhoo, I have a burning question. What's with all the reruns or psuedo reruns? Is your show so famous now that you have to have reruns? Seriously.

You know, for being one of my best friends you sure do give me a hard time, little Miss Almost Famous Pants. I've explained this before, and I'll explain it again. Some of my very best writing took place back when I first started The Jason Show, if I do say myself. My best stories, my best material. So occasionally I like to repost so I can share those stories with my new readers, you know, the ones who haven't been here since the inception of The Jason Show. Don't you feel that they deserve this? I do. I love my new readers, as I love my earlier ones.

Jealous much?
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Your question is important to us. Please stay on the line. Questions will be answered in the order in which they were received.

He Wanted a Tie Party, So We Gave Him a Tie Party

Diego was very excited about the new tie that he had picked out to wear for this season's holiday festivities. So excited, in fact, that he wanted to wear it to the grocery store. When I first saw him wearing it, he asked me, "Daddy, don't you want to stay here with me and just look at me? 'Cause I'm so handsome?"

Then he wore it the rest of the day, and when it came time to go to Giampiero's house for dinner, he insisted that we all wear ties, declaring, "We're going to have a fancy tie party!"

He loves his new baby cousin, Gianna. And he wanted to know why she couldn't wear a tie, too.

He also loves his Uncle Giampi, who was more than obliged to go along with the tie-wearing theme.

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Four is a great age.

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In a Word

Lifted from Pumpkin Delight

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Where is your cell phone - dresser

Your hair color - brown

Your mother - gone

Favorite thing - cruises

Your dream last night - cruises

Your dream goal -cruises

The room you're in -bedroom

Your hobby - blogging

Your fear - earthquakes

Where do you want to be in 6 years - here

Where were you last night - home

What you're not - muscular

One of your wish list items -cruises

Where you grew up - Utah

The last thing you did - coffee

What are you wearing - jammies

Your TV- off

Your pet- snuggly

Your computer -overused

Your mood - relaxed

Missing someone - Elijah

Your car - love

Something you're not wearing - shoes

Favorite shop - grocery

Your summer - gutwrenching

Love someone - many

Favorite color - changes

When you last laughed - yesterday

When you last cried - Tuesday

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Is anyone noticing a recurring theme here?

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Q & A With Your Token Gay, Season Two

The producers of The Jason Show enthusiastically return with another season of Q & A With Your Token Gay. Many viewers are new to the show, and many have questions left unanswered. Here's your chance!

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It seems that there comes a time in every blogger's life when pouring out every gritty detail of their lives into cyberspace, airing dirty laundry and voicing your innermost thoughts just aren't enough. Sooner or later, we all have to open it all up to questions from the readers, so we can share intimate details of our lives with strangers that we hadn't even thought to share before. Does this mean my blog has reached adulthood? Or is this the behavior of an adolescent blog? Or worse, is it the sign of a blog that is in its first stages of being over the hill?
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In any case, this is the sophomore edition of a recurring segment of The Jason Show:

Surely you have questions that you've been dying to ask me, like what color my underwear is or if I've been on a nude cruise. Certainly there are things you simply must know about me and my life, like what kind of flushable wipes I use or how many times I've seen a man who looks like my long lost twin at the 99 Cent Store. Or maybe you'd like to know my opinion on important issues such as the gap between Condoleeza Rice's two front teeth or my thoughts on canned ravioli. And of course, I know there is a plethora of questions swirling around out there about living a non-mainstream life in an oh-so mainstream setting and what it means to be versatile in the gay world.
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So come, on! Don't hold back! Lurkers, now's your chance! Polite regular commenters, this is the moment you've been waiting for. And even for those of you who know me or at least think you know me. . . well, you get the picture.

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Whatever you do, please, don't leave me with crickets.

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For a complete listing of Season One Q & A, just click Q & A With Your Token Gay under The Jason Show Episodes By Topic category in the sidebar.

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No Man Knows My Pastries

The following is my review of one of my most favorite books. Besides the fact that it makes me laugh out loud every time I pick it up, it also delivers a sometimes subtle, and sometimes not-so-sublte, commentary on Mormon culture by a Mormon drag queen.

