BELOW THE BELT

Baby Mama Drama

2008-05-16T18:02:00.002-04:00

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. What’s that sound? Tina Fey’s biological clock?

The movie Baby Mama introduced us to Kate Holbrook, the Vice President of Development for a mock-Whole Foods. She claims that while other women were having babies, she was getting promotions.

Until she turned 37 and felt like “every baby was staring at her” and thus she wanted a baby. Interesting reasoning. Except she has a t-shaped uterus and according to her doctor, a one in a million chance of having a baby. Enter Sigourney Weaver’s surrogate mother agency, and Amy Poehler’s uterus. Hilarity ensues, each woman grows in some way, and a new name for the 2008 top 10 list of baby names is created.

Since it is a fairly new movie, I won’t give away any spoilers, I’ll just ask, why is it called a “biological” clock? The name implies that it is every woman’s biology is to be a mother, but what about the women with t-shaped uteruses? Or some other physical issue resulting in the inability to get pregnant? If they feel the urge to be a mother, is it biological despite their incorrect biology? Or is it sociological? My sociological clock is telling me it’s baby time?

A funny thing happened last year. I got married. But even funnier, the act of wearing an ivory-and-champagne-gold dress and repeating after my priest meant it was OK for people to ask that dreaded question. “So when are you going to have kids?” What? When am I going to become the baby-making machine that my uterus expects of me? It would have been wrong to do so before the ivory dress, but somehow this ceremonial act makes it OK? I haven’t grown up at all. I’m not any more financially ready (in fact, less so … even semi-DIY weddings cost money).

I was not the only person I know who got married last year. My oldest brother married one of my best friends (2007 was a banner year for my mother) and a friend from high school also got married. I saw both this past weekend. The sister-in-law has baby fever. The friend said she wants to like herself more before she has kids. Where’s the biology in that? They both have uteruses (I assume). They are both around the same age. They have both been married roughly the same amount of time. But perhaps their sociological clocks are timed differently.

We all know people who couldn’t get pregnant fast enough (when they wanted to … I’m sure we also know many who did when they didn’t want to) and those who couldn’t get their tubes tied or something sniped fast enough. Have their biological clock malfunctioned? I have a female friend who practically shutters at the sound of a child’s voice. Is there something wrong with her biology? Or will she magically be like Kate Holbrook, and after becoming the VP of something, suddenly find every baby staring at her? As if it is so easy to just suddenly have that special, mystical, maternal instinct? Does that really happen?

AskFannie: Communing with Queers!

2008-05-14T12:59:00.002-04:00

Dear Fannie,

I go to a notoriously queer friendly university yet I came into the queer scene late in the game. I am out as bisexual and am involved in the queerest classes as you take. I find the scene to be incredibly clicky and hard to glide into. To the queers, I am basically straight, and to the straights, I am queer. How do you smudge into a world where solid identity is so very important, yet an extreme social necessity.

Sincerely,
Not Queer Enough

NQE,

First off, congrats on the coming out! Closets are for clothes, not queers. You’re question resembles one I answered almost a year ago, where Queer & Proud, a lesbian who occasionally slept with men, was getting a lot of negative from her hetero-friends, trying to label her as bisexual. Well it’s clear from your question, NQE that those same hypocritical sentiments can come from homos as well.

The way the Gay Liberation movement from the ‘60s panned out, despite great leaps and bounds in terms of civil rights and all that jazz, is a deeply marked boundary between homos and heteros. Another binary has been constructed so that one’s sexuality is either directed exclusively towards one sex or the other. I hope I don’t have to go into the many flaws in that thought process (i.e. assumptions of only two sexes to be attracted to, assumptions that sexualities are fixed and unchanging, etc.), but while it’s really easy to complain and call out the homo haters and the hating homos, maybe it’s best to remember that homos are humans too, and make the same stupid ass mistakes as their straight mates.

NQE, while I commend you on your entrée into the world of queer-ociousness, you’ve got a lot of learning to do about queers… especially homo folks (as opposed to pansexual, bisexual, omnisexual, etc.). Homos are bitter, quick to judge, and slow to trust. Wanna know why? ‘Cause we have a long history of getting burned by the heteropatriarchy. You name it, we’ve seen it: from electro-shock therapy from our doctors, to exorcisms from our preachers. Granted, after so many years it’s water under the bridge… but it’s pretty turbulent water. So when the queers on campus see your non-exclusively-homo queer self bounding into the fray and wanting the respect and acceptance of the hard-line ‘mos, there’s naturally going to be some skepticism.

You see a social clique of nasty gay Plastics acting as gatekeepers to this bounding fields of queer elysian bliss. But from their point of view, they see some budding homo who’s too afraid to jump in cold-turkey for the friends of Dorothy, and can claim some hetero privilege. They’re skeptical and waiting for you to earn some queer credentials. While that may not be true in your case, you can’t blame them for erring on the side of caution; especially when that caution is informed by years of homo-for-now-hetero-when-it’s-hard case studies. I won’t deny that it’s wrong of them to make you feel excluded just because you don’t play by their rules. But this is something that’s developed out of self-defense and self-preservation.

While I’m not trying to justify any mistreatment you may have had at their hands, I’m trying to put things into perspective. I absolutely support your right to go against the grain, even if it’s the gay grain, and to enjoy your non-gender-specific libido. So if you want to know how to run in the homo crowd while maintaining your truly queered existence, I’d advise being patient and building relationships one by one. If you want the queers to accept you, you’ve got to demonstrate that while you may enjoy a variety of partners, you’re still an ally, an asset, and a friend.

Fiercely,
Fannie

send your questions to askfannie@belowthebelt.org

Colorful Little Boxes

2008-05-13T14:23:00.000-04:00

This month I bring to you two very different looks at Arizonans. Novice Sister Oralee of the Grand Canyon Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence and Scott from Scottsdale.

Since starting this project I have been surprised time and again, but many people's gender is much more complex than one might think on first glance.

Confused? I'm Not - January 2008 - Scottsdale, AZ

All of the Above - February 2008 - Scottsdale, AZ

You can see more Gender DiverCity pictures each Monday at http://genderdivercity.blogspot.com

Coming, Part IV - Stimulation

2008-05-12T00:27:00.008-04:00

“Wait, what?” I stopped. At my office desk, in front of my computer, my work came to a halt. I pressed my head into my open palm; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Chu, the guy who had flirted his way into a month’s worth of online conversations before meeting up and then inadvertently hooking up—he was now coming clean that he was not gay at all?

“I think that, before we started making out, before we went into your bedroom… do you remember when we were talking?”

I struggled to keep my patience. “Yes…”

“Well, I remember you brought up a lot of things that were of concern to you.”

I flashed back to the moments before our hookup. We were in my living room, talking across from each other, building tension through body language, eye contact, and the space between us. Somehow, we began talking about the idea of moving too fast, and I brought up a few scenarios that my overly-analytical mind warned me to be cautious against: What if he just needed a homosexual outlet from his chaste Arkansan seclusion? What if he wasn’t really attracted and just needed an easy way to get off for the summer that we’d be working near each other? At the time, though those questions surfaced, he assured me that—despite the nonsensical part about knowing each other for just about a month and having met for just a few hours—he actually did like me, especially after finding out that I was a pretty decent guy not just online, but also in real life. And that’s when we started making out.

