Scheduled

We’ve had a candle burning (with a butterfly sticker) today, with prayers that K**ru, Dr H’s scheduler, would be able to get L* on Dr H’s surgery schedule within the next two weeks.

This has come to pass and with a vengeance. L* is scheduled for surgery on Friday morning (yes, less than 48 hours from now).

Thank you to cracked chancla, xolo, bfp, nubian, oso raro, fab, sonrisa, la brown girl, and bint alshama for your many good vibes, prayers, candles, etc.

The courage is all on L*’s part for posting about all this. I would’ve just quietly faded away, because the story was hers and it seemed too much to share. She asked me to post it, and I’m just so grateful for all the love.

I’m making holy candles to Santa Agatha, St Mary of Egypt, Jeanne D’Arc la travestí, Coyolxauhqui, and of course La Virgen de Guadalupe. If you have your own holy helpers, please put in a good word for L*.

L*’s parents are driving up from the Foggy Place to stay in a hotel near Major University Medical Center so they can be on hand Friday a.m.

L* will be staying the night at MUMC, and I’m hoping they’ll let me stay with her.

Right now I feel like running around como una gallina degollada, but I have to finish grading exams so I can turn them in before we kick into high gear.

A long entry

On Thursday, May 11, L* went in for a mammogram and ultrasound.

They took her in pretty quickly--which had been my experience too when I’d gone for my own mammogram, except I’d come after dark--which was very weird and felt like some kind of black market mammogram cash under the table kind of thing. But here in the daylight it was full of people.

While I sat there the people who had been waiting for their partners, friends, wives, met the ladies on the way out. More people came in. I steady stream of young women of color who had to be directed further down the hall (i think where they did pre-natal ultrasound). An older lady (looked like a lesbian) brought in her older lady, whom she had to help a lot. When they came back out and left, I realized that everyone who had come in before and most who had come in since they’d taken L* away had already left.

She’d been gone a while. I kept on praying, crocheting, and trying not to think. Then at last she walked in with an attendant. My head was saying “at last! I was starting to worry” but before that came out of my mouth i saw her face and caught my breath. She looked very serious, and while the attendant was checking to see that the person she needed to schedule with was already helping someone else, L* flashed me the piece of paper she was holding, that said core biopsy.

She scheduled the biopsy for Tuesday morning, May 16th.

She said that the mammogram, as usual had shown nothing, but that the ultrasound showed something, and that the tech called in a doctor to talk to her, and he was very, very serious.

We wandered a bit the rest of the day. Shopping at Ikea, going to the bookstore to get the new edition of the Susan Love book. Went to LIttle Shin Shin for a nice dinner.

When we went to bed we were able to talk more. She’s scared because she doesn’t know what else it could be besides “the worst.” I’m trying not to think ahead: there’s nothing we can do until we know more (two days after the biopsy).

After L* fell asleep, I got up again and got up to read about the different kinds of lumps a lump can be. It wasn’t especially encouraging. If it were a fibroadenoma that would be okay (benign).

On May 16, we went in for the ultrasound.

Unlike the mammogram, when I was out in the waiting area, they let me come back with L* during the procedure. The radiologist was warm, friendly, and positive. He inserted a needle about the size of the refill for a ball point pen to take the samples. he said he was taking five, but neither of us kept count. The procedure was ultrasound guided, so there was a woman moving the ultrasound wand over while the guy did the procedure. I could see the screen for the ultrasound, but as usual didn’t know what I was seeing. I didn’t know where to look, so as far as I could tell, we could have been looking for oil under the earth’s surface or at a fetus. (this is me distancing)

They emphasize that it will take at least two days to get the results. What she can take for the pain.

On May 17 L* receives a phone call from her ob/gyn, saying the biopsy showed malignancy.

I should mention that L* has never seen her ob/gyn. She’d set up an appointment months ago for her annual exam and so she could get a referral for a mammogram and ultrasound. Then days before the appointment, the dr.s office called to cancel. They rescheduled for several weeks later. Again, the day before the appointment, they called to cancel and reschedule. L* had had enough and demanded that she at least be able to see a nurse practitioner, since she’d already waited so long. She liked the RNP who was very helpful, gave the referral so that L* could get the tests she needed done.

