Washing My Mouth Out With Soap, or, I Swear To God I Wrote This Post Before...

...before I read this. Honest, I did. Really!! (God, I hate it when that happens!)

Oh, well... Let's move on.

Warning: this posting contains some nasty words. Epithets, to be specific. Words that ought never be used descriptively, even if members of the target community have reclaimed the words as their own. Words like kike. Breeder. Retard. Nigger. 

I've been thinking about the relationship between language and politics because of the recent controversy surrounding the film Ticked-Off Trannies with Knives. (Full disclosure: I haven't seen it.)  GLAAD objects to the film,  but at least one Transgender writer has defended the movie,  finding it more realistic in many ways than TransAmerica.

But what strikes me most is what the two viewpoints have in common: both agree that the word "tranny" is highly offensive.

I've heard the word used by people in the LGBTQ community in contexts that struck me as friendly.  Still, if a word is offensive to a significant number of the people to whom it refers, that's all I need to know. I'm quite content to leave it out of my own vocabulary. 

Which brings me to the whole "politically correct" thing.

I know, I know, political correctness is so ... twentieth century. In fact, these days it's downright politically incorrect to be politically correct.  Just a quaint but hopelessly outdated remnant of liberal do-good-ism. Positively unfashionable.

Well, no one has ever accused me of being on the cutting edge of fashion. So it probably won't surprise you that I embrace political correctness.

The basic diatribe against political correctness goes something like this: "We're sick of having to watch everything we do and say. You're way too sensitive, so we're gonna decide what's reasonable. Get over it." 

But wait a minute: If I can't determine whether calling someone a cunt is offensive (answer: most definitely yes), then who can? Who is better positioned than a gay man to say how it feels to be called a faggot? If the word "squaw" offends many Native American women, who on earth am I to say they're wrong?

Somewhere along the way, a fundamental component of civil discourse got highjacked: respect for the humanity of every participant. In its place is the condemnation of political correctness, which has morphed into a subtle form of blackmail:  "If you get offended by (insert whatever here), we will not only continue to offend you, we will also make you look ridiculous for being offended." This strategy is preemptive: marginalizing the other participant blocks dialogue even before it begins. It is, at its core, an ad hominem attack.

Well, fuck that shit. If I am to enter into meaningful dialogue, I first need to listen to you. Because, see, I don't get to define your agenda. Or even assume that I know what it is.   

And by the way: if the very best argument I can conjure up is that you're oversensitive, then I got seriously ripped off in law school and I want my money back.

I am perfectly willing to adjust my language to honor your personhood, even if our substantive views are galaxies apart.

Call it political correctness if you like. It still translates into respect.  And respect is never out of style.

Please Pass the Dramamine. Or Not.

If you were a kid growing up in Phoenix in the ‘70s, and your parents couldn’t figure out what on earth to do with you on a Saturday, they probably took (or banished) you to Legend City, our little western-y version of Six Flags. The only thing I remember about Legend City was my favorite attraction, the Dutchman’s Shack. The Shack was a tilt-house where bowling balls rolled uphill and water poured sideways. I loved that life-sized optical illusion. I loved the way it collided head-on with my brain and completely changed my perception of reality. Later I discovered that alcohol gave me the same effect.

Alas, Legend City was torn down decades ago, and it’s been a long, long time since alcohol did the trick. But I still think about that little shack and wish I could visit it (and my childhood) just one more time.

So you can imagine how happy I was to discover Dan Ng’s photographic exhibit, The Streets of San Francisco…But Flat? Looking at Ng's exhibit, I feel the same slightly disturbing, utterly enchanting collision between perception and reality.

I'd take Dramamine if I didn't like the buzz so much (the original formula, not that wimpy new stuff).

Hat tip to Good.Is.

In defense of feminazis

I adore my daughter. And all things considered, she tolerates me pretty well, too. We are well on our way to a happy friendship as she approaches adulthood. But when it comes to women’s rights, we are definitely not riding on the same train.

