Conversation: The S. Kitchen presents...Justice on the Rocks

Jason Wyman, Catalyst of The S. Kitchen, recently interviewed Donald Proby of Community Boards on Sunday, May 1st, 2011. The interview was a part of The S. Kitchen presents...Justice on the Rocks. A shared cocktail party with Donald Proby and others from Community Boards was on Wednesday, April 20th at 7pm.

If you would like to learn more about the Community Boards please visit their website.

Listen to internet radio with theskitchen on Blog Talk Radio

And please help us spread the word by retweeting this podcast, sharing it on Facebook, and telling your friends and family about the importance of comrades helping comrades resolve conflicts peacefully.

Conversation: The S. Kitchen presents...Seeding Reflection, Cultivating Intention PODCAST

Jason Wyman, Catalyst of The S. Kitchen, recently interviewed Suvanna Cullen and Singhashri Gazmuri from the San Francisco Buddhist Center on Tuesday, March 15th. The interview was a part of The S. Kitchen presents...Seeding Reflection, Cultivating Intention. A shared potluck meal with Singhashri and Suvanna will be on Sunday, March 27th at 7pm. To RSVP and learn more, please visit the Facebook Event Event page or the Socializr page.

If you would like to learn more about the San Francisco Buddhist Center, please visit their website.

Listen to internet radio with theskitchen on Blog Talk Radio

And please help us spread the word by retweeting this podcast, sharing it on Facebook, and telling your friends and family about the importance of seeding reflection, cultivating intention.

Conversation: Lost and Still

I was lost. It was as if I was floating in space with nothing tangible around me and the sun, moon, and earth blotted out by my inability to comprehend. I normally find comfort there. I like the feeling of non-attachment and distance. It helps me see and experience things others miss. This week, I just wanted to sink back to earth and feel solid rock. I'm tired.

Nothing extraordinary happened. Nothing inconsequential happened. Nothing really happened at all. That's what started it all: I didn't want nothing. At least at that moment. I just wanted a little motivation and some inspiration. I just wanted movement.

The trouble with waiting is that it truly is a tragic beast. Once the seed of want roots itself it is hard to see what is right in front of you. I had inspiration everywhere. It was there in the films by women I found this week that told tales of gratitude and dalliances with sheep and beetles eating hearts. It was on the bus in an overheard conversation of amazing boundaries being drawn by a young woman with her ex-lover. It was in a speech by Chrystos about shedding colonizer thinking, not being boxed by identity, and strength in struggle that is not self-less. It was everywhere around me all the time.

So too was motivation. Resumes were submitted. Meetings were attended. Conversations were had.

Still I was lost. Still I felt like my apartment looked: disheveled by contractors who were putting in a new window and drywall thanks to a leaking ceiling and wall. I just wanted to put it all back and ignore the water on the floor. At least on the surface it would look tidy.

This lostness crept into my cooking all week long. I made disastrous meals that didn't satiate taste. I tried my hand at an apple crumble and misplaced my mind when I poured in an extra half cup of milk. I still threw it in the oven hoping for a miracle. I took one bite, and no miracle was found.

On and on the week pressed as I, still lost, felt knots in my back and anxiety on my heart. I stressed over the meal to be shared on Sunday. I still hadn't found my inspiration and without it the food would never transform into cuisine.

Then, I stopped. I stopped looking and decided to observe.

I found myself in North Beach at a meeting with a coaching client. He sat across from me with the tools I brought between us. I shared youth development strategies, approaches and philosophies. I was doing my "job" not my role. As I was finishing up, I asked one final question, "Anything else?" He asked for help on one particular challenge. I was immediately unstuck. I listened and reflected and listened some more. Only then did I share a possible solution.

Our 30 minute session turned out to be an hour and a half. Not one of those moments was missed. Not once did I feel lost.

I set out from North Beach and meandered through Chinatown. A growing hunger begged feeding, but not any meal would do. I peeked in restaurants and perused menus. I had a vague feeling for noodles, but I didn't want chow mein.

I found myself peering in the window of Hon's Wun-tun House Ltd. of California. Not a single white person inside, I opened the door and took a seat at the counter. I placed an order for Sichuan noodles; five minutes later it came. I slurped up the fine angel hair thing noodles with the spicy shredded pork on top. As I looked up, I saw it: homemade wide noodles -- $2.50/pound.

It was exactly what I was searching for. I bought three pounds.

