Mama Mechanic

This afternoon I took a ride out to the Rockaways on Tosca, my Mercian fixie.

The weather was lovely, as it was yesterday:  warm, but not overly so, with high puffy clouds floating across expanses of blue sky.  And, as luck would have it, I rode into the wind on my way out to Rockaway Beach and Far Rockaway.  That meant, of course, that on my way home, I could pedal about 20 RPM faster without trying.

Anyway, I was coasting through an area of Gateway National Recreation area frequented by bird-watchers and wildlife photographers--in plain view of JFK International Airport!  My external reverie seemed to embody the one that was playing out within me at that moment:  I am still in the afterglow of my trip to Paris and of the wonderful late-day ride to Connecticut I enjoyed yesterday.  I have been doing some writing away from this blog (I don't want to give too much away!) and I'm feeling optimistic about the semester that's about to begin. Now all I need is to hit the Lotto jackpot and meet the love of my life.  Hmm...I'm not so sure about the latter.  Being single isn't so bad after you've been in an abusive relationship or two.


Wouldn't you know...a cute young guy approaches me from behind.  "Sir!"  "Sir!"  He sounded distressed, so I turned to look at him.  (His distress was the only reason I looked at him, I swear! ;-))  "Do you...Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"Don't worry."

"You don't see a lot of women riding here.  And, from behind, you were pedaling like a dude."

I said nothing. (I didn't want to give too much away!)

"Do you have an allen key?"

"Yes, I do."

Just then I saw the reason why he asked:  His handlebar slipped and rolled inside the stem.

"We can't let you ride like that," I said.

"I swapped this handlebar today.  I guess I didn't tighten it enough."

"Well, let's hope it's the right diameter."

"I thought they were all the same size."

I shook my head and, from the corner of my eye, saw the source of the problem.  He had a stem with a faceplate that bolts in the four corners. He'd tightened the top two bolts much more than the lower ones.  So, in addition to the usual hazards of a loose handlebar, he ran the risk of shearing off the faceplate and, possibly, taking an even nastier spill than he might have had he only leaned on loose bars. 

Before I tightened the stem bolts, I asked him to move the bar to a position he likes.  Good thing: I noticed that his grips slipped on the bars.

He said he'd used water to slide the rubber grips onto the bars.   I grabbed the edge of the right grip and rolled it up to the end of the bar.  Then I unrolled it, and the grip--an Oury--stayed as if it had been epoxied to the bar.  I did the same for his left grip.

Then I told him to grab the grip and try to roll it, and to try to move the bar in the stem.  Everything was as firmly in place as the pyramids.

"Lady, I don't know how to thank you enough."

"Just be careful," I said in my most maternal tone.  Really, he's a nice kid--he's been working as a lifeguard--and want him to live and ride long.
 

When Will Trans People Live Cisgender Lives?

I was rather pleasantly surprised by this article in the New York Post. Its author, Eric Hegedus, seems pleased that more trans actors are appearing in films and television series.  On the other hand, he points out that there is a danger of trans actors being typecast if they are called upon to play nothing but trans characters. 

To me, an actor is someone who can step into a role, even one completely different from his or her own experience.  Of course, by that definition, there aren't many true actors.  But the day is coming, I think, when we'll see just how good some trans actors are when they play cisgender characters.

I had to laugh, though, at the title of the article:  "When will we start seeing transgender actors in non-transgender roles?"  Fact is, it's happened, at least once.  And the trans actress I'm thinking of played a cis woman all the way back in 1981.

Back in my previous life, I would sometimes go to the movies with my father and brothers (My mother has never been much of a movie-goer!) and, later, with male buddies or co-workers.  Some of the most popular "guys' night out" movies (I almost typed "films") are the James Bond flicks. I think the last one I saw was For Your Eyes Only.

And, yes, that was the one that featured the trans actress:  Caroline "Tula" Cossey, who played the obligatory "Bond Girl" in the movie.  To promote the movie, she also posed for Playboy magazine.  She was probably the first trans woman to do that as well, although nobody--at least, nobody in the general public--knew about her identity at that time.

However, a year later, News Of The World, a British tabloid, "outed" her.  For the next decade, she fought for transgender acceptance and worked to educate people.  In 1991, she approached the editors of Playboy, who did another pictorial of her. 


Now 60 years old, she lives in the Atlanta area with her husband.  She says she is happy that there is more acceptance for trans people, though she was still shocked when Bruce Jenner became Caitlyn before the eyes of the world.   Ms. Cossey empathises with Caitlyn's pain and suffering, so she knows just how difficult the road ahead could be for Caitlyn, in spite (or perhaps because) of her fame and fortune.  

Even with such changes, and with the love and support she's received, "Tula" says doesn't know whether she'll ever "stop feeling like a second-class citizen".

Unfortunately, even her looks and talent aren't a shield against internalizing the hate and meanness that was directed at her.  So,  I believe, the question shouldn't be about when we will see trans actors play cis parts.  Instead, we should find when people who just happen to be a little different from what society deems "normal" will be able to  grow up and live without bullying, shame, discrimination and the threat of death for simply being who they are.

