Bookish Butch – Page 81

A gift of a book, perfect.

It is a beautiful day,

still tired,

but,

hey,

this too shall pass:-)

The Habs, won.

YES!!

Very busy day,

yesterday,

but,

I got a nice present,

from a customer,

customers gives me present,

must be because of, my natural charm, and devilish grin:-)

Anyway,

this customer I did,

something for him,

he’s been reading in English,

something,

he hadn’t really done,

before,

and he asked me if,

I would pronounce,

certain words,

on tape,

for him.

I did warn him,

that my accent,

was not exactly,

language lab,

he doesn’t hear it,

besides,

everyone,

has some sort,

of accent,

it’s a question,

of,

perspective,

and,

degrees,

I think.

So, yesterday to thank me,

he didn’t have to, it represented five minutes of my time,

he brought me a,

modern library,

edition,

of Cakes and Ale,

by my man,

Maugham.

I am tickled pink.

I turned him on,

to Somerset Maugham,

a couple of years ago,

as well as,

modern library editions,

so it was doubly,

pleasing,

and,

appropriate.

I like the editions,

from the,

forties and fifties,

they are a perfect,

size,

and,

weight.

They are bound,

and stay open,

and they are easy,

to read,

not too big,

not too small.

I am not a collector,

I just love books,

it’s not about value.

This gift,

was the best part,

of my workday,

not much pleases me, more than a book.

when,

I got home,

something,

delightful,

awaited,

but,

I won’t tell you,

about that,

a butch,

has to keep,

some things,

secret,

and to herself.

Have a great day.

Later girls,

The possibility of love?

Ladies,

How are we on this fine,

April morning?

I feel good,

a little tired,

but,

hey,

could be age,

more likely,

it’s seasonal change,

tiring.

I have been reading,

a lot of highbrow,

and,

time consuming stuff,

lately,

but,

in the last few days,

I read a nice,

relaxing,

romance.

I won’t tell you which,

I have to review elsewhere,

and honestly,

it doesn’t really matter,

a good romance,

is,

a good romance.

All the required,

elements,

in place,

lined up,

two beautiful women,

one more butch,

than the other,

one more vulnerable,

than the other,

alas, it’s true, usually the butch:-)

seems one is usually,

dark haired,

a raven haired beauty,

one is lighter haired,

and more muscular,

again, usually, the butch,

her object of desire,

is not described as,

femme,

that wouldn’t be,

right,

politically,

right?

Some sort of,

conflict or coincidence,

throws them together,

at each other,

so to speak.

Instant chemistry,

but,

also,

impossibility,

or at the very least,

hindrance,

prohibits them,

being together,

sigh.

A good romance,

author,

manages to bring them,

together,

in a believable,

or at least,

not too,

contrived way.

Along the way,

she also,

if she’s good,

throws in some,

bone melting,

liquid bodied,

sex.

Be still my heart!!

What can I say,

I’m a sucker,

for a happy ending,

and romance novels,

deliver.

why else would we read, them?

Nothing wrong,

with the prospect,

of a happy ending,

keeps you hopeful,

keeps you,

out there.

Or have we become,

too jaded,

too cynical,

too scared,

for a happy ending?

Not, I,

BB,

is an eternal,

optimist,

romantic,

not silly,

or deluded,

well, I don’t think I am.

I just like to believe,

in the possibility,

and,

sometimes,

the impossibility,

of,

Love and Romance.

What do the girls think?

Later girls,

Reflection on Transgender Warriors

If there is no struggle there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation…want crops without plowing up the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightening. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters…. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”
Frederick Douglass, 1857

I have been reading Leslie Feinberg’s,

Transgender Warriors,

in the few chapters,

I have read,

I have learned,

much,

and it has brought me to,

reflection on the nature of gender,

and transgender,

I always thought,

I didn’t understand,

much about,

transgender,

maybe,

I get it more,

than I thought.

Sometimes, you read,

something,

and it crystallizes,

your thoughts.

For instance,

I had read,

before,

in the bad old days,

before Stonewall,

that when cops,

arrested homosexuals,

in bar raids,

they could charge you,

if you weren’t wearing,

three pieces of,

gender appropriate,

clothing,

and I thought,

fuckin’ fascists,

I would fail,

by that criteria,

everyday,

most,

days,

it’s one piece,

three guesses as to what that might be:-)

strangely enough,

I have never seen,

being butch,

as cross dressing,

I don’t attempt to pass,

for anything,

but,

maybe it’s just another,

degree.

I don’t know.

Deserves, reflection.

