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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I\'m an opinionated, snarky, gay academic with a predilection for the history, the Arab world, languages, photography, food, and music. I live in Austin, Texas. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘sex’



Readin’, Ritin’ and Revivin’

Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

There are some times that I am less OK living in Texas than others.  The passage of the state’s second Defense of Marriage Act was one of them.  I fear we’re coming up on another, and I feel like I should be able to do something about it, but I don’t know what.

It’s come to the attention of just about everyone that the State Board of Education has been taken over by a bunch of radical loonies.  These are the sorts of conservatives who make conservatives uncomfortable, and somehow they managed to take over the body that’s charged with revising and implementing educational standards at the K-12 level.  (Thank Bob it’s only K-12.)

This would be the same board chaired by a dentist (!) from College Station who came under fire shortly before the board’s final vote on revised science standards for endorsing a book that referred to supporters of evolution as “monsters,” “atheists,” and “morons.” I want to make it clear that the board currently leans in the direction that believes that if you ain’t their kind of Christian, you’re not a Christian at all.  (The fact that this is exactly the kind of logic that Osama bin Laden and his ilk use is the kind of irony that isn’t lost on me, but would be shot down as “totally different” were it brought to their attention.)

Earlier this year, a call went out for people to review the social studies standards.  As an historian who works with K-12 educators a lot in my line of work, I put my name in.  I didn’t get selected, and it didn’t take long enough to realize why.  I didn’t know that the SBOE member who represents my district had sent out an e-mail claiming that Obama was a terrorist sympathizer, and that an attack by said terrorists would take place in the first six months of his administration, followed by the implementation of martial law.  (Perhaps we should secede just in case?)

Clearly my passioned e-mail describing my committment to global competencies was a bad idea.

I know several people who did get appointed to the committees (two of them went with me to Egypt in 2005).  One of them, a University professor at a rival institution, was appointed to the economics review committee and managed to cause a horrific furor when he had the audacity to suggest that the term “free enterprise system” be replaced with “capitalism” in the standards.  “Capitalism,” after all, is what it’s called in every college textbook, and he thought that it would be appropriate for K-12 students to use the same terminology that they would use in college.  Why call the same thing two different names?

To say that this was received very badly would be an understatement.  As I was told later, when one of the SBOE members saw this proposed change, she stood up and screamed, “What kind of anti-American sonofabitch did this?  You should be ashamed!  I swear, whoever you are, if you were one of my appointments, you can consider yourself fired!”  (note: committee members are unpaid – it’s all volunteer work.)

My other friend wrote me to say that, while her committee was congenial, others were concerned that “too much attention” was being paid to the rest of the world at the expense of “our” history. Another friend told of how someone was appointed to her review committee–which was to oversee one of the years of world studies–whose sole purpose was to state over and over that he had moral objections to students studying other cultures.

For the record, Texas schoolchildren have two years of American history (grades 8 and 11), one year of government (grade 12), one full year of Texas history (grade 7), world cultures (6), world history (10), and world geography (9).  More than one board member has stated the desire to replace either the 9th or 10th grade course with a third year of American history, apparently being unaware that the 12th grade government course is entirely American history content.

It gets better.

After the first round of review committee meetings, the board cancelled the second round, apparently afraid that further anti-Americanism might ensue, so they’ve decided to appont an “expert panel” to guide the revision process.

First up?  David Barton and the Reverend Peter Marshall.

In his books and teachings, [David Barton] argues that separation of church and state is a myth and that America’s laws should be based solely on Biblical scriptures. His numerous claims include that the Bible forbids income and capitol gains Taxes. Barton’s views are so far right that even such groups as the Texas Baptists Committee and the Baptist Joint Committee have been vocal critics of his interpretations of history and the U.S. Constitution.

Even better: “Marshall has previously suggested that the California wildfires and Hurricane Katrina were divine punishments on society for the tolerance of homosexuality.”

TODAY comes the news that they’re considering LYNNE CHENEY for the expert panel.

