This is the second attempt at this blog post.  I became way too verbose in my previous crack that it became a convoluted, ineffectual stream-of-consciousness piece of drivel.  Less is more in this case so I will get straight to the point rather than bore my reader, and myself, with garrulous exposition.  Jumping right in, I'll begin with the crux of this blog--literary quotes.  Explication to follow.

From Jeanette Winterson's Art and Lies:

It's a truism that as faith in God has declined, belief in science, especially medical science, has increased.  Yet most people know even less about science than they did about God.  Science is now incomprehensible to the layman but the layman accepts it, even though one of the arguments against God is that He doesn't make sense.


Catholics, it is true, are encouraged to express their emotions, providing that the emotions they express are Catholic ones.


She went to look at paintings....Often, when she liked a picture, she found that she was liking some part of herself, some part of her that was in accord with the picture.  She shied away from what she couldn't understand...that challenged what she thought she knew, what she thought had to be true.


There was a day when Picasso understood.  The only comparable day had been when she was a little child learning to read.  The forms of the letters had hurt her eyes, she found them ugly, crude, arrogant, nothing.  She longed to be out in the sun.  She was good at games, the form of her body was a form she knew, it had shape and meaning. 
             She stared at the page.  It meant nothing to her.
             She stared at the page.  It meant nothing to her.
             She stared at the page, and without thinking, she read it.  The harsh closed letters sang into being.  Sang into her being.  She could read.
             After that, she could not be separated from her books.

There are so many great quotes from this book, which I marked for various reasons.  But I've chosen to reflect briefly on only these few as they are more suitable to the purposes of this entry:  Understanding myself.  The first two quotes speak to my ongoing struggle with spirituality versus religion.  Having been raised a Catholic, I find that no matter what I might learn, or how I may grow spiritually, I am continually drawn back to the church and its tenets.  When a belief system has been so ingrained into one's development as a human being, it can be quite difficult to eschew regardless of a strong desire to do so.  So although I might have adopted my very own unique dogma, many of which theories are in direct opposition with Catholic teachings, I feel compelled to take up the mantle of teacher to a younger generation of Catholics, encouraging them to learn more about their faith and to continue within the religion into adulthood.  That being said, I often find myself playing the devil's advocate (sometimes quite literally) within my Catholic bible study group.  What I have concluded about this juxtaposition of beliefs and behaviors is this:   If I am in a group that might share my belief structure, I will fight like hell against them.  But I will defend said structure to anyone who may question it.  It's not anything I strive to do, it just is what I do.  What I have concluded from this is that I hate being put in a box.  I hate people assuming I will say and do one thing because it is consistent with the label they have pinned on me--or that I have unwittingly pinned on myself.

Reading the next two quotes was like reading something written about myself.  The girl looks at the paintings and discovers that what she likes about a particular piece of art is relative to what she likes about herself.  Art is such a personal thing.  It's personal for the artist who creates it, and the consumer who displays it.  As an artist, I could never part with one of my pieces.  The subject matter, style, and meaning can only truly be understood by me.  The process of making a piece--the motivation behind it, the choices and changes I've made--can only be appreciated by me.  I do not make my art for the masses, I make it because of an irrepressible need to express something.  I cannot respect the makers of "decorative" art.  I do not call them artists.  They paint a tree in golds and greens and reds because those are the popular colors and a furniture store will sell it because it matches the couch or the bedspread.
Like the girl, I discovered early on how important art is.  Art taught me things about myself I couldn't learn anywhere else.  Like the girl, I shied away from art I didn't understand or that made me uncomfortable.  I was quick to judge.  As I became more exposed to various styles of art, I learned to appreciate that which had challenged what I thought I knew.  It taught me not to judge too quickly for everything I "knew" to be true could turn on a dime.
The last quote brought me back to my early childhood when I was learning to read.  I remember being a very active child.  I remained an athlete into my early twenties and therefore always felt comfortable in my body and with my body.  My mind was another matter.  I learned to read before I entered kindergarten, but  I remember being close to tears at one of my first attempts reading a book about dinosaurs.  No one was around to translate at that moment.  I knew the letters and the sounds they made, but could not make sense of those foreign shapes that were words.  I stared at the page and stared at the page.  I went outside, seeking that familiarity of my body in nature.  I threw the ball against the brick wall outside the kitchen window.  I ran down the grassy hill in our backyard to the maple tree that I could not climb for I was much too small.  Meeting with yet another obstacle, I decided to go back inside to have another crack at the dinosaur book.  I stared at the page.  And the words slowly became clear.  And what words they were!  Stegosaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Brachiosaurus, Triceratops.  No C-A-T for me!  Who thought this was a good book for children learning to read?  Still, once those "harsh, closed letters sang into being", I was a goner.  Trying to separate me from my books is s futile endeavor.   Now, instead of art teaching me things about myself, I rely on literature and, in turn, my writing about it to set me on paths to discovery.  I will end on two final notes/quotes, I've stolen from Zadie Smith's The Autograph Man:

