For all the boys who called me “exotic”

I had heard it enough to know you meant:

That I was desirable so long as I was shrouded in that cloud of mystique
(which was mostly just the fog in your eyes
but I didn’t have the heart to point out the difference)

And your foggy eyes lit up when you saw in me
Some alien freak here to show you a whole new #$@%ing world
So I tried to say that I’m really from this planet
And you’re not really the center of it
And between the deadness of Venus and Mars
We’re all life on Earth just trying to make it

But as you looked down to Earth
All you could see
Was some exotic fruit here for your consumption
To suck on the flesh and throw out the core


Despite my best efforts, I seem to have become one of those people who writes emotional poetry on the internet. Oh well. 

We Need to Reject the Gay Agenda (Until it Switches to my New Organizer App)

Since the release of the news that Disney movies are now kind of gay-ish, I have received many calls to my organization A Trillion and Four Uncles expressing concern over the Gay Agenda.

Indeed, the Gay Agenda might seem like a recent development, particularly for those of us who grew up in a culture where children’s movies were only a place for wholesome stories of teen marriage and beastiality. But in fact, it must have been around for a really long time, because it’s still written in one of those old-school pocketbook paper agendas.

agendaI find this unacceptable as a parent, a citizen, and especially as an app developer: that’s why I urge the Gay Agenda to switch to my new organizer App, Organ-Eyes, a secure and fun way to keep track of all your daily, weekly, and monthly agendas (available for iPhone and Android) . 

What’s next on the Gay Agenda? Erasing the natural boundaries between the sexes? Dismantling the nuclear family as the fundamental unit of society? Eroding our nation’s global power by loosening the masculinity of our young men? Probably something cool like that, but it’s really hard to tell when its written in chicken-scratch handwriting with a leaky pen. Organ-Eyes, however, clears up any ambiguity by allowing you to zoom in on the details each item, clearly color-coded by priority, with customizable fonts and text size.

The Gay Agenda has the potential to bring down the basic structures of gender, family, and sexual conduct that have defined years of Western civilization. But it also has the potential to not do that if it gets lost, stolen, or rained on too much. We can’t take that risk with our future. Organ-Eyes automatically syncs all changes to a secure cloud back-up, keeping it safe for years to come.

The Gay Agenda has been proliferating faster in recent years, with sexual and gender deviants increasingly making their way into mainstream television, movies, government offices, history textbooks, and probably your apartment building. But it hasn’t been proliferating that fast. It could be proliferating much faster if it made use of the Organ-Eyes social features, which allow users to simultaneously publicize new events on all social media platforms and send automatic invites to subscribers.

The Gay Agenda stands to tear apart and rearrange the fundamental moral fabric of America. But as fun as patchwork quilting is, it’s also inefficient, aesthetically messy, and technologically outdated, just like pocketbook agendas. For these reasons, we must stand against the Gay Agenda it until it digitizes. With Organ-Eyes.

To take a stand, please sign the petition on A Trillion and Four Uncles’ Facebook page.

———

Disclosure: This post is only vaguely affiliated with the Gay Mafia™.

Bisexual Visibility Tips

Are you a chronically invisible bisexual struggling to have your sexuality acknowledged by mere mortals? In honor of Bisexual Visibility Day, here are some never-before-used bi visibility tips to try:

Disclaimer: these strategies have not been tested on humans, animals, plants, fungi, or unicorns, and I take no responsibility for any consequences

  • During any attendance call, stand up and shout “I’m queer and I’m here!”
  • Preface every statement you make with “In my bisexual opinion . . . “
  • As you lean in to kiss someone of the same gender boo, say “no homo.”
  • As you lean in to kiss someone of a different gender boo, say “no hetero.”
  • Generally interject “no hetero” into conversations at random intervals.
  • Stop the drive-through at McDonalds to critique the employees’ use of the phrase “choose a side.”
  • If you hear someone throwing around the phrase “That’s so gay,” call them out by saying “Actually, it might be so bisexual. Don’t assume.”
  • Talk to the guy on the corner with the “Gays are Destroying America” sign and ask that he also acknowledge the role of bisexuals in destroying America.
  • When someone tells you “good-bi” smile and say “I know I am.”

It’s entirely possible that after using these strategies, you’ll still be received with the same old “But you’re not like actually bi, right?” At this point, it might be time to give up and accept your invisibility. On the plus side, invisibility is a great addition to your LinkedIn “skills” section when applying to corporate spying jobs (I’m guessing that’s what “analyst” actually means, right?).

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Pro-tip for observers: bifocals are the only glasses with guaranteed bi visibility. Put them on and you’ll be seeing bisexuals everywhere.


Note: This is a joke, I think, but bi visibility isn’t, so I recommend checking out this for real information and suggestions on for fighting erasure.

 

Gym Dialogues

Girl: *loading weights*
Guy: You know, men are turned off by muscles.
Girl: Oh, don’t worry about that! Your muscles really aren’t that big at all!
Guy: I meant—
Girl: Maybe it’s something about your personality that’s turning them off…
Guy: Never mind I—
Girl: But don’t give up! I’m sure there’s somebody out there for everyone—even you!

Dancing in the Face of Violence

Some of my semi-coherent thoughts and feelings in of the recent shooting at Pulse. Love to the families of the victims, the LGBTQ and Latinx communities of Orlando, and anyone else who’s been having trouble making sense of world lately:

In an otherwise meh performance I saw on Saturday, there was one image that stuck with me all night: a cloud of smoke meant to resemble a bomb with people dancing tirelessly through it. The coexisting images of dancing and bombs, as if there were nothing contradictory about them, seemed as strangely affirming as it did absurd.

