Lesbians Against Police Violence Contingent, June 1979, San Francisco Lesbian and Gay Freedom Day Parade. I'm not in this photo, but roommates and close friends are. This was my main political activism group from 1979 through 1983. I helped make this banner, too.
In honor of LGBTQ and Ally pride this week, I'm going to copy in here a great fundraiser from The Point Foundation that is currently being promoted over at Bitch Ph.D. She says:
"The Point Foundation provides scholarships and mentoring to LGBT student leaders at all educational levels. They and Yahoo have come up with an easy fundraising drive. For every photo uploaded to the group's photo pool, Yahoo will donate $1 and up to $25,000. Currently, The Point Foundation provides scholarships to 94 people, one of whom emailed me about this; they select Point Scholars based on social, emotional and financial need, scholastic aptitude and leadership potential. We pay particular attention to those students who have lost the financial and social support of their families and/or communities as a result of revealing their sexual orientation or gender identity. Photos don't necessarily need to be of pride (especially if participants aren't queer or didn't go to pride), but they just need to be representative of people who are proud to be LGBT or are proud of LGBT people."
So, I'm headed there to put up some classic photos from my past, and I encourage you to do the same. The instructions at Bitch Ph.D. are clear and can be found at Bitch Ph.D./ The Point Foundation is at The Point Foundation/ And if you post photos there, let us know here which ones are yours! Mine are labeled as from Meggars and are of me, my daughter, and another LAPV banner in the 1979 SF Lesbian and Gay Freedom Day Parade.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Pride Fundraising Opportunity and Sharing
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29 comments:
This is excellent! It's late, and I'm on my way to bed, but tomorrow, I'll be scrounging up pictures...
Maggie kindly agreed to send on a photo of my plushie Fnordikins. I searched the whole pool and didn't find anythign that seemed to be from Maggie.
Off-topic, but does anyone know what's up with the DTWOF site? It's been down since last night, and I'm starting to worry...
Josiah, I noticed that too. But it's back up now, sans all the comments -- Gahlord posted a notice that he's trying to get those restored as well. Thanks for checking here, though.
Maybe the site fledged?
To see the photo of Fnordikins: Go here
Pride 2007 Photo Pool
Click on page 2. Use control-F to search for "Meggars", which will turn up all of my submitted photos, including Fnordy which I uploaded for Little Gator.
It says "phrase not found" and i don't see her in any of the thumbnails.
OT, but there's a nice little article on Salon rgarding griphic novels--even talks a little about "Fun Home":
http://www.salon.com/books/feature/2007/06/23/reading_comics/index.html
novels aboput griphons?
I saw your pictures, Maggie - the one of you & your daughter is beautiful. The lighting is so soft and lovely.
Tomorrow is the Pride Parade here in Chicago - I don't have anyone to go with, but maybe I'll meander over for a little bit on my own.
Take pictures, ginjoint, and share 'em with us. Remember to put on pants before you leave the house, though. (Or not, if you wish.)
Just to let folks know: Blogger archives this website daily for us. Even griphons are treated equally.
I don't know why the delay, but Fnordikins is now third from left, last line, page 3.
Wheeeeeeeee!
This may be a non sequitur for some of you, but...
My beloved mother died suddenly at age 56. I flew back from the middle of a trip through the Southwest for the funeral. My entire family was devastated, but particularly shell-shocked were me and my little brother Bill -- we were in constant, emotionally-intimate contact with Mama.
Daddy insisted on dragging in a Baptist preacher whom nobody had ever met to conduct the services, and I didn't fight him even though Mama was no longer a Christian (she believed in reincarnation and Edgar Cayce) because Mama had always stressed to us that funerals were for the living, not the dead. He did comply with her strong desire to be cremated.
The minister could not remember Daddy's name correctly, so throughout the entire service he referred to him as "Howard" instead of my father's real name, "Harold". This eventually became a point of hilarity, with the standing-room-only crowd at the funeral home (Mama was adored by every stranger who met her) breaking into loud guffaws every time "Howard" came from the guy's mouth. He had no idea why we were laughing, or why Bill was looking at him with murderous rage. But in the way of all Baptist preachers, he was fixated on a single goal, that of conversion, and he preached on.
Mama would have loved nothing more than to have everybody laughing their way through her funeral. After the service, the immediate family were led to a limousine to lead the drive out to the cemetery: In the far back seat were Bill and I, in the seat ahead of us Daddy and Aunt Sarah (Mama's sister), and in the front with the driver, my older brother.
