“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was going to talk about ‘man on dog’ with a United States senator, it’s sort of freaking me out.”

I just had to quote that. I love it! It’s wonderful. It deserves to go down in Bartlett’s.

Now onto the issue.

The thing about arguing with an asinine politician is that you can never tell whether that asinine politician actually believes what he’s saying or is merely saying it out of political calculation. Nevertheless:

Law and morality don’t mix well. Legal arguments are based on logic; there are two whole big sections on the LSAT, the law school entrance exam, about logic. Moral arguments, however, have nothing to do with logic.

I always used to love mathematics. I loved the fact that one could always arrive at a right answer. I particularly enjoyed geometry, with its elegant, unassailable proofs. I grew to trust logic.

Logical arguments start from a set of axioms. Merriam-Webster’s (oh, I wish I could access the OED online) defines axiom as “a maxim widely accepted on its intrinsic merit.” The origin of axiom is a Greek word meaning “something worthy.”

The problem is, widely accepted by whom? Widely accepted when? Worthy of what?

If you don’t believe in the axioms of mathematics, all the logic in the world isn’t going to convince you that an answer to a math problem is right. Sure, 2+4=4+2. But is it true that 32,547+4,981=4,981+32,547? Is it always true that a+b=b+a? How do you know? We take the commutative property of addition on faith. Mathematics is cold, pure logic, but even mathematics is based on some core ideas. We implicitly agree on those core ideas, so mathematics has some universal truth for us.

Societal issues are murkier, though.

Are anti-sodomy laws right or wrong?

You could say one of the following:

A1: Anti-sodomy laws are wrong, because sodomy is acceptable behavior.

A2: Anti-sodomy laws are right, because sodomy is unacceptable behavior.

But you could also say, for example:

A3: Anti-sodomy laws are right, because although I think sodomy is acceptable behavior, the majority, as represented by the state legislature, thinks otherwise.

A4: Anti-sodomy laws are wrong, because although I think sodomy is unacceptable behavior, it’s not my business what people do in the privacy of their homes.

But:

What if we change “anti-sodomy laws” to something else?

You could say:

B1: Laws against smiling are wrong, because smiling is acceptable behavior.

B2: Laws against murdering your child are right, because murdering your child is unacceptable behavior.

On the other hand, it’s unlikely that you’d say:

B3: Laws against smiling are right, because although I think smiling is acceptable behavior, the majority, as represented by the state legislature, thinks otherwise.

B4: Laws against murdering your child are wrong, because although I think murdering your child is unacceptable behavior, it’s not my business what people do in the privacy of their homes.

Points B3 and B4 seem ridiculous to most people. If you think something is morally right, then no amount of logic will convince you it’s wrong; if you think something is morally wrong, no amount of logic will convince you it’s right.

What some of us don’t get is that there are people out there who believe that homosexual sodomy is wrong, absolutely wrong, as wrong as murdering your child. And if someone believes so strongly that it’s immoral for me to stick my dick in someone’s ass, then no amount of logic or reasoning is going to convince the person otherwise.

That’s not my point, though.

Back to that asinine politician:

He said, “Does that undermine the fabric of our society? I would argue yes, it does… this freedom actually intervenes and affects the family.”

OK, prove it.

“You say, well, it’s my individual freedom. Yes, but it destroys the basic unit of our society because it condones behavior that’s antithetical to strong, healthy families.”

Again, prove it.

“Whether it’s polygamy, whether it’s adultery, where it’s sodomy, all of those things, are antithetical to a healthy, stable, traditional family.”

OK, again, we get what you’re trying to say, but why is this necessarily true? Is sodomy really the same as the first two? And is “traditional” synonymous with “healthy, stable”? Is “nontraditional” inherently bad? Tell me, asinine politician. Explain to me. Why is your statement true?

Presumably, it’s true for the same reason that laws against anti-gay discrimination allegedly give gay people “special rights”: because I said so. (The “special rights” argument particularly enrages me, and it deserves its own post entirely.) No logical argument, no exposing the statements to the illumination of sunshine.

But that wouldn’t help, anyway. If you believe gay buttsex is wrong, logical arguments won’t change your position. It’s beyond issues of logic.

