retrospection.is.sorely.limited

Yuletide Letter -- Astraev on the challenge

2009-11-11T19:41:06Z

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

astraevirgo @ 2009-10-13T21:17:00

2009-10-14T01:19:56Z

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?

I am having a really heavy day.

2009-10-12T17:25:26Z

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

Second Year of Service

2009-08-25T19:15:54Z

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.

Creativity

2009-08-14T15:39:09Z

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

Opposite of FML

2009-08-10T17:53:46Z

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.

DX: Gentlemen, please.

2009-07-20T21:26:01Z

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

Privileges

2009-07-16T17:32:54Z

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:

To be white means a lot of things. I have read Peggy McIntosh's Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack (which I have seen referred to as outdated, just for general information), but while that is informative, it does not fully unpack the experience of what being white means, especially in the context of all of my other privileges.

To be cisgendered, cissexual, and married are three separate privileges that need to be unpacked separately, especially considering transphobia, the right to equal marriage, the lack of action by the Obama administration on LGBTQ issues and the marginalization of the T in LGBTQ issues in the first place. But for now, I will say this: to be cisgendered, cissexual, and married means that I am held up as "natural," as how the world "should be" and my relationship is sanctioned by my family and by society as "normal" and "adult." That opens many more doors for me, even in the 21st century, than I ever thought possible. I was added to Tim's lease by merely walking into the leasing office with my driver's license, and declaring ourselves married, for example. Nothing else. Rarely are we asked to prove our legal status, or explain how our lives interrelate.

I feel like the privileges of being a US citizen are obvious to many, but not often recognized. Our passports are accepted in a great majority of the world, planes are held for us because we are perceived as more important than others, our companies and customs are recognized around the world in terms of cultural hegemony. But we often take this for granted, or excuse it away with the market, saying that we have earned it by dominating capitalism.

Upper Middle Class -- I have credit. I can take out loans. I can open a bank account. I have family and friends who can loan me money if I'm short on a pay check, as opposed to going to a payday lender. I know how to save, and have the luxury of saving. If I need a job, I can pick up and move across the country for one. I do not rely on my social network for financial support often. This is in many ways a mentality more than a function of earnings. Presently, I earn poverty-level wages, and still had the above priveleges. Now, as a function of being married, I am thrust up a tax bracket or two, see the above benefits, and have the privilege of disposable income to adorn myself, my home, and my belongings with the trappings of consumerism.

Christian (Catholic) -- being a Christian, especially in the United States, I do not have to explain or defend my basic beliefs, social mores, or morality. Being a Catholic tweaks this privilege a bit, but Catholicism is still more within the conversational language of our society than Judaism and Islam.

College Educated -- Not only do I have my bachelor's degree, I am (at least in terms of school) debt-free. While I did earn my high school diploma, and my college degree with my own smarts, they were smarts born of a supportive parental household free from economic stressors (i.e. an Upper Middle Class one), a public school supported by residential property taxes in suburban neighborhoods, and the financial capital my parents set aside for me to attend college. I have a college degree in the financial sense because I was entitled to it, in many ways.

Employed -- I am partially employed because of my social network (back to being middle class and college educated). I was able to get my current position because I went to the Career Advisor at my college, and she referred me to a classmate offering a position. I know people who know where jobs may be -- or would, at least, if the economy was better. They say often in the job market that it's not what you do, but who you know, and that is entirely true -- and a realm out of reach of many, as they simply do no know and do not know how to know people in those positions.

Healthy / Fully Abled
Normal weight/BMI
Health Insured

I'll take the above three together, again, despite them being separate things. I do not have a disability; I can run and jump and play like "normal." I am "naturally" healthy. Body Mass Index is a very contested concept, and rightly so -- but it does not change the fact that I am not obese, which privileges me in both obvious ways (I am not made to buy a second seat on airplanes) and inobvious ways (I am considered more trustworthy, etc.). And finally, I have health insurance. I can seek treatment to remain healthy, able bodied, and "normal" sized. All the quotes are because normal and natural are problematic concepts.

Securely Housed -- this needs to be recognized, especially in today's economic climate where people are still losing their homes. My husband and I spend less than 30% of our income on housing. We are both employed, which means we can continue to pay the housing. And because we are housed we can seek medical treatment, and continue to be employed. Housing is a human rights issue, a huge one that our country is struggling with.

Literate & Right Handed -- seem like silly little obvious ones, but can you imagine trying to receive your government benefits for your disability if you couldn't read? And right handedness is subtle and insidious -- Microwaves have the key pads on the right hand side for right handed people. Left handed people learn to use computer mice with their right hands. Scissors.

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.

HS Writing part 3

2009-05-22T02:42:20Z

They sit at the round oak table
Eating their cold White Castle french-fries
While their mother
Gives me last minute instructions.
She tells me not to close
The pantry door
As a builder placed a heating vent
That will melt all the chocolate
If the heat gets trapped.
My employer tells me that
Her eldest girl
Can be a little bossy
And that her baby girl
Can be a little sensitive.
After instructions and shortened house rules,
After a quick tour of the house
With the same floor plan as mine
Their mommy leaves
Me in charge,
Sitting at a round oak table
Stealing cold White Castle french-fries
From two pre-school aged girls
With dark wisps of hair framing their pale faces
Who giggle as my hands dart
From their folded positions
To steal potato-y goodness
From under their noses

We clean up the blue and white wrappers
I negotiate a peace treaty
over a cheap plastic toy
We slink into the family room filled with toys
Television
and over stuffed furniture
I sit in a deep leather recliner,
ignoring the luxury
they sprawl on the floor
amongst barbies, baby-dolls and books.
And we put on "The Princess Diaries"
Eldest girl asks "Are there real princesses?"
I say yes.
I start to wonder why I chose that answer
But time is short as I have to defuse
a new fight between oldest and youngest
Over how Cinderella Barbie gets to the bal,
Because the elder girl does not believe horse-drawn carriages
can move without horses
Which is exactly
What I used to argue over
with my little sister
But now I encourage baby girl's fantasy
After all, it only matters that Cinderella gets to the ball
Once Cinderella is surrounded by
High-shine wax floors that blind her eyes
Once she sees the tall glass windows that bring the stars
Down to encircle her head and fill it with dreams
Cinderella teaches all little girls a lesson
To never give up

I put them both in bed
And go back downstairs to the round oak kitchen table
Sit to do my calculus problems
I hear sniffing around problem 15
I figure I can take a break to soothe baby girl's fears
But I climb the stairs
Turn the corners
to where my room is in my own house
But where both little girls sleep
To find Rachel, the big girl
Crying in the dark
"I can't fall asleep"
"What can I do?" I ask, remembering
What a frustration it was to have a little sister
Fall asleep before you
Always
When you should be better and stronger
"Tell me a fable," she demands, eyes glistening wide
In the dark
"And tell me the truth."
I sputter.
A fable.
Childhood's textbook for understanding the world
A fable has no substance
Nothing in my hands
Up my sleeves
Those who tell stories
have outgrown stories
They see the seams of their clothing
Straining at their shoulders
As they are too big to be wearing
the cloak of deception
they see the truth
the lies
that is a story

