Gay sports update

I am delighted with all the hits I got as a result of Andrew Sullivan linking today to my post about the causal effect that legalizing gay marriage clearly has on sports championships. Jeff Fecke gets the credit.

I haven’t had over 5000 unique visitors in a single day in a very long time — and the last time was in the midst of the whole Full Frontal Feminism argument that tore up the feminist blogosphere!

Sullivan also notes something I forgot, which was that Denmark legalized same-sex unions (without using the term marriage) way back in 1989 — and promptly won the next European championship in 1992.

The evidence grows stronger.

“Teaching May Be Hazardous to Your Marriage”: Social scientists and the myth of male weakness

Reader and blogger Treifalicious sends me a link to this PDF file of a 1999 study on college professors and divorce. Published in the journal of Evolution and Human Behavior, it’s melodramatically entitled Teaching may be hazardous to your marriage.

The abstract:

Kenrick et al.’s experiments demonstrate that men who view photographs of physically attractive women or Playboy centerfolds subsequently find their current mates less physically attractive and become less satisfied with their current relationships. What then would be the
cumulative effect of being exposed to young, attractive women on a daily basis? Would there be any real consequences to the men’s dissatisfaction with their relationships? Secondary school teachers and college professors come in contact with more young women at the peak of their reproductive value than others do. The analysis of a large, representative data set from the United States indicates that, while men in general are less likely to be divorced than women, and secondary school teachers and college professors in general are less likely to be divorced than others, simultaneously being male and being a secondary school teacher or college professor statistically increases the likelihood of being divorced We contend that the contrast effect that Kenrick et al. find in their experiments is cumulative and has real
consequences.

It’s an almost laughable study, save for the fact that it’s, well, so bloody infuriating. Here’s the initial premise:

Few occupations and professions afford greater opportunities to come in contact with
women in their teenage years than teachers in secondary and postsecondary schools. These
teachers experience the cumulative effect of exposure to young, attractive women who are at
their peak reproductive value more acutely than people in most other occupations.

I suppose that’s true enough, though I can’t say I think much of the term “peak reproductive value.” No offense intended to teenage moms out there, but in my experience, those who choose to make babies in their thirties often (not always) have more “valuable” resources (time, patience, finances) than those in their “peak” reproductive years.

But then the study’s authors lose me completely. They note that those who teach are slightly more likely to stay unmarried after they divorce, though the difference with the general population is barely significant. But then this whopper:

We believe that there are two possible interpretations for this finding. First,
subsequent to divorce, male teachers and professors may remain unmarried because they prefer
to pursue a series of affairs with female students without marrying them. Second, they may remain unmarried because, due to the cumulative contrast effect, any adult woman they might meet and date after their divorce would still pale in comparison to the young attractive women with whom they come in daily contact.

“Pale in comparison”? Continue reading

Gay marriage: good for winning championships?

I got home from working out in time to watch the Spain-Germany European Cup final from Vienna. I’m not inclined to patriotism in any form, but I’ll be darned if I, the son of an Austrian-born war refugee, was going to root for the Germans to win anything in the city of his birth. Spain won a deserved victory. A.S. Byatt has, not surprisingly, the best write-up of the whole tournament.

This leads me to my observation: legalizing gay marriage is good for sports teams. Spain did it a few years back, and wham, they win the Euro for the first time since 1964. Canada did it just before the 2006 Winter Olympics, and bingo, they had their best-ever medal haul. South Africa legalized gay marriage in 2006, and won the Rugby World Cup the following year. Massachusetts gave same-sex couples the right to wed a few years ago — and ask Red Sox and Celtic fans about how nicely things have gone for their teams since. For all those folks who insist that God’s punishment for gay marriage will be obvious, so far the evidence is, um, lacking. The evidence for the opposite is growing.

If California upholds gay marriage at the ballot box in November, I predict championships for USC football, UCLA basketball, the Los Angeles Lakers and the Anaheim Angels — all within short order.

