OK, so as of this year, I'm a fervent Mac convert. Dyed in the wool, drank the Kool-Aid, bought the t-shirt, dyed the t-shirt with Kool-Aid. Whatever. Not going back.
30 November 2011
OK, so as of this year, I'm a fervent Mac convert. Dyed in the wool, drank the Kool-Aid, bought the t-shirt, dyed the t-shirt with Kool-Aid. Whatever. Not going back.
The way Macs do window and app management is boneheaded. (Disclaimer: I'm still on Snow Leopard, but I don't believe Lion has improved this stuff - I'd be glad to be wrong.)
In Windows, here's how you need to think about managing your windows and programs - opening things, finding things, managing what's eating up your resources, etc.:
1) Is the app open *or* pinned to the task bar? Great! You can find it in the task bar. Always, always, always. Doesn't matter if it's closed and pinned, open and minimized, open and in the foreground, or open and hidden behind another window. Always in the same place, in the task bar. If you want it, you know where to find it. And it'll be clear whether it's open (which means its eating up resources) or not. Hint: if you close it, it's closed, and not eating up resources.
2) Can't find the app in the task bar? It must be neither opened nor pinned; you'll need to open it from the Start Menu or something if you want it. If you use it a lot, you might want to consider pinning it so you only ever have to think about #1.
Here's how it works on Mac (Snow Leopard, anyway):
1) Is the app open and in the foreground? Yay! You can probably find it, because you're looking at it! Also, because you're looking at it, you know it's open and using resources. That one's easy!
2) Is the app open and hidden behind some other window? Good luck finding it. There's no indicator in the dock that it's open. (You might be able to tell from the little glowy light that it's *running*, but that doesn't tell you whether or not you've actually got any windows open.) And if you try to click on the app icon in the dock, very often nothing will happen. What?? The window's already open. So it's behind another window. Not MacOS's problem. Start pawing around in Exposé or whatever, or dragging windows around. Good luck.
3) Is the app open and minimized? OK, *then* you get a little window icon on the right side of the dock (if you've turned that feature on). Make sure you keep careful mental track of which of your windows are minimized and which ones aren't, so you'll know whether looking down there will be of any use to you. And don't try clicking on the main app icon in the left-hand part of the dock to get back to something you've minimized. That doesn't do anything, silly! You're supposed to click on the one on the right! Did you forget it was minimized? You need to keep better track of that stuff, in your brain.
(I know that's because you might have multiple windows. But if you've only got one, why not open it? If you've got three, why not bring them up in Exposé? Really, "do nothing" is the best you could manage??)
4) Is the app *running*, but with no windows open? This state is visually indistinguishable from "running with a window hidden behind other windows". So make sure you keep careful mental track of whether you've got any windows hidden behind other windows. Also, as a special feature, most Mac apps will happily keep running (and eating up resources) even if you don't have any windows open (and even if they don't have any legitimate background work to do). I'm always running around looking for rogue glowy lights in my dock so I can close programs that I'm not actually using right now. On Windows, almost always, the little X means "If this is the last/main window for the app, close the app - don't just close the window and keep the app running and eating up memory." On a Mac, the little red circle usually means, "Close the window, but even if this is the last/main window, keep the app running, because lightning-fast startup is more important than ongoing performance of the apps you're actually using." No, it's not.
5) Is the app actually closed - no little glowy thing on the dock? OK, then you know where you stand, and it's as convenient as Windows - open pinned apps from the dock; for other things, head to your Applications folder. But once you open it, make sure you keep careful mental track of whether it's:
- Running (and eating resources) with no open windows, or
- Open and minimized, or
- Open and hiding behind another window, or
- Open and in the foreground.
One of the few things I miss about Windows is that in Microsofty-land, the first state mostly doesn't exist (unless there's a reason for it), and the second, third, and fourth are visually identical: wherever your windows happen to be, you can always find them in the task bar.
23 September 2011
Hey y'all - check out my gawjus new tattoo (above).
See the chalice in the middle? See what it's sitting on? You know what that is? That's a Common Table, yo. :-)
Here's a pic of my amazing tattoo artist, Amy X (aka Ax), working her magic:
If you live in the DC area and are thinking of getting some ink, you'd be a damn fool not to talk to Amy.
Photo credits go to my tat buddy, the lovely and labyrinthine Maranda Tennyson.
