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.