It’s possible I forget to mention it because I’m still reeling from the experience, but over the span of the month of November I managed to write something roughly novel-length, made of words that mostly connect into coherent sentences. In a word, NaNoWriMo. I had never done something like that before, having never written anything longer than my 18-page senior thesis (double-spaced, of course), and I’m even more surprised to learn, from the three people so far who’ve read my manuscript, that it could have the dents banged out and the chassis polished up into an actual readable book. That’s probably the only solid goal I have set for 2012, apart from getting more art made and put on display somewhere public. In the wake of finishing my NaNoWriMo draft (two days early, even), I began writing another story, just to see if I could do it a second time; whether I’ll finish that one is unclear, but it’s good to have something to turn to when my visual art muse is eluding me.

November was also the month I had the pleasure of meeting Meredith Yayanos, musician and co-founder of Coilhouse Magazine & Blog, and procured my first copy of said magazine. I honestly haven’t read a magazine that resonates so deeply with me since Sassy went belly-up, and in this age of increasingly digital infotainment I hope Mer and Nadya can continue to produce it in its material form, which is sleek and more archival than most of the rags you’ll find at the local big-box chain. It took more than one sitting to finish perusing all the articles, which feature the likes of Blixa Bargeld, Rachel Brice. Jared Joslin and Terry Gilliam, some of whom I’ve long admired and some I’d only just begun to learn of. The magazine only comes out quarterly, but there’s a constant stream of content surging through the blog section of their website, which one can sup on freely.

I think that’s everything worth posting about, now. I should really fill more jotters in real-time with stuff I ought to mention online, even if I found said stuff online. The internet is amazing in its ability to be sprawling and vast in breadth, yet ephemeral in its passage. It may lighten our loads and keep us from turning into the Collyer brothers to have fewer books, magazines, portfolios, planners, etc and more smartphones and tablets, but I wonder if we won’t lose something if we fail to keep some touchstones specifically dedicated to what inspires us. A special book, a particular painting, an objet. Something to think about.

I should have blogged about this at least a week ago, but I just couldn’t get organized enough to do so. No excuse, really—how hard is it to blog? Half the people I read online are probably ELIZAs. But anyway, what I wanted to talk about is this holiday some friends of mine invented: Glitter Day. As I explained over on the Queer Etsy Team blog:

Perceiving a gap in LGBT-centric celebrations between the holidays of Christmas and Valentine’s Day, some intrepid queer folks have set out to establish Glitter Day, an event held on the second Saturday of every January, as a time for queer people and the people who love them to celebrate their lives and loves any way they see fit. The only rule is harm none, and have fun!

Sounds simple enough, right? Not to brag, but I had some say in determining the date it should be set. After New Year’s, obviously, but never clashing with Martin Luther King Jr Day. The second Saturday in January was the 8th, last year*; this year it’s the 14th, and all future dates will inevitably fall somewhere in between.

Some might ask if we, the human race at large, need another holiday. Holidays have the unfortunate tendency to swell into massive boils of societal expectations and ritualized consumerism, weighing down whole sections of our calendars as our bank accounts run dry and our cortisol levels shoot up. And all sorts of fights break out over the ownership of any particular holiday, which is just pointless and fruitless when said holiday consists of one culture’s religious and seasonal traditions stuffed inside another and wrapped about with yet another’s, like a big multi-cultural turducken stuffed into an already seething melting pot.

Well, let’s expand on the excerpt above and discuss further ground rules. I’ll take it upon myself to say that nobody “owns” Glitter Day, but it was established primarily for the sake of us queer folks, and it harms no one to keep that focus, with our allies always welcome to join in the festivities. Like the sentiment behind Pride (held in the summer months in the Northern Hemisphere), queer-centric celebrations are intended to have a salutary effect on the members of a population whose rights are denied or infringed upon, whose self-image is routinely undermined, and depending on individual circumstance, may not have the resources or social network to dampen the effects of this oppression. Some queer folks manage to observe mainstream holidays in a manner to their liking (see Stephen Ira’s heartening post on having a Queer Christmas), but others weather emotional storms dealing with intolerant family (or no family at all) over the holiday season, so they surely deserve a do-over a week or two afterwards.

