VerlossenOnsZelf

Holding Doors

2009-03-27T08:42:00.000-07:00

I am a perennial door opener. I think this comes from the same Southern/Military manners of calling all strangers, new acquaintances, and any folks more than 15 year older than I Mr./Ms./Professional Title-Last Name. Family members outside the "nuclear" unit are Familial Title-First Name. It's a matter of courtesy and respect.

Similarly, as a matter of sheer courtesy and respect, if I reach a door and there is someone close behind me, I open the door and hold it for those behind. Likewise, if I am exciting a door and someone is approaching to enter, I hold the door. I don't think twice about it. I don't race or hustle past others to be the first to the door, but if I happen to be there first, opening and holding doors is a polite acknowledgment that there are other people in the world going about their daily business. When faced with the double-door situation, it seems to only make sense that if I reach the first door first, I hold it for those behind me. Thus, they will likely reach the second door first, in which case I happily enter through that door being held for me. This particular circumstance is similar to the unspoken codes in Chicago: when ascending or descending a busy staircase in an El station, one stays to the right; when approaching others on a sidewalk, again, you move to the right. In big cities, this is simply the best way to keep everyone moving in crowded shared spaces. It's polite, its efficient, it's an "I see you" moment in a world in which we move so quickly we sometimes fail to recognize "I" am not the only person who needs to move about.

In my experience, men, particularly heterosexual men, seem to be taken aback and have their entire narrative disrupted by my door opening/holding. I notice three basic reactions when I open and hold doors for men:

1. The I'm Confused and Don't Know How to React Reaction - Especially when I am with men I know, I reach to open the door and they stop in their tracks, give me a curious and startled look, and enter through the door with a very pronounced, "Why Thank You!"

2. The Reach Around Reaction - Whether with strangers or those familiar to me, after I have opened the door, men, rather then just walk through the door, will reach around behind me to take over the job of door opening/holding to allow me to enter first. This is usually accompanied by a quick, "No! No! You go ahead!" from the Reach Around Men.

3. The Reach Over Reaction - I find this reaction the most peculiar. I am approaching to exit a door, there is a man behind me. I open the door and hold for the man behind. He reaches up over my head to place a firm hold on the door, and I have to duck my head a bit to exit underneath the man's arm.

I'm not particularly incensed or annoyed when men react in these ways. Ultimately, I know these men are (for the most part) extending the same common courtesy I have offered. However, it's also quite clear that men are not accustomed to women opening and holding doors. In the great land of gendered manners, men hold doors as a sign of chivalry and courtesy to women or gentile politeness to one another. Yet, every time I hear that loud "Why Thank You!" or duck my head to slide beneath a man-arm, I find myself entertained by all the subtle and unconscious ways gender influences our physical interactions in public space.

Too Tired to Title - Updates

2009-03-02T14:17:00.000-08:00

So, the fundraiser on OSCAR NIGHT went well. We had a bigger turn out than last year, which is great since we have completely changed up the event. Next year I predict an even better night... especially since I will be certain to consult the Award Season Schedule before confirming a date! The Burlesque ladies & gentlemen were just lovely (and flaming pasties were involved!). My dear friend Twig was the very definition of "gender queer" in his performance (according to our Board members in attendance). And a few Wealthy Gays of My City even made it out for the first part of the evening!

I met on Wednesday, per usual, with my mentoree young woman (5th grade). She brought along her friend. They were wrapping up Black History Month with a special play that afternoon, and my mentoree had mentioned how much she loves the "I Have A Dream" speech, so I brought a recording in for her. We all ate our corn-dogs or french toast sticks ("breakfast for lunch is weird, but corn-dogs are nasty," as I was told) and listened to the short clip. After the clip, the young women were talking about "respect" and how important it is to respect people. They ended up on the topic of violence, and I brought up Rihanna/Chris Brown. Immediately both girls jumped in telling me that "Chris Brown just got tired of Rihanna hitting him all the time, and he HAD to defend himself, he had NO choice." I was a little taken aback.

I asked them how they thought Martin Luther King, Jr. would have responded to the situation. They told me that, "of course," MLK would make the two people sit down and talk to work out their problems, that MLK believe in "non-violence and would never hit anybody who tried to put him down." In the same breath, they told me that Chris Brown "loves Rhianna with all his heart [little girl hands crossed over the heart] and would DIE For her if he had to, but he HAD to defend himself." I didn't know what to say. I'm not sure I know what to say going into lunch this week.

Lady Friend suggested quoting Ghandi, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind," and asking the young women at what point the hitting has to stop. This may be the best strategy.

I understand that my white-middle-class-feminist lives in an entirely different world than these girls. As Sister-Friend reminded me, these young women do live in a world where defending black men against assaults by the press and popular opinion of white-folks has a long (and necessary) tradition. At the same time, it made my heart hurt a little to know they think that it is defensiable for anyone, male or female, to beat their intimate partner so severly. I guess that as I watched this entire situation unfold in the press, I assumed that all kinds of young women would jump to the defense of Rihanna... I guess I'm wrong about that assumption. I look forward to hearing more about the world from these young women.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised on Oscar Night

2009-02-19T12:07:00.000-08:00

I'm not one of those television-hating people. I watch tv, and I absolutely enjoy shitty television as much as the next red blooded Amerikan. Certainly, I don't plan on planting my newborn in front of costumed singing televised dinosaurs for the first 12 years of its life, but I sure do love some Real Housewives hot drama....

However, as has been brought to my attention by numerous Wealthy Gays of My City, I have broken some cardinal rule of homosexuality by hosting a major nonprofit fundraiser on.... OSCAR NIGHT! Yes, it is true. My fancy-pants fundraiser, complete with burlesque, drag, free adult beverages, tons of food (including veg and vegan), and various other forms of merriment is on the sacred eve known as OSCAR NIGHT. By telephone, e-mail, facebook, and to my face, these Wealthy Gay of My City regret to inform me that they will be unable to attend this fundraising event because they "are going to stay home and watch THE OSCARS."

WTF? W.T.F. The vast majority of folks who are in the income bracket to afford tickets to this event certainly have DVR at home. If not, we are fortunate enough to live in a digital age in a digital country in which THE OSCARS will be available at the tips of our fingers on the interweb. Damn, folks could probably even watch THE OSCARS live! on their iPhones!

But, no, no... it appears the flashing lights of the Idiot Box are far more important that interacting with real live human people and helping to raise money to ensure our human rights. Do you truly want me to help protect your right to work or win the right for you to marry? Then, stop watching t.v. and attend (and/or fund) the revolution... it will not be televised on OSCAR NIGHT.

I Am 1 of 100,000

2009-02-04T11:18:00.000-08:00

I signed up to be "1 of 100,000" (www.be1kc.org), a Campaign to get 100,000 adults invested in the lives of students in the Kansas City, Missouri public school district. The Campaign believes, that based on research, every child, including the 20,000 in KCMO schools, need 5 personal, caring relationships with adults to succeed in school and life. The Kansas City, MO school district has been plagued in recent years with all sorts of problems- budget shortfalls, a revolving door of superintendents, discord between teachers and the Board of Education, "failing" schools, violence, etc, etc. Much like in Atlanta, many white families and families-of-wealth send their children to private school in order to avoid the "terrible" public schools. This new campaign, envisioned and initiated by an amazing community organizer and school board member, aims to create relationships between students and adults in the community. This goal of this campaign is not only to support our young scholars and help them succeed, but also to build a critical mass of adult community members invested in the success of our school district. There are a variety of pre-established programs one can sign up with to mentor a student directly in the school.

Today I met my mentoree. I won't write much about her here, as I of course want to protect her privacy. However, it was fantastic! All week long I've been exclaiming to my household, "I'm soo excited to meet my MentorFriend!" I was a little bit nervous meeting my mentoree for the first time. Would we connect? Would she like me? Would she want to engage with me or was she signed up for the program because someone made her? What would be talk about? I had all the same worries and curiosities as if I was back in middle-school!

When I arrived at her school today, the Mentor Coordinator told me my Mentoree had been asking for a MentorFriend for months and was excited to meet me. We sat down for lunch together, and all my worries were put aside. She chatted nearly non-stop. Her family is very central in her life, so we talked about both having large families and missing our family members who live far away. She is incredibly thoughtful, friendly and talkative, and our half our lunch flew by. As I was getting ready to leave, she asked me several times if I would be coming back next week. Of course I will be coming back! I've made a commitment to you, and I'm in it for the long haul.

It's a simple thing to do- to sign-up to be a mentor. I look forward to getting to know this young woman better and learning what she has to teach, listening to what she has to say. And I'm thrilled to be able to say, I am 1 of 100,00!

Tasting the Life of a Work-From-Home Mom

2009-01-22T11:08:00.000-08:00

So, I'm working from home these days. It's quite lovely and I find my productivity to be far better than when I was at my old office- which was cold, lonely (just me), and not very safe. However, yesterday and today I've tasted the life of a work-from-home mom. Though I do not have any children, our household does have The Dog.

The Dog nearly drove me over the edge yesterday. He was clingy, needy, loud, disobedient, under foot, and generally dreadfully ill-behaved. Nothing I did made The Dog happy. The Dog made trying to get all my work done nearly impossible. By the time Lady Friend got home from work, I wanted put The Dog in a play-pen and go cry in the garage (we don't have a play-pen or a garage, but you get the idea). When Lady Friend walked through the door, I immediately started to hem and haw about how terrible The Dog had been, what an awful and frustrating day it was. Out of my mouth popped "I don't know what is wrong with YOUR dog. He's just pushed every single one of my buttons today! YOU have to take care of him this evening. I'm done for the day!"

Then, last night, The Dog was crying and had a really hard stomach. Lady Friend rubbed his tummy until he fell asleep. I fell asleep with one hand on his abdomen so I could make sure he was still breathing, even though Lady Friend assured me he often gets an upset stomach and there's nothing to worry about.

Today, The Dog is lethargic, sad, crying a little, and just nibbling at his food, which is usually inhales in under one minute. He was able to, um, take his constitutional, but he is obviously still feeling lousy. All day long I have been getting up from work to open curtains and blinds and move a pallet of quilts around the house so The Dog can sleep in the sunlight, which he likes do to when feeling poorly. I've been lavishing him with love and feeling guilty I was so angry at him yesterday when, obviously, his poor behavior was the product of feeling awful.

So, this is a tiny, only semi-comparable experience of being a work-from-home mom. My deepest sympathies and love go out to all the Mothers and Fathers with small children, especially those Mothers and Fathers who work from home or are stay at home parents!

Books I Read: 2008

2009-01-12T12:10:00.000-08:00

In early January of 2008, I decided to keep a log of all the books I read in 2008. In addition to title and author, I wrote a few sentences about each book reminding myself of the plot and what I thought of the book. Mostly, this was a personal endeavor to remember books, as once a few weeks have passed, I often begin to jumble plots and characters. It was a year of good books. A year of heavy public library use. A year of browsing the library and friends' bookshelves with no particular direction. Ever since finally finishing grad school, after being in school for 18 straight years, I did enjoy disproportionate numbers of fiction and literary fiction titles- it was glorious. Some were re-reads, and some are written in the back of my little blank book under no specific month. I know a few are missing, as well; however, I cannot remember exactly which books are missing and what their plots were.