I'm now sitting in Portsmouth Square with Cantonese being spoken all around me and my fingers numbing. A tour group is in front of me trying dim sum treats. I am still except for the movement of my hand scribbling across this page. I am at peace.

I know I will find myself lost again. I know anxiety will course through veins and muscles will knot. I know that I cannot silence all of my wants. I just need to remember this moment -- the one where I became still.

I have two more days until my shared meal. Keeping still while wandering is how I'm going to make it there. I know magic will happen if I let go. And it will be called braised garlic greens with homemade noodles.

Conversation: BAN6 at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

This is a comment response to The S. Kitchen Fan Erica P's post on The Eatable Life about the BAN6 Conversation at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts which happened on Saturday, February 19 from 1pm to 4pm. The guest speakers were Novella Carpenter, Leif Hedendal, and Bryant Terry. To get a detailed and accurate summary of the event, please head on over to The Eatable Life.



This is a commentary and reflection.

***
Thanks for this fab review of the event. I liked all three of the speakers as well. I think they all brought in different perspectives of the food movement and industry. I especially liked how Novella talked about her love of animals, and they are dinner. I found her description of the ritual of slaughter fascinating, and have been grappling with what it means to me as a meat eater.

I had a much harder time with the format.

To me, the crux of the conversation was the intersection of food, art, and social justice. Having come to food and art through the vocation of youth development and educational reform, I have a really hard time when "conversations" about these topics don't also embrace a food, art, and social justice approach. The format of the event was constructed using a classical educational approach. There were "experts", the panelists and curator, and "learners", the audience. These two positions need to be filled in a classical educational approach because the role of the expert is to impart their learning on the learner. The learner has little to no role in the area of expertise.

At this event, there was even a hierarchy in what role each particular audience member played. Throughout the event, the curator/moderator asked questions to "the artists". While I was in the audience and listening to the conversation and being asked questions, I took comfort in being called an artist. It made me feel like there was a level of importance in being an audience member, that I may in fact be an artist. I felt like they were also trying a new approach to learning, one that, while not completely embracing a social justice or people's educational approach, was at least moving in that direction.

After the event, I stuck around to talk to Bryant. I noticed as the chairs were being picked up that there were technically two classifications of audience members: ones whose seats read "Artist" and ones whose seats were blank. I haven't felt that dissed in a very long time, and it made me question the entirety of the event. Was this event really *for* me?

It also shed light onto a weird interaction between me and the moderator. During the discussion, I spoke and shared my story of how I came to both food and art. I have mostly worked in low-income, historically marginalized communities. Within those communities, art and food are not a superfluous question. They are questions of both survival and engagement. (I would argue engagement is survival, but that's another debate.) They ONLY way I got young people to the table and understanding anything was through food and art. Parents only came to meetings where food was present. I could only meet with teachers if I brought pizza. And that is solely on the most surface of levels.

The weird interaction came after I stated, "Take a look around and see who is here and who isn't here." (Or something incredibly similar.) I know I did not see a single person under mid-twenties. I can make a fairly educated guess that most had some (if not a lot) of post-secondary education. (I myself flunked out, so I might not be making that educated of a guess.) And all were, while maybe not rich per se, at least either upper-lower or lower-middle class and above. I couldn't imagine a single youth I worked with in my 15+ years of youth development work ever showing up to the event.

My comment was dismissed by the curator, and he quickly moved on. I wondered after I saw the chairs with the "Artist" label on them if part of that reaction was due to the fact that I was not labeled an "artist". I also wondered if I struck a nerve on a topic that the museum has been grappling with.

I know a museum is for a very particular kind of person, one that can navigate it and understand it, which requires a certain level of education. It is also an institution. But as we move forward with the conversation of the intersections of food, art, commodification, and social justice we cannot forget that there is a LARGE segment of the population MISSING from the dialogue. Those people are the same ones that will be the most impacted by any decision (political, aesthetic, cultural, etc.) in these arenas. I think we, the collective we that includes me, can do better at finding ways to engage them. And that starts with some great food and excellent art.

CONVERSATION: "Reach out, touch a hand, make a friend if you can"

I love The Staples Singers. I remember listening to "Respect Yourself" many times as a young adult. It was on compilations of soul and/or gospel songs like Black Power: Music of a Revolution. It was a song that inspired me to think differently and find hope.

I was introduced to Mavis Staples, one of the siblings in The Staple Singers, thanks to my husband. He brought home her album "We'll Never Turn Back" when it came out almost four years ago. I fell head over heals in love with her deep soulful voice and her messages of struggle, unity, and spirit.

