Stickel, Out!

It might be more than obvious to the six people who have (graciously) stuck with me over the last year and a half, but this blog, which was once an integral part of my life, is no longer a central point in my existence. There are many reasons as to why my literary absence prevailed over my literary diligence, but I assure you that it is (was) not without intention.

"Start at the beginning." says the March Hare to Alice as she stumbles into the Mad Hatter's unbirthday party...and who is to argue with such genius.

Growing up, my life was one of emotional abandonment. It was a rarity that I found company in my corner. People didn't go out of their way to believe in me.* In reality, I was passively viewed as inanimate to the people who cared about me most. (There are some who believe this to be a mere representation of my perspective, that it is not a genuine fact of validity, but those people are self-preservingly mistaken; I stood alone when I stood up for myself.) While a childhood riddled with emotional abandonment could have lead to many things; for me, it lead to early-onset individuality. Almost wondrously, and certainly through no intention of my own, I learned how to emotionally and externally believe in myself. And I did so through self-created channels in which I found refuge and fortitude.

When I created "LEZ give 'em something to talk about..." nearly four years ago, it was for a lot of reasons. I wanted to feel a connection to something outside of myself, I believed that I had something important to offer, and I, egocentrically, needed to create something that provided me with a sense of routine and grounding. Yet, beyond all the catalystic intentions that brought me to this blog, there was something more essential. After an excruciatingly dark time in my life, I found refuge in myself, and as that refuge turned into fortitude, that fortitude brought about the realization that I was (am) a homosexual. It was through this blog that my sapphic realization became something I could believe in, something that I could affirmatively stand behind, or stand for.

The ritual of this blog's intellectual intercourse became a stronghold for me, but I'm no longer that same person, and thus the return to this specific domain became fraudulent and imitation-like. (Two things I am not willing to be.)

This last week, Stephanie Stickel ceased to exist. There are many reasons as to why I choose to remove the patriarchal surname that I have possessed for the past twenty-six years and replace it was another; none of which are extraordinary, nor particularly enlightened. Suffice it to say, a new chapter has begun and thus a new blog. You can find me at "Homocidal Tendencies" from now on.**

Good Riddance Stephanie Stickel.

*I do not wish to invalidate the few: a youth pastor, a creative writing teacher, a dance instructor. The strength those few exerted onto me was introspectively priceless.
**This blog will still exist on the interwebs, for I am egotistically proud of what has been written here.

Causal Impotence

"It is known that Whistler [the famous British painter] when asked how long it took him to paint one of his "nocturnes" answered: "All of my life." With the same rigor he could have said that all of the centuries that preceded the moment when he painted were necessary. From that correct application of the law of causality it follows that the slightest event presupposes the inconceivable universe and, conversely, that the universe needs even the slightest of events." -Jorge Luis Borges

There is a premise in the theory of ethics that asserts that there are some actions that an individual takes that have no extended relevance in the world; that there are some things you do that have no impact. In other words, what you do doesn't matter. Philosophers refer to this theory as 'causal impotence'; situations in which the cause of something produces nothing except sterility. For instance, it has been argued that utility-based vegetarianism, while nice and all, is essentially ineffectual. Peter Singer, the leading philosopher on animal liberation, once wrote, "All the arguments to prove man's superiority cannot shatter this hard fact: in suffering the animals are our equals." Many people have attached this ideal to the reasoning and rhetoric of vegetarianism, arguing that the compassion-motivated ideology of vegetarianism is essential to ceasing animal suffering. However, many people have also attacked this ideal by arguing that the sole abstinence of eating meat is impotent to a solution. (There is a solid argument to be made that the industry surrounding animal products isn't nearly sensitive enough to be swayed solely by an individual's choice to renounce meat, but does that mean that the individual's choice produces absolutely no results in the world?) This is, in essence, the debate around causal impotence. Can you perform (motivated) actions without any form of consequence?

How you answer the above question depends, I think, upon your personal worldview. Do you view the world vertically or horizontally? Do you think of the world like a time-line, where events are related, yet not reliant, upon one another? (The horizontal worldview isn't completely without a reliance factor though; it can (does) apply the analogy of dominoes, but I don't find that analogy particularly productive, mostly because it exudes feelings of predetermination that I find vapid. Once a domino falls, the entire set of dominoes is destined to fall as well. Where's the free will in that?) -OR- do you think of the world as a giant game of Jenga, where events are entirely reliant upon the previous events and entirely effect the subsequent ones? In a Jenga world-view, you are certainly free to make whatever move you choose, but that move directly effects any future moves. Everything builds upon everything else and there isn't anything that doesn't have some sort of power.

There are people that go through life certain that they are causally impotent; that what they do doesn't have an impact on the people around them. People that make choices and are then shocked when future events begin presenting themselves. (I'm this way about food: I eat cookies and am shocked when my pants no longer fit.)