If you'd like more information about a specific title, my thoughts on a book, or would like to chat about something you've read from the list or something you think I should read in 2009, feel free to comment or e-mail. Though I aspire to Kristy's level of humility, I do feel somewhat proud that I surpassed the American average of less than two books read in a single year. Without further ado, Books I Read: 2008.

January
Walk On, Bright Boy (Charles Davis)
A Hatred for Tulips (Richard Lourie)
Up High in the Trees (Kiara Brinkman)
Every Past Thing (Pamela Thompson)
The Vine of Desire (Chiata Banerjee Divakaruni)

February
8 ball chicks (Gini Sikes)
Life on the Outside (Jennifer Gonnerman)
A World Apart: Women, Prison and Life Behind Bars (Cristina Rathbone)

March
Mozart's Sister (Rita Charbonnier)
Tomboy (Nina Bouraoui, translation)

April
Dragonfly Stories: Stories Celebrating The LGBT Community (J. Cascio, Ed)
Hers: Brilliant New Fiction by Lesbian Writers (Terry Wolverton, Ed)

May
The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbrosky)
Durable Goods (Elizabeth Berg)

June
The Story of Forgetting (Stefan Merrill Block)
Mercy (Lara Santoro)
Sarah's Key (Tatiana de Rosnay)
Mississippi Sissy (Kevin Sessums)

July
light fell (Evan Fallenberg)
The Beautiful Struggle (Ta-Nehisi Coates)
Girls on the Verge (Vendela Vida)
Map of Ireland (Stephanie Grant)
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (Christopher Moore)
The Air Between Us (Deborah Johnson)

August
The Unexpected Child (Patricia Grossman)
Rose of No Man's Land (Michelle Tea)
Tea (Stacey D'erasmo)
A Seahorse Year (Stacey D'erasmo)

September
love poem to androgyny (stacey waite)
Bitches, Bimbos, & Ball Breakers: The Guerrilla Girls' Illustrated Guide to Female Stereotypes
Son for Night (Chris Abani)
The Passion of Alice (Stephanie Grant)

October/November
Night (Elie Wiesel)
The Stolen Child (Keith Donohue)

December
Falling Man (Don DeLillo)
a mercy (Toni Morrison)

Unknown Month
The Red Tent (Anita Diamont) (Summer?)
The Birth of Venus (Sarah Dunant) (Late winter?)
Pilate's Wife (Antoinette May) (Late spring/early summer?)
My Year of Meats (Ruth L. Ozeki) (Late winter?)

One Day Later: Snow Sucks

2008-12-09T13:30:00.001-08:00

Seriously? The First Snow a week and a half ago was, indeed, lovely. Today, our second "real snow," is the most miserable tundra-esque, "don't forget the wrath of snow," day ever. Again, Southern loved ones, heed my call and never move north.

It was "supposed" to start snowing at Noon. Alas, it started snowing at 10:30am, and, at 3:30pm has yet to let up significantly. There is a reasonable amount of snow on the ground, maybe just a 1.5 or 2 inches; it is the lovely fluffy kind- not the wicked icy sort. The wind is gusting at 30-35 mph- this means the snow is falling in all directions and being blown off of roof tops, car tops, side walks, buildings ledges, the heads of school children as they walk home, and any surface that has any accumulation. I just went to dig my car out *for the 1st time*, as if it continues like this, it will be harder to dig out later. Again, my snow-nieve loved ones, the layer of snow on the car at night fall, when our temps will drop from 27 to 15, will turn into a solid sheet of ice. It is much harder to scrape the ice off your car than to brush off the snow. Thus, it is best to dig it out for the *final* time after the snow stops falling, so as not to wake up to an entombed vehicle.

Today in Hometown, Florida, it is 70-something, sunny, with a light breeze. The low tonight in Hometown is 61.

First Snow: A Primer for My Loved Ones in the Southland

2008-12-05T16:51:00.001-08:00

As we hunker down here in Kansas City for our 2nd real snow of the season, I thought I'd share my thoughts on the "First Snow" for all my sun-loving loved ones in the Southland.

Dear Family & Loved Ones Living in the Deep South:

Snow Observation #1: Snow is silent and still. Silence surrounds snow on both ends. Before a snow storm rolls in, it is not just cold, as you would imagine, in fact, the weather warms up a bit, and it is very still and quiet. My high school science education would have me guess that this is because the clouds are heavy, bountiful, and laden with water and ice. After a good snow falls, it is unimaginably silent and still. I have experienced good snows in major metropolises, suburbs, and tiny isolated "off-the-grid" cabins. Even in the midst of Uptown, Chicago the morning after a snow is so quiet, so still.

Snow Observation #2: Snow is makes the world go Blue. After a good snow, both at sunrise and sunset, the entire world turns blue. There have been a few times, when I was unaware of an impending overnight snow, only to wake up wondering why the light filtering in through the windows was blue! Again, high school science guess, this has something to do with the light refraction of the sky against a landscape covered in white.

Snow Observation #3: The First Snow never comes "on-time." It always seems to come "early this year" or "so late this year." No proper Yankee seems to think the First Snow comes anywhere near the time is "usually does." If it snows before Thanksgiving, you will be told is usually doesn't snow until December. If there isn't any snow by Thanksgiving, you will be told how surprising it is there hasn't been any snow yet.

Snow Observation #4: The first snow is lovely and quaint. It inspires soup making and knitting. Children will scrape the first snow into tiny snow-people and pitiful snow-balls, even though there is perhaps a 1/2 inch on the ground. Folks haul out their real snow boots. I happily shovel the front steps, side walk, even the back deck, thinking, "This year I will stay one step ahead of snow-compacted icy stoops!"

Snow Observation #5: People forget how to drive in the snow during the first snow. Seasoned Midwesterners, who have spent a lifetime driving through feet of snow and inches of black ice, suddenly freak out at the first snow. Everyone rushes to dig out the old or run out to buy a new snow scrapper for the car (as I learned my first snow of my first real winter, a credit card is NOT an appropriate tool for scrapping ice and snow). People gather at the gas station with cakey windshields to put windshield washer fluid in the tank. Folks drive with extra caution and put off plans "due to weather." By late January, nothing less than a blizzard will keep us from leaving home or putting off plans.

Snow Observation #6: After the First Snow, subsequent snows seem like nothing but cruel winter. The novelty wears off very quickly. Further into winter, the snow-thaw cycle ceases, and we enter a cycle of snow-compacted into piss-stained ice-snow. By February there are lumps of ice along the curbs that seem permanent parts of the streetscape. Scraping ice and snow at 6am is a bitter task adding 30 minutes to the morning routine. Folks stop shoveling their sidewalks, and those of us who use our feet as a primary form of transit or need to walk our dogs, walk a perilous route. I have dreadful memories of Chicago, thinking I would never again be able to walk the sidewalk without arms outstretched for balance and the constant fear of slipping and bruising my ass and my dignity.

It is good to be mindful of the charms of the First Snow, as there are 5 more months of Subsequent Snows in store. When your Yankee friends call in January, looking for a couch or guest bedroom, please be generous.

Rosa sat...

2008-11-04T10:33:00.000-08:00

rosa sat
so martin could walk.
martin walked
so barack could run.
barack is running
so our children can fly.

Happy Election Day! Yes we can! Yes we will!

Giving Up the Alarm Clock

2008-11-03T07:12:00.001-08:00

Less than 24 hours of GOTV left. Otherwise...

I have, over the past few weeks, given up the alarm clock. Since I work from home, many morning I do not have a commitment before 9:00am. I have started going to bed when I am tired, usually around 11pm, and I envision, as I fall asleep, waking up at 8am. I have found that my body wakes up pretty reliably between 8:00am and 8:15am. This gives me plenty of time to get out of bed, go outside for a few minutes of sunshine to fully wake up, have some coffee and/or take a shower, and get to work in the home-office/dining room by 9am. It is glorious. No loud, beeping alarm to startle me awake. Instead, I just open my eyes, roll over, and realize, Yep, it's time to get out of bed. This plan is not fool-proof, there have been a few mornings I have woken up at 8:55am, and rush downstairs to get cracking in 5 minutes. And some mornings an important meeting at 9am or early necessitates an alarm clock.

However, for the most part, my body seems quite capable of waking up by 8:30am and much happier to wake up on its own. It is absolutely a gift to be working from home, allowing me to sleep and wake to my own particular rhythm. The absence of a rude awakening may be what has kept my sanity intact during this ridiculous campaign season!

Look Ma, I'm An Ultra Radical Extremist!

2008-10-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

And so Republicans begin to get nasty, an act of desperation, even on the local level.

Yesterday, the Republican incumbent opponent of a Missouri House Candidate sent out a mailer saying the Democratic challenger (a wonderful woman who has been very careful about taking endorsements in a conservative district that IS winnable with a high DPI) has a campaign manager who "worked for [Organization], an Ultra Radical protest group that supports illegal immigration, abortion on demand, and gay marriage." The Campaign Manager did NOT work for this organization. I sit on the board of this organization, and the campaign manager did a social work practicum for the organization. However, at least the mailer is laughable with a picture of a short-haired, masculine appearing woman screaming into a megaphone.

The campaign I have been working hard for, a State Senate race, got its own ugly mailer from the Republican incumbent opponent. The mailer says, "[Candidate] - Endorsed by [My Organization] an Extremist Group promoting same-sex marriages."

It's a bit demoralizing, as candidates in this area of the state were reluctant to be affiliated with the Gays and the Pro-Choicers, and now their "fears" have been confirmed... if the Republican wins. However, my most dear friend Maria responded with the following:

"Oh my god, sweetie, that's crazy! But I do believe that when one is called an extremist, one has undoubtedly succeeded in her work."

Hollah that, sister. Thanks for the good words. 5 days, and hopefully I can fall asleep with thoughts of hope fulfilled!

"Special Interests"

2008-10-28T10:59:00.000-07:00

Somehow my business phone number ended up on the RNC robo-call lists. At least once a day I get a phone call from John McCain, Rudy G, or, like today, Anne who "is Joe the Plumber, an average Joe." Last week Rudy G told me Americans will DIE if Obama and his liberal friends in Congress are elected. Today, Anne told me that Obama wants to spend 3 Trillion Dollars on "special interests." I am so over hearing about "special interests," from both the right and the left.

Here in Missouri, we had a State Rep Candidate whose Democrat primary opponent sent out nasty mailers accusing her of taking money from "special interest lobbyists." It was the most effective mailer her opponent sent out. The "special interest lobbyists" from which this woman took money? A children's non-profit that advocates for money for vaccines, early childhood education, and after-school programming.

I am a special interest. I am also a lobbyist. Yes, of course, we ought to be cautious of "big money" corporate lobbyists and special interests. I am not a big fan of corporate welfare or pharmaceutical companies taking Congresspeople to strip clubs and golf outing in the Tuscany. However, when pundits, campaigns, and particularly Republicans decry the evil of "special interests," they lump into those groups our teacher's professional organizations like NEA, children's organizations, the Girl Scouts, Planned Parenthood Advocates seeking funding for breast and cervical cancer screening for low income women, queer rights groups, labor unions looking to keep their jobs, etc, etc.

