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So Um Four Human Skulls Were Donated To #Goodwill Over The Summer.

18 Sep

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In June, three skulls turned up in a donation bin at a Goodwill in Bellevue Washington and one wound up in a Goodwill in Austin, Texas. Of the ones in Bellevue, two were obviously prepared for medical classrooms; bleached and wired together. The third turned out to likely be of a Native American child from over 100 years ago. Authorities are still trying to find information that could aid them returning the child’s skull back to the tribe of origin for proper burial. Authorities in Austin believe the skull that showed up there was from a private collection. Foul play is not suspected in any of the cases.

Incidentally, if you wanted to buy or sell a human skull, Goodwill is not the place to go obviously.

thriftstoreskull4^Yes, this is an actual working link.

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So Basically Fuck That #Buzzfeed “25 Toys Of The 80s Now Worth A Fortune” Article.

12 Aug

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This thing is not worth $1000. This bothers me *way* more than it should you.

So like yeah I know, this isn’t the first time Buzzfeed done an article like this (although the last time was way less over-inflated and ridiculous).  But like, I’ve owned (and still own; see above) like half the things in this recent list of nostalgic toys, and lemme be the first to pop your bubble on the dollar signs that may have rang up in your eyes.

Because the whole list is completely full of shit. Wanna know how I can tell instantly? Well, because of this:

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In case you’ve literally never been on eBay before, what we’re looking at is a Buy It Now price on an item that is not up for auction (hence the 20+day time left and no mention of bids). NONE of the items in the list are up for auction, in fact. These price tags tell us literally nothing. Believe it or not, you can ask for literally any amount on anything you want to sell on eBay; the price tag police aren’t going to beat down your door over it. But you know what happens when you ask for such an absurdly high price?

buzzfeed4^literally the same auction from the article

But don’t despair; it’s not that your precious childhood memories are worthless. They’re just… not worth *that* much. There’s all these shows on reality television now about collectors having their obsessions vindicated with tons of moolah as some sort of eccentric business acumen, but that’s really not the case for the professional (or even semi-professional) collector.

So here’s a more accurate view of what these things are worth on eBay right now:

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See, this is the SOLD price of a similar item (unboxed working Teddy Ruxpin with some of the books). That’s… not a bad chunk of change, to be honest, albeit around 10% what the article would have you believe. Here’s some of the rest:

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And damn if the article didn’t undersell this one:

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Now keep in mind, in the spirit of the article I’ve only been posting the highest price bid (or accepted) on the items in the condition shown in the article. THIS IS NOT THE AVERAGE PRICE. This is, very likely, more than you will get unless you have an established eBay account with tons of good feedback.

So don’t get your hopes up kid, but you still might make a few bucks.

But before I let you go, lets get back to that Garbage Pail Kid I mentioned owning. Buzzfeed says:

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whereas reality says:

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HOLY FUCKING RAT SHIT I’M PUTTING MINE UP FOR SALE OH SHIT WAIT. That shit is a PSA10. Lets be generous and give that card I’m literally holding between my fingertips in the open air a PSA5.

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Actually, that’s still not too bad. Maybe I will try to sell some more of this stuff.

Trans-Thermidorian Reaction: The Old-Guard Has Gone Full #TERF

1 Aug

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So here we are, in the throes of the burgeoning so-called “Transgender Tipping Point” or whatever, and Andrea James is riding in like Merlin de Theonville to say we’ve gone too far, carrying the guillotine-severed head of RuPaul (who I guess is Georges Danton) wedged tightly between her buttcheeks. Playing the part of Robespierre is, um, Jennifer Boylan? GLAAD?

Fuck I dunno. Momma didn’t raise me to write gender-bent historical fan fiction.

Anyway, last week Andrea James decided the best way to use her social platform as a trans activist was to compose new hit-piece du jour in Queerty (which I’m not linking to) claiming that trans women have *too much* representation. Um, ok. The piece was a bunch of tedious hand wringing pretending to be concerned about fair representation when in reality, any pretense of said concern is complete bullshit. It’s hard to take seriously a piece that argues that a non-trans heterosexual has more right to be involved in queer matters than queer folks.

