Crochet update

All these sobrinit@s are keeping me very busy. Today I finished Xip's beanie and Mia's shawl and also a poncho for Mia, which a) she wanted to wear before it was even finished (though I made her wait till I'd sewn in all the loose ends) and b) she fell asleep wearing it.

I hid the remote control for my nephew's robot car. The damn thing was driving me crazy yesterday--they were playing with it in the living room despite the fact that the house is on a one-acre lot, and today I decided I didn't need anymore of that.

I felt a little old when I was crawling off to my nap and realized that all the kids had gone swimming with the cousins who were staying at a hotel. Later they were all jumping on the trampoline. yes, after this morning's 5k, the one that has me wiped out.

My hip bones were sore: I think it has been a long time since I've done full out race-walking form. Not that my form was great but as I mentioned, I was working really hard to catch that 63 year-old woman (who, it turns out, my sister knows). Me and her almost caught these runners who kept taking long walking breaks. (In fact the reason I was finally able to catch her was because I started looking beyond her and wondering if I could catch those runners).

Okay, I sound like I'm bragging. Remember that this means ALL the runners finished before I did. As did the little ol' man, walking in a sweater vest. BTW, I noticed that the runners who who won ribbons in the 50-59, 60-69, and 70+ age categories all had VERY fast times.

I should go to sleep, because the nanas might get up early and go walking, and I don't want to get left behind. I was awakend far too early this morning by the pitter-patter of my cuñado's feet.

Nana Mini cut her hair. Ay, que chula!

I've also been reminded how horrible the medical care is in this state. one relative had foot surgery a few months back and has been having pain in her foot. She went back to the doctor, who said that yes, the bones had been set improperly.So she has to have another surgery from the same podiatrist. that's gotta inspire confidence.

Mind you , this is a woman in the 70+ age category, and the reason she went back to the doctor was because her foot hurts whenever she wears her high heels, and she just can't give them up.

I skipped the makeup today. I don't know why. Maybe I felt like I would be trying unsuccesfully to look like the other members of my family, and I wanted to stand out, somehow. As with yesterday's look: makeup and a Che Guevara t-shirt.

Turkey Trot

OK, there is nothing like a brisk 5k race for an attitude adjustment.

I am once again at peace with the familia.

You know those road races where there are families with three generations participating and all the kids taking ribbons? This year I was in that family

I finished the walk in 43:35, which made me first in my age category and third overall (though I swear I saw the woman who took first in the walk running part of the course, and me and the lady who I was chasing most of the race exchanged significant looks) The man who took 2nd was in either the 60-69 category or the 70+, and he whupped me by a full ten minutes!! The lady whose dust I was eating finished first in her age category--60-69! I just managed to catch and pass her in the final k of the race. She thanked me at the end for improving her time.

Xip finished in 23:54, to take second in his age category, immediately followed by Nix at 23: 5x. Nix dad had promised the boys cash bonuses if they finished under 24:00

Xriz and Cni both had great times right around 30:00, and Nix dad was in at 28:50. Nana Leora finished around 49:00 and Nana Luxi and Zria right around 54:00. Mia and i walked all three of them to the finish line.

Mi sobrina Mia was full of love for me after the race, holding my hands and hugging and kissing me. She's encimosa just like me.

Upon returning home I had a peanut butter bagel, and was first in the tub.

Now I'm sleepy, happy, and 'bout ready to catch up on the many crochet orders the kids have been placing with me. Xip's beanie and Mia's scarf. Finished Zria's scarf last night and she loves it. It goes perfect with her pink Uggs. I'll have to come up with something for Nix.

Just talked on the phone with Kiko, who is sounding manly as ever!

L* and her parents are prob'ly already on the road to Graton (Greighton?). L would've liked the race, I think. The organ mountains were beautiful, and it was sunny and bright.

Wish I could take home to her some of these beautiful cactus.

Cruces, baby!

Report #2 from Las Cruces, NM

Okay, I know that esa EP says turkey day is her favorite holiday, but it is soooooooooooooo not mine.

Thank goodness for the nieces and nephews who keep me focused on important things like crocheting. I was sitting down with a six year old and an eight year-old girl, and two 11-12 year-old boys, and there was total silence as they all concentrated on crochet. the oldest and youngest can produce a very regular chain using just their fingers (finger-crochet)--no hooks. the middle two do better with hooks.

now, i have gotten very little of my own crocheting done, but since that was only going to be a gift for one of the girls that's ok. (although it took me a minute to re-adjust my attitude).i've finished one little girl's scarf and am about halfway through a boy's beanie, which, alas will not be finished in time for tomorrow morning's race.

I so miss La L*. though glad to spare her.

I am surrounded by male in-laws who feel compelled to talk about sex with my female relatives. (go ahead, call me a prude. this is not my idea of adult conversation. Was it only a few days ago I was talking about novels and politics and queer theory?).

the three cruising comadres are here, otherwise known as the three nanas. Nana Leora drank too much wine. (I guess the "no tequila" rule is not foolproof) Nana Luxi helped with the kinder-crochet lessons and Nana Mini signed up for lessons her ownself. (she brought a merlot chenille yarn, a lesson book, and a set of hooks).

If I were with L*and her familia tomorrow I would be similarly engaged with the kids. However, I would be spared the adolescent humor from the grown men. (Ironically, me and the two boys retreated to another part of the house when the sex talk got to be too much. *their* humor was much more tolerable.)

you know what, though? I'm not at all stressed.

okay, to bed now. have a turkey trot in the a.m.

Nana Mini fed me some excellent chile colorado yesterday and fresh tortillas. so i can't complain about the food. tomorrow it will be all sides for vegetarian me.

The cruising comadres won't be visiting us in the Bay this year, as they are cruising to Europa. Don Fon, however, has expressed a desire to visit me and L* on our home turf.

Live Blogging from New Mexico

I'm feeling very much the lesbian sister today. Not only my brother-in-law, but also my cousin's husband. They're talking football and thongs. which is cool with gay men, but not with the mens-es-in-law. I'm having deja vu to the time I said to L*, "we're not man-hating lesbians," and she looked at me and said, "well, I'm not."

So far I have given my youngest nephew a short introduction to El Che.

I miss my L* and can't wait for my folks to arrive: DonFon and la Leora are due in sometime this afternoon.

On the crochet front, I've made some ground on Mia's poncho and hope I brought enough yarn for her second cousin Sria. Nana Mni brought her own yarn and hooks so I can teach her to crochet.

LAX

Now, LAX is a real airport--lots of dining options, shopping options--even in the Southwest Airlines terminal. I twice waited in line for the wrong flight--the flight ahead of mine was running very late so they were still boarding when we should have been boarding. So first I got in the A line till I heard them say "Albuquerque" then I left, went to the ladies, washed my hands, went to the food court, picked out a smoothie and a california veggie sandwich, went and got in the A line and was all the way ready to board, but my boarding pass wouldn't scan right and they actually had to tell me "you're on the next flight." The funny thing is that I wasn't even embarrassed. After that I went off and read leisurely. Saw someone in the foodcourt playing Snood! (some scary advanced level!)

Note to self: put Snood back on L*'s computer to fend off travel boredom.

my sourdough sandwich was yummy, but I still would've preferred a tofu burger from the Black Muslim bakery.

100

Wow, who thought I'd turn 100 before I turned 40

So, this is post #100 for me. I won't write down a hundred things you don't know about me. At least not until I have 100 readers.

But I bet you don't know what I'd look like if I were an anime girl...

Here's how you look


If you were an Anime Girl what would you look like?
brought to you by Quizilla

The quiz itself was pretty lame, but of course we only do it for the pictures! only five questions! You can't possibly know enough about me to render me in the anime world without at least eight questions.

(Does anybody besides me go back and change a couple of answers to see if it would change the result?)

Well, there's no danger of me trading in my little lego avatar. Go make your own at The Mini Mizer . It's way too fun. The temptation to fotoshop it is still very great: I want a trenza instead of a ponytail.

Pura Lengua and QueerScapes

I got to meet the filmmakers Aurora Guerrero and Maritza Alvarez of Pura Lengua at the Queerscapes Conference. Thanks MaIM for the introduction! They rock.


I missed MaIM's presentation, because I'm a loser. (it was inthe morning and despite my best efforts, I'm not a morning person). However, I heard wonderful things about it from the other conference participants.

Jacqui Alexander gave a fabulous presentation. One of the things she talked about was Queer Tourism, and the need for the "native"to stay put and the tourist to travel. She also called out for queer folk to move beyond Consuming as the mode (consuming knowledge, consuming cultures). I especially liked the way she pointed out that violence under modernity is not necessarily better than violence under traditional societies (i.e. it's still violence to the people whose bodies are under attack) I took notes because I could see implications for my own work, and now I have to go back and read Jonathan Goldberg's "Sodomy in the New World: Anthropologies Old and New" from Fear of a Queer Planet.

David Eng was also great, in his discussion of Lawrence v. Texas (and the deeply problematic racial politics involved), critiquing the constant analogies drawn to Loving v. Virginia and Brown v. The Board of Education. In the final part of his presentation he moved into a discussion of Monique Truong's novel The Book of Salt (which is, on its own, utterly brilliant). Again, it seemed to hook back to the discussion in my Coloring Queer class, on Lionel Cantu's article "Queer Tourism." Also back to Alexander's comments about consuming and then, of course, my brain went riffing off to Reza Abdoh's The Law of Remains (which is a spooky direction to go off in).

The plenary on New Directions in Queer Latino/a Studies rocked! And I'm not just saying that 'cause of my friends and loved ones.

Pussy-Whipped

It's true. We are pussy-whipped. Our fourteen-year-old fluffy black kitty Nxi rules us with a velvet-covered iron paw.




She has rather rigid rules, and any time we transgress we are punished most severely.