I am a special interest, and I bet you are too. Are you a woman? A child? A veteran? A student? A laborer? A parent? A queer person? An uninsured ill person? A racial or ethnic minority? A legal immigrant? A retired person? We are special interests. And we have political organizations and lobbyists in our State Legislatures and Washington, DC who are decent, honest groups & individuals. We give very small amounts money to campaigns to help elect candidates who are in the best interest of our members. We lobby our representatives to vote for bills that protect our health, our jobs, and our rights. And when I say lobby, I mean, we knock on the door and are given maybe 10 minutes to speak with a legislator. We tell her why we would like them to vote for a bill. We try to persuade him with facts, figures, and stories of real lives. There is no golf. There are no strippers.

So, the next time you think evil thoughts about "special interests" and lobbyists, remember that you are a special interest. And I am a lobbyist.

Y'er gettin' silly!

2008-10-15T20:05:00.000-07:00

E-Mail Exchange between Boss Man and I while simultaneously watching the debate and doing local campaign work from respective sides of the state:

ME:
152 Households in HD13X.
Stephanie- These are for labels for your mailer. Please note that you will need to "clean up" the zip-code column before being able to mailmerge.
Thanks All!
(P.S. Can I change my name to Joe Six-Pack-The Plumber?)

BOSS MAN:
More like Jo from Fact of Life!

ME:
As my sister Lauren says, "Y'er gettin' silly! Go to bed!"

BOSS MAN:
In my best Ms. Garrit voice "girls, girls girls"....

Something Completely Different

2008-10-14T17:35:00.000-07:00

Politics is on the brain- and on the blogs- a lot these days. Perhaps one day community organizers will be given their own holiday, oh! or parade, everyone should get a parade, or perhaps simply be paid enough so as not to be forced to debate the merits of making a student loan payment vs. visiting critically ill family members more than once per year. This requires community members to support community organizations financially so they can support their community organizers, which is not an easy thing for anyone to do during an election year or economic downturn.

Anyhow, there is more going on in my life than politics, even if I do have to force myself to ask, "Self. What have you done today that is personally productive or makes you feel human?"

I am:

Reading books, mostly fiction, like it is going out of style. Wait, it IS out of style to read books in this country... Lady Friend says I am still suffering from "bed full of books syndrome."
Connecting back with friends scattered hither and yon.
Applying for a second job
Thinking about, talking to others, and researching ways to more actively build community here in Kansas City
Making a braided rag rug. The size of this rug will be determined by the length and severity of the winter
Planning a day when I go to sleep when I am tired, not when the work is finished or after the late news, and waking when I wake, not when the alarm rings or after rolling over to cram in an extra few hours to make up for future lost time.
Thinking about going back to school in a couple of years for another degree (social work? education? higher ed admin?). Thinking about how to do this without amassing any more student loan debt.
Looking at homes with Lady Friend and imagining all the blissful ways I want to be a working home-maker

Guilty for Obama

2008-10-08T14:29:00.000-07:00

Housemates and I have had a very busy Summer and early Autumn. I'm working on state campaigns, because my work is a state PAC, not a federal PAC (so we can't work on Congressional or Presidential races). Housemate #2 also works for a civil rights group not working on Obama campaign. Housemate #3 is working on state campaigns as well. We have come down with "Obama Guilt." We are so busy and exhausted and campaigned-out at the end of the day (or late night as the case may be), we haven't done much for Obama beyond give our $20 when asked and dry off our yard signs and bumper stickers after rain.

I admit, o' fellow progressives, I am avoiding the phone calls of the local Obama people. I do not respond to the text messages. Housemate #2 just GChated me: "What are we going to say we did during the most historical election so far? Watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer for Obama?" We are thinking of making t-shirts, "Bean Burritos and Netflix DVDs for Obama" and "Guilty Busy Progressives for Obama: At Least We Vote" or "Eating Cheezie Poofs for Obama." Fear not, dear Friends For Change, we are assuaging our guilt by hosting an out-of-state Obama GOTV volunteer at our home for a few days before the election.

As Older Sister Number 2 of 4 says, "You're getting silly. Go to bed!"

Notes From The Campaign Trails...

2008-10-07T12:39:00.000-07:00

Most protest-goin' folks are familiar with that particular chant, often heard in call and response, "Show me what democracy looks like? This is what democracy looks like!" I've been using the phrase "This is what democracy looks like" throughout my campaigning this election cycle. Particularly as young people, there is a sense of giddy power when marching with hundreds or thousands of others at protests or demonstrations. Gathering in the streets to say NO to a government whose actions are deplorable to the people IS what democracy looks like. However, the bone-tiring work of electoral campaigns- from President down to State House Representative- is also what democracy looks like. This protest chant gets me through the days...

I'm out canvassing, sweaty and aching feet, and someone opens the door just enough to yell, "I don't want anyone knocking on my damn door!" I quietly tell myself, just out of earshot of the angry citizen, This Is What Democracy Looks Like.

I'm calling volunteers to ask them to phone-bank our membership lists reminding folks to vote and check out our list of LGBT-friendly campaigns. I tell the students from the university, "I could really use your help phone-banking. This Is What Democracy Looks Like."

I'm standing outside an art gallery during our monthly "art-district wonder-about feeling arty and drink free wine at galleries" registering voters. I have two stickers on my clip-board. Voter Registration Is My Art. ThisIsWhatDemocracyLooksLike.

I'm driving around suburban Kansas City putting out requested yard-signs for a candidate. Without a "drive-by-yard-sign-partner," this looks like driving slowly, stopping every 2 miles, turning off the engine, putting on the emergency lights, opening the trunk, stacking sign in yard. Today, in the rain... in a yard with full-force automatic sprinklers going. I get back in the car, turn off emergency lights, turn on engine, and loudly remind myself- This Is What Democracy Looks Like.

When I get up at 5:00am on November 4th to work a 14-hour day as a non-partisan poll-worker. I will wear a little button under my sweater: This Is What Democracy Looks Like.

Contents of a Community Organizer's Car During Campaign Season

2008-09-18T10:56:00.000-07:00

* Clip Boards
* Voter Registration Cards
* Pens, pens, pens
* Turf-cut canvassing maps (The difference between Main Street, Main Terrace, Main Road, Main Circle, and Main Lane can be very important)
* Directions from Party/Candidate Headquarters to Various Neighborhoods (often stained by coffee and/or water; see below)
* Scraps of paper with various "extremely important" phone numbers stuffed into cup holders
* Walk pieces for candidates from President to tiny-rural-area State House Districts
* Button reading: Attention Sarah Palin: Jesus Christ was a Community Organizer. Pontius Pilate was a Governor.
* Deodorant, chapstick, gum. Repeat. Deodorant, chapstick, gum.
* Empty coffee cups & half-full environmentally friendly, BPA-free, reusable water bottle
* Mobile Phone Full of Cryptic Sounding Numbers Such as "CraigSD99CM" (i.e. Craig, State Senate District 99 Campaign Manager)
* Barrettes - Even the most dyke-y hair can pass for slightly-feminine with a few strategically placed barrettes for those "LR" (Leaning Republican) door-knocks in the suburbs. I speak from experience; barrettes can turn a queer grrl into a nice young lady.
* Spirit of Democracy - Often found in the glove-box between auto insurance card, issue-based talking points, and a note reading "Self: IOU a day off on November 6th."

Remembering Del

2008-08-27T12:56:00.000-07:00

Dorothy L. (Del) Martin (May 5, 1921 - August 27, 2008)

Died on Wednesday, August 27, 2008 at UCSF Hospice, San Francisco, California. Survived by spouse Phyllis Lyon, daughter Kendra Mon, son-in-law Eugene Lane, granddaughter Lorraine Mon, grandson Kevin Mon, sister-in-law Patricia Lyon and a vast, loving and grateful lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender family.

An eloquent organizer for civil rights, civil liberties, and human dignity, Del Martin created and helped shape the modern lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) and feminist movements. She was a woman of extraordinary courage, persistence, intelligence, humor, and fundamental decency, who refused to be silenced by fear and never stopped fighting for equality. Her last public political act, on June 16, 2008, was to marry Phyllis Lyon, her partner of 55 years. They were the first couple to wed in San Francisco after the California Supreme Court recognized that marriage for same-sex couples is a fundamental right in a case brought by plaintiffs including Martin and Lyon.

Born in San Francisco on May 5, 1921, Dorothy L. Taliaferro, or Del as she would come to be known, was salutatorian of the first graduating class of George Washington High School and went on to study journalism at the University of California at Berkeley. At 19, after transferring to San Francisco State College (now San Francisco State University), she married James Martin and two years later gave birth to their daughter Kendra. The marriage ended in divorce.

Del Martin met the love of her life, Phyllis Lyon, in Seattle in 1950 when they worked for the same publication company. They became lovers in 1952 and formalized their partnership on Valentine's Day in 1953 when they moved in together in San Francisco. In 1955, they bought the small home that has been theirs ever since.

In what would prove to be an act that would change history, Martin, Lyon, and six other lesbians co-founded the Daughters of Bilitis (DOB) in San Francisco in 1955. DOB, which was named after an obscure book of lesbian love poetry, initially was organized to provide secret mutual support and social activities. It became the first public and political lesbian rights organization in the United States, laying a foundation for the women's and lesbian and gay liberation movements that flowered in the early 1970s and continue today.

Del Martin used her writing and speaking talents to challenge misconceptions about gender and sexuality. "We were fighting the church, the couch, and the courts," she often remembered years later, naming the array of social and cultural forces early activists confronted when homosexuals were treated as immoral, mentally ill, and illegal. As the first President of DOB, she penned stirring calls to arms. "Nothing was ever accomplished by hiding in a dark corner. Why not discard the hermitage for the heritage that awaits any red-blooded American woman who dares to claim it?" She was the second editor (after Phyllis Lyon) of DOB's groundbreaking monthly magazine,The Ladder, from 1960 to 1962 and ushered in a new decade of political engagement and media visibility for the nascent gay rights movement. The Ladder grew from a mimeographed newsletter in 1956 to an internationally recognized magazine with thousands of subscribers by 1970, and thousands more readers who copied its contents or circulated it among friends and coworkers. Martin's many contributions to The Ladder ranged from short stories to editorials to missives: one of the most famous is "If That's All There Is," a searing condemnation of sexism in the gay rights movement written in 1970. Due to Martin's influence, The Ladder provided one of the few media outlets confronting misogyny in the decade before the rebirth of women's liberation.

In 1964, Del Martin was part of a group that founded the Council on Religion and the Homosexual in order to lobby city lawmakers more effectively to reduce police harassment and modify the sex laws that criminalized homosexual behavior. In later years, Martin was also a founding member of the Lesbian Mother's Union, the San Francisco Women's Centers, and the Bay Area Women's Coalition, among other organizations.

As an early member of the National Organization for Women (NOW), Del Martin worked to counter homophobia within the women's movement - fear of the so-called "lavender menace." She and Lyon were the first lesbians to insist on joining with a "couples' membership rate" and Martin was the first out lesbian on NOW's Board of Directors. Their efforts helped to insure the inclusion of lesbian rights on NOW's agenda in the early 1970's.

