Drag King Dreams

When I bought Leslie Feinberg’s latest book, Drag King Dreams, I had no idea what it was about. I didn’t even buy it because of the mention of “drag king” in its title, despite my own interests and research related to drag kings. (I did want to patronize the feminist bookstore I was at, Charis, and I did want to support Feinberg, whose earlier novel, Stone Butch Blues, I thoroughly enjoyed, and whose speeches in Transliberation: Beyond Pink or Blue I regularly assign to students.)

I’ve been holding onto the novel since March, and finally made time to read it on this latest trip to the SF Bay Area. The timing of it all has actually been quite uncanny. Not only was the DC Dyke March theme this year to “End the Apathy,” but most of my NWSA conference experience revolved around taking more ownership of and getting more involved in the organization, plus this weekend marks the SF trans rally and march, as well as the SF dyke rally and march. So, in lots of ways this trip has been all about building community, organizing, and practicing activism, which are strong currents in Feinberg’s Drag King Dreams.

More specifically, Drag King Dreams traces the journeys of the protagonist, Max Rabinowitz.

Some of these journeys are late night/early morning commutes to and from the bar where Max works. Seemingly innocuous, Feinberg illustrates the way such commutes, which are humdrum for most, are fraught with threats and dangers, often harmful, and sometimes deadly for Max and others like him.

Some of the trips Max takes are virtual ones into a universe where even with created, cyber bodies, we manage to socialize in ways that marginalize those who are perceived as different, but where outsiders pulling from a bank of shared signs still manage to find one another and connect. These virtual worlds are also places where Max learns that though there are rules in place that have determined and constructed the worlds as such, there are other rules and ways to re-construct and build them alternatively.

Then there are the emotional journeys Max takes towards and away from his friends, those he’s chosen as his family. At times the bonds of love among Max and his friends are so fierce that it’s almost impossible to imagine a tighter knit, more committed, or stronger community. The way in which they pull together to protect, support, and encourage one another is a testament to the deep power of such unselfish love. And yet despite Feinberg’s inclusion of this much needed glimpse into an ideal, sometimes utopian love, ze also reflects other elements of hir characters’ humanity—their bursts of anger, moments of desire-driven jealousy, they fear-filled recoil from others’ touches, etc. Overall, Feinberg paints hir characters in all their marvelous complexities, while never letting go of the conviction that unity is possible. In the end Max’s final moves are closer towards his friends, the larger community, and perhaps most significantly towards himself.

It is these interpersonal and intrapersonal journeys throughout Drag King Dreams that showcase Feinberg’s ability to tell an important and touching story about the intertwined lives we live, and the need for us to join in struggle with one another, fighting the wars (literal and metaphorical alike) side-by-side until justice is achieved. Ze doesn’t make it seem as if such coalitions are easy, but does tell hir story so well that despite the difficulties, we are utterly convinced of the absolute necessity of just complicated, hard work.

(I must make clear here that these are but a minor fraction of the various journeys Feinberg takes readers on in this novel...there are just too many gems in this book to write about them all here--I will say, though, that other journeys of note included lingual journeys through Yiddish chronicling Max's connections to his Jewishness and journeys through addiction, recovery, and the accompanying struggles towards serenity.)

Feinberg’s writing is beyond compelling, and anyone who finishes reading this book and isn’t moved to action of some kind, well…just isn’t awake.


Some passages that spoke to me in particular:

Feinberg, Leslie. Drag King Dreams. New York: Carroll & Graf Publishers, 2006.

(59) “Don’t be afraid of the truth. Be afraid of the lies.”

(82) “I step into the show and feel my rigid, robotic body soften into skin and supple muscle. I lean my hands against the chipped porcelain tiles and let the water run over my scalp, my eyes closed behind the waterfall. I wash off the grime, physical and emotional, one layer at a time. I swish droplets in my mouth and spit out the grit of the things I haven’t said into the water swirling down the drain.”

(93) “Everyone always tell me it was their computer that screwed up. I like people who admit it was user error.”

(119) “Maybe I’m not just different. Maybe I’m strange.”

(125) “’The human eye can only pick up about 256 colors in the spectrum.’
‘Then why bother with millions, Hesh?’
Heshie looks exasperated. He holds up his hands in front of him as though he were holding the planet between his palms. ‘Because the universe has that many colors, even if we don’t perceive them all. It’s about true life; it’s about reality—the real world—whether we see it or not.’”

(188) “I can’t recall how long it’s been since I danced with anyone. And it’s been much, much longer than that since anyone held me in their arms, let me press my body against theirs.
For just a moment, I feel almost human.”

