I is for Identity and an Impostor

I guess you can say I knew who was, really, pretty much in elementary school. Terms like, “she’s hot,” spoken in hushed tones to let the boys in the group know that the adage, that inbred misogynistic comment, wasn’t acceptable, didn’t carry that weight. But they went about their ways with talking about the most beautiful women on television and such. I was too young to know the unhealthiness of the comments, but no matter. It's too late. My concern, by contrast?

Why weren’t the guys hot too?

Middle school? Riding the bike around the block an extra time to see the high school wrestler mowing the lawn in a tank top? Again, I didn't realize that it wasn't exactly healthy.

And profoundly aware of the fact that everyone else was not noticing these things.

High school was the best and worst. I figured out my identity there. Now, remember, when you’d confess to anyone as an angsty teenager that you feel different from everyone else, you get eyerolls from both the adults and your peers. Because, at that age, you’re supposed to feel different. But for me, as the hormones raged as they did for every teenage boy, I had no choice but to hide it and pretend I was a statue. I'd go on dates, but they were with friends. Kept my nose clean. Kept good grades. Stayed heavily involved in activities.

That was then, grant you. The 80s. I had started to develop the vernacular ( would use sentences like, "are you family?" or "Are you a friend of Dorothy?" ) associated with the microcosm of gay culture as the arrival of the gay-cancer started to show up on television. Suddenly, gay people were on tv. And they were dying. They were being shown as victims. My identity was now skewed. Our illustrious leader was also doing his best to make sure that cancer devoured them wholly, telling my young teenage mind that I was worthy of only a death.

And it wasn’t a dignified one in any manner.  

That gay-cancer became known as AIDS. And since it happened to a then unwanted minority, it was allowed to run rampant until people realized that the disease didn’t particularly care about orientation.

So I learned to become an impostor.

I went to Christian school and did my best to hide and hope. Studied to be a minister, hoping I could cure myself through a profundity of good deeds. Hide my true feelings and hope that, magically, even after SO many years, my brain would somehow rewrite itself, rewire itself and I would see what all these peers of mine were seeing. The humor was, of course, that the strict Christian school didn’t allow men and women to mix. So, for many hours a day in my dorm, I was surrounded by the track team. And the wrestling team. And the football team.

Change didn’t come quickly.

And basically, screwed every part of my brain. Apparently, sexuality, regardless of your orientation, seeks, by its very nature, expression. This happens in all species. No, I’m not a scientist, but think about it. Your sexuality has a profound impact on your clothing selection, your expressive behavior and motivations in many different social interactions. Even if the wish to find a date isn't why an interaction is underway. The nightmares increased. The drinking increased.

Then there was me, the impostor. Not wanting to draw attention to myself. Act as nonstereotypical as possible, but, continue to choose words that express aspects of my secret. My identity remained, but it was now becoming a thing, something separate from myself, that had to be manipulated and every part had to be analyzed and taken apart.

Lemme guess. Straight people, for the most part, don’t have to do that. They’re allowed to go on dates as a high schooler and fail and learn so much about their needs.

Now, a few caveats in those last few sentences. I am, in no way, able to understand the experience of being a straight person. I’m not straight. I have never experienced the world in that manner. I’m what they call a “gold star.” When from closet door to Mo’s-ville in one direct line. Did not pass hetero-ville.

Something weird happened in its place, however. Being an impostor gave me the observational skills I like to think motivate me and my works, writing and professional. I get what I see by constantly interpreting what’s underneath. I like to think this was a necessary evil.

For me.

There’s that scene, in X-Men: United, however, where Mystique is asked by Nightcrawler about her shapeshifting.

Ugh...can't find the scene to post here.....

“Why don’t you just walk around and look like them?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to.”

I shouldn't have to fake who I am for the comforts of others. Especially when it's something I shouldn't be ashamed of.

I like to think I came out relatively unscathed. I’m smart enough to rise above the din in my skull and not suffer the spears of my predicament. But my suffering, like Harvey Milk’s before me, was for others to not suffer. Kids today should not have to hide. They should not want to kill themselves. They should capable of feeling love as nature intended. They should not hide who they are.

Ever.

And because of that, I will not, ever be that impostor again. I long for the day I tell kids about how I had to drive three states over to just get married before it was legalized. No more hiding.

H is for Harry Potter and Hollywood Studios

I boarded the plane. I figured, if the interview was a complete bust, at least I could get some decent food with my awesome cousin up in Gainesville or visit some relatives in South Florida. It was my way of locking down that fact that the future is not set and I needed to be ready to find some good with the reality that I had not gone to a job interview in over 20 years. I liked to think I was more than qualified, but, hey, it’s not always about skill and experience.

