people are freaking idjits

Below, the evil, propagandizing speech Pres. Obama will use to bring your children to the dark side of...higher test scores and matriculation (if someone could pull out the evil bits and show them to me, that would be great):

Prepared Remarks of President Barack Obama
Back to School Event
Arlington, VirginiaSeptember 8, 2009

The President: Hello everyone – how’s everybody doing today? I’m here with students at Wakefield High School in Arlington, Virginia. And we’ve got students tuning in from all across America, kindergarten through twelfth grade. I’m glad you all could join us today.

I know that for many of you, today is the first day of school. And for those of you in kindergarten, or starting middle or high school, it’s your first day in a new school, so it’s understandable if you’re a little nervous. I imagine there are some seniors out there who are feeling pretty good right now, with just one more year to go. And no matter what grade you’re in, some of you are probably wishing it were still summer, and you could’ve stayed in bed just a little longer this morning.

I know that feeling. When I was young, my family lived in Indonesia for a few years, and my mother didn’t have the money to send me where all the American kids went to school. So she decided to teach me extra lessons herself, Monday through Friday – at 4:30 in the morning.

Now I wasn’t too happy about getting up that early. A lot of times, I’d fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. But whenever I’d complain, my mother would just give me one of those looks and say, "This is no picnic for me either, buster."

So I know some of you are still adjusting to being back at school. But I’m here today because I have something important to discuss with you. I’m here because I want to talk with you about your education and what’s expected of all of you in this new school year.

Now I’ve given a lot of speeches about education. And I’ve talked a lot about responsibility.
I’ve talked about your teachers’ responsibility for inspiring you, and pushing you to learn.
I’ve talked about your parents’ responsibility for making sure you stay on track, and get your homework done, and don’t spend every waking hour in front of the TV or with that Xbox.

I’ve talked a lot about your government’s responsibility for setting high standards, supporting teachers and principals, and turning around schools that aren’t working where students aren’t getting the opportunities they deserve.

But at the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents, and the best schools in the world – and none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities. Unless you show up to those schools; pay attention to those teachers; listen to your parents, grandparents and other adults; and put in the hard work it takes to succeed.

And that’s what I want to focus on today: the responsibility each of you has for your education. I want to start with the responsibility you have to yourself.

Every single one of you has something you’re good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That’s the opportunity an education can provide.

Maybe you could be a good writer – maybe even good enough to write a book or articles in a newspaper – but you might not know it until you write a paper for your English class. Maybe you could be an innovator or an inventor – maybe even good enough to come up with the next iPhone or a new medicine or vaccine – but you might not know it until you do a project for your science class. Maybe you could be a mayor or a Senator or a Supreme Court Justice, but you might not know that until you join student government or the debate team.

And no matter what you want to do with your life – I guarantee that you’ll need an education to do it. You want to be a doctor, or a teacher, or a police officer? You want to be a nurse or an architect, a lawyer or a member of our military? You’re going to need a good education for every single one of those careers. You can’t drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You’ve got to work for it and train for it and learn for it.

And this isn’t just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country. What you’re learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future.

You’ll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You’ll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You’ll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy.

We need every single one of you to develop your talents, skills and intellect so you can help solve our most difficult problems. If you don’t do that – if you quit on school – you’re not just quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on your country.

Now I know it’s not always easy to do well in school. I know a lot of you have challenges in your lives right now that can make it hard to focus on your schoolwork.

I get it. I know what that’s like. My father left my family when I was two years old, and I was raised by a single mother who struggled at times to pay the bills and wasn’t always able to give us things the other kids had. There were times when I missed having a father in my life. There were times when I was lonely and felt like I didn’t fit in.

So I wasn’t always as focused as I should have been. I did some things I’m not proud of, and got in more trouble than I should have. And my life could have easily taken a turn for the worse.
But I was fortunate. I got a lot of second chances and had the opportunity to go to college, and law school, and follow my dreams. My wife, our First Lady Michelle Obama, has a similar story. Neither of her parents had gone to college, and they didn’t have much. But they worked hard, and she worked hard, so that she could go to the best schools in this country.

Some of you might not have those advantages. Maybe you don’t have adults in your life who give you the support that you need. Maybe someone in your family has lost their job, and there’s not enough money to go around. Maybe you live in a neighborhood where you don’t feel safe, or have friends who are pressuring you to do things you know aren’t right.

But at the end of the day, the circumstances of your life – what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you’ve got going on at home – that’s no excuse for neglecting your homework or having a bad attitude. That’s no excuse for talking back to your teacher, or cutting class, or dropping out of school. That’s no excuse for not trying.

Where you are right now doesn’t have to determine where you’ll end up. No one’s written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write your own destiny. You make your own future.

That’s what young people like you are doing every day, all across America.

Young people like Jazmin Perez, from Roma, Texas. Jazmin didn’t speak English when she first started school. Hardly anyone in her hometown went to college, and neither of her parents had gone either. But she worked hard, earned good grades, got a scholarship to Brown University, and is now in graduate school, studying public health, on her way to being Dr. Jazmin Perez.

I’m thinking about Andoni Schultz, from Los Altos, California, who’s fought brain cancer since he was three. He’s endured all sorts of treatments and surgeries, one of which affected his memory, so it took him much longer – hundreds of extra hours – to do his schoolwork. But he never fell behind, and he’s headed to college this fall.

And then there’s Shantell Steve, from my hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Even when bouncing from foster home to foster home in the toughest neighborhoods, she managed to get a job at a local health center; start a program to keep young people out of gangs; and she’s on track to graduate high school with honors and go on to college.

Jazmin, Andoni and Shantell aren’t any different from any of you. They faced challenges in their lives just like you do. But they refused to give up. They chose to take responsibility for their education and set goals for themselves. And I expect all of you to do the same.

That’s why today, I’m calling on each of you to set your own goals for your education – and to do everything you can to meet them. Your goal can be something as simple as doing all your homework, paying attention in class, or spending time each day reading a book. Maybe you’ll decide to get involved in an extracurricular activity, or volunteer in your community. Maybe you’ll decide to stand up for kids who are being teased or bullied because of who they are or how they look, because you believe, like I do, that all kids deserve a safe environment to study and learn. Maybe you’ll decide to take better care of yourself so you can be more ready to learn. And along those lines, I hope you’ll all wash your hands a lot, and stay home from school when you don’t feel well, so we can keep people from getting the flu this fall and winter.

Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it. I want you to really work at it.

I know that sometimes, you get the sense from TV that you can be rich and successful without any hard work -- that your ticket to success is through rapping or basketball or being a reality TV star, when chances are, you’re not going to be any of those things.

But the truth is, being successful is hard. You won’t love every subject you study. You won’t click with every teacher. Not every homework assignment will seem completely relevant to your life right this minute. And you won’t necessarily succeed at everything the first time you try.

That’s OK. Some of the most successful people in the world are the ones who’ve had the most failures. JK Rowling’s first Harry Potter book was rejected twelve times before it was finally published. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, and he lost hundreds of games and missed thousands of shots during his career. But he once said, "I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

These people succeeded because they understand that you can’t let your failures define you – you have to let them teach you. You have to let them show you what to do differently next time. If you get in trouble, that doesn’t mean you’re a troublemaker, it means you need to try harder to behave. If you get a bad grade, that doesn’t mean you’re stupid, it just means you need to spend more time studying.

No one’s born being good at things, you become good at things through hard work. You’re not a varsity athlete the first time you play a new sport. You don’t hit every note the first time you sing a song. You’ve got to practice. It’s the same with your schoolwork. You might have to do a math problem a few times before you get it right, or read something a few times before you understand it, or do a few drafts of a paper before it’s good enough to hand in.

Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I do that every day. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. It shows you have the courage to admit when you don’t know something, and to learn something new. So find an adult you trust – a parent, grandparent or teacher; a coach or counselor – and ask them to help you stay on track to meet your goals.
And even when you’re struggling, even when you’re discouraged, and you feel like other people have given up on you – don’t ever give up on yourself. Because when you give up on yourself, you give up on your country.

The story of America isn’t about people who quit when things got tough. It’s about people who kept going, who tried harder, who loved their country too much to do anything less than their best.
It’s the story of students who sat where you sit 250 years ago, and went on to wage a revolution and found this nation. Students who sat where you sit 75 years ago who overcame a Depression and won a world war; who fought for civil rights and put a man on the moon. Students who sat where you sit 20 years ago who founded Google, Twitter and Facebook and changed the way we communicate with each other.
So today, I want to ask you, what’s your contribution going to be? What problems are you going to solve? What discoveries will you make? What will a president who comes here in twenty or fifty or one hundred years say about what all of you did for this country?

Your families, your teachers, and I are doing everything we can to make sure you have the education you need to answer these questions. I’m working hard to fix up your classrooms and get you the books, equipment and computers you need to learn. But you’ve got to do your part too. So I expect you to get serious this year. I expect you to put your best effort into everything you do. I expect great things from each of you. So don’t let us down – don’t let your family or your country or yourself down. Make us all proud. I know you can do it.

Thank you, God bless you, and God bless America.

girlfriends can find anything

XRoomie: Because I am utterly bored, I have been surfing MSN, which led me to surfing the recommended sponsor website—a dating sites for geeks, pet lovers, intellectuals. Fascinating. Anyhoo, M-'s is still up there from ages ago. I’m like “dude, ‘X’ looks like M-." And NO, I did not search for him. Of COURSE he’s heard of this site. Of course. Fabulous.

Ding: Wow. Of course. And you didn’t send me the link?? Pshh.
XRoomie: (sending me the link) You’re weird about shit. Didn’t want to seem exploitative. And if he’s 5’7,” then I weigh 140.