“Yes, I remember…”

“When well you asked if I was using you as an outlet because I had none in Arkansas, it got me to thinking...”

Had I opened my stupid mouth again?.

“…and I think that I’m not using you as an outlet in place of my Arkansas experience; I think I’m using you as an outlet because I have a hard time with women.”

I remained silent, waiting for him to explain. He didn’t. I prompted him for more.

“Well,” he continued, “when I was in seventh grade…”

MAJOR PAUSE. When you were in seventh grade? You’ve been thinking about this since you’ve been in the seventh grade, you’ve roped me into this years later, and now you’re saying you’re straight? UNPAUSE.

“…I started getting really shy around girls. I’d be friends with them, but I wanted to be more with them. But my self-esteem was awful—it still is. I couldn’t approach them in the way that the other guys could. I liked them, but I was so worried about what they’d think and how I looked and how I behaved that I couldn’t get myself to act on my attraction. So I think that’s when I turned to guys. I began looking at the other guys and how well the girls reacted to them. I began to get jealous, admiring the other guys for the things they could be and the things they could do and eventually the things they could get that I couldn’t. And so I began looking at them as reflections of who I wanted to be. My self-esteem issues kept me away from the girls and deflected me to the guys.”

I tried processing what he said, which was tough given that he had just shattered the only potential for actual dating that I had had in almost half a year—if not more. “Okay…”

“So,” he pressed on, “I think that reaction has been embedded so much within me that I’ve just gotten scared of approaching girls. And so I go with the next best thing—which is—well, guys…”

I didn’t know how to react. On one hand, he was obviously aroused when we were making out on Friday night. How do you fake that as a straight man? Random, accidental friction could not have been enough to bring about that strong of a reaction. And on top of that, how do you pull me along on a string for a month and go as far as hooking up when you have all of these doubts in your mind? In conversation, he even asked a mutual friend about what kinds of things he could say or do to impress me—that type of pre-meditated flirting is not at all indicative of doubt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to bring you into this. I just obviously don’t have this completely sorted out for myself.”

“It’s okay,” I forced myself to say. It obviously was not completely okay as much as it just had to be okay. “It’s just… you know… it’s just a lot to think about.”

“Yeah.”

My gut feeling was not to believe him. No, I thought, this had to be some deep-rooted psychological reply steeped in heterosexism; at the same time, who was I to impose my own theories on his own obviously confusing sexual journey? I was in no place to tell him he was wrong or not; if anything, I could throw him into much more of a maelstrom than he perhaps needed at the moment.

But I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be. So I had to throw a litmus test at him.

“Can I ask you a really blunt question?”

“Yes, please,” he said, wanting to make sure he entertained what I had to say so that he could feel better about throwing this on me.

“Well, if we are to understand sexuality as heterosexuality, homosexuality, and other sexualities—we have to talk about sex. And if we’re talking about sex, Chu, then—can I ask what turns you on?”

“What turns me on?”

“Yeah: dick, vagina, what…?”

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“Boobs and ass.”

I took that in. It wasn’t what I expected until he asked if I wanted to know the truth. “Okay, well, so what’s gotten you off with guys since the seventh grade?”

“Well, when I’m with guys, I enjoy the stimulation. But I don’t like stimulating. It doesn’t turn me on.”

“Okay,” I acknowledged. I didn’t want to question him further. I had to accept this, maybe because I could empathize: maybe if I were blindfolded and a girl was providing adequate stimulation, then maybe… maybe it’d work. Maybe the self-esteem is such a huge issue for him—as it has been for me—that it’s had this huge of an impact on dictating his actions and interactions with the world. Maybe, when I boiled the types of people in the world down to the sex they were having and enjoying, maybe he was best defined by his feelings and thoughts rather than his actions.

But maybe he’s just overanalyzing himself. Maybe he’s just digging himself into a bigger hole by rationalizing his apparently deviant actions. He was telling himself that this wasn’t like him, and who else could tell him who he was aside from himself? Not me.

The problem is that I understand it all. I see both sides. The only thing I don’t get though: the making out—the scratching of scruff, the redness that remains only after male or male tongue twisting. How did you come to enjoy that stimulation, Chu? Doesn’t that count as stimulation? Stimulation that I doubt replicates the guy-girl experience whether you close your eyes or not? How did you rationalize that one?

The next day, Chu changed his all-important Facebook interest from undefined to very definitely, “Interested in Women.” And I—hundreds of miles way—still could only wonder, “What if?”

Housekeeping, 5.11.08

2008-05-11T09:28:00.001-04:00

+ news +
Michigan! I thought I trusted you!,
Virginia!?,
and TransPR for the week.

Sincerely,
ts

The Slap Heard ‘Round the Country

2008-05-08T09:54:00.001-04:00

I don’t think I’m gangsta enough to survive in Polk County, Florida. This suburb may sound vaguely familiar to some of you. This is where Victoria “Tori” Lindsey got beat down a few weeks ago. You might remember, six girls took turns hitting her while two guys stood at the door as lookouts. Oh and did I mention that they taped it and wanted to post this ass-beating on youtube?

Back in my day (be quiet, I know my day ended like yesterday), it would go down like this. A girl would talk shit about another girl or group of girl one of three ways: in a note, on the phone, or on aim. This of course always got back to the other girl, and the result would either be girl B talking about girl A, girl B confronting girl A and in very rare cases, girl B physically fighting girl A. What would not happen is a gang of girls attacking one other girl… and then taping it … and the trying to put that trash on the internet for everyone to watch.

The attack was described as “animalistic”. To be clear, the fight was like none I’ve ever seen. The girls took turns attacking Lindsey in an attempt to make it fair. As ride-or-die as they were to beat Lindsey’ s ass they were very careful not to knock into the china cabinet. The beat Lindsey for 30 minutes – thirty minutes! That’s a long time to be doing anything. I didn’t know that teenagers even had attention spans that long.

I will say, they were committed to getting their message across. If I’ve learned anything from this it’s that you can’t call girls “sluts” on myspace or you just might get your ass beat. Worse than Ike beat Tina, ok that was wrong, but they did beat her down pretty bad.

And then they weren’t even worried about being charged. They joked about missing cheerleading practice and not going to the beach. I mean, really? You knock a girl unconscious (twice) and continue to beat her, you don’t let her leave until you’re done beating her, you catch the whole thing on film and don’t expect anything to happen? Cheerleaders are tough like that?

According to CNN, the ladies (should I even call them that) will be charged as adults and face life time sentences. Yeah, that means you’re missing cheerleading practice. And prom. And graduation. Oh and guess what, the rest of your life. And for what, because some chick called you a slut. Wow. And Lindsey is left with blurry vision and she can’t hear out of one of her ears.

I don’t really understand why anyone is so surprised that girls would resort to violence. It’s not new and it’s not uncommon. Don’t believe me? Do a search on youtube. Yeah, it’s a craze of sorts. Now the reasons why one would want to tape and post a fight, well aside from gaining some street cred, I don’t really know. I don’t know that men find fighting sexy. I don’t think you’ll be getting additional acceptances to college because you can stomp another chick into the ground. And it won’t get your ass into heaven. So who do we blame for this (hey it is the American way)? Is this their parents’ fault? Should these girls have been spanked when they were younger? Maybe they didn’t get enough attention. Or maybe they were just really bored.