Lesbian/Woman, the book they co-authored in 1972, is one of Martin and Lyon's landmark accomplishments. The book described lesbian lives in a positive, knowledgeable way almost unknown at the time. In 1992, Publishers Weekly chose it as one of the 20 most influential women's books of the last 20 years.

For many years, Del Martin was a leader in the campaign to persuade the American Psychiatric Association to declare that homosexuality was not a mental illness. This goal was finally achieved in 1973.

Del Martin's publication of Battered Wives in 1976 was a major catalyst for the movement against domestic violence. Martin became a nationally known advocate for battered women, and was a co-founder of the Coalition for Justice for Battered Women (1975), La Casa de las Madres (a shelter for battered women) founded in 1976, and the California Coalition against Domestic Violence (1977). She lectured at colleges and universities around the country. Martin received her doctorate from the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality in 1987.

Martin's keen political instincts and interests extended her influence into the mainstream Democratic Party. She and Lyon were co-founders, in 1972, of the Alice B. Toklas Democratic Club, the first gay political club in the United States. Martin was appointed Chair of the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women in 1976 and served on the committee until 1979. She worked as a member of many other councils and boards including the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women. Throughout the years, many politicians recognized their stature as community leaders and sought advice and endorsement from Martin and Lyon.

It is difficult to separate Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon and write about only one of them. Their lives and their work have intertwined and their enduring dedication to social justice has been recognized many times. In 1979, local health care providers established a clinic to give lesbians in the San Francisco Bay area access to nonjudgmental, affordable health care and named it Lyon-Martin Health Services in their honor. In 1990, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) of Northern California awarded the couple with its highest honor, the Earl Warren Civil Liberties Award. In 1995, Senator Dianne Feinstein named Martin, and Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi named Lyon, as delegates to the White House Conference on Aging, where they made headlines by using their moment at the podium to remind the 125,000 attendees that lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people grow old, too, and must be included explicitly in aging policies. The Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality gave Martin and Lyon their Outstanding Public Service Award in 1996. They are among the most beloved figures in the LGBT community and have served as Grand Marshals at Pride marches across the nation and been honored by every major LGBT organization in the country.

Del Martin identified her own legacy in 1984 when she said that her most important contribution was "being able to help make changes in the way lesbians and gay men view themselves and how the larger society views lesbians and gay men." She had the courage to be true to herself when the world offered only condemnation for lesbians. Martin showed all of us how to have what she called "self-acceptance and a good sense of my own self-worth." Del Martin never backed down from her insistence on full equality for all people and, even at 87 years old, she kept moving all of us closer to her ideal.

Gifts in lieu of flowers can be made to honor Del's life and commitment and to defeat the California marriage ban through NCLR's No On 8 PAC at www.nclrights.org/NoOn8.

A public memorial and tribute celebrating the life of Del Martin will be planned in the next several weeks.

Democracy makes me giddy

2008-08-05T21:55:00.000-07:00

I was so excited to vote today. Democracy makes me giddy. Primary Election Night in Missouri this evening. It's just about over. Awaiting a few precious precincts in one particularly anxious race. Some good wins. Some good people lost. One nail-biter came down to just a few more than 100 votes. Our woman won, by just one hundred eleven votes. Voting matters. Your vote counts. Future President Barack Obama can only do so much on his own- we need good people at the federal, state, county, local, city, school board- every level of elected official. Please vote. A long day ahead tomorrow. Hopefully a few hours of sleep now. 90 Days until November 4th. 90 very long, very hard-working, very hopeful, very exciting days.

What Life Is Like

2008-08-04T23:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered what it is like to be mid-late 20-something non-profit workers with Master’s Degrees in the Liberal Arts and Social Studies?

The heat index today was 108. Tomorrow is a very heated state primary election. We are just at the end of a heroic flea battle. I think we won this time. The basement was sprayed with harsh chemicals last night. We had locked the cats in the basement for two days while we de-flea-ed them and the house. Now we need to de-flea the basement. So, the cats’, and when I say cats I mean three felines, litter pan is in the downstairs half-bath. At home today, the plumber came to snake the drains and discovered our upstairs bathroom toilet is causing a small leak in the basement, so we cannot use the upstairs bathroom toilet until the $1500 repair is made. So, we will just have to use the toilet in the downstairs half-bath that is attached to the kitchen. As for the housemates. Housemates A & B are moving to Seattle sometime between now and the 30th of August, so they are selling off the contents of their lives on Craigslist. Housemate C is at the emotional apex of a breakup with her girlfriend of two months. The girlfriend has been one of Housemate A’s best friends for years. I am supposed to do poll work all day tomorrow, expected heat index of 104, but my candidate does not yet have a single printed piece. Tonight, because it is very hot and we are very tired of being mid-late 20-something non-profit workers with Master’s Degrees in the Liberal Arts and Social Sciences, we are going to drink Malibu in pina colada Slurpees.

Over-Readers Anonymous

2008-07-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

My name is Sarah G, and I'm an over-reader. I have been an over-reader since I had my first blessed, lurid taste of reading. I remember in vivid detail driving down Blanding Boulevard (between the Dunkin Donuts and the High School) in my family Toyota mini-van, realizing I could read the passing sign-age, and not being able to stop myself from reading every single one. In fact, I remember commenting to Sisters in said mini-van, "Now that I can read the signs, I see words and reading everywhere!"

I am the kind of compulsive over-reader who will read anything and everything. On Wednesday, I read the junk mail, all the way down to which items are excluded from This Weekend Only Sale at Westlake Ace Hardware. I don't just read the back of cereal boxes, I read all 6 sides of the cereal box. A few weeks ago I found myself calling my Sister with Kidney disease - "Hey, Sister. I was just in the bathroom and reading the back of my Dove deodorant. It says people with kidney disease should consult their physicians before using deodorant products. Just thought you'd like to know." I have stopped several times to read the historical marker attached to the side of the crappy mid-century building on the corner now serving as a law office - a firefighter was killed here in 1964? Huh, who knew? I read the entire instruction booklet that came with my two speed desk fan- and tried to decipher the French and Dutch as well.

But books have always been my literature of choice- lately, contemporary literary fiction. The library is my biggest trigger. I rarely go looking for a particular book. I walk around the library and pick out books at random. If the flap description looks interesting, into my basket it goes. I have to limit these library trips to once a month. When I get home, I gorge, no, binge, on library books. When I'm on a binge, I will read every waking second of the day. I will finish a book, close the cover, pick up the nearest next book, and begin reading. I, who never stays out late drinking because I like to go to bed at a decent hour, will stay awake until 2am reading- even if I'm re-reading Ramona Quimby Age 8 for the 10th time. Within three days, I have to push the books to one side of the bed to sleep at night. Prime selections from my own collection and those from my friends', lover's, and housemates' mix with the library books to form Sarah G's Bed of Binding (and not the kinky kind). When I'm coming down off finishing a good book, I get sad and cranky- sometimes for days.

I suppose if I inherited some addictive tendencies from the rich Irish bloodlines, over-reading can't be the worst.

Yankees

2008-06-16T08:33:00.000-07:00

There is only one thing I find more repugnant than Southern racists, homophobes, and misogynists- Yankees who claim some sort of moral superiority over the entire South.

Under the Wheels of the (Union Made) Bus

2008-05-27T18:09:00.001-07:00

As election season creeps closer, every PAC from Washington, DC to Kirksville, Missouri is doing their candidate survey-screening-interviewing-endorsement process. In DC, these endorsements mean private wine lockers at the Capital Grille. In Kansas City, these endorsements mean a few hundred bucks and a half dozen democracy-loving Midwesterners to help a candidate knock those 6,000 doors.

My organization participates in a coalition of progressive organizations around the state. While we have our own PAC, we participate in this Coalition, along with mostly labor groups and a few community organizations, with a goal of election progressive candidates to the Missouri State House. Last week we held our first round of candidate interviews, and I found out what it feels like to be thrown under a (union made) bus.

We were interviewing Ms. Candidate. Ms. Candidate was approached to run by the Democratic Party, is a lovely woman, has an old connected family, and is a little dear-in-the-headlights to the campaign process. During the interview, I questioned why she had failed to answer the Gay questions on the Coalition questionnaire. Before she could answer, the UAW representative chimed in. Here's a general transcript of that heart-warming conversation:

ME: I know a number of party officials have told you to not fill out our questionnaire or that of Planned Parenthood because we will post your name and answers and loose your election for you. But we want to assure you we do not post the names or answers from any questionnaire and we do not endorse anyone who doesn't want our endorsement. However...
UAW REP: Well, in her district she shouldn't have anything to do with "Pride issues." Representative So-And-So made a Pride vote and that made him loose the election. And Candidate So-And-So, well, his Republican opposition sent out a mailer two days before the election saying he was pro-gay. In that district you really can't have anything to do with any gay issues.
[The entire room looks at me. I open my mouth, they all look at their hands]
ME: So you are saying leave us behind? Throw us under the bus?
UAW REP: Yes, leave you behind.

I readily admit, I lost my cool in front of a candidate. But I wonder, would it have been better to smile politely so as not to disagree with the straight white labor man in mixed company? The UAW Reps comments were so out of line, and I was even more distressed that no one stepped in to step up for me or my organization. I am the first person to admit that when it comes to the Gay Agenda, we have to be strategic in more conservative districts during campaigning.

However, here I have been in this Coalition in which we have all come to the table and agreed on a set of Progressive Issues we support. We might not agree with each other on every issue, but we have agreed on certain basic principals. In addition, to have this kind of "strategic campaign policy" discussion in front of a first-year candidate is completely out of line.

I was professionally humiliated and personally devistated. I went out to my car, had a good cry, smoothed the hair on my legs and the wrinkles in my skirt, walked my Queer Ass Self back into the interview room to continue my Coalition work, and asked my next set of questions: "So, Mr. Candidate. What kind of car do you drive? Is it union made? Do you believe in the right to collective bargaining?"

Bras - Fantastic!

2008-05-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

In preparation for my week-long fabulous trip to Florida, I went to the Soma Intimates store to buy some new bras. All in all it was a pretty fantastic experience! The sales clerk was friendly and helpful without being pushy (or wanting to touch aka measure my boobs). The selection was good (even in the DD territory), and of the 5 styles I tried on, all 5 were winners. Best of all, I had a $20 off coupon and all the T-Shirt Bras (anything cotton) were Buy One Get One 50% off, so I walked away with 3 good quality bras for less than $90. Any woman (particularly those up over a D cup) know that a good bra for less than $30 is hard to find.

Not that the 5 people who read my blog want a detailed description of my bras and bra-buying experiences, but given the 80% of women in my immediate family with amble bosoms, I figure I gotta share the boob-tastic love!

I've Got Tits, Yes I Do, I've Got Tits, How 'Bout You?

2008-04-24T09:13:00.001-07:00

In my family, we have serious tits. And I don't mean 100 lb frame perky A-cup "demi" breasts. We have good, Italian DD+ cup tits that runnith over. Many women fear the Spring time bathing suit hunt. The ladies in my family fear the, "Damn. There's no denying it. I need a new bra" hunt.