And a big hat tip to our extraordinary friend Amy the Moffitt, who introduced Maranda and me to Ax!
18 September 2011
This is a fictional response to a reading of a passage of scripture during Common Table's Sunday morning worship service on retreat at Shrine Mont on 4 September, 2011. It's also a cross-post from our shared Common Table blog; please see the first post in this series for context, as well as the biblical passage being responded to.
It was only an hour before the appointed time, when the Lord would send his angel of death - the angel with the flaming sword that would cut out the heart of each Egyptian family. Rachel snuck out while her father was bundling their few possessions, and her mother was cleaning the remains of the tiny leg of lamb they’d been given by their next door neighbor.
She moved quickly down the street, careful not to slosh the blood in the bowl she carried. At each Egyptian home she reached, Rachel dipped her rag into the bowl, and hastily dribbled blood on the doorframe.
She kept on running into the dark, painting hope on as many doors as she could reach, until the dawn broke, and Rachel heard the first wails of anguish from the homes further on down the street.
image: Some rights reserved by panavatar
10 August 2011
UPDATE: I added the current list of synchroblog participants at the bottom. I'll try to update it later in the day. Peace!
So first, Jules threw down a double-dog dare.
Then (or actually, maybe it was first), Brian put out a Call for a Queer Theology.
And then Shay, the Anarchist Reverend, said, "let there be a synchroblog about this stuff", and lo, there is a synchroblog. I think this will be part of it, though not a big part.
(And all this is part of the Sanctuary Collective Empowerment Project, which is being dreamed up as we speak by the folks I just mentioned, and others!)
Shay's challenge to straight, cisgender folks (like me) is this: "If you’re straight and interested in solidarity I want you to share how being in relationship with queer people has deepened your faith and spiritual practice." I'm finding that both an extremely easy charge, and an incredibly difficult one.
Queer people who are dear to me have had a huge impact on who I am. In particular, my friendships with a bisexual woman named Jennifer, a transsexual woman named Perette, a bisexual woman named Rachel, a gay man named Ben, and a lesbian woman named Sarah have been, over many years, a huge formative influence on my life - and my faith and spiritual practice are a huge part of my life. But to tease out those connections seems challenging - and perhaps needlessly so. How much have Peri's spiritual openness - combined with her skeptic's impatience for spiritual bullshit - influenced my own combination of openness and cynicism in matters of faith? How much have Jen's insights on the intersections between issues facing different oppressed groups (Jen also happens to be disabled) informed my own (limited) appreciation of the complexity of social issues that I (and the faith communities I am a part of) try to engage? How much have Rachel's spiritual gifts - her heart's seemingly bottomless capacity to embrace, love, value, and offer hospitality to others - challenged me to open up wider myself? How much have Ben's commitment to service and Sarah's joyful approach to life brought me hope for the future?
I think the answer to all of these is "lots and lots". There are many other people who identify as LGBTQI who have helped to form me, and many other ways in which the dear friends I mentioned have touched my life. There are also many people who do not identify as queer who have had a huge formative influence on my life, faith, and practice. Is it the queerness of my dear LGBTQI folks that makes them, and their impact on me, special? No (well, not just that)...and of course! Queer folks are not the only people who have been a deep part of my formation as a person of faith. But queer folks have been HUGE in my formation - and in ways I could never count or enumerate, they have impacted me. They've impacted me in the manner that everyone who has been dear and influential to me has done that - by being themselves, by sharing of themselves with me, by loving me. Their queer identity is a part of what has made each of them the beautiful person they are - and, in turn, has become a huge part of what makes me who I am, too.
For that, I say: Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!
Here is the list of participants:
Shay writes Queer Theology Synchroblog home.
Brian writes “Why Queer Liberation Must Be Queer Led”
Cindi writes Queer Theology From a Reluctantly Queer Theologian
Gabe writes The Queerness of Christ: And over Or
Christians for Justice Action write “Imagine the Possibilities Four Years From Now”.
Darrel writes “Queer Theology: Outside the Box” at the Blog of the Grateful Bear.
Ken writes Queer Theology.
Peterson writes Lazarus Come Out!
Mike writes Queer Theology Synchroblog #SCEP.
