Another kind of reunion

I won't be posting for a week because I'll be on some much-needed vacation in the Minn. I've got a class reunion to attend to, tattoos to get, driving to do, hopefully some swimming in an actual lake and visiting old friends I haven't seen in years. I'm darn-tootin' excited. When I come back, I'll post about the reunion, and how they react to having a queer kid in their midst. Should be fun, since it was a Baptist school I attended. We shall see.

It's not like Pippi

Queer, cheerful, riot girl (ish). Do this: sing the chorus to "Goddess Part 2" right now. Or the first two lines. Or the whole song. It's all Liz Phair pop punky fun that's queer with a little less gosh-I'm-so-hip-and-self-aware attitude.

Oooh-uh-oooh-oh-oooh!

Our poet laureate is a mo and other things

Kay Ryan is the new poet laureate of the United States. She's also a big D.

I think it's somewhat telling that I had to hear about this on a Canadian news program at 3 in the morning. Telling and terribly, terribly, terribly sad.

To this I say: yay, Kay! And boo, American mainstream journalists!

Ryan learned about the honor Monday, when she and her partner of 30 years, Carol Adair, arrived home from the Aspen Ideas Festival to find a phone message from Billington.

"I thought, oh my God, this can mean only one thing," Ryan said, "and the blood ran out of my head."

The next day was a busy one, because she and Adair were scheduled to be remarried, having married the first time in 2004 at City Hall in San Francisco. "We'll have to get the rings re-engraved with the new date," she said.

Heyo!

PRIDE: SATURDAY

I'm supa late on posting these pictures, but better late than never, right?

Blogger says what?

Is there some kind of technical issue with Blogger right now? Our images, embedded videos and just about everything else seem to be randomly appearing/disappearing every other time I load the page.

Looking okay for you guys?

We're still here...

I've blogged about genetic studies about homosexuality before, thanks to Olive Skene Johnson and her fantastic book. Anyway, Slate has an interesting article about the reason homosexuality hasn't evolved itself out. Because when you think about, if roughly 10 percent of the population is queer now, we should be dwindling in numbers since The Beginning Of Time, right? Evolution has shown that natural selection's main goal is to procreate. And procreate. (And, some of those Procreators take that a little too much to heart. *CoughDuggarsCough*)

The article's focus is on duders, but they site a female study that relies on nongenetic factors, but I warn, unless you're super interested in dry medically defining text, you'd be better suited for Curve magazine.

Want my compost?

If you guys aren't regular readers of feministing.com (and, why not?) Ann posted this hilarious satirical vid by Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney) and Fred Armisen (SNL) as they play feminist bookstore employees.

Of butchness, and how I just can't change your tire, call AAA

Once again -- and shockingly soon! -- I have searched YouTube for my favorite butch/femme search terms and I discovered this:



Listen, dude, I know your pain. I ... I can't change a tire. Is there anyone around to take away my butch card? No? I can PAY for you to have your tire changed, and I think that's something.

I think we need to discuss the question of metrosexual butches right fucking now.

AND, uh, dude who made this video? On behalf of all of our femme readers who might see this: swoon. I, you know, love femmes myself and I'm with you on the metro butch thing, but you have to be fucking kidding me, thinking that there aren't femmes who like what you are.

Own that shit, my metro brother!

Ms. Click kicks it queer-hop style

I've been listening to just a little too much Nicky Click lately & have been loving "I Gotta Gal".

Nicky riffs on Positive K's "I Gotta Man" here:

And you know ya wanna hear the original here ("I'm big daddy long stroke and your man's Pee-Wee Herman"). Woot! I'd embed it, but it's disabled, because apparently the copyright on 5 million year old hip hop songs is TIGHT.

Following your heart

One of the reasons I love reading Slate's Dear Prudence articles is because Emily Yoffe is succinct, strong and sufficient. She gives it to you straight, with no bull shit, and I believe she leaves a mass of better-natured humans in her wake.