That brings us to the only original rule set for observing Glitter Day: do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel fabulous—by yourself or with friends, over cocktails or pots of tea, in a park or a hotel or your bedroom or lounge—so long as you don’t hurt anyone. It’s for an officially secular holiday**, but this one rule is in keeping with the harm principle, the Wiccan Rede, the Golden or Silver Rule (oh, so thematic!), and legendary freakdom fighter Kate Bornstein‘s “Don’t be mean” ethos in Hello, Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide…

If you need more structure or idea fodder beyond that, especially if you have children and want to get them involved***, I can recommend this charming book: Meg Cox’s The Book of New Family Traditions. If you want to re-purpose art projects associated with other holidays, do something like what designer Curtis Jensen did with his delightful Glitterbread House. By all means, take advantage of post-holiday markdowns, or do your best not to contribute to capitalism in any way. DIY your decorations from your underutilized stash of craft supplies; I’m doing that myself, but I did also spend $25 at the dollar store for a few more choice items. Dollar stores are campy treasure troves just waiting to be mined. $3 for four metres of mirror-ball garland? Yes, please!

Finally, a warning: if you use actual loose glitter in your Glitter Day celebrations, rather than rhinestones or sequin rope or other relatively large and chunky shiny things, be prepared to wear it for weeks after. One of the reasons “glitter-bombing” is such a wickedly brilliant form of political protest is that it carries a low risk of injury but will confound its target in all attempts to remove its traces. Lint rollers, laundromats, showers, loofahs, vacuums, exorcism: they’ll get most of it off, but don’t underestimate the indelible might of copolymer plastic and foil. Check out this informative video by the good people of Etsy on the history of glitter itself (found via performance artist Marsian De Lellis).

It may take a while for Glitter Day to catch on, but that while is worth… whiling away. Discuss it on Twitter using the #GlitterDay hash tag, and follow posts about it on FeastofFun.com. There should be a new show up about it any day now.

~

*Regrettably, January 8th 2011 was the day Jared Lee Loughner shot and killed 6 people in Tucson, Arizona, and injured 14, including Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. So if Glitter Day failed to make it onto anyone’s radar back then, it’s completely understandable.

**Which does not preclude you, hypothetical reader, from tailoring your Glitter Day celebration to suit your hypothetical faith. Bless.

***Most discussions of what our social circle did last year for Glitter Day involved a bit of drink and debauchery, which isn’t for everyone, children or not.

Starting this blog at long last was also a good move, and I hope to write more in the coming year, a mix of information and entertainment as best as I can manage. Updating at least once a week seems doable; I may go for twice, but at the same time I’m trying to cut back on my internet use so I have more time to read, make art, exercise, and generally do things that are objectively healthy and good for me.

On the subject of healthy and good, I have reduced my weight to a number not seen on the scale since I graduated high school. What’s significant is that back in high school, I would have done so through some very unhealthy and sad-making methods, and this time I did so through much more laudable methods. What I did exactly, why I did it, whether I’d recommend others follow suit, etc? All subjects for future posts.

I get the impression from reading others’ end-of-year posts that I should end with some bold declaration of my plans for the coming year. Thing is, I’ve been keeping even stranger hours than normal lately—I spent the last two nights sorting through a pile of clothing that has been sitting around waiting for various repairs and alterations, running bits through the sewing machine and rewatching the last season of Doctor Who on DVD—and I don’t think I can come up with anything too thoughtful or inspiring at the moment, as the sky outside pales to powder-blue and the birds start warming up for the dawn chorus.

So I’ll close this one with some idle critter geekery. Which is the more awesome name for an animal that really exists? The Screaming Hairy Armadillo? Or The Dark Chanting Goshawk? I vote the latter, as I imagine it perches in wait on a gnarled acacia tree, and when likely prey flies or scuttles by, it bursts out with the refrain of “O Fortuna” and causes the unfortunate target to drop dead on the spot, to be eaten or tucked away for future degustation.