Ding: Now, now. We all have our blindnesses. Wow. I’m afraid to explore that site more.
XRoomie: Did you notice most of their pics were taken on a webcam. Heh.
Ding: I wonder when the most appropriate time is to tease him about this. I mean, are we there yet?

XRoomie: Get over it! 'Are you there, yet?' Lady, he said he loves you! You spend at least 3 days of the week together! You're there! You're there! (mumbling)
Ding: You may have a point.
XRoomie: Gah.

so my tonsils are the size of loquats and i just learned that hot compresses help drain them.
amazing what you learn when you don't go to the doctor.

sorry the blogging here has been light lately. i'm taking a mental holiday.
everything, and everyone, sucks and i can't trust myself with the conversation.

so i'll just suffer through my swollen tonsils and drink peppermint tea.

you know, it might be the end of Screed soon, anyway.

i said a temporary goodbye to ChurchGal and don't seem to be returning to it anytime soon.

maybe Screed has run its course, too.

it's all connected: land theft yesterday, wealth gap today

From Race, Wealth, and Intergenerational Poverty in The American Prospect:

"Economic studies also demonstrate that inheritances, bequests, and intra-family transfers account for more of the racial wealth gap than any other demographic and socioeconomic factor, including education, income, and household structure. These intra-familial transfers, the primary source of wealth for most Americans with positive net worth, are transfers of blatant non-merit resources. Why do blacks have vastly fewer resources to leave to the next generation?

Apart from the national failure to endow ex-slaves with the promised 40 acres and a mule after the Civil War, blacks were deprived systematically of property, especially land, accumulated between 1880 and 1910 by government complicity and fraud as well as seizures by white terrorists. During the first three decades of the 20th century, white rioters destroyed prosperous black communities from Wilmington, North Carolina, to Tulsa, Oklahoma. Restrictive covenants, redlining, and general housing and lending discrimination also inhibited blacks from accumulating wealth." [bold emphasis mine]

Remember this post, during the longest election cycle of the year? (And the one I wrote about the lynching exhibition?)

This connects to that. The dots are so easy to connect once you know what they look like.

back to normal

feeling the ground under my feett again at work. i didn't realize how hard the past 2-3 months had been until i went to work last week and felt an energy and clear-headedness i hadn't felt since may.

my old CEO is sending me job descriptions of positions she thinks i might be interested in; yesterday's message was for a position with a city dept as their director of policy. it looked good on paper but the city has a fiscal deficit the size of Texas and working for the city just fills me with images of dusty file cabinets, beige walls and desktop computers loaded with Windows 2001.

and, oh yeah. maybe it would be good to actually revise my resume.

SIGH.

sometimes one needs to stop thinking so much.

on my own

well, M- is off for a guy's weekend.

what should i do this weekend?
(other than bathe my ex-Roomie's big dog and attend the Danny Davis town hall?)

hello, white racial frame

When the story about Caster Semenya was on Good Morning America this morning it triggered my memory.

What was said about Debi Thomas - that she was pure Sport compared to Katarina Witt's Art?

What was said about Surya Bonaly:

You know, competitors like Surya and Midori Ito, they had the really
masculine, exotic sort of style and yeah, it got them some great technical
marks. I mean, not many women are out there attempting triple axels.
But skating is really all about beauty and sophistication and all the really
powerful women skaters have modeled themselves after Grace Kelly or Audrey
Hepburn, or that sort of a thing. That’s what our women have to offer and
it just comes natural to them. And I’m not saying they’re not up there
technically. I mean, they’re obviously not as aggressive as someone like
Surya, but she’s never really had the respect, you see. She’s a great
skater, in an exotic kind of a way I suppose, but she’s missing the classic
basics our girls have. And she’s not the nicest person out there either,
let me tell you…

(sure, the quote comes from a Canadian coach but US media commentary pretty much conformed to this; Dick Buttons would be brutal on Bonaly during her skates for not being graceful, for having more jumps than grace, for showing bare legs, for being so muscular, for 'attacking' the ice. Thanks, Dick.)

What continues to be said about the Williams' sisters.

What was once said about First Lady Michelle Obama, that she was shaped like a 'horse'? (Wasn't this on the Daily Show?)

Back to Caster Semenya: The GMA correspondent didn’t blink at all as he’s describing how this athlete has to have her genitals examined, her chromosomes counted and analyzed and her organs picked over, like she’s a ‘thing’ rather than a human being. It’s like a live autopsy. Like Sarah Baartman, all over again. Once again, we see the disturbing tendency of the West to literally/figuratively dissect Other women.

Do we really have to remind folks about the intricacies and pervading influence of nationalist, white supremacist, imperialist, colonialist discourse?

(And I'm not going to recreate the scholarship here. Why not? Because I'm not the only one who can use Google Scholar. Shit.)

david cassidy can go jump in the lake

It is a truth universally acknowledged (at least by all the romance novels I've read) that the best thing to happen to a woman EVER is to hear the object of her affection whisper 'I love you.' It's where every novel ends, the absence of it is the source of endless conflict and its presence the proof, somehow, that a couple is destined to be together.

But in reality, when those words are whispered, it freaks me out.
'I love you' comes with all sorts of baggage attached - responsibilities, expectations.
Like the expectation, for instance, to say 'I love you' back.

When I hear it, it's like there's a test coming up and I haven't studied for it, yet.

I've said it once (in the throes of frolicsome ecstasy) and didn't mean it; I've felt it once (maybe) and never said it. So I'm going to take my sweet-ass time saying it this time around, just to make sure my feeling and my meaning get to the same place, at the same time.

one more relationship epiphane

where did august go?
it's like it left the house to buy a pack of cigarettes then got waylaid by a floozy, never to be heard from again.

i was going to write a whole snarky post on nearing 40 and growing carnal appetites that are slow to be met but i'll take a page from a more discreet life and just say that it is ... unfortunate that men and women are such different sexual trajectories. what's the biological imperative in this difference?

my mom didn't have a chance to tell me this. (and i don't think my dad ever noticed, and if he did he certainly wouldn't choose that as a topic of conversation to have with his daughters. though he has no problem telling me about his prostate issues.)

mom also didn't tell me about the various sexual anxieties men have. this is sort of a surprise to me. once again, the horribly inaccurate picture i have in my head of the clueless, confident Modern Man has led me down a path of assumptions that was about to set me off on a diatribe about 'getting the job done' instead of actually, you know, thinking about the other person as a person.

it's weird. i've rarely ever thought of men as people. (there are exceptions.) women are people. people are complex, complicated; they are onions to be peeled; they have layers. men don't have layers. they have...behaviors that have been programmed by a sexist and patriarchal culture and such behaviors are to be controlled and/or avoided for the benefit of one's personal safety. most of their layers have been erased by the time they are 20; the layers remaining are labeled Sport, Sex and Collectibles.

well, glad to say i'm on my way to correcting my thinking. yes, i can begin to admit that, indeed, men are people. i was wrong: they have anxieties, worries, insecurities, fears and the whole shebang of layer-itude that women have.

whaddya know. men are like women.

how...bizarre.

an oldie but goodie: do manners trump bigotry?

This past week of town hall protests and white supremacist/segregationist rhetoric has tired me out.
Once again, you people have disappointed me. (And feel free to interpret that 'you people' as you wish.)

I don't even have the energy to write a whole new thought on how ignorant our masses our, how we clearly fail to read books and how useful it is to be knowledgeable of western history and be aware of what happens when large, ignorant mobs of hysterical white folks get really scared of losing their privilege and power. (Even though that fear is largely unfounded. I mean, really. REALLY.)

I'm so tired of it, I can't even bring myself to wonder what the hell can be done about it. I'm just about out of hope that our culture can bring its face out of the Cheetos to correct itself.

So here's an old post on manners: Screed: bringin' bougie back?: or, do manners trump bigotry?

From a comment of mine:

"well, as a woman of color who's getting mighty tired of waiting for people to 'get it', i guess i'm wondering if us folks in the target communities (women, people of color, gay folk) - if we even frakking care anymore.i mean, i'm struggling with the almost unpoliticized notion that i don't even care if a racist or bigot changes his mind or thinks harder about these things; at this point, trying to educate the 'masses' about privilege and bigotry is such a frustrating, brain busting endeavor that i just wanna go for the quick fix: change the behavior and at least make my life a little easier."

Sigh. Such a disappointment, you people are.

pillow talk, 3

[Saturday night, my place, fan on High, the hottest weekend of the summer so far.]

M-: just lay here and don't move.
D: i can't move. it's too hot to move. (only our pinkies are touching)

M-: if you close your eyes we can imagine we're camping...
D: on the sun....
M-: ...on a cool, fluffy...
D: camping on a grill...
M-: on a sticky, gooey marshmellow...
D: camping on the surface of a volcano.

M-: I want to have sex, but it's too hot.
D: If you touch me, I will kill you.

'the election broke their brains'

worth spreading - and watching:

Rachel Maddow and Frank Schaeffer discussing the increasing hysterical and violent rhetoric (and actions) of the right wing.

Contrast this with the way George Stephanopolous won't press Newt Gingrich when Gingrich defends Sarah Palin's statement about 'death panels' - instead of calling it pure nutbaggery.

it's only 8 months into the Obama term and already the fringe element has reached a level of hysteria that's usually reserved for ...bunkering down and waiting for the Rapture.

Do we trust women?

Apparently not.

Oh, Florida. Why are you so fucked up?

