Genetic Testing late 1970’s

The irony of the who genetic testing quandry is that my mother,father, and sister’s genes have all been analyzed way back in the late 70’s, when it was becoming obvious Sky wasn’t like the other babies. And she has a rare syndrome too, she was almost going to make her doctor have something he could name after himself!! Seriously. It was a notable case back then. We still really don’t know much about her particular syndrome, which is why I don’t pretend to know everything about what her experience is like. There aren’t many people like her in the whole global population. So yes, my immediate families genetic material has been floating around the scientific sphere for almost thirty years by now. I don’t know what research has been done with it since.

I think I have to do a project about it all now.

My little Time Immemorial Genome

So I guess you’ve heard by now about African American celebrities getting their DNA tested to find out where in Africa they come from. It turns out they were doing it in a sort of publicity kick off for the Genographic Project, a mass collection of DNA samples to chart human migration throughout history. For $100 American you’ll be sent a scientific Q-Tip with which to swab the inner cheek. After sending it back they’ll delve into the mysteries of your DNA and tell you where you come from. As research progresses you can periodically log into National Geographic and find out more about what your genes tell them.

Cool! I thought. A chance for me to do some CSI roleplay, AND find out about my migratory history. And so I was all set to start a genome testing piggy bank for my own “Participation Kit” when I found out that there are Aboriginals here in North America who are very against having our genomes tested in this project. They’re calling it Biocolonialism, dear god, something out of Bladerunner. They’ve called for a total ban on any north american Indigenous person submitting their DNA for testing.

Nearly 3/4 of my DNA is Cree, which means I’m not supposed to submit to a cheek swab. Oh no!!! But I really want to!

The rationale for this is kind of interesting. Basically, in an attempt to win land claims rights, we’re really pressured by the courts to prove we’ve been here since “Time Immemorial.” And it’s kind of true that if white people hear we’ve been here for 10 000 years rather than since the first fish grew legs, then they kind of dismiss us being First Nations and having rights to the land. Well we’re still First Nations in that we were here first!! Gah! So a lot of activists have shot down all kind of migratory theories, like the Bering Strait, out of sheer terror that to admit we haven’t been here since before the dinosaurs then we’ll lose more land rights.

So a lot of stuff about who we are has been covered up by how political my little genome is. And people still think the land grab of what is now Manhattan was a funny thing, which is REALLY dumb because all of Manhattan is cursed because of that land grab. I’m not sure why white people think the colonization of a people is funny. Anyway, my point is we have crap land rights right now anyway, and personally I don’t really think disavowing scientific study of our history, within ethical limits, is a useful political strategy. Yeah, fucking around with people’s remains is creepy, things should be respected, but my DNA, really, has been spinning around in blood tests on a routine basis for four years anyway.

If I hear the phrase “since time immemorial” one more time I’m going to vomit.

All that phrase really means is “We’ve been here longer than we can remember.” But somehow it’s been translated in political thought into “Yeah, my kookum’s kookum’s kookum used to cook trilobites with Saskatoon berries out by where they’re building the new Walmart.” Unreal!

Truth be told, from my understanding North American Indigenous people include refugees from various continents who just got here a really long time ago. Some theories suggest Olmecs were descendents of refugees from the Shang Dynasty. There are rumours of Egyptian artifacts found in the Grand Canyon area.

Like, take, for example, the Mongolian Spot. Why did I have it? What does it mean that certain groups get mongolian spots at birth? Do we all come from one area a really long time ago? I’m curious. Is there any truth to the Bering Strait theory? Are we Asian? I mean, I have the same eyes as Asian people, I’ve been mistaken for Asian by Asian friends. People in Chinatown used to be friendly to me because they thought I was Asian. I know I’m not Asian, at least, not in any “Yes, my grandmother was from the Phillipines” kind of way. What does it mean that the really old Cree men have brown eyes rimmed with blue?

And so I still want to get the kit. And then I wonder, am I betraying the current political wishes of my people? But what right do they have over what I can do with my genome? And what will it mean to have my DNA sitting in some lab at the National Geographic? I can only test either one parent or the other, so now I also have to decide between my mom and dad, and that’s just awkward. I might do both.

Which also brings in the issue of my mom and dad also being tracked in the National Geographic database, not officially, but that’s their genetic history. So non-consensual. But then it’s my genome.

My genome’s nobody’s genome but mine.

