Atlantic City Travelogue Continued

Wednesday

Imagine sixty effusive, sparkly, costumed Jon Benet Ramsey girls with Noo Yawk accents. Imagine their mothers nearby: plump, forceful, with bad spray-on tans and two-packs-a-day cigarette habits. This was what greeted me today at breakfast. This whole week some sort of pageant has been going on, though I have been afraid to ask precisely what it is. Something strikes me as very wrong about the entire premise. My mother wouldn’t let my sisters wear makeup until they were thirteen or fourteen. Maybe it’s that whole Southern cultural thing. We do tend to be a bit more conservative.

Though I haven’t thought about this in years, my mind returns to Middle School. I recall an assembly we were all, male or female, required to attend. Because her daughter attended the same school as the rest of us, an archetypical Southern Belle mother was granted the ability to speak to us. I’m not exactly sure why the boys were included, since she spoke at much greater length about makeup than she did about proper nutrition. The woman drawled on and on about how when she taught beauty classes, her age limit for participation was 13, though there were always one or two mothers who tried to enroll their daughters sooner than that. The woman really only wanted to make money, and I’m sure had arm-twisted her way into attaining thirty minutes of valuable school time.

I’ve been housed for the past couple days in one of the older casinos, one slowly being renovated over the next few months. With time, one recognizes that a pecking order exists. The newer, nicer casinos attract a different class of people. I find incomprehensible that people would drive directly to a casino or at least to its top few levels specifically to do shopping. Everything here seems to be attached to a casino. I think somehow the two ought to be kept separate, though I understand the subtle and not-so-subtle coercion present. The phrase commonly used around addicts of a more liquid variety is this: “If you hang around a barber shop long enough, you’ll eventually get a haircut” Slot machines, card tables, and video displays are never once allowed out of view. I could be more moralistic, I suppose, but I seem to be the only person who finds the display off-putting, gaudy, and unsettling.

I notice I am beginning to lose more and more of my anonymity. Two random Atlantic City dwelling individuals on Twitter found my account, and then began to leave critical comments. In some ways, being a male feminist is a bit like being a Christian. One is encouraged to expect negative, often churlish remarks. But neither do I embrace an attitude of persecution. This is simply the price one pays for being more and more a public commodity.

I need to develop a thicker skin and not also forget the roots of the ignorant attitudes that motivate criticism. In some ways, I suppose I should rejoice that I have reached this stage. If I was meaningless and not pertinent, no one would even bother. But this is the two-faced nature of fame. I know that if I became a huge success, many would know my name, but few would know my face. I much prefer it this way. I’m not sure I could handle it if I was routinely recognized by strangers when going about my daily routine.

Saturday Film Excerpt

Excerpt from Travelogue

I am up to my eyeballs in Quaker work today, so instead I'll post something that I wrote earlier in the week. Atlantic City was such a shock to the system that all I could do to cope was write about it.

Tuesday

The sub-standard tap water made me sick and woke me up at 1 am with heartburn. Having never been to a casino like this before, I see how they make their money. Mr. Trump nickel and dimes you to death. The breakfast buffet was $14. Even using the gym is $10 per day. And a sad looking gym it is, I have to say. A person isn’t exactly getting his or her dollars’ worth. Some of the amenities are very nice, but some of them have seen much better days. Now I understand why the up-front hotel cost was so inexpensive. Factor in a hundred surcharges as they appear and understand the true cost. I find it sad that they can’t manage to fleece people enough at the poker table or the slot machine, so they have to make money other ways.

Let me tell you how it will be/there’s one for you, nineteen for me

I hope this never becomes anyone's economic system or means to solve the debt problem.

Along with my bus ticket, I was given a voucher to play the slot machines up to $25 for free. I’ve often found places with blinking lights, noise, and lots of people incredibly over stimulating. This was also the case here, as I strode up to the first promising looking cluster of machines and tried my luck. After I became a Friend, I was told that gambling was frowned upon, so I’ve generally tried to abide by that rule. Quakerly or not, $40 equaled five minutes worth of effort. Playing conservatively, I took whatever money I won at each push of the button and immediately cashed it out. The winnings paid for dinner. I felt pleased with myself.