As a result of my love affair with Mavis Staples, I went out and found old The Staples Singers albums. I had to have more of their songs and soul. I found and played their compilation album, The Best of the Staples Singers, over and over and over again until all the songs started blending together and I started to internalize their joy, sadness, and courage.

The Staples Singers were definitely an inspiration to refocus and re-imagine The S. Kitchen into something more than just a potluck. I knew I wanted to exude the same determination, casualness, perseverance, and compassion they did. Their music, while religious and spiritual, is more than just gospel and Christian. It is a way of life, a way of seeing the world that transcends spirit and is rooted deeply in personal experience and culture. If I could embody just a sliver of what they exude rooted in my own personal experience and culture, than I would have done my job.

I still listen to The Staples Singers and Mavis Staples religiously. I have to listen to them at least twice a month. And I am still finding hope and deeper meaning in their songs. They still bring me to a place that beyond the singular self.

Today, as I was again listening to them, their song "Touch a Hand, Make a Friend" really hit me. The lyrics:

Can't you feel it in your bones.
A change is coming on
from every walk of life
people are seein' the light.

Can't you feel it in your heart, now.
A new thing is takin' shape
Reach out, touch a hand, y'all.
Make a friend if you can.

Hey, I heard about you from my friend.
Ain't it time you come on in?
Live the united way.
Why don't you join us today?

Seem to call forth in the most prescient way (the lyrics were written in 1973) what is happening around the world right now. We are seeing people coming together in unprecedented numbers peacefully (and sometimes not so peacefully) all over the world. We are witnessing a remarkable change. And while at times it may be frightening and scary and uncomfortable, it is ultimately hopeful. It is happening because we are reaching out, touching hands, and making friends.

It is my dream that The S. Kitchen contributes to this much larger change in the way it does it best: through cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie. And I welcome you to "come on in". Who knows, you may even make a friend.

***
Upcoming The S. Kitchen events where you can "come on in" are:

The S. Kitchen presents...Women & Film with guestpert Scarlett Shepard of the Women's Film Institute on Sunday, February 27th at 4pm. You can learn more and RSVP on Facebook. You MUST RSVP to get the hidden location.

SOUP'S On!, an informal learning and networking opportunity for youth workers, educators, and teaching artists, with guestpert Carmen Lo on Thursday, March 10th from 6pm to 8pm at Progressive Grounds in San Francisco on the corner of Bryant and 21st Streets.

Conversation: Of Grace and Obligation

Death is like a natural disaster -- no matter how much planning and preparation is done once it hits everything changes. You cannot prepare for the flood or numbing of emotions. You don't know exactly how the laws will work themselves out. You can't anticipate how others will react. You just have to go along for the ride and see what comes.

I didn't know how much my grandfather's passing would challenge me. He was a man I always adored. He was on of my childhood heroes -- tall, strong, and always there with a helping hand. He was also everything I was not -- a staunch Republican, an avid sports fan, nimble with his fingers, cautious. He had a philosophy of live and let live as long as he didn't need to see or hear it.

A few hours earlier on the day he passed, I booked a ticket to come see him in Arizona hoping I could say goodbye before his final exhale. I didn't make it. He died in hospice quickly at the age of 80. He never wanted to live in hospice, and he was terrified of losing his reason, but there he was in hospice doped up because his mind had completely deteriorated. It was a beautiful thing that he only had a few days of that kind of living.

I kept my flight. I wanted to be here for my granny and lend the same helping hand my grandfather would have lent me. It was the best way to honor his life. I wasn't prepared for the internal conflict that came.

I inherited my grandfather's strong will. I did not inherit his ability to still my tongue. I have had to learn how to quiet both my lips and need to argue, and I haven't been very successful in those lessons. Slowly, I have made progress, and the greatest lesson has come from being here in Sun City West supporting my granny through this transition. I see what he saw in her -- beauty, faith, fortitude, quiet rebellion, dedication. I amazed at her ability to meet obligation with grace.

My granny didn't want a memorial service here in Arizona. She preferred to only have services back in Minnesota this summer. He will rest there in a crypt in Resurrection Cemetery. It is the place of our Soderberg clan's birth, and, minus myself and my granny, where the rest of our clan still reside. But what you want isn't always what others need. Others wanted to say goodbye here.

