Going Back & Forth

So I was reading this article (via personism) in the NYTimes about a woman who is hired (by men, mostly) to organize their personal lives, make social connections, rent apartments, be "the decider" about their wardrobes and their furniture and friends. Despite the ugly connotations of this paragraph:

He calls her an outsourced wife. “The nice thing is that when I ask her to do something, she gets it done and there’s no negative feelings.”

it seems like a kind of feminist thing to do--take traditionally feminine work (I understand that wives are sometimes expected to help advance their husbands' careers by hosting parties and cultivating social relationships, not to mention home and self decorating), separate it from wifely duties, and charge for what it's actually worth. Kind of cool.

And also, super-distasteful that someone should be able to "buy a life" for themselves. It's the dream of consumerism that we should be able to purchase the kind of life we want to have--with the right car and the right clothes and careful selection of mass-market music choices and I don't know what all. What happens when a person can't make the decision about this stuff for themselves (which seems to me only natural, since it's a false choice)? They can hire someone who can.

Is it significant that she has nearly all male clients and she's female? Is this horrifying or does she get a high-five?

Dragging

I stayed up real late last night reading Elizabeth Hand's Generation Loss. She's a Mainuh, and I could. not. put. it. down. Didn't care so much for the

[IMPORTANT INTERRUPTION: IT IS SNOWING. Now back to your regularly scheduled snarkiness]

over-the-top conclusion to the mystery but I did fall hard for the main character, since I have a particular weakness for artistic junkies with good intentions and scary dark sides (see most of my romantic relationships). And really, anyone who writes with genuine affection for both trailers and rural Maine wins as far as I'm concerned.

Day of Remembrance

Today is the 9th annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. It's a day to remember the trans people who have been killed due to anti-transgender hatred and violence this year, and sadly, there are too many of them.

So much of what I do these days is related to gender and its many forms. I think about it all the time. I forget what it's like to not think about it, or to be confused or upset by people whose gender is not immediately clear, or to be buried in that mental binary, although I talk to people every day (even people within our own queer community) who are.

I think it's an expression of insecurity to be threatened by the fact that other people's experience is different. And that's part of the root of oppression, isn't it? That insecurity--that if someone's else's perception is right that yours must be wrong? Oh sad, binary, insecure world.

But just because I'm not threatened by it, and just because I try hard to be an ally, doesn't mean I'm not transphobic in my own ways. I still asked my pregnant friends if they were having a boy or a girl. My brain still tries to pick out the "clues" about someone's birth sex--almost as if it's separate from my own wishes. It's a clever brain, it can recognize cues that are very subtle. I keep trying to tell it that those cues are irrelevant, but it looks for them anyway. I still sometimes stay silent when there are transphobic conversations happening around me, because I am afraid to speak up and then lose a debate. It's a process, and an ongoing one, to unlearn all of this stuff that I have absorbed from the culture around me. I don't think I'll ever be done.

Anyway, there's a great article on feministing today about the Day of Remembrance.

Twinkle Fingers*

I've been so busy being queer that I've been in a media blackout, so I did a little catching up this morning, and was heartened to read about the anti-war protests going on in Olympia.


More, please, just like that.

*Hand gesture used in radical meetings to indicate agreement. Not related to jazz hands.

I Thought I Was Done, But I Cannot Pass This By

A blog devoted to men who look like old lesbians (via kottke). My favorite?

"Robert Redford. Actor. Director. Head of Women's Studies at Community College of Denver."

Updates &tc.

New column up shortly at The Bollard. You can also hear it in my own dulcet voice on Lesbian Radio Thursday (tomorrow!) sometime between 1:30 and 3:00 pm EST. Stream it here.

Reporter query: looking for polyamorous heterosexuals. No, really.

Western Mass was great, although it turns out that I don't like Tibetan food and that my menstrual cycle hates me. Interesting circle, that.

Does anyone but me find the Landmark Forum thing creepy? I keep getting invitations from people and I kind of want to run away from anything that promises all of the answers to my problems.

Speaking of answers, it's time for the question of the day: how does one rebuild patience after it's all used up? Suggestions welcome. But be careful how you answer because, well, I don't have any and tact seems to be in low supply as well.

Travel

In just a few hours I am off for a very exciting road trip to Northampton, dyke mecca of the east coast. Or so I understand. Having never been there myself I am curious to find out if, in fact, the rumors are all true. I am bringing along a friend for cuddling and a Holyoke graduate, plus some emergency beef jerky in case I should go into red meat withdrawal, so we should be prepared for all eventualities.

The purpose of the trip is to meet with my mentor, who will be giving me feedback on my novel/thesis. But I think there will also be brunchiness and sleeping late and a rainbow bumpers sticker and perhaps a seedy bar. We'll see.

The Problem With

The problem with having process via email is the waiting. And the ridiculous amount of time you spend checking your email instead of working.

Absence

I failed to notice that my last post was my 200th. I feel like I should get a cake or something. In fact, there is some cake in the kitchen at work, but the frosting is turning everyone's teeth blue. And it's not in honor of my 200th post at all.

I voted this afternoon and was extremely disappointed not to get an I VOTED! sticker. That sticker is what allows me to feel smug for the whole rest of the day, and I resent the fact that they ran out sometime this morning (as a poll worker/informant told me). Perhaps I should write a letter.

Dear City of Portland:

Please make arrangements to order more I VOTED! stickers before the next election. You ran out before I voted in all three of the last elections, and I think that some better planning needs to happen. Perhaps you could form a task force? Or an investigative committee? I am also available as a consultant for a small fee. After all, smug voting voters are more of what we need. Yours sincerely, Me.

Hotel Virgin

It's been a week of momentous events:

1. Saw Kate Bornstein at USM
2. In seeing Kate Bornstein at USM, was able to be out of the house, alone, after dark,
just for the enjoyment of it, for the first time in a season (o joy!)
3. Started a batch of apple wine
4. Bottled a batch of beer
5. Taught a workshop on beer-making (see #4)
6. Spoke to a large group of strangers and friends about Winter Cache (see #4, #5)
7. Wore a tuxedo-printed t-shirt in public
8. Tried Northern Spy, Empire, Snow, and Gala apples for the first time
9. Rented a hotel room for the first time

Regarding #9: I find it hard to believe that I have reached my third decade and not ever reserved a hotel room for myself, but it's true. Or rather, it was true. I'm just not really a traveler, and I'm also really poor, so my occasional overnight accomodations have tended to be of the couch or tent variety.

But I'm planning a weekend visit to Northampton to visit my school mentor to talk about my novel, and I'm taking the opportunity to make it a road trip with a friend and explore that city a little. I've never been there either, but people keep saying that I'll like it, so I probably will.

Spot-the-Dyke

We've gotten some attention here in Portland because of the national flap about offering birth control pills to middle schoolers.

I have some opinions about that. See if you can spot me talking about them.

Superstar. That's right.

Right Brain, Apparently

The way you see this optical illusion is supposed to tell you whether you are "right-brained" or "left-brained" (via kottke). I, apparently, and to my surprise, am right-brained, i.e.

RIGHT BRAIN FUNCTIONS
uses feeling
"big picture" oriented
imagination rules
symbols and images
present and future
philosophy & religion
can "get it" (i.e. meaning)
believes
appreciates
spatial perception
knows object function
fantasy based
presents possibilities
impetuous
risk taking

This goes against everything I have ever believed about myself. Shit, now I need to reprioritize my life and start all over. And I better learn to talk about those feelings. And become impetuous. Suggestions?

