FINALS WEEK TRIPLE HAIKU

Checklist for finals week
Laundry, done. Dinner, done. Dishes, done.
Trash, separated
     and taken out
Maybe before I get crackin' on papers
I'll rename
   and arrange my porn music files alphabetically by performer.

Fun fact. Not peeing before sleeping
   is
     not really
An effective way to make sure you wake up when the alarm goes off.
Bonus fun fact. Unpleasant water dreams will likely happen.

It is admittedly possible that
All those scotch fingers
Will enable the spontaneous eruption of research brilliance
But let's face it, a more likely scenario
Involves acne

DELETE ALL COOKIES! CLEAR HISTORY! ABORT MISSION!

You know how you open your browser and start to type into the search box, and it automatically fills it in for you? And sometimes it's the most bizarre stuff, because it's filling in the most popular searches or whatever? And it freaks you out a little?

Well this weekend it was rape nuts.

A few days ago, I went to the Daily Show page and there it was, under 'most searched terms'. I had a minor panic attack, because I thought it was telling me that that was the most searched term for my computer specifically. It was a how-the-fuck-did-that-happen-and-why-won't-it- go-away-how-do-I-make-it-all-go-away-oh-no-OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT- WHATIFTHEYDEPORTME-or-THROWMEINJAIL moment. A courtroom drama was quickly emerging in my head, in which I was sweating profusely, and protesting my innocence in an unconvincing, high-pitched voice, going, "I don't even know what a rape nut is!"

I was too scared to check what rape nuts actually are, but my brain went into overdrive, listing the possibilities. Beer nuts tossed in roofie powder? Testicles of sexual predators? Rape enthusiasts who see themselves as more committed than the hobbyist who only dabbles in the occasional rape?

Anyway, turns out "Rape Nuts" actually was a segment on the show:

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Rape-Nuts
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Ron Paul Interview

It is reassuring that the amendment passed, but seriously, what the fuck? Is it really that hard to follow the logic here? A contract that includes a clause prohibiting employees from suing in case of sexual assault says two things:
1. yes, we are fully aware that sexual assault can and does happen in our workplace
2. and we support it.
Now you may sign a contract without reading the fine print, but if you put the fine print in there in the first place, you know damn well you're giving yourself and everyone in the workplace a rape pass.

And Congress may pass a law without the lawmakers reading and parsing every little word, but if you've gotten to the point where you're debating the amendment you cannot plead ignorance. If you know that an employer essentially permits rape and assault with impunity in the workplace, and you think that it's okay for the government to fund such an employer, you're funding rape. Bravo, Senator Sessions (R-Alabama).

So the Amendment passed, despite the thirty senators - all male, all Republican (and according to this site, at least 23 of them with daughters) - who voted against it: stalwarts such as

Jeff Sessions (R-AL) who once claimed to have been joking when he said the Ku Klux Klan would be "okay" if only they didn't smoke pot.

John Ensign (R-NV) who said that Bill Clinton's affair with Monica Lewinsky meant "he had no credibility left"... ah, the irony.

John McCain (R-AZ)... yeah, that one. The one that 'hates gooks', called Clinton's teenage daughter 'ugly', and couldn't remember off the top of his head how many houses he owned. End air quotes.

Jim Bunning (R-KY), whose non-profit's largest recipient was the senator himself: he was paid $180,000 for working one hour a week, about $44,000 more than what went to actual charities.

Saxby Chambliss (R-GA) whose senate race against decorated war veteran Max Cleland featured a TV spot questioning Cleland's patriotism. (Max Cleland lost both legs and a forearm in a war that Chambliss dodged by claiming he had a bad knee.)

Bob Corker (R-TN) whose senate race against Harold Ford, an African American, included a TV spot laden with racist overtones featuring a white woman claiming to have met Ford in a 'Playboy party'.

Jim DeMint (R-SC) who said single mothers should not be allowed to teach in public schools if they had a live-in boyfriend.

Tom Coburn (R-OK) who opposed NBC's airing of Schindler's List as an 'all-time low', because of all that nudity.

Kit Bond (R-MO), who infamously said water-boarding was "like swimming".

Jim Inhofe (R-OK) who calls global warming the second-largest hoax on Americans, after the separation of Church and State.

Richard Shelby (R-AL) who leaked classified information to Fox News while he was on the Senate Intelligence Committee.

David Vitter (R-LA) who called for Bill Clinton to resign over the Lewinsky affair. This was of course before Vitter's own DC madam scandal broke. cf. John Ensign, above.

...and the usual anti-choice, anti-gay, anti-evolution crowd: Lamar Alexander (R-TN), John Barrasso (R-WY), Richard Burr (R-NC), "Big Bad" John Cornyn (R-TX), Mike Crapo (R-ID), Mike Enzi (R-WY), Sam Brownback (R-KS), Judd Gregg (R-NH), Johnny Isakson (R-GA), Mike Johanns (R-NE), John Thune (R-SD), Roger Wicker (R-MS),
Jim Risch (R-ID), Pat Roberts (R-KS), and two senators I have a special dislike for, Mitch McConnell (R-KY) and Lindsey Graham (R-SC).

Extremely disappointing: nay votes from Senators Thad Cochran (R-MS) and Jon Kyl (R-AZ). Democratic Senators Byrd (him of KKK infamy) and Specter did not vote. Not idea why, and I'd sure as hell like to know.

STEPHEN GATELY DIED OF GAY: TELE-FORENSICS EXPERT JAN MOIR.

Parsing the Jan Moir article on the death of former Boyzone singer Stephen Gately, printed in a timely (as always) fashion in the Daily Mail the day before his funeral and reproduced here in the appropriately horrid Times New Roman:


The news of Stephen Gately's death was deeply shocking. It was not just that another young star had died pointlessly.
He didn't die of old age, and he didn't die for a cause. How did he die? Why did he die? Hint: he had a condition, a congenital condition. Three letters. Starts with G and ends with Y. And we don't mean 'guy', though it's related to this condition.

Through the recent travails and sad ends of Michael Jackson, Heath Ledger and many others, fans know to expect the unexpected of their heroes - particularly if those idols live a life that is shadowed by dark appetites or fractured by private vice.
Dark appetites… gay! Private vice… gay!

There are dozens of household names out there with secret and not-so-secret troubles, or damaging habits both past and present. Robbie, Amy, Kate, Whitney, Britney; we all know who they are.
Being a coke-head is as bad as being gay, kids.

