In Which Work Eats My Entire Brain
Thursday, May 15, 2008
And spits out the gristly parts.
I've been truly and deeply ensconced in a project which I have five weeks to complete. It's complex, involved, and technically fussy (all things that I enjoy in a work challenge), plus I've been busy with re-assigning and re-arranging newly vacated space which resulted when a community-member left on May 1st.
My blogging is likely to be sporadic over the next weeks. I'm going to try to at least post some round-ups of stuff I've been reading/thinking about (I am at least trying to get to my blog-roll reading every day), so that you can go read and think about similar things if you want to, and in that way, we'll be connected in some cybernetic fashion.
So, if you haven't already, start at the Best of Portly links in the tab above for some reads of my own past fav posts, then go read the update on Jack at Waveflux (Philip Barron's blog) -- Phil posted about Jack (a stray they adopted) about a month ago, and if you're a sucker for a great stray-cat/dog story (like me), I think you'll find it heart-warming (extra-special video-goodness of the kitteh-kind!).
The project I've been working on is a video project (12 hours in length) and it's massive and complicated, and it takes MY ENTIRE BRAIN to work it. No kidding -- the whole brain -- and then some. There are parts of this project that simply cannot be done while I'm multi-tasking (commenting on blogs, reading blogs, surfing video, etc.). So, as deadline week approaches, I've taken to closing down my browser (horrors!) and my email program (triple horrors!).
Here's a snippet of what I was focused on today -- a "screen test", if you will, of the new planet textures I'm trying out -- it may not look like much to you, but let me tell you, constructing the Earth and putting it into an extremely rudimentary spin-cycle has given me new-found compassion for Mr. Deity:
I'll try to be putting SOMETHING up every day (or few days) during this time, but NO PROMISES!
Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:33 PM 7 comments Links to this post
Face Lift
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Well, I finally got tired of looking at that (very appropriately-named) "Minima" template, and have bitten the bullet in terms of wrangling the CSS for a new appearance at Teh Portly Dyke.
Please notice that the new template has tabs at the top linking to stuff like my Comment Policy, my favorite posts so far ("Best of"), and I actually went through the whole blog and got everything labeled, so you can use the labels links at lower right to see stuff that you may be interested in.
I haven't figured out how to code this template for fluid width yet (it's an XML template, rather than HTML), so bear with me a little while longer -- it will remain in 800 width for a while, and try as I might, I can't find the right line to adjust the size of the text in the right sidebar -- I'm sure that I'll find the solution in one of the 3 cubic yards of CSS books I have in my office --but as Aragorn would say: Today is not that day.
Hope you enjoy the new look. Please report any problems to me via comments.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 4:04 PM 9 comments Links to this post
Sometimes, I Don't Know What I'm Writing
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Last week, I wrote a post about Public Displays of Affection.
The weeks prior to that had been a slack time for me, blogging-wise. I was feeling immensely tired of the political in-fighting I was seeing at some of my favorite blogs, I was very busy in "real" life, and I was dealing with some interpersonal crap with an erstwhile friend that was taking a lot of my focus in terms of self-examination and introspection.
Also, I was anxiously awaiting the day when my site-meter rolled over the 20,000 mark. After weeks of very sporadic blogging, my readership had dropped off pretty clearly, and I was lingering in the 19,700-or-something range, so I was absolutely certain-sure that when the blogodometer rolled over, I'd be there to see it.
Little did I know.
When Melissa forwarded me a link to an ABC study on queer PDAs and asked me if I wanted to post something about it, I thought I'd just whip out a little post and that, as they say, would be that.
What's weird is that, while I was writing the actual post, it seemed very disorganized and rambling to me. I started out trying to write something about the social experiment, but then I lapsed into personal ponderings (as I am wont to do). The post seemed to wander all over the place and I was hard-pressed to give it some sort of structure.
Now, I have had written posts in the past which, when I hit "publish", I have thought: "Now, THAT is a GOOD FUCKING POST!!! THAT post is going to shake some shit UP!!!"
This was not the case with Take My Arm, My Love -- on April 28th, when I hit publish, I just thought: "Well -- yeah . . . . that'll do."
Imagine my surprise when, two days later, I realized that my site-meter now read: 21,009.
And comments were starting to come in here, and where I'd cross-posted the entry at Shakesville, and Google Alerts was popping up "Portly Dyke" notices every couple of hours (yes, I'm vain enough to Google Alert myself -- why do you ask? -- and don't you dare claim that you haven't googled yourself -- it's like digital masturbation -- everybody does it).
