n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Friday, June 26, 2009

1, 2, 3 and maybe 4

Swashbuckle Studio

First off, I'm really happy to be spreading my stuff (glue, exacto's, paper, random cups with water, markers, pica rulers, etc) across a work basin again. But I'm equally nervous about the fact that my family alternates between calling this my "big opening" and "J's J-party." Which leaves me with a bit of nervousness and confusion as to what it means to open a studio to the public to say, "whala!".

Truthfully, I think it actually means that I'm most happy and productive when I feel a part of a true intellectual and supportive community. I don't know if the studio is supposed to qualify as a "business," but I do know I'm embarrassed/angry-at-self by my unproductivity, laziness, and lack of actual achievement without clearly defined borders, which really is my deal, but I'm trying to change, or more likely, to adapt. If anyone knows the key ingredients to that particular adaptation, feel free to let me know.

Anyhow. I'm working hard to make the showing something okay in this small, foggish town. I don't know why, actually, I'm so nervous about this thing since it's just an office, and as my once-Bville-college-mentor put it: what's the big deal over an office? Nothing probably, and maybe I'll be in another country (with Herald) before I can think about it too long.


2) Can I just put it out there that I love and adore Steven Colbert?

One of the problems behind moving queer-rights forward is that there are no real numbers, as there was with the black or feminist communities. We are a moderately negligible group of people, easily ignorable. No real money behind the dish, and a whole wholesome Mormon crew (and funds) against, not to mention the Baptists, Catholics, Muslims, easy-slider liberals, true conservatives, etc. And this is, true, a truly troubled economy, and a truly troubled global climate that warrants attention in so very many arenas other than localized civil rights. Which is why I'm still supporting Obama, and will continue to do so even if he writes me, personally, right off the map.

Earlier tonight I sat within a hot-tub worshipfest of Obama. And earlier this year, I've multiple times also sat in an equal hero-worshipfest of Obama. I have, when drawing notice to Obama's undeniable backpedaling with regards to the queer community, experienced resistance and irritation from everyone Not Queer. I admit, if you're not queer, he's a miracle, and if you're queer but totally uninterested in civil rights (which sometimes I qualify as, since I'm what I call "barely queer") he's still a fucking straight-A miracle. If you hope for peace, or intelligence brought to colleges, art and politics, he's, yep, a bit of miracle. If you love multiculturalism, and incredibly beautiful families (those White House Ladies, my goodness), he's just straight up, that's right, there you go, a miracle. To make this clear, I want to love our President. For the first time, truly ever, in my life.

And I will. I do, however, remember the beauty of him being the first presidential candidate ever to write a letter to the gay community. It sounded excellent--not because he believes in exactly what I believe, but because he used the word 'equality' and also 'inclusiveness'. Based on what he said, I really wanted to hope he just didn't want to subscribe to the easy, to the obviously symmetrical and glorious, but the recognition of so many... edges, textures, forms. This is not just about being gay or lesbo, but also about not being normal, in some way or other. Maybe a single mother, or a dominatrix, or a writer trying to write again: this is about life as it is lived without arc or subscription or clarity. Anyhow...

If you've experienced 'the love', you also know that expression of a desire for 'equality' means in most instances: a true look deep into the eyes with a surreptitious backwards glance (for those who have actual power) to the back pocket, or maybe even the eternal imaginary white board that catalogs wagers vs. desires. Obama, like so very many people, told us what we, and those who want to believe they believe in We, wanted to believe. I've experienced that before, perhaps in school or when buying a delicious item, or even perhaps in a number of deep, but false, relationships with people who tell you more about how they wish to be, than about how they are, simply in order to get you to Believe. Such a big thing, that form of investment.

To be blunt: America creates its desires from the name "genuine." We truly want to believe in ourselves. Above all, we want to believe in our belief in our belief in ourselves. And surely that is powerful?

But what I want to say is that it hurts to want to adore an amazing President while potentially being one of the people he deems it okay to use as a foil for belief, or a cause, or something. Going back to the original point: why is the disinterested ('disinterested' not meaning 'not interested' but meaning 'nothing to gain') liberal-catholic comedian the one with most interesting stuff to say?

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word - Stonewalling
Colbert Report Full EpisodesPolitical HumorMark Sanford

What can I add, but that while I want to fully adore our President, I end up wanting to bear a lesbo-sired child, simply to name him after Colbert.

3) I've, tangentially, been reading the Dalai Lama, and I'm really struggling. I don't exactly want to punch the Dalai Lama, but I feel like he makes huge leaps in his reasoning (logic problems that I'd warn advance composition students against) that make all the difference in my emotional ability to follow... and I get angry at him as a result. Does this make me violent and shallow? Of course. I can't seem to doubt that. My shallowness fronts my reasoning to evolve. I will become so shallow that the tides will strip me clean and start me over again. And under such revision, I will realize the cyclical and meaningful nature of this dried up, autumn pile of weed.

4) It's totally an aside, but I'm really very sad about M.J.'s death. Two of my first early important memories are of being scared/titillated by the Fischer-Price rendition of "Thriller," and of finding the median of a number of streets, their stripes, and trying to moonwalk along them while singing the lyrics to "Beat It" and simultaneously bulldozing a fictitious defense of Jackson against Prince, 'cause, uh, Micheal had the break-dance + high voice & theatrics, while Prince had only his high voice and theatrics.

There really is no need to reconcile the pan-out to the river-rush: the star should have lived much longer--certainly long enough to become human. His death is not quite like Lenin's, nor Princess Di's, nor Ledger's--all too early. But he still was something else. Something else very particular to the time I've lived. CR doesn't think of him as a true icon because his music was pop shit, and he was a pediphilic creep, but nobody caught my early attention like the alien being who asked me to "beat it." He may have been a creep, but he was part of my formative years, and something else besides that too.