Friday Random Ten: ten years sober edition

I’m ready to take a break from Friday Random Tens for a while. I think my Thursday Short Poems serve a purpose, and I like being an evangelist for verse in general and specific poets in particular. But I’m not entirely sure that everyone needs to know my musical taste, at least as determined by what comes up when I hit the shuffle feature on the iPod.

There may be more FRTs in the future, but not until summer is gone. For now, a valedictory FRT to celebrate, if nothing else, the tenth anniversary (today) of my last drink of alcohol.

#6 is by a dear former student of mine, now an accomplished singer-songwriter.

1. “April Skies”, Jesus and Mary Chain
2. “I Know I Know I Know”, Tegan and Sara
3. “Alleluia”, Dar Williams
4. “Heaven When We’re Home”, Wailin’ Jennys
5. “Mark’s Song”, Eastmountainsouth
6. “Unlike Me”, Meg Baier
7. “The Way We Mend”, Bebo Norman
8. “Love Hurts”, Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris
9. “Massachusetts”, Bee Gees
10. “Attention”, The Waifs

Bonus Track: “For Love”, Robert Earl Keen

Loving the whole earth, loving the single place: a long response to Gregory Rodriguez, quoting Abbey and Hauerwas

I normally like the perspective that L.A. Times’ columnist Gregory Rodriguez takes. But he wrote an op-ed eleven days ago that really irked me: Rootless to a Fault. Here’s a portion of it:

Here in the U.S., highly skilled workers and wealthy entrepreneurs from around the globe contribute mightily to this nation’s productivity and creativity. Their presence in our cities, and ours in theirs, has fostered a greater appreciation of global cultural diversity. It has spawned a vibrant cosmopolitanism that broadens our collective concern for people who live beyond our borders.

But this cosmopolitanism is not without its dark side. Increasingly, many of our big cities’ creative elites — both native and foreign-born — see themselves as citizens of the world. Our intellectuals are exploring the declining significance of place in the new globalized world order. And this brave new world cries out for an answer to the question: Does a person who swears loyalty to all cities and nations have any loyalties at all? I’ve always been struck by the fact that the same people who rightly criticize multinational corporations for having no sense of responsibility to place never seem to express the same concern about the equally “unplaced” creative elite.

A few years ago, I was at a fancy dinner party and found myself the only one at the table who held only one passport.

Rodriguez goes on to make a jarringly wrong premise: those who see themselves as “citizens of the world” are somehow dramatically less engaged in civic activity than those whose horizons are smaller and whose loyalties more narrowly defined. He opines:

Without denying the benefits of globalization, we should remember the beauty and strength of parochialism.

It’s all well and good to love the world, but real social solidarity is generally found on a smaller scale. And it’s not just the unskilled immigrants we should be concerned about. We need to find ways to encourage the highly skilled ones to form a sense of attachment and commitment to their new homes. On top of that, we natives must remember that there is no honor in escaping engagement by becoming a citizen of the world.

First off — and I could be wrong — I smell a tiny whiff in Rodriguez’s piece of an old anti-Semitic canard: the notion that the “wandering Jew”, cosmopolitan to a fault, undermines the stability of whatever society in which he finds himself, because his loyalties are eternally elsewhere. Though that is surely not Rodriguez’s intent, there’s no denying that jeremiads against “jet-setting elitists” who have no commitment to place are not new, and that in the past, many of those attacks have been aimed quite explicitly at Jews. Gregory ought to have known that.

But what I resent about the piece is the notion that loyalty to the world and all of its creatures is somehow incompatible with deep concern for the well-being of particular places. Rodriguez posits what is frankly a monstrously false dichotomy: parochial and engaged or cosmopolitan and unconcerned. Indeed, I assure Greg that there are those among his readers who are devoted to Los Angeles and its well-being without feeling any need to elevate the needs of L.A. above those of the entire planet!