This is the thing that I don't get, though -- I wasn't trying to write a particularly pithy post.
On that occasion, I thought I was just "getting a post out" -- I wasn't intentionally reaching out to change minds and hearts, I wasn't thinking that I was saying anything particularly profound -- I was just describing my internal process (and feeling as if I was fumbling along pretty much the whole time I was writing). Yet here were comments from an amazing variety of people who had somehow been touched by what I wrote, or who expressed a resonating "Yes! I do that! I know this experience!"
I went semi-internet-viral for a week, and it's kind of mysterious to me how that happened.
So now, I'll just have to wait for 30,000 to watch a land-mark tick over on the ole site-meter for Teh Portly Dyke.
(Happy Belated 20,000 blog-visitors to me!)
*Party-hat*
*Confetti-popper*
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:39 PM 10 comments Links to this post
Labels: Blogging, Teh Internet
I Blog in the Middle of the Night
Monday, May 5, 2008
Watch this, and be glad of cats:
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:55 PM 3 comments Links to this post
Lunar Beltane
Saturday, May 3, 2008
According to those in the know (my beloved, who does incredibly thorough astronomical/astrological research), tonight is the official Lunar Beltane.
Beltane is a "cross-quarter" day -- the day between the Solstice and the Equinox (or the Equinox and the Solstice). These days aren't celebrated much anymore -- more's the pity.
When I was a kid, "May Day" (5/1) was a big deal. We would make little paper cones and staple on little paper handles, and fill them with lilacs and spirea, and leave them hanging on neighbor's door-handles. Nowadays, I'm not sure that people would even recognize the "May Basket" tradition.
There was no candy involved, as with Halloween and Valentine's Day, but for me, this was still a very sweet holiday.
The recipients of our May Baskets were friends in child-form, adult-form, and elder-form. It wasn't one of those holidays where you stuck around to find out if they had opened their door and seen your offering. You hung the basket and ske-daddled.
There were, however, usually lacey dresses involved -- often the "Easter Dress" from some weeks before. You can imagine how that sat with me, Ms. Butchy of 1965.
Thinking back, I can imagine those lilacs poking up from the paper cones. We didn't deliver them with water-vials attached to their stems -- these were wonders to come as we approached our brave new future -- so they must have faded pretty quickly.
But at the time, I was young and hopeful, and probably never gave a thought as to whether the cuttings would be wilted by the time that resident discovered them.
Happy really May Day, everyone.
Just ignore the terminology.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:34 PM 1 comments Links to this post
Labels: Fluff
Commenting Policy
In light of some recent events, I'm instituting a commenting policy.
[I'll probably also be moving to haloscan comments -- there's a poll in the upper right hand over there >>>>> where I'll be taking your feedback about whether you'd prefer to comment via haloscan or blogger comments (I use blogger's built-in comments now) -- please give it a vote and let me know by the 5th (that's when I'm planning to institute haloscan, unless I get a lot of feedback in the Noooooooooo!!!!!! category).]
So, here's my Commenting Policy (updates will be noted at the top of this post as they are made, and the comments policy will available from the top menu tabs).
You do not have a "right" to comment here -- you have the privilege of doing so -- a privilege which I reserve the right to revoke at any time. (And no, this is not an abridgment of your freedom of speech -- you are free to create your own blog and say and do whatever you want there -- at your personal blog.)
I like vigorous, informed, respectful discussions, and I am not afraid of disagreement. I invite you to respectfully challenge me on fallacious thinking, shoddy statistics, personal opinions expressed as fact, etc.. I am rather notoriously willing to engage patiently and civilly with people, even when we don't agree.
That said, engaging in the following practices and behaviors will usually result in your comments being edited or deleted outright.:
- Using misogynist, sexist, racist, homophobic, trans-phobic, fat-phobic, able-ist, or classist slurs or epithets (when using them toward any individual or group, rather than referring to such language for the purpose of discussing it). Example: If the best argument you can come up with is "You're a fat hairy-legged pervert", your comment will be deleted as a waste of server space and bandwidth.
- Threatening me or any commenter on my blog, overtly or subtly.
- Trolling, sock-puppeting, comment-spamming, posting hate speech, or making frequent off-topic comments which are simply argumentative or belligerent and which you can not (or do not) tie to the original post in some logical way (aka thread de-railment).
