Levels of disaster...

Once we've done all the DIY that I ought to be doing right now, rather than writing crap on the interblag, and the house is thus suitable, we're going to get... a KITTEH!

KITTEH KITTEH KITTEH KITTEH. In about a month's time.

Also, KITTEH.

What shall we call it?

Incidentally, KITTEH.

Today, I saw my cousin Helaina in an ITV documentary about living with her disabilities. It was excellent - none of that bollocks that documentaries are crammed with nowadays - no overly loud music, no "interesting" camerawork, no THIS IS THE GREATEST DISASTER EVAR!!!11 O NOES!!!11111 WE MUST PITY THEM! I CAN'T HEAR YOUR PITY YET! CRY, BITCHES! kind of stuff.

I'd give you a link to what I assume is clips from it, but I can't watch and check; ITV's website refuses to play videos unless you are the willing bitch of Microsoft.

Hagrid's looking over my shoulder and saying INSULT MICROSOFT MORE! Microshaft Microshaft Micro$oft! but I'm struggling to summon up the energy to care - aren't I supposed to be stuffed with political principle? Never mind.

Anyway, I'm in awe of Helaina's parents - not in the "Oh, the burden of a crippled child! Why didn't they just shoot her?" kind of way that is still worryingly acceptable, but simply in awe of all their hard work over the years, both to help their own child and for other people's children.

Now, I'm autistic, and my grasp of social nuances is about as great as Microsoft's love for free software, but...

Why, when people use the wrong name/pronoun for trans people, can't they just say "Whoops, sorry" or "BobFUCKRoberta" (my name is permanently E-fuck-Oliver for one person, whose memory is filled to capacity with D&D rules)?

Why do they say "Oh, but it's so hard to get it right"? I sort of understand that they're trying to say "I really didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry, it's not because I'm a bigot of any variety, I just forgot". But the whiny tone - exactly like the one I just used when reminded that I ought to be painting a door! - alters our perception of the statement.

We want to respond with "And it's super-easy to be trans" then list the latest murder stats for people like us, or simply just discuss the smaller, daily incidences of annoyance and insult.

If you've... learned to walk, passed an examination, gotten over an illness, brought up a child, done a job, cooked a meal... done many things... you're surely capable of using a word without much difficulty.

Or do they mean emotionally difficult? Because the patience of the less adorable trans person ends here - we're back to "It's super-easy to navigate the world when your existence is offensive" again.

Do they mean "It's easy to forget something, it'll take time to remember consistently" - 'cause that would be rather more reassuring.

I'm not attacking anybody in particular here - we were just discussing on the interblag why on earth "but it's so hard" is the most common response.

I've just come to the conclusion that if people are gonna be so tactless, they can't complain when I do it. Fellow auties - we get a free pass!

Incidentally, I'm living a double life at the moment - my grandma knows nothing, so no-one is using my new name in front of her. Of course, she's deaf as a post - I could say "I'm a Nazi warlord who eats babies!" and she'd say "Ahh, that's nice."

But she might learn to lip-read...

Finally, I'm incredibly glad that I live in the UK. The concept of all the North Americans going "Bugger me, it's hurricane season again... better evacuate," with the same resignation that we'd use to say "It's drizzling," is crazy.

I hope everyone gets out safely. If I was the praying type, that's what I'd do.

In which we learn that trans people can't use mattocks

I'm trying to write an email to my supervisor at uni, so that I can go full time trans-wise in my department – and also so I can get help with the stupid name thing; I guess if the staff know me as Oliver, the bureaucrats will be more likely to accept it.

I tell a lie – it says that they might accept a letter from a GIC, if no GRC exists.

Incidentally, what's the waiting list for a first appointment at the GIC I could be referred to? More specifically, how long is the waiting list in years?

At least two, is the answer.

But that is, in fact, beside the point.

I'm also mates with our very LGBT-friendly students' union president – I wonder if he can pull strings. I'll be extremely nice to him, shall I? Though I think the nicest thing I could do would be to relieve him of the presidency somehow (he's a freelance creative genius normally, and not really cut out for a 9-to-5).

