It's not like this is a frequent occurrence or anything, but it happened this morning, and, gotta say, equal parts smile-inducing and internally awkward.
I got up, showered, got dressed, made one last check in the mirror, and thought:
"Hm. Maybe a little more go-go dancery than is strictly work appropriate."
Day 27 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for aging gracefully.
Ish.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Dating game
Some of you have wondered how my single life is.
As I may have mentioned elsewhere, I am on a certain online dating site that rhymes with "No way, stupid."
Here's how that's going for me, by the very rough numbers:
I have also responded to a small handful of Craigslist personal ads.
Here's how that's going for me:
And overall:
Day 26 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful* for the internet, and for finding miraculous diamonds while you're looking for rubies.
As I may have mentioned elsewhere, I am on a certain online dating site that rhymes with "No way, stupid."
Here's how that's going for me, by the very rough numbers:
- Years of membership: 4, minus maybe 6 or 7 combined total months when I was dating someone or too tired to keep trying
- Number of ridiculous questions answered: 2,511
- Number of messages from vaguely sketchy straight men: Roughly 15
- Number of messages from seriously, demonstrably sketchy straight men: 1
- Total number of first dates yielded: Roughly 10
- Total number of second dates: 1
- Number of great friends found through direct dating-site contact: 2
- Number of great friends made indirectly, as a result of those contacts: Roughly 20
I have also responded to a small handful of Craigslist personal ads.
Here's how that's going for me:
- Number of ads responded to: 5
- Number of entirely sketchy responses to my responses: 4
- Number of entirely sketchy people I inadvertently responded to twice, via different ads: 1
- Number of great friends made through direct Craigslist contact: 1
- Number of great friends made indirectly, as a result of that contact: Roughly 12
And overall:
- Number of close non-internet friends who've met great partners on the same dating site I'm actively on since I've been on it: 2
- Number of hours I've spent discussing with those friends our prospects and sharing profiles of potential partners: Roughly 600
- Number of other dating sites I'm theoretically on that have yielded literally nothing, datewise or friendwise or experiencewise: 2
- Percentage of local queer friends met directly or indirectly through the internet: Roughly 74
- Number of potentially life-changing experiences had, so far, as a result of those relationships: Already too many to count.
That's how. You?
Day 26 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful* for the internet, and for finding miraculous diamonds while you're looking for rubies.
*I initially mistyped that word "dateful." I do not know what that means, but I like it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Free to...
When she graduated from college, my mother went to seminary to study to be a priest, though the Episcopal Church was not yet ordaining women. It was obviously imminent.
Except, it wasn't. The first women were ordained to the priesthood in our church five years after she finished — and they broke the rules to do it.
Two years after that, the church decided to change the rules, and the next year "regularized" the irregular priests.
Meanwhile, of course, other rules had changed — the process for becoming ordained was different, involved exams. And though my mother (and my godmother, and their friends) had jumped through all the hoops once, she had to jump through the new hoops, too. With two small children impeding her study (yes, yes, and probably making her life richer in miraculous and sacred ways — but also, unpotty-training themselves and scribbling on the sofa and and and).
Feminism was our family value, as deeply held, I'd say, as faith — and certainly intertwined with it.
Forty years ago, Marlo Thomas and Friends released Free to Be ... You and Me. Sometime in the few years after that, we owned it. Not every child of my generation is familiar with that record, but that's not my fault — I played it one million times, brought it in for show and tell, repeated lines of dialogue for the edification of my high school friends. That record was — is — spectacular, and you should read the Slate piece that came out last month about it. It's a looooong three-parter, and it is worth it.
Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for feminism, for all the work of my mother, of all of the folks who went before her, who worked with her, who've come since. I am thankful to have been raised in a feminist household, to have been encouraged in all my traits, both those that others might dismiss as "girly" and those that might have seemed to go against my gender a generation earlier. I am thankful for the examples of strong and nurturing people of many genders, thankful for all the gains made on my behalf, thankful for the opportunity to make gains on behalf of others.
And I am very thankful to have been raised with Free to Be ... You and Me.
Except, it wasn't. The first women were ordained to the priesthood in our church five years after she finished — and they broke the rules to do it.
Two years after that, the church decided to change the rules, and the next year "regularized" the irregular priests.
Meanwhile, of course, other rules had changed — the process for becoming ordained was different, involved exams. And though my mother (and my godmother, and their friends) had jumped through all the hoops once, she had to jump through the new hoops, too. With two small children impeding her study (yes, yes, and probably making her life richer in miraculous and sacred ways — but also, unpotty-training themselves and scribbling on the sofa and and and).
Feminism was our family value, as deeply held, I'd say, as faith — and certainly intertwined with it.
Forty years ago, Marlo Thomas and Friends released Free to Be ... You and Me. Sometime in the few years after that, we owned it. Not every child of my generation is familiar with that record, but that's not my fault — I played it one million times, brought it in for show and tell, repeated lines of dialogue for the edification of my high school friends. That record was — is — spectacular, and you should read the Slate piece that came out last month about it. It's a looooong three-parter, and it is worth it.
Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for feminism, for all the work of my mother, of all of the folks who went before her, who worked with her, who've come since. I am thankful to have been raised in a feminist household, to have been encouraged in all my traits, both those that others might dismiss as "girly" and those that might have seemed to go against my gender a generation earlier. I am thankful for the examples of strong and nurturing people of many genders, thankful for all the gains made on my behalf, thankful for the opportunity to make gains on behalf of others.
And I am very thankful to have been raised with Free to Be ... You and Me.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Rebirthday
I came out for the first time on November 26, 1992.
That was the first time I said it out loud.
It was also, really, the first time I'd admitted it to myself.
I'd been active on some level in advocating for queer rights for nearly ten years by then. I'd been around other queers in a firm and active way for just over three years.
But November 26, 1992, I admitted out loud that I was not there as an ally. Then, to my shame, I was so scared my community would reject me that I quickly rejected them first; I cut off many of my favorite queers for fear they'd mock me once they knew.
P.S. They didn't, mostly.
Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the last twenty years. I am thankful for progress, in public and in my own soul, even incrementally. I am thankful for the very queer life I am able to build in my 40s, even if I was too scared to build it in my teens and early 20s. I am thankful for books and movies that have possibly literally saved my life, thankfuller still for the amazing LGBTQ (and allied) friends and family I have collected over a lifetime and over the last few months.
When people — even queers and allies — are discussing whether we are "born this way," this argument is often made: "Who would choose that kind of life, with all the pain and heartache and discrimination?"
I proudly say: "Me." I would.
Because living this kind of life, with all the pain and heartache and discrimination, is so much more than worth it you cannot imagine. It is so, so beautiful — and so clearly home.
That was the first time I said it out loud.
It was also, really, the first time I'd admitted it to myself.
I'd been active on some level in advocating for queer rights for nearly ten years by then. I'd been around other queers in a firm and active way for just over three years.
But November 26, 1992, I admitted out loud that I was not there as an ally. Then, to my shame, I was so scared my community would reject me that I quickly rejected them first; I cut off many of my favorite queers for fear they'd mock me once they knew.
P.S. They didn't, mostly.
Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the last twenty years. I am thankful for progress, in public and in my own soul, even incrementally. I am thankful for the very queer life I am able to build in my 40s, even if I was too scared to build it in my teens and early 20s. I am thankful for books and movies that have possibly literally saved my life, thankfuller still for the amazing LGBTQ (and allied) friends and family I have collected over a lifetime and over the last few months.
When people — even queers and allies — are discussing whether we are "born this way," this argument is often made: "Who would choose that kind of life, with all the pain and heartache and discrimination?"
I proudly say: "Me." I would.
Because living this kind of life, with all the pain and heartache and discrimination, is so much more than worth it you cannot imagine. It is so, so beautiful — and so clearly home.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Sick
Thursday was Thanksgiving, as you know. It was great.
Friday was filled with more family, which, also great.
Saturday, I was sickish. Tried to nip it in the bud by resting and relaxing.
Today, I'm sicker. As you may know, I'm crabby when I'm sick.
Day 23 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to have parents who, having spent the last several days catering to everyone else, continued to spend today catering to me, going to the grocery store and bringing me:
Plus
I do not think there are better parents than these. Even if my mother did have to stay in the car while my dad threw groceries and a suitcase in the house, in a (certainly) futile attempt at germ avoidance.
Oh, and I'd be even more grateful if I had readers who wanted to entertain me while I'm sick and pathetic.
Friday was filled with more family, which, also great.
Saturday, I was sickish. Tried to nip it in the bud by resting and relaxing.
Today, I'm sicker. As you may know, I'm crabby when I'm sick.
Day 23 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to have parents who, having spent the last several days catering to everyone else, continued to spend today catering to me, going to the grocery store and bringing me:
- milk,
- Pepsi Throwback,
- ginger ale,
- tissues, both with and without lotion,
- chips, both plain and cool ranch,
- celery (I can't make chicken soup without celery)
Plus
- my suitcase and leftover turkey and mince pie from their house.
I do not think there are better parents than these. Even if my mother did have to stay in the car while my dad threw groceries and a suitcase in the house, in a (certainly) futile attempt at germ avoidance.
Oh, and I'd be even more grateful if I had readers who wanted to entertain me while I'm sick and pathetic.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Thanks, given
So, it's Thanksgiving here in the U.S.
I'll gather with family late this afternoon, will spend most of the weekend surrounded by people I love who will also once or twice drive me crazy. It's OK; I give as good as I get, crazy-driving-wise.
But I have the early part of this day to myself. I will spend some time eating the trial pie I made that didn't work out quite as well as I'd hoped, making a new pie and hoping it turns out better, reflecting on the difficult nature of this holiday and its origins in this country, and praying.
But first, I'm going to talk to you a bunch about prayer. Those of you who are uncomfortable with that are warned.
Here is how I pray:
Here is why I pray:
I think it builds relationship. Specifically (but not exclusively) my relationship to God. I think God likes it when I engage that way. I do that with people, too; I write here, I talk a bunch, I check in. I am most comfortable in relationship to anyone when I'm in communication. And though people sometimes misunderstand my imperfect words, God takes them how I mean them, every time.
Also, with God, no pressure to be funny. I like that.
When I was a kid, my grandfather kept chocolate around, which he would frequently and generously offer to his grandchildren (and probably everyone else, but this is about me). One day, I swiped a piece out of the kitchen. I didn't think of it as swiping; I thought of it as mine, frankly. But I got caught, and my mother impressed upon me — firmly — that if I wanted my grandfather's chocolate, I needed to ask him for it. And right then, I needed to go talk to him about taking it.
Prayer is not about getting what I want. It's about the act of asking for what I want. And then, it's about expressing gratitude for what I have, even the things I didn't know enough to ask for. Whether I talked to my grandfather or just took it, I was still getting chocolate out of the deal. But the chocolate was offered by someone who was generous and loved me, so I'd know it. And my communication with him, whether about chocolate or the Red Sox or World War II was what I, as a child, had to offer to the relationship.
Prayer, for me, isn't a magic ATM; it's a conversation. Furthermore, it's a conversation with someone who already knows everything and can do everything. The power differential is bigger than mine and my grandfather's — even bigger, if you can imagine. All I have to offer back to this relationship is my commitment to the relationship itself.
And there are folks for whom my method of prayer doesn't work, and those for whom any method of prayer doesn't make sense. I both understand and respect that. We all build relationships differently, and with different people and things.
Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful beyond words for my relationship to the Divine, and for being loved despite my imperfect expressions of love — unconditionally, in fact. I am thankful for material and relational abundances. I am thankful for grace and peace and joy, and for my opportunities — too infrequently taken — to strengthen them all.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
* For example: Almighty and gracious Father, I give you thanks for the fruits of the earth in their season and for the labors of those who harvest them. Make me, I pray, a faithful steward of your great bounty, for the provision of necessities and the relief of all who are in need, to the glory of your Name, through Jesus Christ the Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. There's lots more where that came from in The Book of Common Prayer.
** For example: Please oh please God let me get to the next gas station. Please God please please please let me have enough gas just to get to the next gas station. Please.
*** For example: Please, God, be with him and keep him safe through this hard time.
**** For example: Please, help me to make the right choice here. Please help me to see what I should do.
***** For example: Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou Lord.
I'll gather with family late this afternoon, will spend most of the weekend surrounded by people I love who will also once or twice drive me crazy. It's OK; I give as good as I get, crazy-driving-wise.
But I have the early part of this day to myself. I will spend some time eating the trial pie I made that didn't work out quite as well as I'd hoped, making a new pie and hoping it turns out better, reflecting on the difficult nature of this holiday and its origins in this country, and praying.
But first, I'm going to talk to you a bunch about prayer. Those of you who are uncomfortable with that are warned.
Here is how I pray:
- Sometimes, very formally*
- Sometimes, very frantically**
- Sometimes, for someone else who might need it***
- Sometimes, for me when I need it****
- Sometimes, thankfully*****
Here is why I pray:
I think it builds relationship. Specifically (but not exclusively) my relationship to God. I think God likes it when I engage that way. I do that with people, too; I write here, I talk a bunch, I check in. I am most comfortable in relationship to anyone when I'm in communication. And though people sometimes misunderstand my imperfect words, God takes them how I mean them, every time.
Also, with God, no pressure to be funny. I like that.
When I was a kid, my grandfather kept chocolate around, which he would frequently and generously offer to his grandchildren (and probably everyone else, but this is about me). One day, I swiped a piece out of the kitchen. I didn't think of it as swiping; I thought of it as mine, frankly. But I got caught, and my mother impressed upon me — firmly — that if I wanted my grandfather's chocolate, I needed to ask him for it. And right then, I needed to go talk to him about taking it.
Prayer is not about getting what I want. It's about the act of asking for what I want. And then, it's about expressing gratitude for what I have, even the things I didn't know enough to ask for. Whether I talked to my grandfather or just took it, I was still getting chocolate out of the deal. But the chocolate was offered by someone who was generous and loved me, so I'd know it. And my communication with him, whether about chocolate or the Red Sox or World War II was what I, as a child, had to offer to the relationship.
Prayer, for me, isn't a magic ATM; it's a conversation. Furthermore, it's a conversation with someone who already knows everything and can do everything. The power differential is bigger than mine and my grandfather's — even bigger, if you can imagine. All I have to offer back to this relationship is my commitment to the relationship itself.
And there are folks for whom my method of prayer doesn't work, and those for whom any method of prayer doesn't make sense. I both understand and respect that. We all build relationships differently, and with different people and things.
Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful beyond words for my relationship to the Divine, and for being loved despite my imperfect expressions of love — unconditionally, in fact. I am thankful for material and relational abundances. I am thankful for grace and peace and joy, and for my opportunities — too infrequently taken — to strengthen them all.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
* For example: Almighty and gracious Father, I give you thanks for the fruits of the earth in their season and for the labors of those who harvest them. Make me, I pray, a faithful steward of your great bounty, for the provision of necessities and the relief of all who are in need, to the glory of your Name, through Jesus Christ the Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. There's lots more where that came from in The Book of Common Prayer.
** For example: Please oh please God let me get to the next gas station. Please God please please please let me have enough gas just to get to the next gas station. Please.
*** For example: Please, God, be with him and keep him safe through this hard time.
**** For example: Please, help me to make the right choice here. Please help me to see what I should do.
***** For example: Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou Lord.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Safe spaces
So I had this post all written in my head about the other big anniversary yesterday was, and then rechecked the calendar and realized that the anniversary I meant to commemorate isn't until Monday. Whoops. That'll wait.
I have another post written in my head that requires photos I can't take until probably tomorrow, so, that'll wait.
I have another post I'm working on in my head that is serious and religious and really better suited to tomorrow, so, that'll wait.
I had pie for breakfast, and that was good, but I've done the pie for breakfast post before.
That is a thing that happens when you write dozens of gratitude posts, always at the same time of year. You get grateful for the same things. Maybe next year's month of gratitude will be October or December, and we'll just rotate it a notch on the chore chart every year. It's not that I am not full-to-brimming with gratitude; it's just that sometimes, I am not full-to-brimming with creativity. Also, sometimes, I am distracted from that gratitude, a little, by fear or life or whatever.
Day 21 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for my own health and safety and that of so many people I love. Take care this long weekend, folks. Travel safely and don't trample anyone to get to the Cabbage Patch Kids.
I have another post written in my head that requires photos I can't take until probably tomorrow, so, that'll wait.
I have another post I'm working on in my head that is serious and religious and really better suited to tomorrow, so, that'll wait.
I had pie for breakfast, and that was good, but I've done the pie for breakfast post before.
That is a thing that happens when you write dozens of gratitude posts, always at the same time of year. You get grateful for the same things. Maybe next year's month of gratitude will be October or December, and we'll just rotate it a notch on the chore chart every year. It's not that I am not full-to-brimming with gratitude; it's just that sometimes, I am not full-to-brimming with creativity. Also, sometimes, I am distracted from that gratitude, a little, by fear or life or whatever.
Day 21 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for my own health and safety and that of so many people I love. Take care this long weekend, folks. Travel safely and don't trample anyone to get to the Cabbage Patch Kids.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Happy Blogiversary Part 2: Favorites
So, I asked for your favorite posts when I asked for questions, and got two great responses.
First, April's:
And Joe's:
But April also asked what my favorite post is. And yadda yadda they're all my babies yadda couldn't pick just one, but whatever. Of course there are some I like better than others. So you're getting one per year of City Mouse Country.
So, what am I missing? What were your faves, from any year?
Day 20 of my month of gratitude: As I said earlier, I am thankful for positive feedback. I am double-thankful that some of you keep reading at all. Thanks, friends.
First, April's:
I did not find the one I was looking for and would like to request (I think it was written for Pride day/week maybe last year and is advice for straight parents).
However, I did find a shocking number of posts that I somehow missed, including a new favorite, "From," which you should also re-post.
And Joe's:
Your odyssey to upstate NY and the car troubles you encountered almost brought a tear to my eye. It's like they say, you can't make this stuff up. [Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4]
But, you know me, CMC. I can also be 12 years old sometimes. Which is why my other favorite posts were the ones that contained the word "pally."
But April also asked what my favorite post is. And yadda yadda they're all my babies yadda couldn't pick just one, but whatever. Of course there are some I like better than others. So you're getting one per year of City Mouse Country.
- From Year One: Sometimes you feel like a nut
- From Year Two: Rick rolling
- From Year Three: Train the Trainer
- From Year Four: Playing (and Replaying)
- From Year Five: Obviously, the Plattsburgh saga. But since that's already shared, Biden Time will do.
So, what am I missing? What were your faves, from any year?
Day 20 of my month of gratitude: As I said earlier, I am thankful for positive feedback. I am double-thankful that some of you keep reading at all. Thanks, friends.
Happy Blogiversary Part 1: Questions and answers
Woohoo! It's Blogiversary #5!
Aren't you so excited?
I know I am.
So, let's start with your questions and my answers.
Genny asks: This may have been covered before, but I'd love to know why you started blogging!
I assume you're asking why I started City Mouse Country. CMC didn't start as a blog. It started as a series of e-mails to my old friends and coworkers in D.C., some of whom had expressed, er, concerns about me, who they'd only known in the city(ish), adapting to country livin'.
Naturally, I adapted gracefully and graciously, but not without a few mishaps that needed documenting. That appears to continue to be true.
CMC is not my first blog, however. Why I started blogging in the very first place was that my boss and close friend went on maternity leave in 2005, and a handful of her friends, ring-led by me, decided we needed a place to share pop-culturey things from the internet, plus stories of our office antics, to entertain her. It had a little resurgence during another friend and colleague's maternity leave in 2007. It's still available online for those who know where to look.
So, pregnancy? I guess. Yes. I started blogging because of pregnancy. But not my own.
Mike asks: Do you ever think (to our detriment) you perhaps shouldn't be giving this material away on a blog, but writing and publishing the old-fashioned way? (Not that they're mutually exclusive... but that some of your stuff is "too good" for this medium?)
I never think that. I don't even think it now that you've put it out there. I do sometimes think the good stuff I write here deserves both more fleshing out and a bigger audience, and I periodically work on doing that, particularly with the queer stuff when it hits a chord with my mostly straight readership. But despite being a professional writer and/or editor for roughly 13 years now (What?! How the hell did that happen?!), I have sort of a block around thinking of my writing as something that can or should or even could make me money.
That is probably something I should discuss with my therapist. Or a career counselor.
Regardless, I love this format, mostly because I love exclusively positive feedback, which is a luxury I have here because so few of you are reading.
Mike asks (elsewhere, but I'm a little bit grasping for content here): "Stromboli" sounds like it should be the plural of something. So is this convenience store hot pocket a strombolus (or, if you prefer, not a strombolus)?
Apparently, "strombolis" are named for Stromboli, which is named for Stromboli, which, according to Wikipedia, "is a corruption of the Ancient Greek name Strongulē which was given to it because of its round swelling form." Who knew?
Anonymous asks: If you could automatically have any talent at all, like world-class level, what would you like it to be?
It'd have to be something where talent alone was sufficient for something. Like, I'd hate to be a world-class-level rock singer, because then it'd still be so much work to get recognized, and I might not ever, and I'd know how much better I was than rock stars who were more popular that I was. That would be sad. And even if I was a world-class-level talent at brain surgery, no one would let me practice without a medical degree, and I am too old for that stuff.
Oh! Sales.
I think if I was a world-class-level salesperson, I could do whatever I wanted, kind of, including selling things, which would let me make huge commissions and then do what I want with my free time and money; or fundraising, which would allow me to support things that are important to me; or selling my own secondary talents, which would enable me to make a living writing whatever I wanted... yeah. I pick sales.
