Tonight I finished my last revision of Chapter 7, and coincidentally Victor/Victoria was on PBS, and I happened to catch it right from the beginning. People will be surprised to hear that I’ve never seen it before. (Though no-one should be, I keep saying that I just don’t like movies, and I think I saw Chariots of Fire that year instead, because I really do see only a few a year.)
I can see how utterly shocking this movie must have seemed in 1982 when it was released. But I can’t see Julie Andrews passing at all; I mean she’s Julie Andrews! The hills are alive and all that.
But the romantic subplot (or is that the main plot?) with James Garner is – well, dumb. But at least it’s not one long homophobic joke… except it is. There’s also just something creepy about the way it’s all so ‘demimonde packaged for the suburbs’ too, which is beginning to tire me. The scenes of them trying to navigate public spaces as a gay couple are hurting my brain.
“I guess the problem is that we’re not really two guys.” UGH. My crazy bet is that she’s going to choose to drop the act and become properly gendered so they can be together. Am I right? (It’s not over yet, still on while I’m typing.)
And why a Polish count? Are Polish folks just considered genderqueer or something? I’m starting to think so. I have very little idea as to how this movie was received, and I’m sure most of you have seen it, and I’d love to hear your thoughts, initial reactions, etc.
Math I Like
Not long ago I was looking for a photo of – you know, I don’t remember what. But I happened upon this photographic math equation*, because – well, maybe that’s obvious. But I didn’t quite get what Buster was doing there.
But then we saw Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest the other night, and suddenly it made perfect sense. It’s one of the only movies I’ve seen where the sight gags might have impressed Buster; my favorite was probably the Jack Sparrow Shishkabob, but the running cage was damned brilliant, too. But once I saw the water wheel, I *knew* there was a Buster Keaton fan working on the stunts. You just don’t use a water wheel (or drop the side of a house on someone) unless you intend to conjure up Buster.
But even better is that Betty’s got Jack Sparrow’s accent nearly down: “I love those moments… I like to wave at them as they go by.” Anyway, go see it. It’s everything you want in a summer movie: swashbuckling, pretty girls dressed as deck hands, creepy things, and great clothes.
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*Whoever designed that little graphical equation seems to have taken it down, because I can’t find it online anymore.
I (heart) Buster Keaton
I haven’t quite given up on my youtube.com addiction, but instead of hunting out 80s music videos, I’ve been hunting up other interesting things.
And by “other interesting things” I mostly mean Buster Keaton clips. Because (I confess) I love him.
There are a couple of Buster montages that have been set to music (like a Sherlock Jr. trailer that’s set to Air’s “Sexy Boy” and a montage set to ELO’s “Don’t Bring Me Down”) but one of them actually made me cry because it’s just that beautiful. The montage is all of Buster’s romantic scenes with his leading ladies* set to the very treacly but effective “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?” by Bryan Adams.
And since I’m supposed to mention gender, do notice that some of Buster’s “I’m so in love with this crazy girl” moments are very fey, indeed. The scene from One Week where Buster’s character finds his on-screen wife drawing hearts on the wall of their new house is especially cute.
Of course my ultimate goal is to make damfinos of the lot of you. Or at least convince you that Buster was not just about gags, but also had a screen presence like no other, was a stuntman like no other, and directed with the best of them. There are moments in the love scenes where the expression on his face is heart-wrenching.
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* The very last leading lady in the montage is Eleanor Keaton, the wife who made Buster very, very happy toward the end of his life, after a bunch of crappy years and two bad marriages. That’s what made me cry, in the end; it was a very romantic touch.
"I'm your goddamned partner!"
A great interview with Karen Allen, who played Marion in Raiders of the Lost Ark:
But 25 years ago, there was a summer blockbuster whose female lead was anything but an afterthought. She was pretty, yes, and looked good in a slinky gown and could even run in heels when necessary. But she also knew how to hold a grudge. She had a mean right hook. And she could drink any man under the table — even the scarred brutes who frequented her gin joint in Nepal.
She sounds as cool in real life as the character she played in the movie, so our “summer movie” date night will be going to see Raiders on the big screen again, because a movie theatre in Manhattan is showing it on the big screen again. To hell with Hollywood if they can’t come up with good women characters.
