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.