subtle fascism in style and media

Today I'd like to address something that's been bugging me, although I didn't have the exact point of it until now. Until just now, actually. Lately, I've been noticing this trend towards the late 50's 60's. Ordinarily, I think vintage clothing and period film is great. I like the sensibility of chiffon dresses, shiny buckle shoes and guys with Brylcreem in their hair. I even like that women are still trying to duplicate Audrey Hepburn's style.

The 60's gave birth to rockabilly, right? Johnny Cash and The Doors... Sonny and Cher... Jimi Hendrix! Wonderful sounding garage bands and all the predecessors to punk rock! There's a lot of style there. But it seems to me, like this newly refurbished aesthetic is clinging to a look that I can't quite latch on to. The whiteness.

I've been watching Mad Men, to try and understand the appeal to this phenomenon. The acting is superb, the cast is a powerhouse and the dresses make me swoon. The story lines are engaging, though not over-the-top. I'm not bored, but I realize the tension for me is that I'm uncomfortable and can't quite explain why. It dawned on me today while watching- I understand completely the necessity of portraying a time period faithfully, and in America that means paying attention to racial relationships, stereotypes and taboos. In this show, there's the closeted gay guy who can't come to grips with who he is, even when a clear opportunity is presented to him (A scenario where another clearly gay man propositions him and he turns the man down angrily)- The black elevator operator, the black house maid and the black shoe shine man. No Latinos, No Asians, no one even remotely subversive (unless you count the poser, pot-smoking, beatniks attached to one of Mr. Draper's mistresses. They even have their own bongos.)

I realized today that I don't like this one bit. I mean, yes, there's a character on the show who has a black girlfriend. We've met her once in two seasons. So far, there's no mention of Martin Luther King Jr., even though at this point in time, he'd already lead the Montgomery Bus Boycott and the 1963 March on Washington is only months away. There have been tiny, I mean minuscule by todays' standards, attention paid to the issue of segregation or race and politics. This is a show about the executives of an advertising firm on Madison Avenue. Why am I supposed to believe that no one is talking about this?

They talked plenty about Kennedy and Nixon, they spoken of Marilyn Monroe's death, but so far, not one mention of any person of color who had notoriety or fame in that era...Perhaps I've dozed off a few times and didn't catch them? I'm realizing that I don't much like the show because of it. I feel like it leans in a very fascist direction. I feel the same when I walk by American Apparel and I see their latest line. It looks like Wally and Beaver Cleaver to me. I hate it. I'm not interested in the average, American White family anymore. I don't care how "controversial" they are, if they get divorced or if they're alcoholics.

Bottom line for me? I'm tired of American television training me to be a racist. Whether it's by them cueing my interest in something that is/was or intends to be a primarily white function, show or fashion line, I don't care. I'm sick of it. Why does the primary cast of any show, need to be of any particular ethnicity? What's the point of a show going back to the 60's, in order to see how white people lived and why do I need to fantasize about their wealthy, privileged lives? So you could do a lot with $50 back then. So what. I feel duped by all of this and I don't want to support it, even though I believe in the talent of the actors and I like some of the story lines. I just don't think it's OK.

If TV producers want me to yearn for the 50's or 60's, put some black panthers on the tube. Write some tory lines around people who fought to make the positive, lasting changes we see today. I'm sorry, but I don't believe in the myth of the Kennedys or other rich White folk. Not even the Rockerfellers- Why not make a show where people I care about are the focus?

disappointed but healthy

I had a show tonight and was terrified to go up on stage. I'd been losing sleep over it for the last few nights. I was one of several acts in Homomentum's "Snowpocalypse". I sang "My Funny Valentine". I love that song, and I meant it as a love song to Portland. Portland queers, specifically- we're weird looking (in the best ways), fabulous freaks of all sizes and backgrounds. Looking out into the audience, in the front row especially, I saw some of the women who melt me every time I see them, so beautiful and curvy and sensitive.

I froze some and apparently I was doing a thing with my jaw that looks like I'm on meth (a quote from a friend).