Mama's ashes, in a small cardboard box that looked like the takeout carton for a single meal at KFC, were carried ceremonially to the hearse. They were to be deposited in an urn at her grave. However, the crowd was so large that the driveway was blocked, and we had to sit for several minutes in the limo waiting to get moving. During that time, everyone stood around in the portico, looking in on us with interest like we were fish in an aquarium.
The tension mounted. Bill was not yet a blues musician, and at that point -- his early 20s -- he had only two outlets for extreme emotion, rage (like, beating somebody up) or humor. I could tell he was about to blow, and if he decided to climb out of the limo to hunt down that preacher and smack him around a bit, well, I would not be able to stop him. Instead, however, he turned to me, pointed to the large ashtray on the back of the seat in front of us, and said "I wonder how many Mamas would fit in there?"
I lost it. Utterly. The numbness of having no idea how to live without her was blown away by the horrific irreverence of his comment, me knowing he loved her as much as I did. I was choking, I laughed so hard. Daddy and Aunt Sarah, just ahead of us, of course turned around in disbelief and hissed at us "What are you doing?" I managed to splutter out Bill's comment, and Aunt Sarah cracked up completely, too. When my older brother heard Daddy and Aunt Sarah in hysterics, the line was passed up to him, and he and even the driver went into convulsions of mirth. Thus it was that everyone in the funeral party outside saw our entire family pull out of the the driveway in screaming, side-splitting laughter.
At the graveside, the preacher redeemed himself by reading Mama's favorite psalm, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh mine help". I finally began crying, and Mama's first cousin Florence Lou immediately moved to stand beside me, letting me lean on her. As the preacher finished and Mama's ashes were transferred to the urn, Florence Lou put her mouth to my ear, I thought to comfort me. Instead, she said "What was so damned funny in that limo?"
Maggie, you're one of the few who can make me laugh and cry at the same time!
Shado, honey, it's funny what each of us will or won't share. Hammerwoman with her bright copper penny and your confirmatory shade, and I'll discuss family secrets and my physical differences in depth but just don't want to tell you about Mike H. Or, as my mother referred to it, "Munchkin Land". Except during baths, when she asked if I had washed my "possible".
It wasn't that she didn't give us the correct anatomical terms, because she did. And when she gave me the sex talk, it wasn't embarassing -- she drew pictures on one of Daddy's oil drilling pads -- but I walked away with the distinct impression that my ovaries were the size of Bartlett pears and my uterus was honeydew to yellow-meated-watermelon in dimensions.
My brother's organs were affectionately labeled tallywhacker or one-eyed trouser snake. My father's was called Johnny Weissmuller, which I never asked about but now wish I had.
When I came out, Lesbians called parts by specific names -- clit (although there was divergence about where the emphasis went in clitoris, first or second syllable), labia majora and minor, perineum. Details mattered. The whole shebang was called vulva, NOT vagina -- vagina was what the straight girls used, buying into the male emphasis on the hole, i.e., the receptacle (a la Eve Ensler, Judy Chicago, Erica Jong, etc.) We knew the real party was not the receiving chamber -- we were in it to provide pleasure, not occupy territory. I was fortunate in that respect.
But when I moved to San Francisco, I kept hearing the term yoni thrown about. (Well, not literally, although that's a softball game I'd have joined.) I wasn't exactly sure if it was a body part or one of those other California-ese references like chi, chakra, or aura.
After I'd been there six weeks, I slept with someone and the next morning she waxed lyrical about the taste of my yoni. I felt courageous enough to ask what that was, exactly, and she assisted me in my anatomical studies. I still don't know if yoni was mostly a California habit (or West Coast), specific to the era, or whether it was used elsewhere. We used cunt during political speech, yoni while in more intimate settings.
There ARE photos of my possible out there in the world, especially one from Michigan that apparently made it onto a calendar which I never saw but was circulated enough for me to occasionally be recognized by Lesbians visiting from elsewhere. If you have a calendar of photos from MWMF from the early 1980s, please, please, look through it and see if there is a shot of two naked women, one fat, one not, wallowing in the mud with spread legs. I am eager to see that shot. Most eager.
Maggie, you have inspired me to tell my favorite vagina story...
Many years ago, when my Megan was in preschool and I was leading the straight life, I was confronted on an issue by a somewhat militant mom-friend, who also had a daughter of a similar age in that same school. It seems my Megan was referring to the "possibles" of others (both boys and girls) as "wee-wahs" (her words, not mine). I didn't correct her on this because, hey, she was only 3, and secretly, I thought it was kinda cute.