Our transgressions have included

• a robotic litter box (two different failures of two different models)
  
• disposable litter boxes
  
• litter made of orange peels
  
• litter with high-tech crystals
  
• plastic liners
  
• hooded litter boxes
  

She gives us the execratory equivalent of a cuff to the ear, as if to say, You're not paying attention! Let's go back to square one

As you might guess from the list, we are rather slow to learn. Fortunately, Nxi has infinite patience and will do what it takes (wherever it needs to be done) to get us to focus on the centrality of the litter box to our relationship, indeed, to our lives and our home.

Home Again

Is there any better feeling than a long soak in the tub and then putting on cozy pyjamas? No more travel clothes binding around my middle. A grapefruit and soda cocktail eases the bone deep dehydration produced by this trip. (Was it LA? the hotel's air system? the fact that my total liquid intake for the whole day was likely to be a beer or two?)

Fresh organic mushrooms await a gentle cleaning from my hands, and then L* will tease them into a rich risotto. That woman brings a whole new meaning to the term "comfort food."

The gatas are glad to have us back. They had a hard time of it (as did the linoleum and one shag rug) and we are committed to finding a good, bonded pet-sitter before our next trip.

Burbank Airport

What a sweet little airport this is!

We had a leisurely morning, brunching with RkyT at Chico’s this little hole in the wall in Highland Park.

Last night we went to club Ditch at Akbar. Too many of the kind of guys who brush you out of their way on the dancefloor. So of course I started boogeying throwing a lot of elbow.

The juventud from the conference were all there struttin’ their stuff. DbZ and StaC were there in high form. Once again Mz StaC puts the ultra in ultra-femme bringing style and grace.

L* ran into old friends from QN days. We also met the fabulous author of Amor Indio in Virgins, Guerrillas, y Locas. and several other of the nicer type of boy.

Today we just gloried in the sunshine of southern california, the casitas, the palm trees, the banana leaves.

Queerscapes: The Right Way to Do It

The next panel @ Queerscapes was by a group from my alma mater, the Research Cluster for the Study of Women of Color in Collaboration and Conflict. All three are Ph.D. students

They were very polished in their presentation and really engaged with the histories of Women of Color and Queer theory.

In fact, the space of the presentation--which had to be opened up to accommodate the many many audience members--felt amazing. The panel was moderated by filmmaker Osa Hidalgo de la Riva, and the audience included folks like Sylvia Morales, Aurora Guerrero , and Maritza Alvarez.

The three presenters continually gestured to the enormous contributions made by these women. You could tell that they had really engaged with the filmmakers about their work.

What 80s Band are You?

You're very feminine, and you don't care who knows
it. You're not willing to let homophobes get
to you. You also like hats.


What band from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


I tried to be a different band. I really did. But the quizilla kept asking these very distracting questions about makeup and hats. It was hard to stay focused.

Addendum: TOO FUNNY!. L* also came out as Boy George! Neither of us can understand how the preference for beating up preppies contributed to this final rating.

RkyT came out as Soft Cell! I saw that one coming!

Cones and Elton

Lina and Julien were in "THE CONE" for Gamma through Friday. That's 8 cones in 15 months, for those of you who keep track.

what the national hurricane center calls, variously, the "cone of error" or the "cone of uncertainty" but the rest of us refer to as the "cone of death"

Of course, this brought on another Elton John spell, rewriting the lyrics to "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me":

don't want another fragment of my roof
to wander freeeeeee...

Fortunately for Miami, though not for Centroamerica, Tormenta Gamma went elsewhere.

I really think that Lina and Julien should let Sir Elton in on the significance of his lyrics to queer hurricane survivors. Any queen who re-wrote Candle in the Wind for Princess Di will surely appreciate this. He could even perform the new versions for a hurricane relief album.

Post deleted for excessive bitchiness

A grad student's presentation made me so angry I wrote a rather long blog entry about it.

I've since had to confront that

• 1) I was angry at myself for not speaking up in the space of the conference
  
• 2) whether or not I face up to it, there's a real power imbalance in me shredding a grad student in a semi-public manner
  
• 3) if I have so much to say, perhaps I should say it directly to the person who might benefit from the lesson, and
  
• 4) I'm still angry at myself for not speaking up in the space of the conference.
  

A night at the Too Hip Hotel

The Standard hotel in Los Angeles is all that!

L* had told me to come directly up to the room, because I would be overwhelmed by the lobby.

I truly felt out of my element, as I wheeled my suitcase-held-together-with-safety-pins and my free-briefcase-from-the-college past the crowd of hipsters lined up to get into the hotel’s nightclub.

The room itself is so modern! Very minimalist--the bed is on a low platform, no drawers of any kind in the room, a long wide desk taking up the windowed wall, a striped pattern on the curtain that carried over onto the wall and then dipped and went on to the next wall. Most startling: the shower is right next to the bed, with a clear glass plate window/wall in between. So as you shower, you are on display to the room.
Now, if you’ve just depilated and fake-baked, this could be a whole fantasy kind of thing, but when you’re feeling grubby and tired and all the rest, it’s rather overwhelming.


I flew to Burbank from Oakland. At the Burbank airport I picked up the rental car and drove All By Myself to downtown LA. I’m very proud. I drove on the 5 and on the Pasadena Freeway.

It was almost fun. I mean it was exhilarating, and I thought “this could get to be fun.” If only. If only the tension in my neck didn’t feel like it was about to snap my shoulder blades. Mind you, this was at ten-thirty at night, so nothing like real traffic.

L* read me her paper. Brilliant, really. A dig-deep and translate truth kind of piece. I can’t believe this is my partner: that I can be with someone who pulls these incredible emotions and experiences out of her psyche and then theorizes social change. And that this is the same person who plays showgirlswith the kitties Nxi and Mxi. I’m very lucky.

Together a new character: Desperanza

It’s supposed to be 81 degrees in LA today. Glory, Hallelujah!

Reading ≠ Writing

Let's see my wordcount has stayed steady this week (i.e. Zero) while my reading has spiked sharply.

So…Octavia Butler's Adulthood Rites. One of the brilliant things about Dawn--for me, anyway, is how bleak and bitter Lilith is and/or must become. Dawn was written first, of course, and my sense is that it was written without depending on the structure of a Trilogy. There are clear shifts between Dawn and Adulthood Rites and those are important shifts.

Maybe because I'm re-reading Butler's books in a funny sequence (Parable I, Parable II, Dawn, Adulthood Rites, Imago---what next? Fledgling?Kindred? I'm starting to see something in her worldview that I had not noticed before. The model of humanity that she's creating has some commonalities with Frederick Jackson Turner's theory of the Frontier as necessarily shaping the US. (and with Manifest Destiny) Also--is this ironic for science fiction?--the idea that essence of humanity is to be found in the small, base community, and that what comes afterward is corruption.

I'm going to have to think about this some more.

But will I write?

a most successful yarn expedition..and the ponchos therefrom

Now I know there are chingos of knitters and crocheters in the bay area, and we run the gamut from the hooty-hoos buying the most expensive designer yarns, to the craft store warehouse (Michaels, JoAnns), to the folks who buy the poly yarns at the drugstore. I am all three of those. So in Oakland, or rather Emeryville, Michaels is the place for yarn. JoAnns has some great colors in 100 percent cotton that I really like, but no yellow. Michaels is the kind of place where L* can pick out yarns for tasteful handmade gifts. (As opposed to the "what not to knit" special--you know, where the knitting ladies are all wearing these shapeless or boxy sweaters that are most unflattering but doubtless fun to knit)

Right now, I'm crocheting these lovely little girl's ponchos in a sunny yellow cotton (by special request by my favorite trio). I've been resisting those really cute ponchos that are made out of two rectangles sewn together. Or the ones where you make six little squares and then piece them together in a O, leaving an empty space for the head. I know why: I'd much rather knit or crochet than sew the pieces together. The piecing together stresses me way out. I'd rather just keep working around and around. so the ponchos I make are akin to a big granny square with a head-sized hole in the middle. The ones I'm making are one solid color: no stripes.

my cat Nxi is torturing me by strolling back and forth across my freshly mopped floor. She hates the way it feels and keeps giving me dirty looks. But does she turn back when I tell her "Keep off! It's wet!" No, of course not. Not until she's halfway across does she decide to turn back.

Reading the Future, looking at the present, and thinking about wine...

Next semester I'll be teaching my class on Race, Gender, and Science Fiction. I'm starting to imagine advertising flyers. Something like: What does Science Fiction have to do with People of Color? Maybe add in a couple of images of the Superdome, Chavez Ravine, and people walking up the 5 in the post-apocalypse. I've been re-reading the Octavia Butler novels I'll be teaching, and trying to break them into small chunks. It's a lower-division class, so it's not one of those novel-a-week kinda deals. I also read some great stories from the first Dark Matter anthology, including an excerpt from George Schuyler's Black No More. The more scholarship I read, the more excited I get about this project.

Today Venezuela and Mexico recalled their ambassadors. Vicente Fox and his "fighting words" pose is like really scary science fiction. (If VF doesn't want to be called Bush's puppy, then he should quit rolling over). Hugo Chavez is inspiring, but given our nation's history of regime change, I worry for him and the Venezuelan people.

Two fine Chicano wines we learned about this weekend: Mar y Sol and Robledo Family Vineyards Maybe I should take some to the familia thanksgiving dinner in New Mexico. (Especially since we've decided that tequila is not conducive to familial harmony.)

Listen to the NPR story

quite a day today!

L* and I spent the day on the south coast at a big family fiesta. the sun was shining, a guitarist was playing and there was jamaica punch for all!

NaNoWriMo Pace

The official pace for NaNoWriMo is 1667 words per day, to make 50,000 words at the end of 30 days. Well, it's day 10 and I'm averaging more like 347 words per day.

If I plug that into one of the nifty Pacer widgets, it will tell me how many thousands of words I need to write per day to get back on pace.

