It was the last hour of the school day. What had started as a class assignment to read the Great Gatsby had turned into defeat for my on-the-cusp-of-retirement American Literature teacher: no one had read, so instead he decided to put on the movie. While this was met with cheering by the majority of the class, I was filled with both relief and dread, a certain amount of superiority and plenty of resentment. I had read the book as soon as it was assigned, enthralled with the roaring twenties narrative, the sense of loss, the confusion at Gatsby's death. I felt relief at not having to carry the entire class discussion that would have been the class lesson for the day, dread for the movie rehashing what I already knew, superior for having already read the book, and resentment that I would not get to learn anything new. A persuit of knowledge, an accumulation of accolades, these things drove me in a high school environment where I wasn't popular, and I wasn't pretty, and good grades at least granted me the envy of my fellow students.

I lingered after school ended that day, and I complained to Mr. Barlow, who was (at least) sympathetic. And then he did something inexplicably kind: he gave me a book. The book was for his American Literature Seminar class, an upper level English class for juniors and seniors. He told me to read it, and he told me to keep it. ( Read more... )

Tim's Grandfather: H. Halladay Flynn
Tim's Great Grandfather: Southard Flynn
Tim's Great Grandmother: Hope Halladay
Great Grandma Hope's Father: Herman H Halladay.

S. Flynn was raised in the San Franciso area. He wanted to be a doctor -- but failed his first year of medical school. His cousin, a peditrican in the Bay Area, helped him get into the University of Michigan Medical School. But he needed a year of graduate study first.

So he went to Michigan State University for a year. During which time he was diving at the IM West Pool -- and found that the diving platform was not high enough. So he dove from the rafters. He was found and spoken to about this behavior by Herman H. Halladay, Secretary of MSU. (Tim's grandfather has a memory of riding his trike from the house on campus to the Administration building to fetch his grandfather for lunch.)

S. Flynn went to the University of Michigan medical school, where he met a nice young lady by the name of Hope Halladay and they began dating. That's right, Herman Halladay's daughter.

Herman Halladay was president of the Rotary International Club of Lansing. He was voted to go to Belgium for the international convention. He was afraid to tell his wife, who would not be able to attend due to financial constraint. But his wife, Sarah Mason Daniels, had money hidden away in a sugar pot and insisted on going to Belgium. Before they went, Sarah called up Mr. Flynn and asked if she should pick up some Belgium lace for a wedding dress. (She was described as a fiesty lady.)

When Mr. Southard Flynn proposed to Hope Halladay, she was given a ring with a basket setting. They were married in 1927. (Hope Halladay wore Belgian lace.)

In the intervening years, they had a son, named H. Halladay Flynn, Tim's grandfather. On December 7, 1941 was Pearl Harbor. December 8, 1941 was his 12th birthday.

Mr. S Flynn joined the medical Corps, and traveled all over the country (Back to San Francisco, and then to Georgia, all on a moment's notice). After the war, and for their 20th wedding anniversary, he added four diamonds to his wife's engagement ring, making it the setting it is today.

I waited for three hours for my dentist appointment. Yes, what was originally 11:30 turned into 2:30. They did call and say they were running behind, but they said that coming in a half hour later was sufficient. Good thing I have a "If things are going wrong, the person at fault is probably more stressed than you, so go with it" policy, leftover from wedding planning.

Got my laughing gas (which I didn't like, by the way, it made me feel heavy and awkward). While that was going on, my period cramps intensified, and I knew my period was starting. Which, by the way, this is significant, but cannot go into it right now.

Got shot up with Novocaine. Teeth got pulled. After they were done they were like, "Wait, why didn't we try to pull your fourth tooth?" Probably because it is not protruding? Because for the longest time I did not think I had a left lower molar?

Tim, who had been waiting with me for three hours and then an additional hour and a half for me to have a proceedure, took me to Target to pick up prescriptions. Where we discovered that if I was queasy (from swallowing blood), then the vicodin would make me MORE queasy if I did not eat anything.

I was not ready to eat anything, so I took a nap. And woke up with a mouth full of blood and drool. And then I spit, which is actually a no-no, because that could dislodge any clots I would've formed. Tim ran away because he was not sure how he could help.

Then, Tim went and bought dinner (v8 veggie soup) and warmed it up and served it to me. After eating, I felt better, so I took a Vicodin. I took a shower in the mean time for its natural painkilling properties. Felt normal for a while, even if the bleeding had restarted in the shower a bit. Put gauze in, waited until it stopped, tried eating some ice cream.

