Phillie Avengers step off from the Bryant Park staging area for the Dyke March, New York City, 23 June 1994.
Happy International Women’s Day, people (with love and solidarity, from the dusty LD black & white print archive).
Archive | March, 2008
Yet another yummy lunch…
…of which she’ll eat, like, ten percent. My money’s on the apple sauce, maybe a nibble of cheese (picture a “Honey I Shrunk the Mouse”–sized rodent), maybe part of one cracker, and if it’s a good day, she opened the carrot bag.
Goddess only knows what regulates her appetite. The beloved and I have given up trying to understand the erratic little vehicle that is her taste, and instead attempt merely to steer it in generally healthy directions. We offer her balanced options, and try to remember what a wise friend once told us: over the course of a week or two, she’ll have checked in at all the major food groups for a visit.
We’re beginning to accept that unless we strap her to her chair and ram it into her, we’re just not going to see all the major food groups get into her body in one day. We remain unwilling to dangle a “treat” at the other end of the healthy food, even if it is a humane alternative to bondage at the dinner table. We are fatiguing under the strain, over the long haul, of not using an inducement (so convenient! so sure-fire!), but we continue to hold fast. We want to do our little part to reduce the aura of specialness around sugar, a heavyweight drug right up there with caffeine and TV, neither of which we’re looking to use as rewards, either. Ask me in another year, though, and I may have to concede that we have a whole stock of Wonka bars in the pantry that are pressed into use nightly as bribes for her to finish her brussels sprouts.
Snarker wins (and no, I’m not talking about Hillary)
And in non-presidential nominee news, the inimitable Dorothy Snarker was indeed the heaviest vote-puller in this year’s Lesbian Lifestyle Blog of the Year contest, which ended on Sunday night. Her post today (and the spiffy YouTube clip of the Ditty Bops) does a fine job of illustrating the zip and wit that help win her a rabid and dedicated fan base daily. 
I am forever in her debt for drawing our attention to Ellen Page’s line in a recent Saturday Night Live skit, “Why can’t we all just hug a woman with our legs in friendship?”
I was delighted, too, to discover This Girl Called Automatic Win and Hahn at Home and Sugarbutch Chronicles as a result of this thing. Most pleasurable was the civil way in which we all comported ourselves, befitting our kind as Wimmin-Lovin-Wimmin. Sinclair Sexmith (a.k.a. Sugarbutch) was ever so gentlemanly, or if one prefers, gentlepersonly, in extending her congrats earlier today. Capitol, just capitol. (By the way, her recently added “Definitions” page will certainly become a link on the LD “Glossary” page, since I am a Ph.D. dropout — scans nicely with “beauty school dropout, don’t you think?” — in the field of genderology, and she surveys that landscape so artfully.)
To all y’all, nominees and voters, allow me say that the pleasure was all mine.
Girls Rock!
Above: The lil’ monkey dances not to Bizet this time, but to Jesca Hoop (Baba needs to shake her tailfeathers sometimes).
WE BELIEVE…
Girls can play any kind of music they want
Creative voices of girls and women need to be amplified to create social change
Girls need positive role models and support
for their creative endeavorsIn creating a community where girls support each other rather than tear each other down
In empowering girls to recognize, understand,
and respond to discrimination‘Girls Rock’ is more than just a slogan
So says the Girls Rock Camp Allliance, an “international coalition of organizations whose shared mission is to empower girls and women using the tools of music education to foster self-esteem and confidence.” If you read any lesbian blogs that run ads, you’ll have likely already seen the ad for Girls Rock!, the documentary about the Rock ‘n Roll Camp for Girls in Portland. The film opens in Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Berkeley, Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York this upcoming weekend.
“My hands are not that sassy”
“…but my hips are that sassy.” That’s what she said. Quote, end quote.
She’s been taking to planting her hands on her hips for emphasis. Only three years old here, people. Already feeling her power. I’m just sayin’.
We’re working on her popping her hips in preparation for an upcoming trip to L.A. and an opportunity to demo her style for her Auntie Rache, who is a big appreciator of a well-popped and sassy hip.
And in completely unrelated news, with no sassy angle or references to hands on hips: I have to say Holy Crap and Omygod about what I’m getting from you who have already done the LD Reader Survey! Really. Wow. First off, what an incredible gift, to hear from you. And what I’m hearing is so terribly valuable! I shoulda done this ages ago! Everyone should do this! You! Do this right now! Make up a survey about something that matters dearly to you, and then ask people who participate in that thing to help you do it better! And then: Shazaaam! Power of Isis! Insight and illumination!
LD is two
All parents know that “the terrible twos” is a misnomer. The hell really hits after three, but none of us can come up with a word that starts with a “t” that packs the same kind of punch as “terrible.” (Follow the asterisk* for a Roget’s download.) Be that as it may, I sincerely hope that this upcoming year, the third one on my blogular journey, won’t be appalling or revolting or offensive or vile or any other synonym for “terrible.”
The first year was action-packed (about which more here); the second one was, too. Chock full of plenty of fine highlights (a personal thrill: the nod from Kathy Belge at About.com). But most of this past year has been filled with the beloved and me staggering under the weight of our first year with two kids, which, while an enormously fulfilling undertaking, has also been Heck on a Stick. This year’s blogiversary post will reflect that Heck on a Stick-like year, and so will forgo the well-researched annual review in exchange for some quiet reflection.
- lizk: I'll take it, too! I was not expecting him to ev...
- Lesbian Dad: Amen, is all I can say. As with so much that's ...
- rockyv: damn it. Now I'm choked up at work. You've touc...
- Lesbian Dad: Amen....
- AT: It takes a village, and sometimes that village is ...
- Lesbian Dad: Ah, ol Chum(py). So very nice to see you again! An...
Mwah!
I am confident that most of the text message-, online-, chat-, IM-, email-, blog-, and newsgroup posting-literate folk among you handily recognized the title to this post as shorthand for “kissing sound.” To what do I owe this confidence? My handy-dandy netlingo reference page, which helps bridge the yawning gap between me, who spent my junior high Algebra class fashioning spitwads or scribbling insulting likenesses of the teacher on spiral-bound notebooks, and everyone else younger than me, who spent their Algebra classes text messaging friends on their smuggled cellphones as they battled incipient Carpel Tunnel Syndrome.
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