Revolution nrrrd style now!

So.  Last night, while taking a much-needed stress relief bath, I watched the third season finale of Mad Men-- which means that I'm now all caught up on those episodes, and have to wait for brand new ones just like every other sad bastard in the world.

I likewise have to wait weekly for Doctor Who episodes (which, if River Song appears in that many more episodes, will cease to be an excruciating wait for me.  Eurgh).  It has been several months since I felt the "when in doubt, re-watch Torchwood" urge-- I daresay I might be breaking up with that fandom, and to be honest, I've more or less taken a general hiatus from any fan activity for the past couple months.  I don't even know what the latest meta debates are.  You know how that feels?  It feels refreshing.

But that's not my point.  My point is, I do not currently have a TV show to obsess over-- to watch in long marathon sessions.  And this hurts my heart a bit.

So, dear readers, what TV show do you recommend I obsess over next and why?  Please comment.

Also, secondary, but still important questions: 1) If a person (say, me) felt woefully ignorant when it came to film-- film history, classic film, quality film in general, what would you demand they watch?  2) Name one band/musician who has come to your attention in the past three years that you think I should be listening to right now.

Those of you who know me on Facebook have already seen my request for recs, but I thought I'd replicate it in my DW and LJ, for maximum coverage.

This year for Giftmas, I received, among other things, some gift cards for Powell's and Amazon.com. At the moment, I'm also in Portland, city of the awesomest independent bookstores ever (hello, Powell's and In Other Words), and would like to blow some of said money in these stores while they're still just a public transit ride away. In order to achieve this most noble of goals, I am looking for book recommendations in the following areas, in order of priority:

1. Fantasy and/or sci-fi novels with queer characters and/or themes.

2. Books about bi/pan/omni/fluid sexuality, that are not-- I repeat, NOT-- personal essays. I want something that's a little less navel-gazey than most of the current work out there on bisexuality, and a little more researched. Please. Oh, please.

3. Books about neoliberalism. Preferably with a scholarly bent, since that's part of where my research is headed.

4. Books about the intersection of race and body politics, where "body politics" might be considered to include (but not be limited to) fatness, disability, health, genetics, reproductive rights, sex, and/or the politics of corporeality or bodily autonomy in general.

5. Books about the intersection of race and sexuality.

6. Anything else you can think of, given what you know about my personality, interests, tastes, etc.

Thanks in advance for any recs!

So, I've been thinking about the recent controversy surrounding the so-called "too fat to graduate" rule at Lincoln University, in which students with a BMI over 30 are required to take a three credit-hour class on fitness in order to graduate.

Now, like most fat activists, I think the rule is bullshit. I've been thinking about the ways in which the whole BMI system of measurement is bullshit anyway (Discuss: my final in one of my classes involves me writing a Foucauldian analysis of the BMI. Revolutionary idea, or the academic equivalent of having a wank?), and the ways in which body size, physical fitness, intellectual fitness, and fitness for the "real world" are equated in this policy are both obvious and infuriating.

But.

I've also been thinking about how I read the fact that Lincoln University is a HBCU, and the implications of me, as a fat white girl, getting all up in arms over their fitness policy. I'm not saying absolutely that I have no right to be indignant about what I see as a fatphobic policy, particularly if that anger can be somehow expressed in solidarity with the students who are opposed to the policy, and who suffer adverse effects because of it. But the online discussion I've seen so far has pretty much utterly neglected to mention the way race figures into this issue, and/or what this controversy reveals about the ways race and body size intersect.

While I haven't come to any conclusions on this matter myself, I feel that it would be irresponsible to not speak out about the possible problems with the way this controversy is being framed right now. So I'm hoping to open up a space for discussion. What are the intersections between race and body size that are brought up by Lincoln University's BMI policy? As a fat white woman, where does my right to express rage about fatphobic policies end, and my risk of participating in white paternalism begin? Is it at all possible to engage in the former without invoking the latter, and if so, how? Finally, how is the failure on the part of many people in the "fatosphere" to really deal with the possible racial dimensions of this issue contributing to further white supremacy in the fat activist community?

Thoughts, anyone? 'Cause all I've got is questions.

There I was, just correcting student papers, and fuming over the kinkfreezone debacle. And then it hit me.

A plot bunny.

And then there was fic. And it was... fic.

I am so, so sorry.

Title: Vanilla
Fandom/Pairing: Torchwood; Jack/Ianto
Rating: Well, there's no sex in it.
Timeline: Post-They Keep Killing Suzie
Summary: Ianto doesn't want to do anything kinky.
Wordcount: 788
Disclaimer: Torchwood is not mine. Hell, I'd disown this fic, too, but I can't.
Author's Notes: This is: (a) a very blatant response to the kink restriction list on kinkfreezone; and (b) the first fic I have written and finished since I was... oh, about 16 or so. I do not promise a literary masterpiece, but at least, I hope it is mildly (albeit pointedly) entertaining. No beta; ergo, this is all my fault.

( The twenty-first century is when everything changes, and everything is supposed to include sexual mores. )

Wow. I'm really fucking glad I busted my ass, forsaking all other classes, to read 100+ pages of Critical Race Theory for my class today, only to discuss exactly none of it.

