Don't spend all 20 cents in one place

It seems to me as if we often overestimate the amount we pay in taxes to support any one government program. Politicians are always going on about cutting programs as if they are robbing individual people blind but we really don’t pay that much per person for most budget items.

For example, Mitt Romney said a few weeks ago that he would cut Planned Parenthood. This would probably make people happy if they do not support that organization but I read somewhere that Planned Parenthood makes up something like 0.01 percent of the federal budget. I don’t know how true that figure is but I’m sure this program does not receive billions and billions of our tax dollars. If my math is close to correct (and it may not be), if you pay $2,000 a year in taxes, 20 cents of that would support Planned Parenthood.

People can have reasonable disagreements over funding an organization like Planned Parenthood (which I am only using as an example; there are dozens of programs like that). But is anyone really going to bitch about being deprived of 20 cents?

Of course, 20 cents from every taxpayer is a ton of cash but why do we act like we’re personally bankrolling these federal programs by ourselves? It reminds me of when people are upset by what government officials do and lord it over the people that their tax money is paying for it. “I’m paying your salary,” people say to the arrogant bureaucrat. No, you’re paying 0.01 percent of that salary so maybe that only entitles you to complain about 0.01 percent of what that bureaucrat is doing. You’re not Warren Buffet bankrolling a corporation.

I’m all for the government recognizing the fact that the people give it power and fund it but there’s a fine line between having a legitimate complaint and just being a moaner. (It’s a fine line with which I am personally acquainted.)

This makes me think of the battles the government used to have in the ‘80s when some people wanted to cut funding to the National Endowment of the Arts. People were outraged and didn’t want any of their hard-earned money being spent on smut like Robert Mapplethorpe or Piss Christ. Because the NEA was a $450 billion program that placed an onerous tax burden on Americans. Fine. We’ll cut funding for the arts. Take back that fucking nickel you contributed. Windfall! Maybe if we cut a few more contentious federal programs, you’ll be able to afford a stick of gum.

I understand that people’s consciences won’t let them pay taxes for things their moral sense doesn’t support but it would be unworkable to have a system where we opt out of paying for things we don’t like. This country is too big and the budget is too big for people to have line-item veto power. If we could opt out of paying for taxes due to our beliefs, government services would cease to exist because it’s human nature to try to get out of paying for things. Hell, I’d make up a religion that didn’t believe in funding the National Transportation Safety Board just so I didn’t have to kick in for that. Not that I’m against airport security — I’d just like other people to pay for it.

The way I see it, Quakers have without complaint paid their taxes to support wars to which they conscientiously object so maybe the rest of us could take a lesson and suck it up.

My 'MDNA' Addiction

In case anybody cares, here’s my review of Madonna’s latest album, MDNA. If you don’t care, you might want to check back tomorrow.

For a little while there, I was dubious about a new Madonna album, based on the first two singles. “Give Me All Your Luvin” was cute and I understood why she performed something so upbeat and poppy at the Super Bowl. But I tired of it quickly and realized after a few weeks that I had downloaded a new Madonna song, the first in almost three years, and had stopped listening to it. “Girl Gone Wild” was not encouraging as it sounds like generic ‘90s dance music. I need something more substantive from a new album as I like Madonna better when she’s darker and harder.

I am happy that the early reviews of MDNA were accurate and that there is much better material to be found than the singles (which has been raising a common question of why she released as singles two songs that aren’t that great and don’t represent the album). This is a very strong album featuring what I feel are Madonna's best opposing aspects: Transcendent joy and melancholy vulnerability. In that sense, the music is like the drug allusion in this collection's title: The songs range from ecstasy to the despairing comedown. There are the usual club stompers and escapist fare but there are also enough hints, mostly pertaining to her divorce from Guy Ritchie, that there is a heart of darkness beneath the surface. The strongest, weirdest, most introspective material comes from co-producer William Orbit, whom Madonna noted brings out her “tortured side.”

The party kicks off with “Gang Bang,” probably the most electrifying song Madonna has done in some time, an ominous song with a pounding beat. Sounding like an actress in a film noir, she sings in a sultry voice about murdering her lover. I love some of the lyrics to this one, like “You were building my coffin/ You were driving my hearse” and her whispered repetition of “I need you to die for me, baby.” Things take a left turn when Madonna breaks the tension by screaming “Now drive, bitch! And while you’re at it, die, bitch!” as if auditioning for a Quentin Tarantino movie. The song is a campy, hot mess in a good way. This sounds like nothing else in her catalogue.

