Journey to the Homestead

We call our truck Mister Hanky. It's our motel room on wheels. In a brown truck with a white shell, we glide through the hamlets in hick country, watchful law enforcement smiling and waving. A tiny "namaste" sticker in the back window is the only indication we are not rednecks.

Our destination:
the remote area on the south slope of the Uintah Mountain Range.

On Monday, we walked on a frozen creek, listening intently for cracks as water rushed inches beneath our feet.

Life, suspended.

Applied geometry.

I knew I couldn't capture it, the way the water burst through the ice. But I snapped the shot anyway, hoping that seeing the futile attempt to freeze the moment, the experience would flood me - buzz of water on rock and ice, stinging cheeks and nose, juniper tang.

House in the hills.

The dogs are in heaven on the homestead. Yes, Cassie wears sweaters because she gets cold doing what she loves. Thanks to K's work on her wardrobe, she's the best dressed hiking dog I've ever met. Lucky little bitch.

Have I mentioned yet that Cassie the Shih Tzu-Eskimo humps Aki the Rotty-Blue Heeler? She really goes to town, jackhammering away on his hip, his back, his head. He must like it. He gave her a post-hump cuddle.

"Erotophobia"

I first saw the term "erotophobia" in this article. The depoliticization of sexual speech is baffling to me, but I've said that before.

An example even beyond erotophobia. Body-phobia, I guess:
Last night I was wandering around and came across a statue of a pro basketball player from my city's team. Although there was amazing detail in his leg muscles, the toes gripping through the shoe, the fold in his sock, his facial features and expression, the way his fingers were tensed, engaging the ball - despite all this, there were no genitals on the statue. No bulge through his shorts. No bump where a jockstrap would be. I wasn't expecting definition or anything necessarily erotic, but the utter lack of a physical indication of genitalia is absurd.

Balmy Winter Days

The first day of winter where I live is warmer than it's been for weeks. Or so it seems. I'm not checking the numbers, just going off my perception.

Solstice was yesterday and celebrating that day feels intensely satisfying. I feel very human, recognizing that for thousands and thousands of years, humans have acknowledged and celebrated the rebirth of light. And now the rest of the holiday season, all the obligations and events, they just . . . happen. I participate, I play whatever role I've agreed to play that year, I give gifts, I open gifts, I drive around a lot, pose for pictures, avoid picture-taking, smile, chit-chat, blah blah. And it's easy. Because I've already celebrated the most important holyday for me. And that makes for a consistently low-stress holiday time.

At least that's what I tell myself.

Animalistic Reactions

Our friend M gave K a big bag of clothes that was destined for the thrift store if K didn't want them. It's always fun going through a secondhand bag of clothes. It's fascinating what one can learn about someone by looking at their castoffs. I'm unsure where M acquired one particular item.

In this bag K found a real lamb jacket.
It felt weird. Really weird. Very soft and a lot like our dog Cassie's fur.

The dogs were horrified. If you dont' remember what the dogs look like, here's Cassie and here's Aki. Unfortunately, I don't have a photo of them looking horrified. But they both slowly backed away from K and wouldn't look at her. They were clearly disgusted.

However. Animal reactions to the hide of another dead animal being brought into the household are not uniform.
Buddy, our sadly obese orange tabby cat (seen above all junked out on catnip and a good five pounds lighter than he is now), just about came all over himself with excitement. Okay, not really. He's fixed and doesn't do that anymore. But he was very excited. He snuggled right up into the lamb jacket and took a nice long nap.

If you ask me, that's pretty f*cking confident of him. Who's to say he wouldn't be next? After all, he has very soft fur. It would make a really warm little bustier for those chilly winter nights. But Buddy knows he's got us wrapped around his fat little paw. He's too good of a snuggler and too warm of a heating pad. Damn him.

Some Kind of Memory Thing

So I don't really read very many blogs. In fact, the only one I read with any kind of (obsessive) regularity is Trista's. She had this thing that I actually did, and as a good little sheep I'm following the directions (When you're finished, post this paragraph on your blog . . . )

These were the instructions I followed:

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.

It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

End quote.

