Jessabelle's Open Salon Blog

In Defense of Distraction

Mon, 9 Nov 2009 00:11:55 -0500

Today's New York Times Style section featured an article that posed the following question: should boys be allowed to wear skirts to school? Should girls be allowed to attend prom or pose for senior pictures in a tuxedo?

When it comes to arguing, there isn't any more overused rationale than the good of "the children." We should have universal health care so our children don't die of cancer if their parents can't afford treatment. We shouldn't have universal health care so our children don't have to pay for it. Etc. In the case of school codes, the favorite argument against letting kids wear the clothes they feel best express their gender so long as those clothes are in keeping with the rest of the school dress code is yet another paean to our besieged youth: classmates who cross-dress are, like, soooo distracting! " It’s hard enough to get kids to concentrate on an algorithm — even without Jimmy sitting there in lipstick and fake eyelashes," says one woman in the article. Other educators the authors discussed this with say that "high school should not be a public stage to work out private identity issues. School, they say, is a rigorous academic and social training ground for the world of adults and employment."

I call shenanigans. And here's why. I'm sick of the idea that we have to sanitize the living shit out of the entire fucking planet--schools above all--for the sake of the dear, sweet little children. Yes, school is a social training ground. And one of the most important aspects of social training is learning to pay attention to your work even if people dress, look, or act in a way that's different from what you're used to. If Johnny truly can't concentrate on his algorithm because Jimmy is sitting there in lipstick and fake eyelashes and presumably minding his own business, congratulations Johnny's parents, you've raised an immature little douchebag who won't last long in a diverse workforce unless he learns to mind his own business and concentrate on his work instead of his classmates' dress. And assuming it's not ridiculously short, how distracting can a guy in a skirt possibly be, anyway? If the answer is "so much that I can't concentrate on anything," you need help and the problem isn't the guy in the skirt, it's your lack of ability to focus.

I learned this lesson early, and that was good. When I was in preschool one of my classmates had some kind of neurological issue that made her completely disoriented, so she had a guide dog to, you know, guide her. There was only one problem. I didn't want to sit like a pretzel or sing the ABCs or play "duck, duck, goose." I wanted to pet the doggy. So I basically stalked this girl all day despite the teacher's warnings and when my dad came to pick me up from school we had a little talk about how the doggy is there to work and I needed to pay attention to the teacher and follow directions and do my very best not to be distracted by the doggy, and then ask Lisa (my classmate) if I could pet her doggy during free time, only if she wasn't busy. If it's reasonable to expect a four-year-old who loves dogs more than people to curb her enthusiasm and pay attention to the task at hand so that her classmate can learn comfortably (and it is), then it's DEFINITELY not too much to ask a high school student to look at the board and listen to the teacher instead of obsessing over a guy in a freaking skirt and lipstick.

Imagine being an employer whose staff member comes up to you and says, "Listen, I really like Farha, but she wears that headscarf thing and it's just so...distracting. I can't pay attention to my work because I'm spending all this time just...staring at her. I've never seen anyone who dresses that way and I just truly can't handle it." You'd have doubts about their ability to perform their job duties, right? If that person gets so easily distracted by a coworker's choice of dress, then how much time does she spend on Facebook when she should be putting together expense reports? Distractions, be they a guy in a skirt, a lady in hijab, or social networking sites are constant and predictable facts of life. No, people shouldn't come to work naked or dressed like skanks, but trans people deserve to dress in a way that's comfortable for them, and if that means a male prefers to wear a conservative skirt-and-jacket combo (for example), his colleagues need to have the class and maturity to not flip out about it. And it's better for everyone involved if they learn that class and maturity in high school or earlier.

Plus, come on. Most high schoolers dress like idiots anyway.

Sierra Leone vs. The U.S. of A.

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 19:09:41 -0400

I just got an e-mail from Amnesty International about maternal health care (or lack thereof) in Sierra Leone. They described a woman who had just given birth presumably without medical attention, and died on the way to the hospital in a taxi her family and friends had scraped $40 together to pay for.

