Sunday, April 08, 2012
Day 48: A Day in Pieces
Took a trip to Halifax Piece Hall to see some friends' shops for the first time. Took a train for the first time in years to do it, but in M's company, so I felt like I had a bodyguard should anyone say anything. I feel very protected when he is around. My neighbour made it clear the other day, despite my protestations to the contrary, that she thinks we are a couple. So not, but I can see how she might get that impression.
Inspired by QI, I had meant to go look at the site of the worlds first ever guillotine (although not, of course, called that, as it predates the man of that name), but despite a walk around the town never got around to finding it. I had had a thought of looking for nick-nacky antiques, but despite a craft fair and lots of little shops the place seems pretty devoid of the antiques shops that I remember as being there en masse last time I was there.
I'm a casual consumer of all things antique on daytime television, even having one of them on series link, an interest that dates back to my art history days, and a teacher that always had something to say about something on Antiques Roadshow the night before, something that always gave the show an added dimension. It's a logical corollary of our subdued economy that antiques prices are so low at the moment, and it always surprises and amuses me that despite the pitiful profits to be found on some of these they continue to be shown on TV. I guess it's just a way of showing off and making us prize these nostalgic historical artifacts.
Rounded off the day with a late meal at my favourite Pub, where I was devastated to find the sofas we normally sit at had been removed, for no apparent reason, in favour of high MacDonalds style stool seating. Are they so short of space they want us in and out faster? That seems totally contrary to the point of a pub.
I shall call and complain, but in the meantime I guess we will have to find another place to go. Bugger.
Saturday, April 07, 2012
Day 47: Gender Theory 2.0
Okay, time to be controversial. I've been putting this post off for a while, but it's something I've been needing to be able to point people at instead of repeating explanations.
I start with a disclaimer; this is largely hypothesis, not theory, not having been tested anywhere that I know of, because I've not found anyone else looking at things quite this way. It is s statement of my current beliefs, given the available evidence that I have seen. I reserve the right to change my mind about any portion of it if that evidence, once provided, contradicts my beliefs. I am a rationalist, not a dogmatist. My opinions on the subject have already changed several times over the course of my lifetime.
What I want to show you here is that the notion of gender may well be equally complex. Because it isn't merely a matter of being born male or female, or even being brought up as male or female, but an interaction of many competing factors. There are those that will take each one of these as the sole arbiter of definition. Sorry, but life isn't that simple.
I start with a disclaimer; this is largely hypothesis, not theory, not having been tested anywhere that I know of, because I've not found anyone else looking at things quite this way. It is s statement of my current beliefs, given the available evidence that I have seen. I reserve the right to change my mind about any portion of it if that evidence, once provided, contradicts my beliefs. I am a rationalist, not a dogmatist. My opinions on the subject have already changed several times over the course of my lifetime.
The Problem Of Gender Studies.
Well, part of the problem is that people are binary. Not in essence, but in their desire for simplicity. In this case it boils down to an argument, for most people, between essentialism and nominalism. That is, that you can define the genders, or that they are an arbitrary and coincidental set of culturally-defined definitions. My main predicate is that it is neither, and both. Sometimes things are both very simple, and complicated, as layer upon layer forms a complex web of interaction. In the world of maths they are called fractals. Examples of fractal systems are feathers, trees, and evolution. A branching of a fractal may be simple, but layered upon itself it quickly becomes staggeringly complex.What I want to show you here is that the notion of gender may well be equally complex. Because it isn't merely a matter of being born male or female, or even being brought up as male or female, but an interaction of many competing factors. There are those that will take each one of these as the sole arbiter of definition. Sorry, but life isn't that simple.
The Inverse Bell Curve.
When looking at probabilities in normal populations, the expectations of your results normally fall within normal distribution, or the classic bell curve shape:
Take IQ, or liking for cheese; or the ability to run: any one of these, in a large enough population, would be expected to fall within the bell curve for a population, with a small number of people unable to run at all, a roughly equal number able to run at Olympic standard, but the majority of us being able to manage a hearty jog for a bus if necessary. The position of the bell curve may move up and down on the graph, and it does not prohibit the possibility of extreme outliers. Einstein and Newton would not fit on the average IQ graph, but it doesn't stop the average elementary school teacher being able to grade on a curve.
