December 2007

Pssst…Poppets! Hi. It’s still me, in spite of the new name there on the byline. See, I’ve done it. I’ve moved to Washington. Now, I have no problem being as vocal here as I did with being a Bostonian but do you remember how cruel 13 year olds can be? Hell, remember how cruel 49 year olds can be? In an attempt to deflect some of that cruelty, I’m writing under a pseudonym now. But I won’t stop writing. I’m still me. You’re still you. And we’re still us. Ain’t it grand?

So, yes, I have made the move from the east coast to the west. I’m enjoying learning the area. In many ways, Washington already feels as alt-friendly than Massachusetts did. While I already knew Rumors, I have also found Neighbors. People have told me good things about Purr and Cuff. I can’t wait to spend my first paycheck at the Crypt.

However, before I immerse myself in the Washington scene, I wanted to say a quick good-bye (for now) to some of my favorite spots in New England. These towns are the ones you need to know about but probably don’t the ones you might not usually think about visiting. But if you want to get a feel for everything that is quintessential New England in a comfortable and welcoming environment, they are the places you need to visit.

Let’s start in Massachusetts with P’town. Or Provincetown as it is actually named. (http://www.provincetown.com/) Now, most of us have heard of P’town. It’s renowned for Carnivale, for the Fourth of July celebrations, for being a welcoming place all summer long. But it doesn’t close. People forget that P’town is still there and friendly during the winter months as well. Sure, some places are closed for the season but not all. And the crowds are nonexistent. Is there anything more romantic than an isolated walk along a windy beach before returning to your room to snuggle in front of the fire with your sweetie? Nope, I don’t think so either. If, however, you want to see the north shore instead of the Cape, head to Rockport. (http://www.rockportusa.com/) A fascinating blend of old and new, there are artists and shops and cafes enough to intrigue for days. It’s also only an hour outside of Boston and less than 15 minutes away from Gloucester and Manchester by the Sea in case one quaint New England village isn’t enough for the weekend.

Then there’s Rhode Island. Ah, the redheaded stepchild of New England. You’d be surprised how many of us forget Rhode Island is even there. Except for Providence of course. (http://www.edgeprovidence.com/) Providence has one of the largest, most thriving alternative communities in New England. There are great clubs, the arts, dining…you name it, it’s there.

Finally, to Connecticut. As the hometown of Yale University, New Haven combines the energy and spirit of a college town with the old-world charm of New England. (http://www.visitnewhaven.com) The community paper, The Metroline, is the easiest way to keep track of what’s going on in the local LGBT community but there are also several events throughout the year including, but so far beyond only, Pride Week. And if you are in the area on a Sunday and want to attend church – hey, I know not everybody’s Pagan like me! - drive up the road about 30 minutes to Salem Lutheran Church in Naugatuck. (14 Salem Street, Naugatuck, CT 06770) When the minister there, Pastor Christine Nessel, says she welcomes everyone into her church, she means everyone. Want to go dressed in all black? You’ll be welcome. Want to go with your same-gender partner? Or your soon-to-be-different gender partner? She will welcome you and her warmth and acceptance will be real.

So. There you have it. My last column (for a while anyway) on the interesting places in New England. Just something to think about while you are planning your 2008 vacations. Now, it’s time to start exploring the Pacific Northwest. Anybody have suggestions?

Until next time, Poppets, take care of you.

November 2007

Hi Poppets! Here's a confession: the article you are currently reading is not the one I'd written for this month. That article was on the holidays. That article will have to wait. And what is the news that changed this month's column?

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, from the Harry Potter series, is gay.

J.K. Rowling, author of the books, outed him in October. Apparently, in the script for the next movie, there was a reference to a woman from his past and Rowling couldn't let it slide. How cool is that? Seriously. No mention of is ever made of any of the intimate relationship the adults in the book may – or may not - have so no one would have known if she had let it slide. But she didn't. Instead, she slipped a note to the director explaining the situation and then went public.