So I try to tell Rachel a story
I try to tell her the fable that she demands
Something to soothe her to sleep
To make everything better.
"Once upon a time,
there was a little girl
whose mother asked her to take a basket
of goodies to her grandmother
who lived down the lane through a large dark forest.
On the way the little girl met a wolf
who thought she looked really tasty
And this little girl talked to this wolf
Ignoring all the advice
that she had ever been given in her entire life
And the world made a plan to eat her
And eventually the wolf did.
But fortunately the little girl was saved,
despite her horrible choices,
by a strapping woodsman.
But she got a little scratched
because he used his hatchet to save her."
But in Truth
Grandma would be dying of cancer
and no basket of goodies
could ever save her
And Rachel knows not to talk
to strangers
she's seen too many Amber Alerts
interrupt Dragon Tales
on PBS
and she should know
that sometimes mistakes
can be fatal
like driving drunk
and when they're not
like not doing your homework
you shouldn't need an older man
to save you
she should know not to have her dad do her math problems
and she doesn't need
a story to tell her
at the age of four and a half
that sometimes life can leave
scars
She doesn't need to know that yet.

Rachel looks at me
rubbing her eyes
not quite pacified.
"Do you want a glass of water?"
I offer something tangible
in place of my failings
as a story spinner
"You can go away now,"
she says, in complete innocence
and I smile and say "Good night."
She is dissatisfied.
Tell me a fable.
and tell me the truth.
To fill the empty space in my hands
for something tangible to hand
to this baby
Why could she possible want to know the truth?
A cold and lonely place
This purgatory of view points
between fable and truth
Where no one will tell you a story
or tell you the facts
the truth
so hidden for adults
is unsuitable to be fed to children
Rachel wanted both
fable
and truth
I could not tell her
why the words I chose for the fable
were truth as well as fiction.

I go back down stairs.
I sit back down in front of college textbook
used in high school
but don't pick up my pencil again
How can Rachel have reached
the place where answers are
found by peeling away
the layers of lies
so early?
Why am I so like her?
The Easter Bunny disappeared
in a puff of pre-school logic
because my aunt gave my cousins
what the Easter Bunny had given me
Now why do I return to stories?
At seventeen?
About to graduate?
Why do I devour children's flights of fancy?
Why am I arguing for Cinderella's transporation?
I remember
When I asked
"Mom, is there an Easter Bunny?"
"Santa Claus?"
"Tooth fairy?"
All at once.
And now I've had reality asked of me.
I'm almost an adult...
My straining jacket seams show;
my fluffy security blanket doesn't quite cover
what it used to
and though demands fall on deaf ears...
I still want to know...
Please.
Tell me a fable.
Tell me the truth.
I want to know.
I want to hear both.
I promise to listen.
If you promise to tell.

More HS writing, with more LULZ.

2009-05-22T02:10:22Z

Essential to Life

The waitress reached into the middle of the table to retrieve the full glass of water that sat there, and I stopped her. "No," I said. "Leave it please." Desperation leaked into my voice, I suppose, because she looked at me with mildly confused eyes and continued to clear the table with all due speed. She left even faster.

Now he and I sit at a white cafe table with a glass of water and silence between us. We are quiet though the waitresses yell back and forth across the room as they serve lattes and deli sandwiches to the bohemian crowd. Cliff is not a bohemian, and he looks out of pace amongst the bold colors of the cafe, a figure all in black.

Cliff tries to restart the conversation that had been dying since we first started going out three months ago. "The X-games are next week," he said. "My friends and I are planning to go down to San Diego." He leans on the table and I pull the glass of water closer to me. I don't want to get in his way. "It's crazy there; people in the crowds clap and cheer for the cheesiest tricks."

I look at the glass as he speaks and I pretend to listen. It's illuminated in a shaft of sunlight and the ice cube refract into cracks of brightness that shine against walls, against his chest, and into my eyes. The glass becomes angelic with the sunshine captured in its walls, burning away all of the darkness, showing all of its secrets.

"How's Lisa?" he asks, stopping the torrent of his own voice for a moment to have me join the conversation.

"Fine," I say, and don't wish to say anymore. "So, are you going to bring anything to the games?"

He launches his explanation of the perfect equipment for skateboarding, something I've heard before. Our topics of conversation are sorely limited, and always have been. Skateboarding, Lisa, School. Lisa is our only common link; the one who introduced me to this stranger to make me forget my last relationship, and this stranger, inexplicable, sought to protect and cheer me. Lisa is the one who encourages our relationship even now, speaking of Cliff in a glowing light ("He said the funniest thing today after work.") thus daring me not to like him. School is the topic he likes the least, but it's the one that my life is focused on at the moment, I can't help it. Neither one of us talks about our pasts or families. He says I would be scared away -- he hints of living in cars and truancy. I say nothing and am afraid I am too white bread for him -- with my nuclear family and two-car garage. I've learned of his suburban skateboard culture and he's learned of my culture of high-achievers -- but we've both stopped listening because we've begun to repeat ourselves.

My finger trails in the dew that's forming on the cool glass, creating patterns out of the large droplets that will soon fill in with new dew as I sit and smile placidly and nod when he pauses, when he looks for affirmation, when he wants to be sure I'm playing attention. I still don't hear what he's saying. I realize this water glass is shaped like a hole in the ground, the kind he and I have been digging these past months, wide at the top where we enthusiastically started digging and narrower at the bottom where we've conceeded to occupy a smaller space for sheer fear of being buried alive. The ice cubs -- solid reminders of every time I've withheld comment, didn't change the subject, didn't ask to got to the bookstore and instead flipped through meaningless catalogs of axles and polycarbonate -- create a cathedral above me, the weight of which could collapse at any moment. There's only a small space at the bottom of the glass hole where I can move, where the water sit stagnant and frigid.

He seems to know what he's doing with a girlfriend, and doesn't seem to care that I've stopped talking when his friends are around. I have nothing to say that they haven't already; they've been skateboarding for years. Cliff doesn't seem to care that I don't like the public displays of affection he insists upon, though I stand still and rigid as it happens. He doesn't seem to care that I feel I am a cardboard cut out of my former self, trapped at the bottom of this water-glass-hole where I'm drowning in our relationship.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, I think, as he babbles on about who-knows-what-now. Lisa says he's a good guy, but he ran away from home at 11 and he doesn't know where his father is and plans to be a computer technician and thinks that's all he needs to know. It seems he doesn't see beyond his vision, and my vision for life includes a job that requires thought, requires discipline -- a job where he would be the guy I would call when my computer is on the fritz and he'd say, "Be right there, ma'am," before he hung up.

Cliff stops talking. He's shifting in the hot sunshine, and eying my glass of water. I'm tempted to let him have it. I'm not drinking it. But that would show I care, and I'm not sure I do. I study the glass, trying to decide if the gesture is worth betraying whatever feelings I have, and then the sun goes behind the clouds.

The outside influence of treasonous brightness is gone. The glass is utterly ordinary. I see what it really is -- full of water spots and greasy finger prints. This cannot work out, no matter what anyone says, no matter if he'll be disappointed.

