Sending people (or money) to Mars instead of school

The current government is cutting funding for schools and a host of national research centers, labs, organizations while trying to get to Mars. How could it be more perverted? 

How can people be blind to the damage this government is doing to this country (& the world) for decades to come???

“

✏️ Elon Musk is on a mission to take over NASA—and Mars. The world’s richest man has extraordinary influence on many U.S. federal agencies as a leader of DOGE. But NASA is where Musk is making the biggest shift in an agency’s priorities to align them with his own, both financially and personally. Separately, AI is reshaping overlooked corners of rural America. Finally, we explain how to avoid oversharing personal data with chatbots.

Emma Tucker
Editor in Chief, The Wall Street Journal

Musk is in position to speed up plans for a voyage to Mars, with a potentially huge impact on SpaceX.
The billionaire is working to recast NASA’s programs, reallocate federal spending and install loyalists to aid his decadeslong goal of sending people to Mars, report Emily Glazer and Micah Maidenberg. Musk has also worked to win backing from Trump by telling the president that getting people to Mars would burnish his legacy as a “president of firsts.” The push to reach Mars could be transformational for SpaceX, which has emerged as the dominant space technology and operations company globally and is already one of NASA’s biggest contractors.

“

Sweet belonging: a beginning?

A 72% dark chocolate-raspberry bar and a small white envelope with my name on it. Inside, a pretty card with three dangling light-bulbs:

“It means so much to have someone here who understands being different in a lot of non-visible ways and also is just so genuinely kind. 

Here’s to as many cycles as we can muster! 

-J.”

Do I just need to be more patient about building connections and deep friendships within this gay men’s chorus? 

These guys — and maybe people in general — respond more than I realize to my own cues, signals, actions or words. And I guess oftentimes they’re responding to some of my more or less explicit, more or less conscious, cues of “Stay away from me” or “Leave me alone”. In larger groups and crowded environments, I probably give signals of that type much more than I’m aware of. Are these gay guys in the chorus just waiting for me to open up? For me to explicitly ask for a hug? For me to say, “It’s OK to touch me”? For me to say, “Please invite me to gay bars with you all”?

The shows were fantastic. I had dear friends come see us at both shows and I had a blast, really enjoying both performances. I was somehow able to strike a balance between getting enough time by myself, despite the chaos of performing, and connecting with people in the chorus in meaningful ways and enjoying the presence of my friends who came to see the shows. 

And yesterday evening, when some of us from the chorus went to socialize at a gay bar after the show, despite being the only trans guy in our group, I felt like I totally belonged. I even felt at ease at the gay bar in a way that I had never felt before: I felt like I belonged in a way that was new and profound and yet, somehow, simple or obvious. Was it because I was there with a group of cis gay men? Was it because I actually really pass as a cis (gay) man myself now? Or was it rather because I finally ditched my N-95 mask, because I was more relaxed and happy and simply full of joyful energy than I usual am? 

The past couple of days turned the previous couple of months of this concert cycle on its head, in a really good way: I went from feeling disconnected, isolated, unseen, and uncomfortable to feeling seen and accepted and even loved just as I am, even if I am “different in a lot of non-visible ways”, as my baritone friend put it so well. 

Will it go a step further? Will I get those deep connections to flourish into friendships even outside of chorus, doing things with some of these guys beyond rehearsals and shows, as I so badly yearn?

Foreign languages and unknown codes

This morning my housemate asked me how tech rehearsal with the chorus went last night and suddenly I found myself in an almost-flow-of-consciousness explanation of the type of overload, or overhead, I feel at rehearsals with the gay men’s chorus in general. 

Even when the rehearsals go well or are fun from the musical viewpoint, there is always an overhead of effort, an emotional and/or sensorial overload for me that is really tiring. And the analogy that came to me spontaneously as I explained this to my friend this morning was some trips I did in Arabic-speaking countries. 

