abovegroundpool

hitting deer

2011-01-05T06:22:00.008-05:00

Every year, the weekend before Thanksgiving, our neighbors go hunting and kill a deer. They hang the deer with a noose in a tree in the yard. For the several days until Thanksgiving, the deer dangles there, dripping blood.

In early years I talked with our neighbor about the killing and the obscene display, thinking it might change their custom. It did not. Some years I obsessed—staring at the corpse, taking pictures of it. Others I hung sheets over all the windows of the house.

This holiday season my girlfriend and I killed a deer. It was what the insurance company called "an act of god." It was a car accident on an eight lane highway during heavy traffic. The deer leapt over the car to our right, landing right in front of us. The impact was impossible to avoid.

I've worried about hitting animals for as long as I've been driving. In Arizona it was rabbits, sidewinders, roadrunners. In the northeast it's been possum, skunks, and mostly deer. On the Taconic Parkway especially, I drive so slowly that drivers of other cars cuss me out.

But after decades of worrying, we've hit a deer. She didn't die right away so I was glad when other cars hit her, putting her out of her agony. The next thirty minutes were spent waiting for the police, cringing in the smashed car expecting to be hit by one of the cars swerving to avoid her body, and watching her body be torn apart by those that didn't swerve enough.

I know there was nothing that could have been done to avoid hitting her, and nothing we could have done to save her. Still, I felt awful.

Both the sheriff and the insurance adjustor said accidents involving deer were up dramatically due to hunting season. It felt better to blame hunters.

gender schmender

2009-08-23T11:42:00.008-04:00

If sports weren't about money and power, and just about (really darned) impressive abilities, would Caster Semenya be undergoing invasive gender "tests"?

“These kind of people should not run with us,” Elisa Cusma of Italy, who finished sixth, said. “For me, she’s not a woman. She’s a man.” Mariya Savinova, a Russian who finished fifth, [said] “Just look at her.” Though comments like these are old and familiar, they make expletives stream out of my mouth.

What Caster is is strong and fabulous.

I want to live in a world where everyone can wear pink pom pom pants, no questions asked.* Thanks to pixietart for the photo of Jeff Stark's pants.

water bottles for good

2009-08-16T08:47:00.005-04:00

Here's a disheartening example of rational pro-people, pro-earth arguments being co-opted by conservatives. An Arizona immigration activist with the group No More Deaths has been charged with littering and banned from a wildlife refuge for leaving water jugs for migrants in the desert. Read the whole story here.

Tap Tap

2009-08-05T22:55:00.005-04:00

Bottles vs. tap water at Tappening.com. Me personally, I prefer rainwater.

DIY Funeral

2009-07-21T13:59:00.002-04:00

I'm into the home funeral, and now, apparently, so is the NYTimes. I love the idea of the coffin acting as bookshelf until needed!

Building Bicycles for Two

2009-07-12T18:37:00.006-04:00

I went to see the Starn Brothers' bamboo installation at Tallix yesterday (Big Bambu). Some of the really old, huge stalks of bamboo look like elephant legs. The artwork was okay, but what it really did was make me even more obsessed with the idea of doing the bamboo bike workshop in Brooklyn. I want a bamboo bike (and to provide one for someone who really needs transportation!!

teardrops, raindrops, drops dropping

2009-06-26T07:05:00.009-04:00

It has rained every day for a month, and with all that's going on in Iran, I'm feeling a bit down or drowned or something underwater and suffocating. Thank goodness for last night's dance party to all the Michael Jackson music played on the radio commemorating the death of the King of Pop. Dancing to "Ain't No Sunshine." Maybe someday the sun will come back. But then again, rain = the new normal for the northeast under global warming. And things on the news aren't getting better.

Images lovingly borrowed from all over the web: heartfish, Miss Natalie, Newburgh's Door Sixteen, Dropp by Elisabeth Dunker, bookhou, One fine day, and creepy silicone breast implant people.

horses should not live in the city

2009-06-07T20:04:00.005-04:00

Good work by a kindness of ravens and MooShoes, for the Coalition to Ban Horse-Drawn Carriages.

terror

2009-06-07T07:05:00.004-04:00

We've long known that the term "terrorist" is used by the powerful to label those they feel threatened by.

White phosphorus bombs showering from planes vs. pipe bombs, or sometimes rocks and shoes: the pipe bombs are terrorism, the destruction of an entire people is "security."

And, of course, the U.S. military bombing Iraqi civilians is not terrorism, but an Iraqi civilian bombing the U.S. military is.

With abortion doctors getting murdered, guys in Newburgh going to prison for terrorist plots dreamt up by FBI agents, and my "domestic terrorist" apron causing a hubub in the commercial kitchen where I work, I knew I had to turn to Green is the New Red (and this image from christianshirts.net) to break it all down for me.

teen spirit

2009-06-07T06:50:00.006-04:00

I saw a sweet scene in Cold Spring Friday night: Students from the Poughkeepsie Day School held a vigil and concert for Lawrence King, and all queer teens who suffer harassment. Down by the waterfront, this groups of kids sang and gave speeches and hooted in support of one another. Lawrence King was murdered when he asked his best friend to be his valentine. These kids were handing out the love freely.

wish i were there

2009-05-31T20:25:00.011-04:00

I've been away from home, working working working. This has meant spending many days locked indoors in a convention center, which makes me fully savor my few minutes outside, walking to and from the place I've been laying my head at night. It's made me carefully eyeball mosaics by Faith Ringgold in the subway (this one is Josephine Baker), and get excited over corn and bell peppers growing in tree wells in Harlem.

Other good things came of this mini work marathon. One was meeting the people who started Bags for the People.

You see, these lovely people who work at the Union Square Farmer's Market couldn't stomach using plastic for shoppers who failed to bring their own bags. So they started getting fabric scrap donations and making quickie cloth bags to give away with purchases. That's led to environmental talks and bag-making workshops with kids, and "sweatshop socials" to spread the idea. Gorgeous. Now get your paws off my new pink bag.

I've been having a similar, uh, conversation with an unnamed farmer's market about bags. Call me inspired.

In my upstate absence, a tough group of arm wrestling gals were on the teevee. I'm proud to say these ladies have invited me to join them, but I've been too busy-slash-lame to participate thus far. I sure was pleased pink to see this video, and know that their arm wrestling antics have been rolling in the dough for women's shelters. Way to mock machismo while protecting women from it!

Must a r m w r e s t l e. Must m a k e b a g s. Must go to sleep and be brilliant tomorrow.

xena and the faggotry

2009-05-13T22:29:00.008-04:00

You'd think that if your neighbor did yard work in a bikini, a visor, and a fanny pack, you'd almost have to like them. But if that same neighbor locks her crying dog out all night, tortures chickens through a full winter as a "project" for her uninterested son, and puts down steel jaw traps to catch groundhogs, the silly outfit isn't nearly enough to win you back.

When you argue with her about the animals, or just beg her to let you humanely trap the groundhogs (and relocate them), and she ends the conversation by screaming insane homophobic slurs at you, it makes you not be able to enjoy the fact of her smoking by her green-black pool wearing socks and high heels.

The fence Xena put up because she's afraid of animals traps a baby deer in, and it's heartbreaking watching their futile attempts to escape.

She blasts Julio Iglesias and pretends to be interested in gardening, and you use giving her seeds as an excuse to discuss the groundhogs again. She says she is growing food for "the church kids." You wish you could pretend to like her. All the other neighbors gossip about her, make up conspiracy theories about her mailbox with the fake address on it. They start to call her "Xena" too, because of her outfits.

Occasionally there are kids hanging around. Teens, I should say. They act bored, like they don't know what they're doing there. They're not gardening. They're not eating food from the garden, because the garden's been forgotten, like the pool, like the dog. They're sometimes waiting while their mothers and grandmothers get their hair frosted in Xena's basement. It's frustrating because you usually find some common ground with hairdressers.

Xena drives by your house super slowly and stares and stares, on her way to her fake mailbox to get her mail.

The census person comes to your house and asks you how to find this address that doesn't exist. She likes the neighborhood, except for its proximity to the prison. You wake up another morning to the dog crying and Xena shouting. You wonder how you've become friends with all your neighbors but one.

And then. Two of the kids, boys, fourteen-ish, are making out on her trampoline, in the sun. For the whole neighborhood to see.

Tangible pleasure. Even later, when the kissing is over and the trampoline dancing has begun, you can't stop smiling.

coincidence or leitmotif

2009-05-09T17:59:00.005-04:00

Are you one of those people that gets all new age-y and believe that what you put out into the universe comes back to you? I don't believe it so much on a grand scale, but with little things, it really happens.

When you get something that you've put a lot of thought into, like a bike, or do something you've put a lot of thought into, you start to cruise other bicycles, other people's efforts at the same thing. Bikes are so much more on your radar, then, all the details and variations and reasons, and it starts to feel like they are around you more.

So it is with opossums, say. You see one, then you start to see more, and you notice pictures of them places and mentions of them other places. Or you mention Morocco on your blog, and then start seeing lots of readers from Morocco. Or you say one little thing about balaclavas, and then you find this insane picture, by total fluke, on a religious blog that you would never visit on purpose.

That's just what happens when the new age hits.

zapatista agave syrup

2009-05-08T11:22:00.013-04:00

Well, it's not agave, it's honey, but oh how I wish it were.

Some of my friends are very different from me. I saw this honey reviewed on a friend's blog. She's fabulous: brilliant, hilarious, wears full-on party dresses in the daytime, and left corporate land to go to chef school years back. I don't follow her blog because the things I find there upset me. (Her profile lists "butchering" as one of her specialties.) But I got all happy over this, even though I know those bees were blow-torched. I know. I know! The idea of supporting rebel cooperatives by buying their [fair trade] products is alluring, plus the masked activist on the label has a whole 'nother kind of allure. Fer real...their logo is a balaclava. Yes, product marketing has an impact on me.

Alas, I'll settle for the [vegan] Palestinian olive oil from Rebel Imports. (When I can't support lesbo Palestinians Aswat by buying their oil, this is good backup.)

P.S. Many food type postlets have moved over to wintergreens. This stayed because, although interesting, is sooo not local. The multiple locations are making me a bit schizophrenic, but that's just the way.

no nukes

2009-05-08T00:13:00.005-04:00

This post of Lagusta's got me thinking about microwaves, my past love of them, my fear of them, and how I use them as an excuse to pat myself on the back.

The short of the story is that I don't have a microwave, and I generally feel good about that. I have an occasional moment of thinking that maybe I'm a fool, and I could spend way less time accomplishing much more if I didn't have hangups about things like microwaves, except that I just do have hangups about things like microwaves.

There is one at work that sits literally 5 feet from my head, and my co-worker puts metal takeout containers in there, supposedly on a "bake" setting, and runs it for 20 or 30 minutes at a time. She sometimes sticks in a fork or two just to get the rays going crazy. I get an instant headache. I literally get dizzy in about 30 seconds, start to lose my vision, and have to get up and leave. I've talked with her about the microwave multiple times, but she either doesn't give a shit, or is pretending to have forgotten. This microwave feels on my brain like those old time mega microwaves in Circle K* used to feel. Some guy would be microwaving his frozen burrito, and you'd walk by, from the lowrider magazines to the saladitos, for example, and feel your flesh melting off your bones from nuke power.

*For those who do not comprende, Circle K is a 7-11 of the west. It's mostly the same: the poor night shift people get held up at gunpoint, they sell lots of lotto tickets and beer. There you get thirstbusters instead of big gulps.

The very first (and last) microwave I had I really loved. Nobody in my family cooked, AND we were always on diets. (Those thirstbusters were diet pop, and I ate buttered tortillas folded into quarters instead of sandwiches, because they were thinner.) 1980 rolled around and we got a mammoth microwave. My mother, a no nukes activist, hid in the other room when we turned it on. I never got headachey from that microwave, but my diet did improve, opening the world to frozen weight watchers and lean cuisine dinners. And little frozen diet desserts in only four minutes! When, in 7th grade, my friend and I invented a language (CAG) and wrote a book (The World According to CAG), there was a word for this machine. Micre, pronounced mick-ree. It was revered.

My parents moved on to smaller models, and the mammoth stayed with me. I went vegetarian and resorted to eating cheese melted on bread for every meal, prepared in my beloved microwave. When I went vegan, the microwave ceased to be useful (no cheese!), and got the boot. But I learned how to cook, then, out of necessity, and was, therefore, able to keep my curves on. I know you were worried I might be some skinny old thing...

