June 27, 2007 at 12:20 pm | Posted in Blogroll, food, pop culture, the art of bullshit, the forg | 5 Comments
Lately I’ve been suffering from some ennui with the blogosphere, brought on mainly by the smug, self-sufficient indignation that descends and derails so quickly and so totally on many discussions. See, for example, the unfortunate turn of the discussion on sex work over at Sylvia’s which totally overshadowed the original post… although looking again, the conversation does sort of prove her point on how tangled and often inseparable our neat and tidy categories of oppression are from one another.
I have enough forced, sterile discussion in my life working a desk job, I don’t need it in my extracurrriculars. So I’ve been off reading about trees and some damn good poetry, and watching zombie movies, and thinking things over with myself, whose internal censor can often be bought off with some well-timed tasty bribes (ahi jerky… it’s the snack of the future).
And of course, as these things go, I keep bumping into reminders of the reasons I got into blogging in the first place (besides being starved for good conversation). Continue Reading Politics, ethics, and the zombie apocalypse…
June 25, 2007 at 1:07 pm | Posted in poetry | Leave a comment
It’s so like baby content, fired word
He stood up bordering the gull
One patient giving the sky
Oh and nervous nervous
My head is starving
Know like how sharp oh yeah how much
They pay watch for the very catch
Their own interpreting oh cause
You can get hooks oh bribe I tell you
Everything my sign my sign is stopped
To see him off and he’s like ten sunshine
With the brunes and I’m in truth like no
Like coins melted in her hair
Because it is transmission
One two three
Natch it call now eh?
June 22, 2007 at 4:18 pm | Posted in Blogroll, breaking news, friday is link-day, hawaii, navel | 2 Comments
Oh, friends, it’s Friday. And it’s been a long week — well, if we’re being honest, it’s been a long year and a half. So today I bought a one-way plane ticket off this island at the end of July. Mainland, ho! What this quite possibly means is that I’ll blog a bit more at the other place as I get ready for yet another relocation.
Elsewhere around the ‘sphere, BFP is blogging the Allied Media Conference, which I am determined to attend next year, to take one step closer to my dream of live-blogging a hot off. She has a few posts up on panels discussing popular education, a topic she also touches on in her contribution to this month’s Carnival for Radical Action. [EDIT: Sudy over at A Woman's Ecdysis shares images from the conference.]
I am so excited by this Democracy Now! interview with Hannah Sassaman of the Prometheus Radio Project on the Local Community Radio Act, which was introduced in Congress to grant more licenses to low-power FM stations. Community radio! God, I might even listen to radio again if this bill passes! Here’s a snippet:
AMY GOODMAN: How do people find out about it? How do people apply to get a community radio station?
HANNAH SASSAMAN: After Congress — well, first of all, Congress needs to get these bills passed. And there are thousands of community members and many, many strong organizations, everyone from the Christian Coalition to Free Press to the Future of Music Coalition to Consumers Union and many, many other groups, are letting people know that these bills are on the table. Once these bills are passed, the FCC will announce a licensing window, when any noncommercial group, whether you’re a community church, a department of transportation, a chamber of commerce or a school, you can talk to the FCC, fill out your form and get a free license, in order to serve your community with essential information.
One of the stories I really like to tell is of WQRZ-LP in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. When Hurricane Katrina made landfall at ground zero, basically, in Waveland and in Bay St. Louis in Hancock County, of the forty-one stations lining the Mississippi and Louisiana Gulf Coast, only a handful stayed on the air, and WQRZ-LP, this low-power noncommercial station, was one of them. When this station was broadcasting about the storm, local volunteers swam across the floodwaters with batteries strapped to their back to keep the station on the air. It was the only source of local information for forty-eight hours after the storm, and because it was so essential, the Emergency Operations Center of Hancock County set up shop with that station and became the FEMA headquarters, and it got a commendation from the President.
These stations not only save lives, but are deeply relevant to their communities. If you’re a farmworker community and you speak Zapotec and Quiche as your primary languages and Spanish as a second language, you can’t rely on Clear Channel, Viacom or Infinity for your news. In order to connect to your community, to organize for rights in the fields, you need your own community radio station, like Radio Consciencia of WCTI-LP in Immokalee, Florida, the Coalition of Immokalee Workers’ station. These stations are tools for social justice, and if we don’t take this chance to build them now, we’ll never forgive ourselves when we turn around in twenty years and hear the same corporate drivel and the same Christian right radio that we now have to abide by in our big cities and our small communities.
