Ex Girlfriends, Poverty, Race, Sex Worker Rights

Sex Work

Being a dyke I’ve been intimately involved with sex workers both as lovers, friends, and colleagues. I think straight people get surprised by the link between sex workers and the lesbian community. The fact is, a high percentage of female sex workers are queer. I not only know sex workers, I was one for a very very very brief time. It was phone sex, it was terribly boring and silly. I pretended to have an orgasm while watching t.v., and then I quit when a foot fetishist kept asking for me, just because he talked and talked for a REALLY long time. I did, however, come really close several times to doing street based sex work. In that case, it wasn’t because I actively chose that kind of work, it would have been survival sex work. I lived in grinding poverty for several years in Vancouver, I often had no food, I skipped on my rent several times, I ran up bills I couldn’t pay, I had a very difficult time being hired for work, mainly for being a butch woman. Sometimes I had no phone. I wasn’t going to do sex work for drugs, I just want to go eat at least one meal in a day. And through all that I still self funded a video art practice.

God, let me say again, I have only ever gotten one grant in my entire career. I honestly don’t know where this idea that I’m getting tons of money for being an Indian comes from.

So yeah, sex work. My family helped me out some, but they did the guilt trip thing, and I never told them about wandering along the strolls wondering about getting into the next car that stopped for me.

I had a girlfriend who started doing sex work again while we dated. Friends were really fucked up about the whole thing. They thought she was some kind of low life (she was going to university), they felt bad for me dating her (no way, she was cute and sweet!), and one friend even asked me if I was jealous for her doing sex work. I had to laugh at that one. I didn’t really care that she was having sex for money, my only concern about her was the very real possibility of being assaulted on the job.

Some people say that the dangers sex workers face is exactly why it should be eliminated and more aggressively prosecuted. I think this is problematic, because it pushes sex work even farther on the margins. People who do Shame The Johns campaigns and push sex workers out of neighborhoods put these women into even more unsafe places, like industrial areas where there’s more isolation. The more prostitution is criminalized, the easier it is for predators to prey on women. Even filing a rape report if you’re in the biz becomes a humiliating venture where cops refuse to believe a sex worker can be raped.

If people are serious about keeping vulnerable women from doing sex work out of survival, they need to look at the bigger picture. The minimum wage should be raised, women’s labour should be more respected and improved, and for sure butch women and other marginalized people need to have more job opportunities. Consider how many transwomen end up in the sex work biz.

And there are sex workers who like their jobs, as much as people hate to consider. Some women I know have certain clients who are their favorites, there’s a certain level of intimacy that happens that while it is not romantic, falls under a category of therapy. While there are assholes out there, there are also a lot of johns who are genuinely just looking for some closeness and release which they may not get for certain reasons like age, disability, the recent death of a wife, etc.

I remember one time I went to visit my girlfriend when she switched from the streets to a massage parlour. We were hanging around talking with her coworker when a client came in. The coworker started laughing and said “Oh my god, what if a client came in and picked Thirza!”

Basically, I think that feminists pathologizing sex workers are misogynist and classist, and that the battle for sex worker rights should not be allowed to be dampened by women who infantilize the people doing these jobs.

Another thing, when people say sex work shouldn’t exist because it is demeaning, they should consider other jobs poor people often do which are equally demeaning. Outbound call centre work, McDonalds, Production Assistants, all of those are demeaning jobs which have a demoralizing effect on their workforce.

Bipolar, Love, Sex

Sex, Romance, and Disability

Once I was asking my friend Ariel if I was being foolish by including my psychiatric diagnosis in some online personals. She said the best thing, “It’s an asshole filter!” It’s true. As much as I feel my romantic possibilities have been severely limited by having a diagnosed psychiatric disability, I also feel like I don’t want to be involved with someone who thinks I’m an idiot or will chase them down the hall with a knife. I could go on and on about the lack of compassion many people feel towards all of us with disabilities or chronic health problems, but it won’t change the fact that they are assholes missing out on hotties. And it won’t change the fact that at some point in their lives, without exception, they will be in the exact same situation as me.

It was pretty hard to be in my mid twenties dealing with psychiatric issues on my own and being treated weirdly, and definitely not being viewed as a sexual person at all. I think most mid twenties folks run away from someone they think is going to be too “high maintenence.” I think older people do too. I’m kind of glad I didn’t have a girlfriend when I went nuts, just because it would have crushed me to get dumped when I got released from the hospital.

