kitchen_kink: (Default)
Wow, I just went through all the clutter in my front hall and found I had been delivered a book by Royal Mail. Last Summer at Mars Hill, by Elizabeth Hand. I swear I remember someone talking to me about this author. Was it [ profile] infinitehotel?? Help!!

(And thank you!)
kitchen_kink: (words)
If you already read my Examiner column and it makes you happy, I'm very pleased and I also want to thank you.

If not, I actually want to ask for a favor. The Examiner doesn't exactly pay very well, and much of my revenue is based on a mysterious metric that is driven in part by pay-per-click. So if you wouldn't mind to clicky the linky when I post these, I'd sure appreciate it. Session duration matters too, so hey, even if you don't actually read it, open it in a new tab and leave it in your browser for a while.

Your support in these tight economic times is appreciated. :)

(The above article, incidentally, is about different poly styles.)
kitchen_kink: (foreboding)
I've had a busy week thus far. I've seen two practice clients, attended one rehearsal, gone to the gym twice, written an article, and rebuilt my wardrobes (a never-ending project due to the incompetence of IKEA). Tonight I don't know what I'm doing, and I like it that way.

Today I'm also celebrating my birthday. I feel the strangeness of this; the strangeness of being 35. I'm about to exit a demographic: a year from now I will no longer be in the coveted 18-35 advertising target group, I will be disallowed from participating in Boston TNG functions (not that I really did anyway), and I am officially in the "over 35" camp of women who had better have a baby soon if they're gonna, because otherwise Very Bad Things could happen. I am exiting youth and entering a risk group.

On the radio today, I heard part of the memorial service for the victims of the Fort Hood shootings, and found myself crying in the car over both the band's rendition of "America the Beautiful," and the traditional roll call. The commanding officer calls out the names of the people in his unit, and either they answer, crisply, "Yes, Sargeant Major!" or their names echo into the silence. Something about this simple ritual moved me greatly, especially the controlled hoarseness in some of the soldiers' voices. With my own sense of mortality comes an immense gratitude, an appreciation of my life on earth. And a great confusion about what it all might mean, if anything. It's especially in times like this when everything seems terribly strange, and meaningless, and lost, and yet also beautiful and brilliant and sad.

I'm not really sure what we're doing here, or whether it matters. But at least today, the question is in my head, and in my heart. And when it's there, I know that I'm at least doing something right.


Sep. 1st, 2009 11:47 pm
kitchen_kink: (Default)
[ profile] primalpastry did an awesome job cleaning our old place once it was emptied out. [ profile] imlad did the finishing touches while I was rehearsing, and talked to our crazy landlady today to let her know we'd gone and to see about our security deposit. Three of my four new housemates helped with some massive furniture arrangement and other unpacking, and made me laugh a lot.

I am so fried at this point that sleep is what's waiting for me now, not more writing. But I'm grateful: for amazing people, for an absolutely gorgeous day, for a beautiful new home, and for being out, finally, of a place that never quite felt like home. Pulling my energy back from it, in the brief house-closing ritual [ profile] imlad and I did, felt easy and swift and strengthening.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
For how flow follows flow. For naps. For love. For sushi at Fuji. For being taken care of in just the right way. For music. For floofy drinks and lingering looks. For still being able to feel foolish in the presence of someone I like.


Aug. 20th, 2009 11:40 pm
kitchen_kink: (Default)
Yesterday I was grateful for the opportunity to engage with my honey in a new way, and love it.

Today I'm grateful for my girlfriend, and watermelon margaritas, and ice cream.
kitchen_kink: (sleepy)
Yesterday, I was super-grateful for that air conditioner that got carried up the stairs, because it meant I could sleep in coolness and that there was a place in the house that was bearable to have sex in.

Today I'm very mindful that I'm someone who has enough means to have an air conditioned bedroom, a car with air conditioning, a gym membership where I can go and exercise in coolness, and many other marvelous things.


Aug. 15th, 2009 11:35 pm
kitchen_kink: (mercenary)
Today I'm grateful for friends who help you carry air conditioners up from the basement.


Aug. 14th, 2009 09:00 pm
kitchen_kink: (love)
Tonight, I am grateful that my sweetie sweetie sweetie is coming home.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
...echoes [ profile] queen_of_wands: I love my coven.


Aug. 8th, 2009 11:18 pm
kitchen_kink: (Default)
Thursday: I was grateful for my renewed creative energy and sex drive, which got me through a long day of sessioning, singing, and ahem.

Friday: Cuddles, silly movies, blueberry muffins, and an eerie lack of traffic.

Today: Sunshine, a lack of humidity, and maybe the cutest little cute New England town I've seen yet. Which is saying a lot.


Aug. 4th, 2009 04:43 pm
kitchen_kink: (Default)
I hope I won't keep missing days and having to do two in a row, but for now, so be it. :)

Yesterday: I was grateful for my flexible schedule, which allowed me plenty of extra sleep when I needed it because I had insomnia.

