Ranting Details

You Know You're LEAVING Montana When...

(You know you're leaving Montana when you are at the airport gift shop and most of the magazines look like this.  I think I found my next freelance writing job.)

My Soul (WHAT?!)

(Random picture of a poster in my friend's house.)

I mentioned in my previous post that I was drawn to a bulletin board containing poetry at the Elementary school a few days ago.  It was interesting to see the similarities in all the poems.  For instance, you could tell they had been guided to include all of the senses, and there were frequent uses of horse, water, fire, and flower imagery.  Yet the way that each child interpreted this was vastly different.  These poems transfixed me, and I think they are absolutely wonderful.  The first was written by a fourth grader, and the second by a third grader!  If only I could get my mind to work like that again! 

My Soul

My soul is a rabbit bouncing up and down
like a scary rollercoaster.
My soul is a cut that won't stop bleeding.
My soul is clock tick, tock, tick, tock.
My soul is a tick on the back of your neck,
Sucking the blood- oh, I love your blood
it's very tasty.  My soul is lava bubbling
and boiling.  My soul is you with a smile
on your face.

My Soul

My soul is like a horse jumping over things
and when it stops its soul leaps really fast every second
when anybody tries to touch the wild horse in my soul
he will try to bite you. 

My soul moves like a dancing girl all night
And she never stops until her feet hurt
But they never hurt because she is really good at it
And she never sleeps at night and she is very poor too
But she lives, she has a little bite of food.

My soul dreams about if I am going to have kids
Or if I am going to have a husband for my kids
Or if I will have a big family.

My soul smells and feels like fresh water
running through my body and my soul feels
like I am spreading my wings out of my back.

My soul has been seen by little creatures
And they crawl inside me when I sleep.
I feel really weird
and when I wake up they crawl out of me. 

Movement Division

Elementary school children are miniature.  Despite their size they also have enough creative energy to power a small city.  These are both things I forgot until today. 

It’s been years since I journeyed into the narrow halls of an elementary school, and when I passed through the doors of Arlee Elementary this afternoon I was met by tables that hit my knee and memories of my days with braces when my imagination was almost as wild as my teeth.  My purpose for being there was simple: to observe Anya and Jes teach the kids to learn math through explorations with movement.  But the thoughts that it prompted in me were all over the map. 

All I could think of as I was watching the students bounce around the hybrid cafeteria/gymnasium was how lucky I would have been to have such a program when I was a student.  Math was always my weakest subject in school, and when paired with the uncreative nature of American education, I felt more stifled than in other classes.

I anxiously awaited the “creative” days in school.  Oddly enough gym was one of the more creative times I had.  We would do line dancing (speaking of when you KNOW you’re in Montana), which was fantastic, as I desperately avoided any sports.  I would try to convince my teachers that running the mile meant my knees would explode.  Or that Murphy’s were scientifically proven to spontaneously combust if they did more than two pull-ups.  Excuses were some of the few moments where I was allowed to be creative. Otherwise I had to conform to an education system that became increasingly rigid and uncreative as I grew older. 

To watch these students today not only choosing, but PROMPTED, to be creative reminded me of the days before puberty where self-consciousness was but a whisper in the back of my bowl-cut.  As they learned the rules of division by separating themselves into groups while improvising movement, I began to feel the desperate need for creativity in the classroom.  Perhaps nurturing creative impulses promotes too much individuality when the school system really wants conformity they can measure with grades.  It also takes much more energy on the teachers’ part, which perhaps they don’t see as “worth it.”   I can’t help but think that if this type of creativity was stimulated throughout every class, and encouraged more fervently as students matured, that the benefits (both to society and personally) would be vast.

During the hour I watched difficult ideas of division and multiplication start to become clear in the students’ minds.  Even the boy who proceeded to sing "skinamarinky dinky dink” throughout the entire lesson found the answers through the movement as he sang his song.  Putting students in a social situation that encourages creativity while they learn is something I don’t remember; I hope these students realize how lucky they are. 

After the class ended I wandered over to one of the many bulletin boards lining the walls.  Chunky cut out letters spelling “Poetry” gave me a hint of what would be found pasted on the construction paper below.  As I approached, I found the first in a series titled “My Soul.”  What I saw astonished me.  I’d forgotten about the type of freedom that young minds have.  Standing and reading how these students described what their souls look, feel, and smell like, I began to wonder if stifled creativity is simply a by-product of growing up, or if it is somehow bled out by the education system in America.  Perhaps what I saw today was a signal of a slow but important change. 

Letter to the Editor

A few weeks ago one of my dearest friends Jes began writing a letter to the editor of the Missoula equivalent of the Village Voice, known as The Independent.  She recently passed it along to me and I feel that it not only goes along with my post about AmVets below, but provokes interesting ideas about the LGBT community and it's presence in Montana.  Please read it and chime in if you have anything to add. 