I have recently come to the epiphany that my father is this way about our once-was relationship. He's the one that choose not to stand up for me as a kid. He's the one that kicked me out because I stood up for myself and voiced my perspective. He's the one that choose not to respect what I had to say. And when he came waltzing back into my life as if nothing had happened, he acted shocked and hurt that I wasn't eternally grateful for a second chance?! He's the one that decided that I wasn't good enough and there is nothing impotent about that.

I do not find the argument for causal impotence compelling. I believe that for every action there is an equal and necessary reaction. In the case of utility-based vegetarianism, I take the perspective that, if nothing else, the extension of compassion does good for our world. Abstaining from animal products might not have an immediate response in the food industry, but I refuse to believe that valuing compassion or striving to reduce suffering in the world (whatever form of suffering that might be) doesn't make some kind of difference. Actions aren't impotent. What you do matters. When people reject who you are or what you stand for, it's not unreasonable to move on with your life and its not unreasonable to refuse to cater to their shock when the residual events begin presenting themselves.

There's a place for forgiveness, of course, but at what point do I get to forgive and then forget without everyone jumping down my throat?

Birthday Apologies

Today is my 25th birthday...

I know that my absence might make you believe otherwise, but this blog is important to me. I'll tell you all about the last few months in the next few weeks, but I thought that first I'd give you a quick recap and tell you about my goals for my 25th year of life.

A quick recap:
1. I changed my career path from journalism to political philosophy. I'm planning on going to law school after I'm done and I'm very excited.
2. I have absolutely no love life and I am, actually, perfectly content with that for the time being. (Though I do wish I was having more sex!)
3. I have a new kick-ass apartment blocks from Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Did I mention that it's kick-ass?
4. These last few months have provided me with the opportunity to believe in myself in ways I never have before. I'm stoked to tell you all about it.

My goals:
1. Be fearless. I'm no chicken, but sometimes I allow my fearful nature to be my catalyst. I don't want to make choices only because its the safer choice any longer.
2. BLOG! This place is important to me and my decision to take a break from it was authentic; however, I want to start making it a priority again.
3. Increase my global awareness. I never realized how self-centered my life was until I moved to New York City. Not that I'm selfish, just that I've never really looked beyond what I see with my own two eyes.
4. Be happy. I've never been this happy my whole life and that is something I'd like to hold onto.

I do apologize for my absence and I'm excited to get back to blogging again! Thanks for sticking with me.

Peace and Love,
Steph

Music Meme

Alphafemme posted this meme. It was fun!

Figure it out:

Pick Your Favorite Artist: The Police

Are you male or female: Demolition Man
Describe yourself: Bombs Away
How do you feel about yourself: Does Everyone Stare
Describe where you currently live: One World
If you could go anywhere, where would you go: Walking on the Moon
Your favorite form of transportation: Behind My Camel
Your best friend is: Roxanne
What’s the weather like: Shadows in the Rain
Favorite time of day: Darkness
If your life was a tv show, what would it be called: Secret Journey
What is life to you: a Message In A Bottle
What is the best advice you have to give: When the World is Running Down, You Make the Best of What's Still Around OR Rehumanize Yourself (I couldn't decide)
If you could change your name, what would it be: Sally
Your favorite food is: Peanuts
Thought for the Day: Don't Stand So Close To Me
How I would like to die: Wrapped Around Your Finger
My soul’s present condition: The Bed's Too Big Without You
My motto: Be My Girl

Now YOU take YOUR favorite musician … GO!

Back In Business

It is well known that many of the great writers of our past (and present) were also great drinkers. Ernest Hemingway had the mojito, John Mortimer had champagne, and F. Scott Fitzgerald had gin (and lots of it). Mark Twain once said, "sometimes too much to drink is barely enough" and Tennessee Williams hardly ever sat down to write without first consuming a martini and a bottle of red wine. Kingsley Amis notoriously claimed that a glass of scotch was the perfect artistic icebreaker and A.J. Liebling, an American journalist from the New Yorker, once fled a burning restaurant but not without snagging a bottle of brandy first. Suffice it to say that most writers can hold down a glass or two...

And I think that the motive is quite simple...it is the job, or the responsibility, of a writer to make the mere arrangement of words mean something that can exist beyond the two dimensional boundaries of a binding. Thus, writers live in their pain. Writers savor the sorrow. Writers reside and settle and exist in a space that feeds off of the severe, and often times diligent, emotions that contribute to great writing. And sometimes all of that emotion can get to be too much. Sometimes you can delve too deep and feel like survival is forever beyond the bounds of possibility...

But what if you, as a writer, also want to be happy? What if you also want to be productive beyond the margin of words?...

I had an incredibly shitty holiday and the writer in me dwelt in those emotions in the hopes that they would manifest themselves into some kind of creative genius. And the writer in me used an excellent bottle of bourbon to alleviate the anxiety around those emotions. And perhaps I created genius, who knows, but what I do know is that I wasn't particularly proud of the kind of person I was during that time. Maybe great writers don't make that distinction. Maybe great writers are great because they don't separate themselves from their work and if their work is something to be proud of, then it doesn't matter that they aren't something to be proud of...

