Proud

Today's a big day.

Some of you know.

40 years ago today, a bunch of misfits in a bar made a lot of noise when the folks who were there to serve and protect (whom?) got rough with them. For two days, a bunch of other people joined them, and a bunch of other people watched. A year later, the first Gay Pride marches happened to commemorate the event. And so, many folks argue, the modern LGBT rights movement was born.

I had, like, a million things to say about this, but I realized I was approaching it like a sermon, looking for a moral. I don't have a moral. I'm queer and out and grateful, and there are lessons to be learned from Stonewall and the more recent battles and our righteous disappointment, but I am unable to pick just one, and who am I to tell you what your lessons should be, anyway?

So, then, a few links for more reading, for those who are interested.

• The Wikipedia version
• An eyewitness account
• Frank Rich's acknowledgement of, among other things, what hasn't changed

And a few questions for folks who feel like having a conversation in the comments. You obviously don't have to answer all of these; pick what strikes your fancy:

• Did you think about Stonewall today (or yesterday)? What did you think about Stonewall today or yesterday?
• Do you remember Stonewall? Tell us a story.
• Do you remember any big queer awarenesses? That you were, that I was, that civil rights matter? Tell us about it.
• Are you mad at Barack Obama? More or less mad than you were at Bill Clinton? Tell us about it.
• What are you celebrating today?
• What are you mourning?
  
• Who are your queer heroes, and why? If you don't have any queer heroes, why? You can't just pick me. (Note I said, "just.")
  
• Why haven't you found me a nice girl yet?

In which I overdo the italics, for what seem like good reasons

This may shock you, but I was a pretty surly 13-year-old, in total contrast to the ray of sunshine I am now. It's true.

At the age of 13, I got what many 13-year-old girls only dream about: A do-over. On my whole life.

We moved the summer between eighth grade and ninth grade, from rural New Hampshire to suburban Massachusetts. I was sure that the dorky, isolated kid I'd felt like would vanish, leaving a totally cool new me — the real me — with tons of friends who really understood. My new school would be filled with people who could appreciate me. Teachers would cease to care that I didn't do any homework because I was brilliant. Students would not be able to believe what a hole had been in their lives before I moved to town. Fashion would suddenly dictate that being a little heavy with giant glasses was the new black.

Yeah, OK. That didn't so much happen. Some things were better in the new school, many things were worse. I survived it and am now the very very well-adjusted blogger you all know and love. You will note my "About me" covers the suburbs differently than the country.

But the point is, when I left the old town, I left it completely, severing virtually all ties. Did not one bit cling to my old friendships. Hell, no.

And then came Facebook. Last night, my childhood best friend found me, filled with nostalgia from thinking about her upcoming high school class reunion. Excellent. I can't wait to hear more about her life. My Facebook stalking suggests she's happy, is married with kids, lives in the town we all used to live in, and is still in contact with many of our old classmates.

This morning, another elementary-school and middle-school friend found me. We were not best friends. He might be surprised to hear that I think of our childhood friendship as sort of love-hate, because I thought we were similar, and I did not want him or anyone else noticing that, even as I thought he was hilarious and neat. He was a little weird, in a way my adult self would love. We were both smart, and not tough, in a place where tough equaled cool. He embraced his weirdness and smartness. I just frantically wanted to be very, very normal.

So, this is getting very long. But let's face it, if you're still reading now, you're going to keep reading. And we both know it. You're all but a hostage here.

So this guy found me this morning. And we traded details of our lives, in a sort of twenty-years-in-twenty-lines format.

I think he might be setting his high school classmates up for a reality-show version of Grosse Point Blank. I am not going to share all of his twenty years with you because:

• I at least sort of respect for his privacy, and
• If we maintain this friendship, I might let him see this blog, and
• You would think it was a work of fiction, and I am mostly sure that it is not.

