u.4 the utility of words and meanings
This T-shirt says just what it says: nothing more.
I find it very annoying when people misuse their own preconceptions against my own intent. Some of this is natural, but some of it is a preconditioning that has been built into our culture as part of the “everything now” movement. More succinctly, when I say something, many people will assume that I’m not saying the opposite. Let’s say that I wear the shirt shown above, or – that I speak these words aloud. “I like skinny guys,” I said.
Immediately, people will start to form improper conclusions from my statement, and a few of the most common are:
-
I like skinny guys so I do not like ones who are not skinny
- I hate fat people
- I’m an elitist
- I’m flaunting the fact that I have a fast metabolism
- I don’t understand what it’s like to be fat
- I love all skinny people
Some of these things are true, some of them are not, and some are in a gray area.
First, the definition of “skinny” is subjective, as are nearly all adjectives. I do not find emaciated people particularly attractive, but there is no question that said people are skinny. Also, what is skinny – to me – may be “average” to someone else. Thus, “skinniness” is in the eye of the beholder. I suppose “slender” might be a kinder word, but it might not be the word I’m seeking.
Second, I hate nobody. It’s a wasted emotion, but to imply affection or bias toward something seems to imply hatred or loathing against its opposite. This simply isn’t true, and is what leads to a lot of prejudice, honestly. I like green, ergo I must hate red, its complimentary color. (Admittedly, I do hate green and red together, and I’m not even colorblind) But we have a culture of rapid judgments, and so if I’m for something, I must be against something else, the non-philosophers would have us believe.
Third, as I’ve aged, I’ve learned what happens when metabolisms slow down. Like many men, I could eat nearly anything I wanted when I was younger and I wouldn’t gain a pound. When I turned 30, I was concerned that my metabolism would change and, gratefully, it didn’t. The damn thing waited until I was complacent at 35. So, I’ve adopted a healthy lifestyle eating much better, exercising more (but not enough, some would argue) and drinking water more than any other liquid. I took this action because of all of the things aforementioned, I hate exercising the most, so controlling my diet was a decision that I made. I could have opted not to control my diet and exercise more, or I could have done neither and continued to gain weight. So, it is true and fair to say I do not know what it’s like to be obese, but I do know what it’s like to “watch one’s weight.”
The utility of words is important, however. Were I to say, “I enjoy being around slender people more than obese people” things might be easier for the quick-to-judgers amongst us. However, that statement isn’t true, which is why I didn’t use it. It is fair to say that I am attracted to skinny people (non-sexually, of both genders) because I agree with the statement that we’re wired genetically to measure people up as potential mates. (For those who suffer from autohomophobia, you’re not gay because you find another person of the same gender attractive, only if you act upon it repeatedly.)
We must, as a society, listen more to what people say than try and discern meaning from what they do not. Aside from having much more enjoyable conversations, the predilection for conspiracy theories drops most precipitously when we seek not to “read between the lines.” Many people, most of them quite intelligent, say that they are great communicators in either résumés or curriculum vitae or both. I would posit that many of them are excellent speakers, but not necessarily such good listeners. In closing: when in doubt, ask. The only thing you have to lose is knowledge, and that, it seems, is in shortest supply.
—fin—
u.3 of pride and prejudice
I am almost nothing like other people in the so-called “GLBT” community. I am a minority within a minority within a minority. I do not believe in gay pride.
This tends to shock many people at first: I am, after all, a gay man, right? Well, that depends a lot on your definition of “gay,” I suppose. I dislike appellations because they are contingent upon the definitions of others. I am unquestionably a homosexual, so that’s a definite yes. But there are so many different types of people under the category of “GLBT” that it’s almost like being called “white” in its broadness. First, I need to explain why I think that GLBT is a terrible combination.
Gay men are men who are attracted to other men.
Lesbian women are women who are attracted to other women.
Bisexual people are attracted to both sexes.
Transgender people want to physically change their bodies to the opposite gender from which they are born.
The only thing that all four of these groups may have in common is that they have been oppressed based on their sexual attraction. There are a few problems with this “allegiance,” however. Almost all of the gay men I know have nearly nothing in common with lesbian women. They have great friendships with them, yes, but they also have great friendships with straight people of both genders. Stereotypically, lesbians know how to use power tools and wear flannel, checkered shirts all the time. Gay men, of course, wear Prada and Gucci and like to be interior decorators. Both of these are grossly inaccurate, which is true of nearly all stereotypes, because I happen to own nothing made by Gucci or Prada, I own flannel shirts, I know how to use power tools, I do yard work, and I also have decent tastes with respect to decorating my house. I am attracted to men, however.