God it’s a wild and woolly ethical problem. The thing is, I don’t trust over half of the Indigenous leadership anyway. They have a tendency to continue colonizing us. Not all of them, but enough of them that I’m a rather suspicious person. So in the end it really is my own private DNA, but now it’s being held hostage in a time immemorial land rights show down. Goddammit!

Barbara Kruger was right, my body is a battlefield!

And now for a fun distraction from Margaret Cho:

My Puss – Margaret Cho

update: I can only test my mom’s line. Maybe my father is relieved now.
Oh yeah, and here’s a link to an article about some people in China trying to find out if they really are Romans.

Burning Man 2007

I’ve decided to go to Burning Man after all this year. It’s about time. I’m kind of intimidated by the strict rules involved in living in a self sustained, isolated community in a location with no resources. But I’ve known people who go, and they’ve been putting my fears at ease about attending. I think it will be good for me, just be around art and artists. Someone told me not to worry about making an installation or art intervention or anything my first year out there, because there’s tons to do anyway. So I think I’m just going to spend some time making my bike into an art bike of some kind. I want it to be kind of like a wind instrument when I ride it, like have some kind of flute like pipes attached to it. But with the ability to turn it off. I guess I need a concept. And it has to be a decent musical instrument, not something embarrassing that makes me look like Pocahontas with her indian flute music soundtrack. Oh man, that would suck. I mean, it would be really funny in an ironic way about the depiction of aboriginals, but I don’t want some white person to think I’m serious. Dammit.

So yes, art bike. I don’t really know much about stripping down and rebuilding a bike’s skin, so it will be kind of a nice thing to learn. It’s a crappy bike by the way, the seat I bought for it costs more than the bike itself, it’s a garage sale bike. Hmm. Now I have to think about what a bike could be. I could make an s/m bike. Just get shiny chrome rivets and some kind of weatherproof leather-like material or rubber or something. A pervert bike. That could be fun to make. The seat already has a kind of vaguely BDSM air about it. I could make real leather floggers for the handlebars instead of pom poms. It could be fun. Maybe I’ll go sketch around with that until I figure it out.

And the bike was already black and blue.

Schrodinger.


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Originally uploaded by fit of pique.

I know he’s out of focus, but this is the best pic I got of him head on. This is Schrodinger, he’s almost a year old, and he’s still an asshole. He’s a descendant of run of the mill barn cats from the country. He’s really pretty, as you can kind of see, and it means he gets away with terrible things just for being pretty. He’s a bit of a bully, he’s beaten up every animal in this house, including my mom’s golden retriever. He also goes food bowl hopping because he suspects everyone else’s food has to be better than his. He also eats bread, and dog biscuits, and Cheezies.

Mister


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Originally uploaded by fit of pique.

This is the infamous weiner dog Mister, running away in a huff under the couch. He’s my alarm clock, besides doing a bunch of amazing tasks. He’s pretty funny. His new way of waking me up is to lie against my head and slowly spin around like he’s on a rotisserie. His fur is kind of high maintenance, but spending fifteen minutes everyday brushing him out is a nice activity. He’s basically a long canine swiffer, as you can see, so he picks up all kinds of crap. He also steals wallets.

Industrial


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Originally uploaded by fit of pique.

This is my sexy industrial, it has a bump but it will be okay. I got obsessed with it when I was on mushrooms. It’s one of my favorite piercings just because it looks so ferocious and made me almost pass out later on when my body went into shock. It’s kind of out of focus again because I was holding the camera. You can kind of see my lobe stretching. It’s 8g, on it’s way to 0g.

New Things

Yesterday I finally got fed up with not having a digital still camera and went and bought the most low end digital camera I could get. I don’t want anything fancy, just want to take pictures of the dog and cat and things here and there, various body mods, etc. I lucked out, I ended up getting the Nikon Coolpix L4 for about $140 after taxes. It’s pretty sweet, and it has a Nikkor lens, which is awesome. Cameras are really only as good as their lens. It has some useful functions too, like face recognition for auto focus. You might be surprised to learn I’ve never actually owned a digital still camera before. So most of my pictures were photobooth shots of me. Since I got it I’ve been taking pictures of everything, Schrodinger, Mister, Mimi, Arthur, Mum, Mum and her art, Mum’s amarylis, my tattoos, my industrial, me, my shoe. Mister got pissed at me as soon as I used the flash on him and went under the couch in a huff for twenty minutes. He’s not so crabby about getting his photo taken now. Schrodinger is too quick to get a good photo of yet, except when he sits in the sun. Otherwise there are all these pictures of his tail leaving the frame, his ear coming into the frame, empty space where he used to be.

