Julescosby's Blog

Jules Cosby out of the Closet!

Posted by julescosby on March 20, 2010

Dear friends and family:

It is with a heavy heart that I bring this message to you.

Some of us have spoken to the content that follows in person.  This is for the rest of you, who have been wondering about the nature of my identity for some time now.  I must say, I too have wondered.  A closet is a terribly cold, dark place and its claustrophobic nature obfuscates thought, especially reflexive thought.  I will stand in such a place no longer.

I, Julius Hanlan Cosby, am a liberal.

I have spent many years at a school with a strong Marxist bent.  In moments of solidarity some of you were shocked to learn I was no Marxist.  Now that I’ve said what I truly am, you should know firstly that it took me nearly four years of being a vegetarian in order for me to be comfortable with that term.  I suppose I was always scared of what the great philosopher Wayne Campbell once said: “if you label me, you negate me.”  But as it came to pass with vegetarian, I no longer fear this label of ‘liberal’.  If it represents negation, then negate away!

At a psychological level, there are competing logics in my head.  I do not believe in history as progress; I think that social contract theory is an empty shell of itself; and the idea of painting people as solely rational utility maximizers dehumanizes.  The primacy of the individual in a collectivity is absurd.  But poor philosophical and historicist grounds of standard run-of-the-John-Stuart-Mill liberalism aren’t enough to push me into a different camp.

What is popular is not always best – one word friends, Nickelback – and that is why I’m not strictly a democrat.  Aristotle had it right millennia ago when he argued that the best political system is a mixed one.  I want a conservative judiciary, but I want universities that train progressive lawyers with social consciences.  I want a powerful House of Commons, but I want the sober second look of an Upper House (I suppose I would ideally prefer a more horizontal as opposed to vertical approach to viewing it).  I want a powerful state: not so that it can peek into the bedroom of my neighbour or tell me what to put into my body, but as an instrument of good.

Does this make me an elitist? Well I believe in strongly in the power of unions, democratic unions.  The union ought to be one of the most powerful expressions of democracy in our society.  Often, it is as centralized and bureaucratic – and therefore loathed – as the corporations they oppose.  As much as feasible, workers should control their destiny.

Am I committed to social justice? Yes.  Should this be an indictment of me as a Bourgeois apologist? I think not.  When I hear some Marxists representing an ethos of the ‘old boys club’ it makes me sick.  This is no way indicts all Marxists.  But if you can’t respect the rights of someone other than rich white straight men, for the sole reason that other rich white straight men historically came up with these rights, you are in a eddy of logic that escapes me.  If the Revolution succeeded, but as a result turned back liberal ideas of equality, then would it be worth it? I have asked myself that question over and over again, and I still can’t find a calculus that would have me answer in the affirmative.

There are many of you who will poke holes in the positions I have sketched out here.  As always I sincerely welcome the debate.  I am still a skeptic, by very nature conservative, but I also want to be intellectually honest.

And ultimately, I don’t want things to change between us.  If we meet in the locker room of the Historical Materialism conference, I don’t want things to be awkward.  It’s me guys: the same old Jules I’ve always been!

And so as I warily take these difficult steps out of a closet I can no longer bear, I leave with one final refrain:

Love me, love me, love me:

I’m a liberal.

-JC

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Special Guest Blogger: Adam Richards

Posted by julescosby on March 15, 2010

To our loyal reader: JC has been suffering from a severe case of writer’s block as of late.  This week we present a musing by his longtime associate and loyal friend Adam Richards.

The Two Adams

By Adam C. Richards

It might as well be a sitcom.

Two roommates, both named Adam.  One is gay, one is straight.  BUT HERE’S THE KICKER: The straight one is fancy – like Will and Grace fancy – and the gay one is more like the older brother from the Wonder Years.

The rest practically writes itself.

But it’s not a sitcom; it’s my life right now.  When our other roommate told me who was about to move in a few months back, I expected an Elton John or a Truman Capote to show up with an entourage and suitcases upon suitcases of fabulous kitsch.  Think of the classy parties we would have! The new colour schemes in the bathroom! The mani-pedi Sundays!

And then, Gay Adam arrived.

Jerry Seinfeld once mused that he wasn’t gay, but that people always assumed so because he was thin, single and neat.  Gay Adam is single, but not thin and hardly neat.  He likes guns and is going to be a cop.  He wears a hunting jacket, pajamas, and big ugly boots out into the world every day.  He doesn’t care much for the world of LGBT, but sure loves CCR.