Which raises an interesting question.

If the asinine politician believes homosexual sodomy is morally wrong, why is he even pretending to make logical arguments in the first place?

Why doesn’t he just say, “I think homosexual sodomy is morally wrong and that’s that?”

It’s either because he doesn’t have full confidence in his own convictions, or because he’s trying to fool people who may be unsure of their own stances on the issue.

In a weird way, I find this reassuring. It means either that he doesn’t really believe what he says he believes, or that he’s afraid lots of people out there will disagree with him.

It means that these solid, unshakeable, widespread moral beliefs really aren’t as solid or as unshakeable or as widespread as he’s pretending.

In other words, it means that logic still has a chance. It might not be able to change the views of an asinine politician, but it might be able to change the views of lots of other people.

Logic still has a chance.

Thank you all for your thoughts and comments. It means a lot to me. What I love about blogging is how it brings people together in unexpected ways. I feel more upbeat today, and things will somehow work out.

Fortunately, I had therapy last night, and it was very helpful. About halfway through the session I lay down on the couch. I usually sit on one end of the couch, facing my therapist, who sits in a chair, but I was just so wiped out that I said, “Do people ever lie down on the couch?” She said yes, so I lay myself down. I hadn’t lain on a couch in therapy in nearly five years. It gives therapy a slightly different feel; it makes it less about the interaction between you and the therapist, and more about you. (And of course, it’s all about me.) I found myself able to concentrate a little better on everything.

We talked about the decision-making process. One reason I have trouble making decisions is that my thoughts tend to bubble over and bump into each other like billiard balls, all disorganized and scattershot. I realized that the first step in making any decision is to clarify for myself what I want. There needs to be a beacon. That beacon has to be me. You can’t make a decision when you’re trying to please three or four different constituencies inside your head. It’s a subconscious process, trying to please those phantoms, and I have to become more adept at recognizing when I’m doing it. And knowing is half the battle. Yo, Joe!

I know, that’s totally primary school, but sometimes we forget the basic lessons — or sometimes we never learned them in the first place.

Anyway, enough wallowing. I want to write about less personal things tomorrow.

And again, thanks!

This isn’t the New York Times. This is a weblog. I am interested solely in hyperbole, ridiculousity, hystericity (is that a word? hystericalness? See? I don’t even stop to SPELLCHECK!), and retardation: mainly my own. This website is a sexploration of narcissism. Mostly, it’s a joke. It’s meta-meta. Or whatever. It’s not!

One thing Choire taught me, a very long time ago, is that it’s OK to unbutton myself verbally if I want to. So, fuck it all, it’s time for a verbal striptease.

I have been so fucking down on myself and frustrated these last few days, and the reason I haven’t written about it here in more detail is because when I’ve written about these things here in the past, it’s all tended to come off whiny and earnest and depressing. Depressing thoughts in blog entries are best when mixed with a little sugar, or sometimes irony, which is basically spiced sugar, or sour sugar, I’m not sure which, but anyway, depressing thoughts are more palatable that way. Pure, unvarnished depressing thoughts are best shared in private, perhaps in therapy, which is something I didn’t realize during my first go-round at blogging. Anyway, that’s just my opinion, except when it’s not my opinion. And sometimes I’m good at mixing my depressing thoughts with a little sugar and spice, and sometimes I’m not. I do know that I’ve read genuinely depressing entries by other bloggers before, sometimes for a week at a time, or more, and by the end of that week, I usually want to either slap the blogger or shoot myself. I’m not sure which. Certainly, it’s up to anyone to write whatever they want to write. It’s just that I don’t want to be that depressing guy. But fuck that, it’s time for ridiculousity, hystericity, and retardation. Exclusively my own.