Cindy writes Creative Differences in the Image of God (this link opens a PDF)
Jules writes Being Queerly Forward
Vince writes Loving Promiscuously: A Queer Theology of Doing It
Alison writes Why I’m Queer Too
Sonnie writes God Made Me Queer
Ellen writes Through A Glass Queerly
Steve writes In Solidarity
Matt writes A Love That Goes Beyond Welcome
26 July 2011
Wow - the interwebs (or at least the corners of them webs that I tend to hang around) are really abuzz with questions of inclusiveness (can communities and gatherings be radically inclusive and welcoming to absolutely everybody?) and "safe space" (can those same communities and gatherings be places where folks - perhaps folks with a given identity - can go without fear of feeling threatened or unsafe?). The grand prize, of course, goes to the community or gathering that can achieve both: inclusive to absolutely everyone, and at the same time safe for absolutely everyone.
No, of course I'm just kidding. That last one is absurd. Not gonna happen, this side of "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
But what is possible? What's worth shooting for? Obviously (to me, anyway) inclusiveness and safety are both Good Things worth striving for. Obviously there's inherent tension here. How might we try to navigate this tension?
One of the first - and best - posts I saw recently on this topic was Katie's blog on Safe Space. I highly recommend that you go read it. Katie has more wisdom on these tensions than you're going to find here.
Then, I ran across an excellent point/counterpoint on these subjects. Neil Christopher, in Can Christians Truly Be Inclusive, argues for erring on the side of safety for some folks (specifically, some historically oppressed folks). Matt Scott replied with On (False) Inclusivity, in which he calls us to err on the side of radical inclusivity. (These are my own ridiculously oversimplified reductions of their articles - please go read them and let them speak for themselves.)
So mostly because all of these folks - and many others among my local and global friends - have got me thinking (and because sometimes I do this weird exercise in which I think out loud in public on this blog) I thought I'd noodle a bit on this tension myself. Because I can feel myself tending toward long-windedness already, I think I'm just going to rattle off a bunch of bullet points. These are not facts; they are opinions that I throw out there for potential discussion. They aren't even necessarily opinions I hold tightly. I'm probably wrong. That's OK.
Anyway, here goes:
- There is no such thing as safe space. (Just ask Katie.) There is also no such thing as perfect inclusivity. Just as these values are in tension with each other, each is also impossible to achieve as a standalone value. Sorry.
- That said, it is worthy and necessary to attempt to create "safe spaces". We need to enter into these spaces with eyes open to the fact that they cannot be perfect. (That's why I put the phrase in quotes.)
- We also need to realize that "safe spaces" can only possibly aim to be "safe" for some folks - not for all folks. A space cannot simultaneously be "safe" for both LGBTQI folks, and folks who are powerfully threatened by / threatening toward LGBTQI folks. There cannot be a space that's "safe" for both atheists, and folks who are powerfully threatened by / threatening toward atheists. These are just examples; the same would be true of any other potentially controversial aspect of someone's identity: orthodox Christian believers, political liberals, Rush Limbaugh fans, homeless folks, etc.
- Now before you get all bothered about my previous bullet point, let me clarify. I'm defining "safe spaces" as places where a particular category of people (or multiple categories, but never all categories) can go without (much) fear of feeling threatened. I'm sorry, but this simply cannot be a space where folks who are threatened by / threatening to the "safe" categories of folks are also welcome. Not all communities/gatherings should strive to be "safe spaces" in this sense, but we do need these, especially for folks who have a history of being oppressed.
- Other communities/gatherings will not (and should not) strive to be "safe spaces" for certain categories of people. These spaces (if they are Christian spaces) should instead strive to be radically (but not perfectly) inclusive. Why? Because Christ crossed every boundary and invited every last goddamn one of us sinners to the table.
- These radically inclusive spaces cannot be "safe spaces" in the sense I defined above. They must remain spaces where feeling threatened is a real possibility - for everyone. (Feeling threatened is possible in "safe spaces" too, for they are never perfect, but it's more likely in these radically inclusive spaces.)
- That said, in these radically inclusive spaces, it is possible (though HARD) for folks who are threatened by / threatening to one another to be in community. How is this possible? Not by excluding people - not at first, anyway. Instead, by establishing a firm community ethos - and consistent messaging from community members and leaders - that certain behaviors are not acceptable. These are behaviors that are abusive, dehumanizing, and/or excluding to other people in the space. Did I mention that establishing and maintaining this ethos is HARD?
