The 16 Butchest Movies of All Time

Need a handy list of movies to watch? Want to make sure you can communicate with the Butch in your life? I’m here to serve. 

The following is my selection for the Butchest movies of all time, in no particular order. Obviously, this is because I am a Butch and clearly a movie expert. Lol. Add your favorites in the comments.

1. Terminator – When Ahhnold takes that biker’s clothes, boots, and shades. Also, biker boots crushing red roses and Linda Hamilton. 

2. Jaws – I mean, clearly we are going to need a bigger list. Er, boat.

3. Alien – Sigourney Weaver in a wife beater, dirty and sweaty taking on that Mama Alien. Yes!

4. Raiders of the Lost Ark – What Butch doesn’t want to be Professor Jones? Digging in the dirt? A whip and a pistol? I mean, come on!

5. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid – The name alone would get it mentioned here (plus, great movie).

6. Batman – Normal dude, tuxedos, tons of money, best toys ever. Catching bad guys. 

7. Any James Bond – All those gadgets, cars, women. Bow ties. British accent. 

8. Godfather – Meh. That’s right, I said meh. Then why include it? Ask any Butch you know. It must make the list.

9. Ace Ventura – Like a glove. 94 minutes of brilliance. 

10. Bad Boys – whacha gonna do when they come for you? Plus, a Shelby Cobra, and Tia Leone with a gun. 

11. Silence of the Lambs – it has Jodi foster in it, so we will excuse the senseless scariness. What are we? Rocks?

12. Die Hard – Yippeekaiyay mother f*cker!

13. Big Hero 6 – What? Go ahead. I dare you.

14. Charlie’s Angels – Um, hot girls? Car chases? Explosions? Drew Barrymore kicking ass?



15. Star Wars – Whether you identify with Han Solo, Luke, or Darth Vader, this is about as Butch as it gets. Sword fights (with lasers), talking robots, high tech vehicles of every kind, spectacular explosions, and … Princess Leia. Sigh.

16. Lord of the Rings – Epic adventure, fears of daring do, being underestimated and succeeding against all odds. 

Did I forget your favorite? Let me know!

It’s Butch to make lists. Be Butch. 

14 Problems Only Butches and Femmes Who Love Them Understand

Today, I read a great list of problems only Butch lesbians understand. I laughed out loud. Many of you also enjoyed the list, judging by the plethora of comments. The author captured many of my Butch problems, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought of a few more. And, as a Butch who loves Femmes, mine are a little different.

So, go read Lane Moore’s post in Cosmopolitan – of all places – and then please see my humble additions below. 

1. Drink Umbrellas. You really want a mixed drink (rather than beer) but are afraid of what will come in or on your drink.

 

2. Parent Night at School. When your kid’s classmates ask if you are the mom “because you look more like the dad.”

 

3. She Looks Better In Your Clothes Than You Do. Actually, never mind.

 

4. Suitcases at Airports. You want to carry your bag and hers, but it’s a little too awkward. Plus, there’s the whole caveman stereotype.

 

5. That’s My Job. A cool new piece of furniture or technology gets delivered and you’re looking forward to putting it together when your girl grabs a boxcutter and is excited to get started.

 

6. When Your Mom Says You Look “So Pretty.” Or should I say “handsome”? Oh, honey, you know what I mean. (I do, Mom. 😜)

 

7. Getting Dressed. In anything other than casual attire. Until you decide the men’s section isn’t off limits, anyway.

 

8. Giant Boobs. Seriously. Why is it is #Butches seem to have the biggest racks? Girls would pay good money for racks like ours. Also, see number 6.

 

9. Tiffany. Betty Sue. Rebecca. Did you ever notice the Butches in your life have the girliest names? It’s so unfair.

 

10. Engagement Rings. You’ve bought her one. She said yes! Wait, why don’t you have a ring? Aren’t you excited? Well, I am, but I don’t want that big diamond hanging off my finger. What a hazard!

 

11. Manicures. Cut or file?, the lady asks. Cut. How short? Really short. Immediately conversation in another language happens. Followed by laughter.

