The Banal Chew

Agnostic Me

Sometime around the age of 10, I learned to dislike religion. Some of this had to do with a cleverly disguised systematic torture known as catechism class, which always left me blue in the car on the way home. In the back seat I sat morose, picturing my soul getting indelibly blacker each time I burgled my nose or sneaked a Triscuit after 9pm. During those Sunday journeys home in our Oldsmobile 98, my older sister might occasionally nod my way, getting my hopes up that we'd joke about something, but only to tell me I smelled like onions and grossed her out so much that milk would run out her nose. I corrected her in a number of ways, first by educating her that usually that particular joke refers to milk or Coco-Puffs flying out their noses when they are laughing so hard about something, and that she wasn't laughing. I also mentioned that she wasn't currently drinking milk, and unless those pubescent boobies had something they needed to tell us, she should probably shut up and practice her pom-pom routine silently. Catechism classes, arranged after Sunday morning services and in order, I think, to give our parents an hour and a half to shop, argue or screw, were always taught by women whom I was convinced were witches. I know this because I was a healthy but small-framed child. I was popular with women, I have no doubt. Sometimes that's because, upon being a very nice child, impeccably dressed, groomed and after having been introduced and shaken their hand delicately, I would comment on how interesting I found the weave in their jacket to be, or how evocative the little squiggle on their knuckle was. But mostly it was because of my hair.

I had exceptionally wavy, curly, unruly, thick, blond, healthy hair, moreso than many had ever seen. Women fawned over it, despite my own hatred of it. But I felt like a religious icon. Hell, maybe that's why I'm gay, because dozens of middle-aged women fondled me regularly, simply to touch my hair...hair which they would sell their first-born to have. Or at the very least, pay a fair amount of money per visit to their local salon to replicate. But back to the witches. The Sunday school sybyls looked at me like I would be too much work, regardless of how long I boiled and bubbled in their massive black pot. My meat would be much too lean and flavorless. For the record, I never had a male Sunday school teacher. Thank jeepers, because Father [nnn] was enough. I'm digressing. I like this quote by Bill Maher.

Rapture Schmapture

I just told Bonnee that the world is going to end this weekend.  She told me to shut my piehole and get back to work. 

And to stop playing all the Blondie and R.E.M. 

Jelly bean, Boom!

A Rose Is a Rose...

Mark and I are busy discussing the complexities of our son's secondary education.  He'll enter 7th grade next year, and in Australia, that marks the beginning of high school.  (For us Americans, that means no middle school or junior high...it's straight to high school.)  There are a number of options.  We could continue sending him to the private school he is currently attending, but I am growing increasingly wary of this institution and its curriculum design.  There are some good state schools out there, and yesterday he sat the selective schools exam to determine whether he would get placed in one of the top-tier public schools.  As with any parent, we just want him to have the best education available to him, all things considered.  It's a difficult decision.

While Mark and I were discussing the various options, some of which are pipe-dreams and some worst-case scenarios, the topic of St. Andrew's Anglican School came up.  I had glommed onto this idea of sending our son to an Anglican school when we first moved to Sydney and were exploring school options three years ago.  Having been involved with a number of Episcopal Churches in the U.S. during my 18 years as a church musician, I was excited about the prospect of sending our boy to a school that I felt was aligned with principles I could understand and relate to.  I had wonderful experiences with the Episcopal Church (the U.S. counterpart of the Anglican Church). It was so different from the stifling, rule-driven, homophobic Roman Catholic environment in which I had grown up.  The Episcopal churches I worked in were open, affirming and welcoming to all.  I felt loved, needed and wanted, both as a person and as a human.

Then I heard about the Anglican climate in Sydney, and was that ever a rude awakening.  The Sydney diocese of the Anglican Church is one of the most homophobic and bigoted environments with which I have ever come into contact.  But one need look no farther than its leader, the Most Rev. Dr. Peter Jensen, to see why.  Here's a quote of his from an ABC interview in 2003:

ABC: Do you concede that there has been injustice done [to gays and lesbians]?

PETER JENSEN: Oh, doubtless over the years, there has been.

ABC: But, I mean, in relation to this issue of same-sex unions and gay bishops within the Church?

