Before Eliot Spitzer's career crashed in spectacular fashion, there was Jim McGreevey, governor of neighboring New Jersey, who resigned from office after declaring, "My truth is that I am a gay American," and failing to declare that the real scandal was putting his lover on the state's payroll.

McGreevey's post-political life has been picturesque. He moved into a Plainfield, NJL-R: McGreevey, Pedersen, and Matos McGreevey: the happy couple + the meat in their sandwich mansion with his new partner, Australian financier Mark O'Donnell. He is now teaching "ethics, law, and leadership" at Kean University (two out of three ain't bad), and has plans to become an Episcopalian priest. The only obstacle to a completely idyllic existence for McGreevey is his ongoing, acrimonious divorce and child custody proceedings with his future ex-wife Dina Matos McGreevey, who has consistently portrayed herself as an unwitting dupe, conned by an ambitious and unethical aspiring pol into serving as his beard.

Now the McGreeveys' hometown rag, the Star-Ledger, is reporting that Matos McGreevey was far from innocent about the nature of her marriage. According to the paper's source, former McGreevey aide Theodore Pedersen, "he had three-way sexual trysts with the former governor and his wife before he took office":

[H]e and the couple even had a nickname for the weekly romps, from 1999 to 2001, that typically began with dinner at T.G.I. Friday's and ended with a threesome at McGreevey's condo in Woodbridge.

They called them "Friday Night Specials," according to Pedersen.

And you felt guilty after ordering the bloomin' onion.

J-Love conquers all: A JDate billboard looms over Boston I am a New York City–dwelling, L Word–watching, liberal-minded hipsterish hetero. A girl who has always thought it would be kinda sorta maybe cool to make out with another girl but never has. That kind. And yet....

As my 30th birthday approached, I found myself single — and celibate — for a longer stretch than I've ever wanted to be. As more and more friends settled into the adult worlds of marriage and parenthood, I started lamenting my missed opportunities, as if 30 marked some sort of slow decline toward death.

I was embroiled in a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship — with JDate. What had once been exciting — a sea of eligible Jewish men for the taking! — had become a virtual waiting room of guys who liked to work hard and play hard and enjoyed staying in as much as they liked going out.

It was a particularly heinous-feeling I'm-never-going-to-have-sex-again kind of night when I received a Flirt from ArtsyGrrl18*, a curvaceous and pretty woman seeking a woman. Her message was nothing more than a cheesy canned pick-up line chosen from a drop-down menu: "You're burning up my monitor — are you always this hot?" But I felt a flutter in my stomach. And while, yeah, OK, I'm straight, I didn't really care. I was smitten. Sort of.

I was sick of men. Sick of corresponding with guys only to meet them in person and find out we have zero chemistry, to repeatedly come to the soul-crushing realization that the dream lover I'd imagined doesn't exist anywhere in this universe. Sick of pretending to be indifferent just so I won't scare them away. I'm not indifferent. Why should I be? Men could keep their issues and their fear of commitment. They could have their erectile dysfunction and their emotional unavailability. I was moving on to bigger, better (softer, nicer-smelling) things.

I immediately drafted a response. "I'm burning up your monitor?" I asked incredulously. "Come on, that's almost as bad as some of the guys on here." My reply accomplished a few things. It flirted back, it put her in her place and, perhaps most important, it reminded her that I was used to being courted by men. I hit send without stopping to wonder what I was doing.

A few days passed with no reply, and I began to worry. Had it been wrong to mention men? It was no secret that I'm straight. What was the sense of playing down that fact when it was, in fact, a fact? Maybe that was even part of what drew her to me — I was, in theory, off-limits. Every day I skimmed through message upon message from a nondescript crop of men, obsessively refreshing my in-box, automatically declining IM requests from the likes of Mensch4U and JewtasticNYC, hoping that each new page would bring a sign of ArtsyGrrl18.

And then, on the fifth day, there was light, in the form of a blinking-envelope new-message icon. "LOL, Carla," she'd written back. "You rock so hard." How adorable, I thought. What a gem! It's true, a similar response from a man probably would have found its way into my Trash bin. But I was hooked. There was no doubt about it: ArtsyGrrl18 would signify my first trip into Girltown.

"I think I'm going to go out with a girl!" I told friends. They all looked at me strangely, as if I'd told them I was thinking of piercing my nipples or moving to India, that I was going to do something that sounded adventurous and edifying but in reality was probably foolish and regrettable. And they all asked the same thing: "Do you really want to date a woman?"