Here’s a funny story. While at my table for dinner, I spoke to someone over the phone about the Washington Post project for Meeting. Three weeks ago, The Washington Post contacted my Meeting requesting our participation. This request was forwarded to the committee upon which I serve. Specifically, we were asked to take part in a three part religion project. Its intention was to document the opinions and viewpoints of different religious groups located in the District.

I return to the present. From then onward, I was given stellar service. I think the casino workers then assumed that I was an investigative reporter or some sort of undercover media spy checking closely on how efficiently they did their job. This is not a distinction that I discouraged, because I generally enjoy having my glass refilled in a timely fashion. We all like to feel important from time to time.

Swimming in the ocean or playing on the beach has ceased to be thrilling to me since I was nine. Inviting sunburns, regardless of how judiciously one applies sunscreen, is never much fun for me. I went out for a little while, long enough to not tremendously outpace the time limitations of my sunscreen. The water was filthy, full of silt from a project to redo the design of the beach. I suppose I’m spoiled. Where I spent time as a child, the water was light blue, foamy, and translucent. The only issues I ever had were jellyfish stings. But that’s what meat tenderizer is for, when it is applied to the sting. The more people you add to anything, the common space shared by everyone will reflect it. This is not often a positive development.

Atlantic City Pictures

The trip was by no means a success, but a few usable shots were produced.

Mini-Vacation

I will be in an undisclosed location from today until Wednesday. A break from the action would seem to be worthwhile.

A BlogHer mention I received in response to my post about women's sports has been well-received. If it was part of a greater trend to encourage men to pay attention to the contribution of female athletes, I should find myself most gratified. The Women's World Cup soccer game between the USA and Brazil yesterday was a classic. Several men I know tuned in out of curiosity, and I am so thankful that the match was exciting and a nail-biter. Perhaps it has started something lasting.

Quote of the Week

"Why do you dislike me? I have never done anything to help you."- Confucius

Caunterbury

Be wary of trading up
says the patron saint of good intentions

Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
in search of something else

She’s trading up
a mind like a spreadsheet

every day requires new modifications
forever upgrading to a new version

but don’t ask to borrow
or swap or barter

now accepting applications
sign in for the latest audition

don’t call her
she’ll call you

large pale feet
soak daily in ice water

a precise system even in its
indecision

The holy blisful martir for to seke

virtues of
self-control

the primly chaste safe harbor
controlling attitudes

It seems to me accordant with reason
To inform you of the state of every one

Saturday Video

An old friend of mine was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He has been given three to six months to live, maximum. So it is partially for him that video is posted. Another reason this is posted is for a Friend who is leaving DC for California and grad school. Several of us got together earlier in the week to celebrate in person.

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day, believe me

I bless the light
I bless the light that lights on you, believe me
And though you're gone
You're with me every single day, believe me

Days I'll remember all my life
Days when you can't see wrong from right
You took my life
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me
But it's all right
Now I'm not frightened of this world, believe me

I wish today could be tomorrow
The night is dark
It just brings sorrow
Let it wait

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day, believe me

Days I'll remember all my life
Days when you can't see wrong from right
You took my life
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me
But it's all right
Now I'm not frightened of this world, believe me

Days...

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day, believe me

I bless the light
I bless the light that shines on you, believe me
And though you're gone
You're with me every single day, believe me

Days...

The Bostonians: A Review

The late 19th Century American novelist Henry James commented on the emergent First-wave Feminist movement in his novel The Bostonians. In 1984, James’ book was adapted into a movie. Itself a selection of the Merchant Ivory school of period piece dramas, the film promises more than it provides, but is a minor gem nonetheless. James was a skeptic of Feminism and feminists, revealing both to be nothing more a collective of than uncompromising, ideologically polarizing fussy old maids. However, the author is also highly critical of the counter-weight to these passionate reformers, the charming, but manipulative Mississippi lawyer and frustrated writer, Basil Ransome. We will be formally introduced to him later in this review.

Olive Chancellor (Vanessa Redgrave) is the stereotypical First-wave feminist: unsmiling, a repressed lesbian, and devoid of a personality. To some extent, that portrayal persists into the current age, even some 135 years later. Her feminist protégé, young Verena Tarrant (Madeleine Potter), is the daughter of an eccentric faith healer. Verena has developed quite a talent for public speaking and has begun selling out dates in lecture halls. Her fellow women’s rights advocates clearly expect much of her in the years going forward. This personal charisma and suggestion of greater things to come is what attracts Olive to Verena in the first place. Her attention is rapturous, emotionally overwrought, and full of lesbian subtext.

