Fall 2010 - The OutCrowd

Syracuse University, SUNY ESF LGBTQA Student Magazine | The Outcrowd, Fall 2010 v.6

FALL’10 VOL.VI

Poem of Remembrance Danielle Peck

Welcome. a word you deserved to hear.

Welcome to the conversations amongst voices that speak with the liberties of looking learning the physics of interaction laughing at pains of the past To dogged dares and fresh philosophies Welcome to the thoughts \PI\ ZMLMÅVM IVL ]VLMÅVM ][]IT [UMTT[ skipping stairs of common wisdom seizing theories once ignored To willed distractions and guiltless hopes To the feelings that weave through layers of personality plunging into voids of comfort soaking words with nuances of faith To peace dislodged from ease To kissing on the lips outside monuments in photographs To making, seeing, feeling mistakes IVL \Z][\QVO ZMÆMK\QWV \W ZM[\WZM \PMU To asking questions and greeting their return Welcome to a shared imagination just above reality.

Hope insists that when you left you brought it a bit closer.

FALL | 2010

installation Jillian Ellis materials used glue, window pane, ambient light from street lamp

EDITORIAL Editor-In-Chief Managing Editor Politics Editor Q &A Editor Exposition Editor Art & Entertainment Editor Narrative Editor Copy Editors

Danielle Peck Dan Vallejo Dan Vallejo Whitney Pow Matt Lax Lindsey Leonard Scott Collison Leilani Mroczkoski, Erica Peterson, Lindsay Fuller, Alicia Atterberry

ART & DESIGN Design Director Art Director Photo Director Contributing Writers

Contributing Photographers/Artists

Front Cover Back Cover

Kelley Reece Charlotte Stone Daisy Chen Sarah Aument, Olayemi Falodun, NoĂŤl Frodelius, Kevin Hegedus, Sarah Lee, Leilani Mroczkoski, Luis Rendon, Rae Rozman Josh Waston Ellen Burke, Mark Carey, Danielle Carrick Danielle Ceneta, Daisy Chen, Pat Davis Jillian Ellis, Mariel Fiedler, Kelly Fitzsimmons, Lindsey Leonard, Lena Meyerson, Steve Orlando, Danielle Peck, Sarah Potpinka, Jill Stromberg, Crystal White Kelly Fitzsimmons Sarah Potpinka

SPECIAL THANKS Melissa Chessher, Margaret Himley, Andrew London, Clare Merrick, Amit Taneja, Mario Pallotta, David Sargalski, and The LGBT Resource Center

SPONSORS The LGBT Studies Program & Minor at Syracuse University The LGBT Resource Center email: theoutcrowdmagazine@gmail.com

FALL | 2010

POLITICS 3 4 5

Kagan on the Court No Points for Creativity No Room for G-A-Y in the G-O-P

Q&A 9 11

That’s What She Said Steve Orlando

EXPOSITION 14 16 29 31 34

An Unexpected Welcome Pride | Shame Under My Skin Roger Hallas Getting Unsaved

ART & ENTERTAINMENT 37 40

Fantastic Adventures of the Nitwits Queer Beats

NARRATIVE 42 44

Diners and Tea Rooms Dixies In Bed

POETRY 8 28 36 41

Persephone’s Response to Hades Albino Moon Cold Train Archetype

OUT 47

Josh Watson

The views expressed in The Outcrowd do not represent those of the entire staff of the publication, its sponsors, or of Syracuse University as an institution. The Outcrowd welcomes all submissions and suggestions but reserve the right to refuse materials at the discretion of its editors. All contents of the publication are copyright 2010 by their creator and may not be reproduced without their consent.

illustration Kelly Fitzsimmons

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FALL | 2010

KAGAN ON THE COURT words Daniel Vallejo illustration Lena Meyerson

THIS PAST SPRING, Elena Kagan was nominated and subsequently confirmed to the Supreme Court of the United States. Kagan is the first person since former Chief Justice William Rehnquist to be confirmed to the court without any prior judicial experience, so when it came to her confirmation proceedings the Senate examined how she would rule on certain constitutional issues through various decisions she made while serving as Dean of Harvard Law School. The most “infamous” of these actions was her choice to uphold a ban on military recruitment on campus due to “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”, the US military policy barring any openly homosexual men and women from serving.

When Kagan was sworn in this summer, many in the LGBT community rejoiced over the fact that such an advocate for gay rights would soon be sitting on the highest court in the country.

While it is true that Kagan is a friend of the gay community, it would be foolish to believe that her presence on the bench will eliminate most of the problems that the community faces.

Kagan is an ideologically liberal justice who replaced the most liberal justice to have sat on the court in recent decades, John Paul Stevens.

Stevens was a prominent advocate of civil rights and was also very LGBT friendly, so the impact of Kagan’s addition to the court may be minimal at first. Even if Kagan is likely to break the mold as a freshman justice she will still face an overwhelmingly conservative court lead by Chief Justice John Roberts, who is likely to sit on the bench for another twenty years.

Despite her relatively low status on the court, Kagan still has the opportunity to make a difference in cases that deal with same-sex equality by questioning the attorneys arguing before the court. While there is no case on the court’s current docket that deals with same-sex equality, next term the court may hear a case called Perry v. Schwarzenegger. The case deals with Proposition 8: While a federal court judge found it to be unconstitutional, an appeal was filed along with a stay against the ruling. If both of those maneuvers fail, the case will go before the Supreme Court and Kagan may have her first chance to combat discrimination she once called “a profound wronga moral injustice of the first order”.

NO POINTS FOR CREATIVITY DON T ASK DON T TELL GETS DESPERATE words Leilani Mroczkoski illustration Pat Davis

AS THE SENATE prepares to resume the push for DADT repeal in December we ask ourselves, “Is this it? Will civil rights finally prevail?� We’ve all heard the usual bullshit about the drop in morale and heightened tensions within the barracks as open gays attempt to cohabitate (because we all know that gays just cannot keep their hands to themselves.) But all discomfort aside, the true threat to our men in uniform has been realized. John Sheehan, retired four-star general of the US Marine Corps, contends that open gays in the military will actually prompt a surge in HIV infection throughout the armed forces.

John Sheehan and President of the Family Research Council, Tony Perkins (the guys pushing for the criminalization of “homosexuality� and abstinence only sex education), claimed in the joint Politico op-ed, “A Charade with Consequences� that open homosexuality could possibly result in the spread of HIV on the battlefield via emergency blood transfusions.

You’re kidding me, right?

They do realize that even with DADT in effect, gays and lesbians do in fact serve in our armed forces? The idea that open homosexuality will lead to the spread of HIV is preposterous and their oped is intended to mislead readers. Their argument is based on homophobic presuppositions and stereotypes of the LGBT community. The authors make no mention whatsoever of the current US

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Military policy put in place specifically to control the spread of HIV. Let’s review some of the facts: t 5IF 64 NJMJUBSZ EPFT /05 BDDFQU BOZ )*7 positive recruits. t 5IF 64 NJMJUBSZ UFTUT TPMEJFST CJFOOJBMMZ GPS HIV t *O UIF FWFOU UIBU B TPMEJFS CFDPNFT )*7 positive during his or her time in the service, he or she will not be allowed to serve overseas, nor in combat, nor serve as a blood donor. The soldier will be given a job on a US base (which will seriously hinder his career opportunities) and will be treated for HIV by the US military.

