badgerbag: messy, surly, full of books

walkies

The walk over the giant hill was too much for me... then fog... My body is throbbing with pain all over and I feel sort of limp and flooblely as if lifting up my arm or leg were like... moving through very thick congealling syrup. erg, pain and exhaustion.

but i felt so good at getting nice email from an editor about my article - she liked it a lot.

fractals of history repeating itself

Apparently TG$F told this chick who's been in the community for a bazillion years she couldn't be on the float and couldn't march with them because they were going to wear matching classy outfits and wanted to be on TV. And this chick DD walks around the city like, all the time every day, clad in nothing but a gstring and high heels and is a little nuts, used to be a sergeant in v1etnam, many a colorful story... A funny and cheerful person. I just have to point out how much it sucks that she was just dissed by her own community. And I'm meanly glad there was a commercial break in the parade coverage just as their float went by. Arrrrgh, the bitches. Love how their web site about this year's pride march is all about "inclusion" and acceptance.

As if for years there weren't parade officials trying to suppress any sort of TG presence...! For fuck's sake! Here is something on the very incident I was thinking of - when the SF pride march committee tried to exclude trans people from the march because the media would pay too much attention to flamboyance, sexiness, etc.

TGSF should get its head out of wherever it is and look at history. Who started Stonewall? Are we going to ignore that? No, sorry, whores in lingerie can't be in our revolution, even though they started it.

I take it all personally as it's just what happened to me in Aust1n with the lesbians and lefty coalition - "don't dress like a whore, don't wear your leather, you make us look bad, you steal the media attention..." Darlings - the media isn't going to pay proper attention to your issues ANYWAY so you might as well have some fun and celebrate outrageously as you choose. And my flamboyance got media coverage, sometimes good and sometimes bad - sometimes just the image alone, which you could argue would be inspiring and cool for some texas queers. and sometimes i got to speak and be quoted or the slutty outfit got a crowd of people listening to the safe sex demo. Yes, it attracted a conservative backlash. But that is no excuse for suppression.

another good day of work

Another good writer from today - Ad3la Z4mudio, from Bolivia... super-ardent militant ass-kicking feminist activist and writer - died in the 20s. Today I translated the poem from this page (and did it better) and a couple of others. I have to dig deeper to find more of her poems, as I only have 4 or 5 of them. I especially want to find "Loc4 de H1erro." Back to the big library basement!

And more by M3rcedes M4tamoros, who deserves translation and publication in full - It's good poetry and I'm so annoyed no one seems to know it's there. I mean - of people who should know or would like to know. People are still reading P1erre de L0uys so why not M.M.'s "last hours of safo"?

How I miss the B3nson Lat Amer. Collection in Aust1n! Holy crap! That place was so awesome it was scary.

so... what catches my eye as I'm cruising for poets from this era? what goes into the anthology?

- overt anti-patriarchy content. Oh yeah! There's some.
- other feminist content; poems from one woman to another. Perfect example: st0rni's venom poem. (Like the movie rule about more than one woman in the movie on screen at the same time, conversing.)
- stuff that's super deep/metaphysical/abstract
- stuff that's political, about connections to other countries, nationalist in a complex way
- stuff about the body or desire
- satisfyingly perfect example of a particular "ism" or a poetic form...
- mentions modern tech, is urban, has radio antennas, factories, trains, airplanes (unusual)
- talks about writing itself; artist positioning herself arrogantly in the genre
- I tend to like love poems that have grief and death in them, and thoughtful elegies
- I don't mind a little syrup if there's some venom in it
- seems outrageous in any other way
- extremely gorgeous, dense, clever language
- I might try to have at least one woman from each country? I have all but the tiny ones covered.

I was thinknig again about what N4na told me about her mom in Br4sil - when her mom was a teenager, her grandma found her poems and burned them and said only whores write that stuff - that was how Agust1ni and all them came off in the 20s.

Last night I couldn't stop working or turn off my brain. Today... well... I did a lot of errands, interruptions, housework, etc. but here I am working again and then blogging about working... arrrr, must stop!

indicator needles swinging back and forth wildly

I no longer know what's good and bad. I've read so much poetry from 1870-1930, my head has cracked open. At this point I'm thinking of just putting WHATEVER into this anthology and explaining why I like it or not, or why I picked it to translate, rather than being so ambitious as to judge everything's literary quality relative to each other and to everything else in the entire world. Overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, I thought this was charming:

To Aurelia (from Mercedes)

They say in the valley one day,
a sweet, innocent lily,
full, proud, happy,
shone in the sunlight.
"Could there be another, tell me true,
so white and pure as I?"
And she died of envy,
howling with madness,
when she met Aurelia,
who was whiter, more pure.

To Mercedes (from Aurelia)

They say that one day in the valley
a certain lark complained
because she had learned a tune
and couldn't sing it.
"Could there be another, tell me true,
as unfortunate as I?"
And the lament that she sang
was so divinely harmonious
that all songs stopped
and made her their queen.

(1892)

(Perhaps more charming when you know that M3rcedes was extremely fond of S4ppho.)

It's the opposite of duel-poems, doing the dozens, or flyting (the norse tradition of insulting and boasting in improvised verse). Instead, clever, loving praise of each other, one poet to another. I had not thought about those poetic genres together (insult exchange vs. praise exchange) but only thought of poets praising patrons, kings, or their beloved. What fun when you have both sides! I get the impression that this exchange was very public and possibly verbal, at some cafe or "salon" or perhaps it was public in a newspaper. Part of the charm of the originals is their perfect conformation to form - the oct0syllabic d3cima - 10 lines and 8 syllables to a line. (Harder to say something complex in that form than in a sonnet.) The duel-poem also uses oct0syllabic couplets...

Well- so, I would happily go on about that sort of thing in the anthology. I can't help wincing at the thought of the readers' possible reaction at how the poems are so often about lilies and roses, jewels and mist, but, wtf it's the modern1sta aesthetic. (and how these poetisas aren't modern1sta, I'm JUST not seeing. ) There are also a lot of mirrors and statues: a feminist thing, I think, a way of expressing subjectivity as women, and a way to distance from being-your-body the way that poems to women by men make the women into their bodies. The women tend to write about their own bodies as merged with nature but then when they want to speak and can't (as flowers) they become statues or mirror-images or other imaginary-people, products of artifice that are trying to produce their own artifice. A strange pattern I am seeing again & again.

mit blog survey

Quick and painless... help them out!

I'm a bully

I figured out today that the car-fixing place that seemed fairly nice and helpful is EVIL. The manager chick had a few weeks ago ordered me very cheap replacement front running lights and the slightly incompetent dude bolted them on. Then she said that as a safety issue the part of the front that fell off, I shoudl replace it, the importance of bumpers in a collision, etc. etc..

Today: I insisted on looking at the parts... And asking a lot of questions... and looking at the car carefully...
- my truck's front bumper is still there and perfectly functional, though dented.
- the bits it's missing are the end caps (plastic) and the grille cover (plastic)
- those aren't safety issues at all!
- the expensive part she ordered is a replacement bumper, but i already have a bumper!
- she was about to charge me $150 in labor to do the job

I said screw it, return the parts and keep my $20 deposit, just put the new light on.

- Then she was going to charge me for labor on replacing the light and make me leave the truck overnight!
- I squawked like fury and said I already paid for labor andn the part - they installed a defective part which blew my taillights and could have gotten me killed...
- They insisted that my truck must have an electrical problem - despite my having explained about the defective part several times.

Bullying successful. I paid nothing and I stood over the guy while he drilled 2 holes and bolted the new light onto the frame and screwed in the 2 screws.

Fuck those people... I liked them and their shop, but clearly - they were being super nice for their first job for me, giving me a discount on the part, doing the work in a couple of hours.... But that was only to rope me in for future work where they could cheat me! Aaaargh!

So, I still don't have the front grill but I don't think I need it. and I just saved $250 bucks by not swallowing the hook. Go, me.

I really hate it that there are people who work to establish trust on purpose to fuck other people over by betraying that trust...

whither thou, feminist history?

I shouldn't be surprised one tiny bit, but I just stumbled across a 2-volume book from 1915, an anthology of lyric poetesses from 16th century spain and lat. america. There must be a hundred women poets at least, in there. Romances, lyrics, epics, sonnets...

It hasn't been checked out since 1941.

I leave it to the reader's imagination the number of times I've been in some lat. amer. studies or lit class and heard a prof. say (or been reading some "anthology of things spanish from forever-ago till whenever", in english or spanish) that there weren't any women writing then except for of course Sor Ju4na.

Did you hear the part above - Perhaps it needs repeating - an enormous anthology of women's writing from 16th and 17th century spain and lat. america. It doesn't apply to my current project, but... I could cry. A tear has sprung to my eye more than once this afternoon.

Meanwhile I'm newly in love with m3rcedes M4tamoros!!! I found a huge scholarly edition of her stuff! With footnotes and dates on all the poems, thank you thank you... And the poems rock!!! ...and WITH, crucially, an appendix with a bunch of poems that the women wrote back to her and also a couple of guys. And an intelligent looking intro that I only skimmed but that mentions homosexualidad feminina and the songs of Bilit1s by L0uys. Score!

And a volume of col0mbian poetisas. From 1936. The editing SUCKS and was done by what must have been a blind naked mole rat... i swear. And most of the women were fucking coy about their age and there's no publication dates; most of the bio information is like "she was born in a town, and she had parents. And her brother was a poet and so was her uncle. Then she died in 1910." ooookay. Fine. Be that way. A fair amount of the poems looked promising! I tend to pick out the ones that are like, "ode to Imagination" or that look vaguely feminist, or the ones to other women. Or -- i found one poem to a rose that was unlike any other poem to a rose that I've seen... so personal and serious, really addressing that individual rose. I've seen a jesus fuckload of rose and dawn poems. the insomnia or moon ones come as a giant relief! Anything on "azul" gets xeroxed instantly.

Whew! Now -off to pick up Moomin. I Cant WAIT to start translating this stuff and typing up details and putting it all in my organized indexed binders. Oh dear Moomin you might get the shaft this afternoon as I will park you in front of nearly any TV to buy an hour and a half more... Or... well. that would be so mean. He needs me. Arrrgh.

sweetening up

Creamy french blue cheese, very cambezola-like... warm and spread on top of black figs. YUM.

And some innernet dude mailed me a 600-page compilation of all the lyrics to v3nezzuelan songs old and new - some of them I've been wondering about for half my life. I have some that he doesn't have, which should make him happy. I'm listening to S1món Díaz now in celebration of being able to look up the words.

All very cheering!

Back to work.

temper

My hands and toes hurt this morning and it makes me ill-tempered. I had to prepare the nursery school snack and cook pasta for Moomin, plus my batch of coffee ran out so washing more dishes and making new coffee. I hope none of you know what i'm talking about and never find out, but joints hurting + morning dishes = grumpy. I require time to unstiffen. Or it hurts! Every morning, not even ones like this, it hurts just to hold the coffee cup.

The mental image of myself with future gnarled fingerjoints and unable to casually spank people newly met in dungeons doesn't help the mood. Note to self: acquire canes and paddles, small ones easy to hold. Also: grow set of useful boneless tentacles.

Moomin is very pleased with the batch of library books I grabbed last night. Mostly lots of Bill P33t and the 4th Ak1ko comic.

