For Frying Out Loud (3 page)

March 2007

MOON OVER THE MILITARY, OR NAKED GUN, TOO

With an intolerant, bigoted boss like Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Peter Pace, why would a gay person even
want
a military career?

But gay people do. They want to serve their country and get an education. They are willing to slog through a hideous political blunder like Iraq, risking their lives, to do it.

And General Pace says they are not worthy of offering that sacrifice. It's a savage insult to gay citizens everywhere and some people are applauding him for it.

His reasoning isn't even as sly as the usual rant against gays in the military. The prevailing idiocy allows that gays would disrupt morale and discipline. In other words, gay people shouldn't be allowed to serve because straight people are scared of them. It's a sad and frequently offered argument.

But no, General Pace doesn't hide behind the
morale
issue. He deletes an “e” and declares it to be a
moral
issue. To his closed mind gays are not moral, therefore they should not serve.

I think he's hideously wrong of course, but in America he's entitled to his opinion. But since he's representing the entire U.S. military, I think he should be fired faster than a speeding Baghdad bullet. That's
my
exercise of free speech. It's indefensible that he wants his personal beliefs to govern public policy. Last time I checked we weren't a theocracy yet.

But at least General Pace is honest.

Bigots who hide behind the troop morale pretext make me gag. These people envision gay men who would choose military careers wearing nipple rings with their uniforms, soliciting in the showers and threatening the dignity of heterosexuals as they lie in their barracks beds. You just know that's what they conjure in their tiny intolerant brains.

Indulge me, but do you know any nudists? I do. At least I've heard that some people I know are nudists (or naturists as they prefer to be called). Since I'm not a naturist myself (I hear you breathing that sigh of relief) the world of naturism is foreign to me. Even a little off-putting, if you will, because I know nothing about it and it raises thoughts of a great big social taboo. Fine. While I'd be uncomfortable at a party with naturists behaving like naturists while I try to avert my eyeballs, I have no problem with naturists who are dressed in public. What they do behind closed doors or on secluded beaches is their business.

But if the aforementioned naturists worked at CAMP Rehoboth (they don't, so stop fantasizing) or in a corporate setting where they valued their careers, would they strip down and show me Trafalgar Square by the water cooler? Would they attend staff meetings in the nude? Not only wouldn't they do it, but where would they stash their Blackberrys?

Let's ask ourselves if America would put up with a public policy stating that naturists are barred from military service or corporate careers because they behave in an immoral manner in private? Sadly, now that I've brought the subject up, under the current political administration, they just might. But it would be unforgivably stupid, insulting, and a complete waste of talented people who would show up to work in clothing, even on casual Friday.

Okay, you can pick at this analogy, but in a hate-the-sin, love-the-sinner scenario, it's just as disturbing to bar gay people from the military when they are not having sex as it is to bar nudist people from the military when they are not butt naked.

Yes, I know,
practicing
nudity is a choice and
practicing
homosexuality is how we are born (besides, we don't need practice, we are good at it). And yes, I know that being a nudist is a choice and being a homosexual is not. But face it, if we apply the ridiculous hate-the-sinner standard to both, nudists and gays would be suspect for what they DO, not who they are.

I think it's ridiculous to bar homosexuals and nudists from the work place even when they are not practicing, in public, for
all the world to ogle, the act that labels them homosexuals or nudists in the first place.

Ooh, here's another imperfect but illustrative analogy of naked is as naked does. While I may not be a nudist (sorry to remind you of that image again), I do have a tattoo. A small one, on my ankle. But years ago I knew a fellow who went into a tattoo frenzy in college. By the time I met him, he was reconciled to wearing long sleeves, even on sweltering days, just to look appropriate at client meetings. He may have been a proud tattoo owner on Friday evening, but during the work week he wore his corporate drag.

Would a person who wants to show off, all the time, tattooed arms, legs, and cheeks in both possible locations want to work in a place where everybody else covers up with Armani? I think not. Likewise it would be pretty brainless for a nudist to expect to be able to show up in the Board room without his pants.

So too, even pea-brained bigots have to realize that a gay man who wants to succeed in the military would not jeopardize his career by wearing a feather boa with fatigues or a tank top saying “You Go Girl” while he's in a tank.

I'm using the boys as an example here because we all know that the military would collapse without its lesbians. But the women who value keeping their jobs will behave correctly as well.

I say we judge everybody by the same behavior standard. There are disciplined gays and lesbians, nudists, and tattooed ladies and gentlemen along with the requisite few misbehaving naturists, tattooees, straight people and homos.

Let everyone who wants to serve do so. After that, go to town making sure everybody behaves appropriately for the military. What's so hard about that?

I'm so furious, that this tattooed gay gal wants to strip and moon the military, starting with General Peter Pace. Close your eyes, sir, I'm not kidding.

April 2007

YOU
CAN
GO HOME AGAIN BUT YOU CAN'T STAY VERY LONG…

When I moved to Rehoboth full-time eight years ago, I thought I'd constantly be doing a reverse commute for Washington, D.C. weekends. How could I live without Thai food, theatres, museums, or national politics? I envisioned frequent caravans for culture.

