5 lbs heavier & happier

This year, Alison and I held Thanksgiving at our apartment. My parents drove here from Ohio, and we had a very nice dinner at home. It was a relief to not travel for the holiday, and we had a lot of fun cooking Thanksgiving dinner. After three days, we now have only enough leftovers for one more turkey-and-stuffing sandwich each (if you haven't tried this, you are missing out). In the last two weeks, we have consumed (with help), two rounds of stuffing, a huge turkey, two pies, butternut squash-mashed potatoes, a carrot dish, a green beans and mushroom dish, buttermilk rolls, and lots of alcohol. Yum. And we mostly fit through our front door.

We had two stuffings and two pies because we (well, I) felt the need to test our recipes out ahead of time, in case anything went wrong. They came out beautifully both times, though, so we just ate a lot of amazing food. The stuffing was composed of sourdough bread and italian sausage, along with the requisite vegetables. The pies were triple-cherry: completely homemade, crust included. Alison took a picture, which I will post here when I get it from her. We also found an amazing brochure from Williams-Sonoma with recipes that we used for the veggie dishes and a full checklist of tasks to complete in the two weeks preceding Thanksgiving.

So, all in all, a good time. I hope you all had a fabulous Thanksgiving as well. It is one of my favorite holidays, because I love food and cooking for others. :)

Madonna!

Thursday night, Alison and I saw Madonna in concert from the front row...for the second time. And it was as magical as the very first time. Alison describes our night here. (And if you need a review of our experience at the Confessions Tour, it is here). Sticky & Sweet, despite the awful name, was an even better tour than Confessions. The only drawback was that it was a bit less dance-centered. But she brought some really cool romanian folk music and dancing into one section, and the old/new song balance was just right. I particularly liked the set-up for Vogue, She's Not Me, Devil Wouldn't Recognize You, and 4 Minutes.

I was still in recovery yesterday, but my throat and body feel much better today. We danced and jumped our way through the whole concert (as we found out during our first concert, she gets pissed at her staff if they bring people to the front row who don't dance). Even better, we got these tickets for free. Many, many thanks to Alison's very kind friend!

Stupid thieves

My parents' house was broken into yesterday by perhaps the stupidest thieves ever. They threw a rock through the glass doors to the dining hall and went through most of my parents' house. They took a couple of watches and a camera. The camera was a loss, although I suspect the most expensive item was the glass door itself. They are, understandably, upset by the break-in. The humor is not lost on them, however. The facts:

1) My parents' two large dogs (boxers) were in the family room, held from the robbers by only a small child gate resting over the door. THEY NEVER LEFT THE ROOM. Damn dogs. What are you good for?

2) Luckily enough, my parents' computers and widescreen tv are in the family room with the dogs, and despite the dogs' apparent aversion to conflict, the thieves were too scared to go in there.

3) The robbers rummaged through my mother's filing cabinet, yet managed to miss the four thousand dollars in cash there (I've been trying to get her to deposit the savings she periodically collects for years).

4) They also missed at least two full pill bottles of oxycotin (my mom is disabled and takes painkillers regularly). Do you know how much that shit is worth on the street?

Luckily, my parents keep their more expensive jewelry in a safety deposit box at the bank. Still, *why* would you even risk arrest when all you end up getting is a couple of used watches and a run-of-the-mill digital camera? Idiots.

I can't believe I'm saying this...

But Mitt Romney is actually making some sense here. It must be Opposite Day.

Anyway, I'm back in Philadelphia. It's so freaking cold here. I am a wimp about the cold every year, but after spending four winters in North Carolina, I am completely unprepared for this. And it's in the mid-30s today, so it will get worse. Blah. I went running this morning when it was in the high-20s, and quickly realized that I could not get through the winter running outdoors. So Alison and I will be joining the school gym December 1st, when the price goes down. Until then, I am stuck with the great outdoors. It's particularly bad because I like to run on a path by the river, so it's even colder than the weather channel predicts. Blah.

I am now trying to tie up loose ends on about 5 or 6 papers. Funny, when you tell all of your collaborators that you'll be able to work on that paper in the first week after you get back, it becomes impossible to follow through. Oops. But I am getting work done on most of them, and I am really enjoying it. It's much easier to love work when I am: 1) Not in Ohio, 2) Not waking up at 5am, and 3) Setting my own schedule. Go figure.

Judith Warner rocks!

One of my fave NY Times columnists, on Prop 8.

Back in the Midwest

Yeah, I started writing this three days ago, and I just finished. What of it? (Sorry!)

Anyway, I flew from Philadelphia back to Ohio on Sunday, and started interviewing students again on Monday. Surprisingly, the long break did not disrupt the flow of interviewing, and I have interviewed eleven girls so far. I may actually finish all my interviews tomorrow! Which makes this a good time to reflect.