I’m fluent in several European languages as well as their cultural norms; so for me often traveling or living in many countries spanning most of Europe and even Mexico feels comfortable to the extent that I generally find myself immersed in environments where I can understand at a glance what is going on around me, at least superficially, from the words I hear/read as well as from most of the gestures or body language or social codes. When I traveled to Syria, Lebanon and Egypt, though, this wasn’t the case: I didn’t speak the language and also many of the social norms or codes were unknown to me, including simple things like hand gestures or body language; so I found myself constantly wondering what was going on around me as well as questioning what was actually being said, or otherwise communicated, to me. And that made those trips so much more tiring (albeit wonderful) than trips in countries where I spoke the language and/or was familiar with the social norms/codes. 

With the gay men’s chorus for me it feels similar to my travels in Syria. I don’t pick up on most social cues — and this is true for me in any environment. Unless something is explained/said to me explicitly or has been familiar to me for a long time, I don’t understand it. So when I find myself in big groups of people that are new and/or unknown to me, I don’t really understand what is going on. And it has always been this way for me, for as long as I can remember (school was a nightmare for me as a kid). Through the years, I’ve “learned the social codes” of several groups where I spend, or have spent, more time, like among scientists, sailors, runners or climbers, and some genderqueer environments. These are the groups of people with whom I spend, or have spent, most time and whose “languages” or “codes” I’ve learned to interpret even if they’re unnatural to me. And even in those familiar environments of which I’ve “learned the language” or “cracked the code”, I still try and find a few friends or buddies with whom to connect in small groups or one-on-one because that is easier for me.

When I’m with the people in the gay men’s chorus I feel like I’m in Syria because I don’t understand their “language”, their “codes”: I’m always in doubt of how their words are meant — is there a double meaning to some comments or compliments? — I’m confused by the meaning of their body language or gestures — why do they touch each other like that? — I often don’t get their jokes and/or references; and I’m never sure whether someone is flirting or not. 

So every time I go to rehearsal, regardless of how well it may go from the musical point of view, for me it’s always like traveling to a foreign country of which I don’t speak the language and don’t even understand the codes (e.g. gestures or body language). It feels like I’m navigating a whole new world — which, I guess, in some senses I am.

Rephrasing, Reframing, Reclaiming

Maybe I’ve been acting a bit too much the victim in the situation with the gender-expansive gay guy with whom I hooked up. 

After all, if I led most of the thing and/or took the initiative most of the time, it’s because I wanted to, because I chose to. I started it, I kept it going for a while, and I ended it. With some encouragement and/or “collaboration” on his part, of course, but I led the game and he played along. What I did was what I wanted to do, what I chose to do; and what I got was, mostly, what I wanted and/or needed. 

I went into it as a fling, as a fun and affirming experiment for myself with someone who felt safe and gave clear signs of reciprocating at least the physical/sexual interest. I didn’t go into it expecting anything more than a fling, anything more than a hookup (and, for me specifically, an aro-ace hookup). I was curious, I was horny, and I was seeking affirmations. And I got my curiosity, my horniness, and my affirmations satisfied. 

As we sing in one of the pieces for our upcoming show, “they can’t take that away from me”: that’s mine to keep, mine to remember, mine to cherish, if I want to. 

Yes, as our hanging out & hookups progressed, it turned out that we had more in common than initially expected and that we might be able to be friends. Yes, for a short while it seemed that we were on the same page about trying to be friends with benefits. And yes, he changed his mind and didn’t tell me openly until I prodded, which remains something painful and/or frustrating for me. And yes, things “not working out” with him reactivated some sorrow & grief from old losses. And yes, things might feel awkward for me (& maybe for him, too?) in the chorus for a while. And yes, I do still feel like an outsider and/or uncomfortable within the chorus but that is mostly unrelated from him and something I need to solve for myself independently from what happened with the gender-expansive gay guy with whom I had hooked up. 

But when it comes to what happened with him, it was my choice from the beginning to the end and many parts I really liked; so it would probably do me good to rephrase the story as my choice, to reframe the relationship as a fun, affirming, interesting fling, and to reclaim the experience as my own.

“Unmasking Autism”

This afternoon, I finally bought myself a copy of the book Unmasking Autism by Dr. Devon Price. 

I had borrowed this book from the local library twice already but both times had to return it before even starting to read it. Somehow, I wasn’t ready for it. 