Sunset clouds, seen from the train from Kaikoura to Christchurch.

But that’s me. Happy New Year, all.

And now in the latest installment of infuriating/frustrating/saddening news, the city of Christchurch, which last February saw major disruptions, damage and loss of life in the form of a massive earthquake, is being shaken up once again, just in time for the holidays.

As I attempt to transcribe while listening to the news, some salient facts are repeated: liquefaction in the backyards and driveways. 26,000 residents estimated without power. The main drive through town is closed off as it’s been declared a red zone. Basically more of the same crap the residents of New Zealand’s Canterbury region have had to put up with all year, at least on the part of those who’ve stayed as the city begins the laborious process of rebuilding. One resident being interviewed is making the best of things, saying the most important thing is to be with loved ones as she wipes away tears, shin-deep in muddy water.

It makes me all the more chagrined to think of the petty things I was concerned about earlier this week, the minor successes that I was tearing down out of impatience and dissatisfaction, and the ungrateful behavior I showed towards those who meant well. Some people, when they’re in pissy moods, react with bitterness when the only response they get is to be reminded of those who have significantly harsher circumstances to deal with. One could see it as a fascinating feature of the human psyche, if one didn’t greatly wish to punch the surly mood-haver (regardless of whether it’s yourself or another person).

To those dealing with events on a scale worthy of making the news should go the deepest sympathies and wishes for the cessation of violence and instability. To those of us fortunate enough to contend with largely internal or unarmed interpersonal conflict, I highly recommend familiarizing ourselves with the concept of “frustration tolerance“, here expertly explained by therapist Damon L. Jacobs (as part of a larger series on internalizing the lessons generally taught by attaining maturity).

Learning to manage one’s more hair-tearing ship-pitching bowel-disrupting emotions does not involve neglecting them; it involves setting more reasonable expectations in the first place, and when one still finds them thwarted, acknowledging that the one thing one can always take responsibility for is how one reacts to a situation. It may feel absolutely necessary or inevitable to vent one’s spleen sometimes, but if it doesn’t do anything to rectify the frustrating situation, and in fact just adds to the drama, why do so?

Considering the topics mentioned earlier in this post, it must be pointed out that sometimes an outcry is necessary: seeing a peaceful protester dragged through the streets, exposed and beaten with truncheons is a reasonable enough provocation to go out and raise a ruckus to bring attention to the injustice. A person who has just gotten their house assessed for seismic damage only to have further aftershocks send cracks further and deeper through its walls and foundation may choose to keep calm and carry on, though few would blame them for giving themselves over to a good cry. Simple displays of honest emotion suit such extreme backdrops. But too often, people don’t know how to manage their expectations or their emotions, and the neurochemical reaction can be volatile and out of proportion. Pepper spray, anyone?

A lot of this post may seem “like, duh” to some people, in which case, kudos to you for being a paragon of even temper since you first worried your mother by never bawling in your crib. A lot of self-help talk can seem simplistic, but I personally think it’s better to unpack and clarify the terms rather than rely on terse sloganeering. I’m not about to tell anyone “it gets better”, “fake it ’til you make it”, or whatever. What has helped me a great deal—as Jacobs has pointed out—has been having enough of a lifespan trailing out behind me to look back upon, reflect on situations similar to ones I face now, and determine whether I should react the way I once did or try a new tactic entirely.* I see my life as a movie reel and my job is to splice and arrange the pieces so as to set in motion, however flickering and uncertain, a vision that inspires and motivates me to continue. Sometimes I forget how much rich material I have to work with, but the more I rewind and review, the more I recall, and it does my heart good.

Once again, I wish the strongest luck and courage to those struggling against their governments, finding new homes or rebuilding their old, and also to those like myself who occasionally embarrass themselves with the sudden failure to cope with seemingly mundane events. We can only hope 2012 brings change of a life-renewing and sustainable sort.