And yes, I get to be the sole judge of this. It's my blog.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 9:36 PM 13 comments Links to this post
Labels: Blogging
Tiny Little Things I Heard Today
Friday, May 2, 2008
There is a couple who often attend my Friday night class/gathering. They usually bring with them their two children, the oldest of whom seems quite shy amongst strangers. She's at that age (not quite 5) when it's hard for me to tell when that's an act that she's cultivated to maintain a certain distance, and when it's genuine.
Apparently, at home she is quite chatty, but it's rare that she speaks before, in, or after the gathering (she usually whispers into her father's ear if she wants him to say something on her behalf).
At any rate, this child has attended the Friday gathering many, many times (since she was around 2), and even requested to be brought to the Tuesday gathering that I teach (which is a focused spiritual development class heretofore populated only by adults). She will peep out at me from under her "fairy cloak" and give me a mischievous grin from time to time, and genuinely seems to enjoy being there (although she often falls asleep during the gathering), but it's very rare that she will speak aloud to me.
Tonight, as folks were drifting away from our meeting place, I heard her insisting that her Dada push her in the swing outside our house (it's an "adult-size" swing-set, and if Da pushes her, she can swing very high -- so I've overheard her giggles and squeals many times).
It was then that I heard it -- for the first time in the several years that I have known her: My name, spoken in her own voice -- as I walked from the gathering place to my house -- I heard: "Dada! Show ***** how high I can swing!"
It was a very sweet moment for me.
She rounded off all the consonants in my name in that way that children do before they learn to read and write -- pronounced it as, no doubt, it sounds to her when others speak it.
This is a little tiny thing I heard today.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:55 PM 1 comments Links to this post
Labels: Overheard, True Stories
Happy May Day
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Today was a day of new beginnings, as our long-lingering community member who wanted to leave has finally . . . . left.
Thank Maude.
I'm using the "reset" as an excuse to return to daily blogging commitments. ("Yeah, yeah," you say, "I've heard THAT before."
But no. Seriously.
Truth is -- I miss blogging when I don't blog regularly.
So, welcome to May, and Happy Beltane (sort of Beltane, anyway).
I spent the day clearing spaces and visioning what might be next for the newly-vacated rooms/areas. We had a fabulous session of song in the empty, concrete-walled studio space that's now available for new uses, too -- I drank some champagne and had an afternoon nap (which is rare for me).
Oh, and also -- the fucking SUN was out!!!!! -- and the yard is gorgeous.
Like this kind of gorgeous:
So, I'm in a very good mood tonight.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:55 PM 0 comments Links to this post
Labels: Fluff
Take My Arm, My Love
Monday, April 28, 2008
When ABC news did their second social experiment about Public Displays of Affection (PDAs) by having a gay male and a lesbian couple kiss and cuddle in public (the first experiment used straight couples), the reactions were varied.
There was the woman who called the cops:
Operator: "Birmingham Police operator 9283"There was the woman who said:
Caller: "We have a couple of men sitting out on the bench that have been kissing and drooling all over each other for the past hour or so. It's not against the law, right?"
Operator: "Not to the best of my knowledge it's not."
Caller: "So there's no complaint I could make or have?"
Operator: "I imagine you could complain if you like ma'am. We can always send an officer down there."
And they did . . . . The officer told our couple that the police dispatch received a call because the two of them were making out.
"Just don't do that in public," he told them before leaving the scene.
"I would actually want our kids to grow up in a place where they would see various types of people engaging in behaviors that [are] loving."And then there were the people who took a whole different "think of teh childrenz!" tack:
"I don't really find it inappropriate, especially during the day when schoolchildren aren't running around. They might get confused and want an answer for what's going on," bystander Mary-Kate told us. The majority of the people who spoke about children seemed to echo Mary-Kate's feelings."Which means, basically, these folks are fine with "Gay PDA" -- as long as they don't have to face the uncomfortable, icky business of explaining to their children that not everybody on earth is like mommy and daddy.
Which kind of sucks.
My partner and I rarely engage in kissing in public (even around our friends), but that's a personal choice based on our desire to keep our sexual intimacy extremely . . well . . . intimate. When we kiss, we like to kiss for real, and that's for us. (And yes, it is hot, thank you very much. And no, you may not watch.)
However, I doubt that most straight, cisgendered people think about, or notice, how frequently they touch their partner in public in ways that are not necessarily "sexual" (in addition to kissing, cuddling, and the odd bum-squeeze) -- ie. holding hands, walking with an arm around the waist, smoothing the other's hair back out of their eyes -- nor do I think that most straight, cisgendered people are probably aware of the fact that when I touch my partner in public, it's nearly always a considered act.
