Not titled yet

My grandmother's funeral was the third time I had been in a synagogue. The first was for my grandfather's yahrzeit. It seemed I must have been at temple the year before for his funeral, but apparently not— and no wonder. My grandmother had had him cremated. I'll never be sure if it was because she was being practical and saving money, or if anger built up over their fifty-some-odd years of marriage found its expression in posthumous desecration. Regardless, a year later she had repented of her decision and, after observing the one year anniversary of his death in a more traditional manner, made certain that her sons wouldn't follow her example by making all her own funeral arrangements, down to paying for her name to go on a plaque beneath my grandfather's.
But that was when I was around ten and too young to be bar-mitzvahed—even if I'd been a boy yet, even if I'd understood the least thing about Judaism, even if my fully-assimilated father and Baptist-but-not-churchgoing mother had wanted me to grow up observant. More recently, with my grandmother's death impending, I'd nervously gone along with friends to Rosh Hashanah at their Renewal synagogue. There I'd prayed for her, and after the Rabbi's talk about I-Thou consciousness, we had sung songs of peace and freedom for the Palestinian people and of healing for Israel all over the world. That was the second time in my life I'd been in a synagogue— the first time in my life as a man, the first time in my life I wore a kippah, and the first time in my life I ever felt Jewish.
Compared with that (and with the occasional queer shabbos with my friends, who argued about the order of the prayers and broke down in laughter and tears singing to the One who is a woman on Friday night but male or neutral the rest of the week) going to the Reform Jewish congregation my grandmother had helped to build in her retirement community was a bit like stepping out of a hot-tub into a cold rain. Fortunately, though, it was not all awkward and painful. My uncle referred to me while giving his eulogy, after a slight stumble that I took as a sign of the effort he was making, as his nephew. And when I nervously with knees like water went to get my kippah, my father took one from the funeral director and handed it to me. Someone might have confronted me, had I asked for one myself— I'm young, obviously ignorant, maybe willfully rebellious or worse, feminist. But no one was going to challenge my father at his mother's funeral.
Following the reception, as my grandmother's friends, some close to her 95 years but none more senior, said farewell to us, tiny Edie came up to speak to my mother. Her voice was a rasp but I and my sister could hear as we stood on either side of my mother. My sister had just had her hair cut a little shorter; a feminine cut and one that made her look older, the better to command a measure of respect from her fourth graders' parents. My grandmother would have said it made a nice frame for her face. She would have said the same about my hair, which had not threatened to get long enough to frame my face in at least three years.
"Your hair is so beautiful," Edie said to my mother, reaching up from her perpetual stoop to take my mother's hand. "I'm so glad you haven't cut it. I don't know what this country is coming to these days," she said, looking at me, "all the girls are cutting their hair so short."
My grandmother's hair had been short since 1941. It had always made such a nice frame for her face.
Two weeks later was Samhain, when my Erastes and I attended Spiral Dance. The San Francisco Reclaiming Wicca community is a diverse group. One of the ritual leaders wore a kippah with his ritual robes. Witches, pagans, part-time pagans, and folks who had only come out of curiosity filled a gymnasium with our bodies, dancing, from which we journeyed to the Land of the Beloved Dead in varying degrees of trance. Stepping out of my boat of bones, I met the ones I knew. We gathered under the apple trees and greeted each other gladly.
"Granddaughter, grandson, who cares?" Grandma said as we watched my friend Julia sport along the shore with the dolphins that had been her life's passion. "I knew you were one of those when you went out to San Francisco to live with your uncle."
"I'm not living with my uncle, Grandma; I'm in Berkeley."
"It's one big gay place. And now they have people dancing around with their bodies all painted pretending to be witches. Who cares. When you're dead it doesn't matter. Witches; that temple you go to; that girl you make shabbos with; it's all the same when you're like me."
She looked at me for a bit.
"You had better be a better grandson than that dog. He never listens."
I laughed out loud, startling the woman closest to me who was communing with her own ancestors in her own way. "I love you too, Grandma."
"You take good care of yourself. Keep your health. One day you'll be old like me, G-d willing."
At the funeral, I saw a photo of my grandmother at twenty. Her hair is long, and wet straight with the water of the fountain she's dancing in. She's wearing short shorts and a tight blouse over her always-prominent "boobs." She looks over her shoulder at the camera with a mischievous smile, daring it to judge her. She looks like photos of my mother as a hippie; it could be 1969 in San Francisco, instead of 1931 in New York.
When I am 95, I will wear a tweed jacket with elbow patches made of cloned wool and suede grown in a vat. I will smoke a pipe in defiance of anti-tobacco legislation and my doctors' orders. (Grandma ate fried shrimp and fried fish and fried cheese until she couldn't swallow solid food any longer, then simply stopped eating.) I will walk with a cane with a phallic silver handle, and when the cane is not enough I will get something like Grandma's cherry-red racing walker. I too will be 86 before I give up my electric hoverscooter. I will have fond memories of my 80th birthday, marked with a vacation in Hawaii where I danced nonstop to ancient EBM in clubs with retro-retro ambiance. I will be luckier in love than my grandmother; I hope I will be married to two or three soulmates of various genders who will still be in great health and madly in love with one another long after I'm gone. When at 95 I finally grow close to death, my grand-niecephew will go to a combined Rosh Hashanah and Eid service at the New Radical Syncretic PolySemitic-Pagan Temple and awkwardly mouth unfamiliar prayers for me, thinking that at least this is something close to what Great-Uncle Kerr knew.

