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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (July 15, 2011)
----- voices------ What Won Out O REG O N'S LGBTO N EW S M A G A ZIN E W hen it comes to churches, I’m mostly fas cinated with their outsides. I realize that’s basi cally the antithesis o f what churches are sup posed to represent—the faithful emphasize churches’ guts: leadership, spiritual guidance, fellowship. Regardless, the things I love: col umns to the sky, stained glass, towering spires, ornate brick and statues. I judge churches by their covers— and much prefer jewels of archi tecture to the newer tract-home look-alikes that litter most of our suburbs. I blame this mild obsession on my upbring ing. Before a switch to hard-line fundamental ism, virtually every member of my family was devoutly Catholic. Eventually, though, conver sion came (for everyone) and we moved to one of the above-mentioned soulless structures. But Catholic imagery was forever burned into my memory and no amount of reprogramming could oust it. Relegated to inhabit a cold, com fortless suburban mammoth, I remained forever envious of hell-bound Catholics and other ren egades who frolicked inside the buildings I adored. A few weeks ago, I ventured to Canby to attend my young cousin’s graduation— and, in turn, make my return to the sort of church I’d sworn off. (I’m not yet convinced I won’t someday spontaneously combust, True Blood- style, if I set foot inside.) My cousin’s ceremo ny, a service celebrating a move from 8th to 9th grade— apparently that warrants a cele bration—was grand. It was marked with a JU LY 15. 2011 off to Houston, an oft-used Love Won Out meeting spot. There, I was briefly cornered, told I am loved despite different lifestyle “choices,” comments that bounced oft now much thicker skin. The older I get, the more fascinating I find these family events. As a sentient, relatively sane adult, I examine conversion from both ends. It’s a constant game of mental compare and contrast, as mid-conversation I’m remem bering earlier days, times when beliefs weren’t quite so rigid or staunch. I comfort my present with my past. And in knowing my appearances pay homage to my mother, who provokes less ire from her siblings when her eldest child re mains somewhat plugged into family events. Post Fourth, I hurried back to the safety of the city. I recruited my friend Kevin, and we sauntered down Stark, amassing beers and lewd exchanges with all-day drinkers on our way to watch fireworks on the Burnside Bridge. Hud dled there, the unimpressive fireworks display began, and we soon abandoned our posts in fa vor o f rollicking rounds of karaoke at Ham burger Mary’s. Halfway lost in thought, I real ized I’m infinitely more comfortable in our city’s tricd-and-true haunts than my cousin’s church or even my family’s compound. And maybe some of my favorite spots might be a little drab and worn on the outside— it turns out that’s no indication of the comforts found inside. J0] Steve took the stage. My typically inept gaydar went haywire. I listened intently to his every into my memory and no amount of word, studied his every movement, wondering just how gay he’d been—or still was, or if he reprogramming could oust it. ever was. And I wondered, had I never escaped, dizzying number of speakers, a constant bar how easily I could have slipped through the rage of Christian pop hits piped over loud queer cracks, ending up dedicated to a life of speakers— think “Butterfly Kisses” for two Christian servitude. A few years ago, my cousin’s mother begged hours straight, long photo slide shows deco rated with various Bible verses— these kids me to explore Love Won Out, an ex-gay minis got it all, even a Hummer limousine to take try launched by Focus on the Family in the late 1990s. Their focus is conversion and curbing them to an all-night party. ( Quinceanera!) The two main speakers seemed to be the homosexual tendencies. Fortunately, for our ones who ran my cousin’s school. One was a viewing pleasure, the organization’s website matronly, librarian-looking woman who offered hosts a slew of staff photographs, which looks up grand gestures and a voice better suited for more like a collection o f Pride snapshots than a Michele Bachmann’s political campaign. De church roll call (hint: Look up Alan Cham- * spite an overheated, ruddy complexion and bers). Although I found my research amusing— constantly steamed spectacles, she was undeni hut terrifying, I avoided my aunt for years post ably engaging. Her comrade-in-arms was a intervention. I slipped out of my cousin’s graduation un shorter, wildly effeminate man with a shiny bald head who wept a lot. Just about everything scathed, with only my neuroses in tow. Days choked him up. W e’ll call him Steve. later, I ventured to my parents’ house for our I had spent most of my time creating mental annual Fourth of July mayonnaise-salad fest, to-do lists and wondering how Grindr would and I again mingled with my converted kin, the fare in Canby (not well, it turns out) before aunt who still harbors secret desires to ship me How was your holiday ? Email d a n i f . i # Catholic imagery was forever'burned i-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- C ELEB R A TE IN D E P E N D E N C E M ONTH w it h FREE DVDs SPEND $40 AND GET A FREE DVD — WWW.TABOOVIDEO.COM — VANCOUVER 82ND AVE. MLK BLVD. BROADWAY (PEARL) 4811 NE 94th Ave. Vancouver WA 2330 SE 82nd Ave. Portland OR 237 SE MLK Blvd. Portland OR 311 NW Broadway, Portland 97209 (360) 2 5 4 - 1 1 2 6 (503) 7 7 7 - 6 0 3 3 (503) 2 3 9 - 1 6 7 8 (503) 2 2 7 - 3 4 4 3 HUGE SELECTION OF DVDS • ADULT TOYS • LINGERIE • MAGAZINES ALL STORES OPEN 24 HOURS TO SERVE YOU! 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