In other words, Gay Adam is a dude.

Now Straight Adam, yours truly, if you take him on appearance, is a dude too.  Once, a classmate called me ‘hypermasculine’ because I have a jawline that can cut a diamond and a baritone that could reach a submarine in the middle of the Pacific.  But oh those ever-deceptive appearances! In reality, I might be the most effeminate hypermasculine that you’ve ever met.  I can’t leave the house if my scarf doesn’t match my shoes, or if my belt clashes with my watch.  The amount of product I put into my hair probably amounts to the Gross Domestic Product of half of the Global South.

To give you more of an idea of the Gay Adam/Straight Adam dichotomy, here are a few examples:

  • I like to keep things neat and tidy.  He doesn’t give a fuck.
  • I eat a balanced diet and exercise regularly.  He doesn’t give a fuck.
  • I moderate drug and alcohol intake.  He really doesn’t give a fuck.

Yes, we’ve really come to hear that particular utterance – “I don’t give a fuck” – a lot around the apartment these past couple of months.  In fact, if this were a sitcom, that would definitely be his catchphrase, although maybe watered down a bit for television.  Ideally we could find a timeslot on HBO to keep the accuracy, because ‘I don’t care, especially’ or ‘I don’t give a hoot, presently’ doesn’t come close to properly capturing the I-don’t-give-a-fuck-ness of Gay Adam.

Now, here’s the part where you get my view on homosexuality.  I don’t care about it one way or another.  I’ve been called a ‘fag’ my whole life by dumb children, but I’m not one.  In fairness to those little imps, I kissed a boy on the cheek in the bathroom once in Grade 7 in front of everyone.  It wasn’t because I was especially attracted to him; it just seemed like the right idea at the time.  Man, THAT one took a while to explain away.  But never at any point have I found men, images of men, or even the idea of men particularly attractive.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good stereotype.  Like The Onion says: Stereotypes are real time-savers.  But in a world that is presented to us as fundamentally black and white, I truly enjoy seeing them break down into slippery grays.  And to see this much illogic concentrated in one small apartment is enough to prove the only intuition I’ve ever had about the world: that it is one big steaming pile of absurdity.

As for the plot lines and story arc for the new season of The Two Adams, well, Gay Adam just asked me to take him clothes shopping this week.  Look out, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.  You’re about to get fucked in the ass.

Stay tuned.

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Onion Ring gets more fans than Stephen Harper

Posted by julescosby on February 8, 2010

OTTAWA – Touching off a third constitutional crisis in a matter of years, an onion ring has just become the de facto leader of the Dominion of Canada.

The onion ring, whose online celebrity quickly reached meteoric heights, has officially garnered more Facebook fans than Stephen Harper, leader of the Conservative Party and 22nd Prime Minister of Canada.

Despite a last-ditch effort made by Harper to ally with other federal parties and Facebook groups, he still couldn’t defeat the onion ring, which is a battered ring of sliced onion, similar to a leek.

Though neither the position of the Prime Minister nor the online social networking site Facebook are explicitly recognized by the Constitution Acts [1867], [1982], the transfer of power was completed once the onion ring stepped off its specially-built Boeing 747/Pressure Cooker Hybrid at the MacDonald-Cartier International Airport in Ottawa.

Once the onion ring was installed as leader, it immediately began sweeping changes of the landscape of the federal government.  Medicare was replaced by a national dipping sauce program.  Parliament buildings were refitted with millions of litres of cooking oil, a move which attracted great praise from the canola and soybean dependent farmers’ lobby.

In its first national address, the Onion Ring declared that Canada was now to be called Ringania, a move which, while popular in Alberta and Quebec, has irritated some Ontarians.

Although some constitutional experts are quick to call these recent developments “unprecedented”, historical parallels have also been drawn.  At the provincial level, a battered piece of cod once fought successfully to become the Premier of Newfoundland, though it was devoured by Danny Williams before it could assume office.

Similarly, at the federal level,19th century Prime Minister Alexander MacKenzie’s government was defeated by an alliance between Sir John A. MacDonald’s Conservatives and a plate of potatoes ”served in the French manner”.  However, this is the first time that a deep-fried vegetable has vied for power with no inside help.