Well, I am proud of the person that I have become; I am proud of the things that I strive for everyday and the things that I stand up for everyday and if that means that I am not the next Ernest Hemingway or Tennessee Williams, I think that I am finally okay with that...

Λυπάμαι

pronounced Li-pam-e...
...it means "I am sorry" in Greek...

I am truly sorry for the deserted appearance this blog has taken on over the last few weeks.

Watch this video and then I'll explain...
(Start watching at 0:45 to 1:52)



I feel a little bit like that...if writing was like eating pussy.

It's not that I haven't had the time to write - no matter how busy you are you can make the time for things that are important to you. And it's not that I don't have anything to write about - I just moved to the most stressful/exciting city in the country and I changed my career path for the eighteen hundredth time; I have plenty of angst to work out. And it's not that I'm questioning my sexuality - I strive to challenge myself everyday, so questions don't intimidate me and it was just a straight crush, just like every straight girl has a gay crush. It's that ALL I do is write; which, don't get me wrong, is fantastic, (I'm already learning so much) but sometimes when I come home, the last thing I want to do is worry about sentence structure.

I had my last final today and my next semester doesn't start for another 5 weeks. I was offered a month long internship at a fairly recognized magazine that would occupy my time during those weeks and I decided not to take it. It was the first time in my life where I made a decision that didn't service my resume. (Funny how a city so motivated by appearances and achievements taught me the value in relaxation.) I'm going to chill in the city during my break from school and I'm going to figure out how I can better balance my life when the next semester approaches.

I hope that everyone has a fantastic holiday season and a safe New Years!
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Peace,
Stephanie

A Sexual Viewpoint

There are three ways to look at sexuality...

1.) You can look at sexuality as if it were a box -

This is the mainstream, cultural normative way to view sexuality. You fit into the straight box or the gay box (or if you're really liberal, you can add the bi box) and you're exclusively characterized by the boundary-driven terminology prescribed to the box in which you exist. It's generally accepted among the queer community (and the majority of its allies or any left-leaning person) that this ideology is outdated and unproductive. It creates limitations on the acceptable behavior for a person, but the whole point of sexual advocacy is to tear down those limitations. If your natural inclinations don't fit perfectly into the box that best suits your preference, then you're obligated to reshape or dial back those sexual inclinations. It is becoming more and more accepted that sexuality is complicated and messy and that, by adhering to the precepts of a box, you display an ideology that is both unproductive and harmful.

2.) You can look at sexuality as if it were a scale or a continuum -

This ideal most resembles the ever popular "Kinsey Scale," which claims that sexuality, much like the categorization of nature in general, does not exist in the binary, but rather in a continuum. This viewpoint allows for an incredible increase in sexual fluidity, as well as establishes a credibility for those that exist in the in between. The diminishing quality of this ideal, however, is that it still places homosexuality in an amount comparative to heterosexuality. My discontent with this viewpoint is that it still holds onto the desire to equalize sexuality; as someone's sexual behavior pushes the scale to full-on homosexuality, it equalizes itself by removing the correlative amount of heterosexuality...and while that might be the experience for some, it still places sexuality inside an equation.

3.) You can look at sexuality as if it were a bar graph -

You can also look at sexuality as if it were a bar graph. In this ideal, homosexuality and heterosexuality are no longer reliant on one another, but rather function as separate entities. Each sexual behavior exists on its own scope, so that your homosexual behavior doesn't diminish or lessen your heterosexuality, or vice-versa. The thing I find the most productive about this viewpoint is that it embraces the pure ideal of sexual fluidity, which I think is the key to sexual acceptance. If you allow your own sexual thought process to fluctuate from the cultural normative thought process, then you can step into the sexuality that best fits your inclinations...and if you can embrace a sexual viewpoint that allows for fluidity without forfeiting your current sexual identity, then you've blasted open the door to sexual acceptance.

I am really really REALLY gay (sexually and politically) and there is this boy. I can't tell you if he's cute, because frankly I don't really know, but I am very much enticed by him. He has a radiant smile and a fantastic laugh. He's insanely witty and incredibly smart. He has this sweet, but not saccharine-y, way of looking at the world that I find unparalleled. Occasionally, I think about what it would be like to be in a relationship with him and sometimes those thoughts are fairly pleasant. (Now, whenever I think about a relationship with this boy, I synonymously think about how 1-there would have to be room for Sapphic activities outside the relationship, 2-he would have to find someone else to give him a blow job cause I'm not putting a cock in my mouth, 3-I would probably still desire to identify as a lesbian, though it wouldn't be a lesbian relationship, and so-on-and-so-on...so it's highly unlikely that these thoughts will ever actualize themselves.) I guess what I'm trying to say is that my current heterosexual thoughts don't intimidate me and they don't make me less of a homosexual. Sexuality isn't a math equation and one plus one doesn't have to equal two.

