i joined f@cebook today, after many years of resistance. i gave in because i never know about any of the parties or bike rides or even the protests anymore, because i’m in school all the time and no one talks about these things face to face like they used to. (let alone the old promo techniques from my anarcho-punk-activisty days in toronto… phone trees? handbills? wheat-paste postering expeditions? what are those?!!)
le sigh: the end of an era.
my original objection to the whole thing was the idea that some corporation would know who my friends are. then, once my paranoia settled down into the dull background roar that accompanies my everyday life like a really bad musical score, i decided that i just don’t have time for it. my anonymous pseudonym online life (this one!) has become so very very rich and connected that i didn’t want anything else competing with it: certainly not friend requests from the kids who bullied me in elementary school, and *definitely* nothing from the ones i went on to bully in high school (bullying creates bullies, let this be a leason to you!).
but i *do* want to get involved with planning the annual anniversary party for the local community bike shop, and i want to know about the potlucks and dance-a-thons and late night bike rides and all the other things that are happening with my friends, and it looks like this is the means to that end. not participating was not getting me anywhere.
so here i am: connecting, socially, online, with people who know my face and my real name and where i live. it still weirds me out, but i’m trying not to think about it too hard.
Listening to the radio while washing post-breakfast dishes, I was sickened by a report that there is a bill before the Ugandan parliament to not simply outlaw homosexuality, but to make it a crime for a person to not report anyone they believe to be queer. I couldn’t turn off the program, not even as the journalist spoke of being unable to find a queer Ugandan willing to speak on-air for fear of persecution.
It absolutely terrifies me, to know that this is the reality for people like me in other parts of the world. I feel exhausted by classmates who don’t take me seriously when I object to their casual homophobia, and yet my frustration is just the tip of the iceberg for global human rights and respect.
S.U.M. happened by on a laundry run, and shared my anxious outrage as I hugged Mo, who kindly responded by falling asleep in my arms. It’s scary, agreed S.U.M., and I was relieved that she didn’t simply tell me it’s happening elsewhere so I shouldn’t worry. I *do* worry, because those same ideas of hate are what make queers unsafe the world over. Even when we aren’t being imprisoned and killed by others, we are being made to imprison and kill ourselves, out of fear and self-loathing generated by the same homophobic oppression.
You can listen to the podcast and read more on the webpage of CBC’s The Current.
Also, check out the blog of the blogger who did an email interview with The Current, Gay Uganda.
(In case it isn’t obvious, I did school tasks from home again today, and no, my mood has still not improved. In fact, I may never leave the house again… Though I suppose that would really limit my career prospects as an electrician, not to mention the annoyance it would cause my lover. Hmmmm. I’ll work on it.)
looking up at me from in the puppy room, po at left and mo at right
cuddling on their aunty s.u.m.’s lap, mo at left and po at right
this puppy situation has taken a turn for the odd and unjust.
last night, we got a phone call from the friend-of-a-friend whose dog sired the puppies. let’s call him Poppa Dawg, or PD for short. so PD called and said that he’d finally gotten a hold of his “friend”, the woman whose dog is the mother of the puppies. we can call her Momma Dawg, or MD, for the sake of simplicity.
PD told us that MD had found homes for two of the remaining puppies, and was going to get rid of one of her other dogs (!!!) so that she could keep the third (and final) puppy for herself. as PD hadn’t met these other potential puppy owners, he expressed to us that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation, and had given MD a week in which to finalize things, including arranging for him to meet these other people.
PD apologized for the confusion and frustration, said that he was feeling it too, and that he wouldn’t blame us if we wanted to give up on the whole thing and start looking elsewhere. i told him that we actually *were* already looking elsewhere, but would still love one of his puppies if they became available because they are so perfect.
later in the evening, oats began to peruse the pets section of the local online classifieds. suddenly she asked if i remembered what the momma dog had looked like. “why?” i asked. oats turned her computer so that i could see the photo on the screen: there she was, with the text below.
mix breed puppies 3 males left great markings 30 lbs full grown
Price
$300
Description
3 male pups left from litter of seven. Mom is a lab/border terrier (24 lbs) Dad is a blue heeler/lab/border collie/shepherd… who knows! At 35 lbs. Pups are coming up on 5 weeks. $100.00 deposit to hold. One all black, one black/brindle with tan markings, one black with tan and white markings. Will be extremely agile, intelligent, slim and loyal. Please email – serious inquiries and GOOD HOMES only. Photo is of mom.
this is an exact description of PD’s puppies.
at first, we were confused.