Sometimes it’s just the glasses you have on during the interview.

Glasses. They were all over the plane that I boarded in Denver. Every kid, and a few hygiene challenged women, had a pair.

A bad lightning bolt drawn on their forehead.

Apparently, "Bad Hair" is part of the costume...and lack of personal hygiene...

I was confused. See, I was going to an interview just outside of Disney World. Last I had checked, the wonderful worlds of creativity was certainly shared, but Mr. Potter was a Warner Bros creation.

Alas, a mere youth before me explained with his hand sewn cloak in the seat before me, Harry Potter was getting a new land over there at Universal Studios, nearby.  I should go see it, they recommended.

I knew better than to spend extra cash. It was taking all my inner strength to not even go near Disney World this trip. Just to stick to business and get the heck out of Dodge.

Business, apparently was good. I had been avoiding the interwebs prior to that little jaunt to Orlando, so as not to let my heart burn with the fact that I was heading to Florida for business, not pleasure in any manner. Yes, I did get the job.

And so did, apparently, Harry Potter. They opened to great fanfare, but, alas, I wouldn’t get over there until selling our house in Colorado finally sold and the cash was available for taht special treat. What I saw at Universal Studios: Islands of Adventure was incredible. Truly on par with anything that Disney had ever done, and, in many ways, surpassed it. As I rode the ride, something like nothing I had ever done before, I realized, whoa, it wasn’t a simulator like EVERY RIDE DISNEY HAD BUILT. It wasn’t rehashing of other rides at other parks, LIKE DISNEY HAD DONE.

The unique ride vehicles make it feel like it's a very personal experience. I recommend it.

For the first time, I had heard on my various podcasts and websites, people were cutting off one to two days of their Disney vacations to head over to Universal, because, yes, their kids loved the books. Two years later, basically twice as long as it took to make the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, “New Fantasyland” opened.

An empty New Fantasyland. Sometimes? If you build it, no one will come.

No one changed their vacation plans. A small coaster with 4 hour waits, a dark ride copy-catted from three other parks and a new show. And a restaurant that no one can get into.

I had not only moved to the place of my dreams, I was at ground zero for the vacation wars.

This made me feel good, not bad, believe it or not. Maybe it’s the teacher in me, but it seems like I enjoy to see people grow and thrive.

That Harry Potter attraction drew me over to those parks and I was impressed with their approach. Yes, there are things there they do better than Disney. And there are things that Disney does waaaay better. It’s all a good thing for me, the avid consumer of such things. For, with two years, we now have a Tomorrowland, of sorts, coming to Disney’s Animal Kingdom, based on the lands from Avatar. And if the rumors are proven to be true, they’ll actually have a new style of ride there.

Please?

Yes, I agree, it’s a poor choice, given that the movie had little cultural impact and pretty much sucked moosepenis as a flick, but, hey, it’s NEW. And, yes, Disney, having been sitting on their haunches and riding the money machine that is Disney World, actually realized something.

They had to keep going.

The fact is, the Parks are a fixed asset. It’s not like a movie theater where you slide shit in and out. One ride just sits there. And if it’s a dud, people won’t go on it, nor pay to fly out and see why it’s a dud. You have to keep tweaking the rides, plussing the system, adding or subtracting something and letting social media chat it up as much as possible so that you get the free advertising that fanboys, like myself, can chat about.

Which brings me to Hollywood Studios. When you have an annual pass, your perception of the parks changes. I LOVE the parks, so for me professing the love of one park over another is really just lip service. Still, there are favorites. EPCOT Center used to be on the top of my list. As a teacher, it made me emotionally erect. Then I started attending the parks a bit more regularly.

Hollywood Studios moved up on the list. As I rode the Great Movie Ride over and over, I realized the quality that you don’t really see on the other rides. Star Tours, now with it’s changeable storyline? So much fun. Seeing the street performers create a world that was never really true is a gas. But the identity was in a state of flux. It was built as a competitor to Universal Studios, offering a view into Hollywood with a backlot tour, stunt shows, and animators’ offices.

Hooray for Hollywood! Well...sorta.

Fact was, no one wanted to make movies out in Florida. Let’s face it, Hollywood really is the capital of Hollywood, in California. They didn’t want to uproot their families to Florida for something as short term as a television series.

