Why Date A Transsexual?

Why, indeed? First, let me preface this entry with a bit of minutiae concerning my motivation for writing this…I was just lolly-gagging about doing nothing when I decided, as I sometimes do, to check my WordPress dashboard. As I scanned the search terms my beloved audience used to find me over this past year or so, I saw that one of those search terms was ‘why date a transsexual?’ Now, I’d done a post when I first started this blog about why gay men don’t date transsexuals, mostly to educate those certain individuals out there who can’t seem to distinguish ‘m-to-f transgender’ from ‘flamboyantly effeminate gay man’ and explain why things are as they are. It must have been that entry which hooked in the querent who’d made that particular search. Either way, seeing that search term ignited something in my brain and I thought, “Hey! Why would you want to date a transsexual?” Especially with all the negative stigmas that exist towards us as a group. Upon careful reflection, though, I’ve found that there are actually a lot of good reasons why you should date a transsexual (or at least be open to the idea). This can certainly apply to many other people out there who are not transgendered or even female, and it might just be a list of sweeping generalities, but it’s my blog…so I don’t care. Without further ado…

1) Depth Of Perception: Trans-people tend to be gifted with amazing perceptive abilities that extend even beyond themselves and onto others. They tend to be able to see through all the muck and see the true, underlying substance of a person. This comes from the experience of having to establish our own identities firmly in spite of what society tells us is otherwise the case. Perceptive people usually make more attentive significant others as they can pick up on subtle cues that other prospective partners may miss.

2) True Appreciation: From my own experiences, I can say as a transwoman I sometimes feel like complete shit about myself. I think that’s the same for a lot of trans-people out there, if not all. In the back of our minds, we can’t really shake that feeling that we’ll never measure up to “the genuine article.” But what is “the genuine article?” What is the measure of a true man or a true woman or a true human being? True…being true to yourself, maybe? In that sense, we are the truest form of human. The most genuine. Still, there lies that inferiority complex which society is mostly to blame for. That being said, when we find love, we tend to really appreciate it because we know it’s such a rarity to find considering our situations.

3) Enduring Affection: Trans-people know how to set goals for themselves. The biggest goal being attaining some form of gender congruency (whether it entails surgical intervention or not). We know how to value the new developments of our transition (whether it’s a name change or your first bra) and using that as an impetus, continue our struggle….always. That kind of philosophy extends to how we treasure our relationships. When something is not the way it should be, we take the necessary steps to remedy the situation. That is the very foundation of our lives. We don’t give up, we endure, no matter what. In today’s society of, “He said such and such, who needs that? I’M DUMPING HIM!!” this can be something of a rarity. That said though, we’re not doormats either, if something’s making us feel less valued as a human being, we won’t settle, if fixing things doesn’t work, we’ll cut our losses and move on.

4) Embracing Of Femininity: This is nothing new. Many men I’ve dated have told me that the reason they favored transsexual women over their cisgendered peers was because many trans-women tend to carry themselves in a more conventionally “feminine” manner. Nowadays, a lot of girls just dress up in sweat pants or pajamas and think they look cute. Really enjoying the privileges society has bestowed upon them as natal females, such as wearing make-up or having long, done-up hair has become a chore for many of them. And I’m not saying that I always look like America’s Next Top Model, because I don’t, but I do always make some effort to display the femininity I haven’t always been so free to express. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but many men are attracted to femininity. Opposites attract and this is true here. With a trans-woman, you’ve got a partner who embraces and expresses her femininity in ways that many cisgendered women just don’t feel like doing. Not that that’s bad, per se, it’s just…different. ^_^

5) An Open Mind: As transgendered individuals, we have to have open minds. This is just something we need in order to understand the context of our unique situations. With an open mind, we’re more willing to hear what our partners have to say about a plethora of different subjects. We can freely see ourselves in their shoes because not so long ago, we were in their  shoes. As trans-women, we know the demands society places on men and I think, because of that, we’re a little more lenient.  We understand that there is duality in everything and truly two sides to every story which is helpful in developing an effective rapport and building communication.