But really, this sort of invective from Andrea James is unsurprising to anyone paying attention. I’ve been counting down for months til the day James splits open along her surgery seams, releasing hundreds of freshly-Naired TERFspiders afflicted with Harry Benjamin Syndrome spilling out everywhere… all of them screaming about how they are the “truest trans”, Highlander-style, if Highlander was directed by Don Coscarelli.

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And as you’d imagine the cooperation of TERFs with violent trans activists with a history of abuse like James, the finer details come out in the wash.

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So, a few months ago I signed a thing (which also resulted in the first time my name appeared in a Huffington Post article). Shortly afterwards all sorts of accusations came about what kind of person I must be for agreeing that Calpernia Adams and Andrea James are genuinely awful people (which I learned later was at least the second time such a thing was written). Everything from “newly minted queer” to (hilarious) accusations of homophobia and resentment of the drag community to being flat out called an autogynephile.thermidor14thermidor15 And it’s like, you got your backwards-ass pop radphlegm psychology flipped if you think I’m an autogynephile. By their standards, I’m one of those sad gay dudes that can’t hack it, having my fabulous faggotness medicalized out of me by evil Big Pharma. Hell, most actual TERFs pick this up pretty quick:

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A BLOO BLOO BLOO I’m contributing to the erasure of gender-non-conforming and gay men through transition by my assimilation into mainstream society as a Satan-worshipping anarchist trans woman noise musician-

thermidor2a wait what now?

Really; I’m pretty much the opposite of the caricature they present. I rarely use trigger warnings on my writing, I occasionally call myself a “f*ggot” and even sometimes “tr*nny” (tho anyone calling me that is welcome to GTFO of my life), and I enjoy all sorts of problematic entertainment (that I have the presence of mind to enjoy critically). I’ve been around gendering so long I still have copies of Melanie Speaks and Creating A Feminine Carriage that are nearly two decades old to show for it. It’s pretty safe to say that I still have a good relationship with the drag community (despite different perspectives). I’m pretty much the kind of person James and Adams are pretending to represent, but fuck that because a decade and a half ago women like them were sneering at me and calling me a “drag queen” like it was the worst thing in the world to be.

All because I have a different opinion than them on the “tr*nny debate”. Seriously. I swear to fuck all these lumbering old dinosaurs seem to think the most pressing civil rights issue the trans community faces is making sure people that aren’t trans can use that word.

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A little over two years ago, Cristan Williams declared the Death Of The Trans Separatist Movement, which may have been a bit premature considering the turn things are going. Hell, here in Portland the “New Narratives” cult (hey yeah I’m not linking to that either) is forming and spreading across social media. It was founded by Tumblr quislings GenderMinefield and SnowflakeEspecial, and apparently their first meeting drew a whopping eight people, which doesn’t sound like much until each of them create eight sock-puppet Twitter profiles to rhetorically fellate each other with.

Which is great because what we really need out there to prevent male violence is more self-righteous frothing trans women high on TERF Kool-Aid

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And of course this wouldn’t be a proper document of gross old problematic has-beens without bringing up the racist-ass Cummings couple… they of the *thousands* of completely inept looking Blogspot blogs:

hamonyouIncluding “Ham On You”, which I assume is some really-gross porn site

Recently they had a certain someone on their show

thermidor17the Comic Sans is such a perfect touch I can’t even

And here’s the part where you’d expect me to blah blah blah about giving a platform or whatever, but nah. These two are perfect together. As long as the rhetoric isn’t aimed at someone I care about, the only thing that bothers me about her doing her gender-crit song and dance is that it’s distracting from time she could be making more karaoke videos. I mean, I’m by no means a fan of the movement,

gendercrit12like, at all…

…but the fact that this exists is actually pretty amazing in it’s own way. But that could just be because I’m actually a terrible person that enjoys ridiculous social train wrecks.