I was not so lucky as I grabbed a CJ Cherrrryh book off the "new arrivals" shelf, vaguely thinking of all the times people have said she is good... but OMG this is one of the dumbest, most boring, disappointing books ever! I fucking hate it! Her politics are stuck somewhere far, far up her own ass. Does this story about far-far-future gene wars really need the "dagwood and blondie" marriage dynamic to help it along? Oh - wait, since I can't turn off the "literary analysis" lobe of my brain even for a book as dumb as this - yes, it does need it - as the attitude of the conservative anti-change Earth factions towards the freedom of info exchange and evolution and terraforming, or whatever the fuck, is supposed to change (the main point of the book) from panicked "no way!" patriarch and rebellious punk-haired teenage daughter into slightly less panicked patriarch and rebellious punk-haired teenage daughter. Oh, so boring! The "action" of the book and its endless conversations could be compressed into maybe 10 pages without losing a damn thing. I know it's "Cyt333n" that people always recommend, and I've never read it though i seem to remember trying once as a teenager and hating it with every fiber. What crap!

The book and the gene wars have a perfectly good premise but worst execution... "execution" is a good word for the effect of the muddy prose ... it make me think of that moment when everyone got very excited about "cyberpunk" and the worst crap in the history of SF was written very quickly as everyone tried to jump on that train. I would rather re-read "Super Divine Diaper Baby of Dune" or whatever that worst in the series was than tackle another Cherrrryh! I'd like to pin her eyeballs open and make her read Edgar Rice Burrrroughs for 72 hours straight and then maybe a hint of dramatic tension, style, and maybe irony would creep into the murk. If you're going to overblow your prose, overblow it for real.

the launch window has opened!

At the park, a manifestation of pregnant sexist evil bugged the shit out of me so extremely that I was glad I had my extra-ripped-in-the-butt jeans on. I hoped that the power of my underwear would strike her dumb. It didn't work.

"Oh! It's so hard being preggo with my THIRD! my husband's not even TALKING to me! Especially because, you know, three BOYS. " I beamed non-comprehension in her direction. "You know! Because boys Fight All the Time." "Well, not necessarily... and I don't believe that's true." I owe it to Moomin to say that out loud any chance I get. Otherwise he will believe it and internalize it. that's what I think, anyway.

And this troglodyte... she never quit it, if one of her kids even moved towards another kid she'd scream at it not to hit, not to fight. "CONNOR! ETHAN! NO! What did mommy tell you about girls? DON'T HIT GIRLS! Be GENTLE with GIRLS." I'm sorry to scream in capital letters so much, but that's what she did. I am merely the textual conduit. It was her only topic of conversation. What.... the fuck.... is people's problem... "And with a THIRD BOY they will just be fighting all the time! My huzzbin is SO MAD AT ME." I am embarrassed to admit that I only muttered the words, "Tell your huzzbin to cut off his fucking balls already" instead of yelling them.

Finally they left! I was digging river systems in the boiling sun with that Captain of Industry, Moomin M. Yong. "Dig faster, Mommy!" "Thanks, sir." "Good work, Badger! You did a great job." I got another kid playing with him. They ran around together, pretending to be squirrels. Success! Though - horribly - I asked his mom if she was his grandmother. You'd think I'd have known better... OMG..... But she thought it was funny and we hung out chatting a while. Soccer. tree-climbing. I have been trying to climb on every piece of playground equipment to make myself nimble and muscular... I still can't go across the monkey bars but I hang on a good long time. Moomin was less shy than usual!

He is obsessed with sending fan mail to D4v Pilkkey and keeps asking me questions like, "What is D4v Pilkkey doing right now? Is he finishing the next R1cky R1cotta book, which is, which is, which is, R1cky R1cotta and his M1ghty Robot and the N4ughty N1ghtcrawlers from N3ptune? Where does D4v Pilkkey live? Did he read my email? What does he look like? Because I would really, really, really like to tell him that I am WAITING."

those hideous ephiphanies

I was just drying off from a nice shower and recalled one of my mind-boggling minor epiphanies - those moments when I realize something incredibly trivial that everyone else knows automatically, like why you might want to make your bed in the morning. Since it made me laugh out loud at a moment when I'm alone in the house I figured I should let everyone know.

This non-epiphany happened a couple of years ago when I was working for McCoot and it involved the reason for hand towels. I've always wondered about hand towels. Why? You've got towels. A towel. Place to dry things. Wash hands, wipe on towel, not something I ever thought about. Hand towels - some odd convention of politeness, for the homes of the uptight, who place a little fanned-out sheaf of them on the counter for the dinner party... A germ thing? A laundry thing? Who knew.

But then at McCoot's house in his beyond-squalid bathroom littered with half-empty prescription boxes, suspicious tweezers, and nose-hair trimmer paraphrenalia, I got up from the toilet, washed my hands, and turned to the rack where a small, lone, raggedy stolen hotel towel festered... and I thought with sudden horror, "This towel has without doubt been in McCoot's ass crack." Sure, his ass was probably post-shower clean at the time, but still, the lightbulb of the "stupepiphany" went on in my head and I couldn't bear the terrible burden of knowledge.

I wiped my hands on my pants... and felt that I'd woken unwilling from innocence...

preliminary question

Okay, spanglishistas. Here is a line for you. It struck me that this line could be interpreted two ways but I'm not even sure if that's true. Do the two possibilities seem to you to be equally grammatical or natural? If not, which one is the way you'd lean towards reading it? Or am I completely on crack and one of the 2 is just wrong? (because it would really be "el reflejo" if a noun?)

"Mas p4z de t1za la refleja entera."

=

[But rather peace of/from whiting-out reflects it whole (reflects it in everything, reflects everything)
or
[But rather/instead peace of whiting out(erasure) the whole/entire reflection.]

T1za here being chalk in the sense of marking-out or x-ing out, I'm pretty sure. (the image is opposed to one of war signified by redness - instead, whiteness, i.e. outward calm is what signifies the worst (spiritual, political, personal) battles.) My uncertainty is whether to interpret "la refleja" as an article and noun (maybe, but it would be odd) or as a direct object and verb (seems more natural)! Or, as I said, deliberately both possibilities.

cat on laptop

I've settled the cat in a blanket-lined dishtub on my desk as he was trying to sleep on my laptop even while I was typing. WILL the other cat squeeze into the dishtub too? If it happens, I'll document it.

Now- I'm going to pretend that a printed-out rough draft of my thesis is due at 3pm. To work! Get it together!

words learned this morning: "rojor" (must be catalan or basque-ish?). "pujante". (Now evaluating new sources... dicconarios.com and diccionari catalá.)

listening to: dirty blues, old blues, ch1ck willis. "What did the rooster/ say to the duck? /He say You ain't so good lookin'/ but you sure know how to strut."

loose or connected

An afternoon of coloring, reading, walking with swords to the store slaying hydras and dragons. Creeping off to read or nap... Moomin was fun at times but then, difficult and cranky. He was pushing Rook around by threatening to be sad and Rook, trying to joke him out of it... At times like these I see why Moomin yells at me in the afternoons sometimes, and says he wants Daddy, because Daddy follows his orders... Actually, of course Rook doesn't, but there is a longer process of wrangling and attention.

Before we went to the store Moomin suddenly refused and said I was doing a bad job. We had a battle of wills and I took the stance that he was taking himself - that we could have fun, but if he didn't cooperate, I'd be mad and it wouldn't be fun. There was a moment where he hesitated and was about to start in on the sulking and pouting, but then just didn't, and you could see him deciding, "No, maybe better not..." and end up sweet as pie, "Actually yeah maybe that would be fun and we can do that." I tried to pay extra nice attention for a good while afterwards. (But then drifted off again into my own world, occasionally surfacing.)

As Moomin went to bed in the top bunk he told me I was a nice mom doing a good job, but I was sometimes mean. What to say to that! I thought it was Rook who was the no-nonsense one and me the undisciplined but it feels like we've traded places lately. (Not really as if we set out to have those roles of good cop and bad cop.)

Meanwhile Rook is reading C.'s book and this reminded me that I wanted to go re-read Member of the W3dding - a book I love - and now I'm in the blissed-out musing haze after reading it, a feeling that I understand everything for a little while - and thinking over the things that stood out newly for me. This time, a super obvious thing that seemed fresh and brilliant: how when B3renice and Fr4nkie talk about identity they use opposite terms but that's the moment they are talking about the same thing and understand each other. B. says that everyone is "caught" in their lives/identity and F. says they seem "loose" as they bounce around the world unconnected. It's so good!

The point is that we all caught. And we try in one way or another to widen ourself free. .. We go around trying one thing or another, but we caught anyhow."

I believe I realize what you are saying... Yet at the same time you almost might use the word loose instead of caught. Although they are two opposite words. I mean you walk around and you see all the people. And to me they look loose. "
"Wild, you mean?"
"Oh, no! -- I mean you don't see what joins them up together. You don't know where they all came from, or where they're going to. For instance, what made anybody ever come to this town in the first place? Where did all these people come from and what are they going to do? Think of all those soldiers."
"They were born," said B3renice. "And they going to die."
"I know, but what it is it all about? People loose and at the same time caught. Caught and loose. All these people and you don't know what joins them up...."

Such a spoiler as the conversation means more when you see how it came to pass and the stories they've been telling each other and not telling.
As a kid what I liked about this book was the privacy of Frankie's thoughts. That some adult somewhere (C.McC.) gave her and the other kid such agency to think and feel though they weren't telling much about it. They had secrets - that didn't mean they weren't experiencing things. Now the thing I like best is the ways that the conversations come to happen. And the climactic moment of the book is that conversation, not anything else that happens in the action-moments or the brother's wedding. For me the wedding is that conversation. and that's the key to the book - the metaphor provided for how the book can be read. I've been trying to say this ineptly in the last year but I keep finding central moments in books or metaphors that model the way to read the book - or the way to read. (Perhaps: a model of the process of critical thinking.) Of course I don't want to say 'the right way' or "the way the author intended".

In A2A, the book I've been talking about for the last month, those modelings of the interpretation of signs run pretty deep but also slap you right in the face from something like sentence 2, where the protagonist, Kay, is working on her own novel, writing the conclusion in the grip of a sudden realization that she had to go back and reinterpret everything. The thing is I didn't notice it right off, but it occurred to me that lots of novels start with a deliberate key or metaphor: like, a river or a road that clues you in that the point of the book is a sort of life journey through linear time though that's not being said right out. So I went back to paragraph one and looked to see if it was there - and it was.

Well I could ramble ENDLESSLY tonight. Rook and I played a little bit of Upw0rds (I am kicking his ass, but as with our past bouts of scr4bble, i predict he will learn all strategies, overtake and surpass me) and talked about books and writing and gaming and criticism and what we are doing and how we are positioning ourselves towards our work. And what to do with some of the game stuff... what it all means ... what happens to the way you think when you start to take a very wide view and do criticism.

I had a fun idea to do a fantasy game in the LM Buj0ld "Ch4lion" world (not necessarily that country) and making it be a hybrid book discussion group and game, moving between tabletop and quick larps. Then, that sneaking gaming into the "reading group" or "book discussion group" would be interesting on many levels. Pr0ust reading group, beware. (We've talked before about gaming as a tool for studying literature and history in a university or high school setting... )

Meanwhile C. and I had interesting conversations which, unbloggable as they are, fit strangely with everything else I'm thinking about.

