Another Queer Jewish Buddhist

Apple Store, 12:55AM, Saturday June 30, 2007

Wandered out of The Web bar, and over to Apple, where there are no lines outside anymore. But the crowds around the iPhone table are still intense and it feels just as much like as disco/club in here as it did on the dance floor just down the street. Sorry I didn't bring my now out of date LG phone to take a photo of it all here right now. It's 1am and this place is jamming! And criusy for that metter.

But will I buy an iPhone. I have to admit, looking at it up close its about as seductive a bit of technology as I have ever seen.

Now You Can Really Have An Ass Like A Peach

Or at least you can have an ass that smells like a peach. As always, the Japanese know how to make the toilet experience something transcendent. Or beyond words, I'm not sure. In any case, if you live in those horned isles (the title of a book about Japan by queer poet James Kirkup) you can now purchase pink toilet paper that gives your bum the fragrance of a fresh peach. Mmmm. Juicy. Many thanks to Ron in Tokyo for this latest for the queer product watch.

Of course, the Japanese plumbing supply company Toto doesn't much truck with toilet paper. On their new US website, CleanIsHappy.com, they are finally selling the high-tech toilet seats to Americans that have been available to the Japanese for decades. And as one of the several spokespeople who is first introduced to us visually with a picture of a smiling face on a perky posterior says, toilet paper just distributes the problem. Which is why this heated toilet seat with a bidet style spray calibrated to body temperature and angled just right, is followed by a jet of warm air to dry those places where the sun doesn't shine. Perhaps Toto can offer a peach fragrance spray and totally flush out the competition.

Not to knock Toto. I lived in Japan for 7 years, and I love those toilet seats. Whoever thought the porcelain throne would be such a hedonistic experience? I wonder what Dave Praeger, copywriter extraordinaire and author of Poop Culture would have to say about all of this.

Queer Artist: Ralph Hall

I wrote about Ralph below in the post about his "fagzine" Divas of Sheridan Square. His artwork graced many alternative publications post-Stonewall. But because today is the anniversary of the uprising, I wanted to post something of his which bears the slogan: Our Stonewall Nation Lives. May we never forget the lessons of Stonewall — one of which is that often it is those who are the despised in a society, even the despised within queer society, who know and speak the truth

Judy Garland & Stonewall

Thirty eight years ago today Judy Garland's funeral was held at the Frank Campbell funeral home in Manhattan. People lined up for hours. That night, the police raided a bar on Christopher Street called the Stonewall Inn. Some people said the reason for the uprising was that Judy had died. Some said it was the full moon that night. Some said, after a decade of watching the civil rights movement, and the women's rights movement, it was time for queer people to fight back.

On the day Judy died, I was at a medieval tournament held in New Jersey under the auspices of the Society for Creative Anachronism. I was 16 years old and desperately trying to come out. I had been to the Oscar Wilde bookshop on Mercer Street, where I listened to the advice of Craig Rodwell. I had gone to Julius' on Waverly and West 10th, still there today, and was not merely underage, but certainly the only person in the bar under 30, which for a skittish 16 year old was rather terrifying. I had been to the West Side Discussion Group, which met at the Church of the Holy Apostle (now home to, among other things, the "gay synagogue" Congregation Beth Simchat Torah) and where every week people talked about homosexuality in polite ways and politics was not the agenda. But on the day Judy died, I was in New Jersey, dancing the galliard and the gavotte while other young men in faux chain mail hit each other was fake swords. On the bus going back that night, we sang Over The Rainbow.

Who knows what I was doing the night of the street fighting. I certainly didn't even know about them until the following Wednesday, when I read the homophobic accounts by reporters from the Village Voice, whose offices were just down the street from the bar, at the site now occupied by the Duplex. I do know that when I read the Voice's story I was outraged by not only the police, but by the so-called liberal newspaper using words to describe queer people that I thought were hateful. Words like, well, queer, haha. Times change. Within a year I was going to meetings of the Gay Liberation Front at Alternate U. on Sixth Avenue and 14th Street. I was a member of Gay Youth. The wall of my bedroom was decorated wtih posters of Oscar Wilde and Allen Ginsberg. I went on demonstrations, and eventually, as a member of the Gay Activists Alliance, on zaps.

I'm a member of the Stonewall Generation. And as it happens, the first movie I ever saw, at age two, was the Wizard of Oz. My mother took me when it was re-released into theaters just in time for the baby boom. She was nervous I would fidget, or cry when Margaret Hamilton as the Witch was on screen. I am told I sat as though hypnotized. So there you have it. Judy Garland and The Wizard of Oz made me gay. The CBS broadcasts in the 60s made an  entire generation gay. And Judy's death sent us over the edge. If that's what you want to believe. Heaven knows there are enough wingnuts out there who would believe it. And while they were probably raising glasses to toast her at Julius', some of the people at the Stonewall had more practical things to think about, like where they might be sleeping that night.

