Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

This afternoon I got so angry at the radio that I had to turn off the heat in my car. I was boiling in my own rage. I don’t think I’ve so forcefully yelled a string of expletives at an inanimate object since since that one time I kicked an irrigation pipe really hard. (Safety tip: bad idea.)

What had me so steamed? Why, former California Representative Duncan Hunter, of course!

New Comments Policy

You may notice I now have a posted comments policy. It may seem unnecessary for a small personal blog, but I believe in having some official stance if I’m going to be the kind of person who deletes comments. And, apparently, I’m that kind of person.

It’s hard for me to ignore someone being wrong on the internet, but I’ve decided my resolution this year is to try to be less invested in online arguments. It takes so much energy for so few positive results. I love online interactions among my colleagues and my friends, and I love the chance to feel like I’m part of queer and feminist communities when I participate in the blogs I love, but I’m tired of arguing with random drive-by strangers who only seem interested in provoking well-intentioned people like me who just happen to disagree with their views.

Queer people deserve equal rights. Women should be able to determine their own reproductive choices. Racism, homophobia, sexism, ableism and transphobia hurt us all. These are some of the things I believe. If you can’t disagree in a civil, respectful way, find another blog.

Out of the Mouths of Boys

[Mild trigger warning for language]

Since I started working schools, I feel like I’m constant Language Police duty. At my last school it was “no homo.” Here, it’s “That’s gay,” variations on the f-word (no, not the four letter one), and something I didn’t expect at all: rape analogies.

Best Spam Ever

“What benefit is there to toasting bread instead of just eating it untoasted? If there is no benefit, how much electric energy is wasted on toasting in the U.S. of A., do you think?”

I think the most elegant spam is this kind. You find yourself reading it, and pondering the points raised, and you come this close to posting a comment in response… and then you remember that this has absolutely nothing to do with the subject of the post.

Updated Blogroll!

For the folks playing along at home, you’ll notice I’ve added a few new links to my blogroll. I’m often slow at updating my links, so some of these are folks I’ve had in my RSS reader for a while.

I do want to highlight some of the folks I added who are doing fantastic work around disability issues. FWD/Forward is a new blog focusing on disability and feminism, and the writing there is simply fantastic. They’re also great about posting roundup of work elsewhere on the internets, which is how I discovered Broken Clay and Wheelie Catholic.

Rethinking Safe Spaces

The concept of “safe spaces” is often the subject of debate in the blogosphere. Is it ever possible to create a completely safe space for everyone? Can we avoid triggers? Can we eliminate hate and ignorance?

I first became acquainted with the idea of safe spaces as physical spaces during my freshman year of college, when a letter published in our student paper endorsed a secret court from the 1920s that investigated and expelled several students suspected of homosexual behavior. (I can highly recommend William Wright’s Harvard’s Secret Court: The Savage 1920 Purge of Campus Homosexuals. It’s quite a read.)

Campus reaction to the letter was swift, and heated. The main queer organization on campus, then called the BGLTSA, responded by distributing Safe Space signs across campus, which are now a staple of materials distributed for occasions like National Coming Out Day.

But do they work?

Victim Blaming: Starting Young

Last week our school was lucky enough to host Kathi Meyer, a local mother whose teenage daughter died last year after drinking with friends before and after homecoming. Because our own homecoming was last Friday, we wanted to use the assembly as a jumping off point for discussing responsible choices with our students, particularly freshman and sophomores in our advisory groups.

For once I was on my own with advisory Friday (I usually have a co-advisor, but she was out), and I did veer a little into some interesting topics–somehow a student came up with the misconception that light beer has less alcohol (which is apparently true in other countries, but not in the US, where “light” primarily refers to low-calorie)–but my kids mostly had great contributions to the discussion.

One contribution I wasn’t expecting? Blaming the mother.

How do you do it?

I’ve done my share of dating, which means I’ve also had my share of breakups. For the vast majority of these, I’ve been the dumped party. Over and over again. I’ve then had to see those women go on with their lives, go to classes, go to work, walk around and live and breathe–and I’ve always wondered, how do you do it? Because when you’re the dumped party, it is sometimes unfathomable that the world should go on in the wake of your pain. How do you do it? How do you laugh, and smile, and go on with your life when you’ve done this to me?

And now that I’ve done the breaking, I finally know the answer.

Sir?

At school yesterday, I was waiting for a colleague to finish talking to another teacher. She turned to me and said, “Yes, sir.”

And then died a little.

It was clearly one of those it’s-Friday-and-I’m-fried things, a simple slip of the tongue. She was mortified. She even mentioned it to the next person who walked by–”I just called her ’sir!’”

And I laughed along, and was greatly amused by the whole thing.

But then suddenly it struck me: I’m not out at work.

“I wish she came with more accessories”

Earlier today, M clued me in to a new(ish) doll in the American Girl line. If you were to just browse through the online store, Gwen seems like any other doll–she comes with a book, she has a few accessories. Unlike most of the other dolls, though, there aren’t other outfits you can purchase for Gwen. Why not? Because she’s homeless, silly!