I can argue for the case that gays and lesbians have a common cause: we both share attractions to the same gender as we were born. In that respect, we can march under the same flag demanding “equal rights” because we are fighting for the same cause. Enter the bisexuals. First, I do not write this article to demean nor discriminate against bisexuals; I am merely pointing out that I am not one of them and do not share their view on sexuality. I can find a woman beautiful, and indeed, often do so, but I am not the least little bit sexually attracted to her. Not a tiny bit. Not at all. Bisexual people can get married in all 50 States that comprise the United States of America, as long as they choose the opposite-gendered sex for that portion of the “bi” aspect. I want them to enjoy the freedom to marry the person they love most, regardless of gender, but I am not a member of the bisexual community.
Transgendered people got lumped into this camp thanks largely to the American Psychiatry Association before homosexuality was removed as a mental disorder in the 1970’s. While I know many gay men who are unhappy with their bodies and seek an unattainable Adonis-like standard, they do not wish to have their genitalia “reassigned.” I know some lesbians who are “butch” and some who are very lady-like. Some of them also wish to reshape their bodies more toward the sexually “Venus-like” figures depicted in modern media. However, they do not wish to have their bodies “reassigned” to look like men. The bisexuals that I know do not wish to have their bodies changed in this matter, either. And in a final euphemistic coup, this has now been relabeled “gender identity disorder.” Fair enough: I still do not suffer from it.
Again, I must reiterate that I seek not to discriminate against anyone: but aside from gays and lesbians, the other two groups have little in common with each other, and very-little-to-nothing in common with gays and lesbians. The desire to be treated equally is a universal, human desire, and not limited to a subset of the culture dealing with an aspect of physical and emotional attraction. In my mind, it’s like calling everyone who’s not Caucasian a “minority,” because in reality the Caucasians are the minority when taken against all “non-whites.”
With the sweeping decision from the US Supreme Court on DOMA this week, a great step toward equal treatment under the law was taken and I’m gladdened by it. However, protection under the law does not equate to acceptance by society. Forty years after Loving v. Virginia “interracial” couples are still a controversy in a Cheerios commercial. But I digress.
I am not one who neatly fits into the “G” of GLBT, or LGBT, or whichever order it happens to be placed in a given article. This brings me to the bizarre notion of “gay pride.”
I have spent the better part of a quarter-century convincing close-minded people that I was born gay. I had absolutely no input into this decision. In equal fashion, I wasn’t asked my opinion on having brown eyes, brown hair, long fingers, being over six feet tall, nor was I consulted on what size nose I wanted, how big my feet should be, if I wanted thick or thin eyebrows, or how much melanin I wanted in my skin. Since I should take pride in things I do, why would I take pride in something I did not do? As Lady Gaga put it, I was “born this way.” I am neither proud nor ashamed of being a homosexual; it simply is.
Some argue that I should take pride in accepting that I’m gay, and in that, I find some agreement. It was a long, difficult battle both internally and externally for me to arrive where I am in peace. But, that is not what is celebrated in “Gay Pride” celebrations. There are no “memorial floats” that depict how many people killed themselves in the past year, decade, or four decades since Stonewall, because of their sexual nature. Nor are there floats with information on resources for people struggling with acceptance. There are, however, “Dykes on Bikes” ever year, “Bears in Barrels,” and go-go dancers on poles wearing skimpy bathing suits. There are lots of people walking in the parade with babies in strollers. There is rainbow-everything for sale or for free, and large companies are falling over themselves to state that they are “for gay rights.” How nice for them. They should be proud to be on the right side of history. Where’s my coupon for being gay?
I have nothing in common with the drag queens, although I sometimes enjoy a show as much as my straight friends do. I appreciate (truly) the support shown by elected representatives, especially the ones who actually do something to further my rights while serving. But the “festival” has become a large, commercial event where people sell everything one can imagine. It’s a rainbow-themed flea market of sorts wherein I can buy overpriced this-and-that apparently to show the world that my car can be decorated as gay, or my house, or me. I don’t really need to advertise, however, since I know I’m gay. (for the record, as unloving objects, neither my house nor my car are gay)
When I look at the news coverage of the parade, it usually has a voiceover of “a crowd estimated at four-hundred thousand gathered this weekend in celebration of gay pride in Loring Park…” while the camera shows pictures of the go-go dancers, and the drag queens, and all of the rainbow things. I am extremely proud that my family was able to accept me for who I am without much trouble. I am proud that I was able to come to terms with who I am, but I am saddened that I had to fight that internal struggle in the first place. But I place no pride in the fact that I am gay, and I am prejudiced against those who do, because it is akin to people who believe they are superior because of a genetic trait, and I have no tolerance for humans who find themselves superior to one another. We are all human, and that is what everyone need to learn and accept: no pride required.