It would be lovely to buy cute, frilly bras from Victoria's Secret or even the "intimate apparel" section of the local Macy's. Alas, our tits need more than two triangular pieces of fabric. Our tits need a heavy-duty battle gear.

Women who have tits know the trials and tribulations. It is not pretty: quadra-boob when cups size is too small, tits that ooze out the side of the bra so you can't keep your arms close to your sides, back bands that ride up into your shoulder blades, underwire the stab your tits or armpits, straps that either dig into your shoulders or constantly slide down your arms. And lets be honest here, when your tits are bigger than a C cup, they don't stay perky all that long. Hit about 21 and gravity takes its effect. Lets not even begin to mention that the hip mama's in our family breast-feed until the cows come home.. I mean, until the babies learn to roller skate. By the end of the day, your DD-cup tits have about as much support as Barack Obama in Stone Mountain, Georgia.

When ladies with tits DO find a "comfortable, supportive, and beautifully shaping" bra in the Granny Pantie section at JC Pennies, it is, shall we say, less than sexy. These Real Bras for Real Tits come in exactly three colors (black, white, and tan) and exactly two styles (polyester or "embroidered" polyester). There is no black lace over pink satin here. By the time a pair of real tits finds a real bra, style IS the last concern.

However, ladies with tits (and the ladies and gentlemen who love them) I think I have found the solution. SOMA INTIMATES (www.soma.com). Now, the Soma bras are not exactly the frilly Vicky's Secret hot and sexy lingerie. But, realistically, at the end of the day for women with tits, frilly lingerie only spends about 10 minutes on the body, the other 75 being spent on the floor (approximately 22 minutes for heterosexual women's undergarments). I digress... The bras at Soma appear almost too good to be true. The "Elena" boasts side-slings and a "budge-proof" silicone-lined bottom band. The Ashley- hidden-slings and "plush padded underwire." All this for $40 or less. Could this be too good to be true?

Ladies of my clan (who are the only ones who actually read this blog): they have stores nearby to Kansas City, one in Jacksonville, and one in Charlotte. I challenge you all to go try these seemingly perfect bras and report back. Have we found the perfect bra for our perfect tits?? You tell me!

Bood (And Why A Simple Test is a Major Hassle)

2008-04-22T14:24:00.001-07:00

As many folks know, the sister closest in age to me, we'll call her Tallula, has FSGS, an idiopathic kidney disease. She is rapidly heading toward ERD (end-stage renal disease) or total kidney failure. She needs a transplant. Both my parents and there first three live birth children are A+ blood type. They always assumed Tallula and I were also A+. When this saga began, we found out Tallula is O- blood type. Thus, we need to figure out what blood type I am to see if I'm even in the running to be a live kidney donor. An immediate biological family member is usually the best match for organ donation. And here is where my hassle for something so simple has begun...

First, I called the Mayo Clinic where my sister is being treated. They will not type my blood until my sister is official in kidney failure and on the donor list. Obviously, our family is starting the donor search as soon as possible, even though ERD might not happen for weeks, months, or (unlikely) years. Mayo Clinic suggested I call my family doctor or donate blood to a blood back, because when you donate blood they type you.

I am not eligible to donate blood because of recent tattoos.

My family doctor (who is the most marvelous doctor ever), wrote out the orders to have my blood typed. However, she warned me that many insurance providers do not cover this test, as it is rather expensive and usually seen as "unnecessary." She suggested I check with my insurance provider.

I called my insurance provider, and the customer service agent, while lovely, had no idea what "blood typing" even meant or how to check to see if it is covered. I explained, briefly. She found one result in her computer called "TYPING ABO." I told her this is probably what I want. Apparently the main "coding" 86900 is covered by my insurance. But TYPING ABO can also have the modifier coding 86900-26, and this is not covered. She couldn't tell me the difference. She suggested I simply go to the Mayo Clinic and have them type my blood.

I told the insurance customer service agent the Mayo Clinic told me to call me doctor who told me to call the insurance.

It seems very simple: draw my blood, type it. A family member's life is on the line. As for immediate family members, I'm the last option. Type my damn blood. Pay the damn $300+ dollars. In the world of managed care, apparently no one is quite sure if someone else's life is word $300.

London Calling

2008-04-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

JD: I read in the newspaper here that gasoline in the States is up over $3.50 per gallon and getting even more expensive. Why aren't people rioting over there?

Me: Because we would have to fill up our tanks to drive to the riot, and we can't afford it.

Into the Sunrise, Amelia Grace

2008-03-19T13:54:00.000-07:00

Maura was stillborn in the third trimester of my mother's first pregnancy.
Cecelia Ruth was stillborn in the third trimester of my sister's first pregnancy.
Amelia Grace was stillborn in the third trimester of my sister's first pregnancy.

All three little girls lost for completely different reasons.
All three Mamas sharing a grief that is all too similar and nothing alike.

Lawrence King

2008-02-26T09:48:00.000-08:00

I hope by now that everyone knows about the death of Lawrence King. On Tuesday, February 12th, 15-year-old Larry was shot twice in the back of the head in his school library in Oxnard, CA. Larry was living in a foster facility, for undisclosed reasons. Recently, he came out to his classmates as gay. He started wearing effeminate clothing and makeup to school. He made no secret of his sexuality. A 14-year-old classmate shot Larry, reportedly because of his sexuality, and has been charged with a hate-crime. As CNN so eloquently reports, the case "might be more complicated than at first glance." According to some classmates, Larry had made public his crush on the child who would become his murderer. Again, CNN reports, the shooter was "humiliated by homosexual advances and just snapped."

I wonder if Larry King "just snapped" when he decided to reveal his sexuality to his peers? Did he "just snap" when he endured the teasing of his classmates? Did he "just snap" each day as he walked into Jr High School in earrings, makeup, and heels? Or I wonder if rather Larry "just snapped" under the pressure of himself, deciding the teasing and risk of death were better than pretending to be some all-amerikan version of a 15-year-old boy?

What makes a 14-year-old decide that murder and prison are better than some faggot ruining the all-amerikan version of what he was supposed to be?

Larry is obviously a victim here. But it is also obvious that the shooter is a victim too. Who told him his heterosexually is so sacred that the penetration of two bullets into another child's skull would restore his "humiliated" masculinity?

GLSEN - www.rememberinglawrence.org
King Family Website - www.rememberlarry.com

Ode to my Agnes Scott Ring

2008-02-04T08:31:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you can't catch a break. In short order: I was super sick over Christmas, in January I worked my regular job plus my new job in transition (exhausting), my wonderful old Toyota died with 15 years and 210,000 miles, there was massive chaos getting new insurance as Missouri has a backlog in putting new driver's licenses into the public database that insurance companies use, the day after I got my new Corolla my old Corolla was broken into and ransacked.

The funny note to this break-in was the theft of 2,000 condoms from my work with Planned Parenthood. As new-Mama Sister in South Carolina said, "Well, perhaps the hoodlums won't reproduce." It was entertaining filing a police report for 2,000 stolen condoms.

Alas, my Agnes Scott Ring was stolen. These rings, as any good Decatur grrl knows, are the pride and joy of alumnae. So sad. I comforted myself knowing that the ring has a lifetime warranty. However, theft and loss are not covered in the policy. New rings cost AT MINIMUM $455. Since I have a new car payment and a much higher insurance payment, I won't be getting an Agnes Scott ring anytime soon. April is my 5 Year College Reunion. Soooo sad.

American Idol

2008-01-15T18:52:00.000-08:00

Roommate: Don't shame me for watching, sister!

Me: I'm not shaming you. I'm shaming America! For watching it, producing it, and... loving it!!

(Stomp to back porch for cigarette)

[4 Minutes Later]

Me: Whad'I miss? Don't leave anything out.

Keep It To Yourself

2007-12-26T11:14:00.000-08:00

It is all very complicated, isn't it? You can never explain to your loved ones the complexity of your relationship with your beloved. Your loved ones are always fiercely over protective; they don't often understand the subtleties.

So, in the future, loved ones, please refrain from hateful, juvenile comments regarding my relationships. My beloved(s) are exactly that- loved and respected. I am open to loving and constructive advice. But if you feel the need to be hateful and juvenile, keep it to yourself.

Another Round of Ice

2007-12-11T09:25:00.001-08:00

Well, goodness, if the deep MidWest is not in the grips of a fierce winter ice. We are on day 5 of "Giant Ice Storm Coming To Create Devastation and Chaos." Alas, the weatherpeople are wrong, and each morning we have ice- but not he 1 inch "threatening to shut down the entire metro." It IS getting pretty awful. I have been wearing snowboots for a week straight. I like snow boots (solid, good grip, waterproof, very lesbo-friendly), but they do require a lot of effort to take on and off. However, living encased in an ever ebbing and growing film of ice has a silence and stillness about it that is rather lovely.

Big News: Newest Niece has been born! She arrived on the 6th, a bit early, but healthy and happy. My sister is doing great (way to breast feed every two hours, Mama)! So my parents have grandchild number 6. Another sister is now pregnant (which will be grandchild number 7). And best of all, I won the baby pool for both date and weight! Bragging rights for life! I did already buy my new niece her first dyke-tastic outfit: cargo pants, flannel shirt, and argyle sweater. I certainly can't let her pass her entire infancy in pink, frilly dresses. It would be a egregious violation of the Queer Code of Raising Gender Revolutionaries.

So.. Congrats to Sweet, Strong Baby Grrl and her Mama and Daddy!

Fall SIDEWAYS Sarah G!

2007-11-10T16:32:00.000-08:00

So, having been "bred and buttered" in Florida followed by Georgia, Ice Skating is not part of the winter festivities usually. Yes, perhaps the Rollerblade Rink may have had ice skating for a week around the Winter Holidays... but Florida kids don't really give much a damn about ice skating.

This weekend a beloved friend took my ice skating. The first two trips around the rink I held on fast to the edge and was positive that this "sport" was developed by drunken Canadians. I love Canadia, but they apparently had at least this one terrible idea to put ungodly tight boots with blades on the bottom. Blades, really. You are then supposed to use those small blades to cut tiny crevices into ice, quickly, and enjoy it.

The thing is, I DID enjoy it after I found my balance. I was skating happily (though wobbly) around the rink. After about 10 times around, I get a little cocky and start going a little faster. Next thing I know, I am falling backwards and hear my head hit the ice with a resounding crack. This is followed by a chorus of "shit"s from nearby adults (watching from the patio, not skating with their kids, of course). Then there is a small child to my right? left? shouting, "Are you ok? Are you ok?" I managed to recover my balance (and my dignity) and skate to the nearest exit.

I have never busted my ass with quite so much seriousness before. My head has a giant and tender lump. My neck hurts like a... it hurts. My elbow is bruised. My ass has an enormous bruise forming. And pretty much every muscle and bone in my body hurts.

In all of this, I learned a lesson. Beloved friend told me when you fall while skating (or sporting of any kind, apparently), you should always try to fall sideways. This protects the head. I wish someone had shared this bit of wisdom with me BEFORE I put tiny blade-boots on my feet.

All Gived Out

2007-10-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

I'm exhausted of giving. I know it is the nature of living a justice seeking, conscientious, and sustainable life. But I'm all gived out....

