Authenticity, is a word that I have heard thrown around throughout the course of the Summer Institute. The first time I made note of it in my notebook was 6/24, though at this point my poor journal is riddled with this word in quotes with a question mark next to it.

By the 24th, I'd heard it used at least three times but since then I have heard the word Authenticity more than once from each of my facilitators, at least half of my classmates, and most poigniantly at the Gender Variant panel hosted by Frameline. I remember the uses of it that day in particular because I remember flinching through the entire panel, people talking about authentic representation of trans/gender/variance and passing while the audience watched on. Though I didn't grow up in a two parent household it made me think about what it might feel like to watch your parents get into an argument in the supermarket, but I digress. 

Additionally, I have heard authenticity and the words from which it derives (authentic and authentically) in reference to: maintaining a curricula, representing gender, representing race, upholding research and...I'm sure I'm missing something. 

Now, I admit to throwing around the "A word" both during and prior to NSRC but what I wonder if we're all using the same language when we use it. So let's take a second, according to Miriam-Webster:

Sitting and watching slides in Hector Carrillos' lecture on Sexual Tourism, while reflecting on the lecture on Sexual Migration from the previous day I thought 3 things to myself:

1. I wonder if anyone is doing research on LGBTQ youth of color leaving their neighborhoods to engage in sex/ "their community", and if so what that looks like. 

2. Sexual Migration IS research! It seems so common sense, how did I not realize that?

and

3. How have I been here so long and not had sex? 

When I knew that I was coming to San Francisco I established that I would begin to decide or more accurately begin fleshing out how I/my ideas could be a part of academia. I was going to ask questions about how my classmates got into grad school, how they chose their programs, what their fields of study have to do with sex/sexuality or gender, discuss my work experience in relation to academia and maybe point out a flaw or two because of it. Despite, all of these noble intentions both in my head (and yes, in my heart) I still knew that I wanted to be having sex. Listening to Carrillo speak about Sexual Tourism in such a way, gave it a sense of liberating normalcy that moved that want from the sides of my mind more to the forefront right behind homework and bonding with classmates, so I set out renewed of this additional intention. To get it. 

Transmarch: adorable queermo's everywhere, public drinking and smoking (wtf,...

The federal challenge to California's voter-approved same-sex marriage ban has raised a number of questions about the experiences of lesbian, gay, and bisexual people, same-sex couples and families, among other issues.  It seems the trial is not only addressing the constitutional nature of a law that discriminates against a minority group because of their sexual orientation.  In fact, it seems as though the entire claim that LGBT people are marginalized in our society is on trial -- that, and tests for every stereotype about LGBT people (e.g., the supposed link between pedophilia and homosexuality).

One testimony seems to be the crux of the trial, but generally, in my opinion, irrelevant to whether discrimination is at play in banning same-sex marriage.  Prominent psychology researcher and professor, Professor Gregory Herek, was called to the stand to testify on the etiology of homosexuality and the experiences of LGBT people on Friday, January 22nd:

When I was home in the DC area for winter break, I met up with a good friend who had recently moved there from Indiana.  The first thing he told me was that a professor in his department had been murdered.  "Whoa, that's crazy!" I said, not sure what else to say, and then turning back to look at the books in the "lesbian interest" section of the queer bookstore we were browsing.  I had no idea how tragic the story really was, nor that it would quickly become national (to some degree, even international) news.  On December 28th, Indiana University Professor Don Belton was stabbed to death by Michael J. Griffin.  Griffin used a 10-inch-long knife to stab Belton five to six times, later telling police that he had done so because Belton had sexually assaulted him twice and showed no remorse.  Belton's department, IU Department of English, has expressed their

This semester I took a class titled Sexuality Education and Policy, taught by Chris White of the NSRC. We read about and analyzed many issues pertaining to sexuality education. Although for some time now I’ve been aware of the political battles occurring over sex education in the United States, I never engaged the matter the way I did over the last several months. One of the first things I grappled with in the class is the fact that as a child and adolescent I learned virtually nothing formally about sexuality in the classroom context. 

The sexuality education I received in secondary school was anything but comprehensive. One hour devoted to human anatomy and reproduction in biology class constituted my “sex ed” experience. The female and male diagrams used by my teacher to point out bodily structures like sex organs and the workings of such taught me very little. Everything I learned about sex and sexuality came from conversations with friends, sexual experiences, television, movies, and porn. Growing up in my family, discussions of sex were almost totally absent. (Sometimes I wonder if being an “effeminate” boy was part of the reason why my parents avoided bringing up sex with me. Maybe they thought that if we talked about it, I would confirm to them that I liked boys. I don’t know; I guess all I can do is speculate.)