That is probably the most boring possible answer to that question. Well, they can't all be stromboli, know what I mean?
Anonymous also asks: What is the difference between gay and queer, and which one is appropriate for those of us who are neither to use?
I know what you want is for me to give an actual answer to this question, and I'm sorry, there isn't one, exactly. I can (and will) give you my answer to this question, but it applies only to me. Sorry.
Gay means, usually, someone who is attracted to or chooses to date only people of the same sex. It's used more for men than for women, but most women who are attracted to or choose to date only women will not object to it.
Queer is an umbrella term. It includes a range of both sexual and gender identities, including certainly gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, pansexuals, trans folks and genderqueer people, but also other people who identify as queer and don't fit entirely into any of those categories. It also sometimes but not necessarily has political connotations. Queer is complicated, because it has been used hurtfully, and continues to be used hurtfully, a lot.
I identify as queer. I like it because if there is another label for what I am, I don't know it. I also like the political connotations. You have permission to describe me as queer. I do not recommend describing other people as queer unless they've told you that they prefer that term and are OK with non-queers using it to describe them.
Really, your best bet if you wonder how people identify is to ask them.
Rebel McLeod asks: Name three passions (or something approximating them). If you followed them with enough zeal, what sort of Muppet would you be?
I'd be Animal.
Oh, wait. Three passions of mine?
Funny, Rebel, I believe you and I have discussed that my passions are fleeting. That said, three of my less-fleeting passions seem to be:
...and I don't think Bert knows my niece and nephew, but everyone who does loves them, so that sounds like Bert. Right?
April asks: What is your favorite post — or one of them — and why?
What a great segue into our next blogiversary spectacular post! I'll get to that there.
Day 19 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for questions and answers and those who pose them and those who indulge mine. Those of you who know me in real life know I love both asking questions and demanding their answers. Thank you so much for celebrating this milestone with me. Oh, and if this inspires any of you to chime in with questions of your own, ask 'em in the comments. I'll answer any I get by midnight tonight.
Aren't you so excited?
I know I am.
So, let's start with your questions and my answers.
Genny asks: This may have been covered before, but I'd love to know why you started blogging!
I assume you're asking why I started City Mouse Country. CMC didn't start as a blog. It started as a series of e-mails to my old friends and coworkers in D.C., some of whom had expressed, er, concerns about me, who they'd only known in the city(ish), adapting to country livin'.
Naturally, I adapted gracefully and graciously, but not without a few mishaps that needed documenting. That appears to continue to be true.
CMC is not my first blog, however. Why I started blogging in the very first place was that my boss and close friend went on maternity leave in 2005, and a handful of her friends, ring-led by me, decided we needed a place to share pop-culturey things from the internet, plus stories of our office antics, to entertain her. It had a little resurgence during another friend and colleague's maternity leave in 2007. It's still available online for those who know where to look.
So, pregnancy? I guess. Yes. I started blogging because of pregnancy. But not my own.
Mike asks: Do you ever think (to our detriment) you perhaps shouldn't be giving this material away on a blog, but writing and publishing the old-fashioned way? (Not that they're mutually exclusive... but that some of your stuff is "too good" for this medium?)
I never think that. I don't even think it now that you've put it out there. I do sometimes think the good stuff I write here deserves both more fleshing out and a bigger audience, and I periodically work on doing that, particularly with the queer stuff when it hits a chord with my mostly straight readership. But despite being a professional writer and/or editor for roughly 13 years now (What?! How the hell did that happen?!), I have sort of a block around thinking of my writing as something that can or should or even could make me money.
That is probably something I should discuss with my therapist. Or a career counselor.
Regardless, I love this format, mostly because I love exclusively positive feedback, which is a luxury I have here because so few of you are reading.
Mike asks (elsewhere, but I'm a little bit grasping for content here): "Stromboli" sounds like it should be the plural of something. So is this convenience store hot pocket a strombolus (or, if you prefer, not a strombolus)?
Apparently, "strombolis" are named for Stromboli, which is named for Stromboli, which, according to Wikipedia, "is a corruption of the Ancient Greek name Strongulē which was given to it because of its round swelling form." Who knew?
Anonymous asks: If you could automatically have any talent at all, like world-class level, what would you like it to be?
It'd have to be something where talent alone was sufficient for something. Like, I'd hate to be a world-class-level rock singer, because then it'd still be so much work to get recognized, and I might not ever, and I'd know how much better I was than rock stars who were more popular that I was. That would be sad. And even if I was a world-class-level talent at brain surgery, no one would let me practice without a medical degree, and I am too old for that stuff.
Oh! Sales.
I think if I was a world-class-level salesperson, I could do whatever I wanted, kind of, including selling things, which would let me make huge commissions and then do what I want with my free time and money; or fundraising, which would allow me to support things that are important to me; or selling my own secondary talents, which would enable me to make a living writing whatever I wanted... yeah. I pick sales.
That is probably the most boring possible answer to that question. Well, they can't all be stromboli, know what I mean?
Anonymous also asks: What is the difference between gay and queer, and which one is appropriate for those of us who are neither to use?
I know what you want is for me to give an actual answer to this question, and I'm sorry, there isn't one, exactly. I can (and will) give you my answer to this question, but it applies only to me. Sorry.
Gay means, usually, someone who is attracted to or chooses to date only people of the same sex. It's used more for men than for women, but most women who are attracted to or choose to date only women will not object to it.
Queer is an umbrella term. It includes a range of both sexual and gender identities, including certainly gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, pansexuals, trans folks and genderqueer people, but also other people who identify as queer and don't fit entirely into any of those categories. It also sometimes but not necessarily has political connotations. Queer is complicated, because it has been used hurtfully, and continues to be used hurtfully, a lot.
I identify as queer. I like it because if there is another label for what I am, I don't know it. I also like the political connotations. You have permission to describe me as queer. I do not recommend describing other people as queer unless they've told you that they prefer that term and are OK with non-queers using it to describe them.
Really, your best bet if you wonder how people identify is to ask them.
Rebel McLeod asks: Name three passions (or something approximating them). If you followed them with enough zeal, what sort of Muppet would you be?
- Drumming
- Violence
- Shouting
I'd be Animal.
Oh, wait. Three passions of mine?
Funny, Rebel, I believe you and I have discussed that my passions are fleeting. That said, three of my less-fleeting passions seem to be:
- My niece and nephew
- Supporting queer youth through my example
- The letter W
...and I don't think Bert knows my niece and nephew, but everyone who does loves them, so that sounds like Bert. Right?
April asks: What is your favorite post — or one of them — and why?
What a great segue into our next blogiversary spectacular post! I'll get to that there.
Day 19 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for questions and answers and those who pose them and those who indulge mine. Those of you who know me in real life know I love both asking questions and demanding their answers. Thank you so much for celebrating this milestone with me. Oh, and if this inspires any of you to chime in with questions of your own, ask 'em in the comments. I'll answer any I get by midnight tonight.
Life savers
This timely-if-somber reminder came down from a friend on Facebook yesterday (ripped off entirely without his permission):
Also, all, y'all, if there's anything I can do, this time of year of any other, please let me know. A big hug to each of you.