And we are not being ghoulish to anticipate, or to be mentally braced for, their bad end: a long night, a mysterious stranger, an odd set of circumstances that herald a sudden death.
Can’t wait to publish the articles I’ve written for when they die!

In the morning, a body has already turned cold before the first concerned hand reaches out to touch an icy celebrity shoulder. It is not exactly a new storyline, is it?
“Icy celebrity shoulder,” I like that.

In fact, it is rather depressingly familiar. Grin. But somehow we never expected it of him. Never him. Not Stephen Gately.
C’mon, I’m going to build this up. Little did we know…

In the cheerful environs of Boyzone, Gately was always charming, cute, polite and funny.
Anytime now. Little did we know…

A founder member of Ireland's first boy band, he was the group's co-lead singer, even though he could barely carry a tune in a Louis Vuitton trunk.
Snark snark. Little did we know…

He was the Posh Spice of Boyzone, a popular but largely decorous addition.
Just setting this up for my preemptive obit on Posh Spice, in which I call her the Stephen Gately of the Spice Girls.

Gately came out as gay in 1999 after discovering that someone was planning to sell a story revealing his sexuality to a newspaper.
HE’S GAY!!!

Although he was effectively smoked out of the closet, he has been hailed as a champion of gay rights, albeit a reluctant one.
GAY!!! Incidentally, you can distract your audience from an awkward double-conditional clause by changing the second 'although' to 'albeit'. People won't even notice your sentence makes no sense. (He was hailed as a reluctant champion?)

At the time, Gately worried that the revelations might end his ultra-mainstream career as a pin-up, but he received an overwhelmingly positive response from fans. In fact, it only made them love him more.
So there's no way to empirically test or prove that statement, but we're building him up here for the fall so shush.

In 2006, Gately entered into a civil union with internet businessman Andrew Cowles, who had been introduced to him by mutual friends Elton John and David Furnish.
It may have seemed idyllic. But little did we know…

Last week, the couple were enjoying a holiday together in their apartment in Mallorca before their world was capsized.
THEIR WORLD CAPSIZED! …oh wait, you knew that already.

All the official reports point to a natural death, with no suspicious circumstances.
Very suspicious, how there was nothing suspicious!

The Gately family are - perhaps understandably - keen to register their boy's demise on the national consciousness as nothing more than a tragic accident.
Given that their opinions concur with those of all official reports, even more suspicious! It might even be a conspiracy!

Even before the post-mortem and toxicology reports were released by the Spanish authorities, the Gatelys' lawyer reiterated that they believed his sudden death was due to natural causes.
It’s the nail on the coffin! What would a family know of their (gay) son and his (no doubt fatally gay) predilections?

But, hang on a minute. Something is terribly wrong with the way this incident has been shaped and spun into nothing more than an unfortunate mishap on a holiday weekend, like a broken teacup in the rented cottage.
‘Broken teacup in a rented cottage,’ I like that too. I kept that one on reserve just for a holiday celebrity death, how fortuitous!

Consider the way it has been largely reported, as if Gately had gently keeled over at the age of 90 in the grounds of the Bide-a-Wee rest home while hoeing the sweet pea patch.
The media has entirely failed to indulge in speculation and innuendo, a failing that I shall singlehandedly correct forthwith.

The sugar coating on this fatality is so saccharine-thick that it obscures whatever bitter truth lies beneath.
Wait a minute I should've said "sordid truth", I haven't used "sordid" yet.

Healthy and fit 33-year-old men do not just climb into their pyjamas and go to sleep on the sofa, never to wake up again.
I should know, I am an expert on 33-year-old men, pyjamas and sofas. I am also a cardiologist, pathologist, toxicologist, pathologist wait I said that already, and voodoo ouija celebrity know-it-all-ogist.

Whatever the cause of death is, it is not, by any yardstick, a natural one. Let us be absolutely clear about this. All that has been established so far is that Stephen Gately was not murdered.
Because murder would be natural. As for everything else…

And I think if we are going to be honest, we would have to admit that the circumstances surrounding his death are more than a little sleazy.
There he was, gay and all, in his pyjamas on the sofa, still gay, falling asleep while gay. Nothing says sleaze like falling asleep in your pyjamas on the sofa. While being gay.

After a night of clubbing, Cowles and Gately took a young Bulgarian man back to their apartment. It is not disrespectful to assume that a game of canasta with 25-year-old Georgi Dochev was not what was on the cards.
This could mean:
- It would be disrespectful to assume that the couple invited Georgi over for a game of canasta. Canasta! How shameful!
- It would be respectful to assume that the couple invited Georgi over for something other than a game of canasta. It would, in fact, be respectful to assume anything, and print it, because I say so. And Stephen Gately is dead and cannot say otherwise.

In any case, it helps to remember that double (or even triple) negatives are not what you would call useless when casting aspersions on men who are not exactly on the other side of the planet when the men they aren't strangers to, die.

Cowles and Dochev went to the bedroom together while Stephen remained alone in the living room.
Look, I know they went into two separate bedrooms, but we don't have to mention that.

What happened before they parted is known only to the two men still alive. What happened afterwards is anyone's guess.
Three men in three separate rooms in an apartment… who's to know what transpired!

A postmortem revealed Stephen died from acute pulmonary oedema, a build-up of fluid on his lungs.
Gay fluid.

Gately's family have always maintained that drugs were not involved in the singer's death, but it has just been revealed that he at least smoked cannabis on the night he died.
Admit it! “It has been revealed” sounds more ominous than “Some have speculated”. The toxicology report ruled out Class A drugs and found only small traces of cannabis in his system, far too minuscule to have contributed to his death, but we can leave all that out, can’t we?

Nevertheless, his mother is still insisting that her son died from a previously undetected heart condition that has plagued the family.
Oh, poor deluded mother, believing the official postmortem and toxicology reports in the face of colourful unfounded speculation! Grief will do that to you.

Another real sadness about Gately's death is that it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships.
Unlike straight people, gay men sometimes die, thus bringing their civil partnership to an end. This proves that civil partnerships are bad.

