We look back, and we look forward (a post about inter-generational fatness that turned into so much more)

This is a picture of my paternal grandfather with his brother and parents in Krakow, Poland sometime around 1930. I came across it while looking through a treasure trove of old family photos at my grandmother’s house.

I know where my body shape comes from.

I mean, I already knew–there are plenty of fat/chubby/in-betweenie people on both sides of my family. But it’s amazing to see visual evidence of how far back it goes, contrary to the popular belief that “obesity” is a newfangled invention of modern society, that everyone was thin in some idealized heyday before TV and fast food.

It’s just amazing to see my own body looking back at me from nearly a century ago.

To see how the threads of history, of family, weave through us and tie us together.

This was my first, uncomplicated reaction when I saw the photo.

What’s harder to tangle with, and to write about–even though I know it in my bones–the fact that my grandfather’s parents didn’t make it out of Europe alive. My grandfather and his Irish-twin brother (born a year apart on the same day) escaped and found each other in America years later.

A few poems for National Poetry Month

April is the month of crocuses, light jackets after an endless season of heavy coats, and poetry.

Poetry and I have a complicated relationship. It used to be my Thing, a long time ago.

Poetry is a reminder of paths I didn’t take, paths I only half-took, paths I could still take someday.

Poetry is a reminder that the internet, for all the good it brings (and it brings so much), changes my brain in ways that make it harder to connect with something deep in my core. With the silence that I need to move beyond prose.

Sometimes, in an ironic twist, the internet even brings poetry.

And so, I present a few of my favorite poems that I’ve come across recently, in no particular order:

Hala Alyan: Dear Gaza

Scherezade Siobhan: colored girls won’t be televised

Audre Lord: A Litany for Survival

Naomi Shihab Nye: Gate A-4

Emily (who I know through Boston’s fat community): Dead Women Litter the Sidewalks of Manhattan, 1911

Suheir Hammad: First Writing Since (Poem on Crisis of Terror)

Kamilah Aisha Moon: Imagine

Autostraddle interviews Lauren Zuniga (contains videos of multiple poems)

Joy Harjo: Deer Dancer

Aimee Nezhukumatathil: After the Auction, I Bid You Good-bye

Leah Lakshmi Piepza-Samarasinha: the city of my desire

A short rant

I hate when people, especially other feminists, devalue the work that is raising children. Just because it’s not financially compensated in our current system doesn’t mean it’s not just as important as any other kind of work.

I also hate when people say things like “the world doesn’t owe me a living, or my children support.” I believe we have a collective responsibility to each other. I believe that the world owes everyone a living, whether or not they want to or can work in ways that are considered economically productive (under what are some very narrow definitions of productivity, I might add). I believe that by virtue of being alive, we are all owed food, shelter, clothes, health care, and education.

I don’t believe in the hyper-individualistic bullshit of “personal responsibility.” We’re all in this together–and we’d better start acting like it if we want to survive.

More fun Frozen videos

When our broken economy and the all-too-real threat of civilizational collapse are just too scary and depressing to deal with, I distract myself with everything related to Frozen. I’ve already watched it four times, and I listen to “Let It Go” constantly.

I posted a few Frozen-related videos here; here are a few more great ones. What are some of your favorite distractions?

My reading challenge: 25 books by women of color in 2014

Inspired by this post, in which Victoria Law plans to read 50 books by writers of color, mostly women, I’ve decided to do my own reading challenge.

I’m going to aim to read 25 books written by women of color this year, of any and all genres. In the past two months, I’ve read only one–Janet Mock’s Redefining Realness, which I recommend highly–so I have some catching up to do!

Both Law’s post and this essay by Aimee Phan have good recommendations for books by women of color.  I’m also looking forward to Roxane Gay‘s novel An Untamed State, which will be coming out next month.

A few other books I am hoping to read:
–The Summer We Got Free, by Mia McKenzie of Black Girl Dangerous
–Ash by Malinda Lo
–Feminism for Real: Deconstructing the Academic Industrial Complex of Feminism by Jessica Yee (unfortunately, my library doesn’t have this one, and I really don’t like to buy books unless I already know I like them, but I will try to get a hold of it somehow)
-Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Sarasinha’s Love Cake and Consensual Genocide (my library doesn’t have these either, sigh)

And here are a few books by WOC that I’ve read in the past and recommend for anyone doing a similar challenge–or anyone who likes good books, period:
–Americanah and Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I was first introduced to Adichie’s writing in college, and it’s been so exciting to see her become more and more popular, to the extent that Beyonce sampled one of her speeches in the song “Flawless.”
–The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
–Cereus Blooms At Night and He Drown She in the Sea by Shani Mootoo
–Lipstick Jihad: A Memoir of Growing Up Iranian in America and American in Iran by Azadeh Moaveni
–A Map of Home by Randa Jarrar

What books by women of color do you like?