Furthermore, studies have shown that in the 25 countries that do allow openly gay people to serve (such as Israel and the UK) the rate of HIV among enlisted persons has decidedly not increased.

Nice try boys, but your homophobic agenda will not be hidden under a guise of “health concern.�

If the United States is supposed to be setting an example for the rest of the world with regards to freedom and equality, why not establish solidarity among our own citizens by allowing true equality? A repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell would allow LGBT soldiers to openly participate in daily life with their fellow soldiers, without having to hide their identity and would show that the US is capable of accepting all of its citizens.

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POLITICS

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NO ROOM FOR G-A-Y IN THE G-O-P ONE BODACIOUS BIG-WIG’S GUIDE TO HIDING YOUR RAINBOW IN THE REPUBLICAN POLITICAL MACHINE

Let’s face it: Karl, Dick, and Newt aren’t exactly “with the girls,” if you know what I mean.

For those of us who have no problem wearing leather pants and sparkly mesh tops, the Republican Party isn’t always very welcoming. If you like to rock your GOP with a spray-on tan, here’s some advice to surviving the Good Old Boy’s Party without skipping out on Gaga.

suspicious when you get giddy about going to Busboys and Poets. Instead I suggest hanging your hat at tried-and-true waterng holes like the Willard Room or any place that has a lot of old guys drinking scotch. You’ll be shocked at how much people are neglecting their daily moisturizing face washes, but at least your secret will be safe.

Watch what you wear It’s time to leave those checkered pants at home, and goodness, reign in that scarf colection. You don’t need big, you don’t need brightand you certainly don’t need it to be part of your actual outfit. Stick to simple grays and trim blacks. As for ties? Remember: red is the new pink.

Don’t trust your secretary I know you’re dying to ask her to stop at Starbucks for a grande chai-infused strawberry-bubblegum blend tea, but don’t. That little tramp will be the first to suspect, and you can bet your fantastic white shag rug she’ll walk those cute Jimmy Chu’s straight over to GossipLand.

Stay away from any conversation involving her clothes, hair, or her boyfriend. Some days you’ll feel like crying on her size 2 shoulder, but don’t.

You are where you eat I know that when you’re out, you’re out. Hold on though, sister: dial back the fabulousness notch a little bit and pay attention to where you hang your hat. People are going to get

Yours,

Ken Mehlman was the Director of the White House Office of Political Affairs during George W. Bush’s administration and also served as Bush’s 2004 campaign manager. From 2005 to 2007, he was the chair of the Republican National Committee. These days, Mehlman, who now prefers “Kenny,” spends his sunny existence in Chelsea, where he focuses on interior design, contemporary art, and his Yorkshire terrier “Mittens.”

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video collage Danielle Peck & Lindsey Leonard

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Pe r s e p h o n e ’s Re s p o n s e t o H a d e s (based on a poem by A.E. Stallings) Kevin Hegedus

I think that I could learn to like the dark.

When I was younger, I would take the stairs that wound around the outer precipice that carved a notch into the battlements and I’d hear rat-a-tat-tat in the creaks (sounds seemingly created by my feet) and in those squeals I’d feel the meadowlark’s sweet singing, and it felt like summer air.

And so I think I’d grow to love, in time the air down here, the air so underground but then again, so full of sunny sound I hardly notice where it is I am.

Where am I? When you took me from my clime 1 \ZQML \W ÅOP\ Ua _Ia \PZW]OP J]ZTIX [IKS but ended up just throwing out my back and losing, too, what chance I had to jam it back in place, and so I have to slouch.

You made a point of showing me your couch.

Impressive, true: black leather, silver studs that have a way of accenting the mud tracked in here by your many party guests.

I always hoped that death would be a rest but so many new problems it creates!

There’s not a single wrinkle on my face but many lines woven in tapestries as dark as bile. Humor me my wants as I beg your forgiveness on my knees but refuse, with great gratitude, your most compelling invitation. Locked inside the earth, my childhood soon becomes a ghost, a specter of my qualities, which, once, aW] NW]VL JMÅ\\QVO WN I KPQTL JZQLM

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THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID words Whitney Pow

EATING RICE, SPEAKING bad English, going to temple—three stereotypes that you won’t find on the queer Asian American webseries, “That’s What She Said.” The show is produced by Pearl Girl Productions, a company of queer and straight women including Narinda Heng, N. Ki , Claire Kim, Vicky Luu, and Allison Santos. Now on its thirteenth episode of its first season, the series confronts the familiar soap sudsy-yet-groundbreaking terrain of racial representation among lesbians.

“That’s What She Said” pushes past occasional cultural gestures attempted in Showtime’s “The L Word” (with varying degrees of success) and showcases diverse portrayals of queer gender presentation within minority groups, from femme and butch to androgynous and genderqueer. While its multi-ethnic cast hooks up and breaks up (and then maybe hooks up again), storylines connect with issues of coming out to an Asian American or immigrant family and creating queer communities of color. I had the opportunity to speak with all five members of Pearl Girl Productions about their experience producing the series.

What kind of positive image is “That’s What She Said” trying to put forward for Asian/American women and queer individuals? What stories are you trying to tell?

VICKY LUU From just the characters on the show, you can compare it to “The L Word” where everyone was very femme. Even the “butch” one, Shane, was femme. I think our characters represent a variety of gender expressions.

With my boyish character, you don’t have your typical female femme lesbian—we show what lesbians can also look like.

N. KI Having representations of queer Asian women is valuable. Speaking as a queer Korean woman, I didn’t know anyone else who was queer and Korean for the longest time. I was trying to find this community. I think that having a representation is important because otherwise you’re in danger of not knowing you exist.

ALLISON SANTOS Maybe all of these images [in TWSS] aren’t completely positive, but it does bring up how we do exist. Just having that imagery out there is validation.

NK It’s about finding that community, knowing the com-

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munity exists and knowing that you’re not alone. You’re not a freak.

AS: I struggled finding that community. In my photo series, I had to literally make my own representations and verify that I do exist and see it for myself. In terms of representation [before TWSS] we were thinking, “What do we have?” “The L Word.” What did we get? One Asian character who was there for half an episode, and she’s half Asian.

That’s not a complete [representation] by any means.

How do you think seeing queer Asian Americans in media has helped you as individuals to put together That’s What She Said?

CLAIRE KIM: I think the problem was that we didn’t see any queer Asian Americans represented in any sort of media, which further fueled the desire to do this. It wasn’t out there. We found our niche, and it was like, “Look!

There’s a hole we can fill!”

NARINDA HENG Seeing Saving Face [an Asian American film starring a lesbian character] my freshman

year of college was just huge. It was like, oh my god.