Dear Editor:

In the January 17-24 edition of the Indy, an article about a local community member being asked to leave a Dillard’s fitting room because “they didn’t allow men in [the women’s] dressing room” brought up the issue of how transgendered individuals fit into society, specifically our community.  The incident was highlighted further in the “Street Talk” question of the week, which asked, “Which dressing room or bathroom do you think that transgender or intersexed people should use?”  The published responses, as well as the discourse this question generated in my daily interactions around town, were both problematic and revealing. The reality is that Missoula, as progressive as it may be, suffers from a relative homogeneity that allows our community to be selective and discriminatory in our openness.

The biggest problem with nearly all of the responses to the question of the week and to the actions that the Dillard’s store managers took is that they are functioning under the assumption that difference implies danger of some kind; that to be transgendered makes perversion, hypersexualization, and/or challenge inevitable.  Whether due to fear, prejudice, or lack of knowledge, the assumptions that our society makes about difference are all too often unfounded and judgmental. How to handle the complex and variable issue of human sexuality is one of the most culturally loaded concerns we face and I do not fault anyone for not knowing the “right” answer or response.  However, it is vital that both as members of a community and as sexual beings, we do not allow the complexities of our sexuality to be anything less than what helps define our understanding of one another. Sexuality is our collective experience, though understood and expressed differently by each of us; it’s difficult to assign such a personal and individual experience to a dressing room.

Our society is set up for this difficult conundrum.  When there are only two dressing room options, but clearly more than two options in regards to sexual identity, where does one go when he or she does not fit the mold?  Furthermore, how do the rest of us respond to that choice?  The black and white options offered in terms of fitting into the make up of society have such individuals beaten even before they have begun.  I do not necessarily think that the solution is to just add a third (or fourth) choice, which ends up isolating these individuals even further.  My argument is that we need to acknowledge that difference exists and open ourselves and our collective space to it, rather than viewing those members of our community who defy conventional categorization as “the other”, and therefore dangerous, or simply not acknowledging them at all.  For Mercury Johnson, the transgendered female featured in the aforementioned article, the issue requires awareness. The problem is not necessarily the number of options, but rather the attitude around their parameters.

Dillard’s has the right and responsibility to protect its customers – a responsibility that extends to all of its customers, not just its “straight” ones.  (I use parentheses around straight because I do not mean in the orientation sense, but in the normative sense.  Being transgendered is actually less about someone’s sexual preference than it is about someone’s sexual identity.  While I acknowledge that these two things often go hand in hand, they are different and the distinction is necessary).  Mercury Johnson was causing no problem in the store and had every right to be there shopping with friends. The action that the management took in asking her to leave was based purely in discrimination, whether or not that discrimination originated with the best of intention.

Missoulians are not faced with issues like this often, and thus have no real basis for knowing how to respond.  Unless we as a community work to educate ourselves and live with the intention of being open-minded and non-reactionary, we cannot really call ourselves progressive or inclusive.  For many Missoulians, this is an invisible issue, one they have no personal knowledge of or with which they have little experience.  However, for many others- people whose contributions to our community are just as vital and important as anyone else’s, but whose roles are not as readily categorized - this issue is at the forefront of their lives and an awareness of that is necessary in order to truly consider Missoula a community at all, let alone a progressive one.  It’s an issue that’s impossible to fit into all the dressing rooms in all of the department stores in town, regardless of what gender is indicated on the doors.

You Know You're In Montana When...

You know you're in Montana when you are out at the ranch your friend is housesitting and there are props like these lying around.  You also know you're in Montana when you are at a ranch.  You also know you are in Montana when you find fantastic new vintage glasses from 1960's Plains, Montana to wear out to said ranch. 

("I drink your milkshake! I drink it up!"  Anyone?  Anyone?)

What A Tramp

One of the hardest things about being sick the past ten months is the enormous amount of guilt I carry around with me on a daily basis.  As foolish as it sounds, there is a part of me that feels I should do nothing but sleep in a dark cavernous room and anxiously await my return to full health.  For the first two months of my illness, that was what I did.  Hibernating in my apartment took its toll on me psychologically and I realized that I had to instill some sense of normalcy into my routine. 

Months pass and the ups and downs continue to come and go.  Through an activity log I have attempted to find a correlation between the type of activity I engage in, and the repercussions it has on my health.  Not surprisingly, higher levels of physical work, or draining social interactions, leave me feeling depleted.  However, after a while I began to see that (to a certain extent) my ups and downs come and go as they please.  I need to push on and try to enjoy life as much as possible in spite of the lingering fatigue, nausea, headaches, and brain fog that accompany me  as frequently as my extended wear contact lenses; too bad I can’t take the symptoms out as well.   