6) Personal Test Of Character: It won’t be easy, champ! But, really, what in life is? Society is still at a point in its evolution where many people don’t think it “proper” to date a trans-person. Especially considering all the supposed “cons” (dating us is a reflection of your own masculinity and makes you gay, we can’t have kids, the current state of our bodies, etc, etc.). Still, if you have the courage to just cast it all to the wind and date who you want to date because of who they are and not what they are, you will be happier in the long run and also become more aware of your own amazing strength of character…because it’s not easy risking rejection to follow your heart…but we manage to somehow and so should you! ^_^

So if you’re one of those men out there teetering on the fence about a girl you like who just might happen to be trans, think less about the negatives and contemplate the positives. And most of all, just love who you love…don’t let society tangle you up in its bullshit…it’s never worth it…take it from me!

Hey You!

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Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls

Well. Firstly…spoiler alerts, so if that’s gonna be a problem, take a U-turn.

Now. Before I delve into the campy schlockfest that is Roger Ebert’s, Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls, let me just say that if you’re looking for a film that has everything…really, everything you can think of (girl groups, musical numbers, murderous transsexuals, nymphomaniac porn stars, girl-on-girl action, boy-on-boy action, sex scenes, drug usage, legal battles, assault and battery, infidelity, paraplegics, attempted vehicular manslaughter, superheroes, occult references, gory violence, T&A, A&T, and a host of other acronyms)…then this is it. About the only thing you won’t find is any reference to the original Valley Of The Dolls, as some legal issues arose and forced the directors to change the character of Anne Welles (the original’s protagonist) to Susan Lake who assumed the position of main character, Kelly,’s aunt, thus obliterating any potential link to Jacqueline Susann’s story.

Now that you know THIS IS NOT A SEQUEL, prepare to be taken on a journey that will leave you reeking of cheap, sexually-transmitted aftershave and “marijuana cigarettes.”

The barest of plots centers around Kelly Mac Namara, a plucky stoner who enjoys singing with her rock band, the “Kelly Affair,” which consists of her two friends, sassy Petronella “Pet” Danforth and introverted Casey Anderson. They’re managed by her boyfriend, Harris, who’s charming in a stoned-schoolboy kind of way. Anyway, they decide to take a road trip to L.A. Why? I can’t remember. “To make it big,” I suppose. Oh! And to meet Kelly’s aunt Susan whom she’s never met and is extremely wealthy and plans to include her in an inheritance of some sort.

So, the main creeper of the film is Porter Hall, Susan’s square financial advisor. He hates the group because…well, I guess he hates hippies since he’s square, his motives are never made too clear but presumably he wants the piece of Susan’s inheritance that she’s decided to give to Kelly. Anyway, Susan shuts him down and encourages her young niece to become a success. She introduces them to the second creeper of the film (and to be considered a creeper in this film, let me tell you…is a rare distinction), Z-Man, who’s based on Phil Spector and is nearly as off-putting. Anyway, these girls are at a swingin’ party full of booze, boobs and bizarre guests (including a toothless senior and a man whose head, I recall thinking, resembles a gourd of some kind). What really stuck out to me though were the fashions, the hair, the make-up…all of it, taken over-the-top and I must tell you…I did NOT want it to come back down. That, coupled with the bubbly musical number by the suddenly re-named “Carrie Nations” (formerly known as “The Kelly Affair”) combined to form a richly resplendent retrospective of the 70′s.

We also meet nympho Ashley who develops a crush on the alienated Harris and some man-whore named Lance Rocke who Kelly becomes involved with. Also, Pet meets Emerson, a waiter who’s working his way through law school and is probably one of the most (or only) decent characters in the whole film. Casey has words with Porter, but also meets Roxanne, the slightly shady lesbian fashion designer who complements her figure and practically eye-rapes her.

