Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Deadlines (a.k.a. All I Blog Are Lists)
1. There is so much snot in my head, I think that if I could blow my ears (or eyes for that matter), it would make me feel better.
2. I have to read for the new endeavor tonight, and maybe tomorrow night, and maybe Thursday morning too.
3. There are deadlines popping up with the new endeavor, and the car, and the job. Life just keeps happening and I think that I'm keeping on top of everything reasonably well, but, goodness, who knows? And sooner or later my smile won't get me as far as it usually does.
4. TP and I might go for a walk on Monday. A real, in person, walk. I am all kinds of not ready for that.
5. In ten days, I'm flying to California to go backpacking, probably in the Big Sur area. It will be a whole new landscape to soak up.
6. There are deadlines for most things and they help me to get my ass in gear. But there is no deadline for this pain, or the ways we wind our path.
2. I have to read for the new endeavor tonight, and maybe tomorrow night, and maybe Thursday morning too.
3. There are deadlines popping up with the new endeavor, and the car, and the job. Life just keeps happening and I think that I'm keeping on top of everything reasonably well, but, goodness, who knows? And sooner or later my smile won't get me as far as it usually does.
4. TP and I might go for a walk on Monday. A real, in person, walk. I am all kinds of not ready for that.
5. In ten days, I'm flying to California to go backpacking, probably in the Big Sur area. It will be a whole new landscape to soak up.
6. There are deadlines for most things and they help me to get my ass in gear. But there is no deadline for this pain, or the ways we wind our path.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Things That Are Over and Done With
1. Linear Algebra and Multivariable Calculus as a thing in my life; the discipline will continue quite happily without me.
2. My relationship with TP; a.k.a. a whole set of dreams and goals and commitments I made to another human; a.k.a. the most significant adult romantic relationship of my life.
3. Another year; today is my birthday.
I'm sorry, I haven't been able to muster the emotional energy to write here, there has just been too much.
2. My relationship with TP; a.k.a. a whole set of dreams and goals and commitments I made to another human; a.k.a. the most significant adult romantic relationship of my life.
3. Another year; today is my birthday.
I'm sorry, I haven't been able to muster the emotional energy to write here, there has just been too much.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Concrete
con•crete
1: naming a real thing or class of things
2: formed by coalition of particles into one solid mass
3 a: characterized by or belonging to immediate experience of actual things or events b: specific, particular c: real, tangible
Send inquiries and submissions to:
ssp.submissions@gmail.com.
1: naming a real thing or class of things
2: formed by coalition of particles into one solid mass
3 a: characterized by or belonging to immediate experience of actual things or events b: specific, particular c: real, tangible
Announcing the first open call for submissions to Concrete, a literary print journal through Sideshow Press, a publishing house for the rest of us. Editor and publisher, Toni Amato will work with one guest editor each issue.
Our premier issue will be guest-edited with Andra Hibbert, a queer writer and researcher who lives in Jamaica Plain, MA and is negotiating the concretes of faith, love, food, and vocation.
For each of us, there is a moment where our abstracts --home, recovery, ability, family, grief, faith -- become concrete. For the first issue of the journal, we are interested in creative nonfiction, poetry, and fiction that present the personal and particular negotiations and explorations of these moments.
Submissions may be no more than 15 double-spaced (12 point, Times New Roman or Garamond) pages of prose or up to 5 poems (not to exceed 15 total pages). Include your name and the title(s) of your pieces and be certain to paginate. Please send your work as word document or rtf attachments. Be sure to include a valid email address and phone number. Selected authors will receive two free copies.
Submissions for the premier issue are due by May 30th, but all work will be considered for future themed issues as well.
Our premier issue will be guest-edited with Andra Hibbert, a queer writer and researcher who lives in Jamaica Plain, MA and is negotiating the concretes of faith, love, food, and vocation.
For each of us, there is a moment where our abstracts --home, recovery, ability, family, grief, faith -- become concrete. For the first issue of the journal, we are interested in creative nonfiction, poetry, and fiction that present the personal and particular negotiations and explorations of these moments.
Submissions may be no more than 15 double-spaced (12 point, Times New Roman or Garamond) pages of prose or up to 5 poems (not to exceed 15 total pages). Include your name and the title(s) of your pieces and be certain to paginate. Please send your work as word document or rtf attachments. Be sure to include a valid email address and phone number. Selected authors will receive two free copies.
Submissions for the premier issue are due by May 30th, but all work will be considered for future themed issues as well.
Send inquiries and submissions to:
ssp.submissions@gmail.com.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
11 True Things
1. I realized just now that I missed blogging, I'm here, kids, I'm not slipping or falling away from the blogosphere.
2. Most of the things I feel moved to write about right now would reveal to you the city I live in, the job I have, the darkness that slides around behind my heart.
3. If you commit yourself to enjoying the aesthetics of your situation, and you are creative, you can enjoy almost anything.
4. Right now I'm curled with a ceramic mug of ginger tea, scattered white pages of math, wrapped in a HUGE gray cardigan, my bare feet on a red footstool -- this is all most pleasant because of #3. I'm not sure the math test tomorrow will be quite as charming.
5. Something has shifted this week such that I have been enjoying my job a lot more than recently. Maybe because of the abstract sent off to a MajorNationalAssociation (MNA), or because I got to spend time with reference librarians (and really, what more can you ask for in a day's work?) Maybe because of some chemical tweaking that I am not privy to, in any case. I feel better there and more engaged. This is good.
6. I get to see Female to Femme next week. I'm excited to the core, and I shall have most excellent company.
7. By the end of the summer, I will be leaving my quirky yellow garret room, and I'm almost sad about that. But then, maybe my next room will have a closet, maybe?
8. I hate that my google account follows me wherever I go on the web, particularly when I am signed into email as *me* and I want to leave comments on blogs as *Corinne*. Has anyone figured out a loophole for this?
9. I bought some color coded folders this week to organize my life into. I'm very excited, but still haven't taken them out of my messenger bag. That said, my messenger bag is a good deal more tidy than this, though also a bit less interesting.
10. Next weekend, I'm going to be home in HarborCity, right now the only things I have planned are a film and a morning of writing by myself in a coffeeshop. I also desperately want to scrub the kitchen floor and make sourdough. It will have been almost two months since I've had such a weekend. 10 more days until I can be the homebody I really am.
11. For the next four days I'll be in BlueCity, RedState visiting TP ... and my aunt and uncle, and my mother and sisters will also be down there -- it's a big get together that was *totally* not my idea, and hopefully will not be too awfully stressful. But then, what could be more stressful that using the simplex method to solve the dual problem in game theory (see #4)?
Oh, right, sisters and mother and food and alcohol and the opportunity to wear bathing suits. Catch'ya on the flipside.
2. Most of the things I feel moved to write about right now would reveal to you the city I live in, the job I have, the darkness that slides around behind my heart.
3. If you commit yourself to enjoying the aesthetics of your situation, and you are creative, you can enjoy almost anything.
4. Right now I'm curled with a ceramic mug of ginger tea, scattered white pages of math, wrapped in a HUGE gray cardigan, my bare feet on a red footstool -- this is all most pleasant because of #3. I'm not sure the math test tomorrow will be quite as charming.
5. Something has shifted this week such that I have been enjoying my job a lot more than recently. Maybe because of the abstract sent off to a MajorNationalAssociation (MNA), or because I got to spend time with reference librarians (and really, what more can you ask for in a day's work?) Maybe because of some chemical tweaking that I am not privy to, in any case. I feel better there and more engaged. This is good.
