Esoteric Bowl

Same-sex marriage is not a left versus right issue, although it’s obvious that some would like to make it as such. Rather, when the onion is peeled, what is found at the core of the issue is the question of equality.

It may very well be true that the majority of Americans oppose same-sex marriage. However, a much larger majority of Americans oppose discrimination. As the Massachusetts Supreme Court recently ruled, civil unions are not the constitutional equivalent of civil marriage. The court found that ordering a separate but equal civil union status would have the effect of maintaining and fostering a stigma of exclusion.

There are those that raise the question of why a civil union needs equal protection if they actually were to have the same healthcare, survivorship, divorce rights, and such? For example, let’s say that two individuals of the same-sex are joined in a civil union rather than a marriage. One of these individuals applies for a loan, a job, or some place where such applications are necessary and in-depth information is required. If such an individual were to state that he or she is married, then it could be argued that a lie was commited on the application. If one states that they are joined in a civil union, then it gives those in a position of power to discriminate on the basis of one’s sexual preference. Classifying all married couples as married regardless of sexual orientation prevents such possible discriminatory and prejudicial scenarios from occuring.

There are those that claim that the social institution of marriage and all its sanctity must be protected from same-sex marriage. With all of the recent same-sex couples tying the knot, how has any heterosexual marriage been damaged? If a heterosexual marriage can actually be damaged by a same-sex marriage, and it’s sanctity hurt by a same-sex couple using the M-word, then I would suggest that the damaged heterosexual marriage is not worth the paper that it is printed on.

As I stated above, this issue is really about equality. Same-sex couples aren’t asking for anything extra, nor do they desire special treatment; they just want fairness with the same considerations that heterosexual couples now enjoy. As a heterosexual male, same-sex marriage in of itself serves me no purpose. But in the broader scope of things, I believe that none of us are truely free unless all of us are considered equal under the law. In the end, the question is not why a same-sex union needs to be called a marriage, but rather why not?

With all of the talk about this year’s presidential election, I’m reminded about my first experiences with politics. The following are two of those experiences.

Experience #1: Being that it was an election year, my elementary school teacher decided that it would be a good opportunity for the class to have a mock election. Rather than delving into the political issues and the major differences between the presidential candidates, she passed out three photographs; one of the republican, democrat, and independent candidates. The teacher explained that we were to look at the photos and then place our vote on a sheet of paper.

I had no information to base my vote on, and none of the candidates looked familiar to me. I examined the photographs and thought that the man in photo #3 resembled my father in a kind-of-sorta way, so I decided to vote for him. I made my vote and proudly put my ballot in the box.

The teacher counted all the votes. She then raised photograph #1 and asked the class to clap their hands if they had voted for him. About half of the class clapped. Then she raised photo #2, and again about half the class clapped. Then she raised photo #3, and no one clapped. The room was silent. Heads turned to see who had voted for #3. The teacher than said that someone had voted for him, because he had one vote. I sat quietly in my chair, looking around the class for that one person just like everyone else was. I hated myself for not clapping.

Experience #2: My fourth grade class was having a class election. We were to nominate and vote for a class president, vice-president, and treasurer. I and two other classmates were nominated for class president. I had never been a class president before, so I thought it would be something that I would like to do. The other two nominees for the office were a guy named Chris, who I didn’t know, and a girl named Lori, who just happened to be the prettiest girl in the class and who I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

The perfect scenario was that I would win the presidency and Lori would be my vice president. Who knows, with such a scenario, she might finally realize that I exist and she may actually speak to me. While I was contemplating my perfect scenario, Chris approached me and suggested that I decline my nomination, proclaim that I’m voting for him, and then when he wins he would nominate me for vice president. Despite my perfect scenario, I agreed. Chris handily won the election over Lori. Then it was time to nominate the vice president. I looked to Chris as he raised his hand to nominate me. He stood up before the class and loudly nominated Lori for class vice president.

It was one of those days. When I woke up, the air felt clean and crisp in my lungs. The coffee tasted richer than it usually does. As I brushed my teeth, I noticed that my smile appeared a little brighter. And as I dragged the hairbrush across my head, it was apparent that this would be a good hair day.

I got dressed, putting on my favorite shirt. This shirt has favored status because it has a specialness to it whenever I wear it. Most of my shirts are nothing more than shirts, but this shirt fits as if it were made for me. When I wear this shirt the stride in my walk is a bit stronger, and I must admit that I have a little more confidence in myself.

I walked about town, doing the errands that were planned. Throughout the day I noticed that there were occasions where people were turning their heads to give me a second look. It does the ego good to see that others are taking notice of my good hair day and smiling towards me as they admire me in my favorite shirt.

Oh sure, you can laugh at my ego, but such days are far and few between for me. I wasn’t blessed with being beautiful. On most days, I am nothing more than an ugly stepchild found in many children’s stories. So on those rare occasions when the stars do align perfectly for me, you had better believe that I’m gonna strut my stuff and enjoy it before my glass slipper fades.

As I arrived home, I began putting things away. I thought about the great day that I had. I smiled as I remembered that one certain woman who shared a big smile with me. As I got undressed, I felt something on the shoulder of my shirt. Pulling the shirt completely off, I discovered that I had spent the entire day walking around with a clothespin stuck to my shirt! It was one of those days.

