sundries

[rm]

In a way, Alicia Parlette has been dying since the moment most of us first heard of her. But now her story is nearing its end.

United finally apologizes to LJ'er with a disability that they treated terribly.

Why equal marriage rights matter whether you want them to or not: the local government put an elderly gay couple into separate care homes, listed each as having no family, and had all their possessions sold, because when you're queer, apparently twenty years don't count.

Nude models who are part of an art exhibition in NYC expected to deal with a bit of inappropriateness, but it seems like they are experiencing nearly constant levels of assault and harassment by museum patrons.

Back when I was in Forget Me Not, my role was as one of the two dressing room dancers. Myself and the male dressing room dancer were partially dressed, like we were midway though getting ready for an evening out. We were in the theater's dressing room and we'd wait for patrons to come in, put albums on the old 1970s-style turntable and dance with them, whispering stories in their ears. It was awkward and intimate, and we each danced with patrons of all genders, and only a very, very few were rude and/or groped us. But it was a very draining show (since, you know, later we had to put audience members in coffins and wheel them out of the theater), and we worried about it a lot. I'm flabberghasted that people are being so boorish about this art show.

Last night, Patty told me that the volcanic ash cloud appeared over airspace here and in Europe on the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic.

UK airspace restrictions are currently in place until at least 1am Tuesday.

While there is nothing that can be done for us, my level of annoyance that the British government has set up hotlines for stranded passengers to get help and information and is trying to mobilize the Royal Navy to get people home from the continent while the US government has done NOTHING for people stranded here, is pretty high. I want a hotline too. As a whole, we really need some help.

Two superheroes walk into a bar....

sparkindarkness recaps some LJ transfail for us.

Meanwhile, last night, raedbard linked to this fandom secret which, along with the comments, manages to provide a live demonstration of the many points of friction between fandom-at-large and LGBTQ members of fandom.

In brief:

- Writing slash or not has no bearing on whether you are homophobic or not.

- Liking slash or not has no bearing on whether you are homophobic or not.

- Equating slash with Real Queer People or Real Queer Narratives is dodgy at best. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

- Writing and/or liking slash may or may not mean you've strayed into the fetishization of queer people, something that has a negative impact on queer people. These issues are not clear cut. At all. And asking them to be, from any side of the discussion, is problematic.

- While fiction of all sorts can be used to examine social issues and can be a form of activism, it is not an automatic free pass to being a Big Gay Hero or a Big Hero for Gays.

- People don't decide to be trans.

- Equating someone's gender identity with (inappropriate and uncool) pressure you may be feeling in fandom to be a slasher is uncool.

- "I'm not homophobic, but..." is never a way to win whatever argument you think you're about to be having.

How many times are we going to have to have this conversation, oh Internets?

Comments

[kindkit.livejournal.com]

It must be really great to have psychic powers that let you see into people's heads and decide who's "the real deal" and who's a "faux-trans attention-seeker." Where can I get some of those?

When I was in my twenties, I enthusiastically embraced a series of fairly radical identity changes (religious conversions, for example) that ultimately I withdrew from, feeling I had failed. Looking back on it, I think that had everything to do with my repressed trans-ness. I was looking for something that would allow me to feel comfortable in my own skin, to feel like I fit. It wasn't until years later that I began to accept that my skin, or in other words my body, was itself the problem. By your standards, I guess I'm a faux-trans attention-seeker, instead of, you know, someone who had difficulty accepting a truth about myself that's hugely frowned out by society-at-large. Someone who had feelings that the general culture insisted couldn't be real, and who therefore doubted those feelings for THIRTY YEARS.

You might want to rethink how you define "respect."