6. I get to see Female to Femme next week. I'm excited to the core, and I shall have most excellent company.
7. By the end of the summer, I will be leaving my quirky yellow garret room, and I'm almost sad about that. But then, maybe my next room will have a closet, maybe?
8. I hate that my google account follows me wherever I go on the web, particularly when I am signed into email as *me* and I want to leave comments on blogs as *Corinne*. Has anyone figured out a loophole for this?
9. I bought some color coded folders this week to organize my life into. I'm very excited, but still haven't taken them out of my messenger bag. That said, my messenger bag is a good deal more tidy than this, though also a bit less interesting.
10. Next weekend, I'm going to be home in HarborCity, right now the only things I have planned are a film and a morning of writing by myself in a coffeeshop. I also desperately want to scrub the kitchen floor and make sourdough. It will have been almost two months since I've had such a weekend. 10 more days until I can be the homebody I really am.
11. For the next four days I'll be in BlueCity, RedState visiting TP ... and my aunt and uncle, and my mother and sisters will also be down there -- it's a big get together that was *totally* not my idea, and hopefully will not be too awfully stressful. But then, what could be more stressful that using the simplex method to solve the dual problem in game theory (see #4)?
Oh, right, sisters and mother and food and alcohol and the opportunity to wear bathing suits. Catch'ya on the flipside.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Violence and Writing: Incomplete Thoughts
I have not been following the Virginia Tech stuff very closely; but I have been musing nonetheles on violence in our society, how we all handle it, and how it invades us. Cho Seung-Hui was invaded by violence, and wrote violent creative writing that should have been a tip off, or that's what they say.
I took one writing class in college. It was an Introduction to Fiction Writing class
taught by a man who was nice, but, frankly, had no idea what to do with us ELAC-kids when we got going in a classroom. Many things went down in that classroom that were sexist, racist, etc. (Imagine this: someone asked me why there weren't more father figures in my short stories, and suggested the "return of the father" as a plot point for... everything.) I digress. One day in class, we were critiquing a story that was about graphic, violent, rape. This story was gratuitous in its descriptions, and sexist in its characterizations of both men and women. The community context of this classroom was that no less that seven women had recently gone to the dean to report sexual assault. It was a bad spring at ELAC, and I was thick in the planning of Take Back the Night. My friend L., another TBTN organizer, after trying to talk to this boy about the violence in the story and having him defend it, had to leave, slamming the door. Sitting there in that classroom, I felt that this boy and the story had committed another act of violence.
I don't know who in that classroom I would have referred to psych services based on their writing, but thinking about Virginia Tech, and I am very wary of censoring creative minds as they begin to explore their own inner workings. But I have thinking about what my role in a classroom would be and what the role of violence is in art. (Very few people express violent urges in economics problem sets.)
Let me be clear: I have written about graphic violence. Much of my current work deals with the outrageous violence that we do against each other in society and the ways in which that breaks a society apart. Some who have read it, included Sister, Esq. have been stunned by my capacity and willingness to describe a violence that I have never witnessed. I feel like I am with violence everyday, that is surround and pervades me so completely that writing it out is a way to counter, no perpetuate it. My writing is violent, but I hope that it never does violence, I hope that the ways in which it disturbs always probes myself and others to reach out of the darkness and push against the cold damp stones of the trap we have set for ourselves, into a brighter day.
Epilogue: The guy who wrote the rape story now runs a small porn company. I have a feeling it is not the happy sex positive porn that I would like.
I took one writing class in college. It was an Introduction to Fiction Writing class
taught by a man who was nice, but, frankly, had no idea what to do with us ELAC-kids when we got going in a classroom. Many things went down in that classroom that were sexist, racist, etc. (Imagine this: someone asked me why there weren't more father figures in my short stories, and suggested the "return of the father" as a plot point for... everything.) I digress. One day in class, we were critiquing a story that was about graphic, violent, rape. This story was gratuitous in its descriptions, and sexist in its characterizations of both men and women. The community context of this classroom was that no less that seven women had recently gone to the dean to report sexual assault. It was a bad spring at ELAC, and I was thick in the planning of Take Back the Night. My friend L., another TBTN organizer, after trying to talk to this boy about the violence in the story and having him defend it, had to leave, slamming the door. Sitting there in that classroom, I felt that this boy and the story had committed another act of violence.
I don't know who in that classroom I would have referred to psych services based on their writing, but thinking about Virginia Tech, and I am very wary of censoring creative minds as they begin to explore their own inner workings. But I have thinking about what my role in a classroom would be and what the role of violence is in art. (Very few people express violent urges in economics problem sets.)
Let me be clear: I have written about graphic violence. Much of my current work deals with the outrageous violence that we do against each other in society and the ways in which that breaks a society apart. Some who have read it, included Sister, Esq. have been stunned by my capacity and willingness to describe a violence that I have never witnessed. I feel like I am with violence everyday, that is surround and pervades me so completely that writing it out is a way to counter, no perpetuate it. My writing is violent, but I hope that it never does violence, I hope that the ways in which it disturbs always probes myself and others to reach out of the darkness and push against the cold damp stones of the trap we have set for ourselves, into a brighter day.
Epilogue: The guy who wrote the rape story now runs a small porn company. I have a feeling it is not the happy sex positive porn that I would like.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Girl Skills
I know, I know, you all want to hear about some reading that happened two weeks ago or whether I've found my life path or at least given up and really failed that stupid math class. But I don't want to talk about those things, yet.
However, in the ongoing hash out of femme. I've decided that one of my favorite new femme skills is the ability to look really put together and bad ass when I feel totally brokedown. Read into that what you will about my current state. But below are two pictures of my newest tool in this endeavor. Ten dollars, sidewalk sale - yes, oh yes. This post should keep sulky fashion minded butches at bay until I want to actually fill you in on ... anything.
And I know that they look a lot like the heels from last October, but trust me, they are different, more brown, more everyday, every bit as sexy.
However, in the ongoing hash out of femme. I've decided that one of my favorite new femme skills is the ability to look really put together and bad ass when I feel totally brokedown. Read into that what you will about my current state. But below are two pictures of my newest tool in this endeavor. Ten dollars, sidewalk sale - yes, oh yes. This post should keep sulky fashion minded butches at bay until I want to actually fill you in on ... anything.
And I know that they look a lot like the heels from last October, but trust me, they are different, more brown, more everyday, every bit as sexy.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Lemons, Limes, My Wrist: One from the Archives
I was told by a Jamaican friend last summer that limes "cut your nature". That they will calm you down when you are horny. I hadn't really thought about citrus in connection with sex again until about five minutes ago.
Today, my boss strolled by my desk and asked if I had a knife. When I told her I didn't, she showed me the problem -- inside her red waterbottle was a lemon wedge, which she had squeezed in there, but could not remove. Thirty seconds later the waterbottle is upside down over my trashcan and my hand is all up in there. My wrist starts to hurt, but I'm determined, and with a few more movements, the lemon is free and I'm left with a juicy hand.
Remind you of anything? Yeah, it reminded me too. Sometimes I think that when TP goes on T I will be subjected to dealing with someone with hormones raging around like an adolescent boy -- then I remember that sometimes I think about sex like a teenager too.