I'm reminding myself that this is actually a marathon, and guess what, I'm not Tegla Loroupe, a record-shattering marathon runner, who finishes in 2:20:45. I'm just myself, a walker who took eight hours to finish a marathon. I'm not in it for speed, I'm in it for endurance.

Sure, just like that marathon in San Diego, I'm sweating around mile two and really wishing I had trained better and more regularly, and that I hadn't only just recovered from bronchitis. I know that I will still have hours to walk when my girlfriend is hitting the showers to recover from her own race. I know that me and the middle-aged ladies around me will be hustling our bustles to make it to the halfway checkpoint before the cut-off time. (If you're not there by 4:00:00, they turn you back and don't let you finish the race)

So, this is my race, and this is how I'm running (walking) it. And that's fine. I'll still have my novel by the end.

In the meantime, I'd better go iron my shirt for my day job.

a long walk, an abortive yarn-buying expedition, apple crisp, and polling places

Today I decided to check out the local yarn store, The Knitting Basket in Montclair. Not having a car, I looked up which buses I would have to take. Pretty straightforward: take the 53, walk a twisty path over a bridge, and catch the 15, and you should be able to see the neighborhood. (I've been to the neighborhood before, where you can get a damn fine pizza with a fennel & cornmeal crust)

But after walking the twisty path and over the bridge, I was just getting started, and decided to walk the rest of the way, skipping bus #15 but following its route. about an hour later, I found myself at Lake Merritt. A cool neighborhood, but, um nowhere near montclair. i'm a stubborn little cuss, apparently, because i was convinced that if I kept walking just a *little* farther i would get there. Until I saw the lake. I may be stubborn, but I'm not unreasonable.

Since Lake Merritt has such lovely bus stops, I was able to consult a map and see that, yes, indeed, i had been walking in the wrong direction. (If I had a compass on my keychain, this never would have happened). So I promptly took the #15 in the opposite direction and arrived at my destination very quickly.

Note to the folks at 511.org: walking directions would be so much more helpful if they included catchy phrases like "Turn Right."

Upon deboarding the bus, I found the yarn store in record time. I was then able to peer through its darkened window to all the fluffy skeins within. The little paper sign taped up to the door declared that they've suddenly switched to a Tuesday thru Saturday schedule, as opposed to the Monday through Saturday schedule posted online and painted so cheerily on their window.

By this time I was feeling positively reckless, and stopped to buy a Super Cactus Burrito to eat when I got home.

Since Monday is L*s l-o-n-g workday, I sometimes greet her upon her return with a wine and cheese party. Today I decided to take another crack at the Apple Crisp. (Last time, the crispy part wasn't all that). This time I used a recipe from the Moosewood Low-Fat cookbook, and added butter. (That's the only thing wrong with those recipes is that in general, they're better with butter). I think it's a definite improvement over the last batch, but I'm going to go write a note on the cookbook to add salt next time.

I have now looked up my polling place, since I'll need to leave the house extra early so i can go vote before I head across the bay. Unlikely to be as adventurous as today's walk, but still, I'll get to see folks from the neighborhood.

Somewhere along the route of my walk, I saw this big bright building in the distance. At first I thought it said Public Library, but as I drew closer, I realized that in fact it said: Perfect Liberty. (I can't remember now if it was a Blue or a Green building, but the letters were big and golden yellow and accompanied by a sun) Wouldn't this get you wondering? Yes, indeedy. Fortunately, a quick google shows me that I was right in my guess as to what it was.

of litter scoopers and NaNoWriMo

so, at noon i was working on the novel.

then i decided to see what other NaNoWriMo folks are blogging, then I read JohnRyan's entry, then I decided that I, too must own the Craftsman RigidTool of kitty litter scoops, and went in search of it, without even having a brand name. I read up on the likely candidtes. I priced them at three different sellers, compared shipping rates (dramatic differences), updated my paypal profile, changed my addresses, verified my checking accounts, et cetera, et cetera

it's now 1:30 and i have not written a single word since noon.

Interesting note related to word counts: I can write 200-400 words in less than twenty minutes if I sit still.

Related note: I can't sit still.

Report from Miami: After Wilma

Lina and Julien are alive and well in Miami. They checked in right away, even though they had to truck out to various relatives houses to even have access to electricity, much less internet.

They need a new back fence and will have to patch the roof. Lina's folks had much more significant roof damage

On October 26 the server came back up and La Mere Julienne had electricity

On October 28th Los Padres Linosas got power.

down here, the hurricane center has already run out of letters for the storms and has begun naming them with letters of the greek alphabet.

[Julien] and i are wondering what they'll do when that runs out... cuneiform, maybe? hieroglyphics??

On October 29th, Lina and Julien spotted convoys of utility trucks, with linemen in the cherry-picker buckets. While they were heartened by the site, they had also been notified that they would not have powered restored to their home until November 15.

so, naturally, we began singing bucket man to the tune of elton john's rocket man.

bucket man...
we think it's gonna be a long, long time
bucket man...

They're high-sprited fellows, those two.

On November 2nd, their electricity came on, and produced happiness beyond measure.
Now they're warm and dry and clean, and working hard to bring order back to their lives.

Yard work. Survival.

Yard work (on a sunny Oakland Saturday) is a good cure for the blues.

So I was thinking about Survival. Survival theme songs. For some folks, a survival theme song is speaking truth (I will Survive!) a call to arms (I'm a Survivor!). For others, it's the blues. So, the Pet Shop Boys, Dreaming of the Queen:

The Queen said: "I'm aghast
Love never seems to last
However hard you try"
And Di replied

That there are no more lovers left alive
No one has survived
So there are no more lovers left alive
And that's why love has died
Yes, it's true
Look, it's happened to me and you

(I was never sure if it was "And Di replied" or "And I replied.")

I put on Rxi's Mix while I clean the house: to get me in a more upbeat mood, and started cracking up when Mme. Lola Beltran belted out "Soy Infeliz" (giggle giggle)

Time to scare the cats with the vacuum cleaner. There's a fur-covered crescent on the sofa where Nxi has been keeping watching for L*s return.

Blogging around

What do you do when your partner spends the night at her parent's house?

(No drama involved: she's helping them get the house ready for her dad's birthday bash next weekend)

Well, if you're smart, you go with her. But I didn't. Consequently I spent way too much time on those internets during the last 24. But LorcaLoca led me to Octopus's Garden, which made me laugh out loud. She has her kitty clipped too! I realized from all her cat fotos that our own Mxi and Nxi have not lost quite enough weight yet. In her pictures, the kitty's belly doesn't hang to one side. Back to the Rx cat food, gatas!

And now: to yard work.

Note to L: Nxi slept on the couch, waiting for you to come home.

Another pet related note: L and I saw a news story wherein a pound puppy who'd only been adopted 2 weeks earlier saved his new Daddy's life. What if there's a puppy at the pound right now, destined to save our lives?!? And, you know, with a puppy chasing them around, the gatas would really trim down. Oh well, our lease precludes puppies--even life-saving ones--so we'll return to this topic in a year or so.

Novel news: I'm wondering if the Generalito will make su appearance in the novel. (The Generalito is an Anarchist guerrilla--queer & TG) I always pictured the Generalito in more of a civil war-type scenario than a pandemic, but Agapantha sure is getting lonely!

Oh wait, I forgot to tell you the best part! All my following up on blog rolls led me to La Tarjeta de Antonio! I can't wait to read it!

You know it's time to clean the house...

...when you've been sitting at the computer for nearly twelve hours straight, you've worked on your novel, two book proposals (for imaginary books), and your rock opera, and the cats have all but given up trying to get your attention, and it's still not even nine o'clock!

very well then. I shall stand, I shall stretch, and I shall clean.

maybe after that my heroine will get over her funk.

637 words

Agapantha's feeling melancholy tonight. I left her staring into her cat's eyes, thinking of the coughing babies.

I'm sure I produced more words blogging than novel-ing, but now I need some time away from my broody heroine.

She doesn't have a partner to joke about kitty tacos at moments like this.

Why you don't always want to read a writer's blog

Now, as you know, I've been on a bit of a Sherman Alexie tear. Reading his books, one right after another. digging on them. I believe I even used the words "genius," How many men have I described as genius? Ummm, this would make one. if it sticks.

Okay, so then, adding Reservation Blues to My Favorite Books on my Blogger profile, I of course look to see who else lists it. And lo and behold, I find Sherman Alexie's blog

Is this for real? It seems more like an impersonation of him. A bad impersonation. With that bad lesbian haircut.

Oh well. Guess I'd better stick to the books.

Margaret, margaret

I was digging on Margaret Cho yesterday, but was disappointed when she went into the whole comparison model of discrimination. i.e. No white person would ever think about saying X to a black person, but they'll go ahead and say Y to the rest of us.

No one would ever dream of mistaking Mary J. Blige for Faith Evans, even in jest – especially in jest. Anyone who would infer that P. Diddy was actually Big Daddy Kane would be immediately fired, and likely banned from broadcasting forever and ever. Yet is somehow is totally okay to ask me why I left “The View.”

We need to change that refrain! As a matter of fact white people don't keep their racism against African Americans private. Why should they? The racists are constantly saying "oh we're so oppressed! The liberals are trying to control our language! We can't even say black people are born criminals even though they are." When calling someone out as a racist is dismissed as being oh-so-PC, oh-so-yesterday, racist folks feel entitled to keep right on. Say something racist? Refer your retractors to your African American spokesperson and you're automatically absolved. A racist white person banned from broadcasting forever? That'll be the day.

Okay, now that I've disagreed with Margaret about something, I just have to say that she totally rocks. From the cover of her new book--Patti/Tania fantasy--to her poster for the American Library Association, to her letters to W and to Arnold, she's one fierce Mama.

Adventures in Templates

Okay, obviously I decided it was time for a template makeover!