Straight-girl lesbian-dating: Don't knock it till you've tried it A good question. Did I want to date a woman? Well let's see. I love women. Most of my closest friends are women. But no, all right, that's not what they meant. So did I want to kiss a woman? Well, sure! Maybe. Life's too short not to try it, right? And kissing's always nice. OK, forget kissing. Did I want to get naked and sweaty and dirty with a woman? Oh boy, now it was getting tricky. Maybe if Susan looked like Diane Lane. (She did not.) And maybe if the prospect of a man were anywhere on the horizon. (Mensch4U's ability to feel as comfortable in a T-shirt as in a tux and JewtasticNYC's exciting life as an actuary weren't exactly getting my blood going.) Maybe if I could keep my eyes closed and spend more time receiving than giving. Whatever, I thought. I'd figure out the particulars later. I was going to do this, damn it, so I decided to address my reservations the best way I knew how: by ignoring them.

Susan and I e-mailed for about a week, and then she decided we should talk on the phone.

When she called, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I jumped, even though I knew it was her before picking up. She'd scheduled the time for our phone date (who schedules a phone date?), but even if she hadn't, there was an urgency in the ring that told me it was her. Or maybe it just seemed that way.

But the conversation was easy. There were no awkward silences. Aside from the weird feeling in my stomach, talking to Susan was just like talking to a girlfriend. You know, a girl friend. When she let slip, "You're cute," or worse, tried to talk about "us," I shifted the topic to more platonic things.

At one point, I managed to get out, "I don't know how much of a tease I'm being." It was the only thing I'd rehearsed, the one thing I'd known I would have to say, even before the phone rang.

I was still speaking when she said, "That's OK." I could feel the period of my sentence hanging somewhere in the middle of hers. She wasn't listening to me. "Do you like more masculine or feminine women?" she asked.

Oh, Jesus. "I'm not sure what kind of women I like because I've never liked a woman before."

I had thrown in the "before" to be kind, even though I knew lying now might result in an even bigger cruelty later. What was true was that I was curious, I was intrigued, I was flattered, I was bored. But I did not know if I was interested. And wasn't that what she was really asking?

When she pressed it further, I tried to think of celebrities I found hot. Jennifer Lopez, sure. Rosie O'Donnell, not so much. Scarlett Johansson? Yes, please. Lea Delaria? Hell to the no. "Feminine, I guess."

Which led to a discussion of the photographs she had posted with her profile. "The one of you in the red top is nice," I said. I regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth. The red top was pretty low-cut. I could hear her smiling.

"You like the boobies, then."

Like a boy, but nicer-smelling: As a straight girl, would you switch teams for J-Lo? "You just look happy in that picture. And red's a really good color on you. " There was no fucking way I was talking about boobies.

We chatted a bit longer and hung up with a time and a place to meet. Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. "It's me," she said. Her sense of familiarity annoyed me, and the second call caught me more off-guard. Men did not hang up the phone and call back 20 minutes later. At least not men I've ever known. I suddenly understood that old joke: What do lesbians bring on a first date? A U-Haul.

"You make a person want to cancel her appointments and just keep talking to you," she said. I wouldn't have believed it if I'd read it in a book. I'd have chalked it up to melodrama if it were a line in some asinine romantic comedy.

"Oh," was all I could muster.

"Can you talk a bit more?" I was already planning on telling her not really, but then she added, "Just for like 20 minutes." It was so exact, so needy, so faux casual that I couldn't even consider saying yes.

"Look," I said, "I've really got to go. We're going to see each other in a few days." I could sense disappointment on her end, but what could I do? This woman seemed crazy! We'd never even met! Didn't she know you can't just act on every impulse you have? That you need to play the game? I shuddered. What the hell was going on here?

Susan's disappointment didn't last long because that night, around midnight, my phone rang again and we had our third conversation of the day. On the first day we'd ever talked at all. I had gotten my wish: an attentive mate who said what she meant and meant what she said. And I couldn't have been more freaked out about it.

But the truth is I enjoyed talking to her. In fact, I opened up to Susan in that third conversation more than I have with some men I've dated for months. But Susan was sensitive. She didn't spook at the first mention of imperfection, of baggage. She was, after all, a girl.

