Thursday, March 29, 2007

Weekend Plans

Thursday seems as good a day as any to look forward to what I could and should be doing this weekend.

First of all, tonight (3/29) is Club Butchin' LA. Though I probably won't go because I don't have anyone to go with me and clubs/bars are much harder for me to attend alone than shows are, this is a great event. My previous experience demonstrated that the crowd is fun and very cruise-worthy with fascinating negotiations of queer masculinity and femininity. Very hot. When I went, I spent lots of time chatting with aquaintences, dancing a bit, and even watching someone I had briefly dated make out heavily with a cute girl. Totally fascinating.

Friday (3/30), The Miracle Whips and Shitting Glitter are performing at Pitzer. I don't know if I'm up for the drive, but I really enjoy the performances I've seen by the Miracle Whips thus far and I hear amazing things about Shitting Glitter and they'd both probably be worth the effort.

Saturday is when I get in real trouble because the butchlalis are performing at the LA Gay & Lesbian Center. It sounds like it'll be a great show. Plus, I haven't gone to see the Aqui No Hay Virgenes exhibit yet, so I sould really be there. Unfortunately, I'm instead committed to going to a sock hop out in Burbank with a friend who loves to dance. This should be totally fun, despite my lack of coordination or any sort of dancing talkent or skill, but I'm sad to miss the butchlalis. Though if not for the social obligations and beginners lessons starting early you could totally go to the sock hop after the butchlalis show, and I'm seriously interested in seeing queer folks at this event, so if you feel like subverting the heteronormativity of '50s partner dancing, let me know or just show up. No dancing skill required.

If neither of the above events are your thing, perhaps you will enjoy the fact that this is LA Leather Weekend. I'm not so much into the Mr. Leather 2007 contest on Saturday night or the Military Man after party (NSFW). But I might actually find myself tagging along with some of my gay guy friends at the streetfest on Sunday afternoon. It could be fun if the weather's nice.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007


365 Days/ 365 Plays. Suzan-Lori Parks. Circle X Theatre Company. 3/24/07.

I'm impressed. It's unfortunate that it took until Week 19 to get me to see any of Suzan-Lori Parks' 365 Plays. It's an amazing undertaking and an impressive amount of collaboration and participation across the country.

The set of plays presented by Circle X Theatre Company was a powerful suite of reflections on the war in Iraq and the resultant mindless patriotism, pagentry, and protest. They formed a lovely grouping of ideas and cultural criticism.

Running a bit under half an hour, Circle X performed the plays outside the entrance to the Ford Amphitheater, staging them as a walking tour/environmental piece that made excellent use of a beautiful space. While the earlier pieces were wonderfully self-explanatory but not simple in their responses to the war, posing questions about what it means to be a participant or a protester or even an audience member or television viewer in a time of war, the pieces toward the end of the evening were more obscure in their meaning but thought-provoking nonetheless. All in all it was an excellent, refreshing short piece of theater that demonstrates exactly how much the theater can say about our lives and times in a few simple words and ideas. I was very impressed by both Parks' work and Circle X's production.

Monday, March 19, 2007

On Fairies

It's been a while since I posted. Sorry. Line dancing was rather a success, in that I had lots of fun and made a big fool of myself with my dismal lack of coordination. I ended up with some plain, servicable black boots that were reasonably priced and fit well. Not particularly feminine, but I also didn't end up with blisters, which is its own reward.

I then immediately departed on a last minute whirlwind trip to San Francisco. I got hit on by an old heterosexual man at a divey gay bar, had an amazingly mellow outdoor barbecue on the streets of San Francisco, and played video games about shooting rabbits with plungers until 6am with a rowdy group of geeky boys. It was a truly wonderful trip. I also watched a couple of episodes of Slings and Arrows on DVD. It's a Canadian TV show about an established theater company doing Shakespeare and it's truly brilliant and wacky and excellent in every way. I'm totally addicted.

Since then, I've been doing work and other serious not blog-worthy things. But now, I need your help once again. I am once again asking the internet for wacky fashion advice. This time, I'm going to a fractured fairy tale themed event/drag show with slight S/M overtones. So it's an opportunity to dress up in all my femme-y glory. Nothing is too over-the-top, because I'll be competing with drag queens. These events are among friends, so I feel comfortable being rather scandalous and I tend to show off the one major asset that sets me apart from the boys: the fact that my cleavage is real.