See, that's just silly of me. Nobody reads this thing. I feel actually quite confident in that statement. Or are there ways of eluding a sitemeter? Not that it matters. It's actually kind of cool to have a place that is for me and the few lone souls who find this place.

Liberation is something definitely in short supply lately.

Daily Zen

The fundamental delusion of reality is to suppose that I am here and you are out there. --Yasutani

Challenging A Century-Old Supreme Court Ruling

Brian Barnard, a Salt Lake City civil rights attorney, is challenging the holding in Reynolds, the 19th century Supreme Court case banning plural marriage. Last Sunday, the Salt Lake Tribune ran this article about his efforts. This CBS article, released upon the lawsuit's commencement last year, contains further information. Barnard is acting on behalf of three clients, two women and a man, all over age 45, who claim that polygamy is necessary for their "exaltation and eternal salvation." Utah's bigamy laws do not require deceit of the legal spouse or performance of a second marriage ceremony for prosecution. A married person living with someone else in a sexual relationship can be found guilty of bigamy.

I'm glad there are people standing up and questioning the state's prohibition on nonmonogamous familial groupings. I also recognize that it may be most helpful to make the religious claims, since overturning Reynolds is the goal.

Nevertheless, I think it is unfortunate that the majority of legal challenges to monogamist laws that harm those in nontraditional familial units are coming from fundamentalist religious types. While making the religious claim may be the best shot to overturn monogamist-favored laws on constitutional grounds, in the courts of public opinion, it continues to keep nonmonogamy as a creepy-sounding, cultish practice. While that is true in some circumstances, it doesn't reflect the broad diversity of familial types who are harmed by bigamy laws. The difficulty may be in finding a nonreligiously-motivated nonmonogamous family who is willing to undergo the public scrutiny a lawsuit often entails.

Rawness

My first carcass-free Thanksgiving! Even when I was a vegetarian, I was always present at a turkey-fest during this time of year. Not in 2005! We had twenty people or so at the raw food potluck we hosted (not at our house, thankfully, but at an empty house we are tending), and the food was magnificent. Lasagne, wild "rice" salads, pesto-stuffed mushrooms, mashed "potatoes" - even gravy! And the desserts! All vegan, so no digestive unpleasantness. All date- and agave-sweetened, so no sugar crash. Chocolat mousse, pumpkin pie, two kinds of apple pie, carrot cake, sweet potato pie . . . mmmmm.

This was, by far, the best Thanksgiving I've ever had. Plus, I didn't feel all bloated and nasty afterward. Cleanup was a breeze! Life is glorious. Although I don't advocate everyone should "go raw," this lifestyle shift has impacted me personally in unexpectedly fantastic ways.

Breathing

I've been forgetting to breathe lately. Chest tight, anxiety high, shallow breath. No wonder I've been feeling batty and out of it and sometimes even hysterical.

Deep breathing. Consciously. In to my belly. Out slowly. Breathe.

Obscenity Redux

John Tehranian, author of "Sanitizing Cyberspace" and mentioned in my first obscenity post, found this blog and provided me with a free weblink to the article. Since I'm not one to cite a bunch of law review articles here (or really anywhere for that matter), it's worth reading if you are at all interested in the legal aspects of pornography and obscenity.

And to follow up on that San Diego exhibitionist-free-speech scenario created by Steve York (aka Stevie Why), my interest got the better of me and I squandered time on Stevie Why's website, downloading the half-hour show that caused the latest uproar on UC San Diego's SRTV station. If you are really interested, you can get it here. Frankly, I wouldn't waste my time if I were you. It was rather terrible on many levels.

Raw for the Folks

Trying to explain and demonstrate raw, living foods to my parents - who fed me canned and frozen veggies and hamburger helper my entire childhood - is a lesson in patience. Today I visited the parents because I won't see them on Thanksgiving and we wanted to celebrate my dad's upcoming birthday. After I prepared the raw pizzas, my mom fully expected to stick them in the microwave. She really doesn't get it. But she did enjoy the raw carrot cake. Until she found out about how many nuts are in it and then worried about the fat content. When I explained that eating a 100% fat-free diet is really unhealthy and that "good" fats are necessary, she had a glazed look like she was completely tuning me out. Typical of our dynamic. You tune me out; I'll tune you out.