Never Lonely

I am an independent person; I always have been. I learned how to tie my shoes in the back of the closet while my mother did chores in the kitchen. I learned how to do my own laundry when I was left home alone one day. I choose what college(S) I would attend without advice from anyone. I've been to a countless number of movies by myself, ate at a countless number of restaurants by myself. I've never been someone who felt scared or vulnerable if I didn't have someone to talk to, and the fear of ending up without a partner isn't so strong as to allow me to settle for anything but that "moves mountains" kind of love. I like walking alone. I like reading alone. I like being alone. This isn't to say that I don't play nice with others, I very much enjoy the company of people; however, I rarely feel the relentless need for it.

I have lived in New York City for three months...and I have never been alone. (It's not a surprising fact, as New York City has 8+ million people jammed into 469 square miles, and the place I currently call home has 60+ people jammed into 1900 square feet.) Even when I strive to be alone, I feel like I am endlessly tethered to other human beings. When I walk home from work, I'm thinking about what stranger is walking behind me. When I go to the cafe, I'm thinking about the people that just walked in and want my table or I'm thinking about the employee at the counter and if I need to buy something more. When I take a shower, I'm thinking about how many other people are sitting outside that door waiting to brush their teeth or to shower themselves; even in the times when I'm technically the only person in the room, I'm still not truly alone.

I have noticed that my writing (for this blog, or for school, or for my own personal pursuits) has been a real struggle lately. At first I thought that it was solely because my life was in upheaval, and it made sense to me that my writing would reflect that state of upheaval; however, I've come to realize that it has a lot more to do with my recent incapability to be lonely. I need to have moments were I am completely alone to be completely myself.

On November 1st I move into a kick-ass apartment, where I will have my own room and I will finally be able to be completely alone. New York City has taught me a ceaseless number of lessons already, but beyond all those lessons, I'm still me! and the me that I know (and love) needs to have moments of solidarity. While I have a great desire to learn and grow here, I have an even greater desire to not forget about, or sacrifice, the woman that I've worked so hard to become. I really like that I am independent and I can't wait til I get to accommodate that independent part of myself. Hopefully, this blog will get back to its regularly scheduled programming - sorry for its sporadic, if not absent, presence as of late!

But Love

Occasionally, my father emails me. When these emails find their way into my inbox, they always look the same; the subject line says something like "how are you?" or "how's the job" and then there is nothing in the actual email. I rarely respond because I'm fairly certain that these emails are only constructed because people are asking about me and he doesn't have anything to say, and that doesn't boast so well for his picture perfect image.

Recently, I've received a lot of chastisement over the blatant lack of communication that I have with my father and since he's the one that initiates the emails, the communication controversy is apparently my fault, but I'm not about to participate in small talk with a man that I don't know just because it's what everyone else thinks I should be doing or because it's the thing that will aid in my father's ability to appear perfect. Does he actually or honestly want to be a part of my life? Blank emails aren't really an indication of genuine concern...blank emails are an indication that he checked me off his daily to-do list.

I am not going to be someone's inconvenience and that's what his emails feel like; a means to control the inconvenience of not appearing perfect.

I grew up in a "But Love" environment, meaning that the only time I ever heard the phrase 'I Love You' is if it was preceded by the word 'but.' I would get myself into trouble, receive a lecture/punishment, and then my parents would ritualistically declare: "but we still love you." But Love is the only context that I had for love, so for most of my life I understood love only as something that was explicitly tied to guilt.

While everyone in my father's life might believe that I'm wrong in refusing to respond to his subject line correspondence, I'm not replying because I'm done feeling guilty. My father has made it clear that he doesn't approve of my "lifestyle choice" or most of the other choices that I've made in my life, so the only thing that he has left to offer me his But Love... but I am NOT a child! I'm not going to feel guilty that the kind of love I've chosen to participate in (the lesbian kind) inconveniences his life. I'm not going to feel guilty that I dropped out of school at the exact moment that my mother chose to drop out of their marriage. I'm not going to feel guilty that I moved to the other side of the country without waving goodbye. The choices that I've made were, and are, mine and I've taken responsibility for them. If he only wants to offer me his But Love, he can keep it, because I am going to feel guilty no longer.

The City

There have been few times in my life were I have struggled with words in the way that I have over the last few weeks. Every time that I sit down to write something genuine, it becomes an insincere collection of misplaced thoughts...probably because my life currently feels like an insincere collection of misplaced thoughts.

In my High School English class, I learned that if someone has already said what you would like say, and they say it better, it's best that you just allow them to say it for you. So, allow me to share with you these beautiful words from Sara Bareilles...I could not say it better.

What do you call cheese that's not yours?

NA-CHO CHEESE!

What do you call a person that puts poison in a person's cornflakes?
A cereal killer.

Why don't African animals play games?
There are too many cheetas.