When we come to the division between gender the first thing to realise is that this is not a simple yes/no divide to any particular characteristic. Like most things, it falls within a bell curve. This time, though, the curve is flipped over:
Where for any given definition of male or female, the majority is clearly male or female, but many others are a little less one and a little more the other. Some are not definitely one or the other, except by minute and obsessive examination. There will be some outliers that are neither, but they can be largely ignored (except insofar as, of course, they will be seized upon by those desperate to support a binary position).
Technically, it isn't actually an inverse bell curve at all, but two standard deviations side by side. Within the male and female archetypes there exist within statistical significance outliers at both ends of the extreme. The majority of men are not Arnold Schwarzenegger. The majority of women are not Paris Hilton. The IBC only displays a line from the average across into the other gender, a line down and through androgyny, not a line from the most stereotypical man to the most stereotypical woman, neither of which is typical at all.
Some things, of course, that people choose to use as definition are actually irrelevant to the picture. The ability to produce semen, for instance, is a clear sliding result that doesn't then move into female territory once it hits zero. And few people would count post-menopausal women as no longer female. Such things will have an effect on people's psyche, but often the person involved is unaware of them, so for the purposes of this I will ignore them.
I've not included sexuality, as I concede that this one is going to have a very distorted, lopsided, curve, depending on how one defines it. As Kinsey first revealed, though, there is a large variation in the gender characteristics that we are trained (usually accidentally) into being attracted to. If we see sexuality as being defined by the gender one is attracted to, the majority of men are attracted to women, and vice versa, a few are attracted to both, but more again are attracted to the same perceived gender as themselves. If we chose to define male and female purely by the set of people we would be interested in sleeping with, we might well get a similar curve, but it would not have equal sides. There may well be a way of redefining sexuality, divorced of gender norms, that does yield a more familiar graph.
To take a few examples of defining factors:
1) Body
This one is the one that most people tend to accept as definitive. Born with a penis? You're male. Born With a vagina? Female. Finished, done.
Except of course genitals are not visible in our day-to-day lives. In western cultures, in fact, we have a massive taboo about revealing them. If they were visible, opinions on this might be a whole lot different. Genitals themselves come in a range of shapes and sizes. A penis can go from micro to porn star size. A vulva, probably subject to less evolutionary selection, can have a huge range of dimensions to its various structures, including enlarged clitorises that resemble small penises. At the middle of the range are those we term intersex, with structures that are neither obviously one or the other, or even with both.
More importantly, though, are secondary sexual characteristics, because they affect the way we interact with the world. Most men tend to be, for instance, strong, tall, broad and muscular, while women tend to be the opposite. But of course there are men in the middle of the graph that are weak, slow, small, and slim. There are women that are strong, tall and muscular.
Most importantly, there are characteristics we use to read whether someone is male or female, the first ones that trans people seek to alter. Facial hair on men. Breasts on women. The body and facial shape.These things don't actually alter that much how you interact with the world, but they do influence how the world interacts with you, which brings us to the second factor:
2) Culture And Identity
We treat men and women differently, the world over. The more we identify, and are identified, as a gender the more stereotypically we are treated. The culture we identify with depends on how strongly we were indoctrinated with it as a child, and continue to be as an adult. The mere fact that we define male and female as different social entities encourages us to think of ourselves in those terms, and thereby limits our thinking. Perforce any definition I put in this category will sound like I am stereotyping behaviour; but that, indeed is just the point. We do have cultural archetypes for masculine and feminine; the sport-obsessed, beer swilling, lustful male; the fashion obsessed, chocaholic, virginal female. For many of these characteristics there is an observable though frequently denied population correlation, but there are people who cross the gender divide in them.
