The Herpes Joke: An Analysis

Here's what happened the first time someone told a herpes joke, around me, after I knew I had herpes:

Location: a stage, pre-show.

Characters: various backstage professionals, including the Flyman (Bob), and the Production Assistant (yours truly), and one actor (Sugar Ray) doing vocal warmups.

Tensions are a little tight between Bob and the PA, as tensions can sometimes be between two departments that function together on a show, but have no clear lines of hierarchy between them. For the most part, Bob and PA make the best of this, although there are, occasionally  spats. The PA is relatively new at her job, and Bob has been in the business a long time. As a result, the PA is often unsure of herself, and frustrated with how little she seems to know; Bob, alternatively, like to demonstrate how much he knows at every conceivable opportunity.

Lights up. The stage is busy with four of five people walking across it from time to time, carrying furniture, checking lights above their heads with tiny palm pilots, etc. BOB enters, vacuum in hand, slightly before THE PA, who enters holding a clipboard.

BOB: Fucking events. I hate fucking renting this fucking place for events.

PA: Yup. They fucked with a bunch of the props too.

BOB: Ah man. You roped 'em off?

PA: I did... Yup, the whole section. Bright green gaff, big sign "DO NOT TOUCH." Maybe that makes it too interesting. Might do better with no sign at all. Was it kids, this weekend?

BOB: Yeah. Some kind of elementary cultural thing. Lots of fucking glitter.

PA: Fuck.

BOB: Yup. Theater herpes, whoohoo!

The PA looks at him, and then quickly at the floor. Bob notices nothing, and turns on the vacuum.

BOB: (yelling over the noise of the vacuum) Have a good weekend, Sugar?

SUGAR RAY: (also yelling) Yup, yup. Whatchoo vacuuming for?

BOB: An event over the weekend - they used lots of glitter.

SUGAR RAY: (looks at the floor) Ah, yup yup.

BOB: Fucking herpes of the theater, man. Once you got it, you got it, and it spreads like that (snaps his fingers).

Bob pushes the vacuum a few more strokes as we see the PA walk quickly back across the stage one more time, carrying a mirror and hand towels. As she gets to BOB, she stops, and just as he turns off the vacuum, she speaks.

PA: (yelling, loudly, although there is instantly no more vacuum): CAN WE CUT IT OUT WITH THE HERPES JOKES PLEASE.

Silence.

The PA walks offstage. BOB and SUGAR RAY watch her leave, say nothing. Bob turns on the vacuum again. Blackout.

Needless to say, I was pretty hurt. I tried not to show it much, and basically failed. I didn't want to make a big deal about it, because we were at work, and I wasn't sure it was appropriate, or more so, I wasn't sure I wanted to deal with the fallout. But I said something because I had to say something, and there was (as there usually is) fallout (Bob and I had a conversation that involved a non-apology apology, and he avoided me for a while).

And those are basically the two things at odds whenever someone makes a joke like that, I think: the importance of my hurt (and by extension, how I might mend that hurt according to my beliefs and values), and the importance of propriety.

I haven't really learned to handle it much better, to the point where, most of the time, I just let it go. Which is... sucky. And not really holding with my personal philosophies about sex positivity, or life, or anything. So, here's where I'm stuck, and maybe telling you why I'm stuck will help unstick me (as it often does).

Options for responses to herpes jokes:

1. The Outing: fairly straightforward, I-have-herpes-please-don't-make-those-jokes-in-front-of-me statement. And even without the first part, I always feel it's sort of obvious (why would I ask you not to make those jokes if it didn't matter to me in some intrinsic way; the herpes-ally isn't really a thing, or if it is, I don't think other people think it is).

Pros: I feel better for having spoken up, the irking behavior (usually) stops.

Cons: I'm outed, or at least outed as being "sensitive," or "easy to offend." There's also often a long an obnoxious conversation involving various versions of "I didn't man anything by it," and "I wasn't trying to offend." (my response to which is, most of the time "I totally understand - it still did/you still did, and I'd like you to take responsibility for that, just as I can acknowledge that your actions weren't motivated by malice, and weren't intended to hurt someone."