The week after our first day of phone calls passed with alarming speed. I grew increasingly panicked as our date neared. "Blow it off," one friend advised. "You're not a lesbian!" A good point. And yet, didn't I owe it to myself to see how this thing played out? I'd already come so far! Wasn't it time to live a little dangerously in homage to all the friends who were now shopping for Bugaboos and obsessing over seating arrangements? Going out with Susan wasn't something I necessarily wanted to do, but something I felt I should, to build character. I mean, going weak in the knees for someone or wanting to tear his clothes off the second you see him is nice, I guess, but it doesn't hold a candle to character, right? Right?!

Sunday arrived, and I woke up groggy. My sleep had been fitful and uneasy. I was supposed to get in touch with Susan to confirm the details of our date. I didn't. Later that day I received an e-mail from her: "Am I right in assuming you've lost interest in meeting me?"

Hot straight girl-on-girl action: Sca-Jo and N-Po (Even worse, she had accidentally sent a slightly altered draft of the message, too. I was mortified for her. I was mortified for me—how many times had I agonized over every syllable in a one-line missive to a man who probably skimmed it anyway, too distracted by ball-scratching or mirror-gazing to care?)

My response to Susan's e-mail surprised even me: "What makes you think I've lost interest?" Holy shit, I thought. I am a guy. I am a motherfucking guy. I was full-on playing with her head, and it terrified me how naturally it came, how easily and effortlessly the transition had occurred. Didn't I complain that men can never just make a plan and stick with it? That they're purposefully evasive? That they toy with our emotions for sport? What could I have been thinking?

Not much, I guess, because I strung Susan along for a week or two. I answered her phone messages with e-mails. I canceled plans at the last minute once because I got stuck at work and another time because a friend sprang last-minute birthday plans on me (a last-minute birthday?). Finally I decided to do something no man has ever done with me: I decided to come clean.

"Look," I wrote, "I'm really sorry. I never meant for this to happen or for things to get this far only to have me chicken out. I just don't think my heart is really in it. And I sort of wish it were. I'm truly sorry if I've hurt you."

And she, also being female, responded in a similarly refreshing way: with honesty, compassion and understanding: "I'm a little bummed because I thought we were connecting, but no worries, OK? Please. Call me if you ever change your mind. Goodbye, beautiful."

Her e-mailed crushed me. It made me want to write back and tell her I was wrong, that we should meet, but I didn't. The kindness was what I was attracted to. It always had been. I just couldn't get down with the boobies.

In the end, Girltown turned out to be less like an exciting vacation spot and more like a restaurant I wanted to gawk at through the windows but never actually eat in. Today when friends and I are contemplating how to proceed with men we're dating, what the best course of action is, we invoke the question WWSD — What Would Susan Do? We figure out the answer, then do the opposite. And I hate that we have to. But I guess that's the price you pay for being a straight girl.

*Names and Jdate handles have been changed.

Don't be fooled by his innocuous nickname: Schwarztie This week in J-media:

• Did you know that the gays cause earthquakes? The ultra-Orthodox Israeli political party Shas just suggested that instead of reinforcing buildings, the government should spend more money discouraging homosexuality. Insert obligatory San Francisco joke here, and then bang your head against the wall while wondering how you’ve managed to get stuck in the same religio-ethic group as these people. [Jewschool via Haaretz and the Jerusalem Post.]
• At JSpot, Hannah Farber asks the world’s rabbis to please stop insisting that she (and every other Jewish professional woman) pop out some babies right this very minute. Jewschool responds. [JSpot, Jewschool]
  
• This writer is really, really angry at Jerry Seinfeld, and not because of Bee Movie. [San Diego Jewish Journal]
• From the department of How Not to Grow the Jewish People: Rabbi Shlomo Schwartz, who runs the Chai Center in California, just can’t stop sending angry text-message-speak e-mails to women who appeal to him for Jewish knowledge. A steller example: “Shame on U 4 yr disgusting unpaid whoring ways 2 try & take Jewish men away from Jewish women. Hitler murdered Jews & U R also trying 2 exterminate Jews." [LA Jewish Journal]
• An Orange County task force says antisemitism is so rampant at UC Irvine that Jewish students should stay away. [JTA]
  
• Heeb gets at the biggest issue facing young Jews today: Beefy men playing strip dreidel. [Heeb Magazine]

No life partners allowed: Does that mean Romy would have to leave Michelle home?Last week both the Forward and the Jewish Week reported on a scandal at Yeshiva of Flatbush, a prestigious Modern Orthodox school. In December the school hosted a ten-year reunion for the class of 1997, but openly gay graduates were sent a letter explaining that they couldn’t bring their partners to the reunion. Specifically, the letter said:

The Director of our Alumni Association forwarded your request to bring your partner with you to the 10th anniversary reunion this coming Saturday night. As previously stated to you, we welcome your attendance and look forward to your participation. However, your partner cannot attend.