The banner image is a super close-up of the orange shag rug in my study. I kept trying to do the green shag rug from the living room but a) the color kept coming out grayish, and b) none of the grays on this page went together. so here i am in slightly made-over format.

the book I'm using (Publishing a Blog with Blogger, by Elizabeth Castro) is LOUSY on the why and the how of templates. It's more the in the "you'll figure this out through trial and error" school of computer manuals. Of course, if I didn't have the book to jump off of, I prob'ly wouldn't have changed anything to begin with. L* asking me how to do things on her blog is also a big impetus.

Also, the examples in the book from the authors own blog are Mind-numbing. Home schooling three little white kids. Awww, here's a picture of one of them in front of the teepee their mom made. Homeschooling=scary.

A good day to write

Already 488 words! L* is my inspiration in more ways than one. Her daily blog title gave me my premise for Agapantha’s day and how she looks at the world. a good introduction to the reader. Right now, Agapantha seems an amalgam of my memories and L*s, growing up in LA, visiting familia in Tijuana, teaching first-graders.

Speaking of LA, the students are behind on the reading, so discussion on the Tattooed Soldier lags behind. But they spent time talking about and developing their ideas for their group projects, and that’s a great thing. One student requested I make the Wiki tool available on moodle. I promptly did so, but now I’ll have to read up on the Wiki tool before next class.

Wednesday = 0

Yesterday was a total bust as far as novelling. Too many meetings suck energy.

Ironically, though, one of the meetings was for the Committee on Writing in Ethnic Studies. This a fabulous group: we have some great creative writers and our vision is to raise awareness about the craft and discipline involved in writing. Some folks have been disrespected in their writing, i.e. my book is more valuable than your book because your book is creative and mine is critical. (as if it's easier to publish a book of poetry!)

I have to admit, though, I'm so split about the idea of a creative MA thesis. I suspect I might have internalized some attitudes in my academic training. More likely, though, it's because my creative writing is much less disciplined than my critical writing. (i.e., I need to start putting a lot more discipline into my creative writing, but to do that I have to value it more and let it cut into my "research" time).

But the community is great on this. Really. We have great diversity, in experience, in publiation, in teaching, in vision.

I'm pretty excited about this new community.

Pumping

I did get more writing done last night before bed. Somewhere around six hundred words. Like I said, it's a start.

I'm writing in Tinderbox, so I can work on little projects, then plug them back into an overall scene, rather then writing in Word and feeling like I'm on page one. Too intimidating, as L* so perceptively noted, when she busted me last night.

Of course, the temptation to focus on the software, rather than actually writing, is very great.

Write now Agapantha and Tía Tencha are writing letters to one another. So its an epistolary novel

The novel: Day One

Okay, I'm going ahead with Agapantha.

It's slow going. Priming the pump mostly.

let's talk about food instead!

dinner was a joy tonight! halibut fish packets with rice and baby bok choy. and organic red grapes for dessert. yummy! L* is a culinary genius.

and last night's bread came out rather well (if i do say so myself): rich. flavorful, and wheaty, without too much sweetener. EXCEPT I didn't grease the pan enough and so it stuck and i lost the bottom crust. As long as we have gas and electricty, i can bake bread. but if the grid goes down, we'll need another plan. L* suggest tortillas, but I'm no good at tortillas, whereas i have years of experience baking bread.

Grand Total: 7

Seven little trick-or-treaters. All in the 6-10 year-old range, i'm guessing.

of course, at the end, i was handing out big handfuls of 3 musketeers bars, because nothing is sadder than leftover candy. fortunately, i'm not a big fan of 3 musketeers bars, so there's no shameful scarfing in my future.

now it's time to turn off the porch light and focus on tomorrow's class.

my kitchen is clean. my dough is on its second rising.

the kitties are back in the house. i wouldn't let them in while i was baking, because i knew they would want to tippy-toe across my breadboard. so they cried at the front door until the trick-or-treaters came, and then they ran away.

reading sherman alexie has had me thinking A LOT about growing up in northern new mexico. In fact, i know that several of my buddies had cameos in last night's dream. they looked like gulf war vets. first gulf war.

Trick or Treat?

Okay, I definitely hear the little voices out on the street. Let's see if they brave our house.

dinner and other mundane thoughts

I'm having trouble posting anything--even entries that I've already written, because it's so crazy to try jump back and forth from Normal Life to This Insane World We're Living in.

But now i'm just doing it. And I'm back-posting some journal entries from the last couple of days, even though they feel too frivolous and inane.

Tonight I kneaded my first loaf of bread in fifteen years. have i really been out that long? i think it's coming back to me, like the bicycle. if the pandemic comes, we'll have bread. we'll see if it's a hit at tonight's wine and cheese party.

Baking helps me deal with the loneliness when my baby is off working--it may in fact be the most appropriate solution! Now I have to clean up the kitchen, prep for class, and thus my evening is structured, rather than being a big wasteland of alone-time.

After serving L* much attitude over the the very idea that I not give out candy if home alone, i must admit I'm relieved that no trick-or-treating happened. I peeked out into the neighborhood at twilight and NOBODY had their porch lights on--not even the neighbors with scarecrows and stuff going on.

I made a salad with the last of the lettuce and gobbled up all those little grape-sized tomatoes. sweet bursts of sunshine. I'm still hungry, but I know that when the bread is done, I'll want to eat several slices so I'm saving room.

I also have to pick out a suit to wear to the arraignment tomorrow. I fear my passion for suits is some kind of internalized racism, like wearing a big sign around my neck saying, NO, REALLY: I'M A PROFESSOR.

But then that's what clothes are all about anyway, right? NO, REALLY: I'M A FEMME. NO, REALLY: I'M A QUEER.

Yesterday at the Dia de Los Muertos event on International Blvd., my baby bought me this fabulous RAZA hat. It's a black canvas cowboy-style hat, with a pink mariposa stitched on the front. by Anahuak designs.

Arraignment

The public arraignment is tomorrow at 9 a.m.
567 7th Street, Room #12, San Francisco.

So get your work done early and be there!

Magnets in My Ears

L*'s family had this taunt: "Curlers in your hair! Shame on you!"

It's pretty self-evident, i think, since it immediately brings to my mind don Alfonso's judgments on be-curlered women in fuzzy slippers at the grocery store, and warninga bout what would happen to me if i went that route.

So, anyway, I've noticed that if i spend too much time with audiobooks, there's this weird CHARGED feeling in my head and throat, like my blood is thrumming.

And just last night I realized that my headphones are magnetized. Are yours? can you touch the little suckers together or do they repel one another? Can these magnets in my ears be doing me some harm? Should I switch to the headphones with the least magnetic force?

SF State to Probe Arrest

Finally the Chronicle covers the story!

Independent Commission to investigate racial profiling

SFSU Professor Arrested, Jailed

The Oakland Tribune has picked up the story. Unlike the SF Chronicle.

Restraint

You who have never been asked
for i.d.
for walking your own streets
your own workplace
your own democracy

you who sleep soundly
untroubled by dreams

of strip-searches
orange pajamas
twenty-four hour
threat and humiliation
incarceration

you who've never had to prove
your right to be here
your right to be free

you are quick to urge restraint
on the part of those
who have been
restrained

Writer's Retreat Dream

I was at a writers retreat, only it was on a boat, and we were mostly wearing things like bikinis and sarongs. my body wasn't my body, but the body of some twenty-year-old lean model-type. There was never any actual writing at this retreat.

not a boat, a ship. but we boarded this other ship first, and then there were all these walkways to our ship, but they were very criss-crossy, so there would be these three bridges and they would say L3, L4, L5 (different levels) but you couldn't just tell by looking at them which one went up, which one went across, which one went down. and there would be little fare gates on them, where you had to have your ticket punched (like on BART)

There seemed to be a lot of field trips, to see monsters (sea monsters)

We were all suspected of some crime, and we were being weeded out, and yet we weren't sure if the ones "kicked out" were going free or going to jail. (were the rest of us the suspects, or cleared of suspicion?)

One of the team members was one of those young angular white men: had a very "military recruit" look, all cropped head and cheekbones. Brad? Buddy?

Stubby, the armadillo-porcupine--a member of our team--found his medication (injectible) missing (along with another team members's comb) and so left to go to someone else's cabin to see if it was there. Almost immediately that someone telephoned to say they had the other guy's comb, and so I'm assuming they also have stubby's medication. I tell them Stubby is on his way over. (Was stubby a character in Reservation Blues, or is that another fantasy?)

Things that may have provided the material for this dream: MLo's film-in-progress of lesbians of color escaping a fascist nudist colony; Robert Johnson's novel MIDDLE PASSAGE, set on a slave ship; the comadres' cruises; the approach of National Novel Writing Month (write a novel in november); three Sherman Alexie novels in a row.

Professor arrested

This consumes my thoughts:

Black Studies Professor Arrested
Arrest allegedly linked to racial profiling

Read more...

I write letters calling for immediate and unconditional release
that all charges be dropped
that the patterns and records be fully investigated

this is not an amnesty international urgent action

this is where we live
and work
while crosses burn

The shadow of the Superdome stretches far

It is a shadow that cast light
It is a mirrored lens through which we see
the minority "rich" evacuated
the masses herded and abandoned
a city in crisis
a nation glued to the toob,
waiting for the raping and looting and gang anarchy

in hospitals
decisions were made
who should be saved

in bureacracies
decisions were made
who should be saved

the rest were left,
to feed off one another
like sharks

poor people came together
checked on their neighbors
organized rescue rafts
cooked big pots of stew
held body and soul together

poor people came together
"looted" food and water and maxi pads
brought them home to needy housefuls

poor people came together
marched to freedom
to be turned back at gunpoint
as suburban cops turned private security

none have been named heroes
(a sobriquet reserved for the youth we ship out
to be sent back in boxes,
absent cousins
of this same urban poor)

helicopter grabs, with much footage,
ended unmarked
in the shadow of the overpass
still no supplies
still no escape

now that busing has changed
the inner city demographic
will the diaspora
have right of return?

do the rest of us really believe
it could not happen here?

