I’m Tired of Living in a PC World

I’m tired of living in Politically Correct World.

There I said it.

I know I’ll get some backlash from people in my community for this post, but I have sat on this piece for too long.

Tensions have been high in recent LGBT news following the Great T-Word Scandal of 2014 and despite my strong opinions on the matter, I stayed away from Social Media battles relating to the issue. Because as much as I hate personal freedoms and individual rights being slammed, I hate even more the division it all causes in our very own community.

However, last week I stumbled across an article, the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, and realized then that this post was long overdue.

The article title caught my attention right away: “‘Cards Against Humanity’ Co-Creator Publicly Apologizes for Transphobic Card”. I own the game and know well that it is intentionally rude and politically incorrect, with a tagline on the game that reads “A party game for horrible people”. The game is similar to the clean, politically correct game of Apples to Apples, where players play red cards (e.g. Lobster) in their hand to best fit a green card category (e.g. Expensive). In Cards Against Humanity, a black card is drawn and revealed that has a fill-in-blank sentence on it. Players choose a white card from their hand, cards that only have words or phrases on them, to complete the sentence. Of course the goal is to be the player to make the funniest combination – like in MadLibs. The game is not exactly everyone’s cup of tea – the kind of game some never admit to enjoy. To further prove this point, I drew one black card and one white card at random: “This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with: Throwing a virgin into a volcano.” Let the laughter ensue.

So, when I saw the title of the article, my first thought was, “What could possibly be so terrible in a game like that to coax an apology from one of its creators?” I mean, isn’t that the point of the game? To gather with close friends and safely laugh at horribly disgusting terms and pairings that are not well-accepted in public? Isn’t that like going to Dick’s Last Resort and complaining that the waiter was rude?

And if the article title wasn’t enough to spark my curiosity, there was this accompanying picture:

fusion.net

fusion.net

The card read “Passable transvestites.” No way could this be the card that made such a fuss. NO WAY could people be so incredibly self-involved to expect that even in a “game for horrible people” all must bend so as not to hurt feelings and stir up politically correct social anxiety. And yet, that was exactly the case.

In the article, I found out that Tumbler user “horriblewarning” (strange irony there) is the owner of the original picture. He says he and his friends were playing the game and collectively felt that this card was wrong and transphobic so they had a little fun with it. They burned it, took a few photos and posted it to Tumbler with the caption “DEATH TO TRANSPHOBIA”.

Now, to be clear, I have no real issue with horriblewarning (Jonah, 19) and his friends not liking the card. To me, everyone has a right to an opinion, and if that was there’s, fine. I even have just a mild annoyance at the dramatic post online, but this is the Age of Social Media after all.

My problem is with the insane angry-mob-like reaction the post received. All of a sudden, the post was spreading like wildfire as users screamed for justice and apologies for the “transphobic card”. Are these people serious? Do you honestly expect to sweep the world and remove any politically incorrect humor in existence? Should I call up Joan Rivers and let her know that her comedy will no longer be allowed on this planet? Should we gather up every “A priest and rabbi walk into a bar” joke and ensure that they never again see the light of day?

And let’s focus on the card, once more, shall we? “Passable Transvestites”. If the LGBT community (or whomever) is really all that pissed about this card, how about a vocabulary lesson: Transvestite means any person who is dressing like a member of the opposite sex or gender, typically for emotional or sexual satisfaction. The terms Transgender or Transsexual are not interchangeable with Transvestite.

And this is my point – because of all of the uproar about transphobic slurs and the use of the word “Tranny” and the “She-Male” game on RuPaul’s Drag Race, we are too sensitive. We can’t even see a play on words as funny anymore (“Ooh, Girl. You’ve got She-Mail”). Is it really true that after all of these years fighting for LGBT rights, we want to pick a fight over words? This weekend marks the 45th Anniversary of the Stonewall Riots in New York City. Every year, we celebrate the progress we’ve made and look to further that progress. In the last few months, that progress has felt slow to me, as more and more members of my community turn on each other, on allies, on artists, and on the future. How is it that we have decided that policing others’ individual rights is more important than fighting for our own?