(Again, another reason why I'm so adamantly pro-choice.)

this blog is AWESOME

i usually save all capital letters for sex or food or really great leather bags.

but this woman's blog deserves it: Fugitivus.
you need to read her.

i sort of wish she lived in chicago and we could have a beer. i might develop a creepy, blog-girl crush on her. i'm already envious of her turn of phrase.

anti-sexist, anti-racist and funny as hell.

thanks to my fellow blogger, m. leblanc, for introducing me to her.

healthcare dumb

Do not laugh at my question.

But...um, can anyone give me links to *really good* summaries/breakdowns/outlines of this healthcare reform thingy? Timelines, analysis, what have you.

I've been so buried in work and NewGuy, that I haven't devoted one single minute to forming a rational opinion on it.

And, really. I don't want to hear about how Obama is going to kill your grandma. I'm not that healthcare dumb.

So please, well-informed readers. Help me. (All 10 of you.)

potatoes

Sometimes the most useful conversations about race, privilege and the cultural frame of whiteness comes from outside politics and the media. Mainstream media should take note.

Check out the discussion thread here: SF Signal: TOC: The Mammoth Book of Mindblowing SF edited by Mike Ashley

What I like about the thread is not just the fact that privileged assholery is severely out-numbered but that the level of argumentation is just so cogent (and funny as hell); there is also a sense that the community of writers participating in the discussion actually cares about the implications of white supremacy on their genre. The community cares about it - not just one or two voices in the wilderness, getting frustrated that no one is 'getting it.' That matters, you know?

(And here for further context and discussion of intersectionality.)

h/t to racismreview.com

hands off my ovaries

Playing the Abortion Card - The American Prospect:

"Far from cackling as they sneakily lobby for "abortion-on-demand" legislation, women's health advocates are actually rather anxious. In the Senate, anti-choice Republicans say they will oppose any health reform plan that subsidizes abortion coverage or even includes, in the proposed health insurance exchanges, private insurers that cover abortion. Currently, 87 percent of health plans offer some abortion services. That means if Democrats capitulate, the majority of women who currently have abortion coverage could lose it. The result would be a near-blanket restriction on women's access to insurance-subsidized abortion, one far more radical than the Hyde Amendment."

M- and I have actually talked about this - what would happen if a freakish unintended pregnancy occurred (despite the Pill, the condom and the Plan B.) No doubt in my mind, I'd call my Ob-Gyn and make an appointment for termination. Currently, my medical insurance covers this procedure.

So the idea that some conservative assholes can threaten to take my right not to be pregnant away makes me angry as hell.

huh.

i like this.

M- and i spent the weekend apart; it was my best friend's birthday this weekend and i wasn't going to have time for him. i had told him this a while ago and he quietly made other plans to go to the beach, fix his computer, see his friends and wait for me and my running around to end.

i like that, too.

at the birthday party, i'm sitting around with my girl friends, catching up.

a friend looks at me and asks, 'how are things going with M-?'
i say, 'things are good.'
'yeah?'
'yep.'
she looked at me like she was expecting more but there wasn't anything more to say. we are enjoying getting to know each other and, so far, we're just happy to make it to the end of the week and still like each other.

and, i don't like so much the feminine tradition of living relationships out in the open. sharing little things here and there is different. here, it's about little vignettes, stories, anecdotes. things to make you laugh.

but the emotions, the real introspection i go through about this relationship are kept behind a little veil. just a little one. there may be a peek or two.

and, besides, there isn't anything to talk about really. there isn't enough to fill a whole conversation about us. we haven't come to any grand conclusions. we haven't said the big words to each other. we just watch movies together and fall asleep on the couch like old people.

we're the most boring couple in the world. (and i'll never make fun of my sister and her husband ever again.)

the other day, while shopping for my best friend's birthday, i found the cutest little band-aids. they were covered with comic book words like POW! AARGH! UUGH! WHAM! and i bought them for M-. i thought it would be a cute, silly thing to give him for our unofficial 3-month mark.

i put the little canister on the front hallway table and try not to feel self-conscious about it.

but other than that, there isn't that much to say.

let's call it what it is

From Adam Serwer, at Tapped:

"...whether it's the full-on embrace of birtherism or Glenn Beck leapfrogging the shark yesterday by claiming the president is someone "who has a deep-seated hatred for white people, or the white culture."

I think what's going on here is pretty simple. The GOP has elevated a number of figures it believes represent justified white resentment at minorities encroaching on the power that is their birthright as "real Americans" from Sarah Palin to Joe the Plumber, and they're attempting to do the same thing with Sgt. Joseph Crowley." [emphasis mine]

Read the rest of the post; I have one quibble.

I would say that the GOP's tactics aren't merely 'increasingly racial' but increasingly white supremacist. Calling their tactics racial, or even racist, isn't enough. It allows folks to
"only accept such appeals as coded...deniability is an important factor in modern racism, because without it, it's too radioactive for people to associate themselves with." In other words, coded racism is too benign a cover for the true evil lurking underneath - the political and social ideology of white supremacy, a hard-core belief that the natural order of things begins with a white man on top.

At last, racism goes from the personal ('But I'm not racist! I've never done anything wrong to people of color!') to the structural (America and its institutions, its definition of citizenship and its values are for the benefit, and support, of White Power.)

And now is the perfect time to start calling that shit out.
And calling it what it is.

(I mean, we can all get behind being anti-white supremacist, right?
I mean, no one would be an apologist for it, right? Or do we want to indulge in another mealy-mouthed 'conversation' about white supremacy?)

busted: my knee and race relations

I sat in the Northwestern ER for 3 hours yesterday because I misjudged the distance between a curb, a flowerbed and a sidewalk at 2 am on Sunday morning. I fell, bounced and landed so hard on the edge of a concrete step, a divot of flesh was wedged from my knee and I barely avoided smashing my kneecap.

Some moments from the past 48 hours:

Sitting in my kitchen, both of us ready for bed, my leg in his lap, while we both look at my divoted knee, getting totally grossed out at all the bloody flesh. He looks up and says, 'It'll be ok, babe.'
I say, 'I might need stitches.'
He says, 'Do you want to go to the ER?'
I say, 'No...it can't be that bad, right?' Despite how wrong we both were, it strikes me that, other than my parents and my very close friends, no one has taken care of me before. Correction: I have not allowed anyone to take care of me.

Post-makeshift bandage, kissing in my kitchen, while the thought runs through my head that blood or no, busted knee or no, there is always room for a frolic.

The next afternoon, hobbling and exhausted after 3 hours in the ER, hearing a knock at my door and there's M- on his bike who dropped by to check on me and feeling a little, 'awww!'

And before the fall (heh), waiting for my hot dog at the Portage Theater during the monster flick triple feature, while M- runs into an acquaintance and hearing him introduce me as his girlfriend.

A milestone? Or is it a milestone when *I* start introducing him as my boyfriend, instead of 'my friend, M-'?
...
In other, more serious, news that has nothing to do with Ding's new relationship, here's a post on the Gates/Crowley Affair from the Tenured Radical about the 'danger' posed by white folks. (Thanks to SybilV's Tweet at Bitch, Ph.D.)

This whole thing has only made it obvious to me that conversations about 'race,' 'race relations', etc. are woefully uneven and won't ever get to any useful point because, frankly, we're all at different reading levels. It has also made it clear that the training I received from UCLA re: semiotics comes in handy. Because when we talk about race, we are really talking about conflicting systems of knowledge and conflicting mythologies that form the foundation of that knowledge.

There is a mythology (of history, of human interactions, of experience) that most North American white people unblinkingly buy into and which people of color (unless they have been privileged by class - and even then, only very rarely) have never had the luxury to believe.

Like, the policemen are our friends. Or, Bridgeport is a perfectly nice community to live in. Or, missionaries just want to read the bible to you and give you blankets. Things like that.

Using Pat Buchanan as an extreme example, there won't be any common ground wrt race relations until we first see the Buchanan mythology of America as intrinsically flawed, one-dimensional and, at its core, the product of white supremacist ideology. Or, if that phrasing makes one uncomfortable, then perhaps White Racial Frame is more palatable.

(what Feminism 101 does for basic feminist discourse, RacismReview does for academic studies of race/anti-racist work and is a gem of a site if you're honestly interested in anti-racist discourse.)

I remember using one of Pat Buchanan's early essays about the 'manifest destiny' of America, waay back in the early 90s, as an extreme tool to challenge the idea of 'neutral' values (as well as provide the ideological backdrop of cowboy narratives.) Values are never neutral. Some ideology, or interest, is at play. And, frankly, since the White Racial Frame constitutes the foundation of our western culture it is, unfortunately, everywhere. Right thinking people naturally distance themselves from a Buchanan because he is so blisteringly and overtly racist (and his Southern accent doesn't help) but fail to see the how the White Racial Frame invisibly informs our culture and our experiences and, consequently, makes them complicit in disseminating it.

Which brings me back to the Gates/Crowley Affair. Listening to our national media, and the pundits - as well as the folks around here - speak so simplistically about it makes me think that, unless all parties get on the same page, 'talking about race' with most non-people of color will continue to be like speaking to a Stockholm Syndrome victim.

work, again.

this past week has confirmed it: i am *not* cut out for direct service provision or program operation. ugh.

we have a number of volunteers through a national volunteer program assigned to our site; then the budget thing happened. we had to lay off one of our program directors who was going to supervise half of the volunteers. to keep our volunteers, we offered them alternative assignments which necessitated, basically, the reworking of the volunteer program from the ground up - or ass backwards. whichever.

long story short: i am not a program director; i just write the proposal. why am i creating the workplan for a program? i am not a program director; i just write the proposal. why am i creating the job description for the program? why am i talking to the volunteers? why am i doing what a program director does? grrrrrr.

i'm cranky AND hungry.
...
last night i cooked dinner at M-'s place.
keeping things simple, i whipped up a very nice carbonara. but, geez, dude tools are primitive. do all single guys have kitchen tools from c. 1978?

we watched a few shows (catching up on TrueBlood and Hung - which is hilarious), held hands, dozed off on the couch and went to bed. and...that's it.

i have chosen to adopt a different attitude when it comes to the school-night celibacy we seem to be practising. i realized why i was so upset with the idea of it before - i have always placed an inordinate amount of value on sex as a rubric for how much a guy likes me. in other words, if a guy likes me, he'll have sex with me. this is not to say that this is true. B- had sex with me, but i don't know if we 'liked' each other. and i'm happy to say that there are dudes out there who have been fond of me (and i them) and we have never had sex. so it's not exactly a correllary.

but. in the past, i have equated my own value with the amount of sex had. there. that's closer to the truth.