Gay activists are always calling for tolerance and understanding about same-sex relationships, arguing that they are just the same as heterosexual marriages. Not everyone, they say, is like George Michael.
It’s okay not to tolerate George Michael. *Note to self: Google George Michael to see if he’s dead*

Of course, in many cases this may be true. Yet the recent death of Kevin McGee, the former husband of Little Britain star Matt Lucas, and now the dubious events of Gately's last night raise troubling questions about what happened.
Two gay men, both dead… there has to be a connection!

It is important that the truth comes out about the exact circumstances of his strange and lonely death.
A coroner’s report doesn’t count.

As a gay rights champion, I am sure he would want to set an example to any impressionable young men who may want to emulate what they might see as his glamorous routine.
Stephen wouldn’t want you to be gay, look what happened to him.

For once again, under the carapace of glittering, hedonistic celebrity, the ooze of a very different and more dangerous lifestyle has seeped out for all to see.
He’s gay and now he’s dead! Gee isn’t this exciting?

TOKEN RIGHT-WING NUTJOB FRIEND

So over coffee with Phil today I said that I didn't mind that Trish, a girl that we sometimes hang out with in larger groups, is rather conservative in her views. Phil looked monumentally unimpressed. "Well," I said, "At least she comes across as a smart person." And right as my mouth was forming the 'sma-' my brain went WAIT A SECOND! Remember the time she said homosexuals had misappropriated the rainbow?

It was during a class break when Melanie was telling me about how she saw fairy penguins on Phillip Island, except now we weren't allowed to call them FAIRY penguins anymore. We were laughing about how ridiculous it was, when Trish joined in and went, "Yeah, isn't that awful? Like when some people can just misappropriate a word or a symbol, like how rainbows have been hijacked by homosexuals?"

And to be fair, if it wasn't for gays, who have the unfortunate tendency to, oh, exist, there would be no need for gay slurs. Fairies would be no more than delightful mythical creatures, just as faggots would be logs of wood for burning other reprobates at the stake, and queer would only refer to a quaint, harmless Alice-in-Wonderland version of not-quite-right.

As for rainbows... when you consider the enormity of the homosexuals' theft of rainbows, what's a few millennia of oppression? Sure, even today in many societies being gay can get you beaten up, brutalized, imprisoned, killed. It can mean loss of employment, it can mean loss of housing, it can mean lack of agency. Where Trish comes from, it means you don't get to marry and have a family, you don't get to visit your partner when they're in the hospital, you don't get to serve in the military unless you hide who you are.

It sucks to be a gay person in Trish Universe. It sucks to grow up as a gay person - not just figuring out your desires, but forging an identity and negotiating a place in that world, and coming to terms with the fact that it is not going to be easy. Coming out can cost you your family and your friends, and you don't get a trial run or simulation to see how it will go. Suicide rates are much higher among gay teens: it is the number one cause of death among gay teenagers in America (number three for teenagers overall). Gay teens in the US are FOUR TIMES as likely to attempt suicide as straight ones.

BUT the gays took rainbows away! Now you can't have rainbows anywhere - not even in children's fairy magical winged little person tales - without someone mistaking you for being an open-minded, non-judgmental, decent human being who believes in equal rights, civil rights, for everyone irrespective of their sexual orientation. Sure, the KKK gets to use the cross, but us homos using the rainbow as a symbol of inclusiveness and tolerance of difference gets this chick's panties in a bunch?

So I don't know why I would bother to continue to socialize with Trish. A part of me wanted to show her that we rainbow-toters aren't as bad as she thinks we are. Another part of me just wants intelligent debate, something from the other end of the political spectrum that challenges me and keeps me on my game. There's very little of that, in the real world or in the telly box*. But most of all, there's the very pragmatic, yet depressing knowledge that People Like Her will decide what People Like Us are permitted to have/do in our lives.

*If Fox represents the big bully that steals money from a blind man and then kicks him and runs away, CNN is the whiny coward who pretends not to see, and won't call the cops. If Hollywood's bigger names (and louder voices) fall over each other to condemn the justice system for catching up with an absconding child rapist, then about half the critics ruin it for the other half by conflating Polanski's horrific crime with the general 'immorality' of Tinseltown's liberal elite.

Sometimes I guess you just have a delayed epiphany about these things. I was sitting in a lecture between Andie and this guy, Adam or Max or something (straight guy, I happen to know), and the prof was showing us the Tom Barnett lecture video. Barnett's a pretty engaging and witty guy on stage, and there was plenty of laughter in the lecture theatre. He was talking about Richard Reid (the shoe bomber) getting caught and the three of us were mid-laugh when he said, "Good thing he didn't hide it up his ass, or we'd all be gay then."

And both Andie and Adam/Max groaned, simultaneously. For me, it was the most beautiful sound on the planet. The sting of the joke was taken out before it even sank in.

Thinking back to that moment, I know this much: I am tired of being anyone's token minority friend. I don't want to be the validation or exception to anyone's fuckwit stereotype. I don't want to have to hear dumbass blanket statements about sex, sexuality, race, religion, or ideology, followed up with, "Oh but not you, you're different." Because I'm not, and I don't take well to being told that I am. Because it's not that different from being asked, "So why are all you people like that?" ...And because, as long as there are Andies and Phils and Maxes and Adams around me, I know I don't have to put up with this shit, at least not from people I call my friends.

JUST TO PROVE I'M A SENSITIVE SOUL

ALGERNON

OCELOT

 

BRIDGE

CHAT

CHEAP

 

CHILL

CRICKET

 

DJINN

ESPERS

 

FRIENDS

 

HOME

 

JAFFA

 

LEFT

 

LIBRARY

RIDE

 

ROGER

 

SOUTH

 

THURS

 

TIME

TRAIN

 

WALK

 

XYLO

AGE

BAIKU HAIKU

 Surely it's not
      *that*
bad that I want
a                   a
   hot       hot
        pink
bike         bike?

IF NO WAIT WHAT I MEAN IS WHEN I'M FAMOUS

...and by famous I mean powerful, as in master-of-the-universe powerful, I would, like, totally ban phrases like "fag hag". But until then, I think there's no better example of a textbook case of fag-haggery in the making than my little sister. Note to self, do not give her cute angsty gay manga, because the part where the protagonist Misunderstands The Situation and runs away weeping (it is a rule of yaoi manga that this must happen at least once), she gets really quiet, shivering slightly, trying to hold back or hide her tears. Sigh.