*sigh*

Once a junkie always a junkie, I guess. What my face does when I'm nervous really bothers me. Though I did drink some caffeinated tea before heading to the venue. It was jasmine tea, though so I thought I'd be OK. WRONG. I was totally spun for a while.

The audience response to me was wonderful. Even just when I was announced, the response was huge. That's a great relief! Also a bit of pressure, but a very encouraging pressure. Afterward, I was being pulled left and right in congratulations. Also a woman asked if I'd sing with her and said my voice gave her chills and brought her to tears. That's what I want to hear!!! Now it will only take a little more time to get used to it so my voice can really be free!!

Before going on, I saw this guy standing in the back. I'd been waiting for him to show up. My bad, though. He didn't seem to enjoy himself at all. In fact, he disappeared without a word, which initially hurt my feelings. I don't like feeling abandoned, especially by men. Doubly especially by men who are aware that I have strong feelings/sensitivity around abandonment. But again, my bad. At least this sent a strong signal to me that this guy doesn't think enough of me to cushion the blow of "you're not interesting enough for me to hang around"- he just dug out.

When I asked him via text what was up? Was he OK? he was very non-chalant. "had to go. Sorry. Friends asking where I was"... Ouch, says me. But...OK. I still had a smile on my face because after all, haven't I learned anything from Palecek?

Yes, I have. I've learned that I am deserving of the same respect I give. I am within my right to expect a person to clearly state their intention and be kind around my boundaries. I deserve to be treated respectfully and I don't think a little admiration is too much to ask?! I deserve better than aloof. And hey, I'm not judging the guy. If he doesn't like me, he doesn't like me. If he doesn't like my art, my singing, my writing, he's totally entitled his opinion and I don't think any less of him for it. In fact I'd totally date someone who didn't appreciate my art. But I won't give the time of day to someone who thinks they're "better" than me in regard to any creative endeavor. Well, moving on. I don't think I'll see him again.

I had so much fun tonight at the show. The other performers were wonderful to watch. It's like going to a family reunion and being part of a wholesome talent show put on by you and your cousins. For me, this is the feeling of homomentum and why it's so special. Some of us don't have ANY formal training at all, but we like to be on stage and perform and do our thing in a safe environment where we know if we fuck up, people are going to clap harder and hoot and holler our name out and let us know we are valued. That's true community to me. It doesn't matter if my ass ever gets up on a TV show doing what I do. The point is community and fun, not competition and image. I love these shows for that. Thanks, Max and Jodi.

what's up today

A friend of mine just posted on my facebook wall that he could tell I was going through something and didn't know what it was but wanted to be supportive. This warms and saddens me both. I'm warmed obviously, by the convivial nature of this post and the warmth and care with which he stated his concern without being condescending or passive-aggressive.

I'm saddened only by my own failing here. I'm stuck with this notion of protecting people from myself by not talking about what I'm feeling. Personally, I'm sick of my feelings. They're big and loud and keep me from sleeping every night. My feelings keep me from eating and talking and approaching hot Mexican men in the Fred Meyers. I am sick of, and resent my feelings and wish they would go fuck themselves.

But they are what they are, and depression is classed as a disease for a reason. I can't help the state of my mind. I can't think depression away- I can keep it at bay, see it for what it is, but I can't control it. Often I feel like I can't control myself while in the grips of a particularly bad spell, either. In my mind I might be doing Pilates or Yoga or taking a jog, and the thing is, I REALLY WANT TO BE DOING THOSE THINGS. I don't want to be sitting in my bedroom totally catatonic and watching 12 episodes of Ugly Butthole or CSI: Dumbfuck back to back, but I can't move. I'm just watching the show and feeling like I can't do anything else. My life is falling apart, has fallen apart years ago and I never had the strength or courage to put it back together. I never had the sense to NOT be embarrassed by who I am.

That's a simple truth. I embarrass myself frequently just by being who I am and making bad choices- I make them in my choice of unsupportive, selfish and totally useless frenemies (the scourge of facebook and the internet age), I make them in my choice of finances (10 year old credit card debt, defaulted student loan I feel like I can never pay back), career (massage therapy? Enough said)...Maybe I never should have gotten these tattoos, since most people tend to judge me by them.

