Mooooovies

During Oscar season, I like to try to see all of the best picture-nominated films, mostly because the Nickelodeon** runs them all in February, and they have cheap movie night on Tuesdays. But there are SO MANY this year! TEN! There's no way I can see all of those.

Luckily I saw a few over the course of the year, so my list is down to 5--at least possible. Unfortunately for me, it looks like I better make sure I'm in a happy place before I start out on my Oscar Adventure, because these movies all look a little... uh... suicide-inducing upsetting. Except maybe Up in the Air?

Best Picture

Avatar I saw this with the kiddo and my girl. The movie was SO funny. I don't know why the tween was so upset with us for laughing so much.
The Blind Side Refuse to see.
District 9 I saw this one and kind of enjoyed it... but too much thinking is required to appreciate this film for it to win. And I thought it was a little dumb, but better than most movies.
An Education
The Hurt Locker
Inglourious Basterds
Precious
A Serious ManLOVED this movie, but again with the too much thinking. The folks I watched it with did NOT love it, and I felt like a nerd for liking it.
Up OK, yes.
Up in the Air A girl from Portland is in this movie. On that basis alone it should win, right?

UPDATE: Today's Press Herald has an article about the Portland girl.


**Hey. Remember when the Nickelodeon was $2 per sticky seat? God, I miss that.

Who hasn't?

“She had burned through a fair sampling of manhood trying to find someone, not to make her ‘happy’ - that wasn’t the point - but to cauterize her relentlessly dripping wounds.”
— Arthur Phillips, The Song Is You

Slaughterhouse 90210 - “She had burned through a fair sampling of manhood...

Earworms

Sometimes I get poems stuck in my head... like when a song starts bouncing around in there, but it'll be a phrase from a poem that I heard one time. It happens with novels too. It doesn't necessarily have to do with the quality of the whole work, but with the certain phrase or image. Ayn Rand's "our days are numbered" calendar in Atlas Shrugged is one of them, as are China Mieville's black windows, Carolyn Chute's soft whitebellied heroines, Annie Dillard's dead like sheaves of falling wheat, Dorothy Allison's scrambled eggs and tomatoes, Muriel Rukeyser's useful shit, Yeats' cloths of heaven, the anonymous "westron wynde"...

Sometimes what my brain coughs up is a message for me, and sometimes not. I have been lately pondering domesticity, and this is one of today's--those last two lines stuffing up my thoughts. I highly recommend the collection that this came from. May the copyright gods forgive me.

Affections Must Not
by Denise Riley

This is an old fiction of reliability

is a weather presence, is a righteousness
is arms in cotton

this is what stands up in kitchens
is a true storm shelter
& is taken straight out of colonial history, master and slave

arms that I will not love folded nor admire for their 'strength'
linens that I will not love folded but will see flop open
tables that will rise heavily in the new wind & lift away, bearing their precious burdens

of mothers who never were, not white nor black
mothers who were always a set of equipment and a fragile balance
mothers who looked over a gulf through the cloud of an act & at times speechlessly saw it

inside a designation there are people permanently started to bear it, the not-me against sociology
inside the kitchens there is a realizing of tightropes
Milk, if I do not continue to love you as deeply and truly as you want and need
that is us in the mythical streets again

support, support

the houses are murmuring with many small pockets of emotion
on which spongy grounds adults' lives are being erected and paid for daily
while their feet and their childrens' feet are tangled around like those of fen larks
in the fine steely wires which run to and fro between love and economics


affections must not support the rent


I. neglect. the house

Childhood Nightmares

I grew up in the 80's.

Symbology

Speaking of symbols... If you follow me on twitter, you know two important things about the past month.

1. I broke my chest on a pretty girl's shoulder.

2. Then I fell in love with the girl.

Are these things unrelated? If I was writing my own story I would throw out that plot faster than last month's baked beans. However, while I have some input on the plot of my own story I am not the ultimate editor. I did not intentionally break my chest nor fall in love... and yet there it is.

