In Honor of Presidents' Day, I'm Going to Interview my Cat About the Word Lesbian

A women's studies professor friend has asked me to think about the usefulness - or lack thereof - of the word Lesbian.

I can't think of a way to make this more interesting than by putting some socratic questions to my cat, Dasha. She is a stripey tabby girlcat with more than enough brains to figure this one out.

S.S.: So, Dasha, why does sexual orientation need labeling?

D: (Sitting on the computer monitor, facing me) This spot is nice and warm, and might put me to sleep. I hope you don't mind. Now, as Allah says, we have names so that we might better know eachother. If people feel like they need a label so you'll know something important about them (like gender, sexual orientation, or style of stripes), then more power to them. A true tabby has circular stripes on her flanks, which you'll note that I have. If I want people to know this about myself, I call myself a tabby. If I don't, then I call myself "gray" or "tiger."

S.S.: The US anti-oppression movement of the turn of the milennium encompasses a broad range of young people's issues, which go far beyond sexual orientation. If labels are for knowing eachother, and people find other ways to self-identify besides sexual orientation more important (like single/ not-single, poor/ not-poor, punk/ geek/ nerd, unconventional/ within-the-system, Marxist/ Anarchist/ Communist), why do the activists of the 60's feel betrayed by the way "lesbian" has fallen into disuse? Isn't it just a matter of empowering people where they feel disempowered, and not about defending one term from obscurity?

D: (Turning to listen better to the sound of someone dumping their trash in the alley outside my apartment) If I had a catnip mouse for every time someone asked me that. We sort ourselves every day, but often do it without examining the history of the terms we use to do the self-sorting. Or, sometimes, even examining our own personal histories -- and if the ways we self-sort are really accurate. I, for one, consider myself intelligent, but I could allow that my lack of an opposable thumb
and therefore ability to type or hold a pencil and therefore score highly on any standardized tests makes me NOT "intelligent" but maybe rather an "intellectual." I like "intellectual" better, now that I think of it, since it takes power away from those people who measure things like IQ, and height, incessantly.

Anyway. Intellectuals stare squinty-eyed out at the universe and decide their place in it. So do activists. Naturally, young women who love women turning to another word for self-identification is threatening to people for whom the old label "lesbian" still has positive charge. But the people for whom it still has charge-- not all 60's activists, mind you, but international activists who find its clarity of meaning, translatability, and sexy Greek roots appealing-- need to do a better job at dissecting the power of the word and sharing their findings with the young women who eschew it. Without that understanding, women are going to continue to use niche terms like "polybiflexible" or "queer grrrl" - which might serve to best identify them to themselves, but does it really help the people who they want to know them to (in fact) KNOW them? What about that sexy Greek exchange student?

They need to learn the skills of self-reflection to know who they are (first) and also the meanings of the terms they use in a larger context than, say, their campus or girl-clique. "Lesbian" has that broad accessiblity, offers a big umbrella under which sexually-different women have always found some quarter (if only to use the word to thwart interested gentlemen). Buddha says gender is an illusion and sexual desire is an attachment that obscures truth, anyway. Did I answer the questions? I'm a little distracted by the alley pigeons. No, wait, that's just a reflection.

S.S.: Sure, sure, close enough. Young women need tools of analysis more than dictation of what terms are best and most powerful. But "lesbian" does something that those "niche terms" don't do-- it thingafies gender and sexuality in one fell swoop, without allowing for that gray zone that we now can explore with a wealth of new terminology, new theories, new spheres of education dealing with sexuality and gender-- spheres that-- by the way-- are getting farther and farther apart the more we advance into their subdermal meanings. Isn't it too specific? Too rigid to empower young women who are just coming out? Who don't want to call themselves something that-- also by the way-- sounds like a kind of disease, or a person from a middle-eastern country?


