The Left Stuff

Posted on by
Reply

This was recently brought to my attention, and it’s brilliant in its simplicity. If you have a difficult time understanding white, male, hetero, cis privilege, i.e. if you think that your life has been challenging even by virtue of being white or male or straight, and you’ve had to work hard for everything you have, and you kind of resent being told that you have it easier than women or people of color and that you should feel bad for being born white, male, straight, and into the right gender, then think about this.  

The Western world is righthanded. The mouse on your computer, the layout of your car (in most countries), the set-up of your desks—at work and at school, scissors, and even the act of writing itself, is for righthanded people. You don’t even realize it. But try being lefthanded. You have to buy separate scissors, or you have to go into your computer preferences and change the set-up of your mouse, or you have to adjust to operating from a different side of your body. Have you ever seen a lefty write? They have to contort their arms around the paper so as to make the ink go the right way without smearing it.  

Being righthanded doesn’t make you better, and it doesn’t mean everything is handed to you, and you’re not a bad person for being a righty. But ask any lefty, your life is actually a little easier because society is constructed for you, and not them. A lefthanded desk or scissors isn’t any kind of special privilege that takes away something from righties, it’s just an attempt to make their lives a little more normal than they currently are.  

This applies to different races, genders, and sexualities.  

SJWs, of which I know many, pass this onto your friends who are having a hard time with the concept. It might help them understand. 

The Hell with It

Posted on by
Reply

Today, from 11:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. is our work Holiday Party. Those of you who have read Jeremiah’s Inferno will know that this is the Seventh Circle of Hell, below Standing in Line and one above Stuck in Traffic. 

For those not in the know, the Circles of Hell are as follows:  

1. Four-Year-Old Explaining the Plot of their Favorite Anime;  

2. First Dates;  

3. Holding in a Fart for a Long Elevator Ride;  

4. Pickles and Mushrooms;  

5. Exercising;  

6. Standing in Line;  

7. Work Holiday Parties;  

8. Stuck in Traffic;  

9. Discussing Politics with my Former Best Friend from High School. 

Check It Out

Posted on by
Reply

For most of my three-year run at The Container Store in Reston, they made me a register jockey, which I came to resent. This was mostly because it was a pretty boring job most of the time, since you were chained to a small area, and there wasn’t much to do when the customers weren’t around. Also, there was this strong, pushy emphasis on signing people up for the Rewards Program that stressed me out even though I was pretty good at it. And mostly, it’s really draining to interact with that many people every single day. When I trained to be an Order Processor, I found a job that I really liked, and it drastically reduced the amount of time I spent up front, cashing people out. And later, when I moved to Washington, DC, they signed me on to pretty much be exclusively an Order Processor, which I was thrilled by.  

But occasionally, about once a month, I have to do a shift at the register. And I’ve found that I kind of like it. At this store, business is pretty steady, so I’ll show up, sign onto the computer at 6:00, and within what feels like a half an hour, they’re making the announcement that the store will be closing in a few minutes. Since I have stopped caring about the Rewards Program, there’s no pressure, and I still do fine signing people up. But mostly, what I’ve found is that it enables me to have conversations with people, and I don’t have to do the work associated with that. Interacting with people is exhausting, but I can make people laugh, I can chat about the weather, and I can repeat the same dumb jokes, over and over again because they’re going to be gone in less than five minutes and I’m going to have someone new replace them immediately.  

Before a Register shift would drain me, but these days, it charges me up a little. Please don’t tell my bosses that, though, because it only works when it’s three hours every four weeks. Doing it more than that will take the shine right off of it. 

The Night the Lights Went Out

Posted on by
Reply

I just had a random flashback. This happened during the great Eastern Seaboard Blackout of August 2003, and the lights had just gone out. They dismissed us from work because, really, what was the point in otherwise? I knew that I was not getting back home without electricity, so I did the only thing I could: I stopped in a bar and proceeded to give my best effort to keep their beer from getting warm. After I did all I could, I headed out, and through a series of coincidences and good timing, I ended up on the world’s most expensive ferry to Jersey City, and from there hopped on a bus home.

When I arrived, I found my upstairs neighbor and my roommate (the normal one, not the crazy one) smoking cigars on my front stoop. My upstairs neighbor asked me what I did when the lights went out, and I told him that I stopped for a drink. My roommate handed him five dollars because my upstairs neighbor was so sure that the first thing I would do in this situation would be to find alcohol that he wagered money on it.

That’s who I was back then.