"Whew, I'm glad the sun went behind the clouds," he says, as he wipes beads of sweat from his brow. "I was getting warm." He settles on the table, elbows holding his head up so his eyes are staring into mine. He only shifts to look at his watch, a gesture that shows he's determined for me to talk -- and I suppose I have to, now.

"Cliff, I don't think I should be your girlfriend anymore," I say softly, and I look into his face. "I don't know how to be myself when I'm with you." I want to be sincere, I want to be completely truthful, but I'm afraid I'm coming across as false and pathetic. I see a difference between my real self and the fictional girlfriend.

His face hardens, no longer the easy half grin and good humor that always graces his features. "What?"

"We never talk about... real things," I say, fingers sliding down the glass, wiping off the dew, destroying any patterns that were there, preventing any new ones. "I don't think you know what my favorite song is.... I don't even know if you like to read." Are these real things? Are these really things missing in my life, covered by smudges made by greasy finger prints?

"What real things?" he asks warily, as he slowly tenses up, muscle by muscle. "What do you mean?"

I take a deep breath. What is it that I mean? I search for the answer, but words from my mouth don't flow freely when I have questions I don't know the answer to. Why is it that I don't think I know who I am anymore? What is it that I really want?

"I mean the future. What we're going to do with our lives... I mean, you'll be going to ITT, I'll be going off to college... but we never talk about our plans."

"You just told me your plans," he said, voice half octive higher than it should have been. I'm upsetting him. I don't want to upset him; it was unfair to him to let him think I was ready for a relationship...

"But... we don't talk about our fears... and hopes and dreams." I'm choking on the words. They won't come out how I'd like them to -- and I'd like to take a deep drink of the water before me and forget anything ever happened. Let myself drown. No: "We don't talk about the things that matter," I say again.

"Are you saying that I don't care?" His fist is on the table, writhing as if in pain. I didn't want to hurt him. "Why don't you talk to me?" he demands. "Why didn't you tell me what you were thinking?"

Silence engulfs us. He's waiting for an answer. I'm waiting for something to tell me what the right answer is, what he wants to hear. But I know I can't. I trust my heart instead. I say what I know is the truth. "I didn't know how to tell you," I say quietly. "I don't know how to be me..."

"This is bullshit!" His voice gains volume. "All this shit about 'knowing who you are.'" Cliff jumps up from his seat roughly, and his movement sends his chair flying backwards and the table jitters. The glass falls sideways and the water and ice glide over the table and clatter onto the floor. Everyone in the little cafe has turned to look at his departure. "I can't believe you're dumping me."

"I'm sorry," I say. The water spreads into an infinitely shallow puddle, raining onto the floor and seeping amongst the cracks of the tiles, flooding the entire restaurant. They could be my tears, if I had chosen to shed any. Tears would be wasted, as this glass of water was. Somehow, I had known it was over all along.

"Are you all right?" asks the blond waitress, who appears with a mop, staring at Cliff's retreating back.

"Yeah," I say. I watch as Cliff turns into a tiny speck in the distance, rounds a corner, and disapears. I stand, grab my coat off the chair I was sitting on, then turn to leave. "Eventually, everything will be okay."

High School Writings

2009-05-22T01:25:19Z

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 Admissions Essay

I asked to learn to read. The way my mother laughed when she was reading silently steeled my determination to join this secret club. Trips to the library were a treat throughout my early childhood; my mother would bring me across the children's wing to the shortest shelf filled with cellophane-wrapped picture books. There were only short passages of words to be read there, but I delighted in them and my choices of bedtime stories: Madeline, Berenstain Bears... I wanted to read every book in that library, never realizing that two long low shelves I considered the library were only a tiny fraction of the whole.

I don't know how close I came to reading all the picture books, but one day when I was not-quite-six, The Day Jimmy's Boa Ate the Wash was the only thing catching my eye. I didn't want to bring it home again, but I didn't want to leave without any new reading either. I sat down in the corner and scowled at the wall I had prowled for so long. Shifting my weight to sulk, my toe nudged a misplaced book. I stillI want a big book to read, I thought. The pictures are in my mind, not on the paper!

"Mommy?" I asked, childish finger holding my spot. "Can I have a book that takes more than a day to read?"

"What do you mean, Kate?" she asked, looking up from her book. "What do you have there?"

"I want a book like this that I could read and put down and pick up again and still read something different."

My mother, used to my demands, took the book from my hand. "You don't want this."

"Please, Mommy," I begged. She smiled and disapeared, to return with Mitch and Amy by Beverly Cleary, one of her favorite books and my first novel. That book was a ticket to the larger library, a new set of stories and a new challenge.

Libraries have always been a catalyst for me. The present an idea, a new challenge, and I conquer it. My 8th grade research paper on Apollo 11 brought me to the Central City Library in Baltimore amongst 1969 documents to discover the computer error that almost aborted the moon landing -- which made me reconsider my dream of becoming an astronaught. My 11th grade AP English term paper brought me into the University of Michigan Graduate library, where critical analysis of Stranger in a Strange Land had me considering humanity's survival without an outside to point out flaws -- I redoubled my effort to understand international relations. I love libraries, as libraries contain mountains I never tire of climbing -- there has always been another where the first came from.

Canvassing: Feminism at your door, or on the street

2009-05-12T02:33:20Z

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 have to ask my husband," or "My husband is the one who writes those checks."
Occasionally: "My wife makes those decisions."

Perhaps it's not fair, but the question of who holds the check book is a huge one when it comes to canvassing -- and pretending you don't have it, or don't have the authority to write a check -- it is tantamount to having political agency or handing it over to your significant other.

A lot of the time I got the sense that someone was interested in what I had to say, but then used not their lack of money, but their lack of control over money as an excuse.

2. Traditional Roles v. Politics

"I have given money to every Dick and Jane College student who has come through here this summer, I'm not giving to you. I am looking for a childcare provider, though. You interested?"

There's not much to say about this one. This particular resident of an East Lansing neighborhood had asked me if this was a summer job. "No," I said, "I just graduated. This is my career." My career as an activist -- he still offered me a position taking care of his children.

And then there are the people who told me to be careful, or that it was too dark to be knocking on doors in high summer, in their idyllic, 300k dollar home neighborhoods.

3. Protectionism

"Get out of my neighborhood!" said kids, taunting as they ride past on their bikes.

A man puts his arm around his wife as I pass.

Another canvasser was shot at with bebe guns by kids.

Our attitudes about private property and the sanctity of the home is absolutely contradictory to the ability to have conversations and build community. I also employed a canvasser who was "arrested" by citizens in a Colorado Covenant Community, who said that his right to free speech -- talking with citizens -- was superseded by their community covenant.

4. Appearance

"I got kicked off a porch today for looking at a man's wife. It wasn't my fault she was wearing a bikini!" said one of my fellow canvassers.

"You should wear a tank top," suggested a newbie. "You are a girl."

Those who are canvassed are looked at as much as canvassers are looked at themselves -- and appearance -- sexually -- is an agency which is perceived by beginning canvassers as "money makers."

