teen spirit

I saw a sweet scene in Cold Spring Friday night: Students from the Poughkeepsie Day School held a vigil and concert for Lawrence King, and all queer teens who suffer harassment. Down by the waterfront, this groups of kids sang and gave speeches and hooted in support of one another. Lawrence King was murdered when he asked his best friend to be his valentine. These kids were handing out the love freely.

sickly sweet

Freakin' Splenda is haunting me! Twice in one weekend our household shopping was cursed by accidental purchases of products containing Splenda.

We don't buy too much in the way of processed food, so I think I've grown slack in the world of ingredient reading. How else can I explain being pressed to create bright colors of frosting in a pinch, breezing through some nasty chemical ingredient list on a tub of super processed frosting to make sure there was no egg or whey or lard, and realizing, while frosting a bright yellow cupcake with candied lemon peel on top, that the reason the consistency was so gluey was because it was reduced sugar frosting? Gross on top of yuk. It was too late to go back. I figured this is what I get for taking short cuts, even though I'd been asked to bake for a party, and I'm totally not a baker. I had no intention of eating any of the cupcakes, and warned everyone at the party, most of whom didn't care, that the beautiful pastel colors were made of poison.I claim some innoncence: I had been in a daze. The party was a naming ceremony and first birthday party for twins born to dyke moms, and conceived via in-vitro fertilization after years of fertility treatments. When I went on the frosting run, I'd just been at the gym listing to a podcast about Liza Mundy's new book about ethics questions and medical issues when children are created through fertility treatments, surrogacy, and sperm donors. The famous octoplets have given us a peek, but there are a whole lot more issues, many of which these very moms had experience with. It was a terrifying listen, having direct impact on this family I love, and most specifically on the smaller of the twin girls, clearly robbed of nutrition and everything else by the bigger, stronger one, and having just suffered whooping cough and pneumonia. I knew my arguments for adoption for well-founded, even though everyone is sick of hearing them! The party featured lots of cute, happy kids, however, and was so warm and sweet and supportive that my freakout melted.

The frosting was called out by one of the moms, who I'd pressed to stop using Splenda. Since she didn't care much about poisoning herself, I'd used the Huntingdon Life Sciences angle, a convincing one. Splenda was tested on 12,800 animals to "prove" that it's safe. Hello, we already know it's poison! Like how we know jet exhaust and cigarettes are poison, but we're still "testing" that on dogs. HLS exists specifically for crappy products like fake sweeteners, with hundreds of animals suffering every day because of it. All vivisection is grotesque, but nobody, no matter how uninformed, can pretend that product testing is okay. I was thrilled she remembered.So we left the party all warm and fuzzy, shaking the nasty fake sweet. Or so we thought. A person sometimes craves pickles. This sometimes happens when one's own stash of ferments from last summer is gone, and when that person is not on the lower east side of Manhattan with access to Guss' barrels of brine. So we're at the market and decide to splurge on a jar of fancy pickles. At the last minute, we feel guilty about spending the money and run back and swap the expensive pickles for a jar of Vlasic bread & butter pickles. Go home, go to crack them open, and see that they're made with Splenda.Insert string of expletives here.

Here's why I love belonging to a farm. Here's why I'm starting up a winter C.S.A. in my town. Plain old good food. Delightful treats. Good planning instead of shortcuts. No poisons. No animals harmed. Feeling completely spoiled without ever accidently eating shit like Splenda.

naked pictures

I can't call myself anti porn. I know that sex and sexuality in our society are often messed up and dangerous. I also don't think "sheltering" everyone from that mess protects us. When I don't like something, or think it's hurtful, that doesn't automatically translate to illegality. (Should I have that woman in the gym locker room with all her pubes shaved off arrested?)

Take the case of the kids arrested for making and distributing child porn for taking pictures of themselves. Under laws made to protect children from sexual predators, we are now criminalizing kids who are exploring their own sexuality.

Is it stupid to send a naked cell phone picture of yourself to a kid in your class (now called "sexting")? Yep. Can it have disastrous results? Yes, like the young woman who killed herself after her ex-boyfriend shared her naked photo with others. She was a victim of bullying. But what if that picture had been forwarded in a world where people weren't such prudes? Where we addressed kids' sexuality, instead of pretending it didn't exist? Where she knew her sex life was a part of her, not shameful, and not the sum of her. There's part of it that's impressive. She felt great about her body, her sexuality, her attractiveness. It went sour, later, but there was a moment there of bold pride that I can't imagine having had as a teen.

Don't get me wrong—I'm terrified for kids. A friend's nine year old is so pretty that it's causing her problems at school, with too much unwanted attention from boys, and strains on her friendships. A sixteen year old girl on the St. Patrick's Day train wearing strap-on prosthetic boobs that doubled as beer bongs broke my heart some.