Asians! They’re not longhaired too? It was just amazing that someone could do this. We just didn’t see it done. And then BAM, it’s there in front of you. It inspired me. I used that movie to come out to my momma. I gave it to her on mothers’ day.

NK Other than Saving Face, there are not many Asian lesbian movies that I’ve seen; I’ve tried to find them for a long time. A lot of them have problematic storylines. I feel like tragedy is in a lot of gay movies as well, “Because I’m gay, I will jump off this building.” It’s valuable to tell, but it’s problematic when it’s the only story that’s being told, or the majority of the storylines that are out there. You have to think, what does that mean? What kind of message is being put across?

VL We’re trying to influence the positive image — yes, the queer tragic story is important, and of course people have gone through many tragedies. We want to tell stories that are personal, and these are the lives that we lead.

They’re just like everyone else’s.

Webisodes of “That’s What She Said” can be viewed at twssonline.com

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STEVE ORLANDO words Rae Rozman

Steve Orlando images--in folder

STEVE ORLANDO WRITES graphic novels as editor of House Spirit Press, a publishing studio based writer based in Syracuse. Orlando produces edgy stories that oftentimes, in subtle or brazen ways, draw from his experience as a bisexual individual.

How do you generate your ideas?

I come up with my ideas based on things that I think need to be explored. I like to take old things and make them viable again. A lot of the work I do is based on public domain characters that haven’t been seen since the 1920s, but reintroducing them to a modern audience. Concepts that were viable in the 1920s can be viable today if you adapt them to the interests of readers that everyone has right now. In a book like Adventures in Bisexuality I’m talking about bisexual people but with that sort of frank teenage gall that you don’t really see in a lot of romance stories in comics these days.

So are queer characters a major theme in your writing?

I don’t want to say queer characters are a major theme because a lot more of what I do is introduce queer characters in a subtle way. I think in a mainstream readership that if you have queer people in the front, it becomes about “gay stuff.” I often write about bisexuality, but that draws on my own experience. I’m much more

apt to have tertiary characters be accepted as bisexual in a story. Subliminally, that works with a reader, seeing that a character is queer. It doesn’t make it all that [the characters are] about, it’s part of who they are. The story doesn’t focus on it and objectify and fetishize, and that’s my aim for the readers as well.

How has your own bisexuality has influenced your writing?

It’s made me want to write about it. I feel like I’m cheating the readership and cheating myself to not put [my experiences] out there. Will I always write about bisexual stuff? No, I think I’ll be pretty much done with it when Adventures in Bisexuality comes out because I’ll have said what I had to say. But does that mean I’ll stop having bisexual characters in my books? No, because I can’t stop doing it. Someone has to do it until people see sexuality is not a choice. I’m not going to stop putting any type of minorities in my work.

What has been your biggest inspiration to your writing?

Honestly, it’s probably the joy of creating a book and having it come out better than you could even imagine. Comics have always been the home for weird ideas; you don’t have a special effects budget. I like weird ideas.

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GETTING UNSAVED words Scott Collison illustration Danielle Ceneta

LET’S SAY YOU got saved. You’d have been in the middle of some big concert cum church service, a white guy was gently strumming his acoustic guitar, the lights were low, and a middle-aged man with a goatee implored you to accept Jesus into your life. You said a prayer that likely included surrender, blood, repentance, resurrection, and sin. For all intents and purposes, you’d passed—no hell for you.

I was saved as such for the decade between second grade and the end of high school. I attended a small fundamentalist evangelical church (a united Methodist congregation only because the Methodists technically own the land) with my mom (Dad abstained.) I dated all of the churchmouse girls (no kissing below the neck, no touching below the belt,) and played in the worship band (I’ve been that gently strumming white guy.) All of the associated prejudice and theology came along with the gig, including the good—reading and criticizing the Bible, asceticism that afforded me the greatest productivity I’ve known since—and the bad: an implicit disapproval bordering on condescension toward anyone outside of the church (anyone “unsaved.”)

Before I left for college, a few insanities precipitated my growing out of Jesus: An aunt and uncle died from extremely rare cancer and Lou Gehrig’s, respectively, inside 9 months of each other, orphaning two of my cousins. I had to take time off from the bands when rumors percolated that I had participated in a night of skinny-dipping with some of the churchmice—the hot-tub bubbles kept everybody’s nasty bits concealed, but the principle of the thing upset the elders. The children’s pastor never let his kids watch Disney films because Walt Disney had worshipped Satan. The youth pastor’s wife saw demons in her bedroom and had been the PTA mom stomping to ban books in our school district. Sermons were preached in both 2000 and

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2004 about voting for G.W. I didn’t look for a church on arriving in Syracuse.

My liver suffered the atrocities of a sheltered youth’s clichéd explorations. I made my first gay friends.

Twice I was stifled when crushes turned out to be lesbians. The equals sign picked up a new meaning.

Rainbows went from signs of God’s glory to badges of pride.

I didn’t get it. A man, looking 30-something and balding, took my dancing in a loud beer-soaked attic as a come on. The revulsion I felt shocked and surprised me as I stumbled onto the street and mumbled something like “I don’t do dudes.” I knew, cerebrally, that this should have been no more offensive than a drunken ugly girl’s advance, but gutturally I wanted to vomit. Even though the boys at church celebrated our straightness with grabassery and pink shirts, we stigmatized homosexuality as deviant and wrong—and had the God’s mandate to back up our intolerance. I bought into this for a decade. Latent emotional habits have proved harder to change than theology. Gut reflex takes time and discipline to change.

And now I’m an editor for Outcrowd. I took the job reluctantly, wary of being a straight minority on the staff, but excited to surround myself with people whose influence would continue my metamorphosis into a full-fledged, tolerant member of secular society. New converts in the church might let slip a “goddamn it,” or sneak one last drink for the fourth time, and the body of Christ shows them a little grace. Someone converting back to normalcy might struggle to understand or look lost when queer rhetoric becomes a centerpiece of conversation. Either way, new converts need grace—and their guilt at a former self weighs heavy.

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PRIDE | SHAME words Luis Rendon photography Daisy Chen

B

eing gay and having pride are supposed to go hand in hand. It’s a buy-one-get-one-free kind of deal. As soon as you pop out of the closet, the community expects a certain overflowing of selfrespect and bravado. Parades are thrown, flags are waved and general hoopla resounds, all in the name of pride.

But what is pride? The word itself is loaded. In Christian terms, it is known as the most onerous of all the deadly sins. Pride is what transformed Lucifer, an angel of God, into Satan. For us humans, it means loving ourselves too much.

Pride didn’t become associated with the gay rights movement until the Stonewall Riots of the late 60’s.

Margaret Himley, co-director of the LGBT minor at Syracuse University says, “It was a radical agenda, connected not only to, you know, ‘we’re here, we’re queer, it’s great,’ but connected to a transition going on the United States around a different kind of social order.”