My problem is, that I've never been a fairy princess kind of girl. For Halloween as a child I was a witch for many, many years in a row but never a fairy. I'm not the tiny and precious type. While goth fairy is perfectly appropriate for this event, I'm not sure that's exactly me, either, although it would give me an excuse to dye my hair purple again (real purple, not the subtle black/brown/purple I've done recently). So I'm doing some fairy tale research these days, looking for stories or images that might be inspiring. In terms of fairy tales, I tend toward Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat or Neil Gaiman's Stardust rather than your traditional fairy tales. I recently read and enjoyed Holly Black's Tithe and Valiant. Yes, I occasionally read young adult fairy stories when I need a break from academia. I like fairies when they're mischevious and dark and mysterious, or perhaps even a little mean. I'm not a damsel in distress kind of girl, but sometimes fairies can evoke the imagination in fascinating ways.

So, I'm asking for both costuming suggestions and fairy tale (not limited to fairies - witches, princesses, mermaids, goblins, whatever) stories, ideas, and images. Share with me your favorite manifestations of fairy tales, especially modern, queer or otherwise nontraditional fairy tale images. Send me thoughts, pictures or links.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite fairy stories, Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market." While it can be read as religious and it ends in marriage (bah!), I personally enjoy the sweet temptation and sexuality of the goblins as well as the mild homoeroticism of the sisters.

MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpeck'd cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheek'd peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries; -
All ripe together
In summer weather, -
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy:
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;
Come buy, come buy."

Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bow'd her head to hear,
Lizzie veil'd her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
"We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.

"Oh," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie cover'd up her eyes,
Cover'd close lest they should look;
Laura rear'd her glossy head,
And whisper'd like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "No, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisk'd a tail,
One tramp'd at a rat's pace,
One crawl'd like a snail,
One like a wombat prowl'd obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.
She heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.

Laura stretch'd her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen
Turn'd and troop'd the goblin men,
With their shrill repeated cry,
"Come buy, come buy."
When they reach'd where Laura was
They stood stock still upon the moss,
Leering at each other,
Brother with queer brother;
Signalling each other,
Brother with sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One rear'd his plate;
One began to weave a crown
Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown
(Men sell not such in any town);
One heav'd the golden weight
Of dish and fruit to offer her:
"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.
Laura stared but did not stir,
Long'd but had no money:
The whisk-tail'd merchant bade her taste
In tones as smooth as honey,
The cat-faced purr'd,
The rat-faced spoke a word
Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;
One parrot-voiced and jolly
Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly;" -
One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
"Good folk, I have no coin;
To take were to purloin:
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather."
"You have much gold upon your head,"
They answer'd all together:
"Buy from us with a golden curl."
She clipp'd a precious golden lock,
She dropp'd a tear more rare than pearl,
Then suck'd their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flow'd that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She suck'd and suck'd and suck'd the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;
She suck'd until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away
But gather'd up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turn'd home alone.

Lizzie met her at the gate
Full of wise upbraidings:
"Dear, you should not stay so late,
Twilight is not good for maidens;
Should not loiter in the glen
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers
Pluck'd from bowers
Where summer ripens at all hours?
But ever in the noonlight
She pined and pined away;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day no grass will grow
Where she lies low:
I planted daisies there a year ago
That never blow.
You should not loiter so."
"Nay, hush," said Laura:
"Nay, hush, my sister:
I ate and ate my fill,
Yet my mouth waters still;
To-morrow night I will
Buy more;" and kiss'd her:
"Have done with sorrow;
I'll bring you plums to-morrow
Fresh on their mother twigs,
Cherries worth getting;
You cannot think what figs
My teeth have met in,
What melons icy-cold
Piled on a dish of gold
Too huge for me to hold,
What peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid grapes without one seed:
Odorous indeed must be the mead
Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink
With lilies at the brink,
And sugar-sweet their sap."

Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other's wings,
They lay down in their curtain'd bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipp'd with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars gaz'd in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering owls forbore to fly,
Not a bat flapp'd to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast
Lock'd together in one nest.

Early in the morning
When the first cock crow'd his warning,
Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,
Laura rose with Lizzie:
Fetch'd in honey, milk'd the cows,
Air'd and set to rights the house,
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,
Next churn'd butter, whipp'd up cream,
Fed their poultry, sat and sew'd;
Talk'd as modest maidens should:
Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick in part;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came:
They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;
Lizzie most placid in her look,
Laura most like a leaping flame.
They drew the gurgling water from its deep;
Lizzie pluck'd purple and rich golden flags,
Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes
Those furthest loftiest crags;
Come, Laura, not another maiden lags.
No wilful squirrel wags,
The beasts and birds are fast asleep."
But Laura loiter'd still among the rushes
And said the bank was steep.