I'm so dumb to have thought we'd be living in a different world by now, that I could speak for myself, instead of letting something superficial and colorful drain me of opportunity. I'm a shitty sales-person and don't at all like the notion that I am what I look like, instead of I am what I say I am. In that case I'd be an intelligent, articulate, creatively motivated and highly intellectual person. But actually I'm just a high school drop out with terrible credit and a long list of previous employers, virtually no verifiable rental history, saggy earlobes and way too many visible tattoos to be considered marketable or even presentable enough to stand at the counter or work front of the house. Even though I've been turned down for jobs based on the facts that I speak English a little to well and don't have a criminal record.

True story.

So this year I applied for SSI. I concluded that my experiences in Colorado finally broke me into little, stupid pieces. My life hasn't been the same since I went there. I cannot handle daily stress like I used to. I cannot handle or maintain relationships like I used to. I just lost my passion for communicating and problem solving. I cannot sustain normal relationships...or maybe I can, I don't know. Right now it just seems as though I've lost my will to engage in things that would normally create happiness in me. I feel like I'm falling into the cynicism that is around me- From the gay people I know not caring at all about equal civil rights, to the heteros around me taking advantage of rights I don't have and expecting me to be supportive of that choice. I didn't get to properly deal with Shloma's death. I'm still angry at the people close to him who didn't include me in his funeral or even let me know it was happening. I didn't have a chance to get closure there.

Like I said, I have a lot of feelings and they're loud and prohibitively strong. I am masked by them, drowning, in fact. So I'm sorry if I don't always express how I'm feeling or say exactly what I'm going through... I don't always have the language for what's ailing me. All I'm really doing is sitting still and hoping to emerge from this cocoon of silence and self-hatred.

insomnia

So it is 5:30 A.M. and I am painfully awake. Painfully as in tension headache. Painfully as in can't stop my mind going 1,000 MPH. Painful as in my TMJD is really bad right now. My eyes are sick from staring at my computer screen all day and night.

I've been laid off for the past week which has driven me to an interesting place. I can't afford my modest rent this month and I'm feeling like a steaming pile of loser crap. Contemplating my work history and debt-pile are increasing this feeling exponentially. But at least there's Facebook. It's an addiction worthy of a label.

I'm so sick of it and can't do without. I think the internet is wonderful and makes us all way too self-involved. Wonderful because of the shopping and convenience. Awful because of what it can do to a person's social life and/or social skills. I'm afraid that the internet and social networking will make people even more socially inept than is usual.

I'm kind of sick of convenience, truth be told. I'm driving my car less (also feeling unhappy with myself naked is helping there) and lusting after Cardio...What I wouldn't do for a gym membership, a step class and a nice treadmill!!! But with what I'm making right now, I can't afford much. I'm down to rent/utilities, car insurance and phone. No extra money anywhere. It just isn't there right now.

I've been waiting for this inheritance for going on 4 years now. It's not much, but it would certainly get me a good start on a new wardrobe, or a VERY nice vacation...Or relocation. I'm kind of obsessed with Rochester NY right now. But that's probably not going to happen. SO back to convenience and the sickness of it. I guess I feel like We're all turning into mole people. Squinting in the dark, E-dating, Emailing, E-shopping... Get an E-life!!! Oh, wait. You can! You can even live an alternate life online with a fancy avatar who can do things you're either too out of shape or too old or too whatever, to do for yourself. You can live an entire life, separate from anything that resembles your own. You can become important or sexy or female or whatever!

Blech. No thanks. I already feel like my life is divided. I miss my pre-computer life. You know, the one where I actually did things like paint, write and leave my house. So I'm going to work on that. Lap Tops are amazing. They are also the Devil. I just need to clarify my conflicting feelings. I like convenience for sure, that's American Yee-Haw. But I think I want some things to be different. No perfect man is going to come into my life and marry me because of the internet... At least, I'm not going to meet him on Adam4Adam or some other deplorably cruisey spot. I say deplorable like cookies are deplorable. I like and fight my cravings for them all day, and usually the cookies win out over my paltry willpower (says the queen who's beat Crystal Meth and for the most part, Nicotine) for both Chocolate chips and furry pecs. Hmph.