(if my therapist was reading this, she'd be proud of my breakthrough just now.)

so when it seemed that we weren't having sex as regularly as i thought we ought, i automatically thought it was a reflection of my value. where this thinking comes from, i hesitate to probe. or, i'll just blame it on B- who will become my boogie man for all things dysfunctional and messed up.

(ExRoomie says that's unfair. 'He was mentally ill. He was on meds, or off them, neurotic and crazy. You cannot use him as a measuring stick.')

i realize that kind of thinking is warped, as well as sad, hence the change in attitude. the school-night celibacy is not a metric of my value (or a measure of his lack of regard for me); it is merely we are old and tired, in food coma and it's the middle of the week after a hard day at work. who wouldn't go to bed next to the person they like after all that?

baby steps that i will eventually allow myself to shower there in the morning.
...
P.S: to all my 9 (!) readers who were curious to know if M- knew about my blogging about him. Yes, he does.

Last weekend (which was really lovely and I'll write about it later, perhaps), we were hanging out in Nilda's and having really serious conversations again about our families. It's odd, the moments we choose to open up. We do it in public. Huh.

Anyway, we were there, forcing ourselves to be honest about things. He was honest about his family history; I was honest about mine. He was honest about his past lovers; I was honest about mine (though if he asks about my number, I will not answer - so none of his business.) And so, in the interest of honesty, I said: You know I mention you on my blog.

M-: Yeah? Everything?
D: No...just observations. Things that happen on a date or a funny conversation.
M-: Am I famous?
D: No, but you're popular. You're beginning to have a following. The posts about you are the ones with the most hits. Are you cool with that?
M-: Maybe I'll have groupies.

There you have it. M- is cool with it and looks forward to fan mail. Let the M- stories continue.

jimmy carter is still my favorite president

so, in the post below, a long time reader advises me of the value of the 'conversation' between those who believe different things. and i value that advice. i even value the belief in the need for dialogue between disparate ideas and people in political discourse.

(goodness knows one wouldn't want to be seen as an obstructionist, in any way.)

but i disagree about some of the 'conversations' we're having.

there are just some conversations that aren't open to ... conversing.
or conversion.

things like combating sexism and misogyny. things like anti-racism. or things like civil rights for everyone, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

at the beginning of the 21st century i am not prepared to 'converse' with anyone re: how important it is for people to be on the empowering and progressive side of these issues. frankly, it shouldn't be up for debate. logical, reasonable, civil, civilized people aren't sexist, racist or homophobic.

(it's the same way i don't waste my time arguing with people about the existence of God.)

jimmy carter just ended his 'conversation' with the southern baptist convention over their centuries-long, continued sexist treatment of women and the social impact that treatment continues to have. why shouldn't he?

(and no, i have no opinions on whatever this Elders thing is, which sounds like something from a comic book.)

go, run, young lady.

I have deliberately missed all of the Sotomayor hearings. I just can't take it. I put myself in her shoes and my chest gets tight. It's a freaking trigger for me. (I have a serious problem with authority and seeing a woman of color being bombarded with old white dude asshattery just makes me think of other panels of white men judging women of colorin history. Phyllis Wheatley, Anita Hill, dissertation defense panels, anyone?)

Anyway, it got me thinking that, sooner or later something has to seriously change. We keep waiting for these dudes to die but these old dudes cling to life like cultural vampires.

I cannot tolerate these old talking heads who are reliving the day back in 1952, when Miss Sally had the nerve to try and vote and his dinner got cold - and he's still mad about it.

(I'm talking to you, Pat Buchanan. Why the fuck are we still trotting out your blisteringly racist ass to comment on anything?)

But when I read this piece by Ellis Cose, on Sotomayor, and the persistent lie that she is unqualified - and how these lies are bruited about by men who would be called mediocre at best - this makes me even angrier.

These old dudes have to go.

They have to go.

And we have to start replacing them.

If this was a play by Aeschylus and the republic was in danger by ignorant and unworthy men, what would happen? The women would step up.

So let's start stepping up. I was kind of joking in the post below, but not really.

If we want to see the end of these racist and sexist confirmation hearings, then we have to be on the other side of those tables.
If we want to see the critical issues of women and girls addressed, and not just serviced through human care organizations - then we need to be the person sitting at the table, holding the pen, signing the bill. (I mean really. Women are flooding the social service sector, which is shot. How much more effective could we be on the other side?)
If we want to really bring an end to the racism, the sexism, the homophobia, the hate, the violence, the oppression, the poverty - then WE need to fucking do it.

THEY aren't doing it. THEY aren't doing it in Springfield, IL and they aren't doing it in Congress. And THEY can barely let anyone else do it on the SCOTUS.

So you know what? THEY can kiss our collective feminist asses.

The White House Project is having a boot camp training in Wisconsin in October. I'm revising my resume and saving the dollars to go. Who's with me?

Democracy for America (yeah, the Howard Dean group) is having a training in Chicago, in August, about grassroots organizing and campaigning. I'm signed up, I got three other women to sign up from work and we're going. Will you go?

Who else does this work?
The Midwest Academy
Wellstone Action

I'm sure I'm missing others. But these are the one ones I always hear about.

Am I telling you all to run for President or even US Senate? Nope. But I'm asking us to start filling in those seats. School boards, city boards, county seats - the smallest most local seat ever - I don't care. The old dudes sitting in them need to start fearing for their political lives.

Grrr.

so...
let's say an older, Gen X person was maybe thinking of some kind of public service thing.

like, say, me.

what do you think?
crazy?
insane?
absolutely psycho?
maybe?
naive?
yes? no?

gimme some advice here. i'm approaching 40 and getting reckless.

i blame 'shaun of the dead'

without going into too much graphic detail (ahem) last night was ... revealing.

1. M- is not as vanilla as i thought. i'm always guilty of assuming one thing about a person and then completely surprised when they lift the mask a little and what's underneath bears only a slight resemblance to what i thought i had seen. who'd have thought there were thoughts about voyeurism, bathroom sex, and all manner of naughtiness lurking in that nice guy mind of his?

at some point during the backyard movies double feature (Shaun of the Dead and Creepshow), he leaned over and said, 'you know the only thing that i would say really bugs me about our seeing each other is that we're only having sex about once a week.'

i knew i had been keeping track of how many times we had sex but, for some reason, had no idea he was keeping tabs, too. (see how i assume things?)

'i know we're both busy and your job has been really crazy, and with my work and stuff but, babe, i think we need to make an effort,' he said.

and then started a conversation, in the middle of a stranger's backyard, about how much fooling around time we require. let's just say that an expectation has been mutually set to both parties' satisfaction.

2. it all goes back to our families. while we were in the backyard of my local comic book joint, watching movies projected onto the garage, we sat on hard benches holding hands and talked in low voices about our families. i don't know if i've ever said it here, but watching my parents together (especially during periods of crisis) was a little intense for me. their brand of loyalty and fierce commitment to one another just made me think that i would never have the brass to handle that kind of commitment to another person.

M- is the exact opposite; because of what was missing in his parents' relationshig, the intense partnership that scares me, makes him focused. he wants that loyalty, fierce commitment, intense belonging to another person. it doesn't scare him at all; it is something he really really needs.

3. i'm slowly becoming used to the idea of Being Two. last night, a young woman sat next to me on the bench behind the comic book store. i scooted over, making room for M- when he got back from the bathroom and she and i started to chat about how we knew the different folks there.

when M-returned and sat next to me, she glanced at the two of us and asked, 'and how do the two of you know each other?'

M- took my hand. 'we're dating.'
she smiled. 'oh, that's neat! how did you guys meet?'
i said to M-, 'why don't you tell that story.'

he said, 'we met on Match.' and we went on to tell her about meeting for drinks, hitting it off and taking down our profiles the next day.

M- said, 'i actually had to fight with them to close out my account. i had just signed up and they were giving me a hard time and i kept saying dammit, i met someone, i met my match, let me out of this fucking agreement already. i had to speak to someone's supervisor.'

'that's so sweet,' i said. 'you escalated it!'

'damn straight. i'd escalate anything for you, hon'.' and he kissed my cheek.

the woman looked at us and said, 'that's so cute. how long were you guys single before you met?'

'um, i was extricating myself from a, uh, long-term situation right when i met M-,' i said.

'she had a Friend with Benefits thing going on,' M- said, feeling no compunction against sharing all my business. 'i was out of a relationship for about a year and a half. i'd gone on a couple of dates but when i met Ding, that was it.'

sometimes i don't know how to process hearing him say these things so matter of factly. but it's not like i'm telling him to shut up - so, on some level i must feel the same way. (i just don't say it because i'm a chicken shit.)

closure?

This is a dream I had the other night:

I was on a speaking tour with two other colleagues and were waiting for our
panel at UCLA. [Note: yes, this is probably some work issues bleeding through.] We were standing in front of Anderson Hall when someone called my name.

