The Sexy Cancer

Is there anyone left in America who is unaware of breast cancer?

Given the number of non-stop advertisements, endorsements, and multi-million-dollar fundraising events all aimed at "Breast Cancer Awareness," one would think that most Americans have been stricken blind and deaf and have spent the last thirty years living in caves without television or radio reception.

The narrative that the breast cancer lobby feeds us is that there is a funding crisis; that breast cancer is on the verge of killing millions of people every day, and that without more "awareness," breasts everywhere are going to develop cancerous lumps and women across America will be forced to have double mastectomies, leaving us a breast-less nation, devoid of lady lumps.

The reality is that breast cancer receives more than 2x the amount of money received by the next highest funded cancer - lung cancer.  Actually, to be more specific, if you add up the amount of money spent on the two cancers more common than breast cancer ($582.4 Million), you still wouldn't come close to the amount spent on breast cancer ($631.2 Million).

In fact, there are a lot of inconvenient truths about cancer funding that leave me feeling a bit ill at ease about the whole process, and yet, despite my very valid protests and concerns, I am likely to be called to task over my final assertion: We are aware of breast cancer; give it a rest.

In order to understand how cancer statistics are listed, we must understand two basic terms: "incidence" and "mortality."  

"Incidence" is the number of new diagnoses in any given year; "Mortality" is the number of deaths attributed to a specific diagnosis in any given year.  

It is essential that people learn the difference between these numbers in order to understand how disproportionate the funding for cancers really is.

Here are some basic facts about cancer:

The five most common cancers (in decreasing order of incidence): The Amount Spent in 2010 (Millions)

1.)  Lung           :  $281.9 Million

2.)  Prostate       :  $300.5 Million

3.)  Breast         :  $631.2 Million

4.)  Colorectal   :  $270.4

5.)  Bladder       :  $22.6

Did you get that?  The third most common cancer received well more than double the amount of money spent on the first most common cancer.  This is just based on incidence.  Let's compare incidence to mortality in 2010 and tack on funding for the same year:

Cancer         :  Incidence       :  Mortality  :  Amount Spent (in Millions)

 Lung           :   222,520        :  157,300   :  $281.9 Million

Prostate        :   217,730        :   32,050    :  $300.5 Million

 Breast         :   209,060         :  40,230     :  $631.2 Million

Colorectal    :   142,570        :   51,370    :  $270.4 Million

Bladder        :    70,530         :   14,680    :  $22.6 Million

Once again, did you catch that?  Lung cancer, which has almost 4x as many mortalities and a considerably higher incidence to mortality rate, receives less than half of the funding awarded to breast cancer.  

This is not a new phenomenon.  The New York Times released an article in March of 2008 detailing the amount of money spent versus the mortality rate of cancer in 2006, and the figures were ridiculous even then.

Then, there are the endless number of different organizations and campaigns raising money for breast cancer: Think Pink, I <3 Boobies, Susan G. Komen, National Breast Cancer Foundation, et al.  That doesn't even begin to enumerate the number of high-dollar corporate sponsorships from Nike, every major sport (NFL, MLB, NBA, NHL...all male organizations), Subway, McDonald's, Wendy's, Burger King, Wal*Mart, Victoria's Secret, et al.

Before anyone goes and gets their underwire in a twist, I am not proposing that we start an "I Hate Boobies" campaign.  I am, however, suggesting that we take a step back and realize that we have turned breast cancer into the "Sexy Cancer."  People are now so aware of cancer that they don't really care or understand what they're supporting.

Reality: Nothing will change in terms of funding.  Breast cancer will continue to receive a disproportionate amount of funding, regardless of how loudly people scream about it.  Kids will keep wandering around in their pink bracelets without really knowing or understanding what they're supporting.

The only real way to change this alarming trend is to take the time to educate yourself about cancer facts and statistics, and donate money where it can best be used.

Cancer Facts & Figures 2010

Cancer Research Funding Fact Sheet

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

(The subject of this post is less political and more personal, so please bear with me.)