In the most recent edition, she dishes advice to a lesbian who has less-than-understanding parents. The woman is in a two-year relationship with someone she loves very much and her parents have given her the "we still love you but don't you dare bring her or your lifestyle to our home" crap. Enter Prudence (scroll down a bit):

"Dear Out,
Your parents have gotten to live their own lives, but they don't get to live yours. You are an adult, so stop quavering when they make ridiculous demands and put outrageous restrictions on you. Refuse to accept your parents' edict that the woman you love has to be treated like an embarrassment. ... It's time to explain to your parents that your girlfriend is part of your life and needs to be included by your family. Let them know that if they want to see you for family events, then they will have to welcome her. It can be amazing how much people are able to change when they realize they can no longer push you around."

It makes me feel a lot better about how I've been handling the situation with my parents, which is to say I'm at the point now where I'm better off mentally if they don't contact me. Could that change? I hope so, but we've both sort of dug our heels in (mine are sexy stilettos) and aren't budging. And I'm taking Prudence's last line to heart.

Even brooms need some love

I'm not sure why, but this scene from Family Guy has always struck me as kind of queer positive. Or maybe I've just taken one too many hard blows to the skull.

The soothing power of kittens

Nothing cools off a homicidal rage like a rad cat photo, especially when the cat in question is my cat.











NOM! Remember the threat of painful nommings when you say something terrible, won't you? Guard cat is watching.

Restraint

Recently, a anonymous person, we'll call him or her Degenerate, posted a comment in my recent "A bit about language" posting. This led to tenstimesfast hitting Degenerate where it counts and calling out a good many number of things, which then led to Degenerate posting an additional comment.

I was upset when I read Degenerate's comments, but the overwhelming emotion was sadness. The aching kind that leaves me wondering if Degenerate didn't get enough hugs as a child or if Degenerate is uneducated enough to not quite get that commenting on a queer blog and attacking the blogger is parallel to walking into a bakery full of customers and throwing muffins at the baker. We're surrounded by people who love and understand us here and you are the forever outsider. You can't hurt us with our own words. Calling us homos is awesome. I'm always looking to find ways so people don't mistake me for a hetero. You did us a favor.

I love blogging, actually, I love queer blogging and reading other queer blogs. And whenever I would read a comment similar to the one Degenerate left, I keep reading. It gets me to read more. It's like free advertising for the LGBT set. You see, we've been dealing with Degenerate's kind all our lives in one way or another and leaving a comment hidden behind a false identity doesn't scathe us in any way. It only proves how much work needs to be done promoting equality and tolerance and makes me want to throw money at the HRC and PFLAG.

Now I've worked up an appetite. I'm heading to McDonalds, anyone want anything?

Still far to go

I'm not sure how many of you paid attention to Thomas Beatie, the pregnant man, who gave birth in early July. The Wifey and I watched the Oprah special about him and his wife, Nancy, and per usual, were disgusted and surprised by Oprah's child-like curiousity about the pregnancy, hormones, facial hair and yes, the clitoris. But during the show, we both knew that the media would take this and strangle it to death, and it did. Not that that was the total fault of the media. Beatie was eager to share his story with almost any media outlet that was prepared for the answers and so the story was bigger than his growing belly.

Salon has an interesting piece on Beatie and the media that was written before Beatie gave birth and goes into detail about what was missing from the whole ordeal — respect for transgendered people.

I'll have a Fish Filet with large fry, please

So, I'm not going to lie. I love me some McDonald's. I could have probably gone to college with all the money I've spent over my lifetime there. It sustained me during high school and gave me (free) smiles during college. And today, I try to only go once a week — if that — but only as a reward of sorts or when I'm having a shitty day, which, looking at that could happen like every day.

Anyway, me getting cravings for delicious Fish Filets (lesbian delicacy anyone?) is not the point of this post, this is: the American Family Association is calling for a McDonalds boycott because the company is gay-friendly. Ahem:

"McDonald's has signed on to a nationwide effort to promote "gay" and "lesbian" business ventures. According to McDonald's CEO Jim Skinner, McDonald's will aggressively promote the homosexual agenda. In remarks on McDonald's Web site concerning the company becoming a member of the National Gay & Lesbian Chamber of Commerce (NGLCC), Skinner wrote: "Being a socially responsible organization is a fundamental part of who we are. We have an obligation to use our size and resources to make a difference in the world...and we do."

So, essentially, we gays need to do our part and nom nom our way through Mickey Dee's fantastic menu. And I love when they say "gay agenda" as though it's a part-time job of mine. Hmm. Apple pies anyone?

