Well the Olympia visit to Irina was a bust- just too much packing to do. And now I have a splitting headache from last night's alternate events. I rolled with the Mikes to a party we vastly misjudged to be a blotto-affair. We were wired and wasted, when everyone else left quietly at the respectable hour of 1AM.

Some blog commentary:

It's getting fun, as Anna pointed out to me yesterday. But I'm particularly fascinated by rumblings of an anti-blogging backlash, actually. If you have opinions or insight on this, please send them my way. I'm determined to get to the bottom of this, and I promise to share my findings and speculations on this site.

My (imperfect) contributions to the growing supereponymous war:

Artist: Jill Scott
Album: Who is Jill Scott?
Song: Jilltro

Artist: Cadallaca
Artist: Introducing Cadallaca
Song: Cadallaca Theme

Thanks, Bob, for suggesting a revival of the term “harsh on” (as in: “Yes, there are cyclists who have an attitude -- they'll harsh on someone for driving an SUV…”). I always enjoyed that expression.

A confession to James- maybe it's a twin thing, but I tend to cringe at dyad identification. As much as I adore MSG, , and as much as I admire your blog template design, would it be possible to someday have my own icon?

And to Vin, I just have to say hooray for young, angry, punk-rock dykes!

Ladies and Gentlemen, the new kid on the blog is Dr. Keating. I like her approach to South Bend, where she's just landed for a one-year post-doc position. So check out her dérive diaries, which, as she defines for us on her site, refers to a "technique of transient passage through varied ambiences. In a dérive one or more persons during a certain period of time drop their usual motives for movement and action, their relations, their work and leisure activities, and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the encounters they find there (Situationist International, 50)." I guess we'll soon see what the midwest ambience has in store for her.


And for the weekend-- an excursion to Olympia for Homo-a-gogo! Hopefully this will help me shake this case of "maximum entropy," as Ron puts it.

Uh-oh. Seems my grumpiness has rubbed off on MSG. See, we’re gearing up to move October 1, and it’s put me in the worst possible mood ever.

For those of you keeping track, this will make 9 places I’ve lived since Fall 1996.

1. 15th Ave., 1 year.
Roommate: Cameron. Nice arrangement for my first year in graduate school.
Reason for leaving: Saving the friendship (it worked, although he's off living in Buenos Aires at the moment).

2. A house on Queen Anne hill (my only time away from Capitol Hill), 3-4 months.
Roommates: Connie, Bruce, 1 sheepdog, 2 cats.
Reason for leaving: They ended the less-than-satisfying arrangement, soon got married, and bought a house in the suburbs. I always kinda felt like the Hilarious-Single living with the Square-Couple (you know, like in a sit-com... oh, the misadventures).

3. 13th Ave., 1 year.
Studio apartment, no roommates. Loved it; wrote the bulk of my MA thesis here. Had an asshole landlord, though, who began to email me violently pornographic email (in which I was always the protagonist), continued to ask me out (despite the fact that I was obviously involved with Aude—what, did he think we were sisters?), and later, stalk me. I'm not kidding here- I had the scariest night of my life-- in place #4-- in which he was skulking around our big house. We had no telephone yet, I didn’t know if all the doors were locked up, and so I locked myself in the bathroom with a knife for hours. More to it than this, obviously.

4. 24th Ave. (a.k.a. enculer la mouche), 1 year.
Roommates: a rotating revue of Meades (Rick, Kerry, Ryan, Natalie), friends of Meades (Randy, Courtney, Kenny), lovers of Meades (my Robyn, Kerry’s Wesley), and hanger-on-ers (too many to name).
Reason for leaving: After a much-needed year off from grad school, it was time for me to settle down and move on.

5. Summit Ave., 1 year.
No roommates- perfect 1-bd. Thought I would stay here until I finished the Ph.D. Reason for leaving: Landlord priced me out, raising my rent another $150 or so per month (in Seattle's dotcom boomdays).

[Can’t forget to include here Summer 2000, the Summer of Love, when I sublet this apartment and stayed in SF.]

6. Bellevue Ave., sometime less than a year.
Roommate: Mike G (a.k.a. Groucher, or Grabber, depending on who you talk to). Thought I would stay here until I finished the Ph.D.
Reason for leaving. Earthquake, March 2001. Half the building occupants were evacuated within 24 hours; we had a little over a month to get out. Incidentally, the building has been fixed, renovated, beautified, and they’ve literally doubled the rent.

7. I put my things in storage for a few months while I dealt with my general exams. I lived in several intermittant places, including:
- Subletting from Larin while she was in Estonia for a couple of months (and taking care of her cat), and
- Crashing with newly relocated MSG, on 123 Bellevue Ave.

8. 123 Bellevue Ave., 1 year
This brings us up to speed. Blissful life here with MSG, in a groovy place, groovy part of town. Again, thought I would stay here until I finished the Ph.D.

9. Helen and 23rd.
Here’s where you can find us next week.

Yesterday I saw for the first time the New York Times’ inclusion of a same-sex commitment ceremony announcement in their Sunday wedding section (they revealed this new practice about a month ago). I admit it-- I was thrilled to see the photograph of the two young, white, professional lesbians committing themselves to each other publicly, in the Gray Lady. It even choked me up a bit (although I think that’s a more complicated issue; in trying to quell the anxiety wrapped up in my return to Seattle I seem to become choked up at the tiniest suggestion. Yes, for those who know me well- this is a cry for help!).

