Getting licensed

I didn't have to be the groom after all. When Annie and I went to sign up for our marriage license today at the San Jose County Clerk's Office, we discovered that the application has been changed from "Bride" and "Groom" to "Party A" and "Party B." I like that we're a PARTY. We sure are!

Annie was "Party A." Since she's never been married before, we thought she deserved first slot.

Behind us in line stood a man and a woman holding their baby. They looked and sounded like they were Indian (from India) and wore traditional clothing; the woman's red dress was stunning. Annie and I went ga-ga over their gorgeous 10-month-old son who had shining black eyes and long black curls. I loved that another unconventional couple was part of the energy in the room.

After doing our historical civic duty, we drove over to Santa Cruz and ordered a massive carrot cake that will probably feed us for days after the wedding, not that I'm complaining. After taking our order, the young woman behind the counter said, "Congratulations!"

It feels good to plan and to be a party!

Proud

We didn't go to SF Pride today. Annie had to work (she grades Art PRAXIS exams several times a year), and I enjoyed a day at home gardening, cooking, baking, and wine drinking.

We've been to a lot of pride parades over the years in Seattle, Portland, San Jose, San Francisco and Santa Cruz. As co-chair of GLSEN in Seattle, I spearheaded the creation of a school bus float that we used to march in the Pride parade there.

My first Pride parade was in SF in 1994, the year Annie and I met. I still hadn't come out to my parents yet, and was anxious about it. As we stood cheering on a huge contingent of PFLAG people marching by, I locked eyes with a woman who wore a tee-shirt reading, "My daughter's a lesbian. Get over it." She walked over to me through the throngs and gave me a big hug and said, "You remind me of my daughter." Could anything have been a better sign to me that all would be well? (Several years later, my mom was involved in starting a PFLAG chapter in her small community.)

Although Pride can be moving and a Mardi Gras of fun, I'm not too fond of the huge crowds. So today I felt the spirit reading about world-wide Pride online and was especially moved by reading about Pride in India, Peru--and Bulgaria's first pride march (and disturbed at the arrests of 60 people who were trying to disrupt it). I have a feeling next year it'll be old hat--basically ignored by all but a freakish few.

Still, I felt a little tug at missing out on seeing Gavin Newsom in the parade...

... not to mention Cyndi Lauper.

On Fire

Thursday morning as I walked to the gym, the sky was pure brown and the sun red, a result of more than 1,000 fires burning in California. Not many of the fires are closer to us than 50 miles and, still, it's been looking and smelling apocalyptic around here.

A number of people I know who live in the mountains and canyon areas have been evacuated or are on evacuation alert. It's been an eerie start to the summer.

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I finished reading Dan White's The Cactus Eaters this morning and wrote a review on Amazon. It's not hyperbole when I say I haven't laughed this much while reading in a long time.

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My friend Sally Ashton is guest blogger this week at The Best American Poetry blog. Her first entry today makes the point very well that Emily Dickinson was, well, a lot sexier than critics typically give her credit for.

Compulsory reading

I love the way this graphic essay by Alison Bechdel explores her reading life. In the piece, Bechdel laments the way adults force certain books on young people--including the canon, other reading lists, and required summer reading. (Read the rest here.)

When I was in high school, my mom was reading Fear of Flying and laughing and laughing. I asked her if I could read it. When she finished it, she just handed it over. That’s the best kind of adult support of a young person’s reading: an adult who gets engaged in a book. Young people who see that can't help but get curious. And it's best if adults don't worry about the "taboos" in books because those are the very things that are likely to get young people reading!

Reading should not involve guilt over what one has and has not read. Bechdel hits that nail on the head.

Award-winning filmmaker Michael Moore’s next film to take on homophobia?

I'm a little late to the party on this one, but I wonder if this--as reported here--is indeed true?

Certainly if he's currently making the film he'll have ample exciting footage to shoot here in California as of late.

Hey, Michael Moore! You can come film my wedding!

"Michael Moore has tackled Downsizing, School Shootings, the culture of fear, The Iraq War, President Bush, and most recently - the American healthcare system. What’s next for the controversial documentary filmmaker? Homophobia. That’s right, Moore has revealed that homophobia and the anti-gay Christian right movement might be the topic of his next documentary.

“I think it’s a very ripe subject for someone like me to make a movie about. Simply because we are not there yet and it remains one of the last open wounds on our soul that we are not willing to fix yet,” Moore told The Advocate. “There is nowhere in the four Gospels where Jesus uses the word homosexual.’ The right wing has appropriated this guy … and they have used him to attack gays and lesbians, when he never said a single word against people who are homosexual. Anyone who professes to be a Christian and does that is certainly not following the teachings of Jesus Christ.”

Gay marriage has certainly become one of the hot button issues in this country. I can imagine the movie now: Moore will probably bring a Gay couple to a Catholic church to get married. But when the parish turns him away, and Moore will pull out some clever funny idea that will get America to think “why not?”"

Indigo Girls

Last night we saw the Indigo Girls in concert at a relaxed club venue called the Catalyst in Santa Cruz. I'm not a groupie, but I love their sound, and I've now seen them probably eight or more times in California and Washington.

The very first Indigo Girls song I heard was "Hammer and a Nail" on my car radio. I turned it up and thought, "Who IS this?" When the announcer said that was a new song by the "Indigo Girls" I ran out bought their two tapes.

Yes, tapes. Tells you how long ago that was.

