the commune Focus: Gay Republicans

he election debates have grown extremely heated, even in mid-April, and with Ralph Nader tossing his durag in the ring, the outcome in November is ever up for question. Analysts are even trying to predict the effect frustrated gay Republicans will have if they pull out of the president and get behind John Kerry. Which leads many to speculate: What the fuck? There are gay Republicans?

Apparently so. They even have a national organization, the Log Cabin Republicans, which possibly a reference to a place Lincoln used to "entertain" visiting dignitaries. the Log Cabin Republicans, or "Loggers," as I've just said, aren't completely sold on voting for Bush this November, following the president's hard-on stance for a "Defense of Marriage" act to amend the constitution. Neither party has come out publicly in support of gay marriage, but the Democrats have taken the bold step of saying they wouldn't fuck with the constitution. According to polls mysteriously conducted, average Americans are against homosexual marriage but also against a constitutional amendment outlawing it.

As a heterosexual woman trapped in the body of a man, I've always found homosexuals something of a mystery. But at least they seem pretty straightforward, no pun intended, in their political support of candidates who pledge their support. Why would homosexuals want to support Republicans, with their history of voting against issues that support them? It's almost as crazy as the notion of a black Republican.

Paula Squatt, a spokesperson for the Loggers and big-time lesbian, espoused the organization's point of view.

"Just because you're gay doesn't mean it's the only thing that affects the way you vote," said Squatt, feathering her hair in a mirror. "We are multi-layered individuals, and issue-conscious voters. We believe in an unrestricted market and stressing the power of the individual to make his own fortune in our society. We think social programs do not encourage people to make better lives for themselves. And overwhelmingly, we believe in a stronger defense for this country, and putting more money into the military. Just because you're gay it doesn't mean you can't vote for Bush in November. I'm not voting for him because I'm a woman, and his gender politics really piss me off."

Still not convinced, I interviewed some gay Republican friends I know from a local dancing establishment. Why did you vote for Bush in 2000?

Del Beauchamp: "He had it goin' on."

Smonika: "He had more 'strut' than Gore."

Roberto Love-Package: "I've always had a thing for Texans."

Vera Wadlow: "The ballot was confusing."

Obie Dufresne: "I liked how he wanted to get tough with crime. I'm a criminal, Mr. President. Get tough with me."

Pete: "I'm a masochist."

Admittedly, they might not be the most representative of gay political groups, but they know how to party. The ultimate answer for why homosexuals would support Bush, even in the much smaller numbers than they support Democratic candidates, should lie in the numbers. Republicans and Democrats both have a history of voting for and supporting legislation that by a large margin favors those with incomes over $150,000 a year. Since a great majority of Americans live far under that annual income level, the question becomes: Why would anyone vote for either party?

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You know me, good people—I am not one to bitch and moan. No, wait, I'm confusing myself with my wife Arvelyn, which explains the odd choice of high heels this morning. I am one to bitch and moan. So let's get cracking, shall we?

I have had one of those ugly perspective-changing experiences this week. I decided that it is time for me to move out on my own, away from treasured friends Lee and Camembert, away from the free rent of the apartment, off to live by myself at long last. I've never had my own house, all to myself, without a wife, family, anything of that nature. I started to think it might be a lot of fun, like camping out.

With that as my ambition, I said good-bye to Camembert and Lee, packed my troubles (and unmentionables) in my ol' kit bag and moved out to find a house. Fortunately, I have thousands of dollars left over from my investment in jumpsuits in the '70s, so money is no object. But I would advise all of you out there, money or not, to buy the house in the future before leaving your current residence. Did you know they never let you move in the same day? They have all sorts of inefficient background checks and nonsense like that, and they wait for your check to clear, which I admit is a good business practice. But don't talk to me about good business practices when your living in between the commune offices and Denny's for a good long time.

Though I wouldn't say I had misgivings about the house I bought, I probably rushed in a little quick. There were some problems with the roof, mainly it being absent from the house, and the windows and doors were also missing. Which was no real problem, I can buy new windows and doors, or learn to make friends with the animals and vagrants sharing the house with me. But the most unexpected part of it all was that I moved into an "urban" neighborhood. That's right, a %100 "urban" neighborhood, in the suburbs.

Can I say "black"? Just to quit playing coy. You got to at least give me "black." In my lifetime I've been through five or six words I get used to using and then can't use anymore, you've got to sympathize. So I'll just say "black."

Yes, this neighborhood was like something out of Roots. Not the Roots I saw, really, I mean there were no slaves and everyone basically worked as middle-management and had lovely homes and dressed very modern—but they were all black. Except for the Hispanics and Asians, but sometimes I could squint my eyes and confuse them for white people, so I'm just focusing on the black people in the neighborhood right now.