Now I'm making baby food (of all things!) and dealing with the land of frozen food. I can see why someone would think a microwave useful. But I can't, I just can't. I've seen too many at people's houses where the insides are splattered with various kinds of food, then nuked into an indistinguishable filth. There was the argument I had with my rocket scientist friend where he insisted I had to believe the space program is valuable (I don't) because I was personally benefitting from access to microwave technology. All those billions of dollars just for microwaves and space trash and satellites that get mistaken for extra bright stars? And then there's my brains melting at work. That's proof, isn't it, that there's something still very wrong with these machines?

No, along with my pride over no t.v. (though now I watch trash on the computer, oh no), I'm keeping my anti-microwave sentiments intact, and feeling clever over it. Even if that makes me an idiot.

capped

2009-04-29T17:31:00.004-04:00

It is really lovely to be loafing online, and come across an old friend, with proof that they're working hard and doing well at that work.

Terry Graziano is a lovely person all around, but I bring her to your attention because of her beautiful, handmade hats. She always had the fashion sense I lacked. She clearly has the sewing skills I lack, as well. In my next fit of "I have to make my own clothes to avoid the sweatshop monster," I'll be sure to contact Terry.

play me like a jukebox

2009-04-27T11:54:00.012-04:00

I was raised Catholic, Catholic school, choir, all that jazz. Church songs (and girl scout songs, and the theme song to The Greatest American Hero) are programmed into me, in a disturbing way. I walk around humming them a lot.

When I played a board game in high school with my friends involving song lyrics, they came up with lyrics from pop songs, or classic rock. I consistently came up with church songs. I desperately wanted to come up with a Joy Division line or something, to restore my coolness. No can do.

Imagine my pleasure when I've been walking around for two days singing a church song that is apparently pro S/M, and pro role swapping: "Oh Master grant that I may never seek so much to be controlled as to control - ol - ol. To be understood as to understand. To be loved as to love with all my soul -ol -ol."

Only this morning did I realize it's probably "consoled" rather than "controlled." I guess my head is combining cultures, much like how Catholicism is combined with indigenous beliefs in Mexico, giving it some aesthetics it lacked otherwise!

women who know how to dress, and mutts

2009-04-25T13:19:00.007-04:00

Them there is Hanna Rydh, by Maira Kalman, and Una Lady Troubridge, by Romaine Brooks. The Romaine Brooks goes out to all the dogs I met this morning at the Beacon dog parade, especially all the rescued pit bulls and greyhounds who are up for adoption. I raise my celeriac-mint-chili popsicle to you!

spring is no time to compute

2009-04-24T16:05:00.004-04:00

Sorry blog, it's finally possible to be outside barefoot, and there's no way I'm spending any time at all indoors, or even on the porch, looking at a computer. Weeding needs to happen, seeds need to be planted, every plant and bird needs to be visited and admired, walks need to be taken, the sun requires worship. I've moved kitchen tasks outdoors. If I could go to the bathroom without offending my neighbors, I'd do that outside, too.

Things will happen here on ye olde abovegroundpool someday when there's a chill in the air, or rain forces me inside. Until then....Plant markers blatantly lifted from Heavy Petal. And I think she meant "radishes." But whatev—it's spring!

eat your weeds

2009-04-19T09:07:00.005-04:00

The whole world, including the internets, seems to be covered in garlic mustard right now. While most hardy perennials are just starting to peep out, huge mounds of garlic mustard appear overnight. There are plenty of warnings and alarms online about how evil this plant is, how invasive, how it could potentially ruin forests. I tend to get kind of excited about having wild ginger, as it's also called, growing outside my door, especially after my multiple failed attempts to grow my own ginger fueled by stickers on store-bought ginger telling me it hails all the way from China, even when I've bought it at the health food store! OK, ok, I know wild ginger doesn't taste the same as that ginger, and I will dutifully try to grow ginger again in warm weather.

In the meantime, garlic mustard is edible, and that's why it was introduced here in the first place. Because I'm not especially hardcore about native vs. non-native, I like approach of keeping these babies in control by eating them. Eating garlic mustard, that is, not human babies. It's spicy, like horseradish root.The roots are long, but thin, and I'm way too lazy to prepare them like horseradish. A lot of people seem to make pesto out of the leaves and roots. I'm finding the huge roots useful for adding flavor (and good bacteria) to my nuka bed. Lazy tasty, mmmm.

gentle men: how the alphabet is used

2009-04-16T11:48:00.004-04:00

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood! Yes, I'm singing that old Mr. Rogers tune today, because the temperature is delicious, spring flowers and leaves and buds are appearing an an amazing pace, the sun is bright, and Beacon's little community food project is finding its feet.

I'm singing loudly, and then find myself thinking about people like Fred Rogers. Obsessed with community, how things are made and by whom, make-believe, swimming laps, and vegetarianism—like me! Fred was probably a lot more gentle to my aggro, but he was a big deal to me (kill your television and all). I was profoundly sad when he died, even though there's that weirdness over feeling you've lost someone who was actually unknown to you.

I had that same feeling of loss when River Phoenix died. To me, he was such a lesbian, a lesbian icon, even. Everything about him, aside from the silly fact that he was a straight man, was as dyke culture as can be. (Is it Kaia or River, River or Kaia?) It was the same year that Kurt Cobain died, the year I lived in the Pacific Northwest. Cobain's death was one I was on the outside of, looking in and seeing what looked like absurd public grief. He wanted to die. I thought people should be happy the poor man finally had some relief. But then, there was how I felt about River and Fred, so I get it, I guess.

Cheers to two gentle men in my life who were never actually in my life. And to those people who actually are my neighbors. It was a stunning sunrise, and it is a beautiful day.

sean bell, in retrospect

2009-04-10T14:20:00.013-04:00

I'm a little late to party: I'm just learning to use video. This unthrilling footage was taken on May 7, 2008 when there were coordinated acts of civil disobedience throughout NYC in response to a "not guilty" verdict for the cops who murdered Sean Bell. This symbolic blockade took the street and blocked the Queens-Midtown tunnel for about half hour during rush hour traffic. The idea was to shut the city down, but that didn't quite happen.
- Pictures from One Police Plaza
- Pictures from Harlem
- Report from the Brooklyn Bridge
- Report from the Triborough Bridge

It didn't happen because when black people are routinely murdered by the NYPD, the only people who become enraged enough in any numbers are black people. At the one big march that happened right after Sean Bell died, there were very, very few faces that were not black. People like to believe the dirt throwing stories that are drummed up: that the victim had been arrested once on drug charges, that he'd been rumored by another drug user to have an illegal weapon. But neither of things, if true, justify what happened.

killed by NYPD, originally uploaded by abovegroundpool.

The fact is that Sean Bell wasn't high when he was killed, and had no weapon. Undercover officers followed he and his friends out of a bar, drew guns on them without identifying themselves as police offers, and shot three unarmed men fifty times.

There's no doubt that the amount of force endorsed by the NYPD is outrageous, and that an enormous number of people are murdered by them every year; for being black, for being mentally ill, for being homeless or sex workers.
I've blogged some of these images before, but feel today, like it's worth posting them again. When Amadou Diallo was killed, and a group of mostly white queers kicked off the demonstrations, Al Sharpton was moved to say "I am a Fed Up Queer." Though honored by that statement, I think it means there aren't enough allies for the black community. We're way more comfortable assuming victims are some kind of troublemaker, that there must have been good reason.

good friday

2009-04-10T00:01:00.005-04:00

My grandma died almost 20 years ago. They say things happen in threes, and that particular three was that my friend Darrin died, Operation Desert Shield began in earnest and my Grandma died.

Darrin was cremated, and because of that, I don't think I ever accepted that he'd died. Where the hell was the body? Why was nobody singing Ave Maria? He died on Christmas, someone performed an opera he'd written at the funeral, nobody mentioned him being queer, and then the war really picked up, with people leaving my classes to go fight. I went to some protests and borrowed a five inch black and white tv so I could watch the footage of bombs dropping at nighttime. I continued working the late shift at Yogurt N More, without Darrin.I took my bevy of foster kittens to visit Grandma in the nursing home, and got freaked by all the people who were so desperate to get out, and would grab my hands when I tried to leave. She couldn't swallow, and the staff could never quite remember to sit her up before feeding her. I don't remember when her birthday was, not even what season, but I do remember that she was buried on Good Friday. In my head I've made Good Friday her day.

Gram would be 110 years old this year. The exact same age as my house.It seemed significant in some way that she was buried on Good Friday, a holy day that I'd tried to respect in all the right ways, but with my usual failure at praying. I did all the stations of the cross and inhaled incense until I was dizzy, and spent what felt like forever in perfect silence. That year, we flew to North Dakota with the box of her ashes, and buried it in the grave of the husband she hadn't seemed too close to, and that I'd never met. It was a military graveyard, the ground was freezing my feet through my shoes, and there were deer there on the next hill. I remember reading Susan Faludi's Backlash in the back seat of the car, and feeling very adult and very kid at the same time. I didn't have any money or nice clothes, so my mom had had to buy me a dress.The dramas of Holy Week and the dramas of Passover blend in my head, even though I know they're not the same. The image from Passover that sticks is the blood of the lamb over the doorway in order that your house is passed by the angel of death. I'm more an amulet person, I suppose, than a blood sacrifice person, and my version of this is blueing. I could swear I knew that people in Morocco put laundry blueing on their door lintels as protection. I'm convinced I've seen pictures where it's rained, and the blueing has left stains running down the doorjambs and the door itself. I was sure that people painting their doors and even courtyards blue came from the tradition of safety through blueing. According to the internet, I might have made it up.I used to hang those little blueing tablets tied in cheesecloth bags in my own doorways. Bundles of Ocotillo branches above the door, blueing hanging into the passageway. I had to protect myself.
Maybe by talking about smearing the blood and hanging the blue to avoid death, I'm blending them with Ash Wednesday, too. It's weird, you have to admit, seeing people walking around with an acknowledgment of their mortality on their face all day. I'll be safe over here, behind my amulet.

rat island

2009-04-09T19:17:00.011-04:00

I call my cats rats or dogs, rarely cats. But I guess I name them names of other animals, too: Donkey, Marmot, Sasquatch. And multiple of my children remind me of rabbits. One, a small domestic rabbit with spots, and the other a crazy alien desert jackrabbit with enormous ears. My friend's cat just died, the one that she was closest to, the one she feels like she can't live without. I know what that's like. My favorite cat was a roach, with a low, fast scuttle. And you'd think that would be bad, but it wasn't; it was delicious and perfect. She was perfect.

There's an island near City Island in the Bronx that's for sale. It's a little slip of land called "Rat Island." I want to take my noses and my ears there and be insulated from the world where animals suffer far far worse than dying housecats. It must have been named for us.

where does the time go?

2009-04-04T16:54:00.005-04:00

There's no time for pondering this question while listening to Nina Simone, it's time to get seedlings started indoors or in cold frames!

If you live in the Hudson Valley, please consider getting local seeds from the new Hudson Valley Seed Library, making yourself familiar with the important work they're doing, and enjoying the artist designed seed packs they've created.For extra credit, actually organize your garden plans.

life as a stereotype

2009-04-04T16:27:00.006-04:00

I'm a lesbian who lives in a big, crumbling house with too many cats. I'm impatient with my neighbor who plays the drums late at night, and I like a cup of good tea. I'm chubby and I have short hair. I'm vegan and eat lentils.

But don't go overboard just yet: I don't wear cat sweatshirts, and I don't rave about my cats unless I've already sensed that the person I'm talking with has a deep adoration for animals, too.

When I do meet those people, my heart fluffs up like that spray foam stuff for filling cracks. I still wear the tag of my "firstborn daughter," a cat, of course, five years after her death. When I struck up a conversation with a business guy on the subway who had a dog collar and tags on his briefcase, I knew immediately that he was on the same wavelength as I. He said that when the guys teased him about carrying the collar around, his eyes still welled up. He couldn't care less that the troglodytes at work didn't understand how little Monica, the beagle, had changed his life.

Today, in the car next to me at a stoplight, was a dog wearing sunglasses. Though I'm somewhat familiar with this sight from beer ads and bad animated movies, I knew in my gut that this wasn't a joke on the poor dog. The dog had some pretty creative homemade headgear holding the glasses in place, and looked completely comfortable and happy in them. The driver didn't look like somebody looking for a cheap laugh. And I spotted a little ooze coming from one of the dog's eyes. I think this dog, taken at face value, probably makes a lot of people laugh. But she wasn't a movie one-liner, she was a being with a health problem (I think!), and someone caring for her.