At this point, I’ve been writing about my neurodivergence and, in particular, about my autistic brain for a couple years here. But I was never officially diagnosed. I did the two “recognized” tests online, which came out “positive”, and I have a lot in common with several friends of mine who have been officially diagnosed with autism. I do believe that I have an autistic brain and admitting this to myself helps me — most of the time. And yet, I had never really gotten around to reading Unmasking Autism or other similar books. And it wasn’t just for lack of time. 

As I stood in the upstairs room at the bookstore this afternoon, with Unmasking Autism in my hands, I started crying. At first, I tried to stop or ignore the tears welling up in my eyes, rolling down my cheeks. But then, I could no longer hold them back and I just stood there, in the corner, letting myself cry. 

This small action of finally, actually, buying this book is symbolically important for me: it’s finally admitting to myself for real that I am autistic. It’s finally allowing myself to say or think, for real, “Yes, I am autistic and I’m going to really look at this side of me, too, now. And hopefully learn to love it better”. It’s an admission as well as an act of self-love, somehow. 

But I’m also scared: what if I discover that I’m not autistic at all? What if I discover that I cannot “explain away” all my quirks and/or “social inabilities” with an autistic brain? What if there’s something deeply and irreparably “wrong with me”?

“A hole is a space you can fill”

“

A hole is a space you can fill — 

And this one I want to fill with flowers

My flowers 

My blossoms

My blossoms in bloom

A hole is a space you can fill — 

And this one I want to fill with light

Light from the sunshine 

Light from the moon 

Light from me in full bloom 

A hole is a space you can fill — 

And this one I want to fill with breath 

My breath 

As I breathe in fresh air 

In this spring of renewal

A hole is a space you can fill — 

And this one I want to fill with water 

From the flowing river 

From the creek and the ocean

To wash myself clean

A hole is a space you can fill — 

And this one I want to fill with hope

Hope for a better spring

Hope for a better summer

Hope for myself to bloom

”

This hard week ahead

It’s Monday. Not as bad as last week but still hard. And a hard week ahead.

Since starting to sing with the gay men’s chorus last September, Mondays have become a day of great emotional upheaval. 

For nearly two months at the beginning, the emotions were mostly negative, difficult, and painful. Then, they became joyful while still remaining confusing and somewhat overwhelming. Now, after the breakup with no real/mutual closure with the gender-expansive guy with whom I had hooked up, and especially after the retreat the first weekend of March, the emotions have become mostly negative, difficult, and painful again. 

From the musical aspect, I was able to enjoy the last two rehearsals and last night I actually had a blast (as long as we were singing). Writing that note about my being aromantic to the whole chorus almost two weeks ago and receiving some lovely responses really helped me, at least to enjoy the music and enjoy the last two rehearsals before our shows this week, instead of having to white-knuckle through. In particular, last night was Sitzprobe, including the band, so we sang all the songs of the show standing and running them through with hardly any breaks so I was able to really get into the musical mood and the flow, especially since I was still glowing and feeling buoyant inside me with the joy and confidence from Saturday night out dancing. So as long as we were singing, things went well and I was actually able to enjoy myself. 

But the social aspect feels miserable to me again. Similar to how it felt during those first weeks last autumn but with the additional pain now of a sense of loss, of something having broken with this group of people. 

I can’t help feeling that I don’t belong. I constantly feel like an outsider. Part of it is my ace-aro orientation (I think this a great part, a great obstacle). Part of it is, I guess, my different interests (only a couple of them are as avid athletes as I but they go into a different persona, not their athlete self, when they’re at chorus). Part of it is my being an introvert and/or autistic: I need to connect to one or two people in order to start, or get into, a conversation and preferably avoid “small talk”, which is the exact opposite of what happens in a big group of people like our chorus. I just don’t know what to say to these people — at least, not to most of them in such a setting. I’d just like to step aside with a few of them with whom I feel comfortable and chat earnestly. But that doesn’t happen. I can’t make it happen. I cannot fit it. 

Why? 

And the breakup with no real/mutual closure with the gay guy with whom I had hooked up is making things harder for me because it adds an extra level of unease and awkwardness for me. Somehow, things having “gone wrong” or “not having worked out” with him is making me feel even more like an outsider, even more like I don’t belong or cannot fit it. 