Today, my boss strolled by my desk and asked if I had a knife. When I told her I didn't, she showed me the problem -- inside her red waterbottle was a lemon wedge, which she had squeezed in there, but could not remove. Thirty seconds later the waterbottle is upside down over my trashcan and my hand is all up in there. My wrist starts to hurt, but I'm determined, and with a few more movements, the lemon is free and I'm left with a juicy hand.
Remind you of anything? Yeah, it reminded me too. Sometimes I think that when TP goes on T I will be subjected to dealing with someone with hormones raging around like an adolescent boy -- then I remember that sometimes I think about sex like a teenager too.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Easter, of a sort
This morning, just before sunrise, two dear friends and I walked up to a hill near our houses and sang and prayed and greeted the day and the new life within each of us asking, only, for us to roll away the stone.
There was Mary Oliver, e.e. cummings, Sara M. Campbell, Ted Loder, a hymn, a gloria, confession, the sun and birds, each other and other things most holy.
I had meant to write this post about recognizing holiness and creating sacred space and how that is done, but now, I just want the fact of it to sit on my lips for longer before I try to analyze. Suffice it to say that I felt more at peace and filled with purpose walking home than I have for a while, even in the midst of everything.
"Rouse us from tiredness, self-pity,
Whet us for use,
Fire us with good passion.
Restore in us the love of living,
Bind us to fear and hope again."
-Hope Again, (author to be looked up and posted later)
There was Mary Oliver, e.e. cummings, Sara M. Campbell, Ted Loder, a hymn, a gloria, confession, the sun and birds, each other and other things most holy.
I had meant to write this post about recognizing holiness and creating sacred space and how that is done, but now, I just want the fact of it to sit on my lips for longer before I try to analyze. Suffice it to say that I felt more at peace and filled with purpose walking home than I have for a while, even in the midst of everything.
"Rouse us from tiredness, self-pity,
Whet us for use,
Fire us with good passion.
Restore in us the love of living,
Bind us to fear and hope again."
-Hope Again, (author to be looked up and posted later)
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
This Post Has Been Brought to You By: Irish Breakfast and the Compound Sucrose
Right now, I want to stay up all night writing and drinking tea and reading and thinking and not doing my math homework. I know that that sentence is too long and poorly constructed, but I --- am caffeinated.
Instead I'm dealing with eigenspace. Let me know if you have any clue what that is, and I'll send you a sparkle. Honestly, doing my math homework makes me feel like someone has taken a series of drill bits and put them in my skull. Right now, that way that I'm counteracting this effect is by looking at MFA program websites. Can I take this as a sign?
I should blog in a non-snarky way about the fact that I'm not doing well in this math class which was supposed to be my all powerful signal to Econ. grad schools. Instead I'm looking ahead to a meeting with a mentor next week, where I need to let her know where I'm really at.
P.S. Where am I really at?
P.P.S. I promise that someday I will blog about something other than my navel, which can best be described as an inbetweeny rather than an outie or an innie... in case any inquiring minds would have wanted to know.
Instead I'm dealing with eigenspace. Let me know if you have any clue what that is, and I'll send you a sparkle. Honestly, doing my math homework makes me feel like someone has taken a series of drill bits and put them in my skull. Right now, that way that I'm counteracting this effect is by looking at MFA program websites. Can I take this as a sign?
I should blog in a non-snarky way about the fact that I'm not doing well in this math class which was supposed to be my all powerful signal to Econ. grad schools. Instead I'm looking ahead to a meeting with a mentor next week, where I need to let her know where I'm really at.
P.S. Where am I really at?
P.P.S. I promise that someday I will blog about something other than my navel, which can best be described as an inbetweeny rather than an outie or an innie... in case any inquiring minds would have wanted to know.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Lookee!
Hey,My life is insane. The season of change which cometh upon you in the night has cometh. I have an ex (not the ex) in town this week, next weekend my mother will be in town, the weekend after that I'm going to BigCity to see Sister, Esq. for her birthday. The weekend after that my father will be in town. The weekend after that I'll fly to RedState to see TP and visit family. By the end of May, I could have moved "across the river".
However, in the meantime I managed to escape to CoastalHaven for the weekend and all I got was more freckles and a this new mug to replace the mug that busted last week. If you realized how much tea and coffee I drink, you would realize how significant a purchase this was, and it's really quite fetching.
Kisses,
C.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Am I Not Plain? A List of Responses to Definitions
I could write a whole other post about why I'm writing this instead of doing work, but I want to write this, because there are good reasons I don't want to think about the rest of my life.
Plain:*
1. Not decorated or elaborate; simple or ordinary in character.
That my dears, depends on the day. But I would like to believe that femmes, when we claim that as an identity and not a descriptor are just as femme when they are traipsing through the woods with axes as when they are wearing heels, and dangling jewelry. I don't want there to be a contradiction between wanting someone to open my door for me (sometimes) and being the one wearing carhartts fixing the leaky sink. So decorations depend on the day, but I don't think simple or ordinary in character makes much sense.
2. Without a pattern; in only one color.
I am not this, and neither are femmes worldwide.
3. Bearing no indication as to source, contents, or affiliation.
Probably true. My femme-ininity is a mish-mash-genderberry-mosh-mess. I was raised by a hairy-legged woman who used her hippie cred and class aspirations to cast aspersions on makeup. I am, at base, a country girl, and a tomboy who is learning how to be a girl (more on the particular challenges of this to come). All these factors means that gender expression is a little bit up in the air, and so it is not so surprising that the gender itself doesn't bear clear markers.
4. Having no pretensions, not remarkable or special.
Remarkable and special, yes please. But can that be with pretension on the side?
5. Without title or status
Right, other than femme, and potentially lady, girl, etc., I don't want title or status. I want to be down in the ditches working on the work with everyone else. Which isn't to say that I don't like the occasional femme worship ;). It just isn't a title or status thing. It is a respect given where due thing. I hope.
6. Easy to perceive or understand; clear
I am not this, femme is not this. It is a complicated, messy, misunderstood thing. That is why Hannah and I get to have tea. That is why I'm writing this. I cannot perceive or understand myself in relation to femme, I am not clear on any of it. I don't know many people who are clear on it. So, no.
7. Clearly expressed, without the use of technical of abstruse terms
Well, here is something to aspire to, but seeing as 6 isn't true, I don't know if I'm equipped to go about describing this without the use of technical terms. I may have read too much high queer theory to be able to do that. Tainted forever by Butler and Foucault and caught red-handed in my po-mo linguistic gymnastics.
8. Not using concealment or deception, frank
When I first was called a plain femme by the online quiz, the first thing that sprang to mind was the idea of a "plainclothes femme (PF)" like a plainclothes policeman. Undercover in the gender war... Yeah, it has potential, especially because it allows the PF to be in disguise in both the straight and queer communities -- which I feel like I am. In straight spaces, I am read as straight, and in queer spaces my position is much more complicated, but I don't ever feel like I am not dissembling somehow. I would love to leave the stage sometime, but I'm not sure how. This, too, is a whole other post.
9. Not attractive.
See #2.
*I have no idea how to cite a widget, forgive me.
Plain:*
1. Not decorated or elaborate; simple or ordinary in character.
That my dears, depends on the day. But I would like to believe that femmes, when we claim that as an identity and not a descriptor are just as femme when they are traipsing through the woods with axes as when they are wearing heels, and dangling jewelry. I don't want there to be a contradiction between wanting someone to open my door for me (sometimes) and being the one wearing carhartts fixing the leaky sink. So decorations depend on the day, but I don't think simple or ordinary in character makes much sense.