But, I’m grateful,

to Feinberg,

for insight and illumination.

If you are not transexual,transgender, or intersexual,if you’re not a cross-dresser, bigender, or drag queen or king, then perhaps you already understand that defending our rights to be who we are is inextricably tied to your own right to explore and define who you are . Each individual has a stake in trans libearation– Transgender Warriors page 92

Never,

thought of it,

quite like that before,

I’m thick,

sometimes,

but, I do attempt,

to catch up.

It can be quite the process.

In the last six months,

Feinberg,

post-modernism,

genderQueer,

and discussions,

here,

and elsewhere,

have helped in,

my quest,

to be less thick.

The process goes on.

Just, wanted to let,

you in on,

my reflection.

Later girls,

Vote ABC

Another nice day,

cold and windy,

but,

luminous and blue,

the bite in the wind?

less and less,

fierce.

I will not mention,

a certain hockey team,

they are in the,

proverbial,

dog house.

Moving on.

We are going,

to have a federal election,

here in Canada.

I can only,

hope and pray,

that my compatriots,

particularly in Ontario,

don’t succumb to,

the Conservatives’,

tactics,

the old,

us against them.

Less taxes,

more police,

less rehabilitation,

more prisons,

global warming is a myth,

God created the universe,

in seven days,

youth gangs are coming to do you in,

in your sleep,

immigrants are terrorists,

welfare recipients get rich,

while you work, for a living,

and let’s not forget,

family values,

as long as families,

are papa bear, mama bear and baby bears,

no other combo is appropriate,

or indeed,

moral.

One thing about our,

honourable Prime Minister,

he sure can pick,

cabinet ministers.

OK,

that’s not fair,

I’m sure Bev Oda,

and Maxime Bernier,

are good people.

Mr Harper,

has as far as,

I am concerned,

two good things,

going for him,

he likes cats,

and hockey.

In that case, maybe you should vote, for, ME:-)

When you appeal,

to people’s fears,

demons,

and prejudices,

rather than,

their,

dreams,

ideals,

and,

better angels,

sometimes it works.

I’m just hoping,

this is not one of,

those times.

I worry,

about Ontarians,

not because they are,

of a narrower mind,

than the rest of us,

but,

because they hold,

most of the seats,

and thus,

the possibility,

of being,

kingmakers.

Elections aren’t decided,

in Québec,

or The Maritimes,

The West,

The North,

or,

British Columbia,

they are decided in,

Ontario.

So in the immortal words of Danny Williams,

vote ABC,

Anybody but Conservative.

Herein endeth the rant:-)

Tomorrow I have a question for you all,

Do Real Butches Dance?

give it some thought.

Later girls,

Library visit

Beautiful March day,

which means,

cold and blue,

The Habs?

Don’t even get me started,

they’re playing like crap,

and,

duh?

they’re losing.

Controlled breathing exercise.

I’m trying to read,

Maurice by E.M Forster,

I have to say,

I don’t really like it,

but,

maybe,

I just need,

lighter.

Still reading,

the Bruce Chatwin biography,

it’s good,

but, it takes time,

and concentration,

two things I seem,

to be,

in short supply,

of,

lately.

Haven’t read much,

since the beginning,

of the year,

a lot of it has been,

very demanding,

some of it dark,

most of it,

excellent.

I went to the library,

today,

any excuse is good,

I had to bring back,

The Powerbook,

but,

it wasn’t really due,

I just wanted to walk,

on Ste-Catherine.

So, I picked up,

two Jane Rule books,

that I have never read,

The Young in One Another’s Arms,

and,

This Is Not For You.

I’ve read two,

of her novels,

Desert Of The Heart,

which I loved,

and,

Contract With The World,

which I didn’t.

Jane Rule,

is a woman for who,

I have respect and admiration,

tough, smart.

Seen her interviewed,

many times,

a fine mind,

a good heart.

These books,

aren’t too long,

and will help,

in my quest to know,

the history,

of lesbians and queers,

in general,

a long time,

interest.

I have also,

been reading,

Transgender Warrior,

Leslie Feinberg’s history,

of transgender,

an informative,

and,

enlightening,

read.

Can’t say enough,

good about,

Feinberg,

Stone Butch Blues,

is in my opinion,

a must read,

for anyone,

and,

everyone.

Well,

off to read:-)

Later girls,

With Love and Pride

Girls.

How are yah?

Personally,

I’m feeling good about,

myself,

but,

mostly,

about my friends.

My ex,

or as I usually refer,

to her,

friend extraordinaire,

has lost much weight,

and looks,

fabulous.