These girls drive the pick-up trucks

I ... you know, I drive myself nuts with the occasional compulsion to query YouTube for "butch" or "femme" or "butch femme".

Sometimes, you get the good and funny. Today, I got a video from some -- uh, I'm gonna assume he's straight -- straight dude and his femme lesbian buddy about why, OH GOD WHY, the lesbians are sometimes attracted to butches and not, say, actual fucking men.

A question for the ages, yo.

After you check this out, straight ladies, ask yourselves this: why dudes and why NOT butches? Honestly. I mean, just to flip it. I'm just saying, if this dude is the average dude, with his questions about why can't he pull a lesbian down to his straight guy, don'tchawannadick level for a couple hours ... then what the fuck are y'all doing? How do you ladies put up with that shit?

(HOWEVER, I will say that "You need to close the deal and close it quickly" is some good advice)

(That guy's not GAYYYYY? WHAT?)

Waiting for the femme rage in 3 ... 2 ... 1:

'Boys Don't Cry' killer in death row pickle

Regardless of how you feel about capital punishment and how those are set to die on death row, this story on CNN about John Lotter is interesting because:


"TECUMSEH, Nebraska (AP) -- For more than 10 years, John Lotter has faced death in Nebraska's electric chair for the grisly 1993 triple murder that spawned the movie "Boys Don't Cry." But the state Supreme Court made that sentence uncertain for Lotter and the nine other men on death row in its February ruling that electrocution — Nebraska's only means of execution — is cruel and unusual punishment."

(If you don't remember three people dying in the film, you're correct. They only portray two, Brandon Teena and Lisa Lambert. Philip Devine, Lana's sister Leslie's boyfriend, also was murdered. He wasn't included in the film at all.)

Dear Logo

I want to like you, in fact, I've recently fallen for "Gimme Sugar," much to TW's dismay. However, you promise full episodes on your Web site, and after searching for what seemed like ages and going through various rabbit holes, I've deducted that I don't like your site. There were a few broken links (the horrors!) and short clips that left me wanting for more. I missed last Monday's episode, but found out that you played episode 3 again and will play episode 3 this Monday (sadness). Your redeeming quality is that on certain nights I can catch first season episodes of "The L Word" followed by an hour of "Queer as Folk." Please make your site more cohesive. Pretty pretty please.

A bit about language

Over at Queerty.com, there's quite a buzz about about "Hancock." Will Smith plays the title character and says some shitty remarks to Jason Bateman's character (Hancock's PR guy) to which get GLAAD's attention:

"[Bateman's character] shows Hancock three comic book images in an effort to inspire him. But Hancock rejects the traditional image of costumed superheroes as he responds to each one: 'Homo. Homo in red. Norwegian homo.' "

Now I wasn't planning on seeing "Hancock." At best, The Wifey and I were planning on Netflixin' it in a few months because Smith movies are usually decent. But now, I'm left with a frustrated feeling about the entire project, as well as Smith.

After reading the comments in Queerty's post, I have to say that I agree with GLAAD calling everyone out on this. We simply should use other words. Use. Other. Words. When people say the "R" word (re....tard...ed) I always shoot a don't-say-that-again-please, most often without the please, because I cannot grasp that this word is still used negatively. I understand that it's a popular word, more than "that's so gay," however, I would hope that we as an evolving nation could come up with another word to explain a situation. I have a bro who works with special needs kids and I take it extremely to heart when I hear the word. He's the sort of hero I'd rather know about anyway, not some shitty overpaid actor.

But getting back to comments left on the Queerty post, people say that because the actor was just reading the script, we shouldn't be upset at Smith. On that, I strongly disagree. I'm positive that if Smith spoke up, or Bateman spoke up, to take the line out or to have someone respond to it, they would have made that happen. Smith would look like a hero for standing up and saying something and possibly nix some gay-or-Scientologist rumors floating around him. In any event, GLAAD would be offering him a hand shake or E-card or something, instead of breathing down his neck and having him take full responsibility.

In any event, I'm left with an awful taste in my mouth over the whole thing and I think watching "Queer as Folk" will help with that. Definitely.

I can haz new rings please?