Stopped feeling normal. Started feeling dizzy and nauseous. I got up and put the towel that I had dried my hair with away. I made it back to the couch. Tim noticed my distress, and brought me our biggest mixing bowl, that I promptly vomited in. He very sweetly went and got a wet cloth and pressed it to my forehead while I puked up vicodin, the little bit of soup I had had, and stomach acid, about an hour and 40 minutes after I took the opiate. He also rinsed the bowl for me, and gave it back, just in case the vomits came back.

I was unsuccessful in finding the absorption rate online, so I have to wait until midnight to take more painkillers. I will be taking advil at that point... I am not ready to try again with the vicodin, especially on an empty stomach.

Tim says, at this point, "Seriously, darling, how did life NOT do you wrong today?"

Now I need to rinse with the peppermint antimicrobial mouthwash (I hate peppermint). I need to carefully brush my teeth, but not my wounds. I need to bring my vomit basin into the bedroom, prop up my pillow so that I don't bleed too badly, and put down a towel, just in case I bleed anyway. I need to set an alarm for midnight, at which time I can get up and take more painkillers.

Ugh. I know basically everyone has been through this, but it seems like its own unique hell.

Dear Yuletide Writer/Stalker:

I am twenty-three-years-old, and just recently got married to someone who I love whom I have committed to loving forever. I'm still searching for my forever job, my calling, what I can happily contribute to the universe until I return to dust. (But the adventure you get is the adventure you're ready for, right?) My fandoms all have sizable canons, but I hope that they're popular in yuletide terms and it'll be okay.

I am fascinated by the idea of growing up. What does it mean to take on adult responsibilities? What does it mean to be in control of your destiny? Growing up happens on so many different levels -- emotional, personally, relationshiply, politically, spiritually. Sometimes we get lucky and have mentors and teachers to help us on the way. I think this theme is particularly interesting in How I Met Your Mother and in Young Wizards. Ted and the gang are doing their best to live the lives they want to -- but the outside variables often get in the way. Ted in particular is trying too hard to find himself. He needs to just start living. Nita and Kit, on the other hand, have always held themselves hugely responsible, and I think their growing up is inevitable. They will be powerful, grounded adults. Assuming they get married, what would their lives look like? What would their families?

I love political intrigue. I'm a huge fan of people doing what they mean and saying something else, and the confusion and trickery involved in that. I think this particular angle is more interesting in Circle of Magic and Dollhouse. Sandy is bound to be Duchess some day, but not everyone might like that -- the Duke's current heir, for one, but also the common people who may not like being governed by someone with magic. As we saw in The Will of the Empress, there are assassinations and illegitimate children, and people marrying to form alliances. Dollhouse is like political and business intrigue topped with yummy feminist topping. A lot of people criticize the show because they only a pimp and whores, but if you take the idea of the show as an allegory of the rape culture, it's fascinating. Will we ever not need "dolls" -- people to stand in for concepts? Anyway, the deconstruction at the end of season 1, in episode unaired in the US, was PERFECT.

I don't mind death fic, and I love canonical pairings of both the het and slash varieties. I don't like nonconsent, violent language towards women, and my absolute pet peeve is taking strong female canon characters and making them weak. I absolutely love well-crafted crossovers -- ones that do not have to stretch too hard to make happen, ones that have strong justifications.

My requests:
Diane Duane -- Young Wizards: Juanita Callhan/Christopher Rodriguez/Tom/Carl
I would love a fic focusing on Nita and Kit grown up from where they are in the series, but with appearances and support from the entire cast of characters. Focusing on Tom and Carl (also with appearances and support from the entire cast of characters) would also be spiffy.

Tamora Pierce -- Circle of Magic: Sandrilene fa Toren/Trisana Chandler/Duke Verdis
Sandry is my absolute favorite character, since she is so highly opinionated and judicial. Something with a political backdrop (or politics in the foreground!) would be awesome. No romance between the main four characters, or the characters and their teachers, please.

How I Met Your Mother -- All
The best part about this show is the main characters being equally as important, even if Ted is supposed to be the lead. Exploration about how marriage changes friendship dynamics would be interesting, especially from the point of view of a married character. How do you balance?

Dollhouse -- Claire Saunders aka Whiskey/Topher Brink/Adelle DeWitt/Victor
Morals. Topher and Adelle particularly, but Dr. Saunders and Victor as foils. Consent, masculinity, femininity, and people's bodies standing in for concepts.