"The fear of what it would have cost prevented her from seeking the medical attention that she really needed," said the woman's sister.

Clearly, the U.S. and Sierra Leone are very different in terms of the quality of life of their respective residents, and so many other things. But in this way, we are not so different, especially the poor of both countries.

That simply should not be the case.

10 Things I Love About Madison (Open Call)

Sun, 6 Sep 2009 01:09:42 -0400

I've lived in Madison during my very early childhood and the end of my young adulthood, if that makes sense; my parents met and married here, and they've lived here until I was 5, and then again since I was 16. This is the city in which I've spent the most time, and I'm thankful--it's a great city to grow up in. There are plenty of things that annoy me about Madison--drunken asshat frat boys, all the goddamn fucking hippies, the proliferation of pretentious (but fine, delicious) "gastropubs" (why don't you just call it a fucking bar that serves food? Because you want to feel all special, that's why), the tininess, the four-at-most degrees of separation between me and everyone else in my age group who resides here, the fact that there is no Chinatown...I could go on.

But you know what? It's not as cool and busy and huge as New York or San Francisco or whatever, but Madison fucking rocks. It's consistently rated one of the "best places to live," although this year we got beat out by Middleton, one of our lame-ass suburbs. Our public schools are some of the best in the country (especially considering our property taxes aren't as high as other districts of like quality), our farmers market is the largest producers-only one in North America (yep, that's right, Canada can suck it, too!), and UW-Madison is no humble ag school like one can be forgiven for assuming about Wisconsin colleges, but a top-notch research center, home to some of the best and the brightest. Our per-capita crime rate is low, and our average education level high. Even though the rest of Wisconsin is quite conservative, we help vote in folks like Russ Feingold and Tammy Baldwin (you're welcome!).

Here are my favorite things about Madison:

1) The Memorial Union Terrace.

On a nice balmy summer night, there is nowhere else I would rather be. Their beer hall, the Rathskeller, has a bajillion Wisconsin microbrews on tap for relatively cheap. There are hundreds of tables and even more people, the breeze from the lake is lovely, and the bands--when they're playing--usually don't suck too much. Mostly, though, I love going here for the company and the atmosphere--very convivial and very...content. And like I said, the beer is good, too. Which brings me to....

2) The beer. I said it in another post, but god, DAMN Wisconsin beer is awesome, and Madison bars' drink specials are generous. The Vintage, a campus bar, does domestic microbrews for a dollar every Monday night, and if you ask me, there is no better end to the beginning of the week than a couple pints of Fat Squirrel or Spotted Cow and a raucous game of Asshole on the patio. My favorite Wisconsin brews are New Glarus' Dancing Man Wheat, a hefeweizen brewed with cinnamon and cloves; Ale Asylum's Hopalicious, which is citrusy and hoppy without being too astringent; Capital Brewery's Autumnal Fire, a seasonal Oktoberfest beer with which I was finally reunited (and it feels so good!) today; and Great Dane's Emerald Isle Stout. There are so many more, though, so you should come check them out!

I'll even save a spot on the couch for your drunk ass.

3) The Dane County farmers' market. Saturday morning feels empty in winter because of the market's absence; from mid-November to April, lines and lines of farmers, dairies, bakers, and meat vendors line the square surrounding the state Capitol (which, incidentally, more closely resembles our nation's capitol building than any other state capitol in the country. Once again, we rule). Other farmers' markets may be larger in terms of area or number of stalls, but Madison's does not allow secondhand retailers and is still huge. I love going there because every farmer, baker, cheesemaker, whatever, is passionate about and deeply proud what they make or grow and happy to chat with you about it. And they should be--everything I've ever bought there has been amazing. Right now is the best time for it, too--melons, peppers, eggplants, cucumbers, berries, spinach, heirloom tomatoes, and mushrooms are everywhere.