So…then Kelly smokes some weed and has casual sex with people. Harris experiences doubts about his sexuality after an (apparently) disappointing stint as Ashley’s personal man-dildo, and feels even MORE alienated. Pet “makes it” with some prize fighter with roid-rage who assaults Emerson with his car and Casey…sleeps through everything thanks to the titular “dolls” of the film, uppers and downers.

Towards the film’s end, we see a rather quickly strewn-about cornucopia of increasingly improbable situations and equally improbable (albeit hilarious) dialogue. We see Harris’ failed suicide attempt which leaves him a whiny paraplegic, instead of just whiny. We see Casey getting preggers but taking care of it real quick as the following scene of a cracked egg in a frying pan so brilliantly illustrates. We see Pet growing a pair and telling the prize fighter to stop before she “cuts him.” Next, in no particular order, we see Z-Man’s boobs, a laughable action scene, Harris struggling to not be paralyzed and then half the cast dies. No seriously.

During the gory ending I couldn’t help but think that whoever thought up this screenplay. *Ahem* ROGER EBERT, must have been in the throes of a rather sexy fever-dream or hopped up on INSANE amounts of illegal substances. Either way, I was absolutely enamored by the whole thing and can understand why this film’s done as well as it has, becoming a cult classic and garnering ten times its budget. I laughed, I cried…well not really…I did furrow my brow in confusion a few times though, and that’s nearly the same thing, so…there you go. This was a technicolor tapestry of campy, kitschy excellence. It’s like ambrosia salad or a mystery meat-laden gelatin mold…a product of its time that, despite being a tad unsettling in appearance and certainly difficult to digest, is ultimately too full of character to trash. Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls never takes itself too seriously, and neither should the viewer. As a serious piece of storytelling, it’s laughable and lacks depth, but as a piece of entertainment (which is what I gather it was mostly intended to be), it shines brighter than sequins, rhinestones and all manner of tawdrily terrific tinsel.

Let’s finish with some of my personal favorite quotes…
-”You will drink the black sperm of my vengeance!”
-”You’re a groovy boy! I’d like to strap you on sometime!”
-”C’mon, Casey. The principal’s supposed to hit me with a coupla caps of acid.”
-”God only knows what they were up to in there… and furthermore, Susan, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them habitually smoked marijuana cigarettes… reefers.”
-”Step into my web said the spider, etcetera.”

Poetry. Sheer poetry. I expect you readers to use these quotations frequently and unapologetically in your daily interactions AND interjections…after being cut off on the highway, at the grocery store when they won’t take your coupon for kitty litter, before engaging in a drunken tryst with some random stranger…really, these can be interchangeably switched for whatever the occasion and that’s the real beauty of Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls…it’s tackily trashy timelessness.

Now get lit and go watch it!

Transgender Equality Panel Snippet

Beautiful Monsters

So in honor of the twentieth anniversary of my favorite childhood tv show Sailor Moon, a show I credit with keeping me sane whilst being teased by the jerk-faces I went to school with, and with teaching me that there’s beauty in everything…even monsters, but especially in feelings that I was told were “girly and wrong for me to indulge in” like friendship and gentleness, I wanted to highlight some of the great parts of Sailor Moon throughout the year in little articles and blurbs here and there. This is the first, and for this edition I wanted to showcase the oft-forgotten monsters-of-the-day. Though typically dispatched by Sailor Moon after being roughed up by her team within the span of five minutes, their lines, antics and aesthetics are some of the most memorable, well for me anyway (meanwhile, you’re like…’how do you even remember their names?’). So anyway… ever the champion of underdogs everywhere, I decided to list my top picks for most original and just plain fab monsters. Because…at the heart of every monster…is a diva!

NUMBER 1! Binah

From the very first season. One of the rainbow crystal carriers and a mousy-looking artist whose transformation into one of the Dark Kingdom’s warriors seemed to include a complementary fashion makeover. Either way, the white feathers and angelic motif provide a stark contrast to the bitchiness of Miss Binah. Her main line of defense included drawing objects into reality, which she mostly used to draw rocks and such…had she done what I would have and drawn a rocket-launcher instead, I’m certain she wouldn’t have been bested by Sailor Moon and turned back into Ugly Betty. Still, a lovely design. Ethereal yet evil.