2. Without a pattern; in only one color.
I am not this, and neither are femmes worldwide.
3. Bearing no indication as to source, contents, or affiliation.
Probably true. My femme-ininity is a mish-mash-genderberry-mosh-mess. I was raised by a hairy-legged woman who used her hippie cred and class aspirations to cast aspersions on makeup. I am, at base, a country girl, and a tomboy who is learning how to be a girl (more on the particular challenges of this to come). All these factors means that gender expression is a little bit up in the air, and so it is not so surprising that the gender itself doesn't bear clear markers.
4. Having no pretensions, not remarkable or special.
Remarkable and special, yes please. But can that be with pretension on the side?
5. Without title or status
Right, other than femme, and potentially lady, girl, etc., I don't want title or status. I want to be down in the ditches working on the work with everyone else. Which isn't to say that I don't like the occasional femme worship ;). It just isn't a title or status thing. It is a respect given where due thing. I hope.
6. Easy to perceive or understand; clear
I am not this, femme is not this. It is a complicated, messy, misunderstood thing. That is why Hannah and I get to have tea. That is why I'm writing this. I cannot perceive or understand myself in relation to femme, I am not clear on any of it. I don't know many people who are clear on it. So, no.
7. Clearly expressed, without the use of technical of abstruse terms
Well, here is something to aspire to, but seeing as 6 isn't true, I don't know if I'm equipped to go about describing this without the use of technical terms. I may have read too much high queer theory to be able to do that. Tainted forever by Butler and Foucault and caught red-handed in my po-mo linguistic gymnastics.
8. Not using concealment or deception, frank
When I first was called a plain femme by the online quiz, the first thing that sprang to mind was the idea of a "plainclothes femme (PF)" like a plainclothes policeman. Undercover in the gender war... Yeah, it has potential, especially because it allows the PF to be in disguise in both the straight and queer communities -- which I feel like I am. In straight spaces, I am read as straight, and in queer spaces my position is much more complicated, but I don't ever feel like I am not dissembling somehow. I would love to leave the stage sometime, but I'm not sure how. This, too, is a whole other post.
9. Not attractive.
See #2.
*I have no idea how to cite a widget, forgive me.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
In Other News:
1. An online quiz just told me that I am a "plain femme" -- we'll deconstruct that another time, eh?
2.I had dinner with a wonderful new butch friend of mine, who blows my mind, and I hope will talk to me more about class, gender, race, and activism. I have so much to learn, and sometimes it is nice to hang out with folks who remind me of that.
3. I just had a conversation with my mother who honestly asked me why food would ever be stressful...STUNNED SILENCE...This from a woman who had her daughters, ages 14, 11, and 8 go around the dinner table and say how many grams of fat they'd had in a day. WTF? She has the most amazing selective memory.
2.I had dinner with a wonderful new butch friend of mine, who blows my mind, and I hope will talk to me more about class, gender, race, and activism. I have so much to learn, and sometimes it is nice to hang out with folks who remind me of that.
3. I just had a conversation with my mother who honestly asked me why food would ever be stressful...STUNNED SILENCE...This from a woman who had her daughters, ages 14, 11, and 8 go around the dinner table and say how many grams of fat they'd had in a day. WTF? She has the most amazing selective memory.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
You Know You Make A Lot of Sourdough When...
You are amazed by how quickly your yeasted whole wheat bread rises and fills the bowl and pushes the towel up and you barely catch it and punch it down before it makes a big mess in your clean clean kitchen.
I have been very productive this morning - scrubbed floor, swept whole apartment, reorganized pantry - mainly because I've been procrastinating going through my writing and pulling things to read to some queer youth I'm hanging out with tonight. I'm very excited, but choosing pieces to read is always a little harrowing. Hopefully the deep slush piles and ice puddles won't deter the plan.
I have been very productive this morning - scrubbed floor, swept whole apartment, reorganized pantry - mainly because I've been procrastinating going through my writing and pulling things to read to some queer youth I'm hanging out with tonight. I'm very excited, but choosing pieces to read is always a little harrowing. Hopefully the deep slush piles and ice puddles won't deter the plan.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Notes on Being Christian: Part I
So, I've been thinking lately about whether or not I'm Christian. And if I were to identify as Christian, how that would change how I am in the world. There are very few people in this world with whom I can have this conversation - hence the loveliness of the blogosphere.
This is a Part I post, because if I were to try to write a post that distilled everything I had to say on the topic, it would never get written and would fail to say the most important thing, which is that whenever I have thought about religion over my life I have felt both profoundly lost and profoundly lost in the Mystery of the divine. Also, I can't seem to string more than two paragraphs together here these days. So bear with me as I puzzle this out, if you have thoughts, please share them, and there will be a series of such ramblings.
Jesus Christ:
I realized at Christmas (a holiday which I adore, and which is deeply spiritual for me) that there should be a church where instead of having Christ as Lord, you have Christ as Metaphor, that would be about right. Jesus was amazing, and I believe in him as a pioneer and teacher in the realms of social justice that matter to me deeply (see Jackson Browne or the Chieftains' song Rebel Jesus, also Martin Sexton Hallelujah). In this way Jesus and his teachings are an example, but there are certainly others. I don't believe the Jesus is the son of God, at least no more than the rest of us, and that is one of the major stumbling blocks (ha! somewhere in the Deep South someone is talking about Christianity and a very different kind of stumbling block) to me being Christian. Maybe being Christian is about having one really wonderful example against which to hold your actions accountable.
I helped a woman find her train today. She was very confused and maybe drug addicted or learning disabled or both, and when I walked by she was trying to explain her situation to a law enforcement officer who wasn't getting it. On many levels. So I offered to show her where the inbound trains were, and she was incredibly grateful. But sometimes, folks aren't grateful, sometimes they spit in your face and have good reasons for doing that, and you have to fall back on the idea that you were doing your best to do something "good", and maybe it would be easier to do that if your fallback was that you were trying to do something "Christian" and have both a community and a text that validated your work.
The problem is privileging Christ over Buddha over Muhammed over Zeus* over Krishna, etc. That is the part that I can't quite get behind. So metaphor and example, here I come.
Alright. It's a night of fermentation - feeding sourdough, drinking beer, baking challah. More later.
*Not generally known for his social justice values.
This is a Part I post, because if I were to try to write a post that distilled everything I had to say on the topic, it would never get written and would fail to say the most important thing, which is that whenever I have thought about religion over my life I have felt both profoundly lost and profoundly lost in the Mystery of the divine. Also, I can't seem to string more than two paragraphs together here these days. So bear with me as I puzzle this out, if you have thoughts, please share them, and there will be a series of such ramblings.
Jesus Christ:
I realized at Christmas (a holiday which I adore, and which is deeply spiritual for me) that there should be a church where instead of having Christ as Lord, you have Christ as Metaphor, that would be about right. Jesus was amazing, and I believe in him as a pioneer and teacher in the realms of social justice that matter to me deeply (see Jackson Browne or the Chieftains' song Rebel Jesus, also Martin Sexton Hallelujah). In this way Jesus and his teachings are an example, but there are certainly others. I don't believe the Jesus is the son of God, at least no more than the rest of us, and that is one of the major stumbling blocks (ha! somewhere in the Deep South someone is talking about Christianity and a very different kind of stumbling block) to me being Christian. Maybe being Christian is about having one really wonderful example against which to hold your actions accountable.