So what's the big deal? He's a fictional character. Why am I so pleased? First, as a writer, I appreciate and respect Rowling standing by her character. Again, since Dumbledore's relationships are never mentioned, it wouldn't have been noticed. Except that characters become real people t those of us who write them. For her, allowing Dumbledore to be a straight man when she knew he wasn't probably would have felt like a betrayal of him. I know it would feel that way t me if he were one of my characters. It wouldn't matter if anyone else knew the truth. I would know. And in some weird writer way, my character would know I had betrayed him (most writers are notoriously eccentric people, I admit it.)

Second, if characters are written well – and Rowling's most definitely are – they become real to the readers. Millions of people, children and adults, know, love and are devoted to Dumbledore. His humor, wisdom and strength have touched and guided many. And now...he's gay, too.

Third, I'm pleased because we didn't know. And it's not because Rowling was hiding it or keeping him in the closet. It just hadn't come up. We didn't know about any of the adults' personal lives so why should we know this about him? It would have been easy for Rowling to make him The Gay Character but it would have done him a disservice. It's similar to calling James Earl Jones or Denzel Washington great black actors. Folks, those men are great actors. Period. And Dumbledore is a great character. Period.

Think I'm giving fictional characters too much credit? Think again. Mulan, Jasmine and Pocahontas were all heralded when Disney put out their respective movies because they gave non-white girls role models. Superman, Batman and Spiderman have been used to teach morals for generations. And I've read about a teacher in the mid-west who changed his teaching style in order to reflect a fictional character's teaching style – Albus Dumbledore's to be exact.

So now we have a great character. One who already touches many people. One whom many people already try to emulate. One whom parents would trust with their children and children could trust with their innocence. One who is well-respected, admired and loved – and oh yeah, he's gay, too. How cool is that? Seriously. For this, I don't mind putting off a holiday article. Not at all.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

October 2007

Ah Poppets, let me tell you – it’s been an interesting month. Through a complicated series of events that you really don’t care about, my sister, brother-in-law, their three children and I are all temporarily living under the same roof. Now, aside from the obvious chaos this implies, it has also triggered an internal debate in me I wasn’t expecting. See, the kids are 14, 5 and 3. And I am…me.

Now, being me isn’t a bad thing. In fact, I think being me is pretty damn cool. It’s just not always…age appropriate, shall we say. There is a reason my nickname is Aunt Mame. At the same time, having children in my life is no new thing. I have a total of six nieces and nephews and David has a teenage son whom I enjoy very much, as well. When they are far away, the issue doesn’t arise as much. Suddenly though, I’m dealing with two teenagers and two kids under the age of six on almost a daily basis.

Those of you who have children are probably rolling your eyes at me. “Welcome to my life” you may be thinking. But this on-a-daily-basis thing is new to me. Yes, figuring out how to let them know who I am without going overboard is a small challenge. But it’s also a relatively common one.

There are certain things you tell the children in your life and there are things you don’t. None of the kids need to know that I used to work at a porn store or attend fetish fairs. What we tell the kids may change as the children get older but still the general rule applies. Hell, I’m 38 years old and I still don’t need the details of my mother’s sex life beyond recognizing that she has one.

At the same time, all the kids already know our friends, John and Dale, and that they are a couple, just like Mommy and Daddy. I’m hoping the kids will meet my friend Christian. And my friend Crystal. And I will explain they are the same person. Luckily, my sister and brother-in-law aren’t as mainstream as they appear on the outside so it’s all good.

No, none of this is the real challenge. The real challenge is finding the balance between how we – my sister, brother-in-law, David and I – want the world to be and how it really is. Because in spite of our best efforts, the teenagers have still come home from school using the phrase “that’s so gay” as a derogatory statement. Because although the five-year old boy really likes my heels and the sandals his sister wears, we still have to explain to him that, generally, those kinds of shoes are designed for girls, not boys. Because while whoever he grows up to be is okay with us, if this penchant for high heels continues, he’s in for a rough ride. I know it. You know it. And, eventually, he may know it as well. But the rough ride shouldn’t start at home.

So, Aunt Mame wears black and has tattoos. John and Dale love each other very much. Christian and Crystal are the same person. And “that’s so gay” is indeed offensive. The rest will come as it comes and will be taught as it needs to be taught. I – and the other adults in their lives – will find the balance. And if necessary, Crystal has great taste in shoes.