NUMBER 2! Murido

I’ve always had a thing for dolls. I just love them and the creepier-looking the better. Murido starts out as a sweet, fairytale princess-type character and transforms (accompanied by eerie calliope music) complete with a 360 degree rotating head into a glam cross between Harley Quinn and Bride of Chucky. I just love the whole twisted fairytale theme, from sweet princess to evil queen in two seconds flat, with an army of animatronic woodland critters which she commands with her (I’m assuming poison?) apple. Maybe not the most original, but certainly a disturbingly eerie pastiche of other common tropes, spiced up with a dash of b*tch.

NUMBER 3! Reci

She’s lovely. She’s cherry blossoms. She’s kabuki. She’s…a tree. Sort of. Racy’s character design was another masterful stroke of contrast. Beauty, but also beast. She was a fierce Cardian who nearly destroyed the Sailor Team altogether by sealing them inside of trees… moving on.

NUMBER 4! Amaderasu

Another Cardian named after the Japanese Sun Goddess. She drew her powers from the sun and whatnot…obvs. I loved the orange on blue color scheme that was utilized for her. If there was a fashion show scene in Avatar, Amaderasu would be TURNING. IT. OUT. And also, using babies as human shields. This is what I love about Sailor Moon…it was so colorful!

NUMBER 5! Ryuax

I must admit, I have a thing for Arabesque fashions. Always have. So when harem pants came back in style, I seriously contemplated buying a pair until I realized how ugly they were. End of tangent. Seriously though, I love what the character designers did with this monster. She was a cross between 1920′s art deco and Arabian Harem Queen. Plus, those nails.

NUMBER 6! Chikuon

I’m a sucker for masquerade masks and anything with a cat-eye. Chikuon…well, honestly I can’t really remember what she did, but I remember thinking it was so awesome watching Sailor Moon go toe-to-toe with a snooty French noblewoman, or a monster that looked like one. If a gramophone were to somehow become personified by way of dark magic, I really think you could find no one to do that specific job better that Chikuon. But seriously, did the person who created her really believe that of all objects, a gramophone, given life would be able to defeat a bunch of super-powered, hormonal Japanese teenagers? I mean…at least choose something that’s hazardous. Like…a lighter, say. Or a thumb tack.

NUMBER 7! U-Tahime

The Songstress Daimon. I seem to recall, she was charging up to perform her ultimate vocal attack but forgot the words to her friggin’ song and got wiped out as a result. Still, the character design was on point. I detected 1960′s Motown diva mixed with…a Vulcan or something else with pointy ears. Elegant, poised, shrill…a perfect representation of Diana Ross…no just kidding, I love Diana Ross.

NUMBER 8! Mizugeiko

Honestly I can’t even recall what this one did…but her Geisha-inspired design was FIERCE!

NUMBER 9! U-Ikasaman

This shady, shady b*tch trapped all the Sailor Senshi inside playing cards because she CHEATED!! And it was up to Chibi-Usa and Hotaru to stop her. But when they did, she still wouldn’t let everyone go. What a heifer! But of course, Sailor Moon broke out her wand and dusted her. I must say, out of all the monsters, she was one of the more colorful ones and the “Playing Card Queen” look they gave her was indeed, a perfect fit.

NUMBER 10! Atsugessho

Having worked as a make-up artist at a department store, I can safely say that most of the women I worked with looked like Atsugessho…only overweight and much more dour. Either way, an overly-made up monster of a woman with a powder puff of doom and acid spittle who flew into a b*tch rage after Usagi refuted her claim that make-up is what makes a man fall in love with a girl is a winner in my book. Or a drag queen. Same difference.