Also attracted to Vera’s oratory if not her words, is Southern gentleman and political conservative Basil Ransome (Christopher Reed). His view of the rights of women is decidedly less forward thinking. He and Olive spend the entire movie competing for Verena’s attention, underscoring the obvious symbolism of this struggle. Romantic desire is a complementary strong motive sparking the conflict between the two. Basil wants to marry Verena and for her to take a traditionally submissive and secondary role as his wife. Should they be married, he intends to force her to stop public speaking altogether. Olive wants to continue advising and mentoring Verena, raising her own profile in the process. And, of course, Olive wants Verena for herself. Both relationships, it must be said, are controlling to some degree or another. It seems that each wants Verena to achieve his or her own ends.

Basil pursues the indecisive Verena from place to place. The effect produces spectacular fights, emotional anguish on the part of Olive, and reconciliations between Basil and Verena. Women during this time were supposed to be ruled by their emotions to the detriment of the rest of their daily duties. This was, in fact, an argument advanced by anti-feminists to deny women basic freedoms. In any case, what Ransome cannot discover through charm alone he obtains by persistence. We’d consider his advances excessive now, but no one objects to them then. Basil pursues Verena to shifting locations in Boston and to the summer home of an older feminist, who reveals Verena’s whereabouts, sympathetic to his plight. With time, he begins to break down her resolve.

One minor character provides James’s attitudes towards Feminism of the time. She notes that it is curious that a movement based on gender equality rejoices more when a man joins than when a woman joins. For all of his arrogance, Basil does have female supporters who agree with his traditional view of the rights of women. Though I doubt this particular terminology was used then, Ransome is an ardent anti-feminist. Those allied with him believe that the movement has gone too far and must be kept in check. At the time, this was called “the woman question” and those devoted to solving it were as fragmented back then as is true today. James implies that the movement itself was a mish-mash of quack science, charlatanism, and self-righteousness. Should one observe the criticisms of today’s feminism, it is easy to observe how views in opposition have evolved in the same fashion.

Carry That Weight

I suppose we all have to carry the weight of what we do. Sometimes forever.



Boy, you're going to carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time

Boy, you're going to carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time

I never give you my pillow
I only send you my invitations
And in the middle of the celebrations I break down

Boy, you're going to carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time

Quaker Process Fail

Three weeks ago, a reporter from The Washington Post contacted my Meeting. It was his intention to offer us an opportunity to participate in a religion project that would feature the contributions of many religious/faith groups across the city. Believing this to be an excellent opportunity to share our Light with the world, to say nothing of the Metro area, I expressed my interest to the reporter. He was forthright with me over the phone and I was also equally forthright with him. It was then time for me to present the proposal by e-mail to other members of my committee, then to formally make my pitch.

I never thought this proposal would cause as much pushback as it has. The first section of the project has been received with much reservation and dissent. Each week, a particular question would be asked of all the groups who have agreed to take part. Readers might then survey a wide variety of different points of view that cut across multiple religious divides. Some of these questions might pertain well to us, and those that would not we are under no obligation to answer. (For example, I doubt Friends have a compelling answer about homeschooling)

The issue at the heart of this dissension is that a vocal minority of Quakers don't want to seem as though they could be perceived to somehow speak for the other Monthly Meetings in the DC metro area. It is true that one cannot say that Quakers believe ____________. No litmus test or "line" defines individual Truth. We are to speak to our own condition. They are trying to protect me, they say, from a huge raging controversy. It is true that Friends have been known to get their knickers in a twist about such matters, or problems far less "controversial", but this seems excessive to me. Other Friends I have consulted share my same views.

A brief point of clarification to non-Friends reading this: Monthly Meetings are where one worships on First Day (Sunday). Friends are also cautious of not wanting to seem as though they are speaking for all of Baltimore Yearly Meeting. A Yearly Meeting is a usually regional group of associated Monthly Meetings. Friends Meeting of Washington is one of fifty. However, most Meetings in Baltimore Yearly Meeting are not in the DC area.