A guideline I always use in writing is "Write what you'd like to read." So, considering that's always what guides my writing, here's what I write (to give you an idea of what I like to read):

http://astraevirgo.livejournal.com/tag/written+word (Mostly Original)
http://community.livejournal.com/writexchange/ (All Original)
http://community.livejournal.com/myriadwords/tag/author:+astraevirgo (Young Wizards writings)
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/7943/Virgo (It's ff.n, so, yeah. Also contains my YW writings).

Thank you in advance, Yuletide bringer.

Kate

I NOMINATED THINGS FOR YULETIDE BECAUSE I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO PLAY YULETIDE BUT NEVER WAS AROUND FOR THE SIGN UPS.

Sorry for the capslock, but I suddenly have HUGE phobia I did it wrong and won't be able to play.

Dear someone on my flist, do you know if I did it right?

First of all, everyone needs to go read this article on the rape culture.

A choice quote:

Rape culture is 1 in 6 women being sexually assaulted in their lifetimes. Rape culture is not even talking about the reality that many women are sexually assaulted multiple times in their lives. Rape culture is the way in which the constant threat of sexual assault affects women's daily movements. Rape culture is telling girls and women to be careful about what you wear, how you wear it, how you carry yourself, where you walk, when you walk there, with whom you walk, whom you trust, what you do, where you do it, with whom you do it, what you drink, how much you drink, whether you make eye contact, if you're alone, if you're with a stranger, if you're in a group, if you're in a group of strangers, if it's dark, if the area is unfamiliar, if you're carrying something, how you carry it, what kind of shoes you're wearing in case you have to run, what kind of purse you carry, what jewelry you wear, what time it is, what street it is, what environment it is, how many people you sleep with, what kind of people you sleep with, who your friends are, to whom you give your number, who's around when the delivery guy comes, to get an apartment where you can see who's at the door before they can see you, to check before you open the door to the delivery guy, to own a dog or a dog-sound-making machine, to get a roommate, to take self-defense, to always be alert always pay attention always watch your back always be aware of your surroundings and never let your guard down for a moment lest you be sexually assaulted and if you are and didn't follow all the rules it's your fault.

It opened up my morning with a shell-shocked quality. And then I began thinking about my personal experiences with sexual assault, the friends I know who have been sexually assaulted, about the beating I got from talking about the rape culture on a webcomics blog, about the sexual verbal assault I received from a DX member on facebook.

And I'm sad. And this makes me feel better, but in a still wounded way:

"Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk — real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious." -- Jack Kerouac (On the Road)

Edited to Add:
The blogosphere is brilliant and devastating all at once.

Shapely Prose guest piece: Shroedinger's Rapist (Good for Cis-Het Men to begin to empathize what it means to live like the above quote)
A response to Shrodinger's Rapist, including the imagined right to intrude.
A post about Boundaries

Today, I am sending my email of intention to my Program Director to say that I intend to do a second year of service.

On some level I expected Jason (my site supervisor) to ask intrustive questions about when we were planning on "starting a family" to gauge whether or not I should take on a second year of AmeriCorps. Or otherwise warn/remind me that the committment would be for a full year -- as Melissa (my program director) did after my interview when she found out I would be getting married half way through the term of service.

But Jason hasn't. And I don't think he will. And yet, I am still uncomfortable. Partially, it's because I realize that I'm expecting patriarchal things. That somehow I expected to be validated by him asking, even though intellectually I realize that it's none of his business. Or maybe that I haven't been able to assert the fact that no, we're not having kids right away -- but at the same time, realizing the life is what happens when you're making other plans, and I don't want to come back later and have to be like "Nevermind, changed our minds!" or otherwise face people who tell you, "Don't you know what causes that?"

It is like how Tim's parents, whom I adore, tell us that we should wait a couple years to have kids, but at the same time coo at all the redheaded children at the Irish Festival in Dublin, OH and say "Babies are so cute! You two will probably have redheaded babies." It is a mixed signal.

Intellectually, I know that when to have children is solely the decision of my marital partnership. Somewhere in my gut in the way I have been socialized, I don't believe that -- and my discomfort shows me that. I'm kind of angry at myself for it.

I had a fascinating conversation with my little brother where we talked about the passions we had and how our mom didn't support them. I told him that I want to be a writer -- and that I am a writer -- but Mom told me that I couldn't live in the basement (so try again). His passion is music. He loves listening to it, experiencing the emotion in it, teaching himself keyboard and guitar. My mom is impressed with his dedication and ability to teach himself, but doesn't understand why he spends hours just listening to music.

He wanted to read some of what I'd written. I gave him my fanfiction.net page, and I looked back through my journal at the stuff that was hidden within.

Then I got a mysterious invite to this LJ community called brigits_flame. It is a writing community with weekly prompts, editors, great community spirit, and contests. It's been great the past two weeks, because it's put friendly external pressure on me to write.