Suffice it to say that every single year has something as astounding as these highlights:

1988 first daughter born; join Army
1989 graduated [high school] and left New Hampshire for the Army
...
1994 Chop off fingertip after 100' vertical ice axe ascent of Portage Glacier-
...
1997 Traveling announcer for Sport Parachute demonstration team- shatter leg after freefall mishap
...
2001 Third marriage- Decide flying for a living isn't what I want to do after life-changing experience- change jobs (and design a simulator for RPGs now used worldwide in war games)
...
2009 Start two graduate programs (making up for lost time)- first grandchild born in Maine- Moving back to Germany (August)

Which, are you kidding?

Two things:

• What have I been doing for the last 25 years? My list reads like, "moved a bunch of times, got a job as a teacher, got a job as a waitress, got a job as a writer, moved."
  
• This is the kid I was worried about being like? Because we have not done one thing that was similar since 1985.

In the sun I feel as one

So, I'm sorry, gang.
I haven't been posting because I wanted to keep fixing the design, but I haven't been fixing the design because I don't know what I want to do yet.
I do know that this is not the final redesign, much as I know that I am not going to leave my bathtub peeling and multi-colored, but in both cases, it'll have to do for now, because I need to post and I need to bathe. If you have great ideas for what I should do, other than keeping black-on-white (which I will do) and getting rid of the scary cat (which I will probably do), let me know.
Meanwhile, onward and upward.

Minor changes

I like to call this one "minima lefty (not stretch) with scary awesome cat picture."

Thoughts?

Shopping

So, this week, I'm going to try some new themes in the design of the blog. Those of you who read regularly, please check in and see what you think. I'll post a post every time I post a theme, and I'll try to leave each theme up for at least a day. Comment to tell me whether you like it or not, and what aspects, specifically, you do and do not like.

A dear friend of mine and regular reader of this blog, who just did a big redesign of her own, said, "It feels to me like putting on a new outfit, or buying a new pair of shoes."

And that's the thing, isn't it? The old wardrobe feels outdated, both in terms of fashion and in terms of who I am right now. But also, I get inclined to stick with the old stuff, because shopping feels like such a pain, even though I am almost always pleased when I do get the new thing. Periodically, all my old shoes wear out at the same time, and like it or not, I have to shop for new ones. Which I generally love so much that I wear them pretty much exclusively until they, too, wear out.

This is way too long a post to say, here's Minima Lefty Stretch.

Debating, rather than dueling

Some coworkers were listening to A Prairie Home Companion last weekend, and heard k.d. lang assert that playing the banjo was "a chick magnet."
The coworkers in question have extrapolated that to mean that I should start playing the banjo.
Discuss.
(Oh, and feel free to share and solicit opinions from your banjo-playing or chick-magnetic friends.)

Why all these dudes wearin' brown flip-flops?

When I lived "in D.C." the most recent time, I actually lived in Arlington, one of the closer-in suburbs in Virginia.
In fact, my employer, which had "Washington" in the name, was also in Arlington.
Arlington is most famous nationally as the home to Arlington National Cemetery. But it is famous in the Capital Region for, well, all the stuff in this video, which has been sent to me by approximately 16 different people, as well as popping up on bunches of Facebook statuses.
Enjoy, friends.

Ivy update

(Previous ivy updates here)

Sick and tired

Hey, gang. There was a long post in the works about how sick I was last week, and how I'm also a hypochondriac, which makes everything more difficult. It was hilarious and rambly. But I did not have the attention span to finish it.

I'm better now, but very, very run-down and weak. Which is sad; between the sick and the tired, I have missed:

• several major family events,
• one major work event,
• one minor social event,
• three and a half days of work,
• and fireworks

So yesterday, with a little help from my sweet mother, I made my way back to the urgent care center to see if maybe there wasn't something major going on, on top of strep throat. There isn't. I'm fine.

The guy who did my blood work (which, in this case, means both drew the blood and ran the tests) was awkward and made a lot of noise about how drawing blood is his least favorite part of the job, and he doesn't usually do the blood drawing.

That became clearer when we were able to see what happens when he does:


That is after a day of healing, folks. Yesterday, it was just that color and size, but also swollen and weirdly lumpy. Hurts like hell, too.