Level playing field

High five, Jason Collins. You’re awesome, you’re inspiring, you’re essential to our continued struggle for full equality. You are not, however, the first openly gay athlete playing in a major American team sport. This takes nothing away from your accomplishment and your courage in coming forward and coming out. But there are openly gay active female players on several American sports teams and sports who have blazed a trail and deserve recognition.

When news broke yesterday the headlines I saw were all a variation on “Jason Collins first openly gay active player” and “Jason Collins first active gay player in major sports.” As the day wore on, several modified that headline with an important word: “Male.” Collins, a 34-year-old who was center for the Washington Wizards, is indeed the first active American gay male player in one of the four major American sports teams – basketball, baseball, hockey and football. But active American gay female players exist in basketball and softball – not to mention soccer, tennis, golf and more.

Your Brittney Griner and Sheryl Swoopes (basketball), your Vicky Galindo and your Lauren Lappin (softball), your Megan Rapinoe and your Natasha Kai (soccer), your Martina Navratilova (tennis), your Patty Sheehan (golf). I could go on.

When Griner came out earlier this month as the first professional WNBA player to come out at the start of her career, it was greeted with headlines like, “Female Star Comes Out as Gay, and Sports World Shrugs” and “Brittney Griner coming out is no big deal, and that's a big deal.”

Yet Collins coming out was in continuous discussion on ESPN and across the frontpages of sports sections everywhere. So in case you were wondering, that double standard is alive and very well.

Granted, I understand that there are inherent and significant cultural differences between the perception of gay male athletes and gay female athletes. One could joke that for female athletes being lesbian or bisexual is almost the default assumption. That’s a stretch, of course, but the ugly stereotype is that girl jocks are considered “too manly to be straight” and guy jocks are considered “too manly to be gay.” The cult of machismo continues to smell worse than a locker room on a hot day.

Look, I am not being ungrateful about Collins coming out. Quite the opposite. He could well be the game-changer to open the closet door wider for more to follow. I am thrilled for the positive support coming from everyone from Michelle Obama to Bill Clinton to Kobe Bryant to Steve Nash more. And I am disgusted by the Chris Broussards of the world who fall back on the old bigotry of the past. I would just like it acknowledged that female professional athletes are also part of this conversation, have been blazing a trail and matter when it comes to creating an accepting sports culture for all who want to play. Hive fives all around.

NOTE: Nothing in this post is a denigration of Collins' accomplishment and importance, nor an expression of anything but happiness at his coming out yesterday. I could not be happier about it. What it is is a multifaceted expression of emotions based on the media coverage of his coming out. We, as humans, are capable of feeling multiple things all at once. Like in the late evening on Nov. 4, 2008 when my heart was filled with pride and joy at our nation electing its first African-American president in its history. But on that same night, at the same time, my heart was also filled with sorrow that my fellow California voters deemed my love unworthy of being officially recognized by the state by passing Proposition 8. One does not take away from the other. Saying I am proud of Jason Collins and I wish gay female athletes were given more respect in the media are not mutually exclusive ideas. We can do both.

Do the Swinton

Joy is such an underused emotion. We say we strive for it, but often rebuff its effervescent advances in favor of angst, anger, anxiety, ambition. When we do let it in, it is often unexpected. But it is in that act of being caught off guard, letting down our guard, giving in to joy that makes it so wonderful. I say find your joy wherever you can. And if that joy is the otherworldly presence of all 5-foot-11 of English actress Tilda Swinton dancing with abandon through a theater of 1,500 people to the strains of Barry White’s “You're the First, the Last, My Everything,” then so be it.

What makes this moment so very lovely is the pure joy it brought to the 15th annual EbertFest. It is indeed almost a “spiritual service,” because the event just a couple of weeks after the death of its founder and namesake Roger Ebert. On stage with Tilda is Roger’s wife, Chaz. The impromptu boogie is not only full-body tribute to a great man and film critic, but a celebration of the joy film can bring us. It has made me smile each time I’ve watched, which is going on four and counting. Spread joy wherever, whenever you can. Happy Monday, kittens.

p.s. In other news, I’m pretty sure we can not officially confirm that Tilda is an alien sent from another universe to remind us of the strange beauty of our tiny human lives. From her latest W magazine shoot.

NOTE: I have addressed my serious and complex feelings about all of the actors, directors and the like who have supported Roman Polanski at great length and depth in the past. You can read them here and here and here and here and here. I do not take this issue lightly, nor have I ever shied away from criticizing those who signed the petition in support of him and against his extradition. Sexual assault has never been trivialized on my site and I believe his crime was despicable and deserves punishment. I believe he should serve his jail time. I also believe the art is not the artist, nor does the art absolve the artist. Having written this blog for seven years now, there are certain assumptions I make of readers and our history together. Those who have known and read me for a over the years know that I in fact do not have a short memory on this topic, but a long and complex one.