~

*Just how does one get outside of one’s own head in order to think of a new tactic entirely? A subject for another post, I think.

http://shootsforacure.com/2011/12/rock-the-wear-wednesday-seawall/

Various bits of my work show up in Treasuries on Etsy a lot, which is flattering, but it’s nice to be acknowledged in a space outside of Etsy once in a while. Not to downplay the business I have received through there, but it always seemed a bit like a walled garden. Joining a Team is a good start for getting more visibility, but even then you still have to network with other platforms. I’ve been on Etsy almost three years now and I’m still learning as I go!

My Etsy shop – Where I sell all the crazy artsy stuff I make as if it were pathology. I specialize in black velvet paintings, Ukrainian-style egg ornaments, art cards, paperweights, hollow books and avant-garde jewelry. Currently, if you enter the discount code REINDEERFART during checkout, you’ll get 10% off your order. Valid until Dec 13.

Feast of Fun – The website for iTunes’ most downloaded LGBT podcast. Co-hosts Fausto Fernos and Marc Felion are a lovely couple living in Chicago who provide news and entertainment for freaks, geeks, queers, and general fun-loving types. I used to blog in the Fresh section a lot more than I do at present, and Fausto will probably be mad at me for taking more time away from there to write here instead.

Twitter – I also used to update my Twitter feed a lot from my phone. Said phone has since been lost (and most likely stolen judging from account activity I viewed before suspending it online), and I’m currently adjusting to using a new one of an entirely different make and model. Not missing too much there, except for the occasional funny or intelligent retweet (what I use the “reflected brilliance” category to refer to). You might as well just follow folks like journalist/blogger Laurie Penny or musician/magazine publisher Meredith Yayanos directly.

Tumblr – Again, not missing too much original content there. If you already follow The Wellington Young Feminists Collective or ANIMALS TALKING IN ALL CAPS, good on you.

That’s enough updating for now. I have a Gothic horror novel and a painting waiting to be finished. Good night, and good day, ye pleasant few.

“We like to be irreverent and cheeky, and most of the time we think we get it right…..On this occasion we experienced a sense of humour failure. We have caused offense, and contributed to the bigotry that hurts LGBT people all over the world every day, and we regret this.”

How genuine this statement is, who can really say? Businesses generally do what’s most economically expedient, and with (very… slowly…) growing support of LGBT rights around this country and the rest of the developed world, it’s not just the business of queer folks you might lose, it’s the business of their friends, family, and anyone else who thinks it’s not cool to dog-pile on them. I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Most of the furor has subsided, but there are still a few people complaining on HELL’s Facebook Wall who, clearly operating under the impression that they’re some sort of freedom fighters in the culture wars, think that what will hereafter be referred to as “the Cookie Incident” was a miscarriage of justice and a travesty for free speech.* They insist that the rest of us need to “get a sense of humor”, “lighten up”, “don’t be so PC”, and the usual accusatory litany that I’m quite familiar with from reading trollish comments on feminist blogs. Some are actually saying that the misfortune in question actually was funny. “It was a joke!” they insist. Really?

You know what? Fair enough. I’ve actually not ordered the Misfortune Cookies before. (I prefer the Cheesecake, and the Churros, when available.) Let me see if I can analyse exactly what kind of joke structure they’re supposed to adhere to. Because nothing improves a joke like explaining it!

So in my first order since the whole ordeal flared up, I got a snack pizza and a six-pack of the Cookies.** Pizza was tasty as always. Now for the Cookies! Six standard-issue fortune cookies, with the set-up clearly being that what’s inside is not going to be some banally heartening platitude, but some wicked little curse to cause tingles and laughter. The gold-and-black wrappers dutifully list potential allergens, and a prominent “warning”:

WARNING! Contents may offend young children, young adults, adults, old adults, nuns, priests, the PC, prolific complainers & up-tight bastards.

No idea if this is a recent addition in response to the Cookie Incident. Probably not, not enough time has elapsed. Anyway, moving on. Cracking open one Misfortune Cookie after another, here are the messages I got, with my initial responses:

“Your whole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others” — Heh.

“Your babies will all look like Hitler” — Snerk.