So now, this dr, whom L* has never met or talked to is calling her to tell her she has cancer.
The dr. will refer her to a breast surgeon, whom she names.

L* is in her office, preparing for her afternoon class.

She calls to tell me, and I am silent at the other end of the phone. We don’t know what to do. Finally, we agree that I’ll BART over to Hayward to be with L*. I try to distance by focusing on “what I can do”: should I get more books before I come? L* tells me she doesn’t need a Research Assistant: she needs a partner.

While I’m on public transportation, L* contacts one of her colleagues who’s a breast cancer survivor. The colleague had been treated by the breast surgeon that L*’s ob/gyn had named, and had a good experience with her.

When I get to L*’s office, she’s having office hours and students are coming by to meet with her.

The ob/gyn calls back to say that the breast surgeon isn’t in L*’s HMO, and so refers her to someone else.

This is our first inkling of the whole insurance/HMO/medical group thing.

I spend part of the time looking up specialists in our HMO as well as the medical group in which “the good breast surgeon” is. I call our insurance and change my primary care physician to a doctor in “the good breast surgeon’s” medical group, to see how difficult it is and when it would take effect (June 1).

It’s just before 6 when I leave her. She can’t face eating. L* goes on to teach her evening class. I drive home and straighten up the house--we have a houseguest coming tonight--and get some bread, avocado, and cheese for L*’s late supper. Then I pick L* up from campus. Our houseguest arrives, we spend some time talking. When I’m in the bath, L* tells her about the diagnosis.

On May 18, in the morning, we have an appointment with a different surgeon, one who is in L’s medical group.
An otherwise likeable white guy, he actually said to her "you're a testament to self examination" because she was able to identify
the tumor and get it checked out.  L*'s response is, "no, I'm a testament to why self-examination doesn't work" [pendejo!]
She's been having mammograms roughly every other year since she was thirty.

She's really articulate about what she wants in her treatment: she wants a double mastectomy. She gave that surgeon a run for his money when she told him that: "lots of lesbians are transitioning to men" she told him and you could just see the wheels spinning in his head as he tried to catch up.

I actually tried to talk her into another way of saying it and she was just NO WAY, let them educate themself, I’m not going to fulfill someone else’s fantasy of what I should want...

I so adore her!

I'm praying a lot. Not like I usually pray, with lots of candle, ritual, rosaries, altar. Just quietly.

She's strong and brave during the day.  Sometimes she starts trembling.  At night I hold her. Sometimes she's cold, sometimes she weeps.

After the appointment, L* calls her parents to tell them the results of the biopsy.

I call my family later, in the evening. I talk to my mom and my sister, who are both stunned. My sister tells me I will have to be strong for L*.

Friday, May 19th is spent mostly on the telephone, trying to get an appointment at Major University Medical Center (MUMC), trying to get an appointment with “the good breast surgeon,” scheduling an appointment with an oncologist (Monday May 22). Trying to find out till when L* can change her primary care physician to a different medical group.

The weekend is very long. L* distracts herself with a project. Last week she had found a old nightstand for free on the side of the road. Now she sands it, primes it, paints it, and distresses it. She paints the body teal with the drawer and the open area a sort of granny smith green. Our houseguest contacts other friends she can stay with ‘cause she knows L* and I need some time and quiet.

May 22

I honestly don't know how to feel about anything right now. Maybe that means I've switched my emotions off and am focusing on what needs to be done, on how to care for L* (how to show her love and nurturing), on scheduling and getting more information.

I think I'm afraid to feel.  She asked me the night of the biopsy (before we had results) what I feel and I feel like there's a big hole that I could just fall down and disappear... but that really, there's too much for me to do, either to think about that or to fall down.

Several of our friends have told L* how pissed off they are, how angry.  

The appointment with the oncologist is both helpful and baffling. She’s very sympathetic. Once again she advises lumpectomy and L* explains that would not be her preference. It’s a painful conversation. We’re starting to get a sense that the trend in medical treatment is away from mastectomy and toward lumpectomy, preserving the breast which is so essential to woman’s identity. So L* is going against the current. In fact we realize that the whole reason for this appointment is that the first surgeon is nervous with L*’s stated choice and wants to make sure that a woman doctor thinks she’s making a rational choice.