It’s nice having a camera, especially a small unobtrusive camera. It fits in my pocket, and it takes video MOS (that’s without sound for you non-film folks). Finally, next time I see something out of the ordinary I have a camera to take pics of it.

I’m doing the most tedious computer fixin’ today. I partitioned my hard drive AGES ago and then realized it was a bad idea (don’t partition the newer Mac hard drives, it’s just a bad idea for a lot of reasons). Then my dad gave me a 200gb internal hard drive which I promptly named Parker Posey, and finally I have something to back everything up on so I can de-partition my drive. So I’m copying EVERYTHING over to Parker, and it’s taking a long time because there are over 60 000 files on my drive. A lot of them are teeny system files which I probably don’t need to back up, but I am anyway just in case, because errant plists are tragic. So that’s what’s going on, and it is so boring, oh man, but I don’t even have enough room on my system folder to get my new camera’s software installed, so it has to happen, I can’t keep putting it off. So far just this year I’ve installed a gig of additional ram and upgraded the operating system, and it’s kind of nice. My computer won’t be obsolete for a while. Not until Leopard comes out in April anyway.

I went out to the AKA fundraiser last night, the art raffle. It’s kind of like an auction and kind of like a raffle, you buy tickets (five bucks each) and if they pull your name you have twenty seconds to pick the piece of art you want. It’s a really good idea, and I was rather giddy about it. My name got pulled twice and I ended up snagging the two pieces I wanted the most. The first is this oil on masonite painting by Bea Parsons of a sasquatch-like character, it’s really pretty! Oh man, it was my number one choice and I was so lucky that most people called before me overlooked it. The second one I got is a photograph of Clark Ferguson with his pet rat crawling out of his mouth. A lot of people thought it was kind of a weird picture, but I have an affinity for rats, so I liked it. Mom donated a beaded colour blindness test, which Clark ended up getting. I wanted that one, but mum and I agreed to trade my tech-y services for a commissioned colour blindness test with the number 14. I came out when I was fourteen, so it’s kind of my special number. I think I’m going to help her make a digital portfolio in exchange, but we haven’t pinned it down. I won art! I was so excited, oh my god. And we were surrounded by giddy undergraduate students.

Okay, now I have to go de-partition my hard drive, I’m so scared!!! I’ll be okay I guess. I hope. Everything is backed up fine.

Censorship

By now you MUST have heard about Dakota Fanning’s role where she is a rape victim. People are up in arms about it, NOT having seen the film (as is usually the case with censorship). They’re trying to say that it’s child pornography, that she’s been exploited, etc etc. Dakota Fanning herself has had some pretty stern words to say to people trying to portray her as a helpless victim, but then they pull out the “Well she’s a kid and doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Fuck you. Kids know what they’re talking about. Don’t try to speak for her and then discount what she herself wants to say.

Let me tell you something, as a filmmaker, as a director, you would be amazed what you can portray or suggest without traumatizing your cast members. Let’s look at something which traumatized audiences for years, and still does, but didn’t do any harm to the actors. The shower scene in Psycho by Hitchcock. The way the shower scene was shot was done in such a way that you never seen the knife go into Janet Leigh. NEVER. I don’t even think Janet Leigh and the knife are in the shot at the same time. He cuts between the knife plunging up and down, Janet Leigh screaming, and red liquid goes down the drain. That’s it. And it was still scary enough that women didn’t want to shower after seeing it. Filmmaking is slight of hand. It’s putting a shot of one thing next to a shot of another and making the audience’s brain fill in the rest. I think we’re getting lazy with cgi and all the fancy CSI shots of a bullet going into someone’s spleen, but even then no one’s getting hurt making a movie.

Most censorship seems to be promoted by people who haven’t seen the work in question. I myself was torn apart and outed by the Alberta government when I was sixteen because of a video I made which was assumed to be child porn and a recruiting video. It wasn’t. There wasn’t any talk about sex in it, except a reference to dental dams. Most politicians who debated the merit of the work hadn’t seen it at all, and probably didn’t even realize they were censoring a teenager making work about teenagers. My god, the actors were all made out of pipe cleaners!!!

