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.

Drag (Queen) Racing!

Last night was the annual Halloween Drag Queen Race near Dupont Circle. It was fabulous, as only an event featuring that much gratuitous glitter can be. Drag queens, drag queens everywhere, with ballgowns and lipstick and high heels, oh my. Several were arrayed in getup from musicals, complete with sequined marquees proclaiming which ones they were from. There were Elphaba and Glinda from "Wicked," a heavily made-up feline from "Cats," and a very large middle-aged "Annie," complete with bright orange wig. There was a very elegant Cruella DeVille, a classic devil in a red dress, and an acompanying cupid wearing a loincloth and wings and nothing else. Continuing in the theme of semi-nudity were a toga made from a rainbow flag and a feather boa bikini.

The queens all paraded around, blowing kisses to the audience before the race began. At the word "go" all parties began the three-block race in high heels, some with alacrity, some not. The front runners in the race were moving faster than I can run even without heels. The middle section was a scene of ballgowned mayhem, and the theatre crowd, hampered by their giant marquees, brought up the rear. They were followed only by the queens who had decided that real running wasn't worth it and they would just prance along in exaggerated mincing steps only marginally faster than walking.

The whole race only took about ten minutes, and then the crowd converged for photo opportunities. I was swept along by the human wave until I managed to break free and hit the metro. Sadly, I'd left my camera at home so had no way to preserve the fabulosity for posterity.

National Equality March

Today was the National Equality March in DC, to put pressure on Obama to repeal Don't Ask, Don't Tell and the Defense of Marriage Act. I did already blog about this on my more "official" blog, so all I'll say here is that it was awesome, both in the turnout (official counts are now over 200,000) and in how positive it all was. Almost celebratory. We haven't got our rights yet, but we made a damn good showing, and it's the largest gathering of gay people and supporters I've ever seen. Having just spent the better part of two years in countries where homosexuality Does Not Exist and/or Is Not Discussed, it was great to be in an environment where everyone was pro-gay. There weren't even that many counterprotestors. One truckful that jeered as we were waiting to get started, and a small knot of rather disgruntled churchgoers with a megaphone on one corner. I was marching with the UU church, which was marching behind a Jewish group, which I think was marching behind another religious group. So as we passed the bigots who were telling us that god hates fags, we all started chanting "god doesn't hate." They looked peeved. It might have burst their bubble to see church banners and rainbow banners marching side by side.
The other amazing thing was that at the beginning of the parade, when we were all gathered and waiting to move, we looked up and spotted a rainbow. Faint, but nevertheless there. We took it as a good sign. Apparently even god/deity/skyborne light particles were joining in the gay pride.

Strange Conversations in Mongolia

This morning I arrived in Ulaan Baator. Mongolia is one of my favorite places, and the local guide here is one of my favorite people on the road. Very friendly, very cheerful, very educated. We get on quite well in a travelers' camaraderie sort of way, but we've never had a terribly serious conversation about anything outside of tourism. So I was taken aback this morning when, at 7am, he asked me about homosexuality.
"You know, the last group that came here, there were a lot of people who were..."(vaguely illustrative wrist flaps)"...gays."
"Oh?"
"Yes," he continued, "there were five of them. I think it is a record for one trip."
"I see." I wasn't sure where this was going but I was fairly sure the conversation would become awkward for me very quickly. I was right.
In an outburst he suddenly said, "what makes them become like this, these homosexuals? How can they...why do they...What makes them become gay?"
I didn't quite know what to answer. Delicate subjects are best discussed at times other than 7am-post-overnight-train-pre-breakfast. I started to answer with an "um," but he continued.
"I think they are very ugly. I think maybe they're so ugly that no woman would have them. That's why they look at each other. And lesbians? I think maybe they always fought with their fathers. Maybe their first boyfriends were bad. That's why they don't like men."
I had to answer something, however unpopular the response.
"Actually...I think it's biology."
He looked shocked.
"Biology? No, there is no reason for it to be biology." His expression of shock grew as the idea expanded in his mind. "If it was biology...that would mean there would be gay people here...Mongolian people...no, it can't be."
He was clearly at a loss.
I said something about it being ten percent of the population worldwide, and he answered with a hmph and a change of subject. I thought it was just as well. It was a strange way to start the morning.

In some ways his question surprised me. Not so much the question itself, but the fact that it came from him. He knows a lot about Mongolia, its culture and its history, much more so than the average citizen. He knows that in shamanism here hermaphrodites were once considered sacred. (I know this because the subject came up in somebody's joke once and he didn't understand the English word. When the term had been explained he said yes, people like these used to be special shamans). Given that he knew this, I'm surprised that he considered the possibility of homosexuality in Mongolia shocking. But maybe he thinks that's all in the past. Nothing continues today.

Later in the afternoon, I saw part of the movie "V for Vendetta" dubbed in Mongolian, playing on the tv in the hotel lobby. It was the part of the film where Evey is in prison, receiving messages from the cell next door. The life and loves of Valerie were there onscreen, a lesbian narrative dubbed in Mongolian, and I have to assume the translation was accurate. But none of the hotel staff seemed to be paying attention. I wished that the local guide was there to see the movie. I don't know if it would have helped. But I think that the main thing that makes homosexuality scary for people is its unfamiliarity. The guide asked in his outburst about gay people, why they didn't want "another half, a partner." I didn't get a chance to say that they do want those things, just in a different form. But I think if more people were exposed to homosexuality they would realize it's simply a relationship composed in a different way.

And with that thought, I'm going to finally go to sleep and end my obscenely long day.

And...nyet

A few minutes ago I was talking to my Russian housemate over tea, and she mentioned a male friend of hers whose wife had just given birth. Apparently it was a difficult delivery. She said it made her feel scared.

I asked her if she wanted children, and she matter-of-factly said "of course," as though it weren't even a question that needed to be asked. Then she suddenly looked at me with an expression of dawning horror and asked me, "don't you?"

When I admitted that no, in fact, I don't want kids she looked completely shocked. "Why not," she asked.
"Because I don't. I never have. It's just not something that I want."
She continued to look shocked, so I told her that I do like kids as long as I can give them back to someone else after an hour or two. That didn't really seem to help.
"You surprise me," she said finally. Then she got up to go do work.

Well then. Nyet.

It's ironic. This woman is probably my best friend in Russia. We get along really well, we go to dance classes together, we share meals, we drink tea. I was actually debating coming out to her, because I thought that she might be open minded, might possibly understand. I'm glad we had this conversation first before I thought about it too much more. The level of shock she showed at my not wanting kids probably indicates that the reaction would be seismic if I revealed that I also don't want a man.

I just don't understand why it's a big deal. I wasn't put on earth to fulfill some biological imperative, or to follow anyone's agenda other than my own. I don't see why it's shocking that a woman wouldn't want a husband or kids. Regardless of whether she's gay or straight.

I'm glad that I'm leaving Russia soon. I love this country in many ways. But I need to be in a place where my way of life is unremarkable. Where no one gives a damn if I date a woman and don't want kids.