D: After this answer I really have to sleep. This computer monitor is just HEAVENLY. You are NEVER getting a flat screen, not on my watch. So, with "Women's Studies" turning into "Gender Studies" and "Lesbian Studies" turning into "Alternative Sexualities" the historically-stigmatized words that invoke society's second-class people--women/ women-loving-women-- are becoming re-marginalized, and might again become used as diagnostic-- not social empowerment-- terms. Aren't young lesbians-- however they call themselves, if they are persecuted under law in some countries it won't be for queer-grrlism, but lesbianism-- losing out on a "safe space" where they could DO that analysis and-- hopefully-- from there learn what other factors marginalize people, especially single women, poor women, sex-workers, etc.? Doesn't "lesbian" still have the force to clear out that safe space for dialogue? Its historical weight doesn't go away with fashion, or with the fear of its stigma (whether that of the right or the left)-- making it invisible makes the history less visible. If anything, keeping "Lesbian Studies" but having the whole first month of study be discussing the historical and present -- national US and international-- usage of the word "lesbian" is in order. MORE focus on the word, not the deletion of the word. In the less-public (than a university catalogue) class room you can choose to abandon the word, but young women who refuse to take a class because it's not "Queer Grrrl Studies" don't have the patience to learn history anyway.

S.S.: Isn't that a little flip? A little ageist?

D: I'm going on six years old what do you want me to say? Run along my little pretties, call yourselves whatever you want? Everyone will just figure out that you're lesbians eventually? Unless of course you change gender and all become straight men?

S.S.: Now you are getting transphobic. You take your nap, I'll get back to you later.

To be continued...

To Brighten Your Friday: The Charming Somerville Gates

As much as I would like to highlight the Poopatorium Gates photo from the Somerville Gates, just for the fact that I think it features a hand-crafted litter box made of - I think - ash or cherry wood, my coworker and I have to say that the Tub Gates photo is our favorite.

For people stumbling upon this from outside the information highway or from inside a cave, The Gates (by Ikea, as Jon Stewart put it) is what those clever Somerville people are alluding to.

What Fun, this Gannongate

Amoral queer sex-workin' capitalist Dem-attacker quits the White House Press Corps amid a brouhaha; John Aravosis' Ameriblog comments--

And they can't even handle a bronze breast on a statue.

Here is the Feb. 10 CNN article, which plays up "Gannon's" resignation from the conservative Talon, and sadly skips the porn website angle. Never mind that, The Washington Post goes where CNN fears to tread. Yeah, Post, you just had to drop in a Deep Throat allusion, didn't you.

The Fishes Really Are Lke The Traffics

I'm finding myself in the "Shark Tale" Pixaresque scene of street traffic as schools of fish swimming by... Today I spent the afternoon at the Monterey Bay Aquarium (being a guide to a local visiting-from-Russia former-prisoner-of-conscience environmental celebrity, Grigoriy Pasko) and got into my head all these images of fish swimming in neatly-kept schools crisscrossing and whatnot, which bled all into the long drive thither and back, and then walking on the street tonight in San Francisco... After an evening of whale-related informational discussion and drinking beer with some shark and whale and manatees specialists, Market Street traffic starting looking verrry fishy to me... those sunfish are almost the size of a VW, you know.

You'll be happy to know the Great White girlshark in their outer bay aquarium is still kicking it there at the top of the indoor water-column. Hasn't eaten anyone (important) yet.

When Even the Economists Say We're Becoming a Police State
... maybe it's really time to worry.


"Commodity economies are typically not a pretty sight."

Basic Life Skills, Circa 1978

I was just a few posts back there revealing how I have maintained a thin layer of tapes insulating my apartment from all the blustery changes in the music-listening-industry outside.

I made a tape from the Gillian Welch and Freakwater CDs of my oh-so-more-modern friend La (I should say, more technologically advanced, since her cyborgian accoutrements have included personal organizer devices that you wear on your hip, and which have steady red blinking lights like the eye of HAL, and that call you at home when she sits down on them-- but for the main she is known in the world as an Old Time banjoist, not a cyborg).

