+ news +
Republicans are clamoring for gay support now,
The Oval Office get's rainbow-fied (design-wise),
and queer people in China exist! for the week.


Sincerely,
ts


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As my posts address the nuances of building a progressive queer movement out of the many single-identity based movements that exist, it is certainly useful for me to define the way in which I use the word “queer.” I am not using it as a stand-in for LGBT, and I am not using it as an umbrella term. I am distinctly referencing Queer Theory, which "is basically a set of ideas based around the notion that sexual identities need not be fixed - and that gender identities are not necessarily fixed either (and don’t need to be)” (Koonan 3). Thus, when I refer to queer movements, I am referring not to the movements which seek equal marriage rights, but to the movements which question the legitimacy of gender as a tool for social organization." I am a white gay man who would love to see a progressive queer movement that looks a little less white.

I have heard plenty of explanations for the whiteness of the Queer movement, among them that people who struggle economically must spend more time making ends meet, rather than pondering the boundaries of social categories and because people of color are disproportionately poor, logically fewer will enter into Queer movements. From one angle, this explanation looks promising, as it acknowledges a social reality for people of color that dominant groups often try to warp. And it seems logical; if struggling for survival, reading Judith Butler's Gender Trouble would be significantly lower on my list of priorities. Further, because Queer Theory seems so rooted in academia, one might posit that it takes a certain amount of privilege even to be exposed to it (though this is a bit of a shaky position in the age of the internet).

This view pretends that the ideas encompassed in Queer theory can only be discovered or contemplated in spaces of academia, that ideas within Queer theory are not relevant to the lives of the working class, and that intellectual inquiry must take place instead of work and other life experience, rather than in conjunction with it.

To be sure, there are spaces for LGBT people of color, and within Black feminist frameworks lesbians play a prominent role. There are queer activists and theorists of color. But just as Obama becoming president of the United States did not signal the end of racism and racial inequality in the country, the existence of Queer people of color does not signify an arrival of the Queer movement to a healthy level of race-consciousness. There are undeniably some brilliant people of color doing the work to create a progressive, inclusive movement, but it doesn't work so well when those who experience intersecting oppressions embrace all marginalized groups while being overlooked, delegitimized and even shunned in return.

There are prominent folks trying to combat the whiteness of Queerness as well, just look at Judith Butler's rejection of the Berlin Pride award. This isn't enough. White queers need to be better than Democrats, and must do more than just pay lip service to the notion that racism exists within the community. Before a Queer movement can become truly inclusive, racial equality and equity must become core tenets, such that queerness cannot be understood in a supposed racial vacuum. White queers must see how their whiteness and queerness work together, just as Queer people of color see/experience how their identities work together. There is a great article by Diane Finnerty at University of Iowa that walks through common things that white LGBT people do or avoid in order to help the LGBT and Queer movements become less racist spaces.

None of these ideas are new. Despite its post-structuralist, all-encompassing flavor, Queerness has, and continues to fall far short of its potential, and in its brief history has held far too firmly to the dominant forces from which it emerged. In fact it is my belief that in order for a successful wide-scale progressive movement to take hold, Queerness will have to become but one frame in an intellectual pluralism that effectively gives voice to experiences of gender and sexuality in all different realms of life.

Additional Reading:
Coonan, Kris. Queer Theory Demystified

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This morning county investigators came to my house to inform me my food stamps/general assistance case had been forwarded to the welfare department (not the “hey did that check arrive yet” kind, the “there is way too much feces smeared on this wall” kind of welfare). They observed my living conditions, ask me why I moved to California and where I'm getting rent money if I'm reporting no income, and if I had access to mental health resources. I answered the door in an undershirt, panties, and bruises (look, we've all done things you regret). On my laptop table there are bookmarks made of duct tape with various suicide prevention hotline numbers written in six colors of sharpie. Now I'm not saying I would have cleaned my room had I known they were coming, but I would have done a better job at hiding the week's worth of candy bars and bottled water I have stashed under my bed.

Missing: The will and focus to write a thoughtful, poignant article on how being in a same sex relationship both validates my gender identity and gives cause for the occasional body dysphoria. Goes by the name of “get over yourself”.

In lieu of actual content, I've decided to rehash an old idea from when I first started writing for BelowTheBelt: my personal FAQ list. A veritable sideshow of the disinformed. Pickled punks of embarassment and bearded ladies of frustration. A wholesome family venture.

Hopefully you all caught the animatronic boytaur at the front of the ride who read you the disclaimer about how this is not indicative of any other trans or queer person's experiences and that if you quote me on some debate in a message forum (and you end up losing anyway) I will come for you. Alright. Fantastic. Let's begin.