I don't obsess about this -- as in -- it doesn't eat up my days and nights -- and I'm probably about as "out" as a queer can be in this country -- but every single time I take my partner's hand on the street, or toss my arm over her shoulder or around her waist, hug her goodbye or hello, I do a little, tiny "security sweep".
I notice who is around, and where I am, and what the energy feels like -- before I touch her in public. It's a tiny amount of attention, most often, but it's there.
I just noticed recently that in an unknown situation that seems "sort of" safe, (like walking in a crowded mall) I'm more likely to curl her arm through mine than to hold her hand -- which may seem counter-intuitive, since arm-in-arm actually affords much closer body contact -- but after I thought about this, I realized that walking "arm-in-arm" is something that I see straight girl-friends do more often than holding hands (after they're 12, anyway). In considering this choice, I also realized that in many situations, I'm happy to give any possible bigots in an uncertain setting the option of assuming that we're just a couple of straight girls.
Which sorta sucks.
I recognize this as the internalized homophobia that it is, but I can't deny that it's present in me. The fact is, that I stop, look, and listen before I demonstrate physical affection toward my beloved in nearly every public setting that is not clearly "queer safe".
I'm butch, and I seem butch (even to people who will tell you that their gaydar is hopelessly mis-calibrated). I seem butch no matter what I'm wearing, or what length my hair is. It's fairly difficult for me to "pass" -- even when I want to. My gait is stompy, and my demeanor, direct. I've always been that way -- from little on. My favorite colors in clothing are black and blue (Couture D'Bruise, as I like to call it) -- partially because my color sense sucks ass, but mostly because I have better things to do than figuring out what to wear.
My partner is androgynous-to-femme. She often wears dresses because she genuinely likes wearing them, and usually sports smashing combinations of floral tones or deep purples with highlights of teal.
And we adore each other.
If you caught us in an unguarded moment, this adoration would probably be very visible to you, whether we were snogging away like sex-crazed maniacs or sitting across the room from one another reading our respective books -- so moving out into the world also involves, for me, some adjustments beyond whether I touch her physically or not.
I notice that, in public, I seem to have an automatic timer that warns me not to gaze at her as long as I might at the privacy of our dining room table, a subtle mask that shifts the set of my smile when I respond to hearing her laugh, and an inner language editor that reflexively erases "honey", "my love" and "darling" from my lexicon as I'm calling to her across a parking lot.
I want to make it very clear that I don't think about these things.
These adjustments have become so internalized that I rarely, if ever, notice them -- until I sit down to write a post like this.
They are part of the enculturated self- censoring that most queers learn in order to assure their own safety in the world (and sometimes, their very survival). In fact, I had to "unlearn" many other, more rigid, tendencies to automatic hiding when I finally made the decision to be completely "out" as a lesbian.
I don't edit myself this way because I am ashamed of being a lesbian. I do it because I'm afraid that someone else, who thinks I ought to be ashamed of being a lesbian, might hurt me -- or worse, hurt my beloved.
Back in 1988, when I came out completely and publicly via a two-part article in the Oregonian, the nutcase Lon Mabon was mounting the first of many campaigns to curtail LGBTQ rights in the state of Oregon, in the guise of "Measure 8".
My oldest and best friend (a straight, married girl) poo-pooed the whole thing, saying "we've come farther than that, the Measure will never pass, tempest-in-a-teapot, blah, blah, blah" -- and stated that she couldn't understand why I was so upset about the whole thing.
This friend is the sister I never had. I loved her (and love her still) dearly, and her inability to see how the Measure 8 (which was passed that year) was likely to affect me and my family was incredibly painful to me. I remember weeping in her living room as I tried to explain something that was, to her, completely invisible. I talked to her about how scary it had been to come out publicly after having led a fairly comfortable life as a closeted queer, and she just didn't seem to get why it should be a big deal at all.
So, I issued her and her husband a challenge (and I'll issue the same challenge to any straight coupled allies here who want to raise their awareness of LBGTQ issues):
Spend an entire week pretending that you're not a couple. Don't write a check from a joint bank account. Hide all the photographs in your home and office which would identify you as a couple. Take off your wedding rings. Touch each other, and talk to each other, in public, in ways that could only be interpreted as you being "friends". Refer to yourself only in the singular "I", never in the "we". When you go to work on Monday, if you spent time together on the weekend, include only information which would indicate that you went somewhere with a friend, rather than your life-mate. If someone comes to stay with you, sleep in separate beds. Go intentionally into the closet as a couple. For a week.