Both of these developments have required some adjustments. Breathing, for example, has insisted on being reconsidered. As has cuddling. Those also seem related.

Mill worker, Saturday afternoon, Lewiston, Maine, August, 1973

I can't tell you how much I love these photos. I want to crawl inside them.

Mill worker, Saturday afternoon, Lewiston, Maine, August, 1973:

Symbolic

Is it significant that ALL of the pictures I've posted over the last 6 weeks are about food?

Oh yes

Not at all a representation of my incredible Sunday night, in case you were wondering. (via)

Speaking of scarce resources...

The gay marriage campaign cost at least $9.6 million.

Those who supported the repeal of the state's gay-marriage law spent $3.8 million, while those who fought to keep gay marriage on the books spent $5.8 million. Voters repealed the law by a 53-47 percent vote. (via)

In case you were wondering, $9.6 million would buy 3,764,706 gallons of heating oil, pay for food stamps for 18,251 three-person families, or pay 1/40 of the state deficit.

I don't mean to imply that I don't value the work of all of the folks who worked so hard on the campaign. But I am and always have been ambivalent on the issue of marriage itself. And this new information just underscores it all.

My million dollar idea

I think I'd like to start a new online business: comfort food porn.

THE AUDIENCE: Young adults who miss being home--homesick college students, young adults who moved across the country to be away from their families, traveling professionals.

THE SEASON: November-March

THE CONCEPT: Ultra-close photos of regular people interacting with their favorite starchy goodness.

• people in baggy sweatshirts holding bowls of tuna casserole
• slovenly parents in pajamas leaning over steamy crockpots
• women with greasy hair in ponytails eating mashed potatoes
• a closeup shot of a glistening peanut butter and margarine sandwich
• men leaned back in barcaloungers with the jar of salsa propped directly below their chins

Would you watch?

Going Cheap! eBay Auction For One (1) Right To Marry

Can I sell mine too? Oh, wait..

Going Cheap! eBay Auction For One (1) Right To Marry: "

eBay, always so handy: “I’m an unmarried heterosexual woman, and since I probably won’t be using my right to get married, I would like to give it away.”

Hair

I don't identify as femme (why not? it doesn't fit how I feel. my gender can't be defined that easily. that is all) but I relate to a lot of what's being said here.

Ever since I've been growing my hair out (yes, that's all) I've noticed a distinct shift in who notices me and what kind of attention I get. It's all about the hair, folks. True story. Ask any middle schooler.

A couple of Sinclair's points that I enjoy**:

Not being seen as queer and recognized as radical by straight folks is a common complaint I hear from femmes. There is an added burden of constantly having to come out verbally, constantly having to remind the folks around you that you are queer, constantly having to deflect and defend yourselves against unwanted straight male attractions, since in this culture the display of femininity is presumed to be for the attraction of men, men’s gaze, men’s sexual advancement. It is seen as an invitation to being hit on, in fact. A girl out on the town and all dressed up in heels, dresses, lipstick, must be trying to “catch a man.” Of course, this isn’t true. Whoever this girl is, she could be wearing those things for all kinds of reasons, for her boyfriend, for her friends, for herself, for her wife. And this is constant. Walking down the street, catching a cab, on the subway, at work, at a party, at a play, at a concert, in a bar – everywhere a femme goes, her femininity is assumed to be for men and to attract a man.

(This is also, in fact, one of the reasons femme-ness is subversive, and feminist: it re-creates femininity not as a tool to catch men, but as an authentic mode of expression for onesself and for queerness, disrupting this idea that femininity is “natural” for women.)