When did you know you were trans?

If your initial reaction to reading the above wasn't “ugh not this shit again” but instead a very enthusiastic “oh this gonna be a good story”, drop everything you're doing, change the channels on your TV until you come across a televangelist, new age healer or Food Network personality and do whatever they tell you for the rest of your life. Knowledge is not a fixed point in time. A moment of clarity does not undo years of grasping at straws, filling vaccuums and standing against the wall at parties wondering why you don't seem to fit into your own skin like everyone else. Trans folk are not ticking time bombs of epiphany. Who told you to ask me that question? Was it my nemesis, Miss Goes On Every Trans Comm Ever And Makes Comments About How People Who Come Out In Their 20's Or 30's Probably Aren't Really Trans Until She Gets Her Ass Fucking Banhammered? You tell her to show herself and we'll settle this like 12 year olds who've just discovered the internet. And that I want my CDs back.

What's your birth name?

This is never okay to ask a trans person. Ever. Even if you're sleeping with them. Many trans folk won't even share birth names with each other, and two or more exchange birth names, it is understood that you are never to reference their previous name. If you really want to know, you're gonna have to wait 'til I fall asleep on your dining room table and rummage through my wallet like the rest of my friends.

Like, what do you call your genitals and stuff?

In my experience there is no right answer to this question. If you're a trans woman, any attempt to use common vocabulary to describe/reference your genitals in polite company (i.e. people you aren't fucking at that exact moment) will illicit moans and groans from someone. Penis, cock, dick. The only boo-proof word I know of is stickpussy, but only a n00b would interpret the faces people make when they hear that word as “agreeable”. Personally, my least favorite is “clit” or “clittie” because I know from my participation in the BDSM scene that such language is used by those that fly the sissy/forced feminization kite, and though it remains unspoken, it is understood that there exists a particular tension between those two communities. Rumors that I used to post pictures of “sissies” accompanied with two-bit dime store snark to a fashion blog are unfortnately very true. Fuck, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, my junk. That's not what I call it. Actually I call it my “stick shift”, or the “factory installed equipment”. For some reason, nobody ever objects to me using these terms in discussion. I believe it's because people see that I'm personalizing my relationship with my body and not speaking for anyone else. Also, it's fucking hilarious.

You should totally see/watch/listen to this movie/song/television show.

Now that I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, I purposely avoid watching documentaries or documentary-like television shows about tofuspace trans celebrities because whenever I meet them in person I embarrass myself, like I did with Clair Farley from Red Without Blue, my favorite documentary of all time. You can read more about it here, but for those of you who don't trust that I wouldn't link you to a NSFW (fucking google it, Dad) site, here's the abridged, basic cable version of what happened: I meet a person who I admire greatly and “much shit is lost”. If I ever move to Seattle or Paris, maybe. If I run into Calpernia Adams at a farmer's market in Raleigh, NC and accidentally call her a nerf heder then you know, them's the breaks, but while I'm within BART distance of people who's disapproval of me could shatter my credibility in the scene, it might be better to play ignorant convincingly and not get caught up in the hype.

Furthermore, I think it's about time that the community dropped this whole “drive thru enrichment” model. You can't say that no language works for everyone but then say “but you all need to read this book, it will have an impact on you if you're down with the struggle and all that”. You're putting average writers on pedestals and cutting off the blood flow of new messages and media by superfluously denying them this communal importance. Everyone should see Southern Comfort because it is painfully beautiful cinema, not because it “explores transmasculinity”.The truth is the money you would put towards a new copy of Whipping Girl or My Husband Betty would probably be better spent attending a spoken word/open mic or buying ingredients to make a dish for a queer pot luck. Lending your friend an overhyped tijuana bible of literary wank is not a replacement for providing support or a safe space to fellow queers. And your dish better be vegetarian this time. That whole “haha make the lesbian eat sausage by mistake isn't that funny” was good like, once, maybe twice. But try that shit on me again and I'll drug you, dress you up in a Nappy Roots t-shirt and baggy jeans and throw you in front of a crowd of tea partiers.

Also, that wasn't even a question, dickhead.

Is it true that you're helping to organize a skillshare/camp/conference in NorCal in the summer of 2011?

Is it true that I told you to shut up about it until I had set details?
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I won’t write too much this week because my writing juices are feeling a little low, but I did want to talk a bit about the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and its effects on the queer community.

Now a huge disclaimer here: I only lived in New Orleans for about two years and just moved away this summer, so please take a lot of what I describe of my own experience with a grain of salt.