LOLLIPOP, YOU'RE THE SUCKER

Long long ago, when I was young and naive, I snuck into a skeezy dance club with my roommate's brother's best friend, a dimpled absolute cutie called Jordan. We were both underage, and in costume for the Halloween Bloc Party, and we'd gotten separated from our friends, and wandered into the dance club, Evolution or Revolution or some silly name.

They were playing Britney, and Jordan leans in and says, "You know, I used to think I was meant to marry Britney Spears because we have the same birthday." It was hilarious - well, it seemed hilarious to me at the time. So we got drunk and made out, and of course the next day realised (in my case pretended to realise) that we'd made a huge mistake. It's what you do I suppose, when cute dimply people called Jordan tell you let's-pretend-this-didn't-happen and oh-by-the-way-I'm- joining-the-army.

My ex was semi-stalking me at the time: weepy phone calls, angry confrontations at my favourite pub, drunken appearances at my doorstep at 3am, contrite emails, the works. So the tryst at the nightclub was a sweet, brief interlude that left me with, if nothing else, a strange and lasting fondness for Britney Spears.

And a fondness for at least some of the artists who seem to share at least some of my fondness for Britney. So here's another top ten list, in no particular order, of my favourite versions of the Britster's three most covered songs from three different periods in her career: Baby One More Time, Toxic, and Womanizer.

BABY ONE MORE TIME: Who doesn't love Britney's breakout single, and occasionally mouth it in front of the mirror, both fists clenched over the hairbrush microphone? "My grandma, that's who" is not a valid answer! You know you've done it too! What else would you be doing while takin' those purported "long showers" in there! Travis did a satisfyingly angsty (and satisfyingly Irish accented) cover of the song, replete with aforementioned clenched fists, clenched jaws, generally clenched everything.

TRAVIS, Baby One More Time

_____________________________________________

The Bowling for Soup version completely bowled me over (ooh clever pun there, haha!). Bonus points for being featured in Freaky Friday, starring my other favourite child-star-turned-teen-pop-princess whose existential fuck-ups seemed to echo the rising and falling cadences of my own adolescence. Thanks to Lindsay (we're on first-name basis in my mind) and Britney (ditto) my wordless teenage heartache-y cries of "No-one understands me!" (okay not wordless obviously) were quickly amended to, "Lindsay would understand, because she has Known Pain!"

And for sheer glorious so-bad-it's-good-ness, there's Chad Michael Murray, for the memorable scene in Freaky Friday where he pulls a John Cusack (Say Anything) or Mike Myers (So I Married An Axe Murderer) by serenading his ladylove in the rain. Is that his real voice? Jesus.

CHAD MICHAEL MURRAY, Baby One More Time
and BOWLING FOR SOUP, Baby One More Time

_____________________________________________

Nevertheless, the top spot for Baby One More Time covers, and trust me I wavered between them and Bowling for Soup for the longest time, goes to... *drumroll* ...FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE! from their 2005 album Out-Of-State Plates. Yep, the same band that gave us Stacy's Mom.

FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE, Baby One More Time

_____________________________________________

They didn't release a music video, so that's just a still from their album cover.

TOXIC: Can't say I was ever a huge fan of this song. Toxic came out at the end of 2003 (thank you Wikipedia) after the horrid breakup with Justin Timberlake (now I heart JT as much as the next person, but that whole episode where he outed Britney as not a virgin? not cool, JT.) and the abomination that was Crossroads. The gross-tastic on-stage make-out with Madonna didn't help. Britney circa November 2003 was teetering at the top of the pop world.

But Toxic did lend itself to some creative interpretation: Mark Ronson's version features some badass rapping (not that I can tell badass rapping from not-so-badass rapping, though I suspect Snoop Dogg would fall in the second category?). But between this and Alesana's screamo punk take, I think there's no question that the latter rules.

ALESANA, Toxic

_____________________________________________

But what really made me reconsider my not-so-glowing impression of Toxic was Israeli singer Yael Naim's cover. Naim's accent and enunciation transforms a slightly robotic (even by pop standards) dance floor hit into a thing of beauty and pain, an insta-anthem for high school kids in emo eyeliner worldwide.

YAEL NAIM, Toxic

_____________________________________________

WOMANIZER: I heard Womanizer on the radio long before I even realized that Brits was BACK. A favorite with the worthy gentlemen at the cafe I worked at, Womanizer played on endless loop along with Estelle's American Boy and the Pussycat Dolls remix of Jai Ho. It was hard to ignore it, and it was even harder to keep the swish from my hips as I served the customers coffee and toasted sandwiches. And before I knew it, everyone and their monkey had done a cover version of the song.

At the bottom of the pile would be the jarring, tuneless rendition by an otherwise awesome band, Franz Ferdinand... except, that spot has been reserved for the All-American Rejects, who prefaced their dull-as-carpet version with a truly obnoxious and unfunny declaration mocking the song and claiming that they could do it better than Britney. Try again in a million years, grease head.

You've gotta love a band that calls itself Timid Tiger. Add the fact that it's a geeky German electro hip hop group, ah the love, I can feel it overflowing. You go, Timid Tiger.

TIMID TIGER, Womanizer

_____________________________________________

How do you beat geekelicious Germans? With dorky French pop phenom Sliimy, whose falsetto renderings are nevertheless pitch-perfect and miraculously non-shrieky, of course.

SLIIMY, Womanizer

_____________________________________________

Lily Allen's version of the song is probably the most well-known cover, and for good reason. Her rendition sounds like it's on the verge of taking a running leap off a cliff - in a good way. A very very good way.

LILY ALLEN, Womanizer

_____________________________________________

And again, it was hard for me to decide which I liked better - the Lily Allen cover or the Ladyhawke version. And I'd have to go with Ladyhawke, by a slim as salami margin, because in addition to the same palpable undercurrent of tension, there's the awesomeness of Ladyhawke herself. Not that Lily Allen isn't awesome. Oh hell, I can't decide.

LADYHAWKE, Womanizer

_____________________________________________

So, here's the roundup!

10 Timid Tiger
09 Alesana
08 Travis
07 Yael Naim
06 Chad Michael Murray (funny and short!)
05 Sliimy
04 Bowling for Soup
02 Tied between Lily Allen and Ladyhawke
01 Fountains of Wayne!