Regardless of the knowledge that I still have to live the fullest life possible while I’m saddled with this dilemma, it’s impossible for me not to feel guilty when I’m doing something that feeds my soul.  When I was working, the social part of my life felt earned, while now it stands alone.  There are days where mustering up a smile is difficult when I think about how long it has been, and may be, since I have danced professionally.  Then I met the trampoline. 

When I was a kid, I lived across from a family with a trampoline.  I knew it was there, even though I couldn’t see it from the street, so whenever I could sneak away and steal a few bounces I raced out my door and through the trees.  My mother was (rightfully) concerned about a young dancer spending time on what could easily be a dangerous device.  One wrong landing and you’d fly off like a renegade popcorn kernel onto the hillside. 

I spent more time thinking about jumping than actually doing it, and added "trampoline freedom" to a long list of things, such as skiing and bungee jumping, that I would save for later in life.  I’ve never been one to throw caution to the wind, but I’m so happy that I did for a few brief minutes the other day. 

I never realized how freeing a trampoline could be until last weekend up in the mountains at the Cloud’s house with David.  After making our way back from a morning walk, we had planned on going inside to gather our things and then head back to Missoula; that was before David spotted the trampoline. 

Before I knew it he was bouncing over to the spring-loaded fabric like a five year old racing for the tree on Christmas morning.  He quickly undid his sneakers, grinning all the way, and then began to get a few preliminary hops in.  Suddenly he was flipping through the air like a bona-fide gymnastic star and I grabbed my camera to capture the action. 

(Sometimes I hate people that are perfectly turned out even while flipping in the mountains.  One of my favorite pictures I've ever taken.)

There was no way I could resist for much longer, so I kicked my shoes off and cautiously started bouncing alongside him.  We started to gallop around the circumference and I was completely in awe of the scenery that surrounded us.  It’s not often that you can jump towards an open sky with enormous mountains towering all around you. 

Not only did the mini-adventure result in some of my favorite pictures ever, but it put a smile on my face and got my mind off of things in a way I haven’t felt in the past 10 months.  It may have just been for five minutes, but I’ll take it.

(Getting going.)

(Future star of "Billy Elliot" on Broadway?)

(Future star of...?)

(Being abducted by aliens.)

(Alien.)

(Overexcited five year olds.)

(Keri Strugg.)

 

Beneath the Clouds With the Clouds

It’s embarrassing when my friends know more about Montana than I do.  That’s always the case with Sascha Radetsky, whose knowledge of the Montana terrain probably rivals Lewis and Clark.  Even though I spent the majority of my childhood in Missoula, my family was always more prone to be watching art films than to be climbing mountains.  Needless to say, we aren’t a “typical” Montana family. 

Each time Sascha comes through Montana (and even at times when we are in NY) he finds some way to give me shit for my lack of outdoors expertise.  In an effort to remedy the situation, I decided that David and I needed to get outdoors at some point during his brief visit. 

Fortunately, my dear friend Anya Cloud’s family owns a house in the mountains where horses and “rugged” living rein supreme.  It’s the type of landscape that seems to exist only on postcards.  Once you set foot on their land and see that it is real, the experience is heightened by the fact that the Cloud’s are (without exaggeration) some of the kindest souls on the planet. 

Every time you hug one of the five members of the family, it is a loving embrace that redefines how a hug should feel.  Not just a way to say hello and goodbye, it becomes a way to feel each others energy and combine it for a brief moment.  During our overnight stay, David and I both received a handful of these hugs and by the time we left we were in love with each and every member of the clan. 

After arriving, we gorged on a Mexican feast before journeying out to the hot tub situated beneath Montana’s famous Big Sky.  The frigid winter air provided quite the juxtaposition to the warm (and packed) hot tub, and as soon as pruning ensued it was time to race back across the lawn to reach the safety of the house.

(David and I on the front porch.)

We then wandered through their land until we reached the guest cabin where we all curled up to watch a movie.  It wasn’t long until the sun was poking through the windows and David and I journeyed outside to see what the morning had in store.  We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.  The sun was out, the sky was clear, and there was a healthy layer of snow on the ground.

(David shows the horses some love.)

Another delicious meal led to the suggestion that we take some time to walk around the land and explore.  Some of the family came out with us and before we knew it we had reached a small enclosure with a giant tree named the “Grandfather”.  The branches spiral up the center of the tree so plentifully that climbing it is almost as easy as walking up a spiral staircase. 