Half of me is going through major NOLA withdrawal, and the other half is so happy to be missing hurricane season and the suffocating August heat. In those two years I met many fantastic queer women, however most of my relationships with them formed out of different activist circles and social justice networks – none of which circled around queer activism. Also, almost all of the queer women I met were young transplants like me, not originally from New Orleans. This could partly be because of the crowds I found myself in, or it could be that many queer women who were living in New Orleans pre-Katrina have not been able to return. (Note that much of what I’ll discuss here is about queer women. Queer men in New Orleans still seem to be flourishing and taking over every LGBTQ event in the city. Not that I don’t love me some queer men, but come on fellas, make room for the ladies. We’re queer too.)

In Charlotte D’Ooge’s 2008 report on “Queer Katrina: Gender and Sexual Orientation Matters in the Aftermath of the Disaster,” she describes that while many of the traditionally gay male sections of the city (the French Quarter for instance) hardly received any lasting damage from the storm and the flooding, traditionally lesbian and queer women’s sections of the city were badly flooded and led to many queer women needing to leave the city. Housing ownership became a huge issue for queer couples, because if one member of the couple passed away in the storm but the house was in their name, their living partner faced difficulties gaining access to their own home. This was also common in parts of the Black community, particularly in the lower 9th ward, where homes were passed down through the generations. However, the name on the deed may have been many years deceased. When these homes were then wrecked by the flooding, the homeowners had no proof that the home belonged to them and could not collect any insurance money.

Transgender women also faced huge amounts of discrimination in the aftermath of Katrina. D’Ooge recounts one story of a transwoman who was sent to jail (which at the time was probably the makeshift prison they made out of the Greyhound station where conditions and treatment were even more horrible than New Orleans' usual police standards) for showering in the women’s bathroom. The people who arrived in the Superdome, the Convention Center, and other relief sites around the city following the storm were assumed to be straight and cisgendered, so often necessary services and respectful treatment were not provided. Many of these factors may add to the decreased presence of queer women in New Orleans, especially those who were there pre-Katrina.

None of this information is terribly new, and there has been so much coverage about the Katrina anniversary that I cringe a little bit at the sight of it because I fear New Orleans continues to be reduced to a victimized city and all the other wonders of its culture are being passed over. But at least the incompetence and inequities of Katrina’s relief process are being highlighted again (at least in the alternative media and on Rachel Maddow; the mainstream media are still pretending that New Orleans is “recovered”, and I feel it’s important to think about how different populations are affected during crises. Blacks, Latinos, and many other people of color will have varying experiences because they may be treated differently by the people handing out the services. People living in poverty will always be hardest hit by disasters, and often they are the last to receive services, if they receive them at all. And queer populations, especially queer women and transfolk, will also be hard hit because the general population doesn’t consider the services needed and the sensitivity necessary when working with us.

Katrina is not a stand-alone event. It has happened again and will continue to do so, whether in the form of a hurricane, an earthquake, a bombing – name your poison. But if in the future we can try to make relief work more inclusive for everyone involved, maybe one person’s nightmare will become a little more bearable.

And just a little something to end on…


Some more links for Katrina Anniversary Media

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/38874511#38874511

http://femmepolitical.wordpress.com/2010/08/25/the-truths-of-katrina/ (long but comprehensive overview of New Orleans during Katrina and now)

http://www.truth-out.org/living-new-orleans-after-katrina62738
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Promo image for season three

The first in a series of posts examining the women of the popular AMC drama Mad Men, from my feminist lens. Note: Mild spoilers from earlier seasons below!

Joan Harris, the office manager of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce (and formerly the office manager of Sterling Cooper) is often described in terms of her looks: voluptuous, bombshell, curvy, sexy, etc. According to Wikipedia, the actress who plays her is 5’8” and 140 pounds – which I totally do not believe as a woman who is 5’7” (when I round up), although perhaps they add padding to her costume. Joan is played by Christina Hendricks, who was voted the “best looking woman in America” in a 2010 Esquire magazine poll of female readers.

During season one of Mad Men, Joan is living a carefree, single-gal-in-the-city lifestyle. You could consider her the early 1960s version of Sex and the City’s Samantha Jones. She lives with a female roommate, has a successful job (for a woman of the time), and makes no apologies for having an affair with her older, married boss – nor does she pressure him to leave his wife and ‘make an honest woman’ out of her. She’s assertive, smart, witty, confident and doesn’t try to act as if she needs a man. Joan quickly becomes a favorite character of fans.