SAINTS OF AUGUSTINE

Back when I first began waiting tables, a few of us went out for drinks in St Kilda one night. One of the other new guys was a Nepali dude, and the kitchen hands were picking on him. One guy, Adrian, made a crack implying that the Nepali guy was gay (he isn't). The guy got defensive and said, "I'm not gay!"

Adrian replied, "Dude I could follow you home and fuck you, and that would make you gay cos everyone knows that the guy who gets fucked is gay, not the other guy."

Nobody said anything. I wish I had, but I was kinda terrified to. I didn't know if speaking up would entail outing myself, and if outing myself to this bunch would be very smart. And I needed the job.

This weekend I was chatting with a good friend of mine from college, who told me about this huge fight she had with a friend. It started off with a few friends having a silly argument about a TV show, and very quickly escalated into a full-blown, heated debate about gender parity, with this guy, David, insisting that women were now on an equal footing professionally with men.

The girls at the table said, uh, we still don't get paid the same as men do. Dude goes, "But you girls would find it easier to find a job like, say, waitressing, and they wouldn't want to hire me cos I'm a guy." At which point, Vye pointed out that they probably wouldn't hire him because he wasn't an international student desperate enough to work for below minimum wage and without any benefits or protection. And that it was routine for girls at these places to be harassed, groped, and bullied by customers and co-workers alike.

At this point if the dude had dropped the whole thing and backed off, the situation could have been salvaged. Did he, and was it? No and no.

Chat with Vye:

[...at which point she hooked me up with some awesome retro g@y p0rn - "guns blazing" indeed]

Over the weekend, while I was mulling this turn of events, I also happened to read a very sweet and poignant book, Saints of Augustine by P.E. Ryan, about two friends, Sam and Charlie, and a particularly rough summer before their senior year in school. Towards the end of the novel (and I won't give away the plot) Sam realizes that people don't always fulfill your worst expectations of them. Sam is taken aback when his mother gives him an apology and a talking-to, and an explanation for why she kicked her bigoted loudmouth boyfriend out:

“So there’s Teddy’s mistake, my mistake, and yours. But we all make mistakes, and I know that. What matters is what you do when you find out you’ve made a mistake... It’s called rising to the occasion. But, well, Teddy didn’t do that.”

And neither did this David guy.

Here's the thing: we all say stupid shit sometimes. When someone gets hurt by the stupid shit you say, you can be a pigheaded jerkface and insist on "sticking to your guns" whatever that means, or you can just as easily back off, apologise and redeem yourself somewhat. And then be careful not to say shit like that again.

For instance, say there's a discussion about the Israel-Palestine conflict. Say you make a thoughtless, offhand remark implying that maybe the magnitude of the Holocaust was exaggerated to justify the creation of Israel. Maybe no-one around you says anything, or maybe someone disagrees. Or someone says, "You know what, my grandfather was in a concentration camp and survived the Holocaust." At this point, what do you say?

It's not that hard. Remember, you're not losing anything by eating some humble pie: nobody with half a brain would think you could "win" that argument. You can remember not to bring up stuff like that in general conversation, and maybe you can go a step further and actually do some research and read up on the Holocaust. (Research does not mean trawling neo-Nazi websites on the internet.)

For the grandchild of a Holocaust survivor, your off-the-cuff remark can be a chilling, deeply unsettling reminder of the sort of prejudice, denial and apathy that allowed it to happen in the first place. Your statement puts them in a spot where they either remain silent and feel ashamed about it, or step up and wave a card that says "I'm different", putting you in a position of power because you can use the knowledge of their "difference" to hurt them. The fact that nobody says anything does not mean everybody agrees with you or thinks you're funny and cool and smart.

It is the same with race, religion, gender, sexuality. If you're a straight white male, this may not spontaneously occur to you, but before you dismiss the existence of discrimination (from the little humiliations we face to the heightened risks we live with), remember that you don't speak from experience. You can afford not to know: it's called being in a position of unexamined privilege. But your not knowing doesn't make these go away for us. And if you insist on being remaining willfully ignorant, at least shut the fuck up and don't be a prick about it.

Knowing Vye, she'll probably shrug this off in a few weeks and give the appearance of being friends with this guy again, for the sake of maintaining group harmony or some such shit. There's a part of me wants to shake her and tell her to drop him entirely, because there ARE guys that get it, and are awesome and supportive and feminist and chilled out. Guys like Joss Whedon and Jonathan McIntosh. Guys like my friend Ned, who, when I came out to him, responded by saying, "Dude, I don't care what sort of underwear you wear, and I don't care who you take it off for."

So when it comes to friends, no-one needs to settle.

DRUNKN TYPOS NOT JST FOR LOLCATZ

So I went out with Andie today and got kinda smashed. Very smashed. Smashed enough that typing is a goddamn pain with all the times you hit the backspace/delete button to correct typos from fingers hitting too many keys and very often the wrong ones.

Oh fuck it.

Okay peeps, that's it from me for today! If in doubt, take it from me, yes drinking out of a shared wine bottle in the park after dark with your best mate = awesome.

BEST OF THE SEVENTIES DANCE HITS

When my gay Filipino best friend was little, he told his mum that he wanted to marry an Indian girl so they could do Bollywood dance together. My childhood fantasies weren't too different, except that instead of dancing, I would play piano and sing tragic songs. Unfortunately for me, I grew up with a mum who was not into tragic piano, and insisted on turning up the radio and dancing down the staircase with a dramatic pause at the landing, much to my consternation. (She was very young.)

It is a well-known fact (I'm sure) that kids with gregarious, extroverted parents grow up painfully shy - I grew up with stammering legs. My private nightmare (well, one of my top ten private nightmares) is being at a tame gathering of friends and having it morph into an impromptu dance party. At the first sign of a drumbeat my legs get tongue-tied. My little sister has inherited my mother's impeccable sense of rhythm - I got my dad's two hairy left feet.

For my mum's birthday, then, here are my favourite dance hits from the 1970's and by the "1970's" I mean 1965-1980, they're from movies that came out before I did, but after Technicolor and Elvis and the end of colonial rule in Africa (yeah I totally just Wikipedia-ed that). So whether you're looking to impress that Indian cutie in class (me) by bustin' out these movie moves, or to amuse a bunch of drunk friends after you've watched all the Ali G videos on YouTube, you'll find that this list provides sufficient material to make you cringe with embarrassment the next day.