I was reminded, tonight, of a conversation I had with one of my closest friends and mentors, Dr. Kelly Dorgan, just before I moved to Los Angeles in 2009.  I had been discussing with her how I have never felt like I belonged to any community, and that I hope to find one in the leather community when I moved to L.A.  She said to me something that, at the time made sense, but never really clicked until this past year:

"Marcus," she said, "I don't think that you are ever going to find a community where you 'belong,' because you don't need to 'belong' to any sort of community.  I've watched you in the context of this class and in our conversations, and it's clear that you are the sort of person who doesn't need to belong to one community or another because you will end up creating your own community of diverse personalities and people."

Again, at the time, it made sense to me, and I agreed with her, but I held out hope that I would find a sense of belonging in the L.A. leather community that I had yet to find in any other endeavor I've undertaken.  This lack of integration has held true over many facets of my life, and when I look back, I've always felt cheated by my inability to assimilate; my lack of a desire to "be a part" of this community or that.

When I think of the best things I've done with my life, there are many bright spots - my three years with The Cadets forever changed my life, and I feel a strong sense of Family with them; my many years at Macaroni Grill introduced me to dozens of people with whom I've formed unbreakable bonds, regardless of how far they've stretched over time; my year spent as Mr. Pistons Leather 2010, during which I met many people whom I now count amongst my closest friends.

These circumstances all have one thing in common: I never fully fit in with the greater group, despite my dedicated participation.

At The Cadets, I always felt like the odd man out, regardless of what degree of success I, personally, and we, as a group, achieved.  I was never "normal," in comparison to my peers - I didn't like the same music (at all), I didn't enjoy dance clubs, and I always said the "wrong thing."  I was awkward; they told me I had a habit of staring at people, which is likely true because I was studying them to see what I was doing wrong.  I was the Matrix.  I was weird.  And though I would never trade those years for anything, there is always a part of me that felt like I was never part of the "in crowd," and not as a result of malice on the part of anyone else, but because I was okay not being in the group, regardless of how much I wanted to be.  I don't begrudge anyone with whom I ever marched for not including me in their group activities, because it allowed me to make friends in other sections or in other corps that I might not have otherwise made.

At Macaroni Grill (all seven stores), I never really fit in with my coworkers.  At my favorite store in Knoxville, I was rarely, if ever, invited out to my coworkers house parties, nights out at the bars, or gatherings.  I would organize my own gatherings, instead, and invite the people who I enjoyed and who enjoyed me, and I created my own clique of people who didn't mind that I said strange things, and who appreciated my sense of humor.

Most recently, with my activities with the L.A. leather community, I was never a paragon of belonging.  My ideas of entertainment, fun, and worthwhile activities aren't necessarily in line with those of my title brothers.  While many of them enjoy getting dressed up in their leather/rubber/gear and going out to bars, that isn't really my thing because, for me, it's just too much of a hassle.  Naturally, there are some people with whom I have formed lasting bonds, but in most cases, those bonds were formed outside of the context of the leather community, the bars, and the events; rather, they were formed because of personalities, our shared desire to be around the other, and because of shared interests.

It is only recently, over the past year, that I have started to realize that all of this is okay.  There is nothing wrong with not being a part of the pack; with being the boring one; with marching to my own beat.  Dr. Dorgan was correct: I don't have a need to belong to one community or another - I will create my own community.

This year, I plan to spend my time creating this community, and including in it a vast and diverse crowd of individuals with whom I share different interests.  I will make every effort not to inflict or impose my own distaste for certain activities upon my chosen family, and instead revel in what attracts each of us to the other.  I will try to be open to new experiences, while doing away with activities that no longer bring me joy.

This is not a rebuke of any one person's idea of what it means to have a good time.  It is, however, my saying that I will try to be diverse enough in my own activities with others that I can be open to what they enjoy, while simultaneously introducing them into other segments of my life.

And while there are times where I want to go where everybody knows my name, sometimes, it's infinitely better to go where just a handful of people know my name, and what draws us together as a group is our love of having a great time, and creating our own context.

Thank you, Dr. Dorgan, for being right.  My community starts here, and will begin building, now.

The Miseducation of Stacey Campfield

"Most people realize that AIDS came from the homosexual community - it was one guy screwing a monkey, if I recall correctly, and then having sex with men.  It was an airline pilot, if I recall."

...

Is this guy for real?

Apparently, yes.