Oh this time of year...

The sun is shining, the breeze is warm, and new residents are moving in. Above all else, a song is in the air...

...the song of the sororities celebrating rush weeks.

I'd forgotten how terribly annoying these two or three weeks of the year are. I would hang myself from the balcony but it just makes so much more sense to hang the screeching fiends...

Rooftop wedding reception

Wilde house, on the roof, with candles. Beautiful. Blessings on the happy brides; long may they live in love.

Dammit I'm going all squishy.

Ahhhh.

My groupmates had literally finished putting the final touches on our "model" while I wolfed down a long-overdue lunch at 3:59. We made it to class at 4:00 on the dot, and I pulled out some notes to go over while the first group presented. As I sat down, the professor approached me warily.
"I have a favor to ask you," she began.
"You're going to make us go first," I joked.
"Yes."
Shit.

I am so glad that's done. So so glad. I think we did okay. We didn't choke in front of the class too much. And it's hard talking for 45 minutes about a student project we've been working on for 10 weeks and are now so sick of it makes our eyes water.

The uphot is, expect more regular updates during summer.

Date and thoughts

I had a second date with a gorgeous gay gentleman. We went to MoAD, which did not live up to my expectations for reasons I'll get into in a minute, but we again enjoyed one another's company, which continues to astonish me because he is way way too cool and with it to like me.

Which leads me into the other thing I've been thinking about a lot.

Cluster C personality disorders include disorders of anxiety, fearfulness, and avoidance. One of these, called "avoidant personality disorder," is characterized by presence of four or more of the following:

1. avoids occupational activities that involve significant interpersonal contact, because of fears of criticism, disapproval, or rejection
2. is unwilling to get involved with people unless certain of being liked
3. shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being shamed or ridiculed
4. is preoccupied with being criticized or rejected in social situations
5. is inhibited in new interpersonal situations because of feelings of inadequacy
6. views self as socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others
7. is unusually reluctant to take personal risks or to engage in any new activities because they may prove embarrassing

Avoidant personality disorder is similar to an anxiety disorder called social phobia or social anxiety disorder. Briefly, it is characterized by

a persistent fear of one or more situations in which the person is exposed to possible scrutiny by others and fears that he or she may do something or act in a way that will be humiliating or embarrassing. ...Sufferers are typically more self-conscious and self-attentive than others. As a result, social phobics tend to limit or remove themselves from situations where they may be subject to evaluation. Sufferers often recognize their fear is excessive or irrational, yet can't seem to break out of the cycle. As such, the diagnosis of social phobia is made only when the fear leads to avoiding occupational functions, social activities, or relationships with others. (from wikipedia article linked above)

I've been thinking about this a lot because of the way my stomach ties itself in knots whenever I have to do something like go to a place I've never been, or talk to people I don't know, or talk on the phone, or interact with people who may have a reason not to like me, or talk with people who may dislike me for no reason, or use the restroom when other people are present, or do something in public that I don't know how to do (like the first time I used BART), or really any of these things. I feel tension, my hands flush and get sweaty, my heartrate spikes, my breathing becomes unsteady, and most noticeably, my stomach feels knotted up. I think that people are watching me and judging my behavior, and that I will seem awkward, weird, stupid, or offensive because I might do or say something wrong or inappropriate. This means I can avoid doing things which will require me to interact with people in particular ways. I might avoid calling someone, or avoid rooms in which others are present, or put off going someplace unfamiliar. I can overcome it, and I usually do, but it's a source of a lot of tension, and it probably holds me back from doing and being all I can. Now I'm thinking about what to do.