Guest Author: Michelle York
Des Scènes dans le Chemin Moyen
So, I’ve been thinking about this middle way stuff oh these last three or four…years. When I was married, it was to find an accomodation with my wife that would make us both happy; and now, it’s because of the very realistic possibility that it will be the only way for me to be happy, since I’m pretty sure just being a weekend princess won’t be enough but it remains very much to be seen if transition will ever make sense for me.So I wonder: how middle way am I? I know, no definitions, but…most days a week I wear a suit to work (even though it’s not necessary: but I like them to think they’re getting the high-priced consultant they paid for.) Sure, may nails are a little long, and if you look closely you’ll see I’ve “groomed” my brows (though I do wear my glasses a lot…)
And in my less princessy moments on the weekend I’m pretty metrosexual. I like floral shirts, I’ve been known to wear shirts to show off my chest and pants to show off my ass.
So right now I’m somewhere between Chelsea salaryman and victim of the “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” guys, right?
But: I’m out to every important person in my life, though not all of them have seen me cross-dressed (I find “as Michelle” to be a somewhat creepy construction for me.) I’m out as CD and other stuff to my current flame. I’ve told every lover I’ve ever had before we became lovers; hell, my ex-gf and I went to Edelweiss for our first “date” (though it only retroactively earned that appellation.)
I don’t scream to the rooftops that I’m trans, though I care less and less if anyone knows. One of my neighbors in the building saw me coming home one night, so I know at least some folks in the apartment building know. (She always smiles when she sees me now. Hmm.)
The guys in folkmusicienne E.’s band have met me both ways without flapping an eye.
I go where I go crossdressed. OK, I haven’t quite gotten to the point of doing my grocery shopping while crossdressed, but movies and dinner and just being out in New York I do without thinking too much about it. I’m not even sure when the last time E. saw me not crossdressed was; I think it was back in the middle of May. (She said, “I haven’t seen you in a while.” I told her that was because she was hanging out with that crazy Michelle chick.)
I’ve taken dance lessons crossdressed, and had the odd experience of having “Michelle York” called out for attendance…this really bizarre understanding that this, persona, mask, whatever you want to call it, was beginning to become an actual person. I go walking in daylight now, usually from my therapy sessions to wherever I’m meeting E. I did that today, without anybody saying anything or even staring (well, staring more than they would at anybody wearing a white skirt.) I don’t think I was passing, either; my predilection for tank tops may get my “ordinariness” points fashion-wise but does little to hide the fact that my shoulders have benefitted from years of testosterone in much the same way that a fraternity mixer benefits from a truckload of kegs–to excess, and frequently embarrassingly.
So where does that leave me? Over 75% of my waking life I spend in male presentation (financially I want to do nothing to fuck up my contract until my new corporate masters get taken over by their corporate overlords in about two years.) I try to take care of my male appearance and actually like shopping for my casual clothes.
On the other hand, right now, if I can conceivably go out cross-dressed I usually do so. (Caveats, and yet another wonderful “isn’t it great to bond with women” moment: I was thinking a couple of weeks ago about catching a movie I wanted to see down at the Film Forum one Saturday night (for those playing at home, Jean-Pierre Melville’s Army of Shadows) and then heading out to get a few drinks. But I didn’t have anyone to go with, and I didn’t think it would necessarily be such a bright idea to go out alone to a movie dressed to go to a bar later. Especially seeing as I’m, you know, a man. Maybe I was being paranoid; but maybe not…) The idea that I will dress up when I can is becoming so commonplace to my mind that I plan almost unconciously around it. (Even so, I’m still only dressing in public 2 or 3 times a week.)
So, middle way? Weekend Princess? I don’t know. I feel better, mostly, about myself and glad that I have these chances, though to tell you the truth it’s also really stirred the pot of my gender fuckedupedness (sorry, dysphoria.) And while I don’t have the full-blown body dysphoria of the cut- it- off- cause- it- disgusts- me, I- can’t- look- in- the- mirror- cause- a- man- looks- back variety, I’m less happy with my body nowadays, disenchanted with my broad frame and my peasant shoulders and my cowcatcher jaw.