All I know is this. I am grateful there was a performer I grew up watching who was completely vulnerable on stage, so that I learned it wasn't shameful to show that vulnerability. And I am grateful there were queer people who had the courage to stand up to the New York Police Force (and as the mythology goes danced in a rockettes style kick line) and fought back— because this wasn't a riot, it was an uprising. To quote a leaflet that was posted on the wall of the Stonewall later that week: Think homosexuals are revolting? You bet we are!

The Mudge Report: Plastic Creamer Containers

Don't you just hate them? In restaurants they never bring enough of them. When you use them, you end up with horrid litter all over the table. And you know they have to be hell on the environment. No one is recycling these little bits of eco-apocalypse.

So you gotta figure there's some reason restaurants use them. Perhaps to advertise how déclassé they are. Or to mock our pretensions of class while we eat out. Certainly they mock by making them semi-impossible to open. Of course, one could assume there is an economic reason restaurants use them. Perhaps they are less expensive to use since than milk or cream in a larger container since, coming in pre-portioned containers, they cut down on usage. And since the containers are free of oxygen, they stay fresh indefinitely, leaving me to wonder whether if in fact the contents of these containers actually came from a cow. I can't really believe they cost less — certainly the cost to the environment is greater. And that alone should lead to a ban on these nasty plastics.

Advertising Scat

This falls under the category of advertising with an arresting visual that makes the product completely disgusting. It suggests that the product tastes like water out of a toilet bowl. And while the visual cleverly connects the product with the intended result — ending a bout of constipation — the visual also makes me want to void my guts by spewing it out the other way. Memorable, which is the goal of any advertising. And gross in a way that works against the sell. Not the goal. Unless the target is into scat (and I am not referring to the singing style of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong). 

Janglish I Love

The brotherhood (and it is a brotherhood, since there was only one woman in the history) of gaijin copywriters who worked at Dentsu have a habit of sending around the latest bit of egregious engrish (or japlish or janglish as different folks prefer) via email. The number of T-shirts I've seen in Japan that have stopped me dead in my tracks for their bizarre sloganeering is beyond count. However this last week one of the brethren in this odd fraternity sent out this T-shirt for our enjoyment, and I share it with you now hoping that is does not lead to an international incident (or perhaps the end of any international affairs you might be in the midst of). Courtesy of Larry Z:

   

Gay Short Film Available on the Web: David

I came across this little gem of a movie today: David. Posted on iFilm, it is the story of a mute high school student who meets an unemployed man, and the connection they make. Yes, it's a sexual connection. But because the boy is mute, questions of communication between any two people who share physical love, emotional love and desire are left with the viewer as the boy is left by the older man. For that matter, the ability to communicate across generations is also a question that is left unanswered, simply posed silently.

It's a surprise to see this film comes from Mexico. The director, Roberto Fiesco Trejo, has created a sensitive, thoughtful film filled with longing for connection. The young man skips school to head off to a movie theater — it's just not open yet. The fantasy he seeks for escape isn't available. The older man is headed to a possible job when the sign for the job is removed from the window just as he arrives. Both young man and older man have disappointments in their lives they seek escape from. And both find solace, if only for a brief time, in each other's arms.

This solace can be illusory. And it can become addictive for some, who seek out sexual encounters compulsively as escape from all kinds of frustrations in life, which is why 12-Step programs like Sexual Compulsives Anonymous exist. But I don't think that's where the director is going here. But, as I say, this film raises more questions than it gives answers to, which for me is one of the marks that determines a work of art. Watch it for yourself, and let me know what you think. It's about 9 minutes, so if you're headed there to watch it, make sure you have the time. It is a beautiful little film and well worth your time.

D'var Sutra: Rock Steady

This is the week Moses loses it and punches out a wall in Parashat Hukkat. We’ve all been there. You get so angry you break something. And while you might just break a finger or two punching a wall, or leave some inanimate objects in pieces on the floor, it’s better than taking out your anger on another person. Except leaders are held to higher standard, even leaders of those whining Jews, who can be so annoying it can seem like Moses has the patience of a saint, except for the fact that there are no saints in this tradition. 

Certainly Moses has learned to keep his anger in check. Last time he lost it, he killed and Egyptian and had to go on the lam. So just what happened this time? The people, as usual are complaining that they should have stayed in Egypt rather than die of thirst in the desert. And God says to Moses, speak to the rock and water will flow from it. But Moses, angry with the people says:

"Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?" And Moses raised his hand and struck the rock twice with his rod. Out came copious water, and the community and their beasts drank.

