I had intended to write a quick and sexy blog post about having gone to the NYC book release for S. Bear Bergman’s newest book “the Nearest Exit May Be Behind You” instead this blog has taken the past couple of days to complete. I was excited about the event, really excited, even though it was in Williamsberg which despite being in the same borough as my Crown Heights apartment is not that easy to get too * ahh Brooklyn * Part of the excitement was that this was the first event my partner and I had been able to attend in 2+ weeks since we came down with the dreaded h1n1 (aka swine flu).  I was excited to be out, and feeling better, and I had a new bright red dress to wear for the occasion- which coincidentally made me look a little more like a tarty self than I would have optimally gone for at the co-op owners meeting in our building we needed to attend before heading out. but I digress- leave it to a femme to make the story all about the outfit

The reading was really good. I saw friends, I laughed, I nodded, I was hailed by stories of queer kinship, and romance, and love, and of course we bought the book.  The next morning I plopped down on the train for my 1.5 hour commute to my day job and started reading. I read all the way to work, and then at the end of the day I read all the way home. And then I got up this morning and started reading again on my way into work. I’m liking the book a lot more today than I did yesterday which is interesting and  complicated. A lot of it is to do with the grand irony of my life. Despite being someone whose life and career have been built around change—- I absolutely despise it.

Reading Bear’s first book “Butch is a Noun” made me feel treasured by a broader queer community as a femme, and for whatever reason I was expecting the same thing with this book, which really isn’t fair to anyone especially Bear. I of all people should know that gender & sexuality changes with time there are dozens of my zines collecting dust on peoples bookshelves, or in punk houses or in the Queer Zine Archive— most of which were written when I was living as a trans guy. How would I feel if someone picked up my book and pouted because my gender or sexuality had shifted since they’d read my zines???

  Needless to say, that realization has left me a lot to think about.  So far (and for honesty’s sake I’ve still got about a 1/3 to go the book has hailed me much more as a trans person than as a femme. At this point I feel like I need to clarify that I view femme as being gender transgressive as when I lived as a butch, or when I lived as a trans man. But- so far anyway, it’s brought up a lot of gendered memories that aren’t on first glance connected with femme for me.

I loved and hated the first 50 pages all at the same time, and really could not figure out how to wrap my head and heart around it. After all, this is a book (and a well written one at that) which is exploring one persons experiences with all kinds of things that I spend lots of time thinking and writing about as well. I know part of what made me uncomfortable (which admittedly is sort of fucked up on my part) is that Bear has been divorced since the last book. There is no logical reason why this impacted me so profoundly, other than favorite queer couple friends of ours just divorced, and I’ve been feeling a little bit tender in places since that happened, so that is part of what was going on for me. But mostly, I just came into the book expecting to again being hailed as a femme, and left feeling  like I got the wind knocked out of me as a tranny.

Like any good book The Nearest Exit has left me questioning a lot of things, myself, gender, sexuality, and why I of all people struggle with the thoughts of those things shifting. I’ve been quoted as saying that my gender has always been a journey and not a destination, and my uneasiness with reading Bear say that ze isn’t sure ze’s a butch anymore clearly hit a tender spot for me. What if someday I come to say I’m not femme anymore? I don’t picture that happening, but then again I didn’t think I’d stop being boi identified either. I feel more at home as a femme than I ever have, but part of that means giving myself the space to say that this is where I am for now. It’s where I plan to stay for a long time but someday my queeredfemininity could channel in a different direction, I don’t picture giving up lipstick and dresses, but it could happen, and that’s hard for me to think about because after all I don’t handle change well, but something this book has brought up for me.

one of the things that I really enjoyed in Bear’s book is the unabashed faggatry.  Sitting on the train I’ve found little smiles creeping across my face as I read a squishy passage of little faggy moments of romance because I too remember that. My partner and I were fags when we got together, not in a factory direct sort of way but very much queer/dyke/faggy trans kids.  A few months ago a  friend mentioned in passing to Kestryl that our energy as a couple had a quality to it she hadn’t been able to pinpoint for a long time, and then she realized that in addition to the butch/femme connection we’re also a little faggy— and it’s so true we’re all kinds of queer and I loved seeing some of that squishy romance on the page before me.