Since the opportunity presented itself, I figured that it was as good a time as any to climb my first tree, so armed with a camera (I had to blog it of course) I started making my way up behind David, Anya, and Alex.  Once I made it about a quarter of the way up (it’s an enormous tree) I decided I was as high as I needed to go so that I'd had enough to put a smile on my face without pushing my health.  As Sascha later texted me, "Climbing trees is vastly underrated."  I can now say that I agree! 

(Walking in the morning.)

(Stopping for a mini photo shoot...with a little bed-head.)

(Meeting Grandfather Cloud...he's the big branchy one on the left.)

(David starts the ascent.)

(As I creep along behind him...with bed-head.)

(Patricia was kind enough to take these photos for us.)

(David: Tree Conquerer.)

(Anya has made it to the top before, but she decided to stay low with the mortals during our climb.)

You Know You're In Montana When...

You know you're in Montana when you go to the mall to pick up some dinner with a friend and there is an All Terrain Vehicle in the parking lot. 

Missoula Spotlight: AmVets

There is a dungeon in downtown Missoula and it goes by the name of AmVets.   By definition, a dungeon is a labyrinthine subterranean setting, but to define it in such grandiose terms is to give it false representation.  There is nothing remotely grand about Missoula’s only gay bar. 

Even though, as the name suggests, it was intended to be a bar for American Veterans, AmVets has turned into a smorgasbord of small town gay culture that is truly one of a kind.  Situated between a few bars that have been deemed “hick” establishments, the entrance to AmVets looks more like an abandoned hut than a welcoming nightclub.  The wooden enclosure is a gateway to a rock staircase that looks jack hammered and unfinished and is usually scattered with smokers out for a quick puff in the frigid winter air. 

The bar scene has been the last place on my mind over the past ten months, but when Blaine and David showed up in Missoula, I knew that I would have to make an exception.  Being sober in AmVets presented it in an even scarier light than through drunk-goggles, so my two trips opened up my eyes in new ways. 

Once you pass through the rickety wooden door, you are met by a bouncer who scans ID’s with the commitment of a supermarket attendant.  His lackadaisical nature is made evident by the abundance of underage patrons who float around the cavernous space. 

Both Blaine and David were immediately overwhelmed by the enormity of the bar, which has no natural light and is big enough that it could exist in a hollowed out mountain.  Upon entering, there is a bar that offers Jello shots, Jaeger on tap, and cheap drinks served in plastic cups.  Just beyond that is a collection of pool tables and if you step a little further you reach the dance floor, which plays a variety of top-40 pop. 

It’s on the dance floor that the diversity of the crowd becomes apparent.  Grinding against one pole you’ll find a lesbian couple dressed in overalls that are in no way an ironic fashion statement.  Next to them you’ll see a leather daddy with a handle bar mustache observing the toothless men smoking continuous cigarettes.  Every now and then a drag queen will make her rounds, cavorting with the crowd with an explosion of hair topping off a rainbow colored gown.  Peppered between these icons of gay Montana are the college students with popped collars and beaded necklaces straight out of 1997. 

(Jes and Blaine tear it up on the dance floor.)

Since I first discovered AmVets at eighteen, I’ve often wondered where these men and women are during the day.  The diverse crowd meets only in the way that they party with such ferocity.  Even though Missoula is a liberal college town, it’s not uncommon to be given dirty looks, get mocked, or at times even assaulted because of ones sexual preference.  It’s a town that prides itself on being diverse and accepting, but one whose actions sometimes overwhelm its intentions.  The suppressed nature of homosexuality in Missoula has only a few outlets where pretenses are disrobed, and the main one is AmVets. 

To me and my friends from New York, it can seem like a very uncomfortable experience.  Whereas we are free to be ourselves, sexuality and all, in our everyday lives, in Montana it’s still legal to be fired for sexual preference.  Once ten o’ clock rolls around, the bar becomes scattered with people who are free to be themselves for a while. 

Due to my sober lifestyle at the moment, I took the time during my past two trips to observe the crowd as much as possible.  If I ever become a documentary filmmaker, AmVets will be one of my first subjects.   It’s a fascinating study in gay culture on the brink of acceptance and the freedom that an overtaken bar can possess; it’s a genuine Montana experience.

(Blaine joins me at my observation post.)

Blame The Lack Of Posts On This One....

The big surprise that I hinted at in my last post was that best friend extraordinaire David showed up at midnight on Wednesday for a surprise attack visit.  I was already asleep when my mom knocked on my door and said she needed to talk.  Upon opening it I saw that my mom had morphed into a 6'2" blonde man: my voodoo had worked.  Then I realized it was David and accepted that I probably didn't have magical powers.  Either way, I've been ecstatic to have him here but haven't had much time to do any posting.  However we did have time to check out some local Montana art.  Their resemblance to each other is uncanny.