Friends: It's the holidays, and for a lot of people these are really fucking hard times, particularly for friends who suffer from mental illness, who are going through hard times, people who are misfits or queers. A friend recently wrote, 'tis the season for suicide. I want to ask you all to check in with the people you love, smile at a stranger in the store, put change in a meter that's running out, reach out to the people around you (and let that love right back in). You could be saving a life.Day 18 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for my own (relative) mental health these days — and for access to the professional and personal support I need to sustain it.
Also, all, y'all, if there's anything I can do, this time of year of any other, please let me know. A big hug to each of you.
Friendster
Aside from making me all gushy about love, the wedding had the side benefit of introducing me to some fantastic new people, which, naturally, has me thinking about how many people-meeting situations I've been in in the last few (five) years.
In D.C., most of my social circle was directly or indirectly:
Of my close D.C. friends, I can literally think of only one exception.
In New Hampshire, I like my colleagues, for sure, and have gotten close to a couple of them, but it is less of a family, which has both pros and cons. And there's only one college friend close by (plus two more a little further afield) with whom I interact regularly.
So, where do my friends here come from?
So far, I've found them:
In D.C., most of my social circle was directly or indirectly:
- from college, or
- from one of my two jobs.
Of my close D.C. friends, I can literally think of only one exception.
In New Hampshire, I like my colleagues, for sure, and have gotten close to a couple of them, but it is less of a family, which has both pros and cons. And there's only one college friend close by (plus two more a little further afield) with whom I interact regularly.
So, where do my friends here come from?
So far, I've found them:
- in bars
- in class
- in my bowling league
- when they started dating my existing friends
- working on that play I still need to tell you about
- at summer camp
- through online dating*
- and, yes, at work.
Day 17 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for people who wander into my life and make it richer — and for each new opportunity to find them.
*I should add that online dating has so far yielded few amazing friends but close to no romantic prospects over years of doing it. I am told that "through friends" is also a good way to meet romantic prospects; so far, the yield by that method has been similar to online dating.
All you need
In my experience, love is, you know, messy.
It's complicated and confusing, even at its best.
Don't get me wrong — I'm pro-love, wildly. The funness and sharing and mutuality and joy make the messy worth it, make the messy important and beautiful.
I spent the weekend at and around the wedding of my dear friends. These are two of the loveliest folks I know, and they are perfectly suited to each other. Their wedding showed it.
The folks who attended and participated were fun and interesting — and frankly glowing with their (our) own love for the happy couple.
Day 16 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for love so big it tints the rest of my interactions. I'm grateful for its many expressions: for hugs and eye sparkles and forgiveness and music, for breakfast with old friends and giggly tickling with children, for gratitude itself. And I am grateful for the reminders that love's joy outweighs love's messes.
It's complicated and confusing, even at its best.
Don't get me wrong — I'm pro-love, wildly. The funness and sharing and mutuality and joy make the messy worth it, make the messy important and beautiful.
I spent the weekend at and around the wedding of my dear friends. These are two of the loveliest folks I know, and they are perfectly suited to each other. Their wedding showed it.
The folks who attended and participated were fun and interesting — and frankly glowing with their (our) own love for the happy couple.
Day 16 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for love so big it tints the rest of my interactions. I'm grateful for its many expressions: for hugs and eye sparkles and forgiveness and music, for breakfast with old friends and giggly tickling with children, for gratitude itself. And I am grateful for the reminders that love's joy outweighs love's messes.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Pro Tip: Eating Convenience
The $2.99 spinach and cheese stromboli available at Cumberland Farms isn't bad, heated.
It isn't a stromboli, either, but it isn't bad.
Day 15 of my month of gratitude: Snark aside, I am thankful for daily bread. I am thankful to have enough to eat, even when I choose unwisely.
It isn't a stromboli, either, but it isn't bad.
Day 15 of my month of gratitude: Snark aside, I am thankful for daily bread. I am thankful to have enough to eat, even when I choose unwisely.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Crying over spilt whiskey lemonade
Regular readers may recall that my computer died a while back. The short(ish) version of what happened next is that the repair shop called to tell me to tell me the logic board was dead, and replacing it would cost almost as much as a new computer, and they'd happily sell me one, giving me $100 for the old one in trade. I know that sounds shady; I believe it was not, actually, any more than any attempt to make profit is.
I couldn't afford either the repair or the new computer, so I went back to using my old computer that was too slow a year ago (iBook G4, if you're wondering) and gave the dead one to My Favorite Adirockian to see if he could do anything with it. The hope was that he'd be able to retrieve my data and then we could sell the computer on eBay, where comparable computers to mine with dead logic boards sell for enough to buy me a Chromebook.
My friend has had a really busy few weeks, so I've tried to put the computer out of my mind. Which is hard, because this iBook G4 is terrible, not just because it is slow and heavy and won't properly display modern web pages, but also because it won't hold a charge.
Day 14 of my month of gratitude: I am so, so grateful to have woken up to this text: "[bzzzzgrrrl]! Your computer is fixed!"
Whoa.
I couldn't afford either the repair or the new computer, so I went back to using my old computer that was too slow a year ago (iBook G4, if you're wondering) and gave the dead one to My Favorite Adirockian to see if he could do anything with it. The hope was that he'd be able to retrieve my data and then we could sell the computer on eBay, where comparable computers to mine with dead logic boards sell for enough to buy me a Chromebook.
My friend has had a really busy few weeks, so I've tried to put the computer out of my mind. Which is hard, because this iBook G4 is terrible, not just because it is slow and heavy and won't properly display modern web pages, but also because it won't hold a charge.
Day 14 of my month of gratitude: I am so, so grateful to have woken up to this text: "[bzzzzgrrrl]! Your computer is fixed!"
Whoa.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Open season
I have friends, a couple, who have a bunch of us over every Tuesday night. The group and the activity vary some week to week, but the invitation is always open.
Tonight I had a fantastic night with a fantastic group of queers, in which we discussed topics including but not limited to:
Day 13 of my month of gratitude: I am so grateful for homes and the people who open them to me, for the people who fill them with laughter and play and deep thoughts.
Tonight I had a fantastic night with a fantastic group of queers, in which we discussed topics including but not limited to:
- Radical mental health
- The Perks of Being a Wallflower
- The new jobs people need, and how to get them
- Fake blood from fake car accidents
- Games
- Bela Lugosi
- "Bela Lugosi's Dead"
- The length of five minutes
- Our mothers' dreams, and whether they should get funding
- Whether passion is necessary
- The marshmallow test
- Theme songs and mood lighting
- The wisdom of getting on the floor with someone who's fallen
- Cloud sex
Day 13 of my month of gratitude: I am so grateful for homes and the people who open them to me, for the people who fill them with laughter and play and deep thoughts.
Your big chance to boss me around
I am writing this post waaaaay in advance, so I won't chicken out of it come November 13.
November 20 will be the fifth anniversary of City Mouse Country. Here's how we'll celebrate.
Day 12 of my month of gratitude: Thanks to the handful of you who've been reading here for five years of my country life, and thanks as well to those of you who've joined us along the way. And also thanks to those of you who are just mid-November bandwagon-jumpers because one of your friends liked something I posted to Facebook this week. Stick around. That November 20 post is going to be epic.
November 20 will be the fifth anniversary of City Mouse Country. Here's how we'll celebrate.
