Friends

That Simon Cowell seems to think he can take entirely for granted that the Christmas number one in the singles chart is his to do with as he pleases strikes me as the height of arrogance, and a symbol of everything that is superficial, nasty and plain distasteful about western consumerism.

I know it's also published by Sony, so we're giving them money anyway, but Killing In The Name's closing lyrics express succinctly how I feel about Cowell and his ilk. I appreciate that the song was written for an entirely different context, and ranting against tacky plastic consumerism might seem a small thing compared to the racism, violence and death that the song is about, but that too seems to me to be a reason to try and make it the Christmas number one. This is a potent message which should be heard again and again.

I'm sure many people enjoyed the X-Factor and I have nothing against Joe McElderry, who sings very nicely. I even bought one of Susan Boyle's singles a few weeks ago, so Mr Cowell already has some of my money, but I still wanted to add my voice to the countrywide chant of, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me". With that in mind, I bought Rage Against The Machine's single today, and so did the_local_echo and zoeimogen.

We might not succeed, but we should at least take number two, and I think that's a positive thing on balance. I also now have an extra bit of musical stress therapy on my iPod out of the deal.

Originally posted at http://auntysarah.dreamwidth.org/218102.html - you can comment here or there.

So I don't do memes, but I've seen a few people doing a brief summary of their notable points of the 2000s, so I figured I'd do the same. Here we go:

	2000: Bought house, moved in with the_local_echo, for the second time. Got into digital photography. Believe it or not, that's me in the picture.
	2001: Visited India. Spent far too much time in Silicon Valley. Got married to the_local_echo. Got our first snake. Came out to most of my friends as trans. The photo is of a wild monkey in Goa demonstrating no fear of humans.
	2002: Got more snakes. Had a weekend break in Seattle (seriously). Saw Venice for the first time, went hiking in the Dolomites. Found out about Via Ferratas, decided anyone doing one was probably insane beyond redemption. I now want to do one. The photo is Venice (well, Burano).
	2003: Started living part time as female, mostly in private. Started laser hair removal. Went to Utah for the second time, got to the top of Angels' Landing for the first time, conquering my fear of heights. Became decidedly genderqueer, although I didn't know the word at the time. The photo is the top of Angels' Landing.
	2004: Learned to water-ski, in Wisconsin! Consolidated my genderqueerness. Resigned my job of 9 years and went to work for a startup. The photo is of me swimming in the River Cam, and holding on to a punt pole.
	2005: What a year! After 6 months working for the startup, I started working for myself as a contractor. Went to Utah for the third time, got introduced to the idea of canyoneering. Thought it all a bit hardcore. Returned to the US to spend a week in Wisconsin again (more water-skiing), had a bit of a "moment of clarity" there when I realised the genderqueer thing really wasn't doing what I needed. Returned to the UK, sulked for a couple of months, transitioned, saw a gender specialist, started psychotherapy. Started blogging. The photo is me water-skiing.
	2006: The year of my so-called "Real Life Experience". Started HRT in January, had a rollercoaster ride in all sorts of ways. Met loads of amazing new people, visited Venezuela where my brother got married, and where my father disowned me (apparently because I told him to "fuck off" - I think he deserved it). Became good friends with zoeimogen, got referral for SRS, stopped taking hormones, spent the run up to Christmas feeling mostly dead. Was the photographer at two weddings. The photo is one I took of Angel Falls.
	2007: Had sex reassignment surgery. Dilated. Visited a BDSM club for the first time. Dilated. Went on my first Pride march. Dilated. Had revision surgery. Dilated. Visited Barcelona, didn't have energy to do much. Dilated. The photograph, well - I had to really.
	2008: Became polyamorous by accident. Went to Utah for the 4th time, learned how to abseil, descended my first canyon. Met parmonster. Had nasal polyp surgery. Helped organise S'onewall demo and had a Guardian journalist vaguely threaten me with a libel lawyer. The photo is me abseiling in Zion's Subway.
	2009: Joined a political party. Got married to the_local_echo for the second time. Took up climbing after gentle prodding by paradox_puree. Went back to Utah and did some serious canyoneering. The photo - me, Sylvia and Zoe one day in April.