My mom arrived in Arizona a few days before me. She was one of the people, despite her claiming otherwise, that needed closure. She didn't get to say goodbye, and it pained her immeasurably. She wanted to hold his hand and give him a final hug.

I received a phone call the Tuesday before my planned arrival asking if I would do one of the readings at mass. I agreed knowing how much it would meant to my mom and granny. Immediately, after hanging up the phone, I grew uncomfortable. I was raised in a family whose Catholic heritage stretches back generations. While I identify as catholic, I am not Catholic. This was going to be difficult.

I arrived on Thursday. The memorial mass was Saturday. Two days of restlessness ensued, and a story was shared about the struggle to get the readings and songs my mom and granny wanted. I did the reading in my best church voice as gracefully as possible. I can't share more. It doesn't feel right, and it seems to soon. Needless to say, my difficulties paled in comparison to those of my mom and granny.

We had a reception at my granny's house after the mass. I was in charge of the kitchen, so my granny and mom could be with guests. I hustled making coffee and setting everything out. I was amazed at how impatient some of the guests were. The coffee couldn't brew quickly enough, and when they rushed me to pour some of the coffee from the unfinished pot complained that it wasn't hot enough. I noticed all of the paper plates were gone while I was finishing up setting out some more cookies. I was going to get them momentarily, but that wasn't quick enough. Everyone knew I was the grandson, but many folks treated me like the catering help.

A couple of times I got testy telling people to back off and get out of the kitchen. At one point, I had to excuse myself to the bathroom to have a silent meltdown. I definitely wasn't prepared for the pushiness of retired folks.

Then, I saw my granny and mom. They were also entertaining guests. They were gracious and welcoming, and I started learning the art of grace and obligation. While this service and reception were about my grandfather, they were not for my grandfather. They were for everyone else. It had nothing to do with us. The best way forward was honoring my grandpa the way he would want to be honored. I smiled and said thank-you.

I'm not sure this is how I want to live my life. I believe that emotions shouldn't be tucked underneath everything in order to be stoic. I'm not sure I believe in the obligations of others. If I did, I'm not sure I ever would have come out.n What I did learn is that when you do show up for others it is important to honored them the way they want to be honored. This doesn't mean compromising on who you are. It does mean finding the grace by which to do both at the same time.

I've learned a lot during my time here in Arizona with my granny and mom, and while my grandpa is no longer here with us he is still teaching me. And to me, that is what is heaven. It isn't a place. It is these moments of transcendence, these moments when contradictions become harmonious.

Cheers grandpa! I look forward to the many lessons you have yet to teach.

Conversation: Of Families of Origin and of Choice

We gathered on a Wednesday night to celebrate and remember my grandfather. He passed away late at night the Tuesday before. He lived in Arizona. I am in San Francisco. I received the news from my mother, his daughter, at about 10pm. She lives in Minnesota, the state in which I grew up. She was weeping, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her. I had no words and actions are impossible over the phone.

The news didn't hit me immediately. His death was sudden, yet not unanticipated. He had Alzheimer's and was slowly slipping away. He started slipping even faster around Christmas, and with a blink he was gone. I didn't get to say good-bye, and in some ways I am grateful. I get to remember him as he was not how he died.

Wednesday started the same as every other day. I got dressed, packed my backpack, and head to the cafe. My brother and I talked on the phone during my short walk to Progressive Grounds. "The funeral will be in the spring or summer", he told me. I have to wait until then for the final closure and resting.

I plopped down at a table and opened my computer. I needed to send a few emails, edit a couple
of recipes, and promote an event or two. I stared blankly at the screen wondering why the emails didn't write themselves. It might have helped if I had my email open. Facebook stared back at me and with it status updates about the Arizona shooting, saving American bees, upcoming drag shows, and the occasional music video. The music videos I could handle, and while watching one posted by my friend Shon, a memory flooded everything.

I was playing in my grandparents family room, distinctively different from the living room that was off limits. I could see the seventies' decor with those earthen-colored woven curtains that matched the brick fireplace. There was a crate of records and a record player too. I was rummaging through them trying to find something to play.

Two stood out in my memory: Snoopy versus the Red Baron and Hank Williams, Senior. I could hear the scratches from the record spinning and the twang of Hank's guitar as if it was playing in my ear buds. I went to YouTube and found "Beyond the Sunset" and pressed "share" on Facebook.



