__As you've probably noticed, I have a heading called "Excellent Reads" in the sidebar.  It features links to some of the blogs I particularly enjoy.  We're barely into January, but there have been some great posts in 2012, and I thought I'd share a few:

This post at Invisible Education discusses one queer teacher's surprising reaction to an anti-homophobia training for faculty members at her school.

Susan at DapperQ suggests that we all commit to quality and craftsmanship in 2012.  Sounds good to me!  Now I just need to save my pennies for some of those pieces she recommends...

I love Pretty Butch, written by a butch trying to make it as an actress in LA.  It's extremely well-written, and I particularly enjoyed this post about the ongoing difficulty of coming out to one's self as butch over and over.

Butch on Butch is a new blog about a butch who's starting to date other butches (and with recent luck, too!).  She recently wrote this post about women who identify as women, are not trans, and want to have top surgery.

Amanda of Is This Thing On makes resolutions for 2012, as does the soon-to-be-published Wendi Kali of A Stranger in This Place.

In one form or another, I've gotten the following question from three different readers in the last week:

Help, my girlfriend says she's trans!  What do I do?

From the tone of the questions I've received, I'm going to assume that: (1) this is somewhat of a surprise, and that (2) at least at first blink, you are unsure how you feel about it, and/or what her transition means for your relationship.  (BTW, I'm going to use female pronouns because this is what the question-askers used.)  Here are some tips to help you navigate:

IN THE SHORTER TERM

1. Remember how hard coming out as queer was?  Your partner took a lot of courage in coming out to you as trans.  Appreciate her honesty, and say so.  This can't have been easy.
2. Try not to react immediately.  There are a million things going through your head, but immediately blurting out, "I'll leave you if you become a guy" is probably not going to help either of you.
3. Listen.  "Trans" means different things to different people.  Maybe she's going to bind or get top surgery, but use female pronouns.  Maybe she'll take testosterone.  Maybe not.  Don't assume you know what she means.  Don't even assume she knows what she means.  She may still be exploring this.  Maybe she's transsexual.  Maybe transgender.  Maybe genderqueer.  Maybe she's female but wants top surgery.
4. Don't assume it's a phase.  Don't assume it's not a phase.   
   
5. Try not to say things like, "But I love your breasts!" or, "I just like you the way you are."  This is likely to induce guilt.
   

IN THE LONGER TERM

1. Keep listening.  How are her feelings about being trans evolving?  What is she thinking?  Is it causing her a lot of stress?  How does she think it will affect your relationship? 
2. You are not obligated to stay with her.  You are not being a sexist jerk if you break up over her transition.  You have a right to be happy and comfortable in a relationship--just like she has a right to be comfortable in her own skin.  Your comfort in your identity and her comfort in hers may or may not continue to be compatible. 
   
3. Relatedly, try to prioritize her realization of her identity above your relationship with her.  This is hard.  But your relationship or friendship is going to be stronger if she gets to express her true self--and in the long term, this will be healthier for both of you.  Couples' counseling may help with this.
4. Be supportive.  Learn as much about trans issues as you can.  Read up about the emotional issues and bodily changes associated with things like taking testosterone or getting top surgery.  It will help to know what's coming.  If she switches to male pronouns or chooses a new name, remind friends if they forget to use these.
   
5. Take care of yourself.  This is a huge deal in her life, but it's a huge deal in yours, too.  Express your thoughts and feelings.  Find ways to release stress.  Get a good therapist.  Look after your mental health. 
   

For those of you who have been through this, what worked?  What didn't?

Here's a picture of today's tie, which I was soooo excited to wear, because it is awesome and cotton and looks cool with my new(ish) beige Calvin Klein shirt and jeans.  I've been loving plaid ties, and this one is no exception. 

Today has been a good day.  I had coffee with my buddy C, and tonight's the Project Runway season premiere.

Now I have to get back to work.  Yeah, I know this post is a bit of a cop-out, but if I'm writing 300 this year, they can't all be gems, can they?  Maybe I'll write another post tonight.  Then again, maybe I won't.  You never know with me.  That's the kind of wild and whimsical girl I am.

