It's Rotten, Throw It Away

I took a food safety class when I was going to Utah State. It ruined me forever. All the talk of pathogens and food poisoning turned me into the food police. Since then I eye every potato salad suspiciously. When camping, I have this urge to do a thorough background check on every food item to ensure proper refrigeration was practiced at all times.

Craig, on the other hand, does not share my paranoia. Expired milk, no problem. Three month old lunch meat, it's fine. In fact, with a sniff and a shrug almost anything in the fridge is fair game.

I can't tell you how many times I've looked on in horror as he downs some too-old leftovers or slurps a past-its-prime Yoplait.

I remember an Asian roommate in college used to leave his raw hamburger out on the counter for days. Once its edges turned a pale shade of green it was ready. He cooked it up and had a feast.

I guess some people build up a resistance to the rotten food. I can't help but prefer the un-rotten kind.

Sometimes when Craig isn't home I'll look through the fridge and throw away anything that seems iffy. Just doing my best to keep our home vomit-free.

Now if you'll excuse me, Craig just went to bed and I need to see what's in that tupperware behind the ketchup.

Gay and Mormon?

Jorge from Spain left me a comment asking me if it is possible to be gay and Mormon. It's a good question, one that probably gets asked frequently by members of the Mormon church who are struggling with their sexual orientation.

Just to clarify, I was raised Mormon and all of my family members are Mormon but I don't identify as being Mormon now. I'll talk more about this in a minute.

Though the issue is complex, I think the answer to Jorge's basic question is no, the Mormon church does not allow gay men or women to be members.

The church membership is approaching 12 million. If we estimate half are men and 10% of them are gay that leaves us with 600,000 gay Mormon men. Now don't get all bent out of shape if you don't agree with those numbers. I'm just trying to make a point that there are more than just a few Mormons that are gay, think they might be gay, or are just confused in general about the whole thing.

My personal experience and numerous friends in this situation give me (I believe) some credible insight into the situation.

Keep in mind someone raised in the Mormon church will have deeply held beliefs and convictions. I understand this will be the case with many other religions as well but I will stick to what I know. These beliefs are instilled from birth and include a very defined set of rules and responsibilities. Mormons believe this life is a "test" that will determine what reward they will receive after they have completed this earth life.

You can imagine the conflict present in an individual who is Mormon but is attracted to members of their same gender. Church doctrine teaches that acting on these "feelings" will compromise their eternal happiness, separate them from their families in the afterlife, etc.

So, what is one to do? Here are a few reactions that I have experienced or encountered:

1. Ignore the feelings. Consider it a phase. Wait to grow out of it.


2. Experiment, but still consider it a phase. Probably experience feelings of guilt. May talk to a church leader, confess, ask for help, etc.


3. Read books on the subject. Go to counseling. Join Evergreen (http://www.evergreeninternational.org/)


4. Live a double life. Date guys on Saturday night, then go to church on Sunday.


5. Ignore the feelings. Get married, have a family.


6. Stay active in the church. Never act on the feelings. Stay single and celibate.


7. Leave the church. Wait for the church to change its position.


8. Leave the church.

Obviously there could be many others but I feel this is a good representation. I don't presume to make any judgements about the paths others may take. I hope people will make choices that allow them the happiest and most fulfilling life.

I know personally I reached a point where I refused to believe that my life was supposed to be one of loneliness and despair. I remember clearly the day I looked in the mirror and said, "Yeah...I'm gay." 8 or 9 months later I met Craig and now 6 years later I am content as can be.

As for my feelings toward the church, I suppose I view the Mormon church with the same feeling of uncertainty that I view any church, but also with the same respect I have for any church that promotes good.

So there you have it. My two-cents on a subject that probably should fill volumes. Go forth and be gay...or not.

...And I'm a Little Bit Rock 'n' Roll

Remember the Osmonds? Donny, Marie, Jimmy, uh....Lance? Justin? Whatever.

Saturday Craig and I went to a pioneer commemoration concert featuring the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Osmonds. It was one of the strangest things my bluish eyes have ever seen, but oddly enjoyable.