(Aside:  Angelina Jolie was offered a role as a "Bond Girl" in Casino Royale.  She turned it down.  "I'd rather be Bond," she said.  Now that, I would pay to see!) 

What's It Like To Be A Trans Girl?

Sometimes I'm asked "What's it like?" to be transgendered or, more specifically, a trans woman.  The best answer I can give is that I can't answer the question, but I can tell you about MY experience.

In other words, there isn't one kind of trans woman, or trans person.  Part of the reason I didn't start my transition earlier is that I didn't think I fit the profiles of trans women I carried in my mind.  I thought I was too tall, to broad-boned or deep-voiced.  Or I thought I wasn't, on the outside "feminine" or "pretty" (at least, as those terms are commonly defined) in our culture.  Plus, I have always felt more attracted to women than to men.

Some graphic artist must have been thinking what I thought.  Let us thank "Kyle"--that is the only name I could find--for this wonderful graphic:

Myths About Women And Cycling

Given my life experiences, it would surprise few people to know that I think about some of the differences between female and male cyclists, and the experiences each of us has.

I have also become more aware of just how male-centered the cycling world--in everything from the social contexts of rides to equipment design to the attitudes of some bike shop employees.  Also, I am shocked at how much of that male-centeredness--as well as some out-and-out misogyny--I helped to perpetrate.

So I guess it's not surprising that some old myths about women and cycling still persist.  I was aware of some, and learned of a few others from this infographic that recently came my way:

From Biking Toronto

Sally Ride, R.I.P.

I have just found out that Sally Ride has died of pancreatic cancer, at the age of 61.

As you probably know, she became the first American woman in space" when she blasted off  in 1983.  She took another trip into outer space the following year.  Then she was scheduled for another voyage that was cancelled after the space shuttle Challenger broke apart 73 seconds into its flight on 28 January 1986.

Dr. Ride, who earned undergraduate degrees in Physics and English, had just recently finished her PhD in Physics at Stanford University when she took her first trip.  While still a doctoral student, she answered an ad NASA had placed in her school's student newspaper.  As it happened, the space program finally decided to accept women the year before she took her historic journey.

Later, as a professor at the University of California-San Diego, she started Sally Ride Science, which, as she says, allowed her to pursue her "longtime passion for motivating girls and young women to pursue careers in science, math and technology.

One thing I find interesting now is that at the time of her space trips, no mention was made of her sexual orientation.  In fact, most people probably don't know about it unless they've seen the story I've linked, or others that say she is survived by Tam O'Shaughnessy, her partner of 27 years.  

Of course, it makes sense that her sexuality, had it been know, wouldn't have been mentioned at the time.  She may well have done everything she could to hide it when she applied, and was training, for the program.  Also, she went into space at a time when then-President Ronald Reagan wouldn't even say the word "AIDS" in public.  In fact, according to a story that circulated around that time, The Gipper kicked his son out of the house when he dropped out of Yale to become a ballet dancer.  (He was good enough to join the Joffrey.)  

We all know about boys who become dancers--and girls who become astrophysicists.  They're just like you and me.  Well, maybe not me:  I don't have the requisite talents for becoming either of those. But at least Sally Ride found a way to nurture her talents, in a time when there was little support for girls or young women who wanted to be astronauts--or boys or young men who wanted to be ballet dancers.

A Day For Celebrating Our Real Beauty

The college in which I've been moonlighting is going to have an event called "Beauty Day," in conjunction with Women's History Month.  I and others have pointed out that it's, at best, an odd strategy.  At worst, it can be seen--at least to some people--as "belittling women's accomplishments," as one prof put it.


To some degree, I agree with that prof.  But I also have a personal interest in the question I didn't discuss with anybody there. As I said to that prof, people are indeed judged that way  (The student-run "Rate My Professors" site has a category for "hotness.")  And, sadly enough, members of the dominant culture judge those who aren't part of it by how well they fit that culture's standards, in beauty as well as in other areas, without threatening the hierarchies that are built upon those standards.  


I never would have understood what I have just described in the previous sentence had I not undertaken my transition.  Most people would not say that I am a beautiful woman; not very many, I suspect, would even say that I'm terribly attractive.  But, at least, I seem to fit (more or less) into some ideas that people have about women who are around my age.


Then again, there is something else I never would have understood had I continued to live as Nick.  I am now ashamed to admit that I used to think that some people were simply wasting their time with beauty culture, or even basic grooming, because they weren't attractive and couldn't be made so.  
But now I see why women who are even more overweight than I am and don't seem to have other redeeming features will spend time making themselves up or putting together an outfit.  


I now think that a person who is not affirmed or supported by those in charge of whatever hierarchy rules his or her life has to find his or her own beauty, whether it is on the outside or inside.  Of course, that does not always mean beauty in the sense people usually mean it.  Your real beauty comes from the love you give to, and inspire in, yourself and other people.  And that power can come from any number of sources, including spiritual and intellectual ones.