5. "Masculine" v. "Feminine" Forms of Communication

Six months into my canvassing career, I began failing, as I continued to canvass in the failing Michigan economy, and I began to take "No" for an answer. As I was building consensus, I would take no for an answer, because finding people who said yes immediately was how you got people who were truly committed to a cause. But that's not how you raise money.

The combative continual "ask" -- someone who keeps asking you for money until you cave and say "Yes! Fine!" and if they manage to do it in a persuasive and congenial way -- these are the successful canvassers. They're pushy, they're loud, they tell you what to do, and wait for you to do it -- this is a persona I had a hard time adopting.

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.

FIC: One is Silver, YW/HIMYM Crossover

2009-04-28T04:24:40Z

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%.

“Oh, hi, guys,” said Marshall, opening the door to the apartment in Dowisetrepla. He was wearing an apron and a Uncle Sam hat. “Happy Independence Day, by the way. I'm just putting together some guacamole... take a seat.”

“Ooh,” said Ted, pursing his lips and throwing his arms up in the air. “Branching out from pancakes, are you? Learning how to cook?” He threw himself down in the easy chair, sprawling out.

Marshall, back in the kitchen, sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, I'm taking it out of the bag. God, Ted, you know Lily wouldn't let me do that.”

“At least not at one of her dinner parties,” said Ted.

“You're three days too late,” Robin muttered, but everyone – Barney, Ted, and Marshall – looked at her with blank eyes. “Canada day?”

“So that's why you were wearing maple leafs on Wednesday!” said Barney. He stopped, stood very still, and shook his head. “Not a real holiday, Sherbatsky.”

Robin shook her head at him, saying nothing. Robin sat at the edge of couch and said, “Where is Lily, anyway?”

“Showering,” said Marshall. “Shh, be quiet she might...”

Lily came bolting out of the master bedroom, wet hair still dripping, wearing a halter-top sundress resplendent in red, white, and blue. “You guys are early!” (“It's okay, it's okay,” she said to herself, hoping that her guests didn't see.) “I hope you made yourselves comfortable.” She beamed at her friends-turned-guests in a manner that Robin hoped wouldn't strain a muscle.

“Yeah, we're fine,” said Ted. “You have any beer?”

“Oh, no!” said Lily, hands on her face in panic. “We forgot to buy beer!”

“Can we get Molson ?” asked Robin, hopeful.

“No, Robin,” said Barney, scoffing. “This is an American holiday. We need beer with patriotic,” he paused dramatically. “Sparks!” he yelled, and he did his standard magic trick. The one that had left a scorch mark in Ted's apartment, the one that had earned Barney an intervention.

It was then that time stood still. And Lily grew three feet taller. She marched over to Barney, stared at him for a moment, then marched over to her purse. She pulled out forty dollars and shoved it at his chest. Barney took the cash and winced. “You will leave this apartment right now and go buy beer,” said Lily in her teacher voice. “You will leave all your pyrotechnics at the liquor store. You hear me?” She took the lapels of his coat and shook. “You hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Barney whimpered. He turned towards the door and opened it. He looked back forlornly. “But... it's the Fourth of July...”

“Go!” said Lily. Barney went. Lily marched into the kitchen. Robin and Ted looked at each other.

“Even if it's the family you chose...” said Robin, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah,” said Ted. “It's still a family holiday.”

"I want a beer," Marshall whimpered as he brought the chips and dip into the living room. He tried to say it so only Ted and Robin could hear, but Lily had chosen that moment to bring a glass of wine to
Robin.

"Where is Barney? He better not be buying more fireworks." Lily put her hands on her hips and then looked at Robin, who was just about to take a sip of wine. "Robin should go get him," said Lily.

"Yeah!" said Marshall, trying to look as if there was no ulterior motive for him to agree with Lily. He twisted in place and did his best not to meet Robin's eyes.

"Why do I have to go?" asked Robin. "I have booze! And besides, he's only been gone, like, a minute." She pointed at her glass of wine, then leaned back in her seat, as if resting her case.

"Because I need Marshall to put together the vegetable platter," said Lily matter-of-factly.

"And why not Ted?" demanded Robin. Ted choked on the chip he put in his mouth at the wrong moment.

"Because I need him to help me find the... Independence Day Parade on cable." Marshall snatched up the remote and the tv listings quickly, making it impossible to double check his assertion.

Robin looked at them skeptically. "I've never heard of it."

"Yeah," said Ted. "I can do that." He nodded assertively.

"So, that leaves you," said Lily. "Now go!"

Robin sighed, rolled her eyes. She looked at her wine and said, "I'll be back for you."

Robin stopped before she left and looked at Ted. He shrugged at her, and she ducked out of the door. Ted immediately got up and made a beeline over to the kitchen to confer with his oldest friends. "So, are you trying to hook Robin and Barney up or something? Not that I care or anything, it's no big deal." Ted scoffed and tried to examine his manicured nails as if to emphasize that he really didn't care. It only lasted a moment, however, before he slammed his hands down on the bar of the kitchen. "No, really, what's going on?"

"You'll have to ask Barney and Robin," said Lily magnanimously.

"Oh, come on," said Marshall. "You can't keep any other secret, but you're going to keep this one?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. Barney is in love with Robin."

"I knew it!" said Ted, pumping his fist into the air. "He didn't say as much, but when he realized Robin and I were friends with benefits..."

Behind them, the door slammed open and shut. Ted turned and Marshall and Lily rushed out of the kitchen to see Robin pacing around the living room. "He hugged her! A hug from Barney, is like, totally intimate, right? And then he hugged that guy. That guy! Barney doesn't hug his bros, let alone some guy stranger at some block party!" Robin bit her fist, trying to keep from saying something.

"What do you mean?" asked Lily. "What did you see?"

"Barney didn't get very far. He's at the park across the street from your apartment, where there's a block party going on? You can probably see yourself from your bedroom window." Robin sat on the couch and gulped at her wine. Lily sat with her as Ted and Marshall scrambled over each other to get to the front bedroom. Marshall threw open the window and Ted stuck his head out, and had to twist to also accommodate Marshall. They looked out and Ted said, "I don't see anything."

"Let's go," said Marshall. They pulled themselves out of the window and moved back to the living room, where Barney was standing with three cases of beer, a woman and a man holding hands.

"Hey, guys!" said Barney. "These are old friends of mine! I can't believe I found them. They live in your building!"

"Barney!" cried Ted ("Act natural," he whispered). He raised an eyebrow, looking at the man and the woman holding hands who looked slightly uncomfortable, but were handling it well. "You... brought friends?"

“Yeah, Ted,” said Barney, scoffing. “That's what I just said.”

"I thought we were his only friends," said Marshall in a low voice, eying the new couple suspiciously.

"I'm Lily," said Lily, and reached out to shake the hand of the woman. "And this is..." She began to gesture over to Marshall when her welcoming look turned a bit to horror as she looked at the woman's left hand and realized... "Barney, you brought married friends?"

"We're definitely his only married friends," said Marshall, panicking.

The woman laughed awkwardly, gently taking her hand back. "I'm Nita, and this is my husband, Kit. We're old friends of Barney's."

Barney had been rolling his eyes at the whole proceedings, and went into the kitchen and came back with a soda for Nita and a beer for Kit. He touched Nita on the shoulder, and pointed to love seat and then offered Kit the other seat.