And said the hour was early still
The dew not fall'n, the wind not chill;
Listening ever, but not catching
The customary cry,
"Come buy, come buy,"
With its iterated jingle
Of sugar-baited words:
Not for all her watching
Once discerning even one goblin
Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;
Let alone the herds
That used to tramp along the glen,
In groups or single,
Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come;
I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:
You should not loiter longer at this brook:
Come with me home.
The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each glowworm winks her spark,
Let us get home before the night grows dark:
For clouds may gather
Though this is summer weather,
Put out the lights and drench us through;
Then if we lost our way what should we do?"

Laura turn'd cold as stone
To find her sister heard that cry alone,
That goblin cry,
"Come buy our fruits, come buy."
Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?
Must she no more such succous pasture find,
Gone deaf and blind?
Her tree of life droop'd from the root:
She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;
But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning,
Trudg'd home, her pitcher dripping all the way;
So crept to bed, and lay
Silent till Lizzie slept;
Then sat up in a passionate yearning,
And gnash'd her teeth for baulk'd desire, and wept
As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night,
Laura kept watch in vain
In sullen silence of exceeding pain.
She never caught again the goblin cry:
"Come buy, come buy;" -
She never spied the goblin men
Hawking their fruits along the glen:
But when the noon wax'd bright
Her hair grew thin and grey;
She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn
To swift decay and burn
Her fire away.

One day remembering her kernel-stone
She set it by a wall that faced the south;
Dew'd it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watch'd for a waxing shoot,
But there came none;
It never saw the sun,
It never felt the trickling moisture run:
While with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She dream'd of melons, as a traveller sees
False waves in desert drouth
With shade of leaf-crown'd trees,
And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetch'd honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook:
But sat down listless in the chimney-nook
And would not eat.

Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's cankerous care
Yet not to share.
She night and morning
Caught the goblins' cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy;" -
Beside the brook, along the glen,
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The yoke and stir
Poor Laura could not hear;
Long'd to buy fruit to comfort her,
But fear'd to pay too dear.
She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride;
But who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay prime,
In earliest winter time
With the first glazing rime,
With the first snow-fall of crisp winter time.

Till Laura dwindling
Seem'd knocking at Death's door:
Then Lizzie weigh'd no more
Better and worse;
But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kiss'd Laura, cross'd the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook:
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.

Laugh'd every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel- and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes, -
Hugg'd her and kiss'd her:
Squeez'd and caress'd her:
Stretch'd up their dishes,
Panniers, and plates:
"Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries,
Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,
Grapes for the asking,
Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,
Plums on their twigs;
Pluck them and suck them,
Pomegranates, figs." -

"Good folk," said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie:
"Give me much and many: -
Held out her apron,
Toss'd them her penny.
"Nay, take a seat with us,
Honour and eat with us,"
They answer'd grinning:
"Our feast is but beginning.
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and starry:
Such fruits as these
No man can carry:
Half their bloom would fly,
Half their dew would dry,
Half their flavour would pass by.
Sit down and feast with us,
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with us." -
"Thank you," said Lizzie: "But one waits
At home alone for me:
So without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any
Of your fruits though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny
I toss'd you for a fee." -
They began to scratch their pates,
No longer wagging, purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.
One call'd her proud,
Cross-grain'd, uncivil;
Their tones wax'd loud,
Their look were evil.
Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbow'd and jostled her,
Claw'd with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soil'd her stocking,
Twitch'd her hair out by the roots,
Stamp'd upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeez'd their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood,
Like a lily in a flood, -
Like a rock of blue-vein'd stone
Lash'd by tides obstreperously, -
Like a beacon left alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending up a golden fire, -
Like a fruit-crown'd orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by wasp and bee, -
Like a royal virgin town
Topp'd with gilded dome and spire
Close beleaguer'd by a fleet
Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the goblins cuff'd and caught her,
Coax'd and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratch'd her, pinch'd her black as ink,
Kick'd and knock'd her,
Maul'd and mock'd her,
Lizzie utter'd not a word;
Would not open lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in:
But laugh'd in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syrupp'd all her face,
And lodg'd in dimples of her chin,
And streak'd her neck which quaked like curd.
At last the evil people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung back her penny, kick'd their fruit
Along whichever road they took,
Not leaving root or stone or shoot;
Some writh'd into the ground,
Some div'd into the brook
With ring and ripple,
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some vanish'd in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie went her way;
Knew not was it night or day;
Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze,
Threaded copse and dingle,
And heard her penny jingle
Bouncing in her purse, -
Its bounce was music to her ear.
She ran and ran
As if she fear'd some goblin man
Dogg'd her with gibe or curse
Or something worse:
But not one goblin scurried after,
Nor was she prick'd by fear;
The kind heart made her windy-paced
That urged her home quite out of breath with haste
And inward laughter.