As for the transcendent joy side of the equation, we have “I’m Addicted.” It’s a swirling, dizzying sister to “Impressive Instant,” each of them an ode to being so head over heels in love that the room is spinning and everything is moving too fast and your heart is pounding and you can’t get enough. These lyrics are really striking and surreal: “When did your name change from a word to a charm?/ No other sound makes the hair stand up on the back of my arm/ All of the letters push to the front of my mouth/ And saying your name is somewhere between a prayer and a shout/ And I can’t get it out.” “I’m Addicted” deserves to be heard at every gay club in heavy rotation this summer. Best of all, the song is joyful about something, not just mindless partying. My main complaint about Hard Candy was too many songs about dancing for its own sake. The joy became sort of shapeless.

On the lighter side of MDNA are “Turn Up the Radio” and “I’m a Sinner.” The first is a simple but effective plea to blast the music and drive somewhere far away when the world gets you down. It’s corny but that doesn’t mean the sentiment isn’t true. “I’m a Sinner” is just sublime. It has a swirling ‘60s feel as Madonna gleefully cops to her human frailties but concludes that she’s happy in her own skin. It ends with a lighthearted plea as she name checks Jesus, the Virgin Mary and various saints, reminiscent of the rap in “Vogue,” asking the holy men to “catch me before I sin again.” The lilting melody of this song is a breath of fresh air.

There were hints of marital trouble brewing in Hard Candy in 2008 but a few songs on the new album tackle the divorce directly. Madonna was smart not to make too much of this album divorce-centric as that would get cloying. As with the best breakup albums, the split merely informs the mood of the album; it does not dominate. There are catty denunciations such as “You were so mad at me/ Who’s got custody?” in “I Don’t Give A,” self-recrimination in “I Fucked Up” and sad regret in “Best Friend.” The latter two tracks are among the album’s nothing-to-write-home-about bonus tracks. Madonna did the right thing here in making the main album a lean 12 tracks in 50 minutes and leaving the B-side material for another disc. I hate when artists overstuff their albums because they can.

As for the rest of the breakup tracks, “Love Spent” addresses the topic of money in a relationship, comparing affection to currency. These are also some lyrics I find to be raw and effective: “I want you to hold me/ Like you hold your money/ Hold me in your arms/ Until there’s nothing left.” This is the singer at her best, offering an introspective, layered look at part of her life. It's a delicate balance of anger and grief, shifting between emotions in the same verse.


The comedown after the ecstasy, and the album's knockout punch, comes at the last track. “Falling Free” is a “Live to Tell”-level ballad, a haunting song pairing a lush string section with the strongest vocals I’ve heard from Madonna in some time. This song benefits from the co-writing of brother-in-law and respected musician Joe Henry. Their songs together are always magic and I wish they’d do a whole album together. Over a gorgeous melody, she mourns the breakup with Ritchie: “Deep and pure our hearts align/ And then I’m free, I’m free of mine/ When I let loose the need to know/ Then we’re both free, we’re free to go.” On paper, that “we’re both free” might look healing, like a happy ending after the pain, but when you hear it in context, “free to go” is one of the saddest things she’s ever written.

Since the early ‘90s, Madonna’s albums have always closed with a strong final song, either a declaration of defiance or a glimpse past the dance floor anthems into what makes the woman tick, something to move me and leave me wanting more. As I listen to the end of “Falling Free” with tears forming behind my eyes, I just think, “Dammit, Madonna, you got me again.”

Endless Summer

Aren’t you loving this gorgeous weather in March? Temperatures in the 70ºs at this time of year are a real treat. The best part of it is, things will be like this at least until Labor Day, with absolutely no chance of a backslide into more seasonable temperatures.

Not only have we turned off the heat in our house for the season, we have started pumping the central air at full blast. There’s no real reason not to do so because I assume we’ve had our last chilly morning for the next six months. Along the same lines, I planted my flowers in the first week of March because I just can’t visualize any frost anymore, what with this beautiful weather.

Those unused snow shovels? Gone. I melted them down into beach chairs. The fact that we had a mild winter is, I can only assume, a sign that winter is permanently over with. We’ll probably get just as little snow next year. And snow in April is absolutely unheard of so there’s no chance we’ll get one last shot of winter. No chance at all.

My summer wardrobe is what I will wear for the next few months. I have been wearing tanktops to work all week. I threw my winter clothes in the trash. We won’t be needing any long sleeves for a long, long time so there was no point in hanging onto them. I got rid of my coats, too. I just threw everything out in a Dumpster since the permanent warmth of this climate means nobody else will need those bulky sweaters, either, so there was no point in giving them to the less fortunate. Well, I guess there’s a small chance that we might get a chilly night at some point but if that happens, I’ll just buy new clothes or wear several layers of T-shirts and shorts.