I turned and it was B-. He looked different - dyed blonde hair, tweed jacket over a loose t-shirt and surfer pants. He was really tanned and looked a little beat up, like he was coming down off a days long drug binge.

My colleagues looked startled and I said, 'uh, hi B-.'
He asked to speak to me and after a hesitation I said yes. At which point, he shoved me into a waiting car and drove away.
I said that people were expecting me, I had a speaking engagement and he needed to drive me back. He said he just wanted to talk and I kept repeating he needed to take me back; there were people waiting for me.

So he did. When I got out the car and he drove away, my two colleagues were looking freaked out and I said it was ok. Nothing happened. And then we went back inside to wait to be called.

And that's the dream. That's it.

i didn't watch the first one...

new blog:
The Retort - It's Time to Talk Back: Black In America 2?!? No Thanks Soledad. Once Was Enough.

money quote: "If you wanna raise your systolic pressha a few more points, tune in July 22nd and 23rd. If you want solutions, stop expecting CNN to do anything right and go sign up to be a tutor."

(for the record, i tried to sign up to be a tutor and failed because 1-i hate teenagers and 2-i can only tutor english; if you bring me math i will look at you with panic. i don't want to be the reason you can't pass your ACTs.)

i am a bad american.

instead of spending my Fourth of July eating vast amounts of bbq, standing on a beach watching fireworks or drinking myself unconscious, i spent the long weekend catching up on sleep, strolling through an empty, drizzly evanston with M-, scratching at tiny mosquito bites and wondering what happened to an entire roll of toilet paper the night M- was felled by a bout of Bad Chinese Food.

hope y'all were safe, fed and also similarly relaxed. happy independence.

now. how about that sarah palin? what the hell??

because i've been so wrapped up in work i decided to catch up on some of my blog reading and, i have to admit, it's depressing. between the stuff about iran, new inroads against women's reproductive choice, the Ricci decision from the SCOTUS, new numbers about unemployment and the economy, the new report on black juvenile discipline (or over discipline), the Tiller murder, the jack-assery surrounding michael jackson's death, everything is just ugh.

i know that political engagement comes and goes in waves; during election years and campaigns i suck up everything and my blood pressure suffers for it. then, when things die down, i ease up a bit but i still read around. but it gets harder and harder. watching real politics up close and personal, watching how it translates into real impact on people's lives, makes it harder to appreciate and engage with privileged talking heads who treat everything like a debate club drill.

why do we listen to these people? why do we give them space to pontificate? why do we pay any attention to them? what do they really know?? you know what i'm saying?

why the hell do we read MoDo?
what gives David Brooks, Bill Kristol, Glen Beck, the Huffington Post or even Paul Krugman, any authority to speak on high?

so this is my way of saying sorry to the 5 readers who come here for political screeds. i'm a little tapped out.
indulge me for my M- posts. it's a break i need.

(speaking of breaks, i'm writing this from a neighborhood cafe. how long has it been since i've been able to do that??)

bullet, dodged.

while i'm intensely thankful i still have my job today, i am also intensely sad that i am probably going to be saying goodbye to a couple of good friends at the end of the month.

doom

i couldn't sleep last night.
at M-'s place, i tossed and turned, waking up at 2, then 3, then 4 and finally 5 am. i dressed, got my bag together and sat back on the bed waiting for M- to turn over. he walked me downstairs and gave me a big hug, saying, 'things will be ok today. they'll be ok.'

i think i mumbled 'i know' or something inadequate and walked to the bus that would take me to the train that would take me home.

i'm at work now and everyone is silent. no chit chat. no 'what did you do last night?' just silence.

i hope i get my pink slip by noon so i can go home and cry in private. then sleep.

i've decided that i'm done with being a do-gooder. i now want to work for the most evil corporate entity i can find in the region, make an obscene amount of money and not look back. really. i'm done.

suggestions welcome.

of walking, layoffs and tribes

needless to say, since this is Doom Week, i woke up a little stressed this morning.

but.

i put on my work out clothes and took my first morning walk in a month. (hellacious work schedule and spending the night at M-'s place on sunday nights has put a crimp in my routine.) but now that DOOM is impending i can't afford to slouch into my naturally inactive default position. so i walked this morning.

i walked and i thought about the meaning of my current employment upheaval; i thought about M-, saturday night and sunday morning (heh); i thought about how nice it is not to sweat; i thought about hating humidity; i thought about the proper way to align ones posture when exercise/walking; i thought about how having a dude in your life translates into extra hours of grooming; i thought about how big my butt is in my Nike pants but how cute my Puma shoes are; i thought about how i've survived two other layoffs. and then i thought about the pint of ice cream i should not have eaten all in one sitting yesterday.

and i walked harder.
...
planning for the fall of civilization, saturday night, at an old guy bar with M- and his friend D-:

M-: so if society collapsed like in Mad Max, you know what I'd do?
Ding: what would you do?
M-: D- would get his family on the south side, he'd meet me on the north side and we'd swing by to get you and get the hell out.

Ding: what if i have my own escape route?
M-: like how?
Ding: my girls! after 9/11, we planned to leave the city and head north to minnesota

M-: well, i'm heading south. underground.
Ding: underground?
D-: like the Morlocks.

Ding: uh, i like going north better. why don't we swing by and pick you up and head north.
M-: (stubborn) i'm coming to get you.
Ding: (just as stubborn) i have my own escape route. being in minnesota seems cleaner than living like mole people.

so, if civilization collapses, i anticipate spending some time arguing about which route to take - north with my friends, or south to the tunnels.

(on the other hand, it was sort of endearing. he included me in his post-apocalyptic tribe!)
...
saturday night, in a bad yuppie bar:

M-: so i got you something.
Ding: yeah?
M-: dealer passes to Wizard. both days.

Ding: (gasp) really??
M-: you said you wanted to go, so i got a couple of passes. you and Roomie can go right in.
Ding: really?? it wasn't a problem, was it?
M-: nah. i just said to the guys my girl wanted to go and i was going to use the passes.

Ding: and how often does one of the guys ask for dealer passes to Wizard for 'his girl'?
M-: never.

(this is Wizard.)

asshats: the Illinois legislature

1. our state legislature is a collection of ignorant, do-nothing boobs who'd rather protect their election prospects than actually get some work done. unfair characterization? perhaps. but when you have a budget crisis and only spend ONE frakking day during an emergency session at the capitol and you STILL haven't come to a resolution, then you're frakking useless and incompetent.

(i'm looking at y'all, governor quinn, speaker madigan, leaders cullerton, cross and radogno! swear to god, they all deserve a flaming bag of poo.)

2. when they're tired, elected officials can be alarmingly candid. from a GOP legislator: 'every organization in the state could call us but it still wouldn't matter. people who work in social services vote Democrat; people who use their services tend to vote Democrat. what's in it for us to go your way?' niiiiice. frakking useless.

3. the women i work with are awesome. for a month, i've been holed up in our 'situation' room, hammering out implementation strategies to save our agency with two other women who are, frankly, awesome. they're smart, feisty, no bullshit and when we disagree we always find a workable compromise. (i'm more for the 'scorched earth' strategy and they're more for the 'let's work this out' strategy.) we swing wildly from hope that all this work will bear fruit and we will successfully lobby our legislators to get off their asses to do the right thing to despair that everything we're doing still isn't enough to counteract the massive amount of apathy and partisan bullshit in Springfield. we are not pros at grassroots organizing but i find it amusing to see us suddenly adopting some of its practices.

our COO worked on the Obama campaign and she comes into the situation room at least a couple of times a day to give us some coaching, some encouragement and tell us stories from the campaign to inspire us - and it works. she rocks. i've already told her, 'when i lose my job, i will need your advice on what to do next and how to get in someone's office.'

she said, 'when folks hear you're on the market, you won't need my help.'

if we're all laid off in the next week or so, we've all promised to convene regularly as Ladies of the Day - slightly bitter, exhausted, depressed, over-educated women who kick ass while being momentarily at loose ends.

4. the people who inhabit our political process are the worst things about it. this isn't some fake cynicism i'm trying to display here. this is what i've honestly seen during the past few months. i used to love watching politics; i loved the drama, the snark, the 'gotcha'-ness. but it's only when you connect the dots, and see that what happens in the political arena actually trickles down and materially impacts a life (or hundreds of thousands of lives,) that you realize the people we have elected have cheapened the whole process.

it's a wonderful thing when a farmer downstate can walk into his state rep's office and say his piece and that aide or rep will listen to him. this is the beauty of our state political machine. it really is that down home. (by the way, how many of y'all have visited the district office of your local rep?)

but there's another side to it that infuriates me. in Illinois, at issue is a now $9.2 billion deficit budget that the general assembly has chosen not to address. instead, at the end of the regular session it ignored its responsibility and chose to send a 50% lump sum budget to the governor that basically decimated all of human services. the budget solves nothing, except to put the governor in the uncomfortable position of signing a budget that will turn Illinois into Mississippi.

here's the infuriating part: they know that.

they know the 50% lump sum budget is a bad idea. they know it doesn't solve the deficit; they know that without revenue, the deficit gets worse, they know the impact of a decimated human services sector on their districts. they know there are structural problems that need to be fixed in this budget and still no one is making a move. for some reason, they think the veto session will bring a magical Resolution Fairy and then they'll find the money to solve the problem.

what they're really doing is keeping their eyes on the 2010 elections and hoping to do nothing that will endanger their seats.

ask each side what they're going to do about this crisis and they shrug and say the same thing. 'We have ideas,' they say. 'But the other guys don't want to hear them.'

they know the human collateral this budget will cause and they look at you without blinking and say, 'there's nothing i can do. you all will have to call my colleagues and convince them.'

at which point someone grabs my wrist and i clamp down on my tongue so i don't scream, 'Swinging your colleagues is YOUR FUCKING JOB! WHY CAN'T YOU DO YOUR FUCKING JOB?!'

this is an abdication of responsibility that is unacceptable. and i'm not talking about the GOP here, either. it's the Dems, too. they act like giving a Yes vote was the height of their duty. like voting Yes was a shining gift to the people of Illinois.

cynthia soto, my rep, was in a budget briefing last week the governor's office had invited us to and she stood up and said, 'I voted yes to raise revenue! I did my part! Now do your homework - it's your turn to make those calls to the No votes and get this thing turned around!'

i turned to the woman standing next to me and whispered, 'this is bullshit. what the fuck does she think we've been doing for the past month? when is she going to get off her ass and do her fucking job?'

the woman whispered, 'unbelievable, isn't it?'

you wanna give us a gift, elected officials of Illinois?
we, the people of Illinois, would love to see you take your jobs seriously and work as hard as we do. really. we would. earn your paycheck, you apathetic motherfuckers.

wrap up: the wedding

note to self - starting off the day at 9.30 am with a glass of champagne may seem like a good idea (and it is so '4 Weddings') but then it just opens a gate for more drinking until, by 2 pm, you are plastered, hot, and just a bit queasy.