But back to the issue at hand: my reaction surprised me. a) I’m not particularly thrilled by the institution of marriage (I’m a fan of Love, don’t get me wrong), and b) I’ve never thought that encouraging new demographics to adopt the practice was the way to go (what, so now we can market Gay-Barbie-Dream-Weddings?). That said, however, I do incontrovertibly support legislation legalizing same-sex marriage (just ask my state representatives- they get letters from me all the time). Just because I don’t quite get it (and how about the Log Cabin Republicans, for that matter, or any woman in the Republican party, or any ethnic minority that fights wars for the U.S. …), doesn’t mean I think people don't have the right to choice. But “choice” is always political, isn't it.

CAPGAS in the Seattle Fringe Festival

Mike's theatrical co-directorial debut is tonight ... Rachel’s opening is tomorrow. For those of you in the Seattle area, come on out.

This time a twin ...

EAT YOUR VEGETABLES

The food on my road trip was most memorable--

- The popcorn at the Corn Palace, Mitchell, South Dakota (and the beef, of course),

- The Everything-With-Bacon restaurant in Indiana (seriously- even the salmon my aunt ordered was wrapped in bacon),

- The Tom Hirschfeld meal in Noblesville, Indiana,

- The chicken and biscuits and BBQ in Memphis,

- The prime rib in Nashville (with restaurants called The Stockyard, The Cock of the Walk, and Wildhorse Saloon how could we go wrong?) Crick met me here to pick up here car, and we managed to find a most charming gay bar (yes, in Nashville)- an old saloon/parlour type place. Really great.

- And, of course, the Strawberry Pretzel Salad, made by my aunt in Speedway, Indiana. For those of you who asked, this is how you make it:


Strawberry Pretzel Salad
3/4 cup margarine, melted
3 tablespoons brown sugar
2 1/4 cups crushed pretzels
1 large package strawberry gelatin
2 cup boiling water
3 cups cold strawberries
1 8oz package cream cheese
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 carton frozen whipped topping (thawed)
Directions

1. Mix the margarine, brown sugar and pretzels together, and then press into a 9x13 backing dish. Bake for 10 minutes at 350 degrees.

2. Dissolve the gelatin in 2 cups of boiling water, stir in the strawberries. Chill just until it begins to set.

3. Blend together cream cheese and sugar, fold in whipped topping. Spread on cooled crust. Pour strawberry mixture over cheese blend. Chill.

All three of these can be made in stages, as time allows.

Robert Newell, Leading Man. See him in the forthcoming television series, "BUSTED!"

CAPGAS Web updates!

Damn. Prolific P. You don't know him, but check out the blog. One of the great breakup letters here.

So I'm back in Seattle, after 3 weeks on the road. Many tales to tell, but for now I'll keep it to this souvenir photograph, taken September 8, 2002.



Incidentally, this was MSG's response to that last blog regarding his birthday plans:
"...but how is that a response to mine? and anyway, rather than refusing to be my moral mentor, i've always thought of you as accepting to be my immoral mentor..."

Poking around the Memphis libraries I came across this advice column, published in The WMPS Listener in April 1948. Seems to speak to MSG on his birthday (wish I were there for it!).

Mirror of your Mind
by Lawrence Gould, Consulting Psychologist

Q. Is “every good man afraid of his wife?”

Yes, if a "good man" means what it meant to the late G.K. Chesterton, who originally made this statement. For that sort of good man has unconsciously enshrined his wife in the position his mother first occupied in his mind. And since it is easier to let someone else decide our moral problems than to try to solve them ourselves, a great many men are satisfied to let their wives become “the keepers of their consciences,” even to the point of leaving it to them to decide when they need to be scolded.

I have heard a big, two-fisted male admit when talking over whether he could join the evening poker game: “I can be as brave as anybody when my wife is not around, but when I have to face her, I wind up by doing what she tells me.”

It is a situation that has its advantages from a woman’s standpoint, but as many women find out, there are “catches” in it. For instance, you cannot really love a person of whom you are afraid, or whose disapproval stands between you and what you would like to do if you dared defy her. The woman who lets herself “play mother” (or moral policeman) actually lives, not with a man, but with a small boy who at heart begrudges her the power he does not quite dare defy.

The woman who has the courage and the vision to refuse to be her husband’s moral mentor will occasionally “have her troubles,” but she will eventually achieve a relationship in which they will both be happier—and freer to enjoy life and each other.

I love this photograph. San Francisco, Summer 2000: our own summer of love.

Back to blog. At the moment I'm in the Shelby County library in Memphis, Tennessee-- by far the nicest public library I have ever seen.

First leg of the trip: a 5-day drive from Seattle, Washington to South Bend, Indiana with 2 women and a cat. Some sublime moments in the open prairies, but I don't necessarily recommend a long drive with a pregnant woman and her cat. Once in South Bend, Crick and I unloaded 3,000 lbs of boxes and furniture- in the intense heat and humidity. Talk about butch.