I'm deeply neurotic and overanalytical and I like it that way, but it means if I don't process all the time, I don't know what's happening in relationships at all...

Was also thinking about how my whole life has gone this way: I have an experience of whatever sort but what makes me detatched a little, or philosophical and happy, is that the real experience of it comes later when I go off and write about it. This is now more true than ever. I mean this on a macro scale but also - daily. My pattern is now that I live but it all comes to life for me really at around 10pm when I retreat into hermit mode and sit here typing like a maniac. Is this a return to the intense insomniac journaling of my teens?

(Which is how I remain quite happy during moments like being rejected by 200 dykes on bikes, or the time the Spanish Armada and some capascin cream attacked my coochie. "This is tough, but think how fucking hilarious it will be to write about.")

I'm tired and it's midnight. I could write about all this for several days without stopping. No insomniac journaling - to bed instantly for me! Bed!!!

(Moomin coloring - oh, he is so sweet. He will color the same page or draw the same picture for an hour. Tenacity of vision also translates to a core of stubbornness in him that will be his great flaw and virtue. Me, at his age, I remember perfectly what I felt while drawing and there'd be a point where I'd have a grand vision; after a while I'd realize it wasn't going to be that way b/c of time and being young and unskilled, so I'd be quick and lazy and make sloppiness, sponteneity, the aesthetic --- just like I still am, and do, now. Moomin never takes that easy way. I apologize for talking about my kid's coloring-book expressions of artistic genius... it can't be helped.)

whew! In which I bitch, a little

the parade - exhausting and not as much fun as the dyke march. WHEW. we didn't even go near the actual parade but milled around a little and parked in the "family g4rden" playground. Which -was not cool like I thought it would be but was just the playground with extra high fences covered with beer signs facing outward. Why? this was stupid... protecting the kids and families from seeing the naked butts? Unless they helicoptered into the playground blindfolded, they already saw plenty. Preventing the non-parent gay people from seeing kids run around in a playground? WTF, why? I thought it was offensive. It made the playground claustrophobic and dull as during the moments when I wasn't watching the kids I could have maybe seen the stage or watched the crowds.

And the "fun activities" were lame - way too small and understaffed. I had heard there would be booths and art activities for kids, balloons and face painting. well - there was a balloon animal guy, true, and a table with face painting... and about 5 square feet of grass with some plastic horseshoes (why? utterly pointless) and that was it for the activities. I could have organized a better party for 500+ children and parents with $200 and one day prep time. and I've had a way better time at like, any small town carnival or catholic church fundraiser with goldfish booths... There should have been more space for it all - as there were hundreds of people and more coming in when we left. And if nothing else, well, some water toys? some paint? let the kids face paint each other? A table with shade and crayons, rainbow-fabric, scissors, and glue? Really now... does no one have any common sense? If anyone had ambition, a small stage with kid karaoke... entertainers? dress-up with costume bits? Get some toy stores or toy companies to have booths and displays, I mean, get some Klutz representative... Bubbles? sheesh. An art contest, sponsored by some businesses, with prizes? You know what would have been super cool is to have just a giant truckload of giant colorful foam blocks and a large area for kids to build junk with them. and a couple of those plastic playhouses. And free otter pops, as they are like, 2 bucks for a box of 100 at cosco.

I can think of it, but hell, I'm not going to do it. I'm just saying... if there were people organizing it, and the point was to have this fabulous space for queer families, what were they thinking - were they asleep? Oh, I know, let's print up some leaflets and fridge magnets - that'll be useful and popular. *rolls eyes*

The main stage sound system sucked - booming, depressing, echoey. The music was not cheerful or fun... I don't understand why not as the small stages are always good with peppy, un-muddy music!

Moomin liked the people with giant sea-urchin-like bunches of balloons tied to their butts. and the fox-tail girl. He got annoyed at people saying how cute his wings were & so took them off. Later they went on again so that they could function as blasters. his face got painted as a 'black panther'.... ha!

HOWEVER it was still fun to do.... dr. bit was there, and Nada, with kids and dads. That was a whole lot of kids with rainbow hair & "queer spawn" tshirts...

next year we will just all go to the dyke march instead and swirl around in dolores park where running around the hillside & climbing trees would totally rock!

on the way home coming down Edgewooood Road the hettch-hetchy hillside was covered in goats! big and little! babies frisking! hundreds of goats! We stopped to drive up the road and the dude guarding them talked with me eagerly as if bored and also very politely not caring that i have a purple pineapple-leaf explosion on my head etc. He is from Ch1le and has been here 2 years... the goats were there for fire prevention - they eat everything even the poison oak. If you live here, the goats are here 2 more days, the fence is electrified with car batteries so don't touch it, and talk to the guy in your best spanglish and he'll lift baby goats over the fence for you to pet.

grand preparations!

Moomin is dressed as a flaming (as in FIRE) King Fairy Cowboy.

I am in a knee-length black and hot pink polkadotted skirt with hot pink crinoline, and the leather studded crop top that I got in the mall in H0uston in 1986. pink tights and my converse with hot pink laces. rainbow arm-warmers!

Rook is in the shower but he is about to explore the boundaries of bad taste as I stuff him into leather pants and... perhaps the silver spangled shirt over my rainbowstriped t-shirt, if he can squeeze into it. hee!

freaks! lovely carnival! splendiferous!

*
oh yes - the rainbow shirt fit him, and the lessons on how to pose for a photo worked as well:

dyke march report

No one got to appreciate my outfit's genius and beauty but Rook at home, who kept pointing out things on the floor that I needed to pick up. Because it was 90 degrees here and when I got to the city it was like, 50 degrees and foggy, the glorious skimpiness was destroyed. Someday I will reconstruct the short fake leather skirt with snaps, rainbow cotton thigh-highs, black converse with rainbow laces, armwarmers, rainbow underwear with little hearts, and wonder woman t-shirt with the world's sexiest bra as an even skimpier option. I had to add tights and a flannel shirt to make the march bearable...

BUT what a fun time... Even coming up on the train was fun as there were lots of people going and species recognition was high. Then the legions of hand-holding dykes all over 16th and mission made it feel... nice and homey.

I realized i was sort of vague on where the park was from that direction (as my mental map of the city relies on how i have walked or driven or bused and not on a flat, sensible map - as if I had laid down scent trails like an ant). It turned out to be easy to follow everyone else... Then, the huge, huge, hilly park and streets all around swarming with women.

I wandered around... called gargrrl though it was clear there was no way to find each other... Ran into S. and C. and their kid briefly and then way up in the park, beckastar and borggrrl, cute cute in her ponytails and sign on chest reading "shy single girl." Heh! but I melted away like smoke as i kind of thought she should flounce around being shy and sleazy and getting picked up, and if I were around it might cramp that action. I got it into my head that I wanted to ride bitch on the back of some complete stranger's bike. So.... the head of the parade was hundreds of women on wonderful fancy motorcycles all lined up on 18th to the side of the park, engines throbbing and vrooming in that fat no-muffler sexy sound, but collective with all the engines going at once... that is the loveliest noise! So! Fired up with this brilliant idea, I unbuttoned my shirt and let my tits hang out, hoping that would make me seem a suitable back of the bike bitch... Everyone was teamed up already. I asked all the sacramento sisterhood (SOAS? the most awesome badges on their jackets...) the santa cruz girls... the... well, you know, I went up and down the line twice -- very early on it became clear that I was doomed! DOOMED. (It was a lot like stripping and hustling for lap dances. I'd go back and forth between 'witty' lines and for variety, something very boring like, 'looking for company?") And.... then I was determined to be rejected by every northern califa biker chick! Every single one! So I worked my way all the way down to the end of the line. And it was sort of glorious what an ass I made of myself. People standing around on the sidewalks were laughing at me but .... nicely, with awe. Finally one chick - damn, i should have gotten her license number and photo - was tempted, but kept trying to call her girlfriend on her cell... "Oh, she's supposed to be here... if she doesn't show up, you can totally ride with me... you're SO CUTE...omg..." But then - I circled round to her again and she hung up the phone and shook her head. "I can't. She's too jealous." In vain did I cry LAME! it's just a parade! and that the bitch was late, just ditch her ass! and anyway if she showed up halfway through I'd hop off! Oh, but no.

Feeling utterly happy I hooted and cheered as the bikes took off... I tried sticking out my thumb, but all the single ones shook their heads. Well! I thought at least some boozy diesel dyke from Modesto with a greying mullet would pick up on me! *flounce*

Because I was remembering that one time when some random guy let me hold on to the back rail of his bike and he pulled me halfway down market st. in my wheelchair and it was fun...

Then there was a chick down on the sidewalk - pale and embarrassed looking - Fire trucks came - the parade was held up.

The senior trolley took off! The other trolley with the megaphone chick and the dancing samba chicks took off after it! There were only a few rules - Men, stay the fuck out of the march, but we love ya for supporting us from the sidewalks. And there was only one chant, chanted once semi-ironically, which was perhaps the nicest part of the march... Then the crowd flowed anarchically into the streets from all the side streets and the park. I think for maybe an hour I stood there watching people swirl by and the park slowly thinning... thousands and thousands of people...

Then I walked to buy a rainbow plastic chain necklace from some dude witih a pushcart and as I crouched to open my bag and get out money - I looked up and there was N3on my old friend from BLW! and her girlfriend Em, and ... then most wonderfully, Joi W0lfwomyn, and we hugged like mad to celebrate our mutual verticality! B/c at different times we were laid low in wheelchairs on and off. she had a cane still.... Her green dreads! her green sparklly eye makeup and facial tattoos and million piercings! and we gossiped like mad about kid-raising. her daughter is 20 now. And she said there was a rocky period in teenage years but then S. moved out and moved in half a mile away with the family best-friends lovely dykely zinemaking wildly intelligent anarchist nerds who I haven't seen in 15 years but... i love them dearly anyway and should look them up. And then J.W. my greenhaired face-pierced uberpagan friend was voted "Best Mom of B3zerkeley" 3 years runnning by the kids of Bezerkeley High. "Don't listen to the people who tell you to tone it down," she said... "It's bullshit and you won't respect yourself otherwise and your kid will respect you eventually even if they wish you would be less visible or whatever when they're 13 ..." This was comforting.

The sex worker contingent was cute... they had great stickers which in nostalgia for those queer nation moments from days of yore - i plastered the stickers all over my tits.

Only later did i remember i had my camera so i have no shots of the enormousness of the crowd.

Here's some highlights:

Grannies for Trannies! They were funny.

The best hair of the march. I have often fantasized about doing this to my hair - oh, it's nice to know it's possible!

One of the nicest warmest thing was the people lined up on roofs and hanging out of windows dressed up, smiling, waving, half naked. Some buildings had people festooned from every window and all along the roofs, legs kicking. I liked the apartment full of boys with cute signs like "Yay Lesbians!"