Anywho, what shall I say to my supervisor? I've done nothing but stress him out over the past year, mainly because I spent a lot of it ill in bed, failing to reach deadlines; I'm not sure that I'm imagining the look of slight horror whenever he sees me. AND I'll need help with my coursework from him soon. By “help” I mean that I'd like the whole thing to have a single reference: “Steve Roskhams, pers comm”. I'm sort of stuck.

If I was a cynic, I would list the few things he might be pleased to hear: he's turned me into a nascent Marxist archaeologist (he's an established one)? I recently read one of his books, and thought it was awesome? The way he wields a mattock makes me jealous (him: Str18/Dex17, me: Str7/Dex9, an extra -2 to mattocking owing to back problem)?

As does his ability to have millions of biological children without going through hell (he's rarely seen without some small carbon copies of himself – and, see, that's trans-related!)?

Nah. I think I'd just better say O HALP HALP. Again.

Thoughts

Just an FYI to Hagrid, here, in writing; my name is NOT Oliver Aragorn F-P. That's your only contribution so far to the Great Middle Name Debate, and hopeful repetition of it does not increase my liking any.

------------------------------------------------------

My facebook status has, for weeks, been "Oliver is in the doldrums" and "Oliver is still in the doldrums". The feelings of inadequacy that keep me there are not likely to depart. I was with two friends yesterday, whose conversations are able to go, with no bending of the truth, like this:

"What about when you were living with a Pygmy tribe and you caught that weird tropical disease?"

Me: "Wait - you lived with a Pygmy tribe?"

"Well, yes, because I have experience in jungles, so my friend wanted me to come along as a guide."

I have known this man for a YEAR. He always tells the truth. He has never, ever mentioned this vast body of jungle experience. He's mentioned other cool shit, like his music PhD and his farm, but always in an offhand manner as if the listener's life must be far more interesting.

The other friend has had equally awesome experiences, but my personal favourite is:

"You know when you were hired to train all the Alton Towers staff in how to talk like a pirate?"

See, if I had had an interesting experience, it would be shouted from the rooftops. HELLO, NICE TO MEET YOU, DID YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE EXPERIENCE IN JUNGLES? YES, REAL JUNGLES! I KNOW ALL THE SECRETS OF THEIR NATIVE INHABITANTS, SO I CAN DO SOME PRETTY AWESOME SHIT, AND INCIDENTALLY, I ONCE WON A WRESTLING MATCH WITH AN ELEPHANT.

Is this just me?

------------------------------------------------------

You know when things are so incredibly dreadful, your only options are to laugh, or to cry forever?

Hagrid thinks we should make leaflets to hand out in the street. They would suggest to the average Joe that he shouldn't murder any trans women. That day, at least.

They would explain that, if he meets a trans woman, or has sexual intercourse of any variety with one, the logical next step is not *necessarily* to kill her.

Some men do seem to treat it as an ordinary, ethically neutral action, like eating lunch or combing their hair.

Our courts, like the American courts (I don't know enough about the justice system of any other country) treat it the same way.

I can't deal with this shit any more. I mean, what can I do? Does anyone have any suggestions? Does anyone actually care?

I'm beginning to think that handing out those leaflets would probably help.

Is this *really* OK?

Firstly, my snake, it iz ded. It was my tenth birthday present, and could have lived for another decade had it not got ill. :-( I may write an obituary for it later.

Secondly,

The last time I vented my anger at this kind of thing on the intertubes, I was shouted at by able-bodied, minded, etc. women.

I was attempting to present as a girl then, so I assume it's gonna be even worse now - "You're a guy, how could you possibly judge women's choices?"

Bear with me.

1) I've met far more fathers than mothers who reject anything but the "perfect" child. Are you feminists who accept these abortions certain that the women concerned were making real choices, or were they pressured into them?

2) I'm not speaking as someone with the ability to get pregnant, and the ability to request an abortion if I wish. I'm speaking as someone with a "minor disability" - "high-functioning" autism. Many people and organisations would like me to have been aborted (read up on the aims of that prominent "charity" if you don't believe me).

3) I understand that foetuses that, were they to be born, would need extensive medical treatment just to live (like my cousin, who has Costello's Syndrome) are often aborted because the family concerned cannot afford decent healthcare (even in this country, the NHS really cannot provide enough). That is no fault of the family, a damning judgement on healthcare providers, and NOT a suggestion from some divinity that those foetuses should not live. It all comes down to money, and the seemingly obvious fact that some people don't have enough to support their families. NOT "well, disabled, never mind".