Unfortunately, in season two, Joan gets engaged to a man who quickly became a villain to fans. Greg Harris seemed like a charming almost-doctor when his character is first introduced – but then he date rapes Joan … our Joan, as many fans feel connected to her in some way.

In season three, Greg, now her husband, is supposed to become a doctor. Joan even quits her job in anticipation for life as the doctor’s wife. Unfortunately, Greg fails to land a job as a doctor, and Joan’s embarrassment and sense of disappointment is obvious. In the finale of season three, Greg announces he has enlisted in the Army as a surgeon. It’s the end of 1963, and history gives Joan’s Number One Fans the hope that the villainous husband will meet his fate in Vietnam.

In season four, Joan is back to work as the office manager of the newly formed Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. This time around, she has her own office. She is waiting for word that Greg will ship out to Vietnam.

Joan is an interesting character. At first, she seems to be the poster child for sexy feminists. She doesn’t have a husband, and doesn’t seem to care. She has a good job. She sleeps with whoever she wants. She has a brain and isn’t afraid to use it. Personally, I was disappointed in seasons two and three when she seemed on the road to life as a stay-at-home-wife. Especially when it seemed like that’s what her character wanted. What would have been the point of introducing such a strong, independent female character just to “clip her wings” into stay-at-home-wifedom?

Regardless, the most noticeable thing about Joan, especially as a relief to 2000s audiences, is that she has a figure! A beautiful, curvy, voluptuous figure.

However … in much of the coverage of her character, it starts to feel like that’s ALL she is … a curvy figure. Fixating on one woman’s curves to such an extent is almost as bad as fixating on another woman’s perfect, slim, girlish shape. In the end, they are still just their bodies.

And apparently, even Christina’s voluptuous figure isn’t safe from airbrushing. Photos of her modeling for London Fog (one time client on Mad Men) reveal that she’s been airbrushed down a few curves. It’s interesting to compare the coverage from feminist (and female-authored) Jezebel.com with fashion bloggers (and gay males) Tom and Lorenzo at Project Rungay. Granted, Project Rungay is about fashion and style and not social commentary, which is Jezebel’s territory. However, they do point out that “it's always a good thing when a woman who isn't starving herself to death gets hired for this sort of thing.” Yes, yes it is. However, when the photos are edited to make her appear thinner, what’s the point?

Either way, the focus is still on her body. I honestly don’t know much about Christina Hendricks, but I’ve watched every single episode of Mad Men (minus last night’s, I don’t have cable so I usually don’t watch new episodes until the Monday or Tuesday after they air), some episodes two or three times, so I know a lot about the character of Joan Harris. And many other female television characters. It takes intent to write a funny, witty, smart, confident female character. It does make sense that a smart woman of her time (well, any time) would understand how to use her looks to get noticed and get ahead (the character of Bobbie Barrett did as well, if you’re a fan, you might remember her advice to Peggy Olsen on making it in a man’s world: “You can't be a man. Be a woman. It's powerful business when done correctly.”)

But is it feminist or anti-feminist for a woman to use her looks to get ahead? Clearly, as we can see in Mad Men, all woman of that era, both career women and housewives, knew the importance of their looks. Was it fair? Of course not. But it’s how they got ahead. For women who aspired to be stay-at-home mothers, they knew their husband wanted pretty, put-together and presentable wives to come home to and take out on the town. Heck, these women wore pearls and did their hair to go to the grocery store. Career women knew they had to look professional in the work place, but also attractive, if not also sexy. But not too sexy – remember when Jane showed too much cleavage? Or maybe she was just butting into Joan’s territory as the office sexpot. Regardless, anyone who has examined that era (even just by watching Mad Men) can clearly see the emphasis on women’s appearances.

But is that anti-feminist? I sometimes struggle with my daily application of make-up and heels for work. Why do I feel the need to do so? I think regardless of gender, appearances count. That opinion is probably largely affected by the fact that my full-time job is in the field of public relations. But appearance sends a message. Taking the time to look professional at work tells my colleagues that I take my job seriously. Wearing a sexy dress to go out with my husband tells him that I want to look good for him, and I’m sure he doesn’t mind being able to “show off” his sexy wife. Likewise for me; I appreciate when he takes the time to look nice.

Getting back to Joan. I wonder what the show would be like if she wasn’t the voluptuous character, but rather Peggy (the young, single, doing-a-man’s-job career woman) or Betty (the stay-at-home-mom) was. Would it have the same affect? Would it seem out of place? Does it work on Joan because her role at the office is one of authority and support – authority over the secretaries (women) but support of the partners (men)? She’s in the middle so you don’t suspect that her looks have gotten her too far, but you don’t feel bad about fixating on them because she’s not too important.