EDIT 10/25: Apparently, I am so opposed to this idea that I insisted in incorrectly typing "left" when I meant "right." Right. Right. Right. I will remember someday. It's corrected for now.

League Musings

Although I'm generally unimpressed** by The League, I am really glad that they put out this voting guide. There is a lot of information out there, and I get overwhelmed by it all. The voting guide lays it all out, and even if I don't agree with all of their endorsements they've summed up the major issues and made it easier to make a decision.

**Things I don't like about The League:

• Name change removing the words Pissed Off
• Weird corporate feel (there is a national office that designs all of the various states' League websites and material)
• Too-cool-for-school events
• Since when are 30-year-olds young voters?
• Cutesy use of slang in materials
  
• Soft-mouthed Green/Democratic political style that is not hard-line enough
  

I do like some things about them, like the voting guide, and the fact that they're at least liberal and are getting "young" people interested in politics. When the League first appeared I was kind of excited that there were some pissed-off people looking to create change in the fucked up system. But I fear that as the organization ages it's becoming more conservative in order to broaden its appeal (and its financial support).

I've decided that the only kind of pure activism is volunteer work. Once your rent and supper (and maybe the rent and supper of other people, if there's a staff) depend on your activism, it's easier to compromise the work for the sake of, you know, eating and being warm and stuff.

And, um, OK, if I should be entirely truthful here and confess that I really did want to be one of Portland's coolest kids (although it's a stretch to call me a kid at this point), and there are a lot of other people who could have been too. And I'm not cool enough for The League. I guess that's important to mention. Sigh. Junior high never really does go away, does it? It just lives inside like a festering wound...

Old Home Week

This is a penny postcard from the turn of the century from the town next to my hometown. My sister's house is now on the street to the left, I think. Lots more postcards here. See, the internet is good for something.

Good for Girls

I hate the term pre-teen. I think that it encourages girls to grow up too fast, looking forward to those "magical" teen years and the joys of makeup and boys and eating disorders and binge drinking. Oh, wait, maybe those were just my teen years.

And more even than pre-teen, I hate tween. Seriously. Tween what? Reminds me somehow uncomfortably of twink. And also the Olsen Twins.

But there is no denying that I am the mom of a person going through some serious changing and growing. The most recently contentious piece of which has been the ridiculous and beloved Bop magazine. I read Bop (and its evil stepsister Teen Beat) as a young teenager; I cut out posters of Corey Haim and Corey Feldman and Kirk Cameron and plastered them on my walls. But I hate when my daughter reads it (drools over it, more like) because it just seems so... vapid. My mom should have stopped me. Although I would have hated her if she did. Plus S just seems so young for all of that.

In a fit of insanity I purchased for her a copy of some teen magazine that featured her favorite movie, High School Musical. And when I found her comparing her very healthy body to the oversexualized, made-up, airbrushed, professionally good-looking young actresses in the magazine, I freaked out and banned teen magazines completely from our house. I have not yet been forgiven for this act.

It was, perhaps, an overzealous response to a bad situation I created myself. I should have forbidden them from the beginning. In my own defense, I have always tried to let her make decisions for herself and then engage in dialogue about them (this has worked well with Barbie dolls and swearing)--but my own history with body issues made this magazine issue very real and concrete for me, and I could not let it go.

I've been looking for an alternative magazine to offer her that is geared towards her age group but with positive and thoughtful material, and finally found a couple that I think I can live with:

New Moon Magazine has no advertising and tackles such pressing issues as "Barbie: Friend or Foe" and represents a wide range of real girls and diversity of lifestyles. There is a free sample issue available onine (pdf). Best of all, it doesn't look lame.

Muse Magazine also looks good, if a little more academically oriented.

I might just get her both. I feel like I should offer an alternative instead of just saying no. I wish parenting came with a cheat sheet.

Startlingly Effusive

Since I disconnected from the old Boob Tube back in April I've been a little out of touch with, you know, popular culture. I've never even heard of this movie, but the beauty is that I didn't have to because it turns out that I've already seen fifteen variations on it.

Seriously, folks. Funniest movie review I've ever read. And that's saying something, since I must have read about fifty movie reviews in my whole life.

No, really. Funny.

ALSO:

My buddy K just sent me this fucking clever video which actually made me LOL, which I have only actually done three times before on the internet (OK, maybe four if you count My Hands Are Bananas which also came via K).

Toot, Toot

That's my own horn: my new column's up at The Bollard.

Pool Boy Speaks, But Not Truth to Power

The man who cleans George H.W. Bush's pool speaks out to the press, but not to the former president:

"I look at the biggest middle finger in the world all day,"

(via eyeteeth)

In other news, I'm still not back at work. Maybe tomorrow.

Triumphant Return II: Daughter of the Triumphant Return

I return, minus an ovary, having taken a week off to be lulled in the gentle and forgiving arms of oxycodone (and my friends).

It was surprisingly a pretty productive week: I watched the entire third season of The L-Word and a huge selection of John Hughes movies; read six novels; finished crocheting a scarf; canned, dried, and froze my allotment of Winter Cache tomatoes; visited with many friends; and yes, did allow myself to be taken care of just a little bit. That piece is hard for me; I tend to be private with things that I find embarrassing--you know, needing help, having feelings, stuff like that.

I am slowly returning to the real world after my week lived within a two-block radius of my house. Yesterday was a big deal as I drove my car (!). All by myself! Down to the video store! I forgot how big the world is and how many people are in it. I think that under the right circumstances I could really become one of those people who never leaves one room, since I was for the most part perfectly content to stay here in my bed and loll around and nap and only answer the phone sometimes. Honestly, I think it was partly the unaccustomed joy of feeling justified in being completely selfish that I liked so much.

I'm going to try to do some writing today (I don't know how all of those famous opiate-addicted writers got any work done; narcotics make me far more interested in gazing at my arm hair than doing anything truly creative) and maybe take a walk with S and her friend. Sadly, we're not going to the Common Ground Fair, but my bestest friend Bec went and is doing some shopping for me: a Common Ground poster, maple sugar candy, some non-alcoholic echinacea tincture. She should be back with my wish list, and for a long visit, this evening. And I think it's back to work tomorrow.

That's What I Was Saying

The New Yorker has a good, if somewhat flip, article about localism/local eating. This paragraph pretty much sums up what I was so awkwardly trying to say the other day:

There are powerful arguments against localism: apart from the inevitable statistical tussles about exactly how much fuel is used for how much food, the one word that never occurs in the evocation of the lost world of small cities and nearby farms is “famine.” Our peasant ancestors, who lived locally and ate seasonally from the fruit of their own vines and the meat of their own lambs, were hungry all the time. The localist vision of the tiny polis and its surrounding gardens has historically led to bitter conflict, not Arcadian harmony.

(via megnut)

Confession

I haven't been entirely honest with you.

Those medical problems that I mentioned a while back? They're kind of a bigger deal than I let on, and soon I will probably have to take another--shorter--blog break while convalescing from a surgery that will hopefully correct them.

I have a favor to ask of you, though (and you should know that I'm rolling my eyes as I do this because if someone had told me five years ago that I'd be asking [mostly] strangers on the internet, for chrissakes, to do something for me I'd have poked their eyes out). As part of the treatment for this thing I've been seeing an energy worker. It's kind of like Reiki. Actually, I don't really understand exactly what she does, but whatever it is, it helps, and I feel about ten million times better after a visit and for a week or two afterwards.