10. DIL KYA KARE from Julie (1975)
This song would be a lot higher on the list but for the hideousness of the video. If even someone with my dubious tastes finds the guy's choice of attire and constant rubbing-up-against-each-other nightmare-ish, well, you know what to expect. [Button-down shirt unbuttoned and tied at the belly to reveal carpet chest, matched by - oh god, my eyes - cut-off Daisy Duke shorts.] Also noteworthy is the Bollywood phenomenon of pregnancy by suggestive writhing in the grass. Abstinence does not work, people.

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9. AAJ KAL TERE MERE PYAAR from Brahmachari (1968)
I'm not a big fan of Shammi Kapoor, but the man managed to find his way into some of the best dance numbers of the time, with some of the most spirited dance partners (see also Entry #7 below). Praan I'm sorry to say loses points for not looking appropriately dastardly or sporting a fabulously villainous mustache.

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8. AAP JAISA KOI from Qurbani (1980)
Zeenat Aman was not the most talented of actresses and dancers, but she wasn't too bad either. Unlike Parveen Babi or Rekha, she wasn't drop-dead gorgeous... or maybe the camera-man's unhealthy attachment to soft focus didn't do her justice. But there's something almost endearingly adolescent about her awkwardness, not in a gross or pervy way, oh man I'm really digging myself into a hole here. I just like her, okay? So deal.

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7. O HASEENA ZULFONWALI from Teesri Manzil (1966)
Helen on the other hand is probably the most insanely talented dancer that Bollywood has witnessed. Just as Asha Bhosle is the best singer Bollywood has produced. Lata is overrated, people.

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6. DUM MARO DUM from Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971)
More Zeenat! And in the top 6 are Bollywood's dance staples, and knowing them will give you insider status, like, instantly. And you know what that means... free pot.

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5. MEHBOOBA MEHBOOBA from Sholay (1975)
I apologise for the relentless hirsuteness of Indian men. I suspect it is genetic, unlike the leer, which takes practice.

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4. LEKAR HUM DEEWANA DIL from Yaadon Ki Baarat (1973)
You probably can't tell just by looking at him, but the dancing dude is not a pro dancer - armed with that guitar (which is probably a prop) he infiltrated the dancing troupe, for purposes as yet unknown, but possibly connected with the distinctly nefarious-looking bearded villain.
The waiter with the knowing look and head wiggle isn't really a waiter (if you notice he didn't even manage to get a matching outfit to blend in with the other wait staff) but he is obviously in cahoots with the dancer. But that in my mind adds to the Mystery and Suspense and makes this dance number utterly Awesome. Even without that dude rappelling between buildings or whatever the fuck he's doing. Holy fuck, is that Dharam? Well at least now we can establish that he is with the good guys.

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3. PIYA TU AB TO AAJA from Caravan (1971)
The vampiest - and campiest - of Helen's dance numbers, completely unnecessary for advancement of movie plot, but raises several questions, such as: What's in that drink that makes her instantly smashed but only improves her balance and coordination? And where can I get it?

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2. JAANE JAAN DHOONDTHA from Jawaani Deewani (1972)
Chubby man in a toupee plays hide and seek with coy sari-clad woman toting a tiny teddy, running around in the woods. Not that kind of teddy, and not that kind of wood either. 

SAY WHAT?
Jaane jaan Life of my life
dhoondtha phir raha I wander searching
hoon tumhe for you
raat din main night and day
yahaan se vahaan from here to there
Mujhko avaaz do Call out to me 
Chhup gaye ho sanam You're hidden, my love
Tum kahaan? Where are you?
Main yahaan! I'm here!
Tum kahaan? Where are you?
Main yahaan! I'm here!

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1. ROOP TERA MASTANA from Aradhana (1969)
Rajesh Khanna all hairy-chested and not-so-subtly indicating he would like to do sex with Sharmila Tagore. Nothing explicit, this is Bollywood, so fast-forward nine months and she has a baby, so the only smex you get is in retrospect. Kinda like real life I suppose. Yeah, kids, always carry a condom.

SAY WHAT?
Roop tera Your form is
Mastana intoxicating
Pyaar mera My love (for you)
Deewana crazy (out of control)
Bhool koi Some mistake (i.e. smex)
Humse na ho jaaye We shouldn't make!



 
And for more exuberant cheesiness, here's the '90's remix.

 

LIME DISEASE

Have you all ever noticed how the lime-flavoured gummy bears always taste like chemical effluence? It doesn't matter what brand it is, or what kind of gummy creature - well it is possible that gummy babies are different, I wouldn't know, I have never eaten them as I find them slightly frightening, like the dead baby in Trainspotting.

...Anyway. The bag of gummy rattlesnakes that I'm currently enjoying contains an assortment of six colour-coded flavours: apple, strawberry, blackberry, orange, lemon and lime. Notice how you can easily distinguish the flavours from each other by their colours, all except the lime from apple. So you bite into an apple snake, thinking mmm-yeah sugary goodness and blech, it's lime. NOBODY LOVES LIME! Make another flavour! I'm not sayin' it has to be something complicated like honey-roasted walnut mocha creme or fresh bouquet of summer flowers, but how about grape or cherry!

Besides, the big selling point of gummy bears is not that they taste like apples or blueberries or whatever, it's the sugar. Gummy bears are just chewy sugar. Lemon is not really lemony, orange is not tangy, and the berry flavours are just slightly more saccharine than the citrus ones, and they're all just mildly, pleasantly fruity, all except for lime which smells and tastes like floor cleaner. Lime is the stinkface in the cubicle next to you who never bathes and is growing mushrooms in his bodily crevices. NO ONE WILL MISS HIM IF YOU ORDER A HIT ON HIM.

Just sayin'.

Anyway, other than lime, gummy creatures are generally awesome, so yeah, keep up the good work. But take out the lime.

DUMBASS QUESTIONS PEOPLE ASK

So I had my mates over for drinks, and one of them showed me this blog entry and we all unanimously decided we wanted to be friends with the author. And this led to the fun drinking game, Dumbass Questions People Ask You.

1. Encountered in Ireland: "Where do Africans hide their tails when they're wearing pants?"

2. From an Australian guy who has travelled in India: "Do you Indians talk to each other in Indian?"

3. Same guy: "Are Indian people smarter than us, or is it just the smarter Indian people that get to come to our country?"

4. "Do people in Borneo live in trees? Is it true that they're cannibals?"