Though at press time Harper could not be reached for comment, former opposition leader Michael Ignatieff was initially quoted as saying “the installation of the draconian onion ring is a blight on the sovereignty of Canadians”.  However, once it was leaked that Ignatieff had attracted interest by the onion’s handlers for a position in the new government, he amended his position.

“I, for one, welcome the onion ring and look forward to many years of his benevolent rule: the true expression of the general will of all Canadians,” before adding in an aloof, professorial manner: “God save the ring.”

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Area man not trying to copy The Great Gatsby

Posted by julescosby on January 18, 2010

NEW YORK – Local millionaire, John Greenwood, insists that he is not recreating the fictional life of Jay Gatsby, the titular character of the F. Scott Fitzgerald novel in turn adapted to several film and television versions.

Standing on the dock of his Long Island, NY mansion, he adamantly maintains his unawareness of the proximity of Violet Robertson, a young heiress he courted in his youth, a positioning very similar to that of The Great Gatsby.

“We sort of lost contact after I went off to war,” he recalls, seemingly disinterested in the apparent correlation of events between the story and his own life, “I went to fight for her freedom, and the first thing she did was marry this racist putz with a fucktonne of money.”

Momentarily acknowledging the consistency between the copresence of a green light, both in the novel as a beacon to Gatsby’s lost love, and on his dock, he also insists that it was already installed when he purchased the estate.

“I’ve been meaning to take it down.  A white LED light would be much more efficient anyway.”

While the source of his fortune is unknown, it is widely rumoured to be from illicit activities, just as Gatsby’s fortune was.  Questions relating to business are consistently redirected to his associate Schlomo Wolfowitz, who Greenwood insists is in no way blatant mimicry of the seedy Meyer Wolfsheim characterization of Jews in the novel.

“Do you know how many Jews are in business? Would you rather I had picked a Mennonite?”

When asked about his intentions in constantly throwing massive parties reminiscent of 1920s decadence, Greenwood, who shares a monogram with the Gatsby character, contends it was not so that the former love of his life would one day arrive as a guest and, seeing him now as her equal, marry him.

“I really like women and cocaine,” he explains.  I don’t have parties so one bitch I used to date shows up.  Actually I’ve got a dozen or so waiting for me in the Jacuzzi as we speak.”

Also causing some speculation of aping is the recent arrival of Greenwood ‘s new neighbour, a bond salesman from the Midwest and the second cousin once removed of Violet.  But he insists this too is coincidental, despite the fact that even from a distance the neighbour can be heard narrating events as they occur and reflecting on them later.

“Don’t get me wrong”, assures Greenwood, who was once forced to read the Great Gatsby in his high school English class.  “I like books.  I just think there’s better literature out there.”

“I’m really just a regular, ordinary guy trying to live the American Dream,” a gold-hatted Greenwood muses, as he prepares for his daily high-bounce aerobics routine.

John Greenwood stands beside his collection of Gatsby-era automobiles

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Tyler Shipley to represent everyone, everything

Posted by julescosby on January 10, 2010

TORONTO – Tyler Shipley, former spokesperson for CUPE Local 3903, has now been named representative for every conceivable interest on the planet.

Although his motivations for accepting such a hefty responsibility remain unclear, Tyler Shipley, known as the Paris Hilton of CUPE, will now speak on behalf of anyone and everyone.

Recently, at a clash between pro-Israeli and pro-Palestinian demonstrators, Tyler Shipley took the microphone to claim that all Palestinians were terrorists, and that Israel would not negotiate until major concessions were undertaken.

Later, Palestinian spokesperson Tyler Shipley asked poignantly, “what does it mean to be a terrorist?”

“The state of Israel is the terrorist!” Tyler Shipley announced.

Tyler Shipley squares off against Tyler Shipley during the 2008 American Vice-Presidential Debate

Across town, another group of animal rights protesters stood firm, chanting and holding placards in front of the chemical company Shadycorp, known for its “Painted Ladies” product line.  Tyler Shipley, holding his ubiquitous megaphone, announced that “this reprehensible company tests its products on poor, defenseless animals!”

Eventually, a representative emerged from the corporate headquarters to address the protesters.  That representative, Tyler Shipley, assured the crowd that no products were tested on animals, before pointing to the crowd the company’s excellent track record with matters of animal rights, and offering free samples of the perfume line “Homogeneous” to the protesters.