Until next month, Poppets, keep your fingers crossed for me in this new situation, and take care of you.

September 2007

Ah, Poppets, the New England Fetish Flea Market. What a delightful day. As I have mentioned previously, New England in general and Boston specifically are very proper places full of very proper people. And then there’s us.

Twice yearly, the New England Leather Alliance (NELA) hosts the Fetish Flea Market. On those few days, in our little corner of the world, we become the norm. It’s quite a sight: people in skimpy – albeit street legal – PVC, leather and latex riding the subway; grown men and women being led by collars; handcuffs and stiletto heels replacing tennis bracelets and Bass loafers. It’s such a sight that the NELA has to find a new venue every year or two. Afterall, we’re very proper here.

Now, because I am considered a safe place among friends, am known for being nonjudgmental and am exceedingly comfortable with my own sexuality, I tend to be the person who gets asked those questions, the ones we can’t ask anyone else, the dark ones we barely admit to ourselves. It happens year-round but tends to pick up around the times of the Flea. I will mention I am going and within an hour or a day, I am pulled aside for a private, whispered conversation.

“How can someone be a strong individual and a sub?” “How can someone be a gentle human being and a dom/me?” “Is it truly consensual?” “How much does it hurt?” “Does it have to hurt?”

What I’ve learned is these are the questions that get asked but then there is the real question behind the questions: “Is it okay for me to be curious about this or does it mean there’s something wrong with me?” I answer the direct questions but while doing so, I try to answer the question behind the questions as well. And that answer is “You’re just fine.” Because we are. Safe, sane consensual sex is not a moral issue. It’s similar to debating the morality of having brown hair or double-jointed thumbs. We are all sexual beings and that’s okay. Look around any fetish flea market, club or group and you will find very ordinary people. Doctors, teachers, writers, pilots, construction workers, homemakers…you get the idea.
I’ve always thought that if this country had been founded by Pagans looking for religious freedom rather than Puritans doing the same, we would all be a hell of a lot happier. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case so many of us are left hiding our spreader bars, clearing the cookies from our home computers, ashamed to walk into the club, discarding our copies of The Betty Pages in anonymous dumpsters once we’ve read them. In other words, we are left asking the question behind the questions.

Society teaches us there is something wrong with us. I don’t care what society teaches us. “Society” is made up of the same people who are sneaking, hiding, afraid and ashamed. My question is Why are we bothering? Why are we sneaking, hiding, afraid and ashamed? Why must the NELA find a new venue every year or two? Why can’t we just be who we are and let others be who they are? Those are my questions.

My hope for you is that you only have one question. “Am I playing in a way that is safe, sane and consensual?” If the answer is yes, then, Poppets, enjoy! And I’ll see you at the winter Fetish Flea Market.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

August 2007

Hi Poppets! So Bellingham had its first ever Pride Parade on the fifteenth of July. God, I wish I could’ve been there. Since I wasn’t able to make it, I’m counting on someone telling me all about it. Hint, hint…

A friend in Tampa, Florida tells me their parade drew over 40,000 people this year, in spite of 90+ degree temperatures and high humidity. My sources from Montreal, Canada are actually saying that the Parade has been so successful for so long, it has almost become obsolete, wearing out its reason for existing and its welcome, even within the GLBT community. And here in Boston, we have Pride Week, which culminates in the Parade and block parties. The Parade runs right through the center of town. Two main streets are closed down all afternoon – one for the men’s block party; one for the women’s. It’s a city-wide event.

The day of the Parade, a friend of mine and I went to a matinee then wandered through the block party. Yes, this friend is a lesbian. And yes, she is a very butch lesbian. I rarely think about it. However, that day, at the theatre, our ushers and neighbors in the rows around us kept telling us what a lovely couple we were, how they hoped we were enjoying our day, had we gone to the Parade? Only one man just stared and his stare was more puzzled than anything else, not hateful at all. (My friend has a theory that he was trying to figure out if she was a man or a woman. Apparently, this happens to her occasionally.)