Here’s how the subject usually comes up: She loves Led Zeppelin and puts it on her mix CD, which we play in the car. I call the group sexist and refer to their music as “oppression rock.” She challenges me: what makes them sexist? I get performance anxiety and freeze. God, I used to know. What was so bad about it again? While I’m trying to think of the answer, I mumble incoherently about women as objects. She gives me a blank stare and tells me to lighten up. We move on to another subject.

To sum it up: My daughter feels pretty darned liberated, and she thinks it’s time for us old crones to relax already.  

Sometimes I want to give in to that seductive prospect myself.  We are all happy, we are all one, we are all fulfilled. We are woman, et cetera, et cetera.

 

When my kid thinks of “feminists,” she pictures bitter, crabby old women with birkenstocks and absolutely no sense of humor. And I have to admit, some of us fit that stereotype. Hey, I’m sorry, but some of us just do.

Of course, there are plenty of bitter, crabby old men too. Like Mr. Wilson  from the original Dennis the Menace TV show.

And the second Darrin from Bewitched.(The first Darrin was way more fun. Just sayin’.)

And Oliver Wendell Douglas from Green Acres. 

(By the way, I’ve lived Green Acres, and trust me, Oliver had every reason to be irritable.)

Anyway…

Once I’m away from the immediate performance pressure of being all-knowing Crunchy-Granola Mom (Oh, hey… maybe that’s who I can be for Superhero Bingo night!), it’s easier to remember why feminism is still relevant.

I was born in 1957. That’s only 37 years after women got the right to vote. The culture of my childhood reflected that. I wasn’t allowed to wear pants to school. I wasn’t allowed to take shop. In home economics, they taught me how to sew and shave my legs. Boys with pony tails didn’t have to wear bathing caps in the pool, but girls with buzz cuts (if there was such a thing) did. Before me, no girl had ever joined either of my high school's jazz bands, and I had to make my case before they let me in. In college, my economics professor explained economic theory using analogies about buying dinner for a woman and expecting to get laid in return.

I know, I know: That’s all in the past. And we really have come a long way, baby. But we’re not there yet. Our rights as women are still not acknowledged – much less protected – in the U.S. Constitution. Today, out of 100 U.S. senators, only 17 are women; in more than 200 years, there have been only 38 female senators. Just two months ago, the New York bar planned to present at its annual meeting “Their Point of View: Tips From the Other Side,” in which “[a] distinguished panel of gentlemen from the legal field will discuss the strengths and weaknesses of women in the areas of communication, negotiation, mediation, arbitration, organization, and women’s overall management of their legal work.”  We persnickety feminists were not amused, so we got it changed. 

Around the world, women are still subject to genital mutilation, honor killings, forced marriage, and other types of violence.

It comes down to this: I don’t want my daughter to have to wage the same battles as her foremothers and forefathers. Maintaining our rights requires vigilance, because while my kid enjoys the fruits of our forebears' labors, darker forces are biding their time.  

Now if I can just remember all this the next time we listen to Led Zeppelin.

So, I'm a little busy...

but I will be back soon.

In the meantime, check out Mark King's brand new site, My Fabulous Disease. www myfabulousdisease com.

Too Scary to Contemplate

Someone in my building has this bumper sticker. If it's a joke, it's pretty funny. If not, though...

...that's when I emigrate to Canada.

Funny or Die: Saturday Night Live Alumni Take On the Financial Crisis

Presented by mainstreetbrigade.org in support of the Consumer Finance Protection Act. Nice bit of satire by some legendary performers. I do admit, though, it took me a while to figure out that was supposed to be Jimmy Carter. Directed by Ron Howard.

Funny or Die's Presidential Reunion from Will Ferrell

Maryland AG Predicts Court will Recognize Out-of-State Same-Sex Marriages

Hooray! A state senator asked the Maryland Attorney General whether Maryland could recognize same-sex marriages that are valid where they were performed. In a 53-page opinion, the AG predicted that Maryland courts are likely to recognize such marriages. Note, though, that the question was whether the state could recognize such marriages, not whether it must. Indeed, the AG found that there is no requirement that valid same-sex marriages be recognized, but no prohibition, either.

It's a long opinion and I've gotta be somewhere, so I admit I haven't read the whole thing. So here are a couple links for real people, like me, who have shorter attention spans than, uh, lawyers like me.