This quote is from an interview with Tennessee state senator, Stacey Campfield, on Mike Signorile's SiriusXM OutQ radio program.  Campfield is the author of the infamous "Don't Say Gay" bill that failed to get anywhere in the TN legislature last year (apparently because they "ran out of time to consider it."), but has made a resurgence for this year's legislative session.

And if you thought the idiocy stopped there, that was just the diarrhea icing on the shit cake.  During his interview, Campfield went on to suggest the following:

"My understanding is that it is virtually - not completely, but virtually - impossible to contract AIDS through heterosexual sex...very rarely."  (There were 13,257 new HIV diagnoses transmitted through heterosexual sex in 2009; 10, 696 new AIDS diagnoses)

Clearly, this man is out of his goddamned tree.  He is not, unfortunately, in the minority in Tennessee, nor really in much of the Appalachian Region (which spans thirteen states).  There is a long and storied history of medical misinformation and urban legends that persists to this day, which is ironic considering the fact that this region of the country has some of the highest incidences of medical problems in the United States.

What is most frightening about Campfield is that he is not alone in his crusade against homosexuals.  Several people, legislators and private citizens, alike, have jumped on his 1980s bandwagon, and seem bound and determined to plunge the state back into the past.

As much as I love my very awesome and not stupid friends who still live in Tennessee, I can't help but think to myself, "Dear God, I'm lucky I got out when I did."

They say that the best prescription for misinformation and prejudice is education.  For more information about HIV/AIDS, please visit the following links:

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention: HIV/AIDS

CDC Basic HIV Statistics for 2009

The Kaiser Family Foundation: HIV/AIDS

Avert.org

All That Glitters Is Stupid

Last year marked a turning point in the world of LGBT politics; one that sparkles.  Self-proclaimed activists across the country have taken their message of...well, I'm not quite sure what their message is supposed to be, but they've been dumping it all over whomever crosses their path.

For those of you not in the know, I speak of Glitter Bombing - the new LGBT protest movement whereby unsuspecting recipients are showered with glitter, while activists shout various supposedly-pro-LGBT slogans at them.  It's a far cry from the Anita Bryant fruit pie incident, but when you take into account the fact that such an act of outright aggression, today, would likely land your ass in jail for assault and battery, I suppose this is the next logical step.

Wait......

Strike that.  It's actually pretty stupid.

The first two recipients of this wayward form of protest were serial adulterer, Newt Gingrich, and his second mistress/third wife, Calista.  During a book signing tour in May of 2011, a seemingly random activist threw a load of glitter on the surprisingly sedate former Speaker and his Aryan 3rd Reich...I mean wife...after which he screamed, "Stop the hate!" while being dragged from the room by security.

If this seems silly, that's because it is.

Calista goes on to say, "Well, that's a first."  Little did she know how prophetic her words would prove.

Since the initial incident, various other conservatives have been on the receiving end of this ridiculous practice, including Tim Pawlenty, Michele Bachmann, Marcus Bachmann's ex-gay therapy clinic (by a gay barbarian horde, no less), the Minnesota for Marriage booth at the Minnesota State Fair, Karl Rove, and Rick Santorum.  All of these people are worthy of protest, and as far as creativity goes, I suppose a trip to Michael's or Party City beats handcuffing oneself to them and having to actually spend any amount of time in close proximity to them.  Heck, even Sue Sylvester got the glitter treatment on an episode of Glee, this season.

The idea behind Glitter Bombing is that the substance being thrown on someone is virtually harmless, and is unlikely to result in any action being taken, other than being forcibly removed from the site.  The protestor(s) can surprise the victim, shout their peace, and be dragged out of the room without facing any serious litigation.

Oh, and they get to claim bragging rights.  For what, I'm not sure.  It's not like they're burning themselves in effigy like Tibetan monks, burning their bras, or burning their draft cards.  (Boy...looking back, there seems to be a lot of fire involved in protests.)

All was well and good until one of our own fell victim to the spontaneous sparkly cloudburst of dumb.  Dan Savage, perennial gay rights activist and relationship columnist, was glitter bombed in November in Oregon and again in California for his alleged "transphobia."  Why?  Because he dared to mention the third rail of LGBT politics; the six-letter word guaranteed to send every hypersensitive person within hearing range into paroxysms of misdirected rage - "tranny."