 

12. You Miss The Pre-Lipstick Kiss. Your wife put her lipstick on and you missed your kiss. It’s going to be a long night before you get another chance.

 

13. Selfies. Hers are coy, playful, and sexy. Yours look like these.

 

Sigh. And here’s one more, special for me.

 

14. Butch or Bitch? When your wife is British and the two words sound a lot alike. What did she just call me?

 

It’s Butch to share lists of the funny things you experience as a Butch. Be Butch. 

Text Dancing

I had a bad day. Really bad. Burst-into-tears-at-the-airport-bad.

Maybe it’s because it started at 3:30 am. Maybe it’s because I got scared by a giant, life-sized statue in my parents house – in the dark. Maybe it’s because their dog (my sister?) wouldn’t “play ball” as she’s supposed to. Maybe it’s because of the few terrifying moments when I had to search for my treasured polar bear necklace and my wedding ring that my cats knocked off the bathroom counter. Assholes.

Or maybe it’s because there was a detour to my terminal at 4:45 this morning. Again. Months later. Then again, it could be that I missed my return flight because I was so desperate to see and talk to my wife that I didn’t hear the gate change announcement. Or the change in departure times. Or the 3 pages for me. Seriously. One of my finer moments.

Whatever the reason, by the time I ambled down the jetway and saw these hilarious caution signs, I lost it. Out came the camera. Then the editing tools. Hope it makes you laugh, like it did me.

It’s Butch to find humor in an otherwise difficult day. Be Butch.

Stop Gender Policing

I started my day with an email asking me for an interview. The student addressed his email to “Mr.” I was nice enough to respond to him anyway – though I’ve been known to ignore someone who didn’t take the time to check this. I actually couldn’t help him (not an expert in what he was looking for) so there was no harm done. I got a nice apology note – though I didn’t call him on it.

Then, a little later in my day I had a conference call. It’s me, another legal beagle (“Kim”) and the woman on the other side (“Hillary”). When Hillary answered the phone, I said,

“Hello Hillary. This is Tristan (I can’t use Butch here because it will confuse you), and Kim from Blah Blah Corp.”

And Hillary says, “But not in that order, right?”

Kim and I are confused and I reply, “What?”

Hillary says, “Well, you said Tristan and Kim. Tristan first, but you’re Kim, right?”

“No. I’m Tristan.”

“But Tristan is a man’s name and this is a woman’s voice.”

“No. I’m Tristan and that’s Kim over there.” I point in wonder to Kim across my desk. We both look shocked as we realize what’s happening.

Hillary starts to sputter and apologize profusely, “But I thought – Oh I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to -”

Didn’t mean to what? Imply that my parents are idiots for naming me Tristan? Didn’t mean to imply that only a man can have a traditionally male name? What exactly didn’t you mean, Hillary?

Of course I didn’t say any of this.

Now, Kim and I laughed. Kim knows I’m a good sport. I joked to Hillary that at least we know she didn’t Google me. Ha ha ha.

This interaction left Hillary embarrassed (rightly) and befuddled (natch). Even though I’m a good sport, that’s not going to stop me from (anonymously) putting Hillary on blast.

I mean. What the hell? What on earth would lead a professional woman to be so desperate for gender conformity on a professional phone call that she would behave this way? It’s not a call set up by Match.com. It’s a professional meeting. To discuss contracts. And indemnity. And licensing provisions. Boring stuff for most of the world; not me, of course, I love that stuff.

Who the hell cares whether she is talking to two women, a man and a woman, a woman and a Butch, or – two aliens, for that matter?

Is she going to defer to the person she thought was a man? Is she going to ask me out on a date? What was she doing being so concerned? Maybe the man should be doing the speaking and if he’s not, then he’s clearly not on the call yet. Should we wait?

I’ve been on conference calls before with a bunch of men. I’ve no issue asking the people to announce themselves so I get a chance to place the voices. Occasionally, I ask if the person who just spoke was soandso. But, to get absolutely tripped up over the fact that I’m speaking and my name doesn’t match my voice? It’s a new level of gender policing.