Three Hundred Sixty-Five

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve tried putting it out of my head. I’ve grown a lot since then. I’ve lived a pretty exciting life in the past year. I’ve reconnected with of people, I’ve had a lot of laughs, I’ve been really honest with myself and others. I’ve had a number of milestones on my journey to reflect, and I don’t need another one. But this date is there, it’s seared into my mind, it’s forever a part of me. 

It was a little after 4:00 in the afternoon a year ago today that Kate told me she was divorcing me, and that I had two days to move out, and then walked out of the room with no explanation, never to be seen again. About an hour and a half after that, I had to sit with my General Manager at the break room at work and try to explain what happened when I still wasn’t sure what happened. She was the first person I told. A year ago Monday, I pet two cats I’d snuggled with for fourteen years for the last time, ever. That morning, I left my home and my life, and no one would tell me why. 

I have a new home now. I have a new life. I’m happy. But this day …  

After everything, I didn’t expect it to still hurt. 

Blue State Blues

Posted on by
Reply

Something to keep in mind for 2020 as it starts to get ugly out there. Donald Trump didn’t win the White House by convincing the majority of America to like him. He did it by convincing the majority of America to be so disgusted with Hillary Clinton that they stayed home. He accomplished this by manipulating the right-wing media and the mainstream media, getting a little bit help from the Russians, and getting a lot of help from Democrats. People don’t remember this, and I’m anticipating some of my friends to comment on this post telling me otherwise, but five years ago, Hillary Clinton was a reasonably popular public figure. She wasn’t toxic, and she was a sure bet for the presidency. One primary and several exaggerated scandals later, she’s the least favorite politician in America.  

This tactic worked in the low-turnout elections in 2000 and 2004, when two decent statesmen were so dragged through the mud that the public, who didn’t really like George W. Bush, were even less sure about those guys. The Trump campaign took this and elevated it to a grand guignol, and they’re on track to do it again. Try going onto a forum manned by Democrats and mentioning a candidate’s name and see how fast and furious the attacks will come. Bernie’s washed up and crazy. Biden is a clueless Boomer. Mayor Pete is an evil capitalist. Warren is condescending. A Democrat can, right off the bat, tell you five things they hate about the other candidate, but they can tell you may be one or two things they love about theirs.  

Voting not-Trump isn’t going to win the election. It didn’t work in 2016, just like not-Bush didn’t work in 2004. What worked in 2008 and 2012 is that we had a candidate who, despite his flaws, we liked enough to unite behind. The only candidate who has people united behind him is Trump.  

I don’t know what the solution is. The allegations against Buttigieg are awfully troubling, almost as much so as the verbal diarrhea that comes out of Joe Biden’s mouth. I don’t trust Sanders, and his followers are really off-putting. The one I’m behind is Warren, but anyone will tell you they have “problems” with Warren (I haven’t been able to get people to tell me what those problems are), and according to the Bernie people, her health care plan will effectively torpedo any chance for us to ever have single-payer. Democrats are amazing about finding flaws in their own people.  

Man’s Second-Best Friend

Posted on by
Reply

Instead of working on my book all late afternoon, I’ve been hanging out with Newcastle, who has been following me from room to room, giving me big, begging eyes for my attention. I let him curl up with me as I watched my one day off slip away from me. 

I love this cat. I love him so much. 

He crawled off of my lap and curled up in the corner of the couch to go to sleep, and he looks old. He is old. I can feel his bones when I pet him. It really hit me just now. He’s lived a lot longer than he was supposed to, with his heart condition and a liver that’s not where it’s supposed to be. But he and the other cat play chase still, even if Newcastle doesn’t really have the stamina to play long. 

When I saw my psychiatrist for the first time, and he asked me what my goals were, I told him, “I want to be as good as my cat thinks I am.” I don’t know if I’m there yet. I think Newcastle has unfairly high expectations. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do when he’s gone. But I know what I’m going to do for these years, these months he has left, When he comes up to me and demands affection, I’m going to put the notebook down and give it to him. This cat has brought me so much joy in my life that the least I can do is give him a happy retirement. 

More Powerful Than a Locomotive

Posted on by
Reply

This week I declared war on Batman. I did it in a FB group where people were trying to make Superman relevant for 2020. Many didn’t think it was possible, and some commenters leaned into the fact that he’s an undocumented immigrant. I don’t think that really works, though, because Superman is a blue-eyed white guy from Kansas. He would never get picked up in an ICE raid. But he is identifiable.  