I didn't get to meet the dog or chat with their person (car culture being as it is), but my heart did the spray foam thing a bit. Because so few animals in our world are the recipients of good solid t.l.c., it's great to get a glimpse of it now and then.

women eating animals? animals eating women?

2009-04-02T14:05:00.006-04:00

Carol Adams and The Sexual Politics of Meat at Vassar College, tonight:
Thursday, April 2, 5:30pm
Vassar College, The Villard Room, Main Building, Poughkeepsie, NY

Book signing and vegan reception, too.

sickly sweet

2009-03-31T23:06:00.010-04:00

Freakin' Splenda is haunting me! Twice in one weekend our household shopping was cursed by accidental purchases of products containing Splenda.

We don't buy too much in the way of processed food, so I think I've grown slack in the world of ingredient reading. How else can I explain being pressed to create bright colors of frosting in a pinch, breezing through some nasty chemical ingredient list on a tub of super processed frosting to make sure there was no egg or whey or lard, and realizing, while frosting a bright yellow cupcake with candied lemon peel on top, that the reason the consistency was so gluey was because it was reduced sugar frosting? Gross on top of yuk. It was too late to go back. I figured this is what I get for taking short cuts, even though I'd been asked to bake for a party, and I'm totally not a baker. I had no intention of eating any of the cupcakes, and warned everyone at the party, most of whom didn't care, that the beautiful pastel colors were made of poison.I claim some innoncence: I had been in a daze. The party was a naming ceremony and first birthday party for twins born to dyke moms, and conceived via in-vitro fertilization after years of fertility treatments. When I went on the frosting run, I'd just been at the gym listing to a podcast about Liza Mundy's new book about ethics questions and medical issues when children are created through fertility treatments, surrogacy, and sperm donors. The famous octoplets have given us a peek, but there are a whole lot more issues, many of which these very moms had experience with. It was a terrifying listen, having direct impact on this family I love, and most specifically on the smaller of the twin girls, clearly robbed of nutrition and everything else by the bigger, stronger one, and having just suffered whooping cough and pneumonia. I knew my arguments for adoption for well-founded, even though everyone is sick of hearing them! The party featured lots of cute, happy kids, however, and was so warm and sweet and supportive that my freakout melted.

The frosting was called out by one of the moms, who I'd pressed to stop using Splenda. Since she didn't care much about poisoning herself, I'd used the Huntingdon Life Sciences angle, a convincing one. Splenda was tested on 12,800 animals to "prove" that it's safe. Hello, we already know it's poison! Like how we know jet exhaust and cigarettes are poison, but we're still "testing" that on dogs. HLS exists specifically for crappy products like fake sweeteners, with hundreds of animals suffering every day because of it. All vivisection is grotesque, but nobody, no matter how uninformed, can pretend that product testing is okay. I was thrilled she remembered.So we left the party all warm and fuzzy, shaking the nasty fake sweet. Or so we thought. A person sometimes craves pickles. This sometimes happens when one's own stash of ferments from last summer is gone, and when that person is not on the lower east side of Manhattan with access to Guss' barrels of brine. So we're at the market and decide to splurge on a jar of fancy pickles. At the last minute, we feel guilty about spending the money and run back and swap the expensive pickles for a jar of Vlasic bread & butter pickles. Go home, go to crack them open, and see that they're made with Splenda.Insert string of expletives here.

Here's why I love belonging to a farm. Here's why I'm starting up a winter C.S.A. in my town. Plain old good food. Delightful treats. Good planning instead of shortcuts. No poisons. No animals harmed. Feeling completely spoiled without ever accidently eating shit like Splenda.

tiny tool

2009-03-31T22:36:00.003-04:00

On the Norwegian side of my family, I had some gay uncles, brothers, Teddy and Jolmer. They lived by a lake in Minnesota, down the road from their sister Ruth. Teddy played rousing, dramatic songs on the organ and cooked, and Jolmer carved and fixed things. All three of them fished. They are who I think of when I hear Le Tigre's Les and Ray, even though they lived in the country and didn't share walls with anyone.

I guess it's only speculation that they were gay, but they lived together, both single, for their entire lives, two gentle men. I think Ruth had a husband and children at one point, but would have to ask my mom to be sure. She lived alone when I knew her, and mainly just spent time with her brothers.

I only have two tidbits of Jolmer's carving remaining: a tiny basket and a tiny monkey, both carved out of nut shells. For many years, my favorite piece, now lost, was a pair of tiny working pliers. It may be the OCD inside of me that loves so much care put into a tiny nut shell, but I like to think it's just appreciation.

Jolmer's pliers plus my love of hand tools were the reasons I had a little bit of weakness for "tool" jewelry when it became popular. But when I saw these tiny tool carvings by jeweler Laurie Brown, I was way more excited & sentimental.

I'm obsessed with craft that is useful, but apparently I can be excited by fragile work that only hints at usefulness!tools from aesthetic outburst.
sporks from andothersuchthings.

feelin' it

2009-03-29T19:01:00.008-04:00

Spring is finally happening. Thank drag queens! (I can't walk around saying "thank god" anymore. Occasionally "thank the goddesses" works, but an unbeliever really needs to expand their repertoire.)

When I went outside this morning, it was foggy and rainy and warm. All sorts of springy things are finally starting to happen, and that was the exact recipe for an insanely happy me. My morning coffee wander included expanses of sprouts, vibrant green moss, a pileated red headed woodpecker, elderberry buds that look like animal paws, the first forsythia blossoms, a groundhog just emerging from her hole, and the discovery that the radishes I planted-too-early-but just-couldn't-stop-myself had sprouted under their protective victorian bells.

Tonight, thunder and heavy rain and crrraaazzzy lightning. Welcome to delicious, dramatic weather and amazing plants and animals. Welcome spring!

humanure mainstreamed

2009-03-29T12:23:00.006-04:00

Humanure hits the NYTimes! If you're unfamiliar with the concept of using your own poop to fertilize your food, begin your education here, then continue here. The Humanure Handbook is a must-have for your outhouse reading rack.

naked pictures

2009-03-27T09:18:00.003-04:00

I can't call myself anti porn. I know that sex and sexuality in our society are often messed up and dangerous. I also don't think "sheltering" everyone from that mess protects us. When I don't like something, or think it's hurtful, that doesn't automatically translate to illegality. (Should I have that woman in the gym locker room with all her pubes shaved off arrested?)

Take the case of the kids arrested for making and distributing child porn for taking pictures of themselves. Under laws made to protect children from sexual predators, we are now criminalizing kids who are exploring their own sexuality.

Is it stupid to send a naked cell phone picture of yourself to a kid in your class (now called "sexting")? Yep. Can it have disastrous results? Yes, like the young woman who killed herself after her ex-boyfriend shared her naked photo with others. She was a victim of bullying. But what if that picture had been forwarded in a world where people weren't such prudes? Where we addressed kids' sexuality, instead of pretending it didn't exist? Where she knew her sex life was a part of her, not shameful, and not the sum of her. There's part of it that's impressive. She felt great about her body, her sexuality, her attractiveness. It went sour, later, but there was a moment there of bold pride that I can't imagine having had as a teen.

Don't get me wrong—I'm terrified for kids. A friend's nine year old is so pretty that it's causing her problems at school, with too much unwanted attention from boys, and strains on her friendships. A sixteen year old girl on the St. Patrick's Day train wearing strap-on prosthetic boobs that doubled as beer bongs broke my heart some.

But poor judgement and an obsession with one's own sexuality are standard teenage fare. Standard human fare. One that arresting kids and posting their names on sex offender registries will never change.

As someone who got a Catholic version of sex "education", and so had a lot of messed up ideas about sex and desire and my body, I really believe that educators, parents, other kids have an enormous responsibility to talk with children honestly about all aspects of sexuality. It's impossible, probably, for kids to completely understand the concept of consequences, but an introduction to the idea is not a terrible thing.

femme queens against macho crap

2009-03-23T19:33:00.008-04:00

Or, not everyone loves a parade.So I've been standing with Irish Queers for a good number of the eighteen years that they and ILGO (the Irish Lesbian & Gay Organization) have protested the NYC St. Patrick's Day Parade. Let me quickly answer the questions this automatically inspires:
1) No, queer Irish people can't march in the NYC St. Patrick's Day parade. They can march in Dublin, in Cork, and in Queens, but not New York. (Chris Quinn, the second most powerful politician in NYC can march with a group of politicians, but cannot identify herself as queer while doing so. She avoids the parade because it brings her worlds together in a way that just doesn't look good for the camera.)
2) Because I don't actually want to march. (Yeah, you guessed it, the question is "Why not go the Queens parade then, or 'your own' parade in the summer?") I don't actually want to march in the parade, but still bother to protest the fact that people can't because:
a) It is a parade thrown by the religious right. See the Ancient Order of Hibernians for more information.
b) City and state politicians march, pretending that it's not a bigoted, Catholic parade.
c) Police officers, fire fighters, and military personnel by the thousands are required to march in uniform, if they are not on duty, and get paid to do so.
d) All this means the city and state are endorsing the exclusive event. Either money or pleasing powerful people are motivators.
New Yorkers wouldn't let the same thing happen if people of color weren't allowed to participate, or people in wheelchairs.
Now, all this said, the St. Patrick's Day Parade is one of my least favorite events of the year. The city is also supporting a whole lot of public drunkenness, groping, and property destruction (for no reason beside drunkenness). It doesn't seem to be called out or punished like it does with the Puerto Rican Day Parade, because, shucks, these folks are so white and rosy cheeked.

When I lived in the city I made the dash to the demo, and then got the hell out of midtown as quickly as possible to not have to deal with one more drunk saying "Lighten up, it's St. Patty's Day!" Now that I live in the Hudson Valley, there's the added pleasure of the Metro North trip. A lot of Irish Americans live here, and that means a train ride of being touched way too much by (drunk) strangers, getting showered with beer regularly, being "treated" to bagpipe music being played in the closed train car, and ducking while things are thrown and the train is torn apart. At least it's a free ride, since no ticket-taker can get through.

I wonder which parade I hate more, St. Pat's, or the Israeli Day Parade. The Israeli Day Parade definitely hosts more outward hatred, hurled at anti-occupation demonstrators. The things said there can knock a person flat. When my friend's mother, holding a anti-occupation placard, identified herself as a Jew to someone screaming at her to "Go back to Jordan," they told her the wrong Jews had been killed in the war. (Of course, she had barely escaped being murdered in the holocaust.)

Then there's the rodeo parades of my youth, though these were mainly about fashion. The animal abuse was saved for the main event. If only all of these parades were really only about an opportunity to wear fancy hats and beaded belts...

a show of strength

2009-03-16T08:30:00.007-04:00

Ah yes, I complain about Chronogram, but it did introduce me to the river photographer Carolyn Marks Blackwood. I love a good political print, but have also become obsessed with the river, the river fog, and the sounds the river ice makes when the tide rises and falls. It's terrifying, amazing. Good for humbling a person.

I met a woman in Hudson who used to walk across the frozen river to work making handbags on the other side. Really, she said, they ran, because the cracking terrified them. She didn't ever hear of any of "the girls" falling through.

sky. light.

2009-03-11T13:03:00.004-04:00

My new car is just over a decade old, and it's the newest car I've ever had. I'm still adjusting to strange phenomena like levers for moving side mirrors. I'm used to shouting instructions to passengers with their arms out the (crank) window: in just a bit, up a touch, down half that.

The very best thing about this new-fangled vehicle is the sunroof. I get to feel like I'm outside when I'm having to drive.
I've always driven with windows open, ridden a bike without a helmet (gasp!), left the doors and windows of my house hanging open. The more light and air the better. For some reason, it improves things exponentially to have that light and air above you.

This, I realized belatedly, is what I like about Dia:Beacon. I can do without the bulk of the artwork. It comes as no surprise that I believe the best parts of the museum are the gardens and the bookstore. AND the skylights. It is a lovely building. But any spacious industrial building would look lovely bathed in tons of natural light. It feels good.

The entire main floor is lit by daylight. The artwork is lit by daylight. When the skylights are buried in snow, Dia:Beacon is dark, and closed. This bit of information makes me appreciate the museum much more.
Then, the artwork. I can be really grouchy about modern art, especially massive, macho, public sculptures. There is a lovely response to that kind of work in the museum, and that is the holes, or negative space sculptures of Michael Heizer. They're still lined with steel, lest he be too femme about it. Let's re-line those suckers with some nice cotton canvas for a good lesbo aesthetic, shall we? Or just go upstairs and visit all those artists' removed testicles in the Louise Bourgeois room.