And there you have it. You might say I have too much time on my hands, FALSE! Well…not completely I guess. Either way, these monsters were a part of my childhood and, in a childhood where you’re sometimes made to feel monstrous yourself just for being who you are, I came to sympathize with them a bit. Plus, they were campy as all hell…it was like RuPaul’s Drag Race…For Youngsters…the ANIME! And all the creativity that went into designing these outlandishly costumed characters (all of whom were, I believe, created solely for the anime), must be applauded and appreciated as a piece of hard work that contributed to one hell of a great show. There was nothing I looked forward to more during the miserable year of my life that was fourth grade than getting up extra-early at 6:30 in the morning and watching Sailor Moon and Co. beat the crap out of everything…in a positive way. So, thanks to character designers: Kazuko Tadano, Ikuko Itoh and Katsumi Tamegai and to Naoko Takeuchi herself, for creating such an amazing series.

Grey Gardens

So as promised in my last video, I want to take some time to delve into my own interests a bit more, not just as a transwoman (BTW, can I just randomly volunteer…every time I use that term I feel like one of the X-men…but like, one of the ones who never leaves the mansion), but as a person who has had 25 years to cultivate a garden (get it?) of interests and loves. One of those being a lifetime love of the arts in every form, literature, visual art and of course, film. So this is one of my very first reviews…or should I call it a ‘reflection?’ I have always fancied that term more than ‘review,’ which sounds so generic, so that’s what I’ll be using. ^_^ Ok, so let’s get on with this.

Firstly, I must admit my introduction to Grey Gardens was through RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 4. One of the contestants, the ever-creative Sharon Needles wore an ensemble that was according to both she and the judges, “evocative of Grey Gardens and the smell of cat piss” for a challenge that revolved around coming up with a look based on a fictitious magazine each contestant was assigned…and since Sharon Needles’ was a “Cat Fancy” type publication, the look matched up perfectly. Well…I knew as soon as I’d heard about a movie centered around cat ladies living in a dilapidated mansion that reeked of cat piss that I had to get my grubby little paws on it, not only because it sounded high-camp, which I love, but also because I’ve been raised by two cat ladies and had a harem of constantly-changing cats as companions throughout my life. So, it would be a bit of campy nostalgia only bigger and better.

To begin my experience, I perused the documentary, which was honestly quite disturbing. I mean that, however, in the best way possible. It was a ‘slice of life’ piece cut from a pie that had been left out of the fridge for too long and had grown mold. The dilapidated mansion covered with years of overgrown vines and garbage was such a poignant real-life metaphor for the past memories that seemed to have piled up and dominated the two Edie’s lives. The discordant arguments that the two used to fill the silence of each monotonous day were painful to listen to, not only because of the shrill over-lapping of the two women’s voices, but also because there was a genuine pain that resonated through each barb, each song and each dance. Big Edie, for me, seemed to be so utterly entwined with Grey Gardens itself that she came to personify the mansion and it’s ivy-like grip on Little Edie, whose concern for her mother, coupled probably with her own insecurities about performing , led her to remain voluntarily shackled to her home. For all the gloom of the picture, there were tiny rays of hilarity that shone through which I’m certain can be attributed to the lively personalities of the cast. To me the two Edies were timeless gems, perhaps a bit dimmer with the ebb and flow of time…but never, never dull. Some of my favorite lines, paraphrased… (from Big Edie) “He doesn’t want to sleep with you, not with an old person like you,” (about Little Edie’s concerns that their repairman wanted to sleep with her), “You guys need to save your, save that stuff because this is just…NUTS!!” (about a tantrum Little Edie was throwing) and of course, the incomparable Little Edie’s delightfully rambling monologue about her “costume of the day” and her “revolutionary look.”