Originally posted at http://auntysarah.dreamwidth.org/217798.html - you can comment here or there.

Yet another article spews forth from within the ranks of our wonderful LGB community, restating that tied old meme, trans people are deluded victims of a medical plot to "mutilate" poor confused gay people and turn our gender-stereotypical model citizens and I am here to save you from yourselves. By way of a striking bit of deja-vu, it's from a gay campaigner and journalist, namely Ronald Gold writing via the Bilerico Project. I love the URL's allusions that trans people are a "disease that doesn't exist" - classy.

Anyway folks, methinks its time to fasten our seatbelts and hold on once again for the inevitable storm when our self-proclaimed saviour and representative from the Penis Preservation Society finds out that his gallant attempts to keep us away from the evil boogeysurgeon are met with less than undying adoration and gratitude. Watch out for all the classic stages. It usually starts with denial, moves through cognitive dissonance into attacking us for our perceived ingratitude, and ends with a persecution complex. The stage where you get nominated for "Journalist of the Year" and invited for canapés by a bunch of jolly decent sorts from the LGB establishment is entirely optional.

Stage one has already begun. Dear Ronald has explained, after a deluge of surprisingly less than gushing comments that he "was attempting to open a dialogue with some of you who are willing", and that he "hopes to be allowed to try again." Isn't that nice?

In the unlikely event that you're reading this, Ronald, I'd like to offer some advice. When I was eight I would try to "open dialogue" with my little brother by hitting him until he came round to my way of thinking. It never actually worked. By launching a full frontal attack on us, you are far more likely to encourage a counter-offensive than any kind of negotiation. Poor play, Ron, poor play.

Originally posted at http://auntysarah.dreamwidth.org/217463.html - you can comment here or there.

So I'm slightly concerned that I haven't heard anything since my tax return was submitted. In previous years it's been submitted online, but I can't do that any more because my taxes are now handled by Her Majesty's Customs and Revenue, Public Department One who, as I understand it, look after taxes for members of the armed forces (which I am not), people in the witness protection programme (which I am not) ... and me^*, because I'm worth it.

Anyway, my tax return this year was complicated because I wound up my company in the previous year, and my accountant had to do all sorts of weird stuff that I don't entirely understand to calculate my tax bill, and there's been a postal strike, and I'm fretting that they either haven't received it, or are convinced that due to it being the most complex tax return I've ever submitted, combined with my taxes now being handled by the same people who do James Bond's, that it's secretly flagged me as some evil terrorist money launderer and I'm about to end up in prison for tax evasion aggravated with nuclear proliferation or something (my mind works in odd ways sometimes).

So I look up Public Department One on Google, and they don't seem to have a website. Eventually I find what seems to be their number, so I call it and a nice lady answers. "Customs and Revenue. How can we help you?"

I resist the urge to answer, "In ways that don't involve latex gloves, hopefully", and explain that I just want to check that they've received my tax return because they haven't sent me a bill or anything. She asks for my name and National Insurance number, I supply them.

"OK, just let me receive your details"

*tappety tap*

*wait*

*intake of breath*

"Ah, er, I think you've, er, come through to the wrong extension. Please wait while I transfer you."

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a latex glove snaps back into place as it's released from the hand of a large hairy man called Igor.

Now a man with a lovely lyrical Welsh accent answers, "PD1, how can I help?"

I repeat that I just want to check if they've received my tax return, because there's been a postal strike and stuff, ha ha, please don't hurt me.

"No problem Miss Brown, let me just look."

He knows my name, and my National Insurance number already - these guys aren't like other public bodies; they have IT that works. Never mess with public bodies who have more power than deities and are competent.

"Yes, we received that in November, you should be hearing from us in a couple of weeks. Is there anything else I can help with?"

I say that there isn't, and thank him for his help. After all that fretting he was a very nice man who did not sound like he pressed any buttons marked, "dispatch ninjas to subject's house immediately, also, prepare the shark tank" while on the phone to me...

...which is nice.

^{* May also include anyone else with a Gender Recognition Certificate. Trans people may contain traces of nuts.}

Originally posted at http://auntysarah.dreamwidth.org/217176.html - you can comment here or there.