So I haven’t had a really nice girlfriend since I went crazy, I haven’t had any at all in fact. But I also haven’t been involved with anyone abusive, which happened to me before. In fact, yucky girls have pretty much left me alone. So maybe the asshole filter does work.

The issue of being crazy and being into BDSM is also fraught with it’s own conundrums. The motto “Safe, Sane, and Consensual” takes on a whole new meaning. Can someone who is certifiably insane still engage in the sexual practice they’re used to? I say yes. Being bipolar involves long stretches of sanity, in fact, I’m sane far more often than I am insane. I’m sure some players would disagree with my continued desire to engage in BDSM activities, but those are probably the same people who if they were vanilla would be scared of me chasing them around with a knife. In fact, having a psychiatric disability has lead me to be extremely sensitive and cautious with my emotional limits and my levels of trust. I probably have more insight into my own emotional safety in certain scenes, particularily humiliation/degradation scenes. I also have a really clear picture of my possible triggers, and have already come up with ways to get around and past it. For instance, I know I’m going to have a really really hard time with bondage. On the other hand I know if I have a long detailed conversation about what I need to get through my first post hospital bondage scenes, I’ll probably be able to have fun with it again.

Yeah, I guess having a disability of any kind means some (or a lot) of people don’t want to date us, but on the other hand the people who do are more likely to be people who are able to have serious long term relationships. And that’s really the only kind of person I want to be involved with.

Blogging

Ridiculing Bloggers

I admit, sometimes I do laugh at jokes disparaging bloggers. But at the same time, I think they’re an entirely valuable medium, I’m thinking of the vast groups of marginalized people talking about their lives and issues. Events are reported which never make the news, such as Iraqi’s who are blogging in Arabic and translating it to English. Blogs take up the slack where the mainstream media fails horrendously. I mean, one person owns nearly every paper in Canada, and they control reporting on Palestine/Israeli conflicts with a sympathetic bent towards Israelis. Reporters have failed miserably to ask the important questions, and Canadian reporters especially have restrictions on breaking certain important stories. I mean, if a Canadian journalist ended up with a CSIS document about aliens working in tandem with the Canadian government, we wouldn’t hear about it, they’d just give it back to CSIS.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the mainstream media wasn’t on this prolonged idealogical war against bloggers by making fun of us all the time as basement pasty losers talking about how many pimples we squeezed today. Obviously if they’re so invested in ridiculing us then they’re severely threatened by blogging. Take this lengthy diatribe on the downfall of civilization as caused by blogging.

I don’t always talk newsy stuff, but sometimes I do. Sometimes I can tell you stuff no one else knows or can talk about safely. Sometimes I just talk about my family or my animals. Sometimes I rant on the state of the Canadian Art World. Sometimes I talk about race and sexuality. Sometimes I talk film and media. It’s not following a definite theme or adhering to any kind of standard, but it’s still relevant. Same with all the other blogs I read. For instance, the news isn’t going to report on a transman being sexually assaulted when using the women’s restroom, but a blog will. You won’t hear the daily life of a family living in Bagdad on CNN but you will in a blog.

So basically, blogs are for people who’s voices aren’t heard. And that’s why the media hates us.

Health

Early Christmas Present

I guess five days early isn’t so bad. My big present this christmas is a cross country ski package with fancy skis boots and poles. I haven’t tried them out yet, because I got all tired after work and slept and then we had to go buy presents. MORE PRESENTS. I bought 30.00 of candy. I actually bought it for a diabetic and now I have to think of someone else to give it to.

I haven’t cross country skied in years, at least thirteen years. I used to be really adept at it, terribly fast, able to go up and down hills. I once ended up on a black diamond trail when I was fourteen, I didn’t realize it was black diamond but it was suddenly really fucking hard with twists and turns and hills and steep slopes and I thought I was going to die halfway through. Then I finally stumbled back with my dazed dog to the cabin. He spent the rest of the night eating balls of packed snow out from between his paws.

The one embarrassing thing that sucks is when you take a spill and end up with a tangle of skis and poles and legs, all at terrible angles.

I found out it’s the best aerobic workout there is. I had no idea. It’s really fun, I could hardly think of it as exercise. So meditative. Even if you ski with someone it’s just not feasible to natter at each other. Anyway, I need some kind of winter sport because I hate just sitting around feeling lazy. And skating freaks me out because every time I go out on the rink I end up skating past a blood splot and get all woozy.