Don't get me wrong, friends—I love black people. At least the idea of black people. And I tried to get along with everyone, I surely did. The first Thursday night a bunch of my neighbors were having some sort of "big black jam" in their backyard and I, trying to be friendly, joined them immediately. For a while everyone just studied me curiously and smiled with feigned politeness, but eventually one racist—I don't think it's going out on a limb to say racist—came over and asked me to leave; that I wasn't "family," and his backyard jam was strictly limited to "family" only.

And as much as I hate stereotypes, these people get awful loud when they're watching their "black shows," like ER. They were so busy screaming at me to get away from their window before they called the cops that I couldn't even hear the diagnosis on the fat kid, though I guessed diabetes. Once I get my TV I'll be able to watch in the peace and quiet of my own white home.

So now people are moving out of the neighborhood. I mean, it's only one family, and they claim their house was sold before they moved in when I challenged them with it, but it's enough so I can take a hint. Maybe one day the Rok Fingers of the world and the… uh… well, you know, black people… maybe one day we'll sit down together at a table and share a mutually agreed-upon non-ethnic food. But until that day, I'm going back to live with Camembert and Lee. My white brothers.

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Hello readers, we're going to take a little break from the Fad Wagon this week while I write more of that book to excerpt and you learn a thing or two about daylight-saving time. Sound fun? Tough.

Many common misconceptions survive regarding daylight-saving time, including the belief that we do it for a reason. Nothing could be further from the truth. And don't call it "Daylight-Savings Time," that just proves you're a part of the International Communist Conspiracy.

The idea was originally suggested by Benjamin Franklin, compulsive liar and great American. Franklin was always late to everything, and frequently explained away his lack of punctuality by bragging that he lived in a special personal time zone that everybody else was too stupid to understand. When questioned, he'd rattle off a bunch of bullshit figures about how he saved energy by living his life an hour later than everybody else, allowing him to sleep in, stay up later and avoid traffic by traveling while everybody else had already arrived at wherever they were going. Only his girlfriend believed this, and everyone else came to refer to any ridiculously late events as occurring in "Franklin Time." Whenever anybody needed him there for a meeting they'd tell him it started two hours before it actually did, and then laugh when they got there and he'd been sitting and waiting for an hour.

Franklin's various shenanigans and rocky relationship with the truth earned him the nickname "B.S. Franklin," which he told naïve girls was short for "Balls Franklin." He came to fame after publishing an almanac of bullshit weather predictions and claiming to have "discovered" electricity after being blown off his toilet by a bolt of lightning. For years neighbors had warned that the gigantic kite Franklin had attached to his house, in hopes of sailing to a better neighborhood, would get him blown off the toilet in the middle of the night by a gigantic bolt of lighting, but he'd done little to heed their warnings. A smug Franklin discovered fire later that week when his neighbors burnt his house to the ground, taking offense at the "Father of Electricity" banner he'd begun carrying around town.

In 1776 Franklin was late for a meeting of the Second Continental Congress, and just missed the vote to kick Benjamin Franklin out of the Second Continental Congress. Upset that he missed his opportunity to cast the lone dissenting vote, Franklin demanded that the colony of Pennsylvania adopt "Daylight-Saving Time," a new system of his extremely recent invention that would have made him, in fact, early for the meeting. Thomas Jefferson signed the motion into law as a joke to humor Franklin, signing the form "Upyour Penis," but in a tremendous gaffe the clerk failed to examine the signature and "Daylight-Saving Time" was passed as Pennsylvania colonial law.

Relations between the various colonies were highly bitchy at this point in history, and I mean like drag queens at an Easter buffet. The new time change law really chapped the asses of the neighboring colonies, and before long, each one had passed their own new laws, not about to give smug Pennsylvania the satisfaction of always being early to everything and looking down its nose at all the other colonies as slacking layabouts.

After the Revolutionary War this really got out of hand, with states changing their time zones on an almost weekly basis in an attempt to one-up neighboring states and psych out tourists. At one point when you traveled from Massachusetts to Connecticut, you actually went back in time two days and had to be careful not to step on any butterflies or do anything that might mess things up for your future self back in Massachusetts. Eventually the federal government stepped in and announced that everybody had to get with the same program and stop all the silly horseshit, and from then on there'd only be two wacky nonsensical time changes per calendar year.

States were grumpy about losing their individuality, for sure, but most complied. I say most because Arizona and Hawaii never actually adopted daylight-saving time after becoming states, they only pretended to whenever the feds were around. To this day whenever some government official steps into a bank in Arizona you'll see employees scrambling to set the clocks back and act like they've been saving daylight all along.

The other exception is the state of Indiana, which never got its shit together and still has different time zones for every neighborhood, but after over 200 years of trying the government has given up on that state as a lost cause. Federal employees often refer to any broken or inexplicably errant clocks as being set to "Indiana Time," a joke that's very popular among the employees who aren't from Indiana.

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