In Dan Fisher's Oklahoma, Free Speech Is Not Permitted

♫ ♪ Oklahoma! Where the corn is as eye as a homophobe’s eye. ♪ ♫

In Oklahoma City, Rachel Irick, the artistic director of Oklahoma City Theatre Company decided to mix things up a bit and have the company perform The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told, a play written by openly gay Paul Rudnick. What’s it about you say? Glad you asked:

A stage manager, headset and prompt book at hand, brings the house lights to half, then dark, and cues the creation of the world. Throughout the play, she's in control of everything. In other words, she's either God, or she thinks she is.

Act One recounts the major episodes of the Old Testament, only with a twist: Instead of Adam and Eve, our lead characters are Adam and Steve, and Jane and Mabel, a lesbian couple with whom they decide to start civilization (procreation proves to be a provocative challenge). Act One covers the Garden of Eden, an ark, a visit with a highly rambunctious Pharaoh and finally even the Nativity. Along the way, Mabel and Adam invent God, but Jane and Steve are skeptical. This brings about the Flood, during which Steve has a brief affair with a rhinoceros and invents infidelity. No longer blissful, Adam and Steve break up only to be reunited as two of the wise men at the Nativity.

Act Two jumps to modern day Manhattan. Adam and Steve are together again, and Steve is HIV positive. It's Christmas Eve, and Jane is nine months pregnant even though she always thought of herself as the butch one. The two women want to marry and want Adam and Steve to join them in the ceremony. A wheelchair-bound, Jewish lesbian Rabbi from cable access TV arrives to officiate. The ceremony is interrupted as Jane gives birth, and Steve confides to Adam that his medication isn't working and that he'll probably not survive much longer. Bound by their long life together, and the miracle of birth they've just witnessed, the two men comfort each other even though they know their remaining time together will be short. She really didn’t think it would create the controversial firestorm that is now surrounding the production.

Sounds interesting, and since it’s written by Rudnick I know it’d be witty and fun and thought-provoking, all the things one would want in a play, unless ….

Dan Fisher, one of those rightwingnuts in Oklahoma, and a member of something called “Patriot Pastors” — which may, or may not, be a terrorist organization ... I kid, like Rudnick — is attempting to stop the play from being performed because he deems it pornographic.

It matters not what anyone else thinks, Dan Fisher thinks what he thinks should matter most. And, sadly, in bassackwards Oklahoma, that might be the case; since his tirade, the theatre company has lost their grant funding from the Oklahoma Arts Council for this show to the tune of $5,000.

No such thing as Free Speech in Dan Fisher’s Oklahoma, unless it’s Dan Fisher doing the talking. But here’s a bit more on Danny Boy; his little group of, ahem, pastors[?] are defying the Federal law that prohibits 501(c)3 organizations — like charities and churches — from engaging in political campaign activities. Another member of “Patriot Pastors” is one Steve Kern, the husband of the notorious homophobe and complete moron, Oklahoma Representative Sally “The Gays Are Worse Than Terrorists” Kern.

Yeah, Oklahoma, where the winds come sweeping down the plains and taking Free Speech with them.

But, and I love a good but  — and take that any which way you like  — the play will be performed and I hope it's a huge hit and I hope people in Oklahoma wake up and realize that they don't need people like Dan Fisher, in politics or the pulpit.

I mean, if you really don't think this play is a good thing, then stay home, no?

source

I Didn't Say It........

Paul Rudnick, playwright, on remaining unmarried after 18 years with his partner despite "feeling the New York nudge:
""Gays are beginning to experience what a lot of long-running straight couples go through. A lot of straight people find marriage dull or a government inroad into their private life. I think marriage should be available to everyone, but I don't think it's right for everyone....I'm a little in the Rachel Maddow camp. I'm 100 percent for the legalization of gay marriage, but I'm not so sure I'll take a sip."


Which is just fine.
We should have the right to be legally married and have our unions recognized.
Or......not.