As she and I wandered the block party later, she commented “It is very up-in-your-face, isn’t it? We haven’t learned to celebrate without being pushy.” To which I replied, “It still has to be. We haven’t learned to let you celebrate without being pushy.”

Because for every Boston and Montreal, there is a Lynchburg, Virginia – the hometown of the late Jerry Falwell and yes, yours truly. Lynchburg had its first ever Parade about five years ago. The protestors outnumbered the participants. And I cannot find any mention of a 2007 Parade anywhere. The protestors may have won.

And in Tampa, where they drew over 40,000 people, four men also drove in from Georgia – a completely different state, for God’s sake – in order to hold up signs that read “God Hates Fags” and other pearls of wisdom. Three of them were in their fifties and sixties but one of them was only twenty-six. My immediate reaction when I heard about him was “Dear God, they got him while he was still young.”

So I am torn. On the one hand, I am thrilled that there are places like Montreal and Boston, and yes, even Tampa where only four of the 40,000 people in attendance were protestors. On the other hand, I want to say “We don’t dare become complacent. We don’t dare take this for granted.”

Because Bellingham is just getting started. Because Lynchburg is struggling. Because men from Georgia are still willing to cross state lines in order to spread hate. Because these are only the ones I know about and yet I know there must be others.

The community has come so far. That is reason to be Proud. But until every Parade is considered with nonchalance, until the celebrating doesn’t have to be up-in-your-face, we must not give up on Pride. Anywhere.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

July 2007

A Bostonian Comes to Bellingham

Hi Poppets! My name is Bridget and somehow or other, I managed to luck into being your newest columnist for The Betty Pages! So who am I and why the hell are you reading my words? It all happened when I fell in love at Rumors Cabaret…

I admit it; I am not what you might call mainstream. My hair is streaked, my tatts often show and my fashion style is completely my own. But more than how I look, it’s how I think that makes me other than mainstream. If you are reading The Betty Pages, you understand exactly what I mean.

I am also from Boston, which makes being other than mainstream a little interesting. See, Boston is a very mainstream city. Don’t get me wrong. I adore Boston. Great town, great people, great coffee shops. The underground/alternative communities are small but thriving. And it is an amazingly accepting place for a city so mainstream. But for all its accepting nature, it is mainstream. No one in Boston quite understands me. I don’t quite fit – even with the alternative communities there. Instead, people smile, shake their heads saying “there goes Bridget, doing her thing” and accept me for who I am, even though they don’t understand me.

One of the many things people don’t understand about me is my relationship with my partner, David. David is not straight. Until he met me, he identified as gay. Personally, I think he is and I’m the exception. He’s a little more confused now and is wondering if he is perhaps bi. David, bless him, likes things to be very neat and organized and I have made his world delightfully messy and disorganized. But I’m digressing. I do that…. Anyway, since it’s not my place to self-identify someone else, we’ll just say he’s not straight because the point is we are far from your average male-female relationship, whatever labels you put on us. Add this fabulous twist to me and there aren’t many places we can go without raising an eyebrow or two.

So imagine my surprise one Wednesday night in June when I walked into Rumors. I was in Washington, visiting David and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Take me somewhere interesting.

Him: I live in Sedro-Woolley.

Me: There must be somewhere.

Him: I’ll take you to Bellingham.

And the strangest thing happened. We were understood. Sure, we were accepted but I’m used to that. There at Rumors, though, no one raised an eyebrow or asked a single question as we were simply who we are. No one knew us well enough to accept us because it was Bridget and she’s crazy like that. It was simple understanding. I got to be as not mainstream as I am without once feeling like a sideshow. David got to be as free in public as he gets to be in private when it’s just us. And when we both kissed the same beautiful man goodnight, no one even noticed (well, I hope he did but I’m digressing again.)

I’m in love with Boston. It’s my home and I carry it with me in my heart wherever I go. That night, I fell in love with Bellingham, too. Luckily for me, my heart is big enough to carry Bellingham with me as well. Wherever I go.

So that’s why I am now writing for The Betty Pages. Hopefully, you and I will get to know each other better and discover we like each other. I think we’ve already got the understanding part down.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.