Don’t be afraid of the truth. Be afraid of the lies

“Don’t be afraid of the truth. Be afraid of the lies.” (Feinberg Drag King Dreams 59)

I really should be glad that my parents have been truthful with me, even if a little late in the telling—my dad found a lump in his neck a month or so ago, and it turns out it’s cancerous. He had a PET scan last Saturday, but initial results weren’t clear, and last I heard he’s still waiting for the radiologist’s report. Yesterday he underwent his first session of chemotherapy—one down with fifteen to go.

I think when the family heard, we all worried that it might be lung cancer. Even though dad quit smoking years ago (after he had trouble breathing), we all know that that doesn’t negate all those decades (three at least) he did smoke. I’ve been smoke free (again) since May 16, and hopefully this will be the time I quit that’s the last. Not just because of my dad, but because I really want to take better care of myself, physically, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, etc…

I guess that’s why I’m posting here about my dad. I don’t quite know who else to talk to about it, but it’s definitely been on my mind a lot on this vacation. It’s probably because I’ve spent so much time with the ‘rents, and because we’ve had to coordinate our schedules around doctor’s appointments in order to share the car.

I can’t really remember my dad ever being sick. Even when he had that trouble breathing that eventually led him to quit smoking, I never saw it physically affect him. For the most part, he still has seemed his usually physically active self. Well, except for yesterday after his first chemo treatment, and today. Last night he was really tired, and today he seemed really listless—he was curled up in bed at noon—something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It was really scary. It is really scary.

I know my parents are mortal, but I can’t begin to imagine what it might be like if I lost one or both of them. I know I’ll have to face it sooner or later, but I pray that it’s later rather than sooner. In the meantime, I hope that I remember to cherish the moments we have now.

Maybe I’m not just different. Maybe I’m strange

“Maybe I’m not just different. Maybe I’m strange.” (Feinberg Drag King Dreams 119)

I’ve been in the SF Bay Area for a little more than a week, but I’ve been looking forward to getting back to Washington, D.C. almost as long.

It feels really strange to say that, but it’s also really true. Strange mostly because when I’m out east, all I talk about is getting back to California. Then again, it’s not like I’m really back, I’m just visiting…living out of suitcases, sleeping on a strange bed, and not cooking in my own kitchen are all proof of that. I’m staying in the house I grew up in, but it’s definitely no longer where I belong (if I ever did belong in the first place). I must say, though, that I have been lucky that it’s a place where I have nevertheless always been welcomed.

I guess I should focus on the good…

Re-affirmed a few old connections with others at the conference my first weekend, and made a couple of new ones. Spent some really great time with an old, dear friend. Re-connected with another old friend. Spent some quality time with the ‘rents and even the live-in nephews and niece. Obtained some new-to-me, hand-me-down electronics from my brother. Saw the Pacific Ocean. Sat out under a sunny California sun.

Instead, I can’t help but think about more disappointing aspects…really, just the one aspect of not spending any time with the one friend I was expecting it with…

Westbound

I'm headed westbound to San Francisco in less than 10 hours, and not at all prepared to leave (although I am more than ready to go).

I should have spent the day doing chores and packing, but instead after I got off work, I spent time finishing Lauren Myracle's novel Kissing Kate (and now I've been hooked by Hell's Kitchen).

It was nice, for a change, to read a "gay YA" fiction featuring girls as the main characters (don't get me wrong, I love my boys in Boy Meets Boy and Totally Joe, but some balance is certainly good).

I was skeptical of the emphasis Myracle put on lucid dreaming initially, but in the end it proved a useful tool to get at the ways in which various moments of our lives are connected, as well as to make the point that we are empowered to direct not only our dreaming selves, but also our waking selves--powerful lessons.

Lissa is far from perfect, but she really pulled me into the story. The way in which she sulked around the house and school, only later to snap at Ariel at work were certainly something I could identify with. But, what I really liked about these elements were that they gave Lissa some depth of character. Particularly, they illustrated not only the typical denial you would generally expect to find in a gay YA coming out tale, but also gave voice/embodiment to anger as well.

Granted, anger and aggression don't typically make for ideal representations, but in this case, I might make the opposite case. That is to say that I found it refreshing to see girls' anger and aggression given representation when it too often seems that the "sugar and spice, and everything nice" gender stereotype is emphasized instead. Of course, acrimony between girls is far from ideal, so it's not unwelcome that by the novel's end Lissa and Ariel have become good friends. It is also refreshing to a degree that Lissa and Kate don't end up together; I definitely cheered when Lissa stood up for herself and told Kate to go find her own answers (perhaps another lesson of the text?).