The policy of the school and that is enforced is that only graduates and their spouses (engagements are recognized) are invited. We cannot acknowledge or define your partner relationship as one that falls under this policy. We kindly ask you to respect and follow our Yeshivah’s policy and attend the reunion without your partner. 

Some gay graduates chose not to attend. Others created a Facebook group called "Open Flatbush Reunions - End Censorship and Alumni Profiling" which now has over 330 members, including, according to the Jewish Week “a Nobel Prize winner who attended the school over six decades ago and a former principal of the school, Rabbi Alan Stadtmauer, who resigned from his position in 2004 as he came to terms with being gay himself.”

The best response I’ve seen so far is on Jewschool, where a gay alum of the Yeshiva of Flatbush writes about why and how the school is being hypocritical. My favorite passage:

Until this particular issue came up however, everyone was welcome at the high school reunion. There was no “tsitsiss check” or religious litmus test, no approved favorite movie or banned political opinion. People showed up, they brought guests, they shmoozed and ate and re-connected with their classmates. It didn’t matter what you named your kids. And it didn’t matter what halacha you may have broken in your life. Nobody asked you to testify as to which hashgacha certified your existence as kosher.

So when Mr. Eisenberg, the administrator, claims that “there are standards of halacha that guide the Orthodox community. All of our graduates are welcome to attend our reunion but only those involved in recognized halachic relationships may register to attend as a couple,” I don’t buy it. The standards of halacha that guide the Orthodox community surely exist — but they cover a lot more than the gender of who you date and marry. Modesty rules. Ethical business rules. Rules for sabbath observance. Sexual practices of heterosexual couples.

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A Pew study reveals that Generation Y is more liberal than any other age group -- including Gen X when they were our age. Nearly 60 percent of 18- to 24-year-olds choose Democratic candidates over Republicans. Cock the Vote: Gays are our friendsThis reverses a trend from the '80s and '90s of younger voters being more likely to vote conservative.

Why is this? Aside from the fact that a Republican commander-in-chief has sent more than 3,000 of us to our bloody deaths, Gen Y is far more open to gay marriage than older generations. Our friends don't feel the need to hide their sexuality, unlike many right-wing politicians and religious leaders. As the GOP continues to bash our buddies as harbingers of the apocalypse, their numbers will continue to shrink faster than my anatomy in a room full of naked guys (bronzed... jacked... dripping with sweat...), because I am so totally 93 percent not gay. (But seriously, who wouldn't go for Shatner? Especially today?)

Just a few weeks ago, I criticized Desmond Tutu for one of his chronically outrageous statements about the Middle East. Of more interest to me, however, was that many use the "he's Desmond Tutu" line as if it that were in and of itself sufficient to defend him against charges that his rantings about the Jews and Israel are borderline anti-Semitic (not to mention how self-defeating and historically ignorant it is for him to compare the South African freedom struggle -- which never had serious elements worshipping a cult of death or calling for the wholesale genocide of its enemies -- to the Palestinian cause). I wrote:

Desmond Tutu is indeed a man of great stature; his criticism of the African National Congress for its unforgivable policies in support of Robert Mugabe and its AIDS denialism, as well as his calls for African Christians to be more accepting of homosexuality, have been exemplary and courageous. But he's not perfect, and happens to have rather odious views about the Middle East. I feel no amount of intellectual inconsistency embracing him for his honesty on Zimbabwe, AIDS and gays, while simultaneoulsy finding his words about Israel and Jews outrageous.

Lest my interlocutors at the time felt this avowal was a cop-out, I'll take this moment to praise Tutu for his latest moral declaration: lashing out at the Anglican Church for its "obsession" with gays. The years-long rift and coming split in the Church between its liberal, Western wings and the culturally conservative global south has not been lost on Tutu:

"Our world is facing problems -- poverty, HIV and Aids -- a devastating pandemic, and conflict," Tutu said.

"God must be weeping looking at some of the atrocities that we commit against one another.