Am I arrogant? No, I just am putting all my money on the fact that this early spring/summer weather is going to be sticking around for at least the next six months. History has taught us that once it warms up earlier than normal in March, April stays just as beautiful. Temperatures don’t go up and down like the stock market; they rise further and further as the season continues.

Well, we’re off to the beach tomorrow. I can only assume that the recent unseasonable warmth has raised the ocean temperature to 70º or thereabouts so we’ll be frolicking in the water for a few hours and working on our tans. Endless summer, here we come!

I had the most recurring dream

I dreamed that Steve and I had to move out of our house and back into my first apartment. If you remember that apartment, this would cause a problem in reality, as it was tiny. The bedroom was so small that it would only fit a twin bed as the door would not open with a bigger bed. Two people would probably drive each other nuts in that space. When we moved back, the apartment had the same amount of possessions that it had when I lived there but there were some differences. The TV was different and there were shelves holding piles of paper. There was a staircase in the apartment but we couldn't go upstairs because that's where the neighbors lived. I told Steve I would show him the creepy Blair Witch basement I used to have.

This dream makes me think of how many possessions I carried over from my first apartment. It's basically my bedroom set, a bookshelf, the entertainment center and a few other small things. I didn't have a lot back then and I've since added an amazing amount of furniture and stuff to fill our house.

This is a recurring dream that I have constantly: We have to leave our house and move back to one of my old apartments. Sometimes the apartments will be different but in the dream, I always recognize them as places I once lived. I'm usually kind of upset in the dream because I like our neighborhood and don't want to move. There's never a reason why we have to move. Maybe we've had an economic catastrophe and get foreclosed. That's a harsh reality for many but what are the chances that we could move back into the same apartment I once had?

I constantly have this dream of having to move. I don't know what it means but it's been happening more lately. Maybe it's because I've been thinking more about what the dream means so it's working further into my subconscious. The only other recurring dream I've had through the years is that I'm trying to call Steve and I keep dialing the wrong number and have to start over.

I don't know why but my sleep has been wall-to-wall dreams lately and it's keeping me from getting a good night's sleep as I wake up constantly. Having a lot of dreams that I remember probably means my brain is working properly but I would rather have that deep sleep and have the visions leave me alone for a few nights.

I'm tired of hearing about bacon

I just am tired of reading articles and online comments about how amazing bacon is. I’m tired of recipes that involve combining something odd with bacon. I’m just sick of hearing about it. I get it: Bacon: Woo hoo.

The study last week that said too much red meat and processed meat was harmful for you made me realize that I rarely eat bacon. I’ll eat it for breakfast on vacation and on special occasions, like Christmas and my birthday. Sometimes it might be in the food I eat when we go out to dinner (which is infrequent). But I would never just buy a pound of bacon and plow through it. When I do get bacon, I have to divvy it into portions and freeze it or it would go bad because I don’t eat it much. People seem to like my bacon wraps at parties but I hope nobody thinks I eat like that at home on a regular basis. I could live without bacon.

So with all the online distress about too many servings of bacon being bad for you and people screaming “You can pry my bacon from my cold, dead hands,” I’m unfazed because I just don’t eat it much. I’m pretty much in the clear for the rest of the results of that study. I only eat red meat a few times a month. Sometimes I’ll go a week without eating red meat and the study said something about three or more servings a week being dangerous so I think I’m OK.

There have been studies that say processed meat is bad for you but that’s not much of a problem for me. I will eat sausage a few times a month and the odd pepperoni on crackers at parties or wherever but that’s basically it. I really don’t like lunchmeat and will only eat it if there’s no other option (I am that odd person who does not care for hoagies). Hot dogs are disgusting to me — like, disgusting. I was that kid in school who would bring his own lunch on hot dog day and I still remember on The Simpsons when the bird, the shoe and the worm congealed into a hot dog. I like scrapple but have it like once every three years because it’s just not realistic to make it a staple in your diet.

Still, once in awhile, I indulge in some pure crap. I went to Wendy’s a few weeks ago for lunch because I was working from home and there was nothing good in the house and I wanted something cheap. I had a bacon burger and it was delicious (once I scraped off the ketchup). It’s very rare for me to eat fast food so I’m not getting the red meats there. (Incidentally, I was upstairs the other night and heard Steve scream in horror at the TV because of the Burger King St. Patrick’s Day food, which was fries with green ketchup. The thought of ketchup is enough to put me off food but green ketchup? Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t see the commercial.)