Moments later my hands were shaking and my mind was spinning. It wasn't the loss of my grandfather that was hitting me. It was being thousands of miles away from my family of origin. I knew at some point during the day my brothers and sister would make the trek to touch bases with my mom and dad. I wouldn't. I could only call, which isn't the same as being there. I needed some family time.

I am blessed with both a family of origin and a family of choice. I am also blessed with some mad skills in the kitchen and fondness for the foods of my Swedish and German heritage: meat and potatoes. I knew the remedy to family time was family time.

I sent a text to a few folks inviting them to dinner and memories. I knew exactly what I was going to cook: my grandfather's favorite meal -- pot roast, carrots and potatoes, and vanilla ice cream with Hershey's chocolate syrup.

The time between sending the text invitation and starting cooking was uneasy. My husband beared with me as I aimlessly wandered Safeway unable to make decisions. My nap was cut short by my racing mind. Memories of my grandfather kept popping up.

I remember him teaching me hot to drive a four-wheel ATV. I remember the tears in his eyes at my wedding to my husband. I remember playing cards and dominoes for hours on end. I remember him fostering my love of theater by taking me to see shows at the Old Log Theater every holiday. I remember him frying rosettes every Christmas. I cried, and I'm crying now as I write this and remember him.

Then, I started cooking. I shoved cloves of garlic into the pot roast and rubbed spices all over it. I cut the potatoes and carrots and tossed them with Lipton's Onion Soup Mix. As I lost my self in the minutiae of chopping, I found peace.

Two hours later there was a knock on the door. My first family member arrived. Then, another. And another. We were all together sharing my grandfather's favorite meal.

As I sit on Market Street with my warm coffee and morning bun writing this down, I am struck by how important family truly is. Family, to me, are folks in your life that show up when needed. Showing up can be a phone call, text message, Facebook note, or it can b gathering in your living room with a plate full of food. Need can be a death, a graduation, or those moments when nothing major is happening other than a silent breakdown. Family are the people that truly know you. They see you in all your imperfections and love you.

I am also struck by how meals breed family. While not everyone in my family of choice knew my grandfather, so much of his story was told in the meal we shared. Everyone gathered had a flavor of his life in each bite. His heritage, as silly as it sounds, lives on in vanilla ice cream with Hershey's chocolate syrup. I will never be able to eat that dish without thinking of him. Share meals are also how I have found and deepened my family here.

I am grateful that I don't have just one family. It makes being away from my family of origin during uneasy times easier. I can't imagine not having family; living would be unbearable. I couldn't be who I am fully without it. The S. Kitchen wouldn't exist if family didn't exist.

My dream for 2011 is growing and continuing to deepen my family by showing up when needed and sharing a meal. I need to continue fostering cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie. For once we've share cuisine and a conversation, we have started building camaraderie. And that is just a fancy word for family.

Conversation: Jason on KPFA's Morning Show

I appeared on the KPFA Morning Show today to talk about The S. Kitchen. It was a fabulous opportunity, and I am grateful to Tara Dorabji for the invitation to join her this morning. Please listen below. My interview is around the 50 minute mark. Happy Holidays! And I hope to see y'all at The S. Kitchen presents...A Year in Review on Wednesday (12/29). Doors open at 5pm. Don't forget to RSVP get the hidden location.

New KPFA Morning Show - December 27, 2010 at 8:00am

Click to listen (or download)

If you liked the interview and want to support The S. Kitchen, please contact KPFA and let them know! They can be reached at 510-848-6767.

Conversation: The S. Kitchen is...

The S. Kitchen is cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie through potluck dinner parties for a cause. Sure it sounds intriguing and fabulous, but what exactly does it mean? My hope is not to let it get lost in the land of lingo, idioms, and euphemisms. Rather, I want to ensure that we as a community -- as friends, fans, and family of The S. Kitchen -- hold a common understanding and experience. It's what makes The S. Kitchen, The S. Kitchen.

So here is my attempt to describe the ideas contained within the words. Think of it almost as a dictionary, thesaurus, and cookbook all wrapped up in one.

The S. Kitchen (n) 1. An event that brings people together. 2. A shared meal. 3. A community of individuals who practice exchange. 4. The name of the first potluck thrown by me, Jason, in 2006 inspired by cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie. Uses: people's education, constituent engagement, donor cultivation, intergenerational community building.

The S. Kitchen started because I was bored, and I needed to find a creative outlet. I always loved cooking. It was something I was getting better at, but still felt that I had a ways to go if I wanted to truly be a whiz in the kitchen.