1. On a very dreary and rainy Sunday morning, I stopped by the auto supply store to pick up new wiper blades. A gentleman, Michael, helped me pick out the right ones. I generally am weirded out by the "let me help the little lady" attitude when it comes to anything car or construction related, but Michael asked if I needed any help, and I accepted. He asked where I was headed and a ride in my general direction and a few blocks away. Of course I said I would, and we happily departed. On the 7 minute drive, Micheal repeatedly said to me, "Hey. I got 5 kids I'm trying to feed. I've been out here all day [9am] trying to get some work. Can you help me out?" I told Michael that I was sorry, but I just took a significant pay cut at my job and am barely making ends meet myself. "I'm happy to give you a ride, man, but that really is all I have to offer right now. Wish I would help you out more." Micheal continued to ask me for money, even promising he'd get my phone number and call me when he got a paycheck to pay me back. I dropped him off at his destination, and he said, "Well, I really need some money, but thanks baby girl for the ride." (Note: Apparently baby girl is the new slang reference for anyone with a vagina)

2. I have been working NON STOP at work. My signed job description makes me simply an educator. However, my actual responsibilities are educator, grant manager (almost 500K now), facilities upgrade planner and manual laborer, marketing director, the list goes on). I just got a pay cut (agency wide), and was told I'm probably not getting my 9K raise in January. It's hard and frustrating and exhausting, but this is life in a non-profit.

NOW... Months ago, I told Boss Man that Mom & Daddy were coming for a visit. They've only come to visit once before since I left the South in 2003 due to Dad's Parkinson's. Thus, I asked for Tuesday and Wednesday off. I offered to check e-mail a few times a day and be available by mobile phone for emergency. Boss Man told me that I didn't need to put in for formal time off, I could have the days. Last week I reminded Boss Man of my days off, and he told me just to flex the time (rather than taking PTO) since I am working mad hours for little pay. THE POINT: Today Boss Man told me he expected me to be on a conference call for two hours in the middle of the day Tuesday, needed to come out to the Admin Office 30 min away one of those days, and would have to have a variety of other conference calls and things done during that time.

I'm tired. I'm all gived out.

Will You Push Me Up The Hill, Baby Girl?

2007-09-28T12:50:00.000-07:00

In the last twenty four hours, my neighborhood has needed me in strange ways.

Last night around 9pm I decided I needed a Sprite and onion rings. I drove a few blocks from my house to a fast food joint (yes, evil, but still). There was a young man and his teenage friend standing at the order speaker. They stepped away, and the young man asked me if I could order for him, he'd give me his money, because the interior was closed and the drive through wouldn't serve him if he wasn't in a car. I said sure. Seemed like an easy way to help a neighbor out. He ordered a burger and sprite for himself as well as 4 kids meals with apple juice. I pulled up to the window and he handed me his money through my window. He said he was getting some late dinner for his two kids and his babies' mother's two kids. He worked a day shift, she worked a night shift. The whole thing seemed benign and normal for a in-town city neighborhood. Once I finished handing him his juice boxes, he said, "Baby girl like you has got to be married." I said, "No, not married." He responded, "You gotta friend?" "Nope," I said, "no friend." He smiled, "You looking for a friend, baby girl? 'Cause I'm a good man. Not trifflin like the other brothers on Troost." No, I said to him nicely, I wasn't looking for a friend, but I was happy to help him out tonight.

This afternoon, I stopped by the Wild Oats to pick up some vegan burgers for Roommate and me. A man in a wheelchair, pretty scruffy and dirty, with both legs amputated at the knee asked if I could push him the three blocks up to the top of the hill. Sure, I said. So I pushed him up to the top of the very steep hill. Along the slow walk we chatted a bit. His speech was really slurred, and he wasn't making a whole lot of sense. "Hey," I thought to myself, "after I take my nighttime meds I get slurred speech, nonsense, and stumble around. Who am I to judge him?" He could be drunk or high or have brain damage or be whacked out on pain meds or be on some heavy anti-psychotics or any number of things. I tried hard to understand what he was saying. He got a big laugh when I said, "Damn straight its easy for folks in this neighborhood to not help you up the hill as the cruise up it in their 4-wheel drive SUVs!" When we got to the top of the hill, I shook his hand and said, "Well, sir, I hope you have a good weekend." He pulled me in for a half-hug, and proceeded to nuzzle his mouth into my neck, kissing me several times, thanking me and telling me he could "pay me back for being so sweet." I had to pretty forcefully push him away, at which time I smiled and told him to take care of himself.

Both seemed like such odd yet totally normal city moments. Helping out your neighbors when they need it. I don't have much of any money to give anyone, especially considering my new agency wide pay cut, but I can do what I can. Yet... there is something disturbing that each interaction turned into a sexual innuendo. Do men think they can have any piece of ass that offers them a kind word or gesture? Or do men, particularly those marginalized by race, ability, and/or socio-economic status, also feel the need to offer their sexuality in exchange for the goods and services they and their children need to survive, a desperate need and obligation known to women so acutely?

Sex(ualiteit) Werker

2007-09-27T13:17:00.000-07:00

Ik ben een sex werker niet, maar ik ben een sexualiteit werker. I'm not a sex worker (exactly), but I am a sexuality worker. I spend a good portion of my working hours researching and teaching the finer points of human sexuality to the young and the old (senior citizens are the fastest growing population of STI cases in the US). There is a certain joy when I take my laptop to the IT guys and don't bother to erase the bizarre semi-pornographic website that are considered research in my line of work. I have to know what those crazy kids are doing, after all!

A recent highlight: I regularly visit Robin's Nest, the independent/transitional unit at a local behavioral and mental health residential facility for adolescents. Robin's Nest has 12 girls in house ranging in ages from 15-17. I meet with them (and their LCSW) once a week to teach from our curriculum- contraception, STIs, healthy relationships, gender and sex 101, pelvic exams 101, consent, etc. This past week was my last session with the girls for a few months. We did a go-around in which each person had to say one thing they had learned in the past three months. Carrie loudly proclaimed, "I know now that I shouldn't call people hermaphrodites, I should call them intersex." Good, Carrie, good. Someone else mentioned they had learned about dental dams. The lovely LCSW asked with total innocence and curiosity, "I don't understand. When would you need to use a dental dam on a man??" This put me in the situation of (ever so delicately) explaining rim jobs to a group of girls who think pelvic exams and oral sex performed on a woman are the "nastiest" things they have ever heard of. As you can well imagine, the rimming conversation had the young women falling off their standard-issue institutional, very uncomfortable "day room" furniture.

Today I tabled at a University health fair. Thankfully, I was not seated next to the Spiritual Health group, but rather KC Free, a local totally free health clinic that also does STI education and HIV case management. I sat alongside their Youth Prevention Specialist. To our fellow tablers, we surely sounded like freaks. We discussed the finer points of hepatitis b transmission through fecal matter; our anger the Saran wrap now comes in "vegetable steamer" variety, which means we now have to caveat when we tell the kiddos they can use Saran wrap as a dental dam; the lack of general knowledge that flavored condoms really shouldn't be used for vaginal or anal sex; and whether we prefer to use bananas or dildos for correct condom use demonstrations.

Ah! Yes! All in a days work!

Business + Art = Porn

2007-09-24T21:20:00.000-07:00

Here at KCDC (K-City Dyke Central), we have some very loud upstairs neighbors. Their very large dog barks, on average, 3.0 hours straight every evening between the hours of 5pm and 12am. Occasionally the small dog friend will join sporadically. If we are REALLY lucky, the yappy dog upstairs next door creates a lovely trio. They thump in extremely loud, even more random patterns at unpredictable hours. In addition, they have a lot of loud sex. Usually the loud sex consists primarily of a rhythmic squeak and thump above Roommate's Room, dinning room, living room, or library (aka sun porch). They keep very odd and irregular hours.

Several weeks ago Roommate and I determined they must be harboring a fugitive giant. Much hilarity ensued. However, tonight Roommate hit the nail on the head: They are running a web-cam porn site from their apartment.

Oh yes! The landlord did tell us the women were a business owner and an artist. Brilliant, woman, brilliant! Sex at random hours of the day and night? Porn site! Not a lot of human sex groans? Porn site! Thumping? Porn site! (Switching to the Mormon Trail set is probably quite a production!) Irregular hours? Porn site! (What time is it in the London public library?) Loud dogs? Well.... lazy pet owners! Yes, yes. We all know that business + art = porn.

I Can't Sleep!!

2007-09-22T01:12:00.000-07:00

Can't sleep. 3rd or 4th night in a row. Very annoying. Hard not to get lonely.

Mabon

2007-09-21T15:02:00.001-07:00

It is the Autumnal Equinox. As a self-declared neo-feminist-pagan atheist, there are no gods or goddesses to celebrate and honor, but it is a time to mark change and self.

The light and dark are in total balance. However, summer is over and fall has begun. The harvests have been brought in, and we should be thankful for the plenty. We have enough. We are enough. Yet, things are beginning to die. The anticipation of the winter is acute, sad. At the same time that the death and darkness begin, the autumn growth are scattering their seeds for next years spring.

It is a time to give back, as simple as Roommate and I walking through the neighborhood at sunset picking up trash. It is a time to take in the last moments of summer sun, as simple as being aware of the sunset- tv, radio, computers all turned off. It is a time to honor those wrongly imprisoned, particularly those imprisoned for their beliefs. This is as simple as talking about Jena.

So blessed be for the autumnal equinox, the end of summer, the beginning of fall, the scattering of seeds, the blance, and the paradox.

Zesentwintig, Vijfendertig

2007-09-18T09:20:00.001-07:00

I am twenty-six. I have been to thirty-five states.

The Grande Birthday Roadtrip, was indeed fabulous. The time spent in the car far outweighing the time outside the car in terms of fun. Des Moines is, in fact, the pit of hell. However, we did find a rockin planned parenthood used book sale.

Omaha was its only little town of fun. Not only did we see the Mormon "Winter Quarters," but also the empty, fenced off field of the birthsite of Malcolm X. We had to hop a fence and make our way through tall underbrush filled with crawly thing to find the one small historical marker. Priorities, priorities.

More soon, just wanted to let folks now that I have truly seen the rolling plains- and they are not nearly as boring as people say. They have their own particular beauty in their difference from anything else I have seen.

Lang Zal Ik Leven!

2007-09-14T22:16:00.000-07:00

Sarah Gee on the Occasion of Her 26th Birthday

Currently Reading: The Impossible Will Take A Little While: a citizen's guide to hope in a time of fear (Paul Rogat Loeb, editor)

Currently Drinking: "a fine Irish Creame Liquor" (aka knock off Bailey's)

Current Songs on iPod repeat: The One Who Knows (Dar Williams); Summer in the City (Regina Spektor); It Rains Everywhere I Go (Lynn Morris); Times are Not What They Used to Be (Ginny Hawker); Subconscious (Ani DiFranco)

Celebration Plans: Roommate and I will drive to Des Moines, IA at 6am to attend the Historic Farmer's Market in downtown Des Moines. Neither of us has ever been to Iowa. After lunch at the farmer's market, we will drive to Omaha, NE. Neither of us has ever been to Nebraska. We will check into our Econo Lodge and have dinner at the local/regional hot spot vegan/vegetarian cafe. We will later attend "Cowardly Old World: An Electronic Music Concert." Through Audio and Video visit various visions of the future- from Nostradamus to Al Gore to Jules Verne to the Italian Neo-Futurists. Visual projections on on all three screens of the UNO Planetarium will complete this program... After, we will visit three local homo hot spots. On Sunday we have brunch at the Omaha botanical gardens and head back to Kansas City.