She cried, "Laura," up the garden,
"Did you miss me?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeez'd from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me;
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men."

Laura started from her chair,
Flung her arms up in the air,
Clutch'd her hair:
"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted
For my sake the fruit forbidden?
Must your light like mine be hidden,
Your young life like mine be wasted,
Undone in mine undoing,
And ruin'd in my ruin,
Thirsty, canker'd, goblin-ridden?" -
She clung about her sister,
Kiss'd and kiss'd and kiss'd her:
Tears once again
Refresh'd her shrunken eyes,
Dropping like rain
After long sultry drouth;
Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,
She kiss'd and kiss'd her with a hungry mouth.

Her lips began to scorch,
That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She loath'd the feast:
Writhing as one possess'd she leap'd and sung,
Rent all her robe, and wrung
Her hands in lamentable haste,
And beat her breast.
Her locks stream'd like the torch
Borne by a racer at full speed,
Or like the mane of horses in their flight,
Or like an eagle when she stems the light
Straight toward the sun,
Or like a caged thing freed,
Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Swift fire spread through her veins, knock'd at her heart,
Met the fire smouldering there
And overbore its lesser flame;
She gorged on bitterness without a name:
Ah! fool, to choose such part
Of soul-consuming care!
Sense fail'd in the mortal strife:
Like the watch-tower of a town
Which an earthquake shatters down,
Like a lightning-stricken mast,
Like a wind-uprooted tree
Spun about,
Like a foam-topp'd waterspout
Cast down headlong in the sea,
She fell at last;
Pleasure past and anguish past,
Is it death or is it life?

Life out of death.
That night long Lizzie watch'd by her,
Counted her pulse's flagging stir,
Felt for her breath,
Held water to her lips, and cool'd her face
With tears and fanning leaves:
But when the first birds chirp'd about their eaves,
And early reapers plodded to the place
Of golden sheaves,
And dew-wet grass
Bow'd in the morning winds so brisk to pass,
And new buds with new day
Open'd of cup-like lilies on the stream,
Laura awoke as from a dream,
Laugh'd in the innocent old way,
Hugg'd Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her gleaming locks show'd not one thread of grey,
Her breath was sweet as May
And light danced in her eyes.

Days, weeks, months, years
Afterwards, when both were wives
With children of their own;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives bound up in tender lives;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time:
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat
But poison in the blood;
(Men sell not such in any town):
Would tell them how her sister stood
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:
Then joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,
"For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.

Monday, March 05, 2007


This is all spoiler, so if you watch Battlestar and haven't seen the most recent episode, skip it.

I woke up this morning to several blog postings in my newsreader about last night's Battlestar Galactica, which I had missed because I was at the theater. So I put off doing productive work and fired up the TiVo to catch me up on what I missed before one of my favorite blogs spoiled it for me. And now I'm a mess of confused thoughts and feelings. Because one way or another, there's no turning back from this. I hope.

Starbuck for me is a primary reason to watch Battlestar Galactica. She's a powerful, compelling character who frequently infuriated me with her attitude and her mistakes. She's also the strongest, toughest, sexiest, most interesting woman on the show for me. Six's scanty red dresses do nothing for me when compared to Starbuck's dirt and muscles. Her self-image as a frak-up and her strength and determination combine to form one powerful, conflicted, amazing character. And actress Katee Sackhoff* performed Starbuck's special brand of crazy with such an amazing cockiness and the most adorable smile, that I totally fell in love. And while I was not completely onboard with Starbuck's purported heterosexuality, I appreciated the unabashed voraciousness of her sexuality and even her angsty love triangle. The character of Starbuck is one of the toughest women on television, and her loss is a serious one for the show.