- It bears repeating: this is really, really hard. I think it's especially hard in spaces which are too large for everyone to know everybody else. Because all a bully needs to practice his or her abusive craft is a little bit of secret space, out of the sight of the rest of the community.
- Inevitably, there will be folks who cannot abide by this ethos, or who feel too threatened to stay. These folks will either decide to leave, or (if they have been abusive or exclusionary) they will need to be confronted within the community, as outlined in Matthew 18. This is why radical inclusiveness can never be perfect inclusiveness, even in spaces that do not attempt to be "safe" (as defined above).
- So what should most Christian communities and gatherings strive for? It's up to the particular group and their particular composition, gifts, and sense of calling. Some should definitely strive for "safe space" - the Metropolitan Community Churches, and their particular calling to be a "safe space" for LGBTQI Christians, are a beautiful thing, for example. Many traditional Christian churches are, de facto, "safe spaces" for orthodox, believing Christians in their particular tradition - which means that they are not "safe spaces" for folks who are threatened by / threatening to people with those beliefs.
- Many "emerging" Christian communities - as well as many more traditional ones - are striving for the sort of "safe-ish" radical inclusivity in which everyone is welcome to the table. Places where atheists and Muslims and Buddhists are just as welcome as orthodox Christian believers - although (in contrast with, say, many Unitarian-Universalist congregations) the overall character of the community remains Christian. Places where LGBTQI folks, and folks who do not believe that God is OK with folks being LGBTQI, can both come to the table together, pray together, eat together, sing together, serve together, laugh together, weep together, lead together. Etc. I think the community that I'm a part of, the Common Table is that kind of community. It is not a place where any particular group of people - be they orthodox Christian believers, lesbians, atheists, etc. - can feel completely "safe" from words and behaviors that they may find uncomfortable or even threatening. It is a place where all of these folks should know that behavior that crossed the line into abuse, exclusion, or dehumanization would not be OK - from anybody. It is messy. It is also beautiful.
- We would all be a lot happier, I think, with a lot more up-front, open discussion about these issues in our communities and gatherings. What kind of space are we striving to be? "Safe"? For whom? Inclusive? What does that mean? Can we please talk about this shit, rather than set folks up for (even more than the usual) nasty surprises?
OK, them's all my bullet points. I knew I was gonna be long-winded. Holla back, y'all, if you have any reactions. Peace!
25 July 2011
So Shay (the Anarchist Reverend) got sick of having the same conversations over and over again and created a resources page It's full of good stuff (including lots of stuff I previously linked to, and lots of stuff I hadn't seen yet). It's a great meta-resource - thanks, Shay!
A couple of other resources folks have put in my path:
10 Ways to Be an Ally, via Adele
And finally, a post (via Shay) that asks, Can we stop using the term ally? I find its argument pretty persuasive, so I'm personally going to try to stop applying that term to myself. It didn't feel all that comfortable a fit, anyway.
20 July 2011
My friend Jules has thrown down a gauntlet. Check it, y'all:
If you are an emergent leader, have organized gatherings, and you are an ally I dare you to do a C21 part 2. You say your an ally and you want to actively support those of us in the conversation (and those not in the conversation) who are queer put your actions where your mouth is. I challenge you to organize an event to highlight LGBTQ as the voices who are speaking. 21 LGBTQ, 21 minutes to speak. Use your power of influence to finally show that you aren’t just talking this stuff, but you mean it. I dare you. I double dog dare you!
Read her whole post. Do eeeet!
Pretty simple, no? The time has come, no? It would be a good step forward in the direction my new friend Brian Gerald Murphy points toward in his Call for a Queer Theology.
The time has come, yes! Emergent leaderly, conferency friends, let's get this done. Soon. How's 2012? I'm not callin' y'all out by name - yet. (I'd do it privately, don't worry.)
My dear friends, we have been dared. Not just dared, but Double Dog Dared. There is only one honorable response to the Double Dog Dare.
Let's get this done.
17 July 2011
Well, if you've been reading my blog (that is, on those rather rare occasions when there's been something to read), you probably saw a couple of recent posts where I referred to my intention - laid within me, egg-like, by a certain Wild Goose - to open myself to being formed as an ally for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer-identified (LGBTQ) folks, especially within the Church.