I have to also say that I also really enjoyed the portrayal of the relationship between Lissa and her little sister, Beth. Not having any sisters of my own [well, other than the API Queer Sisters I celebrated Capital Pride with this past weekend ;) more on the weekend later--perhaps much later when I get back from SF], it was a treat to experience girls bonding in a filial relationship. And, in fact, other than in Keeping You a Secret and Luna, I can't readily recall sisters in all the various gay YA novels I've read (I can name several brother-sister pairings, though--whether out of frequency or memorability I can't say for sure...)

In any case, some of the things from Kissing Kate I want to hold onto:

Touching is good...But that's what I wanted to tell her, that one person touching another person was perfectly normal (23).

Don't you think sometimes you shouldn't do what you'd normally do? That maybe you should try something new (70)?

I thought it was interesting how the brain worked that way, how it went to such lengths to make things fit with prior experience. It reminded me of the time I'd gone to the beach with Kate's family, when I'd spent an entire morning searching for sand dollars. For the longest time I couldn't find any, because I was used to seeing nothing but sand, and so that's all I was able to see. But once I found my first sand dollar, I was able to find them everywhere. I just had to develop a new way of seeing" (76).

I almost got sucked in. It would have been so easy. But feeling needed was one thing; having your own needs met was another" (187).

Philippine Festival

One fun thing about Washington DC in June are all the festivals. First there was DC Black Pride Memorial Day weekend (read my earlier post about DC Black Pride here), and last weekend I headed into the city for my first ever Philippine Festival. (This coming weekend will be the Capital Pride Festival.)

One reason I made it a point to finally check out the festival this year was because we talked about it so much during dance practices for Pride and Heritage that I just had to see it for myself.

from the Philippine American Foundation for Charities, Inc. (PAFC) website:

The Philippine Festival is organized by the PAFC, a non-profit, non-political, taxexempt organization. PAFC was founded in 1996 by Filipino Americans in the Metropolitan Washington, D.C. area to improve the quality of life of the Filipino-Americans and the community at large through community-based charitable, educational, and cultural projects.

This year, the 2006 Philippine Festival celebrates the centennial of the first wave of Filipino immigrants to the United States. Festival proceeds will be donated to Gawad Kalinga, a non-profit organization to rebuild homes in Leyte, Philippines that were destroyed in a recent mudslide, and to diabetes research, a common disease among Filipinos.

I didn't make it into the city until the afternoon, so I missed the parade, but there were still folks out and about when I arrived at the festival. I was a little disappointed that the festival site wasn't more jam packed with brown folks, but it was really nice to see so many Filipinos in one place, and to hear tagalog all around me.

A lot of the exhibitor booths were financial related (which makes sense given that SunTrust Bank was a main sponsor of the festival) and/or travel related [which also makes sense if you think of the ways in which, as Yen Le Espiritu argues in her book Homebound, Filipinos are "leading lives stretched across borders" (2)].

Of course, there were lots of food stalls, too. LOTS. In fact, running the entire length of the festival on one side of the street were food vendors. And, most of the people that I saw were congregated around various food stalls. (Some waiting in lines about twenty people long!) I can't say that I was all that surprised by all the emphasis and attention on food. It did, though, make me feel just a little out of place since I'm vegetarian and most of the food wasn't. As I walked through the festival and the smells of cooking meat wafted about, I definitely felt a sense of familiar comfort. But because I don't eat any of it, I also felt like a stranger. I'm living proof that "vegetarian Filipino" isn't an oxymoron, but it is a bit of an outsider status. However, I did get to enjoy some halo-halo (although I was too late to get the "special") and bibingka (minus the garnish of salted egg).

When I first became vegetarian, my family really didn't know what to make of it, and they constantly fed me spaghetti because they couldn't figure out what else to cook for me. They slowly caught on and figured they could make me potato lumpia and eggplant torta (which to this day remain staples of what they prepare when I visit). Or else, lately, my mom just shops at Trader Joe's and buys me frozen vegetarian meals. I love her thoughtfulness, but I wish that I had learned to cook vegetarian Filipino food. (Then again, I guess it's not too late to learn this now. I did find this one site from Vegetarian Journal that offered recipes of vegan Filipino food, but it offered only one main entree! This other site, Filipino Vegetarian Recipe for your Health, seems a little more promising, but heavy on the eggs, mayonnaise, and sugar.)