“Hope you enjoyed your meal. Mr Bond” — Ooooh, that one’s a bit of a thinker! Punctuation’s iffy, but does require a bit of pop culture knowledge to get.

“You will meet someone who is your perfect opposite. Good looking, intelligent and culture” — OH, snap!

“You peaked in high school” — Hahahahaha! Burn! (Demonstrably not true for me, thankfully.)

“Next time you have sex you won’t be able to get Hone Harawira off your mind” — Ah, see, I only vaguely know who that is, still being a recent import to the eNZed. BRB, Googling… Oh yeah, he’s a Mana Party member of Parliament, an older gentleman of Maori descent. Yeah, try harder, bro.

So there you are. The general tone of all the above messages is of the teasing, just-warming-up-at-the-Friar’s-Club variety, mostly so ludicrous that they wouldn’t affect even those with the shakiest self-esteem.*** Hone Harawira might be a bit miffed at that last one, but even if he knew about it, he’d probably not care. Why? Because he’s a well-known, well-off gentleman who’s too busy calling his fellow politicians racist and doing other productive things with his time. He is by some measure untouchable.

And there’s the rub, that not a lot of people are pointing out. Who is fair game when it comes to humor? If you say “everyone”, and you actually believe that, fine. Feel free to stop reading, you probably think I’m a dry-twatted bore by now anyway. But if you’re curious as to where I’m going with this, read on.

HELL has courted controversy before, with one billboard picturing then-President of the United States George W. Bush captioned “HELL: too good for some evil bastards”, another billboard for Easter promoting hot cross buns with pentacles captioned “For a limited time. A bit like Jesus”, and still another promoting their gluten-free brownie captioned “At least our brownie won’t eat your pet dog” referring to a local Tongan man’s having recently roasted his pit bull in his backyard. I’m not going to deny the blatant racism of the last one; instead I want to focus on the Bush and Jesus ones.

There was a tradition in a theatre company I worked with back in the US, the California Revels, where during our yearly Christmas show some players would bring an audience member up on the stage, clap a silly crown, cape and scepter upon him and declare him the Lord of Misrule. This refers to a Saturnalian tradition where, quoth Wikipedia, “the ordinary rules of life were subverted as masters served their slaves, and the offices of state were held by slaves. The Lord of Misrule presided over all of this, and had the power to command anyone to do anything during the holiday period.” Sounds like the sort of merry mischief and mayhem that HELL could get behind, right? In the Revels version, it was meant to poke light-hearted fun by making someone look momentarily foolish onstage, and the players were encouraged to select someone who looked more or less like The Establishment: white, middle-aged, able-bodied, male. Someone who could take a bit of embarrassment, laugh, and go back to an otherwise happy and comfortable life.

To steal a phrase from another popular Kiwi brand, “let’s be honest”: Bush and Jesus are representative of The Establishment. One is richer than he knows what to do with, the other is allegedly immortal or God himself. They both enjoy vast followings who jump to their defense at the slightest provocation. People who disagreed with Bush’s policies while he was in office, or people who try to practice a religion outside the Christian mainframe, were and are routinely outnumbered and frequently slandered by conservative outlets such as FOX News and increasingly unstable movements like The Tea Party. And while I’m sure Jesus at least appreciates it, being a decent-seeming bloke, neither he nor Bush really need that much defending. They are, again, quite untouchable.

Transgender individuals, on the other hand, do not enjoy such societal protection. A bitter irony, because they could use a lot more of it. Mainstream society has portrayed them throughout the years variously as pathetic, confused, less-than-human, deceptive and deranged, and has allowed to go unpunished the most shocking abuses against their bodies, their lives and livelihoods—all for not fitting neatly into the dominant constructs of gender and sexuality. But advocacy on behalf of trans folks lags years behind even that which supports gays and lesbians.**** Trans folks have to search a lot harder than most to find communities that accept them, family members that don’t reject or harm them, and entertainment that doesn’t run the risk of blindsiding them because some frat-boy mentalities still think it’s a given that dating or sleeping with a trans person is vomit-inducing.