Sometimes when I’m away from journal writing for a while, it feels a little difficult to get back on the blog-horse and punch these keys into making sense of anything. The writing process feels choppy and nothing seems to unfold fluidly. It’s as if the lack of writing has softened my blog-muscle. So, instead of struggling with a bona fide post, I leave some thoughts that have recently crossed my mind.

* Discovering a tasty new cereal can still provide joy in life.

* Partisans have an uncanny ability to justify their candidate regardless of the issue.

* Broccoli is underrated.

* Just because something doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t supposed to be.

* I have no scientific proof, but I’m convinced that orange juice prevents depression.

* Those in a position of power often portray themselves as the victim, thus allowing themselves to conquer without the guilt.

* Watching a cat clean himself can be quite amusing.

* The intention in which a gift is given is often of greater value than the gift.

* A watched blog gathers no comments.

A friend and I used to spend our lunch hour at Ala Moana Center. After buying our lunches, rather than sitting inside the food court, we would find a bench near the shops and watch the women go by. Because there were often so many women to see, the buddy-system of girl watching was of great help. Between our bites of lunch, we would nonchalantly point out a hottie in case the other had missed her. This also helped in our voting process of determining our Babe of the Day, which we often refered to as The B.O.D.

One day while finishing up our lunches, a potential B.O.D. walked by. To my friend’s credit, he had spotted her first. She stood out from amongst the crowd, not only because she was wearing a short mini skirt and stiletto heels, but because she wore them well; very well.

My friend got up from the bench and declared that he must talk to her. I knew there was no point in arguing, as lust would hear none of it. We followed her from one end of the mall to the other, admiring her walk and sway along the way. I couldn’t help but notice as she walked that all the heads in the mall turned to her direction as if everyone were participating in some kind of sporting event wave.

She walked into Long’s drug store. After a few moments of hesitation, my friend decided to go in and talk to her. She was in the cosmetic section of the store, apparently trying on some sample lipsticks. I stood a few feet back as my friend approached her from behind.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I have got to know your name.”

She turned in what felt like slow motion. As she turned, we noticed that she had applied the lipstick to not only her lips, but to the one inch area surrounding her mouth. The lipstick gave her an apperance that resembled something between a scary clown and having just finished eating messy barbeque ribs. She smiled at my friend, and pronounced her name in a similar way that a four year old might pronounce the letter R with a W sound. Instead of Rose, she was Woes.

Last night I grabbed the trash in the kitchen and took it outside to the garbage cans. Instead of walking straight back into the house, I walked slowly around the side and towards the front of the building. The neighborhood was quiet and the sky was gathering clouds for a possible rain. I checked the mailbox out of habit, knowing I had already gotten the days mail. Turning to continue my walk, I saw him standing there looking up at me. Wilson had come home.

After a few moments of sharing conversation and strokes, we walked back into the house. I opened a can of tuna, watched him eat, and looked to see if he had any injuries. He was fine. Although he wasn’t gone for a real long time, he does appear to be bigger and more mature, as if he has experienced his rite of passage. It’s so good to have him home.

Today I decided to go to the Punahou Carnival. I haven’t been to a carnival in a number of years, but I thought it would be a great place to find some fun photo opportunities.

I decided earlier in the day that I would go to the carnival an hour or so before sunset. I thought the pastel sky would make a good backdrop to the lighted rides and happy faces. I took a shower, put on my shorts and lucky t-shirt, grabbed my backpack, and slipped into my favorite pair of rubber slippers.

Punahou school is less than two miles from my home, so the walk was rather pleasant. As I walked, I thought of possible photos that I would like to take with the camera; people on rides, the facial expressions of those playing games, the variety of food booths, little children on the merry-go-round, and assorted other shots. Soon I was a block away from the school, and the sidewalk became crowed with people. Fortunately, we were all moving in the same direction.

As I walked onto the campus, the scent of malassadas filled my senses. I knew that before I left the carnival that I would stop to have at least one or two. I was amazed at how crowded the carnival was. Really crowded. I tend to avoid such large crowds whenever possible, as I prefer my elbow room. But it’s times like these when I’m thankful for being tall so that I can at least breath my own air and see beyond the back of someone’s big head.

In the distance, I could see my first photo opportunity. Although I couldn’t see the people being swung on the ride, I liked the lights and the color of the sky. Perhaps if I only had one shot left on the memory card, I wouldn’t take this shot, but being the first shot of the day, I went for it. I began walking towards the ride, hoping to get a clearer photo. And then…

It all happened so suddenly, as it usually does. Some kid walking behind me stepped on my rubber slipper, breaking the strap in two. I stopped, picked up the slipper and hoped that it could be repaired. Nope, it was broke. I looked at the teen and asked, Now what? He managed to mumble a weak sorry and then faded into the crowd.

I couldn’t walk around with one slipper on my foot, nor would I go barefoot. I put on the broken slipper, squeezing the rubber nub between my toes, and flip-flopped my way off campus into the approaching crowd. No more photos and no malassadas. Everyone looks at your foot when you walk funny. When they discover the odd walk is not because of an injury, but rather a broken slipper, they look at you with disdain.