4) I am very, very glad that several hundred parents (unless the statistics for the South-West are anomalous, which seems unlikely) have aborted their club-footed, webbed-toed foetuses. What kind of miserable life would those children have had? What kind of miserable life do the other children of those people have? What if their GCSE grades were under par? What if they turned out to be, O I don't know, just pulling examples out of the air, autistic, or trans, or gay? What if they wanted to go down the wrong career path, or married the wrong person?

In an era with painkillers and other medical treatment, it's not having, or lacking, a disability that makes a child's life worth living, or not. It's the presence or absence of a loving, accepting family.

Also, I think we don't need to pass ammunition to right-wing god-botherers. We don't need to leave condemnation of eugenics to some loon in a cassock (as pictured in the Telegraph article).

As feminists, as half-decent human beings, we need to stop treating disabled people as less than human.

My university...

Requires a GRC to change my name.

Or at least that's what its policy document says.

Fuckwit arsemothering dickwad cockmonkeys - nay, felchmonkeys.

Well, they ain't having one. And they're changing it.

Ascuse me, I has to go be embroiled in a horrible battle with beur - beaur- fuck it, twits with databases and forms, who are twits.

A good cure for insomnia

I'm probably the last person in the UK to see Torchwood. I saw the first episode last week, and the second yesterday.

Now, I made the mistake of assuming that, because Torchwood is a spin-off of Doctor Who, whose new series have all been giant heaps of awesome, it would also be a giant heap of awesome. Perhaps it would be even more awesome, as sex was allowed?

It has been, so far, a giant heap of disappointment instead.

The first episode; yes, quite good. I liked the realistic reaction to an alien creature - "That's a good mask you've got there..." etc. I liked the "CSI Cardiff" quip. I liked the introduction of Captain Jack. It wasn't as good as Doctor Who, but it was a nice thing to be watching in its absence.

The second episode; bloody awful. When I'm watching a series written by Russell T. Davies, or... anyone good, really, I want them to use the best horror/sci-fi tropes in the correct places. When a storyline unfolds containing a trope that is mediocre at best, I want them to mess with it a bit. Add a twist, or some humour.

I don't want to watch the whole, predictable thing to its incredibly dull finale!

The best thing I can say about it is that they'd updated it a little bit. The pale young virgin posessed by the EV0L SEX FIEND now had previous sex partners; and there was some bleating about She's a Person! We Must Save Her! Look, Here Are Her Swimming Certificates To Prove It!

Well, no, because that storyline will never contain a person, will it? She's there as torture porn masquerading as Serious Drama, torture porn for hypocrites. Hmm, mysteriously she wasn't; anything other than classically beautiful, or over a young-looking 18, or a man, or non-white.

Well, now she's being slammed around by said EV0L SEX FIEND, with her blonde curls blowing about prettily.

Well GOSH, now she's doing seriously unattractive lesbian kissing, in no attempt to hook horny heterosexual males at all! Seriously unattractive, because the creeeaking of the plot was so loud, all you could do was point and laugh.

Well, now she's been rescued by the nice man. That's nice.

By then, I was holding my head in my hands, vowing to watch Firefly on repeat *for the rest of my life* to prove that sci-fi TV shows do not have to be this shite.

....wait, hang on, does the EV0L SEX FIEND *really* have to live off only male orgasms? Because female ones are rubbish, or don't exist, or something? Did it *really* just say that?

You know, I can't even be bothered with feminist ire here, because the episode was such an awesome cure for insomnia.

However, I do have a worrying picture in my head of Russell T. Davies masturbating along with Bram Stoker.

But... Davies is gay, right? But, but, why else would he write this crap?

Shame in the Park

London Pride and Manchester Pride get some of the biggest musical names in the country.

York Pride? A covers band called Jesus and the Felchmonkeys.

(The several over-fifties readers I know of might not understand the full implications of the name; to them, I suggest a nice cup of tea instead of brooding about it.)

Now, York University Students' Union, us, happened to have the largest banner, near the entrance. It really looked as if we were running the whole show, and people behaved accordingly.

So, when Jesus (an astoundingly wobbly man) of Jesus and the Felchmonkeys came onstage in a frilly bikini and a sink plunger, we laid our heads in our hands and cried.