So, we can’t argue that looks mattered then, and they matter now, but is that bad? As long as the looks don’t overpower what’s really important – intelligence, personality, morals, drive, work ethic, etc? I feel that as long as looks support those things – draw you in to learn more – instead of overshadow or replace those things, they’re a good thing. So what do they do for Joan?

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+ news +
Drama re: former RNC chair's recent coming out party,
Blue Power Ranger --> Lavendar Power Ranger,
and MichFest and trans women's inclusion for the week.

Sincerely,
ts


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This past June, 20,000 other activists and I (including binaryfairy), ended up in Detroit at the US Social Forum. And one of the things that experience highlighted for me was how little we talk to each other cross-movement. Binaryfairy pointed out that there was little understanding of queer issues from non-queer organizers of the USSF, but in the queer community we tend not to reach too far outside our own borders either. Although I'd like to hope that most of us who identify as queer or feminist activists have at least a basic understanding of how those struggles tie into race and class and worker's rights, even that's probably overoptimistic. Right now, though, I'm going to jump past those obvious allies and talk about what queer/feminist movements and the environmental movement can learn from each other.*

My first exposure to activism was when I was 11 or 12, working with a volunteer organization to restore local forest preserves to health, which included cutting invasive brush as well as planting seeds, and so on. A small but vocal group of concerned trolls calling themselves “Trees for Life” (I know you're thinking, WTF, anti-choice trees?) got worried about the children (are we teaching them to kill trees?) and the 'racism' of weeding out non-native plants, and convinced the county to put a moratorium on the work we were doing. I testified before the county board, helped my dad start up a counter-organization (Citizens for the Responsible Use of Public Land, with the unfortunate acronym of CRUMPL), and wrote letters calling out sloppy, biased reporting and challenging a particularly self-righteous columnist to a plant ID contest to demonstrate his (lack of) authority on the topic. The columnist never responded to me, but I learned something anyway: when the world around you is wrong, channel your anger into action.

So maybe I'm speaking from my own biases when I say that the environmental and queer movements could learn a lot from each other. And maybe I'm being unnecessarily pessimistic when I predict that unless we figure out how to tackle environmental issues like global climate change and resource depletion, all our other struggles aren't going to mean much. But that's the way my brain works: I make connections, I throw together unlikely bedfellows, and I wonder why group X is trying to reinvent the wheel if group Y already has something workable. In other words, I want to see a unified, cohesive Left working for an all-around better world for all. I know, I'm a dreamer.

One of the best panels at the USSF was on "Race, Gender, and Climate Change", organized by the brilliant Nia Robinson, Director of the Environmental Justice and Climate Change Initiative (EJCC.) I spent the first half-hour talking with a small group of mostly women, mostly of color, about our various experiences of the intersections between those three axes.

“It makes me angry that it's poor neighborhoods, Black and Latin@ neighborhoods, that always get hit with the worst pollution,” said one participant.

“As a woman, I feel like the environmental movement is always telling me to buy things and spend money,” said another. “Especially as a mother, I'm made to feel like a bad parent if I'm not buying all of these products I can't afford.”

Look at the mainstream Western environmental literature, and it's full of line-dried laundry, and bushels of fruit home-canned at the heat of summer, and home-cooked meals, and cleaning methods that trade harsh chemicals for time and elbow-grease. Unless these activities are decoupled from femininity and women are no longer responsible for the “second shift”, women will bear the brunt of the “green living” movement. Yet the predominantly white, male figureheads of mainstream environmentalism don't seem to consider that feminism falls within their purview.

Most of the small farmers in the world are women. So when conservationists talk about saving the rainforest from encroachment by farmers, it's mostly women's livelihoods that are threatened. But when “green jobs” are created as park rangers and eco-tourism guides, who do they go to? Gold star if you guessed “men.” And this doesn't even touch on the heteronormativity of both of those models.

On the other hand, queer movements could learn something from the transition towns initiative and the success environmental activists have had in building communities from the ground up. There are strong networks of people who are living the world they'd like to see, engaging in skill-shares to train each other and creating micro-infrastructure such as local currencies, community gardens, or food co-ops. Environmental legislation that surpasses any national effort has passed relatively easily at the city or county level due to effective local organizing. If the environmental movement has perhaps bought a little too heavily into the idea of individual responsibility (um, even if we all replaced our lightbulbs and carried reusable water bottles, we still wouldn't save the planet), the queer and feminist communities have gone the opposite way. I'm not denying the need for massive systemic change, but it is our own actions that define the world we live in, and we can build a queerer world starting with what we already have.