It feels like everything and nothing has happened in the past two months. Qualitative research is isolating in most scenarios. It's ironic, really, given that quantitative research involves computers, and qualitative research involves contact with people. But as a qualitative researcher, that contact is narrowly defined by the scope of your research. It is not that I did not build relationships with some of my participants. It is more that they were unnaturally intimate and brutally short. I interviewed students about the particulars of their lives, in which many students talked about deeply personal experiences. Many students appeared quite comfortable with me at the end of the hour and a half, and expressed a desire to talk again. And since this project is designed to be longitudinal (at the end of the interview, I ask them for permission to re-contact them in a year), this is likely. But once the student leaves, the bond is broken. Often, I see the girls I know in the hallway as I walk around the school, and I see them avoid eye contact and shift away. I know this is not because the interview was unpleasant--these are the same students who told me the interview was "fun". I think they realize only later that I know a great deal about their lives, while they really do not know me at all.

Overall, I do not think I would call this research "fun" myself (sometimes when a student tells me they had fun I think, "Really? I didn't.") It is tiring and stressful. The exhaustion comes from the work of interviewing, whereas the stress is a product of my personality. As an introvert (when I am with strangers), I find being in a new environment and meeting new people to be difficult. I was always meeting new teachers and students, and occasionally talking to classrooms as a group, and I found this difficult to do on a daily basis.

Despite this, I am incredibly satisfied with my choice to do this research, and I would do it again. It is worth the 5am mornings, the lack of sleep, the hours of transcribing, the grumpy teachers, the fear I feel when confronted with a classroom full of teenagers, and the stress side effects. The participants themselves make it all worth it. What fascinates me--although it should not be so surprising--are the many vibrant personalities and interesting stories. I have met 57 diverse, enthusiastic, optimistic, beautiful young women who shared their lives with me. While I am sure there were at least a few who would be difficult to know on a day-to-day basis, I was able to get to know their better selves. There are several girls who stand out in my mind, and will continue to do so for a long time. I cannot wait to find out what they do next.

It's not us vs. them

I keep meaning to describe election day here in Philadelphia, but I think this is more important--I feel very strongly about the recent "Black community vs. the gays" storyline that I have been hearing in the press. Yes, 70% of black voters supported prop 8. But you know what? That still means that a whole bunch of black folks voted no. We simply cannot afford to allow the seeds of divisiveness to overwhelm the "big tent" of the Democratic party, and the nation as a whole.

One of the wonderful things about the gay movement is that it succeeds (slowly) be sheer exposure. Research has demonstrated that knowing someone who is gay is one of the most powerful avenues through which homophobia is reduced. The more that being gay is in the mainstream media and in families, communities, and peer groups, the less resistence there is to gay rights. So what does that 70% tell us? I don't think it says much about intolerance or religiosity. I think it says something about unfamiliarity. The failure of the gay movement is that it has largely ignored the black community--either because they assume black people will not be receptive to gay rights or because they are unaware of this lapse.

Now, one complication to the exposure argument is that the black community sees gayness as a white phenomenon. Why? To some degree, this is because many black gay men and women are not out in their communities. But it is also true that the gay rights movement has a white face. The gay rights movement has not embraced the opportunity to diversify it's image and to talk about how to make the community a more racially diverse place as a whole. This, too, would help.

We need to think less about how to draw boundaries and more about how to reach across them. In doing so, white gays and lesbians need to think less about how they have been "cheated" by the black community, and more about how this affects black gays and lesbians. Last night, Alison and I went out to a gay bar with some friends, and one white gay male was speaking angrily about the black vote in California. Admittedly, I was angry initially about the black vote as well. But while we talked about prop 8, I turned my head and saw that nearly half of the room was comprised of black gay men. And I thought about how much harder this is for them, every day of their lives. I believe that we should not give up on working within the black community to promote gay rights. Because in truth, we have rarely tried, and that is our failure.

Election Day

Tuesday I celebrated with this great country, proud that hope had triumphed over fear and good ideas had triumphed over racism. And yet, this morning I woke to the news that Prop 8 had passed. I wish this post could be only about the transformative power of Obama. I wish I felt completely content today, secure that good had really overcome hate. But the course of history has never been smooth, and we have far to go before we sleep.

Let me be clear. If I could have chosen only one outcome yesterday, I would have chosen Obama's election. He will do more for this country than would the defeat of a gay marriage ban. And yet...I am angry. I am angry and I am hurt.

I want to marry my partner. Alison and I will celebrate our 7th anniversary on December 8th. We have been together, side by side, through good times and bad. Through disappointments and losses, we have comforted one another. I remember the first time I saw Alison cry just because I was upset. I remember I stopped crying, to ask her what was wrong. I was shocked that someone would feel my pain so deeply. And I remember the first time I cried in response to her pain, too.

How ironic, and how terrible, that in a culmination of the long struggle of civil rights, our marriage rights were stripped from us.