Today the insight I had with this was that I actually believe on an unconscious level that other people's perceptions of my behavior are more valid than my own. Now, rationally, I know this isn't true— I have information they don't have about my own motivations, thoughts, reasoning process, and resources. But some part of me has always felt watched by an omniscient observer, and I've attributed that to "the public eye." A Freudian interpretation might be that it's the superego, and a mystical interpretation might be that it's the Divine. Since I tend to attribute the imaginal Observer to random strangers, however, I also attribute to the Observer the faults and narrowness of judgment that I believe random strangers probably possess. So what is persecuting me is a complex entity made up of the criticism only I would/could direct at myself, an authority and insight which I don't credit myself with, and the pettiness I think most people, including myself, make judgments about others with. And yet this Observer is the source of the only opinion about me which matters. It's no wonder I'm terrified to get on the bus. It's a wonder I function in public at all.

Alright. Now that I think I understand myself a bit better, what, the everloving fuck, do I do to fix this?

Now, for my experiences at MoAD: My friend and I weren't asked to leave our bags anywhere. I thought about asking if we should, but I didn't. So we bought our tickets and went inside, and then on the third floor we walked into the contemporary art gallery. After we had already been in there a few minutes, two or three security people (I don't remember) came out of the back, walked right past me and asked my friend to leave his bag at the door. The Museum of the African Diaspora is the last place in the world I thought my white privilege would let me pass unmolested while my Black friend was treated like a potential thief or vandal.

Again. What, the everloving fuck?

Things are moving again.

I'm mostly through it. I'm tired, and there is still some anger on both sides, but otherwise I'm well-recovering.

I have a lot of work to do this quarter and it's wearing me down. Between that and having a hard time getting motivated to do stuff, the things I need to get done this week, minimally, look absolutely overwhelming.

And yet I'm losing myself in social activities as well. But I need that contact to stay focused and grounded.

The sinus infection has returned. That too I'm prepared to deal with, just so long as it doesn't prevent me from doing what I know I need to get done.

Lessons for the future

I must not give until I know that I am giving wisely.
I must not ask until I know that I am asking honestly.
I must not speak until I know that I am speaking truthfully.
I must not help until I know what help is needed.
I must not serve until I know I am serving the need of another, not one of my own.
I must not act until I know my actions serve the role that has been asked of me.

I must give my silence as well as my words.
I must give my inaction as well as my action.
I must speak my uncertainty as well as my belief.
I must step back as well as step forward.
I must give my forgiveness to myself as well as to others.

It hurts.

I've done wrong.
Having done wrong it is my responsibility to make it as right as I can.
There is no way I can see available to me to do this.
I've done wrong and the only way I can see to stop hurting is to fix it.
I can't fix it.
Therefore all I can do is hurt and hurt and hurt in little, ever-tightening circles like coils of rope.
I wish I could at least believe that my very hurting served some kind of purpose.

Weather Underground

Open Letter to LGBT Communities

April 10, 2006

An Open Letter to the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Community:

We are a group of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) people of color who work in the LGBT movement. We are writing to you in response to Jasmyne Cannick’s article "Gays First, Then Illegals”, which ran in The Advocate, in which she, a black lesbian, argues that she cannot support the current battle for immigrant rights because LGBT people have not yet won the right to marry. We are writing to express our profound disagreement with her, and to offer alternative LGBT perspectives to the current immigration battles happening across the country.

To begin with, Cannick fails to realize an obvious fact – the LGBT community and the immigrant community are not mutually exclusive. There are thousands of LGBT immigrants in this country. There are thousands of black immigrants. And there are thousands of black LGBT immigrants. To put forward an argument that says "we should get ours first" makes us question who exactly is the "we" in that analysis. In addition, we recognize the historically interconnected nature of the immigrant and LGBT struggles — such as the ban on “homosexual immigrants” that extended into the 1990’s, and the present HIV ban, which disproportionately impacts LGBT people — and we believe that only by understanding these connections and building coalition can we ensure real social change for all.