Marching I was still tagging along with N3on and Joi and their friends. Oh I forgot to say that I also saw Nana and her g/f or wife and also Ra3lyn who I haven't seen since her surgery and her gf .... omg that was a flashback. her hands are not better. she said for everyone to please imagine her hands flying and dextrous and doing everything and all full of like, healthy vitamin juice... I remember babbling something to N3on incoherently about Monique W1ttig's book of the inferno/paradiso/purgatorio and how a lot of it took place on Valencia street, full of women, and many parade scenes, so that i was tripping out on it all... I became lonely for someone, anyone, who had read that book, and so took this photo:

***
more is coming...
***

And then! Some people might recall my recounting of the time when after several years of being not in touch (not on purpose) I was rollerskating naked down market street with Doss - and heard the low hoarse distinctive voice of my ex-girlfriend Nada roaring out Baaaaaadger Heeeeemuuuleeeen! from the sidewalks and we got around the police barrier somehow and reconnected and it was the nicest most surreal moment. So -- and then, tonight! I heard her voice booming out my name in just the same way. There she was 8 months pregnant with little Rafe in tow and her wife Rasa... and Rafe's dad and then more mom-dyke-friends came rushing up. I hung with them feeling suddenly comfortable with the mommies, you know that bad-ass mama cosy feeling in a crowd. (YOU know that feeling. Bad-ass and encumbered with strollers and backpacks, in the secret sisterhood, living life at that different pace than everyone else. And together, amazing solidarity!!) Rafe up on his dad's shoulders waving a big rainbow flag and yelling, "Yay pride!" He is famous for being big into c1nderella and wearing the outfit. apparently he threw a hissy fit because they would not let him wear his little fake-glass pumps tomorrow to the big parade. He makes Moomin look way butch.

I loved the cute, smiley, happy looking throng of gay guys who threw confetti all over us and were screeching, "Yay lesbians! We love you! lesbians rock! hooray!" in very innocent celebration... it was incredibly cute and sweet. There was confetti everywhere.

This image, a random one of the cute butts of complete strangers.

at the very end of the march where it disgorges onto Market St. I ran into whump and cyn! whump showed his tits, as he had promised! In lesbian solidarity.

Here's me, with characteristic camera-ready smirk.

So - whump and cyn and I went off to take the train home, and stopped on the way to pee at his friend Al4n's party. Which, bless you forever Alan for my not having to pee in some dark alleyway! And all those guys were super nice! Then by amazing coincidence ran into Umber, from Professor F.'s class, the guy writing his diss3rtation on Perrrrlongher (who I'm translating) and he is Prof. F's student. And Umber was so nice to me in class and also sat with me for a couple of hours looking over every word of translations... And we had a mad, utterly mad gossip in which we both said the MOST IMPRUDENT THINGS possible in the universe to say. OMG holy fuck. It was amusing but I can't believe I said that stuff and that he did too! hahahaha! It was nice. I could talk with him all night long and we had the total queer-nerd lat.amer literature head to head telepathy!

Then cyn showed me her bold and lovely tits. Muahaha! I am a force of entropy in the universe, and proud! B/c she would just NEVER.

*
Rook when I got home, goggling in disbelief at my boobs and their obnoxious stickers.

What he saw, but in tasteful black and white, because that makes it artier and I'm hoping the zits are less nasty looking that way.

That "s3x worker feminists" sticker was on one of the confetti boys or maybe someone nearby who was hooting and waving. I went up and asked him if he had any more of those stickers b/c they were so great, and he laughed and told me to peel it off and wear it... so sweet!

so lovely!

I just had the most amazing lovely time at the dyke march... will be uploading photos and blogging EVERYTHING in just a short while.

Tra la laaaaaa! [the battle cry of Capt. Und3rpants]

the more things change

arrrgh.

another breakfast

Moomin, the Enforcer, freaking out that Sophie wants to get up before it is right and proper. (6:30? awk!) They were making letters and shapes with the straws for their juice:

Sophie: I can make an M. M, m, m, m, Moomin!
Moomin: I can make an S. S, S, S, S, sophie!
Sophie: I can make a square. It's like dancing toast.
Moomin: Well, _I_ can make a triangle. It's like... um...
Sophie: I can make a diamond. It's like gold.
Moomin: I don't know how to make a diamond.
Sophie: I will show you, little boy. Here, I'll take that... *grabs*
Moomin: But.... but...Actually, I can make a star trek shape. Look!
(They both make star trek Federation icons, put them on their shirts, make them beep, and talk to other starship officers.)

They're wearing ridiculous dinosaur hats. I'm exhausted... but amused. I've made corn muffins.

In the night I woke up from a nightmare, smelling smoke. It was the T0ngans... at 3:30 am... tending the bonfire. A HUGE very illegal bonfire right next to the rickety wooden fence. flames shooting up 15 feet in the fucking air... sparks flying up to roof-height... oh, man. Now, there are spits... I'm sure it's all v. jolly but smoke pours into our house. I'm surprised our smoke alarms didn't go off.

breakfast

At breakfast at Kate's this morning right as we walked in this person fell to the floor writhing. Everyone was staring... various emotions or lack of... She was sort of kicking and traveling across the floor. I went up to move some tables and the waiters also did... And there was a guy with her trying to make her get up. But she didn't seem able to get up. it was spastic movement and sort of violent, but didn't seem like an actual seizure. I could feel everyone watching settle into thinking "drugs" and there was hestitation for what seemed like forever to call 911. Opinions... "just get her outside" "make her stand up" "Take her out of here" "She's always around this neighborhood, drunk, she's just drunk." "It's drugs..." ...

I tried shoving a chair under her as the guy held her up but she didn't stay in it very well. For a minute I could feel her bucking as I tried to steady her on the chair - I gave up. She was scary. I told the waiter guy and the other waitress to call... and they did but with a lot of uncertainty. I mean... I could see as well as anyone she was fucked up or crazy... and as she scooted across the floor she was holding the back of her head and saying "Get them out of my head!" So. But. Dragging her outside the door to leave her in the street and waiting to see if she recovered hardly seemed humane.

Outside with C. - i watched as finally the dude got her into a chair. they tried giving her water but she was shaking too hard to drink it. It was terrible... I don't know... people's faces either concerned, horrified, or just a stone wall, but all looking.

The guy got her stumbling out on his arm. They were probably half a block away before the ambulance came. By that time everyone was eating breakfast; we were sitting down with menus and coffee. The nice waitress: "Living on this street you just can't care about that, I'm not a monster..." "Well... sorry I kind of made you call 911 or encouraged it... but... I really think it is the only thing to do... Just in case." "Well, I used to live on this street and you just can't...." Hey- that's what suburban yuppies like me are good for, annoying the amublance people. I know how ambulances and emerg3ncy rooms have treated me in the past - not to mention M1nnie - If it had been me falling to the floor in convulsions would they have assumed the same or would I have been given some assumption of non-crack-whoreness based on being white?

Should one sit around debating whether or not someone is a homeless drug addict before calling the paramedics? WTF? Fine, I'm naive.... But I prefer myself that way.

Did I mention that I was scared of her - as she was perhaps psychotic with that peculiar thing going on that I've felt before when friends schized out (where they feel especially strong - the opposite of dead weight - thrashing around.) If I had been alone with her - like, at a bus stop in the middle of the night - would I have dared go up to her like I did? I'm not sure! But there in the restaurant I figured it was safe enough.

As we walked back to Chula's place we passed her, crossing the street, muttering to herself, walking alone.

an rrrrrgh of a day

PMS-ing. Burst stupidly into tears. Cramps. Ugh.

Sophie is over spending the night with Moomin. We got out all the stuffed animals in the house to sort them by category into their own terrains. They like playing different games, but "animal doctor explorer rescuers" worked out well.

Sophie: Oh! this butterfly has broken bones! (xraying with etch-a-sketch)
Moomin: Don't worry! We're animal doctors!
Sophie: We'll heal you with... LOVE. Lots of Love.
Moomin: Actually, my robot can fix her bones, because my robot can do anything.
Sophie: But not this butterfly's bones.
Moomin: Yes! Because my robot... blah blah blah.
Sophie: No. Only with lots of love.
Moomin: AND a robot.
Sophie: Okay.

Then: watching Batman. Pizza. Popsicles. Rook got home at 8-ish and read them some books, yay! It took them maybe 40 minutes to quit torturing each other in the bunk beds. The pre-bedtime butt-shaking and discussion of disgusting hairy armpits - horrifyingly silly!

Eliz, Sophie's older sister, brought me a book called something like "Midn1te for Ch4rlie Bone" about some kids in magic boarding school... a blatant HP ripoff. I did like the 3 cats and the girl with the purple hair. Really the best part of it was having it recommended to me so eagerly by Eliz, as if I were assumed to be an exciting kindred spirit who would suck the book up like candy. Since I did exactly that I guess she's right. Even though the book was kind of lame, it was my kind of escapist lame. (And here I thought that all my book-lendings to her over the last 3 years had fallen on deaf ears? Or eyeballs? Apparently not.)

they love a flowery femmebot

Finally in my searchings I have come across a poet chick who fits the nasty stereotype that critics want to put on all of them of this period. Ju4na de B0rrero should be renamed Juana the Boring, because her poetry so far is blithering dullness about roses and marble and foam on the waves and her own imminent death in pretty verse, without having any other dimensional facet to it. What de Ibarb0urou does with profundity, or Agust1n1, J. de B. does with mind-numbing stupidity. But she was and I suppose is quite famous. Comparing her stuff to her compatriot Emilia B3rnal - how can there be any comparison? But B3rnal has less of a presence on the web and in the library.

I'm reading this long long book of homage to B0rrero by a bunch of poet dudes who think she's the swan's meow. Did they love her so much because she was a perfect idiot who could churn out pretty verses and make their stuff look good, suck their cocks and pour the tea? WTF? Picking a token woman to praise but picking one that is truly awful seems worse than having no token woman at all.

I'm thinking to put an example of her stuff in the anthology and point out its awfulness. b/c she is mentioned everywhere... I wonder about her sister's stuff? I haven't read it yet.

q party

Suddenly Chulita got a call from q-tv which apparently is some queer cable channel here for pride week. so at 8:45 tune in and please tape it. If you happen to have "Q-TV"....?! I'm here at dolores and market having talked my way in, then through 3 layers of backstage. Am proud of my glibness.

There is a sort of glitzy party thing in here with conspicuously fancy looking queer people looking beautiful all over the place. The doorman tried to card me, but i laughed at him. for a moment could not remember how old I was.

live from san francisco!

***
that was quick. I watched them put makeup on chulita - then she was whisked away. I followed as best I could and hung out on some red velvet couches with guys from Mr. S. leather. Very loud music as the har-har-ing interviewers did their thing... C. held up the mag and the novel and said a few things and looked glitzy in her kicky silver lame dress and silver lame tights and silver shoes and TV makeup. I couldn't really hear much. Some young hipster gay dude asked me what this thing on the Mr. S. table was. "Oh, I *have* that!" I chirped. The mr. s. staff cracked up laughing and high fived. "It's the thing that goes on the end of your Magic Wand!"

Then the interview was over. Then we fled!

The reason I didn't go in with her was - I ran off to Dr.Bit's office (which I'd never been to - a big grey institutional building made of cinderblocks - the Health Center on 17th) to get back my copy of B4newrecker! Now I can finish it. Perhaps we can go back to the gay mtv party LIVE and I will sit on the red velvet couch and finish the book ! while chula tries to flirt with the horn section of the band as they are apparently amazing funk powerhouses... ! And she is a fangirl!

