Ah, mountains, hiking trails, lakes and streams. I am busy conquering the great outdoors one mountain at a time, but will return to blog again in mid-July!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
What the Body Remembers...
Through our brains, our bodies store memories of experience. Most times these are traumatic events because the imprinting that most well-defined is accompanied by adrenaline and other hormones produced by stress.
I've noticed this lately because, since my house was robbed, I have a physical sensation of fear when I enter the back bedroom after coming home from work. I go there first to make sure the drawers are in their proper places and all is as it should be. The sensation, obviously, comes from memory although, rationally, there is no psychological reason that it should persist. Yet persist it does and in other species as well.
I had a cat, Baba Ganoush, who lived to the ripe old age of 21. In her kitten-hood she had a traumatic experience with an orange. I was peeling it and it squirted her in the eye. For the remainder of her long life, whenever she saw or smelled an orange being opened, she would begin to squint, even if she was across the room. Her body held the memory of that experience until she died.
My partner, D., was attacked in her apartment nearly 40 years ago when she was a college student. The other day as she was still sleeping and, standing beside the bed, I touched her arm to wake her. From her sleep, she screamed and pulled away from my hand. Her body remembered that night, so very long ago, when she woke to find a stranger on top of her. It is similar to the post-traumatic stress that soldiers experience after they have come home from war, a terrible and stunning reminder of the way negative experience shapes and changes us.
Do we ever really escape our history? Yes, we can move on, achieve, accomplish and evolve. But in the convoluted pathways of our brains we carry all the danger signals that we have ever received, along with the positive and neutral feelings, smells and sensations of memory. Memory traces that can return when these areas of our brains are re-stimulated by circumstance or even drugs.
Whenever I have painful dental work done, I enjoy escaping into the fog of nitrous-oxide gas. Often, it takes me back to specific situations in my youth. In one nitrous episode, I was playing my guitar, something I hadn't attempted for over fifteen years. It inspired my to go under my bed and retrieve the instrument and see what I could do with it. Unfortunately, my guitar playing turned out to be even worse than I'd remembered. My memory of notes, chords and songs left a lot to be desired. I'm sure my brain and body are aware that my life is not dependent on musical skill or expertise. And, for that, I am eternally grateful.
I've noticed this lately because, since my house was robbed, I have a physical sensation of fear when I enter the back bedroom after coming home from work. I go there first to make sure the drawers are in their proper places and all is as it should be. The sensation, obviously, comes from memory although, rationally, there is no psychological reason that it should persist. Yet persist it does and in other species as well.
I had a cat, Baba Ganoush, who lived to the ripe old age of 21. In her kitten-hood she had a traumatic experience with an orange. I was peeling it and it squirted her in the eye. For the remainder of her long life, whenever she saw or smelled an orange being opened, she would begin to squint, even if she was across the room. Her body held the memory of that experience until she died.
My partner, D., was attacked in her apartment nearly 40 years ago when she was a college student. The other day as she was still sleeping and, standing beside the bed, I touched her arm to wake her. From her sleep, she screamed and pulled away from my hand. Her body remembered that night, so very long ago, when she woke to find a stranger on top of her. It is similar to the post-traumatic stress that soldiers experience after they have come home from war, a terrible and stunning reminder of the way negative experience shapes and changes us.
Do we ever really escape our history? Yes, we can move on, achieve, accomplish and evolve. But in the convoluted pathways of our brains we carry all the danger signals that we have ever received, along with the positive and neutral feelings, smells and sensations of memory. Memory traces that can return when these areas of our brains are re-stimulated by circumstance or even drugs.
Whenever I have painful dental work done, I enjoy escaping into the fog of nitrous-oxide gas. Often, it takes me back to specific situations in my youth. In one nitrous episode, I was playing my guitar, something I hadn't attempted for over fifteen years. It inspired my to go under my bed and retrieve the instrument and see what I could do with it. Unfortunately, my guitar playing turned out to be even worse than I'd remembered. My memory of notes, chords and songs left a lot to be desired. I'm sure my brain and body are aware that my life is not dependent on musical skill or expertise. And, for that, I am eternally grateful.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Pride, Assimilation and History
I did a lot of parading, marching and observing this past weekend commemorating 41 years of open gay and lesbian pride. I attended the rally prior to the Dyke March as well as the Pride Parade here in San Francisco, as much out of habit as committment. The events were huge. Gone are the days when heterosexuals feel shame and fear that they may be mistaken for queer at events like these.