(and, when you go home to rest before the reception/party, you're not really laying down for a nap. you are passing out.)

so this was the foundation that was laid saturday evening before M- arrived at the party. throw in some heat and humidity and you have a Ding who was wrung out. basically, by the time M- arrived, i was mentally done.

M- tenaciously hung out with my friends, congratulated the married couple, and hung on until the party wound down and we took it to a friend's back porch where we had more beer, chatted more and i floated in and out of coherence. somewhere in the vicinity of 2 am, my brain had turned off. (but after a shower and some rolling around, a second wind was gained. funny how that works.)

perhaps i should have been more 'on' to keep M- entertained, but he seemed to entertain himself. eventually, i'll become more comfortable with having my worlds blend; but getting rid of the compartments i used to separate my friends from my lovers is going to take time.

it's DateNight with M- tonight.
(see how's he's graduated from being NewGuy to just having a simple initial?)

a little bit later, i'll give all 8 of my readers the scoop on the weekend wedding, the epiphane experienced during vampire date night on sunday and why politics is the purview of the mentally infirm.

oh, and on receiving 60 days' notice at my organization.

pillow talk, 2

(after dinner, two bottles of wine, talking all night on the front stoop and other activities)

Ding: you are quite possibly the nicest guy i've ever gone out with.
NewGuy: ok, you are drunk.

pillow talk

NewGuy: so what's your week looking like? like last week?
Ding: god, no. there's nothing planned but i don't know what could happen.
NG: mine has slowed down. i'm open.
Ding: (drowsy) that's great.

NG: X wanted to hang out but I'm putting him off and then Y wanted to do something. but naah. i'm all yours.
Ding: i don't want to take you away from your life. you have friends and stuff. you can hang out with them, you know.

NG: (giving slight annoyed look) going almost two weeks not seeing each other sucked. when you're going out with someone you should see them more than once a week. otherwise, what's the point??
Ding: uh, yeah. what's the point?

(note to future self: the mere suggestion of 'space' might have some negative blowback.)

i'm liquid, baby. kinda.

Talking to my FinanceGuy at Large National Conservative Finance Company:

FinanceGuy: Yeah, Ding. So sorry to hear about your situation.

Ding: So what are my options? I need to know how much I can float while I look for a job without becoming homeless over the next few months.
FG: What do you have?
Ding: That Rollover ROTH, the money market acct, some savings and unemployment. That might give me about....X dollars.

FG: (tapping on a calculator) Hm. If your expenses are as small as they were the last time we talked, then you could probably last a year.
Ding: Shut up. A year??
FG: Yeah. But you'd have to pay yourself a very small amount each month.
Ding: How small?
FG: (giving incredibly small number)
Ding: Shut up!!

FG: It's doable. If you cut out all extras and really stick to the budget, you could last. Definitely through the summer.
Ding: (imagining a summer of ramen and cigs, just like grad school) Dude.
FG: Don't worry about taxes for early withdrawals; we can worry about that later. Or your accountant can.
Ding: Yeah, my accountant named HR Block.
FG: (laughing) You are so funny.
Ding: Uh-huh. Well, thanks, FG. I know I'm not one of your big clients who can really liquidate things and actually live on it, but I appreciate your time.
FG: Well, I know that things are tough all over. I've actually been buying lottery tickets.

Ding: Uh, does your firm know you're telling clients you're playing the lotto?
FG: (laughing) I can barely understand how to buy one.
Ding: Me, too!! I think we're too bougie for lotto tickets. It takes some special knowledge to know how to buy them.
FG: Then your only hope is to marry for it.
Ding: Dammit.

guess where i am?

i know you're tired of hearing it (or reading my Tweets about it,) but i'm at WORK right now.

one would get the impression, reading this blog, that my career is very important to me and that i am a Career Woman. one would be partially correct. i actually enjoy earning my keep and i love doing something at which i excel and which contributes to the general Good.

but i do not like having stomach aches, stress headaches, heart palpitations and general feelings of free-floating panic and fear.

i also do not like having to deal with the prospect of updating my resume and finding another job at which i excel, will pay me enough to cover expenses, allow contributions to my savings, and which would also contributes to Goodness - all in an economic environment in which barista jobs have become highly coveted.

you know??

(not that there's anything wrong with being a barista - i'm just not that service oriented and, in general, am not made for jobs that require touching food or money.)

i also do not like not having seen NewGuy for more than two days in the past 2.5 weeks and this is...different. LTF could've incinerated himself in his own apartment and i wouldn't have noticed for weeks.

(i'm sure these comparisons between NewGuy and LTF are boring but it's an interesting exercise for me.)

this week was so bad at work i'd wake up in the middle of the night with my heart pounding and stomach cramps. the only way i could get to sleep was to, uh, imagine NG was hogging the comforter and snoring next to me.

huh. i just made myself uncomfortable admitting that.

i suppose i should try and care about what's happening in the world of politics, reproductive justice and feminism but i'm fighting for the survival of my agency, my job and my sector.

and trying to fit in some NewGuy time.
(he's been incredibly laid back and empathetic, listening to me freak out for the past three weeks. we have a movie date planned for tonight and i said that it felt like forever since we saw each other last. he said, 'you are going through the worst possible time ever at your office. it would be really selfish to demand more of your time while this is happening.')

so talk amongst yourselves.

so last night, after walking all the way to humboldt park from my east village 'hood, and ending up at the Black Beetle for beer and wings, we walk back to my place and...crash.

that's it.
change into jammies, mumble goodnight and hit the sack.
no rolling around, no frolicking, not even cozy making out. just heads hitting pillows and, isntantly, snoring. (him, not me!)

a month in and already the sex disappears?!

grumble grumble grumble.

ding overthinks things

work was hell last week. this is not an exaggeration. it was def-con 5, Red alert bad. i was not feeling in the best mood for couple-hood, so i dropped out of sight.

i compartmentalized things pretty quickly. work, here; NewGuy, just below that. he seemed cool about it ('I figured things were rough and you'd call when you were able,' he said) but i am crap when it comes to reading any guy's moods.

we made up for it by having the longest date ever on saturday (note to self: staying out until 3 am is just not physically possible anymore) but this is another big/crappy week and how the hell am i supposed to juggle all this?

(this - as if i'm juggling the weight of the world here. it's only one guy and one stressful job.)

he's cooking dinner for me at his place tomorrow night and i could only thank the gods that i'm working from home the next morning so i don't have to rush home, change and stumble into the office looking slightly frazzled and undone. yes, that's my first thought instead of getting all dewy and thinking 'aww, romantic dinner for two at his place.'
...
clearly, i'm having a slightly rough time adjusting to the idea of being One of Two. i can't compute it in my head. i am One. not Two.

the shift to thinking in Twos is not happening smoothly. i forget what we were talking about last night but he said something that stuck with me and that i automatically protested (in my head.) i think it was about the memorial day cookout and how there were only 3 couples - us included.

that startled me. i am One, not Two!, i said in my head.

if i was still seeing Dr. C- she would ask me why it's so important for me to see myself as One and i'd tell her, 'because it's easier being responsible for only One, not Two. and habit. and i like being One.'

though, there are things i like about being Two, too.

we were walking to dinner saturday night and as we were crossing the street, i said (in the interest of honesty and putting things out there), 'you know how hard it is for me to think of myself being in a couple? my brain just doesn't go there.'

he said, 'i know. we'll take things slow.'

but are we really? taking things slow. i think NewGuy is already facing in one direction, his feet planted solidly on I Am SO In A Relationship Road and i'm dawdling back on I Guess He's My Boyfriend? Yes. Maybe. Yes? Lane. i have this vague feeling that there are plans being spun in NewGuy's head - far reaching, future-sounding plans - and i want to reel him in and say, 'let's just see if we still like each other on Friday. or tomorrow.'

we were talking about tomorrow night's dinner (he's big on planning and logistics) and i was mumbling something about what time to leave the next morning, which train to catch, etc. and he said, 'well, if you're working from home, maybe you can sleep in. i'll leave you a key.'

and my eyes bugged out a little. a key?? to your house?

to my credit, i did not have a panic attack, something which would have happened a while ago if some other dude said that to me. i merely noted it and tucked it away for later thinking. (like now!)


it's like gender roles have been reversed between us, which isn't all together too bad. i'm wary and non-commital and he's already handing me keys and making room for my shampoo on his shower stall. i'm just hyper-conscious of it, that's all.


so yeah. this is what i'm thinking about this morning.

maybe i should be thinking about batshit crazy doctor killers and the deep ideological divide between social conservatives who want to control women's lives and bodies and those of us who don't. maybe i should be thinking about the predictable and repetitive contours of white supremacy in this country and the laws and statutes in place that have historically worked to keep asian immigrants and early generations of asian americans away from citizenship and assets.

