26 November 2009

"The Consort"

I'm fucked up on Tryptophan, and I'm listening to Rufus Wainwright.

This song is so beautiful, good night.

Oh, go read this, now. It's an amazing story, with a Thanksgiving tie-in, about a gay guy raised in the Mormon church, that bastion of discrimination and hatred. Like so many of us, he not only was raised in a faith (it was Shi'a Presbyterian for me), but he loved it, and it was an integral part of him (or so he, and I, thought). The church, its bigotry, its homophobia, its rank pig ignorance, almost killed him, but he survived to find out what it means to live an authentically spiritual life. Here's the Thanksgiving part:

After the main Thanksgiving meal had been served that afternoon in the Cultural Hall, the dessert judging began and the judges (the Bishopric) started announcing the winners. Several prizes were given out in lots of categories. Most Colorful Jell-O Salad. Greatest Amounts of Chocolate and Cool Whip in a Single Dessert. Most Creative Use of Deep Fried Ice Cream. With each award, it slowly began to dawn on me that only women had submitted desserts for the competition. That is, with one significant exception. Me.

Then the judges got to the biggie – Best Overall Dessert. The Bishop stood up on the stage in the cultural hall to make the formal announcement that the award was going to...that’s right, the custard baked inside the pumpkin! This took me completely by surprise. I had no idea, had all but forgotten about my dessert, thought it had been totally bypassed in the judging. Then I realized I had actually won the grand prize and needed to go up to the stage to accept the award from the Bishop. As I stood up and people (especially the Bishopric) realized that a MAN had won the dessert competition – and not just any man, but the Ward Fag had won - chaos broke loose. Half the Ward was on the floor rolling with laughter. The women who had been in the competition glared at me like they were fit to execute me on the spot. The Bishop was blue then red with humiliation and disbelief, shaking his head in his hands as though the cruelty of the gods had become too much for him to bear. Later, a woman named Karen drug me into another room and literally yelled at me, “You’re gay! Oh my heavens, you’re GAY!” She sobbed that I was such a spiritual person, was so faithful and strong in my testimony, that she had assumed that over the past few months somehow I was turning straight.

Seriously, read the entire thing. And listen to the Rufus.


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