When he mooned the audience, we died a little inside.

If I were allowed to choose a representative of the LGBTQI community, to wave about at the straight/cis passers by, I might choose... well, not him....

Anyway, we handed out some leaflets. They were good leaflets, if a little EXCITABLE!!! because one of our officers loves the humble exclamation mark, and the underline tool, and Caps Lock, a little more than is healthy. QUEER!!! Hooray!!!!

Anyway, Hagrid and I filled out some surveys about our sex life (which is astonishingly dull, if the questions are anything to go by - have YOU ever used poppers while receiving anal intercourse? I thought that was oddly specific, too).

Here are the first question, verbatim.

1) Are you a) a man, or b) a woman? This survey is for men only. If you are a woman, do not complete this survey.

The second question was "Are you a trans man?" which was nice. Of course, the rest of the questions demonstrate that they'd forgotten about trans men altogether, but meh.

------------------------------------

Incidentally, he's now on the phone to Kim, who works in Jorvik Viking Centre. Not Eboracum Roman Centre, say, but Jorvik Viking Centre, with all the big Vikings on the side and all the Viking stuff in it.

One of the visitors to Jorvik, in Jorvik, while Kim was wearing her Jorvik Viking costume, asked, sincerely, whether she was a Roman.

This was because she is female, and Vikings were all men.

Someone else complained that there were only two Viking re-enactors. There were four. Two had vaginas.

But... the Vikings were all men, godsdammit, and I with my Massive Penis of Saxon-Bashing will tell you so!

------------------------------------

I just wrote an ending to this post explaining that I now want to be a fireman when I grow up, with astonishing illogic.

I have the spine of someone sixty years older. I don't remember a life without constant back pain.

Career plan fail.

A Less than Interesting Blogpost

First, a powerful post from Drakyn, with no comment. It doesn't need it.

On a humorous note, if you find near-death experiences humorous, I don't like housework. In fact, we both hate it. Our house is basically what you might expect from a house owned by two guys.

But...

At least I don't booby-trap our stuff!

I don't think that the washing basket is the best possible place for £20 notes, or for important documents folded fifty times over; nor is under the sofa cushions the best place for fragile objects; nor the middle of doorways the best place for shoes (each shoe in a different doorway is a masterstroke); nor the smallest object possible the very best base for a tall pile of stuff.

Four-sided dice scatter the floor like particularly ironic caltrops. When I was about 15 and he used to come and visit, he'd always leave a few of them in front of the floor next to the ladder that came down from my bed.

I've been bloodied on a number of occasions by falling knives, I kid you not, from elaborate cutlery traps in the kitchen. They're built so that the knives fall point first, with some force.

Sometimes stuff just falls on my head, but I reckon he thinks that's unimaginative.

In conclusion, I think he's trying to tell me something. I'll be certain the day I find an empty bottle labelled Irritating Partner Poison next to my tea, or a big round black thing labelled BOMB with a fizzing string.

LOOK LOOK, he's constructing a new pile, as I watch right now. It's got my Ipod on the bottom, my phone in the middle, and a selection of books going up from small to very large. There's going to be something very heavy on top, at just above my head height...

On a happier note, it's so nice being in York. We went to the park today, and there were children playing - children who might not yet have torched their first car or shot up their first heroin. They had parents, doing parenting.

There was a playground, intact, and a lake with no suspicious human-shaped bags floating to the surface, or even any human turds. We went to the cafe and had coffee, in proper mugs, not poncey Southern cups.

Yes, OK, OK, my life isn't so thrilling right now. We'll go to Pride in the Park tomorrow, which will probably also be less than interesting.

Doctors, part eleventy

The cinema in Leeds has designated some showings of Mamma Mia! as sing-alongs.

O HALP, I are being dragged there by a mysterious force...

That *nearly* makes up for the delay of the new Harry Potter film (a delay I only just heard about).

Let's watch the trailer, anyway.



Now, I lovelovelove Harry Potter (not the films so much, but they're not that bad). I rather wanted to change my name to Harry rather than Oliver, so that every second was like being inside one of the books. I would make everyone say it like Hermione does.

"Harry!!!"
"Yes?"
"Do the fucking washing up!"

Don't you see how wonderful that could have been?

