3,000 gay people in a hotel. If you're not having fun, you're doing it wrong.

3,000 gay people in a hotel. If you're not having fun, you're doing it wrong. Well. Maybe that sounds bitchy of me, criticizing your sexual mechanics like that. And while we're at it, unlike the rest of you losers, I am not waiting until December 21, 2012 to get laid. But hey, that's your prerogative- which is the perfect segue, pronounced segway for the non-grammar connoisseur (I apologize for being more pretentious than Naked Juice when it insists that its recipe calls for no less than 178 acai berries), into the topic that I am addressing in this blog post.
Tomorrow afternoon, I am leaving for Minneapolis, where I will be attending the largest and most important LGBT leadership conference in the world. From February 2nd-6th, I will be receiving 600% of my daily dose of gay. I mean, I don't know how gay it could possibly get, seeing as temperatures in Minneapolis hover around a pretty consistent yet psychotic -9 degrees. That's hardly a hospitable climate for flaming.
But in spite of that petty inconvenience, I can already foresee that this conference is going to be the hallmark of my spring semester. To put it briefly, I need this conference so badly right now. This gathering of gay, as well as an assortment of other savory characters, is also going to yield quite a promising transgender turnout. This is my chance to be perceived in my entirety, to occupy and embrace the extreme end of the spectrum, those uncharted waters known as my true self. Such an unprecedented opportunity will, at least in my own eyes, serve as an optimal experiment in which I will end up either labeling the rest of my life as a full blown transgendered individual as plausible or implausible.
These next five days are going to be incredible. No one really knows what will go down within the four walls of the Creating Change Conference. In fact, I am bringing an entire box of condoms just in case there are really five walls, so that there are no surprises.
But even though the majority of human beings are apprehensive of the unknown, we should all be entitled to approach it in our own way. This brings me back to the point that whatever you want to do with your life, or your love, or your bed, so long as you hurt no one else, is your prerogative, and yours alone. I have expressed a desire in recent blog posts to have my individual agenda respected and, essentially, ignored. Perhaps Creating Change will transform my definition of being left alone. Perhaps it will come to mean something more. Maybe it will even mean being acknowledged.
There is so much room for change.
Today, I was checking out food in the Student Center cafeteria, and at first glance, the cashier referred to me as "sir." A longer look at The Jordan Experience caused her to retract her former supposition with an apologetic, "I'm sorry, I meant ma'am."
Me: It's quite alright.
Cashier: No it's not.
Me: It's fine, I really don't mind.
Cashier (snapping at me): Um, yes you do. I've been around the block a few times, so don't even try to say otherwise.
Me: Um...have a nice day.
Okay, authoritative cashier lady, YOU'RE RIGHT. Apparently, you know more about my gender identity than I do.
Besides being a fine addition to Story Time, this here charming tale is a perfect example of a society that is deeply uncomfortable with any examples of expression that deviate from the gender binary. The guy who prepares sandwiches in my school's main cafeteria once apologized profusely, with plaintive sincerity that both amused and unsettled me, when he called me "sir." It took five apologizes on his part and five reassurances on mine that it was indeed pardonable that he had addressed me as something that is incongruous with my biological sex.
I think society needs to understand that gender variance is not only okay, it's beautiful! I challenge our present day conceptions of male and female. At Creating Change, I will take these words and turn them upside down and inside out (unless the word is umbrella or condom, in which case, I would just be breaking it). Shakespeare alone invented over 2,000 words. It helps that he happened to have worn tights.
At this point, I would like to avoid pronouns altogether, but for the sake of efficacy in today's society, I have to choose one. By process of elimination, female automatically falls off. And hey, why should I have to identify as something when it feels inappropriate to do so? Why should I respond to being called something that is technically correct but at the same time feels so wrong?
After all, serendipity means, "An unsought, unintended, and/or unexpected discovery and/or learning experience that happens by accident and sagacity," but that doesn't mean if your condom goes MIA and you end up conceiving said accident that it needs to be named Serendipity.

It's Like Taking Candy From a Baby. Except That You're Killing It Instead.

I attended my first Biopsychology class this semester. It goes without saying that I find the content fascinating. Perhaps a little too fascinating, because I am already using my new found knowledge to potentially wreak havoc on mankind. In order to illustrate the importance of environmental factors in early development, my professor explained that if an infant is not exposed to horizontal lines at all in early life, it will not recognize horizontal lines at all upon the initial exposure. One student raised his hand and inquired,
“So, if they see a horizontal line, would they just…run into it?”
To which my professor replied,
“Something along those lines.” (Haha, I just realized the excellent pun there. But I don’t think she did that on purpose.)
This prompted me to turn to my friend and say,
“Hey! You know what would be really funny? Say that you reared an infant on the Golden Gate Bridge, which has tons of vertical lines, because it’s a suspension bridge. Now say that after two years or so, you uproot this infant and place it in front of…an OCEAN.”
I wonder. So, if this infant saw a horizontal line (in this case, the horizon), would it just…run into it?
I am so terrible. Thank god I’m never having kids.