- As I did for my first blogiversary, I'll be answering your questions. Post them in the comments here or on the Facebook page, and I will try to answer every single one on the Big Day. Use your real name, use a fake name, post anonymously. The sky's the limit.
- If you tell me, here or on the Facebook page, what your favorite "classic" posts from CMC are, I'll refresh everyone's memory by sharing them on the Facebook page between now and then. OK, and for Joe and, um, my parents, I guess, I'll do a compilation post of links to them here in a week, as well.
- Third, if I can think of one between now (mid-September) and when this post goes live (mid-November), we'll have some form of fabulous prize available. Would that not be tremendous? [Ed. note: I did not yet think of a fabulous prize. But maybe I will in the next week.]
Day 12 of my month of gratitude: Thanks to the handful of you who've been reading here for five years of my country life, and thanks as well to those of you who've joined us along the way. And also thanks to those of you who are just mid-November bandwagon-jumpers because one of your friends liked something I posted to Facebook this week. Stick around. That November 20 post is going to be epic.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Movement
November and December are months of anniversaries and commemorations for me, and this year, there's a bunch of round numbers. This weekend is the fifth anniversary of my move to New Hampshire, today is the fifth anniversary of my first day at my current job, and there's more coming that I'm sure you'll hear lots about.
I like looking back; I like marking time; I like checking in on how things have changed. I have a handful of friendship milestones I've remembered for decades.
Day 11 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for pauses, breaths, reevaluations. I'm thankful for anniversaries and the things they mark. I'm thankful for the chance to look at how very different my life is from what it was, and I'm grateful for those differences, too: For a niece and a nephew, for my house, for proximity to family, for access to natural spaces, for stars I can see at night, for the communities I have and the people I've met — even as I still miss the folks I left in D.C.
I like looking back; I like marking time; I like checking in on how things have changed. I have a handful of friendship milestones I've remembered for decades.
Day 11 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for pauses, breaths, reevaluations. I'm thankful for anniversaries and the things they mark. I'm thankful for the chance to look at how very different my life is from what it was, and I'm grateful for those differences, too: For a niece and a nephew, for my house, for proximity to family, for access to natural spaces, for stars I can see at night, for the communities I have and the people I've met — even as I still miss the folks I left in D.C.
Beautiful mess
As a single gal in the city, when you leave the house, you never know who you might meet. So, you know, I used to dress accordingly.
In this small town, when you leave the house, you know exactly who you'll run into: everyone you know. Virtually guaranteed. So, you know, I dress accordingly.
Day 10 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that, on the one day I needed to run some errands and then go right to the gym, and was in fact wearing the rattiest gym clothes I own, I ran into no one. I would not have thought that possible. I went to three stores including Target on a holiday, went to the gym at work, and saw no one I know except my trainer.
In this small town, when you leave the house, you know exactly who you'll run into: everyone you know. Virtually guaranteed. So, you know, I dress accordingly.
Day 10 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that, on the one day I needed to run some errands and then go right to the gym, and was in fact wearing the rattiest gym clothes I own, I ran into no one. I would not have thought that possible. I went to three stores including Target on a holiday, went to the gym at work, and saw no one I know except my trainer.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
A wrench in the works
About a month ago, I fell and hurt my left knee. Or the muscles around my knee, I guess.
It was getting better until Thursday night, at which time I slipped on some wet floor and wrenched that knee, hard. Luckily, I was in a drug store at the time, so there were supplies to take care of it, and luckily, I had good friends also taking care. It still hurt like hell. Still does.
And I know from experience that what it needs is ice the first 48 hours, a mix of rest and light exercise, some gentle stretching... but it still hurts like hell.
And also, probably, I shouldn't wear heels for a few weeks, which might be a problem, because my non-heeled shoes consist of assorted athletic shoes and sneakers and one pair of Doc Marten wingtips. The wingtips would be OK for work, except that most of my pants are all the wrong length for that. Which is probably why I went back to wearing heels too soon the last time.
Guess I'm going limpy shoe-shopping.
Day 9 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to already have:
It was getting better until Thursday night, at which time I slipped on some wet floor and wrenched that knee, hard. Luckily, I was in a drug store at the time, so there were supplies to take care of it, and luckily, I had good friends also taking care. It still hurt like hell. Still does.
And I know from experience that what it needs is ice the first 48 hours, a mix of rest and light exercise, some gentle stretching... but it still hurts like hell.
And also, probably, I shouldn't wear heels for a few weeks, which might be a problem, because my non-heeled shoes consist of assorted athletic shoes and sneakers and one pair of Doc Marten wingtips. The wingtips would be OK for work, except that most of my pants are all the wrong length for that. Which is probably why I went back to wearing heels too soon the last time.
Guess I'm going limpy shoe-shopping.
Day 9 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to already have:
- Sort of amazing ice packs from the bison burgers my friend sent me a year ago
- Fish oil
- Island Mist Healing Clay Mask
- Dr. Teal's Therapeutic Solutions Epsom Salt Lavender Soaking Solution
- The 'til-now-unread end of Tina Fey's Bossypants
- The ability to get back up out of the bathtub, which I ill-advisedly did not test before I needed it and so am perhaps most grateful for of all. It could have been a looooong weekend.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Whirlwind
This morning, unaided by an alarm clock or caffeine, I woke up at 5:36, went for a run with my neighbor, planned the day, checked Facebook, went to the supermarket, put dinner in the Crock Pot, loaded and started the dishwasher, took a shower, got dressed, said hi to the contractor, and wrote this blog post.
Before work.
Day 8 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for meth.
Kidding.
But I am thankful for the little gifts of bursts of productive energy when I get them, and the reminders that I do, in fact, get them.
Before work.
Day 8 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for meth.
Kidding.
But I am thankful for the little gifts of bursts of productive energy when I get them, and the reminders that I do, in fact, get them.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Misty morning
I was going to take a break from politics, and I still will, but here's one more. Because today, I don't have to stretch to find gratitude, so I'm not going to just back-burner this one until we're ready for politics again.
My aunt (according to her daughter, my cousin) campaigned at her huge retirement complex and helped raise funds for marriage equality in Maryland (Question Six). It won with 52% of the vote.
I have always loved my aunt; she's terrific. And smart, and a complete inspiration to me. But my eyes welled up a little on reading that this morning.
Some context: She was born in 1929. That is just nine years after women in the United States even won the right to vote.
Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to have in both my family of origin and my family of choice loving, strong people who do the right thing when it comes down to it. I am proud to be part of a clan that fights for the civil rights of others. And, you know, lucky to witness when sometimes, our side wins. Thank you, dearest auntie — and all the rest of you who work so hard for the side of the angels.
My aunt (according to her daughter, my cousin) campaigned at her huge retirement complex and helped raise funds for marriage equality in Maryland (Question Six). It won with 52% of the vote.
I have always loved my aunt; she's terrific. And smart, and a complete inspiration to me. But my eyes welled up a little on reading that this morning.
Some context: She was born in 1929. That is just nine years after women in the United States even won the right to vote.
Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to have in both my family of origin and my family of choice loving, strong people who do the right thing when it comes down to it. I am proud to be part of a clan that fights for the civil rights of others. And, you know, lucky to witness when sometimes, our side wins. Thank you, dearest auntie — and all the rest of you who work so hard for the side of the angels.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
We carry
I voted in 7 minutes total elapsed time from pulling into the parking lot to pulling out of the parking lot. That includes time to say hi to a friend, but does not include time to stop at the fantastic bake sale, because I neglected to bring cash to the polls.
