Traditions

I've been mulling over the lack of traditional traditions in my life, so to remind myself that I do actually have them, here they are:

-Football on Thanksgiving

-Listening to Horses while studying

-The Salsman Family Chocolate Birthday Cake

-Reading all the cartoons first in The New Yorker

-Messing with my teachers' minds

-Correcting the misuse of "less" and "fewer"

-Reading To Kill A Mockingbird on a bus in Europe

-Eating red meat before a play (this one may count as a superstition)

The Dollhouse

The single thing that most makes me want to believe in God is a Dolly Parton song called "Travelin' Through". She wrote it for Transamerica, and it speaks to the most universal, heavy, honorable journey of any kind of human being. This is the verse that reminds me that I still believe in some vestige of God:

"God made me for a reason and nothing is in vain
Redemption comes in many shapes with many kinds of pain
Oh sweet Jesus if you're listening, keep me ever close to you
As I'm stumblin', tumblin', wonderin', as I'm travelin' through"

I love the idea that we're all hear to do something, be something, love someone. That is, admittedly at odds with my semi-Existentialist outlook, but, in the words of Walt Whitman: "I contradict myself. I am vast. I contain multitudes." Dolly Parton forces me to acknowledge the faithful in my inner multitude. I should trust them more often.

I have managed to get No Exit cast, and rehearsals are imminent. The cast is solid, and all will be well. I'm excited. We've also been made the youth arm of the theatre we perform at, so we get to do three shows a year. Next up is whatever Music Guru decides to direct, and then I think Midsummer Night's Dream.

Also started an independent paper at school, on the theory that a state-run paper is not free press. First issue in November.

Radio Conspiracy

The radio likes to taunt me. Years ago, when I was in love with a Jewish dancer, it played "Brown-Eyed Girl" all the time. When I got dumped, it played nothing but sappy Frank Sinatraish songs. When I'm feeling stressed and cranky, it plays "Under Pressure". Once in a while, when I'm feeling low and effeminate, it decides on "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!". Currently, I'm missing The Girlfriend something awful, so it's playing every sweet/sad/sappy Aretha Franklin song known to man. It's outdone itself with "The Nearness of You", which was on earlier.

Any more Everly Brothers and someone gets shot. I'll go all Elvis on the radio.

I was unaware that I know all the words to "Suspicious Minds" until I began singing along.

Look At Me I'm In Love Again

I was listening to my dad's records today, and I realized that all the people whose voices I was hearing are dead. The magic of recording is that Fats Domino's voice is in my living room. I would like someone to listen to me decades after I die, and think about how different the world is now, and how much the same.

When I met The Girlfriend, I was crippled by a broken heart and an over-active imagination, and had never heard "I'm In Love Again". But if I had, I would have felt exactly like that song sounds when we fell in love. So I've retro-activly imposed a soundtrack on my life that was written by a man who I have never met and never will, and who will most likely die before I have children.

I managed to be productive today. Got my papers in to the library, got all my homework done and the house tidied up. I even made a cake. Admittedly, it was cake mix cake, but it was quite good, and enough ice cream will fix anything.

There's nothing quite as lonely as a house full of the smell of chocolate, Fats Domino and a mellow evening breeze when you're all by yourself. I was on the brink of waylaying the next person who walked by and inviting them in for tea when my dad got home. Having no one to talk to but the dog gets old, no matter how sweet the dog is. So if you're passing through, drop me a line. I have cake.

Evil Tranny, off to seek company

The Norton Anthology Of American Literature

The Norton Anthology is a giant book with tiny type and appallingly thin pages I am required to schlep about and read things out of. It may be the only book other than math books I've ever met that I didn't like. Don't get me wrong, I like the reading, just not the book itself. Currently we're reading Edgar Allen Poe, and all of his stories involve shutting people up in walls and floors. According to my mother, this is due to Poe's pathological fear of being buried alive, which seems like a rational fear to me. 

I've started going to GSA, in order to make my voice heard and hammer on desks. It's now being run by amiable and somewhat effective fresh-persons instead of the last administration who were responsible for the general lameness that drove me off before. Said amiable fresh-persons look at me like I'm a legless veteran of a war fought before they were born, but I suppose that's to be expected. I also embarrassed the teacher sponsor, who I will here call Mr. Whitman (he's an English teacher). He's one of those semi-sanctimonious more-politically-correct-than-thou types who spends all his time personally atoning for the sins of straight white men, and he was going on about how the district has become educated about transgender people. He said it was due to my envelope-pushing that this happened, in part, which was flattering, but through this whole thing he called me she. I called him on it, and he turned twelve shades of purple and dithered. He meant no harm, and he's a good guy, ultimately doing the right thing, but sometimes he gets so smarmy I enjoy putting him in his place.