2. The Silent Partner, or, I Say Nothing.

Pros: I don't have to deal with any of the above.

Cons: I don't get to deal with any of the above, and I feel bad about myself, usually for a few days afterwards.

3. Joke-for-Joke, or, Anything You Can Do I Can Do Smarter: in which, when a herpes joke and/or inappropriate reference is made, I come back with a rebuttal that's both funny, and also points out how sort of fucked up it is to make those kinds of jokes. Something like:

"Hehe, fucking theater herpes - it gets everywhere!"

"Yeah! And hey: ninety percent of people who have it don't know they have it! Have you checked whats in your pants lately? Never know..."

That's not the best example, but something like that.

Pros: If the person gets it, they get both that the joke they made was ignorant and inappropriate (and sort of inaccurate, maybe), and they get to save social face, because nobody has to directly confront what's going on.

Cons: Sometimes people don't get the second joke, at which point you're stuck with options #1 or #2, again.

My favorite, by far, is #3. I've never really pulled it off.

But wait, dear reader. You might find yourself saying "but herpes isn't that bad! so jokes about it aren't that bad!" or, "in making it out like these jokes are terrible, you're painting a profile of herpes that's terrible, which it isn't really, and you're sort of undermining the whole point you're making with these incessant blog posts about STDs."

And I agree with you. A little bit.

I came around to all this because, the other weekend, a friend of mine (who doesn't know I have herpes - not that that should matter, really) made a herpes joke. We were sitting around, watching a high school volleyball game (like you do when you live in an unbelievably remote place and that is what there is to do on a Saturday afternoon), and someone passed a man we were sitting with a soda. He hesitated before drinking it, and my friend said "Oh, don't worry, his herpes is all cleared up." Everyone laughed.

In my logical brain, there are two things that make this difficult:

1) This friend of mine who made the joke is an excellent person. She's sex-positive, open-minded, accepting, non-judgmental. She likes me, and she likes my partner. Something from here wouldn't, I believe, ever be malevolent.

2) On the inside, deep down where things are most true, I know that herpes isn't really that bad. I haven't had an outbreak in... six months? (knock wood). Most days, I don't think about the fact that I have it.

Combining these two things (lack of bad intention, and trust of the joke-maker; as well as internal knowledge and security), there's really no reason for me to feel bad about this joke. No reason at all.

Except that I did. Terribly. Sitting there, in the high school gym, with the few friends I do have in this place, I felt like someone had dropped my gut out from under me, partly because it was my friend making this joke. Partly because she is one of the only people within a thousand miles who I know, let alone who I like and who likes me (I'm talking, count on your fingers here, folks. A thousand miles, and I've got... maybe five people who I could tolerate, and who could tolerate me, for the length of time it takes to eat a meal).

And the reason for the feel-bad, I think, is the same reason rape jokes aren't acceptable, even when they're made in a comedy club, by a lady comedian, on the ever-sacred-anything-goes-stage-of-modern-comedy (not that I'm equating the herpes and rape, at all; they are not the same, they are not the same, they are not the same). It's the reason why racist jokes are shitty even when they're made by "people who have lots of black friends and stuff." It's because the jokes themselves, no matter who tells them or who hears them, are based on a narrative that's shitty. They represent shitty things, and in telling them, those shitty things are given credence, period.

My friend's joke was based on this assumption: having herpes is bad enough, and rare enough, that the idea of almost-getting it from something as benign as drinking a soda is funny (which is doubly hilarious, to me, because people get herpes from sharing drinks a lot, in real life). And that's a shitty assumption. My friend is not a bad person, and I am not overly sensitive, but the assumption that herpes is bad enough, or that the social stigma around having herpes is legitimate enough to make that joke funny: this is why it's not an okay joke.

I don't have to be uptight for it to not be an okay joke, and my friend doesn't have to be a bad person to have made a not-okay joke. But it's still a not-okay joke, and I still sat there, and waited until the nausea died down, and waited until my face stopped flushing, and watched high schoolers slap a volleyball back and forth across the gym until I could swallow enough to talk and re-join the conversation.

Because this shit makes me feel bad. Period.