Fashion Plan:
Saturday Morning - undergarments, jeans, tank top undershirt, long sleeve t-shirt, socks shoes, red flag.
Saturday Evening - undergarments, jeans, tank top undershirt, hot jacket, socks shoes, red flag.
Sunday - undergarments (set 2... maybe...), jeans, tank top, recovery hoodie, socks shoes

Packing List: scrap booking materials, 4 specially crafted road trip CDs, polaroid camera, plastic toy voice distortion microphones, moroccas, tape recorder, medicine, 2 house dresses (for Oske, of course, I swear), uncle eddie's famous vegan oatmeal cookies, dvd player from living room entertainment center, Season 1 Disc 3 Saved By The Bell

Lang zal ze leven!

zal ze leven!

Lang zal ze leven in de gloria

in de glo-ri-a

in de glo-ri-a!

Long shall she live
Long shall she live
Long shall she live in glory in glo-ry in-glory!

(The Dutch Birthday Song)

So, long shall I live in glory!

Enkle zal liefde binnengan

2007-09-11T11:59:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been awhile. Over a month since a sincere blog, but since MK is perhaps the only one who reads, I think my blogging conscience can rest easy.

Enkle zal liefde binnengan. Only love shall enter. This is what my door says in red marker now. I went on a cross country trip, ocean to ocean, looking for love, sex, solace, family, home. I found a few of those things, and a lot of the unexpected. I'm slowly recovering from one of my most fierce episodes to date. Really, in the past month I have seen my doc 4 times. Most people go every 6 to 8 weeks. It has been a long haul.

Right now the new med doses and combinations are making me a confused, foggy brain most of the day and all of the night. But... the equinox is coming. My birthday is coming. Fall is arriving in its subtle ways. Keep on keepin on, as it has been said.

Good Bye: A Work of Non-Fiction

2007-08-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

I came here to say goodbye. You are gone now, and there will be no more goodnights. There is nothing beautiful or eloquent to say. East down Lawrence Avenue until you hit the lake shore. Then North a bit until you reach the steppes half way between the Dog Beach and Foster Beach.

This is where you were.
This is where we were.
This is where I went.
This is where I said goodbye.

Good Night: A Work of Fiction

2007-08-01T15:57:00.000-07:00

Mm-mm I wanna linger, mm-mm a little longer
Mm-mm a little longer here with you.

Mm-mm it’s such a perfect night, mm-mm it doesn’t seem quite right
Mm-mm that it’s my last one here with you.

Mm-mm and come September, mm-mm I will remember
Mm-mm our camping days and friendship true

Mm-mm and as the years go by, mm-mm I’ll think of you and sigh
Mm-mm this is goodnight and not goodbye

This is 46 hours of my life given to you. This is 1,104 minutes of your life given to me. This is 66,240 seconds of our lives given to one another. This is an endless culmination of 51 years of love. We came here to say goodbye, but what we lost in words, we found in the gifts of simple days.

You come from these waiving plains where hills rise and fall, rise and fall like the sturdy breath of steady Midwestern women. I come from the Kudzu comfort of home where unruly thick things grow. Unfortunately those Kudzu vines don't grow in the hills of Missouri.

Last night we set about the evening- we cooked dinner together, I washed dishes while you set the fire. We watched that fire for hours. Hours of total silence, until the last embers were barely living. My mother always quoted Rogers & Hammerstein, “When there is nothing left to say, it is time for silence.” But that particular fire said, “No. There is so much to say. But, what words could possibly be loud enough to be heard over the deafening sounds of such stillness?” I wondered if you were trying to give me one last gift of watching our life together burn, ebb, re-light, ebb, smolder, smoke, gone.

Amid the sharp smell of kerosene and the soft glow of lamp light, I curled up beside you for a fit-full sleep. Mijn bedgenoot! Dit is gezellig. It is amazing to me that still, after all this time, your body holds the same warmth and wonderment it did that November on the beaches of Chicago. It was All Souls Day; do you remember? I whispered those most sweet of Dutch words to you that night too. Mijn bedgenoot! Dit is gezellig.

This morning we have still said very little, and I am panicked at the thought of leaving here with so many things unspoken. It has been so perfect. It really doesn’t seem right that this should be my last unburdened day with you. I am packing up the cabin. You doze in the hammock outside. God, you are so striking. It is like this sickness, which is inside the both of us now, has not eaten one cell of you, while I have been ravaged by it. I realize, finally, that your pain must be more acute than the aches of my weariness. For leaving is so much harder than being left. I am free to burn, cry, smolder, but you must carry on with the nobility and dignity you must convince us can be found in your departure. No, I will not let you carry the burden of leaving. If silence is your way, I will let every moment we have left fade from day into night without breaking the unspoken. This is goodnight, and not goodbye.

Summer Reading Request

2007-07-06T10:37:00.001-07:00

Folk:

My Summer Reading Theme this summer is "Contemporary Global Feminist Fiction." So, if you know of any recent (last 15 year or so) feminist fiction, please suggest or send along for a lend (we can book exchange!)

I'm looking for English/American as well as pieces from global feminist communities.

Looking forward to y'all's replies!

Hang On Jesus!!!

2007-06-30T00:25:00.001-07:00

Recently I visited Independence, MO (one city east of KCMO). Independence is the birthplace and home of the "Community of Christ" (formerly Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (RLDS)). (See breakdown of Mormon faiths below).

The Community of Christ folk built the Independence Temple in 1994 in response to 1984 prophesies and prophesies over the course of the past 150 reveled to "prophet-presidents." CC doctrine believes that Jesus Christ will return for the Second Coming right here in Independence. I mean, really folks, consider the implications. JESUS CHRIST OUR LORD AND SAVIOR is going to make his re entrance less than 10 miles from my home! This could be both endless interesting and fabulously exciting.

On the site of Christ's prophesied return, the Temple was built. Atop the temple is "the spiral." Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior is going to ascend from the sky, walk down the spiral stair case, and return to earth.

I visited the Temple. All I could thing was...

Hang On Jesus! We're going for a slide!

Leven Is Zoet!

2007-06-22T21:04:00.000-07:00

Talked to my dear, newly-married, Yankee Blooded Southerner-Expat (in New England) friend. She's right.

Life is good.

Picked up and moved to the M/W for the love of my life.
She decided I was not the love of her life after all.

I Have
a fuckin rad job
a fabulous new housecompanion
a part of the world i had never seen
a wonderfully yet-unknown future
friends in every state and at least 15 countries

A new community that is nothing like what i was looking for and
exactly what i wanted.

Life is good.

Wij praten over sex

2007-06-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

Don't know the politics or etiquette behind re-posting someone's article, but this one is TOO GOOD to pass up. Enjoy. ~sarah g.

Let's Talk About Sex
By ATUL GAWANDE
Published: May 19, 2007

One statistic seems to me to give the lie to all the rhetoric about abortion, and it's this: one in three women under the age of 45 have an abortion during their lifetime. One in three. All politicians -- Democrat and Republican -- say they want to make abortion at least rare (as Giuliani did in Wednesday's debate). On, this they could reach agreement. But it's clear they haven't been serious; the U.S. has 1.3 million abortions a year.

Reducing unintended pregnancy is the key -- half of pregnancies are unintended, and 4 in 10 of them end in abortion. For a while now, we've had solid evidence about how to effectively do this. But it requires getting specific about two subjects that are perilous in politics: sex and contraception. That, politicians won't do. So let me try to help with four facts everyone needs to know.

Fact one is that, with children, parents do matter. Reviews of multiple studies have shown that parents who maintain a close relationship with their teenage children, monitor them carefully, and send a certain message about sex actually do reduce unintended pregnancies. That message, when most effective, is neither permissive about sex nor focused only on abstinence, but instead combines two components. First, it emphasizes throughout high school that teenagers should wait until they're older to have sex (because the majority regret not waiting; because having a child as a child wrecks their lives); and second, it makes it clear that when they ultimately have sex, they should always use protection.
More children are, in fact, getting this message. Pregnancies at age 15 to 17 are down 35 percent since 1995, according to federal data; one-fourth of the drop is from delaying sex, and three-fourths is from increased use of contraceptives. Today, just 7 percent of abortions occur in minors.

Fact two follows from this: Abortion is mainly an adult problem. Forty-five percent of abortions occur in adults ages 18 to 24; 48 percent occur after age 25. Most are in women who have already had a child. The kids are all right. We are the issue.

Fact three is that our biggest problem is not using contraception properly: 92 percent of abortions occur in women who said they used birth control. Six in 10 used contraception the month they got pregnant. The others reported that they had used birth control previously but, for one reason or another, not that month. (Many, for example, say they didn't expect to have sex.) The trouble appears to be blindness to how easy it is to get pregnant and what it takes to make birth control really work.

Oral contraceptive pills, for example, are nearly 100 percent effective when used consistently. But in the real world, they fail 8 percent of the time -- that is, 8 in 100 women on the pill get pregnant in a year. The lower dose hormone formulations used nowadays have fewer side effects, but missing a dose by even six hours puts a woman at serious risk. (One should add condoms for that whole month, experts say.) Miss two days and one is effectively not on birth control at all. Anyone prone to missing really needs to consider switching methods.
Birth control requires constancy, and most people overestimate how constant they can be. Fifteen percent of women who rely only on condoms get pregnant in a year, largely from inconsistency in using them. Withdrawal is even more dicey -- it has a 25 percent failure rate.
The most effective methods are long-lasting: I.U.D.'s are safe and nearly 100 percent effective in actual practice. So is Implanon (the under-the-skin implant which replaced Norplant) and surgical contraception. But no method is perfect. Each has downsides -- costs, risks, side effects. Every woman must weigh them. A few good Web sites have the details. WebMD is one, for example. But this is where you come to the last fact.

Fact four: you have to educate yourself. The details matter. An effective national campaign would provide the details -- on television, on billboards -- and actively use what evidence shows works best to cut our massive rate of unwanted pregnancies. But politics precludes this. There's not going to be such a campaign anytime soon.

Nonetheless, there's no reason you have to join the one in three -- or as a male, contribute to it. You just have to understand: the effort is strictly Do-It-Yourself.

Atul Gawande, a surgeon at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston and a New Yorker staff writer, is the author of the new book ''Better.''

Hoe ghat het?

2007-06-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

Current Life Projects and Goals

(or 5 Reasons Sarah Has Been In Therapy Way Too Long)

1. Launching Phase 1 of Personal Financial Restructuring

2. Trying to get 8 hours of sleep every night

3. Eating at least 2 actual meals a day, one of which must be balanced and super nutritious

4. Catching up on my letter writing

5. Reorganizing my apartment in preparation for new roommate Oske

Hair Makes Me Nice

2007-06-01T11:52:00.000-07:00

Apparently, hair makes me Nice.