Though I despise the bathroom double takes and mistaken Sirs, at least those have an explanation – however feeble or rooted in ignorance they may be. This one left me perplexed. Shaking my head, as it were.

News flash Hillary: Not all women are named womanly names and not all men are named manly names. Sometimes, a woman is named Pat, or Hunter, or Michael (grrrowl). Sometimes, a man is named Kelsey, or Michele, or Shannon. And sometimes, a Butch is named Tristan. A big ol’ woman-identified Butch. Get over it.

Have any of you ever experienced this kind of crazy policing on the phone?

It’s Butch to stop gender policing. Be Butch.

Uber Butch: Lea DeLaria

Hi BOTs! Guess what I did last week? I got to fly to Chicago to cover a big lesbian party called Back Lot Bash. As part of my press access, the organizers Christina Wiesmore and Amie Klujian were able to get me an interview with the one and only Lea DeLaria. I had so much fun talking with Lea that night! The full interview is up now over at Huffington Post Gay Voices. Won’t you go read it? If you like it, will you click that snazzy little “like” button and possibly share it on Twitter, Facebook or via email? HuffPost likes to support bloggers that have good numbers… Thank you!

It’s hard to imagine being any more Butch than Lea DeLaria (but I will try!). Be Butch.

Lesbianland: The Dinah, Day 2

So where did we leave off? Oh yeah… Friday was a blast – we were drinking at the White Party. We did some dancing. And then we did a little drinking. You know, seeing and being seen. Or in our case, I was seeing and my wife was being seen. She looked amazing (obviously).

It’s hilarious to me how odd it is when she straps on those gorgeous heels. They are always high. And she’s not that much shorter than me. So in the heels, she’s got about an inch or two on me. Even if I stand up really straight. In dress shoes.

At first, it threw me. I like being bigger. You know, the butch. Care taker, protector. Bigger. But then, I realized… She looks unbelievably hot in those heels.

Yes, her legs for sure. But also, they change her attitude. Right? No heels, beautiful femme. Heels, beautiful power femme. Am I the only one who’s noticed this?

Now, don’t freak out and send me nasty notes about chauvinism and misogyny. Heels are evil. Designed by men to make women miserable and put them on display. Yes, I know. Don’t wear them. No one should ever have to. Period.

But, if you want to – cause that’s your thing – go right ahead. It’s your choice. I’ll happily validate your choice either way. Like I said, beautiful femme with or without. I can’t help the fact that high heels are very hot.

I was so pleased to be at The Dinah with my wife. I’m probably in danger of being gross about it. We are in that googly, cute (just this side of obnoxious) phase. So, I’m standing up straight and we were hanging out with two friends. After a late night drive-thru run, we made it home.

We’d made loose plans to meet for breakfast at Sherman’s the next day. I was doubtful, but held out hope. Sure enough, Saturday morning came along and we made it to a late meal as planned. While waiting for our table, I grabbed a quick photo op with a dog who had a Mohawk. Heh.

I think this is when my wife said, “Baby, you should get pictures of all the Mohawks at The Dinah.” What a great idea!

So, as we headed to the pool party, I had a purpose. Find every lesbian there with a hawk and shoot a pic. I note that the ideal would be butches with hawks, but this would present several problems – identification and exclusion. You can’t identify a butch just by how they look, and if I limited it to butches, I’d exclude all kinds of rad hawks.

First, let me set the scene. Palm Springs is hot and dry. The pool at the Hilton is sparkly and blue. There are palm trees dotted about, lounge chairs, and several bars. Over in one corner is a giant stage and not one but two DJs are spinning and pumping up the crowd. The crowd is women. Lots and lots of women. In bathing suits. Bikinis. Board shorts. Lots of skin. Not that I noticed, of course. My wife had “suggested” it might be better if I did not oggle the women in bikinis. As a photographer, however, I did see my – erm – subjects.

Add to the heat, pool, bikinis, music, and palm trees, alcohol. And me. Cruising around taking pictures of all the hawks. And my wife. In sexy heels.