Knowing that, for some of us, that power is the key to our survival, let alone the hope of any sort of prosperity, we not only feel the need to nurture it; we need to honor and even celebrate it.  That means being our best selves--which, for many of us, means wearing the clothes, accessories and cosmetics that most flatter the light of our eyes as well as the lines of our faces and bodies.


It's not merely a matter of making ourselves attractive for someone else.  (I've come to realize that almost everyone is attractive to someone else, or can be made so.)  Instead, it's a way of highlighting the beauty we hold simply in living through, and sometimes overcoming, the belittlement, condescenscion and harassment--not to mention the heartbreaks and other disappointments-- too many of us face.  


This isn't just about vanity or making ourselves pretty.  It's a matter of survival.  If anyone wants to have a Beauty Day during Women's History Month, he or she should understand that. 

Getting Over "Saturday Night Live"

It's been decades since I've watched Saturday Night Live regularly.  So I would never have known about a sketch they did last week if someone hadn't alerted me to it.


On SNL, there's a longstanding tradition of satirizing commercials--or, more precisely, the tropes of commercials.  And that is what SNL's producers and NBC executives claimed they were doing in making and airing a mock-commercial for a product called "Estro-Maxx."


But it seemed that transgenders were mocked more than the product.  The males-to-females were depicted with the old stereotypes:  exaggerated walks and voices, and obsession with clothing and makeup.  The "commercial" could just as easily have been made thirty or forty years ago.


Now some people are accusing us of not having any sense of humor, and telling us to "get over it."  Well, you don't just "get over" being attacked, especially by established and respected institutions and people.  A man with breasts?  That stopped being funny around the time of Tiresias.  So, for that matter, did Saturday Night Live.

On Gender and Etiquette

You'd think I'd have certain day-to-day situations figured out by now.

Today I was leaving the administrative wing (which we call "The West Wing") of the campus's main building and entering a hallway that leads to the classroom area. I had just opened the door when I saw the college President and the Dean of Arts and Sciences walking toward it.

I did something that I would have done even when I was at my surliest and most belligerent self, during my youth: I held the door open for her. Although a part of my mind said that I was doing it out of politeness and basic respect, if not obsequiousness, I also was looking at the President of the College as the President and, well, as a woman.

Now I'm wondering whether she sensed that. I held the door, but she waited for me to pass through--and the Dean waited because he was walking behind her. I continued to hold the door and she walked through as we exchanged greetings. The Dean followed her, but grabbed the door just as she was passing over the transom. And he waited for me to pass through.

Sometimes I don't think I'll ever be graceful in social situations. I know that a woman is not expected to hold a door open for another woman, but a man of the Dean's age and status--and from the culture in which he was born and raised--is not only expected to do so; he expects to hold the door.

Yet I reflexively hold doors open for people, regardless of gender, or at least try not to drop them in their faces. I was like that even when I was rebelling--or telling myself that I was rebelling--against what, I didn't know. And, yes, I extended such courtesies even when I was a nasty or depressed drunk. I guess it has to do something with upbringing: My mother always expected me and my brothers to behave well in public, and in the company of elders. The funny thing is that even when I was trying to get as far away from home--or at least being a kid--as I could, I was grateful for that, particularly when I was living in France. They, and Europeans generally, still value good manners and such.

But even if I have good manners, I have no social grace whatsoever. I know how to do what I've been trained from childhood to do, but I can't finesse a situation like the one I encountered today. Some people seem to handle situations like that one with elan and dignity that I've never seemed to have: Even if they do the "wrong" thing, it seems all right. But they usually end up doing the "right", or at least a graceful, thing.

The President was actually very gracious, as she has been to me in other encounters I've had with her. I could say the same for the Dean or that he was, at worst, punctilious. And, by the standards of this culture (and most others I'm familiar with), they have treated me like a lady. I've never discussed my history with either of them, but I'm sure they must know about it, even though they've never known me as anyone but Justine.

Still, even after a few years of living as a woman, I still haven't quite mastered female-to-female etiquette. (Then again, I haven't mastered etiquette, period.) I encounter situations like the one I had today with the President: I act out of what I see as basic courtesy and respect, but the woman to whom I extend it is not expecting it. Or, even stranger is when another woman treats me with something like male chivalry. I'm thinking now of times when women have given me their seats on buses and trains, or held doors open for me. Sometimes those women looked like they could've used the seat, or any kind of courtesy, even more than I could!

All I've been able to do in those situations is to smile and wish them a good day or good holiday. That seems to make people happy for the moment, even if I feel like I've stumbled.

Now I'm wondering if a stereotype might be true: that women are more socially graceful. That makes me wonder whether that grace is borne in the two X chromosomes, or whether cis women get it with their uteri when they're born.

All right...Now I'm getting myself into some real trouble, aren't I? All I can do, I guess, is to treat people as well as I know how to. Hopefully, those situations will work out until I figure out how to work them out.