Alex Morse, the new 22-year-old openly gay mayor of Holyoke, Massachusetts, on a CBS News story that failed to mention he was gay:

"It didn't matter to me. I've always been open and honest about my sexuality. CBS News - I don't think they intentionally left it out...It didn't come up. At the end of the day, voters don't care if I'm gay or straight. We had to overcome questions of my age more than questions of my sexuality. I always thought that I would have to overcome my age more so..."

I may be in the minority here, but what difference does it make if he's gay? Sure, some gay folks can feel proud, and young gay kids might feel less afraid, but at the end of the day he wasn't running for Gay Mayor, he was running for mayor.

Had it have been mentioned, that would have been cool; not mentioning it, says, to me at least, that his sexual orientation should play no role in his politics.

Dylan McDermott, on not being bothered that guys hit on him:
"I’ve never been uncomfortable with sexuality. That goes back to my growing up in New York in the ’70s, which was a very sexual time. I was sort of a club kid, and I’d go to places like the Mudd Club and Max’s Kansas City. Being a part of that whole world, sexuality always seemed very normal to me....Honestly, I’m cool with everyone, and people pick up on that. I’d say, 'I’m not gay, but it’s all good.' It’s kind of like going to Paris when you don’t know the language; some Americans get into trouble over there, but I’m just like, 'Sorry, I don’t speak French.'"


Well, good to know, because if I ever meet Mr. McD, I'm gonna hit on him.
And speak French.

Rick Santorum, on how he should be president because he hates fags more than anyone, well, except god:
"If you want to see the contrast, the contrast is there. I'm a solid conservative who fought for the federal marriage amendment as opposed to Mitt Romney, who issued gay marriage licenses and actually violated the constitution of Massachusetts to institute gay marriage in his state. One of the reasons I do talk about the past is because I have the best record in the field."


You gotta give Frothy credit for standing his ground, shaky as it is, douchenozzle-y as it is.
Plus, isn't it fun to poke him, and watch him get all Frothy? Especially knowing that there isn't a chance in hell that he'll ever be elected president. Of anything.

Mike Gronstal, Iowa state Senate Democratic Majority Leader, reiterating his position on fighting for, and maintaining, marriage equality in Iowa:

"People's rights should not be put to a popular vote.  If I can put, if you can put my rights to a popular vote of the people then I can put your rights to a popular vote of the people and eventually, and eventually--well, we didn’t put slavery to a vote of the people in Iowa, we didn't put the right to go to a school in your neighborhood to a vote of the people of Iowa, we didn't put public accommodations law to a vote of the people in Iowa.  The Supreme Court said certain inalienable rights....when you say the Pledge of Allegiance, one nation under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all, you don't say for all except for gay people, you don't say that.  That is what this is about and you don't put ... you don't put that up to a vote of the people ..."

I think he says it all in that first sentence.

You cannot let The People vote on the rights of 'other' people because, well, one day, those 'other' people might have all the cards and then may want to vote on your rights.

Equality is equal. That's the only way it works.

Newt Gingrich, serial adulterer, on using children to clean schools:

"You say to somebody, you shouldn’t go to work before you’re what, 14, 16 years of age, fine. You’re totally poor. You’re in a school that is failing with a teacher that is failing...Most of these schools ought to get rid of the unionized janitors, have one master janitor and pay local students to take care of the school. The kids would actually do work, they would have cash, they would have pride in the schools, they’d begin the process of rising.”

Seriously.

How mind-fuckingly dumb is this asshat.

So, take all the janitors jobs away in this economy.

Cut jobs so kids can clean schools and, then what?

Become corporate CEO's to rob from the poor and give to the rich.

Typical GOP back-asswards logic.