The Studios suffered because of this. It started to come off as a really creative Six Flags, with exciting rides for the teenage set and unique experiences that the classics heralded over in the Magic Kingdom just could not approach. Let the families go to MK. Maybe the thrill seekers will like the Studios.

Then that whole Harry Potter thing happened up the road a bit.

The gloves came off.

We win.

Hollywood Studios is getting a full makeover. They’ve already closed down a good ¾ of the park to install TWO new lands. Star Wars Land and Toy Story Land.

The nine hour queue starts over on the right, there.

Good.

The line for Toy Story Land starts over there on the left...for 57 hours.

Seriously. Yes, my cinephile self will not be satisfied until it’s done, but the fact is, the only thing I like slightly more than the Parks?

The movies.

And seeing love come to this wee park warms my heart. The fight has been brought on. Universal fired the first salvo; Disney is responding.

For the first time ever, you can see where corporate America really does benefit us. Their greed for money benefits us. They’ll escalate with more fun items, all we ahve to do is wait on 3 hours lines.

What’s not to love?

So I’m, for one, happy for Harry Potter and Hollywood Studios.

To wit, I was actually going to start this piece about my hatred to the Potter books. Look where we went?

G is for Ghosts

I have always had a flair for the spooky stuff. And I mean, like the good spooky stuff. Not the movies that the teens recommend-those rarely creep me out. But the ones where there’s some effort to hit the right notes and keep us guess. I can never really guess what it comes from. If you looked to my earlier posts, you see how I’m able to give my dark side it’s own expression in creative authorship. But why does it have to be that way? Why all the ghosts?

Ghosts. I’ve always been fascinated with them. They fell low on the Dewey decimal system, so I never really went too far into the library for better books than the ghost sections at .0001. And, surely, the UFOS and Bigfoots had a strange fascination for me as well.

And I would also arrive at the religion section. So, yeah, if you can see that link, you can see what was motivating me to read.

I even remember watching the entire first season, on Wednesday nights, of Ghost Hunters. Before the internet and fame took it down. The whole season, by myself, because the husOtter couldn’t handle it at all. And Ghost Adventures? One bad night of stomach issues kept me to the couch, and, since I couldn’t sleep, I watched.

The Famed Fire Girl Photo

By the way, if you get a chance, watch the original movie that inspired the soft core porn show on the Travel Channel. The stripper/host, Zak (no H here, he can’t spell it with “Zach!”!!), slips on his tightest t-shirt and goes to town. GREAT footage.

Zak Bagans, host of Ghost Adventures: The Quest for a Tighter Shirt

And, yes, very, very scary, the show isn’t. But, yes, his movie is.

My point with this rambling? Why ghosts?

My mother said it’s always been there. And this is the lady who bought me my first tarot deck at 13, cause, as she said, “it just seemed to be something you’re interested in.” The fact is, my exposure to death and dying came at a high cost. My biological father passed when I was a mere 4 years of age. In my personal history, that man did not exist. But in reality, my mother once regaled, I was fascinated by the funeral. Riveted. She said that I looked as if I was waiting for someone to spring forth.

Inate? Doubtful. I still got spooked jsut like the rest of the kids, finding myself more than a few nights in the living room rocking chair, reading a King novel, too frightened to tuck myself in. For such a young persona, it was hard wired into my noggin. It was as if my soul needed to find out what would happen to it.

Ghosts seemed like a choice; religion, another approach.

Made sense, given everything.

I’m still interested. Found myself, even today, as I listened to the Everything Ghost Podcast and wondering why everyone seems to have the same experiences again and again. That’s cool, and all, but the fact is, it’s lousy spooky storytelling. Novelty is the way to go.

Things don’t jump out at those who know it’s coming.

In fact, my first book was a ghost story novel. But, I aimed it at young adults. And gay young adults.

And it sucked large moosepenis. Big time. So there’s still some work on that one, that’s for sure.

This all leads to me to make some big statements.

Yes, I do believe in ghosts. Seriously.

Stop laughing. I have no issue with admitting it. But I’m also not one to shy away from the concept. I think that ghosts are the results of something scientific, not necessarily the lost soul of something.

Here me out. I think that we’re more psychic than we realize. And what happens is someone sensitive activates a haunting. They provide the energy and then report to others their interpretation of the haunting. I doubt it’s a lost soul. I see it weird that a ghost would refuse to go over to stare at people when they sleep. If they are truly lost, it would be more like “The Sixth Sense” than anything. But that’s not what I read when I see famous stories of ghosts. In those stories, it’s spooky stuff happening in spite of the actions of those seeing the apparition.