When I went to live in Japan, the Indigo Girls came with me. Their music meant a lot to me as I moved into my 30s. Amy and Emily sang the promise of making positive change in the world, of making meaningful art, and of being yourself, fully and completely.

Being the naive soul that I was, it didn't dawn on me that they were lesbians until I fell in love with a woman for the first time. I was amazed at how I'd been drawn to them before I'd consciously realized that being with a woman was a possibility for me.

Here they are on Charlie Rose talking about the genesis of their band, as well as about being political women and lesbians. They are so refreshingly real and honest:



Here they are, rockin'; they sang this song last night.




And here's "Hammer and a Nail," the first song I heard:

Today: Another post about a student.

One of my students from last semester submitted a poem she wrote in the class to a local magazine, and they posted it on their website.

Here it is.

Way to go, Amanda!

The Lesson

A student emailed me asking me if I would consider adding him to one of my fall semester creative writing classes. He can't add it himself, he said, because he took it before and received a low grade. He wants to retake it so he can boost his GPA. So he needs an add code.

That was his reason. To boost his GPA.

Not because he loves writing.

Not because he's devoted to being creative and wants to give it another go because as a frosh he didn't know what he cared about.

He included not one reason that would make me excited about adding him into the class.

I've seen worse, but the letter had a few grammar and spelling errors. On the plus side, unlike many students who email me, he used capital letters and punctuation--and a salutation of "Good Day Professor Evans."

I could have hit delete. Or flat-out said "no." (Or "yes," I suppose.) Instead, I wrote the following intended to give him a free lesson: Write to your audience. (It remains to be seen if he goes for it.)

Dear X,

Are you saying you want to take a creative writing class solely to raise your GPA? Why should I add you when there are many students who haven't had a chance yet to take creative writing? Why did you not pass the class in the first place? Why would this time be different?

Try again. Send me an email that proves to me you're a good writer and a creative person. Make it excellent, creative and convincing--and edit it to perfection. Think of it like an audition to get added into the class. If it's good writing, I will consider your request.

Sincerely,
Kate

Interconnectedness

Today the air was very smokey here because of all the freak California fires caused by lightening. It feels a little apocalyptic, especially with a red sun in the brown sky. But I'm trying to stay grateful that it's summer break. I've been working on my historical novel, lots of house projects, and wedding details.

All of these things are huge: writing a novel, working on an 80-year-old house, and planning a wedding. I'm trying to be zen about about it all by not writing out too many lists (I can be manic that way) and by enjoying the process.

I used to avoid taking on big projects because I thought of them as a series of steps to take. Trying to keep track of those steps became an irritant. Truly, it was an issue of control. I thought of the steps in a big project as a way to attempt to control the future. This brought anxiety into my life, not joy.

I enjoy life more, though, when I think of writing a scene, or printing out invitations, or planting flowers, as an opportunity to engage with the moment. That individual moment resonates with--and in a way reflects--the whole (ala Chaos Theory). Writing a scene is writing the whole novel, in essence. Remembering this helps me to engage with life in a way that's not about getting to the end but enjoying the journey. Anyway, why rush to the finish line, especially since the ultimate finish line is death. I'm in no rush.

“The journey not the arrival matters.” - T. S. Eliot

We rolled in this evening from our trip to Leucadia, a funky surfer town in San Diego's North County, where we visited my sister, her husband and my nephew Brock. He's 15 and spends most of his time when he's not forced to be in school hanging out with his friends fishing, kayaking and playing basketball or soccer. What a life. Just down the hill from one of the most gorgeous beaches in the world, they have a cute little pad with a great patio where most of the non-work living occurs.

The first day my sister and I walked 9 miles on the beach and didn't get to an end. It has a impressive vastness to it. When we were finished we were so hot we jumped into the water. There's something about salt water that's so soothing. Perhaps because being in the ocean is like being in the earth's womb. Or maybe it's like being inside a big margarita.

Another highlight was visiting the home and art studio of Rodney "Rodrigo" McCoubrey, a friend of my sister's. His art--made of recycled materials --is fanciful and meaningful. He turns garbage into beauty. He's a wonderfully quirky guy with incredible amounts of energy. We bought three of his fish pieces.

Back home I got some great news that I'm invited to be a featured reader at the Atlanta Queer Literary Festival in October. I like having a travel plan on the books. Travel is good for the soul: it expands my world, and it also helps me to appreciate home anew.

Southern California dreaming

We're heading down south for a few days. I've been posting a lot lately, so if you're having Kate DTs when I'm gone (I know I flatter myself), check out a previous post that you may not have seen yet:

Summer, and the livin' is easy
Camera shy
Reading is my oxygen
Today is my second father's day
Patience and kindness
Obama's statement to the LGBT community
The Lurie distinguished professor is . . .
Wedding on the water

And here's what was going down exactly one year ago:
Red chair

Finally, here are some photos from our last trip down south to Venice Beach. It was a couple of months ago, but we finally got the pictures on the computer...

Poem by Rick Campbell

Heart

My heart was suspect.
Wired to an EKG,
I walked a treadmill
that measured my ebb
and flow, tracked isotopes
that ploughed my veins,
looked for a constancy
I've hardly ever found.
For a month I worried
as I climbed the stairs
to my office. The mortality
I never believed in
was here now. They
say my heart's ok,
just high cholesterol, but
I know my heart's a house
someone has broken into,
a room you come back
to and know some stranger
with bad intent has been there
and touched all that you love. You know
he can come back. It's his call,
his house now.