In most things that simply means that people regard themselves as exceptional in that single regard. Equally though there are those that take these as an aggregate, and regard themselves as a whole as a little less female, a little more male, or vice versa, and a very few in the middle of the graph who see themselves as neither gender at all.
3) Psychology and Brain-Sex
I've lumped these two in together, because whilst they do work in slightly different ways, they each have an effect upon the other that means for the purposes of most adults they may as well be treated as one.
It has been fairly well established that men and women think in different ways. We have different intellectual strengths, and pleasures. Dissection of male and female brains yields observable differences in, for instance, the limbic systems and parietal lobes. But these are not hard differences congruent to the genital make-up. They operate more on a congruence akin to the inverse bell-curve type. The mere fact of having more female structures and thinking processes does not automatically make one's identity female, though. For a long time finding these structures was treated as the key to explaining homosexuality, for instance, which has nothing at all to do with gender identity. There are people who whilst acting and thinking one sex, have a body and an identity which is very strongly the other.
It has not yet been clearly established whether these brain structures are something that one is born with, or whether they are constructed during our early formative years by the immediate cultural influence of our guardians. Whichever it is is relatively unimportant, once set they appear to be unable to be changed by immediate cultural conditions.
Conclusion
The point of all of this is that we must understand that there is not one single set of criteria that makes one male or female. It is an overlapping set of criteria, all of which influence the way we are, and the way we understand ourselves. While we live in a society that considers gender as important, rather than individual characteristics, we have identities that form how we think of ourselves. In that sense, the notion of gender is a cultural construct, but that does not mean that there are not factual gender differences.
I'll return to this later, and fill in citations and elaborate based on feedback.
Friday, April 06, 2012
Day 46: Oldest Swinger In Town
Went into Leeds, for the monthly night that they call Leeds First Friday. I've been feeling kind of lonely lately, and had a vague idea that I might hook up with someone. That didn't happen.
I was already miserable by the time I got into town, getting lost in the one-way system several times. I trudged around town, getting funny looks from people, looking for other trans people. It was the gay quarter of town, and nobody makes you feel like you don't pass as well as cis gay men. It's that look of mocking greeting they give you.
Finally I tracked down where they were hanging out, but they were mostly cross-dressing transvestites, out to break some taboos wearing a dress for a single night, dressed up like a fetish Bet Lynch. I felt simultaneously too old for the cis element in the crowd and too young, and too female to blend in with the trans element. I don't begrudge them wanting to dress up, but it's never been a thing I liked, I can't even bear to do fancy dress. I just felt massively uncomfortable and out of place, and after following the first dribblings of the group from bar to club to club I gave up on it as a bad job.
I'm too old for nightclubs by myself. I've met people that were of a like mind on such nights and going around with them was at least alleviating the tedium of the environment, but to be honest it was their company rather than the night I enjoyed. And those nights are hopeless for meeting men; the ones that might be attracted to me won't go there, because they know from experience the only trans women that go are old. Like way old. I know I'm approaching middle age (I'm still in denial about being in it) but next to these people, I look like Kim Petras.
So, my foot hurting anyway, I went home before the car park costs ticked into their third hour. I'm not doing that again. My nightclub days are over. If ever I talk about doing it again, point me back at this post, please.
I was already miserable by the time I got into town, getting lost in the one-way system several times. I trudged around town, getting funny looks from people, looking for other trans people. It was the gay quarter of town, and nobody makes you feel like you don't pass as well as cis gay men. It's that look of mocking greeting they give you.
Finally I tracked down where they were hanging out, but they were mostly cross-dressing transvestites, out to break some taboos wearing a dress for a single night, dressed up like a fetish Bet Lynch. I felt simultaneously too old for the cis element in the crowd and too young, and too female to blend in with the trans element. I don't begrudge them wanting to dress up, but it's never been a thing I liked, I can't even bear to do fancy dress. I just felt massively uncomfortable and out of place, and after following the first dribblings of the group from bar to club to club I gave up on it as a bad job.