L* talks to her dad, who’s a prostate cancer survivor and patient advocate. He’s been seeing a specialist at Major University Medical Center, where he’s been part of one clinical trial and is starting another. She tells him how she’s tried to schedule at MUMC but been so far unsuccessful.

When we return from the oncologist appointment, L gets a phone call from the office of breast surgeon #2 (who was formerly in practice with “the good breast surgeon” but who IS in L*’s current HMO) asking why she missed her appointment. Apparently the ob/gyn’s office had scheduled L* with a consultation with breast surgeon #2, but no one had informed L*. Because we really want to see this other surgeon, L* reschedules an appointment for Wednesday.

This is the first time we’ve actually seen the breast center that our HMO is affiliated with. It’s a bit overwhelming, seeing all the women who are in the chemo and radiation stage.

On her voice mail is an message from Major University Medical Center, saying they could schedule her for an appointment today (the same time as the oncologist appointment) or on June 6th, which seems a long time away. L* continues playing phone tag with Major University Medical Center (MUMC).

Is it Tuesday already? L*’s dad calls her up and tells her to call C* at MUMC, whom he’s just had a long conversation with. L* has been playing phone tag with this woman C* who schedules new patients. C* calls her back and, lo and behold, L* has an appointment with a breast surgeon there on Friday. Way to go L*’s dad!

L* goes the Women’s Cancer Resource Center here in Oakland/Berkeley (almost literally across the street from the imaging center where L* had her mammography) They’re very helpful and sympathetic, L* talks with a Latina there. Their actual resources seem somewhat slim.

L* also goes to the imaging center to pick up the slides for her biopsy, to take to MUMC.

May 24, Wednesday, is the appointment with surgeon #2 (who’s a surgical oncologist). She examines L* and uses the ultrasound that she has there in the examination room. Shows L* that the lump is surrounded by cysts. Comments that a cyst in the other breast is so large it’s like a lake. She starts the same lumpectomy spiel that we’re beginning to know very well, and L* tells her own plan for surgery without reconstruction.

Thursday, May 25th, we drive to Major University Medical Center to take the slides to the breast center before our appointment on Friday. Our yahoo directions are kind of on crack, but we do find it. L* meets C* the Latina she’s been speaking with on the phone, who is just so warm and generous. She helps us find a primary care physician in case L* decides to change her insurance over so that she can get treatment at MUMC. The breast center itself has a really nice atmosphere.

We cross the street to the women’s health center and L* explains she’s interested in changing her primary care physician and asks which doctors are accepting new patients. The guy there is muy bien helpful, and names several of their physicians who are all accepting new patients. He explains that downstairs there are brochures that give bios on all the patients. We take business cards and return home to look them up on the internet. I change my primary care physician again, to see how easy it is. I’m able to do this online right away.

Friday is our appointment with Dr.H, the breast surgeon at the Major University Medical Center breast center.
We have to wait a REALLY LONG TIME to get in, and I am actually quite beside myself. Dr. H is great, though. Woman of Color. Examines L*. Identifies the lump on the right side. Like the other surgeon, she’s really amazed at all the “other stuff” going on the on the left side. L* says surgeon #2 described a cyst on that side as “like a lake.” “Like the Great Lakes” Dr H responds, describing all the cysts going on there. Begins the lumpectomy spiel again, and L interrupts her. Dr H says “I think I know where this is going.” Turns out she has several patients who have chosen mastectomies with no reconstruction, as well as those who have reconstruction with a more “android” look.

Dr. H has published a lot on breast cancer. We come home decided that MUMC is where L* wants treatment.
On the drive home, L spots an end table on the curbside. “Do you think it’s free?” We drive around the block, I park, and L* goes to get the table. She comes back with her arms full and a big grin. “Check it out!” the table is a Heywood-Wakefield and goes perfectly with our dining room table. This we take as a positive sign.

L* changes her primary care physician on Friday afternoon, so that she can go to Major University Medical Center.
That brings us to the long weekend to today. L* is working hard to try to get on Dr.H’s surgery schedule within the next two and a half weeks. Right now L* is calling to get her mammograms from 2 years ago when she was in DC.

A chilly day back in the bay

Yesterday L* and I were drinking coffee on the deck, in the sunshine at 9 am, and I realized that a year ago I was fantasizing that we would have such a life!