Maybe getting some form of mutual closure and/or repair with him could be helpful, it might be something worth trying for me. But not immediately. Not until the shows and this concert cycle are over. 

So I’ve got one more week to go. Less than a week, actually: I have to make it until Saturday. Tech rehearsal this Wednesday evening and then the two shows, on Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, and then maybe some celebration/socialization at the end of the shows on Saturday evening. Then, I’m done. Then, I’m going to take a break. Then, I’m out of here and going on a work/pleasure trip that I’m really looking forward to. 

I can’t wait for this week to be over. I can’t wait for this concert cycle to be over (from the social, not the musical, viewpoint). I can’t wait to get this break, skipping the first rehearsal of the new cycle at the beginning of April and maybe some other ones, too. 

I’m so tired of this pain. 

I’m so tired of feeling like I don’t fit in, like I don’t belong. 

I’m so tired of these efforts, these huge efforts I make every Sunday night. I was very proud of myself last night for going to the bar with the rest of the chorus after rehearsal even though I felt uncomfortable. I’m glad I didn’t let the awkwardness I’m feeling with the gender-expansive guy with whom I had hooked up stop me — which it almost did. I had a couple of nice interactions last night at the bar. But boy, what a huge effort! And for what? 

For what? 

I’ll probably have to white-knuckle this week — six more days — a hard week ahead — but then, a good break. 

Then, a breath of fresh air.

Pink Pony Boy

I’m still smiling from pure, intense, almost overwhelming joy. It’s filling me up in such a wonderful, easy way.

Last night I went out dancing with one of the guys from the gay men’s chorus. He’s the cis man with whom I had danced Swing at the end of November — my first, wonderful experience of partner-dancing with another gay man.  

When I was struggling with the chorus at the beginning, he was one of the people who were kind and welcoming with me — partly because of his character, and partly because he’s had a leadership role in the chorus for years. He’s at least fifteen years older than I, has survived a heart-attack, and is so full of life and fun that it’s refreshing to just be around him. 

At the gay club last night many people probably thought he was my “daddy” but that’s absolutely not the case: he’s married and I met his husband before going out last night; and I’m ace-aro, I don’t relate to any of those categories or dynamics (“top”, “bottom”, “daddy”, etc.) and going out dancing is one of the environments/circumstances that makes my asexuality most clear to me. We were “just” two friends out dancing together.

But “just” doesn’t do it justice. 

It was fun; it was liberating; it was pure, untainted, unselfconscious joy. And it was mutual and shared. He was having as much fun as I was — and of a similar type: fun dancing. 

The fact that the fun and joy were mutual and shared was one of the most important and profoundly joyful aspects for me. Last night, he & I were there together, we were out dancing together. At the club, on the dance floor, we were partners. Not sexual partners, not romantic partners — thank goodness — I don’t want that. We were dance partners, we were “fun times” partners: that’s what I wanted, what I needed; that’s one of the types of partnerships that I do want. And last night I got it: we carpooled; we danced together, seamlessly going from partnered dancing for some songs to dancing together but separately when the songs couldn’t be turned into some form of Swing or Polka; we went up to the DJ together to request a couple of our favorite songs; we both took our shirts off and danced bare-chested for my favorite song; we took breaks together, and he always went up to the bar-tender to get a cup of water for each of us, taking care of me too. And when I eventually got home from my drive back, I found a text message from him, once again thanking me for a fun evening and saying “let’s do it again”!

I hope we do get to do it again. I need this type of joy, this type of partnership in my life along with my athletic/adventure partnerships (e.g. with my climbing and/or running buddies) and deep queerplatonic friendships. 

Last night, I felt seen, I felt held, I felt cared for, all while having a lot of fun, while playing, and playing together, sharing the joy. 

When I took off my shirt on the dance floor for the song “Pink Pony Club” and my dance partner did too, almost immediately after me, and we were the only two people dancing bare-chested, I felt his solidarity. He probably did it because it felt fun and liberating to himself as well, not just for me; but the shared moment meant a lot to me, as his smiling words did afterwards (he knows how much I have struggled with internalized transphobia): “So, you took your shirt off at the club”! 