The nine siblings sang mostly their hits from the 1970's. The program alternated back and forth between the choir and the Osmonds, each performing a set of songs. It was a bit of an odd combination-pioneer songs by the choir, then rowdy 70's songs.

It was strange to see see the Conference Center transform into a rock concert venue, complete with flashing lights and spinning love flower lights. I couldn't help but notice a few nervous Mormons, their eyes darting around unsure just how blasphemous this whole event was. But hey, it's the Osmonds.

The 21,000-seat Conference Center was full both nights of the event. I'm not sure just how many Osmonds there are these days but it did seem at least half of our audience had brown hair and big teeth.

Donny and Marie look surprisingly good for being 82-years-old. I suppose we (and by "we" I mean "I") can poke fun at the Osmond family all we/I want but they have been making music for 50 years and it would be hard to find someone who hasn't heard of them.

We encountered a lady in line before the concert who I suppose was Donny's "biggest fan." She was probably 50ish years old but acted like an excited teenager. I think she arrived at 6 a.m. to be first in line but unfortunately lined up at the wrong door. We had to listen to her gripe for 15 minutes after she took her place in the correct line behind us. "It's just not fair. They told me that was the line....not fair, not fair."

Once the line started moving she kept inching forward to the point she and Craig became one. Once through security she ran (and I do mean ran) for a seat. I saw her waving and crying throughout the whole concert. I did think it inappropriate when she threw her panties at Donny. Marie shot her an evil look and plucked the Plus-size Firm Control Cotton Underwear off Donny's shoulder.

We did have a good time watching the concert. Here is a picture I took.

Give Me That Taffy...or Die!

Yesterday was Pioneer Day in Utah. Craig and I donned our bonnets and pulled the wheelbarrow around the backyard. But after about 2 minutes it got too hot so we went back inside and ate cheese.

Luckily those pioneers did their thing before this whole global warming business. It is far too hot now for plain crossing.

We did watch a bit of the big parade on TV. It reminded me of the good old days when they used to throw candy from the floats. The scantily-dressed pageant queen would reach into her bag and throw a large handful of salt water taffy at the crowd of desperate children, hitting them in the eyes and backs of heads. Then the snatching and grabbing would begin. Even the piece plucked from the slimy brownish gutter water was a prize. Then the children started getting squished by floats and stepped on by horses and the candy throwing was banned. Sad how just a few unobservant children can ruin the fun for everyone.

Of course last night the neighbors had another Fireworks Spectacular. They do love their gunpowder.

Tonight we go see Iron Man with Mike and Julie. Hopefully it is much better than the Not So Incredible Hulk.

That is all for now. Happy day after Pioneer Day.

Rainy Tuesday

Josh came over last night to hang out with us. Max was really glad to see him. He really likes Josh though Josh's allergies don't love Max. I've always thought Max seems to be partial to the homosexuals.

I found out that Josh and Craig have something in common....a love of the cape. Here is my photo of the day.

He was like a different person when he stepped into that cape.

"Josh, would you like some ice cream?"

"Josh?"

"Um, Josh?"

"Oh, errr....Batman?"

"Yes please, vanilla with some chocolate syrup."

Also, yesterday we had one of those summer storms that I love so. It rained and hailed like a mother.

It was grand!

Quirks of the Beehive State

We need to talk about something very disturbing. If you live in Utah you have probably come across it yourself. I'm talking about LDS fictional literature.

Sometime after the Da Vinci Code came out some ambitious Mormon writer released The Moroni Code. Now the name alone made me snicker, but just now I went to deseretbook.com and found a description of The Moroni Code. Here it is:

"When FBI agent David Hunter is assigned to decipher the mysterious code on a letter from Joseph Smith, everything goes wrong. The code is much harder to break than he'd imagined, complicated by the fact that someone has been stealing documents from the Church's Historical Department. And always in the back of his mind is his overwhelming need to translate an even stranger document: his grandfather's authentic copy of characters from the golden plates--a fading slip of paper he jokingly calls the Moroni Code. But it's no joke. If he can work out the translation, it will mean Joseph Smith really was a prophet--and he can finally make sense of his own heritage, his own life. But first, he has to protect the Church--and time is running out. "

Oh dear. I...I...uh....don't even know what to say.