What I do eat is a shit-ton of chicken. Let’s just hope there is never a study saying chicken is unhealthy or I will be forced to re-evaluate my life.

Michael Seaver vs. Carol Seaver for the Soul of Gay America

I am exhausted. The circles under my eyes are as dark as sin. I am disoriented and feel as if I’m walking through plastic wrap.

The reason for this is that I have spent many sleepless nights recently worrying about what Kirk Cameron thinks of me and my gay relationship.

Kirk Cameron’s opinion in this matter is very valuable to me and so I was devastated to learn that he is opposed to gay marriage and finds the gays to be destructive to the foundations of civilization. When I heard this, I wept and when the sunlight caught my tears, they made little rainbow prisms. And I hated myself for that.

I took a long, hard look in the mirror after that. Is Kirk right? Does my very existence destabilize the bedrock upon which society is built? When Steve and I marry, will our union be just another sign of mankind descending into total chaos and sin?

Maybe Steve and I should have a long talk about our future. I had thought the fact that we are two people in love who want to spend the rest of our lives together would be a sufficient argument in favor of our marriage but the opinion of Kirk Cameron carries a lot of weight and just washes away many of the arguments I could make. I just don’t know if I can go on without the approval of the star of Growing Pains. His rejection wounds me like a score of arrows wounded St. Sebastian.

The opinions of celebrities on social and political issues are very important to me, particularly the opinions of ‘80s sitcom stars. Does Tina Yothers support healthcare reform? What does Rick Schroeder think of Iran’s nuclear program? Is Tiffany Brissette in favor of the Virginia ultrasound law? I wait with bated breath to get their insights because they shape my opinions.

All over the country, gays and lesbians are standing in front of full-length mirrors and asking, “Is TV’s Mike Seaver right?” I don’t know, guys. Maybe it would be best for the country if I entered into a passionless marriage with a woman. We would both end up miserable and possibly screw up our kids but society at large would be safe. And Kirk Cameron would breathe easier.

But wait … suddenly I find reassurance. Cameron’s co-star, Tracey Gold, has weighed in supporting gay people. This validates me more than any logical or emotional argument in favor of the gay community ever could. I will cancel that ominous chat with Steve and continue picking out china patterns.

And so, as one Growing Pains star threatened to derail all I hold dear, another Growing Pains star has upheld my principles. Circle of life, my friends. Circle of life.

Angie's Right Leg and other matters of national importance

I thought Angelina Jolie flashing her right leg at the Oscars was funny because you could tell she was in on her own joke. Even from the still photos, she’s smiling and almost winking. I heard the photographers kept asking her to flash her leg through the slit in her dress and I guess she just thought the whole thing was ridiculous so she played it up. (I was also entertained by Jim Rash imitating Angie’s pose when he collected his Oscar.)

The reason that “meme” entertains me is because it was intentional. I’m less amused by these poses people strike unintentionally that are supposed to become a “thing.” When he lost the Super Bowl, Golden Boy Tom Brady was slumped on the field with his feet straight out in a Pieta of anguish. The next day, I saw on CNN that people were imitating his slump in something called “Bradying.” Christ, who gives a shit? I was over this whole phenomenon after glancing at the photo online for 2.3 seconds. Luckily, Bradying doesn’t seem to have caught on.

Bradying is, of course, the sequel to Tebowing, in which massive amounts of Americans genuflect in a prayerful moment to emulate Tim Tebow’s post-touchdown ritual. Because Tebow started that whole thing. It’s not like Christians have been praying that way for centuries.

Some of these poses that people assume are just asinine beyond words. I do not understand planking, where we’re all supposed to lie prone in unexpected areas and someone takes a picture. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. I just can’t imagine anything more uninteresting than doing this or watching people doing it. If I actually did plank, I would have a moment of clarity, take a look in the mirror and re-evaluate my entire existence. It would just seem so empty.

I don’t care for this new “breading” thing the kids are doing. This is where you cut a whole in the middle of a piece of bread and stick your pet’s head in the hole. I’m sorry; I’m not a drunk frat boy, so no. First, it’s a waste of food. Second, I’m uncomfortable when people do “cutesy” things to pets like this. It’s not quite abusive, I guess, but just … exploitative? This would not fly with our cats. With a piece of bread around her neck, Cerys would tear around like a Tasmanian Devil and Jarvis sometimes has very human expressions so I could see him turning his big green eyes on me with an expression of “Why, daddy?”

I breathlessly await the next pose people will strike. Maybe we’ll sit on everything like it’s a bench and we’ll call it “benching.” Or we can put our hands on our hips and call it “akimboing.” Just something highly clever like that so the smart set can entertain itself for hours.