I was a girl like most Southern girls of the 1980s. I played with My Little Ponies, but spent long rebellious summers in the dirt. I wore skirts when I wanted, but pants and jeans were just as “cute.” My parents never readily furnished Barbie Dolls, but I would not have been denied if asked. I said Ma’am and Sir, and was addressed as sweetie, honey, sugar by strangers. I grew up in a fairly “gender free” household, given a gaggle of girl children and post-hippie parents. It was never suggested that I couldn’t grow up to be president (or dictator or empress of the universe). But I was never really a woman.

Starting in Junior High I wore baggy boys clothing. Circa a year before high school graduation, I shaved my head. My hair grew out a bit, and off I went to a women’s college. My first two years of college were very insular- I spent the vast majority of my hours in the company of feminist women and a few feminist men. I stopped shaving my legs and armpits. I wore a dress for the last time circa 2002. I wore men’s button downs and ties. To school formals I wore a men’s tux. I dated women. I shaved my head again and kept it short. I was butch, a real good Southern butch grrl.

But over the past six months I became a Woman. If I had grown up a Woman, perhaps I would not have noticed the subtle ways the world welcomed me into the fold and celebrated my traditional gender. But the past six months have been total shock.

Suddenly, in stores, restaurants, and various civic and social settings, people have begun addressing me with gendered language. “How can I help you, ma’am?” and “This woman is waiting.” Simple, nes pas? Not quite. It had never occurred to me that over the past 10 years, no one really called me woman or ma’am. In public I was addressed as Sir (despite my large breasts) or spoken to without reference to gender. “How can I help you?” In parking lots and at bus stops, strange men have begun to compliment me and hit on me. Men are holding doors open for me. Strange women strike up conversation in line about husbands, babies, beauty. On a daily basis, my categorization of Woman is assured, noticed, and complimented.

During a visit to Chicago, a friends first question was, “So… how does having long hair affect your gender identity?”

In April I went to a Sister’s wedding. Since most of my community- and family-of-origin had seen me last, I had grown my hair to chin length. I had lost about 30 pounds (due to illness, not efforts at health or vanity). I was wearing make-up. I had my hair dyed and styled. I was wearing women’s clothing. Every Sister, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin, High School Friend, Girl Scout Leader, Church Members, and Person Who Could Speak pulled me aside in excitement to tell me how beautiful, good, pretty, nice I looked. 10 years of family and community-of-origin functions, and perhaps I had received 3 to 5 compliments on my physical appearance.

Most jarring of all, my father told me I looked very nice. Growing up, we showed out for church on Sundays. Nice dresses/skirts/slacks, clean dress shoes, hair done. Every week on the way out the door Daddy would say to each of us in turn, “You look very nice/beautiful/pretty.” This continued into adulthood. When Sisters brought boys home for church in their ill fitting suits, Daddy’s usual comment, “You look very nice” or “You sure do clean up good!” Upon my own transition into primary church attire of men’s button downs, ties, buzzed hair, etc, never, NOT ONCE, was I called nice, beautiful, or pretty by my Father.

For ten years I was not a Pretty Girl, I was not a Nice Woman. I looked like a butch dyke, loved other dykes in public, and proclaimed my dissent on my body and in my politics. When you are not a pretty girl or a nice woman, you learn to be Other things.

But now I have medium-length hair. I own some well fitting women’s clothing. The world around me has designated me a Pretty Girl and a Nice Woman. I do not want to be either; I’d rather live in the freedom of the margins. Ex says if I shave my head, I’ll get my edge back, my confidence. Do I shave my head in order to be not noticed by the Gender Affirmation Society of Amerika? Do I shave my head so people will call me dyke, fag, queer instead of honey, ma'am, bitch? How do stereotypically feminine women survive with freedom and self intact? Maybe that is the point. They don’t. I’d rather be Other things. I’d rather be not-Woman. I’m not Pretty and I sure as shit ain’t Nice.

Memorial Day

2007-05-28T10:17:00.000-07:00

you
old broken sailors
POW pins & redwhiteblue
suspenders
pass Monday afternoon
and all the rest
talking shop talking war
talking rank talking
back when Calvin Coolidge
was a damn sight better
than that fool we got now

when i was little
sundress scraggly hair
scared of your liver spots
you asked me what my daddy does
and offered me tinned mints
now grown ass womyn
shaved head and flip flops
you ask me:
you a girl?
how 'bout i run into the Exchange
and buy you
some pretty silk socks?

Verlossen Ons Zelf NIET!

2007-05-18T08:32:00.000-07:00

HB 1055 passed the Missouri State Assembly today. Governor Blunt is expected to sign it into law. He has publicly stated his desire to shut down Planned Parenthood- and now he gets the chance. God(dess) bless the women who try to abort alone, unsafe and the children born into families unable to raise a child at the time.

In addition, we have received word that local pastors have formed a coalition to pressure city (and state) government to review local sex shops and video stores and "enforce obscenity laws."

No Dutch, Falwell Sucks

2007-05-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

Yes. Reverend Falwell has passed. Perhaps this is not the most commonly queer-blogged sentiment, but... God damn it, Jerry! You could have at LEAST died at a more convenient time. I mean, really, you screw me over even in death. Only you, pal.

So, Hang in there folks. This is going to be a long post, but I implore you to keep going. I'm going to reveal some details for the sake of the story. If you are a creepy anti-choice aborted-fetus-poster-owner, please stop reading now. Thanks.

My local Planned Parenthood in Missouri hosted their annual spring fundraiser this evening: $100/ticket affair with Planned Parenthood Federation of America President Cecile Richards and Kansas State Governor Kathleen Sebelius. Now, for those unfamiliar our great country's heartland, Kansas is considered THE training ground for radical anti-choice activity. Operation Rescue and Army of God have sprung from the waving plains of Kansas. Op. Rescue called for a nation wide protest of our little fundraiser. There were 200 protester according to local media- The protesters conveniently took up all the public parking in the area. Thus, our supporters had no where to park. In addition, the protesters are within feet of the front door (public sidewalk) and have many children among their ranks. The full show here, folks. Dismembered late-term fetus posters. Red-X-ed mouths. This story has received prominent local news coverage, complete with live camera shots of dismembered fetuses.

To make matters even better here in our little corner of family values, tomorrow the Missouri State Senate is expected to vote and pass HB 1055, aka the "Omnibus Abortion Bill." This bill has far reaching affects beyond women's reproductive rights, but I shall highlight the three effects of the law most troubling the reproductive freedom movement.

1. HB 1055 requires that any clinic that preforms more than 5 medical (RU 486) abortions per month must receive state certification as an ambulatory surgery center. This requirement will shut down 2 of 3 abortion providers in Missouri. The only clinic will be located in St. Louis. Please take into consideration the Amendment proposed by Senator Jolie Justus- Senator Justus moved to amend that since the statistical medical risk of complications for vasectomies (among many other minor medical procedures) is greater than that for medical abortions, urologists who perform vasectomies should be subject to the same law. This amendment did not pass. But thanks, Jolie, for your ever brilliant and hysterical attempts at a firm reality check for anti-choice politicians.

2. HB 1055 will legally bar any group that provides abortions services from providing human sexuality education in public schools. Similarly, the public schools no longer have to conform to the comprehensive sex ed statute in MO, which makes abstinence only fair game. As a result, medically inaccurate sexuality education will be taught in public schools.

3. HB 1055 establishes a state funding source for "Crisis Pregnancy Centers." (There are those: Worried You Are Pregnant? Consider your choices! Free pregnancy test! places). The situate themselves next to abortion providers and Planned Parenthood clinics. They are not allowed (under law here in MO) to provide contraception AND they are not allowed to give referrals women to providers who can exams, prescriptions, and information about contraception.

In sum, we don't want you to have an abortion. But you can't have any sex ed. And you can't get birth control.

Missouri is Voting in Favor of State Mandated Childbirth.

Reverend Jerry Falwell- The women of Missouri (and Kansas) say Thank You. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your continued support of justice, freedom, democracy, and common sense.

Bedgenoot

2007-05-15T12:03:00.000-07:00

I have often wanted for, as the Dutch would say, een bedgenoot, a bed companion. I would like to think the Dutch have captured the meaning of someone’s lungs to rise and fall rhythmic, comforting beside me in the dark. I long to sleep in another’s warm presence- letting me know that, in those most vulnerable hours of the night, I am not alone. I want to fall asleep drifting slowly out of intimate, loving connection to another and wake emerging into the same. It's not that I do not like a solitary bed. Certainly, there is a particular self-awareness that comes with starting and ending the day in the delicate ruminations of my own mind. Yet there is still the allure of body cradling body, a hand within reach, and a wakefulness that begins in the eyes of een begenoot. I wonder what it is like to live this night after night.

But want for the nightly presence of a women’s certain curves, I have taken to sleeping with books in my bed. Tangled among eiderdown, the sharp corners of cover and spine punctuate my sleepy curls and sprawls. A book is not a warm heartbeat. Nor does a book reach out to me for reassurance in the night. Still, the books have been some comfort in the absence of my lost-lover sleeping beside me. At the end of the day, I settle into bed and read until I am too tired to keep track of the plot. With a humanly impossible insight into what was, what has been, and the reflective thoughts in a novel, I come to a profound knowing of another, albeit often fictional, being. It is not the real that is so important, but the way a book tries to capture a reality that does not exist. The books in my bed comfort me expanding and contracting the possibilities of humanity. Maybe the Dutch need a new word, “een boekgenoot.”

Ik bloog

2007-05-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

I'm quite sure the Dutch use the word "blog" like the rest of the computer enabled world. Another amerikan export. However, I'm also quite sure they have adapted the word into a Dutch verb form. It is probably defined and conjugated in the present tense as:
blogen - "to blog"
ik bloog (i blog)
je/u bloogt (you blog)
zij/hij bloogt (he/she blogs)
jullie blogen (y'all blog), etc.

I have resisted blogen for many moons, and if given a round of RU-486 for every time I have been asked if I had a blog, my name and address would be listed on http://www.christiangallery.com/atrocity/aborts.html. I suppose I have resisted The Blog because I like letters and phone calls. The Blog seems impersonal and distant, yet another way the Information Super Highway opens borders but closes arms. The Ex says my resistance to technology is hypocritical and antithetical to feminism and progressive politics. Perhaps she is right/write.

So, dit is mijn blog. Ik ga over mijn leven en de wereld blogen.

Waar komt jij vandaan?

2007-03-20T11:52:00.000-07:00

Waar komt jij vandaan, Sarah G?

Ik weet niet! Ik kom uit Florida. Ik kom uit Atlanta. Ik kom uit Chicago. Ik kom uit Kansas City... maar ik ga naar Utrecht in augustus. Ben ik van Amerika? Ben ik van "The South"?
(http://www.freetranslation.com/)

In October 2006 I moved to Kansas City for love and to assist in the teaching of sex and the termination of fetuses. Women will always need abortions, but love doesn't always last. So I am building community, creating yet stop on my route towards home, and watching the seasons change amidst the rolling plains of amerika's heartland.

The Dutch word "verlossen" means "to deliver" but also "to liberate." Verlossen Ons Zelf - Delivering/Liberating Ourselves.