And that there’s a scientific reason for this.

That part, however, I’ve not ironed out.

There’s also that part that says I’m wrong. That the spooky stuff is, indeed, the spooky stuff.

F is for Fat, Fitbit, and Fitness

I’ve tried hard to not become “that guy.”

But, yes, I’ve had to cancel crap with the term, “I have to go to the gym.”

Grant you, I hang out with zero people that would actually use that term in any way, shape, or form. Seriously. That’s why I hang out with them. But, when I go to the gym, deep down, I do feel a smidgen of a connection with those muscleheads. I can’t truly explain it. I look nothing like them.

NOTHING like them.

But I am fascinated with them and their dedication to their art. Yes, exercise and fitness, is, technically, an art. Think about it. There’s a piece of a creation, a pathway to success and then the fine modifications to approach to achieve those ends.

Here's the thing. I'm not necessarily attracted to them. Most of them have personalities that are fairly focused-and focused on things I have little or no interest in. Conversations start with what you have in common. But their commitment to the gym is something of envy. The results are evident. But when holidays roll around and I see them in the morning and again at night...still there, a few things become evident. They are unemployed, most likely, something I have a hard time looking politely upon. Or they are an athlete, and this is their job. Cool, cool.

Or Mom's paying. The evidence is there. If I wish to be like them, I have to eat two teaspoons of food and stay at the gym for 48 hours at a time.

Now, I’ve been going to the gym for years, believe it or not. Not because of any true wish to get bigger. I will admit, having a massively fit partner does motivate one to get into the weight room. But there was something satisfying by doing the exercise and my emotional state, even if the workout session was terrible or not productive. I had friends there.

Then I moved here. I went to the gym, but didn’t do much beyond that. I wanted to reclaim that feeling, to connect again in my new adopted community, but it wasn’t happening. With a beach so near, fitness takes on a new, wonderfully horrid demand.

And I didn’t have the abs or biceps to support it.

Dammit.

The body wars against myself began.

I’ve always been fat. Quit smoking, that was difficult. But eating? That’s all I have. It’s my drug. I don’t even drink. So, when the husOtter gave me a Fitbit, I took it seriously. So seriously, I didn’t rush into it. Every week was a micro goal to just ease me into the lifestyle change. LIke...wear it for 48 hours. Next week? 72 hours. Slowly but surely.

A Digital Reminder that You're Still Kinda Going To Need to Do Some Work

Eventually, I started walking more. Then I started to count calories.

And the fat melted off. I didn’t realize that the simple decision to pour one measurement of food into a cup was a way to melt a pound off a week, as opposed to sitting and just clearing a bag of chips. Getting ready to see a movie, knowing I’d have popcorn and cutting down on lunch. Knowing visitors were coming and saving up calories.

And I dropped fifty pounds.

But I still hated myself in profile.

It's a profile. It's not mine. Cause then I'd hate it.

I know, I know, of all things.

So I started to go the gym. ALOT.

I even hurt myself, like, numerous times.

And, after a year, I realized--

I still hated my profile.

But?

I was much more okay with it than I was before that point. Because, in the end, I was still a work in progress. I think it’s, like, called competitive theory or something like that? Where you know you put in the work, and the work causes the pride?

Yeah. That.

So, here’s to the continuing war on fat. We are, at least, doing SOMETHING. Wear that fitbit. Be self-aware. And the fitness will help.

E is Education

Before everyone jumps up and down, hear me out.

Education was not broken before George Dubya accepted fistfuls of cash to start the No Child Left Behind Act. An unpopular puppet of the Far Right, he needed someone in  the nation to listen to him.

He later would try to invade the wrong country. Yet, somehow, we let him make some major decisions about education.

Ironic given that he failed out several schools or just passed.

Education was in a sorry state, but it was not broken. Take a look at it. Education, when it became compulsory, needed teachers. We’re talking the dawn of time here, people. And it needed caring people. Prior to that point, it was the few educated men in the nation who would teach in the one room school houses, for those kids who couldn’t be made useful in the fields. This made sense for the time. Then unions came around, and, because they’re awesome, asked that companies stop looking that their bottom lines and stop employing children. Corporate America shivered and was pissed. These kids, now, needed to be part of the new workforce. They needed basic skills. And American education was born. Those kids could learn to read and write and do math-and really help business and economy thrive. Made sense. Worked over in Europe. So we followed the Eastern European model and things got underway.