So what, you ask? Here's where I see the overlap. If we want to reduce our footprint on the planet, environmental activists have a vested interest in promoting systems that support all sorts of cohabitation. At the same time, working toward a work culture that gives more time off to (all) people allows people to rely less on environmentally costly “convenience”, and tends to foster investment in meaningful activities rather than quick-fix consumerism. There's a lot of room here for environmental activists and queer folks to work together on both of these goals, and in the process to create a society that encourages doing more with less and distributing resources more equitably.

----

*I certainly don't want to imply that the feminist movement is entirely queer-friendly (it's not!), that all queer movements are feminist, or that any of these movements are monolithic entities. I'll try to highlight the splits – between mainstream environmentalists and environmental justice activists, between GLBT organizations and queer organizers, or between traditional second-wave feminists, third-world feminists, and womanists, for example – whenever they're relevant, but you'll have to forgive me for speaking in generalities.

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Here’s a true story. The entire time my mother was pregnant with me, there were only two possible names in all of creation that she actually considered putting on my birth certificate. One of them was Maggie Rose, the other was Kimberly Diane.

These days, she says the biggest mistake she made was in telling the rest of my family what her name choices were for the first member of a new generation. Which led to many months of heated debate among future grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even a few family friends who tossed in their own two cents. My grandmother hated Maggie as a name, claiming it was a nickname, which somehow led to the compromise of Kimberly. Though no one actually seems to remember where that name came from.

However, upon my two weeks late arrival into the world, my mom changed track and chose and entirely different name for me: Alyssa Kayden.

Fast forward twenty-one years and you arrive at the person I am today, sitting on top of a gender identity that has shifted so much in the past two years that I can look back at the person I was at the beginning of college and barely recognize her. There’s a metric ton of shit that comes up when you start poking at a discord between body and mind and my name was one of the sticking points.

One of the first things I did when gender became something I couldn't ignore anymore was move away from using Alyssa or Aly as my name.

Family legend holds that my mother knew I was going to be born a “girl” (for whatever value of girl particular family members mean), but she always held the name Alexander James in reserve, just in case. That way, she could use the nickname AJ. I spent much of my childhood wishing I could be AJ and, funnily enough, it was at my mom’s suggestion that I started using AJ when I really started dealing with my gender.

Of course, it’s been a year and half since and things have stabilized, or at least I’ve found a kind of contentment with my brand of instability. And suddenly AJ doesn’t bring the relief it once did.

You see, AJ was always meant to be a stand in during a time when I didn’t want to be anything at all. Using my very feminine birth name chafed as it became clearer and clearer that I wasn’t female, but the total switch to a masculine name was too much, too fast. Much as the gender borders in names have begun to blur (I know a couple female identified Ryans and one male identified Tracy), I needed something that was firmly neither one nor the other. Initials accomplished that, and gave me an interesting story to break the ice with people as I got more involved in queer groups and LGBTQAI activism.

But that need for un-identification has passed and I’m left with a vast array of names that people use, none of which really fit who I am and who I am slowly becoming.

I think one of the very few inherent benefits of being trans identified is the built in opportunity to come up with a name of your choice. I’ve heard so many stories of how trans people arrived at their named, ranging from it beginning the opposite gendered version of their birth name to choosing one in honor of someone who is important to them to just liking how a name sounds.

What I have is the story of the name my mother chose, complicated by the fact that her chosen name was cannibalized by two different relatives. So adopting that would accidentally ally me with one cousin that I love to bits and pieces and another cousin that makes me want to punch things whenever we’re in the same room. I have the initials that I’ve been using, that I accidentally came to love as a very important part of my identity and represent the changes that have happened to me.

I’ve come to appreciate the opportunity inherent in the question I’m asked at least once a week, “What does AJ stand for?” I have one friend who called me Andrew Jackson as a joke and now it has become a nickname. Another friend calls me Alonzo for reasons that she won’t share, but make her giggle every time she says it. I’m still looking for the name that kicks me in the gut and tells me that it’s the one for me.

So here’s my question. If you chose your name, how did you choose it? How did you know that, out of the millions of possible names in the world, it was the name for you?

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Spoiler Alert: You picked a bad week to start reading my work, Mom.