(y'all really should read The Color of Wealth. it will make you so very very angry.)

instead, i'm thinking about this stupid, girly crap.

why the story matters

This is my parents' story:
One of my parents was an immigrant; my other parent grew up in a Compton project. One of my parents never earned a college degree and worked as a secretary her whole life; my other parent earned his college degree at night school while working in a warehouse and then earned his Masters at the same time i was entering college. Both of my parents were poor, abused, refused housing, worked blue collar jobs or civil servant jobs and yet still managed to buy a home, send two daughters to college and have a good life - all while living in south central L.A.

If we're honest, their stories weren't supposed to end this way. Their stories were supposed to end in the projects or somewhere back in the Philippines.

But their story becomes my story and follows me to grad school, corporate America and it's here with me now.

Why my story (and the story of Ursula Burns or Sonia Sotomayor or my parents) matters:
Because it gives the lie to the story that this world is only for powerful white men. It is a powerful middle finger to the socially constructed, and supported, narrative that women and people of color have a 'place' they need to stay in.

You can call us affirmative action babies; you can say that we aren't qualified or that we stole a job from some long-suffering, more qualified white dude, but who the fuck cares what you say?

(And this is why I love the 'cool' of President Obama. You call him an affirmative action baby? Were you the editor of the Yale law review? Are you the President of the United States? Didn't think so.)

We're going to keep fighting to be in your board rooms, your courtrooms, your senate floors and your offices. And who cares how you say we got there. We got there.

And once we're there, our presence will be a reminder that the story of our 'place' is a lie. It is a horrible, hateful, disgusting lie and we proved it's a lie. Those places you claim as your own will become our places, too. Maybe this is the truth you can't stand. Maybe this is the thing that makes your batshit crazy racist rhetoric so batshit crazy.

The old story of where people like me belong will eventually be chipped away, erased. And even if it won't disappear completely, if it takes another 400 years or so, what gurgling satisfaction there will be when one more of us with a story stands in a room we were never meant to enter.

Our stories don't matter to you?

Our stories aren't for you.

our budget mess explained.

why does raising the income tax matter? because our tax structure is frakked up.

does fixing (yes, that means raising) the income tax thing help the budget? yes, among other things.

you have the right to...nothing

Justices Ease Rules on Questioning Suspects - NYTimes.com

you know, folks i know who are big fans of the Roberts Court had better contort themselves into little pretzels if they want me to go along with the idea that a Roberts court is 'reasonable' and 'not so bad.'

what the fuck is this?!

(we now return to our regularly programmed swooning over NewGuy.)

don't you love long holiday weekends?

the fun, the grilling, the sunburns, the over-indulgence of various alcoholic beverages, the realization that one has a boyfriend...

yes, memorial days are fun.

(beat)

and how about that supreme court nomination?
...

snapshots:
the next morning, catching him carefully fold and pocket the scribbled note i wrote with my 1 a.m. food order on it from saturday night.

sunday morning, having coffee on my front stoop with NewGuy, as a friend slowly walks up and meets NewGuy way before i planned.

running the clock down, knowing we have to scoot, but wanting to hang out more on my couch, feet up, listening to the radio and making fun of terry hemmert. (he can't stand Breakfast With the Beatles.)

waiting for NewGuy before the bbq and he walks up, handing me a dunkin' donuts bag because he knows i haven't eaten anything yet.

hanging back, watching my friends slowly adjust to him - some faster than others - and fielding silent text messages of 'thumbs up.'

catching the last bits of some kind of heated conversation with NewGuy, XRoomie and another friend, and walking away. (we're all adults and he can handle himself - and the friends can deal. but note to self - no politics, maybe.)

debriefing on the day at home while we're brushing our teeth (!!) and i realize i'm brushing my teeth in front of a guy, in my bathroom, in my so not hot jammies, sorta drunk and what the hell just happened??

being asked, in his corny, goofball way if i wanna be his girl and i say yes.

so there you go.
Ding's going steady.

spines of jelly-like substance

amen, Rich Miller:

Legislators are worried sick that if they vote to raise taxes to balance the budget they'll get the same treatment as the hapless Cook County Board President Todd Stroger.

Understandably, nobody wants to be roasted alive. But their job sometimes requires them to do what's right, not what's easy or popular. And sometimes that means doing things that nobody appreciates, like making sure the government doesn't collapse, even though a furious public doesn't believe a collapse is imminent.

when i was down in springfield earlier this month, i was in a meeting with a state senator, pitching her (which it is) on our issues and testing the budget waters. the waters were mad.

'you know,' she said. 'you all always ask for money but where are you when we need to vote for a tax hike and we need the cover? you all want something but no one is out there willing to take the heat for us.'

i murmured something conciliatory and understanding but in my head i asked, 'but that's not my job, is it? to take your heat when you need to make a difficult decision that you're being paid to make for the benefit of the state.'

i'm sorry; i work for an organization that has been taking the 'heat' of a bad state fiscal situation for decades, now. we've taken the 'heat,' Madame Senator. we've laid off people, cut services, closed centers, tightened belts, frozen salaries - what more heat do these frakking people expect us to take??

i love my job but there are times when i want to be honest when i speak with elected officials. i can understand the need for pragmatism and i understand that there are bigger priorities in the queue in front of me. but is that really all they're concerned about? making it through the next election cycle? not angering their clearly ignorant constituents who can't get a grasp on the fact that Illinois is sinking into the tar pits??

there is NO other plan, people!

we have NO revenue coming into this state - we have a $12 billion state deficit that needs to be resolved. where do people think revenue comes from? the Revenue Fairy (who's been on vacation for the past 8 years)??

grr. folks need to pay attention and politicians need to get off their duff and speak to their districts in a bluntly honest way.

then *my* job gets easier. shit.

squee!

oh. in addition to spock, robert downey jr is *also* my boyfriend.
...
speaking of which, a historic first is about to achieved: i am bringing NewGuy to a bbq on sunday to meet my friends. after hanging out at Happy Village last night, we sat on my tiny stoop (but at least i have one!) and continued our conversation about the comic books i was missing.

NG: you know, you've got a connection now.
Ding: who?
NG: me! i can bring you anything you need. if they stopped pulling for you, just make your list and let me know. you'll have 'em in a month.
Ding: but i like supporting my local.
NG: do. but i can still get you what you need.

(Ding, frantically reading subtext into everything before she tells her brain to STFU. it's only comic books.)

Ding: um...what are you doing this weekend?
NG: i'm on the roof! with you.
Ding: really! you've got no plans. no parties, cookouts, whatever.
NG: nah. i'm all yours.
Ding: uh, well, my friends are having a thing on sunday, a friend's brother is in town, it's super casual -
NG: i'm there.

(let's stop here. if you trawl the B- archives you will inevitably notice that the world he and i inhabited consisted solely of his rinky-dink apartment on the northside. that's it. every invitation i made to hang out - meet some friends for a beer, watch the soccer finals, come to an election party, spend christmas holiday together - was met with a lame rebuff: 'nah, i'm not really in the mood to be around other people right now.' for. 8. years. NewGuy? he ponies up in 4 weeks.)

NG: i'll be at your place on saturday night so i'll go to my place, change clothes and come back here. we can go together.
Ding: yeah...i thought this would be harder.
NG: Ding, i'm there. what kind of beer do your friends drink? will they like me?
Ding: you're bringing beer. they'll love you.

if he makes everything this easy maybe i won't have to be such a freak about liking him so much.
...

*sploosh*
i'm sorry. what was that sound?
that was the sound of Screed jumping the shark to become the online diary of a 14-yr old girl.

sigh.

something new

i have a new 25 Things post almost ready to go but i'm going to delay it to gaze at my navel a little bit.

in 2nd grade i had a massive crush on ivan e., a blond egyptian kid with long surfer hair whose father was a professor at USC.
in 3rd grade i crushed out on stephen t., another teutonic youth, who shared my table and encouraged me to sneak books under the table during our math lesson.
in 6th grade, i returned to my crush on ivan e., who was then a minor god at our school.
in 7th, 8th and 9th grade, bobby b. became my obsession.
in high school, my crushes were several: john m. (the quarterback), dana j. (the tennis star), as well as andrew the punk rocker, whose parents taught at UCLA (and who once asked me out but i totally thought he was joking.)

i didn't care they didn't know about me - weird looking, chubby and with the kind of eyebrows only a russian dictator would love. it was enough that they simply walked the playgrounds or the quad. i was glad to peer at them from behind a book in the library, from behind a shelf, from under a bleacher or perhaps through a crack in our shared school counselor's door.

ah, shadowy, nerdy, and unrequited love. the journals from that period still make me cringe.

you'd think i would have outgrown this, but then, you'd be dead wrong. in grad school, my virginal infatuations were longer lived and became a team endeavor. i enlisted spies of my own who kept me apprised of teaching schedules, office hours, gym visits as well as important sartorial changes. (if you haven't fallen into limerance with a creamy-skinned white guy in a kilt then you haven't lived, my friends.) these journal entries are, in the rereading, comic and farcical.

what ties all these objects of my affection, from elementary to grad school, together is the process by which i fell for them and then began to hate them.