I didn’t make it more than halfway through the video, however. Even my “transgender male masochism” has limits, apparently. Hell, I almost didn’t make it through the intro because Mark Angelo Cummings is literally the worst musician ever. His music sounds like Nickelback having sex with Nickelback on a pile of Nickelback Albums with Nickelback playing in the background. Painful.

The interview opens with one of her mean-spirited “parody” videos, mocking a certain teenage transfeminine person’s vlog. Mark immediately chimes in that he watches it all the time, laughing. So we’re already off to a marvelous start; with three grown-ass middle-aged adults openly mocking the efforts of a teenage queer person figuring things out at a confusing and painful time of life. These grown-ass middle-aged adults want to be seen as advocates and leaders in their respective sexual orientation and gender identity-based movements.

Truly marvelous. But that’s not even my favorite part.

My favorite part is when Jessica Cummings has some sort of an epiphany. Or maybe a stroke, I can’t tell. “I see all these trans women out there, and they know nothing about being a woman,” she notes, nodding mindlessly. “All they know is stereotypes!” she giggles coquettishly, bottle blonde head suddenly cocked provocatively to the side as her Valley Gurl accent intensifies.

Truly, truly marvelous.

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But what really makes this a brilliant piece of tragic comedy is how much the two just eat that shit up. I’m sure they’re all like, “that’ll show them newly minted queers!” as if they’re in on the joke. As if, as a heterosexual couple no matter how you slice the gender pie, they were somehow outside the crosshairs of her uneasy musings about the “heterosexual infiltration of the gay liberation movement”.

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At no point (that I saw) did they ever catch on. Marvelous.

thermidor11Clean your mouth out with soup. Um, ok bro.

Portland’s Goodwill Blue Hanger Is Mildly Terrifying.

28 Jul

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So like first of all, they don’t call it Blue Hanger out here; they call it “The Bins”. Sounds ominous as hell, right? “The Bins” could easily be the title of a Stephen King novel. Probably not a good one but hey, who even reads him anymore?

Anyway, the view from the bus stop as you try to figure out how the hell to get in there doesn’t help matters.

bluehanger3 is this a thrift store or a prison camp?

Now I’m kind of a veteran of the old warehouse outlet stores if I must say so myself. Many moons ago, back in Austin, I used to work as an assistant to a certain local eccentric doll collector (now successful actress). A chunk of every other work day was set aside to scour the outlet store for hidden treasure. It was a lot of fun, if a bit chaotic.

If you’re completely unfamiliar to how these outlet stores work, hold onto your butts… basically you buy stuff by the POUND.

bluehanger4fucking seriously

However, despite being pretty intimate with the concept and expectations, I wasn’t prepared for how fucking HUGE the place was.

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Now, you don’t go into a place like this without a strategy. I have a few personal surefire things I look for that make money. No I won’t tell you what they are, but you could probably guess. Certain small vintage electronics, stuff that college kids need that is overpriced as fuck in the campus bookstore, things like that. This time I figured I’d give a shot at acquiring unopened/unused printer cartridges since printer ink is the most valuable liquid on the planet and I wanna get a cut of that. While there I also took the time to take pics of certain things too…

bluehanger6sad, abandoned artwork

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hilariously obsolete electronics

 bluehanger8and of course a full size mannequin because wtf

I also managed to find a ton of cute clothes (but no dressing room so no pics, sorry) as well as a few particularly interesting things of note:

bluehanger9A nearly complete 1977 Captain America board game

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A copy of Animation Magazine with Beetlejuice-era Tim Burton on the cover

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a pile of painstakingly preserved letters/postcards from 100 yrs ago I may serialize

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and a Totoro backpack because Totoro backpack

It was a good haul overall, and I figure heading out here will be a regular thing for me. It’s just a little much to take in at once.

Maybe I was just out of practice.