Cheney is well-known for crusading against national history and social studies standards in the 1990s, calling the standards–which the National Endowment for the Humanities helped fund while Cheney was its chair–”grim and gloomy.” Cheney also denounced the standards as a monument to political correctness, claimed they gave insufficient attention to Confederate General Robert E. Lee and the Wright brothers and focusing far too much on figures like Harriet Tubman, and worried that they concentrated too much on embarrassing episodes in the nation’s history, such as the Ku Klux Klan and McCarthyism.

Outraged?  You should be.  The science standards revision made us uncomfortable by flirting with intelligent design–this will make us look like fools.  The next revision won’t happen for another decade, by which point our students will be the laughingstock of the country.

I still can’t tell what can be done about this twisted version of Evangelicals Gone Wild!  I’ve got half a dozen pleas in my inbox to help find real experts to testify before the SBOE, but it’s obvious they don’t care what people like us think.  If you live in Texas, write your state legislator–seriously.  The Lege is already moving to restrict the power of the SBOE after the science and English debacles.

I know that there’s probably very little that I can do about this … but I’ll feel better when it’s all over knowing I did what I could.

Pain in the Butt

Thursday, April 2nd, 2009

Yes, it’s another post surgery post.  Sorry, guys, I’m not really feeling that imaginative lately, but everyone I’ve told the following story has laughed hysterically, so here goes.

The day that I had my surgery–just to refresh, it was gastro-intestinal, and it was the sort of procedure that involves the phrase “go up through” as opposed to “cut into”–the nurse who handled the discharge handed me a massive sheaf of papers that were my “post-care” instructions.  The ones I really cared about were the prescription for painkillers and anti-inflammation drugs.  “Now this,” she said, handing me yet another piece of paper, “is your pharmacy checklist.”

We’ve previously discussed my love of pharmacies.  Moving on.

The list included the usual sorts of things that one would expect for gastro-intestinal surgery: fiber tablets to keep one “regular,” pills to, um, soften things up, pills to unblock things, and then there was an item cryptically labeled “ADR pads.”

“What is an ADR pad?” I asked, innocently.
“It’s like a maxi-pad for your butt.”
“Excuse me?”
“it’s like a maxi-pad, but it’s shaped for the rear portion of your anatomy.”
Blank look.
“Honey, there’s going to be bleeding and discharge.  Do you want that in your drawers?”

“No … ” I said, thinking that I hadn’t quite thought it through when celebrating my big spring cleaning accomplishment of clearing out my underwear drawer of all of the sets of thread-worn undies with holes and failing elastic.  Had I but waited a month …

“So, you’re going to want ADR pads.  And, frankly, if you can’t find those, you can always just”–snicker–”use a straight-up normal maxi-pad like the rest of us.”

Fab-you-luss.

On the way home, we hit the pharmacy and I turned in my prescriptions, and then wandered up and down the aisles looking for the items on my shopping list (seriously, have you seen the price on Metamucil lately??) before finally coming to the last one.  Now, if I were an “ADR pad,” where would I be?

I decided to look in the aisle with the Depends.  After all, nothing screams “embarrassment” like anyone under the age of “still breathing” spending lots of time in the adult diaper section debating the pros and cons of different products:

“This one says it’s for men!”
“Yeah, that’s because they put extra padding in the front.  You need it in the back.”
“You know, I think you can get a little more volume if you speak from the diaphragm.  There may be someone in the produce section who didn’t hear that.”
“You embarrass too easily.”
“If you were in my shoes, would you want people knowing that?”
“No.  But I’m not in your shoes, so it’s funny.”

As I turned around to peruse the other side of the aisle, where the tampons were kept, Ray decided that we had had enough searching on our own and announced that he was going to ask for help.

I followed, hobbling along as quickly as I could.  By the time I got to the counter, he had already managed to flag someone in the pharmacy.

“Do you carry ADR pads?”
“What?” asked the pharmacist.
“ADR pads.”
“They’re–” I started to explain.
“They’re like a tampon, but for your butt,” said my loving partner, who is just too innocent in these matters.  (For my gayboy readers: if you don’t know why this is funny, ask a close female friend, but first make sure that there is no possible way she can file sexual harassment charges against you.)
Off of the pharmacist’s look of pure horror, I said, “No, it’s a pad.”
“Oh,” Ray said, “Is a tampon the one that you–”
“Yes,” I said.  “This is more like a maxi-pad for your butt.”
“For anal leakage,” Ray added.