So then I went to my local transmission guy, who is the nicest guy in the universe, because his shop is across the street from my polling place and my car's shifting funny. He found that the fluid was low and topped it off. While we were standing around in the parking lot, this exchange actually happened.
Day 6 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for so, so many of the experiences of living and voting and patronizing businesses in a small town. I am thankful for people who can probably assume I vote against them and who encourage me to do it anyway. I am thankful to know my local transmission guy, whatever his politics are.
Oh, also, if you're looking for it, a sad epilogue to the Plattsburgh saga: Poor local transmission guy never got paid for his work. The shop in Plattsburgh went bankrupt and closed; our buddy Lee really did just rip them off and they just never recovered, financially. That guy sucks. Sorry to be the messenger.
So then I went to my local transmission guy, who is the nicest guy in the universe, because his shop is across the street from my polling place and my car's shifting funny. He found that the fluid was low and topped it off. While we were standing around in the parking lot, this exchange actually happened.
Complete stranger who does not appear to work there: (to me) Hey, kiddo. (To transmission guy) Hey, [guy's name]. Fluid's a little low?
Transmission guy: Yes, just adding some now.
Complete stranger: (to me) I'm glad to see you voted. I won't ask which way you voted.
Me: Yup, of course. Did you get out to vote yet?
Complete stranger: Yes.
Transmission guy: (to stranger) I had an appointment at the VA earlier, that they cancelled; that's the only reason I don't have my pistol on me. (to me) We carry guns.
Me: Right, sure.
Complete stranger: I carry for my state, and I carry for myself.
Me: (nods)
Transmission guy: You should be all set for now, but you'll have to bring it back in and leave it with us so we can find the leak and fix it.
Day 6 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for so, so many of the experiences of living and voting and patronizing businesses in a small town. I am thankful for people who can probably assume I vote against them and who encourage me to do it anyway. I am thankful to know my local transmission guy, whatever his politics are.
Oh, also, if you're looking for it, a sad epilogue to the Plattsburgh saga: Poor local transmission guy never got paid for his work. The shop in Plattsburgh went bankrupt and closed; our buddy Lee really did just rip them off and they just never recovered, financially. That guy sucks. Sorry to be the messenger.
Let it.
We had our first snowfall yesterday morning, and our first snowstorm is expected for later this week. Am I ready? Not at all.
Day 5 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for changing seasons and big surprises. And for having a garage.
Day 5 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for changing seasons and big surprises. And for having a garage.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Bowties and ballot boxes
I got a call yesterday morning from my mother, who'd found that I still have some stuff in her attic; I'd thought I'd finished with all that. My parents were having some repairs to their roof, so she wanted me to come over, sort through what I had up there, and make a run to the dump with my dad to get rid of the trash.
So, I went over, and I found many things, including lots of trash, lots of mouse poop, lots of sand in an old camp trunk, lots of amazing old clothes and costumes. But the first memory-flooded thing I found was this:
By the time I started my senior year in high school, the convention was done, Paul Simon was long out of the race. But I had loved him. I agreed with him on so many things, and thought the bow-tie thing was kind of great, and then he went on Saturday Night Live with the other Paul Simon, and I was a goner. I had never yet been involved in a political campaign, and I didn't get involved with his, either, aside from wearing that button on my jean jacket. He was the first candidate I remember loving on my own, without regard for who my parents were supporting.
When my senior year started, it was just after Labor Day 1988, and I was 17. I took a quarter-long Social Studies class called "Election '88," in which we learned about — and got involved in — the process. I lived in Massachusetts and Michael Dukakis was my candidate. I worked on his campaign in Boston, making phone calls, mostly. On election night, they dispatched me and a couple of others to another site with more phones; we called West-Coasters until the game was undeniably over. I was sad but still thrilled by the whole thing of it. I'd tried to make a difference; I'd done literally all I could, since voting was still not an option. Trudging back through the Combat Zone in Boston in defeat with two boys from Brandeis was like a scene from a movie.
And that year, my friends and I got involved in other ways, too. We even went to interminable open town meetings (at which I still could not vote) to protest budget cuts for a school I spent most days complaining about. I listened to every passionate person in town, crackpot or not, say whatever they had to say, for hours on end.
Four years later, I was a senior in college and worked for Bill Clinton's campaign. He was the first winner I ever backed. I found my patriotism that year.
I voted for Nader in 2000 because I believed in him and because I believe in third parties, even though I lived in arguably a swing state. I'm not sure I'd do it again under those circumstances, but I am not sorry I did it then.
I voted for Hillary Clinton. I voted for Barack Obama.
Last winter, I voted for Fred Karger in the Republican primary. There are folks who've said it's cynical of me to vote for a candidate who has no chance, from a party you don't want in office. I say I voted for a queer for president on a major-party ticket, and I wish every act of cynicism I've committed had made me feel that good.
Tuesday, I'll vote for President Obama again, and Maggie Hassan, and a bunch of other people. I'll vote on some ballot questions.
You're voting, too, right, or already did? Even if it's not the same way I will?
Day 4 of my moth of gratitude: I am thankful to live in this country, not because it's "the greatest nation in the world" (what does that even mean?), as the folks running for office will tell you, but because I like the voice it offers me. And I am thankful for the hope, for the forgiveness, for the opportunity implicit in that.
So, I went over, and I found many things, including lots of trash, lots of mouse poop, lots of sand in an old camp trunk, lots of amazing old clothes and costumes. But the first memory-flooded thing I found was this:
By the time I started my senior year in high school, the convention was done, Paul Simon was long out of the race. But I had loved him. I agreed with him on so many things, and thought the bow-tie thing was kind of great, and then he went on Saturday Night Live with the other Paul Simon, and I was a goner. I had never yet been involved in a political campaign, and I didn't get involved with his, either, aside from wearing that button on my jean jacket. He was the first candidate I remember loving on my own, without regard for who my parents were supporting.
When my senior year started, it was just after Labor Day 1988, and I was 17. I took a quarter-long Social Studies class called "Election '88," in which we learned about — and got involved in — the process. I lived in Massachusetts and Michael Dukakis was my candidate. I worked on his campaign in Boston, making phone calls, mostly. On election night, they dispatched me and a couple of others to another site with more phones; we called West-Coasters until the game was undeniably over. I was sad but still thrilled by the whole thing of it. I'd tried to make a difference; I'd done literally all I could, since voting was still not an option. Trudging back through the Combat Zone in Boston in defeat with two boys from Brandeis was like a scene from a movie.
And that year, my friends and I got involved in other ways, too. We even went to interminable open town meetings (at which I still could not vote) to protest budget cuts for a school I spent most days complaining about. I listened to every passionate person in town, crackpot or not, say whatever they had to say, for hours on end.
Four years later, I was a senior in college and worked for Bill Clinton's campaign. He was the first winner I ever backed. I found my patriotism that year.
I voted for Nader in 2000 because I believed in him and because I believe in third parties, even though I lived in arguably a swing state. I'm not sure I'd do it again under those circumstances, but I am not sorry I did it then.
I voted for Hillary Clinton. I voted for Barack Obama.
