I can't help it. When it comes to homophobia, a sentence or two just isn't enough.

I try very very hard to respect the beliefs of others, and in most cases I succeed pretty well, I think.

I personally think there should be more limits on guns, but I can recognize the validity of others' fears regarding a world where the government has all the weapons. (And I'll avoid any more examples to not get off track.)

But I cannot respect the beliefs of hate groups, and to me it is clear that homophobia falls into that category.

I respect the Bible and that people hold it dear. That's great. But to pick one verse out of the swamp of outdated sentiments in there, many of which are downright criminal in modern times, and use it to justify discriminating against people for being gay? That makes no sense to me.

(Have you ever eaten pork or seafood, done any work on a Sunday, or gotten a haircut? Do you think they should all be illegal too?)

You can think homosexuality is icky. Sure. If someone ever tries to force you to watch gay porn, I'll be right there to help you escape. But taking your unease and using it to inhibit, disrespect, and damage the lives of people who have done nothing whatsoever wrong to you or anyone else? Just because it gives you the heebie-jeebies? That I cannot abide.

I wonder how many anti-gay-rights individuals have set aside the particulars of this issue, and really honestly tried to imagine what it would really feel like for others to tell you that you are wrong for being the way you are. That you are not free to be with the person you love, and that society will not recognize your commitment to each other. To imagine all the hatred and bigotry directed at you, when you haven't done any harm to anyone. Really tried to feel that compassion.

I didn't want to get off track, but look, here we are. This is perhaps the single issue that gets me the most riled up.

I meant this to be a silly little post (giggling at a label for crying out loud) about how I don't currently own any US Supreme Court justices, but K and I are trying to send out some subtle psychic signals to help them make the right choice, and having a heartfelt toast to equality, gay rights, and human progress.

And then I was going to tell you about how we somewhat set the house on fire while cooking a lasagna tonight, but I'm perilously close to 400 words, and I can feel your attention wandering.

Good night, good loving, and human rights to all.

Monuments, funerals, and a flying disease wagon

After the Air Force Monument we headed to Martin Luther King, Jr.’s. The statue itself is a stern one, and I felt it highlighted the severe nature of the struggle more than his compassion. Though it honestly reminded me a bit of the Soviet monuments I saw in the Baltics, I would be more offended by a fluffy-light monument, and the quotes engraved on the wall behind him are a clear testimony to the caliber of the man.

I was in Washington DC for the funeral of my step-grandfather. After a career in the military spanning three wars and three decades, his ceremony was held at Arlington National Cemetery, with full military honors. I may not agree with every one of those conflicts, but it is a clear thing to honor the life of someone who gave so much of themselves.

The ceremony was held on a chilly morning of crisp air and even crisper salutes, and the 21 shots from the honor guard were felt as much as heard. The familiar taps military funeral melody was suddenly far more poignant than I’d ever heard it as it echoed over the headstones of generations of servicemen and women. We drove out past tombstones from World Wars I and II, rows with dates only days apart in 1864, and some reading simply “civilian.”

It’s a sobering place to be, and I can only hope that our leaders will rise to be worthy of these sacrifices. Lobbyists and profiteers need not apply.

The primary occupation of my time however was meeting the step-family, which proved to be an entertaining endeavor. Faces bearing familiar resemblances spoke with accents from New York to rural Texas. They have some strong women in that branch! Why not climb Mt Kilimanjaro for one’s 60^th birthday, and why not still swim half a mile at age 91? You go, gyrlz!

My brother and I went for some quick sightseeing our last morning. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to remove the pocketknife from my bag when I left home. Having a thumb-sized precluded me from entering 95% of that most fearful city, and I was not allowed to even wait inside the building while my brother checked out an exhibit by Ai Weiwei.

Luckily there was a work in the courtyard.

The flight home featured some impressive turbulence over Missouri, nearly sufficient to overwhelm the symphony of enthusiastic coughing that erupted relentlessly from bronchial tubes all around me. One guy behind me apparently believed that the key to coughing was not just the expulsion of air, but the simultaneous vibration of the vocal cords, so he basically shouted his coughs.

So this morning I am nursing a waterfall of a nose and squishy sneezes. Three cheers to an unending cup of hot green tea.

Peanut butter and jelly before dawn, with many miles still to go.

I was shaking my head as I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at 4:30 in the morning yesterday.

A pbj sounded absolutely disgusting at the moment, and the bread felt cold and dry in my hands. The peanut butter was stiff and stubborn, and as usual the jelly worked its way up the knife and onto my fingers.

I explained to a sleepy Scoobie: "I'm flying to Washington DC in a couple hours, and they don't give you any food on planes anymore. They might have pbj's for sale, but they'd probably be, like, $8."

Scoobie didn't buy my exaggeration, and went back to bed. I looked at my sandwich, grimaced, and slid a slice of pizza into a second bag, then stuffed them both in my bag.

A few hours with later I pulled the menu up on the plane and saw that yes indeed they sold pbj's, and they were $4...for a half. So no Scoobie, I was not exaggerating. They do indeed want $8 for an undoubtedly small sandwich which would probably be dryer than an Algerian lint trap.

The wealthy blond lady next to me glanced at my homemade food as she ordered another "snack pack" of crap for $12.

They charge you for the TV or movies on the plane too, but they had some free shorts from YouTube, so I put on "Written by a Kid." I don't want to give you high expectations, but you should go watch it. Watch several of them.

My neighbor glanced at me again as I shook uncontrollably, and a tear came out of my left eye to slide down my cheek.

As we touched down on the runway in Washington I leaned over to her and asked, in a Scottish accent "Excuse me miss, but can ye see the Statue of Liberty from here?"

I gave her a couple moments to stammer before admitting that I was kidding. She looked relieved.

That evening I met up with my parents, and some friends took us on a quick driving tour of a couple monuments. The Airforce Monument stretches three spikes high into the sky while suitably solemn bronze statues look on in front of a wall engraved with "Integrity, Service, and Excellence."