Instead of #FatshionFebruary 20 and 21, have some cute animals and “Let It Go” covers

I’ve been sick for the last few days, and while I managed to pull together outfits on Monday and Tuesday, I haven’t felt up for even thinking about changing out of my pajamas yesterday and today.

It’s unfortunate timing, because I have so many clothing swap finds that I would love to turn into Fatshion Feb outfits. But such is life. So in lieu of cute outfits, I will give you cute pictures of animals I’ve hung out with recently.

This is Cody, my adorable beagle/basset hound friend who I dog-sit for. Isn’t he the cutest?

I love when dogs sleep all curled up in a ball. 🙂

Puppieeeeees!

Because we could all use a little cuteness in our day…

Follow-up to my piece on art in Boston, with lots of pictures

Benjamin Reynolds contact juggling at Figment 2013.

First off, thank you to everyone who read, shared, and commented on my post earlier today! I am so grateful for the creative communities I have here in, as Jojo calls it, “Bostosomedfordville,” and I’m glad that my piece resonated with many of my fellow Bostonians.

Second, throughout this post I’ll be using a few pictures that I dug up while working on the original post, but didn’t have enough space to use. Enjoy!

Morris dancers at NEFFA 2009.

This morning, I tweeted the link to my post to Sarah Kendzior, and she responded, “Thanks! I’m not sure we disagree that much. Boston has great things to offer, I only wish daily life were more affordable.”

I appreciate that she clarified her position, and I think we do agree more than we disagree when it comes to art, money, and cities. I still wish her original essay hadn’t made such sweeping generalizations, but I’m glad it started so many conversations and inspired me to write about why I love my Boston so damn much.

Sometimes I get sick of living here–not because of anything wrong with the area itself, but because I have cravings for adventure and new places to explore, and Boston can get pretty small after a few years. So it was great to have a reminder of all the things I love about living here: how amazingly creative my friends and communities are,  how there’s always something unusual and fun (and often geeky) going on, what a wonderful big little city this is. Or is it a little big city?

Is creativity dead in Boston? Not the one I know.

An installation by artist Lisa Greenfield during the Fort Point Open Studios, 2009

Social critic Sarah Kendzior’s latest piece, Expensive cities are killing creativity, didn’t sit right with me. Normally, I find myself all but jumping up and down in agreement with her work–but this time, I found much of her analysis jarringly at odds with my own experience.

Kendzior describes expensive coastal cities like New York and San Francisco as “gated citadels,” playgrounds for the rich, places where corporate pressure and the high cost of living reward conformity and stifle creativity. (Although she doesn’t mention Boston specifically, she does include it in a follow-up tweet.)

But my Boston doesn’t feel corporatized, sanitized, like a gated citadel. My Boston isn’t a place where creativity is undervalued, or valued only when it enriches wealthy children. My Boston certainly isn’t a place where “you live when you are born having arrived.”

My Boston is vibrant and creative as hell. Especially here in Somerville, where I’ve lived for five and a half years–and which has the second-highest concentration of artists in the country.

First off, I can’t talk about creativity in Boston without mentioning the folk dancing and music scene, which has been the base of my social circle for as long as I’ve lived here. There’s an incredible number of regular social dance events, culminating in the yearly NEFFA festival, a veritable folkie paradise of singing, jamming, dancing, and outdoor cuddle piles. We have gender-free contras, guerilla contras, a dance and music camp in nearby Plymouth, lots of overlap with the swing and blues dancing scene, great concerts at Club Passim and other venues–and most importantly, a strong sense of community. Individual people may come and go, but the community stays–and I doubt it’s going away anytime soon.

Outdoor contra dance in Copley Square, 2007.

Reflection of the day: on car culture and change

Sometimes I look at people who are incredibly knowledgeable about cars, like my dad, and think: if the US ever manages a shift away from car culture and sprawl toward high-density building, public transit, and walkable/bikable towns, we will be losing so much knowledge and culture.

It reminds me that with any social shift, even positive and necessary ones, we always lose something.