Teaching Computer Skills to an Ageing DC Debutante

I had an experience today so bizarre that it has to be shared. At dance class today I was approached by another dancer, a stick-thin, platinum blonde senior citizen who asked me, via a long and rambling monologue, to teach her how to use the internet. I guess she figured that I looked young, intelligent, and broke enough to be up for it, and she was right. After briefly checking my credentials ("how old are you--where did you go to college--What was your major--Ok I guess you must be smart--") she packed me into her sky blue convertible and drove me to her place, all the while telling me that she didn't invite people to her house very often, it was a really nice place, one of the nicest in the city, very impressive, and she hoped I wouldn't be intimidated.

I wasn't intimidated. But still.

Her home is a big brick mansion, looking out over a park. It has a sweeping marble staircase with wrought-iron rails at its center, and the floors are all marble or wood parquet. The coat closet is nearly as big as my current rented room. The dining room walls have hand-painted frescoes. Bits of neoclassical statuary are scattered throughout. It looks like a colonial baronage crossed with an Italian villa, with a few dashes of upscale design magazines thrown in for good measure. It's the kind of house I assumed only diplomats had, a setting where elegant cocktail parties featuring $500 bottles of champagne would not seem out of place. I, in my sweaty dance clothes and jeans, most certainly did not look like I belonged.

After telling the maid imperiously to bring up some refreshments, my hostess led me to the computer room, as meticulously decorated as the rest of the house. For the next hour and a half, I guided her through the basics. This is how you turn the computer on. You want an email account? Let's set one up. Here's how you send an email. Ok, let's try it again. After several iterations, we moved on to google. Her first search? Designer clothes, of course.

I found it all fascinating, not so much the lessons I was giving, but the context. What happens when a 1950s debutante has to confront the modern world? Underneath her makeup and wealthy manners, I detected a very real fear. The knowledge that, were it not for her gilded surroundings and the husband who provides them, she would not be able to survive. She told me that when she was in high school her teachers said that because she was pretty she should take home ec. She hated it, she told me. She said no one ever encouraged her to do anything academic. But what she did not say was also eloquent. She didn't actually try. At seventy, she's still attractive enough that I can see the beauty queen she must have been in her youth. She may have wanted something more than a good marriage, but she didn't have the will to pursue a path outside of her prescribed societal role. Now she's trying to learn a new skill, and she's afraid of it. There's a big, scary world out there, and she knows she's not prepared. I'll do the best I can to teach her. It will be very interesting to see how well she can learn.

Then again, Cambodia is looking good

Apparently the king of Cambodia supports same-sex marriage. I don't have any real desire to go to Cambodia right now. But it's nice to know that the government figurehead likes us there.

Cambodia's king on the BBC

Welcome back to America, Land of the Free

Ah, America. I've been back for almost two months now, writing a lot and looking for a job and housing. I seem to have finally found a place to live, pending paperwork, but so far the only employment I've found has been a one-time gig as a photograpy school model and a one-time gig as a tutor for a thirteen-year-old. Today, the father of the thirteen-year-old called me and asked if I would be interested in teaching English as a second language to latinos. I said sure. At this point I'm interested in almost anything that would result in a semiregular paycheck. So we talked a bit about my teaching experience and things, and then, when the conversation seemed like it was wrapping up, he said, "I don't know why I'm getting this vibration, but I feel I should ask you, do you have a boyfriend?" Before I could answer he continued. "I know its a personal question, but I need to know you're not a child molester...do you like girls or boys?" My first instinct was to tell him that it was illegal to ask me questions about my personal life in a professional context. Instead I laughed and said, " Don't worry, I'm not a child molester. I don't have a boyfriend, but I'm not interested in dating." But he continued, "It's a simple question, just answer, you know I'm asking as a parent, etc. etc." and I just said again that I wasn't interested in anyone, full stop, and that as a teacher or tutor I'm always very professional. He finally accepted that and left it alone.

What I really want to know is, what prompted him to even ask that question? I'm not obviously gay. At least not when I'm by myself. Being in the vicinity of my girlfriend ups my obviousness exponentially, but he's never seen me anywhere near her. And I certainly didn't display any interest whatsoever in his daughter beyond wanting her to rewrite her essay. I didn't like thirteen-year-olds even when I was one. I understand not wanting to hire a pedophile. That would be dangerous. But not wanting to hire a lesbian is just absurd. It's not like it's contagious to be gay. And I have no doubt that if I'd admitted to being sapphic in my orientation the offer of potential employment would have been rescinded faster than you can say "ACLU." It's nice to see that discrimination is alive and well.