What's next? Brother Anderson and the Elder's Quorum foil a plan to assassinate the President of the United States? The 27th Ward Relief Society stops a meteor from slamming into the earth? "Come on sisters, put down your needlepoint. We have a special calling."

Stop the madness!

Going to See Blanche

Saturday we laced up our hiking boots and headed to Lake Blanche. It was a 6-mile trek in all which at certain times left us panting like dogs. Craig's brother Brent wins the prize for being in the best shape.

Here is Brent scoping out the scenery.



I wish all three of us were in the picture but Craig was off spinning around in the meadow singing "The hills are alive....." and I was sprawled on the rock sucking in the thin air.

It was a beautiful hike. One nice thing about Salt Lake City is you can hop in your car and be in the wilderness in 20 minutes.

One more picture.

Friends of MS...Not So Friendly

Whatever happened to that "Do Not Call Registry?" Apparently the Friends of MS (Multiple Sclerosis) did not get a copy. They call our house daily, sometimes multiple (sclerosis) times.

Do they know that Craig and I both have sisters that have been diagnosed with MS? Does that put us on a special "Call Frequently Registry?"

Several years ago I actually answered the call and agreed to go through my clothes and donate the ones I don't wear. I was supposed to place them on the front porch on a certain day and they would come get them. Well, I kinda forgot. My goodness...the angry calls that followed.

I'm not exactly sure how my old too-tight jeans will cure MS. Perhaps Craig and I will go through our closets and give all our ill-fitting clothing directly to our sisters. Seems to make perfect sense to me.

Meanwhile I will keep a vigilant eye on the Caller ID and not answer any calls from the "Friends."

In fact, the phone is ringing right now. Blasted! "Pals of Prostate Cancer."

A Conversation with Max

This morning Max & I were talking about how elusive happiness can be. He was explaining how he would be happy if only he could go outside, or hang out on the counter, or scratch the couch, or lay on the clean laundry.

Finally I got him to admit that happiness was a choice. Sure he could go outside and feel very happy for a while. But then he'd get bored or hungry and before he knew it he'd be happy only if he could come back inside. I told him it really was within his power to choose to be happy in his current situation, whatever it may be.

We went on to talk about how he reacts to things that happen that are beyond his control. Sometimes he needs to have his nails clipped. There is a split second after that first clip when he can choose to get angry and meow loudly in protest. Or, he can lie quietly and enjoy his little kitty pedicure.

Sure he argued at first, but finally he agreed that he enjoys feeling happy rather than angry or depressed or sad. So he's going to work on how he reacts to things. He's going to have a more positive outlook on life. He's going to enjoy the current moment, whatever he may be doing.

I told him I was proud of him for being so open and honest. He licked his bum and went to sleep.

The L Word

My family is not an "I love you" sort of family. Not that we don't love each other, we just reserve those 3 words for rare and special occasions. That is the way we were raised and I'm sure the way my parents were raised.

Craig, on the other hand, is from an "ILY" family. They tell each other frequently. Hardly a farewell or a telephone call goes by without an "I love you."

Needless to say, Craig and I are continuing our family traditions. He says the words freely, I don't. I force them out at a wedding or funeral, he says them to the Wal-Mart checker and the FedEx guy.

I'm not sure if either is good or bad. I would hope my infrequent use doesn't get interpreted in the wrong way. I also wonder if too frequent can make the phrase commonplace with less meaning.

I do know that each night before we go to sleep, Craig says "I love you" and I reply with something between a grunt and a coherent "I love you too" (depending on how far gone I am.)

So, if I've never told you that I love you, there could be 2 reasons. 1. I don't love you, and I curse the ground you walk on. 2. I do love you but my mouth just won't spit it out.

If the 2nd option applies, hopefully I show my love in other ways.

That concludes my message of the day.

With all my l...lo....(oh whatever),
Dave

Our Padre, Who Art in Heaven

Yesterday we blasted down from Wyoming so we could attend the Spanish mass at the Cathedral of the Madeleine. The choir from the Summer Choral Institute was singing for the service and we wanted to hear them.