Romanesco Broccoli

Too weird! Have you seen this stuff?

We got it in our vegetable basket this week. I mean it's beautful!

But, we don't like Broccoli**. or Cauliflower. And Romanesco is a cross between Broccoli and Cauliflower! and a mind-boggling one at that. Definitely looks like a sculpture!

We're good eggs, though, so we'll boldly go.

Last night: Salad with pears, parmesan, and pomegranate. Yummmmmm!

**Chinese broccoli is a whole 'nother story. I could eat Chinese broccoli twice a week!

Meme - Whatchu need?

Got this from Goddess. You do a google search of your name followed by "needs." (be warned, though, there's lots of nasties out there!)

1. Catriona needs to learn about reinforcing her models where they are a bit flimsy.
2. Whilst Kevin has few problems with his commitment, Catriona needs plenty of it to get her thorough the next stage of her journey
3. Baroness Catriona needs waterbearing bottles for May Faire.
4. She believes she needs to regain her honor, but what she really needs is to learn self-acceptance. Catriona is striking figure. She is six feet tall.
5. Catriona believes that we need a strong paradigm shift when it comes to our attitudes about sport and physical activity.
6. Catriona needs to be mindful of planning ahead to avoid any possible asthma flare up.
7. Catriona desperately needs Dominic to claim the child, so she agrees to a bargain.
8. Catriona has broken down her overall learning need into more detailed skills
9. Catriona is afloat on River Deben. She’s a lovely old boat but needs badly needs some attention.

The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven

I'm on a Sherman Alexie roll right now. He's so funny. Not like comedy, although Thomas Builds-the-fire does say he's not a full-blood Indian: "I'm half magician on my mother's side and half clown on my father's". But in a "home truth" kind of way. So far, my favorite story is "a drug called tradition." But then I only got to page 94 reading on public transportation. Still, I guess you can tell a lot about a person by which story they choose.

(I can't believe the first thing I said about him is that he's funny. I hate it when they do that in a book review. Tell you how funny this book is, and then you read it and it's so tragic!)

So I finished Indian Killer on monday. I still keep thinking of it. The Fantasies. What L* would call the border fantasies, I think. Indian Killer and The Wind Done Gone are all swimming around in my head.

I'm now about halfway through Almanac of the Dead. How long has it been since I started that? Looks like I added it to my list four weeks ago. It's too big a book to put down for too long, because there are so many characters it takes a while to remember if these are "new" characters or if you already met them in another part of the novel. Each time I enter a new section, or Book, in the novel, I run up against a wave of resistance. Because the characters are never likable: I never cozy on up to the new characters. So it takes me a long time to be drawn into their stories.

Now with The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven (the whole book), I like Victor, I like most of the characters right away and care what happens to them. It's totally different from Indian Killer.

Chihuahenvy!

L* and I had a lovely evening on Saturday with EMc & J and company, and were totally smitten by Xuey, their tiny Chihuahua. Not only would she jump in my lap and lick my ears, but later in the evening, she made her appearance in a stunning SuperMan outfit, complete with cape. L* was won over by the idea of the little dogs being bred to keep you warm. Xuey has those ears like bat wings: I'll fly away!

Xuey was way cuter in her costume than this dog.

Wish we'd smuggled her home. Although the Nxi was very moody the next day, so she must have sensed our intentions.

(Buddy is also a very cool and mellow guy--I don't mean to damn him with faint praise!)

J's paintings really caught our attention and kept us thinking, as did his riveting stories.

I know we kept going on and on about the view in their apartment, but WOW! Lake merritt at night!

What a wonderful evening with wonderful new friends.

NaNoWRiMo (T-7 days and counting)

So, of the people I challenged, BendyPalm says yes, RaW says yes, JM believes I'm insane. I just got a message back from MachaFemme that i think is a no. My bad. I know they all have other work to do. I just want them to play with me.

Tia Tencha may also make an appearance in Agapantha's novel.
Unless I decide to follow Alexie down the Dark Path.

About mysteries

I'm reading Sherman Alexie's Indian Killer, very quickly. As quickly as I read Desert Blood, which is the book it makes me think of the most. Why is that? There aren't very many similarities. Alexie's novel isn't even a "detective" novel. I'm wondering if it's a roman a clef, and I'm trying to figure out the clef.

Writing her way out of a hurricane

BendyPalm has replied to my invitation to write a novel in november. She's down for it. Turns out she's got a novel in the works already. I'm not surprised by that part, because I know she has it in her.

But in the meantime, she has to back up all her data before Wilma strikes. And she and her partner and their dogs and other members of the menagerie are in a boarded up house awaiting Wilma.

The Wind Done Gone (after the fact)

Remember when I said I was afraid to finish it for fear it wouldn't be that good all the way through? It's that good all the way through! No lie. It's that good. Reconstruction, hope and heartbreak. Such a fierce read!

I was thinking about that book (and the indignant reviews) while I was hanging out the window, yesterday, pruning back the bougainvillea.

How is it that I never knew bougainvillea has thorns? big, ass-kicking thorns! I was looking at my palms with that little girl looks of surprise at pain. (See that? It wasn't even my palms, it was my fingers, but right away i gotta do that stigmata thing and say it was my palms!)

Over and over I kept repeating one sentence that Garlic says to Cynara, when she wants to know, did ya'll really kill [somebody]? He says to her "If we didn't, it was because we didn't have to."

I think it would be really interesting to read this book with Kindred or 47. Because--though I never realized it before--those books (that I LOVE) continue with certain conventions of the sentimental novel. People of color have to be GOOD, even in the face of evil. And that can mean "collaboration." I guess I'm thinking in terms of the postcolonial. Kindred is both about innocence, and not about innocence. What if Dana had decided to go the other way, and make sure that rusty-headed boy drowns? In a certain kind of way, she can't do that, precisely because she's a twentieth-century subject. And the slaves all rely on her to "save" him, and thus save them from worse circumstances. Without necessarily admitting it--without finding peace in it-- Dana chooses Rufous over Alice. And thus she is complicit in what happens to Alice, and as guilty as Rufous, in the end. The logic of white patriarchy corrupts.

But TWDG does not rely on "saving" certain white men as a way of "saving" black people. What's so scary about the book for some people is the way it refuses the "innocent" black subject. It refuses subservience, it refuses victimhood. Even as it shows how complicated everything is.

I love how she tells Lady's history. I guess for me, that is a salvation. And yet Phillippe duels to his death because he can't imagine his lover with a black man!

I've also been thinking about the challenge in both Kindred and 47, where there is clearly the message that "you let someone make you a slave." That's something that both Tall John and Dana say to the slaves, which just feels so unfair. Especially in light of history. Is that a secret emotion of twentieth-century African American subjects? How could you let yourselves be enslaved? TWDG is a fantasy, right? That, in fact, you did not let yourselves be enslaved: that to the extent that you were able--an extent never even imagined by white folks or Black folks, and an extent that would horrify them--you took power, changed the course of history, ensured your survival and the survival of your people.

Back to Erdrich

What I should have said:
the truth is,
I am resisting LROTMALNH
deeply and on many levels.

this is becoming clearer to me, now that I've been talking about The Wind Done Gone, and the way people keep saying "this is not the book I thought it would be."

It frustrates my fantasy.

Seeking: Creative Writing on Katrina

Call for Papers: Creative Writings on Hurricane Katrina (10/30/05; journal issue)

The Wind Done Gone

The Unauthorized Parody by Alice Randall

Have you heard of this book?
The story of Gone with the Wind, told from the perspective of Scarlett's half sister, the daughter of Mammy?

How is it I haven't heard of this book? Granted I have been buried in my work for the last ten years (gasp!) But there was a lawsuit from the Margaret Mitchell estate trying to keep the book from being published. I should have heard that! And the Oakland Public Library has many many copies of it!

It is soooooooooooooo good!
How good is it?

It is so good that I want to stop reading it right now, for fear that it won't be able to keep on being so good.

because it is.

so good.

I want to stop where I am (only between 1/3 and 1/2 way through) and go back and read it from the start again, because i know how good it is, I just want to savor the knowing.

I know the [white] fans of GWTW hate it. Not because they're racist. Because they're stupid.

If you think I'm being flip, go read the reviews on Amazon, and the absolute HYSTERIA of folks saying what a terrible, terrible thing Randall has done, and how she must be a crazy bitter woman to have written such a thing, and PS "it's not funny!" (Oh, but it is! Because quiet as it's kept, you're the joke!) My favorite reviews are the ones that say "Randall had the chance to show good black people living righteously under horrible conditions, but instead she made them..." And really the word I think they're looking for is "family." not as in "like one of the" but as in, "you know why your mama hates the light-skinned slave children." And that's only the beginning.

No, no really. That's the thing. because this book picks up that globe that we've all learned and shakes it up and down and makes it snow inside.

I see glimmers and hope that what they hint at is true.

don't you?

Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse

(LROTMALNH)

I think Louise Erdrich is one of those writers destined to confound me.

She writes novels that are not the novels I think I’m going to read. (see, it *is* me)

So, this one. Obviously I wanted it to be queer. I’m having that feeling I get when I read Estela Portillo Trambley’s play SOR JUANA, or Julia Alvarez’s IN THE NAME OF SALOME, where I *know* the character is a dyke it’s SO clear and yet here is this straight woman trying to tell me she’s not.

(No offense to Alvarez, whom I admire greatly. But Camila could have been so much more!)

I mean, poor Agnes is sooooooooooooooo heterosexual in this book. It’s just hard for me to really relate to her living as Father Damien but pining for floppy hats and fine lawn dresses. okay, I’m prob’ly overstating the case. But it would be so easy for Erdrich to make Agnes queer. BUT NO! put her in the same room with Father Gregory , and it’s like heterosexuality is this great [un]natural compulsion. (I guess that’s the point, huh?).