Okay, so he hits the rock instead of speaks to it. And he lashes out at the Jews. For this God is so angry with him he doesn’t get to enter the promised land? Pretty severe. The rabbis spend a lot of time chewing this over, trying to rationalize such a hard punishment. They don’t like it. Would you?

Anger is one of the big emotions to work with in Buddhism. Some of my favorite passages in the sutras speak to the issue:

One should give up anger, renounce
pride, and overcome all fetters. Suffering never
befalls those who cling not to mind and body and
are detached.

Those who check rising anger as a charioteer
checks a rolling chariot, those I call true charioteers;
others only hold the reins.
        -Dhammapada, Chapter 17

"Where is anger for one freed from anger,
Who is subdued and lives perfectly equanimous,
Who truly knowing is wholly freed,
Supremely tranquil and equipoised?
He who repays an angry man in kind
Is worse than the angry man;
Who does not repay anger in kind,
He alone wins the battle hard to win.
He promotes the weal of both,
His own, as well as of the other.
Knowing that the other man is angry,
He mindfully maintains his peace
And endures the anger of both,
His own, as well as of the other,
Even if the people ignorant of true wisdom
Consider him a fool thereby."
    -Akosa Sutra

In the Jewish tradition, my favorite teaching on the subject is from Pirkei Avot, Chapter 4:

"Ben Zoma said, who is wise? He who learns from all people, as it is said: 'From all those who taught me I gained understanding' (Psalms 119:99). Who is strong? He who conquers his evil inclination, as it is said: 'Better is one slow to anger than a strong man, and one who rules over his spirit than a conqueror of a city.'” (Proverbs 16:32).

As I noted earlier, a leader is held to a higher standard. The analogy one teacher of mine liked is what happens when you hold your hand outside of a train window when it starts to pull out of a station — it isn’t going very fast, so you can slap your hand against a pole and it isn’t a disaster. But try that when you’re on the bullet train between Tokyo and Kyoto and you’ll lose your arm. The very nature of leadership is that one is moving at a higher speed of life, where a higher level of integrity is demanded. What might be a small slip personally can have greater ramifications when the whole community is involved. The quote from the Dhammapada alludes to this — when those horses are really galloping, you well better have your hands on the reins.

I may not like what happens to Moses as a result of this slip, I may feel it is unjust. But I do know that the greater the responsibility we take on, the more we are called on to be awake, vigilant over emotions and behaviors that could be dangerous to the community.

This is an interesting reading for gay pride weekend. Since after all, it was the rage of the patrons of the Stonewall that led to the uprising of queer energy into the birth of a modern LGBT movement. But this rage was the anger of the powerless, a taking back of power denied. These were people who were given no respect. The police could hit a drag queen with a billy club without even a second thought. And perhaps this is the connection. Rods and rocks. Billy clubs at Stonewall. Either way, if you lash out unconsciously (as one could say the police did, acting out their own homophobia with violence) that violence is only going to boomerang right back at you. I have the bruised knuckles and dented plaster to prove it.

The Mudge Report: Not Merely High Anxiety, But High Density, High Commercial Rents and Low Service

Last Sunday's New York Times real estate section covered a story about the new building on upper Broadway at 99th street. These abominations masquerading as buildings will add to the already intense density of the neighborhood and the subway platform at 96th street. It's an OUTRAGE! (Hence the lead in: Mudge Report, since I have the unfortunate nickname among some in my office as Mudge — a semi-affectionate recognition of my sometime curmudgeonly nature)

One of these buildings is on the site of what was formerly a grocery store, though before that, until the early 80s, it was the northernmost branch and bread bakery of Cake Masters, where I toiled as a Cake Slave during my college years along with my old boyfriend Gilbert. In fact, the property that belonged to the main branch of this bakery, where the cakes were baked, on 72nd Street is also the site of current construction, leading me to think that the Buck/Jarmel family saw Manhattan real estate at its insane height and have sold to builder who will build at insane heights to make back their investment.

In the meantime, businesses in the neighborhood that have been here upwards of 80 years are disappearing. Morris Brothers on 84th Street (60 Years). Embassy Florist on 90th Street(87 Years). The entire row of stores on Amsterdam Avenue between 92nd and 93rd have had to move — and since the building owner is trying to build another 8 stories on top of the 6 that are already there, I am sure those businesses would have suffered during the next few years. Certainly everyone else in the nabe will, along with those who live in the building now.

When I first moved to the Upper West Side in 1973 it was highly cosmopolitan (if rather dangerous). It's true that I was held up at gunpoint more than once working at Cake Masters or walking home. I can't say I miss that at all. But I do miss shopping with neighborhood merchants like Riverside Hardware who were committed to hiring young people who lived here. And I'm going to miss sky (though the reflection of the sun from the hideous glass walls of the Ariels — or more accurately Calibans — streams into my living room like a laser death ray or solar eclipse set to blind anyone who dares look in that direction.