"Wee Wah?", my friend scolded. "You don't call your hand a goo-goo! You call it a hand! Children should be taught the proper names for ALL their body parts!"
At first I was irritated, but then after a bit of thought, I decided maybe she had something there. So I sat Megan down, taught her" boys have a penis, girls have a vagina" (which back then, I thought was correct).
Some weeks later, commercials started to air for a new TV show, "China Beach". Every time my daughter saw one of these ads, she would roll on the floor laughing.
When asked what was so funny, she would wave her arms, saying, "You know! You know!" and run off. I couldn't figure it out--when I asked her 8 yr. old sister what it might be, she rolled her eyes and said, "Three year olds are weird." I soon forgot about it.
A few days later, Megan and I were shopping. We were in a silly mood, giggling and carrying on. I told her some "kid" joke (I think it was one of many bunny rabbit jokes she was fond of). She let out a huge belly laugh, then grabbed her crotch with a mixture of pain and pleasure on her face. "Sweetie are you okay?", I asked. "Oh mama," she said, "you make me laugh so hard my "china" hurts!"
It was "china' after that for about 10 years--sometimes, it still is...
sahdo-you did better than my mom, who said "boys have a penis and girls don't."
A tree fell on our houase last night. Boo Radley's oak, which saw many birds and chipmunks nest in its hole, was a huge multitrunker. Unknown to anyone. ants had eaten out its core near the ground. At 2:30 am, on a still clear summer night, it crashed onto the roof directly above my bed.
Bad news: expensive damage and the insurance co. wants us to take the rest of the tree down at our own expense.
Good news: no one hurt, all damage is above the ceiling, and no windows smashed.
little gator...
If I had been you, at approximately 02:30:01 I would've lost bladder control.
I'm so glad you're allright.
My first thought was a lightning strike in the neighborhood had put our power out. Mr Gator sleepily insisted it was only a power failure(we get lots) and the noise was just the dog scrambling away in a panic. I kept saying "I know I heard a crash."
We went around shutting down computers and only then looked outside and saw the carnage. I get ooohs every time I say to anyone: see that window? i was sleeping right under it.
anyone want some lovely white oak firewood? I never thought Id say this but I've got wood. Lots of good hard wood.
BTW, the tree and eletric guys were immensely grateful we gave them coffe and bug spray.
Holy crap, Little Gator. Major bummer -- loss of the tree, damage to house, insurance company being shits, and where will Boo Radley now hide his gifts to Scout and Jem? SOOOO glad you are okay.
I'm good with snoop engines. Do you have Mary Nell's married name? If not, there are still options but they cost money.
Good Grief little gator! We almost lost you!
I never knew how funny it could be watching people gawk at my house as they drive/walk by.
My bladder didn't let go, but now, a day later i'm getting emotionally induced intestinal events. And have had time to get seriously upset.
And we can't pay for it without refinancing(even inlcuding insurance, and we've found expensive insect damage, yet I still feel giddily silly.
There's nothing like being up at 4 am, spacy from adrenaline and sleep deprivation, making stupid jokes with the tree crew and laughing our heads off when anyone drove by. They said ppl mostly are horribly upset but we were just incredibly relieved it wasn't worse.
while waiting for help I heard owls. An d for the first time ever I heard coyotes singing. I can't understand why anyone would be scared by canines howling, even wild ones. but then I've live with hounds for decades and know the difference between social howling and scary vocalizations.
Baby foxes, on the other paw, sound nasty and aggressive.
"Look! our first gawker! HAHAHAHAHA!"
The insurance inspector was a little surprise though, that I refused to sleep in that room till someone who knew stuff checked the attic. And i'm still syating out og there if its windy or rainy, cause another trunk is now unsupported by its friedn and is leaning towerd the house. The other trunks would only block the driveway.
This is waay more fun thatn the time i totalled a Hyundai and wlaked away with merely bruises. Stinky, sloppy steering on those early ones, ran a stop sign that was obliterated by vandals and slid off the wet, leafcovered road into a ditch.
The car landed on its side and was dead with only 4000 miles on it.
Rotten steering but GREAT seat belts. they'd just passed a mandatory seat belt law in MA and i got SOOO tired of being told the law saved my life. I always wore them anyway, before and after the law was passed, so it wasn';t the law that saved me, it was my own common sense. ppl interviewd on tv news actuallys aid they were glad the law was there cause they were too stupdi to use seatbelts without being told to. idjits.