I am a dual citizen, holding UK and US citizenship. My brother, his wife, and children hold a serious array of passports: Mexican, Austrian, British, and American. I have many friends who also have two nationalities, and I have a few acquaintances who have three. And no, we are not all part of some transnational global elite. I’ll be waiting a long time for my invite to rub elbows with the super-rich at the Davos Economic Forum. Of course, my dual citizenship is not without significance to me: it not only gives me and my family options about where to work and live, it reminds me that I do indeed have multiple loyalties and multiple commitments. But my devotion to any one place is not less because of a devotion to many. I have been fortunate to have been able to see much of the world, and am fortunate to have friends and family scattered across many continents. But that sense of belonging to the globe rather than to a country doesn’t mean I am any less passionately devoted to the well-being of Pasadena, or to my students, many of whom have never been on an airplane much less outside of the Western Hemisphere. Continue reading

Of sacrifice and growth: an argument in favor of long-distance relationships for college students

I had coffee this week with one of the girls from my old youth group at All Saints church. “Brynne” has just finished up her junior year, and in the past few months, has started dating “Scott”, who is a year older and has just graduated. Scott is off to university in the fall, hundreds of miles away.

In many senses of the term, Scott is Brynne’s “first.” He’s the first guy she’s ever fallen in love with, certainly, and before they started dating this spring, they had been friends for two years, since they first met in youth group. I know Scott almost as well as I know Brynne: he is a remarkable young man, outgoing and ambitious and passionate. These two teens, so bright and sensitive and driven, are as near-to-perfect for each other as could be.

When we met at Starbucks, however, Brynne was anxious. Practically the first words out of her mouth to me were “September 18!” I asked what that date meant, and she explained that that was the day Scott was heading off to college. “It’s less than three months away”, she said, “and I don’t know what’s going to happen.” As we talked further, Brynne made it clear that both she and Scott had talked about wanting to stay together in a committed relationship after he goes off to university. “I know that’s what I want”, Brynne told me. “I also know it’s what Scott says he wants, and I believe him — now. But I don’t want to be the reason why he misses out on ‘college’ experiences, you know? I don’t want to be this stupid high school girl who is his ball-and-chain preventing him from having fun. Sometimes I think we should just break up, as much as that would suck, just so he could be ‘free’”.

In my role as a youth group leader and mentor, there are few questions I get asked more often than the one about the viability and wisdom of long-distance relationship. “Should we break up or stay together?” is a query I get every year, usually in the summer as a couple moves inexorably towards autumn’s physical separation. I never answer the question definitively, because each situation is in some sense unique, and each couple’s set of abilities and desires is different. But if I have a bias, and based on my own experience and that of a great many people I’ve worked with over many years I do have one, it is towards saying that yes, a couple that is in love ought to make an effort to stay together when separated by different colleges.

I asked Brynne: “What sort of experiences do you think Scott would miss out on because of being in a long-distance relationship with you?” She winced a bit, and I pressed on: “Is he going to miss out on great classes? Miss out on joining the right club or fraternity? Miss out on making great friends? Miss out on learning to surf, skydive, or mountain bike?” Brynne laughed, saying “That’s not what I mean.” “I know”, I said, “you’re worried he’s going to miss out on the chance to ‘be with’ new people, with other girls”. She nodded. Continue reading

Thursday Short Poem: Calhoun’s “Mapping Desire”

My body doesn’t look the same as it once did. It’s not just being 41, it’s being 41 with a lot of scars, a lot of running in the wind and the sun, a lot of hard living when I was younger. And though my wife is the only one who touches me and sees me in my vulnerability, I am prone, when I’m not careful, to making self-deprecating remarks to her about my skin and my flesh. But she loves the familiar ruts, the turns and the textures of the imperfect and interesting body with which she shares a life. Jeanetta Calhoun’s poem captures this nicely.

Mapping Desire


“i look like a roadmap,” he says,
intending, i suppose, to deflect
any unrealistic expectations of
the power of passing time on
a face i haven’t touched in years
but he is forgetting
how i love a road trip
sometimes screaming down the freeway
at 2 am, the bass thumping in the speakers
like the pounding of my heart
most often, though, i like to
take the side roads
roll the windows down
inhale the sweet smells
sheltered under the arching
bowers of trees linked
together like fingers of two hands
spanning what separates them
i like to slide into
a roadhouse on the county line
have a beer, some barbecue and
a slowdance to the blues
then unfold my beloved roadmap
run my finger along a chosen course
imagine all the s-turns and heaves
glory in the forgotten lanes
and remember that the end
of one journey is the
beginning of another

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MBTI Update

I posted a few weeks ago about how many of the folks in my life tested as ENFP on the Myers-Briggs personality inventory; I just checked the stats on my Facebook page, and of 64 of my friends who have taken the test and posted their results, 33 are ENFP and another 20 are NFs of one kind or another. I may be married to an ESTP, but don’t seem to have many as friends.