And the sense of oscillation, of vibrating between different extremes of emotion, is hard to take. It’s not like crossdressing necessarily helps, either, though in general it quiets some of my dysphoric feelings; or, as I told my therapist a while ago, crossdressing lets me stop having to fight my impulses to be feminine. But at the same time, I’m acutely aware of what I look like and how little I pass, and that makes me feel sad as well. As sad as wearing a suit instead of skirt can make me feel? I don’t know, yet. Nor am I completely sure that the good feeling I get from wearing nice men’s clothing–and I do have that, I enjoy my peacock moments–will be enough to compensate for never living as a woman.
So, some scenes from a little down the Middle Way. I’m not sure I can help going further into the woods; but I’m not sure I’m blazing a trail either.
Five Questions With… Cynthia Majors
Cynthia Majors was born and raised in Teaneck New Jersey. She graduated from Teaneck High School in 1970 and Bergen Community College with a BA in 1972. She and her wife Sharla were married in Sept of 1983 and still live in Teaneck. Cynthia has been a member of Chi Delta Mu Chapter of Tri-Ess for about 10 years and is now serving as President for the second time. Besides being an active amateur drag performer Cynthia is also a member of a Drag Performance group called Flavah which has been a regular in the NYC Pride Parade for the last several years . Their photos have appeared in the NY Daily News and the front page of AM New York. In addition Cynthia has been interviewed on both WPLJ and WINS Radio on several TG issues.
1) You were President of CDM and then you weren’t and now you are again: did you take a break or are you feeling reluctant about leading CDM?
To put it frankly, I took a break. I felt that I was getting in over my head because I was trying to do everything myself and it just wasn’t working. I had gone into being President with what I had thought were some very good ideas but when things didn’t work out the way I had hoped I became frustrated and I think it had a very adverse effect on how I handled myself and the group. When election time came around again I had no interest in continuing as President. Now. a little older and a lot wiser, I’ve opted to try it again for several reasons. First I now have a great team working with me. My wife Sharla is the Treasurer and Linda Mills is my VP. I’ve finally learned that things need to be delegated or you burn out-not an easy lesson for a Type A personality to take in.
Continue reading “Five Questions With… Cynthia Majors”
A Girl Like Gwen
The Gwen Araujo story aired on Lifetime tonight and unfortunately we don’t have cable, but I’m hoping someone will loan me a copy. Right now I’m not sure I’m up to watching it; I read so many articles, news reports, essays, editorials… and none of them change the ending. I wish something could, still.
There is a thread about the movie – the making of it and reactions to it – on our message boards, if you want to join in.
I’m pleased, too, that they got a good actress to play Gwen’s mother. Stories about transpeople seem to forget sometimes that they have families – mothers, wives, boyfriends, children. Stories like Gwen’s – and recently Kevin Aviance’s – sometimes make me with that I could keep Betty from going outside. But of course that’s no way to live, either. Please, transfolk: be safe. Tell friends where you are. As often as possible make sure there’s someone around who’s got your back.
Writer's Desk
I took this photo in order to figure out my desk ergonomics, & it surprised me to see exactly how much of my life it reveals.
Starting at the upper right corner and going around clockwise, you can see: backup ream of HP paper on top of paper sorter stack; vintage lamp; large candle; my father’s old mahogany inbox; iPod (20 gig with black earbuds for subway safety); “Trans in the City” mug (a gift from the Hetrick-Martin Institute) of tea; scissors.
Center bottom: new underdesk keyboard drawer & old trackball mouse precipitously perched.
Starting at the bottom left corner: copy of Sims2 Nightlife on top of my computer tower & external hard drive; ashtray, cigarettes & matches; another inbox with articles I’m reading/using for the new book.
On the hutch, my bottles of painkillers, muscle relaxants, anti-depressants & allergy meds (so I remember to take them), a green page holder, Merriam-Webster’s Page-A-Day calendar, & the upper right corner of my new HP all in one printer.
On the top plane, above my monitor, the bottom edge of my Sandman “Still Life with Cats” poster with four postcards tucked into the frame: (1) Buster Keaton dining with an elephant; (2) postcard from the first Rufus Wainwright show I saw; (3) Our Mother of Sorrows 9/11 prayer card, and (4) Greta Garbo photo (the one the US postage stamp was drawn from).