A Few Funny Words About DADT

"As a gay man, I naturally spend much of my time debating casting issues involving the musical theatre, although, thankfully, I can’t share such thoughts with my unit. Instead, when I spot a potential suicide bomber, I think of him as someone who insists that Tyne Daly was the greatest Mama Rose of all time, even better than Merman. This makes me so enraged, and my aim grows so steady, that I can pick off the bomber with a single well-flung grenade, while shouting to myself,

'Tyne was appealing, but she didn’t have a shred of Angela Lansbury’s esprit, or Patti LuPone’s thwarted fury! Anyone who ranks Tyne over Patti deserves to die! '

It’s called valor.

General McPeak speaks movingly of unit cohesion. He says, 'We know, or ought to, that warriors are inspired by male bonding, by comradeship, by the knowledge that they survive only through relying on each other. To undermine cohesion is to endanger everyone.' To which I say, Sing it, sister. I love male bonding more than anything, and I live for unit cohesion. Just the sound of the words makes me tingle with manly aggression. Whenever I see my unit, or anyone’s unit, all I want to do is cohere. I embrace my unit, with both hands, and I draw it to me, again and again, in a vigorous manly embrace, often until the guy on the top bunk says, 'Roger, calm down. That Vogue is from two months ago.'"

Paul Rudnick, writing as Marine Corporal Roger T, about DADT in the New Yorker.

Go HERE for the full story....it's high-larious.

It's Funny, Cuz It's True

I saw this at The New Yorker and it's just too funny not to share:



Amen, Brother
by Paul Rudnick


What my therapist says is that I am a heterosexual with issues. —Ted Haggard.