*
I really love that stealthy "I'm blogging this!" feeling!

among other things...

A 16 year old kid posting in his blog about how his parents are sending him to anti-gay Xtian brainwashing camp:

Alternet article on the situation

Here's a lovely quote from the head of the camp:

I would rather you commit suicide than have you leave Love In Action wanting to return to the gay lifestyle. In a physical death you could still have a spiritual resurrection; whereas, returning to homosexuality you are yielding yourself to a spiritual death from which there is no recovery.

He's in the camp right now.

Here's the rules for the camp.

So many people act like the basic fight for rights and acceptance is over & won and this pisses me off no end. And like... why make a fuss? Why is visibility important?

The things that happened to me pale in comparison. Good luck Zach and I hope you come out of it and are able to escape.

Of course - there are worse camps - far, far worse, where kids are kept in isolation cells - treated with unbelievable brutality - Nada showed me a lot of that stuff because she worked with a teenage prisoners' rights organization.... I can't look for links to that stuff right now.

Thinking of this makes me so sad... it's unbearable.

But- I hear also that there are protests by the Queer Action Coalition outside the camp - which is cheering.

I wonder what it would be like to go into a camp like that undercover. I couldn't fake being a teenager - I'm too old now. But someone who's a writer and who has great strength of mind should do it.

*

Ask yourself - if a teenager asked you for advice on whether to come out or not to their parents, what would you tell them? Would you tell them to come out? Or wait until they had left home? Where would you tell that person to go for information and support? I'm not talking about a case where you know the kid's parents well. What if a school friend of your own kid asked you? If you provided information and advice, would you have any fears for your own self and your family? How would it make you vulnerable? Think about that a while.

plan for the rest of the day

- long walk with C.?
- continue chapter by chapter summary and analysis of A2A (T.D.'s novel). I'm going to go all out for this book.
- translate at least 2 new poems.
- look over the batch of long, unfinished poems of mine for the MF manuscript.
- tighten up the article I wrote on Tuesday.

zine update

My zine that's a year overdue is shaping up to look pretty good. You know how many calls for submissions I sent out to just the right mailing lists... with not much response? I think I forgot Editor Lesson #1 which is that asking people directly gets the best results. A bunch of people sent me tr4nslations of the poem for the issue the next day or day after. Now I have to poke the ones who expressed interest but didn't do it yet. Very cool that it's working out!

I still wish I'd chosen a different poem, since the versions aren't as different as I'd like them to be. I think sonnets work well, or maybe just rhymed verse in general.

the joys of mpreg

This is so enjoyable... Arcana - snape/Nick St0kes mpreg slash. I thought it was going to be just silly porn, but instead it got really good and explores the best of mpreg... The outrage the man feels, all his sudden fears and vulnerabilities... How nothing feels "consensual" anymore and you are in a very strange position.

The key being that because it's a guy facing all that, the strangeness and unfairness, outrage and complications, become more obvious and somehow more okay. They mean something different when not overlaid by - if you're female and feeling those things, well your femininity is failing because pretty much the whole point of female socialization is to repress those reactions to your body being taken over and going out of your control. I like the scene where Snape tells Nick that he has to leave his job and come back to Hogwarts...

“Look, it isn’t prison, Nicholas.”

“Then what is it?”

“Think of it as a sanctuary. Where you can be protected, and the child.”

His apartment was so cold. It was summer; why was it so cold? How long had he known Snape, anyway? Nearly three months? Practically a stranger. Someone he didn’t know well, someone he was just supposed to trust, like that. Nick shivered. “Call it whatever you want,” he said dully. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“Really, Nicholas, it’s not as if –“

“I’ll need some time to get ready,” Nick told him, studying the hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Make some plans.”

“You’ll be provided for.” A trace of petulance had crept into Snape’s voice. “It isn’t as if you’ll lack for anything.”

No. Just my own home, my job, my place. My friends.

Just pretty much everything.

And then... Snape keeps *learning* from his fuck-ups... heh heh... and *understanding* Nick's confused boundaries and need for respect... Very cool.

discovering the other shelves

After chapter IX of the W1zard of Oz tonight... much beloved because of the mice! I asked Moomin if he had noticed the other Oz books. "What! There are MORE Oz books? You mean, just like there are MORE Capt. Und3rpants books?" Yes. Take a look on the shelves above your shelves... WHAT? PIRATES of Oz? The GIANT HORSE of Oz? WHAT? I thought he was going to have a seizure.

It reminded me of when my parents stood at the door of my room one night when I was 7, and debated in front of me whether I was "old enough" for LOTR. I was sitting bolt upright in bed freaking out. WHAT! What do you MEAN there are more than just the Hobbit?! Give! Now! And my birthday was soon... Moomin is old enough for the hobbit story but not the slow pace of the book. He would lose it in the middle of the 2nd sentence.

I wonder if Bl4ck Beauty has too boring of a pace? The sadness of the story would appeal to him. Also the Bl4ck St4llion ones which I haven't read in a long time - but I liked them hugely when I was 5.

We watched the 1st half of The Sound of Muzak tonight and the beginning was very boring for him but I promised it got better and he played with Legos until it did. He got mad at me for laughing my ass off during some of the scenes with the worst of the overacting, mugging children - during Do Re Mi I nearly died or vomited or something - it was so fucking ludicrous with the skipping and smiles so huge their head were about to fall off. Moomin is not a cynic. "That is NOT FUNNY. It is a NICE SONG BECAUSE THEY ARE HAPPY and that is NOT FUNNY. You will stop laughing now, mommy." 20 minutes later he was still sullenly referring to it. "THIS one is a funny part. You can laugh at this one, but not at the other one. Are you listening to me?"

Anyway.

Moomin laid back in bed smiling and muttering to himself about giant flying golden lizards and horses with umbrellas for their tails - inspired by the cover art for Oz books. Huzzah, nerdy child! Don't worry! Your undying hunger for series books has been properly awakened by the one-two punch of your dad's Oz Thing and your mom's taste for stupid potty humor and comic books.

The next year or 2 is going to be pretty cool as he makes the transition from the small chapter books to the real novels. I am dying of curiosity - what will he go for? What will float his boat? Will he dip into the arcane mysteries of B1ggles? T3rry and the Pirates? The nauseating yet addictive B0bbsey Twins? Redwall? Should I collect him a cool boy-series like the radio boys or pony rider ones, to balance the stuff I've got? From what I can tell, he will take a particular direction of interest and want to follow it deeply. Or will he become a movie nut and lose interest in books altogether?

touchingly - is someone paying him to do this? - as I walked out of the room he sighed and said, "We will read chapter 10 tomorrow. I think tomorrow is going to be really good" and he gazed up at the bookshelves... smugly adoring them...

brave!

Moomin is so brave! He just went through his checkup and shots cooperating perfectly, with the minimum of tiny whimpers and involuntary squirming. He popped up from the 3 shots all frisky, ready for ice cream. I tried to prime him to curse by saying "Drat, drat, DRAT." That didn't work.

His height has shot up... from under 10th percentile to 30th. Weight has dipped just off the chart (underneath it). The doctor was not worried and said it was his general pattern of growth, and if I felt it might fatten him up a little, give him protein powder and some sort of veggie thing or carrot juice in a smoothie or night time milkshake. "Relatives still giving you hell about his size? No? If you're not into blenders, take him to J4mba Juice once in a while. Great job on the reading." Dr. Soxina - she rules!

But Moomin - he rules even more for being so brave and philosophical. Washing his hair is far more difficult.

Princess, we mourn thee

Charged upgraded on dog rapist Beyond disturbing. Sure, the rapist is disturbing - but the reporting is almost worse as a symptom of widespread evil. It's like an afterthought that he raped 2 neighborhood "little girls." I mean, raping little girls happens all the time. But a dog? A dog that then dies? Unthinkable! An outrage!

And further - I'd point out the way it's described is disturbing. The interview with the grieving dog-owner, the detailed physical descriptions, the description of finding the guy with the dog in the act - doesn't that come off as strange and horrible when in combination with the unspoken rapes of the girls? Details of what happened, how it happened, and brutality, swollen vulvas, aren't usually included in newspaper articles about rape. Are they? About children or adults. Now, why is that? Should they be? Is the purpose to drum us up into killing outrage at the horrible details? If so, then why don't newspapers describe that sort of thing for crimes against humans? If "sensationalism" or prurient interest is the worry -i.e. people fetishizing or sexualizing the violence - if that's the worry, then it's even more Not Okay to slip those fetishizable details into the story in the guise of crimes against dogs.

Well, everyone go read "Troll" by Sinisalo and then read the article again - that's your assignment for the week.

Most disturbing subtext of any newspaper article I've read lately... including the ones about the horrible war and torture...

This is another war whose reporting barely happens. The brutality of rape that so many of us experience is only reportable news when it happens to an animal.

I've been unable to do anything productive all day as this is the sort of thing where when I say "disturbing" I mean "I feel aimless and horribly at odds with the entire world for hours and hours. Now I will go read some more Merc3des Licky." "Thanks" though that is not quite the right word, to finalgirl.

cat poem

I was looking to find the poem about "pang0ban, my cat and I..." written by some medieval ir1sh monk - and found only a few people who named their cats or computers or ferrets after it. But not the source. Does anyone happen to have it?

the diagnosis of grounding wires

Meanwhile - my taillights stopped working and I didn't even know it. I didn't go back to Caminito Auto Body, but instead to the cool mechanic down on Fieldmiddle Road. He came out and changed a fuse. That same guy showed me before about the fuses but I had forgotten. The fuse blew.

Let me just say- I am overcome with worship for this dude as he squatted in the street with my truck and I squatted next to him (with my amazingly functional knees doing me proud!) and he let me watch his entire thought process. And he was super smart and I could follow his logic, which was just like computer-fixing logic: start big and narrow down the possibilities of what's wrong by eliminating or disconnecting things. 15 minutes and 5 blown fuses later he had it down to the socket assembly of the right front light (that just got replaced at the Caminito shop) being grounded wrong or just stupidly having the wires switched. He would not let me pay him more than 10 bucks... I thanked him for letting me watch and told him I learned something.

The experience was also notable in that he acted completely like I was a human being with nothing strange about us squatting in the street together. As I watched his competent thinking and deft messing-with-machines I felt that I could happily apprentice myself to him and be an auto mechanic for the rest of my life, writing poetry and essays on the side.

I noticed another thing which is that my car and those lights are kludged together like utter crap, out of crappy materials that don't really fit together well. It was a $10,000 car in 1993 and so this is not a surprise, but I never looked before, since it's always run well and has served so faithfully! So, a hack of a car, but a good hack.

Back at Caminito Aut0 Body to get the part. I explained the process of figuring-out to the manager and mechanic. They didn't understand. Watching the mechanic of Caminito was painful. First he tried to pull the cover off the light without unscrewing it. Then he unscrewed it with startling incompetence and put the screws on top of the battery with all the corroded battery acid all over. I picked them up. Then he tried to yank the socket assembly out of the hole from the back with the lightbulb still attached. Then dropped another screw down into the battery pan... Er! He still didnt' understand but finally took my word for it and the place ordered me a new part. (Which the Good Mechanic disdained as it is afterm4rket from taiwan, but hey, cheap.)