When I read the news on Sunday, the only thing that made sense to do was nothing. The next morning, the only other thing I could do was dance. It’s a pretty useless thing to be doing, but maybe that’s what made sense about it.

Some people have expressed shock that people could be shot in a place where they came to feel safe, have fun, and dance. But the truth is that queer clubs have always been sites of dancing in the face of danger. Maybe some of us are in a time, place, or social position that lets us forget it, but queer clubs around the world have grown up in the face of violence, whether from criminal attackers or law enforcement.

In this space, with this history, there’s no need to check the shooter’s race or religion or background to recognize a shooting as an act of terror—especially for queer people of color, it’s all too clear that targeted violence meant to invoke fear isn’t only something that comes from Muslims or brown people or immigrants.

And yet the very existence of clubs like Pulse—filled with dancing—is testament to everyone who has refused to let their body be paralyzed by that fear.

In the face of violence, dancing is a pretty useless thing to be doing. But maybe that’s kind of the point. Even when they’re after your life, you refuse to let them reduce your body and your movement to the bare functionalism of fight or flight.

Refusing to let them tell you what not to do with your body. Refusing to make it quieter and smaller as a plea for tolerance or safety. Asserting your will not just to survive, but to live. Demanding that your community be defined not just by oppression and death stories, but also by dancing and life stories.

Dancing through guns, through bombs, through tears, through fears. Keep dancing y’all.

 

Choice

Nothing evokes my decision-making anxiety quite like the paper towel aisle of Target. Not over the importance of the decision, obviously, but just the sheer quantity–of options, factors, and unsolicited contradictory advice on every label.

1-Ply? 2-Ply? Quilted? Do I want maximum absorption or fastest absorption? Or the best wet-strength? Who’s doing this “scientific testing” anyway? I could get the extra-soft ones, but they’re not made from recycled material. Should I just pick the cheapest ones–by square-footage? By volume? By absorption capacity?

The more options, the more inevitable disappointment. It’s referred to as the paradox of choice: the fact that an overabundance of choice has actually increased anxiety and unhappiness in postindustrial society.  No matter what you pick, the list of what you didn’t get will always stack higher than what you did.

Sometimes it makes me want to buy nothing at all.

So what do you do to avoid standing there forever, paralyzed by the consumer’s dilemma? The recommended strategy is satisficing–just picking something good enough so you can get on with life. And it works. As long as no one questions your paper towel choices. And as long as you don’t find yourself in a mess that really has you wishing for 3-Ply.

Just satisfice and get on with it. After all, it’s just a stupid stupid paper towel roll.

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Unless it’s not.

In a choice-saturated culture, it’s no wonder that the language of choice is at the center of our politics.

“My body, my choice!”

Take Liberal feminism, with it’s spotlight on autonomy as the key women’s right. Putting aside the daunting task of assessing the social causes and implications of each choice–along with the insufferable personal scrutiny involved in doing so–choice feminism instead celebrates the act of choosing itself as inherently empowering.

Bikinis, hijabs, lipstick, nose jobs, leg hair, sex, abortion, careers, babies, marriage, divorce. They can all be celebrated as feminist choices–but especially if  you can profess with unwavering confidence how you made the absolute best decision with your completely independent will.

The main point is spot on: personal choices surrounding one’s body and life path should be made available and respected. But assumption often implicit in the tone–that such choices automatically carry superwoman-type sense of “empowerment”–is another issue.

What if choice doesn’t always feel so powerful, free, and…super? Maybe it’s because no matter which way you turn, you’re still surrounded by flashy signs and crowds cheering for the paths you didn’t choose and against the one you did. Or maybe because you have no “right” decision that you can make proudly and loudly, only a closet full of varying shades of wrong-ish.

Can there be space in the language of empowered choice to talk about uncertainty, doubt, regret? And loss: choice always means loss, big or small, of what might have been.

Almost makes you want to opt out of the whole choice thing all together.

“It’s not a choice!”

It’s also no wonder that not choosing  has become a political mantra and legal defense for the modern gay rights movement.

Denying choice is the quickest and safest way out when when you’re accused of making all the wrong choices. “I couldn’t” needs less explanation than “I didn’t,” and “I had to” carries less moral baggage than “I decided to.” With choice out of the equation, you don’t have to directly handle and detangle those claims of wrongness and rightness thrown at you.

And of course it’s not incorrect. As long as you’re talking about attraction, and not identity or behavior, its basically involuntary by definition. There’s a reason we call it “falling in love” and not “jumping in love” (or lust or whatever).

But we jump into other things–relationships, sex, visibility, politics, communities, futures.  Making “not a choice” the central message of a movement is a decision to treat inevitability of falling as more defining than the courage of jumping.

But what if we need to deal with both? Can we deal with the fact that we all can jump, but not without falling back to earth? Jumping not into the infinite sky like superwoman, but back onto our human legs. Jumping as high as we can, but with the risk of broken bones in the landing.

Jumping without knowing if we’ll be caught. Jumping over the obstacles in front of us, but only when our power exceeds the size. Jumping over dirty puddles, or landing right in them, making messes too messy for even 3-ply to fix. Leaping forward down the best path we can see to get where we can get from where we are.

Choosing to jump, because the only thing scarier is standing still.