Alright, I didn’t post this weekend despite my best intentions. I thought about looking at the Great Recession from the perspective of other pre-me terrible economic contractions than the Depression. I considered writing about the book I finished, Neuromancer. I rejected the idea of writing about regulatory reform. I toyed with a post on the new Harry Potter movie and why I once so loved Harry/Draco slash. Then I didn’t write anything at all. Lazy.
Will my small readership forgive me if I placate them with pictures of cute cats? Here’s Gemma and Caprica trying to share the awesomest toy of all: a cardboard box.
Anyhow, I am at work and should really not be posting, but I wanted to take a moment to reiterate my commitment to write once a week.
In that spirit, one quick thing that I can put out there is that I frequently do not agree with Dan Savage’s views on women, feminism, and lesbians, but I loved his response on yesterday’s podcast to the “STRAIGHT woman” who wanted to hook up with an authentic queer lady before getting married. “Leave the Lesbians Alone!!” Dan half-moaned over and over.
I couldn’t agree more, coming in the midst of what I have dubbed the Week of Rudness to Nice Gay Girls You Don’t Even Know. On Friday, S and I walked around Chinatown holding hands before seeing HP6. We were bothered by two different men. The first was on the job, sweeping out front of the McDonalds. It did not strike him as professionally inappropriate to leer at us, laugh, and call out, “Yeah, just keep holding hands, girls. Just keep holding hands. I looooove that. Mmmmm.”
I didn’t expect to be so angry. I dropped S’s hand, ran back a few steps, and got in his face. I yelled, “That is not appropriate, sir. Unless you want me to go talk to your manager right now you will stop. What is wrong with you?” The man cracked up and kept sweeping.
Not two blocks later a drunken-seeming man leered at us, gave us a truly disturbing visual once over, and made lewd noises. I truly almost hit this guy. I didn’t know that was in me. I think that the force of my anger scared him, actually. I didn’t hit him but cursed him out loudly enough that other people stopped to watch. It left me trembling with rage.
The very next day, S and I were cat-called by a homeless man in our own neighborhood. I stopped him cold, saying, “Don’t you even start, sir. That is not appropriate and I am sick of it. We are not here for you. Be polite.” Of course, the guy followed up with, “I’m sorry, ladies. Don’t mean to be rude. You’re just such pretty ladies. And I’m a pretty lady, too! I’m a pretty lady!”
Perhaps I shouldn’t waste my lecturing and sassy back talking on homeless folk with mental illnesses who honestly can’t help what comes out of their mouths. And yet–
WTF? This is my city- this isn’t what my life here should be like. I have chosen to live somewhere diverse and exciting and accepting and proud. While I know that many people don’t actually accept my life, I have come to expect that they accept that I don’t hide it and that they must treat me with the detached respect that they give all passersby on the street. I don’t like when that balance is threatened. Especially because all that I can do is not let it hurt me inside and react directly to the hecklers, let them know that their behavior is unacceptable. It’s a very unsatisfying position, but what else can I do?
There is no easy solution. You have a right to your feelings, and I hope this week of rudeness passes quickly. Times are still in flux, even in the most diverse and tolerant cities.
Here’s hoping for an early fade for this type of harrassment.