** I didn't provide any links to raw, living food because so many of the sites are cultish-sounding and extreme. But if you want to check something out that isn't as strange as many sites, go to Storm and Jingee's place.

Being Queer

My introduction briefly addresses my being bisexual and how I usually refer to myself as Q/queer. I'm an officer in the "gay and lesbian" student organization at my law school (and apparently the only overtly "gay" group listed on the student association website for the entire university). My friend John is the president of this group and heard from a student in a media diversity class who needed to interview "gay" people for a class presentation. John's a good guy, and I agreed to help out. I didn't realize I was agreeing to be on camera! Good thing I took a shower Sunday morning and didn't wear anything too heinous.

I am often hesitant to represent Queerness, thinking of myself as a queer-Queer. Bisexuality is (at least begrudingly) acceptable in the alphabet soup I think of as Queerdom. But the truth is, I'm a little more complicated than that. I've been partnered with a male for nearly seven years. He has another female partner and we three all live in the same house. Although monogamy isn't my reality, sometimes de facto celibacy is, unfortunately. Have I mentioned that I haven't kissed another woman for over two years? Two years. Too long!

Yes, I'm still Queer/bi. But what the hell do I know about what it's like to be gay? I get hetero privilege, much to my dismay and frankly, disgust. I am "read" more as a polygamist wife than a poly-Queer.

In fact, during the interview, when I was asked if I regretted my "decision" (to which I first replied that the only choice I ever made about being Queer was the choice to be honest), I told the guy that if anything, I wish I could just be one "way" or another. At the same time, I don't have any interest in being any other way than I actually am, Queer/bi or not. Do I actually believe in these labels and identities? Not really. I do actually believe that sexuality is a continuum, but dualistic society forces many Queer/bis to pick a side and stick with it.

I understand that identity helps us know where we are and position ourselves relative to others. But I think it's a shame the ways in which identity politics stigmatize and polarize.

While I was in San Diego, I was drinking at a bar with a woman I thought was a law student but turned out to be a law professor. After telling her about my family and relationship realm, she said, "You know, five minutes ago I was interested. But after you tell me that, I gotta be honest, I'm not interested in going there." Had I not been well on my way to drunk, I would've inquired whether it was the polyamory or the bisexuality that turned her off more, or if it was just a combination of factors. In any case, I appreciated her candor. Because I often pick up something about it, but rarely do people articulate their reservations or thoughts or opinions or questions.

I don't know where else to go with this. Ran out of steam. Con law and the establishment clause await. With baited breath.

Aluminum Hats

The results are in.

"That you can't fight City Hall is a rumor circulated by City Hall." -Audre Lorde

I'm Not Cold, Just Sad

Lest you think the last post heartless, just think of these last few entries as the emotional roller coaster of one who has procrastinated schoolwork to the point of panic and has a perpetual deer-in-headlights look as the deadlines loom.

One thing about losing a pet, it makes you appreciate the other ones a whole lot more.

I have to study. Procrastination is even more out of hand than usual.

Because Really, A Frozen Cat Is Funny

Okay, so if you read the previous post, you may have been biting your lip, or laughing out loud, thinking, "Man, too bad her cat died, but a frozen cat is really pretty funny." Maybe I'm kidding myself. Perhaps you didn't really think it was too bad before the amusement set in, but that's how the scenario goes in my mind.

Well, you're right. The concept of a frozen cat is rather amusing. Before I got home from San Diego, and before I went to the vet to see her body (they'd already removed her collar, but they gave it to me), I was thinking about one of my favorite indy B-grade movies, Rubin & Ed. For an enthuasiastic description, go here for an excerpt from the 1993 Motion Picture Guide Annual and posted to the Crispin Hellion Glover Resource Center, a self-described "temple of devotion to him." Mmm hmmm.

The director's "official" site is where I nabbed the photos. You can buy a tee shirt there with Simon's weird-looking face on it and the impressive statement that "my cat can eat a whole watermelon!"

Like this one of Rubin carrying the cooler with frozen Simon inside. (Guess what happens when he runs out of water?)