PETER JENSEN: In that regard, no, I don't think so. I think folk have been put in a situation which they should never have been put in. Christian religion's a very awkward religion. It calls upon all of us to do things which are sort of against our own natural instincts and drives.

There are many folk I know, for example, who are heterosexual, who are, who would rather be married but who are not able to be married and, uh, who have to live without sexual expression in their lives. Others of us who are married, for one reason or another, can't have sex.

But the Christian religion calls upon us to live chastely. It's not a matter of homosexuality as such being condemned, it's the practice of sexual relations by homosexual people or heterosexual people, outside the rules that God's laid down.

Pardon my français, but WT ever-living F?  Is it really possible that a highly educated leader of such a large and powerful cultural institution could have been...and is still...so sociologically deficient? 

Those of you who know me well, know that my chief complaint against those who fear or decry homosexuals is the way these people cleave to the prurient, misguided notion that all it boils down to is what happens in the bedroom. The quicker these ignorant people realize that it's about living one's life with the freedom to love, the better off we'll all be.  The choice is which person, not which sex.  Why is that such a difficult concept?

Anyway, to return to the original discussion, Mark mentioned to me at dinner this evening that he'd just received word that St. Andrew's was now accepting Aboriginal students into its mainstream classes at the high-school level.  I gave him that blank stare, indicating that I had no idea what he was talking about.  Then he explained to me that a couple of years ago, St. Andrew's had begun taking Aboriginal children into the school, but isolated them to three floors of the same school building.  In other words, they were segregated from the rest of the students.  This new school was called "Gawura".  I don't care if it does have a different, "culturally sensitive" curriculum or bears an Aboriginal name.  They say it is part of the "closing the gap" scheme, but it's fancy segregation.  "Yeah, I know," says the corpulent, aging white man, "let's focus on  their education, but we'll make them social pariahs at the same time!" Oh yeah, that's socially enlightened and responsible.   

I'm surprised Mark didn't throw a glass of cold water in my face to snap me out of my wide-eyed stare of disbelief.  Disgusted, I had pretty much closed the lid and shut out the troubling, socially retarded entity that was the Sydney Anglican diocese a few years ago.  It was no wonder I hadn't heard of Gawura, the fancy name (and spin) they put on this institution of ethnic segregation.  But then Gawura's head of school came up with the idea for the school after spending some time in South Africa.  Hmm.  Fancy a game of tidy apartheid anyone?

So apparently students of high-school age are integrated into the main school at St. Andrew's.  No matter.  I think we'll be looking elsewhere for potential high schools. 

No way.  No how.

Live and Misgive

I'm sickened. 

This from a resident of Camden NSW (a bedroom community in Sydney's far southwest), in response to a proposal to build a 1200-student Islamic school in the rural enclave:   

If it does get approved, every ragger that walks up the street is going to get smashed up the arse by about 30 Aussies.  (source here)

If that's not offensive enough, consider the fact that currently in Camden there are the Macarthur Anglican School, St. Paul's Catholic Primary School and Mater Dei Catholic Co-educational School.  To my knowledge, no one raised objections to them when they were founded, the Anglican School as recently as 1984. 

Last month, someone dumped a number of severed pig heads on the site of the proposed school. 

Of the thousands of angry Camden residents, some raise (scapegoat) claims of overdevelopment and inappropriateness, the former due to the very rural setting and the latter to the lack of a substantial Islamic neighborhood in Camden itself.  Most critics of the dissenters agree it is really underlying racism and bigotry fueling the outcry.

We have a word for this in the U.S., nimbyism.  Actually, it's more of an acronym:

Not
In
My
Back-
Yard

I hated the attitude there, and as an outsider here (albeit extremely Anglo in appearance and therefore with a comparatively easier time acclimating), I hate it even more in Australia.  It's the age-old fear of difference raising its wretched head.

What is it with humankind?

Hally-loo

Funny thing. 
I woke up this morning and someone had broken in and washed my soul clean. 
I feel at least 10 lbs lighter.

Palmercash Tees

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They say that the wages of sin is death. But after taxes its just a tired feeling really.  Paula Poundstone

(Guess what I'm doing today, with a mere 7 days to spare. Need a hint?)