-------------------------------------------------------

Trans FAQ, part eleventy-one:

"Why don't transsexual people trust doctors?"

Transsexual people are often told not to worry their pretty little heads about transition - surely the doctors have got it covered? Or, WHAT, they haven't even SEEN a doctor yet? How do they know they're a real transsexual?

Now, these questioners have obviously never had a serious medical condition - and, wait, are male or childless.

(DISCLAIMER - this post is about MOST doctors. It's not about nurses, who are heroes, paramedics, who are heroes, and the few doctors that are attracted to the profession through altruism, rather than for the massive pay packet.)

Doctors. Are. Crap. Doctors cannot deal with the commonest of issues, and faff about until more serious issues escalate. They can't prescribe the fucking Pill.

One of my own GPs, who has treated me for minor ailments in the past, almost killed Silverback through negligence. That's no exaggeration. Through more inaction, he made certain that my grandad had to have his leg amputated, because it was too late to save it. There are more GPs at that practice - there's the one who doesn't listen to a word you say, the one that doesn't listen to a word you say while STARING at you in a freaky staring manner, and the other... that doesn't listen to a word you say.

Some of them might have known their stuff medically. Who knows? They can't tell you, because they didn't listen to your problem.

"I have to lie down while having blood taken, because it always makes me immediately pass out."
"Now, just sit there - "
"No, I have to lie down, because it makes me pass out."
"Don't be afraid!"
"I'm not afraid at all. It just makes me pass out."
"I'm sure it won't. It'll be very quick."
*ten second pause*
CRASH.

Now, if you had a complex neurological condition (not a "disorder") and you needed medical supplies and procedures to improve it...

And you'd have to face horrendous waiting lists anyway (try two. whole. decades. if you're a particular friend of mine, battered by cutbacks and the postcode lottery)...

And you probably won't be given the supplies and procedures if a) you're gay or bisexual, b) you have children, c) you don't dress correctly, d) you're over about 40...

You'd probably raise money for private surgery without referral, and buy some illegal hormones online.

That's what I'd do.

Why do you think so many pregnant women opt for home births, with as little medical involvement as possible?

Because they don't, actually, *like* being patronised and treated like not-quite-humans.

Education

My mother always said that I could do an English Literature degree with both hands behind my back. She is my mother, so has to say such encouraging things, but now I'm thinking that Gareth (whom I may henceforth refer to pseudonymously as Hagrid) could do the same.

Well, if he was less dyslexic and could therefore spell "literature".

Perhaps that's because we are utterly perverted.

Come ON, I got 100% in an A-level paper on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - and what did I write about, for four and a half pages?

Sodomy! Between the characters! In graphic detail! Explaining how I knew that the characters had been thinking about those graphic details.

I'm assuming that, at degree level, you get on to more complicated sexual acts. Like the Reverse Cowgirl, or whatever else you get in Cosmopolitan. Remember that I live my day-to-day life as an (insert derogatory term for homosexual male here) so I wouldn't know about that sort of thing.

Anyway, I'm convinced that Hagrid has significantly more grey matter than I. If I'm absent-mindedly deconstructing a novel at him, or if someone's talking about an author, or whatever, he'll look utterly bored... then come out with a comment of such relevance, perspicacity and insight that I can't quite believe that here is the man that tortured himself for an extra year to get an English GCSE.

I ought to have put my foot down when his parents said "He's going to university in October, despite having appalling A-levels", and he said (looking distinctly unenthusiastic) "My parents want me to go to university in October. They think I'll do well." But, I was only 15 and didn't want to interfere, so I kept my mouth shut.

How much absolute bollocks is this belief that kids with no obvious academic aptitude in school, where you're spoon-fed, will suddenly do OK at university? Seriously, fuck middle-class social acceptance. I knew he'd fail. Everyone knew - but him. He'd been told he'd do well, because... Because what?

He failed. He's got a student loan to pay back, and had no confidence in his own intellect.

He needed to be working. His job now gives him continuous confidence - he's good, and he knows it - he's even got a bit of smugness going on.

I think that what he does is a freaky arcane art. He thinks what I do is even more occult than that. He thinks Crowley would be proud.

This was, originally, going to be some adjectives to describe an archaeological degree, for those unfamiliar with the discipline:

• Difficult
• Very difficult
• Epic-level
• Hardcore
• Financial suicide
  

Yup. I'd say the majority of people on my course are able to go "Aah. That was so intellectually rewarding. Daddy - can I have a share in your multi-million-pound caviar empire now?"

