Scratching That Bed Race Itch

I know that ever since I posted about my Dad's Libertarian Bed Race Fiasco, you have been wondering: when is the next bed race? Can I enter? Can I win?! The answers are September 5, Yes, and Hells No! Here's why:

The race will begin at 9 a.m. with the team from Sergio's Restaurant returning to defend not only its 2004 title, but the best time ever posted by any team in the 30-plus year history of the bed race. The Sergio's Restaurant team won the title last year in a stunning burst of speed, sailing past all competitors, to post a record-breaking time of 1:43.16.

I highly doubt that you amateurs are going beat that. You could get noticed for your bed's decorations however. But probably not, since

In a new twist reminiscent of the bed races of the 1970s, LaserZone on Rte . 20 will not only enter a bed in the race, but will decorate one for the Lions Club's entry in the Labor Day parade.

May the Circle Be Unbroken

I don't want you to think I was actively cruising the Lebowski Fest website, but I do need you to know that the site features two circle closures for this blog.

First of all, it IS Liam, and someone thought it was funny enough to make one of these dumb fake church signs out of it.

Second, lebowskiites have already participated in at least one documented bed race. A bed race, dude.

I can't promise that I am done with any of these topics, but I will try very very hard.

When It's Too Icy for a Bed Race. . .

This photo suggest that children in other countries (okay, in Dusseldorf) are forced to race one another, dressed as Santa, in order to obtain gifts on Christmas. Poor children. Of course, if we instituted such a program here, it might be a way to deal with childhood obesity, through a Darwinian "only the fast thin kids get gifts" rationale.


We could even make the adults do it. One guy apparently thought he could substitute his boxing robe for a Santa suit. Don't worry, he'll get ding-ed at the finish line.

It's more likely, of course, that Americans will start to act like the Russians, and dress their pets as Santa. I wonder if we would let guinea pigs run as our proxies in the Great Christmas Dash.

I don't know why I am blaming the Russians for this nonsense (although this is a Russian guinea pig). It was probably the English who invented the pet costume. And they wonder what happened to their empire.....

My second least favorite political party of the day

I am so glad that Libertarians are keeping themselves busy trying to get eminent domain over the Supreme Court Justices' homes while the Prez fiddles and the Constitution burns.

Which reminds me. When I was a kid, my dad ran for Congress on the Libertarian party ticket in Indiana. I have two memories about his candidacy. (1) The head of the state party had one room in his house that was a monkey cage and had a scary monkey; and (2) as part of his campaign, my dad ran in a local bed race but one of the wheels came off before he finished.

You can see why I still cannot stand the Libertarians.

My No On Prop 8 Post

One of these days, seriously, I will get around to discuss some down-ticket races. For now, I want to write about the other race that fills my mind, and my heart, Proposition 8.

Let me tell you a story: June 26, 1983, was my parents' 12th wedding anniversary. I was barely awake that morning when my dad told me to sit on the couch. I had been away at camp the previous week, and was wiped out from the mediocre food, very little sleep and the terrifying tales of the campers that died before me at Camp Dick Runyon. My sister and I say lumpenly on the couch, too sleepy to be curious. I don't remember the exact speech, but my father told us that he was moving out and that he and my mom were splitting up. I remember that they said it wasn't our fault, but they had never fought with one another that I could recall (well there were a couple of instances but nothing ongoing), so it must be our fault.

Later, my father called a good friend who shared their wedding anniversary to tell him the sorry news. I was laying on my parents' bed listening. My father was systematically dismantling a life that they had chosen together.

1983 was a bad year to be a gay man coming out of the closet, but it was also the first year that it was really possible, at least in rural Indiana. In November, my mom moved us back east, and my dad moved to Fort Wayne, where there was a surprisingly supportive gay-ish community. Although I knew my father's boyfriends over the years, I never told anyone that he was gay until I got to high school, and even then only told a couple of friends. By college, it made me a novelty. My father's journey was probably harder before that day in 1983, and my mother's was harder after it.

Now I am happily married. And the one thing that I wish for both of my parents is that they could have had this marriage when they were young. An honest marriage. An in-love marriage. Now that I have children, I have the same hope for them. And I now live in a rare place in history, and in geography, and in the law, where that is possible, no matter who they fall in love with.

I highly doubt that I have readers who support Prop 8, which would write discrimination into the California constitution by banning gay marriage. You probably already knew how I felt about this, and were planning to vote NO on Prop 8. But please take the extra step, and please DONATE to No on Prop 8.