As we sat amongst the Latinos, I couldn't help but notice how noisy the children in the congregation were. I wanted to share with the people the old Mormon trick...take an el tupperwario full of la Cheerios-ios and shove them in the childrens' mouth-ios to keep them quiet-o.

But then I remembered that old trick doesn't work so well. You pretty much just get noisy children AND crushed oats all over the floor.

A few things I enjoyed about the experience:

1. The choir sounded amazing.
2. The building was packed.
3. The cathedral is beautiful.
4. The organist was rowdy.
5. Applause during the service.

Those Catholics really know how to build a church. Now if they could only do a little less standing and sitting, standing and sitting. The more devout you are, the firmer your buttocks.

Good night.

The River Wild

Last Thursday morning Craig and I packed up the car and headed to Wyoming for my family's annual summer get-together. We stayed in some cabins in Bedford, WY which is about 60 miles south of Jackson.

We canoed, hiked, rode four wheelers, rafted down the Snake River. As we were riding the four wheelers to the top of the mountain, I couldn't help but think how manly and testosterone-filled this whole event was. What was next? Hooters for some wings and a gawk? Perhaps I was starting to turn a bit "straight." But then a horsefly bit me and I screamed like a girl. And then when I went to scratch my freshly bitten ankle, I couldn't help but notice how dry the skin on my legs was. Surely there is some lotion on this four wheeler somewhere.....It was then I realized everything was right with the universe.

Here is Craig in the Canoe.

And here is triumphant Craig after conquering the mountain.

And here is a short video of us maneuvering one of the bigger rapids on the Snake River.



The river was a bit chilly and the air was a bit nippy but overall it was a blast.

It was a very fun weekend. I loved it!

Lord (Nelson) of the Rings

Last night we attended the 2nd read-through session of the Summer Choral Institute. Haydn's Lord Nelson Mass was the selected piece. Who is this Nelson and why does he gets a mass?

Anyway, I went in with lower expectations of myself this time and had a much better time. There were only a few times when I sang my own "special" part.

The text was in Latin so I struggled a bit with some of the pronunciation. Of course the word "homo" kept showing up and I snickered each time.

I always have a good time watching the other singers. The sopranos with their shiny lip gloss and air of superiority purse their lips and look disapprovingly at the frumpy altos. The tenors with their throat-warming scarfs and neatly parted hair look at the basses and shake their heads...after all, the lower you sing the dumber you are.

The refreshments were one of my favorite parts of the night. It was this odd mix of grapes, Cheez-Its, carrot sticks, trail mix, and mini Peppermint Patties. I saw Sister Woodruf (2nd Soprano) pacing around nervously, her shifty eyes searching for the proper refreshments-punch and cookies.

Last session the refreshment table had a giant bowl of delicious-looking chocolate covered pretzels. Of course, at break time all the altos ran to the table and devoured the whole bowl. By the time I got there there was nothing but a chocolate smear on the table cloth. Altos are hungry.

Now, that comment I made earlier about the tenors obviously does not apply to Craig. (Craig, please don't beat me again, even though you say it's for my own good.)

That is all.

What if?

What if I had stuck with piano lessons?

What if I had a better relationship with my mom growing up?

What if I had chosen choir instead of band in high school?

What if I had "come out" to myself earlier in life?

What if I hadn't climbed on that roof to get the frisbee and didn' t fall off and break my arms?

What if I hadn't logged on to gay.com and chatted with Craig that first time?

What if I had decided to stay in California and not move back to Utah?


The answer is:

If all those things hadn't happened exactly as they did, I would not be exactly where I am today, and that would be a shame.

Love Thy Neighbor

Craig and I have lived in our house for 4 years and 2 months. You'd think by now we would know our neighbors, but we really don't.

I'm a bit of an introvert so I'm not one to bake cookies for the neighbors or borrow a cup of sugar. A few years ago the Asian guy across the street asked us to help him carry a piano into his house. I'm glad he asked us because we were happy to help. But, since then we've hardly even said "herro."