COGIATI Is The Worst Classic Text Adventure Game #Retrogaming #90snostalgia

19 Jul

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So I know it’s been ages since I’ve done a video game review on here, despite promising I would be more proactive in that regard. So today’s game is a classic from the mid 1990s.  It appears to be some sort of text adventure created by the same designer that made the classic Apogee game BOPPIN.

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The game is called COGIATI (which is probably one of those nonsense magic words like XYZZY or PLUGH). It promises the acquisition of a “transsexual gender inventory” which honestly doesn’t sound very epic, but I’m not too good to grind for unusual and rare items.

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The game opens up with an admonition to “answer truthfully” to some questions that will follow, which I thought was cool because it reminds me of that fortune teller from the Avatar trilogy of Ultima games.

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It’s kinda dated, but I do get a kick out of the non-traditional methods of character generation. Some of the questions seemed to lead to certain classes, even though they were kinda sexist:

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And others that seemed to be pointing towards special super powers your eventual character may possess-

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The thing is tho, the questions never seem to stop coming. No recognizable character development or progress is shown, and some questions seem irrelevant or morbid-

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So then I finally get to the end of the questions, and instead of presenting a well-rounded character and a world to explore, I was presented with an ending screen:

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What a ripoff, right? I go through all that and I get is a psych recommendation. I mean, it’s better than the endings of River City Ransom or Ultima Exodus on the NES, but still. It’s almost as disappointing than the ending of NARC where it tells you to become a cop-

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So seriously, even if you’re somewhat of a completist when it comes to classic text-adventure games, you may want to pass this one up. There’s no plot to be seen, just endless grilling about your identity forever. Real life provides way more than that to spare.

Gender Abolitionist Crotchless Pantsuit Mandate.

19 Apr

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(PLEASE NOTE: All photos in this article will be black and white, because bright colors could be considered feminine and thus a form of patriarchy somehow. Only a stoic, masculine, black and white palette is allowed, much like our rhetoric)

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Congratulations everyone. We’ve abolished gender. Lord even knows how we did it, considering how logically inconsistent the social platform of our movement is. Apparently it involved socially marginalizing every gender-non-conforming person with a penis until they conformed to masculine presentation or died, because that seems like damn near the only thing we agree on. Hell, most of the time that seems to be literally the only thing we care about. So I guess that’s what happened.

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Now that gender is over, the next task is to assign a wide swath of social expectations, roles, and personality traits onto individuals based on their genitalia. This is something completely different and better than gender because we say so. Everything will be genderless, and by genderless, we obviously mean masculine. Because after all, masculine isn’t a gender, it’s a social default. Somehow this enshrining and universalizing of masculinity is totally different from masculinism, because we say so.

genderpants3(I didn’t even photoshop this. This is what gender-crits actually believe.)

In this gender-free utopia we need a garment that is gender-neutral (meaning masculine), utilitarian, tasteful, and uniform. However, in lieu of our genital-essentialist basis for social class distinction, we need the ability to gauge at a glance where people stand. Obviously, the answer is crotchless pantsuits. These pantsuits are adorned with a chromosome-referencing label based entirely on genitalia and nothing else (not even chromosomes). Replacement garments can be claimed at the front office of every gender deprogramming center, where regular mandatory classes take place to re-educate away from concerns of gender and instead concerns based on assigning social expectations, roles, and assumed personality traits onto individuals based on their genitalia. This is different and better than gender because we say so.

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How To Buy Happy Meal Toys Like A Suspected Sex Offender.

19 Apr

So like, you’d think I’d be excited to hear about a policy like this:

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I mean, gendering toys is pretty much bullshit and forces unnecessary social pressure on children, especially those that don’t fit neatly into the roles society wants for them. So on one hand it’s cool to see that mentality being moved away from. Realizing, however, that this policy is not in place for the benefit of gender-non-conforming children, but to spare mostly heterosexual men in their late 20s/early 30s from having their sexuality challenged makes me kind of nauseous. Even more nauseous than McDonalds usually makes me feel.