Ya’ll spend too much time worrying about gangstas and thugs and we really need to be worrying about these cheerleaders. I know I am.

'Extreme Pornography'

2008-05-06T13:02:00.003-04:00

The UK government has recently moved to criminalize both production and consumption of porn that it deems "grossly offensive and disgusting." Clause 63 of the new Criminal Justice Bill defines this kind of porn as containing "real or pretend" acts which: (1) threaten a person's life; (2) may result in serious injury to the breasts, anus and genitals; (3) involve sexual interference with a human corpse; and (4) contain a person performing intercourse or oral sex on an animal. The law will effectively ban most ‘violent’ pornographic depictions, as well as images and stories featuring necrophilia and bestiality.

Is this law an intrusive policing of sexuality that will end up criminalizing most adult-consensual BDSM online communities? Or will it help to reduce violent sexual crimes, as the government claims?

If we accept the constructivist contention that sexuality is constituted by social discourses, it would appear that the UK government might have a point. Our sexual “natures” are not the expression of some internal, bio-psychological state, but are instead effects of cultural production. Thus, removing a key source of words and images that construct violent sexual desires will reduce the incidence of those desires. Presumably, if sexual violence is not craved, then it is much less likely to be implemented non-consensually. Banning ‘extreme pornography’ will reduce the amount of rapes, murders, kidnappings and tortures that are of a sexual nature.

Although this perspective appears to make intuitive sense, it represents a highly flawed and immature understanding of social constructivism. First of all, banning violent porn is not going to eliminate violent sexual desires. Violence is so much a part of our art, cultures, religions, history and daily life that eliminating the sources by which violent sexualities are constructed would require a censorship program of Stalinist proportions. Millions of paintings, movies, history books, works of fiction, holy texts, government policies etc… would have to be eliminated in order for this ‘purge of violent material’ to be truly successful. Eliminating violent sexual desires is as impossible as eliminating all instances or depictions of violence that might inspire those desires.

Furthermore, what is so bad about violent sexuality if it is practiced in an adult-consensual context? It is certainly a much more ethical alternative to violence as it is usually committed. What is more immoral? Torture and humiliation at the hands of Saddam Hussein’s henchmen, U.S. authorities at Abu Ghraib and Nazi ‘scientific’ experimenters? Or the same kinds of activities in an adult consensual framework, in which there are codes of conduct (such as ‘safe words’) that can ensure safety and security for all practitioners? Most violence is committed on a non-consensual basis, and it is that violence that is most morally questionable. Pleasure through consensual violence can be unproblematic if there are sufficient safeguards for the health of all concerned.

Thus, if the government were truly interested in providing some kind of regulation for ‘extreme pornography’, it would do well to pass laws that bind producers and consumers of such porn to accept an adult-consensual and safe framework of activity. For instance, requiring porn producers and users to sign statements about the necessity of adult-consensual safeguards in violent sexual situations would be a major step forward. Another useful policy is mandating that violent porn websites have to feature at least one page that lists guidelines for safe and healthy BDSM. If the government is actually concerned about people who want to practice violent sexuality, then it should enforce these kinds of regulations. The government should also avoid passing measures that would inhibit BDSM parlors (which usually have very well developed standards of collective safety and rule-enforcement) from practicing. In the 1990s, “decency laws” in many Western countries forced BDSM establishments to shut down or disperse to isolated parts of town. Thus, violent sexual cultures lost major institutions that encouraged adult-consensual and safe behavior.

Another issue that practitioners of violent sexuality should be aware of is the implications of structural violence in society. Women, racial and sexual minorities are frequently the subjects of systematic violence. Eroticizing sadism against these particular groups is, thus, highly problematic: sexist, racist, homophobic and ableist discourses can perpetrate sexuality, as they can any other social practice. I am certainly not advocating for a ‘ban’ on BDSM practices that reflect patterns of social dominance. Rather, it is simply necessary for the participants in such practices to be aware of the social implications of their actions. There is a risk that social oppressions reproduced in sexuality can feed back and reinforce dominance in the wider social realm. Practitioners of violent sexuality should at least be aware of this risk.

Overall, the UK government’s move to ban ‘extreme porn’ is a mistake. It is not going to contribute to a reduction in violent sexual crimes. If the government is truly interested in regulating ‘violent sexual practices’ (and ensuring the safety of its citizens), it should use ‘extreme porn’ websites to spread awareness about adult-consensual and safe BDSM practices.

***For More Information***
The Wikipedia page on ‘extreme porn’ has a surprisingly good summary of the concept as well as an insightful analysis of the debate around it. Also, check out the following articles: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7364475.stm
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article1527806.ece
In addition, take a look at this very interesting ‘diagram’ of various kinks and fetishes: http://www.trevoroldak.com/uploads/fetishmapbig.gif
For a useful analysis of how ‘decency laws’ have forced the closure of BDSM establishments that encouraged safer sex, adult-consensual practices and ‘healthy play’, check out Michael Warner’s excellent book, The Trouble With Normal. I have also dealt with a similar topic in a previous post.

Deconstructing my father

2008-05-05T11:00:00.004-04:00

My father has largely been a source of negativity in my life. My parents divorced when I was 3 years old and my time with him from that point onward has basically been divided into three time periods: 1) ages 3 to 15 I was afraid of him and hated him and was afraid of becoming like him 2) 16 through 20 I forgave him for being a bad father and understood the things in his life that led him to be the fucked up man that he is 3) 21 to present I’ve been somewhat actively trying to pursue a positive relationship with him on an adult level, treating him as an equal and demanding the same in return.

My father’s main problems have always been his ego, his greed, his verbal abuse, his short temper, and his self-centeredness. His life has been countless failed attempts at artistic (mostly film) projects trying to get whatever he wants at any cost regardless of how it affects those around him. He likes to feel in charge, he likes to lead the pack, but really he’s just an immature kid trying to assume the role of the alpha-male which is the position he was in throughout his childhood. He was the oldest of 8 children and was forced into being a third parent and taking care of his 7 siblings denying him his natural growth as a young boy. His father was physically abusive to him, and generally he has had a fucked up life with a fucked up family: drugs, death, suicide, being poor, prison etc. all of which contribute to his inner turmoil. Since he was male and the oldest he was taught to be strong and take control of others from a very young age and if he didn't he was abused or punished until he did.

On the positive side of things he is a very good director. He is politically savvy and very down to earth, smart, and easy to get along with when he isn’t wrapped up in his ego. He has directed many independent videos/films, and written a number of articles. Only a few of his projects have generated any real income but all have had moderate critical success or were enjoyed by those who had access to them.

My mother left him because of verbal abuse and because of his complete economic and emotional selfishness. He is THE typical story of a self-centered artist. His occasional film or video gig bought him enough food to slide by while my mom paid for rent, myself, and everything else. Divorcing him was most definitely the right choice for her and I.

When I was young I was really terrified of him. His bouts of anger often reduced me to tears, he was insulting, mean, and horrible. He had virtually no respect for me one moment and after the tirade was over he would apologize later but never change his behavior on any real fundamental level. It was only when I became a teenager that I really began to pity him instead of hate him. He was and is a failure in his own eyes, his family's eyes, and in society's eyes. He never had a chance to have a normal childhood as a basis for his life and he has built such an ego around himself he sabotages his own work because, for him, it never lives up to the acclaim he feels it deserves.