They took my challenge.
They lasted exactly three days.
My friend returned to me in tears on day four and said: "I'm sorry. I had no idea what it is like for you."
[For those of you straight allies who are not coupled, but who want to play along, your challenge is (perhaps) simpler: Spend one week in which you make no mention and give no hint of your sexual orientation at all. When straight people around you are parsing the hotness of the opposite gender, go silent, or play along in a way that makes it seem as if you are part of the gang, but never reveals any real personal information. If someone asks you about your love-life, be evasive and non-committal. If you went on a date, and you're talking about it later, de-genderize all the pronouns, or consciously switch them (him to her, her to him, etc.).]
That is how I lived for the first 32 years of my life, whether I was single or coupled.
And while my current self-editing is not nearly as extreme as it was before I made the choice to live as an out lesbian, it's still self-editing.
I am still alert in public settings and default-cautious with strangers around revelation of my sexual orientation, no matter how much self-esteem I posssess. Every time I meet someone new, I silently (and mostly, unconsciously) assess how I think they will handle the information that I am a lesbian.
That's one reason that I like my handle (PortlyDyke) -- because people's immediate response to it (friendly or foe-full) usually gives me some information in that initial assessment process, and saves me the trouble of "coming out" to them. I also let potential clients know, via my business website, that I am a lesbian -- right out front -- and figure that if they still hire me, well, they knew what they were getting.
It's one of the reasons that I've chosen to live in a small town that is known for its liberality and quirkiness -- where it is unlikely that I'm going to get hassled on the street for looking butchy, and where, if I was hassled, there would probably be some people around who would help me out (I hope) -- but also one of the reasons that I would not consider setting foot in the road-house near the paper mill unless I were accompanied by two or more straight friends.
In truth, these assessments and considerations are so much a part of my existence that I barely notice them, and the availability of the choice to either remain closeted or come out (a choice which is available for many, but not all queers) is one of the things that can make homo-/trans- phobia a very tricky sort of "-ism" to deal with.
[A thought which arises at this point: I imagine that these types of behavioral adjustments and choices are also made by people of color who can "pass" and mixed-race couples.]
The queer couples smooching for ABC had a camera crew and back up. The city officials and police departments had signed off on the experiment. I'd really love to hear an interview with those couples about whether the public affection they displayed is typical of how they would act on any street, at any time, or if they noticed subtle or overt changes in how they interacted because they had "permission" to be fully de-cloaked as queers.
In examining all this, I realized that, for me, choosing the closet, even in this incredibly subtle way -- by taking my beloved's arm instead of her hand on the street -- is simultaneously a direct participation in the heterosexist system that would deny me equality, and a prudent move to preserve my safety.
Which definitely sucks.
Take my hand, my love.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 2:27 PM 13 comments Links to this post
Labels: Homophobia, Queers, True Stories
Sunday Meme-ish-ness
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Phydeaux has pulled my ass out (again) by providing me with a blog-meme to pursue.
Teh Rulz:
1. Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. No cheating!
2. Find page 123.
3. Find the first five sentences.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.
The Book: Animal-Speak, by Ted Andrews.
The sentences:
One was the Strasburg Brotherhood of the Crown, and another was formed by St. Nicholas of Vienna in 1288. In Germany, specifically, there existed a guild of meistersingers at Nuremberg. This schooling was to teach the power of sound, music, and voice -- physical and spiritual.Since I believe in a synchronous Universe, I find it no surprise that the book delivered a perfect message for me.
I've been pondering, during the last few days, about when to speak and when to be silent. I want to always do so by conscious choice, not shying from speaking because I fear to speak, or fear the repercussions of speaking, nor speaking because I fear that I will otherwise not be heard, or that my silence will be construed as something it is not.
I had a very interesting experience today where I had been watching a very long blog comment-thread, and going back and forth and forth and back about whether to speak up. Through the day, I dabbled in various responses in my head (and in draft form in Wordpad), and when I finally made up my mind to post the response, the blog ate my comment. So, I let it go.
Then, hours later, I decided that I'd give it another go -- I added a few more choice words to my comment, and attempted to post it. It was, once again, eaten.
Must be a time NOT to speak up -- or at least, not until I'm a "meistersinger".
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:32 PM 3 comments Links to this post
Labels: Blogging, Spirituality, Tagged, Teh Internet