Sunshine this last week has been quite dazzling.
I got sunburned twice . I’m absurdly pleased about this because I’m once again in the land where el sol has some Power!
(The only time I got sunburned in Ohio, It was in an electronic booth and I paid for the privilege!)

Today, though, it was cold and grey. Brrrr!

I’m off to the little Mexican Market on the the corner (Mi Ranchito which was--you guessed it!--closed on May 1).

My entire department is coming over to my house tomorrow and I want to have platters of fresh fruits and veggies a la mexicana to munch on (jicama, mango, papaya, pepino, et cetera with limon and pico de gallo)

I hope the sun comes back out so we can have our meetings on the deck.

May 1: A Day Without an Immigrant

Today's my dad's birthday, so I phone him at 9am and sing Las Mañanitas to him. I tell him we're going to the demonstration and he says for L* and I to leave a little space next to us and pretend he's right there with us.

Fruitvale, (10:00 am) no parking anywhere near the BART. We see all the Latinos in white and wonder if they're going to San Francisco or demonstrating here in Oakland. (Oakland: they marched up International)

Embarcadero!

(11:00 am)
incredible!

there are thousands and thousands and thousands of people here.


The Oakland Tribune has a pretty nice slideshow. (turn on the captions)

CNN coverage was so disappointing. (Hateful). Yeah, let's have the MinuteMen founder give us hist take on this. No Maria Hinojosa, no doubt because she was out there doing it.

Exception: from Nancy Grace, of all people!

How Lou Dobbs can say no to this little girl, I don`t know.

Reading: Luna's California Poppies

I just finished reading Luna’s California Poppies by Alma Luz Villanueva. I first got this book about a year or two ago. Had in on the shelf of “to be read” books. I had just started it and was about twenty pages along. L* reached a point where she was hungry for novels. Since she’d already finished everything by Graciela Limón, I offered her Luna. (This was before our return to Califas). L* loved it. Went on to tell me how great it was, and I then started resisting reading it. (like a pendeja. I do that some times, just resist reading books.) This one is complicated by the fact that I’ve read Alma Luz Villanueva’s La LLorona and Other Stories, which features some of the same characters. So, critically, I’ve worked through a particular reading of the characters, and I knew that this book might/would challenge that reading.

L* taught this book in her Ethnic Writers class last fall, and all the students really connected with it.

Anyway, I’ve finally been reading it in the tub these last couple of weeks and can’t praise it ENOUGH! First, If you’re at all interested in Chicana feminist constructions of the Divine, then this is the book for you! It’s structured as a diary, from young Luna, growing up on the poor side of San Francisco (1956-57), written to La Virgen de Guadalupe. The first entry:

Dear La Virgen,

Can you keep a secret or two like everything I write to you cause there’s no one else to write to or talk to but you. About how I feel I mean. How i really feel and all the weird stuff that happens in my life. Like don’t tell God or any thing cause its none of his bees wax, OK? I figure if I don’t pray to him he’ll kinda leave me alone and not punish me for the stupid things I have to do some times like steal stuff to eat like the phoney ham with El Diablo on it...

The epigraph to the book is from Gayl Jones’s Mosquito--in fact, now I think of it, it may be have been this epigraph that led me to Mosquito to begin with. Unless it was when I was researching the song “Delgadina.”

Epigraph:

Mexicans, they’s supposed to be the cosmic race...And then I started thinking it must be nice to be a people that looks at each other and sees they own gods and ain’t have to look at other people’s gods.

Next this is a great book about writing, because Luna’s writing this journal just for herself and La Virgen, right? ‘cause she has no one else to talk to. But then, as she shares it with someone, she’s given the assignment to learn four vocabulary words each week, and then at the end of the week she writes them into a poem. And she’s got that magical childhood voice--in spite of the crap she’s been through--and I just found it really inspiring and it made me want to keep a journal and write poems.

Finally, it’s a fierce novel about resistance, because Luna finds a way, you know? Like rather than just feeling alienated from God The Father who Smites his enemies, she develops an image of La Virgen which is akin to her dead grandmother, Mamacita. Rather than accepting the stupid things a racist white teacher says to her, (“It’s against the law to pick California poppies because they’re the state flower”) she resists by eating the flowers so she can bring all their sunshine inside of herself.