I helped a woman find her train today. She was very confused and maybe drug addicted or learning disabled or both, and when I walked by she was trying to explain her situation to a law enforcement officer who wasn't getting it. On many levels. So I offered to show her where the inbound trains were, and she was incredibly grateful. But sometimes, folks aren't grateful, sometimes they spit in your face and have good reasons for doing that, and you have to fall back on the idea that you were doing your best to do something "good", and maybe it would be easier to do that if your fallback was that you were trying to do something "Christian" and have both a community and a text that validated your work.
The problem is privileging Christ over Buddha over Muhammed over Zeus* over Krishna, etc. That is the part that I can't quite get behind. So metaphor and example, here I come.
Alright. It's a night of fermentation - feeding sourdough, drinking beer, baking challah. More later.
*Not generally known for his social justice values.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Gender Trouble: An Open Letter
Dear Transguys:
I have a deal for you - let's trade! I'll give you some facial/body hair and you can give me some rack flesh*? I see it as a win-win.
Oh? That's not how it works? My mistake. I guess I'll just work on being a better feminist. Sorry to trouble you,
Love,
LaFemme
*I don't know how I feel about the term "rack flesh" but didn't want to offend the recipients of the letter with a girlier term. Now I just need to think of a supremely girly name for my mustache... yeah, nothing's springing to my mind, either.
I have a deal for you - let's trade! I'll give you some facial/body hair and you can give me some rack flesh*? I see it as a win-win.
Oh? That's not how it works? My mistake. I guess I'll just work on being a better feminist. Sorry to trouble you,
Love,
LaFemme
*I don't know how I feel about the term "rack flesh" but didn't want to offend the recipients of the letter with a girlier term. Now I just need to think of a supremely girly name for my mustache... yeah, nothing's springing to my mind, either.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Int'l Women's Day-Three Emotions on Being a Woman in Public Spaces
hate.
He is barking as I walk toward him. A man a few years older than me walking with his two young kids, and before him running for the train is a woman. She is running for the train like anyone would run for the train, the slide and shuffle of an adult dressed for work along the public tiles in the tunnels of downtown HarborCity. My body shakes before I speak, and he just stares at me, blank, and my body keeps shaking. The next morning, I am rushing down the stairs, we are like electrons in a wire, moving along, jostling. He is walking up the stairs and collides with a woman in front of me, as he slides his way along the railing toward me he says, "Fat fucking cunt". I look him in the eye and ask him loudly what he just said, he brushes past me, knocking my elbow.
love.
He is asleep. His finger between the pages of a book that has closed. There are fine wrinkles behind his eyes and the eyes move quickly behind thin eyelids, dreaming. He opens the door for me and takes me to lunch, it is a the shelter where he eats everyday and he signs me in as his guest, his knuckles are gnarled and his whole hand shakes as he lifts food to his mouth. He is telling me a story about how his old lady left him for Jesus, and how can an honest guy compete with that? It is raining and cold, I'm crossing the quad in not enough clothing, my shirt getting wet, he sees me and crosses grass to reach me and hands me his umbrella, walking away before I can argue, his shirt tented over the broad span of his shoulder blades. I keep the umbrella in my room for a whole day before taking it back to him, looking at the sleek dark folds of kindness.
fear.
I am coming out of the train and feel his body against me. I had paused, turned, and he, his dark gravely voice in my ear and his hands on my shoulders turned me around. I fill with panic, the moment is short, his deep voice only says "sorry" and his hands release my shoulders just as quickly. He didn't even spill my coffee that cools too quickly in the frigid winter air. Running, in the morning in the dark around the pond, I notice the signs that say that there have been coyote sightings and to call animal control if you see one. I don't, but rounding the corner where there are no lights, I see his form moving, walking slowly, hips low, legs swinging, a huge dark jacket, and a hood pulled low over his face. I square my shoulders and run a little faster, pulling knees higher, stretching legs longer, muscles pulling on bones to reach a few more inches. I reach my hand into the pocket of my windbreaker and lace my keys between my fingers. I know how to throw a punch, and the keys would dig sharp into his cheek and the soft tissue of an eye. This is how I would collect DNA evidence. He ambles past me, and I feel foolish.
He is barking as I walk toward him. A man a few years older than me walking with his two young kids, and before him running for the train is a woman. She is running for the train like anyone would run for the train, the slide and shuffle of an adult dressed for work along the public tiles in the tunnels of downtown HarborCity. My body shakes before I speak, and he just stares at me, blank, and my body keeps shaking. The next morning, I am rushing down the stairs, we are like electrons in a wire, moving along, jostling. He is walking up the stairs and collides with a woman in front of me, as he slides his way along the railing toward me he says, "Fat fucking cunt". I look him in the eye and ask him loudly what he just said, he brushes past me, knocking my elbow.
love.
He is asleep. His finger between the pages of a book that has closed. There are fine wrinkles behind his eyes and the eyes move quickly behind thin eyelids, dreaming. He opens the door for me and takes me to lunch, it is a the shelter where he eats everyday and he signs me in as his guest, his knuckles are gnarled and his whole hand shakes as he lifts food to his mouth. He is telling me a story about how his old lady left him for Jesus, and how can an honest guy compete with that? It is raining and cold, I'm crossing the quad in not enough clothing, my shirt getting wet, he sees me and crosses grass to reach me and hands me his umbrella, walking away before I can argue, his shirt tented over the broad span of his shoulder blades. I keep the umbrella in my room for a whole day before taking it back to him, looking at the sleek dark folds of kindness.
fear.
I am coming out of the train and feel his body against me. I had paused, turned, and he, his dark gravely voice in my ear and his hands on my shoulders turned me around. I fill with panic, the moment is short, his deep voice only says "sorry" and his hands release my shoulders just as quickly. He didn't even spill my coffee that cools too quickly in the frigid winter air. Running, in the morning in the dark around the pond, I notice the signs that say that there have been coyote sightings and to call animal control if you see one. I don't, but rounding the corner where there are no lights, I see his form moving, walking slowly, hips low, legs swinging, a huge dark jacket, and a hood pulled low over his face. I square my shoulders and run a little faster, pulling knees higher, stretching legs longer, muscles pulling on bones to reach a few more inches. I reach my hand into the pocket of my windbreaker and lace my keys between my fingers. I know how to throw a punch, and the keys would dig sharp into his cheek and the soft tissue of an eye. This is how I would collect DNA evidence. He ambles past me, and I feel foolish.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Beg, Borrow, and Steal to Go See This If You are in NYC
Home: Queer Soup will present a one night performance of "Home". "Home" delves into a family whose faith is rocked with the death-bed revelation that the minister’s grandfather was born biologically female. A talk back is scheduled to follow with the cast and members of Queer Soup. Presented in collaboration with the Center Voices and the Gender Identity Project.
When: Friday, March 9th at 8 PM
Where: The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, & Transgender Community Center, 208 West 13th Street, New York, NY 10011 (Click here for their link for the event!)
Cost/Tix: $10
For more information: queersoup.net
Reservation line: 212-620-7310
Also: A little birdie told me that they are touring it to educational institutions, group homes for queer youth, and communities of faith in the New England area. Are you affiliated with one of these things? Talk to them about coming to do a show. I make no promises, but they might say yes, and they would be happy to hear from y'all.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Trivia
Blame a catholic fellow of my acquaintance whose identity I am protecting.