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"Among Mormons Sister Enid Christensen is a popular author, den mother, cook, and roll model. A prominent leader in the Payson, Utah, 227th Ward Relief Society, she has cooked countless inspirational meals and shared her testimony-strengthening culinary experiences with thousands of those weak in things of the kitchen. . . . Sister Christensen was born in Rexburg, Idaho; graduated from high school in 1966; attended hometown Ricks College that fall; transferred to Dixie College the next fall; and transferred to LDS Business College in the spring of 1968 where she met Brother LaMar Christensen. When their eyes met, they felt all tingly and knew that in the preexistence they had committed themselves to each other. They solemnized that promise three days later."

The above is an expert from the introduction of the most hilarious book on the planet, No Man Knows My Pastries--The Secret (Not Sacred) Recipes of Sister Enid Christensen, as told to Roger B. Salazar and Michael G. Wightman. Even those without a Mormon background will find the humor in this!

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My Dear Brothers and Sisters,

I would indeed be ungrateful if I didn't take this page to tell you how grateful and thankful I am to be able to bare my recipes. I feel so thankful to have been raised in the Jell-O Belt and not some foreign country where food doesn't matter. I hope and pray that these recipes, which I truly feel were inspired by the scriptures, church history, and family values, will inspire you, too.
These recipes are tried and true. Trust the main recipes, for many of these are manna from heaven. If followed step by step, line upon line, ingredient upon ingredient, they will guide you to celestial success in your cooking. Just look at all the lovely recipes our own sweet Sister Janet Lee pioneered. Have faith, persevere, be an example to the younger sisters in your ward. Become the culinary adventuresses you were foreordained to be.

Your sister,

Enid Christensen

With chapters titled "There's Always Room for Jell-O Salad", "Miracle Whip of Forgiveness", "In-Breads", and "Cheeses of Nazareth", you'll laugh out loud until your face hurts. Touting tempting recipes like Sin-o-Men Rolls, A Marvelous Work With Wonder Bread, Flaky Mormon Casserole, Secret Combination Plate, Kolob Kebobs, Supresso, Burning Bosoms, and Hide the Zucchini Bread, there is truly something for everyone's tastes.
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And now, for two last excerpts:

"I find that presentation is nine-tenths of a casserole. My three rules are: Chips, Chips, Chips. Corn chips and Doritos for ethnic casseroles and old-fashioned chips for tuna and mushroom dishes. As I was baking recently, Lamar composed a little song in honor of my casserole talent. it's called, "Casserole-serole," to the tune of "Que Sera Sera":

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When I was just a little boy
I asked my father, "What did we at?
Did we eat pork chops?
Did we eat steak?
Here's what he said to me:
"Casserole-serole!
Whatever was in it, we ate it.
Your mother's the one who made it,
Casserole-serole."
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And finally.....

"It makes me sad to think there are brethren and sisters who have not discovered the joy of Jell-O salad or the wonder of diced Spam casserole. Finally I realized my duty to less fortunate sisters (especially our single career women) who have not yet learned the cardinal rule: 'The less it costs, the more of it you can make.' It is my sincere hope and prayer that my little book will find its way to the truly elect to become a leaven to the world. Those who abide by my precepts will add precious pounds to their families' delicate froms without squandering their inheritance. I have tried to include all any worthy mother would need to know to bring this glorious dream to pass. So, sisters everywhere, get out your aprons and let's get cooking."

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Get your own copy today!

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Agnostic Blessings, Episode Eight

Blessing # 88

Words of Encouragement From Another Perspective

Many people, some anonymous, some named, some family, some real-life friends, and some blog friends, have taken the time to express their feelings to me regarding the passage of proposition 8 in the state of California. All gay Californians and perhaps all gay Americans have had to come to terms with this. I have had to come to terms with it and how it pertains to my relationships with loved ones who may belong to religions condemning same sex marriages, or who may fundamentally believe that same sex marriages are wrong. If you don't recall what I'm talking about, click here.
In a show of my gratitude, I have included some of the comments and/or emails that I have received that have most especially helped me sort things out in my mind. And I do feel better.

Anonymous:

"One of the tragedies of this situation is that extremists on both sides of this conflict have made us feel we need to align with a "side." I think it's a false dichotomy. Our beliefs are not that simplistic. My understanding of Christ's message to us all, instilled in me through my Mormon upbringing, is the same understanding that guides my support of homosexuals and their rights. I urge you to talk directly to those you seek support from--let them tell you how they feel."

Cheri:

"California is now the fertile ground upon which a nationwide movement for civil rights for same-sex marriage partners will be built. A new day is dawning. Bigger and better and stronger than we'd hoped. "

Katrine:

"There's a lot more I could write or say. But in the end I have faith in you. I have faith in a God who loves you. I am LDS with a brother who's gay. And I love him. There is no fear or shame."