Last winter, I voted for Fred Karger in the Republican primary. There are folks who've said it's cynical of me to vote for a candidate who has no chance, from a party you don't want in office. I say I voted for a queer for president on a major-party ticket, and I wish every act of cynicism I've committed had made me feel that good.
Tuesday, I'll vote for President Obama again, and Maggie Hassan, and a bunch of other people. I'll vote on some ballot questions.
You're voting, too, right, or already did? Even if it's not the same way I will?
Day 4 of my moth of gratitude: I am thankful to live in this country, not because it's "the greatest nation in the world" (what does that even mean?), as the folks running for office will tell you, but because I like the voice it offers me. And I am thankful for the hope, for the forgiveness, for the opportunity implicit in that.
Zzzzzgrrrl
It is late, late, late.
Day 3 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for falling back and the extra hour of sleep that sort of means. I know it's a trick, I know Daylight Savings is silly, and I don't care.
Day 3 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for falling back and the extra hour of sleep that sort of means. I know it's a trick, I know Daylight Savings is silly, and I don't care.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Magic, fairies, etc.
More on the magic of social media:
When I was in high school and college, theater was sort of my thing. I did it extracurricularly at school, I went to summer theater programs, I worked in summer theater programs, I minored in theater at college until I got mad at the department and decidedI could get the classes I wanted without also being beholden to a certain faculty member who treated me poorly. But still, there was a LOT of theater. And many of the folks I met in that world moved on to be professionals in the field. They write, they act, they do technical stuff, they teach; they're in film and TV and theater and performance art.
And though performance and its support is really hardly a part of my life at all these days, those old friends (mostly on Facebook) keep me connected to it. I know so many gorgeous and talented people, y'all.
One of those people is my friend Paul Salamoff, whose name I will use because I am about to hawk his book. He's a genius, and I am proud to say I played Titania to his Oberon in A Midsummer Night's Dream in exotic Waltham, Massachusetts, in 1987. There was a lot of chiffon involved. It was quite something. Anyway. And now, still a genius, he writes books and stuff. And when he was looking for transcriptionists for the third edition of On the Set, I hopped right on board. I have not read this book. But I can tell you, if the rest of it is half as interesting as the interview with Terry Morse I transcribed, it will be well worth your time.
And then yesterday I had opportunity to contribute to the Kickstarter campaign of another friend from that same time and place, Winter Miller, whose show Amandine looks amazing.
Day 2 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to know gorgeous and talented people, and I am grateful that technology allows them to reenter my life seamlessly, as though it were not 25 years ago that I was awkwardly wearing a purple leotard and bossing a bunch of thirteen-year-old fairies around. I am especially thankful for opportunities to continue relationships that keep me on the fringes of creative worlds I still admire greatly.
When I was in high school and college, theater was sort of my thing. I did it extracurricularly at school, I went to summer theater programs, I worked in summer theater programs, I minored in theater at college until I got mad at the department and decidedI could get the classes I wanted without also being beholden to a certain faculty member who treated me poorly. But still, there was a LOT of theater. And many of the folks I met in that world moved on to be professionals in the field. They write, they act, they do technical stuff, they teach; they're in film and TV and theater and performance art.
And though performance and its support is really hardly a part of my life at all these days, those old friends (mostly on Facebook) keep me connected to it. I know so many gorgeous and talented people, y'all.
One of those people is my friend Paul Salamoff, whose name I will use because I am about to hawk his book. He's a genius, and I am proud to say I played Titania to his Oberon in A Midsummer Night's Dream in exotic Waltham, Massachusetts, in 1987. There was a lot of chiffon involved. It was quite something. Anyway. And now, still a genius, he writes books and stuff. And when he was looking for transcriptionists for the third edition of On the Set, I hopped right on board. I have not read this book. But I can tell you, if the rest of it is half as interesting as the interview with Terry Morse I transcribed, it will be well worth your time.
And then yesterday I had opportunity to contribute to the Kickstarter campaign of another friend from that same time and place, Winter Miller, whose show Amandine looks amazing.
Day 2 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to know gorgeous and talented people, and I am grateful that technology allows them to reenter my life seamlessly, as though it were not 25 years ago that I was awkwardly wearing a purple leotard and bossing a bunch of thirteen-year-old fairies around. I am especially thankful for opportunities to continue relationships that keep me on the fringes of creative worlds I still admire greatly.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
All Saints' Day Special
Two things to know going in to this post:
- Today is All Saints' Day, and
- I have a lot of friends, both on Facebook and in real life, who are clergy (mostly but not exclusively mainstream Protestant denominations and Episcopalians, which is arguably but not necessarily a mainstream Protestant denomination... oh, never mind).
So, today, a friend posted this to Facebook:
Two more things to know, as I told her:
I sing a song of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died
For the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
And one was a shepherdess on the green;
They were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.
They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
And his love made them strong;
And they followed the right for Jesus' sake
The whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,*
And one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
And there's not any reason, no, not the least,
Why I shouldn't be one too.
They lived not only in ages past,
There are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is bright with the joyous saints
Who love to do Jesus' will.
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea;
For the saints of God are just folk like me,
And I mean to be one too.
~Lesbia Scott, who wrote it for her children in the 1920s
Two more things to know, as I told her:
- "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God" was one of my very favorites as a kid. Not favorite hymns, favorite songs to sing, period, any time of year.
- How did I not know that the author's name was Lesbia? Or that that's a name at all? It's enough to make a person reconsider having children.
*I do recall asking my priestly if not saintly parents why only one was a priest. That seemed a little bit damning to me, at the time.
November
Some of you may remember my months of gratitude last year and the year before. This year, I got so excited about them I started prewriting posts, a little, that I'll sprinkle into the mix through the month. I've been looking forward to November for weeks.
But I don't mind telling you, friends, I'm in a little bit of a thrown-for-a-loop place in my life, which I'm sorry to be all cryptic and vaguebooky about, but I'm not really able to be more specific, partly because I don't know all the details myself.
The planets are out of alignment, my perspective's shifting, I'm learning some and growing some in ways that are likely to be ultimately good but are currently mostly weird and a little painful.
I don't totally know what's coming next, but I know that the first of November feels like a fresh-start place in its grey skeletalness, because I have this gloriously self-indulgent space to explore the things about my life and the world that work and are beautiful.
Oh, hey, also: I am aware of a few regular readers who are also going through different hard times today, or around now. Please know that you are on my mind and in my heart. Maybe we can all send each other some of what Beth would call "white light."
Day 1 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for opportunities to pause, catch a breath, and change course.
But I don't mind telling you, friends, I'm in a little bit of a thrown-for-a-loop place in my life, which I'm sorry to be all cryptic and vaguebooky about, but I'm not really able to be more specific, partly because I don't know all the details myself.
The planets are out of alignment, my perspective's shifting, I'm learning some and growing some in ways that are likely to be ultimately good but are currently mostly weird and a little painful.
I don't totally know what's coming next, but I know that the first of November feels like a fresh-start place in its grey skeletalness, because I have this gloriously self-indulgent space to explore the things about my life and the world that work and are beautiful.
Oh, hey, also: I am aware of a few regular readers who are also going through different hard times today, or around now. Please know that you are on my mind and in my heart. Maybe we can all send each other some of what Beth would call "white light."
Day 1 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for opportunities to pause, catch a breath, and change course.
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