I’ve been too much inside my own head lately. With Good Friday off, I had a three-day weekend, and during that weekend I met up with just one person. One. My phone barely rang. It’s not that I don’t have friends; it’s that they don’t call me. Or something. I should take the initiative, and find things to do and invite people to them, but I’m kind of shy, particularly when it comes to other gay men. Even if I just want to be friends with them! Straight people have this nice little dynamic, wherein they have friends of one gender and romantic interests of another gender; me, my friends and my romantic interests are usually of the same gender, which could create confusion. Besides that, I feel inhibited by where I live. Walk the ten minutes to the PATH train. Wait for the fucking PATH train. Ride the crowded fucking PATH train. Et cetera. I have about seven different complaints about the PATH train:

1) too many recorded announcements in the stations, most of them by this guy with an annoyingly friendly sing-songy voice;

2) no place to sit while you’re waiting;

3) the trains don’t come often enough;

4) on Friday and Saturday nights they spend too much time waiting at Hoboken;

5) they move too slowly;

6) the cars are too old;

7) the “bing-bong” every fucking time the door closes, even if it opens and closes and opens and closes because someone is trying to push his or her way into the car, is the most excruciatingly annoying sound God has created on this earth.

What do you know, that turns out to be seven.

I want to live in Manhattan. Duh. And when my lease ends on November 1, I’m doing it. I swear this time. Really. I’m scared, though. I’m scared of too much noise, and I’m scared of feeling claustrophobic in a small apartment. Please slap me now.

On Sunday I browsed around the classical music section of Tower Records near Lincoln Center, and then I walked around the Upper West Side alone. As the afternoon wore on and I grew more bored and alone, I felt more and more frustrated about having to cross a river in order to get home and not living in Manhattan. So that evening I resolved to ask my landlord if I could end my lease on June 1, five months early. I figured that this would give me the impetus to get off my ass, swallow my fears, and look for a place in Manhattan. Someplace in the West Village or Chelsea, preferably for no more than $1300.

And then later I decided I didn’t want to ask him that, because it would be just another sign that I’m irresponsible and act haphazardly and don’t know how to plan ahead or act like an adult, and also I began to worry that I wouldn’t be able to find a decent new place and I’d wind up moving into some craphole where I’d get depressed and break down in tears every night. I also began to worry that my parents and my brother would rail against me for making such a stupid decision, and for being incapable of living as a functional, responsible, adult human being. My parents don’t talk like that anymore, but my subconscious thinks they still feel that way about me, or at least my subconscious wants to think they still feel that way about me, because my subconscious has so little confidence in me and my ability to fend for myself that it would rather imagine it is being judged than be left cold and alone in this world.

My brother, whom I love, bless him, is about to start a job in which he will earn the same salary I earn, even though he is four and a half years younger than me and doesn’t have a law degree. He is also straight, and he has a steady Jewish girlfriend who my parents think is great, and he’s outgoing and outspoken, and he doesn’t care what other people think, and he dresses well and has lots of friends, and he’s taller than me, and he doesn’t understand why I’m working as a government lawyer when I could be making a hell of a lot more money at a law firm. The fact is, I don’t want to work at a law firm; I don’t even want to be a government lawyer. I feel humiliated by the amount of money I make; I haven’t had a raise in the year and a half I’ve been here; and my work is excruciatingly boring. In fact, I don’t even want to be a lawyer at all. I went to law school because I wanted my parents to respect me, I wanted to be normal, and I wanted to make lots of money. The first two goals turned out to be stupid, and I haven’t achieved the last one, because I came to realize what was involved. I want to go back to school, get an M.S.W. and become a therapist.

As for my brother, about the only way in which I’m better than him these days is that his weight fluctuates, while I remain slim with a high metabolism. It’s humbling. I was always the older brother and the academic star, and he was the one whom my parents always yelled at for screwing up in school. And he turned out to be the shrewd, fearless one, while I turned out to be the confused neurotic fuckup.

I have no clue why I’m so scared of everything on this planet, but that fear is the cause of all my problems. I’m scared of making decisions, because any choice I make will be the wrong choice and will inevitably result in my brother — who has taken lessons from an earlier incarnation of my dad on how to treat me and whose opinions, I now realize while writing this, I fear and resent even more than those of my parents, because he’s younger than me and because he represents peer opinion and because I’m competitive — will inevitably result in my brother telling me what a fuckup I am.

This hasn’t been very well organized, but ridiculousity, hystericity, and retardation don’t have to be. I could have been a lot more tongue-in-cheek about all of this, but the sugar would have diluted the acid. Can sugar dilute acid, or does the acid eat it up?

Whatever. I just hope I made Choire proud.