...You can’t choose who sees you when you walk down the street – you put yourself out there in a semi-public domain and you can’t pick who you interact with on a daily basis. But you can choose what those interactions mean. And here, you just have a more advanced sense of this sex-gender assumption than they do. You are right. They are not.

and also

What a complicated, heartbreaking, turning-ourselves-inside-out that coming to a new identity process is. And when it is not marked by physical proof, when someone looks the same, there is no particular indication that Something Big Has Changed, so how do we know? By speaking of it, by talking about it, by documenting it in some form. Still, so much of the data we take in is visual, so even when our minds take in that something is different, if we don’t see the physical proof, it might not register the same way. I think this is also partly why the process of coming out as a dyke often involves things like cutting one’s hair off – which is the rejection of femininity and the association that femininity is performed for the attraction of men, yes, but also a physical marker that something has changed.

These are just things that are “true,” according to our culture: femininity is a tool for the attraction of men; dykes reject this and therefore don’t have to perform femininity; if you are a dyke, you also come to a more androgynous gender identity as part of your dykeness. Sexual orientation and gender presentation are so tied together – that is the sex-gender assumption in a nutshell.

At a conference not too long ago (just before the vote, actually) I was talking to a small workgroup of LGBT folks. We were asked to describe what we imagined or wanted to focus on as a community after the election was over. I suggested that, as a community, we do some work around sexism, because most homophobia comes down to gender-based discrimination.

For example, how can you tell someone's queer? Unless they're making out with someone, you kind of have to go by gender markers. It's the gender transgression that is the problem, not the sexual orientation.

Why do some straight guys feel incredibly threatened by gay men and fixate on gay sex? Because gay sex is believed to be "feminizing" in a world where feminine=less power.

Why are transwomen subjected to violence more frequently than transmen? See the "feminizing" situation above.

Why, even, is marriage an issue? Because it's seen as making a mockery of the man-woman dichotomy.

Every single one of those folks around the table looked at me like I had two heads. There was a brief silence and then the conversation moved on, closing over my comment without any indication that it had ever existed.

Yes, okay. And there's a big part of the problem, in a nutshell, and why I have a hard time getting behind a lot of the queer activism that's going on right now. More on this later, I think.

**hee hee

Gravy

My family doles out responsibility for Thanksgiving Dinner. One aunt is cooking the turkey; another is mashing potatoes. My dad brings yeast rolls. I had really been hoping to try to introduce non-starch vegetables again this year. I need them to soak up the massive amounts of sugar I'll be eating. I feel guilty eating so many carbs without even the tiniest hint of green (no, frozen peas don't count).

My "weird" food habits are more of an issue than my sexual orientation. Shave my head and bring a "friend" home from college? Totally fine. Bring roughage to dinner? Create a scandal that echoes for years. The fact that I don't eat dairy is a constant source of amusement and mystery, and I gracefully bear a lot of jokes about the beans I love to eat.

Last year, in my eagerness to share the joys of brassica, I brought sauteed kale with garlic and soy sauce for Thanksgiving. Everybody politely took a tablespoon of it and drowned it in gravy or vinegar. There was a lot of it left at the end of the meal.

And then I was late calling them back this year to choose a dinner assignment.

"I'll bring a salad," I said.

"Umm..." my aunt said. "That would be good, except I don't really know where I'd put a salad on my Thanksgiving dinner plate. "

I know what she means. In our tradition, Thanksgiving dinner is strictly meat, fat, starch, and sugar. Vitamins need not apply. And salad wouldn't really blend in, would it? Plus, the combination of salad and gravy is horrifying.

"How about an appetizer?" she said.

Appetizer. A snack. Harumpf. I wonder if I've been assigned the powerless task of appetizer on purpose so that I don't mess up anyone's carbtastic meal. Ok, but I could do a raw veggie platter, sneak in some broccoli and kohlrabi--

"But your other aunt is bringing cut up vegetables and dip, and celery with cream cheese and olives, so..."

Damn, now my crudite plan was foiled! I agreed to bring some kind of appetizer, and hung up in a panic. What was once a simple food assignment is now a mission--a challenge from the foodie gods to find some possible compromise that will be not only vegetable, but acceptable to my family's specific palate.

