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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Do Something Anti-Racist Today

Reading this could be a good start.
Kisses,
C.

Trivia

Blame a catholic fellow of my acquaintance whose identity I am protecting.


Create your own Friend Test here

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:

1. At some point I often become an ineffective human being because the blues pull me down too far.
2. I don't think I deserve the things I could make for myself.
3. 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.
   

I've been realizing lately that I hold myself back from a lot of things that I really want. There is a fine line between holding myself accountable for these things and beating myself up further, which would be counterproductive and lead to situation 2. In any case, the after picture is below. It looks a little odd because there is no computer there, but I'm using the fancy laptop to take the picture. Just to the left of the picture is the one window into my quirky garret bedroom, for context. I have posts brewing in my head about being a girl, and a nostalgic. But I'm hoping that I will be more willing to sit at my desk in the coming weeks, since I hope to preserve some portion of this open space.

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.

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.

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 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)

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

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.

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.

Gender Identity?

Oh?
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!

Do You Date Like a Man or a Woman?

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.

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.

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.

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.