I'm Not Old, I'm Vintage!

Six bits of trivia that uphold the fact that I am definitely turning 40 in five weeks:

1. My friends and I were excited when Pop Rocks appeared on the market in 1975.

2. I stood in line to see the very first Star Wars movie and know without a doubt that it was named Star Wars, not Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. I also owned the Luke Skywalker action figure from The Empire Strikes Back. It came with a Tauntaun that had a slit in it's belly so you could slide Luke inside and keep him from freezing to death on the ice planet Hoth.

3. I bought the single (on 45rpm) of Music Box Dancer after it hit #3 on the charts in 1979. I think it's still a pretty pop instrumental.

4. And later, I wore out my cassette tape of Billy Idol "Rebel Yell".

5. I know that Hong Kong Phooey changed into his crime fighting costume in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet.

6. The same year I saw Star Wars, I also attended my first R rated movie...with my mother and sister. It was the disco classic Saturday Night Fever. "It's a decision a girl's gotta make early in life, if she's gonna be a nice girl or a cunt." ~Tony Manero.

Gay? Straight? Slightly Crooked.

Define your sexual orientation. For 99% of you, that's a simple thing to do. For me, not so easy. I dated women for a decade. Then I dated men. These days I'm all about personality, rather than gender. So what does that make me? Some friends call me a hasbian, other say I'm gay, some insist on bisexual and a few think I'm straight.

I've never been given to defining my orientation until now. I found out today that I'm not included in my company's GLBTQQ luncheon because I am apparently completely heterosexual. The organizers of the very first of it's kind lunch meeting for our firm passed me over as not being Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer or Questioning. Interesting, given that I've been an active member of the GLBTQQ social scene in Austin since 1989.

My straight friends insist that since I've have romantic relationships with women I cannot be heterosexual. Now I'm hearing that since I have a boyfriend--a very understanding and supportive one--I cannot be homosexual. Labels have never been important to me until now, simply because I've been kicked out of both camps. The Mo's say I'm not their's and the Ro's say I'm not straight. Where do I belong?

I'm used to not fitting in. I've always lived on the fringe, so I guess being excluded from the diversity luncheon shouldn't come as a surprise. Though it has compelled me to examine my orientation more closely than usual. I find both genders attractive although I haven't dated a woman in a long time. I am not a fag hag or fruit fly, the straight women who's closest friend is a gay man. The term fag hag conjures up images of a slightly drunk woman, leaning on her gay while trying not to spill her cosmopolitan and leering at the go go boys dancing on the bar. The woman who will at some point loudly proclaim "He is soooo hot! What a waste!" and one of the boyz around her will throw their hands in the air and twitter out "Haaaay, he's my man, honey! You keep your whore red Mac lipsticked mouth offa him!". Ugh.

I spent years in Austin supporting the fight to repeal Texas Penal Code Statue 21.06 which asserted couples of the same sex involved in mouth to genital contact or penetration of any part of the genitals by an object was illegal criminal behavior, a sexual offense. In fact, a favorite tee shirt at the time had the statute printed out in it and a large red "Repeat Offender" stamped across it. I have a cute photo of me wearing it while leaning against an APD vehicle. That part of the penal code was eventually ruled unconstitutional and I was no longer a criminal. Oddly enough, the same contact between heterosexuals has always been completely legal.

Of course, some may insist that I was merely a good social rights advocate, not that I was looking out for my own self interests in that I did not want to be called a sex offender as defined by the statute which also contains public lewdness, indecency with a child and indecent exposure. I guess you can twist my life to suit anyone's needs.

I've dodged the bisexuality label for years only because it is the vaguest one of the bunch. Gay men will insist that a bisexual man is really gay, he just can't deal with it yet. Gay women will tell you not to date bisexual women because they'll only leave you for a man. Not the sweetest picture, is it?

I'm still not certain which one of the alphabet letters in GLBTQQ is best for me but the cetainty in my mind is that I am not a true heterosexual, and that leaves only one other group. The Mo's have me, even if they don't want me. I'm here, I'm queer, I'm Kay.

Webster's says it all:
Queer
Main Entry:
Pronunciation: 'kwir
Function: adjective
Etymology: origin unknown
1 a : WORTHLESS, COUNTERFEIT b : QUESTIONABLE, SUSPICIOUS
2 a : differing in some odd way from what is usual or normal b (1) : ECCENTRIC, UNCONVENTIONAL (2) : mildly insane : TOUCHED c : absorbed or interested to an extreme or unreasonable degree : OBSESSED d (1) often disparaging : HOMOSEXUAL (2) sometimes offensive : GAY 4b3 : not quite well - queer·ish /-ish/ adjective - queer·ly adverb - queer·ness

Over the past two decades, an important change has occurred in the use of queer in sense 2d. The older, strongly pejorative use has certainly not vanished, but a use by some gay people and some academics as a neutral or even positive term has established itself. This development is most noticeable in the adjective but is reflected in the corresponding noun as well. The newer use is sometimes taken to be offensive, especially by older gay men who fostered the acceptance of gay in these uses and still have a strong preference for it.