Apparently, being passionate about sci-fi and/or fantasy makes you a member of a minority.

Is the correct response to this "Being oppressed: ur doing it wrong", or "Appropriation: ur doing it"?

I suppose geeks and fen are statistical minorities, sure. But taking a term that, at least in an American context, is laden with connotations of being historically marginalized, of systematically lacking access to societal privileges; a term that, I would argue, clearly has racial connotations in the US, and using it to argue that you're unfairly marginalized because your favorite fictional characters get killed off? And all this so close on the heels of RaceFail? Not okay. DO NOT WANT.

In other news, I have, gods help me, started writing a fic. It's not fantastic, but it's pretty damn good for someone who hasn't written fiction of any sort in seven years. Can I convince anyone to beta that shit for me once I'm done? What if I bat my eyelashes flirtatiously in your general direction?

A friend of mine posted a Washington Blade article on Facebook-- an annual affair in that particular newspaper, I think-- examining the salaries of assorted national and East Coast LGBT organization leaders, and how those salaries compare to the salaries of other executive directors of non-LGBT nonprofits with similar budgets. Not a lot here that's surprising-- Joe Solmonese of the HRC is in the 90^th percentile of nonprofit executive director earnings? Shocking!-- but it stirred some thoughts that have been kicking around in my head lately about the rise of activism as a profession, and what those of us on the ground expect of our supposed "leaders."

I've written a lot lately-- more in Facebook than on here, I think-- about leftist queers who do not think that marriage should be the foremost focus of LGBT equality struggles. The argument, as I understand it, is that most LGBT people do not spend most of their adult life in monogamous romantic dyads, so an activist agenda that favors and secures rights for that one particular family form, at the expense of all the other family and household arrangements we form, is prejudiced, misguided, and frequently unhelpful. And even if you are in that kind of arrangement, a lot of the benefits that LGBT activists cite as evidence that legalizing marriage is necessary are only available to people of a certain income bracket. (Access to employer health insurance comes to mind here.) Obviously, a same-sex couple, both of whom work at minimum wage jobs that don't offer benefits, will not have access to rights such as employer health insurance, no matter how married they are. And, of course, there are the questions of mainstreaming and assimilation: will the right to marry become the imperative to marry? Does this focus on marriage necessarily take time and energy from other issues LGBT rights organizations should also be addressing, such as trans rights?

Generally speaking, I agree with all of this, though it must be said that my critiques are more in line with Lisa Duggan and Nancy Polikoff than those of Matt "Mattilda" Bernstein Sycamore. (I don't have a link for Sycamore's work, but man, does ze piss me off. I yelled at hir a few years back when ze made an appearance at Powell's.) What frustrates me about the bulk of critiques of the focus on same-sex marriage-- and one of the principal reasons that I align more with Duggan and Polikoff than with Sycamore-- is the question of responsibility. We may agree that the present-day priorities of most mainstream LGBT rights organizations are fucked up, but whose responsibility is it to challenge and/or change that agenda, and how?

( Once upon a time, I used to think LJ cuts were for lazy people who couldn't handle reading. Now I graciously place them in most of my entries. Feel grateful. )

What can we (can I) do to advance the gay agenda we actually want to see? I'm particularly interested in talking to people who have experience agitating for health care reform-- that's a movement I've been wanting to get into, but I'm not really connected to anyone in it yet.

This one will consist of less critique, and more squee.

( Now, in new list format! )

I would like to take a moment this Memorial Day weekend to explain why I, a self-described leftist, radical queer, and pacifist, who is actively opposed to the current tangle o' wars the U.S. is embroiled in and to war in general, support the repeal of the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy toward LGBTQ folk in the U.S. military.

A lot of radical queers, in and out of my acquaintance, are really critical of mainstream gay rights organizations' decision to make the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell a movement priority. They argue that the "freedom" to serve as an openly LGBTQ person in the military is, in fact, the freedom to participate in a violent, unnecessary, racist, generally fucked up institution that serves only the interests of the wealthy corporation CEOs who stand to gain financially from war. Many argue, furthermore, that prioritizing the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell denotes a woeful lack of attention to intersectional politics in the mainstream LGBTQ (or, well, let's not kid ourselves-- the mainstream gay) rights movement. Basically, the argument is that putting so much stock in allowing lesbian and gay people to serve openly in the U.S. military amounts to prioritizing the "rights" of gay Americans at the expense of people in less wealthy countries, and that human rights gained by one group at the expense of others are not, in fact, rights at all.

And generally, I agree with these viewpoints. I am highly skeptical of mainstream, liberal and moderate gay rights activists who couch the debate over Don't Ask, Don't Tell in terms of simple patriotism, in terms of the right to "serve one's country openly." I think that anyone who can argue after the last eight years (hell, after the last fifty years) that taking part in the U.S. military constitues "freedom" or "service" is, at best, naive; and at worst, full of shit. I sure as hell agree that mainstream gay rights activists and organizations fail, for the most part, at intersectional politics, and that the framing of the policy (but, as I will explain later, not the attempt at repealing the policy itself) is reflective of that failure. But I'm going to argue, hopefully convincingly, that it is precisely in the name of intersectional politics that the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy needs to be repealed.

( Reasons and analysis lurk behind this here cut. )