Most people in the United States know what it’s like to leave home for the first time and move to a big, scary place, take an overwhelming job, develop a crush on your coworker who can’t see you in front of their face because they’re into someone flashier and better-looking than you, and have a side of yourself that you don’t want anyone to see because you want to come across as normal. As far as the superpower stuff that most think is impossible to write, keep in mind that, in the comics, his ultimate nemesis isn’t someone who can punch harder than him, it’s a human being—brilliant, soulless capitalist with unlimited resources. That sounds like an easy movie to make, Warner Brothers. Why do you have to go and make everything so complicated? 

The Non-Functional Closet

Posted on by
Reply

I have an announcement to make, and this is a big deal, so pay attention. This isn’t a conclusion I came about lightly. I didn’t just say, “I feel this way, it must be this.” It took me years to understand this. I’ve visited doctors and therapists and had some long conversations. Some people I’ve talked to just flat out don’t believe me, and I suspect a number of you won’t either, but it’s my identity, and I need to share.  

I’m asexual. If you’re not sure what that means, in the simplest of terms, A is a prefix meaning Not. Heterosexuals are attracted to the opposite sex and gender, homosexuals are attracted to the same sex and gender, bisexuals are attracted to both, and pansexuals are attracted to everything in between. Asexuals are attracted to neither and none.  

Except when they are. 

You see, like anything having to do with sex, it’s complicated. There’s a whole spectrum (from people who are only sexually attracted to someone they have a deep emotional connection to, all the way to people who are physically sickened by the idea of genitals being touched by others), and I don’t quite understand where I belong on it. I can tell you what it means for me. I can be in relationships. I’ve even had sex since my transition. But in general, with very few exceptions, I don’t feel sexual attraction. I don’t think about sex, sex doesn’t motivate me. Sex doesn’t play a part in my life, and more importantly, I don’t want it to. I find people attractive, but I don’t want to sleep with them. I develop crushes, but not because I want to see the person naked. Hell, I write erotica, but it’s as much a distant, imaginary fantasy to me that I can’t really relate to as when I write about a witch battling the Norse goddess of winter. 

Do I think this is part of the reason Kate divorced me? Yes, I do*. 

I’ve kept this to myself because asexuality is weird to our society. Even the most juvenile of comic book movies shoehorn in a romance subplot, and what is romance about but sex? Sex is everywhere. Sex (in the United States, anyway) is the unnamed, hidden force behind everything. Sex is biology. The fact that I’m not into it is a rejection of a fundamental part of who we are as humans, and many people I’ve told simply won’t accept this about me. 

When I started making the transition, I thought there was something wrong with me. I went looking for causes and solutions and found none that worked. My doctors suspected that my testosterone was low, or my medication was causing a reaction. It’s been suggested to me that I just need to meet the right person. And then, of course, there’s the one that I will bet money some of you are thinking right now: it’s perfectly normal for a man my age to lose interest in sex. 

My testosterone is normal. None of my medications have sexual side effects. It’s going to take more than just one person to change me. It has nothing to do with my age. I’m not broken, I’m not abnormal, I’m not old. I’m asexual. This is who I am.  

* I was fully honest with Kate about how my needs and wants were changing, so this isn’t something that was just kind of sprung on her unawares. She’s the first person I talked to who actually believed I was Ace. And I’m pretty sure that she ultimately decided she wanted no part of it. 

Cool Spots

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve had a few days to think about this. On Thanksgiving, Dr. Darrel Lloyd, one of my professors and mentors at Hastings College, passed away at the age of 85 (I hope that’s a lesson to all you youngsters about the dangers of smoking). My contemporaries at Hastings who had even a passing crack at the English Department knew Dr. Lloyd. If you didn’t take one of his classes, he did an annual Christmas reading which was one part hilarious and two parts bolt-you-to-your-seat. He was a brilliant man, and funny, and kind, and all of the other things I’ve been hearing.  

But the thing that he was to me, as I’m sure he was to a lot of people, that isn’t really coming across in all of the memorials I’m seeing, is that he was hands-down the coolest professor at Hastings College, possibly ever. I can name a lot of cool professors, including Dr. Lloyd’s son, also Dr. Lloyd, as well as the father of one of my dear friends, and they were pretty great. But as far as turtleneck-and-tweed-jacket-wearing, slow-motion-strutting, lecturing-anywhere-in-the-room-but-behind-the-podium, laid-back-quip-at-exactly-the-right-moment, deep-sexy-voice cool, no one could beat Darrell Lloyd. He couldn’t have been cooler if he was in a band. No one will ever be that cool again. 

I won’t be in Hastings on December 15 to celebrate his life and his passing, but my heart will be there. Darrel Lloyd will be there too, in the back, slouched down on his seat, taking it all in and being the coolest ghost in the Midwest.