Why did the house go to the doctor?
It had window pains.

What is round and really violent?
A vicious circle.

If you drop a yellow hat in the red sea, what does it become?
Wet.

Two cannibals are eating a clown.
One says to the other: "Does this taste funny to you?"

'Deja Moo': The feeling that you've heard this bull before.

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft.
Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that:
You can't have your kayak and heat it too.

A Short Rant

**Allow me this short rant...I promise that a full and fulfilling post is on its way!**

I live in a hostel.

I live in a hostel in the heart of the ghetto in Brooklyn, NY.

I live in a hostel in the heart of the ghetto in Brooklyn, NY with people I generally can. not. stand.

While living in a hostel isn't the ideal situation, I didn't move to New York City because I wanted to be comfortable, I moved here because I wanted to challenge myself to be better/greater; so, for the time being, I live in a hostel. While there are times when it is stressful and crowded, it's mostly a lot of fun...But there are certainly moments that are infuriating.

Like the other day, I was reading in the "common room" and a girl was casually making a joke about how, since she cut off all her hair, she's always getting hit on by other girls on the subway. I looked up from my book, slightly, offering the rebuttal that it's not so bad to get hit on by girls, when someone eavesdropping on the conversation said, and I quote, "Well, it's not okay if it's not your sexuality."

WHAT?! Are you fucking kidding me? No one stands up in contempt when I get hit on by boys, so why is it acceptable to condemn the inverse? Do people really believe that because my sexuality is the unconventional sexuality that my flirtations should somehow be trepid and/or apprehensive? Now, I am all for being mindful and aware of the situations that you're in, but that does not mean that we, as a sexual minority, should have to cater to ignorance!

This viewpoint, that we, as homosexuals, are expected to extend an indulgence and resignation to those that disagree (what does that even mean? disagree?) with our homosexuality is utter bullshit. I am done sitting around and passively smiling at those that continue to offer ignorance and hatred and contempt to something that is so purely a part of who I am. I am not going to hide behind the rhetoric that it is acceptable to concede to any part of inequality. We deserve all the freedoms that straight people have, and that includes the freedom to flirt with whoever the fuck we want to.

(Yeah, New York has had a confrontational and assertive influence on me...and I quite like it.)

A Random Inspiration

***I've been working on a post entitled, "Oh...F*CK This!"; however, I recently ran into a bit of unexpected inspiration, so instead of rattling on about my oppugning views on New York City's population, I'd rather share my random moment with you. I'll post my fucking piece later on this week.***

I recently got a job at a sandwich shop in Manhattan; it is fantastically fun and perfectly fits into my overly-ambitious school schedule...but by far, the best part of my job is that it resides on the corner of 15th street and 8th avenue, which is right in the middle of the fabulousity that is Chelsea. And because of its location, the clientele is...well...fabulous.

I also started school this week; the culmination of months and months of preparation, anticipation, and anxiety actualized itself in a matter of moments, in a sequence of classes that were completely un-magical. I’m not sure what I was expecting, fireworks perhaps, but this week left me feeling a bit discontented. And when Friday rolled around, and as the discontent turned to anguish, I felt like nothing could reverse my mood. I begrudgingly went to work, praying that it would go as fast as humanly possible so that I could go home, drink a little, and quickly fall asleep.

Well, who comes into the shop, but the stand-up comedian, Shawn Hollenbach. I was not nearly as witty as I wish had been, but after our interaction I felt excited, I felt inspired, and I remembered why I choose to sell all my shit and move across the country to a place where I know no one. Now, as far as I know, Shawn doesn't possess magical powers, so while he is very funny and charming and engaging and sweet, the inspiration and drive that was resuscitated through our conversation didn't occur because Shawn waved his magical fairy wand...it occurred because I allowed his energy, his story to inspire me.

Random inspirations are glorious and oh-so-relieving, but I don't want to be someone who relies on those random inspirations to get through everyday. I would rather look at inspiration as something that provokes me to jump from place to place, rather than something that drags me up from the place I can't manage to escape. For me, as the magic of the city begins to fade, I want to make it my job to seek that magic out, instead of sitting around complaining about its absence. If I want to be all that I can be in this city, then it's my responsibility to be that person, even on the bad days.

Little Bits

Linus Pauling, a chemist and noble prize winner from the mid-20th century, once said, "The best way to have a good idea is to have a lot of ideas."

So here's a little bit about a few things...

I laugh a little bit whenever a tourist falls on the subway, it makes me feel like I'm a real New Yorker. Why is it that everything that makes me feel like a real New Yorker has to include something bitchy?

I fell in love...with this new blog, Alphafemme. She makes me want to be more honest, more open, more vulnerable; so here is something a little bit honest and open and vulnerable...sometimes I want to fail, just so my parents don't have anything to boast about to their friends.