I was reading in Film Comment recently that awards don’t confer prestige on the films, films confer prestige on the award, and as an example they said that the Best Picture Oscar was diminished by being given to Crash instead of Brokeback Mountain. It’s true. I think Crash was a limited film, it didn’t grab me the way Brokeback did, it used too many racial stereotypes to try and make a point about racial stereotypes, and for that reason it failed. I know a lot of people wondered why Brokeback didn’t win, and suspected the fact that it was about The Gays was the reason. In fact, it was. In a remarkable bout of censorship, some members of the Academy who were on the jury refused to watch their screening copies of Brokeback. As someone who has served on juries, that is just so unethical. If you can’t watch the films, don’t be on the jury, please. You’ll look like a buffoon. Which is what the Academy looks like. And let’s not even get started in on their problems in recognizing talented non-white actors. And fuck off Billy Crystal.

What troubles me, after basically growing up in the Canadian Art world, is that I am finding younger (30 and under) artists and curators are willing to censor artists. I remember one screening of Untouchable at IMAG, the curator actually thought that my film might be illegal because of a crotch shot. A crotch shot of a nineteen year old (me). And then he made some very freaked out comments about vulvas (he was a squeamy gay man). The fact is, my gay male collegues routinely make videos showing cocks ALL OVER THE PLACE including him, and I have no problem with it. I have seen more penises than the average woman actually. So I feel like it’s my right, as a queer filmmaker, to also show female genitalia. And yet for some reason I find that one shot, than one ten second shot, is so controversial. Dudes, GET OVER IT! It’s only a vulva. Just like your dick is only a dick. It’s not revolutionary in and of itself, it’s just a piece of someone’s body, no matter how big your penis may be. And if a kid does accidentally see a dick or a vulva, whatever. All of us had one moment in our childhood where we accidentally saw a relative naked or our older cousin’s hidden stash of pornography. I’d rather my kid accidentally stumble on soft core porn than rotten.com and a photo of someone eating a dead baby.

That being said I don’t want rotten censored either.

I find it interesting that mediums such as art are more apt to be censored than say, things which really could affect the corporeal body of a youth. I mean, look at the USA. Teenagers aren’t allowed to view Iraq documentaries about what’s really happening to the troops over there, care of the censorship board MPAA, HOWEVER they are subjected to military recruitment and having their school records given to the army. So, little Billy can’t watch a war documentary showing soldiers being killed, but in a year he can be sent off to Iraq where he’ll watch his friends be killed and probably develop serious issues like PTSD, probably get severely wounded, may end up with radiation poisoning, could get the superbug infesting all the VA hospitals, and could also just be killed. But god forbid he see a movie that might give him more information about the realities of war.

Back to censorship in the arts. I had some friends, HAD being the operative word, who were putting on a group show and suddenly decided to censor a performer because they didn’t want to trigger ritual abuse survivors. The performer herself was a ritual abuse survivor, and besides that, a hell of a lot can trigger a ritual abuse survivor. I know triggers suck, I have them too and I hate them, but that doesn’t mean I expect to live in a trigger free world. You can’t say you know what will trigger a ritual abuse survivor, it’s different for everyone. Someone might be triggered by cats, or men in faun costumes, or roses. You just don’t know. The worst part was, they didn’t even know exactly what her performance was going to be, she was pretty vague about it, but they latched onto one concept (her friend dressed as Satan) and because of it they struck her from the program.

It’s ironic that the older generations of artists are more cognizant of censorship issues than the younger artists. One wouldn’t expect conservativism to inhabit people so young. After all, youth are supposed to be rebels, pushing the envelope, making us deal with stuff we were ignoring. And now they seem to be retrogressing. Not everyone. But enough young people are censoring work that they curate (or don’t curate) or calling in the vice squad on senior artists that someone needs to tell them to knock it off. Whatever happened to fighting the Man? Now you want the Man to come along and work with you against another artist?

I think one thing which reminded me of this was when Out On Screen showed Bruce LaBruce’s Skin Flick. In case you haven’t heard of it, it’s a gay porn film made about neo nazis, with a gang rape scene in the end. I say porn film because he actually was funded by a porn producer, so it genuinely comes from that millieu, it’s not just art I’m calling porn because it’s about sex. Anyway, the people I knew who were pitching a fit about it were the youth! I was so surprised. And none of them saw it, yet they went off and spouted all these things about the merit of LaBruce’s film, the fact that they thought it was racist, etc etc. They were very angry at Out On Screen for showing it. And, I didn’t see it, I only walked in on the rape scene, but basically they wanted to completely censor this artist. I was shocked. If you want to have dialogue about it, that’s fine go ahead. But please see it before talking about it, and PLEASE don’t be stupid enough to call for censorship. And there’s still two queer artists I know who wander around Canada willy nilly saying bad things about Bruce LaBruce without every seeing any of his work or knowing the context of his career. It makes them look ignorant. Look ignorant, I guess they are ignorant.

