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That is what makes food kind of magical. To me it’s not just about fuel (or in this case, sugar), it’s a tradition, or a way to feel close to someone, or a ritual, or a meditation, or a time to grieve the past, or remember it fondly, or a time to be silent and work something with your hands, or a time to laugh and listen to my rubbish music and get flour everywhere. When our parents divorced it felt like all that was familiar had gone, but in that loss we managed to carve a space out that was ours.
So here is my recipe for sibling bonding through the medium of gingerbread cookies.
Don’t know how to rock boots or where to buy them? Check out Lydia’s guide to this season’s must-have for queers of all styles!
They both wanted to carry children, and neither had ever seen the clothing they pictured wearing while doing it. The standard options of scoop-neck tees, loose, flowy tunics and maxi dresses whispering gently of femininity didn’t appeal to their butch tastes. So Vanessa decided to make her own.
For us queer folks, even when families are fairly accepting, the cultural divide between us and our mostly-straight families can make holiday get-togethers a little (or a lot) awkward. There’s nothing quite like your weird uncle dropping a slur in the middle of Christmas dinner to liven the mood!
Take a moment this week to dig in to these longreads.
Because we, as individuals, may not have a particular connection to a particular lesbian bar that has gone under doesn’t mean that the death of the lesbian bar, in general, isn’t a tragedy.
Alley explored the State of the Lesbian Bar in Portland and got nostalgic along the way.
Want to watch a fat het man chain smoke? Want to watch a skinny gay girl sob? Want to watch them inexplicably, suddenly become best bffs? This is your flick.
This is the great fuckery of falling out of love in the age of technology: So many invisible threads hold us together. She lingers forever in my profile picture album and my iMessage logs. Even when I try to avoid these archives, a robot can coopt her name and remind me just what it felt like to love her.
Audrey via Linked Like We Once Were
We were walked to the slave quarters, some still standing, others restored. They were basic shacks, between three and five to a room. Although tiny, they were bigger than I thought they would be. We were told of the French colonial slave-keeping laws, which were apparently more humane than those of American, British or Spanish colonial laws. When we were told that the slaves were encouraged to be married, that young girls must be sold along with their mothers and kept from work until the age of fourteen, and eventually buried alongside their masters in the Catholic cemetery, we caught ourselves doing that raised-eyebrow, pompous nod of surprise until we were able to remind each other that these people, however less oppressed than their neighbors, were still fucking slaves.
The bottom line is we examined the situation we found ourselves in and said, “this shit has got to change.”
Sure, Chanukah kind of doesn’t matter in the hierarchy of high holidays but that doesn’t mean its origin story can’t help your parents see the error of their ways. The Maccabees are the rebel heroes that took down a patriarchy of religious intolerance. The Macabbes fought for…what? Oh, right. Acceptance of who they are: Jews. And what are you doing when you light those little candles? Celebrating those Maccabee heroes. Your parents are literally celebrating the idea of acceptance and tolerance every night of Chanukah. Now is a good time to remind them of that. Besides, the Maccabees look kind of gay to me.