"In the face of all of that, our church, especially the Anglican church, at this time is almost obsessed with questions of human sexuality."

"If God as they say is homophobic I wouldn't worship that God."

Dem's fighting words. Contrast Tutu with Peter Akinola, the Archbishop of Nigeria, who has to compete with Muslims for African converts (which is not to suggest that he doesn't believe the homophobic hatred he regularly spews) and has called homosexuality a "chronic aberration." No word yet on whether African Anglicans plan on matching the head of the Ugandan Muslim community's plan for a gay island.

As a young girl, I had over twenty Barbie dolls, which I once arranged in their Dream House in a brothel scene, with one Ken sodomizing the other over the Utility Kitchen. My mother's reply: "You're too old for Barbies."

Toy marketing execs say that, in the 1960s, girls we would now call "'tweens" or even actual teenagers played with Barbies. In the '80s, my friends and I would've been mortified had anyone known we still played with Barbies after the age of eight or nine, even if we secretly still liked them. Now, the target market for Barbies is ages 3-5. The dolls have largely, of course, been supplanted by Bratz (you may have seen ads for the upcoming feature film).

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As late as 1994, the Pentagon was spending tax dollars to develop a bomb that would turn enemy soldiers gay. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can add to this that would comedically excel the preceding sentence:

As part of a military effort to develop non-lethal weapons, the proposal suggested, "One distasteful but completely non-lethal example would be strong aphrodisiacs, especially if the chemical also caused homosexual behavior."

The documents show the Air Force lab asked for $7.5 million to develop such a chemical weapon.

"The Ohio Air Force lab proposed that a bomb be developed that contained a chemical that would cause enemy soliders to become gay, and to have their units break down because all their soldiers became irresistably attractive to one another," Hammond said after reviwing the documents.

"The notion was that a chemical that would probably be pleasant in the human body in low quantities could be identified, and by virtue of either breathing or having their skin exposed to this chemical, the notion was that soliders would become gay," explained Hammond.

"About last night, Sarge."

"Forget it, Private. Pity of war. We all get a little lonely sometimes."

"But Sarge--"

"One more word, soldier, and I'll have you court martialed."

"No law in the land could change the way I feel, Sarge."

"I know, son. I know."

Ann Hulbert shares some insight from a recent Pew study on sexual and political principles of Gen Next that are worth a look in today’s Sunday Times Magazine.

It captures, certainly from my own experience, the rooted openness of a cross section of this generation. Though specifically geared toward views on gay marriage and abortion, the study sheds light on their independence of thought as well as their deep connections to their parents’ generation. And dovetails with one aspect that summarizes their essence: they are, without a doubt, charting something of a new path–wherever it leads, in American political life.

More in relationship to homosexuality than on the abortion question, one sees this study validated, which I suppose makes sense given the more public nature of seeing or knowing two gay people than knowing who had an abortion.

Hulbert writes, “On one level, Gen Nexters sound impatient with a strident stalemate between entrenched judgments of behavior; after all, experience tells them that in the case of both abortion and gay rights, life is complicated and intransigence has only impeded useful social and political compromises. At the same time, Gen Nexters give every indication of being attentive to the moral issues at stake: they aren’t willing to ignore what is troubling about abortion and what is equally troubling about intolerant exclusion. A hardheadedness, but also a high-mindedness and softheartedness, seems to be at work.”

Fred Phelps, the preacher who pickets the funerals of AIDS victims and U.S. soldiers (defending a godless, pagan country that permits homosexuality, science, and brunch), wants to bring his caravan of corpse hecklers to the gravesite of Jerry Falwell. If satire is dead, it's because it had premarital sex:

WBC will Preach at Jerry Falwell's Funeral!!

WBC will preach at the memorial service of the corpulent false prophet Jerry Falwell, who spent his entire life prophesying lies and false doctrines like "God loves everyone".  

There is little doubt that Falwell split Hell wide open the instant he died.  The evidence is compelling, overwhelming, and irrefragable.  To wit:

1.  Falwell was a true Calvinistic Baptist when he was a young preacher in Springfield, Missouri, and sold his soul to Free-Willism (Arminianism) for lucre.

2.  Falwell bitterly and viciously attacked WBC because of WBC's faithful Bible preaching -- thereby committing the unpardonable sin -- otherwise known as the sin against the Holy Ghost.