I'm too old for nightclubs by myself. I've met people that were of a like mind on such nights and going around with them was at least alleviating the tedium of the environment, but to be honest it was their company rather than the night I enjoyed. And those nights are hopeless for meeting men; the ones that might be attracted to me won't go there, because they know from experience the only trans women that go are old. Like way old. I know I'm approaching middle age (I'm still in denial about being in it) but next to these people, I look like Kim Petras.
So, my foot hurting anyway, I went home before the car park costs ticked into their third hour. I'm not doing that again. My nightclub days are over. If ever I talk about doing it again, point me back at this post, please.
Thursday, April 05, 2012
Day 45: So. Much. Food.
Was invited to some friends for dinner this evening. Supposed to be picking up M to take him as well but he was late out of work, then went for drinks with his boss, then missed a train back to Bradford, so in the end we didn't get there till around half past Eight.
We spent the journey discussing, as detailed in an earlier blog, possible trans jokes. The best we could come up with in the car were variations of the lightbulb joke (How many X does it take to change a lightbulb):
We spent the journey discussing, as detailed in an earlier blog, possible trans jokes. The best we could come up with in the car were variations of the lightbulb joke (How many X does it take to change a lightbulb):
- One, but it has to spend three months in a frilly lampshade first.
- One, but you have to have a note from an electrician first to verify the room is really dark.
- It doesn't matter, because it has a penis, is that what you want to hear? Penis, penis, PENIS! (mad stare)
When we got there my other friends, (one of whose names also starts with an M, so there goes that plan) were flapping about making enough food for about twelve people. My appetite has shrunk considerably in the last couple of years, after deliberately dieting for quite a long time (I lost about five stone, did I mention that? Yes? Sorry, I won't bring it up again, promise. Till next time, anyway).
I should have taken a picture, very remiss of me. But there was sausages, some sort of pasta dish (which was very nice and about the only thing I ate), Tortilla chips (with a selection of dips) Chicken drumsticks, Chilli, and several others I've blocked from my memory. There was even home-made ice-cream for dessert. I don't think between the four of us we ate half of it. We spent the rest of the evening groaning on chairs in their newly redecorated, very nicely in a retro seventies style (as the other M sells vintage clothes for a living), living room.
It was very pleasant evening. I enjoy having friends again. I think a major mistake I made during my marriage was to attach myself so strongly to a single other person, to the exclusion of everyone else. It was a mistake I shall not make again.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Day 44: Going Down On The Economy
There was an article in the paper about how an adult store which has been there since the 80s, behind a plain exterior, is having to close in the current economic climate. I'd link it, but I can't find it again now. It began though with something like;
"In the current economic downturn, even sex shops are feeling the pinch."
...To which my first thought is "Even?"
The kind of seedy, backstreet, furtive sex shops that we are talking out is an anachronism. It is a product of an age when pornography was illegal, rather than available at the push of a button on the internet (sometimes whether you like it or not). When sex toys were something to be ashamed of, rather than available off the shelf at your local supermarket.
A confession; I've been a shopper in these kind of shops. Visual pornography was never that satisfying to me, though I confess to curiosity, but the, ahem, physical goods they sell have been a magnet for me. Back when I used to write erotica, my preferred method of auto-stimulation (I do hope my dad isn't reading this one) I even set a story in one, with, I believe, the shop in question a setting I had in mind.
But a shopper isn't a customer. The prices in these places are hideously high. In an era when they could be closed down for even considering selling such things that kind of made sense, the premium for illegality. Now, in an age where we have largely gotten over such things, it makes no sense at all.
During my marriage, and through my childhood, I had it drilled in to me by twobatshit crazy repressed women that I should be ashamed of my sexual urges. That wanting to have sexual contact with someone else was a thing that we should try and get over. It is a lie that is sold to us by society as a whole, with occasional pockets of 'alternative' culture celebrating sexuality.