So...I decided to start throwing monthly dinner parties based on regional themes. I researched recipes, stories, and cooking techniques and tried to copy them in my tiny kitchen. Sometimes I failed epically. The food being so completely inedible it ended up in the compost bin. But then... a magnificent breakthrough and a fabulously gourmet meal that I could replicate again.

The first dinner party was a blast, and everyone that came to eat and share saw the labor of love that went into the cuisine. It inspired the most amazing conversations and embodied camaraderie. It was only natural it would grow and morph.

Cuisine (n) 1. Food that nourishes. 2. Stylistic cooking. 3. A culinary passion. 4. One of three main ingredients in The S. Kitchen. Uses: bringing together, inspiring stories, sharing flavors, nourishing bellies.

Conversation (n) 1. An exchange of ideas, opinions, stories, and feelings. 2. An informal discussion meant to spark connections. 3. A practice of listening and speaking. 4. One of three main ingredients in The S. Kitchen. Uses: seeking understanding, connecting narratives, bridging generations, transcending barriers

Camaraderie (n) 1. Goodwill among comrades. 2. A spirit of trust, grace, merriment, and generosity. 3. The quality of being casual and welcoming. 4. One of three main ingredients in The S. Kitchen. Uses: building fellowship, strengthening imperfections, reframing resources, sustaining abundance

Over four years, I threw over 20 events. Each one had a different theme and group of people in attendance, but the three fundamentals stayed the same: cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie. I was having a lot of fun hosting The S. Kitchen events.

Then, something changed in me. I had been working in workforce, professional, non-profit, and youth development for over 10 years, and I started noticing how differently people connected over food. Food was always a component of my work in these fields; it was always something you had to account for. But it was never the central component. I decided to try something different: blend my passion for cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie as fostered through The S. Kitchen with my passion for people's education, community organizing, and awareness building.

Thus, a new and innovative The S. Kitchen was born: potluck dinner parties for a cause.

Potluck (n) 1. A meal where each guest brings something to share inspired by a theme. 2. Whatever food happens to show up. 3. The luck of the pot. 4. The way The S. Kitchen happens. Uses: gathering people and ideas, feeding appetites, cultivating luck, demonstrating imagination

Cause (n) 1. The reason something happens. 2. The one, such as a person, dedicated to effect change. 3. A story of principled action. 4. The inspiration for each The S. Kitchen event. Uses: sparking themes, sharing histories, unearthing motivations, honoring humanity

This past year has been amazing. We've explored school gardens, the dirty gulf, LGBTQ elder's stories, and more. We've tasted decadent macaroni and cheese, scrumptious kugel, smothered pork chops, and dirty martinis. We've listened to stories and shared our own. We've found the connections between us. And we are doing it one potluck dinner party at a time.

In its essence, The S. Kitchen is about sharing, exchanging, listening, and connecting. It is also built on a long history and tradition of shared meals, idea exchanges, and the salons of yesteryear. It is a blending of communities, cultures, tastes, and people. It has deep roots.

And I am looking forward to cultivating all of this fabulousness with all of you.

(Photo of Jason W. by Ginger Snap.)

Conversation: The S. Kitchen and KPFA

This year is truly amazing! I am grateful to all of the love and support shown by The S. Kitchen friends, fans, and family. There has been event after event, awareness raising, and lots of cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie.

Now, I get to wrap up the year in a very exciting way: an interview on Monday, December 27th on KPFA with the fabulous Tara Dorabji. The S. Kitchen and I will be featured in their new morning show some time between 8am and 9am. You can tune in here.

This is a NEW morning show, so I need a little support not just for The S. Kitchen but also for Tara and KPFA. If you could please call in to KPFA (510-848-6767) during or after the show and tell them, "I loved The S. Kitchen piece!", I would be greatly appreciative. This is the kind of news we need more of: hopeful stories of transformation and social change. Yes, the other stuff is important too. And so is this. It is was gives us hope, strength, and commitment to keep doing the hard work.

And... I hope to see you at The S. Kitchen presents...A Year in Review on Wednesday, December 29th at 5pm. Please RSVP on either Socializr or Facebook to get the hidden location in San Francisco. This event is a wonderful way reflect on the past year and ring in the new one.

In cuisine, conversation, and camaraderie,
Jason

Conversation: Why Does The S. Kitchen Have Such a Diverse Following?