Washington Post editorial
Christian Science Monitor

By the way, I disagree with the implication of both articles that the AG said Maryland must or should recognize such marriages. I didn't read the whole thing, but I'm not convinced that these writers did, either.

Happy Saturday, everyone!

Chicken. State Bird.

Wow. This is wrong on so many levels. A restaurant owner in Augusta, Georgia, has taken up an important cause on behalf of the people of this fair state. Currently, the state bird is the brown thrasher. That's this little guy (or gal) right here:

 

According to my research, the brown thrasher is state bird because the garden ladies, who are so wonderful at getting things done, got it done.

But now, rallying against those fine women is Chris Cunningham, who owns eight Wife Saver restaurants in Georgia and South Carolina.

I could just stop there. 

So anyway, Cunningham thinks the state bird ought to be the chicken. Yes, that's right. The chicken. As in cluck, cluck, cockadoodle doo. As in Henny Penny. But here, let Cunningham tell you:

 It's a pretty bird, nothing against the brown thrasher, but the chicken brings millions of dollars.

'People need to get online, call us, get a yard sign, ask for a t-shirt, do something,' Cunningham said. 'I just want to see how people think about it, and maybe the legislators might listen to us. At last the chicken will get a little respect out of the deal.'

 Yeah. I'm thinking Foghorn Leghorn and his peeps at the chicken factory farm would be so much happier if only they had some respect along with their hormone-spiked birdseed and two-cubic-inch cages.

I will say, though, that I'm touched at how Cunningham got the idea.  

 My wife and I, we sit on the patio and have a cocktail and we were sitting there thinking, ‘what a waste.' The brown thrasher is the state bird, and what's it ever done for the state of Georgia?

And I bet chickens all over Georgia have a major resentment over this terrible injustice. I know I would.

DISCLAIMER: I eat chicken. But I feel guilty about it. Really!

Lazy-Ass Librarian in the Kitchen

It seems that my domestic disposition knows no bounds.

I am taking time out of my frenetic day (okay, it's quarter to three in the morning and I can't sleep) to post links to two videos, both of which pertain to cooking baking.

The first item is Mark King's latest video-blog entry at The Body (see my review of his book here). Meaningful and honest conversation, plus a recipe for brownies to boot.



The second is an adorable stop-action video for making cookies. If cooking really worked this way, I think I'd be better at it.

Adobe Photoshop Cook from Lait Noir on Vimeo.

Now, I really must be going. I have a meeting in only, uh, 17 hours.

Hooray for Infant J and his Two Daddies!

Yesterday, in a carefully constructed and complex decision, the U.S. Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals ordered the state of Louisiana to issue a new birth certificate to a baby with two dads. In other words, Louisiana has to put both men's names on the certificate.

Waaaaiiiit a minute. Louisiana? Recognizing a same-sex adoption? Yes, indeed, courtesy of Ye Olde United States Constitution. The “Full Faith and Credit” clause, to be precise. That’s the part that says:

Full faith and credit shall be given in each state to the public acts, records, and judicial proceedings of every other state.

In other words, what a judge says in Vegas, doesn’t necessarily stay in Vegas.

So how did Louisiana get mixed up in such a sordid business? Here’s the background. Infant J was born in Louisiana. The happy dads who adopted him live in San Diego, but adopted the boy through a court in New York, where same-sex adoptions are legal. (I was going to say it’s sort of like rescuing a cat who lives in another state, but I thought better of it). J’s birth certificate listed ... I don’t know what it listed, but I presume it listed J’s birth parents. As is customary, the couple sought a new birth certificate listing both their names as parents.

Well, Louisiana didn’t much like that idea, so its Registrar of Records (the Poobah of Paperwork, if you will) said, uh, nope, we’re not gonna do that, cuz only married couples can adopt kids in our state.

The dads sued Louisiana in federal court, based on a couple different arguments. They argued, first, that the Full Faith and Credit clause of the United States Constitution says Louisiana has to honor the adoption. Second, they argued that the Registrar’s failure to issue the document violated the equal protection clause of the 14th amendment. (That civil rights stuff can be such a nuisance, can’t it?) I think there was a third reason but the opinion is 36 pages long and I don’t feel like reading it again.