Jed Ryan, a writer for the Long Island Community Konnection (LICK), describes the modern pride movement on the LICK website as “a show of support for our community… It’s an opportunity to show the rest of the world that we exist, and that we won’t hide in the closet anymore.” And so goes the widely-agreed-upon definition of pride and its purpose within our community.

Conservative politicians and religious types scowl when observing the typical Pride Parade filled with colorful costumes, scantily clad men and women,

and other absurd debauchery. Surely, all of this can’t be held in the name of community support. Surely, the good coming from these parades does not outweigh the sin.

Rev. Patrick Cheng , Ph.D., wrote in the Huffington Post in June on the spiritual significance of pride and how lack of self love is just as sinful as too much self love. “Sin is not just a matter of lifting oneself up too high,” he says, “but it is also a matter of failing to lift oneself up high enough. Is it any wonder then, that so many LGBT people suffer from a toxic degree of self-hate and shame?”

It is interesting that Cheng would acknowledge shame as a parallel to pride in his analysis, because even though both emotions seem polarizing, a part of the LGBT community has turned away from the pride movement and shifted towards what is being called the Gay Shame Movement. This relatively new group out of San Francisco is forcing the gay community to reexamine the dichotomy between pride and shame.

“We are committed to a queer extravaganza that brings direct action to astounding levels of theatricality,” reads the Gay Shame SF website. “We will not be satisfied with a commercialized gay identity that denies the intrinsic links between queer struggle and challenging power.”

Gay Shame SF opposes many modern gay equal rights initiatives such as openly serving in the military and the passage of gay marriage.

“Whatever happened to the time when being

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queer was an automatic challenge to the disgusting, oppressive, patriarchal institution of holy matrimony?” the website asks. “Don’t get us wrong— we support everyone’s right to fuck whomever they want—we’re just not in favor of supporting the imperialist, bloodthirsty status quo.”

Though not involved with the movement, Himley says that the Shame movement isn’t a call to return to being ashamed but rather to understand the idea of shame and its role in the gay community.

“Pride is always working to counter the haunting of shame the queer community always feels,” she said.

In a very real way, the Shame movement is a reality check, she says.

“Gay Shame got its name not because we do/ or don’t feel shame, but because we formed in opposition to the commodified, racist, classist and all around horrors that are Gay Pride,” said a Gay Shame SF representative in an e-mail.

The Shame movement is especially relevant considering the recent, numerous suicides of LGBT youths in the United States. It is clear from these suicides that shame still plays a significant role in queer experience. Yet, to say that these young people would still be with us if only they had more pride is naïve and irresponsible.

“That feels like a misreading of the complexities of being queer in a world that is relentlessly heteronormative,” Himley says. “If things are getting better, oppressed people may sometimes feel that

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EXPOSITION

they better get with the program and be happy.

Recognizing the kind of toll it takes, the struggle never quite goes away. You can come out a million times and still be caught up in that moment when somebody yells something across the street, or [when] someone you love says something horrific,” she says.

So how does the pride/shame equation work within the context of a queer person? Are gays eternally sentenced to steady the perilous balance of pride and shame? Not exactly.

“It’s not about a balance,” Himley says. “It’s about recognizing the effective complexity of being queer and how that might play out in your politics.”

Pride and shame fill us all every day within a rich spectrum, full of different emotions, argues Himley.

“One would hope [that] you don’t only have pride, but you certainly don’t want to be overwhelmed by shame. I’m not an advocate of ‘let’s get rid of pride, lets just have shame,’ not at all. Only to see them analytically as connected and maybe there is a kind of maturing of a movement that can allow for when we need both.”

So perhaps being proud isn’t just about coming out of the closet, but instead understanding ourselves as complex persons. There may be struggles and hardships that make us feel shame, but it is important to realize how far we have truly come since the night those brave gay and lesbians first gave us something to be proud of at Stonewall.

A F L A G I S A C A N VA S It’s not an easy concept to portray—pride. It has been spun through so many contexts, from Greek mythology to Homecoming court. It can take hold suddenly in a wave of applause and escape with a misspoken word. The way we react to a slap across the cheek can warp into pride lost or gained. For some, it is the most personal of feelings, coveted as a last inspiration and \ISMV I[ I ÅVIT JTW_

These ideas only become more complex when we look to the word “pride” as it characterizes cooperative struggles. Clearly, Black Pride isn’t entirely about complexion and Gay Pride isn’t just a congratulatory, “You’re attracted to women, good job!” In all social movements, there is an underlying collective experience, but how does this calculate to pride?

The word “pride” arouses a bundle of rhetorical questions, but for these pages, the inciting question is: “What does pride look like?”

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illustration Crystal White

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illustration Kelly Fitzsimmons

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photography Daisy Chen

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photography Jillian Ellis

photography Danielle, Danny, & Devin Peck

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illustration Kelly Fitzsimmons

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illustration Mark Carey

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Albino Moon Olayemi Falodun

It’s just albino moon... It’s just albino moon...

It’s just albino moon... It’s just albino moon...

Sun plunges West, feels the wind in her hair, Praying to the Lord, like “God, get me out of here,” Harder now to breathe, because she’s desperate for air, Her wounds never heal, because she desperately cares, Fresh... her world is complex, She’s trying to over come the grief, and all the nonsense, The drama that she fears takes most her time spent, 5MUWZQM[ \PI\ ÆWWL IVL UISM PMZ MaM[ ^MV\ Cab door closes; she drops the fresh roses, The view out the window is all in rack focus, <PM ÆISM[ IZM [VW_ OTWJQVO# \PM [\ZMM\¼[ IZM VW_ [VW_ML QV Music in her ears, the beat is that potent, Every word she’s quoting, she lips with mouth open, <PI\ NMMTQVO \PI\ [PM¼[ NMMTQVO ZMÆMK\[ \PM _WZL[ [XWSMV Disaster in her life, but now she’s just coping, Closeted emotions are now but all open, She thinks of the past, when she reminisce, There were plenty good times, before they had that rift, ;MMU TQSM ÅOUMV\[ WN \PM UQVL \PI\ LWV¼\ M`Q[\ Smears the tears from her eyes, as her makeup drips, Cold night... she felt that hawk bite, +]\\QVO \PZW]OP PMZ ÆM[P IVL ITT PMZ VMZ^M[ TQSM The sharp November wind on dark and cold nights, )[ \PM [\ZMM\[ JMOQV \W ÆWWL _Q\P LIZS QV [W]T \aXM[ Gone with the wind, living dark and cold lives, Between the red and blue, in the depths where white lies, She hears everything, as he stabs that sharp knife, Leaving her undressed, in fear of all types...

It’s just albino moon... It’s just albino moon...

It’s just albino moon... It’s just albino moon...

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UNDER MY SKIN THOUGHTS ON RACIAL FETISH IN QUEER COMMUNITIES words Keysera Söze illustration Ellen Burke

RACIAL FETISH OR sexual desire? Sexual intrigue or sexual exploitation? Where does the line between preference and fetish lie? Do you like large breasts or small breasts? Do you prefer soft, smooth lines or a chiseled, rock-hard torso? Does white skin turn you on? Does it feel different to hear someone say, “I think blue eyes are really sexy,” versus, “I think Asian women are really sexy?” How about “I like Black girls”?