An article on salon.com by, what I assume is a young lesbian, (she refers to herself as a "girl" which, in my generation meant a female child under 12), who believes that "pride" is only applicable in situations where a person actually accomplishes something. After reading it I'm sure that I am very proud to be queer. It's true, I didn't choose it. But I have chosen to be open about it since I was 18 and 42 years of braving the winds of hatred and oppression is something to be proud of. So much has accomplished so much in my lifetime.The victory of same-sex marriage in NY signals that we are well on the road to full civil rights and societal acceptance.It makes me wonder if we will see the total of assimilation of queers into the social fabric.
Another minority community of which I am a member has assimilated considerably in my lifetime. At some point in the future, full-blooded Jews, like myself, will be very rare, almost non-existent. The religion will thrive, of course, but what of our angst-ridden, self-deprecating, humorous and intellectually overactive culture? It is already disappearing.
Will the Nelly Queen and the Stone Butch go the way of the Yiddish language? The toll of oppression and discrimination is overwhelmingly negative. But there are also positive aspects to outsider identity. Pinky rings, code words, belonging to a special club, these are the obvious ones. But viewing oneself as part of a larger whole, a strong community that has proven its mettle in the face of adversity can be something precious, yet somewhat inexplicable to folks who have never experienced it.
Queer folks still have a long way to go before we have to worry about this issue. Will anyone gay, lesbian, straight, trans or gender indeterminate have the right to a secure job in the future? A place to live? Enough to eat? I think the problems of the upcoming not-so-brave new world will defy simplistic and self-limiting labels.
Buddhism, a philosophy I respect greatly, stresses that we are all one and need to let go of our stories, our attachment to the trappings of the past that separate us from our universal humanity. I can see the rationale of this approach but also feel that "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." In that spirit I am compelled to tell my story as well as listen to yours. With pride.
An article on salon.com by, what I assume is a young lesbian, (she refers to herself as a "girl" which, in my generation meant a female child under 12), who believes that "pride" is only applicable in situations where a person actually accomplishes something. After reading it I'm sure that I am very proud to be queer. It's true, I didn't choose it. But I have chosen to be open about it since I was 18 and 42 years of braving the winds of hatred and oppression is something to be proud of. So much has accomplished so much in my lifetime.The victory of same-sex marriage in NY signals that we are well on the road to full civil rights and societal acceptance.It makes me wonder if we will see the total of assimilation of queers into the social fabric.
Another minority community of which I am a member has assimilated considerably in my lifetime. At some point in the future, full-blooded Jews, like myself, will be very rare, almost non-existent. The religion will thrive, of course, but what of our angst-ridden, self-deprecating, humorous and intellectually overactive culture? It is already disappearing.
Will the Nelly Queen and the Stone Butch go the way of the Yiddish language? The toll of oppression and discrimination is overwhelmingly negative. But there are also positive aspects to outsider identity. Pinky rings, code words, belonging to a special club, these are the obvious ones. But viewing oneself as part of a larger whole, a strong community that has proven its mettle in the face of adversity can be something precious, yet somewhat inexplicable to folks who have never experienced it.
Queer folks still have a long way to go before we have to worry about this issue. Will anyone gay, lesbian, straight, trans or gender indeterminate have the right to a secure job in the future? A place to live? Enough to eat? I think the problems of the upcoming not-so-brave new world will defy simplistic and self-limiting labels.
Buddhism, a philosophy I respect greatly, stresses that we are all one and need to let go of our stories, our attachment to the trappings of the past that separate us from our universal humanity. I can see the rationale of this approach but also feel that "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." In that spirit I am compelled to tell my story as well as listen to yours. With pride.
Labels:
assimilation,
gay pride,
history,
labels
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Bending Under the Weight...
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| A Heavy Burden |
A 59 year old North Carolina guy robbed a bank, demanding only one dollar because he decided that prison would be the best place to get free health care to have a painful tumor in his chest treated. But because he didn't take much or have a weapon, he might not get the full three years of care that he was counting on.
New York State will vote on same-sex marriage tomorrow and Obama, who will be doing a fundraiser for LGBT folks. The ticket prices for this donation event range from $1,250 to $35,8000. Will he have any words of wisdom, even though his opinion is still "evolving" on the question of full civil rights for queer folks.
Housing prices are dropping, temperatures are rising, storms are brewing, collective bargaining rights are being legislated out of existence, the public sector salaries, benefits and pensions are being raided and drained and we now have a class of permanently unemployed and unemployable ex-workers. Income inequality is becoming an impassable abyss and the U.S. infrastructure is decaying.