So how am I going to handle it in the future? I don't know. I think things like people declaring they have herpes (as my friend did on twitter last year) helps, reading things like this post and this post helps. But what will I do in the moment? I don't know. Work on better #3 rebuttals. Get smarter, get better at talking about it. And, probably, come here to write more. Because the writing at least helps with the feeling better about it. Sort of like, in the early days, saying it out loud and calling it by it's name.

All together now: herpes! herpes! herpes!

Further Thoughts on Herpes

one of the first results googling "herpes is great!"
(exclamation point included)

Because what else do I ever have to talk about? Plenty, sometimes, but as of late, this is a mine that still warrants more delving.

Brief disclaimer before we go under: I've disappeared for a while lately. That'll be the case for a little while longer, because in a few days, Jamie and I are moving states and jobs and basically our whole lives. One of the things this means for me is full-time writing, so in a fews weeks, more regular updates again (I hope).

Speaking of Jamie and I, another brief disclaimer: we're engaged! That's a story for another time, but it's a pretty good one, and applicable subject matter to this blog too (the ring is fucking perfect, in so many different ways).

So: the herpes. Oh, herpes. Right.

Last night, Jamie and I played with some new people. I haven't talked to them yet about what's okay to disclose, or what the privacy stipulations are about our shenanigans (which we totally should have talked about, but didn't, so for now, I'm erring on the the far side of caution). For this post, all you really need to know is that they're humans, and they're excellent. As with every new sexual partner I'll have for the rest of my life, we came around to the subject of herpes. It's helpful for me to practice talking to new people about it, although talking with Jamie today about talking with these humans last night, I realize I'm learning new things all the time, and that even when I think I've got this whole sex-positive STD-having racket figured out... well, I don't. Not even a little bit.

Going into last night, I didn't really know what the boundaries of these other humans were going to be, but I was pretty sure about my own preferences: while I trust them as educated adults, and while I know (I know!) they have the capacity to make adult decisions about their own sexual health, I wasn't sure I was ready to take on, for myself, the possibility of passing herpes on to one (or both) of them. I wanted to keep my pants on, although I was good with anyone else's pants coming off. And that's basically what I said. They asked me what kind of measures Jamie and I took, with the herpes, and we told them. Basically: I'd like to be on suppressive meds, but I can't afford them (acyclovir without a prescription is fucking expensive), and because of all the reasons previously discussed (we're in it for the long haul, herpes isn't actually such a horrible life-ruining kraken, we've talked a ton, etc), we don't use condoms. I answered some other questions, and I felt pretty comfortable doing so. At the time, I thought this was just me getting more comfortable talking about it, but looking back (a whole twenty four hours later, wow!), I'm not sure that's all it was.

I'm not sure I'm being totally honest with myself about the reasons behind my own boundaries ("I'm game to do whatever, but I'd like to keep my pants [skirt] on, please"). Just looking at that language, it's telling: I'm not ready to take on doing something to someone else. Which isn't what's happening. I'm not doing anything to anyone; they're making the choice, one way or the other, to take a risk or not. Sure, I can have acceptance issues with that, and self-worth issues with that, but I don't think that's all it is either.

Part of it, I think, is that these humans are not humans I'm dating. I was dating a guy for a while (who I'm not longer dating, and more on that later, maybe) with whom I talked a lot about herpes, and he came to a conclusion, after a bit, that he was ready and willing to take that risk (and excited about the activities that risk opened up). And while we didn't get around to PIV sex, nor oral sex from him to me (so, his risks considered, it was pretty much nil), I think I was more comfortable with someone I was dating taking the risk, rather than someone I was just sleeping with.

Jamie asked me, just now, if I could imagine a scenario in which I would be comfortable with someone risking getting herpes, from me, if we were just fucking, or if it was a one-off encounter, or if it was otherwise not the dating-type-scenario. And there totally is, which was surprising, and in my head it had everything to do with that person's (or people's) reaction. I can imagine, upon disclosing that I have herpes, someone saying "Yup, sure, been there, done that," or "Oh, type one or type two?" or "Oh, my last partner had type one orally, funny story." I don't think it's as much an attitude thing as it is an information thing.