My Response to an Article That Claims Video Games Cause Depression in Teenagers

I responded to this article for a psychology homework assignment: The NY Times, "Do Video Games Cause Depression in Teenagers?" We have to say what we would like to know more about. Basically, I criticize the presentation of scientific research. But I also criticize the positions held by the actual scientists. I am such a NERD.

In two recent studies, scientists assessed the mental health and video gaming habits of adolescents and teenagers in order to establish a relationship between heavy gaming and the manifestation of depression. Researchers followed the gaming habits of Singaporean and Chinese students from varying ends of the age spectrum. Children who, at the beginning of the study, were already more impulsive and more socially awkward, also happened to spend more time playing video games. These same children were more likely to display symptoms of depression and anxiety in follow up studies that were conducted several months to a couple of years later. Dr. Gentile, an associate professor of psychology at Iowa State University, believes that young people with certain risk factors are more likely to become pathological gamers, and that gaming in turn preys upon their vulnerability and plunges them into further depression and anxiety. While he does not cite video games as the main culprit of depression, he does assert that excessive gaming exacerbates it, and consequently recommends that parents who suspect their child to be an unhealthy gamer restrict their use of video games.

There are several things that this article does not explicitly state, and because they may be paramount to the interpretation of these studies, I would like to know more about them. First of all, the article never specifies the ratio of genders represented. A country like China, which is featured in the first study, suffers from a major gender imbalance to begin with. Additionally, I am aware that the majority of Asia is approximately five years behind the West in the development of video game development, and the ratio of male to female video gamers was much higher five years ago in the West. In fact, this ratio, while shifting in recent years, continues to prevail. This is why I think it is safe to assume that, in a country like China, where there are more men to begin with, and the majority of people who play video games happen to be men, these studies probably did not feature many female participants. This is very important, because men manifest their depression differently than women do in that men tend to outwardly express anger and irritability rather than sadness and tearfulness. If a depressed female counterpart seeks out an alternative outlet for her depression, it might mean that the foundation of the vicious video game playing and depression cycle is the negative mood, rather than the games. This can be an indicator that seriously unhealthy video game playing, rather than being a trigger of depression, is a sign of depression that already exists.

I would also like to know more about the environmental factors of the individuals involved in the studies. For example, it would be extremely helpful to know their level of satisfaction with their social lives and home lives. Although the studies feature a large range of age groups, growing up is generally a difficult process, and sometimes more so for some than others. This article does not document third variables that would initiate a need for the increased isolation and social withdrawal offered by video game playing, such as rejection from peers and bullying. This third variable also carries out into an assessment of the outcome of avid video game playing over a period of time. For example, if the origin of a need for increased isolation is a lack of acceptance in school, then the need for isolation is only going to grow worse as the individual progresses into more advanced years of adolescence and social climates become much more hostile. Just because symptoms of depression and poor performance in school associated with depression happen to become more aggravated as video game use increases on a linear timeline does not mean that video games are definitely the cause. It seems that the scientists, as well as the author of this article, are focusing more on correlation rather than causation. Also, the article mentions that the few people in the study who stopped playing so many video games showed fewer symptoms of depression. First of all, knowing why they stopped playing in the first place is important. Maybe they had something new in their life to look forward to, such as a significant other or an improvement in their social life. This could explain both the decreased usage of video games as well as the elevation in mood.

The Closet is Calling Me and It Makes Me Sad. =(

I have felt physically sick for days now with an affliction that cloaks my stomach in the coarse fibers of dread and a boldness rivaling that of bone.  Winter break has invalidated the efforts that I so carefully enacted during my first semester at TCNJ.  I wonder now if it is possible to overstay your own welcome...

Although my friends insist that going back into the closet is not the answer, it is something that I must seriously consider if I wish to lead a productive life within the parameters of the society that is relevant to my pursuits.  My mother especially has been a significant source of hostility.  Apparently I am now a freak, and an ugly freak at that, one who is setting myself up for failure both professionally and personally.  No one likes people who look as I do...

The thing is, my own doubts had dismantled me long before my mother said a word.  I don't know if transgenderism can be my tomorrow.  The daily struggle is a daunting prospect, while the customary affronts to my exterior will be unbearable.