So there i was, hanging in the 3 point harness with the car lying on its pasenger side. I unbuckled and carefull dropped to the ground, by merest luck i missed landing on my glasses that had flown off. Somone stopped and helped me crawl out through the window, which was conveniently glass-free by now.
2 days later I wascareless with my glasses. Mr Gator sat on them and crushed them. he will never be allowed to forget this.
I think there was a point in there somewhere,
forgot to say-the insurance guy was very helpful. he said he'd tell them we needed all the siding on that side of the house replaced, even though we don't. and they'll just give us a check, as long as we make things structurally safe they don't care how we spend it.
and we don't have to pay to get it hauled away. a firend of ours will take it for firewood and pay to have it sliced up. I can mulch the smaller stuff myself. I define smaller as anything I can cut with lopping shears.
And i love the smell of freshcut oak. Only applewood smells nicer.
Back to the topic of names for genitalia: Why do we have no official, medical, non-obscene name for “female sexual organ” the way we have for males? We have names for the parts—vagina, clitoris, labia—but not for the whole. The answer goes back to Latin. In Latin, the real (and therefore obscene) names for private parts were “mentula” for the male organ, “culus” for the asshole, and “cunnus” for the female organ. There were accepted euphemisms for the first two: “penis”, which means “tail”, and “anus”, which means “ring”. These euphemisms became our official non-obscene words. But there was no euphemism for cunnus. The female sexual organ was so obscene (or frightening or filthy or powerful) that is was simply unspeakable. There were metaphors, and names for individual parts, but no single word. Thus our English derivative of “cunnus” remains obscene, and we have no straightforward, internet-safe way to speak of it.
Jana C.H.
Seattle
Saith WSG: Man is Nature’s sole mistake.
about names:
When I was in high school there were few female doctors around, but there was one in our town, notorious for being grouchy and mean. She gave lectures to all the girls during sex ed assemblies.
It confused me that she always referred you-know-what as "external genitalia" and refused to explain it, saying of course we knew what it meant, and if we dind't we could ask her privately and face her scorn.
This might not have been so bad if she used the phrase correctly, but to her it included the vagina, cervix, and prostate, depending on plumbing. Im not sure but I think she did not inlude the uterus and such, but maybe she did.
Latest in the gator horrors: the tree stuff, the fridge is dying, we have no money, and now Mr gator has a tooth abcess.
little gator--no pun intended, but "when it rains it pours"
Do you have a 211 line in your area? It's similar to it's cousins, 911, and 411, but it's information and referral for social service type needs. They can refer you to a low-cost (or no cost) dental clinic for mister gator, and they might even find a program for you to help you fix that fridge, or even find a replacement.
If your insurance doesn't cover the whole bill, there might be an organization out your way that assists with home repair too. If you don't have a 211 line, call your local United Way, and ask for "Information and Referral". What could it hurt? The worst they can say is no...
Poor gator. I feel for you, babe. And a tooth abcess? Ouch!
Jana...what about "vulva"? I realize that doesn't inculde the inside parts, though. But "penis" isn't all-inclusive, either - it doesn't take into account the scrotum.
BTW, the current word verification for me to leave this post is "smenita," which most definitely sounds obscene. I think I'll call my friend at work that tomorrow.
Latest update to As the Gators Squirm:
The guy who did the emergency tree is coming to give us an estimate for the rest of it. he told us the power company might pay for it, but they wouldn't tell us that until and unless they decide to do it.
The roof is patched. We are waiting for estimates from the contractor and the insurance.
It wasn't Mr Gator's tooth. the dentist sent him to his MD, who thinks it's a blocked salivary gland, and he sees a specialist tomorrow. This is way good, cause we have medical insurance but not dental insurance.
the fridge is limping along as long as we keep it mostly empty. We have a chest freezer and are managing ok, plus a nieghbor has offered to loan us a dorm-size fridge if we need it. when we got an energy audit a while back we were told the old one is beyond fixing, just keep it till it dies, then replace it.
So now we have a zombie fridge.
and it was really cute watching the chipmunk who found the fallen oak branches loaded with baby acorns.
Just wanted to leave word to out sister and brother "divas"---I have a slight computer problem, and will be sans 'puter for the next 2 or 3 (or 4...) days. Just in case something big comes up...it may take me a few to reply back (I'm currently writing this at work--bad, bad Shado--it's back to the litter box for you!)
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