Or this fabulous shot of the striped floodpants and platforms.




Since I am still mourning the loss of my animal companion of seven years, I'll probably hold off watching it anytime soon. Or maybe not. Maybe after we get her ashes I'll have a good long cry followed by a good long laugh while watching this bizarre piece of cinematic history.

Gaia Passed On for Samhain

My oldest cat, Gaia, whose picture you can see here, died over the weekend while I was away at a conference in San Diego. She was one witchy cat, and it is fully appropriate that she passed on during this season when the veil is thin, when the life and harvest of the season come to a close (at least where I live) and the fallow time of winter approaches.

This is my first long-term pet's death, and it is somewhat unsettling to have been absent for her passage, although B and K tell me they are glad I wasn't here to see her rapid decline at the end. It's also interesting to recognize how I've slowly detached from her emotionally, probably subconsciously realizing that she was on her way out of here.

This afternoon I'm going to the vet, where she is being kept in a freezer before her cremation. I'll take her collar off and say goodbye to her body because I've been saying goodbye to her spirit ever since I heard the news early Saturday morning.

It is Samhain / Halloween. Day of the Dead is almost here. Blessings and honor to the ancestors, to those who have gone before, and the innate transience of Life through Death.

DP: Due Process, Death Penalty, or Something Else?

Given the fact that my brain has been reduced to mush, it's not surprising that some of the things my brain lapses on are rather . . . unusual.

Like the number of things that DP could stand for. In my Con Law notes it's Due Process. In Crim Law it's Death Penalty. Porn-watchers may think of something else it could be.

In any case, today I picked up a two-day-old paper and saw this opinion column written by Leonard Pitts with the Miami Herald. Being the anemic-from-bloodloss leftie that I am, I liked the message, sure. But as one who appreciates smooth writing and the power of rhetoric, I thought he did a good job of laying it out. Because the bottom line is that if you don't have breathy love for state-sanctioned-murder, to those who do, you're just a goddamn hippie anyway. Or maybe that's just me that's the goddamn hippie. *shrug*

More Obscenity

At the beginning of our obscenity discussion in Con Law last week, the prof reminded us about Steve York, a student at UC San Diego who engaged in sexually explicit tactics last spring, apparently part of a growing campus-based challenge of free speech through pornographic expressions. UC San Diego has a student tv station broadcast on closed-circuit television on campus, ostensibly outside the control of the Federal Communications Commission (FCC), which regulates indecent television content and has the power to ban obscene content.

Once again Mr. York exercised his desire to shock and awe. Last Thursday night he aired content showing him having unprotected sex with an "unidentified adult actress" to acknowledge National Freedom of Speech Week. All just to push the envelope, since UCSD hasn't yet articulated the rules of the tv station's charter in the wake of Mr. York's "expressions" last spring.

Why am I mentioning this? B/c my prof has received phone calls from Steve. He says he's not representing him, but the prof seems to know what's going on and told us all to "watch the news" to see what would happen in the aftermath of the latest York-ism. Prof is on the cutting-edge of all this obscenity stuff. I hear his Cyberlaw class is primarily porn. Hmm. Maybe I'll have to change my schedule and fit that in . . .

The legal standards for what constitutes obscenity have been set forth in a 3-part test articulated in 1973 (yes, twenty-two years ago, before VHS, pay-per-view, cable, and widespread enjoyment of the internet). To show something is legally obscene: 1. must be patently offensive to the average person applying community standards (which community? the one where the material was produced or the one where it was consumed? courts have tended to uphold the latter), 2. appeal primarily to the prurient interest (ie lewd, lustful, etc), 3. have no redeeming social value through literary, artistic, scientific, or other means.

It's arguable that a male college student engaged in sexual activity with a porn actress may not violate community standards and may have redeeming social value as a commentary on pushing the standard of obscenity laws in a blatant exercise of potentially protected speech. Dunno for sure. But it's possible.

Back to my studies.

Obscenity

In Constitutional Law we finally reached the topic I've been anticipating. Porn! Obscenity! Free speech!