Never mind the fact that he was actually repeating someone's question to them, at the time, during a Q&A session.  Never mind the fact that someone had come to the event with the glitter easily accessible should he say something that might offend any idiot bound and determined to take offense at every turn.

Since this ill-conceived attack, trans activists, who are seemingly unwilling or unable to get their own damn movement, have worked themselves into a tizzy, attempting to rebrand Dan Savage as a transphobe; part of the (and I quote) "...broader [group] of gay, white, cis-gendered, able-bodied gay men focused on gay-marriage priorities." 

Just so we're real clear, here, this is Dan Savage - the man who single-handedly redefined, literally, for the entire world the word "Santorum;" the man who has gone to bat for the LGBT community more times than any of the Shower Shot Socialites over at the Human Rights Campaign; who started a massively popular semi-anti-bullying campaign to tell kids that "It Gets Better," which has caught on like a wildfire in the L.A. hillsides.  This is our new LGBT Public Enemy Number One?

What the hell?

What started as a silly, albeit unique, form of protest against the actual enemies of equality in this country is quickly turning into a farce.  To be fair, it made the protesters look pretty stupid to begin with; clearly these people did not learn the lessons from PETA after they soaked people wearing fur in red paint.  Little else makes a person less likable than watching them douse someone in any substance without their permission.

This trend has got to end, and soon.  No good can come of acting the Fool every time one gets their panties in a twist over something as inconsequential as using the dreaded T-Word.  It is one thing to protest people who are committing actual harm in our society, whether in terms of legislative measures or debunked aversion therapy.  Hell, I'd go so far as to suggest glitter bombing every HRC event in protest of the amount of money they siphon out of our pockets versus the amount of actual work they do and progress they (and not other organizations for whose work they so readily take credit) actually accomplish.  It is, however, an entirely different matter to make enemies out of our greatest allies and defenders.

What's next?  Are we going to glitter bomb David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs?  Perhaps we should hit Kathy Griffin...God knows she's pissed off enough people.  Rosie?  Whoopie?  Roseanne?

We need a better tactic...and we need it fast.

The Rest is Silence

This week, the American people (or at least those who still cared or had nothing else better to do with their time) were treated to two starkly different approaches to presidential debates thanks to NBC's Brian Williams and CNN's Wolf Blitzer.  Williams chose to request that the audience refrain from behaving like they were at an SEC football game and save their applause for after the debate, while Blitzer chose to maintain this debate season's status quo soccer hooligan-esque behavior.  Tonight, I'm going to do an analysis on why these two approaches to crowd control should be examined more closely by both GOP candidates and the American populace at general, and why silencing raucous behavior may end up benefitting the GOP in the long run.

January 23rd's NBC debate in Florida was unique in that it was the first time during this debate season where the moderator, Brian Williams, asked the audience to remain silent during the process to allow the candidates ample time to provide responses and rebuttals without being cut off by the cheers and jeers of their fervent supporters and detractors.  This was a welcome change in a debate season whose events have perhaps been best characterized not by the responses from the candidates, but by the audiences' reactions to particular candidates, positions, or political leanings.

From booing an active duty gay soldier's question to cheering the death penalty, not to mention cheering the option of letting the uninsured simply die, this year's debate audiences have stolen much of the limelight away from the people whose answers are supposed to matter most - the candidates.  What emerges from these performances is a bleak illustration of the very divided nature of our body politic in the United States, and it leaves me to wonder, will this behavior ultimately serve the GOP well in the long run?

The responses from the various candidates and political pundits to Monday's silent debate could not be more starkly contrasted.

Mitt Romney, frequently touted as the inevitable candidate by Republicans who actually want to win the White House, could not have benefitted more from the silent debate after having been soundly trounced more by the audiences' responses than by his opponents in the debates held in South Carolina and New Hampshire.  Pundits on the left and in the center seemingly all fell into the school of thought that it was nice to finally hear what the candidates had to say, rather than watching them vie for the Fan Favorite response.