After walking away from the documentary with an admiration and sympathy for the two Edie’s and their ruined state of affairs, I decide to survey the HBO film version starring Jessica Lange as Big Edie and Drew Barrymore as Little Edie. Above all, I must say how completely phenomenal I thought both women were in their respective roles. Appearance-wise they matched their targets perfectly and, coupled with the firm adoption of the real-life Edie’s mannerisms and dialogue, the illusion was an enthralling success. To me, the film clarified much of the name-dropping cacophony in the documentary between the mother and daughter which could become confusing at times due to the viewers uncertainty as to who “so-and-so” was. Interspersing parts of the faithfully re-enacted documentary with glimpses into the two Edie’s past was ingenious and perfectly punctuated the line Little Edie delivers in the documentary, “It’s awfully hard to see the line between past and present,” or something to that effect. In addition to the finely polished talent, the raw heart of the story was exacerbated in the fullest way possible and in concordance with the masterful soundtrack, brought a tender sadness to the surface…the best metaphor I can think of, though maudlin, is like tears about to well up in ones eyes…only to be constantly swept back by a sudden burst of singular wit from one of the two Edie’s, like for example, “I’ll be right down as soon as I put some lipstick on!” shouted in that marvelous New England accent or Little Edie’s exchange with Jackie O. “Is it true Jack Kennedy gave you gonorrhea?” The film was no better or worse than the documentary and it would be unfair to compare the two in any way…I will say, however, that each was the perfect accompaniment to the other, expanding upon a story with a sincere love at its root, that between mother and daughter, underneath the accumulated grit of life’s sometimes tragic experiences.

In conclusion, should you watch this movie? Hell yes you should! The documentary makes for an intriguing look into two multifaceted, sometimes tragic, sometimes hilarious characters who seem stranger than fiction, in the most sterling way possible. The film was a stellar work of artistry that I recommend extremely highly especially to those who adore camp classics and over-the-top female characters like Norma Desmond from “Sunset Blvd.” or Blanche and Baby Jane Hudson from “Whatever Happened To Baby Jane.” This is a masterpiece that I think anyone who appreciates superb story-telling will enjoy as evidenced by the Library of Congress’ decision to preserve it in the US National Film Registry as being culturally significant. So, as Little Edie would say, “Cement the deal already!” Get to watching!

My Panel Experiences

Trans-Talkback on Apr. 17th, that’s this Tuesday!! Be there!! ^_^

Be there or be square!!

Alright you guys, if you’re in the tri-state area, be sure to come on out to St. John’s Lutheran Church in the Big Apple on April 17th at 7 PM to hear me and other speakers discuss trans-related issues! And please do pass the word, re-blog, re-tweet, etc! ^_^

Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation…

Hey guys, kind of a departure from my usual entries, but I just finished writing this for my Intercultural Communications class and thought it turned out pretty well. So, if any of you were ever curious about my opinions regarding pop culture and the media, here you go ^_^

 

American pop culture as related to my generation is rooted in instant gratification, excess and nostalgia, usually a very white-washed form where minorities are still relegated to secondary roles. Since our realities are so inextricably linked with the act of mass consumption, originality of thought has become a rarity as evidenced by the stream of endless movie and television remakes. Instead we focus on the same ideas being re-hashed over and over again in slightly different forms or use technological storehouses to revisit days gone by. Netflix makes it simple for all sorts of shows from yesteryear to be seen at the touch of a button; because my generation’s collective memory is so thoroughly entwined with the media, childhood memories become indelibly linked to television shows. Still, this nostalgia comes equipped with rose-tinted glasses that somehow cause us to bypass the incongruities of those shows that we glossed over as children, such as all-white casts with one or two token minorities thrown in for good measure.

Our virtual worlds mirror our perceptions of the real world, and so my generation has been collectively conditioned, from childhood to see minorities as supporting characters in the sitcom of life, thrown in to affect a very controlled form of “diversity,” amongst a cast of mostly whites who function as the “major players.”

 

 

In advertisements, Americans have been shown to be happy, bright-eyed, optimistic, prosperous and “All-American,” (read: white as Wonder Bread). Although this has changed somewhat, most people throughout the world still see the stereotypical blonde-haired, blue-eyed American cowboy, or buxom model made popular by characters such as the Marlboro Man and actors such as Pamela Anderson (who isn’t even American).