Women don't tell the truth about themselves...Or else the truth is genuinely pure, involving no second-guessing--in which case, who could stand to hear it?
[who indeed?]   

Alex heard two voices together, two opposite voices, and from such extreme poles of his mind that for a moment his brain refused to reconcile them.          
Welcome to my world.

I'm back! I'm back to blogging and I'm back in town from my cruise to the Caribbean.  I got back late last night, and I'm here at work trying to clean up the mess that was left in my absence. When you work by yourself like I do, you have the privilege and autonomy to run things the way you want but don't go away too long or someone will come in and turn your work world upside down!


Ok, so I live in Arizona. I don't know if you're familiar w/our climate, but it gets up to 110 to 115 degrees during the summer. Right now we're in the high 80s. But there's hardly any humidity. It's a common humorous phrase to say down here, "But it's a DRY heat!" So we took a plane to Ft. Lauderdale FL on Saturday where we would catch the ship to take us to the Caribbean. Needless to say, when I stepped outside, the humidity was so heavy, I could barely breathe! But I love how the moist warmth felt on my skin.

Sunday, we boarded the Emerald Princess and settled in to our cozy cabin and awaited disembarkation. We left the dock at five o'clock under stormy skies and even stormier seas. It was not looking like a promising start to our fun filled, sun soaked week in the tropics.

However, Monday morning, we awoke to beautiful clear skies and a calm ocean of the most beautiful shades of azure and turquoise I had ever seen. My brother, his girlfriend and I left the ship early to take a yoga class on the beach at Princess Cays (Princess Cruise's own private island in the Bahamas). It was a cross between peaceful and strenuous. It was heaven to be out there with the soft white sand beneath us with the sounds of the waves lulling us into our meditation, but it it was hell to try to hold some of those positions under the relentless hot sun and humidity. My brother and I were in the back and eventually just started goofing off. Our favorite pose became the Balasana (Child's Resting Pose) and rarely moved from it after awhile.

After an hour and a half of this nonsense, we retreated to a bungalow we rented and met up w/my parents and my husband. My brother and his girlfriend laid in the sun and posed for pictures (they are quite vain) while Brandon and I went for a swim in the Atlantic. I do believe I was a fish in another life so finding my way back into the ocean was like coming home. We swam in a little private cove and rocked with the rhythm of the waves. Later we had lunch and I fell asleep on a beach chair. Big mistake! While applying my sunblock, I apparently missed the backs of my ankles and for the rest of the trip suffered from a painful sunburn. I usually tan, but my ankles aren't used to receiving much sun and reacted quite differently than normal.