I said I wanted to use this blog as a place to record helpful resources, and thanks to some awesome folks I met at the Goose, especially Anarchist Reverend and Brian Gerald Murphy (there are a couple of awesome bloggy resources right there - check out, for example, Brian's post A Call for a Queer Theology), I have a bunch of items worth recording. So here they are:
First of all, a couple of items written for white allies confronting racism (their own, and others') which are excellent and helpful:
Next, a couple of community projects:
- Sanctuary Collective - they're currently rebooting their online presence, but you can check out their excellent collection of YouTube videos
- The Gay Christian Network - if you're a Christian who's interested in formation as an LGBTQ ally, I highly recommend joining. It's an incredibly welcoming community, and I'm pretty hopeful about the potential for forming friendships with folks there
Finally, a couple of extremely helpful documents for straight and cisgender aspiring allies of LGBTQ folks:
- Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack II - Sexual Orientation - based on the resource on racism linked above
- Trans Respect/Etiquette/Support 101
OK, one more. Katie's post on Safe Space is incredibly insightful. It might merit a blog post of its own from me (well, it merits a lot more than that, but I may or may not get around to a blog post), but I wanted to list it here. Check out Katie's blog. You'll be glad you did.
That's all for now. You got more good stuff for me? Please share! Peace!
30 June 2011
The following is a re-post of a comment I left earlier today on Peterson Toscano's blog. Peterson is a Quaker performance artist and activist. He grew up within the conservative evangelical church, and spent 17 years in various "ex-gay" programs, trying without success to change his sexual identity. After coming to his senses and coming out as a gay man, Peterson (who is one of the funniest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting) turned his painful history into a comedic one-man show, Doin' Time in the Homo No Mo' Halfway House - How I Survived the Ex-Gay Movement! which exposes some of the suffering inflicted by that movement. When the time came for him to move on from re-living that part of his life, he set about working on self-formation as a strong and eloquent ally for transgender folk, many of whom still suffer more constant, serious oppression than their lesbian, gay, and bisexual brothers and sisters - and sometimes face discrimination and ignorance from LGB folks themselves. Among other things, Peterson began combing the Bible, together with trans* Christian friends, and found gold nuggets of story that could be interpreted - at least speculatively - in a trans*-positive way. These became Transfigurations - Transgressing Gender in the Bible, a new piece of comedic performance art. Peterson has also done a bunch of other cool stuff. He performed and spoke this past weekend at the Wild Goose Festival, excerpting from both of these works, and he rocked my world.
The post on which I commented was called What I carried into Wild Goose, and in it, Peterson confesses his frustration with Christian leaders in a conservative evangelical context, who privately sympathize with the plight of their LGBTQ sisters and brothers, but who are not willing to take the risks involved with publicly saying so. Go, read it, and while you're there, check out some more of Peterson's wisdom, witness, and humor. My comment follows:
Peterson, thanks for this. Your thoughtful, faithful honesty and courage continues to humble me. I think a related – yet not identical – problem is people like me. I’ve never been part of the conservative evangelical world. I grew up outside the Church, and I’m now a part of two churches: a middle-sized, traditional-ish Episcopal church, and a very small (30-40 adults plus kids) trans-denominational “emerging” church. Both of my church communities are very progressive, open, and welcoming, with LGBTQ folks demonstrably welcome (including in leadership positions), though neither is by any means perfect. As an individual (and, to some extent, a leader) in these communities, I have always been open and honest about my unequivocal belief in equality regardless of sexual or gender identity – but it has been far too easy for me to act as if there’s no particular need for me to do more than that. I mean “the Church”, for me (that is, the rather open and progressive communities I’m personally a part of), is doing OK, right? This boat’s not in need of rockin’. We’re all equal and welcome and loved, and all’s right in the world.
And this, while I’ve also campaigned for years for the idea that we need to think and act and connect outside our parochial little tribal worlds – that the Church is so much bigger than that. This, while I’ve been a part of a community that, despite its small size, incarnates that idea by including and celebrating folks of so many different church backgrounds – Anglicans and Methodists and Charismatic/Pentecostals and Brethren and Catholics and agnostics and Lutherans and Presbyterians and atheists and Baptists and, yes, Evangelicals coming together as one Body of Christ – not uniform, but together in community. This, while I’ve been active in Emergent Village, which in this respect (ecclesiological diversity) looks like my little church writ large. So what exactly is my excuse, living as I am within these larger, ecclesiologically diverse contexts, for thinking and acting on such a small, safe, limited scale when it comes to the place of my LGBTQ brothers and sisters? Well…er…um…it sure has been easier for me that way….