 That being said, this part of me is not something I can repudiate.  It is basic and permanant, a steady fixture, a focal point, a fundamental facet of my being, a future, a FACT.

Imagine a universe that you will irrevocably, involuntarily, be incorporated into, an afterlife that is inside of you.  Like a morbid curiosity, you cannot turn your back, and once you do, you will never be able to envision the same way again.

All throughout high school, I have been keenly attuned to this instinct that I am identical to my male friends in every way, despite what anatomy imposes upon us.  The prospect of being forced to forget is a source of deep despondancy. 

I cannot ignore the remote disgust I have always experienced when others automatically ascertain that I am a woman, and that I have consistently found their assumptions to be intrusive and erroneous in some way, even when I could not decipher precisely why.
I want to cry because I have grown accustomed to the delicious freedom of not having an unwanted identity constantly encroaching upon me, because gender really is the end all be all of existence, the all encompassing approach to one's expression, interests, emotions, and appearance.  It is the only inner sense that everyone else will be aware of, at all times.  To feel that you are representing the wrong array of attributes is agonizing and insulting.

Being at TCNJ means being free of the nightmare, the negligence of who I am in my core despite what others engage in when their eyes accomodate an overtly female physique and facial structure.

To be home is to be sad.  Even the thought of a long stretch of summer is incredibly disheartening. 

I've heard that all moments are dispensible.  The problem is that there will be others to accompany them.  When an individual decides to look each one in the eye, and to allow that look to linger, this is known as a life worth living, the life that is pursued with passion and sincerity.  It is the only form of existence that I would extol.  If I had to give away every inch of myself, this is the part that I would fight for.  It implies adversity and integrity at the same time, and it is why I tell the people I love not in spite of knowing that I might lose them, but specifically because I know I might lose them.  

But this ardent code of conduct is for the strong, brave, and tenacious.  And ever since I initiated this transformation, it has eroded away at me...

My Upcoming Flight and Why I Think TSA Scanners Suck (In a Bad Way)

Growing up in a family full of health professionals has done more than arm me with an understanding of medical jargon.  Not only has my upbringing imbued me with a sense of what is medically sound in a clinical setting (a skill that is highly useful as a newly medically autonomous adult), but it has also taught me to question everything that poses a potential threat to my health.  

On February 1st, I have to fly on a plane to Minneapolis for a special leadership conference, the details of which I shall discuss in a later post.  Strangely enough, it is not the invasiveness of the procedures implemented by security personnel that I object to.  Rather, my first and foremost concern is the danger posed by the TSA full body scanners.  

Countless doctors and scientists are issuing public warnings about the dangers of exposure to this specific variety of radiation.  Dr. Michael Love from John Hopkins University school of medicine notes that the scanners will be a source of skin cancer for some.  John Sedat, a University of California at San Francisco professor of biochemistry and biophysics, is convinced that "vulnerable populations" such as pregnant women, children, and the elderly increase their cancer risk by being subjected to these machines.  Other experts in X-ray imaging warn that the scanners can cause breast cancer.

And while it is true, as the TSA, and many more Laid Back (and notably less informed) Larry's are quick to point out, that during high-altitude flights, the thinner atmosphere offers less protection from cosmic radiation anyway, they are missing something that is huge.  TSA body scanners focus ionization radiation directly into the flesh, muscles, and organic tissues, while cosmic radiation is distributed, as cited in an article by NaturalNews, across the entire mass of the body.  And for all of those Unflappable Uncles (like mine) who think that these scientific opinions are an overreaction (after all, internet WiFi waves are everywhere, all of the time), I would like to make a point of clarification.  

Well first of all, I will point out that God too is apparently omnipresent, as He is everywhere all of the time, and God is the leading cause of death (according to George Carlin).  So by that thread of logic, there actually is a cause for alarm.

Secondly, I will ask the Unflappable Uncles to consider that these WiFi waves are similarly distributed across the entire mass of the body.  Furthermore, WiFi electromagnetic radiation is equivocal to low frequency radio transmissions.  And yes, it is true that terahertz waves (the waves being utilized by the TSA scanners) emit lower energy photons than, say, ultraviolet waves.  So yeah, they are a bit more friendly.

....They just tear apart your DNA.  

That's right.  I was going to bestow the sequel to the movie "Teeth," which features a girl with a vagina that eats people, with the title "Thunder Lips." Instead, I think that it should be called "Terahertz." It even sounds like an STD, or a dinosaur! 

On that same note, studies conducted by biophysicists have shown terahertz radiation to be damaging and preventing cellular repair of DNA.