This is an edited response I wrote commenting on "Why doesn't [blank] have a bigger queer following?" posted on The New Gay. If you don't know The New Gay, you should definitely check them out. They have some great articles that are actively exploring the nuances and edges of being gay/queer.

I am sharing this response because it directly relates to the development of The S. Kitchen. If you have ever wondered how I have gotten such a diverse group of people together to share, it is important to know one thing: it has taken work; lots and lots of work spanning a very long time. And the second thing you should know is that it isn't just about me hosting an event; it is also about showing up as a guest at other's events.

So now for the response and a brief glance into how the community of The S. Kitchen has grown into being what it is today.

***

I came out in 1994 at the ripe ol’ age of 18. I came out while I was in seminary studying to be a priest. It was an interesting place to come out. And it shaped my conception of being gay/queer.

In the seminary, I was constantly asked for sex in the wee hours of the morning only to be called a faggot as a I walked down to morning prayer. I caught priests in public bathrooms cruising for sex unaware that I recognized them out of their robes and uniforms. I was constantly berated for my personal views.

I left the seminary after one semester. I still stayed at my Catholic university, but now as a “regular” student. I was the only out queer person on a campus of about 10,000 people. It forced me to look beyond the university to find support, so I started gong out to Macalester College and the University of Minnesota and queer cafes to try and find a community and a culture I could belong to.

Immediately, I was ostracized: I was still Catholic at a Catholic university. I got a lot of “Wow. You are so brave. It must be difficult for you there.” Followed immediately by, “I won’t come visit you there. Why don’t we meet somewhere else?” These comments dismissed the reality I was living. As long as I conformed to their notions of queer and queer spaces, I would get support. Ask for support in the spaces I reside in, and it didn’t exist.

My experiences of the “community at large” was one where I was still outside. I was still seen as an other. So I had to start looking for other places for community. I knew it wouldn’t be in “queer spaces” that I would find it.

I found that community in a small group of social change activists of color at my university. It was an eye opening experience that pushed my own conceptions of being to new levels. I had to look at my patterns of behavior to unearth deep seeded racism and sexism in order to become a part of this group. And I did it. In return, this amazing group of people looked at their patterns of behavior to unearth their deep seeded homophobia in order to connect with me. This network of support helped me stay in college for another year and a half. Ultimately, I had to leave/was forced to leave (same thing really now that I have had some distance). And our small group of friends and colleagues are all across the USA doing important social justice work some 16 years later.

After I left college, I did AmeriCorps. I had a choice of placements, and I ended up working for Minneapolis Unified School District running youth leadership, after school, and family support programs at the age of 20. I was one of the youngest people doing this work as well as the only out person at a public elementary school.

Once again, I had to find support somewhere. I thought that support would come in the form of queer housemates. And it did for a second, but as with all things in life, shit happens and one roommate and myself ended up hating each other. (I did have great support from one lesbian roommate, and I just want to make note of that.) I also thought it would come from the gay boys I met out in the clubs I snuck into. They were great for a casual friendship, but not for anything deep or meaningful. I had to find support somewhere other than queer bars and cafes.

Support came from other AmeriCorps members. It came from older adults who saw my struggles and wanted to support my path. It came from my college friends. And it came from queers I met at queer events (not bars or cafes).

The connection from this last grouping, queers from queer events, however, had little to do with queerness, as directly related to sexual and gender identity. Yes, there was a common identity that linked us, but it went way beyond just identity politics. This was a group that was dedicated to righting societal injustices on multiple levels: policy, art, race, class, religion, indigenous genocide, immigration, HIV/AIDS, health, pop culture, music, design, performance, and sexual and gender identity and the fluidity between all of these passions, interests, talents, and identities.

After my stint in AmeriCorps, I was recruited to Antioch College in Ohio. I decided to take a leap of faith because I wanted to experience what it would be like to be in a truly supportive environment even if it was a small one. Additionally, I was excited by the possibility of being with like minded individuals beyond sexual and gender orientations.

By the time I ended up at Antioch, my perspective on life had totally changed. I was more comfortable in diverse spaces than homogeneous spaces. I had already gone through the People’s Institute for Survival and Beyond’s Undoing Racism retreat and the United States Student Association’s Grassroots Organizing Weekend, so I had a radical perspective on anti-racist and organizing work. I believed (and still believe) in supporting from behind rather than always being in front. I was also a returning student rather than a student just starting out college. And as a result of these factors, I quickly learned Antioch was not going to be a space for me.