I’m sure that the pharmacist thought we were putting her on, but just to be certain, the following conversation was had between the pharmacist and her colleague in the back.  Extremely loudly.  The type of loud that you’re pretty sure can be heard in the parking lot.

“Sonia?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever heard of Anal Leakage Pads?”
“Anal Leakage Pads?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.  What are they for?”
“Well, this gentleman standing right here in front of me is asking about–what are they called?”
“ADR pads,” I said, very meekly and kind of wishing there was something that I could hide behind.
“–ADR pads.  Have you ever heard of those?”
“And they’re for anal leakage?”
“I suppose so.  Yeah, they’re for anal leakage.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like that specifically for anal leakage.  I mean, we have a bunch of absorbent pads, but I don’t know of anything specifically marketed for anal leakage, no.”
“Yeah, I’ve never heard of anything for anal leakage either.  Hey, did you see where he went?”

Retelling this story now … I realize what a fortunate thing it was, indeed, that the anesthetic from the operation was still kind of with me at that point. And no, I will not tell you what I wound up going home with.

And so.

I realized well after the fact that I had completely misheard my surgeon when we were discussing the procedure in the first place.  He had told me that most people only have to take a couple of days off and are back at work in just a few days.  I clearly heard “back at work” as “healed completely,” which is most definitely not the case.

I went back to work on Tuesday of this week, but I’m still hobbling about. I’ve been using my brand new monopod that I bought with the gift certificates I got for my birthday as a cane (haven’t actually used it with my camera yet).  If nothing else, it reminds me to walk slowly.  There are still good days and bad days, but slowly I’m starting to get better.  Which was kind of the purpose in the first place :)

Lifestyles of the Straight and Hopeless

Wednesday, February 18th, 2009

I realize that I neglected, in my not-terribly-triumphant announcement that I am returning to blogging more frequently, that I neglected to provide any details about Saturday evening.

Every so often, when I’m out in public, I observe the mating habits of that most intriguing of creatures, homo sapiensis heterosexualis, and I wonder–sometimes to myself, sometimes aloud–how it is that our species has managed to propagate itself as long as it has, given that, well, straight boys are just completely inept. Honestly. The survival of mankind as we know it depends on this??

I should preface this by acknowledging that Ray made what is not an entirely inaccurate observation about me. When I’m out in public, and I see someone who looks young, I tend to comment that they’re “twelve!” Ray gently pointed out that it’s not that they’re getting younger, it’s that I’m getting older. I prefer to think that it’s both, but whatever.

We started Valentine’s Day evening at a local wine bar, Cork and Company, where we had a couple of glasses of wine and some cheese. It was here that I had my first great revelation of the evening: I don’t know anywhere near enough lesbians. I like lesbians. In fact, it’s entirely possible that I enjoy the company of lesbians more than I enjoy the company of many gay men. We were seated at the bar (stupid me: it hadn’t occurred to me to make reservations at the bar that I planned to go to before dinner–this is why I hate Valentine’s Day!) next to a pair of lesbians. I don’t know if they were a couple or not, but they were a hoot to watch. They kept the alcohol coming, and they were no-nonsense, and god help the meandering soul who got a little too close to their space. They even managed to get the bartender to watch their seats for them while they went outside to smoke (Austin’s starting to make California look pro-tobacco).

On the other side of us was a young straight couple (me: “He’s twelve!” Ray: “He’s got three wine glasses in front of him. He’s clearly over 21.” Me: “He can’t possibly be shaving.” Ray: “You do know that he’s two feet away from you and can probably hear every word you’re saying, right?”). In all honesty, these were straight people who were significantly less inept than the others I observed later. She had on a nice dress; he was wearing a suit, and they seemed to be engaging each other in some conversation that prevented him from hearing (or at least acknowledging) the bitterly aging queen sitting next to them.

Then we strolled off to dinner. I had managed to secure late reservations at a Mediterranean restaurant called Taverna. They have a sister branch in Dallas that I’m convinced that I’ve been to, which is more Greek in style. The one in Austin is decidedly Italian. I kind of want to try the one in Houston just to see if it’s Lebanese.