Yes, I took my shirt off and danced bare-chested at the club because it was fun and liberating. And because I felt safe. And I felt safe because he was there with me.

His presence helped me feel safe, and the shared mutuality of the fun enhanced the joy in wonderful ways that are still filling my cup to the brim today.

“Pink Pony Club”

I absolutely love this song, the melody & rhythm but maybe especially the lyrics: it feels extremely liberating to me, I can relate to it so intensely (e.g. the joy and freedom from my own liberations & self-determination and, sadly, my own bitch of a mother who is determined to not see or recognize me as who I am)… 

“

I know you wanted me to stay

But I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in LA

And I heard that there’s a special place

Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day

I’m having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee

Hear Santa Monica, I swear it’s calling me

Won’t make my mama proud, it’s gonna cause a scene

She sees her baby girl, I know she’s gonna scream

God, what have you done?

You’re a pink pony boy

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I’m just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It’s where I belong down at the

Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I’m gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

I’m up and jaws are on the floor

Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door

Blacklights and a mirrored disco ball

Every night’s another reason why I left it all

I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee

Oh, Santa Monica, you’ve been too good to me

Won’t make my mama proud, it’s gonna cause a scene

She sees her baby girl, I know she’s gonna scream

God, what have you done?

You’re a pink pony boy

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I’m just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It’s where I belong down at the

Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I’m gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

Don’t think I’ve left you all behind

Still love you and Tennessee

You’re always on my mind

And mama, every Saturday

I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying

God, what have you done?

You’re a pink pony boy

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I’m just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It’s where I belong down at the

Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I’m gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

I’m gonna keep on dancing

I’m gonna keep on dancing

”

[song “Pink Pony Club” by Chapel Roan]  

I don’t see her anymore

Last night, I saw my bare-chested reflection in the mirror and a thought shot through my head, of its own accord or as if it were someone else’s comment: “That’s a man”. 

In reality, it was more a feeling than words. 

But then explicit words out loud followed immediately: “I don’t see her anymore”. 

Before I started GAHT almost three years ago, they had warned me: “Take enough testosterone and you will, eventually, undoubtedly look like a guy”. 

Well, here I am: undoubtedly looking like a guy. 

But it’s one thing to “pass” in the outer world and another to look at one self in the mirror and not see “the previous self” anymore. 

The only traces of my being AFAB, at this point, are my genitals. And after the double procedure I had in December, even that is getting further and further from my perception: three “skipped periods” in a row have already led me to be almost completely detached and oblivious of my cycle. But it goes deeper than that, and last night it hit me more sharply than usual. Seeing myself in the mirror, I simply cannot fathom how I could have ever “been a girl”. It’s just so blatantly obvious that this is me: this guy is me. 

I am nonbinary and gender-expansive. I enjoy gender-bending (now that I look like a man). I am — have always been & will always be — a die-hard, convinced feminist. But I am a guy. 

Certainly the external validations or simply reactions from the outer world, from strangers as well as from friends and acquaintances, have played a huge role in this: being “sir’ed” and “he’ed” and “man’ed” everywhere with no hint of a doubt; walking into men’s bathrooms and changing-rooms without drawing any attention; receiving frequent comments/compliments from people of different genders and ages on my “jawline” (as one of my “very masculine” traits); knowing for a fact and having experienced first hand that gay men are physically & sexually attracted to me — all of this adds up and certainly has contributed to the way I feel with myself internally. And probably the keen feeling surfacing for me last night was connected to the validations I got after a nude modeling session and a fresh, very masculine, haircut. 

But it goes deeper than that. Something inside of me has shifted, or opened up. 

I am a guy. I am a nonbinary, gender-expansive, gender-bending, feminist man. 

I am no longer trying desperately to look like a guy or to be accepted/treated as if I were a man beyond or underneath or despite a female appearance. That female appearance that I learned to live with while always hating it to some degree is gone. 

That female appearance is gone. I’m free. 

She’ll always be part of me. There is a lot of “feminine” in me, there is a lot that goes beyond or between either gender.

But I don’t have to carry that skin as a burden anymore.