The next day during recess at a local public school, an altercation occurred that that left one child’s G.I. Joe action figure limbless and decapitated.

Tyler Shipley, the representative of Timmy, accused classmate Jimmy of wrecking the toy, which wore beige camouflage and was called “Duke”.

"Duke"

Tyler Shipley, speaking on behalf of Jimmy, claimed that the G.I. Joe showed signs of structural weakness before leaving the hands of Timmy.  He also claimed that Timmy had “internalized the logic of the employer”, although it remains unclear what the statement specifically meant in that context.

When asked to comment on his new role as representative of everyone and everything, Tyler Shipley redirected the question to his representative Tyler Shipley, who in turn redirected it to his representative Tyler Shipley, who in turn redirected it to his representative Ty…

This regression continued until the entire universe, from the smallest atom to the largest galaxy, was destroyed in a paradox.

Later, spokesperson for God, Tyler Shipley, commented that a replacement universe is already in the initial stages of development.  He gave his assurances that the new universe will be remarkably similar to the first one, with the exception that ice cream would not make you fat, the Jets would be back in Winnipeg, and Tyler Shipley would always have a date on Friday night.

And on the 8th day, God created Tyler Shipley

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Your friendly neighbourhood douchebag

Posted by julescosby on January 7, 2010

Hey man, remember me? I’m the guy who parks ridiculously close to you on the street.

Yeah, I’m doing ok.  Just hanging out, you know? Adding another 10-20 minutes to your daily commute.  Honestly, what would you do with those 20 minutes? My mother always told me that idle hands were the Devil’s playthings!

See, I just saw someone park on the next street over.  He left the car in front of him 2 whole feet of space! I know! Never know what can happen in those gaps, eh?

So people think that this is just a hobby I’ve picked up over the years, but the truth is I have a long family history of parking too close.  Thanks to the internet, I’ve traced my lineage back to Parkus Assholus, a Roman patrician who once blocked the Roman chariots, giving Caesar the chance to cross the Rubicon.  I’m also related to El Douche, the Spanish sailor that anchored his ship so close to the rest of the Armada that it made the British fleet able to defeat them.  Once my family settled in North America, my great-great grandfather tied his horse to the hind legs of Billy the Kid’s horse, preventing him from escaping the town’s deputies.

In my immediate family, I have my older brother.  He parks incredibly close to your car as well, only he does it in the wintertime, when you’re already facing the twofold threat of snow and zero-traction.   I’m not quite bold enough for that, yet.  It must have something to do with birth order, but then, I just barely passed my psychology class in second year, so I have no idea.

And then right behind me is my little sister, but she’s not old enough to park on the street yet.  But we still let her park immediately beside you in a giant empty parking lot.  She’s got a long way to go, but she’s a good kid, and her heart is in the right spot.

Now, I know that in life it’s not always easy to do the right thing.  But sometimes it’s nice when people leave me little signs telling me how much they appreciate what I do.  Sometimes, people take the windshield wipers on my Hummer and point them straight up toward the sky, as if to say ‘thank heavens for you, guy who parks too close”.  Other times it’s a little less subtle: simple little notes on my windshield saying “Thank You”.  Although to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure when the word ‘thank’ began to be spelled F-U-C-K.  I’m sure it has something to do with text messaging.  That stuff is ruining the language.

Anyway, I just wanted to check in to see if you’re okay.  Say, I’ve been eyeing your car for a while now, and that little scratch of paint you’ve got on the back bumper, well gee, that’s my colour! Small world eh?

Well, it was great talking to you, but I’ve got to jet.  I think I spot an even smaller space I can squeeze into up the street.  Happy motoring!

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My friend Matty

Posted by julescosby on January 4, 2010

This is my friend Matty.

Matty and I have known each other since we were kids.

We were on the same baseball team.

We played in rock and roll bands.

We worked together at a music store owned by Canadian folk legend Fred Eaglesmith.

We are such good friends that we never let girls come between us.

One day Fred Eaglesmith decided to let Matty into his band.

Now he is always away on tour.

I don’t see a lot of Matty anymore, but when he visits it is always fun.

I miss Matty.

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January Jumpers

Posted by julescosby on January 4, 2010

Not a year goes by where some incredibly astute cultural observer does not notice the mountain of gym memberships that are created in January, only to be completely abandoned by the time Valentine’s Day hits.

I’d like to christen this phenomenon the January Jumper.