Newt Gingrich, on the other hand, watched the momentum he had gathered in South Carolina come to a sudden halt as his debate ship entered into the silent doldrums of the NBC waters.  His usual show stopping performance was markedly absent without the very vocal support of his usually enthusiastic (and crazy) audience, all of them acting in an ensemble cast performance of Desperately Seeking Non-Romney.  After realizing that it's hard to sell a talking point without a cheering section, Newt left the debate embittered, calling the silencing of the audience "un-American" and refusing to participate in another debate wherein the audience can't respond to his generally combative style.  Many pundits on the far right and even The View's resident human dunce cap, Elizabeth Hasselbeck, agreed with him, contending that the debate was "crappy," and uninformative.

And then, there were the also-rans - Rick Santorum and Ron Paul.  Despite the "surge of Santorum" (pun intended) in Iowa and Paul's brief ride on his beautiful New Hampshire balloon, Monday's silent debate found them out in left field where many contend they belong.  Both candidates enjoy their own segments of fervent (and often delusional) supporters, and without those people there to respond to their zingers, the two candidates were often left lobbing dead balls in their attempts to throw Romney and Gingrich under the conservative bus.

After much ado was made about...well, literally nothing...the CNN debate on January 26th, moderated by Wolf Blitzer, provided the antidote to Monday's stale debate.  Thursday's debate delivered television viewers from the silent movie hell and back to the Jerry Springer set where they belong.  Blitzer served as a tough moderator, standing up to the candidates when they attempted to castigate him or evade questions about their pasts or their campaign ads, redeeming CNN's moderators if only a little bit after Gingrich smacked down John King for asking about a pending interview with his second wife.  Blitzer made certain that no candidate would get away with such shenanigans and with great effect - the audience responded immediately to his calling out of Mitt Romney when he attempted to disavow any knowledge of his attack ad against Gingrich.

Despite the return of an active and vocal audience all too quick to cheer and jeer at the slightest opportunity, the damage from the first Florida debate was done.  The majority of the debate was a pissing contest between Mitt and Newt, who seemed bound and determined to fight it out Girl Gang style, while Santorum and Paul sat on the benches waiting to be thrown in to give the starters a break.  Mitt's attacks all seemed to land squarely on Newt Gingrich's frighteningly Slitheen-like head, while Newt floundered about in the shallow end of the pool, spending most of his time attempting to shift focus away from his own disgraceful record as both a person and a politician (I'll let the Wikipedia article speak for itself), and onto Romney's record as a mostly moderate, and often left-leaning, politician.

The few times the Also-Rans had the opportunity to speak, they were almost literally breathless in their responses, both of them knowing that they had only a handful of chances to get a word in edgewise.  Rick Santorum's modus operandi seemed to be to gather all the fire and ire he could muster and word vomit up the most offensive far-right statement he could conjure in less than thirty seconds (his comment on illegal immigration - astounding in its idiocy).  Ron Paul, on the other hand, was bound and determined to fire his delusional crackpot rocket off into outer space, and his cadre of rabidly loyal fans lapped up the few crumbs he had time to toss onto the stage while trying to make way for the real candidates to return to the microphone.

The second Florida debate showed us that the only way GOP candidates in this year's race can be taken seriously is with the aid of audience participation.  It's no small wonder that conservative media pundits loathe Gingrich, given that anyone who paid attention during the 1990s remembers what happened the last time he got his grubby hands on Washington, D.C.  Each of the remaining candidates, though, seems to be operating in his Own Private Idaho, with Santorum sincerely believing he can squeeze out a win (pun intended), Ron Paul living in his fantasyland where 11% of the vote makes him a viable candidate, Newt Gingrich trying his hardest to rewrite his storied and well-known personal and political history to rebrand himself as a good person, and Mitt Romney bound and determined to escape the simple but unstated fact that he's a Mormon, and conservative Christians have about as much appetite for Mormonism as they ever have.

What is clear about the silent debate approach is this: while it makes for incredibly boring television, it forces the candidates to focus on providing thoughtful responses that will connect with the audience members who aren't dressed in late-18th century attire.  It gives them the opportunity to try and garner votes from people who are still undecided or who have grown disillusioned with the Obama Administration's approach to fulfilling his promises of hope and change.