Besides all the food, the other main draw of the festival was the live music on the main stage. It was really fun to rock out to young, Filipino musicians, many of whom sung in tagalog. I wasn't familiar with any of the bands performing, but I also didn't catch a lot of their names. I really wish I had a line-up of the main stage performers, but in the mean time I did find some through online searches:

Angie Pepa on myspace
Dette Perrin on myspace
First Rays
Ground95
Sad 2 B True

I definitely want to make time to check out some of what the Smithsonian is doing for its year-long Filipino-American Centennial Commemoration celebration, too. (Check out the Smithsonian schedule of events)

Life Lessons from Totally Joe

Life Lessons from Totally Joe

A. Standing up for other people can help them learn to stand up for themselves.
B. Just be who you are, okay?
C. There’s no such thing as a wasted wish.
D. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” sucks!
E. You don’t have to travel to some other planet to find your way home.
F. Love your kids. Let them play with Barbies. Let them pick out the stuff in their bedroom. (Hello.) And don’t tell them that “people like that” make you uptight, because for all you know your kids just might be “people like that,” too.
G. As somebody said in a song once (I don’t think it was Elvis), “You gotta have friends.”
H. Trick-or-treating is for little kids.
I. There’s a song (not the Beatles) that says we’re “born free,” so how come we have to wait?
J. There should be a magazine called Grooms.
K. Middle school is like being trapped in a reality show where there’s no way off the island and you’re always a loser.
L. People leftovers last a lot longer than the food kind.
M. Being who you are isn’t a choice.
N. You can’t judge a person by their name.
O. Even when they give you trucks or pinch your cheeks, grandparents can be pretty cool.
P. Popularity is a win-win for the popular kinds and a lose-lose for everybody else. In real life (when you’re grown-up and out of school) popularity doesn’t matter.
Q. L
R. Religion is only as good as the people using it.
S. Jack Nicholson is weird.
T. Birthdays rock!
U. In the words of a very wise crustacean (and a good friend of Ariel’s): “It’s better down where it’s wetter, take it from me.”
V. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”—Eleanor Roosevelt
W. I figured it out—when you’re writing, the person you’re talking to mostly is yourself.
X. As x-words go, you can’t beat “xylophone.” (Except with a mallet.)
Y. A day can start out ordinary and end up being in the Top Ten.
Z. Alphabiographies should be full of italics, CAPITAL LETTERS, and exclamation points! (Just like life!) And they should never end with the words “The End.” They should always end with: TO BE CONTINUED!

more on Totally Joe later

Too Good to be True (but so what?!)

Along with Rainbow Road my latest book purchase included James Howe's novel Totally Joe.

In Totally Joe, we are presented with the main character Joe (sometimes JoDan) Bunch's alphabiography--the story of his life from A to Z, complete with chapters that end with a Life Lesson to share with others. I must say, I like the idea of this writing assignment--it's simple enough, and structured and methodical in ways that satisfyingly feed my anal retentiveness. In many ways it reminds me of an English writing assignment I was given in high school to do a moon journal (an assignment I still think of fondly now).

At the heart of both assignments is the task to be self-reflexive. (Now what self-respecting feminist isn't into being self-reflexive?) However, despite Totally Joe being presented as a confidential, journal-type text strictly between Joe and his teacher, Mr. Daly, we know as readers that we are to match Joe's self-reflexivity with our own. (Isn't all reading about this?)

In any case, I thoroughly enjoyed the book, and have been quite disappointed to see reviews from School Library Journal and Booklist that critique it for its idealism and treats its optimism as a liability instead of an asset.

What ever happened to hope? to dreams? (Or, for to letting fiction be fiction?)

I believe in the power of imagination to bring about change. Utopia should not be a dirty six letter word.

If I seem like I'm ranting it probably is because I am, a bit. I'm reminded here of my master's thesis project, where I critiqued the ways in which lesbian erotica failed to adequately depict lesbian sex. I mean, if I can't get graphic representations of lesbian sex in my erotica--a genre seemingly devoted to such representations--then what does that say about the unintelligibility/impossibility of lesbian sex? Reading gay male erotica alongside lesbian erotica made the differences even more staggering, and convinced me even more that it wasn't that such graphic sexual representations couldn't be written, but rather that they weren't, and more so, weren't even seen as needing to be written.

Is everything in Totally Joe completely believable? Hardly. But if it were, wouldn't that be something?

Okay, more on Totally Joe later. For now I'm off to make a buck.