Anyway, Taverna isn’t the cheapest place in town — it’s midrange, and I knew it because when I was spending a lot of Fulbright’s money last summer, I took a group of twenty there for dinner and earned a few frequent flier miles for it. I recalled that we enjoyed the food, and I thought it might be a nice place on Valentine’s Day.

Dirty business first: Ray had the veal parmagiana, I had butternut squash risotto with sea scallops. They were both good. Moving on.

There was another (presumably) gay couple sitting next to us. We decided that we were cuter than they were, and so that was that.

At my eleven o’clock, there was a young Latino couple. (Me: “They’re twelve!” Ray: “They’re not twelve. They have drinks.” Me: “They’re drinking soda.”) He was in a shirt and tie (no jacket), and a pair of loafers that had seen better days. He was slouched so far down in his seat that it was a wonder that he didn’t have to put his plate in his lap in order to eat. She was dolled up in a cute dress. I don’t know what the story was, but I tend to form judgments when, for example, it’s Valentine’s Day and the waiter hands the check to the woman and she pays. That’s just not right.

About halfway through the meal, another couple came in and sat at my nine o’clock. She was wearing a gray dress and had clearly spent hours getting ready. He clearly had not. He was wearing an untucked shirt over a paid of jeans and black athletic shoes. If I were her, I’d have left his sorry ass standing at the door. He spent the whole meal leering at her as if he was just going through the motions so that he could get to the part later where they have sex. Assuming that she didn’t dump him after dinner.

Which, of course, leads to the other thing I find weird about Valentine’s Day. You’re supposed to get dressed up, go out, eat a lot, have dessert, and drinks, and then … who still feels sexy after that? I felt kind of bloated.

But still. Every time I’m out in a formal setting, I tend to look at the straight couples of whom society approves, and I wonder … “How in the name of God have we not died out yet?” Because sometimes … it just doesn’t make that much sense.

Interpersonal politics in the post-Facebook era

Wednesday, January 28th, 2009

I am not the first blogger that I know of to point this out, but I’m going to take my turn at expressing what is at best enthusiastic ambiguity toward the Web 2.0 phenomenon that is Facebook.

I’ve been on Facebook ever since I was pretty much forced to join at the spear end of peer pressure a couple of years ago.  “All your friends are doing it!  Everyone who’s anyone is on Facebook!  You can reconnect with old friends you haven’t heard from in years!”  Fine, I thought, and signed up.

There is, of course, the part where Facebook is a phenomenal waste of time.  You can literally spend hours trolling through status updates and a ridiculous number of applications that let you do stupid things online right out in public where all of your friends and acquaintances can see you do them.  Where’s the fun in that?  Isn’t the whole point of the Internet that you can do those stupid things anonymously?  (“Deep Space 9 fan fiction?  I don’t know what you’re talking about!”)

It’s like having grandparents who want to talk about your sex life in detail.  (“Honey, your grandpa and I were wondering: are you a top or a bottom?”)  If it’s not all private and shameful, where’s the fun?

I’ve been inundated recently with a ridiculous number of requests from “birthday applications.”

Let me take a moment to just vent about how much I loathe these things.  Various Web sites have offered this service for years: input all of your friends’ birthdays and we’ll send them a personalized birthday card (meaning: one with their name on it) on their birthday!  Some of them even offered a notification service where they send you a message to remind you that it’s your friend’s birthday so that when they thank you for the card, you don’t look at them blankly and ask “what card?”

Apparently some enterprising genius took this idea and created an application to read the birth date off of your friends’ Facebook profiles and do the same thing.  It’s like the Web site, only you don’t even have to put in their name and birthday!  How totally cool is that?!  Then someone else had the exact same idea.  By my rough count there are now approximately 900 trillion such applications on Facebook,* and no two people seem to be using the same one.

I sort of have a blanket refusal policy on application requests anyway–no, I do not want you to help save the Amazon rain forest by accepting an icon of a tulip, nor do I think that it’s going to do a thing for the people of Gaza if I install an application that plays the Palestinian national anthem every time my profile is accessed–and I’m not going to install a bunch different applications so that I can get an automatically generated message on my birthday.  (The catch, of course, is that you have to install the application if you want to collect your birthday greetings.)  Woo-freaking-hoo.  I’m not that big into birthdays in the first place.

