Pristine Angie’s Good Homemaker Adventures at www.d332.com

A sister tgirl asked about my “gaff” the other day. I said, “what’s a gaff? Is that like British for a mouthful?” I was then told that that means one of those thingies that you improvise out of a nylon stocking so you can roll it up and put the family jewels in security deposit.

I think I heard about this somewhere around twenty years ago. It’s a great idea if you want to feel more like a girl, or you are the understudy for an adult film star.

But it got me thinking: (And girls, if you don’t like talking about this, please turn away and pretend we are not here) Anatomically speaking, the penis is at it’s most relaxed when it is fully extended. When it is flaccid, it’s really under tension. So to wrap it up when it is under tension, would be double indemnity. Kinda like David Hasselhof singing to John Tesh.

And then I thought, well you can see the outline of the breast in all women’s clothing, why not the male genitals? Is there anything wrong with it? I happen to think the male organ is a thing of beauty. So why hide it if you’re not trying to pass anyway?

Oh well…perhaps it’s better that it stays tuck away. You know what they say: Everything grows larger in one’s imagination!

Someone recently asked me to word associate into a sentence the things I think about when I think about summer. I came out with this:

I lay in bed and watch the ceiling shake off plaster scraps when a car passed by blasting rap music or Harleys with dummy pipes warn an empty road of a biker present.

For years, I have had evolving theories of why people needed to be so loud. They themselves, when pressed for an answer, have produced reasons of varying plausibility. “My motorcycle is loud because drivers never pay attention on the road. With cellphone usage, I need every help I can get to make sure they know I’m there, in case they decide to change lanes without looking,” a biker said. “The chicks dig the rumble,” another said.

Then you have the suburban boys who plug up their ears and drive around with all the windows down, blasting rap music as if amplitude could somehow be Midas-converted from suburban comfort into street cred.

Everything grows larger in one’s own imagination.

When boomboxes were all the rage in the 70s and early 80s, I had a notion that airspace was being marked as a territorial right for those who were disenfranchised: It was a way of saying, “you can’t sit in your brownstone and pretend I’m not here.” I still believe there’s a measure of this in the need to make one’s presence felt. After all, everyone loves a bit of attention, no matter how he or she may deny it.

Of late, I am beginning to see our culture’s involvement with noise as an attempt to eradicate the surrounding din. Fighting fire with fire, the answer comes in the form of a tower of Babel, ending in more babble. While it sounds unlikely, there’s quite a few examples of how we seek to dominate the competition through largesse, as opposed to rendering their scale invalid by seeking alternative measures. The increasing size of SUV’s on American highways in the name of safety, the increasing volume of cinema movies in place of an actual plot, the supersize burger. More is not only better, more makes the previous version less good. In doing so, however, one is validating, thereby establishing the created system as a reliable indicator of achievement.

How do the folks who chose not to participate answer this escalating war of decibels?

While the scale is absent, we can look to economic theory for relief. Those of us who treasure our silence as gold will be able to cherish in the equally improbable notion that the unsaid can become more golden.

After all, demand goes up as supply diminishes.

©2005 Pristine Ann Gee

One of ceaseless criticisms that has plagued Bruce Lee’s fighting style was that he fought “dirty” (went straight for the hacky sacks). Shifu from many schools have chastised him for bringing “street fighting” elements into his all-encompassing method, Jeet Kune Do. His answer was that martial arts meant war, and in war, you use whatever is necessary to preserve yourself and destroy your opponent. Martial Arts Competitions with rules, regulations, and judges were antithesis to the art of war.

Something just struck a blow of revelation to my cynicism about Hollywood movies. The cheesy background music (orchestral strings=love, piano=introspection, minor chords=bad dudes on the way), the decision to use one of People’s ten sexiest actors of the year to play mentally-handicapped parapelegics, space aliens with British accents, the dreaded Spielberg close-up face shot, buttered popcorn; All devices to win the audience over and evoke empathy and compassion.

I found that if I looked at movie-making as a military strategy, it becomes clear that there are no contrivances that are off limits when attempting to trick humane sentiments back out into the open. Sun Tzu, Chinese general of 500 B.C. who was generally credited for authoring The Art of War has often been quoted as saying, “A general will win if he knows when to fight the enemy and when to enlist Brad Pitt to play him to fight the enemy.”

It would be nice if viewers can rediscover the compassionate, spiritual side of their lives through the stark landscapes of Bergman or Kiewlowski. But let’s be honest: Keeping tabs on missing white girls and watching beautiful people (who have to work less in life for cash) eat horse rectum and drink bug excretions for cash has become a national past-time. That may not be a formidable opponent, but when it comes to seeking out humanity within that rubble, the tiger claws can sure be damn elusive.

In surfing websites about trans-lifestyles, one of the misleading pieces of advice I often come across is that when one goes out in their trans-state, one should make it a point to smile as often as possible.

I understand that this is done with the intention to disarm the public - who treat movies as representations of truth - from the preconceived notion that all transpeople are somehow serial killers.

(It also follows that All high-security prisoners act and talk like Anthony Hopkins right?)

But then if one were to look at the fraction of dramas with transpeople vs. the endlessly recycled comedies that pokes fun at transfolk, it becomes obvious that if anything, being serious should be the order of the day.

I’m not sure why strangers and the faceless publie need to be appeased, or even answered to. Look at any girl walking alone in public. They are usually stern, looking to the ground to avoid eye contact with most men, and marching onwards with a sense of purpose.

A girl who is walking alone and smiling would probably stand out more.

The New England Journal has stated in its latest studies that tranny chasing is a “gateway” activity that increases the chance of practitioners being led to full-blown, feather-boa flailing, drapes-matching par excellence, Barbara Streisand Complete Box Set-owning, Wizard of Oz Collector’s Edition DVD-watching homosexuality.