5. "You're gay, does that mean you want to be a woman?" also "You're gay, right, so if you got a boyfriend would you be the girl or the boy?"

Of course (dis)honourable mention for the rhetorical: "Why are all the cute guys gay? It's such a waste."

5. Apparently this is a very common one. Guy at a bar whose advances were rejected by a friend: "Oh, so are you a lesbian?"

6. "Why do feminists hate men?" immediately followed by: "Why does that girl dress like that, with her breasts hanging out of her top? Not sayin' she's asking for it or anything but..."

7. From the receptionist at the Malaysian firm I temped at, on the first day at work: "Why are you so black?"

This is an expanding list, of course.

CHECKERBOARD COOKIES

Adapted from the Joy of Baking web site.
YOU'LL NEED:
Kitchen scales
Large bowl
Electric beater or long-handled wooden spoon
Sieve
Baking paper
Rolling pin
Ruler
Knife
Baking tray
Oven

INGREDIENTS:
350gm flour
250gm butter
150gm sugar
4 tbsp cocoa
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla essence

1. Beat the butter, sugar, egg and vanilla together in a bowl till smooth.

2. Sift the flour into the bowl. Mix it in, making sure the dough isn’t lumpy.

3. Divide the dough into two halves. Wrap the first half in baking paper and refrigerate.

4. Add cocoa to the second half, mix it in till incorporated. Refrigerate.

5. Take out the first half and roll it out into a rectangle 1cm thick and about 5cm wide.

6. Using a ruler and a sharp knife, measure and cut the sheet of dough so that it is exactly 4cm wide and x cm long.

7. Cover the white rectangle in baking paper and place in the freezer.

8. Roll the cut-off dough from the edges into a ball and refrigerate separately.

9. Take out the second half of the dough (with cocoa) and repeat steps 5–8.

10. After 15 minutes, take out the two rectangles. Brush the top of the vanilla layer with a bit of water, and place the chocolate layer edges lined up precisely.

11. Measure down the length of the log, and cut it in half so you have two pieces ½x cm long.

12. Take the second piece and place it on top of the first, so you have a ½cm long log that is 4cm wide and 4cm high, layered vanilla-chocolate-vanilla-chocolate.

13. Using the ruler and knife, carefully cut the log lengthwise into four pieces 1cm wide (and 4cm deep, with alternate vanilla-chocolate-vanilla-chocolate layers).

14. Carefully lift the second piece and flip it so its layers are now chocolate-vanilla-chocolate-vanilla. Do the same with the fourth piece.

15. Cut the checkerboard log in two halves, ¼x cm long, wrap them in baking paper and refrigerate.

16. Take out the first ball of extra vanilla dough, and roll it out into a 4½cm wide, __cm long rectangular sheet.

17. Take out the first checkerboard log and place it on the sheet. Wrap the sheet around its length, sealing the edges with a bit of water if necessary. Refrigerate.

18. Repeat with the second checkerboard log and the chocolate dough.

19. Preheat the oven to 350°F or 180°C. Slice the checkerboard logs into ½ cm thick slices, and arrange them on a baking tray.

20. Bake for five minutes. Cool and serve.

Do not feed your pets cookies, no matter how much they beg.

REALLY REALLY LUCKY

Sometimes
The sun is out
And you're indoors
And you think dammit who cares about this bloody essay I'm going out
And you step out and close your eyes and smile and turn your face up
That's when it starts
To rain.
And if you're really really lucky you would've left your keys inside.

This has been a poem by a Melbourne dweller, thank you thank you.

WEIRD THINGS PEOPLE SAY

So I ran into this girl from class yesterday. I stopped to chat, partly because she's a nice girl (and no one wants nice girls thinking that they're rude or weird). Also we're two expats in Melbourne and I felt an odd need to create or reinforce a bond, and an even odder compulsion to reach out cross-culturally and somehow, through this one conversation, dispel any negative stereotypes about my people and make tremendous headway in improving race relations.

So we spent the entire conversation dissing Australians.

It was beautiful. She asked me if I planned to go back to America (I'm not American, for the record, I just studied there for a few years) and I said it would be an option if it weren't so far away. She said it sounded like I missed it there and I said yes, I kind of did. She asked if I liked it better there than there in Australia.

I glanced over my shoulder. We were alone.

And I said that well, Australia has its good points, as does every place I've lived in, but Americans, well at least the Americans I met in America, were just... nicer.

She looked at me slightly incredulously, and said, "Really?"

And I said, "Yeah, they're just... warmer. If you look a little lost, they stop and offer to help. When I was in America, no one commented on my accent, or asked me questions like 'How come you guys are never on time, is it a cultural thing?' whereas here it is a rare week when that doesn't happen."

And she said, "And on the tram, they make these loud remarks, Chinese people this and Indian people that... it's not nice but we can't do anything."

I nodded, and then quickly added, feeling a twinge of guilt for the Aussies that I -am- friends with, of course not everyone is like that, it's just that you keep expecting it to happen. And she said, to be fair it's not just the Aussies, the Brits tend to be racist too.

"But not the Scottish people," she said.

"Or the Welsh," I added, thinking of my friend Hannah. "And Irish are nice too, I've never met an Irish person that's not nice."

It looked like we were going to be friends. We had covered nearly all of the white Anglophone world, and concurred on the niceness scale of all but the Kiwis and Canadians. Walking to the tram, I felt warm and fuzzy, and idly wondered if I had been a trifle hasty in my generalisations.

Sure, I thought to myself as I got onto my tram, over half the people I made friends with in America were Americans, whereas here, it adds up to a grand total of two good friends, plus three others I'd like to know better, one ex that I don't talk to but shall certainly talk about at some point, and a handful of acquaintances.

And then some dude on the tram made a loud remark about Melbourne being overridden by bloody Asians, and I thought, ah. I may be wrong, but sometimes it feels so... right.

BABY SPINACH AND CHICK PEA SOUP

YOU'LL NEED:
A knife and chopping board
A stockpot
A spatula
A ladle
A kettle

INGREDIENTS:
1 can of chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 bag of baby spinach, washed
10-12 cherry tomatoes, halved
2-3 small potatoes, washed and quartered
1 red onion, sliced
2 chilli peppers, slit lengthwise
4-8 pods of garlic, shelled
a sprig of fresh rosemary
a sprig of fresh thyme or ½ tsp dry thyme
olive oil & salt to taste

1. Fill the kettle with water and turn it on.
2. Pour some oil into the stockpot, and set it on the gas stove over a medium flame.
3. Sauté the onions, chilli peppers, garlic pods and potatoes, with a pinch of salt for about 5 minutes.
4. Add the herbs and chickpeas, and pour about three cups of boiling water in.
5. Cover, lower the flame and cook till the potatoes are nearly done done.
6. Add the tomatoes and spinach, and more salt and water if necessary. Once the spinach is wilted, turn off the stove.