What you do in Madison on summer Saturdays is get up around 8 AM or so (yeah, it's a little early, whatever), and go down to the Square. Grab some coffee at one of the coffee carts (roasted in the city and locally owned) to wake up, and then just browse around the market. Grab a box of sungold tomatoes, a box of raspberries, another thing of coffee (beer isn't the only thing we brew well here!), and a loaf of Stella's Hot Spicy Cheese Bread, preferably with burnt cheese bits hanging out of the sides. Sit in the grass and eat and drink and watch people, then do the week's grocery shopping the rest of the way around. Combined with a few pints and good conversations at the Terrace on Friday night, it's the best start a weekend could possibly have.

4) Deep-fried cheese curds.

These little morsels of artery-clogging, waistline-expanding deliciousness are one of the best parts of living in the Dairy State. For those of you not in the know (i.e. those of you who have never been to The 'Scon), it's just a cheese curd rolled around in flour and thrown in a deep-frier. The cheese melts and it's the best. fucking. thing. EVER. This isn't an every day, or even an every week treat, but it's one of many things I will miss dearly when I move away from here.

5) Cosmo, Cozzy, Bambi, Sugar, Cosmo di Madison--R.I.P.

The city suffered a major blow two years ago when this guy died unexpectedly of a heart attack. People who didn't know him were intimidated and assumed he was homeless, or a menace, or crazy, or all three. Ironically, "crazy" was one of his favorite terms of derision for the people who stared pointedly at the ground as he walked by. "Those guys are CRAZY, bambi, ya HEAR ME?" he'd rant in that booming voice I will never forget, or hear again.

He was a downtown fixture, but as much as he was a novelty--and oh, he was, and we loved him, and Madison, for it--he was my friend, and the friend of most people who worked in that area. He was a regular at the coffee shop where I worked in high school, and while his flamboyant outfits changed daily and hilariously, his drinks never did--tall iced coffee ("Can I get an icy, bambi?") and a huge cup of whole milk. He was a little intimidating if you didn't know him--easily 7 feet tall, rail-thin, dressed in outfits that would drive the most daringly androgynous drag queen into fits of jealousy. One day tight black leather pants and a screaming red leather vest with fringes that rustled in the wind as he pedaled by, no shirt, of course. The next tight jean cut-offs and a loud yellow bare-midriff shirt. The best was when he wore children's pants; he was skinny enough that they fit, but so tall that they stopped at his knees.

Once we ran into each other in Ragstock; I was looking for a sexy nurse dress for Halloween, and he was being Cosmo, finding the most ridiculous shit and wearing it because he could. He liked the attention. He was an attention whore, never made any pretense otherwise. "Ya think this hat likes the shirt, bambi?" he intoned, staring quizzically into the mirror at the turquoise and lavender beret perched atop the sparse flyaway hair, his beak-like nose wrinkling with the effort of sizing it up against his bare-midriff tank top, the color of a tennis ball. "I think you should try this," I said, handing him a dark green bowler hat with a fake yellow flower attached on the right side. "You gotta be crazy, bambi," he snickered--he liked when people played along--and then he was off.

When I moved back here after college, in early 2007, we ran into each other on the street. I was walking home from work, when I heard an unmistakeable voice say, "Spare a burnie for a bum, bambi?" I had to keep myself from shrieking with happiness. "For you, darlin', I have a million!" I exclaimed, fishing for my cigarettes and giddy with joy, warmth gushing into the hole in my heart I'd never realized was there. We walked back to his place and sat on the porch, even though it was the dead of winter. We chain-smoked and I listened to him rant about this and that, pausing only to accept my "I hear ya, Cozzy" in response to his, "Ya hear me, bambi?" his deep lilting voice like a cello and his laugh like a clap of thunder. "Fuckin' BOZOS," he boomed, catching a headline about the Iraq war on the newspaper peeking out of my bag. "Just like to fuck everyone's shit up, ya hear me bambi?"

What else was there to do but respond with a hearty, "I hear ya, Coz."

He died of a genetic heart defect that fall, sitting in the same chair. Or supposedly it was a genetic heart defect, but I'm guessing the constant iced coffees, daily gallons of whole milk, and cigarettes did him in as well. We'd run in to each other once or twice, but our exchanges seldom involved more than a hello, some nonsense that always made a funny kind of sense when I thought about it later, a "ya hear me?" and an "I hear ya, Cozzy." I went to the memorial service, which was packed with college kids, baristas, bartenders, corner store clerks, clothing shop workers, and professors who'd loved him and knew that there was no one in the world like Cosmo.