*Cloud fabric from Repro Depot Fabrics

mountain mama

2009-03-07T10:35:00.011-05:00

It's deliciously warm and I'm sitting on my porch looking at the mountains. It'd be devastating to the area if these mountains were developed (which is always in discussion). Worse, of course, much worse, would be if these mountains were mined. There is a depressing little drive along the back of them where cement factories have already scarred the landscape dramatically.

But that's just what's going to happen to the mountain that my father grew up on in West Virginia. It's been chosen for a mountaintop removal site. They'll be mining coal, as has always been the case in poor, incredibly beautiful West Virginia.
MTR, mountaintop removal mining, is an extreme form of mining, causing dramatic and irreversible topographical and ecological changes. The top 1,000 feet of a mountain is removed to expose veins of coal. The "waste" is dumped in the nearest valley, creating flat land where mountains were. No vegetation survives, but a lot of waste does, and this sludge is stored in open dams. A "benefit" (besides energy) that is touted for MTR is the creation of flat land where none was before.

If anyone talked to the hill people living there, they'd know that "flatlanders" is a mocking term, not a compliment. But no one is asking the residents. They don't think they have to, because these people are poor. Very poor. They'll be grateful for a temporary mine job, right?
With all the garbage about clean coal" floating around the news these days, people who know nothing of the Appalachians might actually believe it is something that exists. People who've lived near mines and have worked in mines know better. Mortality rates are already higher than the rest of the country in rural West Virginia, but studies show that the rate is due as much to coal mining as to smoking and lack of access to health care. This week's big D.C. demo tried to bring the facts to light.

Rural, mountainous West Virginia may be poor, but it is incredibly lush. When I visited Clay Country as a pre-teen, I tried to declare the whole area a national park. The people who live there have a fierce loyalty to the land, their home, their way of life, and the mountains. My father moved away more than fifty years ago, and still gets the county newspaper. He visited the site of his childhood home this past summer, knowing it might be the last time he saw his mountain intact.
Outsiders like to think that these poor, mountain people are backwards. But they sure do like to look at pictures of them, read about their troubles, listen to their banjo music, and romanticize what it would be like to live in the deep country.

Among my grad school regrets are that I didn't take a colleague up on the offer to join her on a trip to visit with various W.V. artists she worked with. I may never see my father's mountain again, either.

Clay Country newspaper from my dad.
"Three generation of Holcombs" photo by Shelby Lee Adams.
Demonstration photo from Coal River Mountain Watch.
Bird house by Charley Wise.

scruples

2009-03-06T15:29:00.008-05:00

(and a merit badge for community building)

I'd intended a while back to give Lagusta an abovegroundpool merit badge for being a sharp, funny, kickass, feminist, vegan, local chef extraordinaire, and sharing that experience with the rest of us. But hadn't gotten around to it.

I've been distracted from writing the entry by the fact that my friend is being beaten up, and from figuring out steps to take to prevent things from escalating. I don't want her to be murdered, I don't want her to continue suffering through beatings, and I don't want this guy to hurt anyone else. What I've learned talking to the lovely people at domestic hotlines is that I can't be the one to end it.

Years ago I had a horrible weekend with friends in CT. The whole setting was confusing to me. I was both attracted to and repulsed by the plush lifestyle I was experiencing, where it was okay (and even encouraged) for a pack of adult friends to raid the house, eat and drink and use everything in it, do nothing more important than play badminton and swim in the private lake, and run the well dry. I was meeting one of my friends' little sister for the first time. This fourteen year old girl (again rich, not underprivileged) lived on a diet of morning-after pills, wore pants that were so tight and low that her pubic hair always showed (the tiny bit that hadn't been shaved), and had no interest at all in engaging with any of the [queer] women or gay boys assembled. She only wanted to talk to [straight] boys that were attracted to her and she kept inviting over, but didn't even seem interested in them. I didn't learn much about why she was dour and self-destructive, but it really set a vibe for the weekend. I remember this was the first time I ever saw an episode of Sex in the City, and in this setting, sitting next to this poor girl, who, by the way, I didn't like, but did empathize with, was completely unable to find any humor in the show. I'm sooo not anti-sex, nor anti clothing that someone thinks they might look sexy in. I don't pretend kids aren't sexual. But it messed me up to see this kid so bitter about [clearly unsatisfying] sex already, so defined by it. She isn't alone, of course, but meeting her set the stage for the rest of the weekend.

Toward the end, we played the game Scruples. Round after round, I learned things I wished I'd never had about these people I thought were smart, I thought I liked. The guy I knew best of this crowd ended the game by admitting he hadn't intervened, or called anyone else to intervene, when he once overheard a woman being brutally attacked. After a futile argument that bewildered me, (It wouldn't change anything. I didn't even know her.) I had to leave. It's very possible that screaming woman was raped, beaten, or killed. I've never hung out with any of these people ever again.

Intervening, calling the cops, getting help quick, somehow, is the right thing to do in an emergency like the one my "friend" didn't respond to. From a domestic violence hotline I learned that when physical or sexual abuse is happening (to an adult), and it is not an immediate emergency, it is dangerous to call for intervention unless the victim is on board. If the victim is still seeing the perp, letting the perp into her* space, and he's* angered about being reported, he'll often hurt her worse than usual, or kill her. They recommend that, until she's ready to end the situation, to 1) Set up a code for emergencies; and 2) Keep a journal of incidents with times, dates, and details of the attacks, ideally with pictures of the visible injuries. Because of course the bulk of the injuries aren't visible.

I also recently read about pets in domestic violence situations. Like the people who stayed in their homes with their animals to try and weather Hurricane Katrina, people who are being abused often don't want to leave their animals behind, delaying getting help, most for months. Indeed, those animals often suffer at the hands of the same perps. There are some experimental domestic violence shelters that offer animals shelter as well. The animals have proven to be of great comfort to the women in the shelter where interviews took place. We all know the statistics showing that animal abusers often turn out to be abusive toward other people, too. Now we see that fear of animal abuse (like child abuse) often stops people from getting themselves out of dangerous situations.

And what does this have to do with a New Paltz blogger?

Well, I recently read her writing about the murder of a friend of hers, and that is part of what galvanized me to seek out professional help in dealing with my friend who is suffering. It's important, and also not the first time that Lagusta's writing has been inspiring to me. From discussions of how and why to make your own tempeh to making a bicycle-driven clothes washer, and this morning's reflection on the middle class environmentalist's failings when it comes to development discussions. It is really nice to know there's someone sane and passionate and articulate in the hood, sharing her experiences and thoughts in hopes of making her community/ies stronger.

I'm grateful for her generosity, her anger, her irreverence, and all the times I've cracked up reading her blog. Cuz we all really need that. (Oh yeah, she runs a vegan home meal delivery service and a vegan truffle business. But it's her writing I'm into at the moment.) So the repurposed "My Community" merit badge goes to Lagusta and her blog, Resistance is Fertile. Thanks for bringing your vegan eco feminist chef fury to the Hudson Valley and to the web!

*Obviously, these pronouns are interchangeable. Men hurt men and boys and girls, women hurt other women and girls and boys and men, trannies get hurt by men and women, etc., etc.

happy bit today

2009-03-05T15:58:00.003-05:00

more...

the real cost of prisons

2009-03-04T22:18:00.010-05:00

It's fascinating watching the Rockefeller Drug Laws be knocked back a bunch of steps. Drug arrests and arrests of vendors or homeless people in public space are so much of what the NYPD is about. The entire Hudson Valley is covered in prisons, many of which are filled with people being held for absurdly long sentences on drug charges. The bulk of the arrests were made just for possession. Of course those people should be freed.

It has an interesting edge, though, because for the first time in decades, prison populations may shrink, and some prisons may close. Of the three prisons near my home, at least one is filled primarily with drug offenders. Maybe two. (Different people give different reports, and prison websites are useless.) One expert on Democracy Now said whole upstate towns would be closing down when their prison closed. It feels really strange to live in a town that may see collapse because its evil main industry is being challenged.

Reading an entirely different article about Queens County Farm Museum (agriculture in the city, we like that), they make reference to sending animals to slaughter at a slaughterhouse on Long Island that uses prisoners as workers for "job training." More like training your free workers, a.k.a. slaves, to be killers. Crazy!

Things like this shouldn't surprise me. After all, we live in a country where people couldn't figure out where Timothy McVeigh got his killer instinct. Duh, the military! There's nothing quite as brilliant as locking up innocent people and training them to be killers.

Image from the book The Real Cost of Prisons, from PM Press.

sugar sugar

2009-03-02T22:00:00.008-05:00

I tried to be grouchy about the weather today, thinking, "More of this!" But then I kind of enjoyed it, trying out snowshoes for the first time (more on this later), getting them tangled up in each other and falling face first into deep snow, eventually wandering where I would otherwise not go in 19 degree weather, discovering trees tapped to make syrup, and dreaming, dreaming of learning how to tap maple trees and make syrup myself.

I absolutely plan to go to the mini maple introduction at the Sharpe Reservation on March 21st, and in the meantime, am satisfying my curiosity by reading about other people's first experiences with it.

churchgoer

2009-02-28T21:28:00.004-05:00

OH YEEAH! Big Saturday Night: I went to church. Well, a concert in a church.

I can't really explain what possessed me, except that I liked this sign, and I'd been curious about the church architecturally. It was built in 1725, was used as a prison during the revolutionary war, has a really old cemetery in the yard, and has a little preaching perch out front, on the street, with stairs to climb up to it.

The bells were amusing enough. I thought they'd be played by seniors, but it was a whole group (what do you call them, a band?) of teens. I got to sit in the balcony, on the organ bench, under all the big organ pipes, and check out the building relatively undisturbed. But then, there was a trick. The bells ended, and a teen choir started singed "God is in control." I got out quick.

There is one thing I miss about church, and that is that even the people with the bad voices get to sing. But clearly there's a lot I don't miss. Glad to have made it out unscathed.

self defense

2009-02-28T10:24:00.009-05:00

I noticed yesterday at my gym that they're offering new self defense courses. My mind wandered back to the awesomeness that is self-defense training. I took classes about 15 years ago, before some solo traveling, at Brooklyn Women's Martial Arts (now the Center for Anti-Violence Education). Empowered is an overused word, but it was amazing to understand the power of your body and connect with it in a practical way. Parts of the training were terrifying, like learning to break out of a choke-hold, but the instructors and students were gentle with women who had strong reactions to some of the simulated attacks. For "graduation" we broke planks of wood with a karate chop. It made me feel very strong, and safer, and proud to have made an effort to learn how to protect myself.

But of course, self defense can be criminalized, as with the seven New Jersey lesbians charged with "gang assault" and attempted murder for fighting back when attacked. There's a demo this Monday in NYC demanding that the D.A. drop all remaining charges (some indictments been overturned by the appeals court).

Stop persecuting Renata, Patreese and Venice. They fought back to defend each other. Had they not fought back successfully, one or more of them might have been killed or raped. Are rape, death, or prison the only three options open to lesbians who are attacked on the street?

Protest Monday, March 2
noon - 1 p.m.
1 Hogan Place
Manhattan, NY
(corner Leonard and Centre Streets) (A, C, E & 6 trains to Canal St.)

For more info, e-mail: freenj4@yahoo.com

Related "defense" is that abovegroundpool friend and merit badge winner Susan Tipograph is Renata Hill's attorney.

Support this group of women on Monday; support women's safety every day!

runtlina, tranny cat

2009-02-27T21:49:00.005-05:00

Some people like to argue that queers are bad because "it's just not natural." I don't particularly care about natural or not, but I always have known homo non-human animals, which makes it seems sorta, well, natural. Or at least widespread. My childhood dog, Beazy, and some barbers my mom worked with were the first queers I knew, and they made me think it couldn't be such a bad thing. The barbers made me wonder if queerness had some sort of relationship with obesity, but then Beazy wasn't heavy.