Human beings learn to attach a multitude of attributes to our sexual desires over time. Some of us like hairy bodies; others get all riled up over boney ankles, or the small of the back; a big broad chest, or the junk in the trunk we lovingly refer to as a “badonkadonk”.

Sexually, some learn to love being with someone who looks capable of domination, while others are on the prowl looking for someone to dominate. Even here the line is blurred when you think of having a fetish for parts of the body. Do we typically think of having a penis fetish, or a vagina fetish? Not normally, but sexual attachment to typically non-sexual objects like feet, clothing, or latex is where the concept of fetish often enters a conversation.

So what happens when we turn the conversation from sexualizing objects for our gratification to sexualizing a race of people—objectifying them by reducing them to a vehicle for our sexual gratification?

Men are sexually objectified. Women are sexually objectified. So are Hispanics, Asians, black and white people. What happens if we slow down to consider what is actually happening during these moments of objectification, particularly within queer spaces?

Because gays comprise a small subset of the population, our dating pool tends to be smaller. We also

carry the weight of being labeled sexual deviants within the broader society, which forces us to deconstruct and examine the legitimacy of cultural norms and taboos. One consequence of these realities interacting is that racial differences may not separate us to the degree that they separate our straight counterparts, and queer people often have access to sexual partners who span the racial map. Unfortunately, being queer does not mean that we are free from prejudice and ignorance. This ability to navigate the vast diversity of the queer community enables both tremendous growth and opportunities for making an ass of ourselves as we accidently degrade others.

In preparation for writing this piece, I sent an email out to a group of my friends: gays, lesbians, bisexuals, whites, blacks, Latinos, Jews, men, women, transgendered people, etc. I asked them for reflections on their experiences with racial fetishes—either their current or previously held racial fetishes, or their experience of having been the target of another’s fetish. The responses I got back were tortured and agonized; full of pain, shame, and humiliation. The experience of being reduced to a racial object in order to fulfill another’s sexual fantasy can be dehumanizing, regardless of whether the objectified chooses to have sex. Coming to terms with the reality that we have racial fetishes can be humiliating regardless of whether we act on them.

What do fetishes look like for me, a black lesbian?

Typically they come in the form of a white girl who wants to have sex with me, but has no experience with or appreciation for black culture. As a result, she has no means to communicate with me, save stereotypical absurdities in the form of grotesque

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approximations of black speech and culture. She is sexually interested in me, but can only interact with me as though I were a caricature of black culture as portrayed in movies and music.

Certainly, not all sexual encounters are intended to facilitate a meaningful interpersonal connection between two people. Sometimes it’s just sex. The distinction in this case is that racial ignorance possesses the power to penetrate wounds that have been previously laid by racism, and infect them with the potentially toxic venom of sexual objectification.

It’s a debilitating combination of dehumanization and degradation. The effects are lasting.

I think black women are incredibly sexy. And I know enough about black culture that the person on the other side of the pillow has the capacity to be engaged across multiple dimensions of her personhood, if that’s what we both choose. That may be the essential component that enables racial fetish: the absence of an ability to engage a partner (or potential partner) beyond racial stereotypes and sex. Not everyone is interested in exploring their own fetishes and stereotypes, but for those who are, invite a frank conversation among your friends and sexual partners.

You may be surprised by what you learn.

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FALL | 2010

ROGER HALLAS AN ACTIVIST FROM THE AUDIENCE words Danielle Peck photography Danielle Carrick

I would watch these videos of empowerment in the gloriously pristine archival, hushed, context of the New York Public Library reading room. While others are pouring over fragile manuscripts, I’m watching these videos from only ten, fifteen years ago—of anger and shouting and screaming and articulating political demands on a set of headphones, which is a very interesting dissonant experience.

-Roger Hallas

HE SPEAKS IN footage but doesn’t carry a camera.

With each word he delivers the passion of an activist. “I’ve acknowledged my strengths,” he says, leaning back in his chair surrounded by books, movie posters, and a view of the campus green.

One conversation will assure you—Roger Hallas is fundamentally a scholar.

Hallas began his studies at Oxford University with a focus in German literature and linguistics.

“It was in 1990,” he recounts, “at a particularly important moment in the history of gay activism and the history of AIDS activism.” He came out in is second term and his self-realization opened onto an atmosphere ripe with frustration. Having been involved in various activist struggles in high school, Hallas found it natural to gravitate toward gay activist groups. He crossed circles with several American graduate students who had hopped the ocean with new perspectives on AIDS activism, and a few VHS tapes.

The tapes introduced Hallas to film content that he

found fresh and invigorating. “It was the cultural production—the activist video, the graphic arts of Gran Fury—that really got me invested and wanting to become an activist; not only wanting to be a gay activist, but also wanting to get involved in AIDS activism.”

Back on the Syracuse campus, the wall of his office features a poster for Safe with a young Julianne Moore. “The best film of the 1990s,” says Hallas, “I highly recommend it if you get a chance to see it.”

He later retracts his enthusiasm with a smile and explains that he avoids playing film-favorites when screening for the students in his English and Textual Studies classes.

Ha! Caught in a moment of cinematic passion.

He clarifies his evasion of superlatives by quoting documentary filmmaker Jean Carlomusto, “At different moments in time, the same video can have a profoundly different effect. A video that was so empowering in the late 1980s, by 1993 can become a record of loss.”

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Directly after handing in his thesis on Rainer Werner Fassbinder, a German film director, Hallas began his graduate degree in film studies at NYU, initially intending to continue his research on German cinema. Outside the library, he seeped into New York’s vibrant queer film scene, becoming intimately involved with the Lesbian and Gay Film Festival at the height of New Queer Cinema. His academic pursuits gradually gravitated toward the dynamic visual environment in which he’d become immersed. He began to develop a project around “witnessing,” analyzing how observers reflectively experience trauma through visual media.

Looking back to his days at Oxford, watching movies in Gay Activist Alliance meetings, Hallas recognizes the catalytic potential of film, “That’s my own personal experience of the power of images— particularly the power of moving images—to bring me into a social and political movement.”

In 2009, Hallas published his book, Reframing Bodies: AIDS, Bearing Witness, and the Queer

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Moving Image. It’s an analysis on how documentary, experimental, and narrative films and videos have effectively and ineffectively represented trauma experienced as a result of the AIDS epidemic.

In one dimension, Reframing Bodies is a cerebral analysis of cinematic technique. He discusses the experience of watching Derek Jarman’s film, Blue, which has a gripping soundtrack but only one shot —a solid-blue frame. This visual, which illuminates every face in the theater, compels audience members to consider their own physical realities while absorbing a narrative of the filmmaker’s own experience with AIDS. Blue was released less than a year before Jarman died of complications related to the virus.