Hasn't happened.

The Rehoboth I moved to already
had
gourmet restaurants, and more ethnicity soon followed. Rehoboth had live theatre and more has developed; many of our friends were already weekenders, with an astonishing number having made the move full time. And frankly, knowing that most people make their closest friendships early in life, I never dreamed I'd meet so many people and enlarge my circle of friendships so meaningfully here in Sussex County.

Oh, and the Rehoboth Museum is on the cusp of opening. It's not the Smithsonian, but it's ours.

Not feeling the pull to go West, as the Village People might sing, it's been a rare trip back to civilization.

Bonnie and I (and the dogs) made the drive to Maryland on a recent Friday to stay with friends, see
The Heidi Chronicles
at Arena Stage and enjoy D.C. in the spring.

Upon our arrival we walked the dogs through lush mounds of fallen Cherry Tree petals, and gazed with wonder at all the old-growth landscaping, bursting with bright red and pink azalea blossoms, Dogwood blooms and those ubiquitous and almost-but-not-quite-finished-blooming Cherry Trees.

On a driving tour we were gape jawed at Bethesda and Silver Spring, once sleepy diner-dotted suburbs, now morphed into towering urban metropoli. Asian fusion food, gobs of galleries, and behemoth Barnes & Nobles punctuated the cityscape.

Blues skies and a sunny day accompanied our winding drive down Rock Creek Parkway toward the D.C. waterfront, all the while passing the well-known architectural edifices devoted to our nation's history. Adjacent was the sparkling Potomac River, people in paddle boats and city streets bursting with activity.

I'm loathe to admit that I suffered a momentary pang – was it regret? – for leaving all this behind and running off to the Delaware beaches. Dare I say it? Had I erred? Could small town Rehoboth ever compete with
this
?

The Capitol Dome loomed, bright white against a perfectly blue sky, looking glorious in the humidity-free air. This was a perfect 10 for a Washington, D.C. day.

But Lo! What were all those clunky concrete barricades and big black fences? And Military Police with weapons? My God, the place was practically shouting “Code Orange!” for Homeland Security and our government buildings were cowering inside their own terrorist-proofed Green Zone. Security-blocked roads made navigation dicey on the way to the Maine Avenue seafood district. As the car whipped from Southeast to Northeast, around this circle and that, I started to long for my one tiny Rehoboth Avenue traffic circle, with its one bicycle cop in shorts and no AK47.

On-street parking eluded us so we entered an underground bunker offering $5 for the first hour and your 401K for the rest. The shiny quarters reserved for the Rehoboth meters were useless here; credit cards with increased limits encouraged.

Upstairs, the famed waterside seafood restaurant sprawled from dining room to dining room, with no less than five massive buffet stations offering deep fried, steamed, broiled, and sauced seafood, fried chicken, jambalaya, chowder, a beef carving station, copious salads, butter-drenched corn, mountains of caloric desserts and an entire buffet table devoted to breakfast blintzes, burritos, pancakes, and hominy grits.

The bounty could bring weight watchers to their knees, but it was all astoundingly mediocre – a word not associated with
Rehoboth eateries. Besides, for $25 per person at home we can have breakfast or lunch anywhere in town, stroll the boardwalk for a funnel cake dessert, buy a t-shirt, and still not top twenty five bucks a head.

In the interest of full disclosure, the matinee was pretty good. You can't beat the production values money can buy. But truthfully, although the cast had wonderful resumes, some of the shows I've seen at the beach have had more heart. That surprised me.

Heading out of the fortified Green Zone and the atmosphere of Martial Law, back to the slightly smaller city of Bethesda, we got tangled in traffic. Passing the tony Chevy Chase Metro I was astounded and saddened to see a homeless woman living in her own Green Zone of cardboard boxes right there at the station. Welcome to the big city.

Driving along Maryland and Virginia highways and past mature neighborhoods put my local concerns for overdevelopment in perspective. Maryland and Virginia are full, completely used up, every inch developed, like a Monopoly board. I realize that we've cultivated a huge crop of townhouses recently, but lucky for us we still have our chicken coops, rural roads and undeveloped waterfront. At least for now.

And Washington, D.C. doesn't have the Apple-Scrapple celebration and the amazing Delmarva Chicken Festival. Yes, I am claiming them as mine.

As for the Maryland Monopoly suburbs, every time we passed GO, in the shops or on the highways, it was time to pay $200 in sales tax and highway tolls – another reason to appreciate tax-free Rehoboth.

Sunday night. The pups had it with the leash thing and longed for their fenced backyard with its doggie door. I'd had enough of the traffic and hassles. On the city-bound lanes coming back from the beach, vehicles crept bumper to bumper with weekenders returning from the shore. On our side, it was clear sailing toward home.

Now I'm not saying that the lone Cherry Tree starting to
blossom on our lawn can hold a candle to Washington's Tidal Basin display, or the dwarf azaleas getting ready to bloom are worthy of a garden tour, but it's home sweet home to me. Without the armed guards or Homeland Security codes, thank you. Home. Land. Security. Ahhhhhh.