I would just like to harken back to a simpler time when a man can reject me to my face in a darkened bar with crappy music, instead of through a screen that I forlornly and nervously stare at in the safety of my own bedroom. I'm just saying that I think sometimes the way we use the internet can change our feelings about the places we feel safe by adding an element of unpredictability and hostility or even danger. I wonder of the telephone brought these issues up when it became commonplace? I guess this line of questioning makes me officially old. No worries. I feel that way anyhow.

my gender journey

So for the last nearly three years, I've been living out as a trans-female identified person. I sought therapy and medical assistance to begin transitioning to full-time Female. I came out while living at Shambhala Mountain Center as trans and mostly got overwhelmingly positive support. Even with that type of support it's difficult being male bodied and bald trying to pass as female.

Often I wished I'd had a T-shirt which read boldly across the front "She & Hers" as a reminder of which pronouns to use.

I got tired of being so anxious all the time about correcting people, so I didn't (unless I trusted them) and I also got tired of trying to figure out the whole bathroom issue and running to the few unisex bathrooms on the land wasn't an option during work hours. Wigs are itchy and I generally don't like them so I only wore them on fancy occasions. Mostly I wore hats and head wraps, lots of jewelry and make up and tight fitting clothes. At the time I was under the impression that I couldn't afford fake breasts and I felt embarrassed to wear them so I didn't.

Now I wear them regularly, but I'm still dealing with shame at work, even though every single person there is supportive and friendly.

I feel constantly defeated by my own shame and also by other people's expectations good and bad. I am learning so much about myself through this process. First of all, I'm learning that I am so easily influenced and swayed by other people. An example of this might be my relapses with cigarettes. Officially I quit smoking 6 years ago (I know!!! Awesome!) but have had 1 significant relapse. While living up on the mountain I smoked for a few months- partially because I felt so left out. A lot of my friends smoked and drank a lot up there. The more I was around it the more I remembered why I used to smoke, so I started again. I made more friends. The wheel continues to turn in this direction.

It's interesting because people who use drugs don't have the same effect on me, neither does hanging around binge drinkers. I am not above the influence of my community. I am still impressionable to a degree and a bit naive, as well. Not street-dumb, but idealist maybe. I certainly spend a lot of time fantasizing about the kind of woman I want to be and honestly, I don't think I could ever be her.

The idea of having multiple, major surgeries that each cost thousands of dollars is daunting. I'm not scared of them, in fact I feel excited when I think about having orchiectomy (castration) or vaginoplasty. I think for most male-bodied people and with good reason, the idea of having their testes removed is frightening or grotesque but for me not so much. I spent a large chunk of my 20's feeling frustrated about being constantly horny and testosterone driven. I didn't identify as transsexual then because it just wasn't a part of my awareness. I mean I'd never met any transsexual women who weren't sex workers or didn't look like they'd just walked off a Vegas stage. I didn't seem to fit the bill (unless you count all the stereotypical childhood stuff) and I didn't even know how/where to start.

I did plenty of research and mapped out some what-if scenarios but they all ended in profound fear over medical costs and social losses. I also knew that if I were to be honest about this with my siblings, they'd be (typically) weird about it. Two years ago my brother disowned and abandoned me over the very fact of my coming out with intentions to transition.

I think just now I am tired. I don't want to wake up two hours earlier than necessary, in order to shave, put on make up and hair. I don't want to wear fake tits every day and I don't want to wear "gender-appropriate" clothing. I'm a jeans and T-shirt person. I doubt that if I were genetically female I'd be much different. I'd still be a punk rock girl. I'd still be a tom boy with glamorous tendencies. Bottom line, I'm not terribly interested in being a bald woman. In fact I'm not that interested in being a woman unless it happens quickly.

And I think that's a bad sign. I want it now, instantly. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of fantasizing about being some type of person I may not actually have the capability of being. So right now I have stubble on my face. Right now I'm letting my baldness show a little more. Right now I'm playing with being in a male body. Right now I'm revelling in testosterone and horniness.