“The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You” wasn’t what I was expecting, but it has left me with a lot to think about and was a great read. I don’t agree with everything Bear asserts about butchness, or about gender but the vast majority of it hit the nail on the head for me. I devoured this book, finishing it on my commute home last night. I loved the honesty and humor with which the stories explore the pain and pleasure that is living life as a trans person- the fears of being sick and having to go to the hospital, the joys of being read as queer even if you don’t know what kind of queer you are being seen as, love letters, laughter, and tears.  Gender & sexuality is a journey, I know this as well as anyone, and yet even I sometimes get stuck and need a reminder, and this book gave me that. Perhaps the best way to end this review (other than to tell you to buy this book right away- which I think you all should) is with the words Bear inscribed in the copy that Kestryl and I bought  “thanks fellow travelers. Enjoy the journey”   – I’d send that same sentiment back at Bear, I’m glad that ze’s also out there doing this work, and even though the book was not exactly what I had expected, I’m really glad I read it. I keep finding that sometimes the books that turn out to be completely different than we expect are the best ones.

me with my very own copy of the Cripping Femme Zine!!!

I was so pleased when I opened my mailbox last Thursday evening after a long day at work and found that my very own copy of the Cripping Femme Zine had arrived!!!  Edited by my good femme friend Leslie Freeman it contains the perspectives of 10 self identified queerly feminine folks.  Alas, I had a deadline the next day for my Curve column so I couldn’t start reading it until I’d edited and fact checked that so I placed the zine on the coffee table and let it tease me for a few hours.  A few hours later I was able to crack it open and was not disappointed!

The Cripping Femme Zine which describes itself as “by and for queerly feminine folks with dis/abilities”  though not the most aesthetically beautiful zine I’ve ever seen, but the intensity, honesty, and beauty of the writing easily more than makes up for that.

As a femme with disabilities  it was a pleasure to get the chance to sit and read a collection of pieces all by queerly feminine folks who had really smart, sexy, important, complicated, challenging, exciting, inspiring, and innovative things to say about their own experiences with disability, community response, accessibility, and the intersectionality of identity.
The zine (which is accompanied by a CD audio zine) is available for purchase at indy bookstores like Food for Thought in Amherst MA, and Bluestockings in NYC but you can also get it directly from the lovely Leslie who can be reached at: efemmera@yahoo.com.  This is a definite must read for folks interested in the diversity of femme community, dis/ability community, and the intersections between them.

Also, if you’re a femme author or zinester I’d love to review your work for the site! If you’re interested, please shoot me an email at Sassafras@PoMoFreakshow.com

art by Linda C. Hummer ( www.lchummer.com )

At 11:10 pm EST last Wednesday one of my most beloved mentors lost her long and arduous battle with cancer. The cancer consumed her body, but never her spirit.  It’s hard for me to believe that one of the most incredible women I have ever met has been gone from this world for an entire week.
Perhaps the most important lesson she taught me- and the one that I have taken and has inspired all of the work that I do now was that of the starfish. She would often tell her students a story about a man walking along the beach picking up starfish and throwing them one by one into the sea.  Partway along the beach he was stopped by another man who stopped him and asked, why are you doing this?  You’ll never save them all. The first man tossed another starfish into the tide before turning to the man and saying “it mattered to that one.”
I was one of her starfish, and the fact that she took the time, and energy to care about me completely altered my world.  Linda made college safe place for me; she made the women’s studies department of my undergraduate college safe for those of us for whom academics would never be our native tongue. She was the first queer person who talked explicitly about being a survivor of incest. She introduced me to all of my favorite writers, to storytelling as an art form, told me I was an artist and encouraged me to tell my story.

Over the past few years we haven’t been especially close, I graduated, her illness forced her into a much early retirement (the two events actually coincided), and then my partner and I moved cross country to NYC, but since last spring and thanks to the wonders of Facebook we connected again. As much as I find myself still in disbelief that this incredible woman is gone, I remember that her legacy isn’t. She taught me to value stories, the stories of survival that come from the unlikely storyteller.