Next day was spent on the ship basking in the sun by the pool to rest up for the next three days of which would be filled visiting three different islands.  Wednesday was spent on the island of St. Maarten.  We spent most of our time in town on the Dutch side of the island, shopping and touring the quaint little town of Philipsburg.  It was amazing to experience just a small taste of such a diversity of cultures.  We encountered Dutch, Belgians, French, Indians, West Indians and of course a number of islanders to name just a few.  The afternoon was spent touring the rest of the island and journeying over to the French side.  Both sides are breathtakingly beautiful, but I prefer the Dutch side as they were a great deal friendlier and the majority of the French maintain that nasty habit of smoking.

We enjoyed another delectable dinner--something for which cruise ships are quite reputable--followed by yet another late night of drinks and entertainment.  After all, we didn't have to get up too early the next day for our catamaran and snorkeling excursion on St. Thomas U.S.V.I.   Although the water surrounding this island isn't as brilliantly blue as the others, the land itself is lush and hilly and would be my ideal future resident island for when I retire to a life of a beach bum.  We took a 40 minute boat ride out to a secluded beach and reef to do our snorkeling where we spotted dozens of sea turtles, sting rays, and a variety of tropical fish.  Those turtles are not shy.  Even though it is illegal for humans to have physical contact with them, the turtles had absolutely no qualms about swimming right up to us and looking us straight in the eye!  The water itself was clear and warm and soothing.  I could have stayed out there all day, but alas, we had to re-board our little boat to head back to our big boat.  The crew rendered a wonderful party for us with music and an endless supply of rum punch from the local distillery.  Yum yum rum punch!

We were exhausted once we reached the ship, but that didn't stop us from indulging in another night of fun and games.   We weren't arriving in port to the next island until the afternoon the next day, so we could enjoy a lazy morning on Friday.

I didn't think the water could possibly be more beautiful than what we beheld on St. Maarten, but the colors of azure, cerulean, cobalt and turquoise must be seen to be believed.  This picture does not do them justice. 

While my brother and his girlfriend separated from us to take in another day of snorkeling, my parents, my husband and I began this day in a local upscale art gallery (as per my request, of course) where I spent far too long talking with the manager about my favorite artists while discovering some new ones.  My husband jokingly asked if the manager had offered me a job yet.  Boy, I'm glad he didn't!  It would have been far too tempting.  The four of us then went on a curious little jaunt to "downtown" Grand Turk.  Downtown consisted of 6 little huts on a deserted beach selling charming trinkets and artifacts crafted by the locals.  I purchased a few small items from a couple of the vendors.  I soon found out that the artisans and sellers were actually Haitian and I was quite pleased to have been able to help them out rather than spending my money with the commercial vendors at port.  We did, however, spend some of our money and time at such a commercial venue--we had to check out Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville.  The restaurant and shop overlooked a serpentine pool, complete with swim up bar.  It was fun to experience but it's regrettable to see all the tourist dollars being dumped into an already profitable, large scale franchise rather than the local outfits who could really use it.

We left Grand Turk late in the evening and surprised my parents with a late supper at the Crown Grill Steakhouse on board to thank them for their generous provision of the vacation and to celebrate their 40 years of marriage.  It was one of the best nights we had on the trip as it provided an opportunity to express a fraction of our love and gratitude for them and put them into the well-deserved spotlight. 

As we spent our final day at sea, we broke off into our respective couples to decompress and enjoy some quiet time reflecting on our wonderful days spent making memories before returning to the real world.  As much fun as vacation is and as beautiful as the sights were, the trip would have been much less luminous without my wonderful family to share it with.  Thank you Brandon and Michael and especially Mom and Dad.  You all are the best!