The US postal service has stopped paying into retirement for its employees and will no longer have mail delivery on Saturdays. Postal collection boxes have all but disappeared from street corners.
I attended a reading at a local newly opened bookstore. Amazingly, they didn't have any restrooms for the use of those attending. This is the first time I've ever come across an issue like this at a public place in the United States. Even in places like Mexico and Turkey public facilities exist although they might not be all that clean.
Just coming out of the BART station to work this morning all the escalators were out of service and have been all week. I have no idea how disabled patrons are getting to street level.
In the vain hope of finding some solution to these problems, my partner and I went to a moveon.org meeting. We were quickly identified as an enemy element because, along with a few other group members, we were pushing for more concrete, activist solutions, instead of just their standard "house parties." The presenter informed us that to have any kind of a mass mobilization she would have to get permits and insurance very far in advance. I'm old enough to remember organizing situations where LGBT rights were being rescinded state by state and we just showed up and marched. Well mentioning the memory of another type of organizing got us both labeled troublemakers and not "real" Americans. To the moveon leadership."real" Americans don't live in Berkeley and have political sympathies with the "family values" bunch. Nightmares in the face of their attempt to "save the American dream," they even removed our names from their email list.
It's enough to make a sane person throw in the towel. Americans are depressed, despondent completely resigned to the doom and destruction that awaits us. And our mainstream political parties and organized groups are not helping us out of our deepening rut. Zapata said, "It's better to live on your feet than die on your knees!" I guess that until we can stand up, we'll just keep crawling along.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Lesbian Bloggers vs Male Impostors
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| Will Submit DNA Upon Request |
The blog, "Gay Girl in Damascus," supposed written by a Syrian lesbian, was exposed to be a fake when its creator, Tom McMaster a 40 year old white, male heterosexual, went too far and had his avatar undergo a political kidnapping so he could take a vacation in Istanbul free from the need to post.
To add insult to injury, LezGetReal an informative news blog turns out to be the creation of Bill Graber a 58 year old white, heterosexual male from Dayton Ohio, who under the fake identity of Paula Brooks, edited the site that claims to be, "A Gay Girl's View of the World." It's funny, I just assumed that the patronizing nature of that slogan represented a generational divide, not an impostor situation. You know how those young dykes don't seem to mind the use of words like: girl, lady and Mam, the way us old-school feminists do. God, Rachel Maddow uses them regularly!
A couple of other guys have been unmasked as well but the big question that remains, particularly for us actual lesbian bloggers is why?
We all know that the guys are kind of titillated by the whole lesbian thing but that doesn't explain it. And due to male, white, heterosexual privilege, most of them believe that they can do anything better than those of us who suffer under the weight of some kind of oppression. Oddly enough, that encompasses the belief that they can be better women than biological females. See the abominable movie "Tootsie," again if you don't believe that's true.
But posing as an online lesbian? I can only deduce that these boys have come to think that perhaps women do have something they covet, especially if they don't have to deal with the discrimination part of the equation. And lesbians occupy a market niche that still has more room than other niches, due, in part, to REAL oppression. Yes, we dykes, especially of my generation, are not as skilled at promoting ourselves and doing concrete, constructive things in the real world because we were raised to be women and to despise ourselves on many levels. It is a lot to overcome, so in the gap period when some of us struggle toward competence and self-acceptance, opportunist males see another opening in which to thrust their aspirations.
One other thing that, I bet, plays a role, is that lesbians don't have relationships with men. So, while they're posing as that queer gal, other women might begin corresponding with them. McMaster did have a romantic email relationship with a woman sympathetic to his character's plight. And being lesbian women eliminates the whole specter of male sexual activities of which they want no part.
Labels:
bloggers,
heterosexuals,
lesbians,
male
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Alas, We're Not in Athens...
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| Recent Protest in Athens |
Here, judges were at work on both sides of the struggle. Justice James Ware struck down the ridiculous and fallacious notion that he should have recused himself from the proposition 8 decision due solely to the fact he is a gay man in a long-term relationship. Ware is an African-American who immediately recognized the civil rights implications of this type of "reasoning."
However, in Wisconsin the state Supreme Court ruled that Judge Maryann Sumi overstepped her authority by throwing out the late night, Republicans only vote for governor Scott Walker's bill stripping workers of collective bargaining rights. As it now stands public workers, except for police and firefighters, will undergo pay cuts that average about 8% of their salaries. The unions are putting together a lawsuit based on the fact that the bill illegally discriminates between classes of employees for the soul purpose of political payback.