A few nights ago I dreamed I was painting a picture with my own blood. Because I'm currently employed I had all fucking afternoon the next day to think about it and decide that I really liked the idea of it and pitched it to some friends of mine, one of whom is hosting an art show in November that I'm scheduled to perform at. If this were a vlog or photojournalist essay, I would try to replicate the faces that my friends made in response to my plan, and then you would comment “OH GOD I CAN SEE FOREVER” and then I'd find you on Facebook or Twitter and by the time we realize that neither of us read the fucking book and thus our entire friendship is based on a lie it'd be too late to get a refund on the tandem bike rental. Oh, did I mention that Lisa Harney, queen of all cosmos over at Questioning Transphobia, was in that room? Of course I didn't.

A friend who had the very best intentions and certainly could not have known at the time that their insight would be used to further postpone my job search day made the comparison between my concept and that of a glorious tradition in feminist art communities. Stretch out the reveal that my friend was referring to menstrual blood art for awkward comedic effect? Don't mind if I do!

Much to my alarm, I had never heard of this phenomena until that day. How do you miss something like that? I went to art school. Is this something cis lesbians make a point not to tell trans women? Am I going to walk into a room one day to see Julie Bindel waterboarding my friends out of the corner of my eye right before Nancy Grace tears my tongue out of my head with her bare hands? And what is Nancy Grace even doing in this nightmare scenario? She's neither a lesbian nor on my list of people I suspect to be body snatchers. Must not display male privilege. Must warn others.

Like when I came out to my father, I knew nothing good would come out of researching this, but I felt I had no choice; it was either that or endure another .02 seconds of peace and quiet.

To be honest I'm surprised I made it out alive. You see, while looking at pictures of menstrual blood paintings, I triggered a defect in my genetic code. I believe that squick and envy are never to be experienced at the same time, for evolutionary reasons. It's what keeps us from going “What? Todd got fucked by a horse and now he's in the hospital? Ugh, that's terrible, oh my god, I can't even begin to imagine that...know where they keep the horse at night?” Nonetheless, while gazing upon these disasterpieces, the streams crossed in my head, and I was both disturbed by what I saw and jealous of the cis women who had the anatomical means to produce such twisted wonder.

There is a misconception (more common than it should be which is really just my way of saying “I could have gone my whole life without hearing this said to me ONCE”) that I am lucky, or at least feel lucky, that I don't get a period. I have tried, on six seperate occasions, to write an intelligent negation of this very broken and very cissexist point of view without using language that could be interpreted to mean 1) I'm fetishizing something that, in my limited capacity as a MAAB person, I understand to be very unpleasant to those who have such biological processes and 2) like I'm insinuating that my lack of this process makes me less genuine or authentic of a woman, which is USDA approved bullshit. But image and ego must a backseat take. The longer I try to voice this eloquently and without creating problems the longer it festers in me. So if you'll be quiet for a minute, and promise not to make any sudden movements towards it, I'll take my radical honesty out its terrarium and you can look at it. No petting. Okay. Here goes.

To suggest that I'm grateful or feel I've beaten the system by not having these bodily functions that our culture deems vital in experiencing and understanding womanhood is so profoundly and thoroughly ignorant that it almost qualifies as depth. SRS and HRT are not a fucking mindwipe. Even if I can afford the surgery one day, and I retain my sensation, it will be a long time before I can peace with the fact that my vagina was man-made. So slavish is my desire for “female functionality” that I've been researching the inducing and lactation, and asking various people who should be in the know whether or not it's possible for a trans woman under the right circumstances to breast feed a child, because even though I'm years and years away from that reality, I know when it comes, if it comes, I will feel left out if I can't participate in that activity. I even asked my doctor, which in hindsight was far from an appropriate response to “keep up with the weight loss, you're looking great!” I sometimes whimper and cry during physical intimacy because of my discomfort and awkwardness with my factory-installed equipment. So, I forgot what the fuck we were talking about, but fuck you, you're wrong, I don't need your help rubbing my face in it.

Okay. That was enough honesty for one day (or...month).

I must clarify that I'm speaking solely of my experience and not those of other trans folk. In a way, I hope others don't relate, because I wouldn't wish these feelings on like, 88 percent of the people I hate. Seriously, who gets their dysphoria triggered by looking at pictures of menstrual blood? I can feel your disappointment in me, mother, and I accept it.

Also, I don't find the concept of painting with menstrual blood gross. No more gross than say, drawing small quantities of my blood over a span of time until I have enough to smear a treble clef or melody to a song I wrote on a canvas and then trying to get someone to pay me money for it. It just seems less hygenic in practice, which makes less sense the more you think about it. A great alternative to losing your fucking shit, if you can't afford a cult.