A long time ago in a Nandi far, far away

So here it is, the follow up blog that no one might ever read. The last post was about two years ago, I guess. I was still living at Shambhala Mountain Center and processing my break up with Alex. I am still processing my relationship to him and will most likely until the day I die. In fact, just about 6 weeks ago we had a very lovely conversation, the first in about a year. He called to tell me that he'd come to terms with some of the reasons we broke up and he wanted to share them with me.

He made some lovely apologies and confirmed what I'd thought. He was still, in a way removed from sexuality, in love with me and would remain so. I said he had a shelf in my heart- meaning that He was my first love and I would also remain in love with him. I know that a relationship with him couldn't work but the fact remains that I fill a lot of my time thinking of him. Wishing I was the woman he wanted to spend his whole life with, marry and raise a child with. But I'm not that woman now or probably ever. I am also coming to terms with what might be the end of my gender journey and the death of Shloma.

Reading those posts about his Soma addiction were really difficult. I'd forgotten that I'd done all that research and written that post. But all the memories of sitting in his kitchen at his computer desk came flooding back. The kitchen that smelled like old chicken soup and cigarettes. The kitchen with all of the Hebrew words on little white pieces of paper labeling things. Cups, silverware, plates, candles, cookies. All of these things labeled in Hebrew, though I never heard him speak it. He sometimes taught me Yiddish words for things.

My time at the Shambhala Mountain Center was peppered with drama- I reckon a lot of that was my fault, being that I was at that point in my life, unable to reconcile my feelings with my experience. I was still incredibly stubborn and unable to talk with Alex for nearly 4 months after our break up. I left him exactly one month after arriving there. We arrived on May the 18th, 2008. I left him June 18th, on the anniversary of my father's death. My first month there had been extremely stressful for me.

The elevation was incredibly high for me, 8,200 feet. The society there was also tough to adjust to. Shloma had warned me of the serenely judgmental Buddhists and he wasn't entirely wrong. I think at the time I was still fighting to remain a child in some ways. But that's all gone, now. Going through that break up, Shloma's long descent into death, my own issues with physical and mental health were enough in those 18 months to cure me of a lot of attitudes. Also, I should mention that Buddhist training was perfectly instrumental.

As we arrived and began to settle in a bit, things were...interesting between us. We were bickering and building a wall, but in my mind at the time, we weren't breaking up. We were just going through a rough patch and I was being the accepting partner thinking that all of this was fine because we'd work through it and everything would come back to normal eventually. Or with enough alcohol. But Alex stopped sitting with me at meals and wouldn't even look at me and would stay out until the light in the tent went out. A few times I'd turn it off just to see how quickly he'd come around. It was usually a few minutes later. I never confronted him when this happened, I just tried to sleep. I'd volunteered to move into my own tent, set up date nights and tried to come up with several options for his need for more space. I felt helpless. Nothing worked.

I was having serious tachycardia and panic attacks and I was not acclimating to the elevation. I was drowzy and lethargic and having night terrors. I had to stop working in the kitchen and look for another department to take me in. The Karmapa was making a visit to America for the first time and I was excited to see him. Alex and I stayed at his friend's house in Boulder. I was terribly sick. Unable to get out of bed, actually. I made it to the Karmapa's event, just barely. I saw Alex there and he pretty much ignored me. It was painful to see him laugh and pay attention to people besides me.

We had a little fight the next day before leaving. I needed to see a doctor. We tried going to a clinic and they wouldn't see me because I wasn't a Colorado resident. They referred us to the Boulder Emergency room. They wouldn't see me for the same reason. They sent me to Medical Center of the Rockies. But en route, we had to go to a DMV and get a Colorado license so that the hospital would admit me.

I think we split this up between two days, my memory of this day is fuzzy except for going into the DMV and then the emergency room. There was a lovely woman in the ER who talked with me about high heels and make up tips. I also remember the overwhelming taste of aluminum when she put me on the Saline drip. My EKG came up abnormal so I got a referral to the cardiologist. We set an appointment for a month away. Alex promised to take me. I was feeling much better by the time we left- They'd ruled out dehydration and altitude sickness and chalked everything up my mental state. Typical.