He has aged and with it I think has come the slow understanding that he has really fucked his life up. He has let down my mother. He has let down me, his son. He has let down his siblings he was supposed to help raise, most of which are fucked up, dead, or barely getting by. But instead of intrinsically changing the life set out for him by his socially constructed gender he uses that same structure to do the only thing he knows how to do: start project after project and hope one takes off, generates lots of money, and use that money to solve his problems. This will never happen and money doesn't solve problems. Even a modicum of success does not make up for decades of bankruptcy and emotional detachment. Due to this I have always had a shallow and tenuous relationship with him. My whole life I acknowledged his character flaws and even though I knew there was a real person in there I knew I would probably never truly see it. I would never really reach HIM, just the bullshit he uses as a facade to cover up his emotions and insecurities.

I was wrong.

During his most recent short film he was, as usual, hoping for the best. Seeing the world through the lens of his gender he saw the answer to his problems lying in becoming a successful alpha male: money, fame, and power. This would be it - this is the big one, it's going to make him $10,000 each week once it takes off and becomes a feature-length hollywood production that he will direct. He'll be famous and never have to work again. I saw the final product and it was beautiful. It was intelligent, sweet, and incomprehensibly optimistic about the world and the human race. It was political and revolutionary. And like most revolutionary pieces of art, it didn't do well. After a month of good reviews and sub par audience attendance at an independent theater the final showing came. The credits rolled, the movie ended, the crowd left, and I found myself standing outside the theater doors knowing something was wrong. The manager of the theater, a friend of mine, came up to me and said that he had just learned, because of the lack of ticket sales (let alone the lack of producers coming to throw money at it) my father wasn't able to pay the theater for the month of showings. He was in the process of letting the owner know that he would pay as soon as he got the money but that he didn't have it now. During my realization of how serious that was the doors opened and I saw my father, his face covered in tears, his voice barely audible, look at me and the manager and barely croak out a single word: water. He closed the door as the manager ran off to find him a bottle of what he requested and left me in shock.

I had known my father for almost 25 years and I had never once seen him cry. I'm sure he had here and there, but it was rare and I had certainly never been witness to it. In that one moment of pure vulnerability I completely and finally understood him. It was a culmination of all the understanding I had done over the last decade. He was fucking alone. He never had a normal childhood and he had never matured because of it. He didn't know how to relate to people unless he was bossing them around. He had taken every last shred of his positivity, his happiness and creativity that he had buried inside of him - he took it past fucked up layers of anger and abuse he had suffered and poured it all into this one work of art; a story of a young man trying to do something good with his life. Something he, having dropped out of high school, having been a parent since he was born, having never been taught how to have a non-dysfunctional relationship to people and society and women, had never been able to do. And not this movie alone but he had poured his heart into his work before, and had seen it all fail. He never had a chance, and maybe he could have been lucky enough to work past his problems earlier in life but can I blame him that he didn't? Can I blame him that his salvation of money, power, and fame was created by viewing the world through the lens of his own socially constructed gender? How many men are lucky enough to have a radical feminist critique present in their own lives so that they can smash their inner patriarch?

So, in a moment of pure unabashed emotion I forgave him for all he had done. I hadn't forgotten it, and I don't let him get away with it when it still happens, but I forgave him. I felt love for him and for the first time in my life I wanted to call him dad instead of his first name.

My dad is the failure of the male gender in a world that builds men up knowing most won't succeed. He is the powerless working class man, he is the self-centered artist, he is the failure of the education system, the long lost first born child, the abusive father, he's a thousand stories and male stereotypes and more rolled into one. Society failed him so he failed those closest to him. Patriarchy built him up and patriarchy tore him down. The problem with gender archetypes is that they aren't real life. A man can't succeed when there's a corporate empire trying to control him. An artist can't express himself when one needs so much money just to have a place to live. A father can't raise a family when he was never raised himself. A husband can't have a healthy marriage if he never knew one was possible. A man has to fight to be a feminist because he's led to believe he is something else: that he's a man instead of being a human being.

Seeing the world through the lens of patriarchy is deadly. Seeing it through the lens of feminism is liberating. I don't think it's too late for my father, I don't think it's too late for anyone, but I know that if he ever wants to release his anger, his sadness, and create a real future for himself - one filled with love and peace, not money and power - then he has a lot to own up to and a lot of work to do. Maybe I'll try and talk to him about it if I can muster up the strength.

Housekeeping, 5.4.08

2008-05-04T09:14:00.002-04:00

+ news +
Gays are ignorant...surprise!,
marriage costs $$$,
and Greek lesbos for the week.

Sincerely,
ts

The Guppie Life: Young, Gay and ... Married?

2008-05-03T09:13:00.002-04:00

A.J. joins us from The Guppie Life:

The New York Times magazine wrote an article about gay marriage amongst the twenty-something set.

One thing I’ve noticed in my few years as a gay boy is that millennial gays generally seem to want to get married some day, and they’re confident that it’ll be legal in their lifetimes. They want to have kids, a house in the suburbs, and a Golden Retriever. Maybe a Cocker Spaniel.

Gay boomers have their own established culture. In my experience, they don’t want a wedding, and they don’t want to register at Crate & Barrel. Kids aren’t even a consideration (unless from a prior hetero relationship), and oftentimes partnered gay boomers maintain separate residences.

(This is all highly subjective conjecture, based on the few older couples I know personally and what I read in the gay blogosphere. Please feel free to send counter-examples.)

A few older gay guys I know have derided me for wanting a monogamous marriage to a man. They say only, “You’re young and idealistic. You’ll understand when you’re older.” I think the implication is that these men have some sort of sexual arrangement with third parties.

That kind of argument doesn’t fly with me. I might be young, but I know what I want. After coming out, it didn’t even occur to me that I wouldn’t settle down and get married. I can relate to the desire for stability and legal validation expressed by the men from the NYT article.

After all, gay guys of my generation were raised on headstrong Disney heroines who ended up happily ever after with their princes. Why shouldn’t we expect the same for our own lives? Ariel mournfully singing about not fitting in and wanting something more… that was me, only at eight years old I hadn’t quite realized it yet.

Even so, I’m generally freaked by the idea of marriage, gay or straight, before the age of 30. The kids in the NYT article look like Pod People (or Log Cabin Republicans, whichever is worse). They’re too saccharine, and the photos accompanying the article are deliberately evocative of Leave It to Beaver. They look like they’re trying too hard to impress.

Maybe I’m cynical because I’m a child of divorce. Most of my friends growing up had divorced parents. Every member of my family in my parents’ generation has been divorced at least once, and we even have a family pre-nup.

I might be young and idealistic about gay monogamous marriage… but I am so getting a pre-nup.

Forgetting Judd Apatow

2008-05-02T08:55:00.002-04:00

Why is Judd Apatow so obsessed with demonstrating the profound idea that average joes deserve love? First, we met the loveable virgin Andy in 40-Year-Old Virgin. Then it was slacker stoner Ben in Knocked Up. Then Evan and Seth in Superbad. And finally some dude in Forgetting Sarah Marshal. At this point, I feel like I’ve heard the story enough; do I really want to shell out the $10 for a movie ticket? Each storyline includes some confused average guy that ends up finding some gorgeous, smart, sexy, wonderful woman to fall in love with him and show him the way. And the world rejoices because normal people deserve love, too.