3.  Falwell warmly praised Christ-rejecting Jews, pedophile-condoning Catholics, money-grubbing compromisers, practicing fags like Mel White, and backsliders like Billy Graham and Robert Schuler, etc.  All for lucre -- making him guilty of their sins.

Falwell is in Hell, Praise God!!

The New York Sun reports on a conference of Arab lesbians that was held in Haifa yesterday:

Many of the attendees said they were sad that the only place safe enough to hold a conference for gay Arab women was in a Jewish area of Haifa, which has a mixed Arab-Jewish population. Israel's Jewish majority is generally tolerant of homosexuality

"This conference is being held, somehow, in exile, even though it's our country," said Yussef Abu Warda, a playwright.

Driven deep underground for the most part, only 10 to 20 Arab lesbians attended the conference, organizers said. Most blended in with Israeli lesbians and heterosexual Arab female supporters without making their presence known.

"We'd like all women to come out of the closet — that's our role. We work for them," said Samira, 31, a conference organizer who came with her Jewish Israeli girlfriend. Samira agreed to be identified only by her first name for fear of reprisals.

[...]Homosexuality, which is strictly forbidden by Islam, is considered taboo among most of Israel's Arab citizens, who make up 20% of the country's population.

Albert Mohler: Wants to put your gay fetus on the patchSometimes I think we should really invite Rev. Albert Mohler Jr to be a guest blogger here on faithhacker. The man is just an eternal spring of practical spirituality! Now yes, it’s true he’s not Jewish, that he’s in fact president of The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and that he likes to brag about how he’s been called “an articulate voice for conservative Christianity at large” which suggests that being articulate and a conservative Christian is something of a revelation (no pun intended). So okay, I can see how he wouldn’t be the first name to come to mind, even though he’s contributed to blockbusting anthologies like “Hell Under Fire: Modern Scholarship Reinvents Eternal Punishment.”

But Rev. Mohler’s recent writings make it pretty clear he’s dedicated to making sure spirituality can be practically infused into your family life. Specifically, Rev. Mohler is working on a plan to help you ensure that your baby won’t come out gay.

I know. It’s a relief to know you’re not the only one pining away for a prenatal gayness vaccine, right?

According to this article in the Washington Post, Mohler holds the somewhat liberal view that homosexuality may be an innate and natural condition, something you’re born with. This is in contrast to the majority of the Christian right, which likes to refer to homosexuality as a “life choice.” But instead of thinking to himself, “Hey, if they’re born with it, it might actually be something God intended for them. It might be an acceptable way to live one’s life,” Mohler decided to post something on his blog with the catchy title, “Is Your Baby Gay? What if You Could Know? What if You Could Do Something About It?” In the post he discusses the dilemma that’s been floating around the media for a few weeks now. If babies are born with a predisposition to be gay, and if we eventually develop a genetic test for homosexuality in the same way that we can test for Tay-Sachs or Down Syndrome, what does one do with a fetus that’s predisposed toward homosexuality? Abort it?

Mohler weighs in by reminding his readers that because all people—even homosexuals—are created in the image of God, aborting a fetus that is known to be gay would be wrong and sinful. Then he says, “If a biological basis is found, and if a prenatal test is then developed, and if a successful treatment to reverse the sexual orientation to heterosexual is ever developed, we would support its use as we should unapologetically support the use of any appropriate means to avoid sexual temptation and the inevitable effects of sin.”

It’s hard to deny that this is a very practical view on the matter of homosexual babies. But, and I just hate to shoot holes in the theory of such an intellectual like Mohler, it seems to me that all babies have a little problem with sexual temptation when they grow up.

Mohler, obviously, got trashed by a number of groups from both the left and the right who were angry at him for a whole slew of reasons. In his response, also posted on his blog, he reminds his readers that original sin really sucks: “Let's remember that all of us are born with a huge moral defect -- we are sinners from the start. Christians who have responded with claims that God would not allow a person to be born with a bent toward sin miss the clear biblical teaching that all of us are born with a bent toward sin and with a sin nature. We are born marked by Adam's sin and already under God's just condemnation for that sin.”

At this point I don’t care what Mohler has to say because he’s proven himself to be a windbag and a whackjob, but it’s interesting that the president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary is so despondent about homosexuals that he decided the only way to deal with them is to sanction genetic engineering.

It's an interesting take on practicality, I guess. And by "interesting" I mean "vomit inducing."