Just as Barney was about to sit down on the arm of the love seat, Ted looked back and forth between the horrified look on Marshall's face, the concern on Lilly's and these two strangers, said, "Excuse me," and pushed Barney off the arm and towards the kitchen. "We'll get the vegetable platter!"

"I made some roasted red pepper hummus just this morning," said Nita, she smiled wanly at Lily. “I could run upstairs and get it for you? I know what it's like to have last minute guests.”

Kit took a swig of his beer and set it down on a coaster. “I'll get it,” said Kit, and stood.

Nita laughed and held her hands up trying to convey her uncomfortable acceptance of this gesture. “I'm pregnant, and my dear husband thinks I might break.”

"Pregnant married friends?" Lily's jaw set, and she turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen.

Kit sat down again, deciding that this was probably a more hostile environment than they had originally anticipated. "You're an... insular group... aren't you?" Kit said, taking Nita's hand again.

Marshall was staring wide eyed at his guests. "I'm a lawyer!" he said, and then he looked around, silently begging someone, anyone, to come back to the living room. Luckily, he saw Robin at just that moment. "Haaaave you met Robin?” He pushed Robin forward towards the guests. “I'mgoingtogohelpcarrythings."

Robin frowned, and watched Marshall sprint into the kitchen. She sat down on the easy chair and picked up her wine. "They don't need everyone to do the vegetable...whatever. I'm Robin," she said, holding out her hand.

"I'm Nita," she said, shaking Robin's hand. "Do they do this often?"

"Do what?" asked Robin, turning towards Kit.

Kit shook her hand, and said, "Panic when they meet new people."

"Not usually, I guess it depends on the context," said Robin, draining her wine glass. “You're a spectacle. Barney doesn't have relationships. At least not outside of us, and maybe his mother."

“We're old friends of his,” said Nita. “We met summer after junior year of high school, in Hempstead.”

“How did you meet?” asked Robin.

“It's a long story,” said Kit, but he leaned back in his seat, sipped his beer, and began to tell it.

Over in the kitchen, Barney was in the middle of intense scrutiny; he, however, continued to roll his eyes and sipped the scotch and soda he had poured for himself since being dragged into the kitchen. "Since when do you pick up married chicks and their husbands?" asked Ted.

“A pregnant married chick,” said Lily. “Pregnant!”

"Well, it is on my list.” Barney paused for a moment to let that sink in, but then plowed on. “But seriously, Nita and Kit are old friends, I don't see what the deal is." Barney swilled his drink.

"You barely commit to us, how can you commit to them as your friends?" demanded Lily.

Marshall's fist was practically in his mouth, to keep from... something. "I mean, I thought what we had was special, man? Did you marry them too?"

“God, Marshall, no,” said Barney, shaking his head. “Guys, we met at neighborhood party in Hempstead, where we grew up. Nita and Kit went to one high school, I went to the other, and we met the summer after our junior years of high school.”

“Yeah,” said Kit, speaking to Robin in the living room. “We were at Tom Swale and Carl Romeo's house – they were a mentors to all three of us, but we hadn't met until that Fourth of July party – it's kind of amazing that we met up again today, of all days.”

“We discovered that we had a mutual fascination for... astronomy,” said Nita.

“And the ocean,” said Kit. “The ocean is what we really bonded over – saving the whales.”

“It was a save-the-whales campaign,” continued Barney in the kitchen. “This was long before I suited up, and I was becoming, ever so slowly, hippie Barney, concerned with saving the world instead of making a name for myself.”

“Barney was really great at it,” said Nita. “Better than I ever was.”

“I always just tagged along when it came to whales specifically,” said Kit. “But when it comes to cleaning up toxics? I was always really instrumental. Barney did really good work.”

“Still does,” said Nita.

“Wait,” said Robin. “You know what Barney does for a living?”

Nita and Kit looked at each other. “He works for Goliath National Bank,” said Kit.

“Yeah, which is a division of Ultrasoft, which is reputedly an evil company,” said Robin.

“Don't they put the fuzz on tennis balls?” asked Nita, smiling coyly.

“And then we were friends through high school, as much as you could be friends when you lived on opposite sides of town,” said Barney, shrugging. “We hung out sometimes. Went to separate colleges. Got invited to their wedding, didn't go because they were making the biggest mistake of their lives – found them again today. That's the whole story.”

That was not the whole story.

The whole story was this:

“Since you guys are being assigned to the Mars team, replacing Barney,” said Carl, looking at Nita and Kit, “Tom and I decided to bring Barney in to help with the Jones Inlet incursion, the month-to-month management and improvement of it.” Carl gestured across the table. “Barney, meet Nita and Kit. Nita and Kit, meet Barney.”

Nita reached across the table to shake Barney's hand. He was blonde, and his hair was curiously long, and instead of wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he was wearing swim trunks and a white tank top. Kit also shook his hand.

“We don't want to keep you from the festivities for too long,” he gestured outside at the barbecue in full swing. “But I wanted to make this a formal introduction, because I think this is an opportunity for you guys to work together like...” he hesitated for a moment. “Like adult wizards,” he finished.

The pronouncement was a sober one, and left Nita, Kit and Barney picking at their food at the edges of the party. “This sucks,” said Barney, finally.

“We knew it was coming,” said Nita, sighing. “Post-Ordeal levels fade, and....”

“Yeah,” said Kit. “And we get specialized and become adults.”

“It won't be so bad,” said Nita. “We'll introduce you to S'reee and show you the spell diagram and...”

“But...” said Barney. “I want to be special, not specialized.”

“Yeah, that would be awesome,” said Nita, smiling gently.

“Yeah, awesome,” echoed Barney.

That summer, and over the following school year, they did learn to be adult wizards together. It was not quite a three-way partnership, but Kit explained to Barney the way he constructed the Jones Inlet spell, Nita explained the way she built the spell that was overkill – but just in case, some company in the future creates some sort of pollutant which did mutate like a virus – and Barney taught the two of them what the knew about astronomy, especially Mars. As time went on, it became clearer their specialties – Barney became an expert on pollution, all sorts.

“Ultrasoft is seriously evil, guys,” said Barney, as they sat on a cluster of small boulders on the moon. “They're developing something – and the runoff changes daily, not quite in a viral way? But pretty close. It's absolutely heinous. S'reee says it's not effecting the whales quite yet, but she's not sure if the birth rates are what they're supposed to be.”

Kit became an expert on the urban habitat, especially how new buildings impacted the health and livelihoods of people and animals. “I think...” said Kit, as they sat high in the bleachers after a football game at Barney's school, far from where other people could hear them, “I think I need to be an environmental engineer. They're rebuilding at Ground Zero, you know – but I'm not sure they're doing it right. The things we learned from the Ancients on Mars...” Nita leaned into him, pulling him into a one-armed hug, and Kit melted – all past fear and anxiety from Mars leaking out of him.

Barney knew then that they were an item, even if they didn't know it themselves.