Why do we say congratulations when we find out that someone we know gets engaged? Isn't that a little bit like saying, "Whoa. You found someone to look at you every morning for the rest of your life. Way to go!" Is finding someone to love us an accomplishment? Seriously, is it?

I recently met this boy...I don't think I want to kiss him, but I've thought a little bit about it. He's very nice.

If you haven't seen the movie Adam yet, a seemingly stereotypical love story that is anything but stereotypical, you should really see it. It's heartbreaking and empowering and funny, and I might have cried...a little bit.

The New York City Department of Health lists more than 20,000 restaurants on their "Restaurant Inspection Information" web site. You'd think that it wouldn't be so fucking hard to find a job. I'm having a little bit of trouble; though, in all fairness, I'm not really trying that hard.

I joined facebook. I'm a little bit scared that it will drain me of my quirky, nerdy, naive charm; be on the lookout for my next post, "How I was raped by facebook."

Health (we don't) Care

Maggie Williams, Hilary Clinton’s chief of staff, once said, “Any time you start down the road of messing with people’s money, they have to kill you,”...well that, or they have to threaten to kill grandma.

It's hard to escape the fact that (American) politics is an incredibly ridiculous process, but lately it feels like the debate over health care has exceeded the limits of absurdity and has well entered the realm of perverse deceit and disregard. There's a lot at stake when it comes to health care reform, so it seems obvious, if not completely understandable, that the conversation has become...colorful, but the thing that scares me about this particular debate is that it seems to be as equally jittery as it is hostile. The amount of indignant confusion that is permeating the health care debate has created a dyad of aggression and extreme anxiety, which has resulted in the materialization of contempt; and that has forced this debate to become less and less about health care and more and more about rhetoric.

The further we get into the health care debate, the more heartsick I become. I have faith in humanity and I believe that no matter how we feel or what has happened, we care about one another...but is it becoming increasingly obvious that we don't? Seriously, is anyone even bothering to listen anymore?

Honestly, I'm on the fence about this health care bill...I assuredly think we need reform, things can't just stay the way they are, but, for one, I don't completely understand Obama's plan (and it's not because I'm dense or for lack of trying) and two, what I do understand seems short-sighted, if not naive...but there is one point of contention that is especially infuriating for me; the argument that health care reform is unethical because conservatives don't want to pay for the abortions that they don't believe in.

I think that it's so infuriating for me, because it feels vaguely familiar.

***(Let me first say this: The opposition to health care reform, that has stemmed because of the issue of abortion, argues that this bill will increase abortions. Do people realize or understand that the number one reason that women choose abortion rather than adoption is because of medical bills? So...it seems to reason that if women had the help and support that they needed to pay their medical bills, to see a doctor, to gain emotional support, etc. it would actually decrease the number of abortions. When did it become ethically acceptable to stop using your brain and just spew whatever tactical rhetoric you think will best suite your agenda? This kind of behavior is certainly unacceptable, yet we hold no one accountable?!)***

As a gay woman, I intimately understand what it feels like to have your voice invalidated because of something that you believe in (for me that's being exactly who are without internal or external judgment), and now those same people, that, for the most part, are the ones abating my voice, are the ones crying wolf; but the possibility that those people will now see things from my marginalized viewpoint seems impossible, and the thing that really gets me about all of this, is that it's done under the disguise of patriotism, but that is so NOT what America is all about.

We set sail because we were tired of being told how to live; we created our own declaration because we were tired of playing by other people's rules; we fought back because we were tired of "taxation, without representation"...but now we've become selfish and stubborn and elitist and completely unwilling to look beyond ourselves, and it feels more and more like we've forgotten all about the things that got us here in the first place.

I'm not going to pretend that I have some kind of foolproof solution to health care reform, because I so clearly don't, but what I do have is the basic understanding that we, as a country, aren't going to get anywhere if we don't start listening to each other. Rather than working backwards and talking over one another and making up lies that just further our own personal agendas, let's try to make health care about...oh I don't know...care!

P.S. I can think of one easy way to expand health care without reconstructing the entire system. Repeal DOMA. Enact domestic partner laws in all 50 states. Seriously! We gays make up 10% of the population. That's two fucking birds with one stone.

Men Are Like...

In my coming out process, I spent very little time in the in between. I was "straight", then one day I had this gay thought, and, literally, three days after that I identified as a lesbian. I had a few moments when I felt embarrassed for myself, but beyond that, I didn't have any sleepless nights or guilt-driven anxiety. (I am a very anxious person, so when I didn't have any anxiety about something that, by all means, allowed for plenty of room for anxiety, I knew that it was the path for me.) As soon as I became aware of that first gay thought, I decided that I would embrace it and be it...and...as self-assured as I was that the lesbian lifestyle was the lifestyle for me, there was still something about men that I was drawn to. I went through all the possibilities: I don't want to kiss him! I don't want to be close to him, touch him, stare at him for long hours into the night, I don't want to share intimate details about my life with him, but still there was something. I came to realize that it was men's clothes that I was drawn to, not the actual man inside the clothes, and forcing myself to discover exactly what was attracting me to men, made me even more certain that I was a big lesbo, because for me, men are like...