when PD and i talked about the puppies initially, a week and a half ago, i had assumed that there was a price attached. PD corrected me, saying that all they wanted was for the pups to go to good homes. he had bred his dog because his dog is awesome, and he wanted his friends to have the opportunity for similar companionship.
when we went to meet the puppies last saturday, PD said that 3 puppies had already been “spoken-for”, not “sold”.
he used the same wording the day after that, when he called to say that MD informed him she’d found homes for the other pups.
besides which, $300 is a lot of money but not an outrageous sum, so if things had changed and they’d decided to charge for the puppies, why wouldn’t PD have mentioned this to us?
that’s when it became clear: PD HAD NO IDEA THAT MD WAS SELLING THE PUPPIES.
obviously, we had to tell him. but first, we needed to confirm that this was the same woman who’d posted the ad.
have i ever mentioned that oats is an excellent sleuth? i don’t know if it’s the mystery novels or the CSI or the L&O or what, but she’s quite clever. back on the computer, oats did a search through the local online classifieds for other listings from the same user as the puppy advertisement. the result was a goldmine.
MD hadn’t been home when PD had taken us to see the pups last weekend, so even though we’ve never met her, we know a lot of random trivia about her… as it turns out, enough to confirm her identity as the advertiser selling the puppies. there was a request for a mattress to be delivered to her house that included a map, which confirmed that this was the same location we’d visited; an offer to stud her shih tzu, with a photo of another dog whom we’d met at her place; and a request for an apartment with a dog-friendly yard, which mentioned her profession and other personal details that PD’d shared with us.
so, to recap:
according to PD, MD had “found good homes” for all the puppies.
according to the ad online, there are still 3 puppies available to the first people with $300 per dog… including the sweet little black one that we’d been wanting.
i texted PD: “it seems MD is selling the puppies online for $300 each. i’m confused. call me?”
my phone rang 15 minutes later, and PD said, “i just received a very disturbing text message from you.”
we were right: he had no idea.
as PD doesn’t have internet at home, i read the ad to him and explained the rest of the evidence. honestly, i thought he was gonna cry, he was so sad and shocked. he thanked me, and told me he needed to process the situation.
poor guy.
i don’t know what’s going to happen now, but at least we know that there’s a reason why communications between PD and MD have been so convoluted around this puppy thing: it’s not that PD’s a “a sweet but flaky hippy-type” as i’d called him in my previous post, but rather that MD is a selfish schemer who was trying to secretly make a buck off their puppies.
some “friend”: she was going to fuck him over.
needless to say, at this point we’ve decided to really look elsewhere for our new canine family member! i suppose we could still end up with our sweet little monolyth, but i’m pretty committed to avoiding any of this dramatic slimy bullshit so won’t be pursuing it any longer.
having said that… just for kicks, oats emailed a response to MD’s ad, inquiring about the puppies. we haven’t heard back yet, but i’m thinking of all the condemning things i want to write if she contacts us.
an unexpected delight in learning the skill of pattern making is that it has shifted my concept of my body. when there’s no size 8 or 18, and you’re suddenly in desperate need of attaining a correct hip measurement so that future skirts don’t ride up and bunch near the waist, it’s hard to understand how any value judgments can be made about anyone’s shape. everything is reduced to the minutia of curves, lengths, and angles: the supposedly-standard ratios of hip-waist-bust have been tossed in the trash, and it’s all about capturing the uniqueness of ONE. SINGLE. BODY.
damn, i feel special.
for the most part, i’m very much so appreciative of my body, because it is strong and useful. however, it’s been a struggle, and i was bullied a lot as a kid for being fat (also being a snarky know-it-all did not help matters). these days, i try to be as mindful as possible about my attitudes towards my physical self, just to keep my attitude in check and stop any sparks of hate before they spiral out of control. usually i’m fine, but sometimes when i really need something like a pair of jeans or an outfit for an event, all shopping trips end in tears. i’m lucky to have grown up with a parent who helped me with my mad on-the-fly tailoring techniques, because clothing rarely fits me correctly.
the thing is, there were four other students in my pattern-making course, and though we are all very different shapes, they all said the exact same thing.
which makes sense, i know: if we want the affordability of mass-produced clothing, we need to make some sacrifices in terms of fit. the chances of a bought shirt fitting me perfectly are pretty fucking slim, because my body isn’t the same as whatever averages were chosen by the designer. obvious as this is, it’s something that i forget a lot of the time, or only frame in the negative:
“my body is all wrong, because it doesn’t fit these shirts.”
silly, hey? i know. but with a lifetime of that behind me, let me tell you how absolutely rad it was to spend a whole week never ever even thinking those words.
instead, i was only ever in crisis when i had it the other way around… and was cuing for the instructor’s assistance:
“arg!!! the ass of my trousers are going to be cupped like a bloody tulip because i still don’t understand how to angle the curves at the inseam!”