Oh wait – normal, straight white males deserve love. Love with gorgeous straight white women. And once they find this love, it’s as if they found their way. As if these women somehow saved them and helped them become functioning, adult men.

I appreciate Apatow’s rose-colored view of women; they are all smart, beautiful, perfect, gorgeous, together, pretty and able to look past physical normalcy. Did I mention beautiful? Sure, there were flawed female supporting characters, but they didn’t get nearly as much screen time as the many normal-because-of-their-flaws men.

In Apatow’s world, the men are allowed to be flawed, and by flawed I mean average and normal. They say stupid things. They play with action figures. They smoke pot. They wander around town carrying beer in empty detergent bottles in hopes of getting in to the cool party with the cool girls. They are able to act like “guys” until the perfect woman comes along and shows them how to be grown-ups.

At first, I thought it was nice that Apatow portrayed women in such a flattering light, especially compared to the normalcy of his male characters. These women were smart, confident and could see beyond their partner’s shortcomings and accept their men for who they are. They had successful careers as small business owners or entertainment news reporters (and I understand this Sarah Marshall character is a movie star?), whereas their guys were salesmen or unemployed.

But then I started to feel inadequate. Men in Apatow’s world are able to be insecure, dopey, lacking goals, etc. But not the women. They were perfect. If they were normal, who would be the strong figure to save Apatow’s men?

Perhaps Apatow too will grow tired of this same storyline, and turn the tables and write movies where normal guys fall in love with normal girls. Wouldn’t that be crazy? Or where gay people exist outside of the blunt end of jokes that reveal troubling and unresolved aspects of a character’s insecurity.

What gives me even more pause isn’t just these perfect-women-and-their-flawed-men, but the fact that I have not come across a single column or criticism pointing out this weird gender bias. Maybe I haven’t been looking hard enough, or maybe we all secretly wish we lived in a world with perfect women. But either way, I’m starting to feel like I don’t measure up. Whereas if I were a guy, I would.

AskFannie: Tough Love!

2008-05-01T23:09:00.005-04:00

Dear Fannie,

My best friend and I have been really tight for a really long time. Like, eight years. But recently he's started to get into some things that aren't good for him. The other day, I was having a party at my home and he was over and brought a few friends. I didn't mind because they were nice, cute, and sociable. So... what the heck. But, then, I found out that my friend had a pack of cocaine on him. And I later discovered the guys he brought over were his suppliers. I'm not sure if he got high at my house, I was furious with him and I haven't been speaking to him. But I'm really concerned. What should I do?

Frightened For Friend,

FFF,

I'm sure you don't need to be told that your friend is entering risky territory. And while I affirm everyone's ability to choose one's own path, it's also important to make sure that one's choices and decisions are not negatively affecting anyone else. The fact that you all have been good friends for so long probably means that you have a hard time thinking badly of your cozy companion as a coke-snorthing comrade. I don't care how uncharacteristic this is of him, or how much you don't want to butt in, but the facts are is that he is snorting up and you've got to set boundaries.

Friendship is a two-way street. Live and let live is a fine idea, but not when it's live and let your friend bring his cocaine-dealing-posse into your home and walk all over you. True, a good friend will always be there, but sometimes the best friend you can have is the one who will tell you to your face that you're being an asshole and give you a good hard slap.

You have every right to be angry. No matter how close y'all are, he does not have the right to bring drug dealers (no matter how nice and cute) into your house without having first explained the situation and asking you. You have a right to safety and he violated that trust.

I'd advise that you continue to support and offer unconditional love. But establishing clear boundaries can be hard. So be prepared to face some anger, there is little else that a druggy hates more than being judged. But be resolute. Tough love is the hardest kind, but often the most beneficiary. Tell him that you forgive him this one time, but if he ever brings drugs or drug suppliers into your home, you're going kick him out.

Also, be ready to face the fact that he might need more help than a good friend. He may need professional help. The good news is that as a friend you can help by getting him the professional assistance that he may need. Yes, it's up to him to partake in whatever program or assistance is offered to him. But it doesn't hurt to offer. But most of all, make sure that he doesn't endanger you, your family, or your other friends. Because when it comes down to it, if he isn't willing to accept your help, then he can't be helped by anyone but himself.

Fiercely,
Fannie

send your questions to askfannie@belowthebelt.org

Coming, Part III

2008-04-28T23:59:00.002-04:00

That first night together ended up being our last. As quickly as Chu’s interest in me had materialized, it had disappeared—and not for reasons that I’d have ever imagined.

There were never any clues that anything was wrong—or maybe wrong is too judgmental of a word. There were never any clues that anything was not right. His passion seemed clear and true. The evening we met, we made out on my couch and moved to my bed; there were no doubts about it: I observed physical proof that he was—well—moved. He had worked hard for this, had been forward with expressing his interest and flirtatiousness for more than a month prior to the evening we locked lips. Finally, at our serendipitous meeting, he was getting what he wanted—and I, well, I was reaping the benefits: a Friday night frolic for my sheets, the attention of a guy who seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, enough sparks to hint that butterflies could’ve been waiting at the end of this moment.

I don’t know how long we were there or how long it took me to come to my wits. After his scruff brushed against my clean shave and our hands began to wrinkle our clothes, he positioned himself atop me, both of us still decently dressed, but with our minds wandering elsewhere. I hadn’t found this in months; a resident of rural Arkansas, he hadn’t found this in longer: the sought-after temptation of lingering fingers and tongues, lost to reason, surrendered to “Why not?” It would be easy to keep going, to feel good, to make him to feel good, to light the easy lust of here and now…

That’s when I did the unthinkable: I said stop.

Wary of moving too quickly and the potential of the moment to be a simple vent for the unsexed, I drew back. I opened my mouth and let my rationality dribble with hesitation and righteousness: I liked the promise of this situation too much to let it explode on the night it first began. We had to slow down. We had to stop.

I thought about the excuses that he’d use to retort: A fear of risk. Prudishness. Blue balls.

Instead, he reciprocated perfectly with an equally reasoned, “You’re right.” We brushed our wrinkles off our clothes. I drove him back to his hotel and let our respective Jiminy Crickets cut our night short… but not without a final kiss goodnight.

The next day, like any evolving crush, he texted. He called. We talked on the phone for an hour. By Saturday night, I was convinced: the butterflies were coming. Although he was boarding a flight back to Arkansas the next day, I knew he’d be back in two weeks for another conference. This was not over yet.

At work on Monday, I was completely distracted. The possibility of something fun, flirty, and maybe even meaningful on the horizon was one that I couldn’t shake off. In the middle of the day, I decided I’d take a page from his playbook and email him something completely raw, honest, and forward, a simple line to echo the sentiments I perceived from him during the weekend: Hey Chu, Can’t stop thinking about you. Give me a call back and let’s plan a date for your next visit. I figured this was something he’d appreciate. He had been transparent over and over again; it was my time to try his strategy. Maybe my walls of shyness and safety had been wrong all along.

4:30pm. Cell phone rings. Caller ID: Chu.

I pick up. My voice: careful to be nonchalant.