Seriously, I need some kind of new alarm on my iPod Touch, because the one I'm using now not only wakes me up, it makes me want to kill myself.

Anyone know how to change 'em?

A taste of the lovin'

I have a family reunion coming in the next few weeks. It's been in the works for the last year, I've been planning to go to it forever and I'm now ... reluctant.

I've been away from Pennsylvania for almost three years, and I've been home once in that nearlythreeyears. My grandmother turned 80, we had a big to-do for her in a firehall in the town where my mom grew up. I went, it was without incident, everyone was awesome, but mostly it that "holy hell, we haven't seen you since you were this high" way that is pleasant, but sort of condescending. One of my mega-religious aunts -- the one who is married to my mom's youngest brother, who is actually younger than one of my brothers -- asked me how many kids I had.

She asked this with a big smile, and TOTALLY expected an answer with a number in it. Like, one or two or ten. I pointed and her and said, Oh You. And laughed. And went to get a drink at the keg with my uncles and the other miserable dudes, boyfriends of my cousins who'd been dragged to this thing.

My uncle Ken had had a heart attack not too long before this party for my grandma was planned. Despite the whole thing about how you probably shouldn't be putting down glass after glass of I.C. Light after a heart attack, he still was. The keg was getting the the almost tapped point, so he poured a beer for me.

I asked him how it was going. When I was little, Uncle Ken was pretty much a badass. He was a foreman at a steel mill, had a wicked hot younger wife, a huge house, drove a Caddy.

You don't smoke anymore, huh? Ken, when I was little, smoked a shitload of Camels. Nah, I quit ...

And he did this thing, which has alternately bothered me and soothed me since then. He chucked me on the shoulder, and he said this:

This thing, you know ... it's okay. Okay? You should come home more often.

And then he hugged me.

In my entire life, none of my 4000000 uncles has ever hugged me. And, you know, maybe only 1 or 2 aunts have hugged me. It's a big, stern Irish family, so you know, not a whole lot of hugging.

Holy fuck, the hugging. My uncle Bo hugged me. My aunt Cathy, despite being a giant cunt throughout my entire childhood, hugged me. Uncle Harry, newly remarried and suddenly affectionate: hugzilla. Uncle Bo hugged me again, just for kicks. My grandma got mysterious tears in her eyes ... and then hugged me LIKE EXTRA HARD FOR SOME REASON. My aunt Jane and uncle E.J., who're as close as I'm gonna get to hipsters in my family, hugged me so much that I thought I might lose my eyes from the pressure. My cousins -- all 42 of them -- all pretty much snagged me for a little hug lovin' throughout the day.

So here we go. It's been like two years since this, and still ... what the fuck, huh? I keep kind of going over it in my head & still dunno: hug bomb? Coordinated effort on the part of some folks who're ordinarily kind of hick-ish to be all, hey, that gay thing? A-Fucking-Okay. Have a hug, gaywad.

I keep thinking about this as the family reunion -- our first in almost 20 years! -- approaches. My niece has texted me pretty much daily in the last week about it. She's my favorite (sorry, other nieces and nephews, the first born and the one that shares my birthday? FAVE. I can't help it.) and kind of maybe idolizes me, and man, that's some pressure.

I ... you know, I don't know what I'm freaking out about. I want to go and eat pierogies and kielbasa and pigs-in-the-blanket and drink Iron City and spend time with my gram, who's kind of getting to the point where she's spending weeks at a time at my parents' place because of medical shit.

I WANT. I DON'T want to, at the age of 30, to have to fucking pretend that, no matter how okay you are with gay thing, to be all fucking stupid about it and not say anything about Punk Rock Femme. I DON'T want the hey, we're okay with the gay thing to extend to just my actual presence in the room; I want it to extend to talking about, seeing the person I love.

And I don't know if it would. GOD, maybe that's what all those hugs were about two years ago. MAYBE, hugs from aunt frigid bitch meant, hey, bring you same-sex sin partner to our next family reunion! I have no idea, because we're not big on communication, you know, AS A FAMILY.

That just brings me to the point of this post, the reason that I started typing in the first place. Punk Rock Femme's family? Her parents? AMAZING. Her step-parents? AMAZING. Her step-step-parents? AMAZING. Her grandparents? There really isn't a word to describe their all-consuming radness (I'd link to PRF's grandparents, but that seems way too personal. Grandparents. Web presence. Yeah, I know, huh?) Wow.