Weirdness…

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Decency evolves

The Supreme Court has struck another small blow against the savage madness that is capital punishment.

One way I know I’m not a conservative: when I read Anthony Kennedy’s reference today to “evolving standards of decency”, I got a chill of satisfaction down my spine. My conservative friends argue for the timelessness of standards, of an enduring natural law written in our hearts. I am grateful that by the most tenuous of threads, that of a single life, the balance of our Supreme Court remains in the hands of those who believe that our ancestors did not always know best, and that what was good and prudent in the past may be shockingly immoral in the present.

Hurrah for Justice Kennedy. The wisdom of blocking the disastrous nomination of Robert Bork 21 years ago is proved right again.

Ten years

It is June 25, 2008. Ten years ago this Friday, on June 27, 1998, I took my last drink of alcohol and my last illicit drug. Ten years ago this Friday, I tried to take my life by turning on the gas in my apartment building and blowing out the pilot lights; I very nearly took quite a few people with me. Ten years ago this Friday, I came to what we in recovery call a “bottom.”

The gas did not kill me; sheriff’s deputies kicked in the door and pulled me to safety before any serious harm could be done. After a few hours in ICU getting my stomach pumped (for the umpteenth time), I was dispatched to a locked psychiatric ward. I date my sobriety from the day I was released from the hospital: July 1, 1998. The drugs I took on the night of the 27th took several days to leave my system, and so I wasn’t clear-headed until the 1st.

It scarcely seems possible that I have been clean and sober for a decade. I have written often on this blog about what I was like “before” and “after”. And of course, my story is a common one. There are plenty of “once was lost, now am found” narratives out there; the very root of autobiography in the Western world is the trope of conversion and transformation. The familiarity of the story doesn’t make it any less interesting to those caught up in it, of course, and it doesn’t mean that the story isn’t worth telling over and over again. After all, the primary purpose of relating these stories is not to gratify the ego but instead to remind others that recovery is possible, miracles do happen, change is real.

When people ask me what helped me get and stay sober, what helped me in my recovery from diagnosed mental illness, what helped me give up the “deathstyle” I lived for so long, I cite three things. The three-legged stool of my recovery: intense psychotherapy; rigorous participation in a Twelve-Step program, and a rediscovered faith in Christ. That doesn’t mean that everyone who seeks recovery must have each of these components, but they were, each in their own way, indispensable to the transformation that happened in my life in the summer of 1998 and beyond. I am not sure I would be where I am today had I not had each of those tools at my disposal, had I not had my nightly meetings, my thrice-weekly sessions with Dr. Levine, and a growing sense of God’s plan for my life.

And of course, I had something else: a fierce desire to live. I’ve lost friends and lovers to the “disease” of addiction, to mental illness, who didn’t have that same willingness to do absolutely anything to get better. And this morning, that’s what I’m contemplating: why it is that some of us are blessed with that will, that hunger, that longing to survive while others are not. Ten years after my last drink, ten years after my last illicit drug, I still have no idea why some “get it” and others don’t. Was it luck? Was it “divine election”, as my Calvinist friends might say? Was it sheer stubborness on my part? Was it privilege, the sort that pays for psychiatric care three times a week? Was it a constellation of all of these?

I don’t know. What I do know is that June 1998 saw me very close to ending my life and taking others with me. What I do know is that something happened, something marvelous and soul-stirring and, so far, apparently permanent. And I am grateful beyond words that it did happen as it did. Let me embrace the cliche: every day is indeed a gift, because I willingly forfeited my life a decade ago and received it back, undeserved and unexpected. And Christ almighty, I try to remember to be worthy of that gift I was given.