It was touching--here's a guy who obviously had some mental issues (although sometimes he would be completely lucid, and you'd wonder if he wasn't just fucking with all of us), was very eccentric and could even be intimidating if you didn't know him, who might have been a pariah anywhere else. Yet, he dies, and this little chapel overflows with people mourning him. Cosmo is no longer in Madison--I'd like to think that he's off somewhere else, slamming iced coffees and whole milk, rocking colorful vests with no shirt and denim cutoffs, burning burnies and demanding "ya hear me?" of every angel who will give him the time of day--but he belongs in this post because it was Madison who embraced his rants and his wonderful outfits. He wasn't thrown into a loony bin or shunned by shopkeepers; he was befriended and adored. Thank you, Cosmo, for being here and making my life richer, and thank you, Madison, for keeping him around. Ya hear me?

6) The Old Fashioned

Remember how I said we have really good beer? And then I went on to write about the farmers' market, and how the produce here is amazing? And then the bit about deep fried cheese curds? Well, The Old Fashioned is the place where you get to experience all three, and as such it is one of the most efficient stops if you want to see what Madison--and Wisconsin--is all about. They have 150--yep, that's right--Wisconsin beers available, and of those 30 are on tap. They also do the best rendition I've ever tasted of the classic Wisconsin cocktail for which the bar is named. But the reason you should really go here, besides sampling beers (I know, I know, the Terrace too, yes yes--we tend to drink a lot of beer here), is yet another artery-clogger, the best goddamn burger ever. The Old Fashioned burger has: caramelized onions, garlic sauce, bacon, aged sharp Cheddar, and a fried egg. Whenever I order one I get it boxed up because it keeps surprisingly well and it always lasts me about, oh, three days. They also have the best cheese curds I've been able to find in the whole city, not to mention the state, and their spinach and bacon salad isn't bad either. They do a really fun karaoke ("liquid courage Wednesdays") and they make some of their own specialty liquors, such as the cherry bounce.

And if you go, tip the fucking bartenders, and tip them well. Most of them are my friends.

7) B.B. Clarke Beach

Folks who aren't landlocked and can actually go swimming will scoff at the notion of this being a beach, and you're kinda right. But just stretch your definition of "beach" for a bit. Suppose we're not talking about a huge expanse of land bordering sea with tons of waves and surfing and seashells and crabs and shit, and instead we're talking about an area next to a scummy lake where there's a little sand and a big-ass pier in the middle and a lifeguard that looks the other way if some early-twenties kids swim out there with beer bottles (as long as they bring them back), to lay on the warm pier in the sun and banter and tan. Then, this is totally a beach, and it's a great one. Not much to it; pretty much what I described. But if it's muggy and hot and it's been a long day at work, there's little I'd rather do than call up some friends, grab a sixer of Spotted Cow, swim out to the floating dock, and work on the tan I can't get because I'm a fucking redhead and only capable of burning.

8) Vilas Outdoor Skating Rink

When winter is here in earnest, this is the place to be. Ice skating is awesome, and the shelter has over-sugared hot cocoa when you get cold. And,Vilas Park is especially pretty in winter, in a stark, sparse kind of way. And, little kids look adorable when they're all rosy-cheeked from the cold and fall on their snowsuit-covered butts when they slip. I can't wait to take my kids skating here.

9) The Wisconsin State Capitol

This one gets two pictures, because both the interior and the exterior are gorgeous. The bottom picture is what you see if you go inside to the center of the building and lay down on the floor; on the very top, the bull's eye, if you will, is a Baroque-style painting of women in red and white tunics dancing around. Very cool. They also have an observation deck that you can go up to--you can see the city from all sides, including the two lakes that border the downtown strip, and it really is a breathtaking view. Exploring the capitol is another good thing to do, post-noshing and people-watching, during the farmer's market.