Nita grew more and more clairvoyant, in stranger and stranger ways. She didn't quite start talking like the koi, or Peach, but... “I think I have to put it to good use,” she said, while sitting at Tom and Carl's kitchen table. “It was something I was thinking about but wasn't sure...” She paused for along moment, and Barney almost told her to spit it out – Kit took her hand in support. “Meterology?” she said, and the silence was very short, as it dawned on everyone how perfect that was.

Barney graduated first. Nita and Kit attended his graduation in a stuffy gymnasium, and they hugged him silly afterwards. The following Saturday, Nita and Kit accepted their diplomas, and Barney cheered the loudest from high in the stands. Barney stayed in New York – it was the only home he's ever known, he said – and went to New York University for Biological Sciences with a focus on Toxics. Nita and Kit went to Colorado – Kit to the University of Colorado, Nita to Colorado State. They got married the weekend after their graduation four years later, and Barney brought Shannon to their wedding, introducing her as the girl he was going to save the world with, and that they were joining the Peace Corps.

Which brings us, nearly, back to the present.

“We could have couple friends,” said Marshall, hopefully. “They live in our building but not on our floor! That's totally far enough away not to run into the platinum rule.”

Lily grabbed Marshall's arm and looked up at him excitedly. “I want couple friends,” she said. But then she frowned. “God, Barney, you're going to tell me that they live too close to us, and we can't be friends because of the stupid platinum rule, aren't you?”

“Chill,” said Barney. “Nita and Kit are awesome. You have no idea how awesome they are. They are so awesome that they are exceptions to the platinum rule.” His grip on his glass was probably tighter than strictly necessary to keep it from slipping from his fingers, but he desperately wanted Ted, Marshall, Lily and Robin (especially Robin) to love Nita and Kit as much as he did. “In fact, how about this? They're actually starting their own environmental engineering firm.”

“And how does that make them awesome?” asked Ted, incredulously.

Barney smirked. “Wait for it. This is going to be so awesome, you're going to hug Kit just for existing.” He poured himself another scotch, slowly.

“Get on with it!” said Marshal, who was clearly greatly anticipating the announcement.

“I said wait for it,” said Barney. He took a sip of his drink and sighed. He pointed with the scotch in his hand. “Marshall, they need a lawyer. An environmental lawyer. Ted? You know what they need? They need an architect to design their offices. Lily? Nita needs a friend, a married woman friend – she's having a baby, after all. And for Robin, if she ever gets tired of that morning talk show, though she's fabulous on that? They could probably use a public relations machine like her.”

Marshall squealed and hugged Barney first. Then he rushed into the other room, most likely to give Kit a hug. Lily ran after him, probably also to embrace her new found friend. Ted and Barney looked at each other across the kitchen and Barney grinned. “You're a good guy,” said Ted.

“I'm awesome,” said Barney, agreeing and refuting at the same time. He sipped his scotch.

“You'll have to tell Robin some day,” said Ted. “I want you to.”

Barney choked on his drink. “Okay, Bro, whatever you say.” Barney tried to brush it off. He grinned again. “You know what the best part is?”

“No, what?”

“Nita has a younger sister, who is very much on the marital market, if you know what I mean.” Barney winked and nodded, getting his point across clearly.

Ted laughed, threw his arm over Barney's shoulder, and brought him back to the living room.

Late that night, Barney walked Nita and Kit up to their apartment, two floors above Lily and Marshall's. “Thank you for introducing us to your friends,” said Nita. “It was really great getting to know them.”

“No big deal,” said Barney, as Kit unlocked the door. Both Barney and Nita followed Kit in. “I really think that Marshall is the man for the lawyer job, but I think we'll have to be careful about the wizardry.”

Kit flipped on a light, and Nita made her way over to the kitchen, taking a cup from one of the many moving boxes and using the faucet to get herself a cup of water. “What do you mean?” said Kit.

“I think Marshall is a sensitive. Given enough time, he might figure us out. He already believes in big foot and krakens, ufos and ghosts.”

Nita nodded, her eyes distant. “That might be a problem,” she said. “Or it could be an asset.”

Kit moved a box off of the couch. “Thanks for convincing us to move back to Manhattan, Barney,” said Kit. “Life was comfortable in Colorado, but I think you're right – we're meant to be here to help you dismantle Ultrasoft.”

“Thanks for finding us this apartment, too,” said Nita, grinning. “I mean, it is a buyer's market, but this is perfect for raising our kid.”

Barney grinned. “I'd propose a toast, but I think we're all toasted out after Drunk Ted got the idea in his head. I'll leave you guys to it. Goodnight.”

“Good night, Barney,” said Nita.

“Oh, wait,” said Barney. “Want to go out to see S'reee tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” said Kit. “We'd like that. Thanks.”

The Creation Care Covenant

2009-04-09T01:56:30Z

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

I Pledge to be a Steward of God's Creations.

Pollution from human activities is warming the atmosphere and the oceans and leading to major climate change. The poor and vulnerable in the world are already experience hardship and will continue to suffer the most as the climate changes. As people of faith, seeking to be signs of God's presence in the world, we commit ourselves to reduce the threat of climate change by taking action in our own lives, putting pressure on government and industry, and standing in solidarity with those most affected. By joining together to support this covenant and make a pledge, we wish to begin a process of repentance, and of specific real conversion in our lives. We are prepared to live differently, even if it means some sacrifice, to ensure justice for other sand to honor God and Jesus Christ through Creation.

Local Faith-based Efforts
Churches around the nation and in Michigan have joined together in an organization called Interfaith Power and Light (www.miipl.org) to strengthen their efforts to honor God through better relations with the earth. St. John Student Parish has formed a group called CAthoics for a Just and Sustainable World that carries out self-education activities, earth-care volunteer efforts, prayer, and outreach.

WATER
* The biggest average residential water users are the yard (58%), toilets (12%), clothes washers (9%), and showers (7%)
* A low-flow showerhead pays for itself in around six months.
* Nine out of ten water bottles end up in landfills or as litter.
* Bottled water costs 1000 times greater than tap water and is not necessarily safer or purer than tap water.
* Golf courses rely heavily on chemicals (18lbs per year, compared to 2.7 lbs on agricultural land) and water (enough to support 4.7 billion people with the UN minimal level of required water).

I pledge to...
1) Avoid bottled water by drinking tap water in reusable containers.
2) Turn off the faucet when brushing my teeth or shaving.
3) Install high-efficiency, low-flow shower heads.
4) Use a rain barrel to water my lawn or garden.
5) Have a chemical free lawn, use native plants for landscaping, and mulch to retain moisture.
6) Urge my golf course director to shift to a less water intensive landscape or golf at courses that already do.

ENERGY
* Five percent of the world population in high-income countries account for 56% of the world's total energy consumption, while the poorest 40% in low-income countries account for only 11%
* A caulking gun and other simple technologies can reduce heating bills by up to twenty percent.
* Household air conditioning represents 24% of electricity usage, emitting 4,556 lbs of CO2 per year.
* Front loading washing machines use 1/3 the water and energy of top loaders, spin-dry clothes better and use less detergent.
* Compact florescent light bulbs beat incandescent bulbs 4:1 on efficiency and they last 6 to 15 times longer.