And we ask those who share the destructive views of this article to remember the immortal words of Audre Lorde when she said that “There is no hierarchy of oppression”. We reject any attempts to pit the struggle of multiple communities against each other and firmly believe that "Rights" are not in limited supply. We condemn the “scarcity of rights” perspective espoused by Cannick and other members of the LGBT movement, and are surprised to see members of our community trafficking in such ugliness. But then, one reason why it has always been so hard to shift power in this country is because the ruling class has successfully made us believe that there are only a few deserving groups to whom rights can be given. This strategy has always been used to divide oppressed groups from coming together to work in coalition.

We are painfully aware that lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender communities still lack many basic protections under the law in this country, including the right to care for and support all of our families, in the various ways in which we construct family and kinship. Nevertheless, supporting immigrant rights, while we continue to work for LGBT liberation, does nothing to hurt our cause. In fact, we believe the opposite to be true, and want to work towards building powerful coalitions between immigrant and LGBT movements to work together for social justice.

We are also aware that many immigrant right advocates have intentionally or not) used anti-black rhetoric to move their agenda forward. Arguments such as “Don’t treat us like ‘criminals’” or “We are doing work that ‘other’ Americans won’t do” have the effect of positioning immigrant narratives as subtly juxtaposed with American stereotypes of non-immigrant black communities. They leave native-born black Americans as among the only people who do not have access to the immigrant narrative, and so are in a permanent position of subordination, as the state consistently negotiates and redefines citizenship and “American-ness” for almost everyone but blacks. Nevertheless, the solution to this problem is not to abandon support for the struggle of immigrant communities. Rather, we call on immigrant movements and non-immigrant) black organizations to work together for real racial and economic justice in this country. Together these movements can work to end the exploitation and targeting of both communities, and to ensure that black folks and immigrants do not end up having to choose between competing for low-paying jobs, or being targeted for detainment or imprisonment.

As lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people of color, we support the current immigrant rights marches and rallies happening across the country this month, and we march too. We march because immigrants are among the most politically vulnerable, underpaid and exploited communities in the country, and are asking for basic human rights, including the right to live free from torture and exploitation, and the right to work. We march because we recognize the connections between the state attacks on immigrant and LGBT communities, and that LGBT immigrants in particular are disproportionately affected by much anti-immigrant legislation. We march because we oppose the heightened policing and criminalization of immigrant communities, including the increased militarization of the border, as mandated by HR 4437 and Senate bills. We march because we oppose indefinite and mandatory detention of noncitizens—as well as the mass incarceration of people-of-color-communities in the U.S. more broadly—and envision a society that ensures the safety and self-determination of all people, regardless of national origin, race, class, gender or sexuality. We march because we oppose the guestworker proposals, which would continue the exploitation of many low-wage workers. We march because we demand the repeal of the HIV ban. We march because our sexualities have been historically criminalized by this country, and we understand that “law” and “justice” are not the same thing.

It is our understanding that Jasmyne Cannick was writing as an individual, and not as a representative of either the National Black Justice Coalition on whose Board of Directors she serves) or The Stonewall Democrats for whose Black Caucus she serves as Co-Chair). As LGBT people of color, we call upon both of those organizations to publicly clarify their own positions in this ongoing civil rights discussion.

We also call upon our community to imagine how much more progress we could make if we all stopped thinking of social justice as a zero-sum game.

Sincerely,

Katherine Acey
Executive Director, the Astraea Lesbian Action Fund

Faisal Alam
Founder & Former Director, Al-Fatiha Foundation for LGBTIQ Muslims

Samiya Bashir
Board Member, National Black Justice Coalition
Communications Director, Freedom to Marry
Board Member, Fire & Ink

Noemi Calonje
Immigration Project Director, National Center for Lesbian Rights NCLR)

Noran J. Camp
Office Administrator, Freedom to Marry

Chris Chen
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force
immigrant from Taiwan 1997

Alain Dang
Policy Analyst, National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

Debanuj Dasgupta
Board of Directors, Queer Immigrant Rights Project

Carlos Ulises Decena, Ph.D.
Assistant Professor, Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey

Joseph N. DeFilippis
Executive Director, Queers for Economic Justice

Marta Donayre
Co-Founder, Love Sees No Borders

Andres Duque
Coordinator, Mano A Mano

Monroe France
Educational Training Manager, Gay, Lesbian, Straight Education Network
Board of Directors, Queers for Economic Justice

Eddie Gutierrez
Rep. for Christine Chavez, granddaughter of labor and civil rights
leader Cesar Chavez