While the presence of a vocal audience may seem like a boon to the GOP candidates right now, it can very quickly turn into their bane.  The Tea Party, for all the change they've brought to conservative D.C. politics (most of it plainly awful), is quickly falling out of favor with American voters, with nearly half of likely voters believing they will be a liability for the GOP in the 2012 election cycle.  Playing populist politics can be a dangerous game, particularly with a group as fickle and unreliable as GOP voters.  The time of a united GOP has long since ended, and it is incumbent upon whomever becomes the eventual Republican candidate to reach beyond the screaming audiences of fervid debate attendees and into the homes and minds of people who need real convincing.

The Death of a Gay Bookstore

            Of my time spent living in Atlanta, GA, I remember few good things other than a handful each of people, days, nights, and businesses.  For the most part, my life there was fraught with my struggle to avoid plummeting into depression, meth addiction, and total self-destruction, ultimately culminating with my precipitous fleeing from the city with as much shit as I could carry in my new Pontiac Sunfire.

            A bright spot of my life in Atlanta was the time I spent wandering around Outwrite Bookstore &Coffeehouse on the corner of 10^th and Piedmont during my days or evenings off from work.  A denizen of bigger cities with brighter lights and better integration of the gay community, Outwrite was one of the few places in Atlanta where I felt like being gay wasn’t just about gaudy parades, drunken bar tours, and starring in one’s own version of a pre-Bravo “Real Houseboys of Atlanta.”  This was a place where you could go to meet up with friends the day after all of that nonsense to catch up over coffee, pick up the latest in gay and lesbian literature (yes…actual books), and step away from Burkhart’s and Blake’s to regroup before fighting traffic on the 75/85 split on your way home.

            This week, Outwrite shuttered its doors and sold its inventory and fixtures with no plans to reopen in a new location at this time, and with its passing, I feel it only appropriate to mourn the loss of one of the last bastions of gay book lovers in America.  What was once a staple of city life in larger metropolitan eras has fallen victim to the same problems that have confronted independent bookstores for the past decade – a poor economy, stagnant incomes, the proliferation of online book retailers, and the increased availability and popularity of eBooks.

            I will be the first to admit that I love eBooks.  Before purchasing my iPad 2, I owned a Nook Color, primarily because of what I learned after spending so much time and money at Outwrite Bookstore – owning a lot of physical books is great if you never plan on moving…ever again.  Otherwise, it’s just a hassle, as my mother so kindly reminded me, recently, while she packed up her garage in anticipation of her move back northward.  The hundreds of dollars I spent filling countless bookshelves with gay fiction, non-fiction, biographies, satire, and history books are scattered around the eastern seaboard, some left behind in others’ apartments or houses, some lost on tour busses or airplanes, and countless others packed away in some long lost or forgotten box likely moldering in some humid basement, garage, or attic never to be discovered or appreciated again.  It is this reality that makes me appreciate the value of eBooks, whose only storage requirement is measured in megabytes and gigabytes instead of shelves, cases, and stacks. 

            While I have made the 80% transition to electronic books, there will always be a place in my heart for the gay bookstore.  I am of the opinion that no city can count itself among the “Top (--) Gay Cities in America” without having at least one gay-owned and operated bookstore wherein no less than 70% of the inventory is dedicated to actual books as opposed to the novelty clothing, kitschy memorabilia from the 1950s/60s, and endless array of Pride stickers, decals, license plate outliners, wind chimes, candles, decorative beads, and various other sundry bullshit that litters the shelves our most of our nation’s gay “bookstores.”

            When cities complain about not being included on whatever arbitrary list makes its way around the internet and boast about their endless number of carbon copy gay bars, coffee houses, gift stores, and parades, I think back to the many afternoons I spent sitting on the patio of Outwrite Bookstore smoking a cigarette, sipping a soda, and sifting through the pages of my latest purchase, watching the citizens of Midtown Atlanta drive, bike, and walk by holding hands, sharing stories, or simply moving on their way to their next destination.  I remember the evenings I stopped in to see what was new before heading over for drinks at Blake’s on the Park, calculating how much money I could spend and still afford enough drinks to make poor decisions later that night.

            Most of all, I remember Outwrite as the one place in all of Atlanta where being gay was just about being Marcus, and forgetting for just a few minutes that my life in that city was tumbling around me in shambles.