I think this is a young adult novel, not because it’s written for young adults, but because it helps us reconnect to the young adult we once were.

Irene Monroe on immigration

Irene Monroe is this Black lesbian theologian. Totally fierce. Trained with Peter Gomes (pronounced in one syllable like Gnomes, not in two like Gomez), an African American theologian, also gay, in that high-style ivy-league great books kind of way. Him, that is, not her. She's radical call-it-out fierce, and don't think you can hide any homophobic nonsense behind your gilded bible!

("Gilded bible" is going to end up in a poem. Came to me on my walk this morning when I smiled and nodded at a happy family walking in the opposite direction all dressed up like Sunday-best, and the Father asked if he could speak to me a moment, and I eyed the gilded bible in his hand and realized they're prob'ly missionaries, and so explained que "tengo prisa" and went on my way, tempted to phone L* and tell her not to answer the door if anyone knocks 'cause there's missionaries coming your way!)

Every six or eight months or so, I google her and read all her articles online and get all jazzed. This is the one I found today:

Standing Up for Immigration

As the country now finds itself in a battle over immigration reform, one particular disenfranchised community—African-Americans—has displayed troubling feelings on the issue, ranging from a disquieting silence to unabashed xenophobia. And although the struggles of being black, immigrant, and LGBT are not mutually exclusive, many African-American organizations and individuals, however, have veered off the road on this issue.

For example, where the NAACP has been outspoken in their advocacy for immigrant rights, the National Urban League, the Congressional Black Caucus, and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, which aided in spearheading the civil rights movement of the 1960s, have not.

And while the Book of Leviticus is continuously misused by black ministers in their attacks on LGBT people, one passage illustrates how clerics should employ the text to guide them on the issue of immigration rights: “Don’t mistreat any foreigners who live in your land. Instead, treat them as well as you treat citizens and love them as much as you love yourself. Remember that you were once foreigners in a strange land.”


Read More...

Felons

You know that HR 4437 is a big topic right now. A proposed law which will make it a felony to be undocumented, to help someone who's undocumented.

Yesterday, at the school where I volunteer, a seven-year old told me that she heard about the Migra and getting sent back to Mexico, and she was worried and that also there are a couple of areas she wanted to warn me to stay away from.

This was the gist of what I understood in my pocha Spanish, and I called the team leader, who's fully bilingual over, to listen to what la niña was saying. The room grew silent as the team leader spoke softly in Spanish and all the other little girls's attention was riveted. You don't need to worry about this now, m'ija, she said. We'll talk to your mom when she comes for you. "Pero no tengo papeles," cried the seven year old. No, m'ija, it's ok. you don't to worry about this right now.

Just wanted to share with you a moment from a group of potential felons.

While I'm searching for the words...

While I'm searching for my own words to share with you, I wanted to mention a couple things. One is that I'm going through a transition in my life where I re-commit to who and what's important and try to find the faith to be comfortable within my own head, while having the courage to ask for help. (is that obfuscated enough?)

So last night I was flipping through an anthology culled from women's writing, putting together different images of spirituality. One piece included in the book is a short story by Helena Maria Viramontes called "The Moths." Now pretty much any Latina in academia (seems like) has a copy of Viramontes's The Moths and Other Stories and she has stories in there ("Cariboo Cafe" "Miss Clairol") that I read again and again. And yet it seems that I have never read "The Moths." I read it today and am truly grateful.

But because I need to end on a note of fierceness, I will share with you Becky Birtha's poem of fiercenss,


Mythology

You read us the words
you have written about
Demeter, Hecate, Diana.
When we no longer want to listen
you say--
But your people have myths of their own.
Why don't you find them out?
Why don't you write them down?
Why don't you bring them
for us to read?

Yes, we know that
our great-great-grandmothers
remembered many truths.
We also know
how those ancestors were
separated and sold
severed by the middle passage
disease, death
and design
so no two
women who spoke the same language
came to the same place.

To talk in the old tongues
was forbidden.
To learn to write
forbidden.
To sing the old stories
forbidden,
forbidden even
to speak secrets in
the sacred voice of the drum.

We live out our lives
in languages with no names
for the Goddesses
of our great-grandmothers,
no characters in which to inscribe
their wisdom,
no verbs that encompass
their power,
no constructions that can contain
their rage.