One of my four brothers:

"Naturally I have been thinking about this issue a lot, and to be honest I am glad I do not live in California. Three things especially bother me:

First, Mormons do not have the best track record when it comes to traditional marriage so why on earth did we think we were the best religious entity to spearhead such a movement?

Second, why now? I mean frickin' Mitt Romney was governor of Mass. when they passed a law legalizing same-sex marriage and not a peep, so what changed?

Finally, it is too bad Mormons ended up taking so much heat for this because there are definitely not 50 million in California. Sad to see churches vandalized etc. because it implies all Mormons supported Prop 8 but I've heard there are quite a few prominent members that disagreed with the law. But the saddest thing, supposedly members gave 15 million to support Prop 8.

Now I'm not a Californian so I do not have to support or not support Prop 8 but I am a social worker so my mind goes to social issues and do you know how many starving families could have been fed with that money, how many homeless people could have had homes, how many men, women, and children could have crucial vaccinations, how many schools could have been improved, how many orphaned/abandoned children could be supplied with crucial care, or how many patients with cancer/HIV/diabetes could have been treated?

Nope, instead that money was used for this and all elections in general...very frustrating."

Another of my brothers:

"I do not believe you are going to hell. I do not believe in a God who would punish someone that severely for being a great Dad and brother
You are one of my best friends and brother, I would not belong to a church who would say otherwise. "

My sister-in-law, Laura:
Jason there is no choice when it comes to me, i am not torn. I am proud to call you my brother in law. I love you, and everything you are. and i love you and your amazing family, who have such warm, wonderful, amazing, open, huge hearts. there is not option when it comes to me. I support you!!

Jamie:
"I wish we were related, because I'd throw my arms around you and call you brother. I'd tell you that family and loyalty and religion are incongruous, and that it's okay. "

Vernacular :

"Coming from those who support you:

Inclusive. Inviting. Harmonizing.
Compassionate.Empathy. Acknowledgment.
Justice.Bonded.
United. Love.

Love will overcome all. Even this. We’ll work for it. We’ll make it happen."

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Sweet Sixteen!

I love you, Amelia!

Have You Ever?

Have you ever eaten 17 pieces of pizza all in one sitting? I have.

Have you ever tried to do a magic trick in a cub scout pack meeting that failed miserably and everyone laughed at you so you ran out of the meeting and ran all the way home with bitter tears of humiliation running down your face? I have.

Have you ever watched a boy pull his dead dog by a rope down a dirt road ? I have.

Have you ever gone a date with a guy who literally, actually, had no neck?

Have you ever been at a stop light and looked over at the car next to you and seen Janet Jackson in the driver's seat? I have.

Have you ever done it in the heat of the desert off an I-15 exit between Baker and Barstow? I have.

Have you ever walked past the display toilets at a hardware store and seen that someone had actually used one? I have.

Have you ever gone skinny dipping in an outdoor baptismal font? I have.

Have you ever tied up your friend sitting on a chair on a very busy street and taped a sign to him that said, "Honk! It's my birthday!"? I have.

Have you ever stepped on a dead mouse in your bare feet and feel the squish of its guts between your toes? I have.

Have you ever seen a naked homeless woman run through a chicken rotisserie restaurant screaming in terror? I have.

Have you ever traveled clear to Venice, Italy and sat down at a quaint open-air cafe, only to overhear that the people sitting at the table next to you live less than 2 miles from your house? I have.

Have you ever had your father convince you that he is Jesus Christ incarnate and that Satan is out to kill him therefore he must stay off of the freeways and you don't have to finish studying for finals because you're going to be caught up in the Rapture before your tests? I have.

Have you ever had Typhoid fever while living in a place where the only toilet was a hole in the ground out back with two bricks on either side of it, with children climbing on the roofs of their houses to watch you suffer? I have.

Have you ever gone shopping at Victoria's Secret with your ex-wife's boyfriend's mother? I have.
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Now I Can Die

I've made it. My last aspiration and dream in the world has now been fulfilled. I can now die peacefully.

I am Bossy's Featured Gay!

Please indulge me. Head on over there and see what it's like to have your grandest wish come true.

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Well, after curing cancer, ending bigotry, and solving the world's hunger crisis, that is.

Splat!