Well - what a contrast. I felt sure down to my bones that, had I taken it to Caminito, they would have kept my car for a day and a half and charged me $200 for a new fuse and socket assembly - that is, if they ever figured it out, which I kinda doubt.

Am going to take the parts from Caminito later today and either fix it myself or take it back to the Good Mechanic who has sense, intelligence, and skill.

I miss fixing computers - but auto mechanic would be nice too. Dickies and a work shirt and steel toed boots and my hair slicked back. For a little while I pictured the Good Mechanic recognizing me as a fellow person of intelligence (though woefully ignorant of cars) letting me work there all summer as an apprentice. How that would probably go and though he treated me as a normal person without the deep suspicion usual b/c of many factors, because I'm a girl, b/c my hair is weird, b/c I'm white, b/c of class. I think my upper class didn't show, because my truck is so shitty looking, I'm wearing a beer tshirt with a gu4yabera over it and jeans. (And am not wearing the upper class entitlement attitude and false uncomfortable humility to the service-tech.) However, the marimacha/lesbo would definitely be showing, and that he treated me nicely means he is either some kind of detached buddha of tolerance compared to every other auto mechanic hispanic guy I've ever met, or that he's queer as hell himself.

The rare thing is that he let me watch his process, which included making mistakes and not being sure. Most people will not allow this. I've mentioned it before - when I was fixing computers I was often taken to task for letting people watch me fix whatever it was. If it was easy to fix, then they lost respect for our jobs. If it was hard to fix, they lost respect for my personal ability. My theory was that at best the person would learn something and be able to fix it themselves next time - empowerment. Sometimes this worked but more often it didn't. At the Lobe School in Chic4go my boss and my co-worker (Spock to my Chekov, BOFH to my PFY) were Good Mechanics in just the same way as the guy today. Rook also is a classic good mechanic as he taught me about programming and debugging by patient example. Thanks, dudes!

at the qtlbg center

I found parking with no problem over by the Mint and walked down M4rket feeling frisky and fine, like I do usually in SF walking around by myself as if I'm just specially enjoying everything about the place and feeling like it's mine and I belong there.

The rainbow flags cheer me up every single time I see them and I remember the first time I came to SF in ... 1991? and saw them and was blown away by the niceness - first, that they were there at all, and second that they weren't there for some special occasion but were up all the time. I can't be too cynical about gay pride when I think of the flags no matter what else one gets cynical about, the parade's huge commercialism and beeriness, or gay businesses exploiting the immigrant-from-the-sticks queers or whatever other bogus things exist.

And I like the QTLBG center - only the 2nd time I've been there. It's so cute! It's lavender! The chairs match each other! There's new couches! A cafe! A reading room! They have *free daycare*! OMFG! They should rename it the OMFG! Center. Excuse my exclamation points and lack of cynical blase-ness, but I like the place and while in the bathroom that had a funny mysterious sign and a giant reminder for people to Deal With Other People's Gender Politely, Please - while peeing I had this whole fantasy where I became a zillionaire and gave tons of money quietly to this kickass place that I wish like hell had existed anywhere in my known world 20 years ago, even 10.

I walked into the cafe still sort of gawking at everything and wondering whether I should hang around a little or go upstairs - and ran into borggirl and lori. And sort of, well, when I saw lori I had this weird urge to put my forehead up against hers and beep gently, hoping that a magic information download exchange would take place. I know in the real world it's called "conversation"... It was, I think, that I had a super long heart to heart talk with Quilty this morning and I realized I am perhaps a little desperate to talk about all the books I've been reading with someone who might also have read them. And she had read Troll and GOT it. borggrrl looking v. cute and ponytaily - but they were having sort of a Conversation which I didn't want to intrude on, and then suddenly I realized Chulita was right there at another table. Yay! But how embarrassing to be right next to her and not see her - I was totally busted gawking at other hot chicks. And then I was also eyeing this other cute girl that I got to talk with later who turned out to be a huge English lit nerd. Chulita deep in novel-fu and booted me back to L. and bg so I ended up Intruding after all. We ended up describing our coming out or in my case kicking-Outed stories to each other I think because L. and bg were talking about their parents' attitudes towards their lives.

The reading was good & interesting. I liked Elsa's poetry (though she was not a dynamic reader-aloud) and some things from M.B.'s pieces. And d.g. - especially the first thing she read. Mario did some cool singing and rap sort of poetry - he was cute & funny how he did the hip-swing and I like a little humor & vulnerability in writing about sex - he did it in a way people don't usually - instead of it all being about erotic licking or grim slaps. Gayle's thing about the pink fluffy bond4ge bunnies also extremely amusing...

I thought harder about testimonial/memoir and tried to think of it as a genre. Professor F. is big on the idea that new genres happen when a nation is in crisis. This one has been happening for a while, but I feel like it's about to coalesce. My knickers get all in a twist when people do that memoir storytelling thing and call it "poetry" because it can be sometimes but mostly isn't. It's something else that I think has its own conventions and traditions that have been in development. Beatriz S4rlo as she talked about the collective power of the testimonial (as in "testimony" in a trial or recounting of something witnessed). This, plus the coming-out narrative (which doesn't necessarily work that way in other cultures, mind you - and I saw that in that Bi anthology that V. gave me at WisCon, and I'll be reviewing that book soon) PLUS what I think is a sideways geneological offshoot from feminist consciousness raising or CR. And I do it to some extent in essays- and even believe that it's important to root that sort of essay in personal experience as part of feminist practice. (No matter how fucking pompous I get, later in the essay... right?) But I realize I get judgemental on the literary quality of these memoirs according to standards perhaps different than the ones they should be judged by. I've also heard plenty of perfectly genuine heartfelt memoir short pieces that made me think, "Okay, that was not only boring, it was embarrassing and stupid to watch you make an ass of yourself, even if that WAS your personal experience..." It's not like I have to accept everyone's personal experience as being well-written or compelling.

This Thing - there is a strain of it in page-poetry as well and for years I've been mocking it without mercy. Tonight for some reason I felt slightly more merciful than usual as I considered that I'm seeing a genre in the making and maybe it is a genre that will always have awkward elbows newly sticking out because it's about process. On the other hand I began thinking it could use some meta-talking about and some theory and defining and some feisty manifestos.

The other cute girl I met was Nika and we talked about grad school very nerdily. She complained about being a poet but being in academia and how it was isolating and the cw classes suck ass where she's at. We burst into mutual hysterical near-sobbing laughter at the descriptions of CW class badness. And decided that all non-writers at a reading like this one should wear funny hats or dealybobber antenna headbands. I was longing to examine her scooter gear v. closely but didn't want to have that whole conversation right then, plus, it makes me feel moronic to go up to someone in a chair and say something like, "i was in one too for a fairly long while. So, don't think I am one of Them. " b/c I didn't want to talk about it all the time then - you know? But the impulse to identify myself is still there. She had the coolest cane-holder thing bolted on... well...

Chulita and I had dinner and gossiped about everything and sort of odd minor incidents and acquaintance-relationships - pleasant & analytical - I do love to overanalyze everything or, well, since I do automatically, I love to get to talk about it and hear someone else's complicated speculations. That thing 5 years ago with this person you don't actually know but met once - did our friendship cool, then, because of the used cassette tape of REO Spe3dwagon I gave them for their birthday which ended up being at a super fancy restaurant and it suddenly seemed so inappropriate that everyone there was offended? That sort of thing.

I have to add that she was looking cute. That pink miniskirt with the fuzzy pink hoodie makes me freak out every time. It's like a cthuloid horror, but in reverse. Or in some other direction, so that instead of losing a sanity point when I see it, I gain an absurd cuteness point.

Home to a sparkly house and Moomin peacefully sleeping. Thanks, Marroqui! Moomin was hilarious when I called at his bedtime... "Mommy, I remember you. And I had fun in our time together. Tomorrow, we will have fun again, some more, with our space blasters and spike-claws." Awwwww!

Rook is in L.A. for work and staying with his best friend Rafe. I hope they will watch weird movies all night long and eat greasy chinese food and do whatever else it is that I don't want to do that only a best friend from high school can provide.

when my old scooter broke

I was telling Moomin yesterday about my old honda moped and how I had covered it with giant dinosaur stickers.

Thinking of that time today - I remembered this guy I dated who fixed the scooter for me. He was so nerdy and prim, you could easily imagine him in his laboratory doing something arcane with calipers, but you wouldn't have thought of him lying down in the parking lot with tools littered everywhere. I left him there on the asphalt in the shade of pecan trees and rode my bike off to work.... when I got back it was fixed. So - maybe magic elves did it and he didn't lie down on the asphalt after all. And the scooter ran again! I was so happy! Once again I was a woman with an engine that would rev!

But the deal is, I then asked him, oh, let's nickname him... Caliper. I asked Cal what he did to fix it. I hoped he'd show me? What had been wrong? Why did it make that hideous noise and then refuse to catch? Was it the engine, the starter, the ignition, what? And he would just change the subject lightly. WTF? Finally we came to him saying, "Why do you care so much, it's fixed isn't it? Why do you want to know?" And --- not quite losing my temper, but about to, I asked mildly, "Why do you not want me to know?" And he wouldn't say. He kind of laughed, but then he got somewhat miffed and said I must not trust him to have fixed it right.

I felt a giant wall of rage in me, towering to the skies. I felt suddenly like there was no way to cross the gulf of non-understanding between us. I said that I was sure he fixed it beautifully but... well, what if it broke again? "Then I'll fix it for you." "What if I want to sell it, and let the buyer know what happened and what was fixed?" "Then ask me then. Why do you want to know NOW?"

As if it were certain he'd be around? Trust was only one issue going on in his mind and mine. What was his deal? I couldn't tell. I had offended his manhood in some crucial way. Neither of us were laughing anymore and I could feel him hating whatever it was in me that made me ask - if not hating, certainly refusing to love.

What to say? I didn't say anything more. But I wish I had told him that suddenly he made it, for me, all be about gender. He was missing something very crucial about feminism, and my right over my own property, and my right to information about my own property. And I wondered if I had been a guy and his friend, would he have told me? If I sold the scooter to a guy, would he tell it to the guy, but never to me? If he'd been my friend-guy who fixed it, would he have still not told me? Or was it specifically about holding power over me in the sexual relationship? If I'd been 'just' his friend and I had a boyfriend, and he hadn't told me, would I have realized he'd never tell me about the scooter engine, then asked my hypothetical other-boyfriend to ask him for me, and he would have told my boyfriend?

These questions all occurred to me and they were all horrible, even devastating, to contemplate. I wonder how many of you have run up against such moments, and what that was like?

I didn't date Caliper for very much longer, don't worry.

recs by Quilty

Floating World - by Cecila Holl4nd - "sort of libertarian @ capitalist - in the future getting its ass kicked by totalitarian military patriarchal culture female anarchist protagonist who is interesting has a pretty tough go of it as she plays a pivotal role in the crushing of the whole solar system - my favorite line is when one of the big movers & shakers in the tribal violent society is bitching at her about fellow anarchists: "Your friends are as bad as you are." "Don't call them my friends. When anarchists are friends it means they fuck each other."

and " that colonialization book by the author with the really weird pseudonym from chicago" Stella Atrium, THE GOULEP (1997 or 98 or so)

We were talking about parenting and separation and she had some perceptive things to say that I want to keep in mind:

"parents really can and DO interfere / prevent growth to the extent they have power over their kids & use it - kids refuse to grow up to the extent they continue to rely on their parents when they could / should be doing on their own - and it's pretty fucking hard if you respect & treat someone like an adult, to recognize that their handing their power over to you is not an adult thing to do."