Well, I keep that tape in my car, and it sort of lives there, as back-up to my 12-CD changer full of bellydance music, girl-power rock, and the upbeat-for-Russians music of Linda and Zemfira. My personal failsafe: In Case of Need to Cry, Hit CASSETTE. Well, this morning I needed to cry. Not Freakwater cry, just Gillian Welch "Orphan Girl" cry. I had been listening to the radio, and the Beatles "Across the Universe" had come on, and I had just gotten out of therapy where I was talking about my dad who yesterday got on the other side of a 2nd-in-the-last-six-months brush with death. On rainy Saturdays my sister and I used to play all his Beatles on vinyl. He even took us to see Yellow Submarine in a real theater when I was really too small to understand. So after that song brought me to the tears that I'd been bottling up, I needed to hear some really good cry music.

I pressed play, and it was on the Freakwater end of things. Suddenly, reloading an obscure 1978 setting in my brain, I thought "I need to flip it." You know. Like vinyl. I took out the tape and flipped it. It was still playing Freakwater. I stopped it. Tried changing sides again. Freakwater. I turned it off. I was staring at the dashboard, about to just have a silent frustration cry instead of a good sad-singing-person cry when I remembered you have to fast forward through the half you don't want to hear.

That's right, I

(1) forgot how a cassette works,
(2) actually thought it worked like a record, and, more amazingly,
(3) still don't have EITHER of these two albums, or anything by Gillian Welch or Freakwater, on CD.

Rock Mommies: "Eat Your Damn Spaggheti"

Pregnancy has definitely gone in a different direction with my generation. I have one good friend who is a woman in a pregnancy and in a lesbian relationship, and the other day we were talking about the sperm donor shopping experience. You pay more for people with degrees. I think of all the dickwads I knew at my high-priced college, and shudder. The niceness guage just doesn't add up to bucks. Can you imagine being a discount sperm donor? That has become one of my favorites on my "list of potential band names," by the way. The Discount Sperm Donors.

Now I find out that there are ladies in my Oakland who have formed a band called Placenta. USA Today mentions them in this article (where you can also read about the mommy-rock-band Housewives on Prozac who sings "Eat Your Damn Spaggheti").

My good friend Preggers tells me that her good friend who is as pregnant as she is (and also a dyke) is sick of the feminisation of the pregnancy process. She calls her situation "hosting," and her pregnancy clothes "hosting gear." A case of morning sickness is being "on the rocks." I'm glad baby-bearing among my peers is so edgy.

For some other serious post-rocker MommyCore you have to also look out for the new Beth Lisick book, which is going to be her best ever. I got to hear some of her soon-to-be-published stories the other day at a reading in SF. She doesn't comb her baby Gus' hair because she just couldn't cope with the screaming and she heard "it eventually falls out."

And Another Thing About Crossworders

They... we... are a bunch of cheaters! I went on the NYT site last night to try my hand at that timed puzzle nonsense again, and felt pretty good about finishing the Tuesday puzzle in just over an hour. I thought I would see how I measured up against the other subscribers, and there was one liar who said s/he finished it in two minutes. There is no way. That cheater downloaded the puzzle, filled it out, and then typed as fast as possible to get it entered under two minutes. If you did it HONESTLY, two minutes isn't enough time to read all the clues and type in the answers, even if you were that smart.

Now, I am not going to say I don't use my NYT crossword dictionary, or my regular dictionary, or Google, or this cheater's website (I was scandalized at its existence, I must say-- that was a long time ago, at least two weeks), but I am a weak person. I am ONLY thirty-one, and I am NOT -- as some have suggested-- some kind of international 411 with all the names, dates, and quotes from international heads of state memorized. I need these crutches. But who am I to look up to? Who will be my model of crossword integrity, with people like "colliesiii" cheating their way to the top of the NYT timed crossword competition? I tell you, it's a dark day for humanity when all the smart people turn out to just be CHEATERS.