This is my cat, Grover, ready to pounce on something.  My queer blockages would have prevented me from posting this picture.

I’ve decided that writing for the GLBT page of A World of Progress might turn out to be a great thing for this mildly retarded Punchman because it will give me a chance to clear a few of my queer blockages[1].  Several of these items have been rotting in my brain for quite a while, and so there is no time like the present to let them out, as punishing as it may seem to my poor gentle readers.  I’m not promising anything intelligent or even necessarily coherent, mind you, but then again if the editors of this blog had wanted coherence they would not have asked me to contribute.

Queer Blockage #1:  Stop telling me gayness is not like race

Homophobes of color love to throw this in our faces.  No Mary, being gay is not like being black or Asian, unless of course you’re Richard Simmons or Paula Poundstone, both of whom could more easily hide their whiteness than they could their respective propensities for (insert wildly inappropriate euphemisms for stereotypical sexual acts here.)

True, blacks and Asians could not hide if they wanted to, but is the ability to hide always a good thing?  Yes, it can save you from getting your ass kicked on occasion, but trust me on this one:  the knowledge that you can slip into secretiveness and shame upon command is not a good feeling.  In fact it’s a feeling that often (insert wildly inappropriate euphemism for  stereotypical sexual act here.)

Plus, when was the last time little Johnny ran home to his mom crying because the kids at school called him a n—ger where her response was “well, ARE you a n—ger?  If you are, young man, you GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE!!!” ?  When was the last time a Japanese kid got disowned by his own family because he was Asian?

It’s no joke that gay kids are still offing themselves in disproportionately large numbers, folks.  Keep it up and I just might start talking about “racial minority privilege,” although if I do that people might mistake me for a Cato lover and I can’t have that.  So I guess you win.

Queer Blockage #2:  Another reason why Prop 8 sucks major ass

Ok, the whole “wildly inappropriate euphemism” thing was fun while it lasted, but it takes too many keystrokes to type that repeatedly so you’ll just have to deal with the smutty talk from here on in.  Get a load of this for Prop 8 suckiness:  Prop 8 lovers made a big deal out of telling everyone that “marriage” was unimportant to same-sex couples in California because Domestic Partners already had all the same rights as married people.

I, Coaster Punchman, am here to tell you that is a load of horse shit.  Setting aside for a moment all the federal rights we still lack (e.g. Social Security) domestic partners do NOT and have NEVER had all the same rights as their straight counterparts.  Case in point: For the past several years I insured Poor George as a domestic partner through my job.  In October I left Poor George in New York and moved to California –  and we weren’t sure how long the separation was going to be.  (As it turned out it was nearly six months.)

Yes, the intent was for him to move out to live with me as soon as practicable, but he had a life of his own to wrap up in New York, dealing with such minor items as our house, his job, and his insane mother.

Now I don’t know when was the last time any of you Prop 8 lovers picked up a dictionary —which, if not recently, would surprise me, seeing as how you are so obsessed with “defining” things — but I’m fairly certain you’ll agree that one of the pre-requisites to being a “domestic partner” is that you live together.

As in, together, in the same house or apartment, or somewhere just a tad closer than being separated by three time zones.

You got it folks – the second I left our house in New York, PG and I were no longer “domestic partners” under any reasonable definition.  And I would bet you big money that if, God forbid, PG had gotten into a serious accident or been struck down with a catastrophic illness, my employer’s insurance company would have found a way not to pay.

With the exception of certain scary countries where women get beheaded for showing more of their faces than a nostril, legally married couples are not welded together like a chain gang.  It is not unthinkable that one spouse might get a long-term work assignment in a far away land, requiring a temporary or even a years-long physical separation.  Legally married spouses do not lose their health insurance over this.  “Domestic Partners” do.

(And because I promised you earlier, I won’t even go into the fact that the health benefits I provide to PG are taxable to me as ordinary income, unlike with my married counterparts who enjoy federal (read: tax free) recognition of their relationships.  Yep, I do the same work for less pay.)

Queer Blockage #3:  Oh fer crissakes isn’t that enough already?

I’ll carry on with this theme next month if I haven’t thought of anything more original by then.

Love and coasters,

CP

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[1] A queer blockage is a term I invented about five minutes ago because I didn’t know how else to describe those random queer topics that I need to write about and which would otherwise keep me from posting more pictures of my cats.