I always thought,

she looked good,

but,

now she weighs,

probably,

what,

she did in her,

twenties!!

Kuddos.

Another really good friend,

has written,

a novel,

that is about to be,

released,

By Bold Strokes,

April 18 Th. 2011

Here is the blurb:

Quiet and imaginative, Derek O’Reilly spends a lot of time watching a movie in his head. His fiancé Nathan, aka “Mr. Alpha,” wonders why Derek hasn’t taken any interest in their wedding planning. Aunt Fran—his spiritual guru—would like to know when her guilt-tripping nephew became some kind of kept boy. One evening, she drops Derek’s childhood journal on his lap, forcing him to remember the name he’s been trying to forget since he was eleven years old. Nicolai Lund.

Nick was Derek’s neighbor—and first love.

Weeks before Derek’s engagement party, a chance meeting promises the possibility of meeting Nick again. The last time Derek saw those cold blue eyes was seventeen years ago, but he vividly remembers the effect they had on his young, inexperienced body. Nick could flood his stale existence like a blond tidal wave. But Nick isn’t that sixteen-year-old rebel anymore. He’s a man hardened by invisible scars.

As Derek reads through his diary, Nick and Derek’s powerful relationship sways between past and present, sweeping over their emotional landscape, revealing what they were, still are, and might yet be to each other.

and here is the link to her Bold Strokes Authors’ blog:

http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com/products.php?product=Split-%252d-by-Mel-Bossa

I couldn’t be prouder.

Bravo.

Smart,

accomplished,

take the bull by the horns,

kind hearted friends,

what more could,

a bookish butch,

ask for?

immense riches?

kick ass good looks?

Kate Winslet to walk into my bookstore?

Nah,

I don’t need any of that,

I’ve got friends,

and,

family,

and love to the brim.

Reminds me,

of this,

little plaque,

my Grandmother,

used to have in her house,

My House Is Small, No Mansion For A Millionaire, but, There is Room For Friends and There Is Room For Love, That’s All I Care.

Words to live by:-)

Later girls,

Creative non-fiction

It’s going to be,

a beautiful day,

I just know it,

the patch of sky,

I can see from,

my desk,

is very blue.

As I was checking,

my emails,

this morning,

out of the corner,

of my eye,

I saw an add,

for classes,

creative non-fiction.

My first thought?

What the *&** is,

creative non-fiction.

But,

then,

I thought,

isn’t this blog,

creative non-fiction.

I think,

it may be.

A person,

very dear,

to my heart,

asked me,

recently,

how much is real,

how much is not.

Is BB, real?

The answer is,

of course,

she is,

and,

of course,

she’s not.

I don’t know.

I think I may have,

found my answer,

blogging,

and,

indeed,

life,

may all be exercises,

in creative non-fiction.

What do you think?

Later girls,

Nostalgia? Hope? Beats me

Kind of a grey day,

today,

The Habs are,

hanging in there,

should make the playoffs,

once that begins,

who knows.

I’m optimistic,

as my man Bruce,

once said,

people need,

A Reason To Believe,

hockey is as good,

a reason,

as any,

I guess:-)

I’ve been thinking,

about nostalgia,

a simpler, warmer,

time that never,

existed,

big market,

that,

for the merchants,

of schlock.

I feel myself,

succumb to it,

sometimes,

and I’m not even,

the target audience,

or,

Am I?

For instance,

I told you all,

I have been listening,

to the radio lately,

man, there’s a lot of crap on the radio, but, still,

we have this singer,

here in Québec,

Roch Voisine,

very big in France as well,

he is a pretty boy,

very pretty,

he sings,

insipid, love ballads,

the ones he writes,

yikes.

But, recently,

he released,

this album,

that has some,

beautiful,

old country ballads,

Crazy,

The City Of New Orleans,

that kind of stuff,

he does an adequate job,

country’s about feeling,

not range,

yesterday,

I was drifting,

I drift,

a lot,

when things,

are quiet,

at the bookstore,

I found myself,

singing along with,

this song,

I bless the day I found you
I want to stay around you
And so I beg you, let it be me

Don’t take this heaven from one
If you must cling to someone
Now and forever, let it be me

Of course, I sang the words wrong and off key but, so what

That’s an old,

Everly Brothers song,

I always liked their ballads,

I’ll do my crying in the rain,

I know the Everly Brothers,

because,

I grew up,

watching,

entirely,

too much,

television.

Happy Days,

a seventies sitcom,

is probably responsible,

for my discovery,

of fifties music.