In my experience, if you go to a hospital and tell them you've got a history of anxiety or depression, no matter what's wrong with you, they will say it's related to your mental state. Thanks.

I went through my appointments and got to watch my heart beat through an ultrasound monitor for the second time in my life. The tech was pretty nice. He also showed me my liver and esophagus. All results were within normal range, though he said he wanted to keep an eye on me and to come back in a year. My friend Betsy took me because Palecek flaked at the last minute. Breaking up with him was completely rough. We both stayed there, at SMC for a year and a half. Together but broken up.

I watched him go from girl to girl. Not one of them ever really addressed my relationship to him in a way that was respectful or honest. I knew a couple of them too, actually, but didn't feel as though I could be their friends once they dated him. One of them even had the nerve to bring their problems to me. I wasn't happy about it, but what could I do? I advised her honestly, though I knew they'd break up.

I moved back into the kitchen in the fall. I liked it there mostly, but living there was a strange and wonderful thing. Mahyana Buddhists are not anything like what people conjure up in their minds. Some of the most troubled people myself included, lived up on that mountain. I found that I liked the snow, that I could in fact, meditate, I found that I still didn't trust men, that born again Christians, especially ex-gay ones are treacherous and dishonest people in need of serious psychotherapy and that I would be happy to live in a place such as that for the rest of my life (Provided I have medical benefits and psych meds).

A lot happened there not worth mentioning, but even more happened there that could be. My housemate and best friend there, Betsy, changed my life totally. We bonded over a fashion magazine. A rare commodity up there. Most women up there didn't wear things like make up or dresses. We kvetched about that all the time. I was wearing eye make up every day for quite a while I came out as trans pretty early on and at fancy events came in drag.

Betsy held my hand pretty much up until the point I forced her now husband Nathan on her. He also changed a part of my life and heart forever. He's maybe the first heterosexual man I've ever trusted. We had one really bad argument but resolved it fairly and mostly due to his insistence. I had a really terrible episodic panic attack and cried and screamed while he held me for 4 fucking hours. I really fell apart up there and if it weren't for he and Betsy I would have died, I'm sure of it.

Looking back, I can't believe sometimes how much shit was happening in my life while I was up there. My sister had her pacemaker, Shloma was dying, my relationship to my first love was ending violently, my heart was going berserk, I was sick all of the time and mostly alone. It was very stressful at times. But there's something about living in community that's really wonderful. Of course when I first got there most people wouldn't talk to me at all and I thought it was a very cliquish society of enlightened assholes.

But then after people started accepting me and I began to speak my mind, I found that I could disagree with people and even argue and it wasn't the end of the world. I found out that my gaydar was in excellent shape. I fucked around with one of the hottest guys up there a few times. Had crazy sex with an incidentally heterosexual man who was very short but a tripod, nonetheless. I threw wonderful theme parties that nearly the whole staff showed up for. I got drunker than I'd ever been and played spin the bottle with a grip of straight dudes. HOT. I also wrote a lot and contemplated suicide frequently.

There were a lot of trails in the woods around the center's 800+ acres that lead into treacherous stretches of land in which I could easily disappear. The summers had very long days. The winters had very long nights. So quiet and ethereal, actually. The snow would fall like mad for two days and when I could emerge from my house it would be up to my waist. I found that I like the snow, just not the cold.

I decided to leave SMC because I couldn't take the pressure of working in the kitchen any longer but I didn't want to be in any other department. I had no meditation instructor because each that had been offered to me weren't exactly appropriate. My first, Jeff, was so totally disinterested in me as a person that I had to beg to get an appointment. "Too busy" was his favorite thing to say. My second was a wonderful woman, but didn't last long at SMC. She also didn't have much time but I sure did enjoy her company.

Then for about the last year I had nobody. The people who were available for instruction weren't who I could see myself learning from. I only saw us clashing. I'm a tough person to teach, maybe?

Well anyway. It's been a year or more now since I left that place. I've been in Portland for a year. Let's see...so far, I've been in a few shows, starred in a film, finally published my book and kept relatively busy. I'm glad this blog is still here. I'm going to keep sharing in this way. If for nothing else, to remind me what an utter ass I can be and to keep myself humble on the highway of life