I really did mean for this next post to be a book list update. In fact, I started writing it a month ago and now it sits in limbo awaiting completion and posting. But in all honesty, I'm much to tired to ponder just the right words to describe my recent reading experiences. And really...does anyone care what I have to say about my literary adventures? I don't write them as summaries or recommendations to the readers of this blog anyway. I could never truly convey what a particular book does for me in just a few paragraphs! And although I write much better than I speak (at least I think so) I must describe such works passionately--and I simply cannot do that without the use of my gesticulative Italian hands! No, I write these blogs as a reminder to myself what joy or pain or education or inaneness (is that a word?) a work provokes. And although I'm too exhausted to venture into the deep waters of self-actualization (I hate that term) via disquisition exploration, I do want to write. For now, I will abandon the pretense of critic and scholar and simply vent about my current state of being. As some of you may know, I have suffered various and misdiagnosed ailments. Last year, my latest diagnosis, fibromyalgia, left a bad taste in my mouth. In my opinion, "fibromylagia" can be loosely translated to mean "a condition in which the patient experiences moderate pain and fatigue, but for which there is no treatment." I couldn't care less what they call my problem--lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia--just FIX IT! So, my often overbearing mother continually reprimands me for not taking a more "proactive" approach to my health and seeing the doctor once a week. I've just gotten so fed up with the entire situation and do not need the stress of sitting in a waiting room for an hour, paying a $30 co-pay to hear, "Sorry to hear that you're not feeling well and the medication isn't doing its job, but there's nothing else I can prescribe for you." I'd rather just suffer silently (well, not so silently when you consider that I'm writing about it here.) One of the difficulties of late is the toll it's all taking on my attitude and alacrity. Not only do I feel as if I exist in a fog, but I don't have the desire to get out of it. Yet, it's not a depression or the blues. It's more like a vexation. It's not in accordance with how I see myself. I'm a Scorpio for God's sake! And if that isn't enough already, I was born in the year of the Dragon. I'm supposed to be free and uninhibited. Passionate and energetic...irrepressible. And I am...on the inside. I feel as if I'm not fulfilling my destiny. Not that I give a fig about fate and prospect. After all, I'm a true believer that I am what I say I am. It's the doing that's the hard part.

Well, I'm gearing up for another book review. My next post will include posts of 3-4 books, but I'm not quite ready, as I have yet to finish the last book. In the meantime, I've gotten back to viewing the classic films I so adore. With the DVR feature, I'm able to record half a dozen or so films a week that I always wanted to see, but never had the opportunity. Thank you TCM! In light of my old/new favorite pastime, I've decided to post yet another list: My favorite female stars of yesteryear. Most of them starred in the great films of the '30s (my favorite era of film) with a couple from the '40s/'50s.

10. Joan Fontaine.

There's just something about Joan. Her immense talent, her subtle sexiness, her perpetually arched eyebrows, her habit of biting her bottom lip, her poised demeanor which masks her fiery spirit. One need only watch one film to fall head over heals for this beauty. Hitchcock's "Rebecca" earned Joan her the respect of audiences, critics, and fellow actors alike. It also earned her her first Academy Award nomination and it's no question as to why.

9. Rita Hayworth.

Who doesn't love a gal who's cute, sexy, and famous for the best onscreen striptease of all time? In movies like "Gilda" and "The Lady from Shanghai", Rita showed off her acting chops as well as her glorious figure. As with many of the Hollywood greats, she suffered severely in her personal life. Her battle with Alzheimer's brought the disease to the public eye which eventually led to more funding and research to find a cure.

8. Greer Garson.

Greer was a true grand dame of the silver screen. When she left the British stage to star in film, she maintained an air of integrity and charm unmatched by many of her fellow actresses. Her performances in "Mrs. Miniver", "Pride and Prejudice", "Random Harvest", "Goodbye Mr. Chips", and "Madame Curie" are what made her truly legendary.

7. Grace Kelly.

Her name certainly suits her. Grace, beauty, allure, sensuality--she had all the makings of princess and a sex symbol. Her career only lasted 5 years, boasting just 10 films, but her impact was great. She was Hitchcock's all-time favorite leading lady, starring her in three of his films. In her final Hitchcock film, "To Catch a Thief", her appeal is undeniable. She's cute, smart, sassy, and sexy, much like the lady herself.

