Tuesday, November 11, 2008
New blog
I have added a new one to my blagosphere: Center of Gravitas. I've only dropped in on it a couple of times, but they've been rewarding visits. Here, for example, is GayProf's take on the incredibly frustrating post-Prop-8 racism:
Now there's a suggestion I haven't heard from any of the other angry queers currently storming the fortresses of the patriarchy. Fight not just for ourselves but for other oppressed people!? WHAT!? Many times have I heard the vague "reach out to people of color" advice, but here is a concrete way to do that, a way that may actually have an effect. Fabulous!
I am cross-posting this at my currently-empty LiveJournal, just to see if that generates some readership for this blag. If you're reading this at LJ, you won't see the Blagosphere sidebar or any of the posts leading up to this, so click on over to Brain Vomit and see what I'm talking about.
Moreover, I think that queer rights organizations need to be involved in bigger fights for economic and social justice. We ask other groups to join with us, but when was the last time a group like HRC campaigned for an issue facing the UFW?
Now there's a suggestion I haven't heard from any of the other angry queers currently storming the fortresses of the patriarchy. Fight not just for ourselves but for other oppressed people!? WHAT!? Many times have I heard the vague "reach out to people of color" advice, but here is a concrete way to do that, a way that may actually have an effect. Fabulous!
I am cross-posting this at my currently-empty LiveJournal, just to see if that generates some readership for this blag. If you're reading this at LJ, you won't see the Blagosphere sidebar or any of the posts leading up to this, so click on over to Brain Vomit and see what I'm talking about.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Toxic
There is a song that you may have heard. Performed by one Britney Spears, it is called "Toxic," and it is popular among certain crowds. I hate it.
On the evening of Wednesday, 5 November 2008, I was sitting in a little bar called Fiesta Cantina, located just east of the corner of Santa Monica and San Vicente. "Toxic" came on the jukebox, and things crystallized for me. "Toxic" represents, to me, a vast swath of the homosexual population with which I want nothing to do. These particular young, white, male homosexuals (I generalize, but it's fairly accurate) are interested in nothing but themselves. They are the stereotypical queens, the ones who get the rest of us dismissed as inconsequential and shallow. I have been a defender of these queens in the past, at least in my head, as I understand the value of surfaces and the need to care deeply about oneself when society seems to be telling you that you're not worth it. I really do understand this mentality, and I sympathize.
However. This is a population that we could not mobilize before election day. This is the group I tried to engage, week after week, only to be ignored because the dance floor was calling. This is the group that woke up, in part, on that Wednesday, and got angry. Too. Fucking. Late. Where the hell were they on Tuesday? Where the hell were they before Tuesday? What was so important every Thursday night and Saturday night when I stood out on the street for hours trying to get them to give some time and they walked on by--hoping to get into the bars before the cover charge went up?
These toxic queers make me incredibly angry. As I sat in Fiesta Cantina on Wednesday, surrounded by the bitter, depressed people who had worked so hard and come so close to victory without the help of the toxics, I decided that I was done with them. I am done with the pleasure-seekers and the party animals. I am done with the barflies and even more done with the Sunday brunchers. A subspecies of the toxic queens, the Sunday brunchers are older (still white and male), largely past their toxic days, and their self-involvement centers on food instead of dance. I am dangerously close to being one of them myself, which is why I make this declaration here. I. Am. Done.
If you pointedly ignored my polite approaches for weeks leading up to the election, you have no right to join me in the streets now. I will not turn you away (how could I?), as we need all the bodies we can get to make some noise, but there is no solidarity there. You didn't get it last week; you didn't believe me every time I told you that it would be decided by one percent of voters. And now we all pay the price for your self-centered complacency.
Too many good people sacrificed too much for this cause. How dare you cheapen it with your Johnny-come-lately symbolic activism. You are the toxin the queer community needs to purge.
(OK, I know this is harsh. This is my catharsis. I need this outlet now, though I'm sure I'll mellow soon. Right now, my mood is pretty damn toxic too.)
On the evening of Wednesday, 5 November 2008, I was sitting in a little bar called Fiesta Cantina, located just east of the corner of Santa Monica and San Vicente. "Toxic" came on the jukebox, and things crystallized for me. "Toxic" represents, to me, a vast swath of the homosexual population with which I want nothing to do. These particular young, white, male homosexuals (I generalize, but it's fairly accurate) are interested in nothing but themselves. They are the stereotypical queens, the ones who get the rest of us dismissed as inconsequential and shallow. I have been a defender of these queens in the past, at least in my head, as I understand the value of surfaces and the need to care deeply about oneself when society seems to be telling you that you're not worth it. I really do understand this mentality, and I sympathize.