That, my friends, is what we handful of “too PC” “whiners” were wanting to bring to light, and still want to be kept in mind, in the wake of the Cookie Incident. If you want to criticize us, ask yourself: who exactly are you defending? The misfits who band together against unthinking cruelty and soul-crushing normativity, because they’ve had to in order to survive? Or the people who have been so lucky to have never been on the receiving end of torrents of pointless hate and degradation that they absolutely don’t give a shit when it happens to others?

I know who my friends are. And I will defend them always. I don’t care if that makes me an unfunny bitch in some people’s eyes. I won’t pander to anyone who hurts the people I love. And I don’t respect anyone who does.

Thus ends my first big ranty-ass post on this blog. Thank you for reading.

~

*Never mind that free speech is nowhere near as enshrined in New Zealand as it is in my home country of the United States. That’s a topic for another post, as I’m still learning the details of it myself.

**No, I never intended a permanent boycott. I understand those who do. For them, there is a Facebook page, which makes a big deal about tolerance in one of its inaugural Wall posts, although it rather contradicts this message by using a display picture of director Michael Moore snarfing pizza with both hands, a choice that could definitely be considered fatphobic.

***Unless you really did peak in high school. In which case, my condolences. Try yoga?

****By the way, hi, I identify as bisexual. Or multisexual, if you don’t care for the binary. Where do WE fit into all this? Another post, another time, my dears.

The post is here! If you would like to take part, please read the submission guidelines set out in the post above the now-growing wall of comments.

The Queer Avengers have made it their mission to end institutionalized homophobia and transphobia, to advocating for greater protection in schools, health care facilities and places of work, and to change society for the better, so that people don’t have to live in fear of this happening to themselves or the ones that they love.

On a more personal but not entirely unrelated note, I have just completed my first ever entry in the National Novel Writing Month competition. The premise is an alternate-history sci-fi account of the invective and discriminatory practices meted out on transgender individuals by radical feminists, set in a non-governmental organization based on the Moon. It was all rather ambitious and complex in concept for my first novel, but I did have some fun writing it, and I think there are at least a few parts that are interesting, moving or entertaining.

I have nine friends currently beta-reading my manuscript, including three who identify as transgender whom I hope will call me out on issues of accurate and authentic portrayal, two who work in the sciences who I hope won’t judge me too harshly for being a layperson, and one who works for an NGO who I already consulted while writing.

With December almost upon us, most people will be concerned with the weather turning colder (if you live in the Northern Hemisphere), or with getting everything ready for Christmas and other contemporaneous holidays. I hope anyone reading this takes a moment to think of all the people they care about, and to let them know, if they don’t already, that they are glad to have them in their lives. And if you have lost someone, tragically and too soon, I am sorry for your loss, and I wish you peace and healing.

“Bigotry exacts its toll in flesh and blood. And left unchecked and unchallenged, prejudices create a poisonous climate for us all. Each of us has a stake in the demand that every human being has a right to a job, to shelter, to health care, to dignity, to respect.”

- Leslie Feinberg

But soon they passed a group of men, one of whom said, “See that lazy youngster, he lets his father walk while he rides.”

So the man ordered his boy to get off, and got on himself. But they hadn’t gone far when they passed two women, one of whom said to the other, “Shame on that lazy lout to let his poor little son trudge along.”

Well, the man didn’t know what to do, but at last he took his boy up before him on the donkey. By this time they had come to the town, and the passersby began to jeer and point at them. The man stopped and asked what they were scoffing at.

The men said, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself for overloading that poor donkey of yours — you and your hulking son?”

The man and boy got off and tried to think what to do. They thought and they thought, until at last they cut down a pole, tied the donkey’s feet to it, and raised the pole and the donkey to their shoulders. They went along amid the laughter of all who met them until they came to a bridge, when the donkey, getting one of his feet loose, kicked out and caused the boy to drop his end of the pole. In the struggle the donkey fell over the bridge, and his forefeet being tied together, he was drowned.

Try to please everyone, and you will please no one.

Source.