So maybe we need to make sure art colleges are dealing with the censorship topic better, although a lot of the censoring artists I’ve met are largely self taught and haven’t had intensive dialogue in an art college. I don’t know how to stop censors. But political change isn’t achieved by censoring people, unless your name is Adolph, in which case it’s a great tool for dominating your countrymen.

Mental Illness is a Political Construct

Something which we have lost is the knowledge that mental illness and psychiatry is by and large a political question. I know a lot of people who SHOULD be allies with psych survivors sort of ridicule us and ask if we’re taking our meds or start talking about worrying I’m going to chase them around with a knife. And sure, it may seem easy to dismiss the human rights concerns of persons who have had a psychotic episode in their lifetime. But psychiatry REALLY truly is a tool of social control, and I’m going to try and demonstrate that by talking about a few things which either were once classified as mental illnesses, or are still classified as mental illnesses. All of the following “illnesses” are specific to minority people.

Life on Mars by David Bowie
David Bowie was openly gay at this time, 1973 is also the first year homosexuality was removed as a mental illness from the DSM. I know, Bowie is with Iman now, but at the time he was one of the first people in the public spotlight to be so overtly queer. There are still people in the gay and lesbian community who can tell you horror stories of lengthy hospitalization, heavy tranquilizers, and electric shock treatment designed to cure their homosexuality, not to mention “aversion therapy”. And we still have “straight camps” where overtly religious parents send their queer offspring to be “cured” of queerness, places where you are basically incarcerated. I was reading the rules of a straight camp once and they were so weird, no Abercrombie and Fitch and no Calvin Klein? So yeah, it’s really only very recently that homosexuality was considered a regular form of sexuality under the political framework of the DSM. And THAT only happened because the gay liberation movement was in full swing at this time period.

Martin Luther King Jr.’s I have a Dream Speech
Drapetomania was a form of mental illness specific to run away slaves, basically, the reasons slaves ran away was because they had a mental illness known as Drapetomania. The treatment for drapetomania was whipping and toe amputation. Like a lot of things, slavery became legalized under the correctional system by making felonies out of crimes typically performed by black people, such as hog stealing. Now felonies are drug based, and black men still perform unpaid labour in penitentiaries. Black men are also more likely to be diagnosed schizophrenic. By the way, at the time of this speech by Martin Luther King Jr, the Tuskeegee Syphilis Experiment was going on, and would continue for the next nine years. Some people say Martin Luther King Jr also had a mental illness, I don’t know enough about that to comment.

Ben injects testosterone
“Gender Dysphoria” is still considered a mental illness under the DSM, and all gender transitions involve psychiatric assessments. Treatment is through hormones. Ironically, when I was talking with other friends who were transitioning, the general consensus was that to get approved for treatment you had to prove you had NO mental illnesses at all. I’m not sure I would get approved for testosterone treatment because of my previous hospitalization. Yep, I can be denied a gender change because of my illness, and yet gender change is an illness. Confusing as hell. I know a lot of transfolk are agititating to remove gender dysphoria from the DSM, but there are some who are aligned with the rest of us and question if that’s the best tactic. It is a divide and conquer question really.

Sadomasocism is also still considered a mental illness under the DSM. I didn’t find what they considered the appropriate treatment, although I’m sure in the past it involved genital mutilation. Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis has a case in it of a young girl who masturbated and was subjected to clitoral excision. By the way, tying your lover up, EVEN with silk scarves instead of bondage rope, is still a BDSM activity. So is biting. So are a lot of things people don’t realize. My god, fisting was still considered BDSM! By the way, people with this “mental illness” such as myself should really check out Mr. S if they are ever in San Francisco, it’s like the Superstore for leather folk and you can buy wonderous things.

So there you have it, some things about mental illness you didn’t know. I don’t really consider ANY of the above things to be mental illness, in fact I am most of the above things. But maybe it will explain to people who listen to psychiatrists too readily that it has a history of being a form of social control and oppression more than a real medical practice.

And now I will end this Youtube illustrated rant against the DSM with my favorite little cartoon character, Kogepan, a burnt bun. In this episode he talks about how he got burnt, and what that means to him. I think it says a lot about how I feel about my psychotic episode and it’s aftermath.
Kogepan Episode 5