Aside from analysis, Hallas’ work persists as a physical record of a transitory medium. His quiet activism allows younger generations to understand the history of an epidemic that has distinctly transformed over the past two decades. Hallas anticipated a struggle when he started to seek

FALL | 2010

a publisher for his book. “When I was writing it, there was a sense of these issues are done… We’re living in the period of the normalization of AIDS, not just within our border society, but within queer communities.” Responses from publishers were often, “If you’d given me the book five to seven years ago, I would have snatched it up,” he says.

Despite this initial hesitation, feedback has been enthusiastically positive. “I think we’re now at a point where there’s a desire for reclaiming history...

People who don’t have a lived memory of that particular moment of empowerment—are now very

excited to see this body of work.”

Within his role as a professor, Hallas values the opportunity to welcome students into his audience. by screening films from his witnessing experience thus far. “It keeps that body of work alive,” he says.

Hallas regularly screens poignant films from his own witnessing experience, which is continually in progress. “I’m always looking to see what works are looking to address the ongoing HIV/AIDS epidemic.

It has different dynamics that need to be explored, articulated and expressed through film and video.”

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AN UNEXPECTED WELCOME words Luis Rendon

I WANT TO love God and Jesus. I really do. I want to believe that Christ died for my sins and I am guaranteed a spot beyond the pearly white gates of heaven. I want to have unwavering faith and inner peace with my life. Unfortunately, like so many other gay people, it’s a bit of a challenge for me.

I’m uncomfortable in my faith. Born and raised Catholic, I hate even thinking about going to church, and as so many religious leaders are quick to remind me I’m just another faggot heading straight to hell anyway.

I’m envious of my faith-driven friends. I’m jealous of how much they love going to church, how close they are with their god, and mostly how they are able to integrate those aspects into their daily lives without a second thought.

Sometimes I visit services by different faiths just to see how and where I could fit in. I imagine what my life would be like if I was part of these other denominations, but it’s fantasy. For whatever reason,

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EXPOSITION

I feel like I am owned by the Catholic faith. Jumping ship and converting makes me uncomfortable and ruins the entire point of having faith in the first place.

The most recent church I visited was in downtown Syracuse. Google had it listed under “LGBT friendly churches in Syracuse, NY,” but I wasn’t too sure what that meant. Was there a gay bible out there that I needed to read up on? I had no idea what to expect from going to what I began calling, “gay church.”

On Sunday morning I rolled out of my boyfriend’s bed earlier than either of us were happy with and I kissed him goodbye.

“Don’t wanna be late for gay church!” I exclaimed as I bounded out the door.

I was so anxious about the entire ordeal that I was half an hour early. As I walked in, I awkwardly shuffled around the main lobby until I mustered up the courage to enter what they called the sanctuary.

FALL | 2010

I noticed subtle hints of pro-gay propaganda while the choir rehearsed before the service. On a far wall, a poster hung with a stylized rainbow painted on it with the word “acceptance” on it. The service program was entitled “Just Worship,” which may be coincidence, but I’ve decided it was a nod to the goddess Lady Gaga.

While I sat in the far back corner of the church, at least six different congregation members and both pastors made it their business to come and welcome me. “Today’s service isn’t normal,” said a bald woman in her choir robes, “Well, all of our services aren’t normal.”

Members of the church were asked to share what they believed were the treasures of the church community. “Radical inclusion,” uttered one woman, fighting back tears. “This place means so much to me and my heart,” she said. “We are diverse and loving of everyone, not just a bunch of upper middle class white people who use diversity as a crutch.”

Many more testimonies followed. I’m sure not everyone (or anyone for that matter) who spoke about “inclusion” and “love for all” was gay, but in the moment, I actually believed that if someone had gone up to the pulpit and spoke about being gay and religious, they would have been accepted, not just tolerated.

“Let us give thanks for the anti-bullying video campaign for the LGBT community,” said the Reverend at the end of the service, capping off what I can only call an enlightening experience.

I still don’t think I’ve found Jesus nor experienced rebirth or whatever they call it. The church, the service, and the people were all fantastic. I can’t thank them enough for their hospitality, but in the end, faith is about believing even when no one else does.

And though my faith that Catholic Church will one day accept me for who I am is flimsy at best, I aim to maintain it.

EXPOSITION

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C o l d Tr a i n

by Olayemi Falodun

Heard some jazz on the cold train, headed over to Brooklyn, <WWS I TWWS W]\ \PM _QVLW_ [I_ I ZMÆMK\QWV WN I NM_ \PQVO[ Flashing lights as i pass by, city life in the fast lane, Women screaming for loose change, bachelors crooning from ball games, Scores of sounds from the garden, looking to score as the girls came, Fleeting hearts in the distance, in search of beef and some chow mein, ) [IUXTM WN TQNM NZWU \PM SQ\KPMV I LQVMZ ÅTT[ QV _Q\P KPQTLZMV Drunk and stumbling from binge drinks, still addicted to women, This the mourning that night brings, fat ladies in tights sing, Over and over, the rain came, precipitating on dark men, Cutting through like a glass pane, bleeding out by the food chains, A quilted soul with a thin frame, his eyes set on the cold hands, /TW^M[ PWTL _ITTM\[ IVL [\ZIVOM OQN\[ \QKSM\ [\]J[ NZWU \PM ÅTU [\ZQXXML Arms of lovers with soft lips, hanging on with a tight grip, Hailing cabs on the late shifts, dodging cars just to make it, On the corner where friends split, yelling out for the next trip...

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FALL | 2010

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES OF THE NITWITS BIG FREEDIA AND THE SISSY BOUNCERS words Sarah Lee photography Danielle Peck

The odds were stacked against us. No, that makes it sound as if substantial but easilysurmountable obstacles stood between us, the underdogs, and it, our destination. Let me rephrase: we were fucked.

Rewind to two days ago, when my freshman year roommate (full disclosure: she is also the editor-inchief of this magazine!) messaged me, asking if I’d like to accompany her on a completely impromptu trip to Brooklyn to attend a sissy bounce concert for a potential story. So of course, instead of being a responsible student concerned with her academic priorities (and that fact that I’d never heard of sissy bounce), I chose to reply: “HELL. YES.” Back to real-time. After a few hours of vehicular difficulties, Danielle called and hesitantly suggested that I pack warm clothing for the 5-hour ride. Cue

an inexplicable feeling of dread. Our first of many unexpected and progressively ridiculous obstacles presented itself when she explained that she had just retrieved her car from AAA and somewhere along the way, the driver’s side window had gotten stuck and now refused to roll back up. Thus, I threw a scarf, sweater, and extra shirt in my backpack, considered a pair of mittens but figured that was pushing it (this dismissal would haunt me for the entire ride during my mind’s brief moments of lucidity when it wasn’t hampered by cold-induced numbness), and scrambled outside.