1. Cats
You know how cats have six to seven distinct external characteristics, and then after that they all look the same, and you can't tell which cat is which...unless they live in your house. For me, men are like cats. I can tell the generalizing differences between men, but put me in a room full of Abercrombie models and it's as if I'm walking into a screenshot from 101 Dalmatians, it's just not possible that I'll be able to tell one from the other. The only time this 'handicap' becomes a real hindrance for me is when it comes to the movies, especially male-driven drama movies, like Ocean's Eleven or The Departed. I'm always thinking things like, "Who is that again?", "Is this a new character or did he just change clothes?" or "Wait?! Didn't that character just die?" It becomes especially frustrating when the bad guy is pretending to be the good guy or visa versa; there is just no way for me to keep track!


2. Shotguns
Maybe I'm too much of a top, but I can't imagine that making love to a man can be all that exciting. I imagine that men are a lot like shotguns; you pull the trigger, they shoot, you're done. No elaborate sword fights or intricate ass-kicking scenarios, just "Bada Bing, Bada Boom, It's over." But women, ohhhh, women have all of these spots and buttons. Women are versatile and mysterious and often times demanding. I've never shot a gun, nor have I ever made love to a man, but I suspect that both of these things can often feel repetitive and trite, but sex with a woman is anything but commonplace. If men are like shotguns in the sack, women are like complicated math equations, requiring you to submit to ALL the formulas previously taught to you, so that you can adjust and/or refine your approach as you further unravel the equation, leading you closer and closer to that one solution. And much like a complicated math equation, women require concentration, perseverance, intuition, and an unrelenting presence. Anyone can shoot a gun, but not everyone can successfully solve a complicated math equation. ;)


3. The Library of Congress Classification
The English-speaking world has two main systems of cataloging library materials, the Dewey Decimal(DD) Classification and the Library of Congress(LC) Classification. You're probably familiar with the DD Classification, it's the one you learned about in primary school. The LC Classification, however, is the catalog system used by most universities and research libraries...and it makes no fucking sense, at least not to me. Most people, especially those amongst the academic backdrop, suggest that the LC Classification is the more basic, manageable classification and I thoroughly disagree. {**Sidenote: In actuality, the LC Classification is only an enumeration, (like how I used a complicated math term there...see #2) meaning it's really only a way to name things one by one, it's not actually a structural method for organization.**} How are men like this? Theoretically, the Dewey Decimal Classification is the more complex classification, with over 10,000 different subcategories to plot through; however, I find it considerably easier to navigate. Perhaps it shouldn't be, or maybe I've just spent too much time amongst the Dewey Decimal isles to change the classification that works the best for me, but the the DD Classification just makes sense. Much like how I feel about women. Perhaps women shouldn't be easier to understand, and maybe on the surface they seem more complex, but for me, they just make sense. (I don't think that this is like that "if you wanted a monkey when you were little, then you're gay" thing; enjoying the Dewey Decimal System is not a subconscious indication that you're a dyke.)

The Color Gay

Tim Berners Lee, the man who created the World Wide Web, once said, "We need diversity of thought in the world in order to face new challenges" and I think that the same idea can (and perhaps must?) be applied to individuals. Obviously, when we strive to broaden the circle of people in our lives, we broaden the opportunities that life can present. I choose to surround myself with people who think differently than me, who look differently than me, who fuck differently than me, not because I want to boastfully inflate my contact list, but because I love to learn and the best learning often comes when you step beyond comfort.

And I will honestly admit that sometimes those words come easier than those actions.

I recently moved to an area of Brooklyn, NY that has, quite forcibly, provided me with the opportunity (that's the word I'm choosing to use, though the action feels much more hostile than that) to learn a great deal about diversity. I am clearly the only white girl in my new neighborhood; add to that my colorful wardrobe and my semi-posh computer bag and I more than stand out. Most of the time I don't notice, (it is an intensely fun neighborhood with children dancing in the streets, music blaring from the roofs, and laughter lingering throughout the air) but the other day, while I was on the way to school, I got the feeling that everyone was starring at me...and, for that moment, it made me thankful for the fact that homosexuality isn't a skin color. While I am sure that NOT everyone was starring at me, and assuredly if they were, it wasn't generated from a place of judgment, I felt grateful that as a white, middle-class female, I'm not the minority. I mean, I am the minority, just nobody knows that I am.