I pledge to...
1) Do an energy audit of my home.
2) Buy appliances that carry the "Energy Star" label.
3) Carpool, bus, bicycle, or walk to my destinations.
4) Urge my representatives to shift incentives from carbon polluting energy to carbon neutral energy.
5) Use compact florescent light bulbs and purchase solar-powered products.
6) Vote for the environment.

FOOD
* The highest pesticide residues on produce are found on peaches, apples, sweet bell peppers, celery, strawberries and cherries.
* rBGH, which is used in the US milk industry, harms cow and has a suspected link to human cancer. It is banned in Canada and 25 countries of the of European Union.
* Our food travels on average 1,500 to 2,500 miles. By supporting local farming, we grow the local economy and reduce food supply health risks.
* According to the US EPA hog, chicken, and cattle waste has polluted 35,000 miles of rivers in 22 states and contaminated ground water in 17 states.

I pledge to...
1) Buy organic, fair-trade, or local-farm produced items (especially milk, beef, cotton, coffee and vegetables).
2) Avoid processed and overly packaged foods.
3) Reduce meat-centered meals.
4) Eat a vegetarian meal at least once a week.
5) Compost food and garden scraps.
6) Support the labeling of genetically modified foods.

WASTE
*In 2005, each person in the US produced approximately 4.5 lbs of solid waste per day.
*Energy savings of recycled versus virgin materials manufacturing: aluminum: 95%, steel: 80%, plastic: 80%, paper: 64%, glass: 50%.
*Michigan's residential waste diversion rate (recycling and composting) is only 15%.
*Twenty-seven percent of the food produced for human consumption is thrown out as waste, equaling 48 tons annually.
*Composting decomposes food scraps and yard waste and turns it into soil.

I pledge to...
1) Bring reusable bags to the store for my items.
2) Recycle and donate more than I throw out.
3) Buy produces with recycled content, especially paper, plastic, gold, diamond, and aluminum.
4) Avoid buying products with excessive or non-recyclable packaging.
5) Reuse the backside of paper.
6) Support manufactures' take-back laws to return end-of-life products to the manufacturer.

My budding vegetable garden!

2009-04-07T03:25:25Z

I am going to plan Swiss Chard. After a review in Recession Depression Therapy that Swiss Chard's leaves can be eaten like spinach and the stems can be eaten like asparagus, which are two of my favorite vegetables, I knew that I had to try to grow it. Consulting other sources, I found that it was shade tolerant, crowding tolerant, and can be quite colorful and beautiful. It's also a cold weather plant, so I knew I had to hop on this train right away.

It might actually be a little late, considering it's supposed to go into the ground 2-4 weeks before the last frost (which is May 13 in Lansing), and containers are automatically warmer than the ground. It snowed last night, so I'm going to play in the dirt tomorrow after work, putting my planter onto my shady porch.

So, I'm just going to recap real quickly the resources I used to come to this decision:
Cool Foods Campaign: Container Garden
The Gardener's Network: How to Swiss Chard Plants
Mother Earth News: What to Plant Now

Crossposted at apartmentgarden

A Little Gender Subversion...

2009-04-02T02:27:52Z

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.

Your Money or your Values? (Or discerning stewardship in a material world?)

2009-03-31T04:27:19Z

Last weekend, Tim and I did our registry. It wasn't the first try; it's probably more like the third. The first time was painful, because I was having a hard time articulating my vision for our lives. The last time I just gave in -- I don't like this form of gift giving, but people are going to give us gifts anyway, we might as well give them some guidance as to our tastes and preferences. Tim was amazingly supportive, reminding me of what I wanted in terms of materials (i.e. minimum of plastic and other disposable materials), and we made awesome teamwork that day.

I am going to share with you the links to our registries. Internet: Do NOT buy us any gifts. I will be extremely displeased. If you want to give us blessings, do -- letters, pictures, memories, wishes, prayers, hopes and dreams. But I am not putting this up as a Gimme, I'm putting these links up as an illustration of the struggles I'm having.

http://www.alternativegiftregistry.org/view_registry_public.php?registry_uid=2927

http://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/regGiftRegistry.asp?order_num=-1&wrn=-951894458

http://www3.jcpenney.com/jcp/GR2_RegistryList_View.aspx?storeRegNo=00182828&CmCatId=58824

Tim and I are now providing his very generous Aunt with a guest list for the wedding shower she's going to throw for us in May. I'm guessing that the attendance at this shower will be about 50 people -- which is about half of our guest list for the wedding. These 50 people will be obliged to, by the rules of etiquette, buy us two gifts: one for the shower, and one for the reception. Then another 50-75 people will buy us a single gift for the reception. Some of the wedding party may even buy a third gift; it's hard to say. And then whatever extravagant gesture our parents may choose to make, on TOP of bankrolling these celebrations. This means that there will probably be a presentation of about 60 gifts (Assuming 175 people, average family/party size of 3... fuzzy math.)

I am most happy with the Alternative Gift Registry. With that, we were able to list the dishes we like for a steep (40%) discount through the manufacturer, and also ask for things that really matter to us. I consider myself a story teller. I absolutely want to know the story of our families as deeply as possible -- and this is a perfect time to ask about them. The births of our children will also be a good opportunity. I hope lots of people take us up on that.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is this: Tim and I are trying, struggling, one step forward two steps back working on a financial plan for our lives. Attempting to declutter my space, I came across a list from our first forays into the subject. (Decluttering and simplifying being one of my values for our lives together, first of all. Also taking our STUFF off of our parent's hands.)

Twenty-Five Year Goals Based on Values
Adventure: Visit two other Continents
Fulfillment: Masters Degree; written a novel
Security: 1-3 Year Emergency Fund; Own home
Comfort: Live below our means; a not-so-big house; part of a community
Charity: Be a named donor to something, or be able to work for a good cause for free
Novelty: be a local connoisseur: wines, beers, vegetables, cheeses, restaurants
Family: Pay for part of our children's college educations/have 2-4 well educated kids; Be on good terms with our extended families
Intellectual Growth: Sailing/Skipper; Masters Degree
Health: Have good health stats without meds
Love: Still coming up with new ways to show affection

Some of these values of mine, some of them are Tim's, and in the end I think it's fair to say that we share them. Some of them may be fueled by the current recession, but some of them are lofty goals that transcend the recession and deal with being a steward of the earth -- which can be a religious concept, but is also about being a conscious consumer.

NONE of this stuff that costs money on our registry means much in terms of our values and goals for life. Yes, people want to help us get started in life -- yes, some of this stuff we "need" (Tim and I don't have a two-person adult bed yet, for example, so the bedding is particularly useful) -- but I would be perfectly happy if it came from a thrift store. If it was clean and without holes, and second hand, I would be ECSTATIC -- because it meant that it was also within our values (Which, at least for me, includes reducing our consumption impact.)

We purposefully chose not to register for any plastic storage containers. We purposefully did not register for nylon/plastic utensils. We tried to pick items that fit within our values that way -- but...

I think that, within the traditional marriage trope? I would be inconsiderate to be so picky, which is amazingly hypocritical because it is extremely picky to have a registry. I don't want stuff. There are other ways to help us set up our partnership -- our marriage. And I don't mean just gifts of money. Offers to help move us. Offers to invite us over for dinner to talk, to make sure we're not stuck in our little early marriage heads. Demands that we hold dinner parties, also to make sure we're not stuck in our little marriage heads.