Art, Art practice, Filmmaking, Race

Beheading Holofernes

I didn’t get into Berlin. Bah! I’m applying to Outfest next, who actually likes me, but I’m not sure if they will take me. The deadline is at the end of January. Toronto’s deadline is in the middle of January. And I need a grant soon to work on something, but I don’t want a bunch of money to make a short. I know, maybe that is bad. But maybe I also just want to keep writing.

I do have an idea for a story that is REALLY dark, creepy, and terribly violent, with the climactic scene referencing Judith Beheading Holofernes by Artemesia Gentileschi. There’s also a scene where a woman comes screaming out of the bushes with a knife in her head. People are going to think I’m seriously fucked. It’s a take on missing/murdered Aboriginal women, but with an I Spit On Your Grave approach to it. Hence the Gentileschi reference. No cutesy funny Thirza, I’m sorry, it will happen again someday. If this doesn’t creep you out, the film I want to do after this WILL end up giving you nightmares.

Anyway, for those who haven’t seen Judith Beheading Holofernes, here it is:

There are some who say this painting was created to deal with Artemesia’s rape by Tassi, who offered to marry her so that she would not have a damaged reputation or be considered damaged goods. When she charged him with rape she was tortured to make sure she was telling the truth. Tassi was a serial rapist and had also raped his sister. Oh, go google it, it’s an interesting story. Anyway, he was found guilty but got a slap on the wrist. Some things never change. Artemesia went on to have a running theme in her work of rape as seen from a female perspective. Of course this was all buggered up in a film made about her where Tassi is her passionate lover who mentors her in painting. That’s fucked up, ugh, I could go on and on about the sickness of a filmmaker who would glorify and romantize rape even admist copious evidence of Artemesia’s thoughts on Tassi. ANYWAY, as you can see, she painted Judith being totally unafraid and determined to behead Holofernes, which was a far cry from other Judith paintings where she turns her head away to avoid seeing the horrors of being an assassin. And this is a good example of why therapy as art is relevant.

This was probably my favorite painting in Art History. If it’s not Baroque, don’t fix it. Oh never mind, that’s a terrible joke.

I don’t know if it will get funded. Native women beheading a white man on screen might push too many people’s buttons, even though Native women are killed on screen all the time. It would be such an excellent image though. So yeah, I want to write that story while I wait for funding on my other film’s production to come through. I would apply to the Canada Council for production funds, but sadly 60 000 is not nearly enough. A screenwriting grant on the other hand would give me a year to write this next script. A year of writing, what a dream!

Art practice

Log of a Creative Process

Make coffee. Realize milk is spoiled. Drink coffee black. Sit down at computer. Drum fingers. Write two sentences then erase in a fit of pique. Hit edit undo in case sentences turn out to be useful later (they aren’t).

Read disturbing news items. End up playing iSketch for an hour.

Drum fingers. Write same letter over and over. Get frusterated and pound keyboard. Go make coffee. Remember as it’s percolating that there is still no milk.

Tell characters that they’re fucking around and pissing you off.

Write blog entry. This is easier. Hit publish. Go back to script. Drum fingers some more. Oh joy, you have to go pee. Read magazine and forget you’re sitting on the toilet.

Lunch. Eat some bananas and leftover casserole. Get grumpy at poverty and lack of a variety of comestibles.

Play with dog.

Spend half an hour reading online articles about writers block.

Write something terribly revealing, cry, then save to journal and vow never to read it again.

Chase away roommate coming up to you and yammering on about there being only one roll of toilet paper in the house and wanting you to pay more for the toilet paper because you pee too much. Yell “I’m in the middle of a creative process!” Be mocked.

Go for walk, start laughing at your own jokes and creeping out passerby. Characters start babbling. Go back to computer and write ten pages. Be shocked when you find one of your characters going awol and doing their own thing. Yell “Cut it out!” and get strange looks from roommates.

Think about horribly dramatic traumatic climax, jot down a few words about it, remind self to write scene tomorrow, even though you won’t because you feel guilty doing that to your characters.

Get tut tutted for having a trashy office area with food wrappers every where.

Spend rest of evening watching reality television and wondering why independent film isn’t respected as much as it should be.