6. Ava Gardner.

Mostly Ava Gardner is fun to look at. She may very well be one of the most beautiful women of all time. And although her acting always seemed a bit low brow, she never claimed to be a great talent. Yet she is responsible for one of films most sensual moments. In "Barefoot Contessa", while she dances with the gypsies and then espies the man of her dreams, my heart always skips a beat--as I'm sure did hers. She had a great wit and spirit that made her a fascinating lady.

5. Norma Shearer.

Norma is fairly unknown to most members of my generation, and even to those of my parents' generation, but she was the biggest star at MGM in the late '20s and early '30s. She was nominated for 6 Academy Awards (2 in the same year)! MGM's "First Lady" and a reputed "goodie-two-shoes" wowed audiences when she stepped out of her comfort zone to play sexpots in "The Divorcee" and "A Free Soul. Although not a beauty in the classic sense, the lady who brought us the original Mary Haines from the original "The Women" (sorry Meg Ryan, but you are no match for Ms. Shearer) possessed an undeniable magnetism rarely seen today.

4. Katharine Hepburn.

What list of classic actresses would be complete without this gem? With a career spanning 62 years, she graced the screen with unforgettable comedic performances in some of my favorite movies like "Stage Door", "Bringing up Baby", "The Philadelphia Story", and "Adam's Rib". Yet she could also touch us with her intense dramatic performances in "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?", "The Lion in Winter", and "On Golden Pond". It wasn't until just last year that Meryl Streep tied her for leading role actress nominations. Still, no actress of the present can touch this woman in style, success, and character. This woman lived by her own rules and we could all learn a lot from her.

3. Marlene Dietrich.

There is no denying that Dietrich had "it". She was beautiful, exotic, talented, and mysterious. She tested the conventions of 1930s society by dressing in men's suits and pursuing very public affairs with other women. One need only watch her delightful performances in "Morocco", "Shanghai Express", and "Blonde Venus" to witness how ahead of her time Dietrich was.

2. Joan Crawford.

I fell in love with Joan Crawford when I saw her stellar performance in "Mildred Pierce". From the moment she double slaps her onscreen daughter, I was hooked. I went back and watched every single one of her nearly 100 films. Truthfully, there are two Joans: there is the sweet bright eyed ingenue who loved to dance in her films of the '20s and '30s. And there is the strong, sexy, no bullshit, shoulder-pad-wearing dame of the '40s-'60s. "Mommie Dearest" be damned! That is not the true Joan Crawford. Regrettably, most of the public only know Joan as the crazed child abuser her bitter adopted daughter painted her to be. What many people don't know is that she was a star of stars. She loved what she did and did it well. She was generous, insecure, and a dear in the truest sense.

1. In Hollywood, there are many comparisons between actors of today and those of yesteryear. George Clooney is the new Cary Grant. Brad Pitt is the new Robert Redford. Susan Sarandon is the Betty Davis of our time. Gwenyth Paltrow is the new Grace Kelly. But there will only ever be ONE Garbo. It's blasphemous to even attempt to draw a comparison. Those huge, soulful eyes...that glorious velvety voice... She is the epitome of talent and beauty. When audiences fell in love with her in silent films like "The Flesh and the Devil" and "A Woman of Affairs", they didn't think it could get any better. But when she uttered her first line in "Anna Christie" their mouths dropped open and their pulses quickened. Her acting reached a new level with sound. She was able to reach inside viewers and grab their hearts. When I watched her in my favorite of her films, "Camille", she did just that. During her death scene, it was as if you could see the exact moment when life left her body. I can't think of any other actress who has the ability to exact that sort of performance and to stir audience's emotions like that. No. There will never be another Garbo.