But, I still like,

The Everly Brothers,

sweet melancholie harmony,

it’s not music of the mind,

or the loins,

it’s music,

of the tender,

part of your heart.

Let it be me.

Obviously, the merchants,

know what they are,

doing,

when,

they can make a grown butch,

sing,

and …

or perhaps it’s not about,

nostalgia,

perhaps,

it’s about,

longing,

and hope.

I don’t know,

I’ll have to chew,

on that.

Later girls,

The Powerbook, a personal response

There is no penance that can calm love and no regret that can make it bitter-The Powerbook by Jeanette Winterson

I’ve been busy,

but,

I have to share with you,

a powerful,

reading experience.

What little reading,

I’ve done lately,

has been spent on,

The Powerbook by Jeanette Winterson.

I’ve read this book,

before,

and yet,

I haven’t.

The woman, the butch:-)

who read this novel,

ten years ago,

doesn’t exist anymore.

She has been changed.

Life,

experience,

pain,

joy,

fear,

love,

transform you.

You don’t notice,

and then,

you hear, something,

you see something,

you read something,

and there it is,

the change,

the new you,

reborn,

from your scar tissue.

This work of Art,

that you saw,

heard,

or, read,

holds up the change for you to,

see.

As, I read this novel,

it reminded me of,

that old Roberta Flack,

song,

or for the youngest of you, the Lauryn Hill and The Fugees version,

Killing Me Softly.

I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud

I can’t really give you an objective,

opinion of this book,

it was a personal,

and,

visceral,

experience.

I can’t tell you,

it will have the same,

effect on,

you.

But, I can guarantee,

you will get,

something from,

it.

Later girls,

Yesterday, I went to the Theatre with my Grandmother

Today, was officially,

the first day of spring,

and,

it was magnificent.

This,

first day of spring,

is special,

to me,

in so many ways.

Most,

I won’t share,

the most important.

Too private,

and personal,

and,

too precious,

to share,

even with my girls:-)

But, I will write,

about my blissful,

experience at the theatre.

On Sunday afternoon,

I went to the theatre.

I never go to the theatre,

why?

I don’t know,

just never do.

I go to the movies,

not as much as I,

used to but,

I go.

To theatre,

I have been,

a hand full,

of times,

in my entire life.

Maybe,

it’s my working class,

peoples’ roots,

somewhere in my DNA,

I think,

the theatre is not,

for the likes of me:-)

I’m going to change, that attitude, never too late to grow.

So,

yesterday, I saw,

Michel Tremblay’s,

Les Belles Soeurs,

a musical version,

at the Monument National,

on St-Laurent,

the Main.

Michel Tremblay,

is Québec’s greatest playwright,

he is responsible for,

transforming our theatre,

from a faux French theatre,

to a truly modern theatre,

of us,

and by us.

Les Belles Soeurs,

which translates as the sisters in law,

is an ensemble piece,

fifteen women.

Written in 1965,

a good year for the birth of special things, people… just saying:-)

but,

staged for the first time,

1968,

it is the first play written,

in Joual.

Joual, is Québécois French, I guess you could see it as some sort of slang, I see it more as a dialect. Cockney, Yiddish, Creole, that sort of thing. A language of the people, the poor, the masses, the oppressed and disenfranchised.

Tremblay loves Joual,

for the same reason,

I do,

it is the language,

his mother,

her sisters,

and sisters in law,

spoke,

the one he heard,

sitting in the kitchen,

the one that gave birth,

to his imagination,

his pride,

to him.

Tremblay is twenty years older,

than me,

so,

with me it was,

grandmaman.

I adored my grandmother, she was smart, resourceful, tender and tough. A woman of her race and generation. She was also oppressed by her church, her society, her workers poverty. She was as important to me, as my mom and dad.

This play,

was severely,

criticised in 1968,

the elite,

were embarrassed,

by this language,

of the people,

and this depiction,

of poverty.

The elite was either,

of a mind that we were,

French or American.

We are,

were,

both,

and neither.

We are French in North America,

a modern society,

with colonial roots.

Les Belles Soeurs,

tells of the lives of women,

their struggles,

their joys.

It is funny,

and,

tender,

hard,

and sad.

It speaks of abortion,

and sexual freedom,

of child rearing

and caring for the old.

It is beautiful.

The musical version,

keeps most of the words.

The music is up tempo,

motown inspired,

I loved it.

A few times,

I looked over,

at my aunt and mom,

and I thought,

Grandmaman,

should be here,

with us,

but,

you know…

she was.

I hope I gave you a taste,

I’m not sure but,

I tried.

Later girls,