———–
want more opinions and ideas about the shapes and sizes of bodies? check out big fat deal!
years ago, i worked with a bunch of jerks, in one of the few non-customer service positions i’ve ever held. which sucked, really, because it meant that these douche bags were the only people i saw for 40 hours of my week. after that type of situation, retail is very appealing. at any rate, one day while chatting on the job, the topic of collections came up… as in, my stepdad is crazy into collecting stamps. one of these dudes said to me with great pride that he collects books. “books?” i asked, thinking there would be some sort of expansion of the description, such as “comic (books)” or “1st edition science texts” or “russian paperbacks”. when none was forthcoming, i tried to clarify: “any books?” “yeah,” he replied. “i’ve got boxes of them.”
i took these photos of mounted insects at the melbourne museum a couple weeks ago.
every time i look at them, that little vignette is brought to mind.
wrist corset: note real honky skin tone at bottom right, and fake honky skin tone elsewhere.
prologue: if you’ve never heard of spoon theory, i recommend that you read up on it now.
***
i don’t remember where i first learned about spoon theory. i read a lot of blogs on a lot of different topics, and i’m pretty certain it came up on one of those cyber-sojourns. at any rate, i’ve been thinking about it on and off for over a year now: the variations on the analogy, its shortcomings, and its ability to capture an idea that can otherwise be difficult to grasp. however, it wasn’t until this morning, when i awoke to a wrist that was aching and a hand that was numb and weak, that i thought about it in terms of myself.
despite being held immobile by a brace all through the night, my right arm is not functioning as it should.
part of me lives in the moment. this part of me that has spent much of my life taking my health and mobility for granted, and thinks: “oh well, it’s not that bad… i’ll just wear the brace this morning, and try to rest today, and keep it warm, and maybe it’ll feel better by this evening.” as though this were a brief encounter with a virus or bacteria; as though i just need to keep going and have faith.
as of this morning, another part of me is suddenly looking at the big picture. this is on a different path, one that we haven’t yet tread: why is my hand/wrist/arm in such bad shape today? is it due to stress, cold, pressure, typing, cycling, sewing, using my mouse, petting the cat, drilling holes for new shelves, vacuuming my apartment, folding the laundry? how much of these things can i take and under what circumstances, before i need to stop and recover? and how much recovery time do i need in order to reach what level of functionality?
trees, forest.
i’m not scared so much as i’m unsure and not at all pleased at the idea of there being limits on my capabilities. at work, i have difficulty conveying my need to rest, partially because i don’t quite believe it myself. i can’t wear the brace all the time because it stresses the muscles in my upper arm, so there’s no physical reminder to myself or others. i need to set a timer, so that i stop and stretch and relax every 15 minutes. i need to make a wrist-warmer, because the cold makes everything worse. i need to find new hobbies, interests, and employment. i need to find a new acupuncturist.
i also need to make some inquiries at the university, because the cts-related claims that i made to my student health care plan were denied. it was bad enough having an ugly brace… but to have to pay for that privilege? no way!
***
can anybody suggest a category name that i can use for posts related to health, bodies, carpal tunnel syndrome, etc? i want it to be a word or two that completes the phrase: “a feral geographer is a(n)…”
everything i’ve come up with sounds kinda silly: embodied creature, physical entity, living being, animal, living machine. ideas?
i’ve never seen a single episode of WKRP in Cincinnati, but that will be changing over the next few weeks: having completed veronica mars and feeling bored by buffy, i’m moving on to educating myself about other cultural references that i’ve been missing.