Create your own Friend Test here
Create your own Friend Test here
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Space - I've Finally Made Some for Myself
So, I'm sick. Fever, cough, sore throat, runny nose, whiney disposition - these are my symptoms. My roomies are going out dancing tonight and I'm home, perhaps to write, maybe do some calculus (did I mention that I'm putting myself through this again?), I will undoubtedly drink tea, and maybe even draw myself a hot bath.
I had big plans for this weekend. First I was supposed to go to California, and then the tickets were too expensive, then I was supposed to be spending the weekend at IdyllicAncestralHome with my family, but I decided that that would be stressful. Then Roomie and I were going to go for to the cottage on the coast, but I decided that I needed this weekend to be actually in my life in Boston. This was a really good decision, even before I kissed a genderqueer with a dodgy immune system last weekend. (Or maybe, in all fairness, it is my immune system that is the dodgy one.)
In any case, I'm home for the weekend. This does mean that I have gotten around to a few things that I've been meaning to do for months. The most notable of which is that I have cleaned my desk. Really, deep down, cleaned it. Critically reimagined its organizing structures and cleaned the damn thing. I am not posting a before picture because the dust and clutter alone would send some of my readers into anaphylactic shock, since some of my readers keep an usual number of swiffers in their lives. I don't know what has been holding me back from this, options include:
I had big plans for this weekend. First I was supposed to go to California, and then the tickets were too expensive, then I was supposed to be spending the weekend at IdyllicAncestralHome with my family, but I decided that that would be stressful. Then Roomie and I were going to go for to the cottage on the coast, but I decided that I needed this weekend to be actually in my life in Boston. This was a really good decision, even before I kissed a genderqueer with a dodgy immune system last weekend. (Or maybe, in all fairness, it is my immune system that is the dodgy one.)
In any case, I'm home for the weekend. This does mean that I have gotten around to a few things that I've been meaning to do for months. The most notable of which is that I have cleaned my desk. Really, deep down, cleaned it. Critically reimagined its organizing structures and cleaned the damn thing. I am not posting a before picture because the dust and clutter alone would send some of my readers into anaphylactic shock, since some of my readers keep an usual number of swiffers in their lives. I don't know what has been holding me back from this, options include:
- At some point I often become an ineffective human being because the blues pull me down too far.
- I don't think I deserve the things I could make for myself.
- Because of A or B or both I don't prioritize properly and make the time -- see above discussion on where I'm spending this weekend.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
ELACTown; Chipotles; Pear Tart;Etc
This post is going to be slightly scattered and I apologize. I spent the weekend in ELACTown, spending time with two of the three people mentioned in this old post. Both of their houses have been such refuges to me, and it was really wonderful to re-enter those spaces as a friend role. Roomie T. and I made HAM dinner (more on this later) and it was very yummy, but she was so grateful it kind of blew my mind. She has been incredibly busy, and can't remember the last time someone made her a meal. I really love feeding people when they are hungry, and the food sustains more than their bodies.
I also had a chance to spend a bit of time with the chaplain at the school, a wonderful man who helped me begin to re-encounter G-d when I was an undergrad. I saw him do some of his work yesterday, skipping a memorial service to find someone shelter, and it was deeply good to know that that work was being done, and watch him do it. He is phenomenal and I think I can credit him with teaching me what it means to truly be Christian. (More musings at some point on whether or not I am Christian.)
We made a pear tart yesterday that was very simple, with a pie like crust in a tart pan and then thinly sliced pears that we soaked in Riesling, ginger, and brown sugar for about an hour before putting it in the pan and baking for about 45 minutes. It was served with small dollops of ginger ice cream. I think we pretty much achieved dessert perfection, a simple clean not-too-sweet-or-heavy unusual flavor, delicious flaky pastry crust. It was amazing, and the genius-note was definitely the Riesling. If you have half a cup in your fridge, this is how you should use it. If you don't have a half cup (and alchohol is a wise choice in your life) you should go buy a bottle so that you *can* have a half cup of it in your fridge. While there, buy some pears.
Now I am back in this life in Harbor City. I am in the process of making food for the week, which means using the ingredient pictured above liberally. I am trying out this radical idea where I exercise *and* eat three meals a day. We'll see, but the chipotles in adobo certainly won't hurt, especially since I also have sweet potatoes and brown rice boiling, and I do love me a good burrito. Seriously, if you like chipotle and haven't experimented with this ingredient, but it when you buy the pears and wine. Other than that, I need to clean my desk and do some work. Buh. But doing work right now will mean that I get to go runs three mornings a week, and maybe balance is somewhere around the corner. Maybe.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
New List
1. I've been a little distracted lately. By distracted I mean that I have been involved in some serious soul-shaking explorations. I feel a bit like a tree in November with my leaves scattered about me, but trees that time of year look taller than sometimes, and have the patience to make it through until spring.
2. The preceding metaphor depends a bit on the idea that winter actually happens. Catastrophic global climate change may mess with our entire fabric of images and metaphors -- wordsmiths, beware!
3. I came out to someone at work today. Suffice it to say that the conversation started with Mary Cheney and ended up with me describing the words "queer" and "genderqueer" to a Catholic woman in her seventies, who is a staunch Democrat and had a crush on JFK back in the day.
4. She declared that she never would have guessed I was queer because I was so "attractive and well-dressed". From this we learn that queer people are ugly, I've known that all along.
5. The five hour A&E Pride and Prejudice is the perfect stress relief tool. I think it is better for me since I'm horribly attracted to both of the main characters. How I long to make Miss Eliza Bennet blush, and I think I should like to make Mr. Darcy smile, or sweep me off my feet, or some such nonsense. Also, there are the clothes, and the landscape, and the language, and, oh, right, the sexual tension.
2. The preceding metaphor depends a bit on the idea that winter actually happens. Catastrophic global climate change may mess with our entire fabric of images and metaphors -- wordsmiths, beware!
3. I came out to someone at work today. Suffice it to say that the conversation started with Mary Cheney and ended up with me describing the words "queer" and "genderqueer" to a Catholic woman in her seventies, who is a staunch Democrat and had a crush on JFK back in the day.
4. She declared that she never would have guessed I was queer because I was so "attractive and well-dressed". From this we learn that queer people are ugly, I've known that all along.
5. The five hour A&E Pride and Prejudice is the perfect stress relief tool. I think it is better for me since I'm horribly attracted to both of the main characters. How I long to make Miss Eliza Bennet blush, and I think I should like to make Mr. Darcy smile, or sweep me off my feet, or some such nonsense. Also, there are the clothes, and the landscape, and the language, and, oh, right, the sexual tension.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Dreaming
I've been having vivid potent dreams this week. I think because of the amount of caffeine, the small amounts of sleep and the general level of dreaming that I've been doing in my life. Period. I was asked this week if I would prefer to have small dreams... I think it is just very hard for me to give up the idea of having attainable goals.
I've been dreaming all morning, and people didn't used to dream this way, with google as a main tool for image finding, and spreadsheets to help us budget out dreams. It's a funny way to spend the day.
___
P.S.
It really bothers me that Blogger can't fix its grammer such that there can be "1 comment" on a post instead of "1 comments".
I've been dreaming all morning, and people didn't used to dream this way, with google as a main tool for image finding, and spreadsheets to help us budget out dreams. It's a funny way to spend the day.
___
P.S.
It really bothers me that Blogger can't fix its grammer such that there can be "1 comment" on a post instead of "1 comments".
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I should have known earlier... about everything
Let the record show that the first story I ever wrote that was longer than 3 pages was a story about a gender-bending Robin Hood who seduced and married the princess so that they could institute better income redistribution policies...