This energy worker suggested that I ask folks who know about this surgery to send me positive thoughts instead of anxiety about my health or about the procedure; so what I'd ask you to do is on Monday (9/17), just send me some happy thoughts. If you wanted you could imagine me "wrapped in a tan-colored blanket of love" (that's the energy worker's suggestion, and the blanket is tan because that's the color of my favorite blanket). If that's too fucking hokey for you, just, you know, give me a mental hug, or even one of those raise-the-jaw acknowledgments that the wicked cool people do when you pass them on the street. Anyway, it can't hurt. And I'll try anything (except watching/reading/listening to The Secret).

Dammit

This is the kind of thing that could just push me over the edge. Here I am, thinking I'm doing a good thing by buying local goods, and it turns out that it maybe doesn't even make a difference:

Even when considering transport-related emissions alone, simply measuring the distance food has covered does not accurately reflect the energy consumption of its journey...

And it turns out our own part in the chain is often the most damaging, since when we drive to the supermarket, we might come back with only a few of bags of food in the car boot. Such a trip is far less fuel efficient than the one taken by that same food on its way to the supermarket in a truck packed with the assistance of load-optimisation software, which determines how to stack cargo so that barely an inch of empty space is left in the back of the vehicle.

A more realistic assessment would be how many pounds of carbon dioxide are generated by transport for each pound of food carried. (via kottke)

It's a good article that weighs out the benefits and costs of food, which is something that I'm pretty interested in. I participate in a gardening project, for example, and drive out to Cumberland every Sunday to work for several hours in the garden that will provide some of our winter food. And just about everyone else drives there, too, although we do really well at carpooling. Besides the fact that I love gardening and learning about how things grow, does it equal out? Would it have been less damaging to the environment to just buy those 50 lbs of potatoes, etc. rather than having everyone drive out to the farm all the time?

I've been thinking, lately, after hanging out with some radical anti-capitalist friends (whom I love intensely) that food politics--and other kinds of anti-capitalist politics--are kind of about control issues: striving for the zero-carbon, zero-waste lifestyle feels similar to eating disorders in that there is an unattainable goal that one is always trying for but can never achieve.

There is no "outside" of capitalism, there's no way to make zero impact on the environment, unless you go feral and live in the woods. I guess that the traditional Native American lifestyle is held up as an example of how that can work, but the logical part of my brain protests that that way of living is just not possible right now, with the population as large as it is. And as nice as it would be to live that way (ha ha ha), that kind of existence is probably short and hard. There is an idealization of that kind of life that I think neglects a lot of the problems that are inherent, like the possibility of mass starvation.

I enjoy a lot of the luxuries of 21st century living, like running water and the internet, but most of all I like having free time to write.

And the idealism of the zero-impact goal makes me feel guilty all the time. Every second I could be doing more, wasting less, and I start to feel frozen, like I can't do anything. I think it would be more helpful to talk to a lot of people about how to reduce their waste and their carbon footprint rather than to individually chase that ever-retreating zero.

Triumphant Return

I feel somehow that I should return with something really clever and summarizing of the time I have spent on my blog break. But really, I don't have anything like that, because not only am I not that cool, but I've been doing other things (moving... um, moving... talking about my feelings).

Instead of something clever, I have for you a photo of The Ponies of Death (thanx to Jacob). Enjoy.


Welcome, welcome. Good to see you again.

It's Called a Blog Break (That's the Technical Term)

I've decided that I'm giving myself a blog vacation. S and I are in the middle of packing, soon to be moving, and I have some health stuff going on (nothing too serious, but just enough to distract me), so I'm going to just take a couple of weeks off.

I'll be back on September 1, promise. Check back then.

Yeah, THAT Guy

You know those unbelievable work situations that turn into funny/creepy stories that you shock your friends with but still can't believe they happened? Those ones?

Crazy the things we'll do for minimum wage, huh? Specially when we're hungry or need places to live.

There's a contest that collects them and gives the winner a free vacation--and a friend of mine is a semifinalist. Check out her story and vote for her if you think she deserves it (she does, I promise). You can vote for her every day between now and Tuesday. Then check out the other stories too. Interesting how many of them involve discrimination against women for taking care of their families, or themselves, or wanting to be safe. Damn women, always wanting something.

You got a bad boss story? Too late for the contest, but I'd love to hear it.

Theory/Practice

Fresh from a radical gathering, I found this essay about autonomy and solidarity in the "Movement of Movements" really interesting (via brownfemipower).

This was my fourth Burdock. It's always a really special time, and one I look forward to all year as an opportunity to retreat, reflect, and reconnect with friends. Well, mostly I look foward to it.

This year, I was thinking about canceling even the day before we were supposed to go. There was packing to do, and looking at how busy the next three weeks will be was making me anxious, and I sort of wanted to just stay home and lay around and take a break, for crying out loud. But I had made a commitment to bring along a friend who needed a ride, and thank goddess I did, because it kept my ass motivated to go.

We arrived on Friday night, at suppertime. The gathering is held on the banks of the Sandy River in Starks, at the edge of property owned by a local farmer. The festival itself is contained within a geographically small area: a grassy road winds next to the river, and people camped between the flattened hay and the water, the location chosen by individual preference. Colorful tents crouched in the tall grass and just under the dense tree canopy. We set up close to the giant, blue-tarped hoophouse that serves as the dining area because I wanted S to feel comfortable going to the tent alone and able to hear us if she went to bed early.

The hoophouse was connected to a smaller tarped area that was designated for the younger children, and a short rocky path towards the river led to the firepit. The firepit area was wide mown, and the river chattered just on the other side of a thicket of tall grass. A narrow trail through the grass led to a shallow section of the river where the older children could safely wade without adult supervision. Another, deeper swimming area was just around a bend in the river, and was accessed by a trail through the woods. The whole setup, from the first tent on the makeshift road, past the group spaces and through the woods to the farthest campsite is maybe 1/4 mile. Maybe less.

The weekend is always the busiest time, and when our little carload had set up and joined the evening's entertainment--an Open Mic(less) Night--there were about 70 people present. S had found some friends and spent the evening running with them and wading in the river, and I saw dozens of people from whom I have been estranged since my breakup with the radical community. It was really good to be there. I had anticipated feeling some awkwardness because of some of the compromises I have made in my life in the past year that are far from radical, but I didn't feel any. (Well, there was one conversation about eating meat that made me feel guilty, but that's minor.)

Mostly I felt good because there was--for the first time--a queer caucus on Saturday. About ten of us gathered to talk about being radical and also being queer, and it felt like the safest, best space ever. I want to move into it and live there forever and ever. So much of my life and activism has led me to separate the many facets of my identity: I can connect with other parents if I play down the queerness; I can connect with other queers if I don't notice rampant consumerism; I can connect with other radicals if I leave out the job; I can connect with my family if I downplay the urbanness & education. This group felt like the most integration of those pieces I've ever experienced--although I acknowledge that part of that is because S was big enough this year to be mostly independent and didn't need my constant attention.

But despite my enthusiasm for the queer caucus and the work we're going to take on, I think that the big shift has been internal for me. I have begun to feel comfortable in my skin recently in a way that is completely new. I know that my choices aren't the same ones that everyone would make, but I'm confident (!) that they are the right ones for me. I have even talked openly about my feelings (!!) and stood up for myself (!!!) a lot in the past few months. And it's not even that scary.

Part of it is confidence in my writing, belief in myself, and making some hard choices that have really turned out pretty well, if difficult. Part of it is intense therapy. Part of it is just being older and more familiar with myself.

I think that every year Burdock has brought me a revelation of some kind (and that may be a recommendation for it or not, depending on your stand). This year's is about confidence and self-comfort, and loving my life. Sweet.