Me: Hey.
Chu: Hey, how’s it going?
-Good, just here at work, still—working.
-Yeah, I’ve had a long day too. I got back in late last night and still made it to work today. Sorry I didn’t call you last night like I had said I would.
-It’s okay.
-I just got in too late and didn’t want to wake you up.
-I was up, but I understand: you’re still recovering from that big conference. You need your sleep.
-Yeah.
-But hey, you’re calling now, so it’s all good. Oh, and hey, I sent an email a few hours ago.
-Yeah, I saw—
-Did you read it?
-Yeah, and that’s why I wanted to call you.
-Uh oh.
-Don’t give me that uh oh.
-Well you sound like you’re about to say something important.
-Well…
-Just say it.
-Well, okay. I thought about everything we talked about on Friday night and on the phone on Saturday. And I had a lot of fun hanging out and talking with you. I think you’re a great person, and I really look up to you with everything you’re doing your life…
-Mmhmm…
-But, um, I think that when we decided to slow down—
-Yeah?
---that was the right decision.
-Oh?
-Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what you said—about making sure I don’t do this because I don’t have anyone here in Arkansas…
-Yeah?
-…and, I think you were sort of right.
-What do you mean?
-Well, I think—that—I’m not quite sure—that—I think—I’m more – into women. And… it’s complicated. I’m sorry.

Housekeeping, 4.27.08

2008-04-27T23:06:00.004-04:00

+ news +
Israeli babies are cute!,
gays gone married,
and the Times takes trans for the week.

Please join me in welcoming intellectualjailbait, addition to the team!

Sincerely,
ts

Transexualism, Feminism, and Gender

2008-04-24T10:46:00.006-04:00

As aggressively vitriolic and hurtful as radical feminist criticism of transexuals often is, I believe that transexuals do themselves a grave disservice by dismissing that criticism as entirely rooted in blind transphobia. There is certainly a very strong element of transphobia in certain quarters of the feminist movement, but even a broken clock is right two times a day. It is hardly surprising that the majority of transexuals are heteronormative in terms of their chosen gender presentation and behavior, but this becomes exceedingly problematic due to the extremely loud and highly active minority of transexuals who are militantly heteronormative.

Due to the disparity in visibility between different types of transexual, there is a very unfortunate illusion that female-to-male transexuals don't exist at all and that male-to-female transexuals are mostly overcompensating super-macho males transitioning into oversexed, hyperfeminine females who insist on absolute conformity to patriarchical norms and the "Madonna-Whore Complex". Given that perception, it's no wonder that radical feminists tend to brand transexualism as nothing more than a particularly crazed attempt to invade and subvert the women's rights movement. This ugly misunderstanding is exacerbated by the small but extremely vocal minority of transexuals who condemn nontraditional gender expression as "perverting" or "diminishing" the meaning of gender itself. While the vast majority of transexuals do not agree with this militiant conformist position, many of them also do not speak out against it because they are personally comfortable with traditional gender roles and often fear the lack of structure involved in a gender deconstructionist world.

It is important to point out that those who are not familiar with the psychological treatment protocols for transexuals often fail to realize that a lot of the gender policing in the trans community originates from behavioral requirements imposed on transexuals by the medical gatekeepers who control our access to treatment. The Standards of Care for Gender Identity Disorders mandate that transexuals go through a "real life test" to demonstrate their gender identity prior to recieving hormone replacement therapy and sexual reassignment surgery, and the majority of psychologists use this requirement to demand and enforce gender policed behavior throughout the transition period.

Those who have completed the gender transition process are largely free of the mandates of psychologists, but the intense social and legal discrimination against them often pushes them into continued gender policing as a defense mechanism. The safety provided by "stealth" status is in many ways only an illusion, but its very fragility tends to make "passable" transexuals extremely reactionary towards anything which has the slightest possibility of outing them. Exercising passing privilege is a double-edged sword in that living in stealth is living in constant terror of discovery, and that terror may cause transexuals to betray everything they should believe in. This is why stealth transpersons often hypocritically adhere to social conservativism or the transphobic flavor of radical feminism; in their persecution-induced paranoia, they decide that no one would suspect an outspokenly transphobic man or woman of being a transexual.

The fearful silence of the "stealth majority" has given the militiant conformists a disproportionate voice within the American transexual community, and this has produced an distinct tendency towards both internal and external gender policing behavior. Relatively few step forward to challenge the conformists' dogmatic assertions that that anyone who exhibits gender variant behavior is "not really transexual", that only transexuals merit treatment because they are "normal", and that transexuals who cannot pass should "be realistic" and not transition because it would trigger witch hunts against those who do pass. To be perfectly blunt, the militant conformists have chosen to sell out to the very society which oppresses them, spurning the deconstruction of rigid gender roles which would set them free, and instead embracing a traitor's thirty pieces of silver in the form of passing privilege.

Most transexuals are distinctly uncomfortable with the extremism of the gender conformists, but they also seem to be unwilling to completely distance themselves from it. This is probably because the clear lines and standards drawn by the conformists are reaffirming to those who are themselves comfortable with gender normativity in the first place; they may not necessarily agree with excluding others, but they still feel reassured of their own "belonging". This is extremely unfortunate because as long as moderates do not clearly distinguish themselves from extremists, they will inevitably be smeared with guilt by association. As long as the bulk of the transexuals who make themselves visible to outsiders are the militiant conformists and those conformists have (or are perceived to have) tacit support from the majority, it is going to be nearly impossible to refute the assumption that all or most transexuals are the same way.

The long term solution to these issues is for the current generation of transexuals to reject the vicious orthoxody of conformist gender policing and to embrace in its place the freedom of gender deconstruction. This does not mean that all of us must reject traditional gender expression or stealth concealement as personal decisions, only that need to cease imposing them on others as moral imperatives. Just as a feminist may choose to be a housewife while fighting society's attempts to force all women to be housewives, so also can a transexual chose to be gender normative while fighting misguided attempts to force all transexuals to be gender normative. The bottom line is that there is no one "correct" form of gender expression which all males or all females should be required to adhere to; gender expression is a choice, and no form of it is more valid than another.

Falling Out with Fellatio

2008-04-23T16:27:00.003-04:00

Dear Fannie,

I've been seeing a guy for about a month now, and things are going great. The conversation's good, he's spontaneous and funny, we always have a great time together, almost everything's perfect....

I'm wondering, though, how I can get him to stop, um, oral bottoming for me. I've never particularly enjoyed being on the receiving end of that, but usually I'll put up with it if a guy likes doing it and it can be hot just being around that energy. But this guy's technique is pretty bad, and I don't see it improving any time soon.

I've mentioned to him a few times that I can take it or leave it in general (the truth), and he's said he only does it because he thinks I like it. I've suggested other, better activities for both of us, but he keeps on going back there and it's cramping my style at this point. Is there a polite way to tell someone that he just sucks at sucking?

Thanks in advance,
Hoosier Hotness

HH,

Oh the perrenial problem of sub-par sucking. I've always thought it funny how gay men imagine themselves masters of fellatio just because they like guys. One would think that having a penis would instill men with greater intuition of how to approach a peer's pecker. Unfortunately, penis as just as diverse as the people they're attached to.