I realize it's been awhile since I've written. I haven't felt inspired, even though I really only report my literary adventures anymore. I've read a few books since I last wrote. Before I forget what they were, I better list them quickly: On Beauty by Zadie Smith, Falling Leaves by Adeline Yen Mah, The True Story of Hansel and Gretel by Louise Murphy , Two Women of Galilea by Mary Rourke, The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs, and The Shack by William Paul Young. Really the only one worth writing about is the Zadie Smith book. Of course, I am bias given the fact that since I read White Teeth years ago, she became one of my favorite writers. What impresses me most about her is that her first novel--the aforementioned White Teeth--was written when she was only 23. With On Beauty, she examines aspects of family, marriage, academia, race, youth, middle age, pop culture, friendship, religion, music, art, infidelity, and forgiveness in complicated and refreshing ways. She does so with both humor and heart-wrenching realism. Each character is represented richly, demonstrating both endearing flaws and subtle sort of heroism. Kiki Belsey, the African American former activist and wife of the glib British art history professor, Howard, is my favorite character I've encountered in literature thus far. The description of her as a robust, middle aged matron with smooth chocolate skin, dressed in the colorful, flowing attire of her African culture, elicits such an image of beauty that is rarely seen in the real world. She is dynamic, unwavering, sensual, altruistic, loyal, and witty. She sounds almost too good to be true, which is perhaps why she's merely a character in a book. But she's a character I grew to love, nonetheless.

I just finished another book last night, which makes 5 that I've read since I posted about Middlesex. After the Eugenides book, I quickly read Joyce Carol Oates's Rape: A Love Story. The title might throw some off, but it is exactly what the book is about. It is told from the point of view of a twelve year old girl, whom, along with her mother, was ganged raped one night while walking home. As a result, the mother became despondent, withdrawing from public, but also from loved ones. The investigating officer, unlike everyone else in the town who believed the mother was a guilty whore, feels badly for the woman. Knowing that the trial will result in acquittal for the 5 or 6 young men who committed the crime, he takes matters into his own hands, picking off each of the assailants one by one while making each death look like an accident. Now, I know I should think, "this is wrong," but I can't help but cheer for this vigilante. That's my kind of man! I believe that in cases like this, justice is served, however unlawfully. The "love story" of the novel, I believe, is twofold. Although the detective knows nothing of the victim (and actually has no knowledge of the fact that the daughter was indeed raped herself), his strange love for them causes him to risk everything to bring them justice. The other love is that of the little girl for the detective. She has a sense that he is her angel who will forever protect her. She is the only one who knows what a sacrifice he has made for her and her mother, and for that, she feels a deep and unparalleled love for the man.

Next, I reached for a much lighter novel: The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. Indeed, I got a thorough history lesson of the man known as Dracula, Vlad Tepes--the Impaler of Romania in the 18th century. The word "historian" references several characters in the book--each of the many narrators. Essentially though, "the historian" refers to Dracula himself, who has wandered the earth for 300 years, collecting all written works on Earth. The story is exciting and informative, although a bit anticlimactic. The reader spends the entire 800 or so pages waiting with bated breath for the big revelation only to be cozened at the last but an all too quick murder scene. It was very much like Poe in that sense. It felt similar to reading "The Pit and the Pendulum" or "The Mask of Red Death." My heart racing, my body tense as I wait to discover how it will all resolve itself. And then, BAM! It's over before I even had time to read the complete sentence.