I know what you're thinking: Despite my reservations, would I make menstrual blood art, if I could? I think we both know the answer to that. We wish we could un-know, but we can't.

I'm rather uncomfortable with how personal this post was. I feel I should play us out with some words of wisdom. If you take nothing else from this article, keep this in mind: if you include stuff you've made out of duct tape in the portfolio you submit when applying to teach at an art school, go ahead and click the “receive notice when this e-mail is read” option because that's the closest thing to a reply you're gonna get.

Also, it's pronounced “Mish fest”, not “Mitch fest”. Stop that. The neighbors can see you.
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I really didn’t want to like “The Kids Are All Right.” I should be a huge supporter of it. A mainstream film about a lesbian couple, with the gorgeous Julianne Moore playing a bohemian femme? Sign me up. Yet something felt off about it. It felt almost too cookie cutter, too normal, too wonderful. Hollywood couldn’t get this kind of film right without some major issues. Maybe it’s some of that queer protectiveness, always needing to have our guards up, always needing to be ready with the critique. Daisy Hernandez gives a great review touching on some of the race issues with the film at Colorlines, but surely there must be some problems with how sexuality is presented as well, yes? However, I wanted to see it myself before passing any major judgments.

(Warning: some spoilers. Skip ‘til I tell you to read again if you want to be surprised).

The Kids was good. Really good. It was incredibly entertaining, well cast, and funny (awkward as hell, but funny). Because I was on-guard going into the film, naturally I found some problems with it. In what appears to be a women-focused film, the plot still centers around a man. The movie’s tagline especially gets under my skin: “Nic and Jules had the perfect family, until they met the man who made it all possible.” Ick. (Here’s an article on the Hathor Legacy explaining why the film “had” to be like this.)

Also, in a film about a gay couple, there are still more revealing and steamy sex scenes between a man and a woman than there are between the main couple. Yes, part of the plot is that Nic and Jules are going through a kind of mid-life lull in their sex life, but seeing what appears to be a lesbian woman boringly going down on her wife and then getting all freaky and alive again with her kids' biological father isn’t exactly what I’d like mainstream America to see of queer women’s sex lives.

Yet as I sat down to write this article, one I thought would be mainly a critique of the film, I couldn’t help thinking that I was falling into a self-fulfilling prophecy. I had hesitations about the movie, thus I searched for the problems I already assumed were there, and ta-da! I found them. Time for my oh-so-objective critique. So I thought about the movie more. I read interviews of director Lisa Cholodenko describing her thoughts while writing and creating the film. I considered what changes I would have liked to have seen done to the overall message. And while I still stand by the issues I described above, I realized they weren’t big enough to merit a negative critique. Overall, I really loved the movie.

One of the reasons I loved it was I feel it’s honest. Very honest. Honest like lesbians-watching-gay-male-porn honest. Honest like Jules eloquently and legitimately explaining to her son why some lesbians like to watch gay male porn honest. Believable conversations, realistic issues, and genuine outcomes. Do I have a problem with one of the moms sleeping with a man and feeling relief from the change? Yes. As a pansexual, do I understand and relate to it? Hell yeah. Do I want Jules and Nic to have marital problems, fight, and portray a strained relationship? Not necessarily. Is it accurate to the realities of life? Of course. Do I like the fact that the straight guy gets dumped on his ass and left to fend for himself at the end? Ok yes I do very much like that. Major props to Cholodenko for not going all L-Word on us and having the girl end up with the guy at the end of the film.

(No more spoilers! Come back!)

In a sense The Kids Are All Right mirrors a point theycallmevroom brought up a little while ago of not wanting their personal story to be the narrative of the trans community. Is this the narrative queer women want of their community? At first I thought not; there are one too many sexuality complexities for a mainstream audience to handle. But when I looked at my life more, looked at my friends lives, looked at lives I looked up to, they’re all complex. This film isn’t trying to fit into any box, it isn’t even necessarily catering to any particular audience. It is just portraying a believable story, which is more than most movies can boast. And yes, there are huge race and class issues at play here and they should have been better handled in the film. Even if it is “real-life” to ignore or sugar-coat race and class structures, it is racist and classist to do so and there’s already enough of that in the world – we don’t need it to be glamorized on-screen and an alternative, positive example of dealing with these issues would be nice to see.

My first instinct when I saw the mainstream doing something LGBT was to criticize it. Maybe I’ve just been disappointed one too many times by the HRC, who knows. But there’s enough internal criticism, battling, and discontent going on for now. Let’s just sit back and revel in an honest and successful effort for a little while.
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