Priscilla A. Hale, LMSW
Executive Director, ALLGO

Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano
Director of Arts and Community Building, ALLGO

Kemi Ilesanmi

Surina Khan
Interim Vice President of Programs, The Women's Foundation of California
former Executive Director, International Gay & Lesbian Human Rights Commission

Lee Che Leong
Director of Teen Health Initiative, New York Civil Liberties Union

Elizabeth Lorde-Rollins
Assistant Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Assistant
Professor of Pediatrics, Mount Sinai Adolescent Health Center
Board of Directors, Queers for Economic Justice

Yoseñio Vicente Lewis
Board Member, National Gay and Lesbian Task Force
Latino, Trans Social Justice Activist, first generation U.S. Citizen

Glenn Magpantay
Steering Committee Member, Gay Asian & Pacific Islander Men of New York

Rickke Mananzala
Campaign Coordinator, FIERCE!

Gloria Nieto
National Latino Justice Coalition

Doyin Ola
Welfare Organizer, Queers for Economic Justice

Jesús Ortega-Weffe
Director of Community Organizing, ALLGO

Emiko Otsubo
former Board member, Queers for Economic Justice

Clarence Patton
Executive Director, NYC Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project

Donna Payne
Senior Diversity Organizer, Human Rights Campaign

Earl L. Plante
Development Director, National Minority AIDS Council
President-Elect, Board of Directors, National Black Justice Coalition

Achebe Powell
Betty Powell Associates

Lorraine Ramirez
Public Policy Committee, Queers for Economic Justice

Lisbeth Meléndez Rivera
Convener, the National Latino Coalition for Justice

Ignacio Gilberto Rivera
Founder, Poly Patao Productions
Board of Directors, Queers for Economic Justice

Russell D. Roybal
Director of Movement Building, National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

Shay Sellars
Major Gifts and Events Administrator, National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

Pedro Julio Serrano
Communications Associate, Freedom to Marry
President, Puerto Rico Para Tod@s

Sarah Sohn
New Voices Legal Fellow, Immigration Equality
Board of Directors, Queers for Economic Justice

Lisa Thomas-Adeyemo
Co-Coordinator, National People of Color Organizing Institute,
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force
Director of Counseling, San Francisco Women Against Rape

Carmen Vazquez
Deputy Executive Director, Empire State Pride Agenda

Robert Vazquez-Pacheco
former Program Manager, Funders for Gay and Lesbian Issues

Lisa Weiner-Mahfuz
Capacity Building Project Director, The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

Andy Shie Kee Wong,
Coalition Manager, Asian Equality

Lancy Woo and Cristy Chung
lead Plaintiffs in the Woo vs Lockyer, marriage rights case

Miriam Yeung
Director of Public Policy and Government Relations, the LGBT Community Center

-- Organizational affiliation listed for identification purposes only --

I'm 26 a week ago. La me.

So that's that. No longer "youth" by any stretch. Not yet old enough to be venerable. This is the period in my life where I'm sort of just me without any age categories, until I'm... what? 35, I'm guessing? I'm trying to decide if that's liberating or depressing.

But I do, suddenly, feel too old to be a student. And sometimes I worry that I'm too old to be living in a co-op with a bunch of undergrads. So many other people my age have careers already.

Introspective hogwash.

So Ted Kennedy Jr...

...talked for a very long time about many things, in an incredibly disjointed style. I think he had been asked to speak about a great many things he couldn't really make fit together very well. Some of what he said was useful, like the information he gave about disability rights, organizing, and activism. Much of the rest of it was the stories about the Kennedys he'd been begged for. I wasn't all that interested in that aspect, I guess. I did get to say a few words to him before he left, but that's all.

Things... are... calming... down.

I am finally able to take some downtime. My second job (more time, less hourly, nicer people, more fun) has ended, and I can focus on school a bit more, house things a bit more, and myself a lot more.

Getting the love thing sorted has been priority. Because I know myself reasonably well, or at least well enough to know that at this stage I tend to get a little overenthusiastic. Good talking has occurred and more is on the horizon.

Yesterday we went to the Asian Art Museum, which was lovely, but a very traditional museum, so sort of tiring after awhile. Unfortunately I didn't find Shozo Sato and there was a massive lecture of some sort where he usually does his painting and calligraphy. But the permanent collection was much nicer and more impressive than the special exhibition, in my opinion.