Well, brother, all I can say at this point is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been so silent for so long. But I hear you loud and clear, and you (along with many other folks I was blessed to spend time with at the Goose) have finally spoken to me with words and witness that have managed to penetrate my thick head and heart – words and witness that the Spirit has been trying to get through to me for some time now, I believe, though I’m well-practiced at ignoring her. I’ve begun work in allowing myself to be formed as an ally. I hope I’ll be led to ways I can help. And I thank you, again, for your witness.
(And if anyone else reading this is like me – straight, cisgender, liberal, progressive, living and perhaps leading in liberal/progressive contexts, preaching gently to the choir, enjoying the safety and affirmation of that situation, and feeling OK about our place in this changing world – can I suggest that we ask ourselves, our LGBTQ friends, and the Spirit if that’s really all we’re called to at this moment in history? The Body of Christ is bigger than our little progressive ghettos, and the Church as a whole is responsible for great pain and suffering, every day. Are we being called to help do something about that? Are we listening?)
This past weekend, I attended the Wild Goose Festival, in Shakori Hills, NC, with something like 1700 other...I dunno...misfits for Jesus? Something like that. It was "a festival of justice, spirituality, music and the arts...rooted in the Christian tradition and therefore open to all regardless of belief, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, denomination or religious affiliation." It was amazing. For four days, we camped, walked, talked, listened, sat, ate, drank, hugged, laughed, prayed, sang, danced, and wept together.
The Wild Goose is a Celtic metaphor for the Holy Spirit. She blows where she will, and (like Aslan in the Narnia books), she is not safe. I have felt her gentle breeze before, as it gently grabbed me by the ankle, turned me upside down, and banged my head repeatedly into the ground, after repeated attempts to whisper vital information into my ear and heart had proved noneffective.
I can't speak for any of my fellow Goose people, though I suspect I'm not alone. I don't really know if I went to this gathering - a gathering named for God's dynamic Spirit - expecting to come home unchanged. All I know is, that's not what happened.
I'll be a while sorting out all the ways this past weekend has affected me. I'll probably follow up this post with some more reflective posts on that topic. For right now, I'm actually using my blog (which I haven't used much, lately) for a very practical purpose.
The one thing that I feel clearly seared into my heart following my experiences at the Goose - the one thing that is prompting me to begin a process of formation leading (relatively quickly, I hope) to action - is a much-belated conviction that I have been a piss-poor ally (really, not worthy of that title at all) to my Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender sisters and brothers, despite the fact that I am a card carrying member of the institution that is doing more than any other to cause pain, suffering, and injustice for folks in those communities - that is, the Church.
I have many people to thank for this change of heart - long-time friends and folks I'd never met before this weekend. I won't try to list them all here - many of them will probably turn up in future blog posts - but I do want to mention my dear friend Rachel Swan. (Who will probably be like, "wha??" since she and I hardly talked about these issues at all this past weekend, despite spending lots of hours together and in company with others who were discussing these topics.) I want to mention Rachel, because just about all of the Spirit-leading I experienced at the Goose - in this area at least - flowed in one way or another from our friendship. Rachel, dear, thank you for being you - and thank God, too, for making you that way. :-)
In light of my experience, I am beginning an intentional process of opening myself to formation as an ally - one who actually uses his voice, risks and spends his privilege, and potentially helps make a difference in the world (and more specifically in the Church) in solidarity with my LGBTQ brothers and sisters.
As I begin that process, I think I'll use this blog to record resources and stepping stones I find along the path that seem helpful. I'm doing this for my own accountability, and also as a potential resource for others who might be feeling this particular call from the Wild Goose of God's Spirit.
So here's one, via Brian Gerald Murphy: a challenging talk from Dr. Omi Osun Joni L. Jones on "6 rules for Allies". (Thanks, Brian!)
More to come, Goose willing....
I've never participated in a synchroblog before, and this post was not originally intended to be part of a synchroblog, but now it is, and I think I'm supposed to (and it's my pleasure to) link to the host of amazing folks who are also blogging about the Goose:
And also (unofficially) my amazing friend Rachel!
Rachel Swan – Goosed
photo courtesy of Kirsti Reeve, used gratefully with permission