LOOKING BOTH WAYS: On Fitting In Mike Rothbart CUTTINGSVILLE -- Rutland is no place for a queer man. Not that this prevents some of us from living there. It's just not particularly welcoming. Rutland is a real red, white and blue town: Caucasians, rednecks and blue collars. I spent a recent evening downtown with my friend David,‘ a six foot tall black juggler with a mohawk. We passed the time in the cultural center in the heart of Rutland - the Kmart parking lot. We sat on a bench sipping our Pepsi from brown paper bags, watching the locals. Until we realized they were watching us. In fact, they did more than watch us; they were approaching. Fast. With menacing looks in their high school "I—have-an-attitude" eyes. This group of young punks, Rutland's future Selectmen and chamber of commerce businessmen, kindly and politely inquired as to what the fuck we were doing there. They made it clear that we were entirely welcome there - as soon as we stopped looking queer. One of these gentlemen kindly invited to escort me to his barber, to remove my long tresses. Another offered to introduce David to his old pal, the baseball bat. We declined, and before these friendly locals became any friendlier, we took ourselves for a walk. In the car, Dave's only question was: "What in the world am I doing here? This state is whiter than Wonder bread." I tended to agree, although the White Mountains are actually in New Hampshire. For the first time, I realized that to live in a small town in Vermont and not fit in can be hazardous to my health. Much of my life, I've been proud of my ability to be outstanding. Or at least, to stand out. At my college graduation, I decided to wear a maroon cap and gown. Everyone else wore the standard black. My mom was grateful; she said it made me easier to see. My dad complained that I looked like the one penguin with a bowtie in a Far Side cartoon. Regardless, I was just happy to have another chance to be unique. I may have been inspired by a mural in my high school. Splayed across the wall by the front office was a twenty foot high painting of zebras, a herd of equines in zebra-striped suits faced the stairwell. Amidst them stood one zebra dressed in paisley rainbows and purple polka dots. Beneath it, in fancy black calligraphy, was an inspirational message. Something like: "Be yourself!" or "Take the road less traveled," or perhaps "Hey, Marvin, you clash!" I've been fond of clashing ever since. Especially when I can clash with people's expectations. Unfortunately, those Rutland youth apparently had not benefitted from the zebra mural. I like to wear skirts. An English professor of mine used to call this "a subversive deconstruction of the pejorative normative cultural values ‘ through demarcating and performing a minority aesthetic .of resistance." I just call it "wearing a skirt." It makes me feel free, those bare legs beneath fancy silk wraps. I prefer loose skirts that twirl around my legs when I dance. It gives me a queer thrill to prance around in female clothes like your prototypical daisy-behind-the-ear Radical Faerie. From high school, I recall my first discovery of the joy of being a misfit. I would ride around town with my friend Craig in his huge tank-sized pickup truck: four wheel drive, gun rack, black leather jackets, cigarettes, elbows out the windows. As we drove, we blared our favorite music at full volume. That is, we blared Vivaldi's "Four Seasons." I remember the jarred expressions on the faces of other drivers as we passed, their brains straining to integrate conceptions of teenage punks and classical music. For Craig was both, a troubled adolescent shoplifter and an impressive virtuoso violinist. That experience points to what I value about subversive activity. It tears apart your expectations of how things are in the world, and reintegrates them in a manner that nothing else but good fiction or foreign travel can do. And that, finally, is why I wear skirts: I thrive on the puzzled looks of passersby. In their eyes sometimes I can see that I am challenging their assumptions of the world. Sadly though, I get few chances to wear my dresses in this state. It remains vital to my continued survival that I don't wear them in too many public places. My run-in with the rowdy Rutland roustabouts proved this to me. That particular evening, I was wearing nothing more startling than lace underwear - hidden under blue jeans. ‘My long hair was enough to set these juveniles off. It always amazes me how swiftly and forcefully society squelches the transgression of any social taboo. Cultural values - like which clothing is appropriate for men - are deeply instilled and widely promulgated, and reactions against those who break from the mold are more visceral than rational. It is those of us who stand out, like David with his mohawk, who bear the brunt of these constrictions. Many of us queers stand out just by being who we are. I swore once that I would never limit myself based on the pressures of those around me. Nevertheless, I find I do it all the time, putting on jeans for yet another day. For as thrilling as it is to break people's expectations, it can be quite lonely too. It gets hard to always be the odd one out. And so who knows - someday soon I actually may buy myself that three-piece suit. I might even wear it. - Mike Rothbart lives in Cuttingsville, where his favorite dress ‘is currently collecting dust. He thinks it would be fun to be a fashion activist, especially if someone would pay him to do it. V Bisexual Community Meets Hugh Coyle PUTNEY -- While spring buds began to blossom around the state, Vermont's bisexual community busied itself with two regional meetings. On Saturday, May 6, a meeting of the Northeast Bisexual Community was held in Putney at the Putney Friends Meeting House. Sponsored by the National Bisexual Network (BiNet USA), the afternoon gathering attracted twenty-eight people. Many of those in attendance stayed on for dinner afterward at Common Ground in Brattleboro. Discussions centered around developing a community plan for Vennont and identifying regional resources. Small groups targeted four areas for closer examination: relationships, coming out and labeling, race and class issues, and community organizing. Issues of definition and identity, both inside and outside the bisexual community, emerged in nearly all of the discussions. The groups looked at ways that bisexuals can empower themselves and one another, and in the process help overcome the barriers often placed by society around issues of sexuality. These thoughts carried over into the large group discussion, which looked more closely at establishing a significant bisexual presence within the state. Suggestions included monthly meetings around the state (perhaps via interactive TV), a regular column in Out in the Mountains, and increased visibility at the annual Vermont Coalition for Lesbian and Gay Rights (VCLGR) conference. The group also elected a new representative to BiNet USA since Stephanie Berger was leaving her position. RiflI|"'1l\ '¢