Gender stuff.

I wrote this recently in response to a question about what it means to me to be a woman or a man, and what it means to become one or the other:

I am not changing into a man. I was not always a man in a woman's body. To me, manhood and womanhood are constructed. The portions of my identity which are closely related to my body, my sexual orientation, and those social characteristics which people associate with one gender or another make up what I call my gender identity, for short. These characteristics are: body: flat chest, wiry build, narrow hips, little subcutaneous fat, non-menstruating sexual: homocompatible bisexual person-- that is, I want to be a man in a relationship with another man, but tend to think of myself as more androgyne in a relationship with a woman; desire to penetrate my lovers in a giving way social: strong, outwardly controlled, inwardly passionate, honorable, to be called by male pronouns and terms of address, in control of situations, protective. This happens to more closely resemble, in my mind and due to the way my society and I have negotiated the construction of gender, a particular kind of what is called a "man". It has become important to me that I am allowed to participate in society as that particular kind of man. The easiest way for this to happen is to cultivate some outward signifiers of manhood. It is also highly important to me to interact with my lovers in a way which is in harmony with this construction of myself. It is less important but still fairly necessary to my happiness that some or all of the bodily characteristics that I associate with this kind of manhood start to match up. I am aware that many of these qualities do not seem like things which must necessarily be gendered, but to me they are permanently entangled with my gender identity.

If I were to sum up my "destination", I would have to say that it is to not have to negotiate my gender identity/role on a daily basis; to have some correct assumptions made about me by strangers and to have a certain pleasure in challenging the wrong ones; to match strength with strength and tenderness with tenderness with my lovers; to feel like my body is my own and not a tether which binds me to an unwanted social role.

Today I noticed that when strangers assume I am a woman and treat me as such, I have a habit of femming in order to match their expectations. I suspect I've been doing this all my life, so well I fooled myself despite all my self-analysis, and it's STILL hard to break the habit. Even though now it causes me almost physical pain. I don't want to have to keep doing that.

Nor do I want to "macho up" to meet people's expectations when they assume I'm a kind of man that I'm not. But I feel more comfortable challenging those expectations or ignoring them.

I think this is about as lucid as I've ever gotten about my gender stuff. It's all getting clearer and clearer now, and I'm so glad I'm doing what I'm doing with my life.

Recently I remembered something about my childhood that also made things clearer. When I was really young, in kindergarten, I made a boy's name out of reversing my given name. I decided he was the boy in mirrorland who was me/everything I wanted to be. That he was a boy just seemed natural to me at the time. I was also asking my mom to part my hair on the side because it looked more like a boy's hairstyle to me. It might have been around the same time, or slightly before or slightly after, that I cut my chin trying to shave like dad.

Do these things "prove" I'm "really" "trans"? No. But they help me understand my whole experience in terms of an overarching narrative, and build a unified identity out of the many facets of myself.

RIP, Doctor Thompson

You robbed us of the one person capable of chronicling the age of misrule with sanity and humor. God bless you, you bastard. Mahalo.

To the Gentleman who Claimed I Broke His Stereo, Temporarily

Dear Sir:

You left your car outside my apartment for ten minutes with your car stereo blaring at a truly distracting volume. You left your car unattended and with the keys inside, with all windows open. Your taste in corporate radio, by the way, leaves something to be desired.

I did leave a note upon your windshield requesting, in rather curt terms, that you be more considerate in the future. Before I did this, I looked into the window, without placing my head or hand or any part of my body into your vehicle, to ascertain that there was no one in the car and to marvel at the carelessness with which you treated your valuable property. At no time did I touch your radio, which you can verify by having it dusted for fingerprints-- or rather you could if you had not already destroyed any hope of this returning results.

The radio was still going when I returned to my room, as you know because you were already approaching your car.

I suggest, if you are concerned about your property, that you secure your vehicle before leaving it for an extended period. As it is, when you returned and said that although your radio was working again you had filed a complaint because it is illegal to look into a parked vehicle or leave a note on the windshield, I about busted a gut. Of course it isn't; that's ridiculous. To check, I called a friendly and helpful law enforcement officer, and he laughed too.

Perhaps your radio ceased to work because you had overtaxed its sad little speakers by blaring crap through it at maximum volume for an extended period of time? Or because you saw me looking into your car and thought you could get money out of me?

You fool. Bother me no more with your baseless ramblings.

Sincerely,
Apt. 2

So what's Oakland-- "The Collection of Houses"?

Here's the rundown on my trip to The City:

We had to get Rew's models there somehow. After spending an hour on the phone with the TSA, who assured me that yes, a sealed box full of foam-cor models held together by perhaps a round dozen one-inch pins was an imminent threat to national security, truth, justice, and American morals, I ran to his house to grab the models and try to pack them somehow. Failing, I dragged them off to the UPS store where a kindly woman packed them for me, making the UPS guy wait so she could ship them next day delivery. Unfortunately, I just didn't have that hundred and fifty dollars. So she unpacked them, repacked them better, and suggested that we risk them as checked baggage. So we did. And she's getting a medal, because they made it there intact.

We walked a good thirty blocks to find an Office Despot, when there turned out to be one right around the corner from our hotel. Rew made a fantabulous display of all his work in almost no time at all-- or maybe it just seemed that way to me because I was asleep-- and then trekked off to the Embarcadero, another sixteen blocks or so, each way. I stayed at home. I was tired.

The next day we were up at sparrow's fart to take the display down to the meeting room and set it up. We had an hour, we took maybe twenty minutes, thanks to Rew's prep work, and then we left. We took a walk down to Civic Center and UN Plaza (five blocks) and then back up Market and over to Yerba Buena (nine blocks) and hung out in the gardens and the Metreon, which was far too hip for me. We walked back (four blocks) and Rew went in for his interviews. I wrote some and then took another nap.

Rew came up at three with one interview left, so we went down together and I sat outside while he had that one, and then we decided to go get food somewhere in celebration-- burgers at a diner were not entirely what I had in mind, but it was his choice and they were good. The place was suggested by the U/RTA lady, who looked at us like we had three heads between us when we said we wanted just reg'lar ol' 'merican food in San Francisco (two blocks to the diner).

All of Rew's interviews went great. People were very impressed with him. I fully expect him to get an awesome offer from at least one grad school, along with several decent offers. We'll see after Saturday.

That night we walked to the ferry building, up the Embarcadero to Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square, and back by way of Columbus and other side streets, through North Beach and the edge of Chinatown. We had an awesome crepe at Sophie's in North Beach, prompting me to want to make crepes again. That walk was probably just over fifty blocks with detours to figure out where we were at various points, or to see stuff-- we'll say a round fifty.

Next day we met up with my uncles and they took us on a drive around the coast, then we went to Amoeba Music and 826 Valencia (the Bay Area's only independent pirate supply store) and Paxton's Gate and Borderlands. (Only about six blocks the whole day.) We had dinner at the great Pakwan Pakistani restaurant, and tea and coffee at XO, then made it to the airport in good time to catch our flight.

Which was canceled.

There wasn't another one for about twelve hours, either.

I called my uncle and he let us stay at his place and we took the first flight out in the morning. I did manage to finagle one shuttle voucher out of America West, not that it was their fault-- weather delays at our connecting city. We left early, got in late, and there was no sleeping on the plane for us.

Except for the travel, it was an awesome trip. And by the tally I've just made, rounded down, Rew walked about 160 blocks and I walked about 130. Good exercise.