pantryslut

Preschool took a "field trip" to the bird sanctuary and adjacent playground at Lake Merritt today. I was a walker. The kids fed the birds, ate a snack, and ran around in the sun. On the way there and back, we "hunted for gnomes" -- someone in Oakland is installing small paintings on wood of gnomes and mushrooms and such at the base of telephone poles all over our neighborhood.

Afterwards, it was time to head to the doctor for a vaccine booster for school, and the signing of forms thereof. Once upon a time my kids didn't really mind getting shots, but that time has passed and there were many tears. But they didn't last long, thanks to stickers, Looney Tunes band-aids and lollipops. We were also able to tell them that it will be six years before they have to have another shot (most likely).

Then: grocery shopping with two kids, one of whom really, really, really needed a nap and who gets really, really, really wacky, talkative, and unable to follow directions when she needs a nap. Fun times!

Somewhere in there I had a long discussion with my father about vanguardism, class consciousness, the current economic state of San Francisco, immigration reform and suchlike. You know, the usual.

I just realized that it was my intention to be a 100% stay-at-home parent for the first 2 1/2 years of the kids' life, and then go back to work somewhere.

Well.

I had the most epic dreams last night I have had since I was pregnant. (No worries, G.)

A large portion of them involved tasting a mutant melon that had giant seeds encapsulated in juice.

JoAnn Wypijewski writes in a recent issue of the Nation, for her "Carnal Knowledge" column:

"If the dead bodies of Dhaka seem remote as a concern for sexual politics, that merely reveals how shallow those politics often are, and indeed how limited are the familiar, compartmentalized politics of the progressive brand."

And:

"The dead of Dhaka ought to prompt a deeper consideration by everyone of the punishments of capital, and of the relationship between desire, repression and power."

Hear, hear.

This week, I am growing a beard.

I am growing a beard because my children asked me to. They wanted to see what it looks like. They have asked every night for nearly a month.

Usually I shave my face. Shaving lives in that perfect groove of simultaneously making me feel more masculine and more socially acceptable in appearance. I love shaving. I don't do it every day, though, both because I don't need to and I have sensitive skin -- and at some point my children noticed that I felt more bristly when I kissed them goodnight than on other nights.

I ended up explaining about shaving in as ungendered a way as possible -- Daddy shaves, and Uncle Bear Daddy shaves, and Mommy shaves, and some people don't have to shave, blah blah blah. And there it lay for a while. Until a few weeks ago, at least.

I think the 'beard,' such as it is, is going away tomorrow morning, because while I felt like I could get away with my scruff at Dolores Park today, I'm not so confident of getting through the kid's birthday party I'm scheduled for tomorrow. Then again, the lighting is low...

I told G. today, "I kinda want to tell everyone, 'I'm not transitioning, I'm just hairy.'" And now I guess I have.

This is what I brought to the picnic in Dolores Park today. Posted by request.

This is basically Mark Ruhlman's recipe from Ruhlman's 20 except for the pistachios.

A mix of yellow and green summer squash, about 1 1/2 pounds total
Salt
1 Tablespoon shallot, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
1 Tablespoon (or so) fresh lemon juice
2 Tablespoons olive oil
Pepper
1/4 cup toasted nuts -- I used pistachio; almonds or walnuts would also work
1/4 cup chopped herbs -- I used parsley and chives but basil, marjoram and plenty of others would work too

Julienne the squash or cut into slices or do what I did and grate it with the food processor. Put the squash in a colander and sprinkle with about 1 teaspoon coarse salt; toss and sprinkle with another teaspoon of salt. Let this stand for 10 to 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine the shallot, garlic, and lemon juice in a small bowl.

Taste the squash. If it's too salty, rinse briefly under cold water. Lightly squeeze the excess moisture out of the squash. Pat dry. Toss the squash with the oil, then drizzle on the lemon juice mixture and toss again. Season with pepper, then adjust the seasonings to taste -- you might want more lemon juice but you probably won't want more salt. Gently stir in the chopped herbs and sprinkle with the nuts. Serve.

Once upon a time I was an English major at a state university, and that state university required students to take a survey Intro to Fiction/Drama/Poetry sequence. Graduate students taught these courses, of course. For Intro to Poetry, I got some prig who'd gone to Adrian or Albion or one of those hyper-religious colleges for his undergraduate work. He kept the Christian thing to a dull roar -- but he was unable to do so for the homophobia. Or the distaste for free verse. I had this class first thing in the morning three times a week. I had a stronger constitution then.

His homophobia and distaste for free verse combined into, unsurprisingly, a virulent dislike of Whitman. So virulent, in fact, that he cut him out of the curriculum entirely. Honest. He made some sort of statement about how American poetry of the 19th century had two major figures but he despised one of them so he wasn't going to assign any of it for reading.

Instead, he assigned us double doses of the other one: Emily Dickinson.

I'm going to have to presume a heaping helping of denial (plus the always-lovely attitude that girl-homos don't count) assisted him in this particular mental gymnastic routine.

"For LGBT people, the luxury of privacy was antithetical to forming communities, which are, by their nature, public in bringing similar people together." -- Michael Bronski

This is part of what I was trying to say at FOGCon a couple months ago.

It is also relevant to people trying to project their fears all over my chosen activities recently (again).

It's time for...

Perverts Put Out's Spring Thing!

Celebrate the rites (and wrongs) of Spring with a sap-raising gang of erotic performers including Greta Christina, Airial Clark, Jen Cross, Sam Sax, horehound stillpoint, Na'amen Tilahun, Virgie Tovar and your hosts Simon Sheppard and Dr. Carol Queen.

Saturday, May 11, 2013
doors 7:00, show 8:00
The Center for Sex and Culture
1369 Mission Street, San Francisco

$10-25 sliding scale, no-one turned away. A benefit for the Center for Sex and Culture.

April has a habit of playing with her food. I don't mean pushing it from one side of the plate to the other. I mean elaborate spontaneous constructions, dramas, and artwork.

Today at lunch she is enacting a drama with strawberries, complete with voices. The baby strawberry was stuck on a fork and needed to be rescued. A big strawberry came and dislodged the baby but then the baby needed a band-aid. The big strawberry tried to find the baby's mother but "my mother was eaten." "I'll find you a new mother," said the big strawberry, and April reached into the bowl for yet another character. "My dear!" said the new mother. "Mommy!" said the baby strawberry.

And they all lived happily ever after until they were eaten, too.