I should be receiving the second round of proofs for the Kicked Out anthology in Friday’s mail and I’ll admit I’m more than a little heart broken to think that I’ll never be able to send a copy of that book to her. Without her I don’t know that I ever would have even dreamed of becoming an author, and so it makes me feel better that in this book, and in the rest of my work a tiny piece of her legacy lives on.  As I circulated the call for submissions for the anthology, and worked with contributors over the two years this book has been in production I’ve often found myself thinking of her. Every time I prepare to lead a writing workshop I think and often speak, about the way she encouraged me to teach my first class,  the prompts she used, and the care that radiated from her for everyone brave enough to put pen to page.

Linda,  it mattered to me.

Secret time! Ok so it’s not that much of a secret for anyone who has known me for a few years but I used to be a *major * zinester. I ran a successful and vibrant distro that lived for years, wrote countless zines, taught workshops at the PDX zine symposium and overall was just an active participant in that world. In 2005 at the Portland Zine Symposium Kestryl and I had our distro (Assimilate This) set up when I happened to meet Miss Erin Fae, a femme zinester who had traveled up from San Francisco to attend the event and sell her wares.  She and I immediately bonded over our love of quirky fashion, of zines, and of pigtails (I was just starting to grow my hair at that time, so she kindly spent some time throwing her hair over my face to help me remember that someday I would have long hair).

I had a few of her zines but alas as those things sometimes go we failed to keep in touch with one another—-that is until two years ago when as fate would have it we both ended up living in New York City and working for the same national gay4pay organization! Since then we’ve become dear friends, and yesterday while Kestryl and I met up with her at the Brooklyn Flea I was finally able to get my hands on her newest zine “imaginary windows issue no. 4”

It’s a really lovely little 40 page ¼ size zine that talks all about gender, her bike Petal  (who goes on a very mysterious adventure sans miss fae which you will have to buy the zine to read about), explorations of her deep love of Brooklyn (which as a recent transplant from Manhattan to Brooklyn I can now completely appreciate) and lots of interesting thoughts about gender and femmeness. One of the things I most appreciated about her writing in this zine was how she spoke about how in order to become a serious cyclist she had to change her perception of what she could do in the femme clothes she prefers (she is a vintage fiend, and only wears dresses, skirts, bloomers, and petticoats) as well as what she was capable of doing as a very small femme on her very big heavy vintage schwinn.

“It had to go from ‘I don’t wear the right clothes, I don’t have the right bike,’ to ‘ok, I do wear the right clothes, I do have the right bike. I had to have the right perception. It required me to further play with my gender, to ask what it means to me to be femme. That is, I had to let my own preconception and understanding of myself shift along with the way that I move and exist. It had to be intentional.” -Erin Fae

The zine is a lovely read, and well worth the $2 she charges for it.  To learn more about Erin Fae’s art, and to purchase the zine visit  www.faerygrrrl.com

Also, if you’re a femme author or zinester I’d love to review your work for the site! If you’re interested, please shoot me an email at Sassafras@PoMoFreakshow.com

I read Leslea Newman’s ‘The Femme Mystique’  for the first time many years ago.  Reading it came at a pivotal point for me.  I’d just begun exploring femininity and what it meant to me, if it meant anything to me. I remember checking it out of my university’s library reading it half heartedly and on the whole not being very impressed. I didn’t identify with most of what I was reading. The passages didn’t fit my conception of femme and I struggled to see myself within it’s pages.

Last week I purchased my own copy of the book. Lingering in the back of my mind was the memory that it hadn’t spoken to me, and yet I found a cheap used copy online, and decided that regardless of how much I did or didn’t love the book – it was one that I should own.