Registries and the accompanying consumerism are a low emotional transaction-cost way of providing "community" in this day and age. But I want and crave a real community -- real support for our marriage, a place where we can discuss our relationship issues and not sweep them under the rug. (No, Mom and Dad -- nothing is wrong. We're not fighting about money, we're not confused about the reality of adulthood and partnerships and intimancy.)Real community, where money doesn't equal love. Where money doesn't equal support. A place where neighbors really do help each other out. Where spirituality and relationships are open and honest conversations. Where neighbors talk every day.

And we're quite possibly heading towards this scary eventuality -- what if the oil runs out? What if the economy really does seriously collapse (this is especially a possibility in Michigan). How would we cope? Cutting boards would not do me so well in that context -- but promises to share dinners then would.

Wedding Planning: Ceremony Edition

2009-03-16T02:54:41Z

So, Tim and I finalized the readings this morning for our wedding ceremony. If you're interested, read below. Otherwise? SPOILER ALERT.

Tobit 8:4a-8

On their wedding night Tobiah arose from bed and said to his wife,
"Sister, get up. Let us pray and beg our Lord
to have mercy on us and grant us deliverance."
Sarah got up, and they started to pray
and beg that deliverance might be theirs.
They began with these words:

"Blessed are you, O God of our fathers;
praised be your name forever and ever.
Let the heavens and all your creation praise you forever.
You made Adam and you gave him his wife Eve
to be his help and support;
and from these two the human race descended.
You said, 'It is not good for the man to be alone;
let us make him a partner like himself.'
Now, Lord, you know that I take this wife of mine
not because of lust,
but for a noble purpose.
Call down your mercy on me and on her,
and allow us to live together to a happy old age.

They said together, "Amen, amen."

Romans 12:1-2, 9-18

I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God,
to offer your bodies as living sacrifice,
holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship.
Do not conform yourself to this age
but be transformed by the renewal of your mind,
that you may discern what is the will of God,
what is good and pleasing and perfect.

Let love be sincere;
hate what is evil,
hold on to what is good;
love one another with mutual affection;
anticipate one another in showing honor.
Do not grow slack in zeal,
be fervent in spirit,
serve the Lord.
Rejoice in hope,
endure in affliction,
persevere in prayer.
Contribute to the needs of the holy ones,
exercise hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you,
bless and do not curse them.
Rejoice with those who rejoice,
weep with those who weep.
Have the same regard for one another;
do not be haughty but associate with the lowly;
do not be wise in your own estimation.
Do not repay anyone evil for evil;
be concerned for what is noble in the sight of all.
If possible, on your part, live at peace with all.

John 15:9-12

Jesus said to his disciples:
"As the Father loves me, so I also love you.
Remain in my love.
If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love,
just as I have kept my Father's commandments
and remain in his love.

"I have told you this so that my joy might be in you
and your joy might be complete.
This is my commandment: love one another as I love you."

The only part we really had trouble with was the nuptual blessing. Two of the three prayers only asked God to bless me, marrying this man. The other blessed us both, and asked us both to be faithful, but gave me all the housework. If we can make that one slightly more equitable, we'll be going with that one. Otherwise? We'll probably still go with that one.

Stimulus for Me:

2009-03-10T19:31:04Z

I recently discovered that I am spending double of what I am bringing in with my living stipend from AmeriCorps. I think I may want to adjust my W2 forms, because the taxes seem to be unbarably high, especially considering that the stipend is barely minimum wage in the first place. Maybe I'll go into depth on this again soon. Maybe I'll blog about working the election too. I have so many swirling interests right now, it's hard to keep them straight.

Right now I'm writing because my check, to be deposited thursday, is five dollars more than it was last month. Federal taxes withheld? Zero.

Did the Making Work Pay tax credit already reach me? And how sad is it that I'm so excited by five dollars?

astraevirgo @ 2009-01-28T23:10:00

2009-01-29T04:19:12Z

Things that stress me out:
1. Finding housing in Lansing
2. The cost of housing in Lansing
3. My stipend not necessarily covering all of my expenses.

astraevirgo @ 2008-12-30T13:56:00

2008-12-30T18:59:46Z

I quit my job today. Rather than feeling better, more free, less worried... I feel a sense of loss.

I have enough money to pay bills, keep my car, etc. I am looking forward to having work hours that correspond more closely to the 9-5 spectrum. Looking forward to eating dinner with my family, and not having to worry about making wedding plans only on weekends, and being sure I can attend all the precana classes.

I still wish I could have kept my job, though. I liked my job.

astraevirgo @ 2008-09-20T01:10:00

2008-09-20T05:18:36Z

Dear Internet:

I am alive. I am sleep deprived and poor and eating a lot of shit food, but having an amazing time. I facilitated the registration of over 3000 people in Flint in the past week. I am learning to hire and promote and fire people, and becoming a ~~good~~ manager.

However, you may not see me again until November 5th.

Love,

Kate

PS -- I constantly have odd moments where I look at myself and find that I am totally not where I expected to be in my life, but I find it pretty amazing.

astraevirgo @ 2008-08-09T00:36:00

2008-08-09T04:37:46Z

Dear World:

Watch out, I'm going to get out the progressive vote in Flint, Michigan!

Love,

Kate

astraevirgo @ 2008-08-03T23:28:00

2008-08-04T03:54:17Z

What am I thinking?

I was just getting comfortable in Ann Arbor. I was just getting good at canvassing. I had another week before I went to Boston with my coworkers for our training, and we'd come back and officially be the assistant directors in the office.

And then I get a call from my regional director: my boss' boss.

She offers me the chance to be trained by one of our partner organizations to do a get out the vote effort for the next three months. It was moving faster than the Fund had expected, and that I would be taking a leave of absence to work on the campaign. Training would be on Wednesday in Boston. I accepted on the spot, forgetting to ask about how I'd be paid, who I'd be working working with, or how to take care of housing. The RD told me that she thought that this was a wonderful opportunity that would make me a better canvass director in the end.

They want me to be able to go to Boston, be trained, and immediately turn around to go to another city to start an office and start the get out the vote campaign. I am terrified. I'm working on a packing list that includes things that I'll be needing for the next three months.

I can't back down, I can't change my mind, they've bought me a plane ticket and I'm out of here.
Tim says that there's very few ways that I would not be okay in the end. I will be okay. Things are falling into place -- my parents support me (my father, the republican, even got out my suitcases and vacuumed them out for me without my mother asking her: I count that as silent support even if he rolled his eyes when he heard), my roommate/landlord is totally okay with me jetting for three months, and even okay with me not paying her rent for that time, I just have to tell my boss tomorrow (and I hope that the RD already told her, I hope I hope).

Why did I so willingly jump out of the comfort zone I had just created? Why?

Perhaps this is where I need to be. I have no way of knowing yet.

astraevirgo @ 2008-06-06T02:12:00

2008-06-06T06:13:53Z

This ring is on my finger. Twinkle, twinkle little star.