After a week of frantic internet-recipe surfing (interrupted only by critical Gaga infusions) I think I've come up with the perfect compromise: Bacon-Wrapped Brussels Sprouts.
They probably won't look like this, but they'll be SO DELICIOUS. And they will be EATEN. Now you're jealous.

So there

"The flu vaccine contains less mercury than a typical tuna fish sandwich." source via

Tag, I'm It!

Because I like to play nice....

Rules:

1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Ok, the 7 things:

1. I like to eat sardines. Usually on crackers.
2. I'm a member of a dream group. We meet every week and talk about our dreams.
3. I failed NaNoWriMo. I blame the Yes on One folks, because... why not?
4. My only significant encounter with the law is one speeding ticket.
5. I've been so tense this week that, while I'm sleeping, I clench my hands until they are numb and bloodless. There is no one reason for this stress; I think it's a month-long accumulation. I need to get to the gym more.
6. In high school I used to play clarinet, bass clarinet, french horn, hand drums, and electric guitar.
7. I like to make my own beer and wine.

I'm going to break the rules because I dislike tagging people. However, I would LOVE to know seven random things about you, so if you posted them I would clap my hands with excitement. Really. Consider yourself tagged.

Tradeoffs

It turns out that being less anxious has made me into a little bit of a flake. I run late to things. I stay home and chill instead of doing things I said I'd do. I'm a tad forgetful.

I feel bad for everyone who is collateral damage to this, but I'll take flakiness over an anxiety-exploded brain any day of the week.

...

Because that's how it is for me these days. Just. ...

I didn't expect to feel so strongly about the election. I don't support marriage as The Cause for the queers; I don't think it's a very functional institution and I'm not interested in assimilating. I do support my friends who want to get married, though, and I understand that the conversation is already, happening. Can't stay neutral... moving train. Etcetera.

On Wednesday morning it sure didn't feel like a vote about marriage, though. It felt like 53% of the state voted against ME. And my chosen family.

Also, it's November, my least favorite month of the year. I would make links to previous posts that acknowledge my November-hatred, but I just don't have the energy today.

Speaking of funny google search results...

Yes, Google. That's exactly what I meant.

Sick Day Assignment

The Tween was sick this morning, so I gave her some tylenol, my Netflix password, and the phone, and went off to work. She was coming-down-with-something-sick, so I knew she'd be bored before long, and I didn't want her tubing out in front of Kim Possible all day. So my conditions were this: She had to watch a documentary--any one she chose--and write me a essay on it before she could go on to the fluffier stuff.

She chose Monster Camp, and I present to you her [spelling corrected] essay and review:

The movie I watched was called Monster Camp. It was about L.A.R.P.-ing (live action role playing). It was really good. My favorite person was the girl playing the Sea Elf. It was a lot like what [best friend] and I do. Everyone had a character. They were their characters.

The people LARP fights, mostly. It is not from a particular book; the people are medieval fantasy creatures. The people that go there say they LARP becuse it is a good escape from reality. The people in this movie are from ages 14 to 60. The movie takes place in (or around) Seattle. You don't choose your charater if you're a Monster, MAR (Movable Action Roleplayer), or newbie. COCs (Chooser of Characters) get to decide if you come regularly enough to stay a permanent character in the Plot.

The movie's 'message' is that it's OK to pretend, even if you are not a kid. My favorite part was seeing the costumes and makeup. My least favorite part was seeing a 30 year old man talking about how this was his 5th year of being a high school senior.

I would give this movie 4 stars for kids my age to watch. This movie made me want to LARP sometime.

As it turns out, she didn't end up watching any of the cable-tv crap I thought she'd like, because she ended up working on the movie and essay most of the day--and she seemed to like it. Which is just fine by me. Now it looks like I might get to teach my kid to play D&D.

Hey Portlanders

A work-related question for you.... Do you ever avoid the Old Port because you feel unsafe there?