Two Friends in particular are very suspicious of reporters and believe that any answers we provide will be re-edited or presented in such a way that is not in keeping with their original intent. I'm sure they have their reasons but they seem to be more in damage control mode than anything else. I think disingenuous reporting is a particularly prevalent DC fear. I do, however, have the reporter in writing stating in no uncertain terms that this will not come to pass. Reservations aside, I think a risk-averse attitude along with the phrase I-don't-want-to-do-it-because-I-don't-want-to-do-it is what has led to this logjam. Even when confronted with multiple opportunities to reach consensus, they are dragging their feet, still petrified of a huge conflagration. In the meantime, I'm trying my hardest to get as many points of view I can from others, in the hopes of having a wide band of people who support my perspective.

Some Friends in my committee want this matter to go before the entire Meeting as a whole, but we must resolve an internal disagreement between ourselves first. It is this. Some wish to have a panel/committee answer each question and some would rather have individuals answer them. The committee option would allow designated people to speak for the Meeting in the same capacity as their leadership roles. The same Friends who are very much cautious and wary of causing ruffled feathers think the best way to go about it would be to consult our Faith and Practice.

Faith and Practice are books of discipline and practice that describe rough guidelines and statements. They includes the contributions of several Friends working together as a team and are usually revised and updated once every twenty years or so to suit changing times. Since no Friends' precise opinion would be featured, it would be difficult for anyone to take issue with an answer pulled from Faith and Practice. However, this might at times provide answers that are vague and only tangentially pertinent to the question asked.

To pull back briefly from the greater description, I note here that I'm dismayed by what has waylaid a fantastic example at outreach. Fearful attitudes like these are what prevent needed repairs to the Meetinghouse, delaying completion of straightforward projects by up to a decade. If this project is to proceed, we will have to be careful how we word our answer, knowing that cautiousness will never prevent anyone from taking offense. Some people take offense simply to be argumentative. But in any case, we must not be so afraid of consequences that we do not move forward. This has been the downfall of Meetings for years and years. I would rather us make history than tread water.

New Photos

I suppose the least I can do is provide something a bit more substantive, appointment or no appointment. The picture above was compiled from around fifty or so taken over the last two months or so.

Everything in the collection below has not yet been Photoshopped to my satisfaction. Only three, including the others in the slideshow have.

The Waiting Game

I have to sit and wait in an office today. Had things been handled properly, this visit would have been completely unnecessary. However, I submitted the appropriate paperwork twice through the mail and no action was made. This necessitates a face-to-face visit. I suspect they don't know what to do with the forms, even though protocol states that they should. I was granted a payment, then the payment was taken back due to an internal audit. Even though the screw up was theirs, not mine, I was still punished for it. I've filed an appeal twice requesting that the money should be returned to me.

A believer in good government, I am not a believer in the Logic of Rules. There is nothing more illogical than rules to correct other rules. There is nothing more confusing than rules that complicate existing rules for no good reason. And, mostly, I don't want to have to sacrifice several hours of my time dealing with something that should have been corrected months ago. I'll be back tomorrow, probably.

Happy Fireworks Day!

Quote of the Week

"A minister was trying to talk his fund-raising committee into buying new chandeliers for the church. A committee member was opposed saying: "In the first place I don't know how to spell it, in the second place there's nobody in the church who knows how to play them, and in the third place, we need more light."- Anonymous

Past Anecdotes from a (Slightly) Neurotic Bisexual

In some ways, I suppose I had been rather old school. I chose to strategically carry on my affairs with men in another city. Businessmen in a different decade opted for this route. This was for two reasons. The first was a concession to my homophobic family. I didn't want them finding any evidence in whatever form it took. The second was because of the unique character of the queer community in the place where I grew up. One learned very soon that its numbers were very small and its inclination was often to gossip. Not wishing to constantly cross paths with former lovers, nor intending to be talked about in this way, if I could help it, I took my anonymity to a larger city some distance away.