I'm not comfortable being both herpes educator, and herpes sex-partner, at the same time.

It would be fine for me if someone made the decision to sleep with me, and to potentially contract herpes from me, if they were already (and obviously) well educated about the STD. If I knew that they knew what they were getting into.

I don't know how much of that discomfort is bunk, or how much of it is legitimate. The conflict comes, for me, in the different emotional approaches I have to each... I don't know, herpes role? I have in my life. Herpes character. Herpes superhero! There will be illustrations shortly (there have to be, now. Hurray).

The Herpes Educator is passionate, straight forward, and talks a lot about practical risks, about statistics, about societal stigma and myths that need deconstructing. The Herpes Educator comes at herpes from the angle of "Herpes is an STD, and you have it for your whole life, but it's a lot less frightening than you, non-educated herpes person, have been lead to believe your whole life. Here's some sex-positivity and a dose of realism that isn't usually associated with herpes."

The Herpes Sex Partner is a little more... personal. Vulnerable? Nervous, maybe. It's important for her that the people taking risks with her are extremely aware and educated about those risks. It's important that they understand that they are taking a risk. That herpes is something that, if they get it, they will have for the rest of their lives. It's still a little unbelievable to her that people (even Jamie) would take that risk. It's also extremely important to her that there be space, lots and lots of space, and maybe time, for people to make whatever decision is best for them. That her desire for touching and sucking and fucking not have any bearing on that decision. It can be an enthusiasm tricky to box, but I do try to box it, to make that most-important space.

And those two don't go well together, really. It's super hard to say, in one breath: "Herpes isn't so bad! Really! Hurray Herpes! Facts Facts Statistics Herpes, if they can't do it, nobody can!" and in the next breath say: "I want you take all the space you need, and I'm fine with whatever decision you want to make, and this is an important decision, and I understand that."

It's hard both because they conflict, and also because I don't think I trust myself to be unbiased. That's a tough one, a really tough one. To think that I'm someone's only source of herpes knowledge, and to trust myself to present the STD in a way that leaves a completely neutral ground for whatever decision they might make: that's not something I think I can do. Or, that's not a combination of those roles I'm comfortable with yet. But that's maybe the big, deep whopper that's gonna sit and lurk a while.

So, for now, I just sort of... forgo the second one, I guess. Or, in preemptively not giving people that choice, I avoid the second one. So that I can be herpes-sex-educator to the max. It feels safe, and responsible. It is safe and responsible. It's also kind of shitty, for me.

And here's the part where I get all selfish about it. Because while it was comfortable and safe and great to keep my pants on last night, there were also moments where I really, really wanted to take my pants off. There were moments where I really wanted to be touched, and I wanted people to touch me, those people, those humans. It's my own doing that they didn't, and I appreciate beyond saying how respectful and great they were about it. I think it shows how far I've come, since first getting the STD, that I can even kiss someone (who's not Jamie) without feeling like an infected pustule of a person. But it's still sort of... Sad. It's sad that I can't let someone choose that. I didn't even want anyone touching me with their hands, which is essentially a risk-free activity, which maybe should have been a tip-off, in terms of there-is-something-else-going-on-here-shenanigans.

So, what's the moral? I don't know. Practice. Patience and practice and all the things that have gotten me this far. Part of it, I think, is doing some thinking and coming to terms with the moment of someone saying "I'm not willing to do that," and feeling like I could still have a good time if that was the answer. And all of this for a really good reason, I think. It's not about being the perfect herpes-having person, and it's not about being what other people want or need or prefer. Mostly, it's because taking my pants of is really fucking fun.

To taking my pants off more often, then. Or at least being able to ask people if they'd like to take them off for me.

The Fault

note to self: make this button

Last night, we are at the bar. "We" is four people: one my dearest, closest friends (we'll call her Claire), and two of her dearest and closest dude friends, from college. Dudefriend #1 is leaving tomorrow, on a plane back to New York; this is his going away drinks celebration. I like Dudefriend #1 a lot (and we actually had a great conversation about theater later in the evening, but that would be another blog entirely). Dudefriend #2 and I don't particularly get along. We never have. There are things big and small about him that irk me, and probably things big and small that irk him about me. We know this about each other, have acknowledged (via Claire, mostly) that we do not like each other. Up until last night, we had played nice. Or rather, nice enough to let everyone sort of... gloss over this mutual dislike.