I guess my point in this post is to say that they are the ones in the minority. That those who are asexual, or otherwise uninterested in sex, are the unusual minority. We get fucked up by this denial of a basic human need and it's fucking ridiculous. Don't deny your inner desires, or they really will get diverted into things that genuinely are bad for both you and others around you.Embrace your sexuality, whatever it is (as long as it doesn't hurt or damage anyone else), and if you don't have much of one, know that is is you that is the weird one.
"In the current economic downturn, even sex shops are feeling the pinch."
...To which my first thought is "Even?"
The kind of seedy, backstreet, furtive sex shops that we are talking out is an anachronism. It is a product of an age when pornography was illegal, rather than available at the push of a button on the internet (sometimes whether you like it or not). When sex toys were something to be ashamed of, rather than available off the shelf at your local supermarket.
A confession; I've been a shopper in these kind of shops. Visual pornography was never that satisfying to me, though I confess to curiosity, but the, ahem, physical goods they sell have been a magnet for me. Back when I used to write erotica, my preferred method of auto-stimulation (I do hope my dad isn't reading this one) I even set a story in one, with, I believe, the shop in question a setting I had in mind.
But a shopper isn't a customer. The prices in these places are hideously high. In an era when they could be closed down for even considering selling such things that kind of made sense, the premium for illegality. Now, in an age where we have largely gotten over such things, it makes no sense at all.
During my marriage, and through my childhood, I had it drilled in to me by two
I guess my point in this post is to say that they are the ones in the minority. That those who are asexual, or otherwise uninterested in sex, are the unusual minority. We get fucked up by this denial of a basic human need and it's fucking ridiculous. Don't deny your inner desires, or they really will get diverted into things that genuinely are bad for both you and others around you.Embrace your sexuality, whatever it is (as long as it doesn't hurt or damage anyone else), and if you don't have much of one, know that is is you that is the weird one.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Day 43: Doctors again.
Went back to the doctors again this morning. It was the drop-in surgery, which meant sitting and waiting for ages to be seen, but handily I got to see the same doctor as last time, which meant he could confirm that my sicknote was indeed supposed to be until Wednesday
The reason I dropped in was partly that I still had a huge lump on the side of my head that no doctor seemed to have taken any notice of, but which he assures me is nothing to worry about, having now examined it, but also that I was concerned that my little breakdown of yesterday meant that maybe I was pushing myself to go back to work too soon.
As a child, hating school I grew quite good at pleading illness to get out of attending. I could vomit naught but stomach bile if necessary for veracity. As an adult the guilt of that memory makes me very reluctant to use illness to get out of work. Not that I love my job or anything (It could easily be worse, don't get me wrong, by comparison to most available I value it very highly), but I do generally require something quite special to keep me away. Merely feeling unwell, as is the case at present, is not usually enough.
Last year, in the middle of summer, I managed to contract gastric flu. I spent several days evacuating from both ends and the second it stopped I made myself go back to work. Whilst back at work I again felt sick, and ended up vomiting into the toilets at work, and had to take a further few days off. The lesson I learnt from that is it's all very well feeling well at home, where there is nothing to do except laze around on the sofa and watch daytime television, but that is a different level to being at work.
Whilst I feel fine most of the time at home right now and feel guilty for being so, I am concerned that I am far from back to what constitutes normal for me yet. I have visions of going back to work and falling apart on the telephone to a customer the way I fell apart to my manager. And my manager is lovely, if I can't cope with her there is no way I could cope with an awkward customer.
I explained all this to the doctor, who agreed, and signed me off for another week. Given there is a bank holiday weekend that's only another three days off work, so I don't feel too bad about that. I went to work and discussed it with my manager and gave her the new sicknote, who also agreed.
Nothing to do now except relax and try and get from making myself feel better to merely being bored and restless. What a relief.
The reason I dropped in was partly that I still had a huge lump on the side of my head that no doctor seemed to have taken any notice of, but which he assures me is nothing to worry about, having now examined it, but also that I was concerned that my little breakdown of yesterday meant that maybe I was pushing myself to go back to work too soon.