Occasionally I’d hook up with someone new, as often by word of mouth as by computer, but I mainly saw the same few men over and over again. They knew that a relationship with me was simply out of the question. It was a topic not to be raised under any circumstances, because it caused me as much frustration as it did them. But this doesn’t mean I didn’t leave my mark behind in the city where I grew up. Sex for sex’s sake was rarely an issue for anyone at any time or any place, but sometimes it didn't stop there. I do know of at least three men who fell in love with me. I was never able to return their affections and to this day I still feel guilty that I could not.

One of them attended the same high school that I did. We were both Freshman. He was heavily religious and closeted at the time; though when I learned years later that was gay, I can’t say I was especially surprised. I was less heavily religious, but just as closeted. Since then, I’ve wondered if perhaps he saw something in me that I did not. My mother surely saw something in him that I did not, and made a bizarre euphemistic reference to his personality and style of dress. What she meant, of course, is that she was fairly certain that he was gay and she didn’t want me hanging around him. She was a firm believer in contagious gay syndrome, or perhaps thought that I might be somehow infected by an unsavory aspect of his personality. He wasn’t exactly my type and wouldn’t be now, but I wish I’d have been able to express this to him the proper way, rather than leaving things unresolved.

The next was much older than me. I’ve had many lovers and partners who are several years older than me. We met in church, of all places, and struck up a friendship. He holds the distinction of being the only man who I have ever completely trusted. As is typical for me, the age difference didn’t really faze me, but it did always bother him. He had an on-again, off-again partner with whom he was frequently exasperated but yet unwilling to completely cut off ties. The partner was exceptionally emotionally needy, which is what caused these frequent periods of separation, during which time we would be together. He was particularly sensitive to my own issues, which were more numerous then. And, to be sure, he had his own demons, but tried to keep them to himself. And once again, I simply could not return the same level of affection and adoration granted to me. I suspect he still has these feelings, based on the occasional e-mails I still receive.

The third occurred at the very end of high school, my senior year. I showcased my new guitar skills and vocal confidence at the behest of a math teacher. The teacher had heard me play and requested I perform for the class. Surprisingly, I did a very good job and won the respect and also the flirtations of several of my classmates. This must have been when I first grabbed his attention. But as with the first man I've noted, he was not out yet, nor was I. I saw him years later. He was part of a spoken word performance attached to Pride. He walked up to me like a lover scorned. Oh, I bet you don’t even know who I am. Trust me, I did. On the spur of the moment, I decided to read two recent poems I’d written, which played well with the crowd. They played so well that I unintentionally upstaged the scheduled performer, which would be him. Angry and frustrated, he left the stage without so much as a parting word to me. I have not seen him since, and that was nearly a decade ago.

I’ve never written before about these sorts of things on any public forum. The queer part of me was something I kept quite deliberately hidden because I wanted it to be a secret and also because I was barely able to emotionally process my experiences. Even now, I think of those days with equal parts pain and fondness. I had much to learn about a world unto itself, one that even now is just beginning to open up to outsiders, but still retains its own slightly paranoid ways. No one ever asked me why I felt a need to be discreet and few asked for my telephone number afterwards. But I feel like if there’s going to be greater understanding, it might as well begin with me. There’s a lot more to LGBT identity than Pride parade, marriage rights, and stereotype. I feel that if we truly seek understanding, it will arrive in the form of our stories. So here's a few of mine.

Saturday Video

Sometimes, I'm only waiting for your smile
Sometimes, I'll only wait a while
Sometimes, a feeling makes me wanna cry
Tell me why

Sometimes, I'm fooling, playing for my time
Sometimes, the days are always fine
Sometimes, a cloudburst puts me out of line
It's a crime

There's always tomorrow, to end all this sorrow and pain
(Ooo pain, sorrow and pain)
(Oo0 pain, sorrow and pain)
There's always a reason you always believed in my soul

Summertime

I would ordinarily record a song of my own today, but I am having technical difficulties. An increased Lithium level often brings with it significant hand tremors. Or, to put it another way, I can't grasp my pick without dropping it and, even if I could, I don't have the manual dexterity needed to strum the guitar.

This seemed applicable.



Summertime, and the living is easy
Fish are jumping
And the cotton is high

Oh, your daddy's rich
And your ma is good-looking
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

One of these mornings
You're gonna rise and sing it
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But 'til that morning
There's a-nothing can harm you
With daddy and mammy standing by