Trans/plant/portation

Let me come out right at the start and say that I have worked for the government. The Federal Government, in fact, in the vast civil servant system. No question, it took some getting used to. First, there was the 2-day orientation, explaining the protocols, policies, and guidelines for working as a Federal employee, for working in this particular agency, and within that, for this specific team. I was fingerprinted and had a background check, because people with criminal records are generally not eligible for employment from Uncle Sam. So I’ll put that another way—rather than being the scourge of the American pool of workers, they must meet relatively elevated expectations. I’m not saying that American workers in the private sector suck; I’m saying that government workers also excel. Even the intake procedures for hiring them are designed with citizens’ interests in mind.

Does this mean that every government employee is a shining, stellar example of excellence? Of course not. But examine any office environment, anywhere in the United States. Is everyone there amazing? No. Why do we buy into the concept that some crappy civil servants mean all of them suck? Why is it open season to ridicule “the government” and public employees? Well, possibly because Americans have long entertained such stereotypes as true. Read More…

Originally, I was going to leave this alone. Enough other intelligent people were covering the recent events in Maryland’s push toward same-sex marriage and transgender civil rights that I didn’t think I’d be adding anything new to the conversation. I pulled back and used a broader lens to ask some questions about where we are as a queer community, thinking that this regional dispute was part of a larger debate and tension among the L, G, B, and T in le grande coalition.

And then this photo popped up on Equality Maryland’s Facebook fan page and a scant few hours later, it was gone, zapped into the nethersphere, along with whatever affronted comments had joined it temporarily. Fortunately I grabbed the photo before it had been cast out. Read More…

A joke made its way around the interwebs a couple of weeks ago:

A unionized public employee, a member of the Tea Party, and a CEO are sitting at a table. In the middle of the table there is a plate with a dozen cookies on it. The CEO reaches across, takes 11 cookies, looks at the Tea Partier, and says, “Look out for that union guy, he wants a piece of your cookie.”

It was worth a chuckle, I suppose, but I found it tough to laugh, because this wrangling over scraps is too commonplace in our trying times. I wish it were only about credit default swaps, mortgages, and job opportunities, but it isn’t. The battle for scarce resources is also taking place on the civil rights front. Read More…

At first, the thought of a zombie horde clawing its way to one’s front door inspires terror and panic, but if we examine the nature of an undead mob more closely, a few simple tactics come to mind that can greatly diminish their numbers and increase the likelihood of human survival. Read More…

Way back in June 2003 I had a dream that began a long string of nervous decisionmaking to embark on this whole gender transition journey of mine. As I progressed, I gained confidence, but I was making everything up as I went along. Somehow my culture hadn’t already identified a ready to wear outfit for having a sex change. I plunged into the Internet, which at the time was All About Messageboards, and somewhere beyond the thick soup of hyperspace were actual people. Some of them were newbies, like myself, asking questions, others were at the intermediate level, as it were, and still more folks had set themselves up as mini-gurus on the topic.

To say that in the midst of these personalities, there was some conflict would count as something of a stunning understatement. Read More…

Some time ago I brought up the importance of back story to the intrepid novel writer. I think I declared its significance critical because all good books have rich, memorable characters who stick with us, the hearty meals of literature, or something. I talked about layers of storytelling and animating the actors in a tale, and all of that is well and good. But in thinking about some of the most well known real-life stories in recent history—the threat of terrorism, the collapse of the housing market, the latest wave of immigration in the United States, the revolutions in Tunisia and Egypt—I started thinking about counter narratives. I think about them for what they are, and how people’s perspectives motivate them to behave accordingly, but for the purposes of this little blog I’m not discussing those politics today. I just want to ponder counter narrative as a tool for the writer. (Even as I’m wishing the protesters well.) Read More…

Being away from Walla Walla for six months meant that some activities rolled around as soon as we returned, things like dental cleanings. I’d made the appointment on the cusp on last summer, and with the snowfall looking austere in the Blue Mountains next to town, I drove to that appointment today, right as schools all along my route were sending their students home.

In Washington, DC, attempting to get more than 20 blocks entails planning for a 35-40 minute trip. In Walla Walla, it’s more like 5 minutes, but I hadn’t counted on crossing guards. Read More…

Folks who know me will recall that I wrote a memoir a couple of years ago and have been shopping it around, to occasional interest from agents and publishing professionals. It’s a process that gets frustrating, but I tell myself that the whole thing is worth it. I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve met loads of great people who care deeply about writers, the craft of good writing, and the need to build strong networks. That Snooki got published isn’t anything I care to rant over; who will have any clue about her book in ten years? I want publishers to put books out there that will make them enough money to find interest in mine, even as I think my memoir is a sure-fire best seller. Read More…

I’m unpacking boxes at our new house, and finding pieces of this country’s soul, or so it seems after three days of what must only be called the Moving Morass. On Sunday I heard reports, gleaned through accidental Internet access, that Representative Giffords was doing very well, considering the trauma to her brain. Read More…

Many moons ago, back in Washington, DC, Susanne and I hosted a New Year’s Eve party. Without verbalizing it, we’d grown too old to find a night of uninterrupted dancing to a set of booming woofers interesting, much less achievable. I recognize that for some—I’m looking at you, 20somethings—it’s a painful realization. But my point isn’t about watching ourselves lose our Youth Cards, it’s about what happened after this party. At the time we lived a dozen blocks from Union Station, so I offered to give a couple of our guests a ride to the Metro, where they could travel the rest of the way to their homes. And we were nearly hijacked by a marauding band of zombies. No wait, they were merely drunk. Read More…