My Weekend Crush

“Game of Thrones” can be an awful sausagefest sometimes. So many old and young men all jockeying for an iron throne while wielding their big swords. Overcompensation, much? And don’t get me started on all the gratuitous tits and ass – I mean I’m not totally complaining, but come on. Still the series has been able to spring to life some memorable, exciting and unconventional female heroines. Little survivor Arya Stark. Valiant knight Brienne of Tarth. And, thanks to last Sunday’s episode, the biggest badass of them all: Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, a.k.a. Daenerys Targaryen a.k.a. Khaleesi a.k.a. Mother of Dragons.

Those of us unacquainted with the books could have never guessed that the meek, white-blonde haired girl under her vicious brother’s thumb and married off like a chess piece in a power play would become the most assertive and cunning of them all. Also have I mentioned she has dragons? And she can’t be burned by fire? And will always spare the innocent? And you heard me on the dragons bit, right?

In a scene that I have now watched no fewer than a half dozen times, Daenerys ascends to her rightful place in the pantheon of badass chickens when (SPOILER ALERT: Hurry up and watch it, dude) she bests the misogynistic slave master and commandeers his slave army only to set them free and have 8,000 soldiers march willingly for her into impending battle. Also, there are dragons. In showing no mercy to those who oppress others (all of the slave masters and rulers) while ultimate compassion to those denied free will (the slave army and trainees) she is, quite literally, turns around her own life’s trajectory and comes to a place of just yet unquestionable power. My greatest hope is that is it Daenerys who gets to kill that little evil inbred putz King Joffrey. A dragon is not a slave. Daenerys is not a slave. Women need not be a slave to men’s power games in “Game of Thrones.” Say hello to quite possibly the best mic drop (by way of a whip) in TV history. Dracarys, out. Happy weekend, all.

Ellen Squared

When people you fangirl about fangirl about other people you fangirl about, the result is 100 percent adorable. But the meeting of Kate McKinnon, the woman who impersonated Ellen on “Saturday Night Live,” and Ellen DeGeneres on Ellen’s show yesterday was more than adorable. It was lez-mazing. I mean, come on, just look at Kate’s hardcore fangirling. It makes me love Kate even more. And Ellen. And gay ladies. Also puppies. Wait, I think I’ve gotten off track here. Point being, watch.

If you stop and really think about it, we live in an extraordinary time. This week France became the 14th country to legalize same-sex marriage. And yesterday Rhode Island’s Senate passed marriage equality as well (it still needs to pass the House again, which already approved an earlier version of the bill) and is poised to become the 10th state in the nation to make it official. Just 20 years ago, fuck, 5 years ago – this all seemed so very far away. Sure, we’re not there yet. But culturally we’ve just passed the point where being a homophobic idiot is cool. Sure, there are still bastions of bigotry out there spouting their nonsense. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t pretty and, heaven knows, it’s not done. Still the sight of the most popular daytime talk show host in America, who is an out lesbian, being lovingly impersonated side-by-side by a SNL cast member, who is an out lesbian, in front of an adoring crowd has to make you stop and smile. Here’s to the pretty, witty and gay in all of us.

Seven-Year Surrender

Seven years and nary an itch. Luckily also no burning. Well, mostly no burning. Today is the seventh – yes, seven fucking years – blogiversary of Dorothy Surrenders. I’ve been writing whatever damn things pop into my head – high art, low art, mediocre art, politics, feminism, tank tops, naked ladies, ladies in suits and pretty much everything and anything pertaining to gay ladies – for seven damn years. I must be nuts.

But, as always, I couldn’t go it without you guys. Well, I probably could – but it would be so much lonelier. Instead, thanks to you, it feels like a little community. A tiny little corner of the series of tubes dedicated to pop culture, gay women and anywhere the two intersect. And I owe you all an enormous thanks. You gals (and discerning guys) are the reason I keep posting day after day after day, even when I’m not quite sure what to write about, even when I’m not quite sure I even feel like writing. Because I love sharing with you. Thank you, and you, and, yes, even you.

A quick update on some housekeeping: Yes, I suck. I am still working on completing the perks. I have no excuse other than life gets busy. But I am going to fulfill all the perks as promised. I have the postcards sitting on my dining room table guilting me every single day. They say, what the hell, Snarker? Why do you suck? Send us out already. And I will. Along with the rest of the remaining perks. Ugh, have I mentioned I suck?

But you guys, you definitely don’t suck. So, please, on this seventh anniversary of me saying, “Hey, I should start a blog,” please accept my continual thanks. To quote Ruth to her Idgie, “This is the best birthday I ever had.” Well, the best seventh blogiversary at the very least. So have a slice of big gay cake. And who feels like skinny dipping?