Upon settling into my seat and exchanging giddy greetings with Danielle, she proceeded to lay down the discouraging details: her GPS was broken, her license was expired, her heat wasn’t functional, and due to a late departure, we would have to cut our

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transit time by an hour if we wanted to make the 11:30 p.m. show. I regrettably explained that I too had neglected to renew my liscence; our mutual procrastination was eerily reminiscent of freshman year. Oh, and the window was really stuck. Like, would-not-budge-from-its-position stuck.

We surrendered all feeling in our limbs somewhere between Binghamton and Middletown and substituted my scarf for makeshift driving gloves. We also got lost at about this same time and frantically consulted our friend on the phone for directions. Amidst all uncertainty (and frantic clothing changes) we somehow managed to pass safely across the Brooklyn Bridge, after which we let out a celebratory cry and weaved our way to Southpaw, a club in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood. Momentary panic ensued when we realized that we didn’t actually have tickets to the event, but scrounged up enough spare cash to get us both inside. Behold – we had arrived.

The opening band, Javelin, was just finishing their set when we walked in. The room was dimly lit and relatively packed; a coat rack stood in the middle of the floor while people buzzed around it with drinks in hand. There was an palpable energy in the crowd as Javelin closed and technicians cleared the stage. They were ready for the next act.

I had read a New York Times Magazine article earlier that day on sissy bouncing that featured the artist who was about to perform. Big Freedia is a prominent bounce rapper from New Orleans, where bounce music originated. Like many rappers in the genre, Freedia is genderqueer—though biologically male, she is referred to in female pronouns, and is gay. As a self-professed fan of hip-hop, I was a little ashamed to admit that I knew little about bounce music and even less about its offshoot version dominated by gay rappers.

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Not really knowing what to expect, I stood fidgeting by the doorway and glanced at the people around me. Women were already starting to gravitate toward the stage, some dressed in jeans, others in spandex booty shorts. Admiring their bravado while feeling dowdy in my coverageproviding cardigan, I watched them absorb the filler beats coming from the speakers and practice what I will heretofore refer to as: The Bounce.

The Bounce is pretty standard rap-video fare; girls shake their inherited backside in rapid motion to a rhythm that plays just as fast. Here at Southpaw though, The Bounce was different. It looked casual, even natural. Girls closed their eyes, shook their heads from side to side, and let their lower halves practically detach from their bodies to take on a life completely their own.

Though the ones engaged in bouncing were mostly female (save for a couple of enthusiastic hipster boys to my right), plenty of men were in attendance that seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the action taking place. Just as I was observing a borderline-elderly man leering with abandon at a young shorts-clad woman dancing expertly against the stage, Freedia’s manager, Rusty Lazer, walked up to his DJ booth and began to spin some records.

There was a notable rustle amidst the crowd as anticipatory bouncers made their way to the front.

I first heard her voice, booming and authoritative, calling out to the audience, then saw her large frame approach the center of the room. She was sporting a Rihanna-like asymmetrical hairstyle along with a tight T-shirt and pink pants. Though I had been expecting a more feminine figure; Big Freedia was equipped with a gruff voice and overwhelmingly commanding presence. Without prelude, she launched into a track sampling SkeeLo’s “I Wish” and went from breezily spitting, “I wish I was taller, I wish I was a baller,” to candidly repeating “I wanna fuck tonight!” much to everyone’s salacious pleasure.

The second song unleashed all inhibitions in the room as three of Big Freedia’s female dancers provided entrancing visual accompaniment. I was simultaneously intrigued and horrified as they shed their clothes to reveal thong-like undergarments framed by milky white butt cheeks that bounced

FALL | 2010 and shook incessantly. One of them stripped off her pants and turned around only to reveal bright red tassels attached to her ass, which she skillfully maneuvered to make the decorations spin around in time with the music. She looked like the gyrating

toreador in an X-rated bullfight.

Within three minutes, Big Freedia’s inextricable hold over the audience was complete. Even I, unquestionably out of my element and standing timidly on the outskirts of the pulsating mass, couldn’t help but sway and nod as Freedia implored us to “shake that booty.”

Being in that room meant you had no choice but to go with the proverbial flow and embrace what came, however bizarre. Black or white, guy or girl, cradle robber or jailbait, Freedia didn’t discriminate.

She was going to make you move and you were going to enjoy every sweaty, writhing second. Even the dancers onstage made it seem as if this were the last performance of their lives, thrusting back and forth with sheer jubilance and ferocity. And despite the unashamed amounts of skin (and hair) the effect was less more empowered than vulgar.

Uncalculated minutes of stream-of-consciousness ass-worship had passed when Freedia suddenly but decidedly halted all the action, quieted the lingering yells, and seated herself on a chair in the middle of the stage. She began to recite verses slam-poetry style about the power of music, gay issues, and the various men in her life. She got soulful about eating dick. And the crowd loved it.

Just as they were enraptured by the frenetic energy of bouncing, so were they held captive by her jarring honesty and no-bullshit prose.

After the show ended, I walked outside and

approached The Most Indie-Looking Couple of All Time. The girl, who started-off making obscure references to underground artists I was too uncultured to recognize, gushed about how amazing Big Freedia’s performance was. “I do believe I did bounce, but I need practice,” she admitted. Pointing to her boyfriend, she said, “But this guy, he came bouncing out of his mother’s womb.” He laughingly protested, and talked about how Big Freedia was breaking boundaries, confronting gender issues, and expressing her problems with authority—ideas that our generation wrestles with constantly and could therefore connect to. “[Big Freedia] doesn’t take no for an answer. It’s lethal,” he said. “She demands a response and reply, and if that’s what she can do to a crowd in Park Slope, she would explode in the mainstream. I’m not exaggerating when I say that was the best show I’ve ever been to.”

Danielle and I headed back to her dilapidated car, cheered gratefully for it not being hijacked through the open window, and plopped onto our seats, exhausted from the past seven hours and still taking in the surreal, dreamlike quality of the evening. The next morning, we would have another four-hour drive back to Syracuse, during which we would get pulled over by state troopers, subsequently freak the fuck out, and then breathe again when the cop gives us lenience for the expired license. We would dig through Danielle’s glove compartment for mix CDs and exchange stories from studying abroad. But for now, at 1 a.m. in the middle of this yuppie Brooklyn neighborhood, we were going to drive off with the wind in our already chapped faces and get lost driving home in the night, intermittently bursting out in Freedia’s enduring refrain, “Ass everywhere, ass everywhere!”

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QUEER BEATS words Kelley Reece illutsration Jill Stromberg MELANGE LA VONNE is an openly lesbian hip-hop artist and activist. Her music focuses on themes such as domestic violence, racism, homophobia, and discrimination. Her single “I’ve Got You” is an uplifting song about LGBT couples parenting children.

YO! MAJESTY is a mash-up of crunk, Baltimore club music and electro. Based out of Tampa, Florida, they are an American hip hop group consisting of: Shunda K, Shon B., and gospel singer Jwl B. In 2007 they made their biggest debut at SXSW and toured with CSS and the Gossip.

Check out their super sexy 2009 single “Don’t Let Go”; it’s booty shaking good and infectious.