Today: I'm loving on the Diesel, which also provides a temperature-regulated haven for me, my computer, and my work.
kitchen_kink: (meditative)
Yesterday morning I fought my way from sleep, my last dreaming image myself, crying, hugging [ profile] imlad close, him wearing my white down jacket. In the dream I'd just rescued several people from beneath burning Christmas trees - weird, I know - and resuscitated them. I'd thrown my jacket down in the process, and gone home without it. [ profile] imlad showed up at home, looking stricken, wearing my smoke-stained and charred coat, and I realized: he had thought I'd died. The incredible double feeling of gratitude at being alive, and horror at what my love had been through, roused me from sleep in tears.

In the shower later that morning I thought about how blessed my life is, how privileged, and how I could be doing more to help those less fortunate. A cliched and mostly idle thought, but a thought nonetheless.

Later that day I received this horoscope:

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): If you use a cell phone, you have in your possession a metal called coltan, a component that's essential to the phone's function. Most of the world's coltan comes from the Congo, and is mined by Rwandans who survived their country's genocide in the 1990s. They often work for militias that sell coltan illegally to finance their military operations. It so happens that the land where this metal lies is also the home of the Mountain gorilla, an endangered species that is being decimated as the miners and militias kill them for food and savage their habitat. Keep this in mind the next time you call a friend. While you're at it, Scorpio, use Google and your imagination to meditate on the origins of *all* the important resources in your life. It's prime time to know more about their origins. You will benefit from getting familiar with the roots of whatever gives you power.

I wondered at that moment what other messages I might get in this same day about power, privilege, gratitude and giving back. And I got another one - a big one - but by that time I'd forgotten that I was looking for it: I watched Obama's inaugural address.

And today I'm remembering the sign I was looking for.

It starts today. Finding a way to help can seem so overwhelming, so much a teardrop in a vast sea, that it can paralyze you. But an opportunity arose last week to help in my immediate community, with something I really care about. It's a good beginning. Look for my post about it soon.

After that, I might want to start reading for the blind and dyslexic, and maybe volunteering to help out with homeless kids. But a little at a time, and a little is so much better than nothing.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
Tonight I'm grateful for William Shakespeare, and even more grateful that right here in my community is a forum in which I may express my ideas. I always hoped I'd have the opportunity to direct again, but in some way I'd given it up. Now here I am, in crazy-theatre-world again, and loving it. Thanks, Somerville, for being the awesome.


Aug. 12th, 2008 12:59 am
kitchen_kink: (Default)
Today I'm grateful that I finally figured out that the thing to do is to plot out all of my activities for the day on Google calendar, with time allocated for each one. It's not necessarily that I keep to the strict schedule I lay out, but it does mean that I know what needs doing and I'm usually right about how long it'll take, and if things need to be switched around then I can switch them around, and if I don't get something done I'm not too worried because hey, look at all the other things I got done!!

This is, like, obvious to most people, right?

I'm also really grateful for [ profile] xaydie and her darling husband for taking me in last night, feeding me, and showing me silly cartoons. It was a great way to spend a lazy evening.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
While I'm still grateful for my [ profile] imlad, who often does do the dishes in the morning, on the morning I wrote that post it was actually [ profile] queen_of_wands who'd done it.

Gratitude for my housemate, who does all kinds of neat things in the kitchen when I'm not looking. Wait...that sounded dirtier than I meant...

But there are wreaths of drying herbs and flowers in my kitchen! And pickled green tomatoes, for which I should also thank [ profile] motive_nuance! And before we gobbled them all up, there were fresh figs.


Yay for housemate and almost-housemate. :)


Aug. 8th, 2008 10:39 am
kitchen_kink: (love)
This morning I'm grateful for my darling husband, who besides being terrifically handsome, charming, well-read and nigh-unstoppable, also tends to take time in the morning to do whatever dishes are in the sink.

Did I mention lucky?


Aug. 4th, 2008 11:04 pm
kitchen_kink: (Default)
The abundance of fresh and nutritious and amazing food to which I have access. Tonight's dinner involved grazing on When Pigs Fly sourdough bread, organic ham, raw cheddar cheese, lemon and garlic olives, farm share tatsoi, and tomatoes fresh from our garden. Served with organic, sulfite-free wine - not bad, not bad at all.

Batman Begins, the accompanying entertainment, also roundly failed to suck.


Jul. 6th, 2008 12:42 am
kitchen_kink: (feathers)
Tonight, a party for a beloved friend and covenmate, held in the house of a beloved ex-. This party, full of my kind of people, rife with the DJ stylings of [ profile] ert, thrumming more softly now (we're all in our thirties now; we're tired at midnight) with the rhythms of dance, the nostalgia of great 80s and 90s music, the halls creeping with cats suspicious of the shoe piles in the hall.

From this party, wearing the same dress and shoes I wore last night, I come home refreshed, slightly tipsy, energized by contact, feeling held and loved.

And off to bed I go, feeling the same things.
kitchen_kink: (mercenary)
It's nights like this that I'm proud to be an American. Or something.

Tonight, my beloved [ profile] imlad and I kept to a tradition we'd been exercising for a few years. We have these friends who live in Beacon Hill, and from the rooftop of their apartment building, you get a spectacular view of Boston's fireworks display.