Stage 1: The Thunderbolt. It usually happened at the beginning of the semester, during roll call or picking squads for PE. Or the first day of new TA orientation or perhaps while impatiently showing him how to use the copier and you happen to glance up. That first choking gasp. The dazed stare. The flush at first sight of The Beloved. It's devastating, isn't it? I have made elaborate mental meals of reliving the first moments of charged non-contact.

(And before you all start thinking I'm some delusional psychopath, I knew this was wholly one-sided. It was delicious anyway.)

Stage 2: The Thread. In Jane Eyre, which I love, Rochester says to Jane they are connected by a string, one that binds them across distance, mental illness, locked up wives and Britain's social crevasses. Such was my feeling. In this stage, I'd connect everything about them to me, until our 'relationship' map resembled a nutty god's-eye. 'Ivan likes OP shorts! Me, too!' 'Bobby is in my creative writing class! We're perfect!' (Though he wasn't very good at all.) 'Knightley reads Neruda! See??!!'

The Thread was enduring and, depending on the enabling antics of friends, could last for at least a year or two. But one can't really sustain that kind of one-sided intensity without some strain.

Stage 3: Threats. Oh, not verbal threats from me to my Object of Affection, but external threats to the infatuation I had built up. In other words, Reality. Friends, tired of being on stakeout, would slowly begin to sabotage the fantasy. One friend put it to me bluntly: "He is a tool. An Irish sweater-wearing tool who fakes a Scottish accent. You are being ridiculous." Or, as a result of friends' machinations, one realizes their Beloved can only clap on the 1-3 instead of the 2-4. Such knowledge is a killer.

(Of course, the rumor that the Beloved already has an out of state girlfriend as well as a girlfriend in another department is just another rotten cherry on my sundae of disappointment.)

Stage 4: Disdain. Where once I listed their virtues I now canvassed every one of their shortcomings. 'He's not in AP English.' 'His Spanish pronunciation is so gringo.' 'He has no rhythm.' 'Gymnastics is stupid.' 'He's sort of a paranoid freak, isn't he?' 'Only retirees wear cable knit sweaters!' Love, or limerance, is on the wane. Where once my Beloved walked with a golden nimbus of divinity, now he is a duffer who won't dare to eat a peach and wears his trouser bottoms rolled.

...

so in this richter scale of infatuation, where am i with NewGuy? am i in the Thunderbolt stage? am i frantically weaving threads to tie us to one another, no matter how fragile? or is the golden halo already growing dim?

i don't know. it's an odd feeling, being requited.

if desire is lack, then what is it when you already feel full?

hee!

spock is my boyfriend. sorry, NewGuy.
...
i haven't written anything substantial in a while for the following reasons:
work
moving
stress
work
nothing's caught my eye or mind
no interwebs at home
news avoidance

but things will be coming. i'm just a little wrung out right now.

not holding my breath

that David Mamet’s ‘Race’ will be anything more than an 'N-word'-filled 90 minutes of macho, sexist race baiting. unless he's suddenly going to pull off a play based on Todorov's 'How the Irish Became White.'

i'd totally pay to see that.

the borrower

this post brought to you by the purchasing power of my father who bought me my new little, cute, Dell Mini. it's red! it's also brought to you by the borrowed intertubes at my XRoomie's while i do my laundry.

my life is snatched from others' largesse.

Hm. The NewGuy.
Not sure if I want to write about him, yet.
But of course I am.

I'm surprised by a lot of things and if I was still seeing Dr. C-, she'd tell me to explore these surprises.
I'm surprised he makes me nervous. Not nervous in a 'omg, he's going to kill me!' way but that buzzy nervousness of...something else.
I'm surprised at how quickly I liked him. Usually, there's a period of 'wait and see to confirm that, indeed, I am not into him.' I'm into him.
I'm surprised I told him that (of course, waiting until he said it first.)
I'm surprised that I took down my profile on Match, the day after I met him.
I'm surprised that, so far, the incomunicado walls I erected with LTF/B- don't exist. We're usually in contact throughout the day. He texts and I'm glad. He sends email and I'm glad. He calls and I actually answer the phone. I actually call him.

I've forgotten that this is the way liking someone is supposed to feel. If I'm totally honest, I haven't liked someone like this since 1998. And now that I recognize what 'liking' is, what the hell was I doing with LTF??

(But despite all this positive navel gazing, I'm still not going to 'friend' him on Facebook. Baby steps.)

traffic jam!

there are all sorts of writing thingies coming up.
i have another 25 Things post brewing and a couple of other pieces, but work is a little bit hectic (hello, end of legislative session) and i'll have to carve out some time.

and, besides, my interwebs aren't up, yet. i think i'm waiting to see what my budget is like before i start adding stuff to my new life's expenses.

and, yes. there might even be a NewGuy to write about soon. we'll see.

asshat: marvel comics (you males are killing me)

a most perfect take-down of the annoying-as-hell use of 'females' when referring to, talking to, or even nodding in the general direction of a WOMAN.

and a perfect fisking of Marvel's casual, asshat sexism:

When men turn up, they are not “males”, but “guys”, in this truly wonderful quote:

“Since our core customer has always been guys, we need to be very careful when we introduce female product so that we don’t alienate our core,” said Paul Gitter, president of consumer products, North America, for Marvel Entertainment Inc. “What we have found through testing is that we haven’t alienated them, which gives us the OK to move forward with female product.”

That’s what he says. What I read:

One: When introducing things specifically designed for women, we must be careful not to alienate guys. Because when it comes to things for women, it is the opinions of men that are most important.

that, people, is patriarchy and why fucking feminism fucking exists.

[NOTE: it is an indication of future incompatibility if some dude steps up and uses the word 'female' or 'ladies' in casual conversation. as in, 'there are some fine females up in here.' guh-ross. and, get away from me.]

why i love alfre woodard: a mother's day preview

this is from an Onion A/V interview with the badass alfre woodard about getting moms wrong onscreen:

Americans have a hard time writing moms. I’ll get a script and everything’s really great, everything’s well-drawn, but the mom is like this character, like stock footage, they go and get that out. They plug it in, this idea of “mother.” You could lift moms out of any script, no matter what the culture, what the neighborhood, what the economic status, even if it’s a period mom, and you could switch them around, and they’d be the same person. I think it’s because most people don’t really have a human idea, a specific life that they attach to who their mother was. Their mother was there for them, so it either gets deified, or the opposite. That Mommie Dearest kind of thing. We love them or we don’t, or we rebel, but we can’t see who they are. That they are a person in life with taste, with sexuality, with opinions, who is pissy also, who has a right to not be the big tit for you every time you want something. And then we leave, and we go off to college or off into the world to work—you really appreciate your mom then. But there’s that big chunk when you don’t know your mom’s faults, desires, wishes, distastes.

my very favorite part: That they are a person in life with taste, with sexuality, with opinions, who is pissy also, who has a right to not be the big tit for you every time you want something.

in an old post on my other blog ChurchGal (currently on hiatus) i wrote that i thought my mom was happier when she went back to work and came to this realization while watching her during work parties (she'd take us with her because there was no babysitter and dad worked the nightshift.) i saw a different Mom at those parties. well, some commenter went batshit, offended that i could say my mother had an interior life that was about more than caregiving.

if anyone responds to this post, i don't want this to turn into a 'good mommy' v. 'bad mommy' thing; i want us to start seeing motherhood, and talking about motherhood, in all its multiplicity.

and this, from a woman who will never be a mother.

PS: Dear film people - give Woodard more play!

hammer, dropped.

i've just told (ok, emailed) LTF and said the sleeping together portion of our relationship is over.

i don't think he'll freak out; do you?

frontloading disaster

so it's been a full week - full of burglary, paranoia and work.

3 days into moving, i'm the victim of a forcible entry.
3 days into moving, i get locked out of my house because the mgmt company gave me the wrong keys to my back door.
5 days into moving, my toilet flushy thingy snaps in two.
5 days into moving, my refrigerator decides to just quit and all my food melts.

all that needs to happen next is for my oven to explode, the ceiling to cave or to come home and find that the thief came back to clean me out. or something else more horrible that will require years of therapy to contend with.

i just hope that disaster is frontloaded and i can continue on my blithe way without further disturbance.

if not, i just might have to think that the universe hates me.

in other news, dealing with LTF (in any capacity) has dropped down to at least #8 on my list of things to do, preceded by fixing everything in my apartment, safeguarding my person, getting internet service established and making copies of my keys to give to all my friends so, if i get locked out again, i won't be homeless.

thinking of boys while having to deal with important crap is just too much for a woman like me to handle.

home sweet home

there's just one box left to unpack and then i'm done, kids!

(you could have seen my new digs here but frakking Facebook blew my cover!)

but where am i now?
doing laundry at Roomie - uh, XRoomie's place while finishing up a proposal while i steal her interwebs.

inconceivable

Shakesville: Quote of the Day

yeah. 'cause it's so hard to believe a white, clean-cut, preppy, educated guy in dockers could be a murderous, woman-hating douchebag who thinks that female sex workers are disposable targets.

...many a slip twixt cup and lip

i wonder how a 'real' feminist would handle this LTF thing...

i mean, i go on and on, writing about feminism this and feminism that. but, reading the current shitstorm over on Bitch PhD (and recalling other similar shitstorms WRT race or class privilege), i wonder at the many gaps that naturally occur when we write from one position but live from another. i wonder at my gaps and inconsistencies.

(for instance, i write about social justice and economic empowerment issues but am barely abashed at the fact i have a cleaning lady whose life and material circumstance is, most likely, a LOT different from mine - and this fact does not keep me up all night at all.)

here it is that i've been writing about patriarchy and feminism and empowerment while fantasizing about taking hammers to testicles and ... well, here i am. and there LTF is, with his weirdness and my reticence.

how would a 'real' feminist, say Audre Lord, handle this?