Really, why did it take me so long to figure myself out? I was pretty blatantly me at the age of 12.
Just sayin'.
(Correction: It was a five-act play - intro, rising action, climax, denoument, conclusion- we read a lot of Shakespeare in seventh grade)
Really, why did it take me so long to figure myself out? I was pretty blatantly me at the age of 12.
Just sayin'.
(Correction: It was a five-act play - intro, rising action, climax, denoument, conclusion- we read a lot of Shakespeare in seventh grade)
Sunday, January 21, 2007
This is me, except that it is all metaphorical, because I'm afraid of heights.
I'm taking a big, and I think good, risk right now, and I move each moment from falling to flying and back again. I am sorry to be cryptic, but it's hard to explain the jump while your falling.
And one final thought:
"I'm a good jumper, he said. But I'm not so good at landing. Maybe you should stay closer to the ground then, I said, and he said, No. The ground was the whole problem in the first place."
-Brian Andreas
Thursday, January 18, 2007
A More Serious Attempt
Corinne is a queer. She lives in HarborCity, but misses mountains in both Americas. Not fitting easily into any box, she creates space by playing with words, lipstick, census data, and bread recipes. She hopes that someday the words will be read by generations, the lipstick will flirt, the census data will liberate, and the bread will sustain.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
In Which Corinne Deals with Angst by Writing Silly Bios
Corinne is a dreadfully self-indulgent feminine thing who spends too much time reading books with pretentious titles or trying to write them with extremely limited success. She has never been published. She can flip her hair flirtatiously now that it is shorter and she is willing to talk to almost anyone about almost anything.
Corinne is a writer and research assistant living in HarborCity. She is not currently saving the world, but bakes a damn good loaf of bread and thinks this should count for something. She loves words and has a dictionary within arms reach at the dinner table. She fucks someone who is ambiguously gendered and occasionally writes about it, and you all occasionally listen.
Corinne lives in HarborCity and when she grows up she would like to make books, policy, and babies. Until then, she would like to play more often with words, lipstick, high heels, and economic data. she has never shaved her legs or been to California. She would like to go to California someday.
Corinne flirts dangerously with the faggots of her acquaintance and can't actually handle the real attentions of people who are actually interested in her. She writes bios like they might be personal ads. She has nothing to say about her writing. She wishes that someone else would do this for her. Her mother has offered to write one in the style of Marquez and this scares her particularly.
Corinne writes things that are sad or sappy or r-rated and require disclaimers, she rates the success of her writing by how many of these categories can be applied to each piece. she falls in love too easily and lives with two good friends on the third floor of a dilapidated house in HarborCity.
Corinne is a writer and research assistant living in HarborCity. She is not currently saving the world, but bakes a damn good loaf of bread and thinks this should count for something. She loves words and has a dictionary within arms reach at the dinner table. She fucks someone who is ambiguously gendered and occasionally writes about it, and you all occasionally listen.
Corinne lives in HarborCity and when she grows up she would like to make books, policy, and babies. Until then, she would like to play more often with words, lipstick, high heels, and economic data. she has never shaved her legs or been to California. She would like to go to California someday.
Corinne flirts dangerously with the faggots of her acquaintance and can't actually handle the real attentions of people who are actually interested in her. She writes bios like they might be personal ads. She has nothing to say about her writing. She wishes that someone else would do this for her. Her mother has offered to write one in the style of Marquez and this scares her particularly.
Corinne writes things that are sad or sappy or r-rated and require disclaimers, she rates the success of her writing by how many of these categories can be applied to each piece. she falls in love too easily and lives with two good friends on the third floor of a dilapidated house in HarborCity.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Gender Identity?
Oh?
I never knew, thank you so much, darling intahnet for revealing my true self.
Love,
C.
I never knew, thank you so much, darling intahnet for revealing my true self.
Love,
C.
You Date Like a Man |
According to studies on dating, you date like a man. You date casually and frequently, getting serious with select people over time. Physical attraction and chemistry is very important to you. And if there's nothing more than a physical connection, that's okay with you (at least for a while). You are definitely looking for love, but you are in no rush to find it. You figure love will eventually come your way, and you're not going to live like a monk while you're waiting! |
Sunday, January 14, 2007
My Father's Most Enviable Skill
I'm in IdyllicNewEnglandState celebrating Christmas with my father, divorce is a funny thing, it will change your ideas about what is important about holidays (hint: dates matter not at all). It's lovely and vaguely stressful. My family is a blessing I can never quantify. They love me more than anyone, and know me as well as they can. But increasing it is a blessing I find I would rather endure with TP by my side, gently guiding me through it's labyrinths.
My father's skill is buying people books. Knowing that he cannot possibly read all the good books in the world before his death, he takes incredible care selecting books for others. He chooses not only based on his own (impeccable) tastes, but also on the reviews and lists he comes upon. (This is man who will read a book, and then read several books in its bibliography.) This in and of itself is not uncommon. What is amazing is opening a package from I can tell by shape and weight is a pages filled with words I know that one or both of the following thoughts will emerge as I peel back the colorful paper he chooses with equal care:
-I've never heard of this!
-I've been wanting this read this for some time!
After Christmas we all, him included, settle into makeshift beds, or the large armchairs and finger our new treasures often succumbing to food coma before really being able to enjoy them, but knowing that they will be there for us when we emerge from our slumber days or months later, finding them tucked among other books that seem unfit in some key way. Occasionally he has to be buy a present for someone he doesn't know well and he as to fall back on his standards --The Good Soldier, Underworld, The Milagro Beanfield War . They are partially standards to be relied on, and standards with which to test new people in his life. TP received a copy of the Good Soldier as a Christmas gift, and I felt like ze had truly arrived.
Books I received this morning, have started, and can't wait to continue:
A New Way to Cook: She uses ingredients inventively and is much more interested in teaching you how to take what is in your pantry and make something amazing without "following a recipe". Not a new way to cook, for me, but that little push of inspiration is always nice. Also, well written copy with lovely pictures, not a bad thing.
How to Read Like a Writer: The first three chapters (which I read this afternoon) are titled "Close Reading", "Words", and "Sentences". I love it. She makes me want to read everything with a moleskine at my right hand and in cool silent room without distraction. Unfortunately, in the back of the book she has a list of "Book to be Read Immediately" which may consume me for many months.
Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor: So perfect for me it boggles the mind. I love it. I read the first chapter of this too. Everyone else napped and I read, and had a cup of coffee. This seems be a pattern.
My father's skill is buying people books. Knowing that he cannot possibly read all the good books in the world before his death, he takes incredible care selecting books for others. He chooses not only based on his own (impeccable) tastes, but also on the reviews and lists he comes upon. (This is man who will read a book, and then read several books in its bibliography.) This in and of itself is not uncommon. What is amazing is opening a package from I can tell by shape and weight is a pages filled with words I know that one or both of the following thoughts will emerge as I peel back the colorful paper he chooses with equal care:
-I've never heard of this!
-I've been wanting this read this for some time!
After Christmas we all, him included, settle into makeshift beds, or the large armchairs and finger our new treasures often succumbing to food coma before really being able to enjoy them, but knowing that they will be there for us when we emerge from our slumber days or months later, finding them tucked among other books that seem unfit in some key way. Occasionally he has to be buy a present for someone he doesn't know well and he as to fall back on his standards --The Good Soldier, Underworld, The Milagro Beanfield War . They are partially standards to be relied on, and standards with which to test new people in his life. TP received a copy of the Good Soldier as a Christmas gift, and I felt like ze had truly arrived.