WKRP comes up more often than you may think.
especially when one’s work environment has degenerated into this:
masking tape + floor = individualized office space
one coworker did it first, as a joke, but then another got really into it, and next thing you know… hey, i finally have my own office!
which could be rad, if it weren’t so fucked-up.
remember how i upset i was over the breaking of my red teapot, some months ago? my houseguests of this past weekend gave me a new one, because they are just that fabulous and loving. more importantly, they seem to think i’m pretty great, which is nice, because i honestly haven’t been feeling quite as rad as usual. it could be stress, it could be hormones, it could be any number of things… all i know is that i spent some time on sunday evening crying and asking my lover if i’m a good person. rather melodramatic, i know.
on sunday afternoon, while working at the bike shop, a longtime acquaintance came by to fix his bike. to be clear: i think this guy is lovely, and i always look forward to talking with him at parties. having said that: as we chatted, i was reminded that he is friends with a couple of my exes as well as a few other people who don’t like me (such as the partners of exes, and the exes of partners). it’s not that i didn’t know this, but rather that i’d never thought about it before, not until we were at the bike shop and these folks were being referenced throughout our conversation. it was… overwhelming, to say the least.
basically, i think i’m a good person: i mostly live up to my core values, and i try not to be a hypocrite. i don’t expect everyone to like me. also, i know that relationships (and specifically, the end of relationships, as well as the start of new relationships) are complicated beasts that aren’t always easy or comprehensible. still, it’s hard, especially in a town like this: small enough to be incestuous, large enough to feel alienating. we inevitably end up dating each other’s roommates, exes, and roommates’ exes. cold shoulders freeze, and it’s not as easily ignored as it would be in a bigger city, nor as likely to be forgiven nor overcome as it would be in a smaller community.
my life used to be so much more public. even a year ago, i was more invested in socializing than i am these days. now i’m just not that interested in seeing and being seen. it doesn’t feel important anymore. i still enjoy my volunteer commitments, and i love my friends, but i don’t crave to know *everyone* like i did in the past. maybe it’s cuz i’m getting older, or maybe it’s because of the changes of the past 12 months. even though i’m happier and more satisfied and excited about the future, i still feel… worn out, and more than a little bit sensitive about my place in social networks.
so it’s a balm on my angsty soul, to be given a gift that is a replacement for one that i broke and mourned while depressed this past autumn. the first red teapot was a much-loved object that i bought for myself when i moved into my last apartment, the first home in which i’d lived alone. for a couple days, it was just me and the teapot, because i’d broken all my bowls and everything else was in storage. at that time, i felt strong and giddy and out of control but very optimistic. i’m hoping i can recapture some of that energy now, with this gift reminding me of friendship and community and stories and adventures: it’s a risk to place so much importance on an inanimate object, especially given my habit of dropping anything ceramic, but i don’t care because i’m so thrilled by it.
[photo: dear em and mimi, thank you.]
Filed under: Animal Lover, Artist, Bike Geek, Critic, Cynic, Friend, Gardener, Homebody, Queer, Student, Traveler, Worker
…written slowly and intermittently throughout my workday…
bicycle
despite all the photos that i’ve posted of her, what you’ve never known about nigella (my lovely 1972 raleigh single speed with coaster brake) is that she was noisy as hell. in the past couple years that i’ve had her, i hadn’t once opened up her bottom bracket, nor adjusted the cranks, and it was showing: every push on the pedals was generating the most embarrassing squeal. finally i couldn’t take it anymore, and i spent yesterday’s shift at the bike shop taking apart and rebuilding the whole thing. no surprise: the grease had hardened into chunks, and the central cylinder was full of sparkly crystals that disintegrated into black powder when i rubbed them between my fingers. i would bet that this was the first time that anyone had cleaned her out… in 37 years!!!
fortunately, the cups and spindle were okay. i replaced the bearings with new ones, and packed it all in smooth new grease. one of the cotter pins, which are the special bolts that attached the cranks to the bottom bracket spindle on old bikes like these, had to be replaced because the threads were crushed, but luckily we had some that were used and in good condition. all the new cotter pins in stock were too small (in diameter) for the holes in my cranks.
after all the scrubbing, replacing, regreasing, adjusting, and rebuilding of the bottom bracket, i spent a good 40 minutes on my chain. the recycl!st@s standard procedure for cleaning a chain is to coat it with oil and then wipe it down with a rag, repeatedly, leaving it on the bike the whole time. it’s not nearly as satisfying as dipping the chain in gasoline, like i used to do as a kid, but much healthier for all concerned. i used an old tooth brush (with oil on the bristles) as well as the rag, because the dirt was caked-on between the links. it never got shiny, but it now runs like a charm. in fact, the entire bike feels new… she’s smooth and easy and soooooooooo quiet.
sometimes it’s worth having a crappy ride if only so that you can truly appreciate the way it feels when every thing’s been fixed.
also, this is an excellent example of why you’re better off spending $200 on an old bike plus a mechanic’s time, rather than dropping it all on a c@n@dian tire special. not only will you get a bike that actually has some character, but you’ll also get something that will last for 30+ years and still function perfectly! it’s all about quality, my friends: they just don’t make (most) bicycles like they used to.