Oh man...once, when I was high, I thought that my friend's jeans made her look like an asparagus mermaid.  Do not proceed to ask me what that means, because I have no freakin' clue.  What I can say is that I have seen firsthand the deleterious effects of jeans that go bad.  It is even worse when they are spelled with a "g." 

I'm honestly not sure of my stance on the "right to privacy vs. safety first" issue when it is a matter of airport security.  On the one hand, the Israeli airline El Al employs security tactics such as racial profiling, but has not had a terrorist incident in 30 years.  On the other hand, TSA workers are not properly trained in areas such as psychological profiling, and with these security protocols still in their stage of infancy, I am sure that there is a potential for abuse and exploitation of innocent people, especially during the new and improved body searches.  I am also sure that I will feel differently about the notoriously sexual pat downs administered by TSA workers once I experience it myself, especially because this particular procedure is more intrusive than effective.  

However, of this I am certain: I would rather unzip my clothes than my DNA,  any day.

I cannot in good conscious step through these TSA scanners armed with the knowledge of a 2008 CDC report that makes note of X-ray machines missing protective lead curtains and other safety features, which were dismantled by TSA employees themselves! Because I really do want to protect my stupid ovaries that I won't even use.  

Skin cancer runs in my family; my cousin needed to have cancerous cells removed when she was as young as twenty-four.  My aunt also had breast cancer, which makes me more statistically vulnerable to developing it myself.  Additionally, as someone who has needed an abnormally high amount of X-rays due to dental problems, oral surgeries, and a staph infection, I have already accumulated unhealthy doses of radiation.  It is absolutely reasonable that I would want to limit my exposure to non-diagnostic X-rays, especially when the long-term results of exposure to terahertz radiation have not yet been reviewed.  

I'm not going anywhere near those scanners on February 1st.

Fuck you, TSA.  Oh wait...I actually might.  

A Modest Proposal To Execute Homosexuals in Uganda

 ***The idea for writing this piece is based on a satirical essay by Jonathon Swift, in which he insists that the Irish should eat their own children. It is also based on the "Anti-Homosexuality Bill" that is being seriously considered by the Ugandan parliament.

It also happens to be my New Year's Resolution.

And in case you're stupid, it's a satire. 


     As food insecurity, poor harvests, drought, high infant mortality rates, HIV epidemics, and other health disasters continue to rock the nation of Uganda, a small country located in Central West Africa, it is imperative to direct one's attention to the most devastating calamity its people face thus far: multi-purpose mating. 
     That is correct, my fellow religious right.  Years after our Undercover Agents discovered reproductive technology, also known as sex, and patented it as the only way to overpopulate the world, homosexuals are not only stealing our foolproof formula, but they are doing it wrong.
     The beloved missionary position, the unspoken enjoyment of erotic Abercrombie and Fitch commercials, and modesty, also known as the perks of having pockets all the time, unless you're an animal, are all gravely threatened by the presence of the homosexual in Sub Saharan Africa.
     This is why the Ugandan parliament should pass a piece of legislation entitled "The Anti-Homosexuality Bill" that, if enacted, would expand the criteria for criminalization of homosexual behavior, including the introduction of the death penalty in certain cases.  In addition to incarcerating homosexuals for life, it is important to put to death anybody who engages in homosexual acts with a minor.  Studies have also shown that when people have only one AID, they feel better.  This is why it is important to curtail the number of AIDS that are being circulated throughout Uganda by putting any individual who is known to be HIV positive to death.  As an incentive to not stay and watch, anyone who is aware of an offense or harbors top secret gay information must report the offender to the authorities within a 24 hour period, or face three years of imprisonment, one for the face and each ear on the silhouette of Mickey Mouse, who is definitely a queer.  Finally, in order to correct the future gross maldistribution of gay amongst the Ugandan population, a preventative measure called castration, also known as a booster neuter, will be implemented.
     This bill will make the distinction between "The offense of homosexuality" (which sounds like "offensive homosexuality" when pronounced quickly, also known as forgetting to invite everyone), and "aggravated homosexuality," or impatient gay energy that expects rights, which is a more severe offense.  Additionally, this bill will cite statistical information supporting the assertion that all gay people are child molesters, from credible sources such as Paul Cameron, who has regretably been expelled from the American Psychological Association, the Canadian Psychological Association, and the American Sociological Association.  Be warned, Western nations, that this is why God hates fags, America, Canada, and most forms of people.
     These same Western nations have also threatened to withhold foreign aid from the Ugandan government on the grounds that it is a human rights violation to imprison people for their sexual orientation.  It should be noted by these Western nations that said misunderstood detention facilities are really resorts bearing the prison name in order to receive tax breaks.  A financially challenged country such as Uganda always has a keen eye for the economical.
     So economical are Uganda's endeavors that instead of using slips of paper to label and organize the spines of books on library shelves, the government will instead utilize the ample arms of homosexuals by tattooing Dewey Decimal call numbers into their skin.
     It is high time that we provide an answer to the Gay Question.  It is high time that we exterminate the Gay Menace.  They, the gays, are responsible for the rampant hunger in this region of the world because they are always swallowing.  They enter the body in a variety of unconventional ways, including sodomy, and scabs.  They become hairstylists so that they can masturbate peoples' heads under the guise of an honest living.  Like bees, they dance in order to communicate the best ways to emerge from the closet, then publish their findings in a well known children's song called "The Hokey Pokey," as part of an orchestrated effort to corrupt the youth.  They aim to obliterate all that is ugly by laminating beautiful young boys, converting them into MenU's, and projecting them onto a high pedestal, where they will demonstrate through dance, song, and theatre makeup the Soup of the Gay.  Their most avid members have launched the "It Gets Better" project, which aims to spread the message that life should be long.  This philosophy is not true for bananas, and it is most certainly not true for men who enjoy bananas and other phallic forms, including soft guitar cases, Florida, hitch hiker thumbs, John Kerry's caricature, and penises.
     We must let not their influence infiltrate the homes and hearts of our honest African brothers.  It is the responsibility of society to rise up and, collectively, instill traditional family values amongst all sectors of life.  Because everyone knows it takes a heterosexual village to raise a heterosexual child.
     This sounds like a satire straight from the pen of Kurt Vonnegut, but it is not.  Kurt Vonnegut is dead.  This is probably because he was gay.
     With perseverence and sufficient drive, we will succeed at eliminating the homosexual from Africa, and from the world, forever.
      We just need to keep our eye on the balls.

