On Sept. 16, 2015, I will be 64 years old. Remember the Beatles song "When I'm 64?" The lyrics go, "When I get older, losing my hair. Many years from now. Will you still be sending me a Valentine. Birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three. Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me. When I'm sixty-four?" FYI: I'm not losing my hair, nobody ever sent me a Valentine card, I don't drink alcohol, I'm in bed by 9:30 p.m. and I can still feed myself.
In 1967, when that song was released, I was fascinated by popular culture: the Rolling Stones Redlands drug bust, the San Francisco Summer of Love, Otis Redding dead in a plane crash. I watched movies like You Only Live Twice, The Graduate, and Bonnie and Clyde. Popular culture becomes less relevant as you get older. Now, I barely notice it. The reason I've lost interest in popular culture is that history repeats itself ad nauseam.
I was invited to see Amy, the documentary about Amy Winehouse. I didn't go. I asked myself, "Do I want to see a film about a female singer who couldn't handle her booze and drugs?" The answer was no; I've already read the biographies of Nico, Judy Garland and Janis Joplin. I know the story: She made bad partner choices, she got famous too young, terrible childhood, father/mother controlling her career. ( DELETE OR INSERT LAME EXCUSES AS NEEDED. )
I think Amy is probably a great film for young people who haven't experienced the death of a female singer who couldn't handle her booze and drugs. However, to me, it's just another boring film about a female singer who couldn't handle her booze and drugs. I'd never heard of Amy Winehouse until I read this headline in The New York Times: "Amy Winehouse, British Soul Singer With a Troubled Life, Dies at 27."
I have zero interest in celebrities. In the supermarket I see the tabloids with front-page headlines about people who are unheard-of to me. Somebody I've never heard of is having an affair with another unknown person. Nobody I know is getting married to somebody else I don't know. Somebody or other is in a coma and gay and abducted by aliens. Somebody else I'm clueless about is having a baby I'm not interested in.
This brings me to Caitlyn Jenner, a person I knew nothing about—even when she was Bruce Jenner. Apparently, BJ could run fast and was a spokesman for Wheaties breakfast cereal. He also has a connection with the Kardashian family. I watch very little TV, so I didn't know what a Kardashian was. My best guess was that Kardashia was a country in Eastern Europe that recently escaped the iron grip of the Soviet Union. The whole Caitlyn Jenner story might have passed me by if people hadn't asked me what I thought about it. I saw she received the ESPY Courage Award for being a hero, and I thought, "Good for her." It's nice to win awards. I have some myself.
I know many people who have transitioned, none in such a privileged position as Jenner, and they're all my heroes. It's difficult coming out of the closet as who you are. However, Caitlyn Jenner isn't my kind of woman hero. I don't think appearing on the cover of Vanity Fair immaculately manicured and coiffed is heroic. Surely, there's more to being a woman than make-up and clothes.
My women heroes have a strong identity and work for change, like Joan Baez, Gloria Steinem, Ellen DeGeneres, Maya Angelou, Angela Davis, Rachel Maddow and Rosa Parks. Christine Jorgensen and Genesis Breyer P-Orridge are both trans women and both heroes of mine.