As a child, hating school I grew quite good at pleading illness to get out of attending. I could vomit naught but stomach bile if necessary for veracity. As an adult the guilt of that memory makes me very reluctant to use illness to get out of work. Not that I love my job or anything (It could easily be worse, don't get me wrong, by comparison to most available I value it very highly), but I do generally require something quite special to keep me away. Merely feeling unwell, as is the case at present, is not usually enough.
Last year, in the middle of summer, I managed to contract gastric flu. I spent several days evacuating from both ends and the second it stopped I made myself go back to work. Whilst back at work I again felt sick, and ended up vomiting into the toilets at work, and had to take a further few days off. The lesson I learnt from that is it's all very well feeling well at home, where there is nothing to do except laze around on the sofa and watch daytime television, but that is a different level to being at work.
Whilst I feel fine most of the time at home right now and feel guilty for being so, I am concerned that I am far from back to what constitutes normal for me yet. I have visions of going back to work and falling apart on the telephone to a customer the way I fell apart to my manager. And my manager is lovely, if I can't cope with her there is no way I could cope with an awkward customer.
I explained all this to the doctor, who agreed, and signed me off for another week. Given there is a bank holiday weekend that's only another three days off work, so I don't feel too bad about that. I went to work and discussed it with my manager and gave her the new sicknote, who also agreed.
Nothing to do now except relax and try and get from making myself feel better to merely being bored and restless. What a relief.
Monday, April 02, 2012
Day 42: Life, The Universe and Everything
...Or not.
In truth, I have been very tired recently. I think getting slowly well again has taken its toll on me. The massive boredom of stopping at home doing nothing but heal is then punctuated by making yourself go out and do things with friends when really you are still too weak to do so, Yesterday I went out for my customary Sunday lunch again, which I've missed out on for the last couple of weeks. Then I got invited for drinks with friends in the evening, who walked me around town as they felt like visiting a jazz night. I didn't like to complain, but as I have no obvious external injuries anymore (apart from a big dressing on my ear) people tend to forget I'm still not a hundred percent. I'm not even sixty percent.
Still, it was nice to get out and socialise like a normal person again.
Today I got a call from my boss, who's been off work sick herself for a while and thus not had a chance to speak to me about the accident, to see how I was. And, more to the point, to check there was nothing I needed for my return to work tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
No, no, no, that's not right. See, I start at 9am Mondays and Tuesdays from 9am, so I specifically got a sicknote to cover me until Wednesday. That's not just being lazy; at the moment the injuries to my head and neck are giving me migraine headaches, which make me feel sick, dizzy and in pain. I can take painkillers to control it through the day, and usually now by mid afternoon, aside from a little shoulder pain which seems to cut through whatever I throw at it, I feel just fine. Bu7t when I wake up, the painkillers have worn off completely over the course of the night, so I wake up to naked painSo Wednesday, when I start at four, is a workable prospect. But nine?
This morning, I woke at nine, and for the first time in weeks I didn't have a migraine. It had rebuilt itself into a dull throb again by lunchtime, so I wasn't free of it, but waking without it was tremendously liberating. Waking like that one day does not constitute being fixed, though. It may be a one-off.
So when my boss said that my sicknote was till tomorrow, not Wednesday, Something inside me snapped. All that stress that had built up just flooded out of me and I burst into tears. The thought of having to commit to getting up at that time, no matter how I felt, was just too much. I told my boss, i couldn't I just couldn't. Hearing my distress, she went away and said she would see to accepting it for one more day, and hung up.
But I couldn't stop crying. I lay on the floor in my living room crying and crying like I'd just lost a child. The cat came up and meowed at me, curious what was wrong. I was still crying some ten minutes later when my boss called back and confirmed Wednesday would be fine, and I shouldn't worry about it. I was still crying about it maybe half an hour after that.
I am sooo not well again yet.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
Day 41: Had enough.
Really tired and down today, don't feel like writing much. I don't know if I can be bothered with this anymore.
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