That was very interesting ... as I think about what it is like (or will be like) to be in either position of 'empty nest syndrome' parent or fledgling adult.

Trolls

I woke up in a sweat, with everything in the book "Troll" (by Joh4nna Sin1salo) falling into place like the last numbers clicking over to 000 on a bomb about to explode. I liked it when I read it last night but I didn't actually "get" it till this morning. I'm not sure how to talk about it without spoiling it. So well done! You could overlook the 'other story' that isn't resolved but that's the key to this subversive, disturbing book.... Again... at first I was just thinking of every other similar tale - like the John Crowley novella - was it called The Beast? and maybe "Other Nature" by Stephanie A. Smith (which I still feel guilty that I never quite reviewed it competently on my old B000kmania site, but at least I've gone around recommending it to people for the last 10 years, because it was eerie and fine, it played with genre so that many of the scenes that would have been the point and focus of another SF book were elided neatly leaving the focus on the people & relationships and you knew what had happened anyway from the genre conventions; it had that disturbing sense of the world/children becoming other-ness.)

Ah, but Troll. The thought of this book slipping easily down someone's throat as a riveting sexy well-told tale was immensely pleasing and that they would not realize the poison pill, the razor blade center, the despairing bitter call to arms of the SCUM Manifesto... Just, wow! Here again the story is a very different story depending on how you read and how you play the game of reading and what your library is. What is oppression? How does it work? What does it mean to be 'read' as seductive? What part does Love play in these myths made to interpret what exists? (A very good explanation of how love, sex, aestheticization, mystification and repression tie into oppression and violence... I realize my saying this is not going to make anyone want to read the book. Don't worry, you will barely notice.)

And where is that cave and how I can I sign up? I've got my gun and lighter at the ready... they're only made of words, but that will have to do.

other people's vacation slides

I can't believe i just watched Dooce's incredibly boring vacation slides. I wish i could say it's because I love her so much and have faith in her artistry. But really I was hoping that if i watched all the way to the end, she might flash her tits. Oh well - there is always Blogher, and hope.

mommery = *yawn* - spinning my wheels

An interesting phone call from Rook's mom as she lamented how her younger daughter is a slave. "She used to be a person. And there were things she liked to do. And she's 40! And now she's a slave. And being a mother is already enough like being a slave without actually being a slave, the way she is, and it's her OWN FAULT." Ergh! I suggested an ip0d since she could listen to it for some minutes of peace... "She could listen to IT instead of her CHILDREN and GRUMPY HUSBAND" - quoth mi suegra, who disapproves of Rook's sister pulling her oldest kid out of k1ndergarten to home schOool him because he was frustrated in school. He is extremely bright, but slow at writing letters (I think partly out of utter disinterest in writing Cat Hat Mat and partly from the insane perfectionism that runs strong and varied in the family.) So i think they labelled him LD, etc... But the problem came from that they don't let them out for recess or free time in the classroom unless they finish their "work" i.e. coloring something or writing a row of the letter "B." So he never got time to play checkers with friends or other games or go outside and blow off steam. And would come home freaking out every day! Rook's mom meanly says this he's freaking not because of school but because his home situation is tense because his dad hasn't got his phd after 11 years or something. But I think that is too mean to say.

If it were me I would have been wildly glib and persuasive and wrapped the teacher around my finger or promised her Xtreme volunteer service... But I think my sis in law tried to work the system (perhaps on her mom's advice?) with the LD thing? Who knows... it's not like I'm there on the scene. But I still bet that the kid is totally fine and by 3rd grade will be typing anyway so who cares.

I have harsh opinions on this sort of thing as my handwriting sucked ass and I was always being tormented about it. My handwriting still sucks and I don't care! Oh the endless hours of writing longhand in pen - if there were 2 mistakes on a page, you had to just start over - erasable pen was not allowed. I know that writing B B B cat bat hat mat is different than bad handwriting but it's patience and interest and biddability as well as "fine motor skills" isn't it?

Also one admires Jane (Rook's sister) for committing to homescho0ol - but she is also just a little nuts with her conviction that her kids can't function without her in the room. Has been since they were infants! Hasn't changed! As they are both incredibly outgoing, hypersocial talkative confident bossy children, I can't imagine.

Chi-Erh (Rook's other sister) thinks overall that Jane is the too-perfect mom in order to passive-aggresively show up everyone else (meaning Chi-Erh and their own mom) as incompetent and selfish. She started saying this right after Jane had her first baby - and she never stopped implying it forever after. I have a suspicion that this (while still mean) is partly correct as all the 3 siblings have bitter things to say about their childhoods so that whenever I burn the frozen pizza and try to say to Moomin that actually it's not that burned, Rook looks at me as if seeing something from a nightmare come to life, and I know he is bitterly flashing back to having no food around the house but some burned nasty kim-chee or scraggly pot roast both burned and raw and some bread with only a little mold that was cut off and thrown away, mostly. So then I toss the burned pizza and give Moomin a sandwich... I'm not THAT bad... Though eerily Rook's mom and I share many qualities including being tactless hurricanes, burning dinner, talking about 10 things at once disconnectedly, hoarding objects, carelessness and belief in improvisation, and a certain frightening ruthless impatience.

(And somewhere in here I must say also that my impression has been that Jane sort of always got treated badly from the start or like the child who was most not doing the right thing or that she was expected to be a fuckup, or wasn't what her mom OR dad wanted to get. And most heinously but with famous bluntness/tactlessness my mom-in-law has said to me a couple of times that one of those things is physical and is b/c she is the fat daughter and also the darker skinned. She said it a couple of times as we (alone together) looked over family albums and talked about everyone's personalities and histories.) (Which also partly explains some of the parent-pleasing desperation and tendencies to anorexia in Chi-Erh.) (And which also reminds me of things that Norad had told me about her family and who looks more dark-haired and who's more fair and how that started all the expectations and different treatment.) (Not to mention all my own mom's giant anxieties about how 'asian-looking' Moomin was going to be and would be when grown up.)

Well, we all go overboard in our own way - in our trying-not-to-be-our-own-parents.

But none of that has anything really to do with the kid (Jane's oldest) who seems to have his own independent strong personality barreling through reality.

(And how maddening that everyone says, Oh, the kid has this problem (that is really not a huge a problem at all as far as I could tell ) and so let's all dogpile on the mom and blame her for something and in fact trace it right back to the bad momming of the grandma. WTF? I just thought I'd list everything being said and thought and then point out that it's fucked up, they're good parents, in fact I think they rock, and Rook and I put them down in our will to be Moomin's guardians in case we die in a car accident.)

back to 'normal'

Moomin is back to normal. To most everything I say or offer it's a chirpy happy "What? That's just what I wanted! Thanks!" rather than the Xtreme bitchiness of the last few days and especially yesterday.

He directed an hour-long story this afternoon and I just let him boss me in everything. "Stand over here. Two to beam to Mercury. Wait! Look! Over there! *A sword.* The giant ...mutant.... spike-tailed ...many...-legged ...evil space fish from... Cytar! Must have left it there, and it's poison! We need laser-protecting space sunglasses, and gloves! Follow me! Wait. Spikes out! Claws too! Put on your fangy teeth and make them sharp!"

This went on for a very long time. Usually he does these stories in a whisper and clams up when you ask what's going on. Doesn't want to be laughed at.

My favorite part was when we were in Flip-o-rama. He positioned me in dramatic poses a nd then demonstrated how I should move back and forth between the 2 positions. "Now Flip! Violetron fought the Cytar evil spikefish! Then, the Evil Cytar Fish fought back! Violetron fought harder! Tigerspike and Violetron won the war!"

Yes - my child got me to pretend to be a 2-page paper flip-animation figure.

The tea party was fun too. He made me fruit salad and pineapple grilled cheese sandwich and then he initiated lots of proper grownup conversation. "So... what do you do really well?" I thought that a good conversation opener. "I really like to make socks." "Oh! So, did you learn how to do that at your office?" "Well, actually, no, at Sockmaking University. Your cooking is great, by the way. Where did you learn how to cook so well?" *beam* "Oh, I learned it at my office. I'm a great cook."

An instructive yet exhausting afternoon. I'm so glad he's not barfing. I may be made of iron but he is steel...

He liked making the dinosaur movie. I think we'll end up doing a lot of that. He's going to need his own computer with imovie... !!!??? next year ? My first attempt at doing anything with that software. It was pretty intuitive - but I messed up on putting the audio in before the title and credits were there, and then fixing it seemed too tedious. Moomin watched every step of the clicking and dragging, etc. and asked intelligent questions.

barf management and telepathic companion animals

Barfing is now down to a couple of times an hour. Moomin is wearing a bandana to keep his bangs out of the toilet. Last time - he almost fell in completely. For a tiny kid who hasn't been sick very often, he caught on quick to advanced vomiting techniques. As he's become more exhausted and noodle-limbed, I have to hold him up completely. Urgh!

I get nauseous listening to other people barf, but I have an iron will.

He just had 2 sips of apple juice and I'm hoping that he keeps it down or maybe something in there will make the heaving less painful.

My poor little bunny!

Meanwhile I'm doing nothing really... listlessly reading M3rcedes Lickey, the first in the series about the sword-sworn Not-Lesbians. I swear, every chapter there is a stern reminder of how very not-lesbian they are! In my present state of mind I'm warming up to Lickey's Thing despite the mushy writing. The Not-Lesbians first quickly kicked the ass of the rich guy who force-married and raped the mage when she was 12. I was all steeling myself for her to be captured and messed up, but instead she had a cool feminist moment: scared for a few seconds and thinking, "What if he TOUCHES me!" but then realizing that he rapes little girls because he's afraid of grownups, and she's a grownup now. Then she kicks his ass. That was awesome. The Bad Situations keep coming up but they're mercifully brief. So the point of it all is not about fear - about a subtext of "you should also be afraid" but of ass-kicking. Now that I get this, I understand a little better what the deal was about everyone being obsessed with these books as teenagers. We need healthy, self-indulgent escapist trash, for sure! Psychic animals with glowing eyes... A world where somehow it's all sexist but somehow Not, and where it's sort of okay to be queer, but the protagonists definitely Aren't, but that's just a coincidence - not because they're not supposed to be.

In the scene I just read, a bandit chief was pretending to be a caravan guard and had led a bunch of caravans full of women/girls to their doom. The 2 Not-Lesbians magically disguised themselves as rich airhead bimbos... Bandit attackers dispatched quickly and Bandit Guard Traitor stunned, strapped to his horse, and ensorcelled to look exactly like the sexy illusion-girl he was lusting after. So - we have the 2 Not-Lesbians gloating over the thought of the girlified bandit being, I guess, gang-raped, beaten and killed by his former fellows. Gloating madly! For a moment they paused to ask, "Is he really a woman now, and so we are sworn to defend him/her? Well, no. It's just an illusion and he's really still a man." Hmmmmm! You know, somehow I don't think that's quite the way to smash the patriarchy, not that these Lickey books HAVE a patriarchy - they only have individual greed and evil. It being always women who are fucked over, no one quite notices a pattern to it. It shouldn't' be a punishment to make someone a woman or look like a woman, right? But it totally is (even if he/she weren't tied to the horse and sent off to the bandits.) Men don't get raped (somehow...) and whores (all female so far) are not to be despised by our Swordswomen, but instead gently pitied, "Too bad they never developed some other 'real' skill..."