I mean, it has to be based on heterosexuality as destiny, otherwise we’d have to admit that anytime you have have two priests in the same living quarters they’re gonna have sex, and the same for the nuns in the convent.

It’s not that I’m opposed to heterosexual romance in drag; i just prefer for it to play with the queer predicaments that result, instead of immediately rushing to , whew, it’s okay, he’s really a woman.

I’ve only recently read David Henry Hwang’s M.Butterfly for the first time, and thought how much more romantic it would have been if Father Gregory had loved Father Damien without ever knowing he was a woman. Call me old-fashioned.

I’m listening to it on my commute. thirteen hours long and I’m somewhere in the middle of hour eight.

of course I’m cheating by re-reading PARABLE OF THE SOWER again. It’s for work! L* and I are going to teach it in our different classes simultaneously next semester. On our Trans Bay Reader Ship.

Okay, so heterosexuality as Destiny. I used to read that in Octavia Butler as well, but either she got over it, or I did. Because the last few books all have the “yeah, I could definitely go there” to them.

Falling into habit

Walking through Oakland
smiling
i peek into baby carriages

that lady
pushes a granny cart
by reflex
i smile at her bottled water

Your call is important to us. Please continue to hold.

Is it just me? Is it the hormones? Or is everyone filled with rage when left "on hold" forever? all my cell phone minutes just trickle away, and i don't know that a real person is ever going to appear at the other end of the line.

it's giving me a headache.

everything is giving me a headache today. (did i mention the hormones?)
credit card doesn't work: I get the message "call bank"

i call bank and get put on hold. what a racket. maybe my bank is secretly owned by the cell phone company.

how come my cell phone doesn't keep me informed just how long i have been on hold?!?
and why do they have to keep playing that awful music!

Whose story is this, again?

Oh, I saw this advertisement and it made me so mad I want to hit someone:

This was under EDITORS SEEKING LATINO WRITERS

Razorbill Books is seeking a commercially minded author to write a comical yet poignant coming of age story for teens. Main character would be Latina--though story should appeal to a broad range of teens from other ethnicities (in much the same way that My Big Fat Greek Wedding appeals to people of all ethnicities). Narrative struggle would center on main character's attempt to reconcile her Hispanic heritage with the ways of the modern world.

Oh, yeah, right because "Hispanic" peoples are not part of the modern world.

It doesn't sound like they're looking for a Latino writer at all: they've already got they're little white narrative already written out...pinches desgraciados...

3 months worth of food?!

Ok, i have given up my futile struggle against L*s survivalist strategies.

I'm going to start stock-piling whole wheat flour (in a cool, dry, place), grow a sourdough starter [desem], and build an outdoor oven. then we can make apple/cactus/quince bread for all our friends and neighbors.

On another note, L* and I are moving forward with bringing our two CSU campuses a little closer together, through cyberspace and books in common in different classes. Leaning heavily toward Parable of the Sower right now. Which, of course, I'm reading for survivalist tips. (I know, I'm sure Octavia B is shaking her head at her crazy fans right now!)

Another broken helmet

My theory on the glass helmet:

I believe that our heads are covered by a glass, fishbowl-like helmet, extending about three inches beyond our skulls in every direction. ordinarily, that helmet protects our skulls as we run the daily risks of life, maneuvering our way into cars, bending down to pick things up. that's why we don't bang our heads on everything: the glass helmet protects us.

occasionally, however, we whack it too hard and it breaks, and after that we start cracking our skulls against all manner of things.

i broke mine again. !Ay!

climbing up while looking down, the solid "thwack" of bone on wood, the immediate flush of anger that always accompanies pain.

i'll have to be extra careful until the glass helmet grows back.

All together now: "poor baby!"

Audio Dysplasia

Hey, this is me! I don't believe it!

Arnaldo reminded me of my father, with his aura of melancholy charm and his aloof, gallant waswy with women. I loved his growl of a voice and the happy accidents with language which occurred whenever we talked. It was like I had audio dysplasia. Instead of seeing double, I heard double, something besides what Arnaldo was actually saying. "Trouble" when he said "travel," "gender" when he said "genre," "fold" when he said "fault," or "grammatic fever" when he said "rheumatic fever." But after laughing and sorting it all out, we'd come to the ironic conclusion that it wasn't a case of miscommunication at all, but understanding.

Jessica Hagedorn, The Gangster of Love (62)

Which one's better?

The students are choosing which novel they want to do their projects on. They've been asking me confounding questions like "Bone or The Kite Runner: Which one's better?" How can you even begin to answer a question like that? They're both great. They are utterly different. The both affected me powerfully.

I nearly lost it in the middle of The Kite Runner. I was listening to the audiobook, read by the author. If you've read the book, you know the scene. I was crying and I had to stop the book, and then i went and found L* and told her "Why did you have me read this book?!?"

Bone is affecting in a whole other way. It's about a family of sisters, so that makes it ring true for me in all these different ways. It's emotional, and beautiful. I started reading it again as soon as I finished it. I don't do that too often, but I hadn't read the book straight through--there was a lag of a week or two at one point.

I'm reading Jessica Hagedorn right now. I love her. I think I resisted reading her for years, because of the title of her first novel. (I know, I know. I got over it). And the Gangster of Love! wow! I have to consciously resist thinking of Hagedorn as M2F. She's so good!

At first I was afraid no one would pick The Farming of Bones, or West of the Jordan.

L* and I have both been saying we need to start reading all the fabulous books from the last ten years. What with dissertations and new jobs, we're really well-read on the eighties, thru the mid-nineties, and on brand new stuff, but rather weak on the in-between stuff and on authors outside of our focus areas. Her folks give us good tips, too, because they know what books everyone is reading.

Thank god for the profs I TA'd for as a grad student, because I really had to go outside my comfort zone and confront my own ignorance and resistance, but I learned a lot from them.

kids everywhere!

One thing I love about Fruitvale is the babies!

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO cute! No lie. Like the other day, I'm walking along to the BART station, and you know I'm a happy fool when I'm on my walk. And I see this little chavalita and chavalito come tearing around the corner, heading toward me. and they're little. Both, under five, I'm sure. Running along having the time of their life. She's in pigtails and a cardigan. And I know they're too young to be out by themselves so I'm waiting. And sure enough, here she comes, running after them, in her hejab, a big ol' grin at her little traviesos.

And they are everywhere! quiet little boys on the bus. sleeping babies being wheeled along in their strollers. in braids and pigtails and raider's caps and wild-haired, in sweaters and sweatshirts and school uniforms. and happy because they get mucho love.

I see them on my walks and it just fills me with joy. they're like their own laughter.

you know it's time

You know it's time to write a new entry blog when you've read all your favorite blogs out there and are still hungry for more!

Why is it that some habits (soy latte, macaroons) you can build up without even thinking about it, while others (writing, exercise) slip away from you when you're not working at them?

I didn't write (blog) since last Friday and I didn't exercise either. I sat in my office chair for days on end, ostensibly working on a presentation. finally came to terms with that and now it's behind me.

At least I *have* an office chair. L*, mi diablito, has been making do with a folding chair since the move: we did get that taken care of!

with blogging: I think at least part of what was going on, was that I owed emails to too many people, and didn't want to post until I was all caught up. I still actually owe one more--to my new cousin, who sounds totally cool.

i posted the study guide for the midterm for one of my classes, and now I have the pleasure of seeing all the students log in and then download the lecture notes from the past eight weeks.

Mxi and Nxi are out enjoying the morning. those gatas are so full of beans these days! chasing each other throughout the house. calling out for someone to come play in the middle of the night.

Whoo, hoo! Lorna Dee's got a new book of poetry coming out!

bueno, i gotta get myself to campus. grad students coming and I need to make sure i got office space for meeting.

My sister C7e told me to bring my walking shoes when I come for Tday: she wants to make sure we don't all get cabin fever in her house and drive her crazy.

ugly parties

I have this cousin, g5t, who regularly emails everyone he knows jokes that he thinks are funny. These are almost always racist, homophobic, and sexist pronouncements. He grew up in texas, where he was cast predictably in the role of "indian" in every neighborhood game of cowboys and indians. he was raised by a racist abusive whitetrash stepfather

my mom--who's way more fierce than me--wrote him after the last homofobic joke and told him in no uncertain terms she didn't want to hear any more. me, i wrote a poem and then misplaced it in cyberlandia.

I have special filters set up, so anything that comes to me from g5t's email address automatically goes into "trash" or "junk."

Right now I'm between the old and new job email addresses, so I regularly check my trash and junk folders, to make sure i'm not losing anything important.

I made the mistake of opening one of his emails entitled "Why there was no looting in Texas." Surprise, surprise, it shows a picture of shotgun-toting redneck white men--and chicanos, of course, 'cause there's never no white man so lame and racist that some chicano ain't gonna stand right alongside him with the same shit-eating grin, like that's gonna make the chicano white all of a sudden, after 500 years of mestizaje). Next to this ugly party was a sign saying "U Loot, We Shoot"

(wake up, primo!)

More than anything, the crew in the foto looked like those horrible fotos from lynchings, when you would see white folk grinning next to a smoking corpse like it was the fourth of july picnic (and it might well have been).

and that's what it is, isn't it? like everything else tied to the racial scapegoating post-katrina, it's another glowing sign of white supremacy violence, armed, ready, and waiting.

Who are we to Judge?

L* and I have this running joke about the CNN anchors, Aaron Brown and Anderson Cooper...

Now mind you, I have a rule in the house: no celebrity gossip.

And L* , as you know, is a major CNN-slut

Anyway, L* says, on the blogs, they're all talking about Andersen and Aaron as Fire and Ice. And then we said, the next thing you know there's going to be all this Anderson/Aaron slash fiction.