Most of the time, I buy men's shoes for the simple reason that I tend to like the styles much, much more.  This does not usually create a problem.  I have fairly small feet, but a men's 6.5 or 7 is usually fine for me. 

The average female foot, however, is narrower than the average male foot.  For this reason, women's shoes are usually constructed narrower than men's; "medium" width for a women's shoe is "B," but for a men's shoe, it is "D."  The difference between the two widths, for a given shoe, can be anywhere between a half and a full centimeter (as this chart demonstrates).

Usually, the extra room is no problem.  If I'm clomping around in boots or skate shoes, it's no big deal.  The place it matters is athletic shoes--for me, particularly running shoes.*  If you don't want to twist an ankle or mess up your stride, you need running shoes that fit snugly in length and width.  Since I've got narrow feet, this usually means women's shoes.

Often, I end up with a choice of something in pink or pastel blue.  Not that I mind those colors, say, on a tie, but I feel silly in pink running shoes. 

Sometimes there's a plain white option, but they're so nondescript.  I don't want plain shoes, just shoes that don't look like they were designed to match a purse. 

I want cool colors!  Navy blue, forest green, orange.  I can't go out in my navy blue REI vest, grey shorts, and black running shirt, then add pink shoes into the mix.  It just makes me feel absurd.

As a result, when I look for running shoes, I don't just seek a good fit.  I also look for a decent color.  More than once, I've tried a shoe on, had it feel great, but declined to buy it because I hate the colors.  I always feel a little childish explaining to the salesperson, "No, these are great, but...  I hate the color.  No, no--powder blue won't do, either."

Sure, a few things help.  You can go to a good running store or buy online where there's more of a selection.  And some brands are better than others.  But I still look with envy over at the men's section, where there are so many cool colors and styles, compared to just a few I like in the women's section. 


*Thanks to my DGF, for giving me the idea for this post!

I recently read this story in the New York Times about a photographer who takes pictures of old animals.  I find the pictures beautiful, and they made me think about aging.  I've long thought societies that revere and cherish older people have gotten it right.  I live in the U.S., where people start saying they're "getting old" in their thirties or forties, where people love getting carded, and where it's considered insulting for someone to guess that a person (especially a woman) is older than she really is.

I'd like to think that the lesbian community is different, and that we have tons of respect for the older (by "older," I mean 60s or 70s plus) dykes among us.  But I'm not sure this is true.  More than once, I've heard people my own age (30s) talk disparagingly about older lesbians, saying that they don't "get it" with regards to boi culture, or trans culture, or some other aspect of contemporary queer life.  (And, to be fair, I've occasionally heard older lesbians say disparaging things about queer youth culture, too.)

Why does this age divide exist?  Maybe because LGBTQ history and culture have evolved so rapidly in the last 50 years.  Maybe those who came of age in the Stonewall era share less with their younger counterparts than is true for straight people.  I don't think so, though; I suspect it's a manifestation of a broader tendency to dismiss older people rather than integrating them into society and seeking their wisdom.  And why does this tendency exist?  Are we obsessed with "progress," which we conflate with youth and newness?  Does hanging out with old people scare us because we don't understand it?  Does it force us to confront our own mortality?

It's especially important for the LGBTQ community to take care of its older members, because in many ways, it's harder to be an old dyke than it is to be an old straight woman.  Here are a few reasons why:

• Lesbians have more health problems than straight women do.  (This stems in part from higher rates of obesity, smoking, and alcohol abuse among lesbians than among straight women.)  Heath problems become more severe with age.
• While many lesbians have kids, we are less likely to have them than straight women are.  Old people are often taken care of by their kids; a lot of lesbians lack this resource.
• Lesbians are more likely than straight women to be alienated from their families.  This means fewer financial resources, but also fewer social ones--leading to increased rates of depression.  
• Lesbians often have few legal resources if their partner dies.  The deceased partner's family may challenge the living partner's legal standing to keep property or other assets that previously belonged to the couple.
  

I'm curious to know what you all think about this.  In general, do you think the queer community takes care of older dykes?  Should we? 

Do you ever hang out with older lesbians?  What's it like?  Tell us about your experiences: positive, negative, whatever.  And if you're a 60+ lesbian reading this blog, I'd love to hear your perspective about younger queers.