10) The Arboretum, but especially the lilac garden

Lilacs are hands-down my favorite flower, and that works out well because the Arboretum--Madison's sprawling nature reserve that stretches across the southwest part of the city--has a lilac garden in the center. Wandering around this garden, when the whole city is in full bloom but the lilacs especially are at their short-lived peak, is my favorite thing to do in spring. Bringing your significant other, some nosh, bubbly, and a blanket is probably one of the most romantic dates ever. And if it's late at night, and no one's around, and you're all alone with the perfume of lilacs and maybe some moonlight, well, sex on said blanket is some of the best sex ever, too.

Not that I'd know anything about that. Nope, never.

So stop on by! We're too pokey to garner much tourist attention, but even though there aren't huge buildings to gawk at or museums to walk through, this city is full of gustatory and visual pleasures, and the people are, for the most part, pretty great as well.

Now for the open call part--what do you love about your city?

Life Is Going Too Fast

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 14:08:51 -0400

I don't remember how it got from June to now. Every day is clear in my memory, but it passes faster than I ever remember it passing. Life is accelerating, and I don't like this new speed. There is no time to set an anchor down; every second whooshes me along before the moment sinks in. It seems there's still enough time for boredom, but not ever enough to savor.

Is this just how it works when your years accumulate so that every year makes up a smaller and smaller piece of your life, until each year seems inconsequential? It doesn't feel like 2009, but then again it does. I don't know what happened to January and February and even July, but there it is, another year almost over. Will the rest of my life speed by like this? Will I get time to savor everything I want to savor? Will there be time to do everything I want to do? Next week I'm going to Portland to visit my brother. As excited as I am, the only thing I can think about is how much the nearness of the time at which it will be nothing more than a fond memory disturbs me. The future constantly catches me off guard with the pace at which it becomes the present.

My father, I've been thinking about my father. He is 63. I want to have children soon, or at least as soon as life allows, because of him. Not to say my mom wouldn't make a good grandmother--she would, she would--but she's only 48. There will be all kinds of time for her to pick them up and tell them jokes and read them her favorite books. But my biggest worry right now isn't classes or a dissertation topic. It's this: I want my kids to know him as I know him. I want them to grow old enough to appreciate his dark, irreverent, sometimes raunchy sense of humor. I want him to teach them how to flip omelets and mix Old Fashioneds. It will kill me if all they remember of him is a sick old man.

Time is just moving too fast, and it seems like there will never be enough.

Should Attacks on the Homeless be Hate Crimes?

Sat, 8 Aug 2009 18:08:33 -0400

The New York Times reported today that violent attacks on homeless people have increased over the last decade; most of these attacks are thrill crimes, or in other words, "just for the hell of it." For a total douchebag who feels the need to let out his fury by beating, raping, or even killing an innocent human being, homeless people would be an easy target. No locked doors or sealed windows to break into. No roommates or parents to report them missing if they're not home by a certain time, because there is no home. Homeless people are less likely to go to the police, police are more likely to see them as a nuisance than as the victim of a crime, and if a homeless person is reported missing both their friends and law enforcement are likely to attribute their disappearence to moving or wandering. Finally, the chronically homeless are one of the most despised groups in American society.

The Times cites a report by the National Coalition for the Homeless which states that in the last decade there have been 880 attacks on homeless people by non-homeless assailants who seemingly just wanted someone to beat up; the exact same sort of bullies who picked on the smallest kid in the lunchroom because they couldn't stand to lose and just wanted someone to pound on. The crimes are needless, random, and gut-wrenchingly cruel. One man in L.A. was set on fire and burned alive. Another man, in North Carolina, was stabbed to death; his torso was cut open with a broken beer bottle. "Bum fight" videos, which depict teenagers beating up homeless people or paying homeless people to fight each other, proliferate online. In Las Vegas, the problem has escalated, and money for social services that would likely have gone into shelters has disappeared, so people with nowhere to live have chosen to occupy the flood channels under the strip. These tunnels can fill a foot per minute with water if it rains hard enough (and yeah, okay, it's the desert, so maybe not too likely either), but hey, at least there aren't teenagers wandering around trying to set you on fire, rape you, or kick the shit out of you and post a video of it on Youtube.