The other day at work I was alone in the staff lunch room preparing a Healthy Choice tomato-basil panini to put in the microwave. As I slid it out of the package, it slipped onto the floor, face down, splat. I laughed and sighed, "Great." What was I going to eat now? I had nothing else and it was going to be a long afternoon and I was hungry. So I glanced behind me to make sure I was still alone, I reached down, scooped it all off the floor, remade the sandwich, and popped it in the microwave. And then I ate it.

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This reminded me of my student teaching days in Logan, Utah. I was working under a master teacher who was a white-haired, sweet little old lady, one year away from retirement, named Mrs. Jensen. It had become our custom to go get our food from the cafeteria and bring it back to the classroom and eat lunch together and discuss my progress. One such day, I loaded my tray up with mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, jello, and chocolate cake, and returned to the classroom ahead of Mrs. Jensen, who needed to stop at the office for a moment. I put my tray down on the edge of the counter to wash my hands. It was too close to the edge, and the whole tray flipped off the counter and went splat! Face down, all over the industrial carpet. I was mortified. What would I do? I didn't want Mrs. Jensen to see what a klutz I was. I was trying to impress her! So I quickly scooped it all up back onto the tray, mashed potatoes, gravy, jello, and all. I then cleaned up the carpet the best I could, but it left a very tell-tale brownish wet spot. And I scrambled to the front table and sat down, picking up my fork, putting my best "Nothing happened. Nothing at all," face. Just then, Mrs. Jensen walked in.

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She sat down and got situated to begin eating. She glanced at my tray, and her eyes locked on it. My mashed potatoes and jello were intermingled. There was gravy on my upside-down chocolate cake, which had peas embedded in it. Then she looked over at the floor. Then she looked at me.

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"Jason, did something happen? Did you drop your tray?" she asked tentatively.

"Hmmmm? No, nothing happened. I'm fine."

"Well, it looks like you dropped your tray."

"Oh, well, sometimes I like mixing my food around like this. It's kinda weird. Just a quirk of mine." I instantly regretted my lie and cover-up, like a punch to the gut.

"You can go back to the cafeteria and get another tray."

"No, that's okay. No problem. I'm fine."

By this time my face was redder than the jello. My scalp was prickling in shame. Tears welled up in my eyes. And I shoveled peas covered with chocolate frosting into my mouth.

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A few weeks later, Mrs. Jensen gave me superior ratings on my final evaluation. And I could never drive past that school again without remembering the day my lunch tray, and my self-respect, went splat!

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Cat Encounter of the Worst Kind

There is nothing worse than mating cats. Irresponsible pet owner that I was, my cats had not yet been fixed. Getting them fixed was something that nagged me constantly at the back of my mind, yet I never seemed to get around to it.

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One evening as I was preparing for the next day and getting ready for bed, my cat Tommie (named Tommie because we actually thought she was a boy up until just prior to this episode) began making it very evident that she was in heat. Tommie waited by the French doors in my bedroom, leaning with her rear high in the air and practically screaming to be let out, certainly in hopes of finding a male cat. I tried distracting her with food and toys. I tried petting her. I tried ignoring her. I tried scolding her into being quiet. I tried closing her in the other room. All of this just seemed to make her howling even more urgent. I turned out the lights and got into bed. Her cries got louder. I resolved to ignore her and make an appointment the very next day to have her spayed. I put a pillow over my head. I thought happy thoughts. I hummed loudly. Tommie’s screams began to sound unnervingly human. Midnight came. Midnight went. Finally, in my late-night, sleep-deprived delirium, I flung open the door next to my bed and barked, “Fine! Go! Just leave me alone!” With that I slammed the door, flopped into bed and drifted off.

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Twenty minutes later I was awakened by a scratching at the door accompanied by supplicating, almost penitent meowing. Figuring she had been satisfied, I let her back in and went back to sleep. No sooner had I started dreaming when she began her insistent screams once again. Completely fed up, I barreled out of bed, opened the door, let her out, and left the door open. “Fine!” I spat. “Come and go as you please, but let me sleep!”Agitated, yet certain that I would be able to sleep uninterrupted, I eventually drifted off again.

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The next thing I knew, I was unceremoniously yanked out of my slumber by the most horrifying shrieking and hissing that I had ever heard, followed by a flurry of cats and fur tearing through the door, around my room, and onto my bed! Disoriented in the darkness, I sat up and screamed like a terrified woman, only to be silenced by a strange warm liquid splattering suddenly across my face and chest, then on to my comforter and wall. The cats were now on my body, doing their dirty deed, on my body! I sat in shock with my mouth open and my eyes wide. At last, I snapped out of it, pushing the cats off of me and chasing them out the door with a slam.