In short, this is no longer the case.

Throughout the night, there were little things that caught me the wrong way, from him, and looking back, these may have compounded. I'm not sure what was different; usually there are lots of little things like this, when we spend time together. Five minutes into the night, he made a joke about herpes, and I called him out on it, generally at first, and then with specific, personal reference. Went something like:

Me: "Hey, can we leave herpes out of it?"
Dudefriend #2: "I mean, I didn't mean it like that, you know, I just - it's herpes, right? I mean..."
Me: "Yeah, but I don't like herpes jokes, and I'd appreciate if you didn't make them around me."
Dudefriend #2: "Okay, but I didn't mean anything by it."
Me: "Right... so, just to say it: I have herpes, and that's part of why I don't like them. Thanks."
Dudefriend #2: - crickets -

I think I resorted to personal facts, even though I often try not to do this, because the reason not to make herpes jokes has nothing to do with the fact that I have herpes, and everything to do with the cultural stigma surrounding the virus. But... sometimes I don't have the energy to fight that fight. Or, as we'll see coming up, I hadn't found it yet.

We got to talking about sex, and what defines sex, virginity, etc. I started, as I usually do, to ask about why it is we need to define sex at all, what purpose it serves, under what contexts these questions come up, and what it says about us culturally that they do. As a side note, I never do this because I'm looking for a fight, but rather, because these are the things that interest me, this is where my brain revs it's engines the brightest (although I'm learning, slowly, that doing this often leads to confrontation and debate. I'm trying to take that into consideration more).

And then we got on to a conversations about playwrights, and what happens when modern theater takes a play and does something with it that, perhaps, the playwright didn't intend (the example used: casting a black actor as the male lead in Streetcar Named Desire). And when Dudefriend #2 got into an empassioned speech about what playwrights he loved, and why they should be honored, I sort of lost it. It went something like this:

Dudefriend #2: "... Tennesee Williams and Thorton Wilder, I mean, these are the great playwrights of our age, these are playwrights I've looked up and read my whole life, and their work ---"
Me: And isn't that nice? That you were raised in a world where you had role models who were writing about things you could relate to, who looked like you and tackled subject matter that was relevant to you? Wouldn't it be great if everybody had that?
Dudefriend #2: I mean, yeah, but I can't do anything about it, and it's not my fault that the world is the way it is, and I mean..."

And I just... broke. I think I rolled my eyes, or scoffed, or something, because he looked at me, and said "what?" and... the dam gave way. I shook my head, looked at the table, let out a breath, and unloaded.

"You drive me fucking crazy, sitting there, so defensive, just a little, scared boy, terrified of examining your own world view, and every single fucking thing out of your mouth is so tiny, and priveledged, and..."

His response, I think, was something like "Well, I appreciate the honesty." Which, to his credit, didn't escalate things.

I sort of trailed off. I realized that I was sitting at Dudefriend #1's going away party, that these three were better friends than I was, that I had been (graciously) invited into their social circle for the evening. I felt bad, and it was rude, and I said as much, sort of muttering. I maybe should have left, just there. But Claire, in fine form, handled it with an overly-acknowledging-of-the-awkward "So....." and we carried on.


After a few more drinks, and much talk of American theater, we parted ways. In the parking lot, I turned to hug Dudefriend #2, and told him I was sorry. He said "it's okay, but if I could just... say one thing." And he stood there, and gave me, as it were, a piece of his mind:

"I'm happy to be at fault for things, when things are my fault. I'm happy to apologize for something, if you feel disrespected. But I expect my viewpoints to be respected also, I want mutual respect among my friends. I don't like to be disrespected, and I don't like to be blamed for things that aren't my fault."

it wasn't so bad as this, but it was close.

