More Knuckles

I’m on a plane to Milwaukee to do a show. I’m pretty excited about it, there’s supposed to be a lot of people there and I go up before Wanda Sykes, who I think is super funny. I’m excited to see her perform.

I’m flying AirTran, which I’m really glad about because I always wanted to fly the airline of my people. It’s true, almost everyone on here are Trannies – I mean, there are a few bio males and females on here – they are so easy to spot. They’re all trying to be Trans, but they don’t pass very well.

My seat is in the very back row, in the aisle. I prefer the aisle not because I get up a lot but just so I can swing one leg out to stretch from time to time and give my phantom balls some air. Really I just need the elbow room so I can type on my computer. As soon as I took my seat, the guy across the aisle started chatting me up about basketball, re: Lakers vs. Celtics game last night. He whipped out some basketball jargon and stats and got a little nostalgic about when Michael (Jordan) was King.

I realized in this conversation that I’m not half bad at improv when it comes to gabbing about sports. But I would never out myself to this guy that I’m kind of a band-wagoner when it comes to basketball, football and baseball. It’s not a lack of knowledge about sports in general or a lack of interest, really. I know the rules of most of the major sports and the names of the teams. But I just don’t have time to watch the games and keep up with it all – it would more than likely cut into my Law & Order marathons on night after night. I usually jump on the wagon the last couple weeks of a season and pick a team, but not usually based on performance, scores or nostalgia. I sometimes just concoct some reason in my head by thinking some player seems like she/he looks like a nice person and I pick their team. I’ve even been super gay about it and picked a team because of the style and colors of their uniform. Whatev, you’ve probably done it too.

The only team with an exception to this habit of mine is the Boston Red Sox. I grew up watching games with my family, my Dad mostly. When I was a kid my Dad was a huge Sox fan, well, and still is. It was a giant., fun, family outing to pile all of us kids in the car and drive two and half or three hours to Fenway Park in Boston and watch a game, eat hot dogs, and run up the stairs to the back of the bleachers to stomp on ketchup packets in the back row. I remember when we would arrive into the city, my Mom would make us lock all the doors in the car while we were riding. You could hear the tension in her voice and her breathing shift when she’d say “lock your doors, we’re in the big city”. Back then the Sox players were Fisk, Rice, and Yaz. Shit, I just pulled those names out of my ass – it’s been a while. I liked Jim Rice a lot, he had an awesome moustache! One night when we were there the game went into extra innings and we didn’t leave the park until that friggin’ thing was over. My Mom was exhausted and wanted to get out there hours before that but she knew this was a special day (and night) for my Dad. Shit it’s a Red Sox game, and she knew this doesn’t happen very often so she stuck it out until the bitter end. I don’t remember who won the game but I slept in the back of our wood-paneled station wagon the whole way back.

So back to my new friend across the aisle, whose name I have yet to get, because he’s asleep now. When guys chat me up now, it’s so weird. I used to be invisible to biological males (or as I like to call them, “bio-guys”) when I had my chest. I was passed happily by them as a Butch dyke and guys would not talk to me or at least they wouldn’t talk to me like they do now. I’ve definitely have some weird new membership card now that allows me to converse with other men as a fellow, even though I don’t feel like or want to be a fellow. My feeling and belief that I am man, and desire to be more masculine has NOTHING to do with wanting to bond with other men as a man. I could really give a shit if I am ever inducted into the club. I kind of miss my previous invisibility to bio-guys.

When talking sports with bio-guys, I don’t always know what I’m talking about. I can play along in a general way and when a guy starts spewing sporty dialog at me. I immediately reach for the card catalog of “man speak” in my mind and flip through it to something I’ve heard some other guy say recently about the subject and regurgitate it for my new friend.. The problem with that is sometimes I have no idea if I even agree with what I’m saying and I usually internally cringe when I say it, and pray that I don’t have to back it up. If it ever came to a sports disagreement over what I’ve said, I suppose I could just follow it up with “I know, but I’m just saying..” What do you say to that?

The flight attendant was in the back interjecting little things into the conversation. She was fun and light-hearted. She asked about my tattoos and told me about hers. She asked me what my tattoo read and I told her it said “Butch” and she looked at me a little funny. I have no idea what she was thinking, but I was just too lazy to explain that Butch is a gender identity blah blah blah at seven in the morning on AirTran. I skipped this teachable moment and let it go. Besides, this is AirTran, shouldn’t she know this shit?

When were all talking about tattoos, the friendly gentleman across the way laughed at something I said and reached out his hand with a fist and I immediately knew what to do. This was my moment I thought, don’t hesitate! I reached out and did the same thing he was doing and we lightly butted knuckles. Now I think the picture of this is important to describe especially since it’s the second time in the last week of my travels that this has happened.

Last week I was walking in Santa Monica with some friends who were visiting from Maine for my birthday. It was two femmes, one butch, and me. We were strolling down 3rd Street Promenade when this guy spotted us and went out of his way to change direction, follow us for a few steps, and catch up with me to say “look at you bro.. alright!” What was he thinking, that I was fucking all these people I was walking with and congratulating me on it? And just then, there they were, my first knuckles! I looked down and it took me a couple seconds longer to register the gesture he was making and to figure out what the correct response would be. My response time was obviously slow or it was in my head. If I were to time it now it probably wasn’t that long, maybe only one and a half alligators. But still it wasn’t as smooth, I really felt nerdy about it.

I’m not sure if the whole knuckles thing is a simply a guy thing but I’m curious and want to do more research. I know part of it is weird male bonding and privilege to be part of the pack and sometimes maybe even cultural. I do think part of my research should include refusing to do it when responding to offered knuckles. I hope no one gets too pissed if I don’t offer mine back. I’m a little worried it would result in some sort of fight. Isn’t that weird? If I don’t give knuckles I might GET real knuckles? I don’t want to fight. I think I would just try to say something to talk them out of it, like.. “You wouldn’t hit a dude with a vagina would you?”

I’ll document my research and keep you posted. Oh and, the friendly guy across the aisle, his name is Rick.

XO, LYMI – Ian