My Summer Vacation, Part 2

This evening S and I are headed off to the Burdock festival in Starks. The picture above is one of the kitchen that was taken two years ago, but it pretty much still looks like that. I will try to report when I return, but I think that I still haven't told the milkweed story that I promised last year, so I'm not going to promise anything. But I do believe that my (ahem) column may be about Burdock this month, so there's an exclusive for you. There's supposed to be a queer caucus on Saturday.

I think this weekend will be our last little bit of summer vacation, since when we get back we're going to need to start seriously packing for the move on the 28th. (Hey! What are you doing on the 28th! Want to carry heavy shit down some stairs?)

Bragging Rights

So, a year or so ago, at my Stonecoast residency, we all went out to eat lobstah on a real Maine wharf complete with cranky tourists and overpriced shellfish. Though a long-time vegetarian, my friend Ann got a lobster, intending to eat it--as part of the experience. She's from a non-oceanic state, and how can you visit Maine and not eat the cursed red crustacean, etc. etc.

Anyway, she didn't end up eating the lobster (I think she gave it to S), but told me that the experience of watching me deftly dismember the critter for her prompted a piece of writing. I mean, I don't want to take all the credit or anything. There were a dozen people sucking on lobster legs and cracking claws. But, you know... I'll take some. If I can get it.

I think this is the piece: Cock Lobster. You can listen to it or read it. But, um, allow yourself a moment of private time, after.

Public Service Announcement #476

If you should wake up early in the morning and decide that it is time to make salsa, remember to put in your contacts before you chop up the jalapenos. Before.

My Summer Vacation, Part I

I'm on vacation this week. I may have mentioned that already. We're hanging close to home, but that doesn't mean we're not having one heck of a good time! It's only day 2 (day 1 if you don't count Sunday which I don't usually work on anyway, but I like to think of the weekends as part of the vacation so it seems longer--although I did work this past Saturday so I'm not counting it).

Right, so it's only day 2 and already we've:

Bought Local

Visited Historic Spots

Crispified Our Skin

Enjoyed some Wholesome &
Heart-Healthy Foods

Oh, vacation... what wond'rous places will you lead us next?

Pop Culture Wins Again

Not only is it my vacation week... not only does the heat wave appear to be breaking... and not only did I find kale, kohlrabi, squash, parsley, new potatoes and local honey (from Capisic Street, just around the corner) at the farmer's market today...

All that would be plenty, but then I was pointed to Harptallica. (via eyeteeth)



My world is complete.

Sniff

So you may know that I'm getting ready to move. My ex-partner and current friend/roommate is leaving August 1, and S & I will be moving out September 1 (destination still uncertain; I might know Monday).

I decided after the last move (to the third floor, thank you) that if/when I move again I have to get rid of some of my crap. And now the time is upon me.

I'm starting with my queer books, which I will be donating to the Charlie Howard Memorial Library. I figure I can visit them any time I miss them. But I sat down to pull them off the shelves today, and then got very sad putting them in a box. Goodbye Leslie Feinberg, Mattilda, and Ann Bannon. Goodbye Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz and Julia Kristeva. Au revoir Jennifer Finney Boylan and Virginia Woolf and Dorothy Allison and Radclyffe Hall. It's difficult to see you go, even though you're going to a good home.

Next is going to be the old school books (a little easier--and they're headed for Goodwill). I'm going to keep one bookcase full of the rest of my favorites, mostly signed copies of books and a few others that are too dear. Just one bookcase. Honest.

Clothes, furniture, the hand drum, extra blankets, duplicate kitchen equipment and that which I've never used. All going. Need something? Give me a call. I probably have one that I'm trying to get rid of. Videos, DVDs, maybe the TV altogether.

I need to pare down, lighten up. I have placed too much importance on the external comforts of my life, and they are irrelevant, and cluttering up my place to boot. My goal: just the basics, ma'am.

Plus, my friends start to get scared when I mention moving. They make other plans. And who can blame them, when I've been guilty of owning fifteen boxes of books. I mean, really.

Tricky

Hey, remember that referendum thing in 2005? And how there was this kickass organization called Maine Won't Discriminate that did all of this wicked cool work and basically made it so that queer people are safe in this state?

Well check out who's taken over their website: www.mainewontdiscriminate.com

For cryin' out loud--they're everywhere!

Some Joy in the World

A street artist, Posterchild, has been putting up guerilla flowerboxes on light poles in a marketplace in Canada (via eyeteeth).

Hooray to random plant life! Hooray to urban gardening! Hooray!

Next I want the artist to plant swiss chard. Maybe I'll plant some swiss chard. Or kale. Mmmm... kale.

TMI

I apologize for sharing my very personal revelation. (But who knew there was so much air in the world? Seriously.)

Anyway, I've already returned to my humdrum panty-wearing ways. It was just a vacation thing, I guess.

An early-morning joke from S:

Why did the nickel jump off the cliff and the quarter didn't?

Because the quarter has more cents!

Happy Wednesday.

3 Things, Not Necessarily Related

I'm back from MFA residency, very tired but super-jazzed to work. I'll be finishing up my linked short story collection this semester (if you get an idea for a title let me know); I have seven out of probably ten stories written. Some need the rough grain sandpaper, a couple need the fine. A few might require a table saw.

The residency was an incredible experience for the following reasons:

1. I'm working with the incredible Kelly Link this semester. That's right.

2. I had my credit card stolen, and got a phone call from my bank that someone was trying to use it from Switzerland. I appreciate the irony that my credit card number is now more widely traveled than I am. I'll let you know how that all turns out. PS--don't use your credit card on the internet.

3. I've decided never to wear underwear again. I went without for logistical reasons during the residency (white dress, only brought blue flowered underpants) and I don't think I'll ever go back. Well, 3/4 of the time.

Residency Burnout

We're on Day... um... I can't remember what day it is... of my graduate school residency. Not quite mid-residency, anyway. I'm trying to prevent Residency Burnout* by forgoing most of the evening, post-faculty-reading drinking adventures and getting enough sleep. It's not really working out. Since it happens so infrequently (just twice a year), there's always a push here to do more, hang out more, cram in more.

I had a little bit of a brain crash late this afternoon. My story went up for revision at today's workshop, and that went well, although there is always a certain amount of humility created by having my piece sliced up by well-meaning peers. Then there was a seminar ("Opening Gambits," with Elizabeth Searle, about creating solid, interesting openings to novels**), and then three readings by graduating students. I ate too much candy during the readings and then felt like crying while trying to figure out what I was going to do during the next three and a half hours. I was entirely unable to make a decision for twenty minutes. The crisis passed, though (of course) and I had an espresso and ate some steak and now I feel much better.

Onward! Residency Burnout be damned!

* The first symptom of which is forgetting what day it is.

** And I think I figured out in this seminar how I'm going to open my novel, which is quite exciting. I'm writing a novel! It's 3/4 done! And I know how it's going to begin! Who the fuck do I think I am?!

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Much later today (Friday) I'm going to my fourth residency at the Stonecoast MFA program. It's ten days completely removed from the rest of my life--an intense period of workshops, classes, seminars, readings, and endless talk about writing, stories, the business of writing, plots, tricks, tips, gossip... I can't wait. Although, to be perfectly honest, one of the things I'm really looking forward to is ten days of wearing whatever clothes I want, because work dress codes suck.

My school chum Patrick is staying the night to save on hotel checkout time awkwardness (checkout is 11am, school doesn't start until 2), and we've been talking nonstop for about four hours about all kinds of things having to do with writing and editors and experience and our novels. A little warmup for the week.