And I don't know how to explain why this was infuriating. Why he is infuriating to me. Why I got into my car and blasted bad pop and punched my steering wheel all the way home, and cried a little, and went through wave after wave of emotional upset that spanned from enraged, to ashamed, to sad, to simply, curled up in my couch, defeated. I've written and re-written this post to try and map it out, to try and get to the details of why this is so difficult. I think it has a lot to do with some of the tactics in Derailing for Dummies, but it's also more than that. It's something, I think, about the interaction between personal experience, or personal action, and the recognition of bigger things. I've tried to script a meta-narrative about what goes on, which might be helpful, and might not, but I'm muddling through it, so here goes:


Me/Anyone: Hey, there's something shitty about what you said/how you think/that thing you brought up. Here's why; not your fault, but it's indicative of these things about our world.
Dudefriend #2: I mean, didn't mean to offend, I was just saying a thing [what I hear: "you do not have the right to be offended, and I will not acknowledge that what I said was hurtful; also, the systems you're pointing out? They don't exist for me, because I don't think I'm really to blame! Sorry!].
Me/Anyone: Right, but what you said was hurtful/shitty/indicative of this bigger thing. I can explain why: here's the bigger narrative, and you're right, it's not your fault at all, but acknowledging that that narrative exists is.. true, and... I don't understand why you won't do that?
Dudefriend #2: Why are you attacking me? I don't adhere to these cultural beliefs; I'm my own person, I'm not an asshole, why are you blaming me? I don't do all these things you say the world does, so why is it relevant?
Me/Anyone: Except that... you do. Which isn't a point of blame. It's just recognizing that we're all complicit in the system, you, me, the Pope and the President, that even the questions we're raising are indicative of a system that's broken, a system that's shitty for a lot of people, which isn't anybody's fault, it just... is.
Dudefriend #2: Well, that's just how it is. There's not anything I can do about it, and I'm not perpetuating it. Why are you saying I'm perpetuating it? Why are you attacking me?

The facts, for me, are these: the broader cultural narrative that I'm pointing out? It colors my everyday experience. It colors it in a way that I cannot get away from, and more importantly, in a way that's detrimental to my life, that puts me on the short end of the stick, as it were. I understand that, for you, it's different. That it puts you with advantages, that it lends to your life just as it takes away from mine. But you cannot tell me it doesn't exist. And when I point out how this broad cultural narrative affects your life too, how it, in fact, makes your privilege, and why this is important to recognize? And you come back at me with a personal story about why it doesn't? That is undermining my experience. That is saying "well, I don't think that this exists."

What is usually comes out as, and why these conversations often come to a stalemate, is "why are you blaming me? Why is it my fault?"

And my answer to that is: it's not.

Let go of the fault. Thousands of years of patriarchy and oppression are not your fault. But you did get a better deal, and in this moment, this interaction, sitting here, me over my whiskey and you over your rum, if you refuse to acknowledge that? That's your fault. That's you perpetuating the very system you cannot see. That is a young, rich, white male saying "I do not acknowlege your experience," and that's patriarchal.

And I think that's what gets me most. I think that's what's most frustrating. Because if Dudefriend #2 always feels blamed, and always feels backed into a corner, he's never going to realize the bigger picture. I don't know how to give him a context where he can.

Maybe I'm to blame, somehow, for getting him to this place? I honestly want to know how I can do this better. How I can have these conversations better. I want to unpack how I think, and whether it's right, and how he thinks, and where we can meet each other somewhere along the continuum. I want to leanr and put into practice how righteousness and passion can be obstacles to changing people's minds, how there are times when maybe the way I approach a conversation can actually help a shift with someone's perspective. But sometimes, especially after some whiskey, I come to an end of things. I come to a hard concrete bollard that stops productive conversations, and leaves me panting and sweating in my feminist tracks.

Because it isn't your fault, Dudefriend #2, but there are things you can do to make it better. And one of those things? One of those things is simply letting go of fault. It's an infinitesimal leap between undermining experience and advocacy, really (and maybe that sounds condescending, but I'm standing on the bollard now, shouting). All it has to be is "yes, I see this." All it has to be is questioning what is normal, admitting that you don't exist in a void, that your personal experiences and your identity are influenced by bigger things. It's harder to see, because for you, most of those things are beneficial. Not all of them, but sum total, you come out on top.

I want to know how to help you see it. I really, really do.