I frequently find myself bothered by feminine things repurposed through the lens of heterosexual masculine sexuality. Take “guyliner” for instance. No seriously, take the entire concept of “guyliner” and throw it down a well and fill the well with cement.

ponytoy8Why yes this is some creep’s actual police mugshot.

Now, I’m not saying that guys shouldn’t wear eyeliner, because holy shit that’s hawt yes please. The thing is, until the mid-2000s or so, around the time “metrosexuality” (something else I hate) became a thing, wearing makeup for guys largely betrayed a social vulnerability/had a counterculural element. There’s a great scene in the 1982 punk rock travel documentary Another State Of Mind where Mike Ness puts on his trademark sloppy eye makeup. He acknowledges that vulnerability, even pointing out and shrugging off the assumption that me might be considered gay. He’s a punk kid, trying to freak people out… it’s kinda adorable to be honest.

But then around 2007-2008, after this douche started making the rounds, the dynamic around it changed. You wind up with dudes in the club mascaraed out to the nines and feeling compelled to constantly overcompensate to not seem gay or whatever, and queer folks like I was pre-transition find themselves having to reiterate “No, see I’m not into pickup artist bullshit, I’m actually queer. I have sex with dudes and whatever.” Just seems so unnecessary on all fronts.

So anyway, I’m not here to talk about makeup (for once). I’m here to talk about sweaty men buying tiny horses. To talk about their strategies and their compulsions.

bronyhat2.pngTo talk about their terrible taste in hats.

And before you get locked into some sort of misconception, this isn’t about adults buying toys, or even about adult heterosexual men buying girl’s toys. I’m a grown ass adult that buys toys with exactly zero reservation. Just a few years ago, I was ordering Happy Meals to get that cool Devo-looking “New Wave Nigel” guy from their American Idol toy collection (especially since Devo was suing them over it).

ponytoy3Seriously, this little fucker is adorable and I regret nothing.

Thing is tho, I have never found any compulsion to try to navigate/rationalize it through some sort of gauntlet of heterosexual male identity. This is where I think the metrosexuals and the bronies and such are kind of fucking it up for all of us. Not satisfied with existing in some sort of grey era of social presentation, these folks have to turn enjoying feminine things as a straight male into this hideous sexualized gender monstrosity. Seriously, read this thing. There’s this unnerving level of calculation and compulsion to it, this sort of forced awkardness under the attempted tongue-in-cheek tone that makes even basic actions seem fetishistic if not sexualized.

ponytoy4Like, ewwww.

Again, I buy toys from both sides of the aisle myself even now, but I don’t approach it with the sweaty-palmed awkward anxiety of a man forced to go door to door disclosing his sex-offender status to his neighbors. The only thing that tutorial got right was the line “McDonalds workers don’t care about some 15-30something walking in to buy cartoon horses”. They seriously could have definitely left it at that, rather than suggest flashing MLP fan art, which seems like a hell of a good way to get arrested.

ponytoy5SERIOUSLY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T FLASH FAN ART IN PUBLIC

Anyway, when all is said and done, the article makes it seem so damn difficult. Just to test this theory, I went to the McDonalds near my job to buy some ponies. I went ahead and bought two, because fuck the police.

ponytoy6ponytoy7Whatever that look on my face is, I’m pretty sure it isn’t pride.

Both ponies are now on my desk at work. Mission accomplished.

And whatever, I’m sure there was at least one person there totally thinking “wow what a f*gg*t”. Point taken, way to point out the obvious. Better than having people wonder if I was gonna take the ponies home to fuck them.

She Should Have Been A Son.

6 Apr

So like, I was pretty sure I was gonna come out as gay when I was around 13…

beenason1TOTAL. FUCKIN. HOMO.

The clues were all there… I guess.

Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I was except I seemed to be completely unlike “other boys”, and everyone seemed to be able to tell. I couldn’t seem to connect to boys my age on any level and instead found myself socializing around girls which found me this nonthreatening asexual presence. Yet I was also being palpably groomed towards appeasement and subservience to men and coded as a “faggot” deserving of violence and marginalization without resource for complaint. I was groomed to desire approval from and to appeal towards masculine idealizations. I remember the first time I’d watched Velvet Goldmine, and in that opening scene where child Jack Fairy is beat up and spreads the blood across his lips I remember actually thinking HOLY SHIT WHERE DID THEY FIND THIS FOOTAGE OF MY CHILDHOOD.

beenason2A pretty reasonable summary of my childhood.

All I knew, honestly, was that shit that “doesn’t happen to boys” happened to me on a pretty frequent basis.

I found no analogous “shared boyhood” experience to cling to when I was 10 and my male friend broke my nose when I told him he was cute and “reassured” me that he did so “for my own good” to remind me “I’m not allowed” to say such things. Was it just typical “male socialization” when I was 13 and it became a running gag/twisted bonding experience between members of the football team to grope my ass and whistle at me and then threaten to beat me up if I complained? When I spent a night at a friend’s house, 30 miles from my home, and he goaded me into drinking vodka and casually got naked in front of me suggesting we “wrestle”, I’d had no preparation or warning or understanding to work off of.

I learned pretty quick that the same boys in the schoolyard breaking my face open and the boys in the back of the bus goading me to give them handjobs were usually the same. And that somehow that made them heterosexual, and me not. My pre-teen years were spent getting a first-hand custom education that what most people understand about gender and sexuality is 100% bullshit, but not in the way everyone tells you it’s bullshit. More like in the straight women creating gay porn way that everything most people understand about gender and sexuality is bullshit.

…and this is aside of my well-trod-out stories of hundreds of pre-teen nights staying up after my family went to bed to play with makeup, calling myself “Rachel” in the mirror. Mornings after when my dad would yell at me for any detected trace of glitter or color on my face, speculating out loud (and loudly) how many cocks his “son” must be already sucking before “he’d” even made it into high school…

So anyway I was a big old homo and I was pretty sure I was just gonna start admitting it to myself and others and then my parents had to up and divorce. I mean, the divorce was needed and an excellent idea, but it put a serious kibosh on my plans to come out. My parents relationship had been rapidly disintegrating for a while, but had accelerated after the suicide of my uncle Jim, an event that fucked pretty much all of us up, including myself.

beenason3One of entirely too few photos I have of my uncle and I.

So anyway my parents split up and it was traumatic and whatever, you know, the typical child of the 90s story. That legendary divorce is such a bore. What it meant to me was that we were relocating from Briggs, Texas to Copperas Cove, Texas, a place where there were people my age that I could feasibly, you know, hang out with and potentially have a normal childhood friendship with. I was 14 at the time and had no idea what that was like and, honestly, I was terrified. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be my friend if I was gay, so that got buried. Between repressing that and my socialized fear of masculinity, I found myself drawn to and embracing bonehead white trash heavy metal music and lifestyle (of which, thankfully, no photos survive).

placesivecalledhome5The duplex we lived in when we first moved to Copperas Cove in 1991.

Amongst all the knuckle-dragging meathead metal I’d immersed myself in at the time, something else had broken through that fall of 1991. One evening after school I’d caught the near-inescapable video for Smells Like Teen Spirit and I was enthralled. I just didn’t even know how to comprehend what I’d seen except that I’d suddenly become obsessed. I wound up scraping the cash together for the single on cassette, and then a few weeks later the album, and studied the artwork and scrutinized the lyrics and just tried to absorb everything I could out of it. For years afterwards I hunted down interviews and tracked down bootlegs to gain a more cohesive understanding of Kurt’s oeuvre.