A Condom CAN TOO Be a Thinking Cap!

It all started a few nights ago when I was asked to select a security question for the new Gmail account that I had created.  Of course I noticed that the drop-down bar featured a "Make Your Own Security Question" question.  As I typed into the provided text box, "What is the name of my imagination?" followed by "Strawberry Fields, Duh!" I realized that I just had too many ideas on my hands to NOT have some kind of a consistent outlet for them.
Writing is my passion and I am sincere about projecting my talents professionally. A significant portion of my time is devoted to honing my writing skills and exploring the medium of words.  As audacious as this sounds, I am not ashamed to admit that I have a novel in the making.
Allow me to formally introduce myself.  Jordan Von Nutella Bon Bon is not my real name.  I was born Jordan Nutela Bon Bon, but then I decided to add an extra "l" to Nutela, and then I decided to get back at my Jewish mother by adding the German preposition "Von" into the mix. 
Looking back on all of that, I now realize that I didn't have to hijack a hazlenutty, chocolatey spread in order to manifest my rebellion.  All I had to do was tell my parents that I am bisexual and gender queer.
Funny story, actually.  The other day, my mother was lamenting how when she had hoped to one day lose a daughter and gain a son, this was not what she had bargained for.  Or something to that effect.
Thankfully, or so it seemed that way at the time, I was able to provide consolation by pointing out that, indeed, it could be infinitely worse: she could have a child who fancied snorting heroin.  My mother's exacerbated reply was that she didn't understand why she was forced to be stuck at such an impasse.  Why did her choices have to be between a drug addict and a daughter who wanted to look like a boy? Couldn't she opt for having a "normal" offspring?
But no matter.  The purpose of this blog is to declare to whomever spares it a passing glance that, even though I care terribly at times, as we all do, I have learned to make the judgement call that some things are more important than caring.  And this blog is dedicated to those things that are important enough to be unashamed over.
I have always embraced my fierce uniqueness, but on October 23rd, the date in which I decided to physically represent my gender variance, I enveloped it at a level that was unprecedented, even by me.  It became so much more than I ever imagined it could.  I would say that I too became so much more, but I cannot, because I haven't arrived there yet.  I am, after all, only a college freshman. 
So really, this all started ages ago.  I decided to penalize the good 'ole folks in hell by wearing skirts on a less reliable basis, and here we are. 
In the words of Marc Cohen from the revolutionary rock opera RENT, "From here on in, I shoot without a script." I might be a dick, but I will be a truthful dick.  The only aim I have in mind is to relate to you all an honest account of everything, from my upper body to anarchy, from expression to abortion, from the clandestine corruption of the psychiatrict system to the merits of marijuana, and most importantly, from the unconditional importance of individual liberty to the severe implications of losing it. 
And even if I flounder about, at least I shall have no filter.