Women. We needed teachers and there was this vast untapped workforce during those times after the Civil War. Women started to also retrieve higher degrees of all subjects and could become teachers. And it was awesome. They now had viable income and could support the family by going with children to their schools.

Understand, I’m not trying to make sexist comments. These are the broad strokes of history being painted for you, so I can make a point. Woman have run education. To this day, it has been one of the few places where women have made the wonderful strides in equality. Kids were being educated by women and seeing them as leaders and the power of such perception will march onwards. They were principals. They were the teachers. They were the aides.

And, because of the idiot men who run this country, the culture still saw them as second class. The glass ceiling still applied to those female teachers and their budgets. Even the men who got into teaching. Nope. Teachers were paid squat, because, in the eyes of the culture, they were the wives of men who had jobs. In many regions, the concept of a ‘living wage,’ is not even a teacher’s pay.

Then? Everyone turns and says education is a mess. The culture has done little to support it. And, since everyone has gone through some school and pretty much rejected it (if they didn’t, yahoos like Trump wouldn’t even be considered to be president) and then started nodding that education was rotten.

Literally, out of nowhere. Reading scores? Fifth highest in the WORLD. However, yes, kids scored lower than other counties on the other counts. And the gap was widening.

Because, as we know, America isn’t too keen on change. When farming became an industry? And students didn’t need to stay home over the summer? Did they go to year round? Nope. Why? Not really sure. When the rest of the world lengthed their school year, week, and day, to encompass all the more information in the world? Nope.

And politics would then blame the usual suspects. Unions. Bad teachers they can’t fire. And to fix it?

They recommended testing.

Testing.

Huh?

Not only testing, but compulsory, 5 weeks worth of testing. No longer school year. No knowledge of what is on the test. The argument, Dubya put forth, was that they could see what the kids were doing wrong and we could fix it. Now, there are THOUSANDS of tests out there. But the lobbying for these tests came from a group called Pearson.

Yeap, a publishing corp. Now their tests were required, annually, and they had to print and support ALL of the tests.

And teachers, reeling, had to comply.

Or be fired.

The humor of this, of course, is evident.

They don’t care about education.

They care about money. Follow the money. In fact, it’s now down to a poorly written, unresearched curriculum. So now? Teachers can’t adapt for their own microcosm of a classroom. They have to use the words the print provides.

The money comes from the districts to the publisher and the government. And then the government can fire teachers, since the kids are failing. Failing a test no one has seen and no one actually sees results for. Tests that aren’t normed: as in, a fourth grader should have a basic dolch vocabulary of X amount of words.

None are included on the exam.

Instead, the test is written on a fifth grade level.

‘Cause that’s where they can fail.

And no one is saying A THING.

It’s frustrating.

It can be fixed. The drawback of that is...we need some cultural changes.

*)  Attract people (of either gender), with a basic living wage that is supported by the averages of the community they live in or move to.  Now, here’s the tidbit. You’ll attract teachers to better paying areas. A teacher who might be willing to drive to Orlando from the farms to get better pay. That happens with any job and shouldn’t necessarily be put down.

*)  Administrators and board members shouldn’t get more that five times the teachers they work with. Why? That way, if they want to raise their pay scales, they have to do the same of those they work with!

*)  Do not base teacher pay on poor tests.

*)  Use normative tests like the IOWA Basic and give them yearly. Yes, you heard me. Get a record of how students are doing. That part is totally okay. But don't start from scratch. Don't make it auditory. Don't put in movies. Make it plain old reading, carrying vocabulary from the level of the student, the length of the student's attention span. Not three pages of reading. One.

*)  In this immediate reward world, the rhetoric needs to change. When a student forgets their homework at home, it’s late. Don’t run it in to them. They suffer those consequences. WHen a student is failing, the question isn’t to the teacher as in why--ask the student. Let’s make Americans responsible again. Then ask the teacher, “what can we do, together?”

*)  WHen a student fails, have consequences. No extra credit.  If they fail the test? No worries. If it’s being used to diagnose ability level, failure is always an option. But it shouldn’t be punitive.

*)  Start to encourage schools to employ multiple intelligences. Arts, math, sciences, more arts and such should be made good again. People, as usual, yell at school for not having these things any more, but, since they have to pay money in a district to buy tests, guess what gets cut? Encourage performing arts schools.

*)  No vouchers. No government money to private schools that pick and choose their populace. I do not want my taxes going to faith based programs that I do not wholly approve of.

*)  Keep open Deaf schools.

*)  Encourage huge lunch programs. Make only good food, even the bad food. A nation marches on its stomach.

That’s just my view.