The rest of us will end up knowlegeable and physically fit - to the extent that someone who can't afford food can be physically fit.

What other graduates live on minimum wage forever, and get real, actual trench foot?

Srsly, folks. Don't let your children do it! They have so much to live for!

It's like being a crack addict. Archaeology graduates are poor, whey-faced, and just living for their next fix of obscure pottery types.

Better do my coursework now.

Our GM...

Made finger puppets!

Sorry for poor photo quality.



That's my tiefling!



D thinks my tiefling is the scary!



RAWR!

Secret Name?

I'm taking a 20-minute break from work before my brain liquefies.

Does anyone care to explain where, precisely, mine and Gareth's £50 each to the Deed Poll people, and £72 each to the passport people, and all the other fees that we haven't found out about yet, will actually fucking go?

There's no way we can afford that right now!

I think Gareth needs to change his full name too, or else he's getting even less value for money than I am (we're both hyphenating our surnames).

He needs a secret name, like people have in some fantasy settings, that he can't tell to anyone or else they can cast eeevil spells on him...

With my ever so middle-class forenames, and double-barrelled surname, I sound just like one of the aforementioned Hooray Henrys at my university. That's amusing.

An incident from a few months ago has just come back to me - myself, some other bi/gay guys, a couple of lesbian women and a transfeminine genderqueer person are all sitting in my college bar (we're a collegiate university - I'm assuming it's to attract posh folk) after an interminable LGBT meeting. The only noise is its unpredictable sound system, which likes to go VERY LOUD or very quiet at odd intervals, making everyone jump in unison.

Then, a large group of those interchangeable posh boys turn up, with a crowd of admiring interchangeable posh women (reverse-classist? Me? Fuck off or I'll nut yer). They are dressed as Palaeolithic people... OK, "cave men". I'd say they were aiming for the Lower/Middle Paleolithic look, as there's really no room for them in Homo Sapiens.

They are also VERY LOUD, and occupy lots of space, and shove the one poor soul at the bar out of the way.

Now, everyone in our group starts to complain. Lesbians: "Oh GOD, they're so arrogant. And are those girls trying to look ATTRACTIVE? Put it away!"

Lesbians and myself: "And they're rather a disgrace to feminism - there's no need to act quite that stupidly."

Other gay/bi men, transfeminine genderqueer, and myself: "Those guys are so arrogant. Oh GOD, my burning eyes. Are they trying to look ATTRACTIVE? Put it away!"

We all stare at our shoes with embarrassment, and there is a pause, which I use efficaciously to purloin someone's chips.

Transfeminine genderqueer: "We're jealous, aren't we?"

Gay guy: "Of THEM? THEM??? Yes."

Other gay guy: "Because we don't fit effortlessly into socially acceptable courtship rituals."

Transfeminine genderqueer: "And they're absolute fuckwits, and they do."

Me: "And below the neck, they are actually attractive. It's all the gym time."

Everyone: "Yup."

Gay guy: "This is like high school."

It's not really like my high school, because no-one's thought it necessary to put up signs declaiming that there's no safe place to stab someone, but I can sort of see his point.

What's my own, particular jealous thought?

"The facial hair. Those guys can grow facial hair. Why can't I grow facial hair? Posh twats with their facial hair. Hirsute posh twats. Them and their beard-opportunities."

I keep that to myself, however. Everyone already thinks I talk about the world of facial fuzz too much.

I have, honestly, no idea why I just recounted that.

Might as well post it.

The Something of Boris

This is rather good.

I've never been into Bond... or, indeed, many other action films with a C20th/C21st setting.

Why would you make a film where shit blows up, when that actually costs MORE than a film where people are hacked to bits with swords, and the latter is infinitely cooler?

Childrens

Lol.

That is all.

Beauty

So, there will be a discussion of our culture's ridiculous female beauty standards, generally centering around weight.

A lot of women will say "They're ridiculous. They make me feel terrible about myself, when I'm actually, y'know, OK" and some other sensible, non-controversial things like that.