So I'm not sure how much I'll be around during the next week or so, but I'll try to drop by and say hello. And I'll be back after next weekend. With photos. And probably a hangover.

Besides the Traffic

Another reason to avoid the fireworks this year (via bec)

Earth Without People

I love people, but you have to admit that we haven't been entirely kind to the Earth. Today I came across this article (via kottke) in New Scientist that describes what the Earth will be like after we leave.

This stuff kind of gives me nightmares, but I really like to read it. Nothing like fueling the TEOTWAWKI (tay-oh-tuh-wah-kee) fantasies.

For another version of TEOTWAWKI, read Octavia Butler's Parable series. Nightmares. And much thought-provoking discussion. Seriously. A little too close to home, that one.

Sunburned & Content

A good Sunday. Worked a few hours this morning, and then went out to the Winter Cache Farm in Cumberland. I worked for several hours planting potatoes (eyes to the sky, friends!) and then cabbages, and weeding. I'll be eating those cabbages and potatoes all winter. My reward for all that work was a big bag of garlic scapes and lettuce, a little pink on my cheeks, and dirty toes. I love it.

Garlic scapes are one of those special once-a-year treats (like fiddleheads, strawberries**, and tomatoes**) that you have to stuff yourself with when they're around, so you can remember them later. They're in season here right now, and I plotted last fall to plant some garlic just so we could have the scapes.

They are actually the garlic flower, but they grow in fantastical, curly shapes, and are a much more mild garlic flavor than the cloves (which are the root). Scapes sort of have the texture of a green bean minus the seeds and that string. Or like a thick, badass chive. I stir fry them or slice them thin for potato salad, and I had them pickled once and just about died of pleasure.

After that fun (could there be more? Yes, there could!) I got a surprise invitation to a pizza party at J & S's house (they are two of my favorite people ever), and found more of my favorite people there, plus a strawberry margarita with blue sugar on the glass. Sigh. Dreamy.

**I know there are strawberries and tomatoes available all year round. I just ignore them. I really do try to buy mostly locally and in-season. I froze a bunch of strawberries last summer and am just finishing them up now, and I'll buy canned tomatoes if I absolutely need them. I might can my own this year. I know I still eat all kinds of food that doesn't grow in this area (I heart avocados), but I have to draw the line somewhere, and strawberries and tomatoes are it.

And

New photos of my weekend Mount Desert Island Dream Vacation over at flickr.

Helpful Suggestions for a Stress Free Heatwave

1. Don't live on the third floor.
2. If you must live on the third floor, make sure that either
(a) the building next door is far enough away that you can get a frickin' breath of wind, or
(b) the wiring can take an air conditioner without fire danger.
3. In absence of those suggestions, keep yourself well-stocked with fans.
4. If you buy fans, buy them fully assembled.
5. If you cannot buy fans fully assembled, do not wait until it is 92 degrees in your apartment before you start assembling them.
6. If you must assemble them in an apartment roughly the temperature of the inside of your mouth, don't then have 10 children over at your house in an attempt to facilitate the continuation of your daughter's Spanish class, which found itself without a home for the week.
7. If you have said children over, do not give them sticky things to eat or drink.
8. Don't drop an overhead projector on your toe, possibly dislocating or breaking it to judge by the all-consuming pain and alarming bruising on said toe, or else you will spend the whole rest of the night in intense pain and embarrassed by your own stupidity, plus calls to the doctor's office to see if broken toes need to be treated immediately (which would require the entire family to get up and spend about six tortuous hours in the ER) all to find that your toe is fine the next morning, just a little bruised.
9. If you're living with your ex-partner, don't assume that they will understand that your crankiness about all of this is but a necessary part of life, much like picking up the clog of hair from the shower drain or cooking when your apartment is warmer than your own armpit.
10. Own a barbecue grill.
11. Encourage your friends not to be moving out of their apartments this week, because you'll have to help then.

Long Time, No...

It was a fantastic weekend. I really do love Pride.

Here's proof. If it's in print it must be true, right?

But, in my line of work, it's also a spectacularly busy time, and today is my first whole day off since the beginning of June. I can't decide whether to sleep or go to the beach or mop the floor--all sorely neglected for a while. I suspect that all three will happen at some point.

But best of all is the fact that my friend R is briefly in town from the west coast, and we're going to spend the afternoon together. R is one of my very favorite people ever-- we met when she offered to design a website for WT Chronicles several years ago (that long?!) and have been friends ever since. She's brilliant and funny and clever in that way that often makes my jaw drop with admiration and envy; I'm glad that she's returning to the northeast in the fall. That alone makes the tremendously unfair shortness of this visit bearable.

If Only They'd Drop it On Texas

In honor of Southern Maine Pride week here, it's just going to be all gay all the time here. As if I weren't anyway.

In that spirit, I found this entertaining article:

The Berkeley-based Sunshine Foundation says it's unearthed Pentagon plans to build a hormone bomb that would turn all those hit by it gay. Uncovered through a Freedom of Information Act request, the plans, dated 1994, indicated that the Air Force's Wright Laboratory in Dayton, Ohio, had asked for $7.5 million to develop the bomb. The proposal said, "One distasteful but completely non-lethal example would be strong aphrodisiacs, especially if the chemical also caused homosexual behavior."
(directly from eyeteeth)

Oh, horror.

(I secretly wish they'd just go ahead and test it, because I'm running out of dating options here.)

Post Script

The event turned out fine. Of course.

I survived. Of course.

It went really well, and I even had a good time.

But I'm sure glad it's over.

And, now, before I forget, Happy Pride!

Commence the Complaint

So I've been trying very hard not to whine. Sometimes things are easy, sometimes they're hard, and complaining about shit doesn't make it better, plus it drives away your friends.

However, at the risk of whining, I need to explain here the extraordinary concatenation of events leading up to this weekend:

There is this incredibly important event that I'm planning for work. It got fifteen hundred times more complicated about six weeks ago, and now there are two events on the same day, and I'm trying to coordinate over twenty different people representing three agencies, major donors, and a complicated internal hierarchy.

My romantic life is in a shambles (shambles, I tell you!)

I have my final packet of schoolwork due on Sunday, which has meant that I was assigned to write twenty pages of new fiction this month. (I didn't. I only wrote sixteen. But they felt like twenty coming out!)

Finances are more iffy than usual, because

I didn't get my mileage reimbursement.

My mom called.

And, because, I think, the universe hates me, I started my period ONE WEEK EARLY, which means I will be crampy and miserable during what is the most stressful day of my career so far.

If I believed in god I would say that this is some kind of a test. I've been trying to tell myself that it's an opportunity to rise to the occasion and the like, but it's not working all that much.

There. I'm done. Now I'm going to go eat some delicious soy non-dairy frozen dessert. Have good thoughts about the weather for tomorrow, OK?

Possibly the Gayest Thing Ever

Not in the rainbow-boa-and-light-up-platform-shoes kind of way that will happen during Pride next week, but in the that's-so-queer-it-makes-me-feel-funny kind of way.

Pictures of people kissing themselves (photoshopped). [via bec]

Snack

Just two tidbits for you today...

California now allows conjugal visits for gay inmates (via feministing)

and

A nice article in today's PPH about a gay couple walking in public made me all teary when I read it. Of course, that might because that same Sunday event that's referred to in the article has been occupying almost every waking moment of my life for the past six weeks.

Past & Future

Happy Sort of Birth Day to the 19th amendment, which was first proposed 88 years ago today (it wasn't ratified until a year and three months later, on August 18, 1920). Yay women voters!