Apparently, one can add wine early on: after step 3, add white wine and herbs, and after a few minutes, the chick peas and water. I think. Also one can ply one's guests with wine early on, and ensure that they will be too inebriated to tell the difference by dinnertime.

Not that I would dream of resorting to such underhanded means.

YESTERDAY I KILLED: A POEM

Yesterday I killed
a fly
that flew
into
our apartment.
Chased it
with a can
of bug spray in each hand
and
killed it
dead.
The End.

ARE YOU THAT GUY?

Conversation in a busy dumpling house. Two guys at a table full of people were talking about abortion.

Quick description. Guy 1 was 23, American, white, straight, a pre-med student, about 6ft tall, lean, fit, quite good-looking. Guy 2 was 24, Australian, white, straight, a media studies major, about 6ft tall, lean, fit, quite good-looking. There were three women at the table.

Guy 1 was doing a paper on the ethics/morality/legality of abortion for a class, and Guy 2 was jokingly oversimplifying the first one's position on the matter. Now I'm not sure about what the first guy's actual opinion on abortion was, because my brain was busy doing that thing where it sends pounding flashes of purple and red and yellow to the back of my eyes.

THE QUESTIONNAIRE
Before I explain, let's start with a short, fun exercise I like to call the abortion questionnaire. For each of the questions, choose the MOST APPROPRIATE answer from the three or four options provided. This means that if you're not Jewish, and if someone asks you if your parents insist on keeping kosher, the answer is not "Yes" or "No" - the most appropriate answer is "Not Applicable". Here goes!

01. Have you ever had an abortion?
   [YES]     [NO]                                                  [NOT APPLICABLE]
02. Are there any circumstances under which you have considered or would consider having an abortion?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
03. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, you felt you were too young for pregnancy/childbirth?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
04. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, you felt you were too young for parenthood?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
05. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, you became pregnant as a result of your contraception failing (such as condom tearing)?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
06. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, you became pregnant as a result of a sexual encounter that took place when you were under the influence of alcohol or drugs?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
07. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, you became pregnant as a result of a sexual encounter that took place when your ability to make informed decisions was in any other way compromised?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
08. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, you became pregnant because of a sexual encounter that you did not give your consent to, or did not desire?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
09. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, your fetus was not of your desired gender?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
10. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, your fetus had developmental abnormalities?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
11. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, your partner wanted you to terminate the pregnancy?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
12. Have you had an abortion because, or would you consider an abortion if, your pregnancy posed a risk to your life, health, or mental well-being?
   [YES]     [NO]     [NOT SURE]                            [NOT APPLICABLE]
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you've answered 'not applicable' on all the above questions, please step into this room where we can talk:

THE ROOM
Let's set aside for the moment what your views on abortion are. If none of these questions is applicable to you personally, it is probably because it is impossible for you to become pregnant. Maybe you don't have a uterus. Maybe you have a chromosomal anomaly.

The bottom line is, the question of whether or not to have an abortion is one that you will never face. It will never apply to you.

You may argue that it doesn't need to, that you are entitled to an opinion anyway. You may argue that moral values are absolute.

Or you may argue that actually, it could apply to you: what if your partner is the one facing these choices and she wants or needs you to help her decide what to do?

Or you may be a pre-med student, or a doctor, and may have to decide whether or not to perform abortions, either as a routine procedure or on a case-by-case basis.

However, you can choose to become a neurologist or endocrinologist and entirely bypass the abortion issue. You can walk away from a pregnant girlfriend - your pregnant girlfriend cannot walk away from her pregnancy quite as easily.

This is what separates you from all those individuals standing outside this room. Whether they are straight or gay, tall or short, fat or thin, as long as they have a functioning uterus, this is not purely hypothetical for them. Whatever they may believe, something horrible can happen to them that makes them reevaluate their convictions and make difficult choices. It's different.

HOW DIFFERENT?
Imagine that you're hanging out with a couple of Middle Eastern dudes who have a jokey discussion on whether alcohol fuels immorality among white people and destroys the fabric of Western society.

Now imagine that these guys come from a highly populated and extremely powerful Islamic country that won a major war twenty years ago, a war that decimated your own population. And that as a result, the citizens of this country get to rewrite your laws.

Whether or not the rewritten laws will benefit your society is moot. Whether they are enforced strictly or not at all is irrelevant.

The point is, a good proportion of the people who decide how you should live your life, and how you should be punished if you don't live your life that way, do so from outside. So when one of them mouths off about whether or not public sodomy is an appropriate or excessive punishment for white men who are caught drinking, your gut instinct might be to tell them to fuck off or to punch them in the face.

But if you have any instinct for self-preservation, there will be a pragmatic voice in your head telling you that you cannot afford to antagonise these people. So you end up engaging in a debate with them about the issue. They may point out studies that prove that alcohol is harmful and encourages reckless behaviour. They may say that violating and humiliating an offender in public would have the necessary effect of deterring this undesirable behaviour.

You try to keep your cool and argue respectfully, conceding some points and questioning some leaps in logic. Because you know that if you get upset, these guys may say, "See, this is what alcohol does to white guys. It makes them argumentative and hysterical and violent."

SO IF YOU'RE THAT GUY...
please keep in mind that this is how it can feel for the non-male, non-straight, or non-white people around you when you air your views on gay rights, abortion rights, minority rights.

They may not say anything because they're upset and don't want to show it and reinforce your stereotypes about them. They may engage in a civil discussion on THEIR rights with you, because they're aware that you have the power to collectively take those rights away. If your point of view coincides somewhat with theirs, they may just be relieved to have someone on their side. Or maybe this power dynamic is so entrenched in their thinking - as it is in yours - that none of this even occurs to them.

Or maybe they're not speaking up because they just want to keep the peace, and have a beer with friends, without it devolving into yet another heated debate that divides the group and leaves everyone with a bad taste in the mouth.