People have the same nature arguments against people who don't live as their born bio gender. They think that men "dressing up as women" are mocking women, and that women who want to live as men must hate women. Neither of these things really hold water. And they don't address all the in betweeners. (Is that what's meant by tween?) The animal kingdom can always be trusted to give insight.I live with a tranny that I picked up down by the railroad tracks. Her name is Runtlina (or Bolly). She is absolutely stunning, loves M.I.A.'s fashions and Bollywood music and dancing. She was way into the final, unexpected dance scene in Slumdog Millionaire, and excited again when the movie won best picture. She's a girl through and through, except that she was born a boy. Runtlina is a cat. Her purrs turn from pigeon noises to loud rolling Rs when I tell her that her hands and feet are small. Occasionally, when she's pushy, I think there's some privileged "boy" in there, but really she's just pushy.
Runtlina, Runtlina
Going hundred mile per hour
With your radio on
With your radio on

gorgeous

2009-02-25T18:35:00.010-05:00

Don't tell the Beaconites, but sometimes I wish I lived in Newburgh. There's a forest in the middle of the city, beautiful old Main St. (Broadway), authentic Mexican food, a happenin' waterfront with an indie movie theater, and amazing architecture. When moving to the Hudson Valley, we looked at a house there: a view of the river, a walk to both Broadway and the river, across the street from a nice, quiet cemetery. The slumlord selling it and done a number on it, though, and it wasn't livable.Sometimes I wish I lived in Newburgh because commuters who do live there get to take the ferry across the river to the train. What a gorgeous** way to start one's day! I know from swimming in the river and from sailing on the Woody Guthrie that the view from the middle of the river is even more stunning than from the banks. Bannerman Island and Storm King can host your hazy morning daydreams.
As I've watched from the train platform as the ferry got stuck in the river ice in the past days, I've even thought it would be exciting to be caught on that boat in that ice. Being on the river every day,* I think, would ground me here, in this place.
*Aside one: Years back I participated in an Act Up demonstration against Coke on the Chelsea Piers. Coke was sponsoring a party for AIDS activists, pretending their own African employees weren't being denied health care. Besides the protesters on the pier, we had a little boat with a big banner going back and forth in the river, podunk Greenpeace style. The people who owned that boat used it to travel to work everyday, from one Manhattan location to another, floating around the island. Amazing that people live their lives that way, on open water, even in Manhattan.
**Aside two: Let me explain my use of "gorgeous." My friend Ron was a recovering heroin addict and had his share of awful experiences. Every day was a big struggle for him, and that fact made him revel all the more in the beautiful, the positive. When Ron said "gorgeous" he drew out the word, bent his knees, leaned back, and rolled his eyes to the sky. "Gooor jus." Ron said, "I threw some candy on the pavement and photographed it. G o r g e o u s." When I appreciate something, I like to take the time to appreciate it Ron style. Bend my knees, make it last.

Photos are from wmbraine

gender boot

2009-02-22T19:08:00.007-05:00

Some things just don't need genders assigned to them. It irks me that short haircuts cost more for women than long hair haircuts cost for men. There's no reason that my last trip to Paris should have been filled with people chasing us down going "femme, femme" and pointing across the street. God forbid a woman consider purchasing men's clothes. I think, too, that people are more freaked out when you don't look particularly girly, but they suspect you might be a woman. It's like they have to defend something. If you look straight-ish, they can be comforted in the idea that you're trying to accomplish the Gap's much beloved "boyfriend look."

Sadly, it's not limited to Paris. Yesterday in New Paltz (the name of which drives my Dutch friend crazy, "It's New Platz, New PLATZ!" she protests) another, not-Dutch friend was challenged for trying on a "men's" shoe. This is in an outdoor sports store, where you think the guys working there are going to be a little laid back. But no. He insinuated that the shoe wouldn't fit because it was a men's shoe. I'm just not convinced. What kind of shoes or clothes do you suggest trannies wear?

While I'm being irked, can I just say that little kids shoes are always nicer and brighter than adult shoes? Another wild injustice!

Photo courtesy of Eartha Kitsch, who, as a bonus, also has a picture of a possum. Possums are becoming a leitmotif.

wherever you can get it

2009-02-22T19:01:00.004-05:00

Winter weather is cruel. It's raining and seeming like spring could come someday, and you go out for a run and by the time you're back it's snowing and the salter trucks are out hurling salt around. The horror. I looked up the weather for the next week, and it's all cold and grey. It's the first day of Carnival in Brazil, and I have to look for any bit of color and light I can get.

love the one you're with

2009-02-22T12:56:00.009-05:00

I'm from the southwest. I like road trips in the car with the windows down listening to conjunto music, bakingly hot weather, sandals, javelinas and jackrabbits and roadrunners, cacti, swamp coolers, big skies filled with insane lightening, and walking really slow. That said, I've lived away from "home" longer than I lived there, making it so that I can't use where I'm from as an excuse for everything anymore.

It's warm enough to be rainy here in the Hudson Valley, but not really warm at all, and me and my stack of seed catalogs can't stop fantasizing about planting season. I've been following chatter about growing various fruit in southern California, and it's driving me a little crazy. As if I don't miss fresh pomegranates, kumquats, tangelos, and prickly pear tunas enough. Should I really be listening to people talk about their avocado, jujube, and meyer lemon trees? It hurts.

I have to focus here, what grows here. Past years have seen the beginning of my perennial fruit excitement: I've planted raspberries, elderberries, cranberries, wolfberries, ligonberries, hawthorne berries, black turkey figs, cherries, apples, a plum. Some of them have done swimmingly, some didn't make it through a season. Some aren't really meant to be perennials in this climate, and are angry with me for dragging them indoors for the winter. (Hang in there little goji!) I think it's spectacular that wild fruits and nuts were here in the yard before I came. Woohoo for mulberries, black walnuts, wild strawberries, and quince! And there's that one fruiting tree that I still haven't been able to identify after five full years.
I can't help searching for additional food perennials for this climate. I've found siberian kiwis which I'd love to give a go, and pawpaws, which seemingly would require hand pollination (alternatively fascinating and frightening, since I'm not that skilled a gardener). Maybe seaberries and honeyberries, too. Or an asian pear for the mini orchard.

Many of these plants won't produce anytime soon, but it is amazing to be learning about them, and turning this yard into a truly edible landscape. When considering planting a fruit tree in her yard but knowing she wouldn't be there anymore when the fruit came, my friend realized someone would live there, somebody would benefit. If I do someday run back to Arizona and go to work for Iskash*taa, may this yard feed whoever lives here well.

*The berries pictured aren't edible. They are cotoneasters, and just look dramatic in the snow. Especially with a cardinal sitting on the branch. The other picture is of black walnuts from my yard. No longer green, but with the fruit still "on."

foofy dogs & vegan cheese

2009-02-22T08:36:00.014-05:00

My cats have told me over and over again that no dogs are allowed in the house. I constantly disobey them by having friends over with dogs, and worse, picking up homeless or lost dogs and bringing them home. The worst offenses were each a full week of home invasion (twice). The single worst offense is when I fell head over heels in love with an abandoned pit and got involved in his training, healthcare, etc. The most recent was this Friday night, when I brought home two dogs that were running in the street. (My poor children, forgive me!)

Neither the lhasa apso or shitzu were were wearing collars with their phone numbers or address, but were clearly together. All three of us almost got killed while I tried to wrangle the two of them into the car, and some guy had the nerve to insult all of our intelligences in the middle of it. Why do people love shouting out their car windows so much? The fast getaway?

Both dogs were girls, one had clearly just had puppies, and we knew they had homes because they were not only fluffy lap dogs, but they reeked of groomer's chemicals, like a flea dip or something. One had a pink collar on with a rabies innoculation number, so the hunt began there. The nursing one got slapped across the face by a cat.

I'm not a fan of cops, and the Fishkill Police Dept did not disappoint when I called to get the phone number for the people you're actually supposed to report lost dogs to. (I should really have this written down somewhere!) He was "too busy" to give that to me. Funny enough, the people looking for the dogs called him too, so he ended up having to connect us. We should always force the police to be so useful!

Here's the hard part. How do you know when animals are being well-cared for or not? How do you figure it out in an instant, and what is your role beyond plucking them out of traffic and trying to find their home? Obviously, because one of them had had puppies, we wanted to know if she was being bred. She was noticeably less healthy than the other one. When their people came to take them, the white, fluffy, not-nursing one got hugged, but the mother got carried out of our house at arms length with discussion of how she'd gotten out of the laundry room.

If someone came across some of my cats, they'd probably wonder after my caretaking. One of my girls has always been so thin she's half the size of a normal cat. We feed her many extra snacks every day, get her checked for parasites, etc., but she's actually the most active of our bunch, truly acrobatic when she plays. The vet says she's fine unless she starts losing weight. Another of my kids has a cloudy eye, from a bout of conjunctivitis back when she was a shelter cat, and will bite you if you don't pet her just right.

That said, I worry about that tiny mother, named Amanda, as it turns out. Even though she had three week old puppies to nurse, I wonder if we did the right thing.

I was relieved to see them go, thankful we'd gotten in contact with their people, thankful the cats could relax, thankful that I could get back to my weekend of testing homemade vegan cheese recipes (three kinds!). But I worry.

Images from Dream Dogs Art.

broke, eating meat

2009-02-15T09:18:00.007-05:00

Will all this joblessness make people finally break down and grow veggies for dinner and collect rainwater off their roofs, or will it just make people hold up convenience stores with guns? (You know how sometimes crises make people deal with things they've long been putting off? Of course, some people just shut down and go ballistic.)

This goes out to all those people who don't go vegetarian because they don't give a crap about animals, or are "sympathetic" to animals but think they are superior to them. The Matt & Nat blog has a nice list for those who don't care about animals but do care about the environment (as if keeping those things exclusive of one-another is possible!). For those who need a non-veg source, here's the the facts & figures from a non-veg chef. There are the world poverty reasons to eat less meat. Then there are the environmental racism reasons, or concern for workers.

Yeah, yeah, there's health, too, but people seem to care about that as little as they care about animals. (Here's an article that puts them all together, just in case you do care about all these things. Enjoy your fresher food and your fresher water, even if you haven't got a nickel in your pocket!)

nesting

2009-02-13T19:55:00.010-05:00

Speaking of plane crashes, after the whole Hudson River ordeal, I'm worried about the geese. Everybody blames the birds, as if the sky doesn't belong to them! I worry about mass killings of my sweet voiced flyover friends.

For the moment though, I'm focusing on the incredible architecture of bird nests, as photographed by Sharon Beals.

crashing planes and sweating feet

2009-02-13T19:04:00.009-05:00

It's confusing. Planes are crashing all over the place, people in LA are just pulling carrots of the ground, and I'm seeing the ground here for the first time in months. Yes, the few days of weather above freezing have melted all the snow here and all of a sudden it feels like there's so much SPACE and I can't stop looking at the exposed ground, the wet smashed leaves and dirt and the slick branches except to look away to look at pictures taken in May. May last year, May the year before, and Mays years back, and I don't even believe that this place can turn into that place in a mere three months. At the same time, there's no way I can wait three whole months. The sun has felt amazing and the days, though they've been getting longer for a while, finally FEEL like they're getting longer. You can actually feel the sun hitting your skin because the moisture in your skin isn't so busy freezing. And my feet are actually hot in my shoes and I can't wait to expose my pale feet. And other people in the 'hood are complaining about flip flops, as if the opportunity to wear flip flops isn't one of the most delicious things. Especially right now, when we can see the ground for the first time in what feels like a frozen lifetime of news of crashing planes.

These pictures are my compost path, which I shovel religiously but finally gave up on this year and just slip slid my way. I did not give up on the little path I shovel for my mail carrier, since he's older and a bit fragile, and I'd hate my laziness to be the cause of a slip and fall. The other picture is the side yard in May, when all the colors are clashing and ridiculous and you can't help but feel happy at the over-the-top fluffiness of it all.

"may she find what she's missing, even if it's not what she lost"

2009-02-08T12:42:00.005-05:00

mattilda's public art project, lostmissing, is an open letter, a lost cat flyer, a tantrum a question a pressure point a release, the present holding the past, and hunger.
If you can relate, participate by posting her flyers, making your own, and sending photos.

tour della (o)possum

2009-02-08T12:10:00.009-05:00

Sometimes all it takes is speaking their name to get them to come visit.

unplugged

2009-02-06T09:09:00.005-05:00

The NYTimes can sometimes surprise: Their article about unplugging the refrigerator was only a little patronizing. Would it really kill us to chill our beer in the stream? Change our eating habits? Or quit milk, which seems to be everyone's hangup?