Over the past couple of months, my graduating class from high school appears to have all discovered Facebook at the same time.  Well, that, and a couple of people have joined who’ve been really active in starting conversation that involve a number of us (yes, Sarah, I’m talking about you).  It’s completely surreal.  To say that I’m not the same person that I was in high school would be an understatement of the sort that can only be matched by statements like, “Ethiopian food is like Indian food, only different.”

To her credit, Sarah has been very good at tracking down obscure members of our high school class and suggesting them to other people as new friends.  My problem is that, so far, I don’t actually remember who any of these people are.  I mean, the name kind of sounds familiar, but … did we have English together senior year?  Did I even take English senior year?

Then, of course, there’s the even more embarrassing awkwardness that comes from sending friend requests to people that I do remember … who don’t accept them.  “Oh, my god.  The popular kid doesn’t want to be friends with me.  Why doesn’t he want to be friends with me?  What’s wrong with me?” It’s just like being back in high school again.  Which I guess is appropriate, considering that I’ve been talking to a bunch of people I know from high school.

The good thing is that now I’ve got something to talk about with my therapist this week :D

*this may be a slight exaggeration for comedic effect.

The Queen Boat, Reconsidered

Tuesday, November 11th, 2008

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written one of my long boring posts, so if you don’t like them, well, I’m sorry.

We had a guest lecturer on campus yesterday who got me thinking (which I am wont to do from time to time) about stuff I haven’t thought about in quite a while.  I’m not going to use his name because he made himself a bit infamous for reasons that have nothing to do with the talk he gave, and I don’t want people stumbling across my blog by seeking him out in Google.  If his topic sounds interesting, e-mail me and I’ll point you in the direction of his article.

The gist of his talk is something to the following effect: he argues that what he calls a “sexual binary”–namely that one must either identify as hetero- or homosexual–is a western notion that is being imposed on the rest of the world.  If this sounds post-colonialist, you’re not wrong (if you don’t know what post-colonialism is, don’t worry about it — I’m only passingly familiar with it as I think the concept that your thoughts have to be limited by a school of thought is kind of stupid).

His specialization is the Arab World, and his particular grief is that the West is imposing this sexual binary on the Arab World when human rights groups, NGOs, etc., identify a certain subset of the populace as gay or lesbian, even when those people may not identify as gay themselves.

For the record, I started having problems with this guy’s talk when he contradicted himself by suggesting that Arabs have learned the concept of being exclusively “gay” or “lesbian” from the West, but then later said that he knows there are Arabs who do identify as gay or lesbian and that’s OK.

Now, he’s not one of these guys suggesting that homosexuality is a western disease and that it’s an unnatural behavior learned from the West — what he’s saying is that in a good chunk of the world, sexuality is more polymorphous than a simple binary.  Men who are married to women and have children also have sex with men, for example, and that these societies have constructed space to allow this behavior.  What he’s arguing is that the insistence from outside that these people be recognized as “gay” and given rights that they’re not asking for is actually causing more harm than good.

And then he brought up the example of the Queen Boat.  The story is recapped as follows: in May 2001, police raided a nightclub in Cairo (the Queen Boat — it was one of the nightclubs that’s on a large boat that goes out for a two or three hour cruise on the Nile that are popular among tourists and Egyptians alike) that was a reputed gay hangout.  52 men were arrested and charged with debauchery (there being no law against gay sex in Egypt), and the trials spanned over months.

Several international gay rights organizations picked up the banner and pressured western embassies to take up the cause of Egypt’s “repression of homosexuality.”  The western gay press ran stories about “Egypt’s Stonewall.”

The problem was this: none of the men arrested identified themselves as gay, even under allegations of torture.  The gay press attributed this to a long-standing social stigma against homosexuality, but Our Speaker suggested another explanation: none of the men actually considered themselves gay.  Many, in fact most of them were married and had children.  Instead of being Egypt’s Stonewall, it was a trial that went nowhere, and with the exception of two men who’ve been in jail for years, most of them were free within a couple of months, badly embarrassed at having been accused of “licentious behavior.”  Several of them have since emigrated from Egypt (with wives and children).