The truth is, there will always be things that offend us – some more than others. If we are able to deal with those offenses on a small, one-on-one basis, there will be no need for massive public slayings of people who seem to have mis-stepped. Being the community that needs a red carpet laid out across a politically correct universe seems a little silly coming from a group of people that started as outcasts and rebels, don’t you think?

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Dear Tony Gwynn

newyorktimes.com

newyorktimes.com

Dear Tony Gwynn,

I have admired you since the day my Father taught me about baseball. Even before I could walk, my parents brought me to Jack Murphy Stadium in San Diego to watch the Padres. They’d always sit in Right Field so they could get the best view of you on defense, and possibly even snag a ball over the wall from you on offense. I’d be in the baby carrier, tucked under one of the seats so I wouldn’t burn. My Mom says I was never bothered by all of the cheers. I guess it felt like home even then.

Sometimes, my Father would come get me out of school for an early afternoon game. He’d say, “How ’bout some het-degs” and I’d know we were headed to the stadium. The people in the stands selling hotdogs always said it real funny – like they were talking out of the side of their mouths. “Het-degs. Get yer het-degs, here!”

When I was old enough, my Father and I would play catch in the parking lot. He taught me about the only time the Padres had ever been to the World Series was the year I was born – 1984. He said it was only your 3rd Season, but you led that team like you were born to. He also taught me about what a “Golden Glove” was, and how you got your first of 5 in 1986. I started memorizing your stats before I was even old enough to have homework. I lined the walls of my room with clippings from the San Diego Union Tribune. I spent hours staring at the articles, wondering what I’d say when I finally got to meet you one day.

When I was 10, I went to a game with Randy Jones (he was good friends with my friend’s Dad). I talked the whole time about you and how someday I’d get to shake your hand. At one point in the game, Randy left and said he’d be right back. He came back a little bit later with a ball just for me – signed by both himself and you. I stared at that ball every night as a teen, hoping for your strength and talent to rub off on me.

When I was 14, I got to see you take the Padres to their second ever World Series. It was the greatest year in baseball history to me. That’s the thing about being a Padre fan – we don’t take those years for granted. Some teams might count up World Series appearances like they’re poker chips. But in San Diego, we savor those moments. I can still remember where I was for each of those games. We lost the Series in 4 games to the Yankees, but I didn’t care. I was never more proud to be a Padre.

When I was 17, I attended your final Home game – I had seats just above the dug-out. My face was painted and I had the throw-back mustard yellow jersey on. By that time, your knees and back weren’t doing so well. They brought you in to pinch hit somewhere around the 6th. I don’t remember much about the at-bat other than it was short and it was an out, but right before you ducked back into the dug-out, you took off your helmet and lifted it to the crowd. Many people might claim you looked at them, but I like to think that your eyes were right on me that day.

When I was 19, I was away at school. I was working on a major project with two teammates and my phone rang. It was my Father. I almost didn’t answer, but realized it had been a while since we talked. I had barely picked up when I heard my father say in a rushed voice, “You will never guess who is standing only a few feet from me.” There is only ONE person on this planet for which my Father would say those words…and it is you. My Father had been at the airport at the same time you and the SDSU team were heading out. Somehow my Father convinced you to take the phone because just moments later I heard your voice on the line. It was the greatest 30-second conversation of my life and yet I can barely remember what I said. I hope I didn’t sound too crazy as I explained that I was number 28 in college because that is the number you wore at San Diego State. When I hung up, I remember bursting into tears, my teammates beyond confused. There is no way I could explain what an amazing experience that was for me.

I don’t know what got you to take the phone from my Father that day in the San Diego Airport, but I feel so lucky you did because, as it turns out, that was the closest I’d ever get to shaking your hand.

My Father sent me a text this morning at 8:42 AM PST, telling me you’d passed. My heart jumped into my throat. I feel so connected to you, and yet I never even got to meet you face-to-face. I may just be one in hundreds of thousands of fans, but I hope you can feel the love I have for you….that all of us have for you. You are the Spirit of San Diego, Mr. Padre, and you always will be.

Keep your glove on…not only will I get to shake your hand one day, but I’m having myself a catch, too.

~28

mlb.com

mlb.com