Now these friends are people [ profile] imlad knew before he met me. That is, well, they're mundanes. Mind you, they're awesome mundanes. Smart, funny, interesting people, into ancient Greece and modern art, who invite people over who are usually the same sorts of mundanes. We are, in a sense, their pet freaks, and we enjoy being so, and now and then we meet people there who look like they could be pushed over the edge with a feather.

This time, though, the gathering was smaller. Our favorite couple there was now a single, the wife having split and moved to Atlanta. The cooler people we'd met in the past were absent. Our host's busybody older sister and her obnoxious husband were there. We had some chit chat and some nice food, and then headed up to the roof to await the fireworks display.

All around were the other denizens of the building, most of whom seemed to be young and annoying, the types who yell inane things like "YEAH baby! DO it!" every time a big firework explodes. And as I sat and waited for the festivities to begin, I realized a profound truth that doesn't often occur to me anymore in my life: I was bored.

I had spent the afternoon surrounded by people I know and love. My people; my community. I'm very lucky to spend so much time in their embrace, enveloped in their love, sharing food and booze and touch and watching their kids run around underfoot. I don't think I express my gratitude often enough for the fact that, essentially, I'm shielded from the world by a different, smaller world that is being created, day by day, by the awesome people who surround me.

And here I was, on a rooftop in Beacon Hill, surrounded by the kind of people who would bring a television out onto a roofdeck so as, presumably, to watch the fireworks on television and in real life at the same time.

As if to make the final point, the fireworks began. And while at first they were very lovely as always, as the show went on, it began to generate so much smoke that eventually the fireworks couldn't be seen at all. The finale was a series of degenerate booms ringing out over a cheering crowd, who were probably actually crying out their dying breaths before they asphyxiated. Even the one thing that seemed like a guaranteed good time failed us this year, the spectacle we'd come for literally lost in a puff of smoke.

We flowed down the stairs and flopped on the couch, where we watched the post-processing on the local news while we waited out the first wave of people leaving the Esplanade. After a hyper-cheery report on the just-finished fireworks display, which apparently thrilled everyone to death (maybe literally) in spite of the fact that nobody could see it, the news did an editorial piece on why people in Massachusetts are really patriotic, in spite of the fact that Massachusetts is one of the bluest states in the nation.

Let me just say that again so it sinks in.

Even though Massachusetts is a really blue state, its citizens love celebrating their patriotism!

Because we all know that liberals and Democrats hate America.

So this was the idea of the report. The substance? Showing the happy people gathered on the Esplanade in front of the Hatch Shell, bedecked with styrofoam Liberty spikes and waving the American flag, smiling empty, vapid smiles while listening to the Pops grind out Tchaikovsky for the nth time (a tune, by the way, commemorating Russia's defeat of Napoleon in 1812, not our defeat of the British) while fireworks explode over their heads (or at least that's what it sounded like). Then, showing people in other cities, protesting the government's actions! Gasp! Horrors! People who disagree with the government!

How unpatriotic. Juxtapose that with a heartwarming story about a father and son who just came home from serving in Iraq together (they're so proud), and there's your dose of news for the night.

By this point I was so depressed I started to fall asleep, so we said our goodbyes and walked out onto the street, where a sinister police helicopter was circling, shining a searchlight into the alleys below. Streetlights flashed and the sidewalks swarmed with happy patriots trying to return to their homes. Outside of the Charles MGH station, these masses stood, waiting for the armed guards to let them pass in groups into the station.

Yes, really.

On the train home, my feet aching, I stood listening to the conversations around me. A loud man behind me said, "That's your problem, you're so negative about everything. That's why I hate my family. I hate them, because they're always so negative about everything, you know?!"

Do people even listen to what comes out of their mouths?

I don't have broadcast TV at home. The local news is telling people that dissent is unpatriotic, that they should be afraid to walk the streets at night, that being an American is about war and triumph and F15 flyovers and not about what freedom actually means. The circus we go through every year at the Hatch Shell celebrates all of that, and decides that the Raging Grannies in Portland Oregon or wherever are a bunch of commies who hate America.

And a 16-year-old looking kid stands outside the closing doors of a train and says, to someone safely crammed inside the car, "I'll kill you. I swear it. If I see you around, I'll kill you." I watch his dead eyes, flickering cold blue light like TV screens, as the train pulls painfully out of the station.

Back in Davis Square we meet somebody we know almost instantly; she comments on [ profile] imlad's kilt as we mount the escalator. On the brick-lined street, a passing kid is singing "Holiday in Cambodia."

At last we're home, and I feel again the tenuousness of my position, the baby-fine but strong filament on which I soar in love. Those threads that weave themselves over me and my loved ones, in a web that I wish weren't necessary.

But it is. Because every time I venture into the larger world I'm reminded of one of the things that depresses me, and that I so wish weren't true: the vast majority of people are sheep. Docile, stupid, reactionary, ugly, greedy, empty-eyed consumers fueled by beer and fear. They're living the American nightmare. And only a very few will awaken in their lifetimes.

As we rounded the last corner to our house, a bumper sticker on a parked car caught my eye. Incongruously but piercingly, it said only, "Sift."


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