Categotry Archives: beating them at their own game

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Kate Bornstein ♥’s TOTWK; Or, It’s Hip to be Au Contraire

Categories: (un)popular entertainment, beating them at their own game, bitterness, don't get your panties in a bunch, Humorless Tranny™, i heart oppression, kyriarchy, the transsexual empire strikes back, transphobia: now in blog format

Hey, ducks! I’ve been talking quite a bit of late about Ticked Off No-I-Won’t-Say-Its With Knives. You know, because of the outrage, and because I went to the protest. What ho!

Now, the general consensus here in Transland (Population: More than you think) is that this thing is outrageous, especially the trailer (which Luna has now modified to take out the references to recently brutally murdered transfolk. Um, thanks–I’m glad to know it took a massive outcry for you to display basic humanity! No, kudos to you, sir!) But that doesn’t mean that there’s massive agreement on the film. Some people actually are defending it! Trans people! Trans people who were not employed in it as actors!

Take, for example, Tom Leger’s post over at Trans Group Blog:

Continue reading →

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Justice Department to Gender-Nonconforming Kids: You Exist

Categories: beating them at their own game, kyriarchy, milestones

This is kind of huge, given how Title IX has generally been interpreted pretty narrowly against trans and gender non-conforming people:

Federal prosecutors have used a novel interpretation of the Title IX statue, which prohibits discrimination against students on the basis of gender, to help broker a settlement in a lawsuit brought by a gay teen against his upstate New York school district, NPR’s Ari Shapiro tells us.

The lawsuit involved a boy who was bullied for being effeminate.

This is the first time since the Clinton Administration that the Justice Department has claimed that Title IX applies to discrimination based gender presentation, beyond simple discrimination based on sex.

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Teen Titans

Categories: beating them at their own game, let's hear it for the ladies, vive le feminisme

My inner cynic gets a lot of work. (In fact, I think she’s the only one who does get any work done here; at least, she always seems to be in the office.) I have a natural bent towards sarcasm and cynicism, the product of a German Catholic upbringing that my parents leavened with their social activism and wry humor.

So it shocked my inner cynic, bless her tiny, carbonized heart, to open up Google Reader–her favorite task, as it constantly spews out precisely the misguided bile that keeps her chortling with glee–to find a post from The F-Bomb.

And soon we were shoving my inner cynic out of the way, delving into the fabulous posts on this wonderful blog, written for, about, and by–teenagers.

Teenage feminists.

Is that not a delicious bagel of wonderfulness with a schmear of awesomesauce on top?

The place is indescribably cool. Check out this post on a screening of “The Secret,” and thrill as Julie calls “classism” about that piece of claptrap. Classism!

At this point, my inner idealist was hogging the mouse, clicking through the pages with an angelic sigh.

If you know a young woman in your life, point her to this site. If you know a young man, point him there as well. It is fantastic, and the only thing I regret is that there wasn’t something like this when I was a kid.

And I owe them: because I’m totally stealing the idea to show this interview with Joss Whedon, which is like getting a second bagel of wonderfulness, with awesomesauce and cream cheese. (Because sometimes awesomesauce isn’t enough.)

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Show Us Your Hooves

Categories: beating them at their own game, the male ogle

In honor of Rachel Alexandra, the first filly in 85 years to win the Preakness Stakes, some stories from the world of sports:

New Woman’s Soccer League: After the WUSA discovered that Mia Hamm and the 1999 World Cup weren’t enough to sustain insane management mistakes, it looked like there wasn’t room for a woman’s professional soccer league (and given the generally parlous state of the WNBA, women’s professional sports in general are threatened.) Today, though, the New York Daily News had an article about the WPS, a new women’s soccer league.

Teams travel on commercial airlines, in coach seats; they take buses for shorter trips. They carry their own bags, and stay in reasonably priced hotels. And at every stop, the players completely embrace their core fans – the legions of pony-tailed, soccer-playing girls whose clubs and leagues WPS officials are relentlessly courting.

“I think we have to be very smart in making these connections to the community,” says Chastain, whose FC Gold Pride visited New Jersey recently, tying Sky Blue, 1-1. “Not in a lip-service way, but in a very tangible, very hands-on way.”

Starting up a new sports league is an investment idea of comparable wisdom to hiring Bernie Madoff to do your books, but I hope they succeed, and they seem to have some modest goals.

Besides, you just want them to succeed, if for no other reason than because of this:

When Yael Averbuch was a fifth-grader at Hillside Elementary in Montclair, her teacher went around the class one day and asked each child what he or she wanted to be when they grew up. When it was her turn, Yael stood up at her desk. She didn’t have to stop and think.

“I want to be a professional soccer player,” she said. The teacher looked back at her, with some exasperation.

“No, you need to pick a real profession,” the teacher said.

Rock on, Yael.

Of course, it can’t all be good:

Let us introduce you to the New York Majesty of the Lingerie Football League!

“Let’s be honest, sex sells,” quarterback and captain Krystal Gray said. We couldn’t have said it any better.

The League will kick off this fall, with the Majesty playing its home games at Nassau Coliseum. Last week in Freeport, a band of lovelys stripped down to their bare necessities for a chance to make the team, each sprinting, primping and strutting their way to the top. The Majesty will play seven-on-seven, tackle football wearing sports bras and volleyball shorts -in addition to helmets, shoulder pads and knee pads.

Way to move the goalposts, ladies. Wait….