Our Speaker argued that the international attention did more harm than good–Egypt at the time had no law against homosexual acts.  Parliament is now considering them, however, in response to the Queen Boat incident.

I was trying to digest all of this–I think he’s got a point, although I think there are problems with his analysis–when a friend of mine, an Egyptian doctoral candidate in history, raised her hand and made a counterpoint that I’d been waiting for.  The Egyptian government was, at the time, facing rising opposition from Islamist parties who were accusing the government of being corrupt and amoral, and were holding themselves to be the protectors of virtue.  Shortly thereafter, the Egyptian government sanctions a raid on a well-known gay nightclub that’s been operating for years and charges everyone on board with amoral behavior.  Coincidence?  She doesn’t think so, and neither do I.

Another example our speaker brought up was the novel/film ‘Omaret Ya’qubian (The Yacoubian Building), which was very popular the last time I was in Cairo in 2006.  Among the characters in the novel–which is a sort of Egyptian Peyton Place, following the lives of the inhabitants of an apartment building in downtown Cairo–is the self-identified homosexual character Hatem, who engages in a relationship with a Nubian soldier, Abed Rabbo.

Our Speaker argued that the novel is essentially Islamist in tone, even though the author clearly thinks he’s being very sophisticated.  Hatem, who lives alone and is the passive partner in the relationship (read: “bottom”) is identified as شاظ “shadh” (or “shaz,” as the Egyptians would pronounce it) which means deviant or pervert, but is also common street slang for gay.  (I started to have problems with his talk around this point, because he was saying that the book was mistranslated into English because shaz used to only mean “deviant” in a much broader sense, even though now anyone who reads the book would read it as “homosexual,” which the author is on record as having said is what he meant).

Abed Rabbo, on the other hand, is married and has a son, and is never identified as a shaz.  (Abed Rabbo later murders Hatem … well, it’s complicated).  Hence, Our Speaker puts forward the suggestion that the behaviour is only deviant because Hatem has sex exclusively with men, and exclusively in the passive role, for which he is “punished” with death at the end of the novel.

Again, he kind of has a point here, although I kind of think that Our Speaker would do well to review, for example, The Celluloid Closet for examples of early gay and lesbian characters in film, who almost always met a tragic end.  One of the explanations of this is that it helped anyone in the audience who was having conflicted issues about feeling sympathetic toward the gay character feel better when he or she “got what they deserved.”  Indeed, audiences who watched the film version of The Yacoubian Building were reputed to cheer Hatem’s death, even if they had been sobbing moments earlier when Abed Rabbo’s son took ill and died.

And then this got me thinking about Prop 8.  I know, it’s kind of crazy that thinking about the tenuous relationship between Islam and homosexuality in Egypt might have gotten me thinking about Prop 8 and the enormous backlash against the Mormons for funding it.  Believe me, I’m all for holding the church accountable for their part–but Californians actually voted for it.  I find it interesting (anthropologically speaking) that someone could stand in the election booth and vote for Barack Obama, arguably one of the most liberal Democrats to run for office in years, on the one hand while voting for Prop 8 on the other and see no contradiction.

What, I wonder, was the tipping point?  I don’t believe that it’s as simple as “the Mormons poured a bunch of money into the campaign and that’s why it passed” (note to Michael: I’m not saying that I don’t think it’s A reason, I’m saying that I don’t think it’s the ONLY reason.)

I don’t have answers to this, I’m merely posing the question: what made the people of what is, next to Massachusetts, considered the most liberal state in the Union decide not only to ban gay marriage but to retroactively alter the state constitution, thus potentially invalidating 18,000+ marragies already on the books?  The LDS campaign may have pushed it over the top (in fact, I’m fairly sure it did), but there was already a solid base to begin.

How could we have made history by electing our first black president and shattering the racial glass ceiling, but reaffirm separate-and-unequal status in several states all in one fell swoop?  Are we the sacrificial lamb being offered up?  “We’ll elect a black guy, but the immorality has to stop” — is that it? Trust me, I’m kind of used to it.  I live in Texas.

But it doesn’t make me happy about any of this.  It just makes me wonder what’s really going on here.

If I have any more thoughts, I’ll share.  You can, too.

 

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