If you look really close, you can also see that the monitor view is of the message boards, and in particular Lynne’s post about how to prevent CP and RSI, which is what caused me to take the photo in the first place.
(You can see a much larger version of the photo here.)
Blame It on Bill Irwin
Last night, after hearing from one of my preview readers that the first chapters of my new book come off as dispassionate, I sat around a little overwhelmed, a little frustrated, & a little sad. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
I couldn’t work on the manuscript at that moment because I wanted to burn it, so I put on PBS just in time to catch a documentary* about Bill Irwin. For those of you who don’t know who he is, you might have seen him as “The Flying Man” who fell in love with Marilyn on Northern Exposure (oh, how I miss that show), or you might remember him from that “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” video that was played to death. It’s less likely that you saw The Regard of Flight (which was one of PBS’ Great Performances series), or his Broadway shows, Largely New York and Fool Moon. But you should have.
A Buster Keaton fan can’t help but love Bill Irwin, for the obvious reasons, but this Damfino just loves that there’s someone around to make me laugh. Being the somewhat hyper-verbal type that I am, I don’t find a lot of intellectual humor very funny. Mostly I think it’s mean-spirited, actually. But a pratfall or a spittake done well gets me every time. A pratfall with a good reason behind it is even better. Hat tricks rule, in general.
The documentary ended with them interviewing Irwin himself about becoming an older clown – pratfalls and physical humor aren’t easy – and he talked about what he might or might not do as a “retired clown.” But what he said that hit me between the eyes is that being an artist is largely about what’s inside you, & looking at that honestly, and then telling the story.
The timing was impeccable. I’m not really excited about the idea, because I’d much rather hide more and show less. It’s so much easier to be pedantic, but so much more boring, and so much less useful. So I’ll forge ahead, pull out my spleen, and see what comes of it.
But I’m blaming Bill Irwin for the whole terrific mess.
* And whatever you do, don’t read that awful essay on the PBS site about the documentary. It’s exactly not the introduction you want. Honestly, the Bobby McFerrin video would do you better. I’m particularly fond of the Northern Exposure episodes, but I loved that show too. What you really want is to see The Regard of Flight, which you can buy here.
Rufus Does Judy
A couple of nights ago I went to see Rufus Wainwright perform Judy Garland’s 1961 concert at Carnegie Hall — at Carnegie Hall. For whatever reason I was kind of dreading going; I don’t know why, but my best guess is that the show just got too much hype beforehand. Betty opted out of going pretty early, so my very good friend and downstairs neighbor (who was a friend long before moving in downstairs) came with me. He’s both a Rufus and Judy fan. We were seated quite far away from Sarah Jessica Parker, but quite close to Justin Bond, which seemed quite a propos.
I may have been one of the only 100% Rufus fans there; I’d never heard the 1961 concert, which I suppose makes me a very bad faghag indeed. In the weeks leading up to it, I thought about listening, but decided not to. I would probably be one of the few who wouldn’t be comparing it to the original, and I kind of liked that.
Rufus has one hell of a singing voice. The songs where he could belt them out I love especially. In fact, I’ve been wanting him to do a recording of standards, because I love so many of those old songs and I love his voice. Finally, he’s taken my advice.
In a Time Out interview, he mentioned how singing “The Trolly Song” from Meet Me In St. Louis would probably be that gayest onstage moment of his life. Oh, and it was!
Clang, clang, clang went the trolley
Ding, ding, ding went the bell
Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings
– as we started for Huntington Dell.
I didn’t see it so much as a gay seance (as the TONY journalist put it) but almost like a finishing touch to an era of gay awareness, and hopefully the beginning of a new one. As my friend said, on our way home, “The next generation doesn’t need Judy the way we did,” and while I think he’s right, I also think it’s a shame. We wondered too if there were as many gay men there that night in ’61 as there were tonight, and then wondered if maybe the only difference might have been that more of them are known to be gay now.
I’m glad at least that Rufus will be around to introduce this new generation of gay men to these songs he grew up singing, because some of them are not only touching, but sexy, and triumphant – and just remarkably pretty melodies with perfect lyrics. From what I hear, the event was filmed, so I expect both a movie version of the concert (probably with footage from both performances) and a CD of the music. Hopefully, anyway.
Other reviews can be found in my Rufus Wainwright thread on the boards.