We also went through the collection backwards, as pointed out to us by the Ganesa offertory marking the beginning of the galleries. D'oh.

It's so unusual

I've been so busy in the last week. I've worked much harder than I'm used to just to be in all the places I'm supposed to be and get done even half of what I'm supposed to have done. It's been really hard to keep up.

But I've been okay. Once the major house trauma was sorted— and let me confess my awareness that while it's as sorted as it's going to get, there's no guarantee the person concerned will not continue to affect all our lives in some way— I've been able to focus more. I'm still on the recoil, but at least now I'm back to having a grip of some sort, and not feeling like there's going to be a total emergency demanding my attention at any time.

Then there's being in love, and while I'm really just riding that at the moment, part of me is also examining what that feels like this time around. I'm trying not to judge it in comparison with or in the context of my past relationships and just let it be what it is, and I think that's the best approach. It's hard for me to talk or write about my feelings in this context because I come from a a background where intimate relationships are the most private of matters. More on this as I overcome my mental blocks.

After the Holiday Special Stops Being Rerun...

To recap my holidays:

I drove with Rew to Florida, although he did most of the driving. It was astonishingly not a terrible ordeal, except for traffic in Texas, fog in Texas, and Texas in Texas. The holidays were pleasant and I enjoyed seeing my family again, and those friends I could round up from Sarasota. Then I flew back and arrived at Wilde House at 11pm New Years' Eve. There was, of course, a party in progress.

Since then I've been training to teach the MCAT, training to be house co-president, picking up some temp work at the arts and consciousness department here at jfku, starting to actually teach the MCAT, starting to really be house co-president, helping with writing a grant proposal for converting Wilde to solar power, and trying to do well in my classes as well.

These things are a little stressful, of course. But I am generally happy. I'm in love, for one thing, with someone who seems to love me back. That's always nice. It's also a nice feeling to be accomplishing things, and to be made to grow as a person, even if it's difficult.

Wow.

I did not know someone could get pneumothorax in one lung from having pneumonia in the other.

My housemate is in hospital in Oakland, and I'm not sure how long she is going to be there. She will be okay, eventually, but she will have to have all kinds of uncomfortable procedures first– something she is regrettably used to. Fortunately, we were able to get her to a hospital where there are doctors she knows. She will probably come home with a new ventilator, if the state decides they will cover it. Her mother is anxious, and all of us here at Wilde are hoping she can come home soon.

However, I did get my paper in. It's ugly, it was five minutes late, and I don't feel good about it, but it's in.

My journey to Florida

We leave on the 18th, Rew and I, and we'll be driving until we get there, with stops as necessary. So I estimate the 22nd. I'll probably fly back to Cali on New Years' Eve. If anyone who will be in or can get to the general Tampa-Sarasota area, or if you are a very special person in the Miami region (you know who you are) during that time, email me before I leave at kereth at gmail dot com and I'll send you my phone number and we will plan things.

I will definitely:

Visit NewC
Make a Sacred Grounds trip

Love and rockets,
Kerrick

Congratulations!

My big sister got tenure! Awesome!

Now, we implement phase two of our plan to turn Oxford into a radical queer paganish hippy paradise!

...er, I was not supposed to say that out loud, was I?

An Insight.

It is entirely not Johnny's fault that I find house parties severely, unutterably, mindwarpingly depressing. No, the responsibility for that condition is all my own.

However, acknowledging this requires that I first acknowledge the depths of depression triggered by house parties, and that I am unwilling to do. So, hypothetically speaking, if I were to be embarrassingly, heartbreakingly, shatteringly depressed by house parties, I would freely admit that it was all my own fault.

Blog Against Racism Day

Racism, like transphobia, is an issue of people's bodies being used as an excuse to categorize them. This does not mean that it is well and good to say that transphobia is "the new racism" or any of that shit. Racism isn't over, for one thing, and for another, there are a lot of important differences— people of color don't usually stop looking like people of color after a course of hormones and surgery, for instance.

But race and transness certainly intersect— many white trans people may be ignorant of the way race affects us, but it certainly does still affect us, and there are many trans people of color who... Well, let's start with the fact that there are many trans people of color, if we must. This is a fact that comes as a shock to many of us. Trans people of color don't usually get on documentaries. Or there's the Black and/or Latina trans prostitute image, and that's all we think of— the low-income trans woman of color (inevitably a sex worker).

Overlapping stereotypes can trap people in really untenable positions.