Now, gym regulars love to shit on January Jumpers.  Why? Maybe it’s a spatial thing.  Gyms, even the ridiculous self-parody of a monstrous hyper-gym that I go to, are limited in size.  The influx of new people means that you somehow limited in your ability to do what you want to do.  But just because you can’t bench press something doesn’t mean you can’t go do a push-up somewhere else.

No, I think it’s something that goes much deeper.  I think it’s a question of exclusivity.  After all, you’d think that ‘healthy’ people would want other people to be ‘healthy’ too.  But no, the new is encroaching on the old, and this simply will not do!

I joined a gym once, long ago, for one simple reason: I did not want to be fat.  I spent most of my childhood being called both fat and smart, and I was never sure which I hated worse.  By the time I realized that being smart might not be such a bad thing, I put those smarts to use and realized, you know, I wouldn’t mind wearing pants that fit.

Being smart and wearing fitted pants: that was the ticket!

But like many people, the endeavour included a few false starts.  I tried going to the gym with my Dad, with friends, with trainers, but it never really took until I had graduated high school and had nothing else to do.  And from there, a few things fell into place.  Once I was working out regularly, my diet improved, which meant that I saw better results in the ubiquitous gym mirror, which meant that I was more inclined to stick to working out.

The thing is, for many people, myself included, the gym is merely a means to a simple end (not being fat).  Never once did I take the gym to be a social place.  I can be a fairly talkative person (I know we’re only at the outset, but I think we may have struck upon the understatement of the decade!), but in the years that I’ve gone to the gym I’d be hard-pressed to count on one hand the amount of times I’ve struck up a conversation with anyone.  That’s not to say I don’t eye-fuck every other person I see, but that’s a different story altogether.

(Besides, there are few times and places in the day where I don’t eye-fuck every other person I see.)

Now, I know a lot of you muscle-bound types aren’t exactly known for your brainthinks, but try to tease this one out for a second.  Your membership costs money (that paper stuff you use to get marginally-healthy protein bars).  The January Jumpers pay money too, but throughout the year they do not use the space that you use.  Therefore the money that the January Jumpers bring in probably subsidizes the cost of your membership.  In other words, if it weren’t for them, then you would probably pay more to use the gym, which means less money for your name-brand workout gear.

So please, think twice before you shit on people for wanting to join your gym.  Sure, New Years might not be the best time to join because of the failure that perpetually shadows New Years’ resolutions.  But it’s possible that some of these people might not turn out to be January Jumpers after all.

People are going to join gyms for their own reasons.  Sometimes they may even join your gym and you’re going to have to learn to deal with it.

Besides, if it’s a private club you’re really after, go buy a boat.

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Here comes the son

Posted by julescosby on December 20, 2009

I got a nice early Christmas present this year.  My whole life it’s just been me and my Dad, and so it was a little awkward to call home and hear a strange voice on the other end of the phone.  Whereas I’m used to just barging straight into conversation, this time I stuttered to get out words never before uttered: “is…uh…Peter there?”

You see, Dad has an Egyptian houseguest currently staying with him: a professional kickboxer, trying to make his way here in North America.  Now, to hear Dad speak of Konga (not his real name, but Pops isn’t exactly the world’s best Arabic speaker), is to hear him speak of a boy with drive, ambition, goals, i.e., the exact opposite of me.

To be fair, I have no doubt that Dad is proud of my Master’s degree in political theory.  After all, who wouldn’t be proud of a son who can talk ad infinitum (or indeed drop phrases like ad infinitum into daily conversation) about justice, equality, representation, aesthetics and the like? But I’m not exactly bursting at the seams with ambition, unless you count shining shoes or bussing tables as ambitious.

Now, anyone who knows Dad knows how great of a man he is.  When I was a kid, this was irritating, because I only ever wanted to talk about, you guessed it, me, but everyone around me seemed more interested in talking about him.  Big shoes to fill, you know?

But I have to face a harsh reality: he has a new son now.  And so I find myself thrown into the cold unfeeling marketplace, looking for a new Dad to fill the void.

People who have never met Dad 1.0 always ask me what he’s like.  I usually say something to the extent of ‘well he’s a lot like me, except humble, nice, caring, etc.”.  These qualities will have no place in Dad 2.0.