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Tommie returned the morning, leisurely smoking a cigarette, doing the walk of shame. And a few weeks later, Tommie had four cute little furry kittens. A few weeks after that, I finally had her fixed!

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Moral of the story: As Bob Barker says, “Help control the pet population. Be a responsible pet owner and have your pet spayed or neutered!”

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This Image Haunts Me

This image haunts me. It represents the tremendous dichotomy that has existed within me my entire life. It shows the immense struggle during my first 28 years, longing to do what is right and love God with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. It symbolizes the fight to accept myself and realize that I am not a bad person, I am not an abomination, and I am not being selfish in being who I am.
This image haunts me. It reminds me of the unfair quandary that my Mormon family has had to face. It reminds me of when my siblings, wife, and parents had no choice but to look from one side to the other and try to reconcile the difference between me, a loved member of their family, and the doctrine that states that when I die I will spend eternity in the same kingdom as the murderers, rapists, and child molesters. I have observed this struggle from one degree or another in each of them. Is it fair to make one choose between a loved one and a beloved religion, a way of life, a basis for existence? A very real part of me has wanted my siblings to make a choice--either me or the church--which one will it be? A very real part of me just wants them to verbally take a stand so I can at least see things clearly. The silence on behalf of some of my siblings and their spouses has spoken very loudly to me. It tells me that they love me and respect me and don't want to hurt me. But it also tells me that they are allowing the church to dictate their point of view. And why wouldn't they? The Mormon church is an all or nothing organization. To be a member in good standing, you're not allowed to pick and choose what is good for you. Every teaching hinges on another that hinges on another, making it virtually impossible to separate them. That is precisely why I had to throw out the proverbial baby with the bathwater when I left--when I was cast out--of the church.

This image haunts me. It speaks to the angst that my daughters have felt coming from a Mormon background and having a gay dad. It represents the struggle within Hilary and Amelia, torn between what they believe and what their aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents value.
It compounds the anonymous hate messages Amelia has been receiving online since she began speaking her mind at school about proposition 8. It breaks my heart to hear her mournful sobs through the wall as she struggles with what she takes as direct rejection.

This image haunts me. There was a time that I entered the walls of this temple and tried time and again to connect with God and overcome my "sinful" desires. I know what it is to hold Mormon teachings close to my heart and feel the sense of conviction that told me that everything I was taught was absolute truth. I remember. I identify with how active Mormons feel about chastity, marriage, and obedience, and how those in strong favor of traditional marriage within the LDS church believe that they are making a stand for God, fighting evil, and showing obedience. I was there. I did the same thing. I remember feeling my own sense of outrage in sacrament meeting about 15 years ago when the prophet declared in a letter to all members of the church that soon there would actually be television shows with openly gay main characters if we didn't take a stand. If it were 1991, I would have gladly accepted the free yellow signs and blanketed the neighborhood in the name of truth and righteousness.

This image haunts me. Old feelings that I had dealt with and resolved previously have been dredged up. My emotions have been surreal and I've shifted from a large sense of acceptance and validation to feeling marginalized and shunned by society.

This image haunts me. It testifies that the center of my heritage and upbringing is the very source of such upheaval. More than succeeding in banning same-sex marriage, I feel distraught that proposition 8 has caused so much division. I detest the conflict that it has hastened.

This image haunts me. I feel sickened that some proposition 8 protesters would dare stand in front of something that I once held so dear and that some of my family cherishes, shouting angrily, climbing on the fence, directing obscene gestures toward a place of peace, and defiling a sacred symbol. In the same moment, I retaliate, blurting out, "Well? What did they expect? Launching such an attack on rights that have been granted that resulted in the yanking away of those rights? Did they think people would just take it and go back to being 2nd class citizens? "

This image haunts me. It reminds me of the conflict that has been forced upon the mother of my daughters, and it haunts me because I know that she has to face it yet again.

This image haunts me. It tells the story of how I feel each day as I drive down the street or walk through the supermarket. Is she in the 52% or the 48%? Does that smile mean "I like you for who you are," or "I pretend to like you because I know that's what I'm supposed to do, but really, down deep, I reject you?" This image haunts me because this month's events have made me feel insecure again. This image haunts me because I feel distrustful.