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But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get down to brass tacks: here was a scrawny cat with a big nose and a cleft chin with a feminine gender expression, an obsession with anatomical models and other weird antiques, and an obvious chip on his shoulder about toxic masculinity. It was like looking in a mirror or running into the future version of myself or something. I was 15 or so when I first read that legendary statement tucked away in the liner notes to Incesticide:

At this point I have a request for our fans.  If any of you in any way hate homosexuals, people of different color, or women, please do this one favor for us — leave us the fuck alone!  Don’t come to our shows and don’t buy our records.

I remember thinking wow this is like the opposite of what it’s ok to say these days and filed it away in a place in my brain similar to the place under my bed where I stashed my gay porn. Someplace personal and private until I worked up the courage to address and admit to myself. I find myself periodically reminded of the role Nirvana played in sparing me from white trash induced mediocrity and self-repression. By the time I was 17 and in colllege away from small-town and family pressure I’d moved well past being that weird kid that was painting his nails coral and writing sharpie slogans and had come out as bisexual and began to cross-dress and wear makeup publicly in increasing frequency…

18yearoldmeMe at Lubbock punk rock club Einstein’s in 1995.

…but then we’re starting to get into a whole other story.

Creepy-Ass Scrapbook Is Creepy.

12 Mar

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Found this odd little thing over at All Things Beautiful. The $25 asking price was pretty steep, but it definitely caught my eye. It was about 100 pages long, and nothing but near-contextless cut out magazine photos of babies and toddlers. But why tho?

To be honest, it kind of reminded me of the “Memory Lane” scrapbook from Misery. Creepy.

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This Post Brought To You From A Thrift Store Dressing Room.

12 Mar

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GUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLLL (no, I didn’t buy them, but considered it)

Last weekend I had more than a bit of an anxiety attack over the fact that one of the two pairs of pants I arrived to the Pacific North West with was starting to wear out in the crotch.

thriftstoredressingroom3I’m nothing if not pragmatic.

So I finally had a chance to make it out to a local thrift store, and after a bit of humoring the idea of taking home some godawfully hideous stuffed animals-

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I finally got to the task at hand.

If wonder if people ever know what an ordeal it is doing breathing exercises and centering meditation and whatever to get over anxiety of getting publicly called out as “the tr*nny in the thrift store women’s section” or whatever. Weathering looks of pity and disgust as you hopelessly navigate the needlessly esoteric sizing guidelines of women’s pants. Store staff becoming suddenly *very* interested in you and whether or not you need help, eyeing you in an eerily similar way to the way they’d watch a shoplifter.  Feeling this ominous suffocating cloud drift down when you enter the aisle, anticipating that moment when someone finally vocalizes that JESUS SAYS YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.

And then after 10 minutes of hyperventilating, you find yourself so lightheaded you are physically incapable of giving a fuck. Perfect mood for shopping.

So then, loaded with entirely too many pants and too many cute shoes and accessories, you go to try them on. The dressing room is an epic novella of tragedies and triumphs.

thriftstoredressingroom5Because I look like someone who’s opinions on clothes you should take seriously. Obviously.

In hindsight, I maybe should have included some shots of the hilariously awful, poorly fitting things I’d found, but screw that I wanna show you a few things that look cute. Like first of all, I now have a hat that matches the scarf I wore into the place. I’m one of *those* people now.

thriftstoredressingroom6Yes I’m wearing a hat from a thrift store. Shut up.

So like, is houndstooth becoming a thing again? I’m seeing it *everywhere* and I kind of seriously love it. One of my favorite dresses has a similar pattern.

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But anyway yeah, I found some pants, and how. I found several amazing pairs, ad no longer have to worry about having nothing to wear if a pair wears out. But, I’m actually super stoked about this pair:

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Seriously, I just actually found a pair of the same kind of pants I always drew Agenesia from Why I’m Not An Artist wearing, and oh my glob they are the actual best thing. They’re super comfy, hug my hips perfectly and have the perfect amount of flare at the end of the leg. I want to be buried in these pants.

All in all, I wound up spending more than I probably should have, but omg everything was half-price so at least value or something?

Who am I kidding I am the actual worst at money, but at least the pants crisis was averted.