Brilliant commenter kevinbgoode over at Pam's House Blend, on civil unions vs. civil marriage:
On a related note, however, based on recent events I would be able to find a random woman and fake being the groom at least one time out of four. The "sir" incidents have been occurring at an alarming pace over the past few months, which I find odd because (1) the hair is still long and (2) working out has receded the gut to the point that the boobs should be at least moderately noticeable in comparison. Granted, I have never been the model of femininity, but I don't go out of my way to look like a guy. I'm just built like my dad, who is built like his dad's dad, who was a solid block of Bohemian gentleman farmer.
The sad part of this for me is the intense embarrassment when someone calls me "sir"--sad because the intensely embarrassed party is invariably me. I wish I could simply find the other person's lack of discernment funny, but society's messages about the importance of clear-cut gender identity seem to have taken root deeply enough to provoke shame for not being pretty enough to be recognizable as a woman.
It's gotten to the point that I have found myself pulling my shoulders back and trying to stick the boobs out a little more when I walk into a public bathroom, or yanking off my baseball cap if I'm wearing one and fussing up the hair a bit. Or, worse, if I can hear other women talking in the bathroom I just wait until they leave, or I hide in the stall until I can make an isolated exit. Because even worse than hearing "sir" is seeing the look of shock, confusion, dismay, and--sometimes--fucking fear on a woman's face when she sees me walk into the fucking women's room.
Sigh. I hope they at least think I'm a good-looking guy.
The obvious solution would be a ton of makeup and a wardrobe change, but I won't do makeup, and even in girl clothes the ultimate effect is often linebacker in drag rather than urban femme sophisticate. My friend G tosses on a cap and raggy t-shirt and becomes a boyishly cute but completely recognizable as a woman. I do the same and become, well, apparently a boy. My resentment at having to put on a costume to conform to other people's expectations of what I should look like probably contributes to not pulling it off successfully, but Jesus.
The whole point is this - any American citizen should be questioning the validity of ANY institution which is so preoccupied with image that it does not produce substance. The very idea that a gay man can fake his way into a "marriage" with a woman and have it considered valid is about nothing more than promoting an image - it does nothing to promote social stability. When people can 'marry" without any reason other than their born gender assignment, what the Right is telling Americans is that the symbol of marriage is more important than any foundation or real commitment - that the contract with the state rises above everything and anything else between two people. And these Democratic candidates which support this crap are as guilty as every wingnut Republican who thinks that some stupid constitutional amendment somehow can ban people from falling in love.You know, I've been stretching to come up with ways to amuse myself during this weekend's forced trip to Las Vegas (never been, never wanted to go, kid has a soccer tournament there, voila). Perhaps I will put my undergrad anthropology training to work and do a mini ethnography of wedding chapel owners, in an attempt to discern exactly where they think their calling falls on the sacred-profane continuum. Or perhaps I will see how many random men I can coax through the drive-through with me. What's the Vegas single-day record for marriages and annulments? Hell, the repeated paroxysms of sanctified het glory might be enough to push me over the edge into straighthood.
On a related note, however, based on recent events I would be able to find a random woman and fake being the groom at least one time out of four. The "sir" incidents have been occurring at an alarming pace over the past few months, which I find odd because (1) the hair is still long and (2) working out has receded the gut to the point that the boobs should be at least moderately noticeable in comparison. Granted, I have never been the model of femininity, but I don't go out of my way to look like a guy. I'm just built like my dad, who is built like his dad's dad, who was a solid block of Bohemian gentleman farmer.
The sad part of this for me is the intense embarrassment when someone calls me "sir"--sad because the intensely embarrassed party is invariably me. I wish I could simply find the other person's lack of discernment funny, but society's messages about the importance of clear-cut gender identity seem to have taken root deeply enough to provoke shame for not being pretty enough to be recognizable as a woman.
It's gotten to the point that I have found myself pulling my shoulders back and trying to stick the boobs out a little more when I walk into a public bathroom, or yanking off my baseball cap if I'm wearing one and fussing up the hair a bit. Or, worse, if I can hear other women talking in the bathroom I just wait until they leave, or I hide in the stall until I can make an isolated exit. Because even worse than hearing "sir" is seeing the look of shock, confusion, dismay, and--sometimes--fucking fear on a woman's face when she sees me walk into the fucking women's room.
Sigh. I hope they at least think I'm a good-looking guy.
The obvious solution would be a ton of makeup and a wardrobe change, but I won't do makeup, and even in girl clothes the ultimate effect is often linebacker in drag rather than urban femme sophisticate. My friend G tosses on a cap and raggy t-shirt and becomes a boyishly cute but completely recognizable as a woman. I do the same and become, well, apparently a boy. My resentment at having to put on a costume to conform to other people's expectations of what I should look like probably contributes to not pulling it off successfully, but Jesus.
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