(That's Andersen/Aaron porn fiction: where fans write about the torrid sex that goes on behind the scenes)

Oh, maybe that's why the show has them both standing at a table, with no place to sit down, like some weird kind of busy Starbuck's...

Okay, so anyway, (back to no celebrity gossip) CNN white girl was reporting about Tom Cruise and the girlfriend who is not Penelope Cruz, and how she's pregnant and so they are announcing their engagement. And Anderson says "I must have missed something," i.e. how can they be so shameless announcing the pregnancy and they're not even married yet, and white girl says back "Who are we to judge" and Aaron says "who, indeed"

and in my fantasy, Andersen stands up (well, he's already standing up), and says "WE ARE FAGGOTS, that's who we are, and that's what we do: WE JUDGE!"

At the Office

i found out the little campus snackstore carries crystal geyser bubbly water, so i am enjoying a refreshing beverage while i print out the Report of the University Writing Task Force (which we'll be discussing at my second meeting of the day.)

i'm using my antibacterial wet ones (individually wrapped, from our OH-CA road trip) to wipe off the germs of public transportation (and a quick swipe of the keyboard while I'm at it)

L* is very concerned about the avian flu. It’s not a consuming interest for me, but i do appreciate the need for good hygiene. in fact, one of the cool things about using online course management systems is that students can turn in their assignments and i can grade them without catching a cold.

i spent the BART and shuttle ride over reading the final installment of Gardens in the Dunes. I’m winding down now. The last three chapters are really my favorite part of the book, and this time I’m understanding it a little better. At first I thought Delena was buying guns for the Mexican revolution (which doesn’t work out time wise) but now I know it’s for the Yaqui uprising.

as a result of that onroad reading, though, i’m feeling a bit queasy, so i ‘specially appreciate my bubbly water.

my office earthquake kit now consists of 11 bandaids, four tampons, dental floss, two doses of anacin, some dried fruit, and one teabag. seems pretty meager, now that i spell it all out. at least the anacin and the teabag have caffeine.

Introducing…La Coral

L* and I went to the City on Saturday to see una extravaganza

Since we’d seen “Mastering Sex and Tortillas” (featuring Profesora Mama Chocha) in LA, years back, we were most interested in the new parts of the show: the introduction by Coral Lopez and the second act, featuring Papi Duro and the Latina Sex Bomb.

La Coral opened the show with a fierce stand-up act on queerness, naming, etc. She rocked the house from her warning announcement of “no flash photography.” In the opening she was total chicanita, like the students with their little pigtails and attitude. In the second act she was the Latina Sex Bomb and stole the show.

On the way home we talked a lot about the show. The difference between standup and performance. Por ejemplo, Marga Gomez is known for standup, but I saw her play her father in “A Line Around the Block,” and she was fabulous. Truly performance art. Highs and lows, and more moods than just laughter. The folks who went for her standup dismissed it saying “she wasn’t that funny.”

Luis Alfaro. Goes without saying. That man can pack some serious emotion. I wish I’d gotten the chance to see his ELECTRICIDAD…

grants, minigrants, and other deadlines

Trying to work on the application for the grants that are due tomorrow. 
I'm having some trouble framing it and wish I’d asked for advice sooner.

What I need to get done (as soon as possible) is the critical reader.  This is an anthology of previously published fiction by both well-known authors and those work circulated only in a very limited way.

What it will take to accomplish this: $$ for reprint rights and author's fees, a research assistant, and limited time.  Of these the money for the reprint rights and for student employees is the most important, so perhaps that means I should be applying for the Minigrant.

Bueno, I’ll save “time off” for another year :)

The main part i need to work on is the budget, so I need to imagine how many hours of work I’ll need from a TA, as well as how much money to devote to royalties, reprint rights, etc.

L* has been so sweet as to offer to read a draft if I can get it together. (She recommended I include the full book proposal)

Mxi is sullenly cleaning petromalt off of her face. I don’t know why she should be grouchy: I’m the one who had to clean up cat-butt-scooties off of my rug

Now I am being paid back for giving my grad students such tough comments last week. Now I’m the one who has to explain the methodology, justify my research plan, explain, expand, and develop.

And the fog rolls in…

Holy Mother of God, I feel like I’m in a horror flick!

All of a sudden this opaque fog starts rolling through campus like the riot police! It’s whiting everything out. I know there’s a building just across the way.

What’s taking over the campus? Is it dangerous?

Will I be able to resist for the final 15 minutes until payday, or will i succumb to the evil fog?

BART people 3

She was wearing a t-shirt that said,

        Yes, We’re the Blind leading the Blind

and she had a seeing eye dog

Listening to the body

That vertical feeling

This morning there's an odd feeling in my back. To the left of my spine, I'm very aware of muscles running up and down. I know this feeling has been there other mornings in the past weeks.

I'll take a naproxen and forget about it for the rest of the day. but tomorrow morning I'll think about it again.

It's the computer. and the bag with one strap.

I should be getting my new computer "any day now" so I won't have to keep toting the same one back and forth. I'll be able to carry a 2 ounce flashdrive instead of a 5 pound computer. Mind you, I'll still have the books, the papers, and all that other stuff.

L* has already identified the answer, with regards to her own situation.

We need backpacks (on both shoulders) to balance the weight for all that schlepping.

(Ideally, I'll end up with a monitor somewhere, so I can have large print and not stoop to look at the screen)

It's too bad, because i've been lusting after these beautiful designer laptop bags that look like purses, and clearly if I get one it won't help the situation.

Right now it's a vertical feeling. Unchecked, it will be pain.

Life ain't nothing but a habit

This has been my mantra for the last couple of months. Came to me when I was out walking and thinking. (Which is not to say I didn't hear it somewhere else--I could have and then it only made sense out on this walk)

Life ain't nothing but a habit

For me, I'm trying to build the habit of walking, the habit of exercise. because that's the only way it works for me, and I'm most successful at building the habit if it makes sense to me. So, walking up to Dimond to return my library books makes sense. Walking to BART makes sense. driving to the gym or driving to Lake Merritt to walk around the lake--not so much.

What I do in the morning is a habit, and usually that's email my friends and family. And I'm moving that to journal writing--not, I hope, a the expense of corresponding with friends and family--just moving it around some, so that instead of feeling like I "goofed off" in the morning, I feel like I'm building my writing habit.

Flossing is a habit, and there's a whole economy based on the idea that flossing is "too hard" "too inconvenient." Taking notes is a habit, and so is leaving things to the last minute. I think a lot of times for me, "habit" has meant "bad habit". But now I realize that Life aint' nothing but a habit.

Writing creatively and software environments

About a month back I got a "getting to know you" email from a couple of friends (to which i failed to respond for several weeks) and one of the questions was

Do You Keep a Journal?

At the time, my answer was NO, but I also realized that I do a lot of personal writing in email to friends. So I've been extracting some of that out into a journal of sorts and this blog.

I had been thinking for a while that I need to write every day, to develop the HABIT of writing.

So lately I've been using MacJournal, which is a great way to journal and then if you want to post it to your blog, it's a snap. I had tried a couple of other programs...

Current, I think is powerful but clunky--you have to learn all the new terms and conventions. Which for me meant sometimes I lost stuff and other times I had to save it in more than one place, which was inconvenient enough to make it NOT a habit. Something about the blog posting was also weird: i think maybe it was like queuing mail rather than sending it--and the time lag would make me crazy enough that I would keep trying and then end up with double-posts. I might still use Current for comments on student work, but it's not really clicking for me creatively.

What I was looking for was software to help get me writing and thinking. I mean, obviously, I could just use Word, but I wasn't doing that, was I? So then I was thinking, maybe Word is too associated with work for me, and I needed to create a different space for personal/fun/creative writing.

(I did write my play in Word, but I was in a dramatically different physical space. I would immediately print it out, then take the print out and read it aloud and make edits on the sheets, and then go back to the computer. A very different rhythm of writing than my writing for work.)

Tinderbox is very fun and cool for a different kind of thinking: more like an Idea Roundup (rodeo style). I've used it for plotting out future research (book projects, article ideas) but I still don't think I'm really using it to its potential.

MacJournal is totally Mac--like using Mail or iTunes. And since, as I said, most of my thoughtful writing has been going into email, it's been kind of an obvious solution. And it posts to Blogger with the click of a button. (Now, if I could just hack the Taco tool, so it would give me inspiration from relevant sources--not Homer Simpson and Shakespeare--then I would be in heaven)

Moodle is the new teaching software I'm learning. I've used WebCT and D2L and learned just a teeny bit of Blackboard. SFSU is switching over from Blackboard to Moodle--

(which they insist on using under their own brand-name, iLearn, for no real rational reason. Just typical university-corporate branding, like when OSU branded their D2L system as "Carmen.")

--Moodle is not at all like Mac software, but it does have great pedagogy driving it, so it does create lots of possibilities. For some reason, I'm hesitant to use the forums to their full potential--I think because in my mind, I'm still equating them with 1990s listservs.

Okay that's more than enough on that subject! Let me get back to Gardens in the Dunes, because I'm on the first Sister Salt and Big Candy chapter, and those are my favorites :)

protest and props

We went to the anti-war rally on Saturday.
There were lots and lots of older people (with their canes, walking poles, leg braces)
and some really vibrant youth. I think we need to listen more to the latter:

MOVE, Bush
Get out the way!
Get out the way, Bush!
Get out the way!

Women in Black was f*cking fierce!
They had a couple of silent installations
around the route and at the end:
puppet theatre: black robes and enormous masks weeping.
it was pretty powerful

really hard to find images of Women in Black--here are some archives
which show the power and beauty of the masks & puppets:

http://www.metrotimes.com/editorial/story.asp?id=4411

this page of pics has one with Women in Black
http://indybay.org/news/2005/09/1770272.php

students, honesty, poetry

have i mentioned how fierce my students are?

i was just reading the latest on the class blog, and the courage and honesty particular students bring to this space truly awes me. someone will sit almost silent in class and i'll think there's a wall, and then they'll write it out in this different space and i'm just taken aback.