The other subject that excites me at the moment is that British sense of self-fascination as plotted in various novels. America’s inherited it and expanded it to the nth degree of course, but that sort of ‘oh yes, it’s quite grey here, and we have many small towns on heaths, and so much passion simmers wastefully under our worn cardigans and faded housecoats’ atmosphere — I fucking love it! Even, and perhaps especially, when you replace the small town with Fitzrovia or Mayfair and the threadbare clothes with surprise gifts from Harrods. It’s why I just read two Forster novels back-to-back, why I’m now indulging in a little le Carré, and why this article about a new expose of literary couples totally made my Friday (in that twitter into your cuppa sense, as opposed to the buy a plane ticket sense).
In one of Roiphe’s most telling anecdotes, [Vera] Brittain, shortly after the publication of her celebrated World War I memoir, “Testament of Youth,” puts aside a heartfelt letter from Catlin and absent-mindedly forgets to read it. Catlin, a politician manqué and disappointed academic, was writing to express his chagrin at reading that Brittain’s first love, who died in the war, was the irreplaceable force that had shaped her life. “Your book,” he informed her, “I think is very great, a very moving book … powerful, significant, important — for me it is oppressive also — to it I am an outsider, intruding, shamefaced, feeling very unworthy, painfully unworthy to the verge of tears.”
Oh my god, somebody pass the brandy. Brilliant! The first chapter is a bit too smug in its scandals, but ’tis the season for beach reads. I’m looking for this at the library.
Which reminds me: once I depart for more easterly regions I’m going to have, finally, some serious reading time on my hands again. What are you reading these days? What do you recommend? Poetry and essays especially welcome. (Also: help elle figure out sidebars on the cursed Blogger so she can put up a reading list!)
June 19, 2007 at 11:04 pm | Posted in Blogroll, teh funny, the art of bullshit, timesuck | 55 Comments
So my rag sister gave me a little nudge and I realized that, although she is wrong about so many things when it comes to the question of Hot or Not, this time her priorities are in order. There is a dilemma that must be resolved, once and for all, one way or the other, if only so I can sleep at night. And I don’t care what y’all say, this is a tough one.
Or the Divine Miss M?
Like all difficult decisions, this one will require careful consideration. More to ponder after the cut…
Continue Reading Radical Hot Off: The Gyllenhaal Effect…
June 13, 2007 at 1:29 pm | Posted in poetry | 1 Comment
Sprig of Lilac
in a week you could watch me crumble to smut: spent hues
spent perfumes. dust upon the lapel where a moment I rested
yes, the moths have visited and deposited their velvet egg mass
the gnats were here: they smelled the wilt and blight. they salivated
in the folds of my garments: you could practically taste the rot
look at the pluck you’ve made of my heart: it broke open in your hands
oddments of ravished leaves: blossom blast and dieback: petals drooping
we kissed briefly in the deathless spring. the koi pond hummed with flies
unbutton me now from your grasp. no, hold tighter, let me disappear
into your nostrils, into your skin, a powdery smudge against your rough cheek
June 5, 2007 at 6:41 am | Posted in inappropriate, navel, not assholes, teh funny | 6 Comments
Today is truly a momentous occasion in the life of petitpoussin. My dear gay boyfriend Momo has turned 25, or, in the parlance of this Young Woman for Whom Guides to Feminism Are Not Intended, OLD. (FYI, I turn ‘old’ in December.)
I’d like to invite my readers to celebrate with us, by watching the first 10 minutes of a seminal work, I’m the One that I Want! by comedian Margaret Cho. Momo has been there for me through those many moments during which, to quote Ms Cho, ‘if it weren’t for gay men, I wouldn’t talk to men AT ALL’.
If you like the clip follow the link back to YouTube, as several users have posted the whole movie! Her first and best work, without question.
Don’t forget Kyle! You know he like to lag behind.
June 4, 2007 at 11:13 am | Posted in assholes, teh funny, the forg, timesuck | 4 Comments
These videos have nothing to do with each other, but I need to share them with you immediately.