Yes, we will find them out.
As we uncover and claim those words
we may never choose to write them down.
We will not be bringing them
to you.

Securing our Writing

Pomegranate Queen has been doing some awesome stuff on her blog. First, she posted a fiction piece in progress and asked for feedback. Wow, talk about brave and inspiring!

I posted a comment but it got lost (this frequently happens to me with comments--which is why I often turn them into posts on my blog)

It went something like this:


Okay, I’m just loving the image of Securing our Writing. It reminds me of those signs on the bus with instructions on how to secure the frame of your (or someone else’s) wheelchair using the supplied belts. So we can all travel together and no one goes shooting off out of control.



PQ also has me thinking about online writing communities (not blogs). Where writerly folks post their stories (book chapters, etc) and the other writerly folks give feedback. I wish we WOC had our own--for posting critiquing, pushing each other to write more. I mean, if I spent as much time on my creative writing as I have blogging in the past year, I would have finished that novel I was thinking about!!!

An example of this is OWW, online writers workshop for science fiction/fantasy writing. Where I have not posted any creative writing because...why? I’m a chicken shit? I can tell the other writers are white folk who haven’t thought about a lot of things?

In the lit class I’m teaching we have Poetry Fridays, where we read poetry and also write our own poetry and share it. That’s been a pretty awesome experience for me and the students always say something that makes me think deep about what I’m doing.

Okay, so my pledge is that I too will post some NEW creative writing (not fifteen year-old stuff that I was already pretty confident about, like I did before) within the next seven days.

Y’all continue to inspire and push me.

This Space Left Blank...

4 out of 5 gay academics watch Top Chef...

Ok, this is not a scientific study, by any means.

But at lunch at the conference last weekend, we went out for sushi, and there we discovered that 4 out of 5 queer CSU faculty at the table are passionately interested in the Bravo show TOP CHEF. Clearly, we are part of their demographic.

The fifth member is a parent.

So, now, having just dragged my sorry behind home after another fun-filled day of meetings and classes, I need to go sit in the tub and hydrate so that I can have dinner and a glass of wine before the new Top Chef comes on at ten. At which point my baby will come home from her evening class.

Rep. Barbara Lee speaks for Me!

This is a very popular bumper sticker in the Bay Area.

As you may know, in September 2001, US Representative Barbara Lee was the only member of Congress to vote against giving the President the power to go to war.

First, our nation is in grieving, we're all mourning, we're angry; there are a range of emotions taking place. Myself personally, I am also grieving and I believe fully and firmly that the Congress of the United States is the only legislative body that can say, "Let's pause for a moment...and let's look at using some restraint before we rush to action." Because military action can lead to an escalation and spiral out of control. So, why I voted no, was one, the president already has the authority to execute a military action. He doesn't need Congress; under the War Powers Act he has that authority. But Congress is the people's house, and the Congress is responsible for providing checks and balances, and you cannot just allow the administration to run ahead with a strategy without reporting back and without having some oversight.

Barbara Lee opposed HR 4437 when it was in the House in December 2005:

Mr. Speaker, I rise today in strong opposition to this un-American attempt at so-called immigration reform.   At best, this legislation is unbalanced, harsh and unfair.

This bill criminalizes millions of hard-working people, simply for being undocumented.

It would turn local law enforcement into deputies of the Border Patrol, and innocent people will be needlessly scrutinized and jailed, and I can only imagine how this irresponsible provision will affect racial profiling of Latinos and other minorities.

This bill also ignores due process and would expand the government’s ability to keep non-citizens locked up behind bars if they cannot be deported to their native countries.  Jailed immigrants will lose their ability to appeal a deportation order.

Mr. Speaker, these are only a few reasons why this bill makes no sense for America.   

Let’s address the real issues of immigration reform that include a clear path to citizenship and common-sense protections for our borders.

We cannot and must not forget the undeniable history that we have as a nation of immigrants, and the contributions immigrants have had on our economy, our diversity, and our way of life.

This bill flies in the face of that history and should be rejected.

Why am I telling you this today? Well usually I’m kvetching about Dianne, whom I’m always writing letters telling her she’s wrong.

Today I got an email from Barbara Lee, updating me on the stands she’s taken. And it just made me happy. Gave me hope.

Anemic: your American Idol report

Now as you may know, I am a big Queen.