I'm sort of simultaneously in awe of how good I have it with the in-laws and how kind of fucked up my own family is about every gay, gay, gay thing ever.

After all of that ... should I stay or should I go?

You know, there's a web phrase for all of this:

TL;DR


If you did? Props.

Ode to the Frog

God, I love you Frog Bra.

I'll just say this: if your chest region, if you will, exceeds the maximum recommended load for sports bras and you're not a fan of, say, binding all that shit ... Frog Bra. If your below-the-shoulders-above-the-navel situation is in need of some seriously comfortable compression: fucking Frog Bra.

Frog Bra. Frog Bra. Frog Bra. Bra. Brahhhh. Bro. I can't say enough about it. I love them, I own three, I will buy more. I am a walking ad for them. I want to wear logos plastered on my chest to advertise the reduction process.

Sponsor me! It'll be like NASCAR for homos.

Reduce your situation, butches. Love the Frog.

Fun with server logs: The "some things never change" edition

Ahh, the server logs! Even though we took a break from posting, y'all never stopped typing weird shit into search engines to find us! Bless your hearts.

Butches: you never get tired of 'em

- hot butch
- hot butch action
- celebrity butches
- hot butch chick

Butches: some of you just aren't satisfied with the regular kind of "hot butch"

- hottest butches

Evidence that Tres Bien's posts about "Gimme Sugar" are the hottest thing since hot butches:

- Seriously, like 30 different search terms re: "Gimme Sugar" and all things related to it. Whoa Nelly, TB, you've hit the motherlode!

Questions that I cannot answer

- are jen biesty and girlfriend still together
- what's girlgin?

Otep is a popular lady/demon:

- otep shamaya childhood
- otep shamaya's real name (I have decided that it's Melissa Higgenbottom. Your mileage may vary.)
- november 7, 1979 otep shamaya

I ... I don't know. And I'm scared!


- sexual activities bff
- ladies with short hair porn
- ladies spread your legs please

And finally: yes ... yes, I do have one:

- kate mckinnon crush

A horrible disease presented to you in pink heart format

I've been listening to a lot of Aus-Rotten (yeah, Pittsburgh punk!)lately and have been meaning to post about a song of theirs called "A.I.D.S.". It's a pretty standard anti-government political punk tune about, you know, how HIV/AIDS was forced upon the population by a cold & faceless regime bent on something something. Probably control.

Anywho, so I searched a bit for the lyrics so that I'd have them right when I posted. I discovered that hey, why just post those lyrics in plain, unappealing text when they could be posted in an exciting little chunk of coding awesomeness that would really lend some weight to the words.

And here we go (please, just note that I didn't make this. It was an optional dealie from a lyrics website):

The actual, playable song without a heart. Can you stand it?:

Oh Blogger, I think I'm getting ready to divorce you

Okay, after a year of using Blogger for this joint, I think I'm wanting for more. There's so much that I want to do for the site and after days of googling "Blogger addons" and "Blogger hacks" and "Blogger widgets", I'm sure I've found the solution.

It's called WordPress.

I have to buy a new hosting package for my portfolio site, and it's looking like it might be time to roll LWM - The Blogger Edition! over to LWM - The WordPress With Its Own Domain Edition!

I mean, this all depends on Tres Bien's thoughts on the matter, but man, I sure am sick of the lack of anything decent plugin/addon-wise for Blogger. I mean, I can't even get a decent tag cloud for our 6 billion tags without a decent amount of fucking around? Double You Tee Eff, Blogger ... Double You Tee Eff.

Past blast

Like most teens growing up in the early nineties, I watched my share of late eighties movies. One that always stood out to me, purely on unbelievable plots, is "Mannequin" starring Kim Cattrall and Andrew McCarthy.

It's got everything, including pre-"Sex and the City" Cattrall vamping it up in a million dress changes, Meshach Taylor ("Designing Women") as Hollywood, the over-the-top gay man and McCarthy, who looks a little/lot like a lady. Maybe that's why the couple was believable. In any event, the whole movie is gaylicious.