Alison and I have been engaged for four years. I remember taking the bus to Tiffany's in order to buy her a beautiful engagement ring. I was so excited that I walked all the way back to Penn, feeling as light as air. Alison was annoyed with me, because I didn't get back in time for the bus, and we had to walk home. As we walked across the South Street bridge (an old, graffiti-covered hunk of metal), I felt more and more excited. I had intended to present the ring to Alison when we returned to New York, but I couldn't wait. As Alison talked about her day, I fished into my bag and extracted the ring. I pulled Alison to the side, and asked her to marry me. She said yes. It was the single best decision I have ever made.

Tonight, Alison and I went on a date. We discussed Proposition 8. We talked about our conversation earlier this year, when we considered marrying in California when we visited the state in March. Thankfully, we did not get the chance. The only thing worse than not being able to marry, is to marry and have that right stripped away. It is dehumanizing to know that someone on your block, or someone whose business you patronize, or your boss, or your child's friend's mom decided that your marriage is so intrinsically offensive to their way of life that they feel compelled to reach into your home and break a bond that you and your partner solemnly swore to uphold.

I want to marry Alison, and I want to do it somewhere in which our marriage will never be revoked. I want to know that I can visit her in a hospital, if she falls sick. I want to know that, wherever I am employed, I can obtain healthcare for Alison as well as myself. I want the same tax benefits as my straight friends. When I have a child with Alison, I want to know that that child cannot be taken away from me. I want to know that if I get sick or grievously hurt, Alison can make the decisions she needs to make. Because I trust no one else in this world so deeply.

But most of all, I want the government to give me a piece of paper that says, "We acknowledge you. We acknowledge you--we know you are here. We see your relationship."

And, yes, I want a marriage, not a civil union. When Alison and I were first engaged, our friends offered their congratulations. And yet, several of our friends who became engaged around the same time were thrown engagement parties. We were never offered one. And that hurt us deeply. No matter how tolerant our friends are, gay partnerships will not be seen in the same light until it is called marriage, and until we can walk into a courthouse and leave with a piece of paper that says, "I acknowledge you."

I want to go back to feeling only happiness when a straight friend tells me that he or she is getting married. I want to lose this heaviness in the pit of my stomach I feel when I hear of impending nuptials. Weddings should be joyous. But there is a small part of me that cannot feel that joy until this country opens its doors and says, "Yes, you too. We see your love."

I believe that change is coming. I believe that this is a stumbling block, but not a wall. When I was in high school, students spoke openly about going gay bashing. There were two health classes students could take, and parents had to sign off on which one they gave approval for their children to take--one in which the possibility of being gay was allowed to be mentioned and one in which the teacher would not allow any passing reference to gayness. This year, I went back to my high school to conduct interviews, and two of the students I interviewed were openly gay.

I believe that in ten or twenty or thirty years, we will look back and ask ourselves how could this have ever been debated. Some day, it will be inconceivable that marriage is a restricted, members-only, right. Our children will ask us why this was a contested issue. And I hope at that time, that I will think back to this time, and that my memory of this pain will have faded. I hope that I will remember this as barely a fleeting moment--a hiccup on the path to equality.

But for now, I do feel pain. We, as gay people, feel pain. We want to celebrate Obama's election whole-heartedly. We want to look forward, and see a new day. We want to stand with our new president and say, "Yes, we can." But on Tuesday, our neighbors and relatives and co-workers and some perfect strangers took from us a basic right. They said, "No, you can't."

But we will.

Crap. Only one day left!

I'm not sure whether to celebrate the end of this presidential election marathon, or mourn it. If things go the way they should, we can all celebrate (Alison & I are making mojitos for our election party tomorrow, and we plan to drink heavily in celebration or mourning). But, but...what happens to my procrastination time? What will I do from 8am to 10am, if not read every political blog and newspaper article before starting to work? (And then working for a half an hour before re-checking). What am I to do? And what's worse, what are the real political activists to do? I canvassed for Obama in Philadelphia (I know, pointless...) on Saturday, and the guy giving out directions told our group that he had been working on this campaign for a year and a half. And I felt so sad for him. What is he going to do on Wednesday morning? Hopefully he will be happy, but even if he is, what next?

This is a question I have been asking myself a lot lately. While I am not nearly as busy as all of those hard-core political campaigners, a combination of the election, the fiscal crisis, and a hardcore avoidance of my dissertation has made me very interested in doing...something. I've been looking into policy research, as well as trying to figure out where I could do some volunteer work. The more I read up on politics and policy, the more I feel like a floating bank of knowledge that could be useful, but just isn't.

Also, I might note that my newest admiration-crush, Rachel Maddow, has a phd but is employed in news. While I don't want to be on tv, I admire her job as a public thinker.

Other updates...

Research: I am working on a post-doc application very, very slowly. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I really can't muster the energy to care about any more applications. I think I just want to spend another year in graduate school. I definitely want to get back to research, rather than these applications. On Nov. 10, I'll start interviewing high school students again, and I should take a little over a week to finish up.

Philadelphia: Being here is good for my psyche--I am in such a better mood. I am quickly regaining weight I lost in Ohio and spending money at a much more rapid pace, but it's all worth it.