I'm also reading June Jordan's Poetry for the People, which makes me wanna jump up and start a workshop next semester.

L* said something to me the other day. She had earlier shared Aurora Levins Morales's fierce poems "Statistics" and "Resurrection." And I said "I wish I could write good poems."

[Obviously I was pms-ing and this was a shameless ploy for attention]

and L* said that I do write good poems, but that sometimes I stop when I get them down. and ALM clearly makes her poems her full-time job.

And that's what I need, or as June Jordan says (on p 63)

        Once the poem is out,
        you have to worry the lines

Sometimes i just wanted to be patted on the head and told what a good girl i am which is fine for a moment (and sometimes a blog), but not for a poem.

el fin

Way too much going on right now.

L* said "I feel like it's the end, but rather than being excited about it, I see how much people are going to suffer"

DC is going to be "playing" martial law this weekend, which just happens to be the weekend of the big anti-war rally. Bush is in Colorado Springs: the belly of the beast

Machafemme is back, which is cool.

Aurora Levins Morales wrote a great Hurricane poem: she read her work on KPFA. "Statistics" If you'd like to teach her poem, contact her regarding an appropriate donation.

Digital housecleaning

In case it looks like I have two different personas, and you fear I'm cracking up, it's just that I'm trying to separate my university stuff from my personal stuff. So that if my students end up at this blog, it's because they're determined to do so, and not because they took a wrong turn at the class blog.

Random Blogger Question

the following is the random question that came up for blogger on my profile, but my answer was too long for the profile

Random Question: The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig:

Fortunately, the bald frog lived in Oakland. He was able to hippity hop up Fruitvale avenue to the Dimond district, where there are no fewer than four shops where they sell wigs, hair for weaving, and many other necessary products. The bald frog was very excited because he would be able to find a wig that made him look glamorous. At first, he tried the blonde wigs, so he could look like Tina Turner in the early days. But after spending all day trying on wigs, he decided instead to buy a ladies' African print head wrap, and he held his head regally as he hopped on.

Teaching with your mouth shut

(Teaching with your mouth shut is a book by Donald L. Finkel)

Thinking back over your whole life, what were the two or three most significant learning experiences you ever had? That is, list the moments (or events) in which you discovered something of lasting significance in your life.

Okay well the first part of this is easy: the one I talk about the most is Lorna Dee Cervantes' poetry reading at CU Boulder. In her poems she spoke a language that was familiar to me but devalued in the academy. I mean, obviously it was valued in a way, because here she was in the academy, but in my whole education--eighteen years at that point--I had never heard that language before in a classroom.

It's important for me to say that at that point I was not a high-identity Chicana :) I called myself Mexican, I was monolingual English, I liked reading Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer. I liked being the heroine in the book I was reading.


I was always confused about which generation I belong to--my mother was born in the LA, my grandmother and great grandmother immigrated in 1920 when the latter was about twenty and the former about seven, my great great grandmother immigrated when she was about 36 in 1912--and that's the *easy* side :)

Okay, that takes me to another big learning moment, which was when I was TA-ing for Bettina Aptheker and she had the students stand up and recite a maternal genealogy: I am Catriona, daughter of Eleanor, granddaughter of Guadalupe, great-granddaughter of Catalina, great-great granddaughter of Bernadette; I am Catriona, granddaughter of Libradita, great-granddaughter of Juanita. Now a big part of what I learned was in my verbalizing this, but another big part was hearing all the students doing this: It was like a big prayer, It started out strong (I Am) but with each successive generation, the voices were fewer. It was a lesson in what we didn't know and why. It was a feeling of both pride and failure. Each of us was proud of her heritage. Each of us was ashamed at how incomplete our knowledge of that heritage was, and how she had not noticed its absence.

Okay, final one. I learned that I was competitive, and ashamed of losing. This I learned through racewalking. I don't like to exercise. I don't like to sweat. but put me in a race with people walking fast and I'll sweat and push to get towards the front, to identify one person up ahead who i want to catch. in races that were primarily runners, where there would be 50 runners and 3 or 4 walkers, by definition I was going to be the back-of-the-pack. except there was no pack. I was all alone, and I felt a big degree of shame about walking--racing--by myself. but there was that heavy set man walking heel-toe, and if I could just pass him, then it would be a big deal.

1. Did it take place in a classroom?
2. Did it take place in a school?
3. Was a professional teacher involved in making the learning experience happen?
4. Was someone like a teacher (coach, director) involved in making the experience happen?
5. What did she do to help you learn?
6. What was instrumental in bringing about the learning?

My answers are a bit different than what Donald Finkel was leading toward, just because I have spent a truly amazing number of days in the classroom. :) But still, in none of those three learning situations was I the student in a class. The poetry reading I just went to, because I liked poetry, even though I wasn't sure exactly what that meant. I didn't learn content from Lorna Dee--it was experiential--I was weeping in that room.

a haiku on bad pms day

only 7 steps
between bed and coffee pot
still, i hit a wall

my digital body - a girltalk poem

if i digitized my body i could
open it in my best software
move individual hair follicles
from where i don't want them
to where i do

i could sculpt
a rita hayworth hairline

a butch king,
i could move the curls on my ass
to my chin and boast a bushy beard

i could move the stiff black ones
from my chin
and make my brows even more dramatic

or, finally
sweep up all the follicles--
fierce and healthy
dark and thick
from my arms, legs, belly, chin
temples, feet, nape and back
--concentrate them, shape them
wear a hair bikini year-round

happy to be here

my grad students ROCK
one of them (one of the bi-girls at NACCS)
told me about a queer latina film: pura lengua

L* is preparing for classes, which start on friday.

I know i'm pms-ing cuz i got snippy with my undergrads
yesterday when they said one aspect of a film was dumb
"if you're not being entertained, maybe you're not getting it"
don't think i said that right. what i meant was, not everything
is designed as entertainment, so instead of saying 'that's dumb,'
maybe you should work a little harder to understand what's going on."

they're good eggs, overall.
but i need to work on the snippy.
snippy is not a good note to end on

Re: People on BART
Machafemme says it's okay to stare, as long as you say "Hi!"

I had a shuttle dream last night, where someone was calling someone else to say *I* was talking shit!

yesterday was butt-cold, prob'ly 60 or 58 degrees :)
I was dying. wish i had a blanket in my office.
or a shawl or a family quilt.
silly silliness.

BART people 2

I was on the wrong train. I take the Daly City train to work, but I was on an SFO train. I'm not sure
if it goes to Daly City, because they always tell you to transfer at Balboa park.

So I did.

As the train rushed off without me, the wind it created stirred up my crocheting and also the hair of a lady next to me. Something about the way she grabbed her hair caught my attention. Her hair was shiny like a dolls hair.

And she's prob'ly six feet tall.

Yes, I'm pretty sure she's M2F, and I smile with happiness, looking her way.

I just keep smiling.

Then I start to worry my attention will get her the wrong kind of attention, and so start trying to not look at her.

what a weirdo i am.'

Tarantula dream

mxi was a kitten again.

On the way home, we saw a grey and white kitten spread out in the road: it might have been hit by a car, or it might have been sleeping. (there was no blood or anything)

We were parking our car in the garage so we could run out and check if the kitten it was mxi.

But when we opened the car door, we realized that mxi was inside the car with us.
and she was fine.

Then L* came home from the pet store with this little bamboo cage that looked like a little handbag.

Inside was a furry tarantula.

L* had bought the tarantula to amuse mxi.

Of course mxi was going crazy trying to get to the tarantula.
but then the bamboo sticks sagged like they were just strips of suede
and had gave no support.

mxi got the tarantula, and then i had to rescue it from her
and put her out of the way, and then the tarantula was hiding behind a fold of carpet.

opera and ...

I was reading (and teaching) David Henry Hwang's M. Butterfly this week
and so listened to Maria Callas singing Puccini's Madama Butterfly.

First of all, the play is FABULOUS, and I was totally seeing BD Wong and
John Lithgow playing it in my mind's eye. And Hwang started out wanting to
write an opera, but went with a play so he wouldn't have to collaborate

THEN i watched the movie. fuchi!
turned it into a trans-tragedy. John Lone was cute but no BD Wong
Jermy irons was way too butch for how the role was written

PLUS they still never showed Song's pensi.

We talked a lot about penises today.

None of the the little queerlings had ever even heard of Robert Mapplethorpe,
(I asked them to raise their hands if they had but nobody did)
which made discussion of Kobena Mercer's article Reading Racial Fetishism
a little slow.

When we got to Richard Fung's Looking for my Penis
I tried a different tack and asked how many people
have seen gay porn.
Everybody in the class raises their hands.
"FINALLY!" I declare

Casualties from Katrina

Casualties from Katrina
should be added to the US bodycount
in Iraq.

The people and equipment
to evacuate the poor before the storm
are in Iraq.

The people and equipment
to rescue the trapped, the dying
are in Iraq.

FEMA's budget is in Iraq.

(truly, though, it's in the pockets
of the companies that sell at inflated
prices to our government and who will
gain sweetheart deals
to rebuild Orleans)

Some people don't want to leave New Orleans,
they know that such rebuilding
obliterates every trace of the Real,
in its place, a Vegas-style Belaggio

How is this "protecting the family"
These pieces of papers posted
with names of missing daughters, mothers, siblings

How is this "homeland security"
when home is underwater

Why are shoe-shopping and golf
the preferred activities
of our celebrity president
and secretary of state?

Bring on Fidel's hundred doctors

What terms will be coined to describe the deaths
that came not from the storm itself
but from the abandonment
the neglect
the poverty?
Collateral damage?

How many nursing homes of the poor dead
will be uncovered
memorials
of injustice
inequality
race and class in america