i’m thinking of going to the seattle international bike expo, march 14-15, along with my friend and mechanic-mentor, tri. it’d be our one last bout of serious bike-geeking together, before i head off to oz and she moves to the mainland. it’s so sad, and yet still so necessary.
school
last week i went to the info night for the trades programs at the local community college. the talk itself wasn’t very thrilling, but i got pretty excited in the campus bookstore, when i saw that the electrical program text is the provincial electrical code. that’s the kinda book i’d buy anyway, just because it’s fascinating. it was a good reminder for me: no matter how much i may be challenged by having 18-year-old boys as classmates, the fact remains that i love the topic.
the electrical foundation program is self-paced and new people start/end every month. at the start of the month, the teachers guess how many students will graduate at the end of the month, and that many people off the waitlist as then offered positions. so, i’d only have 1 month’s notice of starting school. also, once you’ve been offered a spot, you can only defer once before being put back at the bottom of the wait list. basically, i need to apply now. the neat thing about the program being self-paced is that it can be done in less time than the advertised duration of 6 months, which costs less since tuition is by the week.
if i decide to do this, these are my two coping mechanisms for dealing with the cost/time investment and the fact that queer femmy girls in trades get flack: 1) i will be a hardcore student, study a lot, and get through the program as quickly as possible, and 2) i will attend classes in character, based loosely on diane rigg’s emma peel in the avengers (1965).
house
i sent out an email to all my friends last week, about subletting my apartment. in response, i’ve received one phone call and one email, and both are from complete strangers. the person on the phone had received an email about it, but didn’t know from whom. the person on the email referenced seeing my “ad”, which is odd, because i didn’t place an ad. this makes me feel a little uncomfortable, but i *do* need to rent the place out… so tomorrow i’m showing it to the guy who called. the person who emailed is currently in ontario, which is unfortunate because he is a serious cyclist and so currently my preferred subletter of the two. i am easily biased.
in other house-related news, my landlady had her house broken into on friday and her computer stolen. she lives next door, so this is rather unnerving. still, i don’t own anything worth stealing, or at least from the perspective these local grab-and-go types: i doubt they’d notice the artwork on my walls.
art
this past saturday night i went to dinner at a friend’s house. knowing that there’d be a couple kids there, i grabbed some bags of beads and brought them with me. by “some bags of beads”, i mean tiny glass seed beads in at least 20 colours, tons of random fancy glass ones of all sizes, plus more made of wood, and all sorts of string: nylon, elastic, wire, leather, cotton, hemp. honestly, i didn’t even know *what* was in there, because it was given to me by someone ages ago and i’d never gotten around to going through it. i’m glad i brought it to dinner: all of us dinner guests, kids included, made each other necklaces and bracelets and rings. there was lots left over, and i told them to keep it. people are always giving me random art supplies that i’ll never use, and i’m pleased when i find good homes for them instead of letting them languish on my shelves.
pop culture
veronica mars s01e20 is crazily homophobic: veronica blackmails this horrible guy by making him seem queer, which ruins his plans to join the navy, and not once in the entire episode did anyone mention the injustice of the military’s don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy! instead, there was a general attitude of acceptance with regards to homophobia: it was left unquestioned, even as it was the basis of the plot.
yes, once again, i am disappointed by mainstream teevee. go figure.
farm
my upstairs neighbours and i are going to ask our landlady if we can get chickens, when i come home from australia. a coop and small run could fit next to my patio, if we cleared away some low-lying branches from the trees. the limit in our municipality is four hens, which would be more than enough eggs (at an estimated rate of 2 eggs/3 days per bird). we’re also planning on going big and experimental with our worm composting exploits. currently, i have a “castaway” bin, and they have a homemade multi-tiered worm condo that doesn’t always work too well: we want to put together something larger and most efficient, probably outdoors on one of our decks. hopefully it’ll combine well with the chickens, to provide them with extra protein and get rid of the bird manure. i’m stoked at the possibilities.
job
a coworker and i stopped to chat as we crossed on a path near our office, and were interrupted by a racket: a hummingbird, possibly an anna’s hummingbird, was sitting on the branch above our heads and chirping very lustily. it’s somewhat easier to cope with the dismantling of our projects and the disregard for the past several years of our labour when the sun is shining as it is today. somewhat.
i have developed a recurring spasm in the muscle below my left eye and am told that this sort of twitch is due to stress. ’nuff said.
[photo: not my bike! a schwinn cruiser, seen on the street in nyc, march 2008]