Books I received this morning, have started, and can't wait to continue:
A New Way to Cook: She uses ingredients inventively and is much more interested in teaching you how to take what is in your pantry and make something amazing without "following a recipe". Not a new way to cook, for me, but that little push of inspiration is always nice. Also, well written copy with lovely pictures, not a bad thing.
How to Read Like a Writer: The first three chapters (which I read this afternoon) are titled "Close Reading", "Words", and "Sentences". I love it. She makes me want to read everything with a moleskine at my right hand and in cool silent room without distraction. Unfortunately, in the back of the book she has a list of "Book to be Read Immediately" which may consume me for many months.
Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor: So perfect for me it boggles the mind. I love it. I read the first chapter of this too. Everyone else napped and I read, and had a cup of coffee. This seems be a pattern.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Queer OpenMic, Redux
QOM was amazing tonight, it was the 7th year anniversary and so there were many people who came back, the whole night was like a train on a track gathering speed with each word like another piston thrusting perfectly, and the feature was amazing and I bought hir book.
Speaking of features, to be clear, I'm featuring on Thursday, April 12th. I'm considering giving further details here, but it would mean outing myself and I have mixed feelings.
As to the bio, I haven't started it, it still terrifies me. Jack, you were helpful, but now I have a set of goals and goals mean only one thing... impending doom and failure ;). Further, one of the main barriers to me being a writer, at all, like typing this right now, is thinking that I am being dreadfully self-indulgent and maybe a little catty. Both traits I abhor in myself (and others, but mainly, myself). Write a bio, believing that you have a bio to write is self-indulgence defined.
As to what I'll read -- also complicated. My mother is thinking about attending. I will need to inform her that I identify as femme, am a flirt, and talk about sex, a lot. Other people who have never seen me in this community may also be there. It should be interesting.
Speaking of features, to be clear, I'm featuring on Thursday, April 12th. I'm considering giving further details here, but it would mean outing myself and I have mixed feelings.
As to the bio, I haven't started it, it still terrifies me. Jack, you were helpful, but now I have a set of goals and goals mean only one thing... impending doom and failure ;). Further, one of the main barriers to me being a writer, at all, like typing this right now, is thinking that I am being dreadfully self-indulgent and maybe a little catty. Both traits I abhor in myself (and others, but mainly, myself). Write a bio, believing that you have a bio to write is self-indulgence defined.
As to what I'll read -- also complicated. My mother is thinking about attending. I will need to inform her that I identify as femme, am a flirt, and talk about sex, a lot. Other people who have never seen me in this community may also be there. It should be interesting.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
What it Means to be a Lesbian... Sort of
True (googlechat) conversation between TP and myself: TP: I'm wearing my boots.
me: You own boots?
TP: Doc Martens. me: Oh. Mmm.
TP: I've still got lesbian feet, baby.
me: You own boots?
TP: Doc Martens. me: Oh. Mmm.
TP: I've still got lesbian feet, baby.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Foodie Meme
(Thanks to GreyMatters for allowing me self-identify, do yourselves the same favor).
What cooking shows do you watch?
Sister, MD and I have been watching Top Chef. It is one of the only cooking shows that doesn't mildly annoy or bore me.
Your top three favorite cookbooks are:
The Joy. Moosewood Cooks for a Crowd. Essentials of Classical Italian (Marcella Hazan).
Your must-have kitchen accessory is:
Silicone spatula, cast-iron skillet/frying pan (the one with sides).
What is your go-to ingredient?
Olive oil, garlic, cumin, red wine. Fresh produce.
How many courses should a meal have?
Um. However many it needs to use up the yummy things in your fridge?
What’s your favorite course?
I've always been really intrigued by cheese courses, I also love salads. Dessert is yummy. But really, most of the meals I cook don't have courses, they are just a bunch of food on a table that people enjoy, with dessert at the end.
What nationality of food do you like the best?
For real? You want me to choose? Italian, South American, TexMex. Spicy things, things that make *amazing leftovers*.
What’s your favorite meal of the day to prepare?
Breakfast, dinner. I also *love* baking bread and cakes, and whichever meal you want soup to be a part of.
Where do you find inspiration when creating a new dish?
Whatever is in the pantry.
What is your favorite comfort food?
"I sold my soul for fresh-baked bread."
Do you ever eat fast food? If so, what?
Does TacoCabana count?
What restaurant do you want to eat at that you haven’t yet?
So many, anything that costs more money than I've spent on a meal for a while, and some specific names that will out where Harbor City is.
What’s your favorite dessert?
The wedding cake my mother makes. Baked custard.
Are there wines or liquors that you cook with?
Usually just red wine... but I would like to expand my reportoire. Suggestions?
How much time do you spend cooking a meal just for yourself?
Usually around 15 minutes, sometimes up to three hours.
What scent in the kitchen do you love?
Fresh baked bread.
What ingredient(s) do you avoid/dislike?
Bacon. Highly process salad dressings.
What’s your secret splurge at the grocery store?
High quality chocolate. Organic, good-cuts of meat.
What’s your favorite midnight snack?
Blue corn tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, salsa.
Oh, and please deal with the Mission mentioned below, pay no attention to the ways in which Jack's comments make it impossible.
What cooking shows do you watch?
Sister, MD and I have been watching Top Chef. It is one of the only cooking shows that doesn't mildly annoy or bore me.
Your top three favorite cookbooks are:
The Joy. Moosewood Cooks for a Crowd. Essentials of Classical Italian (Marcella Hazan).
Your must-have kitchen accessory is:
Silicone spatula, cast-iron skillet/frying pan (the one with sides).
What is your go-to ingredient?
Olive oil, garlic, cumin, red wine. Fresh produce.
How many courses should a meal have?
Um. However many it needs to use up the yummy things in your fridge?
What’s your favorite course?
I've always been really intrigued by cheese courses, I also love salads. Dessert is yummy. But really, most of the meals I cook don't have courses, they are just a bunch of food on a table that people enjoy, with dessert at the end.
What nationality of food do you like the best?
For real? You want me to choose? Italian, South American, TexMex. Spicy things, things that make *amazing leftovers*.
What’s your favorite meal of the day to prepare?
Breakfast, dinner. I also *love* baking bread and cakes, and whichever meal you want soup to be a part of.
Where do you find inspiration when creating a new dish?
Whatever is in the pantry.
What is your favorite comfort food?
"I sold my soul for fresh-baked bread."
Do you ever eat fast food? If so, what?
Does TacoCabana count?
What restaurant do you want to eat at that you haven’t yet?
So many, anything that costs more money than I've spent on a meal for a while, and some specific names that will out where Harbor City is.
What’s your favorite dessert?
The wedding cake my mother makes. Baked custard.
Are there wines or liquors that you cook with?
Usually just red wine... but I would like to expand my reportoire. Suggestions?
How much time do you spend cooking a meal just for yourself?
Usually around 15 minutes, sometimes up to three hours.
What scent in the kitchen do you love?
Fresh baked bread.
What ingredient(s) do you avoid/dislike?
Bacon. Highly process salad dressings.
What’s your secret splurge at the grocery store?
High quality chocolate. Organic, good-cuts of meat.
What’s your favorite midnight snack?
Blue corn tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, salsa.
Oh, and please deal with the Mission mentioned below, pay no attention to the ways in which Jack's comments make it impossible.
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