Violence against gays is up in New York. This is no surprise. Millions of people crammed onto a few islands that were really meant to be beaver swamps...things get tense.
I am glad, of course, that The New York Times is reporting this. However, this reenactment video reminds me of a show I appeared on in the '90s called Citizen's Arrest where I played a mugger in a San Fernando Valley supermarket (Directed by Anson Williams, Happy Days' Potsie). The style was cheesy then, and today, because that sort of food ages sharply, it's even cheesier.
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/07/opinion/an-attack-on-equality.html?nl=opinion&emc=edit_ty_20130807&_r=0
These two victimized men were curated. Time would be better spent finding the dudes in the Knicks* duds.
Ford Foundation Grant? Lovely. How about a grant to fight crime, you know, better?
Lastly, and call me a Right wing lunatic (though most people on the Right call me a Left wing lunatic) I think having everyone's face photographed once every two years and put into a database...would do a lot to slow down crime. Along with a snatch of DNA recorded at birth. Yeah, everyone. Privacy? There's no privacy.
And freedom isn't freedom if people can't hold hands in the streets.
But of course, I was the only guy in my Socialist Country Club set who dared to say, "Just drop a few nukes in those Taliban mountains. I'm busy."
--of course, I know I was being idiotic. But sometimes, I get sick of the non-solution solutions.
Thank goodness no one checks in with me for procedural advice.
Let's just squirt our Jesus love all over the young attackers in their Knicks* shirts. Sure. That'll do it.
Or arm every homosexual with a big ol' gun.
Less video, more action.
*The whole bit about sports dudes beating up designer guys is a forever story. I remember the cast party after a play in high school my senior year---and these cast parties were where the freaks and fags and other drama/music hobos could let their hair down---was crashed by a bunch of guys in their football jerseys. All sorts of jokes about fags and the jocks romped around like they were fags, etc., making squealing noises--though, none of us in the play ever publicly squealed or behaved that way. They were doing it for each other. I guess the thing about sports is...someone has to lose. Hard. They harshed the party and it broke up soon after. The worst part about it was the feeling of being violated. No one was hit. No one bled. No one had anything torn or broken. I was always surprised by the hatred. Some of these guys, alone, were fine. I was sort of friends with them. But as a group, there was gay anxiety. And they were ruthless with doling out the punishment in retaliation for their own discomfort. I am so surprised, years later, that not even one has ever apologized. Strangely, I don't think people remember much. Their egos, certainly, make huge attempts to erase shameful memories. Moving on. I should have had a gun.
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