When I was in college, a traveling show of Rodin sculptures arrived in Utah County to be displayed at Brigham Young University.  Four sculptures stayed in their crates and were not allowed to be viewed by the public.  The most notable was The Kiss, arguably the most iconic of all Rodin’s sculptures.  The reason the University gave for this omission was that the theme of the show was “The Hands” of Rodin.  Not “The Guy Gets Some Action From The Girl with Parts Exposed” of Rodin.  Fair enough.  But the rumor was that the wife of the university’s president saw the full exhibit and insisted they box up the pieces that made her uncomfortable. 

I had not yet had an opportunity to travel at that time in my life.  The idea that I was in the same building as a famous sculpture that I loved and admired, and yet I was being prevented from seeing it out of some misguided sense of guardianship for my eyes and my soul…?  It was outrageous to me at the time.  Now, I find it comical.  It’s as if “The Church” (as we call it here) is stuck in this perpetual tween phase where anything and everything obliquely erotic – no matter how historic or important – gives them a fit of the giggles.  Only they classify their discomfort as concern for the preservation of “dignity” and as long as we are standing on their property (which is far reaching in these parts) they get the last word. 

Last Thursday, a young couple was leaving a concert in down town Salt Lake City and cut through the Main Street Plaza - owned by the Mormon Church – on their way home.  They were detained by church guards for displaying public affection (a kiss on the cheek).  “The Mormon Fuzz” (that’s what Bill Maher called them in Religulous) pointed to the rules of the easement and insisted that they curb their offensive behavior or leave.  The couple argued that they witnessed similar displays of affection in the plaza and insisted that they were singled out for being gay.  The couple refused to leave quietly and soon found themselves in handcuffs being cited for trespassing. 

You can’t make this shit up. 

On Friday, I received a message from a friend inviting me to participate in a “Kiss-In.”  Protesters were being asked to gather at Temple Square and to gently display affection while wearing paper hearts on their sleeves. 

On the one hand, I love the idea.  It’s funny and human.  More importantly, it gets to the grander point, which is, “Who cares how we love one another?  It’s just a kiss!  We aren’t hurting anyone!  And who knows, if you joined in, you might just enjoy yourself!” 

But on the other hand, it seemed like a bad idea and made me shudder just a little bit.  I thought back to all the protests I participated in last November after California’s Proposition 8 passed.  I was so angry and I wanted to show my support.  And in my head we just wanted to show The LDS church that they were hurting real people – their own neighbors and loved ones – with their misguided prejudices.  But ultimately I felt like we played into their hands.  We helped to cast them in that role they play so well.  The victim archetype who just wants to protect their children and their sacred temples from harassment from the moral-less left. 

Outrage fuels debate, and I’m proud to have added my voice to the volume of the cause.  But what I learned last winter is that change happens in the middle.  It’s the people like those behind the Common Ground Initiative who ultimately have the right idea.  Poking a stick at the conservatives is only going to make them feel more justified in fearing the change that we represent. 

Meanwhile, we live in times where a gentle evening stroll down Main Street can turn into an epic battle for a way of life.  The couple was just cutting through the plaza on their way home.  Once they were singled out in a plaza full of meandering hand holding couples, they had to stand up for themselves.  

Technically, the guards were in the right.  The Mormons own that property and are well within their legal rights to insist on the adherence to any code of conduct that they choose.  Sure, they were being douchebags, but we already know that they are douchebags.  The thing that gets me is that the guards insist that they just wanted the couple to leave.  But they were leaving already.  If they had just been left to go on their merry way, none of this would have happened. 

Isn’t the take-away for The Church here ‘live and let live?’  Or at least, ‘let live and put off some bad press for another day?’  Similarly, a city wide smooch-off may seem like a good idea.  But who is the intended audience?  We already have all the people in the country who have a sense of humor on our side.  The squares who can’t stand the sight of other people [giggle, giggle] kissing (even if we are talking about straight a kiss from a 120 year old hunk of marble) are just going to feel a stronger conviction that they are being threatened by a protest of any sort.  

Maybe we should just leave them alone.  Really, if they are so vehemently opposed to displays of afftection in art or otherwise, they are already punishing themselves. 

And anyway, it’s not like it’s only the Mormon’s who can’t seem to mind their own damn business.  I had a really irritating confrontation with my downstairs neighbor yesterday that has me thinking about the finessing of coexistence.  She knocked on my door in the afternoon with her little girl hiding behind her legs.  She introduced herself and pointed downstairs to her apartment.  But I already know that they live down stairs.  Her baby sleeps [and sometimes doesn’t sleep] in the room below my bedroom, where I sleep [and sometimes don’t sleep]. 

“I could smell you smoking last night – about 1:30?  I don’t know if you know this, but the smoke… it comes right into my room… and my daughter’s room…”

 “Oh, look…” I launched in and over-explained, “I know you’ve seen me smoking on my balcony, but really… I don’t smoke.  Or, I rarely smoke.  Not for a while now.  Only when I get dumped and I’m feeling… you know… self-destructive.  I mean, I went on a little bit of a bender in the spring… because, blah.  You know?  Ha ha.  But I haven’t smoked for a while.  And last night I went to bed early because I had this run this morning.  And I left around 5am.  To run a 10k?  I run?  Yeah.  But even when I do smoke, I only smoke outside.  So… It wasn’t me.  I’m sorry.” 

The woman looked at me with an expression that conveyed two thoughts at once:  “I don’t believe you” and “why do you want to kill my baby?”  Her little girl, still hiding behind her mother’s knee, blinked at me desperately like a big eyed baby on a UNICEF TV spot until the silence got too uncomfortable and they left. 

I closed the door feeling like a jerk and wishing I could prove it wasn’t me.  But ultimately, the fact is, it doesn’t matter who it was.  We live in an apartment building.  That means she’s going to smell cigarettes sometimes.  And it means that when she’s not sleeping because her daughter has a nightmare and cries in the middle of the night, I don’t sleep either. 

We all are trying to live in this city.  And that means that you are going to see people kissing.  And it means that people are going to get in your face.  We may never agree about who is right and who is wrong.  We don’t have to like one another, but we should all be able to find away to work it out so that nice people don’t end up in handcuffs.  I mean, Jesus Christ.  Seriously, people. 

I should concede here that it’s possible my negative reaction to the “kiss-in” invite might be, in part, of the sour grapes variety.  After all, you can’t participate in a kiss-in when you don’t have anyone to kiss.  Maybe I’m just trying to find a reason to forego participation which exists separately from the natural selection which had already excluded me.  Additionally, I just remembered today that my birthday is coming up.  And at present, my confirmed date is (yet again!) Netflix and a bottle of dry white wine.  

And that just makes me want a cigarette.