Next in line was Death of an Ordinary Man by Glen Duncan, author of one of my favorites, I, Lucifer. I love the way Duncan writes. It's almost like stream of consciousness, which could get annoying, until you realize that it is absolutely necessary for the telling of such a story. Nathan Clark's narration opens the book as he becomes cognizant to the fact that he has died and has shown up at his own funeral. Through a series of flashbacks, the reader learns of what makes this "ordinary" man extraordinary and how that ultimately led to his death. As each part of the puzzle is pieced together, the tale shifts from what that is amusingly tongue-in-cheek to one that is deep and sorrowful. I have here, just a couple of quotes that struck me: "...he...had divided the world into Seekers and Expanders. Seekers were, naturally, searching for something as yet unknown as the possible source of enlightenment. Expanders, on the other hand, concentrated on known pleasures." "He'd seen her not really recognizing him, not really, when it came down to it, caring who he was. It was disgusting, that pain could do that. God should never have allowed pain with the power to do that. What was the point of it, except to shame and disgust everyone? To make a mockery of love? The next book I read was Slammerkin by Emma Donoghue about an 18th century London prostitute. The title refers to a loose fitting garment, and also to a loose woman--who often wore said garment. I didn't know, until after I'd read the book, that the story was based on a real person and true events. This made the story even more tantalizing than I'd already thought. How I love stories about fallen women. The last book was The Immortal by Angela Elwell Hunt. I actually enjoyed this book about a man who claims to have been roaming the earth for 2000 years as punishment for striking Jesus on his way to Golgotha to be crucified. He believes his purpose is to track down the Antichrist and intercede on God's behalf to try to convert him. Claiming that each generation has a possible Antichrist, he tries to extend man's stay on Earth by converting the evil one before the Rapture and the End of Days to allow more time for humans to repent. It's an interesting story, surprisingly spiritual despite all the atheism and agnosticism in the book. The books salvation is that it doesn't become excruciatingly dogmatic. Instead, it's quite enlightened and enlightening.

In the wake of the recent presidential election, I will once again address a political issue with my blog. I don't want to speak about President Elect Barack Obama. Only time will tell how that choice will affect this country. What I feel compelled to write about is the issue of gay marriage. I've made it known that I support gay marriage. I always have. It has nothing to do with my own sexual preferences or identity. I believe that all humans should have the same rights. As our Declaration of Independence states: " We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men [and women] are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." I don't care in which context these words were first written or what the original intention of the authors was. I care about the words themselves. We are all endowed with certain unalienable rights. Unalienable. For those who don't have a strong grasp of the English language, that means that they are intrinsic, they cannot be disputed or taken away. If we are to use these words of our founding fathers as a tool to make political points, we have to heed all of their words. We cannot say, "Well, yeah, except in this case...." So, if heterosexuals have certain rights, so shall homosexuals. Marriage is a human right. That means all humans, not just some. Since the election, many media sources have been reporting on instances in which people are protesting the decision to overturn gay marriage laws. In California, it was Prop 8. In my own state it was Prop 102. There is a controversy concerning the protesters outside a Mormon church. I agree that the protesters have taken the wrong approach to having their voices heard. Threatening and harming people who don't agree with you is never a good solution. In reaction to these acts, I'm hearing argument after argument why "Yes on Prop 8" should be upheld. 1. Allowing gays to marry is not the same as allowing interracial marriage. Why? Because gays have made a choice. Race is not a choice. They were born that way. Ok, so gays weren't born gay. They choose to be attracted to people of the same sex. I would ask those same bigoted far right heterosexuals if they choose to be attracted to members of the opposite sex. Is it something they could change if they had to? I don't think so. 2. Homosexual marriage devalues the sanctity of heterosexual marriage. I will never understand this argument. So because someone else wants to marry the person they love, my marriage means less? To further delve into this issue, anti-gays claim that homosexuals hop in and out of relationships, that they make commitments willy-nilly. That they don't take long term relationships seriously. The divorce rate in the United States is 50%!. That is 50% of heterosexual marriages end in divorce. Perhaps the fact that gay people actually want to get married and commit to each other would help decrease that number. Just a thought. 3. Opposers to gay marriage support "civil unions" they just have a problem with attaching the word "marriage" to their actions. What's the fucking difference? Do heterosexuals have a patent on the word "marriage"? If they want to call it "civil union", why don't we all just call our commitments "civil union". That is essentially what marriage is. There is no difference. They just want to argue over semantics. 4. The far right think that if they "allow" gay marriage, they will be acknowledging that homosexuality exists. Just because you take away someone's right to marry doesn't mean you take away their right to love who they want and to express that love. You cannot sweep it under the rug and hope it goes away. I even hate the term "gay marriage." It's marriage! Any way you cut it. As one of my favorite comedians, Liz Feldman, says, "I had lunch this afternoon, I didn’t have 'gay lunch'. And I parked my car, I didn’t 'gay park' it."