However. This is a population that we could not mobilize before election day. This is the group I tried to engage, week after week, only to be ignored because the dance floor was calling. This is the group that woke up, in part, on that Wednesday, and got angry. Too. Fucking. Late. Where the hell were they on Tuesday? Where the hell were they before Tuesday? What was so important every Thursday night and Saturday night when I stood out on the street for hours trying to get them to give some time and they walked on by--hoping to get into the bars before the cover charge went up?
These toxic queers make me incredibly angry. As I sat in Fiesta Cantina on Wednesday, surrounded by the bitter, depressed people who had worked so hard and come so close to victory without the help of the toxics, I decided that I was done with them. I am done with the pleasure-seekers and the party animals. I am done with the barflies and even more done with the Sunday brunchers. A subspecies of the toxic queens, the Sunday brunchers are older (still white and male), largely past their toxic days, and their self-involvement centers on food instead of dance. I am dangerously close to being one of them myself, which is why I make this declaration here. I. Am. Done.
If you pointedly ignored my polite approaches for weeks leading up to the election, you have no right to join me in the streets now. I will not turn you away (how could I?), as we need all the bodies we can get to make some noise, but there is no solidarity there. You didn't get it last week; you didn't believe me every time I told you that it would be decided by one percent of voters. And now we all pay the price for your self-centered complacency.
Too many good people sacrificed too much for this cause. How dare you cheapen it with your Johnny-come-lately symbolic activism. You are the toxin the queer community needs to purge.
(OK, I know this is harsh. This is my catharsis. I need this outlet now, though I'm sure I'll mellow soon. Right now, my mood is pretty damn toxic too.)
Waking up
It has been about seven years since my last post. Or perhaps only three days. I can't quite wrap my head around the time elapsed. I am still not ready to blog the election and its aftermath. It will happen, I'm sure, but not yet.
Instead, some of everyday life. I had forgotten about everyday life, but it continues. Right now it continues mainly in the form of grading, grading, grading. Yesterday, I spent most of the day in tears, for various reasons, and the grading did not help. Today I woke up feeling healthier and happier (largely thanks to some key conversations with Trousers, The Mysterious X, Z2, and some others whose code names I have forgotten), and the grading seems less daunting. In fact, I just hit a run of SIX AWESOME PAPERS IN A ROW!! This is an amazing thing. My previous high was three in a row. What makes it even better is that only two of those six had first assignments that were at all decent. That means the other four improved between 10 and 20 points over the course of a week or so. Good for them.
Instead, some of everyday life. I had forgotten about everyday life, but it continues. Right now it continues mainly in the form of grading, grading, grading. Yesterday, I spent most of the day in tears, for various reasons, and the grading did not help. Today I woke up feeling healthier and happier (largely thanks to some key conversations with Trousers, The Mysterious X, Z2, and some others whose code names I have forgotten), and the grading seems less daunting. In fact, I just hit a run of SIX AWESOME PAPERS IN A ROW!! This is an amazing thing. My previous high was three in a row. What makes it even better is that only two of those six had first assignments that were at all decent. That means the other four improved between 10 and 20 points over the course of a week or so. Good for them.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Dead
I do not have the energy to appropriately deal with the events of yesterday. Stories will follow, but not yet. Here is one piece of bright news among the heaps of garbage: Milkshake introduced me to someone last night as his boyfriend. If my heart had not already been leaping wildly due to the election returns coming in, it would have leapt wildly at that choice word, which has never been applied to me before. To clarify: leaping is not necessarily a good thing (see "election returns coming in"), but it would have been a good leap for that particular tidbit.
Now to drag my carcass out of bed and back to work. Let's see if it still functions as human; 52% of Californians say it isn't.
Now to drag my carcass out of bed and back to work. Let's see if it still functions as human; 52% of Californians say it isn't.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The last ditch
If you read this blog, there is no way you need this reminder. However:
VOTE NO ON 8 TODAY
If you are LA-based, please come by the West Hollywood Dispatch Center, located at 7304 1/4 Santa Monica Boulevard. I will be there from about 5:30 AM until at least 9:00 PM. We can always, always use more volunteers, and I can train you there how to be the most efficient cog meshed into our campaign existence.
If you are not LA-based, please do whatever approximates praying for you, and please (Californians) get out in the streets with our signs and our stickers and let people know the truth! This is going to come down to just a few votes, and each person who sees our sign is one more person who understands that there are two positions here: hateful bigot or decent human being. End of story.
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