I've read a lot of tutorials on grade A cocksucking, and I've been sorely disappointed. Trying to make blanket rules for pleasuring vastly individual organs is a failed project. True, there are some generalizations that one can make... like most men don't prefer teething the cock, and a decent amount of suction should be applied... but that's pretty much as far as truisms on blowjobs are concerned. For example, if a guy's uncircumcised, many assume that unsheathing the penis is pleasurable. However, often times uncircumcised men's glands are very sensitive and need to remain under the protection of the foreskin. All of this is why honesty is very important in the bedroom, especially when poor technique is in play.

The next time you and your fellating fellow are feeling freaky, try talking him through the sex act. It's important to know your own penis and what actions create the kind of pleasure you want. It's important that you don't feel uncomfortable with speaking up. He wants to give you pleasure, and if he isn't doing it right, then corrections are well received. It's all in the way you spin the advice. Instead of taking the "you stink at this" approach, try the "this is the way I like it" approach. If you convince him that your preferences are individual, then it'll feel less like your lecturing him, and more like your confiding in him. By bringing him into a greater sense of intimacy, you'll solidify your relationship and make him want to try harder.

And if he's just absolutely terrible, just tell him that you don't like getting head. If he really likes licking your lolly, then just set up a barter system where he gets one sex act that he likes and you get one that you like. Everyone's a winner.

Fiercely,
Fannie

send your questions to fannie@bilerico.com

Housekeeping, 4.20.08

2008-04-20T10:39:00.002-04:00

+ news +
"Pope waves to gay Catholic group",
phobic college selected for PA presidential debate called "Compassion Forum",
and Uru-gay! (had to be done) for the week.

New writers in the works. :]

Sincerely,
ts

The Angry Black Woman: What is this "protection" that you speak of?

2008-04-19T09:26:00.002-04:00

Karnythia joins us from The Angry Black Woman:

“Sexual assaults are frequent, and frequently ignored, in the armed services.” I have this insane urge to email Rep. Jane Harman (D-CA)and say “Duh!” This is old old news, but every few years someone rediscovers the reality that rapists join the military and we get a bunch of op-eds and exhortations for the military to do more to protect women. The military isn’t all that interested in taking care of male soldiers (see Agent Orange, Gulf War Syndrome and those LSD experiments on unwitting soldiers) since we’re really just here to protect everyone else. I’m a disabled vet that has spent years going back and forth with VA over my leg injuries despite it being documented by a stack of tests from military doctors that gave me a medical discharge because “the damage is too extensive and it will just get worse as you get older” and that was at 19. I’m 31 now. I’ll let you guess how my leg feels now.

Want to hear something shocking? Putting on that uniform does not automatically make the person in it a decent human being. Much like active pedophiles seek out positions that give them access to children? Rapists, abusers, and your run of the mill misogynistic assholes seeks out the military because it’s a place where being hypermasculine is rewarded. And as long as you’re not too careless you can get away with hurting women every day without fear of repercussions. The Army cracks down harder on drug smuggling than it does on rape and spousal abuse. I was a soldier. I married a soldier. As some of you know he hit me the first time for the crime of being pregnant and not wanting to deliver my child alone in Germany while he was slated to be deployed. I told him that I wanted to come back to the States in my last trimester and all Hell broke loose. A neighbor called the MP’s when she heard him kicking down a door to get at me. His command gave him less than a slap on the wrist (I don’t think he even got extra duty) and I was admonished to be more understanding of his stress levels and encouraged not to do anything hasty like leave him. We were sent to counseling (Did you know on every base there’s a group for batterers and their spouses?) and he made all the standard moves (complete with flowery promises never to do it again) and that was the end of that as far as command was concerned.

A friend of mine was attacked by a guy she liked hanging out with while I was stationed at a base in Texas. Despite the fact that she was covered in mud and bruises, our command initially acted like she’d somehow provoked the attack (while wearing that oh so sexy set of BDU’s) and when it became clear that she wasn’t going to let this slide (So as to not ruin his career. After all since they’d been friends before the incident didn’t she care about his future?) they made a desultory show of an investigation and he wound up on extra duty and losing a few weeks pay. Mind you, she didn’t shower, he’d torn her uniform and she’d put up one hell of a fight judging from the bruises I saw and the blood all over her fingernails. But, somehow there wasn’t enough evidence to merit pursuing a criminal case. Meanwhile the guy that drove down to Mexico and got caught crossing the border with a kilo of coke? They threw the book at him. AFAIK he’s still in Leavenworth and won’t be going anywhere in the next 5-10 years.

The only time I saw any real justice meted out for a guy assaulting a fellow soldier it was done by another guy that was friends with the woman that had been attacked. Of course he just beat the shit out of the would be rapist and dared him to report it to Top. It wasn’t (obviously) the best response, but we all knew that it was the only way anything substantive would happen to him. Note, I am not saying that every male in the service is a rapist or that every woman is going to be victimized. Your MOS will make a huge difference (my 1st MOS was the equivalent of being a stevedore so I was with a lot of males and very few females) as will your appearance and your willingness to drink. Those of you that know me in meat space are well aware that you’ve never seen me drunk in public. That was a habit I picked up as a petite woman in a male dominated social environment. Mind you, I can drink more than the average woman my size (courtesy of a flirtation with a drinking problem in high school and hanging out with women that drink whiskey), but unless I’m in a situation that’s completely safe (like my house) I’m not getting sloshed.

Women that look feminine (think nice clothes, makeup, doing your hair, smelling good and all the other frilly things that you can start to miss after three weeks of running around in the mud and muck) and fall into specific gender roles (what better way to feel feminine than to flirt a lot and play wife to the guy of the moment?) in their off time get a lot of attention in the military. Some of it is good. A lot of it is not. Women who serve become aware very quickly of all the ways that shit can go wrong. If you happen to be exceptionally lucky at your first duty station someone may well run down the facts of life for you. What are they? You need to avoid getting drunk, avoid drinking anything you did not pour for yourself, and avoid being alone in a room with a bunch of guys no matter how well you think you know them because that is always a bad idea. You may get warned about which members of command to avoid at all costs and what guys have already engaged in some ugly behavior. Is it fair that the onus is on the women to protect themselves? No. But this idea that the military will actually protect them is so ludicrous all I can do is laugh like a hyena at the thought. Unless we’re planning to overhaul our entire society, women that sign up need to be aware that the predator concentration is much higher in the closed environment of the U.S. military. It sucks and I’d love to buy into the delusion that military = hero, but I knew too many assholes in uniform to lie to myself that way.

Thinking Outside (and inside, and in-between) Gender Boxes

2008-04-17T09:07:00.002-04:00

So, like the responsible little human I am, I showed up for my annual physical, health card in hand. Like (too) many people, I've been without a family physician for some time. I did a little homework and tracked down my local Planned Parenthood (which, much to my surprise and happiness, is also a general primary healthcare provider). I was given a bunch of forms to fill out, so I grabbed a pen and a handful of condoms (you can never have too many!) and got started.

And there it was. The box that confronts me in every survey, on every doctor's visit, in everything government-related or anything that requires me to identify myself--the dreaded Gender Box. Except that, because this is Planned Parenthood, my local community-minded feminist healthcare provider, there was an extra box where there is usually only two. Beside the standard M and F categories was a shining beacon of hope--a box marked TS/TG (that's transsexual and transgendered for those of you not in-the-know). And while my heart sang with gladness for trans-identified folks everywhere, I was also confronted with a question I'd been kicking around for awhile. Where do I, as a cisgendered woman who is constantly interrogating the concept of "womanhood", fit?