I've also proposed an alternative to the Day of Silence: Not-Shutting-Up Day. A day of being aggressively pro LGBTetc., calling people on their homophobic fuckheadedness and generally being active and cool, instead of Day of Silence which seems passive and useless. Mr. Whitman posited that the idea behind Day of Silence was to contrast the other out, loud, spiffy things the GSA theoretically does for the rest of the year, and to show that there are people in the world who cannot do out, loud, spiffy things of this nature. I rebutted that we should take it upon ourselves to stand up for those people until they can stand up for themselves. As to the question of contrast, although I did not say this to Mr. Whitman, all the GSA is known for is Day of Silence. We need to be known for something other than Let's-Shut-The-Fuck-Up Day.

I got hired at the library. I'm currently "being flexible", as they're in the midst of moving/packing/dithering. But eventually I'll be getting paid to work in a building full of books, which is more than I could have ever asked for in a first job. Also puttering along preparing for No Exit auditions. I am confident. 

Evil Tranny, off to contemplate existential theatre

The Untied Way

John Carrol of the San Fransisco Chronicle has a method of Christmas giving called the Untied Way. Instead of giving to a charity or Salvation Army guy, take slightly more money than you are comfortable with out of your bank account in 20s. Then, every time someone solicits you for money, give them a 20 until you're out.

It is in this spirit that I propose Untied Activism. No marching, no clever chants, no political lobbies, just a little bit of change in your everyday life. Here's how it works: Whenever you hear someone say something nasty about trans (substitute your favourite oppressed minority here) people, call them on it. If you are a trans person, you can use the, "look, I'm a person, not scary" argument. If you're not, you can use me as an example of someone you know who is trans, and a person, and not scary. Make them feel shame, but as nicely as possible. In this way, we can all make people a little better, or at least a little quieter.

Now, I doubt I will have much success adhering to this. I tend to get angry and reject education people in favour of shouting at them. But I am trying. You try with me, and maybe it'll work.

Evil Tranny, off to practice not shouting

Closure?

I wrote some emails to Shirley Haberfeld, a now retired counselor and Susan Rusk, previous vice-principal, of Stanley Middle School. These two were the ones responsible for the clusterfuck of my coming out, and they both did me serious harm.

Here's what I wrote:

Hello Susan,

I would like you to know how much you have hurt one of the students you've had under your control. It is due in part to you that I can no longer trust the school system to have my best interest at heart. You revealed to me how entrenched your bigoted, homophobic, narrow-minded mindset was several years ago when you told me you would have enabled prejudicial thinking were a gay student to have asked you for help. You were so willing to please a silent majority that you allowed a student to get hurt. You showed me how little you cared about doing what was right when you told me you would not support a student's right to use a bathroom despite other people's political leanings. You showed me the depths to which you would sink to appease bigoted parents in our community. You showed me that you were, in short, unfit to teach in a public school that made claims of inclusion and respect for all. You violated the principles of respect, integrity and tolerance you preached to the students of Stanley Middle School on a daily basis. I sincerely hope there are no transgender students at Burton Valley, because if there are, I am confident you will treat them just as badly, just as narrow-mindedly, and you will sell them out to the PTA before the PTA even asks you to. So for the sake of your students, I pray that they're just like you.

Yours,

Syd Salsman.

---

Hello Shirley, 

It is often said that the intention of a school counseling department is to help the students of a particular school to feel more secure, safe and able to learn and flourish. You, being until recently a school counselor, must be aware of this. You, it can therefore be deduced, have spent your career attempting to help students feel safe, secure and able to learn and flourish.

But you haven't done that, Shirley. I cannot speak for everyone who you have counseled, but I can say that during our dealings I never felt as though you wanted to help me, or cared in the slightest whether I was safe, secure, or able to learn and flourish. In fact, you actively worked against the very things that would have allowed me to learn and flourish. You went beyond simple failure to help and actually caused harm to a student. I have been hurt by you, and your concern only for the feelings of a silent majority instead of the child who came to you for help. It is because of you that I can no longer trust the school system to have my best interest at heart. I trusted you, Shirley, and you betrayed that trust and hurt me. 

It was with great relief that I learned of your retirement. I am comforted by the fact that no one like me will ever be hurt by you again. You have failed to do your job, and in the process, you have caused deep and lasting harm to one of the very people you were ostensibly there to protect.

Yours,

Syd Salsman

I'm hoping that hits a nerve, or at least makes them really think about how horrible they were. Evil in a school is the most nefarious of all, as children are especially vulnerable to the violence certain people can do.