But poor judgement and an obsession with one's own sexuality are standard teenage fare. Standard human fare. One that arresting kids and posting their names on sex offender registries will never change.

As someone who got a Catholic version of sex "education", and so had a lot of messed up ideas about sex and desire and my body, I really believe that educators, parents, other kids have an enormous responsibility to talk with children honestly about all aspects of sexuality. It's impossible, probably, for kids to completely understand the concept of consequences, but an introduction to the idea is not a terrible thing.

my economic downturn

I taught art classes for years, and the struggle students are up against always seems the same: they've been told how to see, so can't see on their own. Because it's how I am, I got myself all up in arms (over and over) about how kids aren't taught to think, just to memorize facts, including some untrue. (Right, who are your historical "facts" coming from anyway?) I've talked for years (ok, maybe now decades) about teaching critical thinking to young kids, maybe second graders, so that these poor things wouldn't get to college and still not have a clue how to think about something for themselves. Too bad I only talked for decades, and have never taught critical thinking skills to anyone.

I'm moving on. My new obsession is home economics. When I was in high school, a home ec class was offered, but no self respecting feminist girl took it, and a couple of boys took it as a joke. (I fought against taking typing, too, computers not being on the scene yet, and not wanting to grow up to be somebody's secretary. That's a separate but related story, where my first jobs were as a secretary. ) Those couple of boys taking home ec didn't learn anything. Sure, they carried their egg around, in theory learning to parent. But they didn't learn about say, contraception, at my Catholic school. They didn't learn how to cook or sew or can or plumb or use tools or grow a garden. And they sure as hell didn't learn anything about money.

I'm on this rant because the student loan monsters are after me. I owe them more than $50,000 for an advanced degree in studio art. I borrowed enough money to buy a house in order to spend two years in the armpit of New Jersey learning zero practical skills and zero technical skills; having most creative impulses beaten out of me by relentless critique and theory; seeing the nasty underside of the New York art who-knows-who business (let's call it what it is); making a few friends; and spending nearly every waking minute a) teaching, b) producing artwork that wasn't as interesting or nuanced as what I'd made in undergrad school, and c) discussing with my shrink whether anti-depressants were really necessary.

The anti-depressants WERE necessary, even with the awfulness that getting off them brought. All that was with zero understanding of the impact of borrowing tens of thousands of dollars.

I now understand why taking money seriously is important, even when you hate the stuff. If there are any young people out there who read this blog, pay attention:

1. DO NOT BORROW MONEY FOR SCHOOL UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. Yes, you want to get away from home. Yes, you've been told you'll be a flunky if you don't go straight to college. Yes, I'm sure you have visions of the fabulous career you'll have, and the multitudes of debts you'll be able to afford. Unless you're 100% positive things will turn out as you plan, it doesn't make sense to borrow money, even if you're studying to become a doctor or lawyer. Take my friend who was at the top of his law school class, and writes poetry instead of practicing law. He learned he just couldn't stand the game of law in this country. Look at all those doctors who leave fancy practices behind to help those living in poverty and suffering from AIDS or dengue, because they realized facelifts weren't why they got into medicine. These doctors can't afford their student loan payments, I promise you.
   
   There are scholarships available. Public schools have some brilliant teachers in them—find those teachers and stick to them. Community colleges aren't bad. If you must go to an out of state school, live there for a year first and get residency in the state. Ivy league means nothing, unless you're a fancy pants rich person who can afford to pay, and you live in the fancy pants world where such things as where one got their education matters. Find a way to pay for school, or better yet, move to a country where they believe in educating their citizens and have free schools.
   
   You won't be a loser if you don't go to college straight out of high school, or (gasp!), even if you don't go to college at all.
   
   
2. PAYING RENT SUCKS. If you do go to school, you plan to be there for several years. Why not get together with a few friends you trust and buy a ramshackle cottage? Sell it or rent it to other students in a few years. Four years + of rent is not a small amount of money. Add it up!
   
   
3. DON'T GET CREDIT CARDS. They're pure evil. Better to go hungry or ask a friend for help than charge your groceries.
   
   
4. START A BUSINESS. It doesn't matter what it is. Make and sell t-shirts, sell crafts, distribute food at a farmer's market. Be a bicycle delivery service. It really doesn't matter, but picking something you enjoy is helpful. The point of this is for some cash, made solely by you and not by working for the man at the corner fast food joint. It'll help make you believe in yourself. It'll teach you some basic skills about self-management, force you to learn about communication and dealing with money.