Blogging, Saskatchewan

Thank you Saskatchewan Readers!

I do get some interesting repeat readers like the folks at UCR, someone in Germany, people drifting by from Iran, Saudia Arabia, Norway, Taiwan, etc. Someone in Barcelona likes me. Vancouver hardly ever/never visits me, which is sad because most of my friends are there, but makes sense because most of my friends don’t really care about me. Montreal comes by and I know who it is, which makes it fun because then I can write things she and I can talk about later. But the majority of my readers come from Saskatchewan. Mostly Saskatoon, followed by Prince Albert, Pasqua, Vanscoy, and Regina. So I feel like I must say Hello Saskatchewan and thank you for reading me, even though I go on terrible tirades about the province I call home. It’s nice to know folks from around here actually care about what I have to say.
As the joke goes: Saskatchewan, hard to pronounce, easy to draw.

Sex

Although “Funbags” and “Maidenhead” pisses me off . . .

Cunt is probably my favorite word for female anatomy. It’s such a contentious word, and yet to me it just sounds sexy. Unless you call me that while throwing a beer on me or something, in which case I’ll call you a cunt back and add a few more words. I have no qualms about cunt. I could say cunt all day.

Cunt cunt cunt.

Some people try to make cunt into a cutesy word that ends up sounding terrible, like “coochie” or “cooter” or “Cho Cha” or any other ridiculous derivative that usually ends up getting used in the letters page of Club. There’s nothing worse than trying to have a pornography assisted orgasm and reading a dumb word like Coochie.

I think what I like the most about Cunt is that it’s not trying to be cute or sweet or non threatening. A cunt knows what it wants, it’s aggressive and demanding and shameless. Everyone I’ve been seriously involved with has been able to use the word cunt in the sexy hot way it should always be used.

Art, Popular Culture, Theory

*Starstruck*

I always giggle a bit when someone says they never get starstruck no matter who’s around at a particular time. I firmly believe everyone has at least ONE person that makes them amazed and act funny around. I’ve even had people be starstruck around me, which makes me totally shy and embarrassed. The funniest was the morning I was having my usual coffee at the cafe across from my apartment, I liked going there because they had a plethora of magazines to read and enough counterspace to read the Georgia Straight while also eating a panini sandwich. I was minding my own business when a woman suddenly looked at me and said “You’re famous!” I said “No I’m not.” “Yes, you are! I’ve seen you somewhere, where was it?” She might have been referring to the one Georgia Straight article talking about me and several other Vancouver aboriginal filmmakers. Other times I’ve been introduced to people and they’re all “ooh, the famous Thirza Cuthand.” I’m only mildly famous and only with people who go to film festivals. Sometimes I try to pick someone up and then suddenly they hear my name (there aren’t many Thirza’s) and start talking queer film, sigh!
My friend Cease told me a great starstruck story about our friend Paul. It seems they were staying with Fairuza Balk while on their great American road trip. They were taking this whole crashing with a movie star thing in stride until Paul saw a photo on Fairuza’s fridge of her standing next to someone who looked familiar. “Who is that?” he asked Cease. “That’s Shelley Winters.” “Oh my God!”

I was going to put a picture of Shelley Winters here but I have a hard on for Fairuza so to hell with her.

I have been star struck myself on many occasions. The first time was when I skipped Art History Class to go with some friends to Kate Bornstein’s talk at the SFU bookstore. Kate was talking about the destruction of gender and people’s ability to recreate themselves as whatever they wanted and then used my hair and ambiguous gender as an example of what she was talking about. My hair was blue and yellow at the time in my favorite dye pattern that looks like a sunrise. Anyway, I immediatelyturned pink because even though I often had weird hair I preferred being a wallflower. Then she seemed to want to save me by saying it didn’t mean she wanted to sleep with me, which made me go even more pink.

Kate Bornstein: Inspirer of Pinkness

My next starstruck moment has a really boring ending. I saw Annie Sprinkle at the San Francisco queer festival, Frameline, while we were both speaking at a conference. She smiled at me and I was terrified and ran like the wind. I wish I hadn’t done that.

“Brave Sir Thirza ran away.” “I didn’t!” “Bravely ran away, away.”