Then, some bloke - or many blokes - will jump in and say HONESTLY! You silly women, all the problems would be solved if you just STOP CARING about your weight. I like a woman to have curves, so you shouldn't be turning to fashion magazines for acceptance, you should be turning to ME! You silly women, honestly, what will you think of next? Ha ha ha.

Another will say, that's right, men don't mind what you look like, and because you obviously exist entirely for men, you shouldn't worry your pretty little heads.

This is predictable, and unhelpul.

They get worse if there's a (rare) discussion about non-white women using beauty products that make them resemble white ones.

The same blokes (though, sometimes, white women too) Well, aren't you silly! You should be proud of your race! You look fine! Why don't you just stop thinking about it entirely. Silly women, aren't you shallow. Ha ha ha.

A lot of people benefit substantially from making white women feel unacceptable, and non-white women feel even worse. They have a great deal of vested interest in female unhappiness. They are prepared to do absolutely anything to allow it to continue. This is the case.

Y'know, for a lot of women, the role their looks/weight play in attracting the opposite/same sex bothers them less than... keeping their job. Avoiding street harassment. Avoiding cruel judgement by relatives and "friends". Most importantly, avoiding feelings of self-hatred.

Sorry, you men. It's not about your utter sexiness. I know you think everything ought to be.

Though it is a typical narrative of people who are attracted to women - she really thinks she's unattractive! Does she live in some nightmarish hall of mirrors? Is she legally blind? - it's not the lady concerned who is the crazy one.

I'm NOT discussing femme, cosmetic-using, frock-wearing women who do those things entirely for fun, or because they are expressing their feminine gender identity, or for any reason that isn't to stem self-hatred or because they feel they should. I'm glad that they are allowed self-expression, just like I'm sad that women with different wants are not, and am in love with the humble eyeliner pencil myself (you know how many gay Goths there are about - look at some NUS LGBT discussions and drown in a sea of lacy blood).

But a woman who tortures herself with illegal, painful, carcinogenic skin lighteners? A woman who starves herself? If someone is willing to go to those lengths, it's unlikely that she can *just forget it*. And it's perfectly visible what makes her that way, even if some people (those who can) choose to ignore it.

n.b. for those people who have never met me - I'm not talking entirely out of my arse when discussing how women are treated. Remember that I look like one, so might have a bit of insight - not as much as an *actual* woman, but.

n.b. 2 - the catalyst for this rambling post was this. So... a light-skinned mixed-race woman has to be lightened to be acceptable? I'm thinking - how could that possibly make a dark-skinned black woman feel wonderful?

Pants Down Friend

A post whose component parts are entirely unrelated. Yup, I'm back from Wacken, and my face, pimply at the best of times, looks like someone has puked on it (from my living on grease and mud).

Just thought you might like to know that.

1) I'm supposed to be reading the archaeological reports on Christ Church, Spitalfields. They are quite comical* - it's one disaster after another: Active smallpox virus has been discovered! A coffin has fallen on someone's head! Someone has caught a skin disease whose variety we have been unable to ascertain!

2) I might email my department and suggest that, before next term, they send round a message detailing the differences between a compliment and sexual harrassment. I'm treated perfectly well by the Hooray Henrys in my year, because I happily don't register on their radar as "girl" - but the pretty GTA last term was decidedly *not*.

It wasn't just feminist me and the girls that were cringing at their behaviour - it was a few of the other boys, too - the ones who hadn't been educated privately, incidentally.

Now, do we see how it's a *bad* idea to shut pubescent heterosexual boys up in a building with nothing but themselves and FHM for company? Then to unleash them on a world containing real females? Boys from families so wealthy that they feel entitled to "own" whatever they wish?

3) Ladies, gentlemen, &c. I give you (as we saw at Wacken)...
Corvus Corax!



I thought they were Corpus Corax to start off with... which also translates nicely.

*Runs off to start a band called Corpus Corax*

4) I'm gonna be harsher about the new Nightwish this time. Anette Olzon appears to be the exact opposite of Tarja Turunen. Turunen had apparently no personality, and an amazing voice. Olzon takes pains to demonstrate that she has a personality...

But she's not my housemate, my girlfriend or even an acquaintance. She's the lead vocalist in a famous band - incidentally, a band whose older music requires A SOPRANO. Someone who can hit high notes, at least approximately. Not a special new definition of "soprano", meaning "someone I would quite like to boink" - looking at YOU, mister keyboard-face.