Since it’s arrived I haven’t been able to put it down. I feel hailed by this book in ways that I previously didn’t, and reading it has been like discovering a new friend who you spend hours talking with shocked you haven’t been friends before now. Maybe it’s age, or time, or  just that I’m in the right place to hear it now but I’m really glad I’m reading this book again. I love the sensuality of it, the talk of passing, of being the partner of a butch, of what it means to pass together, to love, to fuck, to build a life and a family. Bellow is one of my favorite passages:

“My desire, my passion comes from being femme to your butch, comes from knowing my power over you and yours over me. it comes from looking at your handsome beauty, at the width of your shoulders and the cut of your hair. It comes from feeling your hands on my neck, on my mouth, on my arms, ever insistent. It comes from feeling that my curves- my lips, my breasts, my hips, my ass— are there to meet your hardness, there to make you wild in your need for me. it comes from knowing the constant craving I feel, the boldness with which I make my needs known. It keeps me excited, wet, on the edge, waiting to be pushed or to throw myself over.”

- Debra Bercuvitz ‘ Stand by Your Man’

how about all of you- do you have femme books for whom your perspective of has changed over time?

Now folks, I realize that femmes aren’t the only people who cook. For me, however, cooking is one of my life’s most basic joys. If I can’t cook, and I can’t eat, then what the hell am I living for?

Apologies aside, I have to share with you a food that I have been eating for family holidays my entire life, and that has please my girlfriend’s tummy on many glorious occasions. It first made it for Dana about a year ago and her joyous moans signaled to me that I should make it a recurring theme in our meal planning, not just for the holidays. The ingredients are so simple and there is only one instruction: to mix. It’s vegetarian but also pretty high in fat… oh well! Northerners beware, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is Southern food. Without further adieu. I give you this family tradition. You’ll never look at a can of creamed corn the same, I swear!

Corn Pudding
1 box Jiffy Corn Muffin mix
1 (8 oz) container of Sour Cream
1 can Creamed Corn
1 can Kernel Corn, drained
1 cup of grated cheddar cheese (slightly more or less if you like…)
3 eggs

Bake at 350F for about 45 minutes. (Good cooks will set a timer check it at about 35 mins to see how close to done it is.)

The order makes no difference. But if you want instructions, you got it.

1. Preheat oven to 350F
2. Grease a large casserole dish (I usually skip the grease, you can experiment with the size of the dish, too…. I think mine’s about 11″ square?)
3. Whisk eggs just a few strokes just until beaten in a large-ish bowl, then add the corn muffin mix.
4. Add the creamed corn, drain the kernel corn and add that too.
5. Finally add the sour cream and then mix in the cheese. (For all this mixing, I just use a spatula. You can also use a fork. No stand mixer needed!)
6. Pour into the baking dish and bake in the oven until you stick a knife in it and it comes out clean and the top is a very light golden brown. Do not overcook.

This tasty treat goes great with poultry (or substitute thereof) and a green vegetable. Go back for as many seconds as you want. Don’t be intimidated by the large dish – it’s so freaking YUMMY! I can’t even show you a picture of the one we had the other day because there’s only one serving left. Also, don’t be scared by the name “pudding” – it is more like a bread pudding or a soufflé. Only tangentially related to corn casserole, as I understand it. I’ve never had corn casserole.

Feel free to share your thoughts, recipes, or memories of foods you love!

*****

Over the past few months I’ve noticed a lot of conversations happening about stoneness. What it means to be stone, and what it means to partner with someone who identifies as stone. Specifically in femme community I’ve seen a lot of debate over the term “stone femme” mostly in terms of how it’s defined.   I pretty much see it defined two ways 1. As a femme who partners with stone butches or 2. As a femme who personally identifies as stone. One of the main critiques/concerns I’ve seen from folks about using ‘stone femme’ to describe people like me is that it makes our sexuality tied exclusively to that of our butch partners, while I know others who use ‘stone femme to reflect their attraction to stone butches feel very hailed by the way in which it gives voice to their sexual experience.

Kathleen Delaney who I had the pleasure of meeting in person last week when I performed as the special guest of the Femme Porn Tour, provided me with what she likes to call her loose definition of stone femme “Stone Femme, lover of Stone Butches, offerer of a devoted touch that masculinizes, worships, adores.”

