Vi-Char’s Customized Mish-Mash

Jane and I are in Vermont to attend a workshop on disabilities training, which begins tomorrow. We’ve managed to get in some talk about writing and life and general gossip, but she has to respond to papers. Witness how diligently she works.

Jane, working.

Meanwhile, I am working on an outline. My deadline: June 30, or thereabouts. Actually, I finished, but writing the explanation that will accompany it is the hard part.

Jane and I work well together, or more accurately, not quite together. She does her thing, and I do mine.

However, I’m distracted by the scary, pee-colored lighting. And there’s a portrait of a woman in Victorian garb with bows on her shoulders and around her neck.  She is understandably bug-eyed. We worry that Violet-Charlotte (our name for her, or Vi-Char for short) suffocated while being photographed.

Jane says the same portrait is hanging in her room in the same spot on the same wall. The layout of our rooms is the same, although each room has a customized mish-mash of decor that is at once 60s, 80s, colonial, and lodge–yet achieves the style or comfort of none of these. The portrait only adds to the feeling of unease, despite Vi-Char’s dedication to watching over everything.

Stars

I wanted feathered bangs like Farrah’s.

I wanted to make the sidewalk light up with each step as Michael did in the “Billie Jean” video.

Farrah’s cleavage turned me on when I was a kid, mainly because I thought I wasn’t supposed to see it, even though that beaded gown was designed to show it off, and that photo was on the cover of Time for all to see.

Michael moved his body in oddly graceful ways that put me in a trance. I don’t care if it makes me one of the mindless masses; his moonwalk was thrilling to watch, even when he lip-synched.

Both of them worried too much about how they looked and went too far with cosmetic surgeries. They were beautiful. Maybe didn’t realize it. Or maybe they did and hoped they could preserve their youth.

I won’t think about this for long. I wasn’t a big fan of either. It was impossible not to notice them, though. They were big, bright stars, and I was a kid who wanted to matter. They were there for me to admire, and no one gave me a reason not to.

They seem like people I once knew well, but at some point, we grew apart.

Remembering them is a pleasant distraction, not sorrowful at all, except for remembering how sad I was back then and how much time I spent gazing at stars, hunting for my place in the constellations.

On Yesterday’s Episode of “I’m a Politician…Get Me Out of Here!”

Bored with the violence against Iranians by their own government, many US news outlets chose Gov. Mark Sanford’s disappearance/affair as yesterday’s top story. Temporarily interesting? Sure. He has been lying, shirking duties, lying some more, and finally in a lengthy, rambling statement that was strangely fascinating and satisfyingly eyerolling, revealed himself to be an uberhypocrite.

This kind of behavior is laughable, and I laugh. I can’t help but succumb to the irony. Sanctity of traditional marriage? My ass! It’s a real knee-slapper.

But there isn’t much news in his particular story. Another straight male politician screwed someone who wasn’t his wife, then apologized profusely to said wife and their children and his constituents, et al. Add a tally mark, and leave plenty of room for the next.

My laughter is dying pretty quickly this time. I’m disgusted to watch one more champion of so-called traditional marriage make a mockery of commitment. He has revealed the meaninglessness of that cause, although it’s doubtful the message will get through to those who need to hear it.

Mainstream coverage has split into the usual three camps: 1) critics who deride him viciously and/or humorously; 2) supporters who insist we not rush to judgment; 3) gawkers who wonder how-do-these-things-happen, which usually leads to the usual Mars/Venus bullshit.

Meanwhile, families led by same-sex couples, who do honor their commitments and avoid such drama in their lives, don’t have equal rights, which makes life more challenging and expensive than it needs to be. That’s what’s news. Granted, it’s not exactly breaking news. “Alternative” outets have been covering it and will no doubt continue to do so. Mainstream media continue to focus on whether or not politicians like Sanford will hold on to their power and money, not who they’ve fucked over to get it.

Which One of You Guys Is the Woman?

The debate over marriage equality centers on the legitimacy of same-sex marriage. Opponents claim that our relationships are not natural.

I’m less and less convinced that all of them are that concerned about sex. Sure, imagining two men or two women having sex may be a big gross-out for some, but those people–a specific cohort of puritans, I would guess–believe it’s wrong for anybody to have any fun. They have imagined every possibility of what-goes-where and have generously overestimated the sexual repertoires of most everyone, regardless of orientation.

The cause of marriage equality is not well served by stereotyping our opponents, most of whom are probably more concerned than terrified. They feel that marriage can only be valid between a man and woman and is the basis of our society. Their feeling is strong enough that they resist reconsidering the definition, and are unwilling to consider the historical significance of same-sex relationships. When the divorce rate in the U.S. is mentioned, they claim that it has been grossly exaggerated. Etc. Etc. Since feelings motivate them, believing is seeing, and data is suspect.

What confuses many opponents of same-sex marriage is that our relationships are about a lot more than sex.

Who Put the “Blah” in Blogging? Oh, I Did.

The title of my last post explains why it’s been five months since I’ve written here. I had enjoyed blogging but hit a wall and hit it hard. I thought too much about audience and shut down. Basic Peter Elbow stuff.

It didn’t help that I know some terrific bloggers who balance head and heart in their writing while posting enough content to readers interested. Most important, they care what readers think, but they’re really doing it for themselves, which is a generous gift to one’s readers.

Not posting felt good for about a month. Then I wanted to but got busy with my day job, so I didn’t have time to focus on blog posts that mattered-but-not-that-much. So I didn’t post, but the not-doing didn’t feel good so much as it felt relieving, as it does when I avoid the pressure of other challenges that I really don’t want to avoid. Writing, even a silly ole blog, meant too much. What could I write about writing, tutoring, teaching, learning, politics, being gay, and other topics important to me, that hadn’t been said before and more effectively?

I’m not fishing for compliments. I know that I’ve written some things that others have enjoyed for whatever reason. The point is that I tripped myself up. I fell to the ground, and it was just too easy to lie there.

It’s like party conversation. You’d find me near a corner or along a wall talking to one or two people, getting really into the discussion and probably saying geniunely interesting things I didn’t realize I’d be talking about. I love that. I’d also love to be the person who feels comfortable making the announcement about the honored guest. Sure, I could do that kind of thing, but would forget what I meant to say and, instead, say genuinely disjointed things I never meant to be talking about.