The first prospective new Dad I can think of is Bill O’Reilly.  Abrasive, loud, authoritative, but still charming as hell.  He has a Master’s degree from an Ivy League school, but if graduate school has taught me anything, it’s that a monkey could get a degree in liberal arts so long as it can jump through hoops and kiss ass at the same time.

So let’s add a bit of solid intellect to the mix.  Who do I get? Plato.  Sure, he was a proto-fascist.  But he is the father of Western political thought, and even his biggest detractors cannot help but admit to his genius.  He would have told me my role, and would have expected me to conform to it.

But Plato wasn’t exactly all that approving of writing, and if you haven’t guessed by now, I would like one day to be a writer.  So next up I have William F. Buckley Jr., the intellectual voice of American conservatism for decades.  Buckley would have taught me how to be authoritative, a genius, an author, a sailor and, last but certainly not least, a socialite.  He also, like me, always had a pen in his mouth (Shut up, Freud, I’m not talking to you).

So in the end I choose Buckley.  And even when I look at his real son, Christopher, the author of Thank You for Smoking, I see an image of my future self.  A touch arrogant, sure, but suave as suave can be: with a really sharp wit and with sharper fashion taste.

Now, some will look at this list and say ‘you’ve picked all conservatives’.  Well, duh.  What do you think a father should be?

I should recapitulate.  I love my previous father and he is a great man.  I wish him and his new son all the best, and I hope that kickboxing turns out to be more lucrative than political theory.

(Incidentally, today is my father’s birthday.  Happy birthday Dad!)

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Quid pro-Homo: A holiday message to the Christian Right

Posted by julescosby on December 19, 2009

We all know that the holidays run like clockwork: first, around the end of November, the stores sweep aside (READ: send to the dump) their Halloween decorations to make way for the ubiquitous reds and greens.  Next, radio stations one-by-one switch to an all-Christmas music format, both widening and intensifying with each chocolate consumed from your advent calendar.

School ends, parties are planned, plane tickets are booked.  And somewhere in the middle of all this, a bunch of right wing zealots begin the usual harping that the secular progressives are trying to take Christmas away from them.

We live in a pluralistic society, where we are each free to chose the meaning of just about anything.  With all of the various meaning we impart to the holiday season, just about the only thing we can all agree on is that it is fundamentally about exchange.

So, in this spirit of swap I want to offer the Christian right a trade: Christmas for gay-marriage.

Ultimately, what we are talking about here in both cases is a right to eternally close the meaning of a word.  Many gay marriage activists are not happy with the ‘civil union’ compromise, the status of equal-but-still-different.  Personally, I don’t believe that saying ‘happy holidays’ negates the celebration of the birth of your lord, any more than ‘civil union’ negates the love between two people.  But this isn’t good enough for either side.  They both want the word, not the thing itself.

To Christians: marriage really shouldn’t be that valuable to you.  First of all, you didn’t invent it; it’s been around for a long time.  And even it has always been fundamentally about exchange: the property of one man being transferred to another man.  And this isn’t just in the barbarous or pagan cultures where chattel and arranged marriages prevail, even in your story God gave Eve to Adam as a wife, thus setting the universal standard for the eternal bond between a man and a women as proprietary in nature.  (Incidentally, Ontario just announced changes to be made to make divorces more streamlined and easier to get).  So what could it possibly be worth to you? It certainly should not be as valuable as the day to celebrate the birth of your Lord and Saviour.

To everyone else: let them have it.  Some would say this is appeasement, but just give them what they want.   Trust me.

Full disclosure: I speak for neither party in this dispute.  I have no horse in the race, nor cock in the fight (sorry, couldn’t resist), but in the end (dammit, did it again!), we will all be better off.  So, Christian Right, we know you find it to be an affront when others don’t say Merry Christmas.  We know you also don’t want gays to marry.  But you can’t have everything.  That’s in the Bible, right?

So, I put before you, in exchange for Christmas, which you can call it forever and ever and no one will bother you until the End Times (which will not comes as a result of this trade), you give gays not just the right to marry, with the same civil rights afforded to you by the state, but you let them have the word too.  As a consequence, you can never bitch about it again.  You’ll stop finding obscure passages from the Old Testament to say why gay marriage is the blasphemy to end all blasphemies.  You let people love each other like the son of your god, the image of the Holy Father, or one third of your Trinity, once preached.

And you let gays find out the hard way (last one, I promise) why free love was so much better than the stultifying chains of marriage.

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