I'm looking forward to discussing this in class today. In the last class prof asked the question "why as a society do we regulate obscenity?" My response: "we live in a puritanical society and the repression of sexuality does more harm than good. We shouldn't regulate obscenity because it is inherently expressive speech." Whoa, that got some choice gasps from the puritans in the room. Hee! I love ConLaw.

John Tehranian's article on the obscenity test used by the Court (established in 1973) and its unworkability, "Sanitizing Cyberspace: Obscenity, Miller and the Future of Public Discourse on the Internet:, 11 Journal of Intellectual Property 1 (2003), made a lot of sense to me when I first read it last year.

Perhaps more on this later, after class.

Don't Lick My Gauze

Right now I'm on the second shift, taking care of B, who had a tooth pulled today under anesthesia. I'm also missing Legislative Process, a once-a-week class that I'll also miss in two weeks when I'm at a conference. Ouch. But I definitely made the right decision. B is loopy, semi-conscious, and needs someone to change the gauze and icepacks, get the applesauce, and listen to the funny things he says. Pretty hilarious.

I went to my daytime classes, and K went in late to work so she could take B out to his appointment, twenty miles across the valley in the suburbs. K, with B in tow, picked me up from the trainstop near our house. B was reclined in the front seat, hair disheveled, with a big white velcro headband wrapped around his jaw with an icepack, looking like Marley's Ghost.

While we were getting B settled, before K left for work, we changed the chunk of gauze ("it's like a tampon" B slurred). B stuck it in his mouth before taking the meds, though, so he took it back out momentarily, holding it between his fingers while swallowing the pills. At that point, our oldest cat, Gaia tried to jump up on the futon, right next to the gauze perched between B's wobbly digits.

"Don't lick my gauze!" he shrieks. Quintessential post-op moment.

Here's a picture of Gaia (Bo Baia), in her I'm-ready-to-pounce-and-give-you-love mode.

Now B is sleeping, amazed I put his used mouth tampon in my hand while getting him a new one. Oh yes. Now that's gotta be love.

Pilgrimage

As I was walking up to this particular fin, I felt like a pilgrim approaching a huge altar. It was a pivotal trip in many ways. Both M and I had a lot to think about and it was fantastic to be away from the city and in a place where we could stretch and breathe and think . . . and not necessarily talk if we didn't want to.

However.

(Isn't there always a however?)

These terrifically rude climbers from Colorado camped next to us, blaring music, drinking copious amounts of beer, and making huge amounts of noise. Just what one wants while escaping the white and not-so-white noise that accompanies our usual daily lives. Quite unpleasant.

But whatever. On the aggregate, we had a good trip. It's hard to be back to the grind; I still feel like I'm in the desert.

Fall Break in the Desert

It has been a lovely week without classes, and I just returned from several fantastic days in the redrock country of southeastern Utah. On Friday I took an 11-mile hike and had some amazing views. I'm so glad I found the quiet and solitude I needed in the desert. Redrock is good for the soul.

This is Chesler Park, on the western edge of the loop hike in Canyonlands NP:


More on the trip later. It was awesome, but I'm exhausted and have much to do in preparation for return to school tomorrow. Here's one more pic of my shadow on the right with my friend M on the left, who joined me on this adventure.

Concrete

Monday when I tried to use my gender (aka perceived female-ness) at the home improvement warehouse, I learned that every place in the valley was out of the sand mix we needed. Apparently there is a cement shortage. I briefly wondered if we would have a half-skinned basement floor indefinitely, but a shipment came in yesterday and B picked it up. This time, though, he asked for help. Amazing how just asking for what one needs can yield such results!

Gender Assumptions

Eighty pounds. I knew the sand mix concrete we were using to re-skin the concrete in our basement came in eighty pound bags. What I don't think my body realized was how eighty pounds actually feels, from getting it off the shelf and onto the cart at the warehouse home improvement chain, getting it off the cart and into the back of the truck in the parking lot, and getting it back out of the truck and down to the basement at home. Somehow that sixty-pound backpack is so much more manageable than an eighty-pound bag of concrete mix.