This is a weird topic for an activist space, for sure, but here's the thing: money and debt change lives. I thought I'd share instead of ranting to those for whom it's too late to make a difference. I'm just now learning to to take care of a home, to make due when money is tight. My hands shake when I get into the nitty gritty of starting my own business or organization. These things are like languages, so much harder to learn later on. Especially under the looming weight of student loans.

power to the [artistic] people

Can't work in a shelter? Can't get arrested? Can't travel? Not so good at speaking to the media?

Don't let that stop you! Use what you already do well to help people or animals or the planet or all three!

Check out this painting of my beloved cat, Slidell, getting his first bath. It was made by the talented Sara Woster in a project to raise money for women in the Congo. She couldn't participate in the athletic fundraiser called "Run for Congo," but wanted to help, and has.

Get to work! And check out Sara's fantastic paintings for Congo. These gorgeous paintings are made to order, for a mere $27 apiece. Whether you want a political painting or one of your mom, it's all helping.

election night in brooklyn

As luck would have it, I found myself in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn on election night. Nervous as all get-out and knowing there'd be no sleep, I walked to the store for a beer. On a street where I've never gotten more than a nod, various groups of people chatted me up, all as worked up as I. I was asked at least 5 times in 2 blocks who I'd voted for. And, for the first time in my life, met teenage boys hanging out on their stoop absolutely obsessing over the returns, and afraid to watch. A group of men set up to play chess all sat instead fixed on the tv they were powering from the light post.

I knew I had to vote for Obama. I often vote Green or abstain, but knew that this time, even though it was certain New York would go blue, I couldn't take the risk. Not only did he need to win, it needed to be a landslide.

I knew how it ended before the station I was watching announced it. People screamed. They ran out of their houses, and screamed some more, shaking their arms in the air and jumping. Kids chanted, to no-one in particular. For hours, cars honked and the people inside shouted to anyone they saw.

I surprised myself by crying. It was huge, and I was grateful to have experienced it in this primarily Black neighborhood to really feel how huge.

I noticed agent inkysocks cried, too, when she encountered teenage boys (by definition, unengaged) who cared passionately about what goes down. Now, to make national politics continue to be relevant to this many young men, to this many people on a whole. To make all the days besides election day matter.

**Thanks to BlackPast.org for the photo. That vote was about the improvement of schools in Black neighborhoods in Seattle.

kid hating

"I understand there are a lot of bad parents out there whose children do not ever see limits imposed on their behavior and they run wild in the streets, drenched in the blood of the infidels and burning the villages in their wake, waving sticky hands in the air and drooling from their sticky mouths, spilling every cup in sight."

My friend Josh over at Vegan Metal Bike Dad Punk Blog has been opining about kids and bigots, in short, that if you say you "hate kids" that you are very definitely a bigot. Not cool, not cutting edge, not well-informed-about-overpopulation, and not more of an adult yourself.

I appreciate it when people know they won't make a good parent, or a good babysitter, even, but of course that's very different than hating kids. VMBDP's examples of people snubbing his daughter at public gatherings, etc. are outrageous, but somehow believable, since I've heard this sentiment expressed too. Try out these responses to a child's presence instead:

• "That tantrum voice is hard on the ears, small fry."
• "I hate that I don't fit on and therefore can't borrow your bicycle/tricycle."
• "You're awfully short and my neck doesn't bend right anymore, so can I sit and you stand while we converse?"
• "Thanks for coming to the demo."

After dealing with your discomfort with those that are different than you (your issue!), know that kids are important to all our struggles. They are deserving of your respect. Go get 'em with your sticky hands, Ruby!

birth

The senior member of my queer family, my friend, died this winter. While I'm crawling around looking for buds or other signs of early spring, two baby girls, twins, were born into that family. They're so tiny, still, as to barely have caused a ripple; tiny squirrels, a few pounds, wrapped like burritos.

The missing I have for Bob Kohler aches more with the appearance of these tiny girls. He would have had something to say about their birth. He may have been grouchy about queers feeling a need to have kids. But I bet a nickel he would have been interested in them, felt tender, wondered what good parts of each of us their presence might reveal.

Bob had many careers, one of which was running a store. The Loft was on Christopher Street, the "gay strip" of New York's West Village, where Bob also lived for 50 of his 81 years. He fought for queers, for kids, for animals, for people of color, for the homeless, for the HIV+ and disenfranchised people of all sorts for all of those years. The Loft had a sign that Bob liked to reminisce about. It said, "straights welcome, if they behave." It's funny, but he was serious about the store being a sanctuary, safe for the queerest of the queer. That it be theirs. Ours.

I birth abovegroundpool in Bob's activist spirit. I picture him at the helm in his New Year's sequined vest. Fabulous.