No matter what, someone, somewhere, will always be offended by something. While I do my best to remain palatable to everyone, I know that it is physically, utterly impossible to please everyone.
This morning LogoTV announced that they would be removing the phrase “she-mail” from all upcoming episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race, and took down a previously aired episode where the phrase “she-male” was predominately used during the mini challenge.
I would like to preface my opinion (yes, opinion) below with a simple fact: I am male. A gay male, in fact. The reason I felt it was important to state this fact is because there is absolutely no way I can ever really know what it’s like to be trans. And I am willing to bet that a very large percentage of the human population also has absolutely no idea what it’s like to be trans. I also have no idea what it’s like to go through menstruation, give birth, be a father, grow up in a third world country, have a bat mitzvah, et cetera because those experiences simply don’t happen for me based on how I was born, where I grew up, the religion of my parents, and the community I grew up into. As such, I find it a tad onerous to be expected to be able to anticipate the needs and feelings of the trans community (or any community for that matter), but that in no way means I’m not sensitive to them. (more…)
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.”
― Gilda Radner
I love ambigrams. I love calligraphy in general, really, but ambigrams add that extra layer to the words that can sometimes simply surprise you. I never fancied myself an artist—though I did draw that portrait of my cat over to the right using Procreate for iPad—but I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have nice handwriting (well, not “nice” as in pristinely legible, but more like… “interestingly complex”) so what better way to express myself than through the written word. Fairly literally, now that I think about it. (more…)
I’ve been listening to a lot of dance music lately.
In general, my music philosophy has been that the music I listen to needed to be important, have relevence, make me acknowledge my feelings. My favorite album, for these reasons and more, has been unchanged since 1998 when Tori Amos released From The Choirgirl Hotel. It brings me to that place where I can tune into the darker side of myself, relating my own experiences to the music and allow it to take me over. It’s always been important to me to be able to feel a range of emotions; I mean really feel them. In order to move past anger, or sadness, or whatever feeling I have, I would listen to a song or album that intensified that emotion on repeat until I just didn’t want to feel it anymore, and could let it go. (more…)
I really dislike New Year’s Eve. With just under two hours before the clock tolls midnight here in California, allow me to tell you why.
When you think about it, it’s all just a farce. People will try and spin New Year’s as a chance for change, to allow the tide in so it can wash all the regretful decisions, hurtful actions, and nasty habits from your life, allowing you a soft, sandy smooth beach to start over with. But, in case you were unaware, the tide comes in every single day, and tomorrow is as much of a new day as today was yesterday. (more…)
I know I’m not the only one that feels a little lost around the holidays. The season tends to focus on family, and love, and togetherness, and acceptance, and for anyone who doesn’t have one or more of those things, the have-nots tend to overshadow the haves, despite all the “be grateful” crap thrown around the airwaves. I’ll say that I am blessed with an amazing family that I absolutely adore, and loves and supports me unconditionally. However, it’s difficult not to think about the fact that, as my cousins get married and have children and my aunts and uncles and parents age into retirement, I’ve been single for a dozen or so years at this point with no end in sight. Being single in and of itself isn’t the problem, really, because I am a staunch believer in the idea that one must be comfortable within his own skin before a relationship with anyone else is a viable reality, but it’s gotten to the point where my “own skin” needs a bit of darning where it’s been well-worn. (more…)
I’m at a crossroads, I suppose you could say. That point in every man’s life when he looks at where he is, what he’s done, where he’s headed, and double checks within himself that all the choices, decisions, endeavors, relationships, advice taken, advice ignored, and each step along the way was the right thing to do at the time. I’m 30 now; shit’s gettin’ real. (more…)
For the past two years, I’ve worn an insulin pump as part of my diabetes management. As wonderful a tool it can be, I’m finding the negative side effects affect mostly my social life. Guys, whether they be new friends or potentially more, have often made jokes about it, thinking that I still use a pager and am not hep to the smartphone age. Though, every once in a while, someone thinks I’m a doctor, which is initially flattering but then leaves me reeking of unfulfilled potential. But more often than not, the jokes are either allusions to drug deals or snobby critiques of my retro choices in personal electronics.
Attempting to show that diabetes can be sexy. Or, at least isn’t completely unsexy.
I was born to two San Franciscan natives 29.93 years ago in suburby Walnut Creek, California. I grew up in California, and with the exception of a minor three-month stint in Seattle when I was 21, I haven’t lived anywhere else. So I realize this puts me in a bubble, a place where I can see what’s happening around me, if I choose to, all the while protected from some of the harsher realities of the world. (more…)
When I was younger, I always felt out of my age. My mind and soul, as pretentious as this may sound, were larger than my body, requiring more elbow room for anecdotes not yet experienced and emotional roller coasters yet to begin. When I was ten, I felt thirteen. When I was thirteen, I felt sixteen. When I was sixteen, I felt nineteen. When I was nineteen, I felt twenty-five. When I was twenty-five, I felt thirty. And now, just shy of a dozen weeks before my thirtieth birthday, I feel… ancient.