Oh, don't get your kimonos in a bunch. I'm just having a little blog fun.

Anyway, once the neighbor boy (maybe 6 or 7 years old) said something to us like "my dad said you two shouldn't be living together." I can't imaging why he would say such a thing. Was it because I went to Utah State and Craig goes to the University of Utah?

Well, that boy and his family moved away and now we have new neighbors that we don't know.

This spring the older couple across the street came over and introduced themselves. They said they were embarrassed they'd lived across the street for 4 years and had never introduced themselves. We told them we were kind of embarrassed about the same thing. Anyway, that was nice of them to come over and we are glad we have at least 2 friends on the street.

Now, to any neighbors that may be reading this, we would be happy to loan you an egg or a cup of sugar anytime. Don't be shy.

Showers of Sparks

We live in the most patriotic neighborhood in country. Each July 4th our streets are filled with fiery Ground Flowers, Whistling Petes and numerous illegal varieties of fireworks smuggled in from Evanston.

The whole area is quickly covered with a nasty smoky haze limiting visibility to 7-13 feet. This morning when I woke up my lips smacked of sulphur.

Here is a picture I took out of the front window at 11:43 p.m. last night.



Later, I swear the neighbors were firing guns into the air and shouting like excited Iraqis. Luckily the air machine in the bedroom makes a delightful whooshing noise that drowns out gunfire.

God bless our patriot neighbors, and God bless the United States of America. Amen.

Hunting Made Me Gay

There are 6 kids in my family. I am the 4th child, the 1st boy after 3 older sisters.

My dad was overjoyed to finally have a son so we could do all those boy things. We played catch in the backyard, fixed things around the house, and went hunting.

I remember those Saturday hunting trips fondly. We always stopped for treats at the gas station. I actually learned to drive (at age 12) out on one of those hunting trips. It was fun to spend that time alone with my dad.

Despite my fond memories of the outings, I just didn't really like the dead ducks. My dad was a school teacher and we had a relatively large family so we certainly didn't have a lot of money. But, we weren't really out hunting to feed the family. In fact, I only remember my dad cooking a duck once and I remember it stunk up the house and tasted funny.

So I remember one time we were sitting in our duck blind and some ducks flew right over us. My dad shot and a duck fell from the sky practically landing on us in the blind. I was too young to hunt at the time, maybe 9 or 10 years old, so my dad was the shooter and I was there as moral support.

As we waited for more ducks to fly over, I remember looking at that dead duck laying on the ground. It was a male Mallard so it was a very pretty creature. I kept looking away because its dead duck eye was staring at me. I would have closed its eyes (like you see on TV) except apparently ducks don't have eyelids.

I remember feeling worse and worse as I looked at its lifeless green head. It really made me sad.

My hunting career didn't last much longer after that. I started going less and less frequently. Luckily my younger brother came along and took over as my dad's hunting partner.

I'm not anti-hunting. Others can do it all they want...it's just not for me.

The End

Coming Soon:

Part 2 of the series

Scout Camp Made Me Gay

Hell...No

I don't want to go to hell. I know this because I had a small glimpse of it yesterday. It was in the form of a black 4-door Nissan with broken air conditioning.

If you take the temperature outside (98 degrees) to the 4th power that is the temperature inside my car. Luckily I brought along plenty of water. Of course my water quickly heated up to 211 degrees. Refreshing.

Now, this reminds me of something I have always known. I would not have made a very good pioneer. Even though those church songs make pioneering sound all fun and games, I know the truth. It wasn't all singing and strolling through the sagebrush.

In fact, didn't they all have to cut their own frozen toes off and eat their dead cousins? "Hyrum, will you pass me some of that thigh meat?"

Now don't get all angry. I love the pioneers as much as the next guy. Just having a little blog fun. In fact, I'm named after my own great great great (something) grandfather who died crossing the plains.

So, with Pioneer Day just around the corner I am grateful for the many sacrifices the pioneers made and thankful for all the comforts available to me today.

And now I will wait patiently for the mechanic to call me to let me know "hell" has been fixed.