My good friend, writer and all around incredible femme Leslie Freeman says the following about her experience of stone femme:

“My femme stone is hard and sharp and jagged, hot on the outside but icy within. Stone femme may be touched, even penetrated. This stone femme may fuck and be fucked; I may offer myself for fucking. But my face, my hands, anywhere I carry tenderness– No. How my body recognizes and registers and calibrates sex, sexuality, sensuality– there’s both a disconnect and an exquisite tension. This stone femme makes you hard, takes you hard– but maybe can’t cry, maybe has to be fierce.”

Stone femme identity and terminology is contentious, complicated, and beautiful all at the same time. I identify myself as ‘stonesexual’ in that I am attracted to, and partner with stone butches, though I’ve never considered myself a stone femme, probably/possibly because in the femme community I came out into stone femme meant a femme who was personally stone which is sort of the exact opposite of me. I’ve taken a lot of heat for my love of stoneness latterly getting into a yelling match in a lecture halls with anti-stone folks who tried to argue my love of stoneness is oppressive, controlling, and manipulative. On the same spectrum, there are few things I find more offensive than the argument that stone butches are to be melted (but that’s a whole different blog posting for another day).

How about all of you, do you identify as a stone femme? If yes, how do you define it?

I was a little nervous about it the gig for some reason, mostly I think because I was worried that it would be all femme/femme loving which is great, but not something that works for me.  But I was nervous for nothing, it was a pretty good mix of orientation and I was certainly not alone in my butch loving

speaking of butch loving- here’s a pic my partner and i snapped in a park a few blocks from bluestockings while we were killing some time

my nerves about if my sort of femme sexuality would fit in were definately alleviated somewhat by the opportunity to debut my new vintage hat scored on Saturday at a thrift shop nearby!  it also didnt hurt that my partner scored a fantastic bowtie @ the brooklyn flea last weekend and was of course my chaparone for the evening.

There’s a lot more I’d love to say about the show, the readings that touched me, and just how lovely it was but I think a hot bath is calling my name- i’ve got to feel better to get myself to work tomorrow, so I’ll just leave the post wiht some smooches of thanks to Kathleen and all the other femme superstars on the tour who invited me to be part of the NYC show, and that all of you who are in the DC area should check out their last show tomorrow night!

If you’re in DC you should head out to support them!

Sept. 3rd – LAST SHOW!!!!!
Phase 1 @ 7pm
www.phase1dc.com
525 8th St SE
Washington, DC 20003-2835
(202) 544-6831

This morning I came across another facebook post this morning from Sahara Dunes whose the media co-chair for next year’s Femmes of Color Symposium in New Oreleans. When I followed the link, I knew that it was something  i simply had to share with you!

Bella Sugar recently posted a roundup of impressive nail art. I’m not one for fake nails—haven’t worn them since 7th grade, but I know lots of femmes who do, a fiend of mine was even looking into learning how to do this sort of nail art sculpting a few years ago—this reminds me I should check back with her on that and see if she’s made anything cool yet!  Anyway, the nails in that post were super  fun to look at, even if not something I would wear!

They go from the super outlandish:

to ones more on the tame side and along the lines of stuff i see pretty regularly here in NYC– like this zebra stripped with hot pink and jewls set

So what about you, would you wear thse? do you wear fake nails? Which design is your favorite?

But I’m frustrated by my reaction. She asked if I went to church, and I fumbled for the words to say… “uhm… I’m uh… I’m sort of in between churches right now.” And I’ll probably be like that for awhile the way things go.

I’m frustrated that I did not suggest to them that I sometimes go to the MCC (which I do). I’m frustrated that I didn’t say, well actually I am differently spiritual, now that I came out as a lesbian and left my mission work to others who will do it with much more passion than I can do anymore. I’m angry that I didn’t say, “I’m gay, now whatcha gonna do about that?” But sometimes much more care and tenderness is required in gently opening the minds of people who are unaware of the beautiful diversity that exists in the world. I wanted to be the one to tell her that she doesn’t have to be afraid of the unknown. But it wasn’t my time.

She didn’t even know she was speaking to a queer. I feel like that’s a problem, yet I don’t know that I would ever have had a connection with her if she knew…femme invisibility.