—fin—
u.2 measuring the utility of others
I get really pissed off when people think that they know the utility of another based on his or her perceptions of said other. I’m also incredibly tired of the way our society tiptoes around issues that the majority wished didn’t exist and think itself clever by coming up with creative euphemisms. For those who care, when I was seventeen years old, a doctor royally-screwed-over my left leg, and as a result of his malpractice, I cannot walk on ice. It’s not that I’d rather not walk on ice, I can’t walk on ice. I always fall down if the ice exceeds the width and length of my left foot.
Because of this, my amazing doctor gave me plates for my car so that I could park close to things. The State correctly calls them “disability plates” on some forms, but I have to park in “handicapped parking” places. Let’s define:
- hindrance: something that hinders or is a disadvantage to somebody or something
- golfer’s compensation in strokes: a compensation in strokes given to a golfer on the basis of skill in past performances
- balanced contest: a contest, especially a horserace, in which individual competitors are given an advantage or disadvantage in an attempt to give every contestant an equal chance
This has nothing to do with golf; this has nothing to do with giving people equal chance. I’ll admit that it’s a hindrance, but only when I stupidly walk on ice. Now, let’s define “disability.”
- restricted capability to perform particular activities: an inability to perform some or all of the tasks of daily life
- medical condition restricting activities: a medically diagnosed condition that makes it difficult to engage in the activities of daily life
I definitely don’t suffer from the former, but I do suffer from the latter, but not daily. I admit that, once in a while, I do get tired of the fat beyond-morbidly-obese people getting the tags or plates so that they don’t have to walk so far to get into the restaurants. They also have those little carts in which they drive themselves around so that they can fill up the baskets with Twinkies, Ho-Hos, and of course, Diet Coke. My disability is due to a surgeon’s maniacal, hell-bent status on cutting everyone open. Most obese people in America (not all, to be clear) like to eat too much, exercise too little, and expect us not to notice that they sweat up a storm while taking more than one seat on an airplane.
Now, you might think that I have a vendetta against fat people; the opposite is true! The fat people get a pass from society. People just look at them and know why they get the “handicapped” plates. They need the extra time to get to the buffet, after all. When I get out of my car, I get looks of
pity.
Americans in particular have an extreme phobia of disability. I tell people I have “cripple plates” because technically, I’m crippled. Words only have as much power as you give them, and I generally elect to give them zero when coming from most strangers. They don’t know me, and worse, they have prejudiced me. It cuts both ways, though. I have been scolded by old people because they assume that since my hair isn’t gray and I don’t walk all stooped over that I must be using “someone else’s” disability plates. I show these people the scar that angrily runs down the inner-portion of my left calf and then they get all embarrassed and walk away.
The point of this post is that there are millions of people with disabilities, or who are crippled, or if you really can’t say those words, handicapped. Many of these people suffer from varying degrees of disability, and a lot of them are physical. For those who are genuinely human, and they do exist, who take the time to get to know these people, they often find brilliant minds contained in the heads of people with a physical restriction or deformity. Most people will instead offer these people pity, because they believe there is some reason to pity the disabled.
Perhaps my favorite overheard quote has something to do with thanking a deity that one doesn’t suffer from said disability, or hoping said deity offers some kind of comfort or relief to the disabled. Mothers whisper to their children to be “nice” to disabled people. Let me clear this up now: if a disabled person is acting like an ass, call him an ass. I get called an ass frequently by some of my best friends, and I do not say, “you can’t call me that: I’m disabled!”
This does not, however, mean that society does not need to accommodate those with disabilities where it is required by law, is the decent, human thing to do, or both. Society may not refuse to hire someone because of the inconvenience of placing a stability bar down a long hallway, or installing an elevator, or escalator, or whatever is required. But please, spare your pity. Keep it for the people who are so blinded by our myriad of differences that they cannot see the beautiful people within. Spare it for the bigots, the -phobes, the haters, and the willfully-ignorant people out there who will never see what a great world in which we live because they are apathetic and do not wish to make the effort to see. Like the sphere rising from the water in the image at the top of this post, disabled people shed the false limitations with ease.
My disability is mild, and most people don’t even know that I have it. Better would the world be if everyone were as “hidden” as am I in the realm of disability, but don’t pretend that it doesn’t exist, don’t treat the disabled any differently than you must, and above all things, see the utility of these people for what it is, or you will have my pity.
—fin—
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