"Different though the sexes are, they inter-mix. In every human being a vacillation from one sex to the other takes place, and often it is only the clothes that keep the male or female likeness, while underneath the sex is the very opposite of what it is above."

- Virginia Woolf


I should be promoting this only in my other blog, but I have started reading a piece of Canadian literature about transgendered individuals in rural Newfoundland. It is called Annabel, it is by Kathleen Winter, and it is beautiful.

This quote from Virginia Woolf is provided before the prelude.


I wonder if we will ever see the day when we all recognize our own transgendered-ness.

I support my gay son because he is my child.

The Fondation Emergence released a campaign in the March of 2011 to encourage immigrant families in Quebec to support their children if they are gay (which is something that many immigrant parents have never had to consider, as many come from countries where the social stigma against differing sexualities is painfully oppressive). I don't need to tell any of you, I am sure, about the enormous benefits of having supportive parents for gay children - the reduction it plays in our potential to commit suicide, or the potential to contract STIs and HIV/AIDS. So when I seen this kind of promotion, directed at parents of gay individuals, I think 'What a beautiful thing.'

Inspires me. And makes me wish we had stuff like this happening in my hometown.

Which would not be difficult at all.

A word that matters.

Dearest KindaGayBlog,

I like your blog. I like your videos. I like your perspective on life, and on how we make relationships, and on how important those relationships are. I think you are a smart man, who has started to make his life into what he wants it to be.

But I think you are wrong about this word.

But first, I like the basis of what you are saying. I like that you want us to rise above this word as a community, so that we don't allow this word to have power over us. You are right in pointing out that the only reason that we recognize this term as a curse is because we allow it to be one - not because it inherently is.

But I would argue that the vast majority of gay people, particularly those of us who are young and grew up with it in the school yard - hidden somewhere in between the sandbox, monkey bars, and swing set; stuck in the unheard lexicon of childhood, used when we are free from the supervision of teachers and adults and other sources of authority. "You throw like a girl." "Your mom!". "Fag!"

- We don't allow the term to bother us as we encounter it in our day-to-day existence. Even though now it is generally heard under breath (unless your first name is Kobe and your last name is Bryant), we manage to get over it. We are used to it. And we've found the strength to get past it - we've accepted who we are.

We have come out.

Perhaps, KindaGayBlog, this is my eternal educator coming out (won't somebody please think of the kids!), but I remember this term used in its virile sense as a closeted young teen - not as an out-of-the-closet and outed young adult. I can remember hearing it, not as an under-the-breath, slightly ashamed grasp at freedom of speech, but as an insult. And it was for these insults that I stayed in the closet.

And hated myself.

Because I knew that there was something wrong with me. Not because of the term (it is not inherently bad), but because of the tone of it. And as an isolated young man who was interested in other young men, I was not able to get over it. I couldn't imagine ever being able to get over it.

And, because I am only a young gay man, both in the sense of my actual age and in the sense of how long it is since I have come out, I cannot help to remember the pain that being closeted caused me - the fear, isolation, hatred, self-hatred, the false sense of love and acceptance. And I think that, if anything, my concern as a gay man should not be for those who are 'out' but for those who are not yet 'out' - who still hate themselves in ways that I can only just barely remember, and who hear the term 'faggot' and hope that nobody knows that this is who they are (but also who they aren't).

We should be concerned about love. Always concerned about love. And the term 'faggot' prevents us from being able to love ourselves.

And it is for this reason that we should fight to have it removed from popular usage. Yes - making it a big deal makes it clear to those that hate that it is a term they can use and use with success. But it has also forced society to consider it in a new light. People no longer scream out the term 'faggot'; they say it under their breath. Society chides those who do. Even if your name is Kobe and Bryant.

And this is a good thing.

I hope that my opinion does not discourage you from what you do, because I do enjoy your videos.

- Neal Adolph

Answering questions in a context where the question can't be true.

This past weekend was my one year, Drag Show Anniversary. And I celebrated by going to another Drag Show! Nothing quite like watching people bend gender barriers, celebrating courage, and pride, and Lady Gaga.

I had several 'straight' friends join me for their first Drag Shows. Just as I mentioned one year ago on this blog, it was a cultural experience. One thing they noted was the diversity of people in attendance.

The other thing they noticed was the breaking of gender barriers.

Every new performance on stage was accompanied by the somewhat-but-not-entirely hushed query: "So, girl or guy?". I answered the questions, though as the night went on I did so with increased hesitation.

Because the point of the night was for that question not to be asked, but to be comfortable in the ambiguity of gender that exists for people all the time - all physical, sexual, and psychological. Answering the question made it seem as though the only way to determine gender is by looking at somebody's junk, even though the other two forms of gender that I mention (and I am sure the dozen other forms that I am not yet familiar with) also play an important role in determining how we identify.

So, the 'man' dressed in a shimmering golden mini-dress, is he a boy or girl? Or both, or neither, or the thing in the middle that isn't really allowed to have a name?

And, how does that reflect on me? I am a boy - I have testicles, and a scrotum, and I like playing with them. But I also have somewhat feminine tendencies at times - and these become more and more pronounced the more comfortable I become with myself. Am I a boy? Yes, and no. And I am not a girl, but I can be. And I am not that thing in the middle that doesn't have a name - though I probably could be.

In answering the queries as I did, I missed an opportunity to outline the mysteries and complexity of gender, not only for transgendered people, or for drag queens, but in how they affect my everyday existence. And I sold out the soul of the show - the soul of pride, courage, mystery, and Lady Gaga.

In this season of disgruntling politics (when I am forced to realize that, once again my vote will not be of any importance to the government), I am forced to cheer up by the weather.

Spring has arrived.

In the past week, the glacier that has dominated my lawn for the past 5 months has receded. I can now see my flower bed.

And what colour is that I see?

Green.

There is green there. And it isn't from bulbs, but from root-based perennials.

That I planted last year. And that are growing back. Is it wrong of me to be joyful?

I am now planning what I will be planting in my vegetable garden for the last time; what biodegradable foods I will be giving my perennials for the last time; how I will help my parents turn their yards into gold.

I will miss having a yard in Vancouver, I am certain of that. But I will be able to find an urban garden to volunteer in, I am sure.

A message from Charlotte Bronte

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is--I repeat it--a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them.

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth--to let white-washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose--to rase the gilding, and show base metal under it--to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.

On being outed.

It has happened.

I had no control over it.

My friend was at a Bible Study (wait, did I actually just capitalize bible?). People were leaving, the night was nearing the end. But the discussion was apparently just finally getting interesting. And somehow, as my friend often does, she managed to bring up the many sins of the church to which she is so committed.

And the sin that was on her mind was the sins made against the gays.

And, for the sake of her argument I was outed. People cried - particularly those who know me. And she was ok with it; she felt as though those around her, whom would deny me the right to do the things I love (like spend time with children, spend time with men, spend time with humanity), were finally slapped in the face. They knew of somebody that was gay, and was hurt by their prejudice.

She told me the following day that she had outed me.

And I liked it.

There has been no fallout thus far. I don't know what to anticipate, but I have no concerns. This is a moment that I have feared for far too long, and now that it is just starting to arrive - now that I am being shoved over the cliff side into that precipice of the unknown - I am anticipating salvation.

And I crave it.

And I know that good will come out of it. Because I have faith in humanity, in my friends, and the people that surround me. And though I am sometimes disappointed, I am finding my faith is very rarely misplaced.