Kitchen towel by maltoodle.

deer, dear

2009-02-06T09:05:00.001-05:00

I've been lucky. In all my driving years I've never hit an animal. This may be due to the obsessively slow and white knuckled approach to the open road, or maybe the alert whistles hooked up to the battery. Today, my commuter train struck a deer on the way to work. The conductor obsessively announced the condition of each of the train's mechanical parts, but no report on the deer. May she have died quickly, without pain or fear.

leaving the body

2009-02-05T06:02:00.005-05:00

As a kid, I was obsessed with Lois Duncan novels and the concept of astral projection—willing your spirit to travel free of your body. [There was the thrilling story about Navajo twins separated at birth, one good, one plotting vengeance for her unhappy life. When the lonely girl's body dies her baaad spirit shows up and takes residence in the body of the happy one while her spirit is out running around. What could be more exciting for a pre-teen?]

And, the unruly winter weather has me admiring snowshoes for runners that have springs in them, turning otherwise boring ground-bound humans into snow kangaroos.

But neither of these examples are the body leaving I refer to: Rather than worrying after my soul, I'm pondering where the old bod will go when I die. Cremation seems like a waste of resources. Burial is good, but chemicals and makeup and expensive coffins are yuck, and not what we ought to be planting in the earth. In other countries you can be same-day buried without all the chemical pollutant fuss, but in the U.S., that's still rare. There are new eco-cemeteries, but somehow I expect they find ways to charge you an arm and a leg. I'm into the idea of simple home burial. Plant me with my cats in the side yard.

This is the best thing I got out of Six Feet Under. [Some slack here, please: I was sick delirious dying, and the gfriend rented full seasons to distract from the agony.] Annoying funeral director Nate buries annoying vegan chef Lisa au naturale, no box, in the woods. No rows, no markers, no mowing or plastic flowers. The idea seemed so lovely, and so illegal.

Heard the rumor that Tennessee is the only state where you can bury your human loved-ones in your yard. Go to town with deceased cats, dogs, snakes, rats, rabbits, groundhogs, squirrels, deer, and birds, but it's gonna cost you to lose your humans.

I thought of leaving my body to the faeries at Short Mountain. They'd get some good compost, and would likely have a ritual involving drumming, which would make my hovering spirit happy. Mom fiddled with the fantasy by bringing up the difficulties of legally transporting a human body across state lines. I guess I'll have to get old on communal lesbian land in TN, and, if at all sick or feeble, will have to be restricted within state lines. (Turns out Ohio and Vermont will work, too.) Preferably, I will expel my last breath within dragging distance of a good-sized compost heap.

Or, the gov could chill and let us have our dead in every state.

Note to swimmers: Ocean dumping is legal!

The beautiful GONER tag is by Jonathan Berger, from his Founder, GONER, Seer series of shows in 2007.

we all need a little sunshine

2009-01-29T15:24:00.005-05:00

Visit Yee Haw Industries (here and here) for nice hillbilly letterpress work, and useful info like: "American Goddess Miss Tammy kept her cosmetologist license just in case the music biz didn't work out. Fact."

Yeah, but did she really have a tattoo that said "possum"? That would put some sunshine into the grey day of this office worker, tightly holding onto her unused printmaker past. (After just admitting how terrified I'd be to let go of a steady paycheck and do something that feels important, and like mine, I admire craftspeople like these...)

saved

2009-01-28T14:42:00.006-05:00

I don't usually do the email forwarding or posting of cute animal pictures. However, check out Dozer, the new arrival at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. I haven't met Dozer, but this video reminds of Dylan, who I met, fed with a baby bottle, and played with like a dog at Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary. These boys are rescued veal calves. I was vegan many years before getting to know the personalities of various animals, but since I have, I can't explain how amazing it is to meet pigs enjoying tomatoes and chickens roosting in trees and giddy goats, and to play tag with a calf. After you've visited a sanctuary, you won't be able to tell me why Dozer is different from your dog.

pickle

2009-01-28T13:51:00.009-05:00

Status update (a): Fermented Beverages

I "made" my own kombucha mother rather than ordering one or harassing people I know for handouts, and I did it based on the thin instructions of the people I've come to call the "kombucha femme boys". (You know from me that's a loving term—aggro-sincere.) I was discouraged for a full month, poking at it and sniffing it. Apparently, there's no warm enough place in my house, not even on the shelf right behind the wood stove, so it just took a dang long time. But...success! A mother is born, and she's happily floating in a new batch, looking like a crazy jellyfish.

Then there's the ginger beer. Tasty to me, lemony and fizzy, but too strong. No-one looking for a soft drink experience would like it. Again, I think it's the heat cold thing: too cool, so that in waiting extra long for the fizz to come, the acid flavor overrode the sweetness. I'll try again in warmer months.

Status update (b): Root Cellar

The veggies are going strong. Hudson valley squashes and radishes and potatoes and apples and onions and garlic and carrots are still fresh and crisp after being under the cover of darkness since late October. Why haven't I done this in previous winters? Why doesn't everyone (who doesn't live in a tropical clime) do this? I'm having a conspiracy moment, convinced our lack of veg storage knowledge was perpetrated by Green Giant or somebody equally as cunning.

Status update (c): Merit Badge cute news

The woman who's daughter's girl scout vest kicked off the abovegroundpool merit badges awards contacted us to say she likes the idea of recycling scout merit badges for righteous activist activities. Unlikely scouting bond!

my economic downturn

2009-01-26T16:12:00.015-05:00

I taught art classes for years, and the struggle students are up against always seems the same: they've been told how to see, so can't see on their own. Because it's how I am, I got myself all up in arms (over and over) about how kids aren't taught to think, just to memorize facts, including some untrue. (Right, who are your historical "facts" coming from anyway?) I've talked for years (ok, maybe now decades) about teaching critical thinking to young kids, maybe second graders, so that these poor things wouldn't get to college and still not have a clue how to think about something for themselves. Too bad I only talked for decades, and have never taught critical thinking skills to anyone.

I'm moving on. My new obsession is home economics. When I was in high school, a home ec class was offered, but no self respecting feminist girl took it, and a couple of boys took it as a joke. (I fought against taking typing, too, computers not being on the scene yet, and not wanting to grow up to be somebody's secretary. That's a separate but related story, where my first jobs were as a secretary. ) Those couple of boys taking home ec didn't learn anything. Sure, they carried their egg around, in theory learning to parent. But they didn't learn about say, contraception, at my Catholic school. They didn't learn how to cook or sew or can or plumb or use tools or grow a garden. And they sure as hell didn't learn anything about money.

I'm on this rant because the student loan monsters are after me. I owe them more than $50,000 for an advanced degree in studio art. I borrowed enough money to buy a house in order to spend two years in the armpit of New Jersey learning zero practical skills and zero technical skills; having most creative impulses beaten out of me by relentless critique and theory; seeing the nasty underside of the New York art who-knows-who business (let's call it what it is); making a few friends; and spending nearly every waking minute a) teaching, b) producing artwork that wasn't as interesting or nuanced as what I'd made in undergrad school, and c) discussing with my shrink whether anti-depressants were really necessary.

The anti-depressants WERE necessary, even with the awfulness that getting off them brought. All that was with zero understanding of the impact of borrowing tens of thousands of dollars.

I now understand why taking money seriously is important, even when you hate the stuff. If there are any young people out there who read this blog, pay attention:

DO NOT BORROW MONEY FOR SCHOOL UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. Yes, you want to get away from home. Yes, you've been told you'll be a flunky if you don't go straight to college. Yes, I'm sure you have visions of the fabulous career you'll have, and the multitudes of debts you'll be able to afford. Unless you're 100% positive things will turn out as you plan, it doesn't make sense to borrow money, even if you're studying to become a doctor or lawyer. Take my friend who was at the top of his law school class, and writes poetry instead of practicing law. He learned he just couldn't stand the game of law in this country. Look at all those doctors who leave fancy practices behind to help those living in poverty and suffering from AIDS or dengue, because they realized facelifts weren't why they got into medicine. These doctors can't afford their student loan payments, I promise you.

There are scholarships available. Public schools have some brilliant teachers in them—find those teachers and stick to them. Community colleges aren't bad. If you must go to an out of state school, live there for a year first and get residency in the state. Ivy league means nothing, unless you're a fancy pants rich person who can afford to pay, and you live in the fancy pants world where such things as where one got their education matters. Find a way to pay for school, or better yet, move to a country where they believe in educating their citizens and have free schools.

You won't be a loser if you don't go to college straight out of high school, or (gasp!), even if you don't go to college at all.
PAYING RENT SUCKS. If you do go to school, you plan to be there for several years. Why not get together with a few friends you trust and buy a ramshackle cottage? Sell it or rent it to other students in a few years. Four years + of rent is not a small amount of money. Add it up!
DON'T GET CREDIT CARDS. They're pure evil. Better to go hungry or ask a friend for help than charge your groceries.
START A BUSINESS. It doesn't matter what it is. Make and sell t-shirts, sell crafts, distribute food at a farmer's market. Be a bicycle delivery service. It really doesn't matter, but picking something you enjoy is helpful. The point of this is for some cash, made solely by you and not by working for the man at the corner fast food joint. It'll help make you believe in yourself. It'll teach you some basic skills about self-management, force you to learn about communication and dealing with money.

This is a weird topic for an activist space, for sure, but here's the thing: money and debt change lives. I thought I'd share instead of ranting to those for whom it's too late to make a difference. I'm just now learning to to take care of a home, to make due when money is tight. My hands shake when I get into the nitty gritty of starting my own business or organization. These things are like languages, so much harder to learn later on. Especially under the looming weight of student loans.

animal rights terrorists

2009-01-23T20:42:00.004-05:00

I've clearly been concentrating too hard on covering up my garlic breath to notice the connection! The cartoon is by Tony Peyser, and I came across it on the important Green Scare site Green is the New Red.

water of the season

2009-01-22T18:02:00.005-05:00

I'm obsessed with water. And right now, when I encounter the (crazy!) thick river ice every day, I'm also obsessed with spring. I went back today and reread some cycle of life writing to help convince myself everything's not dead out there. After all, that white stuff has been hanging around for a while now, and is dirty and frozen and unwelcoming. For this same reason, I was glad to receive the 20x200 newsletter, with this super summer photo through a wet screen by Matt Tischler. We've all seen lots of underwater photo shots, but here's some steam, fog and ice to keep you paying attention.

Rain by Matt Tischler, steam by Charmante, fog by Alingham, and ice by BB Photoworks.

If you aren't familiar, 20x200 is one of those "cheap art" deals. It's not out and out activism, but important nonetheless, cuz it keeps art accessible.

more snow today

2009-01-14T17:55:00.001-05:00

by Gunther Uecker

signs of change

2009-01-13T22:58:00.007-05:00

1. Beautiful posters from Exit Art's Signs of Change show, curated by Dara Greenwald and Josh MacPhee.
2. Brooklyn scaffolding used as an "ad" for a JustSeeds art show, from f.trainer.

use what you've got

2009-01-12T08:36:00.006-05:00

There's a guy in Poughkeepsie composing music, amazing music, by hitting the bridge with various tools. This idea isn't so new...people who haven't had much have created musical instruments out of whatever they could find for eons. Those of us who ride the NYC subways are intimately familiar with the bucket drummers who keep us dancing on our commutes.

It does still seem novel to be playing the Mid-Hudson bridge. The compositions will be complete and made public this summer, celebrating the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's voyage up the Hudson River. You can listen to a clip here.

And, I don't know if there will be drummers there, but this summer will also see the opening of the Walkway over the Hudson. This railroad bridge, just north of (and visible from) the Mid-Hudson Bridge, was the longest bridge in the world when it opened in 1889. In the 1970s a fire damaged the bridge, and it's been out of use since. It's being re-engineered as a park and walkway over the river, connecting rail trails on either side, and promises to be a stunning public space. Parks and paths and views and drum music make for happy living.

moongazing

2009-01-10T14:30:00.003-05:00

Go outside and look up!

Tonight, the biggest, brightest moon of the year, a perigee full moon will be lighting up the night. They say that if there's snow on the ground to bounce the moonlight, it will create enough light to read a newspaper. Here in the Hudson Valley we're mid snowstorm, and I suspect it won't clear up quickly enough to give us a look. So please howl at this huge moon for me. Perigee is the point where the moon gets closest to the Earth in orbit, and this is the one and only chance to look so closely this year.

the value of archives

2009-01-10T13:30:00.010-05:00

I sat shiva for a friend's father this week, and was once again reminded of the importance of activist archives. The man who died had been part of the armed resistance against the Nazis in World War II, but many people there mourning hadn't heard of partisans, or at least not until James Bond played a role remarkably similar to the life of Simon Trakinski in a little movie called Defiance. I remember visiting Polish ghetto sites and concentration camps and being shocked to learn of the many rebellions, escapes, and armed uprisings. My education about Nazis and concentration camps had always only represented defeated, bewildered victims.

