NoHo.... UhOh

Many of you probably wonder why Zane and I are currently residing in a small nowhere town whose name is synonymous with sphincter. Well my friends, Athol is merely a pit stop on our way to a much more fruitful land... Northampton (NoHo), MA. NoHo is known for its wonderful arts and culture, Smith College, many great restaurants...and lesbians. Neither Zane or myself ARE lesbians, but we are both utterly fascinated with the people watching NoHo offers up. We have been taking trips out there occasionally to prepare ourselves for the awesome downtown shopping and music and I would like to report our findings.

On our first trip out since moving to Massachusetts, Zane and I had a sweet date night to commemorate the anniversary of our meeting. It was at our dinner table we opted out of engaging conversation and instead reached for the notepad to assess the list of achievements we'd made that was later turned into a blog post. [see: 525,600 minutes...] After dinner we strolled around to soak in the atmosphere and humidity when Zane made his first keen observation: the girls look like boys here. Looking around beyond the flannel and Tevas, I shrugged and agreed. Yes, hippies had taken on a more androgynous look here in Western Mass. We both vowed to not wear hiking sandals with or without socks post-move.

OR

Our more recent jaunt to our future haunts was on a double date with local blog stars S-Dub and Crunchbarry....aka my parents. After a fine dinner of sushi and a delicious treat at the bakery, we visited some late night shops. Descending a steep, non-AARP approved staircase into a late night record store, I noticed that not only are there lots of boy-girls, but lots of rastas. This made me feel at home as one of my dear friends in NYC had introduced me to the joys of dreadlocks. By introduced me I don't mean I ever sported them (though tempted) I mean she let me pet hers. After my moment of reflection passed I found out another thing about NoHo: people only exist between the ages of 19 and 33. As my balding father in a short sleeve button up tucked into his pleated khaki shorts and Jesus sandals (ok, on that note he fit in) rifled through old albums, he seemed to stand out a bit in the crowd of hipsters and hippies. He was... hipreplacementy. Mom, well, she mostly just held onto her purse tightly as to not have one of the hooligans walk off with it. This gave Zane the hint to stop snatching at her purse every time she walked by.

In an effort to assimilate ourselves with our future home, Zane and I have taken to immersing ourselves in the culture even in Athol. Our independent film watching has increased, bathing decreased and I have begun to wear his clothes instead of mine. Most recently we decided to relax at home, make some popcorn and put on a flick to pass the evening hours. It being Zane's turn to pick I knew it would be something odd and film-schooly that I never had heard of. And disappoint he did not. Once Venus Boyz began I was hooked.

The evening became a series of "Wait...that's a...?" and "Woah! I thought he, I mean she..." You know a movie that begins with a taxi cab interview with a crossdresser from Berlin justifying her affinity for male genitalia but her inaffection to actually HAVE one is gonna be at least one thumb up. And let me tell you, that's not ALL that was up in Venus Boyz!

**Spoiler Alert**

We tried to remember our favorite lines and parts as the film progressed but it just kept one upping itself that we just sat speechless at the end. I know there was one point where an interview was going on but in the background of this room... in a building of some sorts... was a shovel leaning next to a pile of dirt with a hole dug into it. As I write this I wonder if it was supposed to be some subliminal message about... well, I won't give too much away.

It turned into a judgement of who was more convincing and who you could tell right away was a lady. I got confused when they paired off with other wo-men. Would that make them gay? Or lesbian? And there I'd get caught up with America's need to categorize people by the outdated standards established in a far gone era. I have Venus Boyz to thank for broadening my horizons. Now I can no longer look at NoHo as a spectacle of dykey gals browsing discount used records and enjoying gelato. Now I see it as a land where I too can discover the hairer side of myself. A place where razors don't exist and fake stubble is encouraged. I've always wanted to know the liberation of shaving my head. Sinead O'Connor, psssh she couldn't commit. She could only handle pseudo androgyny. I, I am going the whole 9 Yards. All I have to do now is find out where Crunchbarry keeps his duct tape. It's gonna take a lot to bind these puppies down.