Some lawmakers have responded to this disturbing trend by pushing to include attacks on the homeless as hate crimes. Maryland will be the first state to impose harsher penalties for attacks on the homeless, and according to the Times "at least five other states are pondering similar steps, the District of Columbia approved such a measure this week, and a like bill was introduced last week in Congress."

But the Anti-Defamation League isn't so crazy about this development. Since homelessness is not a permanent condition like sexual orientation or race or gender, including homelessness dilutes the definition of other crimes.

I see ADL's point--you don't lose your job, miss a few months of rent, and become gay, or start drinking again, stop taking your meds, and suddenly change skin colors--but I disagree with it all the same. It doesn't matter that homelessness isn't a permanent condition, and is often a result of choices people make (no matter how constrained those choices may have been). Many other categories that are and should remain fair game for hate crimes aren't especially permanent or immune from our personal choices either. We include religion as a protected class, but people convert, or stop or start practicing all the time; religious practice is just as impermanent as homelessness. We count sexual and gender orientation (as of last month--yay!), but while you can't choose whom you're attracted to or what type of body you feel comfortable in, you can choose what to do about it. In fact, this was one of the bogus arguments against including crimes against gay and transgender folks as hate crimes: "They didn't have to get those sex changes. They didn't have to cross-dress. He didn't have to hold hands with his boyfriend. They didn't have to come out to their friends. That was their choice, and they have to deal with it." I mean, if all you include for hate crimes is those things that are absolutely permanent, absolutely fixed at birth, and absolutely immune from choices you make, then all we'd include would be race/ethnicity and national origin. Clearly, that's unrealistic and improper if the point is prosecuting people who violently assault groups they dislike--so ADL, your argument is a poor one.

But I still disagree, I think, with defining crimes against the homeless as hate crimes. Of course, there needs to be more protection for homeless people, but I'm not sure including attacks on them as a hate crime will be effective at doing this. First and most obvious, the type of people who are committing these crimes are not likely to be deterred by a longer prison sentence, since they choose homeless people specifically BECAUSE they're easier for all of the reasons mentioned above. For that reason, if stopping crimes against the homeless and making cities a safer place for them is a goal, then screw the legal posturing and nice symbolism. Put money into shelters, job training, subsidized housing, mental health care, substance abuse counseling, and all the rest, just like people have been telling you to do for years now. Train police officers to take complaints by the homeless seriously, and make sure it's something individuals know to look out for (this was the first time I'd learned it was even a huge problem, although of course I would call the cops if I saw anyone getting beaten up!).

Additionally, I don't think that considering attacks on the homeless to be hate crimes is legally correct. A hate crime is a crime motivated by hatred for a certain group. If a black family's house is broken into and a bunch of stuff is stolen, that sucks but it's not necessarily a hate crime--maybe the burglar had no idea who the owners were, he just wanted to steal some stuff and their house had the first broken window he found. If the family's home is broken into, a bunch of stuff is stolen (or not), AND there is racist grafitti, notes, or other evidence that the burglary was motivated by their race and not just having nice appliances or a broken window, that's a hate crime.

Similarly, a teenage boy who takes out his aggression on the panhandler down the street because he's an easy target isn't really committing a hate crime, he's just doing something cruel that he knows is wrong and trying not to get caught. Of course it's disgusting, evil, sick, and worthy of punishment in our justice system. Of course the poor guy didn't deserve to get the snot beaten out of him just because the aggressor was having a bad day and wanted a punching bag. People who commit "thrill" attacks against the homeless should be prosecuted for assault, battery, murder, whatever it is they did, to the fullest extent of the law. But we can't artificially extend the law just to punish them more for their crime if the basis for extending the law isn't a legally sound one. Since the motivation is an easy target, and not a fundamental objection to the victim's domicile-less condition, it's not a hate crime. It's just a crime.

What do you think?