First, Uncomplicatedly sent me a link to this gem from my future home state of California. It’s horse racing, on a horse track and everything — but with women. Women in bikinis! Look out, wet t-shirt contests and mud wrestling; this is objectification for the 21st century.
Next up, this is from a couple of months ago… but I, like most of us, have a fascination with child movie stars. They’re like aliens! Especially Dakota Fanning, who is clearly a 47-year-old stuck in a tween’s body. So I must say thank you, SNL, for ‘The Dakota Fanning Show’.
Bonus: Drew Barrymore — a FORMER CHILD STAR — playing that girl from Little Miss Sunshine! That’s about as deep as I get on a Monday, I don’t know about you.
June 4, 2007 at 6:31 am | Posted in poetry | 1 Comment
I’m thinking about you. What else can I say?
The palm trees on the reverse
are a delusion; so is the pink sand.
What we have are the usual
fractured coke bottles and the smell
of backed-up drains, too sweet,
like a mango on the verge
of rot, which we have also.
The air clear sweat, mosquitoes
& their tracks; birds & elusive.
Time comes in waves here, a sickness, one
day after the other rolling on;
I move up, it’s called
awake, then down into the uneasy
nights but never
forward. The roosters crow
for hours before dawn, and a prodded
child howls & howls
on the pocked road to school.
In the hold with the baggage
there are two prisoners,
their heads shaved by bayonets, & ten crates
of queasy chicks. Each spring
there’s race of cripples, from the store
to the church. This is the sort of junk
I carry with me; and a clipping
about democracy from the local paper.
Outside the window
they’re building the damn hotel,
nail by nail, someone’s
crumbling dream. A universe that includes you
can’t be all bad, but
does it? At this distance
you’re a mirage, a glossy image
fixed in the posture
of the last time I saw you.
Turn you over, there’s the place
for the address. Wish you were
here. Love comes
in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on
& on, a hollow cave
in the head, filling & pounding, a kicked ear.
– Margaret Atwood
June 3, 2007 at 9:30 pm | Posted in food | 3 Comments
More food porn…
This time it’s Thai basil curry with shrimp, tofu, pepper, carrot and onion over udon noodles.
June 3, 2007 at 6:43 pm | Posted in Blogroll, friday is link-day, furriners, hawaii, poverty, the forg | 2 Comments
First off: Look what I did the other night.
I hung out with a lava waterfall! And I didn’t even get melted. petitpoussin 1, Forces of Nature, 0.
Anyway: I have a big, rambling post on feminist literature and sci-fi coming up (finishing some reading now), but in the meantime here’s some stuff to keep you occupied.
Please don’t forge that Blog for Domestic Workers Day is this Tuesday, June 5. If you live in NYC, check out the Town Hall meeting in support of a Domestic Workers’ Bill of Rights on Thursday the 7th.
Sylvia posted some very eloquent musings on the terms ‘radical’ and ‘progressive’, following from JK’s earlier post. There’s some really interesting discussion going on in comments about the nature of labels and language, so give that a gander as well when you click over.
BFP’s doing some dynamite posting on the G8 summit going on in Germany. Good conversation happening on this thread in particular.
New whip-smart blogger Wildly Parenthetical has burst onto the scene. Check out her post on the cringe-worthy, hilarious results of question time at a panel on the historical and present-day treatment of Aborigines (here’s a snippet):
…a woman stood up and said (I’m so indignant about it, I’m almost sure this is word-for-word, but no promises): “Hi, I’m an American-Australian. I’ve been an Australian for about 9 months, and I don’t know a whole lot about Aborigines, but I’m learning, I’m learning.” So far, so good. Now wait for it: “But I do feel I have a deep connection with Aboriginal culture because I was an Aboriginal in a past life, so I have a great connection with Aboriginal art and dance and… all of that.” Yes, that’s right – appropriation via past life-ness and the dismissal of the complexity and uniqueness of Aboriginal art. But wait, there’s more: “And you know, I think that it’s really important that people be educated, that they can be exposed to Aboriginal culture. And this panel is good, but I really wonder about… you know, whether Aboriginal people could organise festivals to educate us about their culture.” Oh. My. God. (Atheist here. I’m channelling Chandler).
And to close it out right, Belledame’s got the recipe for a good booty-shaking.