This image haunts me. It provides a backdrop for the soundtrack of words that has been repeatedly looping in my head:

Alienating. Discordant. Disruptive. Divisive.

Derision. Irony. Incongruity.

Dichotomy. Disunion.

Separation.

Split.

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That's IT!

I just can't think about it, talk about it, watch it on tv, or write about it any more.

Stream of Consciousness Blogging: Gnocchi and a Sentencing

While my thoughts today have been geared toward the election, I am not going to write about it right now. Suffice it to say that I voted!

Things on the set of The Jason Show have calmed down over the last few weeks. Last week was my soon-to-be-ex-son-in-law's sentencing. He was sentenced to two counts of inflicting grave bodily harm to a child, with four years in state prison. It is likely that he will end up serving around two of those years, with the months that he has been in jail already counting toward his sentence. It is estimated he will be released early 2010. Hilary, Giancarlo, Claire, Amelia, and I went to the sentencing together. The detective and the assistant district attorney were incredibly kind and accommodating to us, taking time to walk us through the process, asking if we had any questions, and asking if any of us wanted to make an official statement in the courtroom. We were all at a loss for words, except Hilary. Hilary took a few minutes to scribble out some of her thoughts and then it was her turn to stand before the judge, the attorneys, and the man who did this horrible thing to her baby. She poured her heart out--the words flew out of her mouth so quickly that the D.A. had to ask her to slow down so the court reporter could get them all.

After all of these months, Claire, Giancarlo, and I had nothing to say to Nathan or the court. I suppose that is a sign that we have processed it all and we're ready to move forward? Claire was especially surprised that she had nothing to say.

By the way? I'd MUCH rather visit criminal court than family court!!!

Then we piled back into the homobile (that's what I call our minivan) and had an early lunch at Olive Garden! I had grilled chicken with gnocchi. It felt good to finally experience some sense of closure. . . at least to this chapter.

Speaking of gnocchi. I love gnocchi! You may recall that the last time I had gnocchi Giancarlo thought I had stinky feet. Which I did not. I am very conscious of whether my feet stink or not. And if they are, I promptly remedy the situation. Are you? Conscious about about how your feet smell or don't smell? How do people not realize that their feet stink? The other day I was having a very serious discussion about some very serious family drama with my MIL (that I was in no way the middle of this time, thank heavens) and her feet were so stinky I couldn't focus on what I was trying to say. And I couldn't move away either or else she wouldn't understand me due her hearing problem.

Anyway. That brings me to another thing. I'd like to open this question up to all of you out there: How many of you out there are in relationships with someone from another country or culture? What are some of the difficulties that you have experienced with this? Living in a multi-cultural household, I often find myself facing issues that come due to the differences between our family cultures. And this, incidentally, is the root of the very serious family drama that I mentioned above. I would share the details of what has transpired but I'm afraid I would offend someone. But let me reiterate---I am so gosh darn thrilled that I'm not stuck in the middle of this one! That almost makes me giddy!

Is that wrong?

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God Stopped My Diarrhea

Liberating. Heartwarming. Hopeful. Invigorating. Those are some of the words that went through my head today while my daughter, Amelia, and I, stood at a major intersection of our conservative suburban city with over a hundred other concerned citizens waving signs and cheering as cars passed. After the last two weeks of in-your-face Yes on 8 sign wavers at every intersection in town, it was gratifying to hear all of the honking horns and see all the thumbs up signs as people drove past. All walks of life were represented on those street corners today. Gay, straight, old, young, religious, non-religious, conservative, and liberal. I even ran into a few of my former students (all grown up now) who stood next to us and waved their signs and shouted their support.

Most of the signs were homemade, unlike the Yes on 8 signs that were obviously expensive, and obviously distributed free of charge in massive amounts--mostly at Mormon church services. My favorite signs said things like this:

"Who voted on your marriage?"

"Whatever happened to separation of church and state?"

"I'm straight, but I'm against H8."

"Prop. 8=Discrimin8tion"

"Don't discrimin8"

"Let them eat cake!"

And Amelia made signs that said:

"My parents are gay but my family should be equal."

"America is not a religious theocracy!"

And the sign that I held for most of the time said:

"Is your family more important than mine?"

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Plus. . .

I've had diarrhea all weekend. But God, in his loving wisdom, granted me the intestinal fortitude to stand out there for three hours without so much as a twinge of trouble! It must be a sign that he really IS on our side.

Skeleton Dance