Thank you, Ted, and God bless you, Ted’s therapist. My name is Stan Belker, and I’m the pastor here at Our Lady of the Irredeemable Sinner, in Nashville, and, just like Ted, I, too, have struggled with my sexuality and have come out the other side, into the good green pastures of Christian family life.
As a teenager, I found that I was attracted both to serving Our Lord and to Jimmy Wiggins, the assistant coach of my high-school soccer team. I was in torment, and I would pray for hours on end, asking God why He would command me to love Him so deeply and at the same time just go and create Jimmy’s snug little soccer shorts. I told my clergyman, Father Josiah, about my conflicting urges, and he tried to reconcile them by explaining that from certain angles Jesus looks just like Dennis Quaid. Still, I had agonizing doubts: was I just experiencing a completely normal phase of adolescent uncertainty, or were Jimmy Wiggins’s firm, high buttocks really a calling card from Satan?
I became determined to change, to lead a wholly Christian life. In college, I began to date. At first, I took things slow, and I went out with only the most pious, virginal girls, who luckily often had strong, masculine jawlines. I became pre-engaged to Mary Ann Collier, and we’d sit in her sorority’s front parlor reading Scripture together. “I think that St. Francis and St. Michael are my favorite holy men,” Mary Ann said one evening. “You’re right about Francis,” I said. “He’s to die for, but Michael should work on his calf muscles.” “Stan,” Mary Ann asked me, “is there something you’d like to tell me?” “Yes, there is,” I replied gratefully. “I’d just like you to know that, if it weren’t for the teachings of Our Lord, I would very much enjoy having sexual intercourse with you. But, because of our shared beliefs, I’ll just have to make do with my lonely dorm room and this issue of Men’s Fitness, the one with all those great ab routines.”
I was in college when I had my first sexual encounter with a man—Brad Bicknell, a student in my Christian Values seminar. One day, as we stood side by side at the urinals discussing the importance of abstinence, Brad asked me out to dinner. “But just as friends and Christian study buddies,” he assured me. “I have absolutely no intention of allowing our eyes to lock over the bread basket, because that would only lead to the surprisingly roomy back seat of my Toyota Celica, where we’d be forced to grapple with each other’s moist, engorged man areas.”
I’ll be honest; I was curious. I needed to know exactly what sexual activity with another fellow might entail, so I could be ashamed of it. I warned Brad that, while I would be willing to sleep with him as a very small part of my journey to Christian wholeness, I didn’t intend to enjoy the experience. In fact, while we were going at it, I said, “Brad, while what you’re doing feels unbelievably good and just might cause my entire body to explode, it’s nothing compared with what I hope to one day experience with my future wife, if she’s double-jointed.”
But I knew that what Brad and I were doing was wrong, especially after the fifty-eighth time. That was when I told Brad, quite firmly, “Brad, our being together is sinful and will only impede our development as responsible Christian adults. And your mustache tickles.” The very next day, I met Stacy Crothers, the beautiful, adoring, steadfast woman who would become my wife. When I first met Stacy, in the cafeteria, I was smitten with her shy smile, her sparkling conversation, and the family photographs that she proudly took from her wallet, which included several snapshots of her sturdy quarterback brother, Frank, at the beach in a Speedo. “I have a very good feeling about us,” I told Stacy on that very first day.
After a blissfully romantic courtship lasting only twelve years, Stacy and I were married. We had decided to save ourselves for our wedding night, because, as I reminded Stacy over and over, “The first time I make love to a woman, I want it to be sacred and special, and not just mindless, unending pleasure, like sex with a guy.” And I have to say that, in the bedroom, Stacy and I got along like a house afire, especially if that house was willing to respond to the nickname Skipper.
But I’m not perfect. Like any human being, I had the occasional odd desire, the stray thought, the random yearning to, for example, seduce a seventeen-year-old lad after choir practice. Thanks to my years of work with a gifted therapist, I now fully realize that my actions were inappropriate, even though they were listed in boldface on the daily church calendar, as “Nude Prayer,” “Nude Prayer in the Basement,” and “Nude Prayer with Mutual Body Scrub.”
So, yes, I was flawed, but my commitment to my parishioners, my wife, and my family remained my primary focus, until finally I was caught on tape, attempting to buy crystal meth, sexual services, and a plus-size tube top from a male prostitute. Of course, at the time, in my innocence, I didn’t realize that Jack was a drug dealer and a prostitute; I assumed that his offer of drugs and orgies was just an expression of low self-esteem, and his way of telling me, “After we do the crystal and have sex with all these guys, I’d really like to talk about the story of Ruth.” I felt that I was counselling Jack, sometimes for days at a time, in our cheap motel room, where I would always place a full-color photo portrait of my family atop the minibar.
When the truth finally came out, on every news show in the country, at first I was devastated, and I imagined that I would lose everything, including my church, my family, and my ten-per-cent Clergyman’s Discount with Jack. But you know what? When I was being reviled on every front page, when I was hiding from the media in my den, clutching a bottle of bourbon, when I was trying to explain to Stacy that a male prostitute is just like Mary Magdalene in “Jesus Christ Superstar,” that was when I truly felt the presence of my Saviour. That was when I heard the Lord say unto me, “Stan, now you can begin to truly know thyself, and therefore to know God. Stan, now your spiritual journey can really begin. Stan, put down that bottle and that copy of People’s Sexiest Man Alive issue with Hugh Jackman on the cover, because he’s never going to write back.”
And since that day I have lived in the light. My wife and I have spent months in counselling, screaming and sobbing and finally coming back together, over our shared love for Christian living and early Jean-Claude Van Damme films. And I have told my children and my church that Stan Belker isn’t perfect, and he’s never going to be perfect. That Stan Belker is going to try with all his might to lead a clean Christian life, even if every now and then he still has a yen to offer Keanu Reeves a papal blessing in exchange for his underpants.
But those thoughts, those blips, they’re not who I am. Just like Ted Haggard, I can take responsibility for my actions. Because when I saw Ted on “Oprah,” spilling his guts, promoting his HBO special, and staying a good few feet away from his wife on the couch, I thought, Ted, if you can make it, I can make it. Together we can move forward, into the clean bright light of the Christian dawn. Together we can make only the most righteous choices. Together we will become decent Christian adults. Call me.