I'm still mostly an anarchist at heart, I think, but I vote to hedge my bets. Which makes me either a practical anarchist or a sellout, depending on how you look at it.

****************

Also, the NY Times has a great list of what some famous writers (Foer, Eugenides, LeGuin, Eggers) are reading right now. I've never heard of any of these books that they're reading. Oh, for an unlimited book budget and some free time demanding to be filled!

With that in mind, my next post shall address the May Book Roundup. Notice I did not give a time for such a post, as all of my predictions as to when I will next return are invariably wrong.

****************

In between work insanities, the complicatedness of my home life, and some intense therapy I've been writing the seventh story in my linked collection, and it seems to be going to a very dark place (opiates and liver disease, if you must know) that makes me feel strange in the head as I write it. Likely I will someday look at this story and go, "Thank goddess I'm not there any more."

Burdock 2007

Guess where I'll be August 10-12?

save the date!!

Burdock 2007
6th Annual Gathering for a Free and Sustainable Future
August 7-14th Starks, ME

Be Prepared For:
Making Connections & Building Solidarity
Workshops, discussions, and skillshares
Childrens workshops & Activities
Campfires, swimming, music and art
Lots of fun and lots of free healthy food
Participating rain or shine!


(this is a burdock root. you can eat it!)


Potential Workshops
Do-it-yourself skillshares
Sustainable living skills & wild crafting
Biodiversity and environmental protection
Indigenous struggles
Race, gender, sex and sexuality
Capitalism and class
Political prisoners: struggles and support
Unschooling and youth empowerment
Alternative Building and more!
You're encouraged to bring a workshop to share with others. If you want to get on the workshop schedule contact us by July 24th at burdock@riseup.net.

*Barter Fair!* Saturday August 11th from 4pm till Dark
Bring crafts, medicine, food, clothing, books or anything else you want to trade.
*Open Mic (less) Night:* Friday Night August 10th
*Burdock Cabaret:* Performance & Music on Saturday Night August 11th

Get involved!
Next Meeting and Burdock Work Party weekend: July 1st, 3pm. There will be a workshop before the meeting (topic tba) and work in the gardens.

Contact us to offer a workshop, kids activity, offer rides or transportation of food and equipment (have a large van or truck to offer tranpsort???), peform at the Burdock Cabaret, or help out in any other way!


for more info & directions: burdock@riseup.net
www.burdockgathering.org
box 1582 Portland, ME 04104

National Donut Day

No more excuses! June 1 is National Donut Day, and I expect each and every one of you to chomp on some deep-fried goodness.

I recommend the molasses donuts at Tony's. Or the occasional Krispy Kreme. Best of all, the donuts that my friend Jessie's grandma used to make. Mmm.... donuts....

You can also read about donuts, and wear them if you like (on fingers, toes, on chains around your neck, whatever).

Sleeping

Sleeping, originally uploaded by jennyjeez.

This is my newest... erm, only... niece. She was two days old when this picture was taken, which was yesterday.

I tell you what, hanging out with this little pooter and her mama was a heckuva lot better than any old parade.

The Reason I've Been Absent, Sort Of

Writin'

Organizin'

Makin' Friends

More Organizin'

EDIT 5/28: Fixed the links... and apparently the Portland Dyke March website isn't up yet, but stay tuned. Should be working soon.

OK, The Marriage Issue

Today my Stonecoast professor and former mentor Leslea Newman, has an op-ed article about gay marriage in The Republican, a Massachusetts newspaper. She beautifully describes the scene on the day that gay marriage became legal in MA:

...I wouldn't have missed this historic day for anything, and it was clear from the crowd that many others felt the same. A woman walked down the line of about-to-be married couples looping plastic rainbow-colored Hawaiian leis around their necks. A man stood in the parking lot waving a banner that read, "And they lived equally ever after." The woman next to him held a sign that simply said, "It's about time." A child wearing a T-shirt imprinted with the words, "I love my two mommies" handed out bubble blowers shaped like miniature wedding cakes. Slices of an actual wedding cake donated by an anonymous baker were passed about. A musical group called the Raging Grannies sang "Here Come the Brides." Even the reporters and newscasters, those staunch upholders of professional detachment, had tears in their eyes.

To be clear, I am not really a fan of "the marriage issue." I don't like that it's taken the forefront of gay activism, because I think that there are some more pressing issues (hello, civil rights? violence and hate crimes? most of the middle states? texas?).

Marriage needs an overhaul. It's too easy to get into--for straight folks, of course--and too hard to get out of. Maybe it made sense to make a lifelong commitment when it was mostly a financial arrangement, but now that we (mostly) claim love as our reason for marrying, we should recognize that hearts can change and grow over the course of a lifetime. Plus, let's not even get into how it supports the patriarchy and capitalism.

Mostly, though, I don't like the "we're just like you" message, because the folks who say that in the publicity materials are middle-class white gay men and lesbians who want to get married "because they're in love." This message excludes some of the vibrant and diverse populations that make up our queer communities. Where are the "leather daddies for marriage" commercials? Or the "militant bi's for full equality?" I think that it is more useful for people to talk about different types of relationships and see marriage as one option among many.

Plus, we're not "just like you." We are discriminated against, ridiculed, and beaten. We have a resilient community that has put into practice some viable alternatives in reaction to the indifference of mainstream culture, like our "families of choice" when our biological families aren't accepting, or the AIDS activism of the 1980's and '90's that set the standard for everything that came after.

As a parent, I keenly understand the need to create legal responsibilities and commitments. If I had married my daughter's father, we would not be in this weird custody neverland where I can't take her out of the country, and I might have more leverage to get child support. Of course, we might also still be legally married, since I can't seem to find the guy to serve papers on him, and chances are pretty good that I couldn't afford a divorce anyway.

Instead of focusing on marriage, let's take a look at what our community really needs, and move forward from there. Let's talk about how lesbians make less money than practically everyone else, and how we can better work for transgender rights, and why so many people in our community have substance abuse issues, and why queer youth are committing suicide and running away from home, and about second-parent adoption.

Marriage is one of those things that our community needs. But it's one of many, and we shouldn't get caught up on the one just because it easily appeals the the middle-class white people who make the laws. Rather than trying to assimilate, we should be stretching the boundaries of the mainstream, and making our own space.

Back to You, Bob

And now for some news from the "Thank God They Figured THAT Out Department:"

South Portland officials last week unanimously passed an ordinance prohibiting people from having graffiti materials like broad-tipped markers or spray cans, even if they are not caught actually using them. (from mainetoday.com)

I bet the rest of the cities feel pretty stupid now that they know that the key to stopping graffiti is to ban markers and spray paint.

But what I want to know is, are they going to bust all the folks leaving Home Depot en route to home improvement projects?

Can I still buy the "marble effect" spray paint?

How about if I get a note from my mom saying that I'm really using it to paint the filing cabinet I picked up at bulky trash?

Mom's Day

So you may have gathered that I hate mom's day. I have some issues with my own mother, who has not been much of one since I was 12, and as a single mom I always feel a little bit let down because S has always been too small to do things on her own for me, so I have to pretend to be surprised opening a present I helped S buy. Etc.

But this year ended up being really great. Props to K who, despite the many complications and pitfalls of the day, ended up doing exactly the right thing.

The (annotated) day's events were as follows:

7am: I am awoken to a breakfast of egg-in-the-hole-in-the-toast, bacon, coffee, and strawberries in bed. I think that K and S waited as long as they possibly could to bring it to me (I heard them up before 6); it was still a bit early considering I'd been up finishing my thesis until 2am, but everything was still delicious. And they had picked the only tulip growing in our wasteland of a yard and placed it nicely in a vase that S made for me at school. With a home made card.