Fortunately, an archivist has been hard at work documenting the Jewish Partisans (blowing up railway lines!), and recording the stories of those still living.

Other valuable archives include:

Active Stills documents Palestine and Israel on a daily basis;
Direct Action Wiki provides information on (what else?) the tactics of direct action;
The Lesbian Herstory Archives have anything and everything you need to know about dyke activism;
ahem! ahem! abovegroundpool activist archive, to which you should submit photos, videos, and information regarding your saboteur activities, fighting back, or creating new possibilities.

on queer animals

2009-01-04T15:14:00.004-05:00

The founder and director of Mercy for Animals, Nathan Runkle, was gay bashed a few days ago, putting him in very serious condition. In a culture where people like to "focus" or pretend that the thing they are paying attention to is more pressing than other things, an incident like this reminds us it ain't so.

Mercy for Animals is one of a handful of groups that go to events like gay rodeos and try to point out that it's destructive to both the animals and the queers. OK, yeah, I have a special dislike for rodeos since I come from place that has "rodeo vacation" instead of spring break. But c'mon, it's a good example of why putting on all the worst parts of masculinity like a costume, in magnified form, is grotesque. I loves me all kinds of queers, even some with stubble and swaggers, but there's too much macho worship going on with our beloved gay boys. Exerting control over others doesn't make one stronger, or more virile. The gay rodeo is just one site of many many that shows why animal advocates need to care about and understand queers, and why queers should extend their care to other groups. Queer bashing of animal rights leaders is another.

If you think your coming out struggle was the worst form of torture, think again. (Thought bubble here: factory farms.) If you think queers have it good because Ellen reruns show on TV and gay marriage is legal in CT & VT, you don't know a whole lot about queer life. If you think immigrants or homeless people or those on welfare are treated decently in the U.S., well, you live in an insular world.

All this isn't bad news. Sometimes when you reach out beyond your comfort zone, bother to learn about someone else and their struggle, it is very rewarding. You make connections, both emotional and intellectual ones. And, hey, then we're off to a good start in making things better, for a whole lot of people and animals.

I'm not trying to make light of a horrible thing that happened to this activist. But he is interested in opening people's eyes with it, and compelling them to action. If you care about your community, take the invitation.

tool talk - open sesame

2008-12-29T11:05:00.002-05:00

I have a little tool I love called a "slicky." When I went to look it up online, I learned that slicky means either "the biological moistening (slickening) of one's vagina in preparation for penetrative sex" or is "GI slang in Korea for a thief used since the Korean War." When I went to the website, I found a big picture of a cookie. Zowie. My slicky is an innocent little sesame seed grinder.

I could spend a year of tool talks on Japanese tools, since there is cultural importance placed on the ritual of everyday tasks: tea cups fit perfectly in ones hand. But I recently got this silly little plastic sesame seed grinder, and love it as much as I'd usually reserve for tools made of stone or wood or copper. Sesame seeds are one of the oldest condiments, and contain lots of good-for-you minerals, including copper, and grinding them releases their wonderful oil and scent.

Last night we went to a friend's noodle shop. There people were making mochi (rice cakes) for the new year in the traditional method: pounding rice with big wooden mallets in a hollowed out tree trunk. Fascinating, but I'll hold on making my own mochi for the moment. For now, how about roasted radishes with soy sauce and sesame. An easy way to try out some of those radishes from the root cellar and the slicky, both!

A call out to Kiosk, the wonderful little gallery slash shop where slicky came from. They specialize in everyday tools from around the world that have outstanding aesthetic qualities. Get your dowsing rods here! Thanks, too, to The Perfect Pantry for the photo, and the lovesong the slicky inspired in her.

domestics

2008-12-26T12:56:00.008-05:00

Okay, so the apron is cute, but the fact that eco and animal activists are being considered terrorists is not so cute. That those concerned with the earth and animals are the "#1 domestic terrorism threat" according to the FBI is downright absurd. Sound like fiction? Read all about it at Green Is The New Red.

Activists sent to prison two years ago were the first convicted under (relatively) new legislation to crack down on environmental and animal advocates. In early January, SHAC7's appeal is scheduled, with the first chance in years to expose the cracks in the case built against them, as well as the chance to show the vagueness and unconstitutionality of the laws passed to protect animal enterprise. Unfortunately, the "justice" system being what it is, we won't know for months the tangible outcome of the appeal. But we will know if SHAC's lawyers have been able to reveal this sham case and the sham laws used to prosecute it for the first amendment violation that they are.

tradition

2008-12-25T23:08:00.005-05:00

I like a little ritual in my life, so on christmas I want to listen to Elvis records and eat tamales and bourbon balls. I can't help it. A nip of brandy doesn't hurt either.

Though I've lived away from the southwest longer than I lived there, my lust for tamales (and other foods local to AZ) stays.

It's sometimes hard to find vegetarian tamales, and definitely harder still to find vegan ones, so it's a good excuse to make up one's own big batch. When I'm already making masa, it only makes sense to make pamonha too, a Brazilian version of the sweet tamale made with coconut. Enjoy your own holiday rituals, and happy solstice to you.

busy baker

2008-12-25T08:55:00.004-05:00

People are claiming that you can make homemade bread even when you aren't super proficient in the kitchen and don't have tons of time. If you're out of time already, here's how to make bread in five minutes.

I was just chatting with a friend about ideas for a winter CSA: frozen local food, ferments like miso and kombucha, fresh maple syrup, veggies that can be stored in root cellars, mushrooms, and fresh greens like spinach, that can freeze and still be okay. I thought the take would be seriously sweetened by handmade bread. I pictured us knee-deep in snow in front of the cob oven, but apparently it could be a whole lot easier than that. Hmmmm.

Thanks to Homegrown Evolution for the tip!

radish sculpture

2008-12-24T09:56:00.004-05:00

Several years ago, I carved radishes as holiday ornaments. It just made sense, with the beautiful red and white and the nice smell. They shriveled after about 10 days, but were lovely while they lasted. Well, I've been outdone. Check out Noche de Rabanos in Oaxaca!

Photo thanks to Skull a Day and Planeta.

traverse

2008-12-23T09:47:00.006-05:00

The problem of freeways (and other blockades) cutting off the movement of people (who are not in cars) and animals is not new. And there hasn't been a lot of attention given to solving the problem—just ask anyone who's ever stayed in a motel and tried to get to the restaurant across the road on foot.

Some cities have introduced overpasses and underpasses in pedestrian-thick areas, like universities. But only in money generating ones, which is why there often aren't even sidewalks in poorer neighborhoods. So non-human animals who need to cross the road? Well, tough luck.

Some activists, tired of seeing massive amounts of animals hit by cars even in so-called "preserves," are campaigning to build over and under passes for deer, alligators, panthers, and salamanders. I'd heard about land bridges over I-78 in the Watchung Reservation area of New Jersey, and heard that auto accidents on that stretch of road decreased dramatically, with no reported collisions with animals. Proposals for a similar project to allow coyote and opossum to safely cross the Sepulveda Pass in L.A. was met with scorn, even from environmentalists, who wondered how animals would find their way there. But apparently the oldest land bridges (and tunnels) built with wildlife in mind are in the Everglades, and both humans and animals seem to be appreciating them.

I don't know how the animals find the best hikes, the best bridges, the best bicycle paths, either, but I'm sure once they do, word gets around.

touched

2008-12-23T08:31:00.010-05:00

We've talked botanigrams before (moss graffiti, guerilla gardening and the like), billboard alteration, and wheatpasting, but here is another version, clean tagging or reverse graffiti. This version, by Paul Curtis, is paid for by advertising agencies, and riffs off those who've been writing messages in dirt for years. Using graffiti styles as advertising isn't new, unfortunately, but creative types are happy to steal back methods that have been lifted from street artists.

Using cleaning brushes (or in some instances, power washers and stencils), tagging or drawing into grime does have the allure of things that have been touched or used a zillion times. Picture the worn and darkened wood of your grandma's trowel handle. It can be that beautiful.

But it doesn't mean I have to give up spray paint!

spa treatment

2008-12-22T21:14:00.005-05:00

As a kid, I learned about animals and plants beyond my daily sphere from the pages of Ranger Rick and Cricket Magazine. It was from one of those mags that I got a poster of Japan's snow monkeys soaking in hot springs with icicles in their hair. It hung in my parent's bathroom for nearly a decade.

I've just joined a gym, which feels like a a great luxury and a necessity, both. After working out, I have the pleasure of sitting in a hot tub, a steam room, or a sauna, all of which are helping me cope with winter a whole lot better. I've been to the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, swum in the milky springs there with icicles in my hair, soaked in Reykjavik's hot pots, and I believe that warm water has a lot to do with people's radiant health. So I've joined a gym, and when I leave each day, I don't look a whole lot unlike these very relaxed monkeys.

new takes on igloos

2008-12-17T18:20:00.006-05:00

All images are from The Snow Show. Doesn't it make you want to build one?

storms

2008-12-14T14:27:00.007-05:00

Here in the Hudson Valley we experienced, this week, the craziest wind storm I've ever been through in my life. Twelve straight hours of howling and whipping high winds, falling trees, flying roof tiles, and miserable looking birds. Then it poured rain for a full (warm) day, and the temperature dropped in a matter of hours, causing a huge ice storm, and all the associated ice-covered glittering trees, lack of electricity, and ice storm damage.

Today, it's still freezing but with a clear blue sky, super sunny. At the park were a huge mass of crows (or ravens, I still can't tell them apart!), so thick and so many that they covered the grass. I was standing there wishing I had the camera, and an ice-covered tree fell and knocked down the power lines. Huge pop, and all the crows flew away, one big black cloud.

power to the [artistic] people

2008-12-11T19:20:00.009-05:00

Can't work in a shelter? Can't get arrested? Can't travel? Not so good at speaking to the media?

Don't let that stop you! Use what you already do well to help people or animals or the planet or all three!

Check out this painting of my beloved cat, Slidell, getting his first bath. It was made by the talented Sara Woster in a project to raise money for women in the Congo. She couldn't participate in the athletic fundraiser called "Run for Congo," but wanted to help, and has.

Get to work! And check out Sara's fantastic paintings for Congo. These gorgeous paintings are made to order, for a mere $27 apiece. Whether you want a political painting or one of your mom, it's all helping.

right

2008-12-10T14:06:00.002-05:00

the far right, originally uploaded by abovegroundpool.

From the anti gay marriage archives. More here.

do something day

2008-11-28T08:55:00.004-05:00

Today is fur free friday, buy nothing day, a day to remember how our insane consumerism is ruining our lives and our world. This time, consider taking it a step further, and, as my friends at Homegrown Evolution suggest, DO SOMETHING.

It's not a bad idea to give something you've made or grown to a neighbor, or learn or new skill.

How about learning to sew or how to how a productive meeting or how to shield yourself against the police or how to help feral cats with TNR or how to harvest rainwater?

"middle-aged lady" activism

2008-11-28T08:43:00.003-05:00

Bangkoks's International Airport is still closed, three days later, after activists blocked terminals and roads leading to and from the airport. Reports are saying "these don't look like typical revolutionaries" and that those protesting are generally middle aged ladies and senior citizens. Better not ignore the wishes of "regular" people!

making peace with the deep freeze

2008-11-24T22:46:00.008-05:00

I'm not a fan of frozen foods. My family didn't cook too much (remember those chow mein cans that were connected with a plastic tie, dry stuff in one can, wet stuff in the other?). Once 1980 hit and our kitchen welcomed the microwave, our non-cooking and perpetually dieting family lived on Lean Cuisines and Weight Watchers meals. We occasionally busted out with frozen rectangular cubes of slippery brussel sprouts or spinach. This is why it hasn't been easy for me to embrace frozen foods.

As the temperature drops to freezing outside and the fresh local food disappears, I'm left with a challenge.

I've been making a good solid go at pickling, and have, for the first time, set up a root cellar (though not so glam as this earth sheltered lovely). After many fights with myself, I also blanched and froze a lot of veggies from the farm. I'm happy to report that my first test, frozen greens added to a stir fry, tasted wonderful, and even kept a decent texture. As my relationship with the cold both inside and out improves, those rectangular veggie cubes that tasted like freezer can be a fading memory.

sometimes living in the country punches you in the gut

2008-11-24T22:26:00.009-05:00

The neighbors who knit me sweaters and invite me to their children's birthdays and make me vegan cinnamon rolls on christmas also kill a deer once a year, and hang it in a tree in their yard.

