Pigeon-Holed Again

As you may have gathered from the last post, I'm still figuring out who I am. I've been working on it for 32 years, and I'm not done. Imagine my surprise upon discovering, while on the elliptical rider watching CNN, that a new pigeon-hole had been invented for me: apparently, I am a GRUP.

Grups, or Gruppies, are "30-40 somethings" who live (in someone's opinion) like they are in their 20's. They go out drinking. They stay up late for concerts. They go to work in jeans and listen to iPods. They don't get married, or if they do, they take their kids to happy hour with them. According to some web-sites, the term comes from a Star Trek episodes where all the adults (or grown-ups, shortened to "grups") have died, and the children get sick when they hit puberty (for my fellow Trekkers, the episode is "Miri").

I'm not sure who coined the term. To me, Gruppy sounds like the 8th dwarf, who was too hung over from a concert to get in on the Snow White gig. Or a genetic hybrid of a small fish and a small dog. You know who I'm almost sure didn't coin it, though? A 30-40 something who might still act in some ways like they did a decade ago. Few people categorize themselves in these sorts of abstractions. Rather, I'm sure someone who saw a bunch of people doing something different and decided to slap on a label. Thanks.

I have two major issues with this sort of pigeon-holing. First, it highlights the problem of our sound bite society. There may be an intriguing question about societal forces and why measures of maturity are changing; however, most people, and certainly the media, don't have the attention span to discuss this in a helpful manner. It's easier, and a better story, to find people with a few similar characteristics and label them a group.

Being labelled isn't the end of the world -- sticks and stones may break my bones...yada,yada, yada. The second problem is that once you're labelled, you can be dismissed -- certainly as an individual, and probably as a group. Suddenly there are no faces, just a blanket term. Unfortunately, human history has shown that dismissal isn't the worst outcome -- it can lead to blame, persecution, abuse, and even genocide.

If you don't believe me about the dismissal, think about the recently highlighted problem of "illegals". You're supposed to believe they're a bunch of Mexicans who snuck across the border. You're not supposed to care that some came to be with children who were born here and are American citizens. You're not supposed to notice that the proponents of "family values" want to rip these families apart. In some circles, you're supposed to believe that they are a big drain on the health care system, and should be denied benefits. I'm not suggesting this is an easy issue. I just use the example to point out how easy it is not to think about personal stories and hypocracies when a blanket label is easier.

I don't care if you can't figure me out. Hell, I can't figure me out most of the time. But if you want to deal with me, at least make an honest effort. I'd rather you guess wrong than slap on a label so you don't have to get that close. Besides, there isn't enough room on me for all the labels that might apply: gay, bi, left-wing, Democrat, Pro-choice, Trekker, hick, Catholic, geek, nerd, jock, educrat, and, yes, grup. You do the Venn diagram.

As for me, I'll leave it at a quote from a Renaissance Man, the one label for which I do strive:

"I am of a sect by myself, as far as I know"
--Thomas Jefferson

(Pictures from www.officemuseum.com and www.2learn.ca, respectively)

Happy Easter

I haven't been to church in quite a while, but I can't get the Catholic Holidays out of my system. So I listened to my Godspell CD while cooking a ham this afternoon, and had some friends over for dinner this evening. Then I watched "Meet the Press", where Tim Russert hosted a panel discussion on religion in the US. I was pretty excited, because one of the sisters from my aunt's order was on the show, and she took the old priest to task. If MSNBC shows it again, I highly recommend it.

I'm just going to drop you a few (hopefully) inspirational religious quotes on the holiest of days.
(photo: persiankittens.net)

When you feel like you're fighting that uphill battle alone:
"Plead my cause, O Lord, with them that strive with me: fight against them that fight against me."
--Psalm 35:1

When you need to argue about "intelligent design" or stem cells:
"I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forego their use."
--Galileo Galilei

When you're digging for answers:
"Easter says you can put truth in a grave, but it won't stay there."
--Clarence W. Hall

When you're so damn sure you're right:
"My concern is not whether God is on our side. My great concern is to be on God's side."
--Abraham Lincoln

When you just need a big hug:
"God loves you. God doesn't want anyone to be hungry and oppressed. He just puts his big arms around everybody and hugs them up against himself."
--Normal Vincent Peale






(photo www.bobandmaryann.com)

Tell me...how do I feel?

I don't know if it was because I have subscriptions to Cooks Illustrated and Newsweek, or simply because I am a male living in San Francisco, but I got an offer in the mail for a dirt cheap subscription to The Advocate. The price was right, so I thought I'd give it a try.

A few days ago, I got this in the mail.

The only things I'd seen wrapped like this were porn and National Geographic (and that's paper). It took me a little while, but I did figure out what it was before I opened it.

At first, I was surprised. It had never occurred to me that The Advocate would come wrapped in white plastic. This is San Francisco, for goodness sake -- seeing The Advocate in my mail would probably raise someone's opinion of me. Then I thought about getting it (unwrapped) in other places I had lived:

Atlanta...OK, in some neighborhoods. Shotguns 1 hour outside the Beltway.

Baltimore...OK, in even fewer neighborhoods, and not in Remington, on my porch, where a neighbor actually used the phrase "what with the queers moving in and all". I was in the closet, even to me, so I nodded and took a slug of my Heineken.

Erie...um, yeah, right. The only saving grace would have been that most people probably wouldn't have known what it was. They would have thought it was like TV Guide -- just another magazine with Rosie on the cover.

And I got confused.

Then I thought about friends who live in small towns in Red States, where the mailman might just go postal on the recipient himself. And I got sad. And I realized that some people needed a wrapper.

But did everyone? Couldn't it be a choice? Couldn't there be a check box on the order card? I got my righteous pride-on, and thought of writing to PlanetOut and suggesting the following options:
___Please deliver my Advocate in an opaque wrapper.
___Please deliver my Advocate unwrapped.

Then, I thought about where I am now. And about the first 30 years of my life, when I might have checked the upper line. And about the 16 year old boy in Smalltown, Red State, USA, who ordered a magazine, hoping it would help him sort out feelings to which he had never admitted, or which he had been told were evil. Who realized sometime between ordering the first issue and it's arrival that he now had to find a way to beat his parents to the mailbox EVERY DAY. Who had pulled up a floor board to hide it once it arrived. Who didn't need to choose between boxes that to his eyes read:
___I'm ashamed of who I am.
___Shun, humiliate, and abuse me.

Pride, shame, sadness, anger. My head was about to explode like a Star Trek computer, so I nodded and took a slug of my Heineken.

I never sent my suggestion to The Advocate. For once, I kept my mouth shut. I'll get The Advocate in a wrapper, and thank God I live in a place where I really don't need it. Then I'll unwrap it and put it on my coffee table, next to Newsweek, Cooks Illustrated, and The New England Journal of Medicine. Let 'em talk -- I can take it. Now.