This war against workers is not only destructive to working people but to the entire American economy. Robert Reich's article "Why the Republican War on Workers Undermines the American Economy," lays it all out there. Keep up the good work R.R.!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
She Came in Through the Bathroom Window...
Yes, it was a she and she really did what the song says. My house was burglarized last week by two teenaged girls. The local police have them in custody now and they are singing up a storm. While I was at work, in broad daylight, one of them kept watch on my front porch while the other one removed a screen, opened a window and propelled herself inside through an opening 18" by 19." Nothing that an average-sized man could accomplish.
Once inside she rummaged through my bedroom drawers looking for jewelry. Perhaps this was after she was in the living room and saw my old-fashioned box television that requires a signal decoder to operate and my 2002 Dell computer tower. At that point she probably wished she'd spent her time hauling her ass elsewhere, but to make the best of a bad situation she rummaged through the bedrooms.
I could tell she knew her jewelry because she left most of my low-budget silver rings and earrings (except for a few she must have fancied) and went straight for the gold. Unfortunately for me, the only gold jewelry I have was my mother's. I kept it separately in what I thought was a good hiding place but, obviously I was mistaken.
My mother had a different philosophy on purchasing things than I do. She believed it was more meaningful to have a few very nice items than a whole pile of inexpensive, colorful ones. Our jewelry reflects very different theories of acquisition.
So my robber girls went off with the good stuff. The cops in my home city have been fabulous throughout this entire ordeal. They dusted for prints, kept me informed of everything and one of them even went out to the bushes near a park at 1 AM to retrieve some of my belongings.
As a young person I hated cops. They represented the enemy. In high school, I was a druggie and a shoplifter, ( I never would have broken into a house), so I avoided encounters with them. In college I was a political activist so I fought them, and later, as an out lesbian, who was perceived as an outlaw by the powers that be, the animosity continued.
But, of late, since the series of pension attacks on public sector workers, I have found myself regarding them more like brothers and sisters who hold very difficult, life threatening jobs. In the Wisconsin uprisings cops and firefighters were on the front lines, even though Scott Walker tried to separate them and their issues off; a blatant divide and conquer strategy.
One officer told me that the girl who was in my house lives with her grandmother a few streets away. This extra information serves to make me less afraid when I am at home alone. Perhaps, it also makes me a bit more understanding. Is it karma, are my chickens finally coming home to roost? If so, I hope my debt is now cleared and they can lay the rest of their eggs elsewhere.
Once inside she rummaged through my bedroom drawers looking for jewelry. Perhaps this was after she was in the living room and saw my old-fashioned box television that requires a signal decoder to operate and my 2002 Dell computer tower. At that point she probably wished she'd spent her time hauling her ass elsewhere, but to make the best of a bad situation she rummaged through the bedrooms.
I could tell she knew her jewelry because she left most of my low-budget silver rings and earrings (except for a few she must have fancied) and went straight for the gold. Unfortunately for me, the only gold jewelry I have was my mother's. I kept it separately in what I thought was a good hiding place but, obviously I was mistaken.
My mother had a different philosophy on purchasing things than I do. She believed it was more meaningful to have a few very nice items than a whole pile of inexpensive, colorful ones. Our jewelry reflects very different theories of acquisition.
So my robber girls went off with the good stuff. The cops in my home city have been fabulous throughout this entire ordeal. They dusted for prints, kept me informed of everything and one of them even went out to the bushes near a park at 1 AM to retrieve some of my belongings.
As a young person I hated cops. They represented the enemy. In high school, I was a druggie and a shoplifter, ( I never would have broken into a house), so I avoided encounters with them. In college I was a political activist so I fought them, and later, as an out lesbian, who was perceived as an outlaw by the powers that be, the animosity continued.
But, of late, since the series of pension attacks on public sector workers, I have found myself regarding them more like brothers and sisters who hold very difficult, life threatening jobs. In the Wisconsin uprisings cops and firefighters were on the front lines, even though Scott Walker tried to separate them and their issues off; a blatant divide and conquer strategy.
One officer told me that the girl who was in my house lives with her grandmother a few streets away. This extra information serves to make me less afraid when I am at home alone. Perhaps, it also makes me a bit more understanding. Is it karma, are my chickens finally coming home to roost? If so, I hope my debt is now cleared and they can lay the rest of their eggs elsewhere.
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