The district (trial) court found that the Registrar’s argument was weak. Really weak. So weak, in fact, it ruled in favor the dads without even going through the bother of a trial (in legalese, it granted a summary judgment to J and his parents). The Registrar appealed.

Well, the federal appeals court for the Fifth Circuit affirmed the district court’s decision based on the Full Faith and Credit clause. Which is pretty darned cool, considering that the Fifth Circuit includes Louisiana, Mississippi and Texas. And the decision was unanimous.

I suppose I should explain the Full Faith and Credit Clause a little more. The clause has been interpreted to apply to court judgments. So, if a court decides something in New Jersey, a court in New Mexico can’t undecide it. Adoptions are court judgments, and have long been held subject to the Full Faith and Credit clause.

(The FFC does not, however, apply to statutes on matters about which each state is perfectly capable of making its own laws. That’s why gay marriages are probably not going to transport very well over state lines.)

Why this distinction between judgments and statutes? Dunno. Just because.

(hey, FFC law is actually kind of complex, and frankly, I just don’t have the patience to connect the dots, okay?).

Now, of course, Louisiana has the right to appeal the Fifth Circuit’s ruling on this to the Supreme Court. So little J may not see a new birth certificate until he’s growing facial hair.

But it’ll come. Yeah. It’ll come.

Thank you, Fifth Circuit, for moving us two steps forward.

Don't mess with grandma.

I recognized her immediately from last year’s legislative session: soft, shoulder-length grey hair curled in a flip; sparkling blue eyes looking fearlessly into mine with purpose and affection; brightly colored clothes selected for a lengthy bus commute; and a pull-along bag topped with miscellaneous stuff that made sense to her and was a mystery to me. Just like last year, she had traveled at least an hour by bus and train to voice her concerns to people of power.

Last year we talked for the first time as we waited for a committee meeting to begin. This year, we are old friends. She is one of the people I admire most at the capitol. No one pays her to appear at hearings. She has no slick presentations. She doesn’t even really know how committee meetings work, but that doesn’t stop her. She asks to speak regardless of the agenda, and the senators let her because it’s the polite thing to do.

She is the best our nation has to offer. A walking, talking civics lesson. A testament to representative government. And her efforts won't affect policy in the slightest.

But when she joins with tens, or hundreds, or thousands of these beautiful patriots, she becomes part of a force that can stare down the largest of corporations and the coldest of politicians.

Here come the Garden Club Ladies.

Watch and Vote - Dekalb School of the Arts - HighLeit - Eleanor Rigby

I know, I'm a shameless promoter of my kid's school. Hey, I'm a mother. It's part of the gig.

Now, vote!

Shopping: The Opera!

Don't you wish life was like the movies, where people just burst into song for no apparent reason?

Oh. Wait a minute. Life is just like that! Here is a little guerrilla art, for your enjoyment.

I love this stuff.

Checking my motives, damn it.

Time for a pop quiz. Multiple choice, of course:

This past weekend I attended a recovery-related function out of town, because I’m the representative for my organization. The host hotel was a fancy new Marriott, and my home group was perfectly happy to pay for a room there. I stayed at the Red Roof Inn instead. Why?

(a) I didn’t see the point in making my organization pay $100 a night when I could be perfectly comfortable for $50.
(b) To prove how wonderful I am.
(c) Because I have a death wish.
(d) Because I consider martyrdom a character asset.
(e) Because I didn’t want to be around all those recovering fools.
(f) All of the above.

I thought it was (a). Then someone pointed out how fabulously wonderful I am for saving my organization the money. That’s when I realized I wasn’t so wonderful after all. In about one second flat, I went from being Mother Teresa to Ann Coulter. (I don't know. She's just the most evil female I could think of.)

In fact, the correct answers are (a), (b), and (d). My motives were bad. And good. And, well, all over the place.

Surprisingly, (e) didn’t play into it at all. I like all those recovering fools. Okay. Most of them.

I’m no more wonderful – and no less wonderful, either – than anyone else. I like accolades but I also don’t mind a little pity now and then. All right, a lot of pity. Bring it on, honey.