Recently my friend was telling me about playing the game of LIFE with her nephew over the Thanksgiving break.  LIFE is a Milton Bradley board game that simulates the life of white middle class Americans in pursuit of the American Dream.  Because she is a lesbian, she chose to place two pink pegs in her little plastic car, the game piece that allows a player to advance through the game, instead of a pink peg and a blue peg.  Yet, despite changing the traditional peg assignment, she still followed the same path around the board for the entire game.  

The Observation:

I recently returned to the small mountain town where I had been living for five years before my move to SF.   As is common in these small towns, all of my former partners had made the switch to other partners, weaving together an complex web of lesbian relationships.  It was difficult to return and see that really not much had changed.  People were living comfortable lives, and those who were single felt that their lives would be...

When I first took my partner down to meet my parents, we were returning from a weekend getaway in Monterey. We went out to a nice dinner and then headed to their house to relax & socialize for a bit before continuing our journey back home to San Francisco. The conversation (inevitably) turned toward my childhood & whatever embarrassing pictures could be displayed or stories related.We ended up focusing on my early childhood years...

I was lucky to go to an awesome preschool. I don't have many concrete memories of it (I'm more of an emotional memory kind of kid--I remember how things *feel* rather than how they actually *were*), but I remember it being one of the happiest times of my life. Getting messy, learning new information about the world, hanging out with all my besties, climbing anything in front of me, having camp-outs, playing with animals, roughhousing...you get the idea.

One of the things the preschool did was have parents create scrapbooks for their kids--one of the coolest things ever, in my humble opinion. I mean, not only capturing pictures of me at that age, but my artwork & words put down verbatim--oh the things I said! And man, that tendency to tell stories? Definitely inborn. Also inborn? We chuckled at the part that described my personality: 'Shy, strong-willed, aggressive' (yep,...

I sit next to my attorney silently, facing the immigration judge. I am told my case (aka my life, aspirations and my body) is under his jurisdiction. I am dressed as professionally as possible to aptly represent my "Alien of Extraordinary Ability" status. I nervously look around the room. My dark eyes catch another attorney behind us signaling me to take off my hat. Promptly I take off my favorite accessory (my only sign of faggotry) to show my compliance with the US judicial practices. The judge begins his inquiry, to which my attorney reveals my HIV status, and my inability to adjust my status even though my petition for permanent residency to the US was granted on the basis of my claim as an "Alien of Extraordinary Ability" in February 2002.

The pain of hiding underground, days of unemployment, hunger, fear of accessing treatment leading me to near death flashes across my mind. Where would I turn for the wasted seven years of my life? Will this judge be able to understand the lost wages, aspirations, depression and most of all the psychological violence of being separated from my beloved parents? It is clear my journey to justice is only beginning.

This blog post is my first public step in ending isolation, silence, fear and their antecedent dysfunctions that the HIV ban on immigration and travel has wrought upon my life. It has disrupted my educational, work and all major life aspirations. I have silently watched my friends getting married, accessing green card,...

(Originally posted on wiqaable.com)

One of the few things I can't handle is people's injury stories. People talk about their injuries and scars as if they would make them more brave or honorable or whatever, but frankly, I think it's disrespectful to talk about painful stories in front of a person who just can't handle it. Is it about masculinity? Do you need to talk about your scars to prove how "dangerous" or "strong" you are? Well, I don't care. So next time you see me, please don't talk about breaking your bones.

This is because I've never had any big injury since I was born. I've never broken my bones, I've never gotten into car accidents, and I've never fallen down the stairs. I've been so fortunate that I don't know how painful it would be to get your bones broken, and I would imagine the most extreme pain possible right before I pass out. That's a painful imagination.

I've never been really sick either, except for occasional skin problems I always had growing up. I've never gotten a flu, I've never had food poisoning, and I've never been hospitalized. I'm not saying that I've always been healthy, but if health is determined, simplistically, by the absence of disease or injury, I've always enjoyed my health.

Perhaps this is part of the reason why I don't like going to a hospital. I'm so unfamiliar with that super clean and slightly sorrowful atmosphere inside the...