I watch them drag the body across the lawn, struggle to hang it, hose out the insides in the deep slice. I stare from every window in the house, trying not to look but unable to look away, checking every few minutes if it's still there for the entire three or four days it hangs there.

The first year I knocked on my neighbors' door and talked with them about it. That year, and most years, the deer has hung from the tree in a noose, and I talked with them not only about hunting, but about the trauma a body in a tree in a noose causes. They listened, and went on eviscerating the deer.

Now, powerless to stop it, I hang a "no hunting" sign on the house every year, cover the windows with sheets, but pull those sheets aside and stare, check, watch, make sure it's real. I see dead animals strapped to cars every year, and I get furious, terribly sad, I rant. I talk to myself about hunted animals having at least lived free (unlike the billions of animals in factory farms).

But the body hanging in the tree every year remains one of the hardest parts of having moved to the country.

winter planting planning

2008-11-22T08:57:00.008-05:00

Though it's 18 degrees outside, winter has barely started, and already my mailbox is filled with seed catalogs. They do know how to prey on us...planting is on my mind. Today I'm re-appreciating the work of Agnes Denes, who, back in the eighties, took urban gardening to another level by planting (and harvesting) a wheat field on a landfill in Manhattan. I'd seen images of that work before, but didn't know she'd gotten in early on tree planting mania, by reforesting areas in Australia and Finland. This is installation art of the best kind.

drilling for gays

2008-11-17T18:48:00.010-05:00

I went to one of the protests last week about the CA gay marriage ban. I wasn't happy there. Again and again I don't have all the words to explain why. I can bristle at the "God Loves Gay Marriage" banner, I can point out to everyone that 95% of attendees are white men, I can joke about how everyone there seems to be on their cell phone, and still I'm never eloquent about saying why the demo didn't work for me, why this will never be my issue.

Like in other cities, NY had a huge crowd. I hadn't seen a crowd so big so white so male at a demonstration for ten years, since Matthew Shepard was murdered, to be exact. This was the first thing in ten years that made Chelsea come out to a demo.

Gay marriage has never been my thing. As Ms. Mel of readspeakresist says, "I feel like fighting for marriage is the gay equivalent of Drill Baby Drill. It's antiquated. It's a short-term solution and it's only useful to some of us." It causes other damage, that isn't spoken about. It's surface, no structural changes required, a continuation of the "we're just like you" charade. Like mattilda says "no on eight isn't really no on hate."

Two days after this massive demo, about which I'd received a zillion emails, Teish Cannon, a trans person of color, was murdered in Syracuse with barely a whisper. I found out about her murder tonight, and only by accident. No demonstration, no email campaign, no mention anywhere but the local paper.

Gay marriage wouldn't have helped a deviant queer like Teish Cannon. And I'd rather work for her.

the great fake

2008-11-13T00:25:00.006-05:00

Courtesy of The Yes Men, we see another instance of the faux being so much better than the real. (1 million copies said to have been distributed in NYC today!)

election night in brooklyn

2008-11-09T18:06:00.006-05:00

As luck would have it, I found myself in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn on election night. Nervous as all get-out and knowing there'd be no sleep, I walked to the store for a beer. On a street where I've never gotten more than a nod, various groups of people chatted me up, all as worked up as I. I was asked at least 5 times in 2 blocks who I'd voted for. And, for the first time in my life, met teenage boys hanging out on their stoop absolutely obsessing over the returns, and afraid to watch. A group of men set up to play chess all sat instead fixed on the tv they were powering from the light post.

I knew I had to vote for Obama. I often vote Green or abstain, but knew that this time, even though it was certain New York would go blue, I couldn't take the risk. Not only did he need to win, it needed to be a landslide.

I knew how it ended before the station I was watching announced it. People screamed. They ran out of their houses, and screamed some more, shaking their arms in the air and jumping. Kids chanted, to no-one in particular. For hours, cars honked and the people inside shouted to anyone they saw.

I surprised myself by crying. It was huge, and I was grateful to have experienced it in this primarily Black neighborhood to really feel how huge.

I noticed agent inkysocks cried, too, when she encountered teenage boys (by definition, unengaged) who cared passionately about what goes down. Now, to make national politics continue to be relevant to this many young men, to this many people on a whole. To make all the days besides election day matter.

**Thanks to BlackPast.org for the photo. That vote was about the improvement of schools in Black neighborhoods in Seattle.

tool talk - ecofan

2008-11-04T13:49:00.000-05:00

Somehow this desert rat ended up living in the frozen north. Well, not the most northern part of the world, nor the most frozen, but cold enough to make heating a big issue. Living in a big, old, drafty house that's heated by oil is not comforting: The house is still very cold, the oil is outrageously expensive, and the use of resources is impossible to make peace with.

A couple of years ago we got a wood burning stove. The decision was hard. Pellet stoves are more efficient, but there often seem to be shortages of available pellets, especially the winter after Katrina, making it obvious that pellet ingredients are not local. Corn burning stoves are interesting, but uncommon enough that it's hard to get fuel unless you have your own cornfield. Solar heat is the best answer, since there's no pollution involved and no shortage of sun. Unfortunately, solar prices are going up and the tax deductions down, making it still an unreachable goal for us low income types. (It's still in future plans!) We looked around our area at all the deadwood lying around, all the branches from storm damage, all the cut trees stacked up at roadwork sites, and decided to buy the cleanest, most efficient wood burning stove our scraped together dollars could buy.

Last winter we moved the heat around with a little electric fan salvaged from a computer, given to us by our bio-diesel brewing neighbor. (Love the frugal and tinkering neighbors!) This year, we tore down a wall to allow the heat to penetrate the whole house. And we got an eco fan.

The computer fan did the job, no doubt. But it required electricity, and was loud. This lovely little number sits on top of the stove and is propelled by the heat. Light the stove, and the fan starts running. And it's perfectly silent, letting you enjoy that cold-night-by-the-fire ambiance thing.

There's a whole explanation that comes with the fan about the physics of how it works, but I didn't bother with that. To me, it's just beautiful magic.

all souls

2008-11-02T22:09:00.010-05:00

Halloween, all saints, and all souls all make us have a look at death. All the grim reapers and skeletons running around, the gravestones my friend with cancer reported decorating the walls of her chemo lab, all the graveyard visitation and wishes for the souls of the dead. I've always been a Day of the Dead and sugar skull fan, and recently learned about the Yi Peng festival in Thailand, where some reports say those releasing the lanterns let their troubles float away, and others say they release the souls of their dead. I'd hoped to go to one of the city's largest graveyards today to have a sendoff for my own dead with the accompaniment of a Haitian band, but was too caught up cheering the tail end of the marathoners.

Whatever your celebration of the dead may entail, here's a nod to your deceased loved ones, as well as you and yours still living.

no more tricks

2008-10-31T11:48:00.006-04:00

As much as Derrick Jensen tells me hope is the wrong way to go about things, I still find myself hoping.

As centrist as I know Obama is, as much as I know about his pro-Israel stance, as convinced as I am that he's going to attack Pakistan, I still get swept up in this emotional current, this excitement that something could be different. That a black person (albeit, still a straight, rich, christian, man) with a non anglicized name could be president of the U.S. That he might remember all the little people, improve health care, extend care to the environment, and generally be less of a capitalist scuz. I hope. And I plan to push him, with your help. I prefer to dismantle our government from the bottom, but could still use someone a little less evil on top.

Happy halloween, and happy end to our scary regime! Here's hoping.

eat me?

2008-10-29T22:01:00.005-04:00

You have to forgive my current obsession with food. As the cold sets in, I AM obsessed with cold and heat, the dwindling light, with packing away fresh foods, with how to close the hatches enough to get to the other side.

By my eyes have wandered, too. Around the corner from home there's an old maple with about 5 square feet of huge, beautiful mushrooms growing. I'm convinced they are oyster mushrooms, and they make me salivate.

I'm still relatively new to wild edibles, having bit of dandelion here, some purslane there, and gobs of berries in the summers. I'm well aware that mushrooms are a different beast, though, and that regardless of how many pictures I compare, I shouldn't dive in without some experienced advice. But sources say that there are no poisonous mushrooms that look like oysters....

I can hear them (and a recipe of Wildman Steve Brill's) calling my name.

my roots

2008-10-28T23:34:00.004-04:00

In an effort to plant more perennial edibles, I planted sunchokes this past spring. I'd only tasted these rich and nutty roots a year or so ago, but am a super lazy gardener, so they had a lot of appeal. Nice bright flowers on tall plants (they are in the sunflower family), tasty and prolific root veggies that can stay in the ground through winter, and plants that come back year after year on their own. What more can a gal (who can't be bothered to turn her compost) ask for?

Edible roots are exciting plants for gardeners: all that magic going on underground, hidden from the eye.

I'm leaving a lot of the sunchokes in the ground to harvest them when they're super sweet in the spring. But I pulled a few of these beauties to add to my Korean style radish pickle ferments. Yum. I'm as proud as a mother cat with a new litter of kittens.

If you're not familiar with sunchokes, here's the full 411.

tool talk - p style

2008-10-27T21:27:00.006-04:00

I guess transmen know all about this, but I didn't know. There are tools that allow women to urinate standing up without depantsing and without making a mess. They are useful if, well, you want to use a urinal, or a filthy toilet without getting close to it. Or in situations where you're not comfortable or safe taking down your pants and squatting. Or if you physically can't take down your pants and squat.

People mention liking them for car trips and outdoorsy times. I can think of quite a few situations it could prove useful. And I can now officially attest to the easy use of the P Style, which is available at my local feminist bookstore, and maybe yours too. (There's also the WhizBiz from Australia, which looks like a long funnel, if you're more into that.)

If I post a picture of "abovegroundpool" written in the snow, you'll know what happened.

free the new jersey 4

2008-10-27T11:06:00.010-04:00

Butch gals, trannies, nelly boys, and everyone who believes queers should not be bashed and imprisoned when they fight for their lives:
Solidarity neckties are on sale now! All proceeds will go the NJ4 legal support fund. Wear yours proudly.

Read all about the case here.

queers bash back

2008-10-24T20:17:00.004-04:00

I had a long blog entry written about self-defense, about armed resistance, about organized armed resistance, the IRA, the PLO, the Shining Path. And others who aren't considered "terrorists" anymore, who are now called "freedom fighters" and recognized as relevant in liberation struggles, like armed resistors of apartheid. It depends on who you ask, and their distance or investment. I initially intended to post the piece with some IRA prisoner art from the seventies.

I've lost that piece of writing, but wish I had it to post today. Today I read about the two men (one disabled) murdered in their home in Indianapolis after suffering months of harassment for daring to be gay men. And I also read about the forming of new groups of trannies and other queers called Bash Back around the U.S. (Not an armed group, for the record, but invoking the right of fighting back.)

Self defense is not considered an option in queer bashing cases (see the New Jersey 4). Some people who actually hear about the cases (even with the lack of reportage) are sickened by it. Many others are more sickened by us, inferring that we deserve to be hurt, to be murdered. It is why I think I understand the need for armed resistance. Why I can't judge. Why I won't call people terrorists who appropriate some of the government's (or other attacker's) tactics when fighting back.

merit badge - hospitality

2008-10-22T22:46:00.008-04:00

abovegroundpool's most recent merit badge goes to The Common Ground Restaurant in Brattleboro, VT. It's gonna sound crazy to you that we're awarding a restaurant with an activist award, but that's only until you hear that the fresh, organic, vegetarian food at this worker-run spot is free.

That's not a typo.

Common Ground was opened in 1971 with serve-yourself soup and salad for a few cents, displays of original artwork, and performances. It's struggled a few times, set low, flexible prices on food at times, even closed it's doors a couple of times, but mostly it persists, with tasty tempeh dishes and a donation jar. I couldn't believe it when I first heard about it (free? are you sure?), but have made it a regular stop when I'm tooling around the Northeast.

I love Common Ground for reasons similar to why I love Food Not Bombs: They believe there is enough for everyone, that everyone deserves nourishment, and they don't use handing you a plate of food as an excuse to preach. They've made sharing and trust work for 37 years. Bless 'em!

See other merit badge winners here.

remember

2008-10-15T22:44:00.005-04:00

remember sakia gunn, originally uploaded by abovegroundpool.

See more from the murdered queers set at the aboveground pool activist archive.

renata hill back on trial

2008-10-15T13:31:00.004-04:00

Free the New Jersey 4

zero dollars

2008-10-08T22:45:00.001-04:00

As seen on Wall Street.