Memorial Weekend Wrap Up

Holiday weekends are usually jam packed full of activities that revolve around alcoholic bevies, food and as much fun as you can manage to have and not be thrown in jail. This year's Memorial Day weekend did not disappoint.

Kickin' it off on Friday evening was the Booze Cruise roadtrip to San Antonio for the Humiliators first gig outside of Austin. Yes, folks, they're statewide now and rapidly advancing their plan for world domination. The venue, Jigger's, is a smallish place that reminded us of a cleaner although just as smoky Trophy's. The ladies' room certainly made Trophy's restrooms look like they're one step up from an outhouse. Oh, wait. Trophy's restrooms are one step up from outhouses. After checking out the place and verifying what time the band would take the stage, we set off in search of food and of course, more drinks. Cha-Cha's, just down the road, satisfied both needs with their Tex Mex hospitality. Check them out on your next trip to SA--their margarita list is incredibly impressive.

The other bands on the lineup that night were pretty rockin' good. The crowd was an interesting mix of punkish goths...or maybe gothic punks? I had a great time people watching, especially one interesting beer bellied character wearing a hat a few sizes too small for his shaved head, a workshirt (the kind with the name patch sewn on it) with the sleeves cut off, skinny jeans and a chunky silver studded belt. After a short conversation and a round of beers, introductions were made and Vile (yes, his name is Vile and his name patch confirmed it) revealed he'd spent a month in county lockup and was determined to have one hell of a good time that night. Bless his small-hatted self, he did, including being a one man dance machine during the second band's set.

By the time the Humiliators seized the stage we were well into the libations and feeling no pain. Jiggers serves draft beer in small, single serve plastic pitchers, a fun fact that I thought was completely delightful in my well lubricated state. The band rocked it hard, I narrowly avoided slipping in spilt beer (probably my own, or possibly Vile's) and Marc snapped blackmail pics the entire time. What a night!

Saturday was a recovery day. I'm not as young as I think I am and the beer demons were dancing on my head in metal tipped heels the next morning. I did manage to pull it together eventually, and spend some quality time with my goddaughter. We had great fun hanging out at the Reinhardt-Miller home and with my parents. Brynn is so sweet. She loves me enough to save the poopy diapers for her mother.

Sunday found me out at the Cap Tex Tri, checking in bikes for the olympic distance athletes. Unfortunately, I was not bright enough to bring an umbrella or rain jacket. It only rained oh, every day last week in Austin but with sacrificing all those brain cells on Friday night I naturally did not have the sense to heed any weather warnings. I worked for hours in the rain, then dragged home resembling something pulled from the flooded gutter and threw myself into a hot shower. There was still fun to be had and I wasn't going to let a little hypothermia stand in the way.

Once I was warm and dry, Jaime and I headed over to the Mean Eyed Cat to catch the Austin Homegrown show. It was his very first visit to MEC and ya'll know I'm all about helping out the virgins. We drank some Lone Star and grooved along with the band. Shithowdy! You have to love a band who's fans buy bottles of Boone's Farm and pass it around as a shot chug. Yes, I had some Strawberry Hill that night. AH has just as unique fans as The Humiliators, or possibly even cooler ones. I've never seen the tip bucket passed around by a shirtless man and then a shirtless woman at one of the Hums shows. Yeeeaaahh...and unless someone else is volunteering, don't even think this groupie is going topless. I like to keep what little I've got covered, like the good girl I am. After the band wrapped, we headed out for a quick stop at Paradise on Sixth, a slice of midnight pizza and over to Club Deville to finish off the night.

Monday was another R&R day, but I did venture out to Margie's casa in the afternoon. Mama grilled steaks, Dane kept us entertained, and we laughed through the afternoon. We took a break to rush grilled chicken, ribs, potato salad and beans over to the Can for their buffet and then turned the car around and went straight back to the house to continue our gabfest. A few cocktails and a lot of feisty conversation later, Dane reluctantly left to start his bartending shift and I wandered home, not eager to see the holiday come to a close but definitely in need of more sleep.

Releasing My Inner Hans Hofmann

One of these days I'm going to paint. I even have a set of acrylics, brushes, palette and my first canvas. I have visions in my head of colorful abstracts. Why abstracts? Because I can't draw worth a damn. Why even attempt to create a realistic rendition of something when I know it'll come out looking like a child's finger painting?

I don't quite know how I'll transfer the images in my head onto the canvas. My last art lessons were in 8th grade. I am fairly certain I did not make an A in that class. It wasn't as bad as my band class. The band director, extremely frustrated with my eager yet awful fumblings on the little red plastic recorder, screeched at me to stop! stop! stop! before publicly humiliating me by announcing that "You! Will! Never! Be! In! My! Band!" and suggesting I go join the choir. Unfortunately for me, I have the type of singing voice that no one wants to hear. Fortunately for me, my band director did not return the next day to school, or the next, or the next. He'd had a nervous breakdown and never came back. I like to think it wasn't entirely my lack of talent that sent him over the edge.

Back to painting. I have the desire, the tools and the images swirling around my brain. Now I have to take the plunge and actually put brush to canvas and see what happens. At worst it will be a very creative and colorful mess. Kind of like me.