Now, there's a very real possiblity that we haven't heard the last of Kara Thrace. The internet is rife with speculation that she will reappear as a Cylon. And certainly I expect her to haunt the characters in flashbacks. But my feeling is that no matter what, this character is destroyed. If they bring her back as a Cylon, she could be just as tough (though odds are she would end up clean and pretty a lot more of the time and they'd probably even let her grow out her hair again), but she would lack the cocky human imperfection that endeared her to me so much. While I don't want to lose Katee Sackhoff completely, I also don't want to see Starbuck corrupted and resignified. I like her as the arrogant flyboy and the Cylons spend too much time sitting around talking and plotting, using machines and "pet" raiders for the action. I don't picture seeing a Cylon Kara in the cockpit. And Sharon certainly hasn't been nearly as kickass as she was before she was revealed to be a Cylon. So, while there's the possibility of new and interesting characters incorporating Katee Sackhoff into Battlestar in a different context, Starbuck as I know and love her seems unlikely to return.

Special destiny my ass. If this is Starbuck's destiny, I reject that completely. I would have less trouble accepting Starbuck's death if it were a bit more noble/foolhardy in the line of duty. If she died making some crazy attempt to defend or save someone from a very real threat, that I could understand. It would be in line with her character. But going into the light from her own halucinations without any sort of beneficial outcome? It feels wrong. Starbuck's a fighter. That's the one thing that gives me hope that we have more to hear from Starbuck. That and the fact that the Leoben in her head was talking about "between life and death" rather than death itself. Whatever that means. It would feel like cheating if Starbuck as she is somehow survives, but I also want to see her live out a human destiny rather than a Cylon one.

I'm not ready to move on. Based on the previews, the next episode is all Baltar trial. Which indicates a thoroughly insufficient amount of mourning for Starbuck. I need more than Adama (very movingly) destroying his model ship with its promise of hope and dawn. If Starbuck is really dead, everyone needs to be fraked up about it. Lee should be pinning a photo next to Kat. Lee and Anders should reconcile to share their loss. Everyone should be drinking. A lot. Adama's effectively lost another child. And I miss the hope and bonding and shared destiny between President Roslyn and Starbuck when Starbuck went in search of the Arrow of Apollo. I still feel like all the mystical hope that Starbuck offered never came to fruition for me. If they're really killing her off, I need a lot of mourning time to recover from this serious loss to the series. And if they're not, they're going to have to do a lot to win back my trust in whatever reincarnation happens.

Whatever happens, they're obviously building to another mind-bending and probably heart-wrenching season finale, which can be expected from Battlestar and which is one of many reasons why I keep coming back.

UPDATE: Annalee Newitz weighs in with an opinion that many things in the episode were pretty icky and terribly uncharacteristic. The internet in general seems pretty secure in the idea that this isn't the last we've seen of Katee Sackhoff and hopefully not even Kara Thrace. My question is, will I be glad to see her if/when she comes back, or will it feel wrong?

*NOTE: This post is about Starbuck, the character. While Katee Sackhoff obviously rocks in the part, she insists that she's totally girly off camera and that we most likely won't see her in more scifi or jock roles in the future. Sigh.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Playing dress up: Boots

My favorite gaggle of gay boys has recruited me for line dancing. I find myself once again in a situation in which I need to dress for an odd occasion. In this case, I need boots, and I have come to the conclusion that I'm going to have to make a serious investment to get proper boots. So I'm looking to the internet for brilliant boot-shopping advice. Western wear is decidedly not a part of my everyday wardrobe, and as such I need help. My boot needs are simple. I'm looking for something vaguely feminine, with toes that aren't too long and pointy. No tassles. And unfortunately, I should probably avoid anything with a significant heel, since any dancing makes me prone to falling on my butt and high heels probably wouldn't help the situation.

This is a pair of nice, neutral boots that I think are attractive.

These boots are less specifically western, but I think they're beautiful and quite feminine, and I might be able to wear them on more occasions.

I find the white details on these boots rather appealing.

I'm also tempted to get something totally outlandish, like these lovely purple fluevogs. But what could I wear them with?

And these boots have pin-up girls on them, which I love. And they're pretty cheap. But awfully silly and a ostentatious.

So, what do you think? Any advice on color or style that I should heed? Boot-related wisdom or advice? I've already run into the problem that I can't wear a knee-length dress with boots without looking short and stubby, which is totally annoying. Which Is why I've settled on the jeans and a western shirt. I have a red one that would work, but I'm definitely keeping my eye out for more appropriate options. And any advice on this front is certainly welcome. What qualifies as femme for line-dancing purposes?