7:30am: Back to sleep.

9:00am: I wake up to my alarm and get up. More coffee. We all get ready to go out to the Winter Cache farm in Cumberland with S, K, and S's best friend J.

9:45am: More coffee at my favorite coffee shop's India Street location. Mmm... dark roast.

10:00am: Meet many friends in front of the People's Free Space, who all wish me a happy mom's day. We drive in a big caravan out to the farm.

11:00am-2:00pm: Farming, including moving a very heavy mower (my shoulders are still stiff today), touching composted goat poop with my bare hands and living through it, watering, and tidying the greenhouse. Much fun! I can't wait to eat these veggies.

2:30pm: Back in Portland, we drive around my neighborhood looking at the bulky trash waiting for pickup. I decide to pick up three drawers to use as containers for some flowers and veggies I want to grow in our desolate wasteland of a yard. There are leftovers in the fridge, so nobody has to cook lunch.

3:30pm: We drop S's friend off at his house, and since it's near the water, we go down to the beach to shovel up some gravel for drainage in the containers. There is a TON of sea glass from the Patriot's Day hurricane thing. We all fill our pockets with it, and get the gravel.

4:00 pm: I cook rice and beans for dinner, and two of our good friends come over to share it. We talk and hang out until...

9:00pm: I collapse into bed, sunburned, exhausted, and very happy. I got many well-wishes and hugs and text messages and phone messages, and got treated like royalty all day. It was the nicest one I've ever had.

Mother's Day News Postponed...

... to allow you to check out this hot restaurant review at www.thebollard.com (It's the article titled "A Star is Born" halfway down the page).

That's right. Superstar.

For Moments Like This

As a third semester student at Stonecoast, I am required to spend this semester working on a critical project. Most people write papers--research papers or English Lit-type papers that focus on one or two aspects of a writer's work, or a branch of critical theory, etc--some people do projects and then write papers.

I opted for a research paper about writing groups in prisons and shelters, because I'm interested, and because I would like to do some of that--for money--after I graduate, and the research may come in handy for things like grant-writing and convincing administrators that the work needs to happen. I think having an MFA is suddenly justification for me to demand to get paid for doing the things I love to do.

Anyway, it's been a trying semester because it's not my favorite kind of writing. I did manage to slide in some creative bits by interspersing the research/expository sections with personal narrative about my own experiences facilitating a writing group in a shelter.

But the best news is, I just sent in my final draft to my mentor (the very talented and patient-with-my-delays Alan Davis), which means that I get to spend this last semester working on fiction. As long as he agrees that it's actually a final draft.

I just sent K down to the store for a bottle of ginger ale** to celebrate, and I may smoke a cigarette. It's hot times in the old town tonight, folks.

If you want to read it, drop me a note and I'll send it out like the fucking flowers are sending out millions of tiny pieces of pollen to irritate my entire face (that is, with fervor and profligacy). I'll put my email address in the comments section***.

More on Mother's Day tomorrow.


**for reasons of poverty, not any kind of abstinent behavior. Don't worry, Stonecoasters, I'll be singing in the streets of Brunswick post-Joshua's soon enough.

***I think that has something to do with avoiding spam, but really I'm just copying other people who do it because it seems like a good idea.

The Scoop

I heard a pretty reliable rumor that there will be a *free* Darien Brahms/Erin McKeown show in Monument Square on July 26.

Sweet. And how many lovely ladies will be attending? All of them, I'm guessing.

Bad Dialogue

FRIEND: But I don't understand. Why do you hate Mother's Day so much?

WOMAN: I cant.... [sob] I just can't. [turns away] You'd never understand.

FRIEND: I understand that I want to help you. Why can't you just trust me a little? Tell me. [puts hands on MOTHER's shoulders] You can tell me.

WOMAN: [shakes off FRIEND's hands] How could you know? You and your... your perfect spouse. You have everything. [turns to face FRIEND, closeup of her tear-stained face] And I-- I have nothing.

FRIEND: I don't understand.

WOMAN: Don't you see? Mother's day is not a day of joy for people like me. I'll say it--for single mothers like me. All year long we have to be mother and father, and then on the one day of the year that is for us, we... we... [sobs]

FRIEND: There, there.

WOMAN: I'm sorry, I got some snot on your shoulder.

FRIEND: That's gross.

WOMAN: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. [wipes at eyes] I guess what I'm trying to say is that the only way I'll ever get brunch on that day is if I make the reservations myself and put it on my own credit card. And you don't know the pain... the mind-wrenching pain... [shakes fist at sky] of trying to pick out a bouquet to surprise myself.

FRIEND: This snot looks like a snail trail.

WOMAN: I'd rather smoke cigarettes and drink bourbon while my kids watch disney channel all day. At least that way we'd both be happy instead of trying to live up to some overrated standard for a holiday that can only be celebrated by a nu--- nuclear family [sobs again].

FRIEND: So what are you saying?

WOMAN: I'm saying, where's the guy in that coffee commercial who gets up early to help the kids make me breakfast in bed? Where's my tasty fresh omelette?

FRIEND: I have no idea what you mean.

WOMAN: I wish the hallmark people would just die. And the coffee people too.

FRIEND: Whoah. That's a little harsh, don't you think?

WOMAN: I guess. I mean, we're all just victims of the capitalist heterosexist patriarchy anyway, right? [blows nose, wipes eyes, sighs] Got a light?

FRIEND: Here.

WOMAN: Thanks.

It's Always Funny

More entertainment via the hometown police log.

In Waterville, on Saturday:

2:07 p.m., three juveniles reportedly set a fire in Couture Field. Fire fighters quickly extinguished the flames before any damage was done. The juveniles told police they were trying to dispose of old gasoline.

(Why, back when I was a kid, we called that a normal Saturday afternoon.)

and

10:30 a.m., employees at Hannaford Supermarket told police a van suspiciously parks in front of the store between the hours of 4 a.m. and 5 a.m. every day.

(Good lord! Parking? In a parking lot?! It's a good thing they called the police!!!)

and

10:16 p.m., police checked on a vehicle parked in front of the Pine Grove Cemetery on Grove Street. The car’s passengers told police they were photographing the cemetery to see if they could document paranormal activity on the film when it is developed.

I couldn't make this shit up. And I'll take it any day over the usual run of domestic violence, drunk driving, and petty theft that usually make up the police log in rural Maine.

April Book Roundup

Since I spend as much time reading as doing practically anything else, I'm going to make it a goal to share what I've been reading. I did a lot of it in April, because I was rewarding myself for finishing the first draft of my critical thesis. Don't ask me what my excuse is these days.

And I'm not going to rate them with stars or anything because I am a notorious book slut and I like just about any book that I can finish. Ahem.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Hark Haddon (Fiction): This book is often suggested to me when I'm having conversations about protagonist voice. I can see why; it has a unique and well-done pov.

My Year of Meats by Ruth L. Ozeki (Fiction): Japanese-American beef politics, mass marketing, slaughterhouses, and domestic violence.

Sand Dollar Summer by Kimberly K. Jones (Young Adult): Only slightly overdramatic coming-of-age story on a Maine beach by someone from Away. Points off, though, for stereotyped all-wise, all-accepting, self-sacrificing, precognitive Native American character.

Hattie Big Sky by Kirby Larson (Young Adult): Feminist homesteading in the 1940s. A little bit of a YA treatment of this (sexuality seems almost censored).