I decided not to clutter this journal with my entries. I took an old community I had started (which had since died), booted out all the other members, and made it my writing community.

Here are two things I have written this week:

Prompt: Pitch and Treatment for a movie
Title: News Cycle

Prompt: Brave and Crazy
Title: Amateur Dancers

Today, I was able to reward grants to two communities who are having events tomorrow. They both thanked me profusely and are looking forward to working with me. I am really excited about this.

Dear beloved Brothers of Delta Chi, current and alumni friends:

You won't read this letter. Tim will read this letter, and so will Steve Weber, but the majority of you won't, mostly because I'm posting it in a forum where you are not privy. It allows me to be honest, but also to search for understanding and thus be unclear at times. Okay, so facebook decided to add this to my feed.

I was at your First-Friday LAN party. I really enjoy that party, even though I am not a LAN gamer, or even a much of a gamer at all. Part of the reason is that when Tim and I first started dating again about 3 years ago, the first time he brought me to the house was for a summer LAN party. I had a hard time keeping track of all of you, at first. I got better, and for a while there I was fluent in remembering everyone's names. That particular skill has gone by the wayside as more Brothers are initiated before I even have a chance to meet them. No matter, I'm glad you're growing. When you remember to be gentlemen, as is part of the charge of DX, you are a good group of guys. There are things that I would critique you all on, even as I love you: the occasional rape jokes, the racist jokes, the lack of respect for "soft" sciences. But that's not why I'm writing.

At the LAN party, as Tim and I were standing outside in a jovial group, I covered Tim's mouth before he could say something. He was about to speak over me, about to say what I had been saying. I trust and respect every member of that group -- and the action was meant as "But I want to say it" rather than, "Shut up, I'm talking." Tim smiled at the action, glad I was being assertive. The response from you, in form of teasing, was swift and harsh: the onomatopoeia of whips, the suggestion that Tim was no longer in possession of his gonads, and a listing of different ways I could keep him in line.

I understand that teasing is an important part of friendship. I am not asking not to be teased. I like a good joke at my own expense, most of the time. However, teasing has a social function ranging from bonding (which I am sure you were aiming at) to censure and correction of behavior (which is how I perceived it).

I thought we were friends. Knowing we are friends, I am disappointed that you don't realize how much I seek equality in my relationship with Tim. If Tim wants to hang out with his friends, and it doesn't conflict with anything else on the schedule, Tim can hang out with his friends. I won't invent something to keep him from playing with you. And I expect the same courtesy from him. I will not, refuse to be, the wife who believes that she should be her husband's sole companion, that she is the balm that will soothe his work-worn soul.

The truth is, while Tim and I are married, I know that we cannot be each other's "Everything." You, my DX gentlemen, are a huge part of his life. You helped him recover from a bad, bad break up. You were his friends before I came back into his life. I know how excited he gets when it comes to Ritual, and I would be the worst wife ever if I demanded he give you all up -- or worse, orchestrate his subtle removal, by making sure he can never attend, never make it because I "need him", or simply by devaluing his participation and his friendships.

This is why I'm so confused by what happened on Friday. I was so upset by the "whipping" comments because I try so hard to make sure Tim has his freedom -- I heard it as "You're doing it wrong." I want nothing more than Tim to feel completely free in his relationship to me. And I want nothing more than to be respected by you. I don't like girls who keep their boyfriends to themselves; I hate women who tie up their husbands in their suburban fortresses, only let lose to bring home the bacon. If you think those behaviors of me, I don't like me.

I'm not looking for an apology, nor is this a "woe is me." I'm just seeking to grok our relationship -- the relationship between me and the fraternity. Who am I to you? Am I sufficiently geeky enough to be one of you (albeit, always stuck on step 4), as I thought I was before June 20? Or am I merely a wife to be dismissed and marginalized as much as possible in a bid to keep your Brother?

I sincerely hope it is the former rather than the latter.

With much affection,

Kate Ditzler

As I was coming back from the Jackson, MI Project Homeless Connect committee meeting yesterday, I started driving with the radio off, which was a great way to quiet my thoughts. I have been feeling overwhelmed with media bombardments recently, and so I just started thinking, letting my mind wander.

On the Feministing community, a trans woman had decided that she was joining the trans person boycott of the website -- far too many people were derailing comments, asking to be educated or refusing to respect the posters and commenters. I was also thinking about the altmuslimah post on how to defend Muslim women. I had also, for a while, watched the deadbrowalking LJ community, interested in their discussion of race in scifi and fantasy, but being afraid to join in, for fear of using my status as a privileged white person.