It's something that will catch up to me, and startle me, when I remember he's no longer there.

Anyhow. That's the four. There is no appropriate end to the beginning of pop. Except maybe the democratic crises experienced across the Globe (like Iran, and fucking Korea: no war, no war, no war, please find yourself, no war).

Saturday, June 20, 2009

the garden, mid-June

Here is an overall picture (hard to get due to strange angle):

Garden 09 - June
This is my white pumpkin plant, with peas and lettuce around the edges:

Garden 09 - June
Here are the growing sugar-snaps peas, with nasturtiums nearby and my white pumpkin plant in the background:

Garden 09 - June
Through my Kentucky pole beans and peas, you can see the corn in the background:

Garden 09 - June
The adorable cabbages (no patch kids yet):

Garden 09 - June
And the adorable broccoli (you can see the edible part just starting!):

Garden 09 - June
One of my flower pots (which are technically down on my patio, not in the garden):

Garden 09 - June
And that's the June overview! Tonight: the Roller Derby with 13 friends and relatives - bozhe moi.


Monday, June 15, 2009

last week of classes!!!

Photo taken from web
Who could resist such a picture? Not me.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

favorite student mispellerings of the week (to get me through the drudge)

"costume-designed cars"

"mess media"

"Every person has 'little angles' on their shoulders, metaphorically, and we are defined on how we use them."

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

use your words

So, here I am being wicked and taking a break from the tons of grading I have to do. I don't feel too sorry for myself though; I've been procrastinating at the very end of the quarter, so it's almost done and then I'll be footloose and fancy-free for a bit. However, even with the imminent haven approaching, my brain feels pretty inchoate and so I shall spare you most of the details of my jet-setting, wild, totally James-Bondish lifestyle.

I will mention though that my car no longer has a bumper, which makes me feel a bit like a badass, and Chuck has successfully "helped me" make my work bench. By "helped me," I mean he did all the work and I bribed him with whiskey, but then helped assemble the final product so that I could feel good about myself. It's pretty gorgeous and all by itself makes me want to make things. Anyhow, I'm all good for the go now, although an easel would be sweeeet, if perhaps excessive. I shall put up pics of the stupidio before too long.

Oh, and my sister and brolaw are coming home next week (from Scotland vet school, which has apparently been kicking her ass!), so I plan on tubing drunk soon.

One other item of interest is that my garden is pretty much set up... with the cold frame now in place for the basil (which are planted) and peppers. I went to excavate some pictures that I thought I had taken fairly recently, but looking at them, I realize just how darn fast everything grows. We harvested some lettuce and salad mixy-greens the other day, and had a delicious salad from my garden. Mwaaah-haha! I was pleased as punch. Right now, my garden has: broccoli, cabbage, corn, carrots, spinach, zucchini, white pumpkins, orange pumpkins, butternut squash, sugar-snap peas, green peas, kentucky pole beans, cucumbers, sunflowers, sweet peas, basil, nasturtiums, lettuce, salad greens, and soon peppers (they're still in the greenhouse). And better yet, everything looks pretty healthy. Here's one old picture, but it's hard to get a comprehensive view:

Garden & Beach
And here are some shots that I took at the beach with Herald today.

Garden & Beach
Garden & Beach
Garden & Beach
Garden & Beach
Garden & Beach
Now I'm off to grade. Poor me.


Thursday, June 04, 2009

"after causing outrage among gay rights activists"

Wednesday, June 03, 2009


On a personal aside: when you have become startlingly embarrassed by each and every picture of you that's taken because you look like a big fat porker, it's time for a diet, even if you fundamentally abhor diets.

How depressing is that.

Quick Visit to Seattle
But the week has not, fortunately, been depressing other than that. I enjoyed the roller betties this weekend; what a bunch of hotties, seriously. Afterwards I went out and flirted shamelessly with everyone, but with enough rum in the body that I didn't feel embarrassed at the time... danced, you know, got the number of a dominatrix, um, danced some more, etc.

Herald beach shakeThen yesterday a best friend came up (I love that term "best friend." It's such a little kids' term) and we enjoyed time at the beach, with Herald swimming with me for the first time, 'cause this is the first time it's been warm enough to swim, for me, when he's been old enough to swim, for him. He warmed my heart by following me around and trying to save me.

I let him pull me to shore about fifteen times, even though I was trying to snorkel and enjoy the water. He was seriously confused as to what I was doing out there, and did scratch me a couple of times, trying to beat me out of the water apparently. But in the end, we arranged it so I would hold onto him and float lightly while he saved me, again and again. He's super tired tonight, so that's a bonus, I figure.

Plus it was great having time with Nat, even if she did get stung by a bee on the ass just before we left the beach for my teaching gig thing. Here are some signs from Seattle, where I sadly dropped NM off this evening. Bummer that she's moving to Florida, but I'm trying to remind myself that a) it will be a good place to visit, and b) it will be a good place for her.

Quick Visit to Seattle
Quick Visit to Seattle
Speaking of writing, I've been neglecting mine... so distracted by life, I guess, but hopefully tomorrow I will remedy that. Regarding such, all the electrical is done finally, plus I have a new computer set up with excellent software I need to make bookies, etc, and next I'm roping Chuck into helping me build a work bench. Then the swashbuckling will be ready to go.

Opening on July 3rd: cheese and wine. And for miscreants who would be better off not running into my family, I'm gonna try being there on first Fridays in general.

So much happening, I don't know how to react actually.