It feels wrong for me to simply check the lady box. And I feel no desire whatsoever to check the man box. Yet selecting TS/TG seems far too close to claiming an identity that I have no place in owning. I understand that to do so would be an appropriation; for me to check that box would be to assert an identity that carries experiences I will never have. Still, when I think about it, identifying as a woman feels like a compromise. This may just be my doctor's office needing to know what kind of anatomy they're working with, but to me it's much larger; the implications of an unproblematized identification with gender runs much deeper.

Whether I like it or not, this gender assignment I was given at birth has led me to a whole host of experiences that likely could not to be replicated were I to inhabit a different body. Though I'd like to think that our bodies are not necessarily determinants of how we experience the world (and that, by the same token, this experience can be shaped/modified by the way we present and adorn these bodies) I recognize that to some extent our interaction with the world is (quite literally) out of our hands. It is for this reason that I see value in a strategic identification with gender categories. As a feminist (albeit a postmodern one) I understand that there can be huge drawbacks in the realm of gender equality when we choose to eschew so-called "womanly" characteristics. While on the surface this may seem like a progressive move away from things that have traditionally defined us, this same move often works to the detriment of those who choose to embody these qualities (see my last column for more on why I feel it is dangerous to devalue femininity).

To problematize this further, I wonder about the inaccessibility of this kind of mucking about with gender identification. But why do I feel like talking about gender in this way is a privilege? One the one hand, I suppose it's because I wonder what business I have questioning my gender identity when there are many who ache to feel at home in their bodies. But do I feel that sense of comfort in my own mortal vessel? Not really. Not with the meaning that's assigned to it by things like media, religion, etc.

Without conflating gender and sex, I recognize that the two are intertwined. I don't want to let go of or discredit the amazing things I've gained from having a feminist community--something I've come to largely because of my experience of the world as a cisgendered woman. And while I recognize that, like bell hooks says, feminism is for everybody, I also love and feel nourished by woman-only spaces and the safety I've felt and gained from this community.

Thus I feel it's important to acknowledge that while to some extent we choose these communities, it is also true that they choose us. While checking that "F" box on my health forms may mean signing on to a whole lot of mess like essentialism and cis-privilege and a whole whack of other things I feel uncomfortable with, it also means acknowledging the ways in which those very things have contributed to my place in and experience of the world, and hopefully allows me to continue to question exactly what that means.

Coming, Part II

2008-04-14T00:45:00.004-04:00

A half hour from midnight, I peered into the back seat of my Toyota Camry and thought that if anything could be more of a turn-off to a hyper-organized, almost-OCD workaholic like Chu, it’d be this: a portable dump of file folders, broken backpacks, old Playbills and magazines (with the occasional scattering of uncapped pens and—more dangerously—markers). I could not let that be my first impression. I scrammed into my bedroom and stole a sheet to cover the whole thing up.

Ten minutes later, I pulled alongside our local Holiday Inn and called him down. In the next minute of waiting time, I set the scene I wanted him to see: I looked away—out my window—instead of waiting to see him at my passenger side door (so that I didn’t look too eager); I programmed my iPod to a playlist of a mellow Sufjan Stevens selection (his Facebook page claimed he was a fan); and I checked my back seat one more time for anything that remotely gave away my messiness (just in case the sheet shifted). All was ready.

As I was looking in the other direction, he arrived at my passenger door. I acted sufficiently surprised that he was there. I unlocked the door, he sat down, and we pulled away from the hotel..

On his part: Small talk. Hesitant eye contact. Nervous laughter. At the time, I didn’t know whether to attribute the awkwardness to him, to me, or to the overall furtive aura of our rendezvous; it even could’ve been the reasonable shakiness of a first live date from an online friend. Heck, the probable truth was that this was a case involving all of the above. All I knew, as I searched for a place to get midnight ice cream, was that we needed to get out of the car, get something to eat, and shake the shakiness off. ASAP.

And then we got caught by a train at a railroad crossing. Stuck in my car. For a good—oh—ten minutes.

And in those ten minutes, he spilled.

“So… is this a date?”

I froze. What was I supposed to say? I laughed out loud, while my mind screamed, “WHO SAYS THAT?!”

I continued with my shrugging, and he continued: Over the past month and a half of conversations, he found himself getting more and more attracted to me. He clearly had been thinking about it: he knew he’d be working in my area this summer; our professional goals were very much aligned; and the conversations we had in the past—although they were online—flowed quick-wittedly. It was a good match to at least explore. His intentions for this random late night ice cream trip: to gauge whether or not the chemistry he perceived online carried over into reality.

With this out of the way, the balloon of tension and unease deflated. His bout of transparency pointed out what should’ve been obvious: our earlier awkwardness was because we had never acknowledged an attraction between us. The lack of definition in whatever it was we were doing—talking online without direction, then meeting up in real life without explicit purpose—left us to inferences. Yes, it was fun to flirt on the internet without relenting to pressure or worrying about risk, but when our LOLs became audible, when there were physical consequences that couldn’t be clicked away, the need for honesty became not only necessary, but also palpable. His confession—as abrupt and forward as it was—was what we needed to get anywhere.

The railroad crossing gate lifted, and with some of the weight removed from the whys of our late night meeting, we had a more comfortable ride to my nearest 24-hour Starbucks (decidedly the closest thing to ice cream). There, I neatly evaded answering his earlier question of whether or not this was a date, deflecting discussion instead to my newly-acquired knowledge of his interest. His willingness to be open opened the door to my own: How long have you been thinking about this? What experience do you have meeting relative strangers on the internet? How do I know you just need an outlet for your homosexuality—something you clearly don’t have in rural Arkansas?

After our drinks were ready, we couldn’t find a seat at Starbucks, so we brought our conversation to the next most convenient place: my apartment. And there, on a loveseat across a table from me, he returned to his question: “Is this a date?”

“Well… I paid for you drink.” As much as I had learned about the evil of forcing inferences, I couldn’t help—out of nervousness or fear or lack of clarity of thought—but be indirect.

He probed further. He was very clear about being interested in me, but what did I think about him?

And I had to admit: I enjoyed this—the back and forth banter, the surreptitiousness of whatever it was we were doing, the interest of someone who actually was pretty much on the same page as me as far as work ethic and goals.

There was a smile of satisfaction.

“So… would I be crossing the line if I kissed you?”

As I did earlier, I laughed and shrugged. But this time, I was able to utter out a small, secretly-confident, “No.”

And as he came over to my couch, I thought about the junk in my car, our awkwardness at the railroad tracks, and the Java Chip Frappucino in my breath. And when he leaned closer, it made sense that I didn’t need to make sense of any of those things at all. He wanted me. He wanted the me that he got to know and not the circumstances surrounding it all.

A half hour after midnight, within hours of meeting Chu for the first time, there it was—our first kiss.

To be continued…

Housekeeping, 4.13.08

2008-04-13T10:33:00.005-04:00

+ news +
Queer woman in NYC?,
feminist porn,
and gender inequity in Whoville for the week.

Ubergratz to tokenstr8dude for his post; please welcome him to BTB!

Sincerely,
ts