On the other, less glamorous side of the spectrum, Americans are connected with excess. Excessive gluttony for food, entertainment, surgical enhancements, tanning, brand names. We are connected with a type of caricature of ourselves. In our zombified media-inundated world of excess, even other human beings become a commodity. In America, everyone is your friend. People send you requests for friendship on social networking sites after sitting in a class with you and scarcely exchanging two words, just to add you to their collection. We collect people like trophies and never really listen to them or form any significant connections; another reflection of our excess.

When I met a Japanese/Korean young man from Germany at a party, he spoke about his experiences in America as compared to his native Germany, saying he was surprised by how unattractive he perceived the women to be compared to the women in Europe. He cited larger bodily proportions that he was surprised by, because he thought they would be skinnier and prettier. Perhaps in the media he’s been exposed to regarding American women, what he saw was a model or actress and associated her appearance with that of all American women. This very same type of image wreaks havoc on many American women’s self-esteem. We are bombarded with glamorized advertisements about every type of delectable junk food, yet concurrently, are also flooded with images of skinny, traditionally “beautiful” women who force many young women to choose between enjoying the meal of their choosing or starving to fit into a cage of someone else’s creation. And yes, whose creation is it? Is it our collective creation perpetuated by a few top tier advertising and media moguls? Is it a dark, inherent need for self-destruction? Certainly that must be one of the motives behind our lust for reality television, our need to stave off the darkness associated with our own self-destructive needs by focusing instead on others’ very public acts of self-destruction for our own amusement and distraction.

We derive much entertainment from the media, and as mentioned earlier, media and reality have become indistinguishable to my generation. This is even evident in the title of “reality tv,” although most audiences are at least partially aware that this is a controlled, skewed version of “reality,” it appeals to our psyches as an extension of our mundane lives. We take these experiences with us, even though they are not ours and relay them to friends and co-workers as if they were.

We are constantly connected through the pervasiveness of social media, through our phones, iPods, laptops, and tablets, we are literally always connected, needing four of essentially the same object in different forms. Consider that you might pay for a phone with internet access, while your laptop at home, which is also portable, like your phone is also capable of internet access, as is your tablet, even your kindle reader and your video game console. Why is internet access so necessary now? Because media and reality have merged. We live and breathe through our experiences which we relate through Twitter and Facebook. Life has become a series of text messages for most of the younger generation, and what are they texting about? Reality television. The new video game or electronic device they bought. A Facebook game they need more tokens for. Even our work hinges on technology. When the company e-mail is down, messages are unable to be relayed and production literally shuts down. Even the securing of a job hinges on one’s internet access and competence with a computer. Our recreation likewise centers around technology as well.

 

In conclusion, we cite all these developments as technological advancements and therefore as advancements of the human species and our global culture. One must ask themselves, however, have we truly advanced, and if so, towards what? We have moved from a culture that connected with one another, to one that connects with technology. It is a colder form of communication, one that lacks depth or emotion. Consider how many misunderstandings are caused by misunderstood meanings in text messages. The subtleties of communication are not applicable in such a context. Though we are slightly more culturally aware, racism is still perpetuated through stereotypes and relegation of minorities to supporting roles in many television programs.   We need to take the best of this generation, the minor improvements we have made towards cultural inclusivity, expand upon them and merge them with the type of close-knit familiar communication evident in yesteryear. We can still use technology without being slaves to it or having a phone as an extra appendage. When my power was out, which happens often where I live, I spent time in a candlelit living room listening to my grandmother tell me about her life, her stories, the rich depth of her existence on this plane. And it was amazingly enriching and entertaining! More than any cheap form of filler entertainment like vacuous reality shows or the self-entitled Twitter ramblings of some acquaintance I barely know in real life. It was real. If we can somehow form an appreciation and recognition of that type of “realness,” lasting and genuine advancements in exchanges, especially intercultural exchanges, are sure to follow.