I think that there is something about sexuality that offers a bit of convenience. Take, for instance, our vocabulary. More so than any other minority, sexual minorities can adapt their vocabulary to their audience, enabling them to feel a sense of ease while still standing true to who they are. If a homosexual is having a bad day and just doesn't feel like standing up or standing out, then they can choose not to. If a homosexual is just too tired to deal with the bullshit of inequality, then they can head home sans harassment. There is this definite sense of convenience. Think about it, what other minority has a closet? (Perhaps religion does, but our country is more afraid of religion than religion is of our country; so while it might technically be a minority, it will never be a discriminated one. Which, don't get me wrong, I think is great. But what makes the gays scarier than the Lutherans?) And what other minority maintains that you can be in that closet (say you're in the closet when it comes to your family) and yet still be an active part (you go to the clubs, you sleep with people of the same-sex) of that minority? What do you think that Martin Luther King Jr. would have said if black people could choose not to tell anyone they were black?

I will assert that while the closet has its protective and comforting appeal, it is the single biggest thing holding equality back. The closet implies a sense of shame, which is clearly counterproductive; and even if your reasons for being closeted aren't shameful, those fighting against gay rights surely aren't going to strive to make that distinction. In some ways I think this makes us stronger, because we do have to actively and intentionally choose to stand up, but that only applies if we actually choose to stand.

I'm not advocating for a universal forehead tattoo here, but we could at least start by holding hands. That sounds nice. Are there any girls in NYC that want to hold my hand?

New in New York City

I believe in the power of change. I think that volunteering yourself for change can open doors that remained previously undiscovered and then, consequently, you can discover things about yourself that remained previously unknown; and I think that the more you discover about yourself, the better suited you are to stand true in the face of involuntary change. It's the cycle of change.

Some people, though, use change as an avoidance tactic, as a way to evade life's current circumstances. People change banks as a way to deflect overdraft fees. They change jobs as a way to ditch an unpleasant boss. They change partners as a way to ensure that they aren't the ones dumped. And when change is utilized as a process for escape, it loses its integrity and becomes a vehicle that transports you farther away from your undiscovered self.

I've been thinking a lot about this blog and what changes it will go through as I go through this massive relocation. And the thing is...I'm not interested in turning this blog into a journal about my new life in New York City. I created this blog for a number of reasons. I wanted to create something in my life that would challenge me to be better; a better writer, a better woman, a better lesbian. I wanted to create something that would offer me accountability and routine and a broader sense of connectivity. I wanted to have a collection of writing samples under my belt, so that if someone choose to offer me an avenue into the publishing industry, I'd be prepared. The egotistical reasons abound, but more than anything, I created this blog because I felt like I had something to say to, or for, the lesbian community, and their allies. My desire to reach out and open up to the lesbian community hasn't changed just because I changed my address, which is why I don't want to bog down this blog with all things N.Y.C.

I also can't deny that New York City is at the forefront of my mind nearly everytime that I sit down to write; so...I've decided to expand my repertoire. I will be divulging my tales of New York City in my new blog http://newinnewyorkcity.blogspot.com. Check it out if you want to see all about my crazy and sporadic NYC adventures.

UPDATE: This blog was really more about being lonely than it was about a genuine desire to write about my adventures...turns out I just needed to make some friends...so it is no more.

Which Direction Now?

Today, someone asked me for directions while I was on my way to Bryant Park. It made my freaking day! Granted, I didn't know the answer, but still, it just goes to show you that attitude is everything.

Speaking of directions...I've been thinking a lot about directions and paths and trajectories lately. Today is the 28th of July and I don't start school until the 28th of August; which means that I have exactly a month to do absolutely nothing. My life hasn't been in this particular position since I was in middle school, and I am trying to remain excited, though if history has anything to say about it, I'm not really very good at doing nothing.

I am a Gemini through and through; meaning, I thrive in the dichotomy of an unquiet nature and a methodical/unrelenting drive. Sometimes I forget to STOP! and just be. I keep thinking that these days should be filled with perfecting my resume and looking for internships and actively working my way through the publishing world. And all of that is assuredly important; I'm not incredibly interested in starving my way through life, but I'm also not incredibly interested in plowing my way through life.

Today I sat in Bryant Park without a book or an IPod or a to-do list; I just sat. I listened to a man in a green costume tell children a story about field mice getting bopped on the head, it really made me smile. I am going to strive to have a month filled with these kinds of anecdotes; reading in central park, running along the waterfront, eating pizza and red-velvet cupcakes, and generally exploring this vast and exciting city. I will continue to look for opportunities into the publishing world and I will continue to challenge myself as a writer and a woman; but all of that doesn't have to come at the cost of enjoying this rare and relaxing moment in my life.

I have a feeling that this blog will really benefit from all this new found free time ;)

Rat Pack

Last night I saw my first subway rat. I thought that it was exciting...the people that I was with did not, but I mean, come on!, a New York Subway rat isn't just any kind of rat. I tried to take its picture, you know, to document the momentous occasion, but alas, the rat was too quick for my exhausted fingers.

I have decided that subway rats are going to be my NY good luck charm. You know how the crickets are good luck in Asia, I think that the subway rats should be good luck in NY. Though not good luck like the penny or the four-leaf clover, because I think that it would be ill-advised to carry them around in your pocket all day.