But on the whole, there is much to approve of in the 2 Lickey books I've endured. Blame Rook - as he is obsessed with figuring out that Thing because of wanting to run games in the Blu3 Rose game system. He told me last night that there is so much (male) dorkward gamer fuss over Blu3 Rose being Too Girly and Too Gay, that they put out the core rules of it stripped down without the world-building. That's so fucking lame! Imagine! I was laughing uncontrollable bitterness at this. Oh no! A thing was created that's cool, but too girly! Quick, correct that unbalanced situation! Rather like the cartoon of the corporate boardroom of guys in suits around a table and 2 women there and the guys all thinking, "We're surrounded!" in a giant panic.

***
Note: wow... take a look at this: Char. editor. This is the sort of thing that makes my pants fall off. I mean... wow.

***
Another interesting facet of Blu3 Rose: not quite "diverse" enough of a society?

barfin'

Moomin woke up barfing. Now we have retching and crying about every 10-15 minutes... he's parked in front of the tv with towels around him. Ugh! Poor thing.

He's heaving up the green bitter stuff from the duodenum or whereever - below your stomach, powerful yukky heaves. In between, perky enjoyment of TV but a hangdog look. I think i'll wait another 15 min before i try another sip of water on him.

slavering nerddom

For a moment I must just sit back and say "whoa cool!" endlessly like the teenage boy-geek that I really am:

solar powered space sailing!

Wow! Yay! Huzzah!

Next, ramjets!

***
How is it that there's no tinfoil in the house? I had to make do with a blanket and some fwooshing noises.

Thinking (as happens embarrassingly often) of a small thing from The Book of the N3w Sun... the poetic, passionate schizophrenic monologues of a minor character, H3thor, as he describes his experiences as a mariner, a sailor... and then it's all mixed up with the light-sails shining against the stars. So well written! I thought again of all I'd like to say about that series and its importance as a masterwork or milestone -- a keystone in a body of literature. Surely somene's written something intelligent? Yes: P3ter Wright has:

Coming to understand The Book of the N3w Sun is like learning the rules of a game. If the reader succeeds in perceiving the rules of W0lfe's literary game, achieves the reconciliation of plot with story, then the experience of reading becomes an educational one. By stimulating the reader to reject primary assumptions and existing preconceptions, Wolfe not only lifts the reader onto a level of alertness that allows for his most subtle effects, but also reveals to the more cautious reader how they ascribe meaning to a text. This is, perhaps, the most fundamental factor in any claim that The Book of the N3w Sun is a 'masterwork': it encourages the growth of the reader towards what Jonathan Cull3r terms 'literary competence'. In short, W0lfe organises the text to be understood only by those readers willing to question their own literary assumptions, pause, reflect, and reread.

Oh - that hits the nail on the head so exactly! That gets right to the heart of why it's amazing. The hilarious thing is how he managed to write it so that it's also a trashy popular novel. I think this is the case for the Kush1el books too - but less so (as C. was talking with me about making a case for the K. books to be seen as 'literary'.) It's also the case for T.D.'s series (though I've only read the first one, from its pace of development I can see that the arc is going to be sustained over the next ones - and I'm just trusting that it's going to sustain the quality and build up momentum properly).

my dad recommends

He just re-read Gr4nt's memoirs and said how he was a good writer, humble, smart... he was dying when he wrote them and was in financial trouble, so wrote them to help support his family after his death.

The Struggle for Ap4cher1a - about the wars in arizona between the U.S. and the ind1ans.

A memoir by a guy who was appointed a major in Sh3rman's staff without any military experience. Hutch1ns? Something.

Sudden wave of nostalgia to how nice my dad is to go into bookstores or libraries with - how he dives in for hours and comes up triumphant with the nicest things that I'd maybe not think of reading - but then they turn out to be great. From him I have my taste for going to original sources. (So strange, how he didn't realize I was reading all his pengu1n classics? how is that possible. I mean, he was right there. Did I not talk about them? I might have been too afraid they'd take away the dirty ones, and how could I have lived through junior high without "The Tw3lve Caesars" as my porn?)

also recommended (mũsica)

el sombrero pelo e' guaaaaama by R3yna Luc3rrrro.
tongue in cheek about people who wear that kind of hat. interviews with her from google searches (now you see why I obscure names.) Unfortunately she endorses Chavvvez. My dad going off on a recent speech of Chaaavez and how he glorified the commmmunist revolutionaries of the 60s in Venez. and the 62 revolt in puerto cabellllo. "Put down." "What planet is this guy in? Tose guys were a bunch of losers..Casssstro.... but now they are the govt." Oh dad! aaaaagh! I'm squashing my response... I swear it's not that I love H.Chavvvez either but ! I don't not-love him in that same way.(will... not... give... speech .. to dad on fathers' day about the evils of the ch1cago boys, his Gods)

Aries Vigotttth. Yes I know his stuff... he's kind of a philosopher.... El parc333ro. The rules to live by. A code of conduct. The simple life. A moral thing. the rhythm on it, the beat is very classic jorrropo that is so strong as dancing music and you can't help stomping your feet...

la soga. forgot who sang it. about a lasso. If you listen to the song it's about the cowboy looking at the lasso up on the wall and how he thinks over his whole life and what he did with that lassoo. very moving.

the one about the guy who curses the people who stole his canoe. His relatives yell at him for losing the canoe. The litany of bad stuff that should happen to the thieves! A truck should run over them, they should get painful boils...

illin'

Either Moomin is getting sick or he is suffering from the worst case of 5-year-old existential despair ever. Or the result of neglect and bad parenting has finally begun to shine through.

Moping, bitchy, critical, whiny, demanding, rejecting everything offered for entertainment, dissatisfied with his lot in life.

It's hard to deal with!

bacon

Fancy breakfast outside for Rook.... I'm in the sort of mood where I'd like to coconut-oil myself up and lie on the lawn, gently crisping.

Instead I think we're going to slack a little and go see Howl's Moving Castle at the Mercado. That's good too!

Moomin is surly. I read him 2 chapters of "the mouse and the motorcycle". Also promised him we'd make our own Flip-o-r4ma pictures today....

I'm wondering how it is that I made it through an entire Merc3des Lackey novel. Why? Why god why?With steel resolve - I will read nothing but tiptree books and past winners this week.

And - I need at least 2 full days in Staffnord library to hunt down and xerox obscure poems from 1910.

Leann's partner Handy is in the hospital with ulc3rative c0litis and it sound extremely hideous and miserable... I don't know him well but I'm thinking of him. Hospitals suck! being sick is so hard and I wonder how he's bearing up.

evil mamas!

planning session for next season's buffy game...

"So we need a theme... Dot is pregnant... a Big Bad... we had a corporate theme and this time it could be domestic..."
"How about the interdimensional Evil Mom-Club?"
"Isn't there a... you know... the goat with a thousand young?"
"Shub-Niggurath...?"

Er! hahahah.

Our larp went well and was surprisingly easy to do. It was called G4rden Station 4. Wow, it was awesome! Only me, Rook, Zamber, whump, and Druidsquirrel when it was in theory for 8 players. But it got very intense. I was very happy to have the character that I got. It was just like being in a super cheesy episode of an SF series. I just looked it up and it is described as a "p4rlor larp." Very playable even for me - not an experienced larper. I was shipwrecked long ago on the alien space station and went "insane" (Must defend the planet, "Garden," from any interference at all costs. AT ALL COSTS.) Rook missed it I think but I stuck in some things about eden and the torah etc (as i was named applebaum...) Paradise! Why would you want to destroy it!? Also, I made her be a woman from a frontier planet who got fed up with being a housewife in primitive conditions. Always serving other people! Destroy all humanity... like grubby toddlers destroying the Garden...!

Whump and Druid were survivors from the United Pl4nets ship (shot down by the station) while Za. was from the super-fascist empire where nearly everyone takes the drug "Ink" to make them happy and obedient.

Well - a 3 hour plot to unfold and probably Rook will write it all down in detail. But well worth describing. We all shot each other (the medical robot repaired us - until I shot it too) Oh and don't forget the planets I blew up. Yay! Must prevent anyone from contaminating the planet at all costs.. AT ALL COSTS. As soon as I saw that there was a "blow up all the human planets in the galaxy" button, duh, I was figuring how I wanted to push it.

Best bit for me was that I was able to persuade them to listen to me for quite a long time as I babbled about my eco-hippie thing and asked them questions about if they were happy in their life before... I was quite creepy! And they listened and didn't look at the terminals, which offered actual power.

Za was great as the person discovering free will as her drug wore off - and she was an excellent liar - and Druidsquirrel an awesome traitor .... Whump was unbelievably hilarious as the loudmouthed propaganda newscaster asshole. It was scary how he made it so realistic I began to hate him!

this game would have been just as fun as a longer game, maybe 5 hours rather than 3.

It was torment to have to leave Jo's party - why did the scheduling diss me... alas... but, but, but! it was a ton of fun. (And Grace missed my outrageously silly skort with the lace trim, and Ms. Jane yanking on it to peer at my underwear.) I learned many new kid jokes... Why did the guy have to get his butt fixed? Because it had a CRACK in it! And the joke about 3 kids named Shut Up, Manners, and Trouble. I think in my day "manners" was something else, but Eliz said the "What's your name?" "Shut Up." What's your name? Shut Up! part with exactly the intonation I remember from Detroit - how very strange.

best virus idea EVER

Due to email from Squid just now... I thought of the best email virus. It would email everyone in your inbox a short message: "What color underwear are you wearing right now?"

Think of the havoc?!

I'm fighting a mad temptation to spam everyone I know with that line and see what response I get.

In the interests of not being a jerk - I'll just invite YOU, gentle reader, to let us all know the answer.

Photographic evidence is not required - but of course very welcome.

bugged!

I'm so amused... now that my old dorkshire email is up and running again, I'm getting travel bug reports! The one that I left cached in the NY blizzard at the very beginning of this blog - it's still traveling!

And the bug (Captain Cavegirl, a Homie keychain) that Minnie and I left in a dangerous cave - it's gone over 500 miles. It's supposed to be placed underground. (Lest anyone comment on our sweaty looking dorkiness - keep in mind we'd just done a 4-hour trail ride at a dude ranch. With drunken cowboys. And annoying children. And our parents. And then gone underground into a deep mineshaft with only penlights.)

I miss caching... I should be doing it in SF while I'm there. T4rget has those yellow etrexes for 80 bucks... but i'm going to try eb4y.

the thought that I was recently Right here! and there was a cache at my feet! Undiscovered. torment.

graduating!

Wow - it hadn't quite hit me until I saw the little "diploma" but -- Moomin just graduated from kindergarten! Dinner and outdoor-theater to celebrate. I must explain the plot of "Two Gentlemen on Verona" to him.

Oh, I wish I had a link to "Two Gentlemen on Veronica" to share with you all! Wait - I do have that link!