B went alone to the home repair warehouse chain to get a few bags for the test area. A number of employees saw B hauling bags of concrete off the shelf and onto a cart but they all quickly turned off the aisle, probably to avoid helping him. That $7-10/hour wage apparently doesn't compel such heavy lifting. (Can't say I blame them.)

When B, K, and I went back to Home Depot to get nine more bags, B climbed up on one of the mobile staircases to start hauling bags off the chin-high shelf, and K and I took turns taking the bag from him and putting it on the cart. A young male employee came and helped after K and I struggled with three bags and quickly worked with B to haul up our cart.

Now it turns out we need another six bags or so. (Yes, we severely underestimated our coverage needs, but concrete coverage is the least of the lessons learned by this project.)

Time for strategy.

We hypothesize that if a single female is trying to haul concrete, the employees will help her out. Maybe even help get it from the cart and into the truck. We plan to test this hypothesis. I'll keep you posted.

Introductions & Explanations

Much of what I post here will likely refer to (or be directly about) my family. Since my household isn't typical, I should explain.

I've recently accepted that I'm accurately described as bisexual, although I prefer to identify as Queer. I resisted using the bisexual label for so long it's ridiculous. See, I honestly thought I was a lesbian who made a Chasing Amy-esque exception. But no. I'm bi. Bisexual identity can be a complex topic. Possible fodder for future posts . . . ?

My immediate non-bio family includes a male partner of six-plus years (B) and his female partner of nearly three years (K). Can you say polyamory? We aren't missionaries for this love-style, but it's how we live and we are (surprisingly? gratefully? happily) functional. B, K, and I are each open to new relationships, but tend to be . . . selective. This selectivity is for our individual and familial health, both physical and psychological. (No, we're not swingers. But sometimes I wish I were one. More sex would be kind of nice.)

Our human family is complemented by two dogs (Cassie and Aki), four felines (Gaia, Merlin, Smoky, and Buddy), two aquariums of waterlife ("the fish"), and a lot of indoor and outdoor plantlife ("the plants" and "the garden").

• Cassie is a Shih-tzu/Toy American Eskimo mix, born in early 2002, and is very outdoorsy considering her pansy ancestry. We've had her since she was twelve weeks old. The people whose un-fixed dogs had a backyard breeding session that conceived dear Cassie and her brothers called her "princess" until I adopted her, and that quite accurately describes her attitude towards life. I'll stick in a dirty hiking picture, just to keep it real.
• Aki is a Rottweiler/Blue Heeler mix, born circa 1997, lived with K's mother and stepfather until January 2005, when we adopted him. He was a ranch dog and is thrilled to sleep indoors and eat food from bowls instead of carrion. Actually, he might miss the carrion. Aki has lots of stories - maybe you'll read more about them later.
• The cats' lives are terrifically convoluted and somehow telling stories about one's dogs seems less strange than telling the life-stories of one's cats. Since I'm strange, you'll get the cat-stories, but you're spared today. Oh, and pictures will undoubtedly follow. You've been warned.
  
• The fish just aren't that interesting to me. B and K run that area of the household, thank you very much.
  
• The plants and garden have fantastic lives.
  

Now that I've introduced some of the key players, future posts will hopefully be less confusing.

I spend my days doing law school. And doing things like this. I spend my nights doing things like this and pretending to study.

Joining the Ranks & Breathing

Apparently this blogging thing is what people do. I didn't realize, but I live a rather limited existence, so I shouldn't be surprised I didn't know. Chicory over at An Accident of Hope inspired me, so perhaps you can blame her when this all goes awry.

I figure since I don't journal for myself, in the privacy of my own bedside book, maybe I'll journal with some sort of narcissistic fantasy that someone else is reading my blather.

Besides, blogging seems like a great way to avoid the ever-present piles of work I should constantly be doing. Procrastination is my icon.

I programmed my cell phone to be a pretty little picture of water with the word "Breathe" appearing above the time and date. Yes, indeedy, my little attempt to remind myself that breathing is necessary, and my typical hyperventilation probably isn't serving my whole self. I usually only see it when I'm frantically trying to find out what time it is, though, and I often ignore that little reminder. *shrug* Nevertheless, it seemed like a good thing to continue reminding myself, hence the name of this blog.