Here’s a fun tip: lesbians see a press pass and a camera (I’ve got a serious one) and they want you to take their picture. In all kinds of crazy poses! I’m taking these pictures and thinking, “Are you going to be excited about this picture tomorrow?” Suffice it to say, I got some fun photos.

Right. Photos of lesbians with hawks. What fun I had! We’d spot a hawk and I jog over to the hawk-owner, explain that I’m ButchOnTap and “I’m doing a piece on Mohawks at Dinah. Can I take your picture?” Yes. Yes. Yeah. Of course. Rad. Really? Ok. And so forth. Only one woman said no – and I totally respect that. I got so many great pictures of butches, lesbians and femmes Rawking The Hawk! The photo journalistic piece will be up soon.

So far, two days out of two days and The Dinah rawks. For me, and my high-heeled wife.

It’s butch to highlight those that are Rawking The Hawk. Be Butch.

Go Figure!

I’m excited to announce that I have decided to train for and compete in a Figure Competition. These are the women with mad muscles, zero fat on their bodies. It takes a ridiculous amount of training and commitment. No carbs. No cheese. No beer. Yes, no beer. I’m not sure I can do it, frankly. I have friends who do and they put me to shame.

If things go well, I’ll be in the best shape of my life. Actually, that will probably be true even if I fall far short of my goal.

I almost let the bikini requirement and the tanning stop me. But, then… where are we if we are afraid to try?

It’s butch to wear a bikini. It’s also butch to enjoy an April Fools joke. Be Butch.

The Joy of the Game: Reflecting on Watching Baseball Instead of Playing

I’m watching my son play baseball. That means on this particular afternoon, I am sitting alone along the backstop in my relatively comfortable camp chair. Today I am alone, though that’s not the norm. The grandparents didn’t make this game, and my wife is at home with my daughter. As thrilling as the game is for my son, and of course for me, it’s less than riveting for my daughter — especially on a school night. With homework. Indeed, I’m worried about my son being out till 7 on a school night. But, it is what it is, and we will see.

Anywho, as I’ve said before, I’m not necessarily the chattiest mom on the field and so I sit by myself. The other parents are lovely, to be sure, this is just my thing to deal with. As I sit by myself — riveted on my son when he’s in play (so to speak) — I can’t help but let my mind wander.

Head over to Huffington Post to read the rest, won’t you?

Thank you!

Raising Capital

Hi friends,

I’m thinking of doing a Kickstarter or Indiegogo campaign to raise money to fund some ButchOnTap stuff. Specifically, I need to register my new trademark (and finish paying my designer), and I’d really like to get some merchandise made. I was thinking T-shirts, bumper stickers, and maybe some bow ties. But I have so many questions running through my head. Like:

1. What do y’all think?
2. Is it a dumb idea?
3. Have any of you done a campaign? 4. Did it work?
5. Which company did you use?
6. Any tips?
7. Would any of you contribute if I did one?
8. If so, what reward might you like?

I appreciate all feedback on this one. Thank you! It’s butch to give advice. Be Butch.

Lifting Myself – Excerpt

This is my newest piece submitted to the Huffington Post today. It should be up in a couple of days. In the meantime, I wanted to post an excerpt here…

I have been lifting as part of my fitness routine for over a year, but in the past 6 months I realized how much I like it, and started toying with the idea of doing a competition. A competition would make my training more real, give me motivation. You know, in the same way runners decide to do a half or full marathon. It gives them a goal, something to work towards rather than just running “another 5 miles today.” I cannot imagine anything worse than that, by the way. I am not a runner.

But I think I could be a lifter. At least, I want to try. So for the past 5 weeks I have been committed to a special training routine and program to help get me ready for a powerlifting meet in September.

Monday’s inspirational photo was to inspire me. See the help?

Powerlifting means lifting as much weight as you can. There are three events – chest press, dead lift and the dreaded squat. I am doing powerlifting – not physique (the really, really pretty lean bodies) or bodybuilding also pretty, but beefy bodies). I joke that powerlifting is the one that allows me to still drink my beloved craft beer. But even that I am doing in restricted moderation since I started training for the competition. See? Focus. A target.

It’s butch to stay tuned for the rest. Be Butch.