The reason I am writing this post, of course, is because I want the world (all six of you!) to see how wise and well I am. And because it’s important to my recovery. And because I’m in denial about being self-centered. And because I like the attention I get when I say I have a blog. And…

Like I said.

Ways to help the people of Haiti

As the death toll continues to mount in Haiti, it's hard not to feel helpless and overwhelmed. But there are ways to help. No doubt you've already heard how to donate $10 to the Red Cross via texting. But there are other venues you may not have heard about. TakePart has put together a nice list that includes Doctors Without Borders, CARE, UNICEF, and much more. Hat tip to Good.is.

For Mark, on his Birthday

What a night! Even hours later, I still feel a bit overwhelmed. What a pleasure to experience the outpouring of love we all have for you (which of course was no surprise, but it was still breathtaking to witness). I’m so very grateful that you allowed me to be a part of it.

The evening verified what I’ve suspected all along – that you have had just as profound an effect on other people as you have had on me. Did you know that your “modest little show,” and your loving stewardship of it, was a turning point for so many?

Over the past year, you have altered the trajectory of people’s lives. You’ve done it by staying sober a day at a time; by embracing your many gifts with infectious and unbounded enthusiasm; by living life on life’s terms; and by following your heart even into the scary places. In short, you’ve done it by just becoming Mark in all of his sequined, sincere, and courageously imperfect glory and brilliance. You allowed God to work through you to help others; and because you did, some rivers now flow a different course. That’s a very powerful thing.

Thank you, Mark, thank you so much for being exactly who you are. I love you.

Here We Go Again...

Well, thank goodness Georgia's federal legislators are keeping an eagle eye out for loose morals in the District of Columbia:

Phil Gingrey joins fight against gay marriage in D.C.

The comments, by the way, are fun, too. Jim Galloway gets some pretty, ummm, opinionated readers.

Posted using ShareThis

Equality, Special Rights, and Gay Marriage

Today, let's take a brief look at a favorite conservative argument against gay marriage: that allowing same-sex marriage would result in special rights for the LGBT community.

The gist of the argument is this: Everybody already has the same marriage rights. After all, gay people and straight people alike can marry people of the opposite sex. Allowing same-sex marriage, then, would grant special rights to homosexuals. We'd have MORE rights than straight people and that's just not fair.

This argument might make some sense if same-sex marriage would be permitted only within the queer community. However, I have yet to see any proposed legislation that would prohibit straight people from marrying same-sex partners.

Thus, just as gays are free now to marry someone of the opposite sex, straights would be just as free to marry someone of the same sex. Same-sex marriage, then, would not implicate special rights for anyone. On the contrary, it would expand the rights of everyone.

Conservatives might well counter-argue that the right to marry someone of the same sex means nothing to them, because they have no interest in forming such a union.

We get that. In fact, that's exactly our point. The right to marry someone of the opposite sex means nothing to us, either. You can't make one argument without addressing the other.

Still, when you come right down to it, conservatives are correct in identifying same-sex marriage as a special-rights issue, because it is: it's about the special rights of those in power to deny fundamental constitutional rights to a particular minority. It's the special right to discriminate against a select demographic.

And that, I think, is just about as American as Joe McCarthy.

2009 Transgender News Stories

Dr. Jillian T. Weiss at Bilerico has assembled a nice timeline of trans news items for 2009 with links to articles. A couple of notable step forward:

The expansion of the federal hate crimes act to cover crimes against LGBT and disabled people.

Election of the first openly transgender mayor in the US, compliments of Silverton, Oregon

Missing from her list, but covered in a separate post, is Obama's appointment of Amanda Simpson, a transgendered woman, to the post of Senior Technical Advisor at the Department of Commerce.

As one might expect, not all the news was good last year. But one day at a time, one heart at a time, one court and one legislature at a time, the transgendered, gay, lesbian, and bisexual communities continue to move forward.

Here's to more progress in 2010 for all of us.

Kuroshio Sea - 2nd largest aquarium tank in the world - (song is Please don't go by Barcelona)

Happy New Year, everyone. I was going to put something edgy or trippy or political on here, but opted instead for serenity. Enjoy!