If they weren't going to have one, if any vocal range would do, they might as well have given Blaize Bailey some employment.

5) To *sort of* tie together my comments about continental Europeans putting us to shame, and sexual harrassment (in this case, a lack of), I present to you: the most adorable proposition ever made to anyone, EVER.

Man: Vould you be interested in being my pants-down friend?

David: No.

Man (with expression of bitter disappointment): Oh.

Man (wanders off in another direction, waves): Vish me luck!

If you don't acquiesce to that, you must have a heart of stone.



I might do a SRS POST OF SRSNZ later. OK, I'll do a baby trans one now, as people seem to be actually interested in my haphazard Trans 101.

1) You can be as nosy as you generally are about the identity and history of a trans person that you know and like (no, not a random one off the street). Ask all the questions you like - as long as you make sure that person understands that their answers will not alter your perception of their identity. The average woman wouldn't mind telling you that she had a ginger beard once, if she really knew that your only, brief, thought on the matter was "That's Susan. She used to have a long ginger beard".

2) However, don't talk loudly about a trans person's trans "issues" in public. Talk about trans stuff, yes, sing a song about it if you like, but don't suggest that it's connected at all to your acquaintance. If you are talking about hir own trans stuff, keep your voice very low.

This is simply a safety issue. If you were sitting in a "white" bus during any apartheid, you wouldn't say to your companion "Well GOSH! Shall we talk about how you're hiding your BLACK SKIN?"

(n.b. the analogy doesn't work in any other way - it's just a point about personal safety).


*Maybe my definition of "comical" differs from yours, then.

Just a small post before a long Wacken diary, and a question to you all -

65 years ago, Germany was a vicious dictatorship, run by genocidal lunatics with whom the average person was complicit.

63 years ago, it had been bombed far more than Britain, and had almost no buildings or infrastructure.

Now, it is a prosperous, peaceful country whose youth, at least, are committed to equality and anti-racism.

The people are very polite and helpful, there is plenty of art and culture, the streets are clean (and have public water fountains, I don't like to think of what would happen if they were installed in Britain). Of course, as an apparently white person (though half my family are Jewish, and I do resemble a Nazi caricature - I'm just a nose with arms and legs attached), I'd probably find the same things under the Nazis - but there are crucial differences.

I do look different to the average person, and I'm not safe walking around urban British streets. In Hamburg, I received no verbal abuse whatsoever - in fact, Hamburg Pride was going on quietly without the vast police support it would need in Britain - and the legions of hungover young metalheads were treated as well as everyone else (unlike in Derby station where we caught our connection, where we were not allowed to use the toilet, incidentally), because Germany is a country that does not treat its youth like scum by default.

For their part, young people in Germany are proud of what their country is becoming, and, at Wacken, cheered the loudest when a German band gave an anti-racist speech; when a Swedish band sung about the bravery of the Poles in 1940, and when Iron Maiden showed the applicable footage before "Aces High"; sported on average an anti-racist badge or T-shirt each - AND also cheered the loudest when non-German bands addressed the crowd in German, or indeed mentioned the country at all.

And, of course, as in every European country, everyone spoke to us in immaculate English as soon as they discovered where we were from - or, indeed, heard our appalling German. Gareth couldn't help but laugh when an earnest young man asked him "I would like to travel to the US. I am worried that my English is not good enough - is it all right?"

My question is, why is Britain, comparatively, constructed entirely of FAIL? Compared to Germany, how much good have we done in the past 65 years?

Considering how some Little Englanders here talk, perhaps we need a fascist dictatorship to convince them that no, it's not actually a very good idea.

Oh yes - the service industry (specifically, the travel industry) in each country:

Germany: "Would you like me to speak English? Here's what you wanted, here's everything else you might possibly want - oh, here are maps to everywhere you might possibly need to go. Would you like me to print you a different one off? You're going to Wacken, so here's a black hire car. I hope you have a very good time there. Don't worry about that, this or this. My shift ends now, but I'll be here for twenty minutes in case you need to ask me anything else."

England: "I'm so wilfully stupid, it's amazing that no-one I'm here to "help" has stoved my head in. Would you like a non-answer to your question, a weird non sequitur, or an inappropriate personal remark? DURR DURRRR DURRRR."