I mean, I'm big fan of Queen!

I love all things Freddie Mercury (queer Black British boy).
This morning my ears are ringing from podding Greatest Hits.

In fact, I couldn't wait to plug in this morning, because last night, on American Idol, it was Queen night. I've never seen such a pathetic collection of performances in my life. I would never have thought it. Even--or maybe especially--the allegedly rocking boys failed to please.

I would never have thought it possible that a trashy white boy like Bucky could do such a sorry job on "Fat Bottomed Girls (You Make the Rockin' World Go 'Round)". I think it must be the disjuncture between this bad boy song and the candy-ass image that is American Idol.

Thank god someone talked Catherine MacPhee out of performing Don't Stop Me Now! (I'm trying to imagine what could be more lame than a perky eighteen-year-old girl singing "I wanna make a supersonic man out of you."

(And what is it when you have little girls pretending to be hard rocking drag queens? It's not verisimilitude...what's the term I'm looking for?)

"Somebody to Love" was absolutely atrocious. I mean maybe if you were in a redneck bar after a couple of pitchers of beer it would have been bearable. Maybe.

Thank God for Paris. (the singer, not the city) I'm sure she was channeling Storm from the X-Men. The Show Must Go On, even if all the competition is dead. Even though she didn't get all the big favors from the guys in lighting that McPhee and Pickler got, she was stunning and hard rocking.

I've been fantasizing today about what song Mandisa shoulda coulda woulda done. Right now the top contenders are "I Want to Break Free" and "All Dead." I also think she could done some mean scatting to "Under Pressure."

And yes, I did see the blurb in the gay press about Mandisa's allegedly anti-gay beliefs, but I'm not buying it. I think it's just a racist ploy. Some kind of Clay Aiken backlash.

Most famous Latina mom

Sylvia Guerrero, the mother of slain transgender teen Gwen Araujo, will be played by Mercedes Ruehl in the Lifetime movie The Gwen Araujo Story

I am not sure how I expected to feel at this point. When my daughter Gwen, a transgender teenager, was brutally murdered on Oct. 4, 2002, I was sure that I would never feel whole again. Looking back, I didn't yet know exactly what "transgender" meant or how to fully embrace my child's identity. But I knew one thing: I wanted justice for my child.

More on Sylvia Guerrero here

OK, so for the past few days I've been drafting a letter to Lifetime (and a post to y'all) about how dare they cast a non-Latina in the role of the most fabulous Latina mother ever. Then, of course I start checking the info on Mercedes Reuhl and find that she is described as being "of Irish and Cuban extraction."

From Latinos Icognitos:

Merecedes Ruehl can trace her roots back through her Cuban grandfather who immigrated from Zalto, Spain. She also has German and Irish heritage.

...But that doesn't make him her Spanish grandfather? Now I'm confused...
(Maybe they're erasing her Cuban grandmother in this narrative?)

And what did you do...

I feel like historically we are in an amazing time. The Immigrants Rights rallies. And yet, here I am writing about television...

Wow

Nubian has the most amazing post on why HR 4437 is a queer issue

for many folks, seeking asylum is seen as a last resort since it has its consequences. gaining political asylum, does not automatically gaurantee that you will become a u.s. citizen; you are not allowed to travel back to your home country for five years, which means leaving behind relatives and friends for that extended period of time; and because there are little public services that help with the financial aspects of starting a new life here in amerikkka, political asylum is unimaginably hard to receieve--even moreso for people who seek it on the basis of their sexual identity.

in order to prohibit asylum seekers from refuge here in the u.s., our lovely government has propositioned to enact hr 4437 (The Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act of 2005) under the guise of fighting terrorism and protecting our country.

[...]

hr 4437 is not only anti-immigrant, it is anti-queer and criminalizes homosexuals from other oppressive societies abroad which persecute gays and lesbians.

some of the provisions that will directly affect queer immigrants:
"Unlawful presence" would now be considered a crime and a felony, meaning that undocumented immigrants may have to serve jail time and would be barred from future legal status and from re-entry into the country.

More from Nubian

Top Chef

Have you seen this show? It’s like Project Runway meets the Food network! Fun! Engrossing. Way too much personal drama (Bravo likes to go there: witness BlowOut) but some priceless moments.

