In a nutshell: soon-to-be Oberlin grad, archaeology wonk, sexual health educator, and aspiring nurse. Generally found volunteering at an abortion clinic, meditating, ranting about gender, or trying to finish my thesis. Feel free to ask me anything.
I've used this Tumblr for a few things in the past, but right now it's a trove of interesting things, with varying degrees of quality and original content. I'm also responsible for Transcending Anatomy.
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[Blog] Coming Out Complicated →
There is a particular way that people look at you when you tell them that although they know you as a man, for the first seventeen years of your life you lived as a girl. Suddenly, they’re no longer looking at you; they’re searching for some trace of a woman who will never exist, looking for reasons to believe that you are not real.
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[Blog] Losing a cyclist: How safe are we, really? →
It’s far easier to blame a single reckless cyclist, or to portray him as a tragic outlier, than to discuss pervasive problems with urban transit. That would mean confronting the unsettling truth that any of the hundreds of thousands of cyclists in Chicago could have been in Townsend’s position, and couldn’t necessarily have done better than he did.
Blog post: L'shanah tovah! →
One of the things that I’m enjoying the most about holidays in AVODAH is the tasty, eclectic, spirited communal meals that we put together. Everyone brings their own traditions and family recipes, the cooking skills they picked up in their family kitchen or their college apartment, their own ethical and nutritional and religious convictions surrounding food. We throw it all into the pot and cook up something that everyone can enjoy.
Blog post: Keeping the rubber side down →
After doing it three times, I have not decided whether biking in the Loop is actually as perilous as people say, or if it gets a bad rap. Mostly it’s a matter of staying alert and remembering that although all humans are mortal, at this particular moment you on your cycle are a little more mortal than the pissed-off bus driver who’s sharing the bus-and-bike lane with you…
Post reblogged from Eating Poetry with 19 notes
You Reading This, Be Ready
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?By William Stafford
Photo reblogged from My Trans World with 107 notes
Six reasons to carry a handkerchief that are slightly more realistic in my world:
1. Flagging
2. Blindfold (for a consensual scene)
3. Gag (for an consensual scene)
4. Emergency menstrual product
5. Wiping up excess lube
6. Keeping your hair back in the kitchen
Clearly it’s inadvisable to use the same handkerchief for all twelve purposes without laundering in between.
Source: chuiseric
Post reblogged from Eating Poetry with 2,935 notes
What Lot’s Wife Would Have Said (If She Wasn’t A Pillar of Salt)
Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbors did
in the dark?When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbor.When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbors
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you
run.By Karen Finneyfrock
Grave: A place in which the dead are laid to await the coming of the medical student.
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary (1906)
cited in Atul Gawande’s fascinating article about autopsies, “Final Cut”
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No longer small and lonely, I live among the furious and joyful. We dance, sing, drum, limp, roll, walk, swish, howl our way through the world. The next 10,000 miles await, wild open of sky. I’ll no longer pretend, no longer be afraid: neither girl nor boy, I am a boulder that splits the current and dreams.
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