I recognize that what I am about to do can also be seen as derailing -- it may be seen as a play in the Oppression Olympics, or possibly "But that happens to me, too!" Or even, "Look at how enlightened I am!" But I mean it as a sincere attempt at recognizing my privileged statuses.

I am:

White
Cisgendered
Heterosexual/Cissexual
Married
United States Citizen
Upper Middle Class
Christian (Catholic)
College Educated
Employed
Healthy / Fully Abled
Normal weight/BMI
Health Insured
Literate
Securely Housed
Right Handed

( Which means: )

This is just a beginning, just a note to myself to keep thinking about it. I hope that other anti-racist allies, other opponents of the kyriarchy out there might want to jump in, as well.

Another good link, just because: Help! I've just been called a racist! by dear LJ friend cacophonesque, who I hope doesn't mind that I've linked her.

These are the "polished pieces" out of my high school Advanced Composition Class, in order of writing. There were supposed to be four, I don't know what became of the other:

( College Application Essay about Libraries and Reading )

I spent four weeks last July learning how to go door-to-door, appealing to latent activists, and asking for their monetary support. I was given 5 hours in which to knock on as many doors as possible, and hopefully connect with about 40 people. Of those 40 people, 5-8 of them should, statistically, have given me money. My job was to make sure those givers gave me total, over the course of the night, at least $110. This was a job that took tremendous communication skills, the ability to think on your feet, and, surprisingly, is much more in your control than you would otherwise guess. So, in essence, the world to a canvasser is divided into givers and non-givers. But it put me in an interesting position to observe how people present themselves to strangers, which also said a lot about them. How they said "No" to me was particularly revealing.

It's canvassing season -- canvassers across the country are going door-to-door to talk to you about their pet issue. Here are some things to think about, if someone knocks on your door:

( 1. Political Agency )

I didn't unpack this fully. But I found the notes I made last August and wanted to write what I remembered -- because it's important for women who are faced with these decisions (either at their door or on the street) to understand that there is more going on than someone asking you for money for their pet political cause.

Title: One is Silver
Author: astraevirgo
Pairing/Character:
Word Count: 3,800ish
Rating: PG
Summary: A Young Wizards/How I Met Your Mother crossover. It turns out that Barney has other relationships.
Disclaimer: Contains some wild speculation about A Wizard of Mars, of which I have not read the sample chapters; the book won't be published until March 2010.
Author's Notes: YW used to be my favorite fandom to crossover, because they're so open to anything and everything. HIMYM may have over taken it, because so many other stories take place in New York City.

Special Preview Edition Author's Note: Unedited. I am pretty happy with this, but not 100%.

( And the other Gold )

This is from a pamphlet that I got over a year ago at the St. Johns Student Parish here in EL. It has been in the back of my mind ever since -- I type it up now so that I can recycle the pamphlet and stop worrying about losing it. What follows is something I still meditate on, and, yes, pray about.

From "Renewing the Earth"
A Statement by the US Conference of Catholic Bishops

"At its core, the environmental crisis is a moral challenge. It calls us to examine how we use and share the goods of the earth, what we pass on to future generations, and how we live in harmony with God's creation. The environmental crisis of our day constitutes an exceptional call to conversion. AS individuals, as institutions, as a people, we need a change of heart to save the plant for our children and generations yet unborn. The human family is charged with preserving the beauty, diversity, and integrity of nature, as well as with fostering its productivity. Yet, God alone is sovereign over the whole earth. For believers, our faith is tested by our concern and care for creation."

"Song of the Sun"
Praise be my Lord God
with all creatures; and especially
our brother the sun, which brings
us the day, and the light;
fair is he, and shining with a
very great splendor:
O Lord, he signifies You to us!
-Saint Francis( Read more... )

( What I am going to plant )

Crossposted at apartmentgarden

For every girl who is tired of acting weak when she is strong, there is a boy tired of appearing strong when he feels vulnerable.

For every boy who is burdened with the constant expectation of knowing everything, there is a girl tired of people not trusting her intelligence.

For every girl who is tired of being called over-sensitive, there is a boy who fears to be gentle, to weep.

For every boy for whom competition is the only way to prove his masculinity, there is a girl who is called unfeminine when she competes.

For every girl who throws out her E-Z-Bake oven, there is a boy who wishes to find one.

For every boy struggling not to let advertising dictate his desires, there is a girl facing the ad industry's attacks on her self esteem.

For every girl who takes a step towards her liberation, there is a boy who finds the way to freedom a little easier.