The challenges are really imaginative and fun. Some of the contestants are just too stuck up to have fun with it. You want me to what? They did one cocktail party at Mr. S (a leather fetish shop in SoMa).

It was kind of sweet seeing some people looking at the toys saying “what do they do with that?”, and oh mi god, crazy miguel wearing this tam-o-shanter with a shaggy red wig?!

At the other end of the spectrum, they did a lunch for the boys and girls clubs of san francisco. And suddenly the queer white woman who had no trouble feeding the cocktail party guests cookies on her neck was suddenly all “this is so beneath me! I’m not going to pander to their low tastes!”

There are some fabulous people here! Miguel is one of my favorites, as is Dave. Stupid Harold should be slapped for saying he wanted to “educate” the people in the Mission by serving them seared tuna. Stupid Stephen should be slapped just because it would give me so much pleasure . (What is a sommalier doing in this competition?)

It’s as messy as most other reality shows: i.e. all the Black people have already been eliminated, with the guy being framed by the narrative of uncontrollable heterosexuality. In fact on the show where Lisa, the African American woman was eliminated, it was a choice between her and the white guy, which of course was no choice at all.

I hope granola girl gets booted out again.

Las Chamacas

So at GirlStart today the girls received letters from their penpals (who are adult volunteers in the area). Esperanza (not her real name) had forgotten that she had a penpal, and was wary about having received so chummy a letter from a stranger.

Her reply read something like this

Dear Aimee,

I don’t know you. You are not my friend. I don’t know you.

--Espy

Picture GirlStart volunteers falling over themselves with laughter. Our group leader, Guadalupe (not her real name) helped Esperanza to remember that she had previously written a letter to her penpal Aimee. Esperanza was thus persuaded to write a different letter on a more positive note.

But I liked the first one best. (doubtless for the same reason that in my favorite foto of myself I am four years old, wearing pigtails and a big scowl.)

In between gasps of laughter I gave a GirlStart affirmation: Wow, Espy, you really express yourself well in writing!

B-ware the Birds

Fabulosa Mujer wrote about flamingo and territorial geese in Lincoln Heights.

I was walking around Lake Merritt on Saturday, and saw these two white girls trying to pet a goose. I hurried away, in case un fracaso was to follow. My friend bendypalm is famous for a brawl she got into with a swan, where she ended up with a black eye.

"That wasn't a brawl" bendypalm insists. Yeah, more like an ass-whupping. B-ware the Birds.

The Girls at GirlStart

The funny thing is I went to GirlStart right after the conference. Usually I go on Tuesdays, which is a day I don’t teach. So I wear jeans, tennis shoes, sweaters or sweatshirts. Sometimes I don’t even wear makeup. I couldn’t go this Tuesday because I had a meeting, so I made arrangements to go on Thursday instead. So I get there directly from the conference, in makeup, tights, fierce boots, a skirt and blouse, and the chalchihute necklace that I wear when I need a little extra spiritual protection.

The girls were very polite, in that they didn’t say “wow, ktrion, you look like a whole 'nother person when you clean up!” But they were fascinated by the clothes, the tights, et cetera.

They were making posters for the program that day, which featured 1) a self portrait, 2) “Me gusta…” and 3) a list of the activities they like.

At first, they were all focused on the self-portrait, and a bunch of them weren’t really of themselves but of some kind of archetypal girl, looking like Arthur’s sister. (but without the animal ears) Light brown hair in a flip.



Then there were a bunch of girls who seemed inspired by BRATZ dolls, but also with a kind of artistic eye. So, instead of drawing a flip hairdo, they would just draw two long curly hairs coming out of the top of the head.

They’re really little perfectionists, too, and so sometimes they’re hesitant to do their work for fear it won’t be as good as the next girls. But they also trade off, so if Xochitl likes the way Diamante draws feet on her picture, she’ll ask Diamante to draw in the feet on hers. (not their real names)

One girl in particular, her self portrait was all about the eyes, which took up more than 1/4 of the face. Detailed eyelids, irises, etc.

But no one was putting in the activities they liked! They were too into the drawing and coloring. So I started counting when someone wrote an activity. “Mira, Libradrita tiene dos actividades!” The next thing you know, the numbers are surging, seis, siete, doce, diesiseis!“

It was a great success!