Just after I got dumped out of the hospital I went to a retrospective of my work down at the University of California at Riverside. A guy was there who looked totally familiar, and he also seemed totally sweet and approachable. I struck up a conversation and discovered I was talking to James Duvall, who played Dark in Nowhere, which happens to be my favorite film. He also got his dick cut off by skinheads in The Doom Generation, was killed in May, and played the role of Frank the Rabbit in Donnie Darko. He was probably the most fun “star” I’ve hung out with, we had beers and joked about different things and talked about the profession of acting and then he offered to be in my movies. He’s a nice guy, I like him. I’d definitely work with him.

James Duvall/Dark being dominated in Nowhere

All of this culminated in my most star struck moment to date. It was my BFA grad and I had to sit through a long boring ceremony EXCEPT Sally Potter was there getting an honorary degree. Sally Potter directed the one film I watched OVER and OVER during high school, Orlando, with Tilda Swinton. In my media studies class I wrote a paper on “The Gaze” in Orlando, which was probably my best paper ever because after that I got lazy. Sally Potter did a great thank you for her degree where she proudly proclaimed that she never went to school and she didn’t think people should feel they had to get an advanced degree.
After the ceremony I was hanging out with my Mom and friends and Mom pushed me towards Sally Potter and told me to tell her how much I liked her film. So I did, I felt very shy, she was most gracious and congratulated me on my film degree.

Sally Potter’s Orlando

Shyness and being starstruck, it goes both ways. One night in Montreal me and two Finnish girls met the beloved Julie Doucet at a group show she was in. She is most well known for her comic Dirty Plotte, which we all loved. I think we just looked like the most unusual tiny fan club and it turns out Julie Doucet is terribly terribly shy.

Which leaves me with my last statement. Celebrities, no matter how they are famous or what they do, have a persona which is completely different from who they really are. I can be all radical and running around with no clothes and talking about sex, but in real life I’m too shy to ask for a kiss, have unwillingly ended up with a career of celibacy, and only run around naked with the blinds drawn unless I’m terribly drunk. So don’t assume anything about a famous person’s character until you meet them, and if they suck, well, you can always watch them on television or read their work.

Body Mods, Popular Culture, Tech

Another Industrial Update and Katamari

Well, I’ve mostly stopped sleeping on it, which I did a few times just because I forgot and was asleep when I flipped over. It doesn’t hurt anymore when it’s not being tormented, and the top of my ear has gone back to having a normal sensation instead of the weird thing it was doing before, alternating between being numb and being crabby and painful. I can wiggle it without hurting, and I can actually slide the barbell back and forth without wincing or drawing blood. I have bonked it a few times when I’m just running my hands through my hair or whatever, a cute girl keeps laughing at me every time we’re hanging out and I squeal after touching my ear, it makes it very hard to look suave.

The only issue I’m having with it now is a bump by the piercing on the edge of my ear. It’s not painful, it’s just a bump, and pretty common with cartilage piercings from what I understand. I want it to go away, just because I don’t want a weird bumpy ear and because I have no idea if those things contribute to ear collapse. I’ve heard I’m supposed to put crushed advil in water on the bump and it will miraculously fade away. So hopefully that will work. Aside from that I think it’s tremendous, and anyone who wants an industrial should get one.

I should also give you my review of We Love Katamari. I went to Futureshop this weekend and bought a Playstation 2, a newer version which is roughly the same size as a composition notebook with the blobby black and white pattern, and only slightly thicker. The playstation was on sale, but the fancy ass vibrating controllers were not, nor was the memory card. I’m not going to tell you how much it cost because I don’t want to be mocked for buying a system I only want to play two games on.

Oh yeah, back to We Love Katamari.

Well, I didn’t have high hopes for it, I guess I was too much in love with Katamari Damacy to expect more genius. But amazingly We Love Katamari exceeds the original in rolling fun. The plot is a little weaker, you don’t have to remake the entire solar system, just throw a few stars and planets in the air to make life nicer. But the graphics are even cooler, the Prince has some wacky cousins that run around, and the music is really good and changes more than in the original depending on what level you’re in. Also the ongoing story when levels are reached is a really cute one about the King of the Cosmos when he was a boy and his adversarial relationship with his father. Plus there’s a two player game, but I haven’t found my second player. I keep running upstairs yelling “Mum! Mum! Come play Katamari with me!” but she never comes.

So I guess I’ll say We Love Katamari is definitely worth it, I’m already starting to get addicted.

I love non-violent video games, I must find more.