SGT. SASS is a mindblowing mix of club, house, and hip hop. If you like the beats of Chicks on

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Speed or Peaches with the vocal stylings of Soulja Boy, make sure you give “Homo Homie (baltimore mix)” a listen.

PSALM ONE is a Chicago based artist born as Cristalle Bowen in Englewood. Her sound is evocative of Jean Grae, Lauryn Hill and Devin the Dude. You can catch her on her European tour this December.

QBOY is one of the original pioneers of homohop, a subgenre of hip hop that broke through in 2001. He has been working as a DJ, writer, and producer for the past ten years, initially under the name Q-Form. One could describe him as an English Mickey Avalon, especially with his song “Q.B.O.Y. is just so fly.”

FALL | 2010

Archetype author Kevin Hegedus

3M^QV [XQ\[ Ă&#x2026;ZM i only cough sparks no way home gone in the dark with two brothers all dressed in black rev up the cycle run the attack i own the forest oats, barley, hay root through the roots much on the grains alabaster heart gnats in my eyes iris all itchy canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t recognize indigo, violet alligator bag never repented love like a fag over the rainbow violently sick evil comes quickly raw, wretched, thick.

POETRY

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DINERS AND TEA ROOMS

by Noël Frodelius

SOMETHING CLATTERED. I snapped my head toward the kitchen at the Erie Blvd. Denny’s, shocked, when I heard someone bellow from behind the counter, “Watch it FAGGOT!” The burly night manager was leaning in towards a thin teenage waiter, cornering him at the order window.

Brimming with rage, he continued to hurl venomous insults at the nervous kid, who recoiled as if he had just been smacked in the face. Obviously shaken and ashamed, the boy tried to scoop up his order as quickly as possible and escape to the dining room. As I looked on in horror, waiting for someone to jump in and defend him, I realized that everyone else in the restaurant was ignoring the commotion. Even at 2:00 AM on a summer Saturday night, there were five or six full tables and a few people at the counter, and not one person had looked up.

Holding back tears, the waiter grabbed his last order and ran out to serve it, not once speaking up in his own defense.

The night manager may have chosen his homophobic insults ignorant of their meaning, but the tone in his voice made it clear his intention was to attack the waiter emotionally. I worked as a waitress at Roji Tea Lounge in downtown Syracuse for three years, and my experience as an openly bisexual employee couldn’t have been more different from what I saw that night at Denny’s.

Soft indie music and the smell of fresh-baked cookies greet customers at Roji’s door. Scattered among the tables are five huge sofas with giant pillows, where gay and straight couples can often be

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seen snuggling up over a cup of tea. The brick walls are usually covered in art by local artists, complemented by shelves full of handmade craft items and teapots for sale. The quiet relaxing atmosphere that Roji strives to provide is a big draw for customers of all orientations, whether straight, gay, bisexual, or otherwise. Tomomi Yoshida and Christian Van Luven, the owners of the restaurant, wanted to create a space that felt welcoming to all people, and it has become a sort of haven for many members of the LGBTQ community in Syracuse.

Many of the employees are members of the gay community as well. At one point during my first year working at the restaurant, only two of my coworkers identified as straight. I could be myself at Roji and have fun with my coworkers in quirky entertaining ways. Along with play “dating” one another for a shift, and swapping sex stories, we would occasionally cop a feel here and there. All in good fun, of course. We maybe even took the gag too far and created “Sexual Harassment Month” one October where ass-grabbing in the kitchen was jokingly encouraged for all employees.

I don’t know about the Denny’s waiter’s sexual orientation, but he shouldn’t have to endure being called a fag either way. I’m not sure if he’d be on board with a make-believe “sexual harassment month” either, but there is a middle ground where anyone can feel safe and worthwhile at work. Managers shouldn’t harass their employees, period, but charging insults with homophobic speech is absolutely unacceptable.

FALL | 2010

comic Steve Orlando

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DIXIES IN BED

by Sarah Aument

INT. BEDROOM- MORNING Two crumpled Dixie Cups lay naked, spooning under the covers.The outer of the spooning cups lifts a hand and slowly moves it along the crumples of the other cup’s back.

Don’t.

DIXIE #1

She stops.

She softly rolls in tighter to Dixie #1’s body and holds her hand. She starts crinkling her body, ever so slightly, up and down the back of Dixie #1.

DIXIE #1 Please don’t. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.

Dixie #2 looks at Dixie #1 dead in the stenciled eye, pulls away from the cuddle, and rolls over onto her other side.

DIXIE #1 Wow. Really?

Silence.

DIXIE #1 Good grief... Come back.

Please.

Dixie #2 turns onto her back and looks over at Dixie #1. She gives up the cold shoulder and turns into Dixie #1’s body. Dixie #1 jumps up in horror as something hard and clammy touches her lower back.

DIXIE #1 WHAT THE- Take that OFF. [Beat] And put it in the fucking dishwasher.

Gross.

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FALL | 2010

photography Daisy Chen

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comic Mariel Fiedler

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ART

FALL | 2010 It was the middle of Thanksgiving break during my sophomore year of high school, and I was 15. At this point, I was three weeks into a severe depression. I was home alone half watching TV, half worrying about being gay and trying to find any loopholes to get around it. Little did I know that I would have an epiphany at exactly 5 pm.

The TV was haplessly on channel 2 when Oprah came on. This particular episode was about gay men on the “down-low”. I absolutely knew I had to watch it because I was desperate for answers. Would it be possible to marry a woman? Could I force myself into being intimate with a woman for a long period of time and just train my brain into loving her? My worst fear walked on stage and answered my question all-too harshly.

Oprah’s guest had written a best-seller on how her husband had cheated with over 1000 guys in the course of their thirty-year marriage. She discussed how inadequate she began to feel as the sex slowed to a gradual halt between them. She went through years of turmoil because of her husband’s secret. So much for a long term, intimate relationship with a woman, I thought to myself halfway through the show. From that point on, I hung on every word that was said.

The next commercial break came and I had hoped to eventually see if any of the couples on the show stayed together after their husbands had been outed. When the show came back on, the women started to talk about the horrible aftermath of discovering that their husbands were gay. None of the stories had happy endings. Divorce, child support, money; Revenge was the common theme. I realized then how immense the consequences could be if I were to ever try this out. There would be no use in digging myself into a deep-ass hole that would lead to so much more trouble to so many people. I wouldn’t want to have a best seller out there, describing in great detail about how much of a whore, liar and closet-case I was. As soon as the end credits started to roll, I felt 90% better about myself (the other 10% was the shame of watching an entire Oprah episode.)

Regardless, it was a tremendous turning point in my life. I would wait only a week later to tell my parents because I was so excited about my newfound enthusiasm for being gay.

My parents initially wanted Oprah destroyed for what they thought she did to me, but have since come to terms and are extremely supportive and loving. I can’t believe I can say, “Oprah changed my life!” but the bittersweet cliché is true.

Josh Watson

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Q&A

FALL | 2010

Q&A

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YOUR STUDENT FEE

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