Burn by James Patrick Kelly (SciFi): Sweet. Reading this felt like a magic spell in which I'm reading a delicious short story and wish it was longer and then, shazam, it is. I read it in one sitting. Yum.

The Brooklyn Follies by Paul Auster (Fiction): Complicated and slightly slow but ultimately rewarding story of aging, utopia, and second chances. Bonus points for treatment of homosexuality as a non-issue.

Even Less than the Minimum

This is appropriate, given the looming approaching Mother's Day holiday:
Women's unwaged labor. (There's a lot of it) (via feministing)

The typical mother puts in a 92-hour work week, the company concluded, and works at least 10 jobs. In order of hours spent on them per week, these are: housekeeper, day-care center teacher, cook, computer operator, laundry machine operator, janitor, facilities manager, van driver, chief executive officer and psychologist. By figuring out the median salaries for each position, and calculating the average number of hours worked at each, the firm came up with $138,095 -- three percent higher than last year's results.

Even mothers who work full-time jobs outside the home put in $85,939 worth of work as mothers, according to Salary.com.

Yeh. Tell me about it.

Anyway, I gotta go. The laundry needs to be switched before I pick up folks from work and afterschool activities. Later.

Danger

S may well spontaneously combust when she sees this happening. In Portland.

She doesn't know yet that I've signed us up to volunteer. It's the best. secret. ever.

Pronunciation Guide

How would you pronounce this word: queerbie

(Children of the nineties, do you remember this particular bon mot? Used in junior high to describe anything uncool and impossibly lame. Meaning me, more often than not.)

The Big Answers

I have always thought the President should get paid minimum wage. I think this would solve the poverty problem almost entirely. Plus, since s/he gets free housing, living on $6.50 an hour should be a piece of cake!

Well, a governor in Oregon (oh, those crazy Oregonians) is living on a food stamp budget for a week (via megnut). Cool. But I wish it was for longer, and I wish it was real. I get $20 a month in food stamps, and I'd love to see anyone live on that.

Reminds me of that blog by that guy who lived on $1 per day for one month. I like this kind of activism.

Signs of Oncoming Summer

1. Walking to work
2. Sore legs (see 1.)
3. Arrival of the LLKids summer catalogue
4. Sleeping with the windows open
5. Switching the direction of the ceiling fans
6. Pulling off the first tick of the season (see 1.)

Happy Day-After-Earth-Day

K, S, and I spent a good part of the day yesterday at Portland's little Earth Day celebration.

I actually hate Earth Day. I have to resort to platitudes here, but seriously--every day is Earth Day. I mean it. I was sitting on the sidewalk at one point and overheard a bystander asking another person what was going on. When she heard it was Earth Day, she said, "Oh, great. Another thing to waste taxpayers' money on."

I was infuriated. Partly I wanted to point out that without the Earth she and her ignorant attitudes wouldn't exist at all. And partly I wanted to agree with her, because I'm not sure what free juice from Wild Oats and handcrafted jewelry have to do with Earth Day--and that's what the vendors were like. Nonprofit booths were shunted to the side and crammed around the edges. The music was too loud for people to talk to the folks staffing the nonprofits anyway. I didn't say anything to the woman.

The whole concept of Earth Day just pisses me off, but I'm a good greenie so I have to go. On the plus side, it was a beautiful day, and S got to practice her roller blading with some of the kickass Roller Derby Ladies.

So, in celebration of the Day-After-Earth-Day (when all of the folks who attended it have driven away in their SUV's to buy organic plastic wrap at Wild Oats), I thought I'd share this with you. It's a chart of which companies own which in the organic industry (via bec):

Free to Be

It is my sad job to inform you that Lesbian Radio will not be heard today, as WMPG is without power. There goes S's radio debut, right down the crapper. But you can see her in a performance of Free to Be You and Me tonight at 7pm at the East End Community School.

Maine Life

It was a big storm. Lots of trees down, lots of folks without power. The only casualty in my home was the cable, which, since we are "borrowing" our neighbor's line, may not ever come back.

But, more importantly, Allen's Coffee Brandy is ranked the #1 alcoholic beverage in Maine for the 10th year in a row.

I like this tidbit best:

Allen's is so popular that its different bottle sizes rank first, second, sixth and ninth on the Maine Bureau of Alcoholic Beverages and Lottery Operations list of the top 25 alcoholic items sold last year. Allen's is the only brand that appears more than once in the top 10.

I imagine a survey:

"So, what's your favorite kind of booze?"

"Well, I like the half-gallon. The fifth is good too. And nothin beats the pint if you're on the go."

So It Goes*

How many times has that reference been made today? Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday.

Sigh.

*and I can't even claim to have thought of it myself. I stole it from kottke.

Today's News

New logo. Lesbian Radio. Wednesdays at 1:00. You know.

Yesterday's News

My across-the-street-neighbor from when I was growing up--the ones I mentioned whose house recently burned down--are in the news again, this time because there have been complaints of animal cruelty and waste complaints from the site:

...the town is investigating claims of animal cruelty and the possible contamination of a nearby stream. Piles of manure -- some of it possibly human -- had been leaching into the stream, officials said.

"We're installing a silt fence around the manure to protect the land and stream," Monmouth Code Enforcement Officer David Shaw said.

Shaw and Bird said a representative from the Maine Department of Agriculture got a complaint about manure on the property and went to the land to inspect.

Inspectors then found two 150- to 200-pound sows dead on the property, Shaw said.

A subsequent inspection by Shaw, Monmouth animal control officer Mike Costello and the police chief found three dead kittens.

Again, not surprised. I saw this particular guy hitting his oxen with an ax handle when he was training them to pull.

However, weirdly, I have feelings of protectiveness and sympathy for this family. I think that they represent a kind of worst-case-scenario for rural poverty, and I can't blame hardly anyone for being poor. I know what it meant for that family when the mill shut down and when someone became permanently disabled from a work-related injury. And I also have many happy memories of riding ponies and visiting their mom before she died. Plus, I think that drinking their raw, unpasteurized milk for my entire childhood gave me a kickass immune system.

Crazy world.

Gnus

A few things:

There is new content at www.wtchronicles.org (thx bec), so read to your WT heart's content.

I had a bit of surgery on Friday, but am feeling pretty good, considering. The doctor gave me a little valentine, which I thought was pretty creative of her. Although I wish it was a bunny or a cross. You know, in honor of the holiday:

We watched a whole bunch of movies during the recovery time, which was fun. Sort of. In a turn-off-the-thinker kind of way.

I liked Junebug (nothing speaks to me like movies about familial repression) and Clockwatchers (temps just wanna have fun and be seen as human beings). I did not so much like Max (I fell asleep after just forty-five minutes of virulent anti-Semitism). We also started Born Into Brothels but decided after a few minutes that it would have to wait until later because we were in more of a Snakes on a Plane mood.

I also spent five hours working on my creative thesis, which works out because the first draft is due on Tuesday. It's up to 23 pages. Seven more to go.

Of note:
S is visiting her grandparents this weekend, so it's my first easter ever that didn't start with a sugar rush.

Fringe Benefits

Being a parent isn't always a disco party. But there are some perks.


Like snow days.
























I'm going to go make some pancakes. Happy April, everyone.

I Got a Digital Camera: a photoessay

We have a car...

...and we are both inside of it.

Untitled #7462 (Kids These Days)

The View from Here

Trans-Continental Donuts


Outer Early April


Sepia #3 (There Are Effects)


Untitled #865 (Nine and a Half)


The Boulevard of Broken Dreams