Once again, the supportive queer environment that I had hoped for was not there. Yes, I was no longer the only out gay man on campus. However, the loneliness of being “the only one” was replaced with anger at being forced to compete with the other four or five gay men on who was the “most gay”. You had to prove how oppressed you were in order to find your place. I didn’t play along.

The friends I made at Antioch all ended up being students of color. These were the friends with whom I’d share meals and study. These were the friends that stayed up late bitching about everyone else on campus. These were also the friends that share the most similar economic background: blue collar or poor.

I had little to no queer friends besides one lesbian who had a car. We’d end up going out to Dayton or Columbus or Cincinnati to go dancing and find sex. It became almost a nightly event to leave campus in order to find a queer community. And the only community we found and got connected to was a community that loved dancing and drinking. It is a marvelous aspect of our community. It is also not all of it.

Again, I set off in search of the “gay community”: I moved to San Francisco. I was certain it was here thanks to conversations with an ex-boyfriend who had moved to San Francisco and sang its praises. Again, I was wrong. It was not the land I thought it would be, and I was a cute, 21 year-old gay boy who didn’t mind go go dancing or being paid for sex.

The community of queers I found was one of drug and alcohol fueled fuck-upery. It was a divine retreat, oasis, and refuge from the struggle of living in an expensive city. It was also not a “community” in the sense of truly supporting one another, finding connections between stories, or fellowship. It was all about dancing, drugs, partying, and alcohol.

These things are definitely needed, and I believe are more important than we sometimes realize. It is how I initially connected to the queer community, and without it I am not sure exactly where I would be today. I am not even sure I would be alive. The release that comes from these things is intangible. It allows all of the worries to go away or at least be put on hold momentarily. It is also not something that can be sustained indefinitely. So, again, I had to find a community of support.

That support came from a very unlikely place, especially for a new transplant to San Francisco: from native San Franciscans of color.

A few years after moving to San Francisco, I got a job working at a Beacon Center, which is a community center located in a public middle school, as the Education Director. This role put me in direct contact with a whole slew of people who grew up in this city. And I found that we had a lot in common. We shared values of diversity and pluralism of social justice and social change of the spirituality of identity and politics. We found that even in the moments when we all seemed so completely different from each other (me in my Marilyn Manson drag and my dear friend Maria with her two young daughters and my colleague Will who had done time and was doing gang prevention) there were threads that connected us, and even if we couldn’t see them we knew we had to support each other if we wanted a better future for the youth and families we were serving.

It is from this base of friends and colleagues that I found my network of support: an eclectic crew of folks that to anyone outside would wonder how we all were connected. And it required a whole bunch of work on all ends to build this network. It required me going outside of my comfort zone. I had to take on other issues than just queer issues if I wanted to keep and sustain these friendships. I had to listen to parents and youth and hear their stories of struggle. And I couldn’t just listen to them. I had to find ways my story intersected theirs so that I could become a better advocate and use my access and power in a manner that honored their stories and supported their development (and not the development policy makers, administrators, and funders said they needed).

It is also from this base that I found more queers and a queer community I am proud to call myself a part of. But this isn’t the queer community promoted through mainstream media or culture. This is not the queer community of the bars. This is not the queer community I thought it would be. It is not a simple reductivist view of gender and sexual identity. It is a complex web that understand that while sexual and gender identity shapes some of our personal world view/perspective there is a whole hell of a lot more that also shapes that view and creates connections between people and communities.

I know that this ability to create support beyond gender and sexual identity is because of the hard work and activism of those queers that came before me. I also can’t help but look at our history and see nuance in what happened before me. Yes, there are queers that made headway for queer rights. There are also queers in the feminist movement, the civil rights movement, the international human rights movement, and more. There are also straights in the queer rights movement. I sometimes feel that by not looking this broadly we lose sight that queer doesn’t ever mean one thing. Nor is queer something that solely bridges people.

As an example, I applied for a queer youth agency in San Francisco after at 5 years of working with youth in a variety of settings. I made it in for an interview. During the interview, I was asked if I had ever worked with queer youth. I mentioned that I had worked in public schools for five years, and that as a result of this work I had worked with all youth including queer youth. I was told that was inadequate experience because it wasn’t with a targeted queer youth population. I was told I didn’t understand the experiences of queer young people. I thanked them for the interview and left knowing I wouldn’t get the job. And this had nothing to do with my skill in working with young people. It had to do with a perception of who queer kids are being reinforced by a queer organization in a queer city. And I knew most of the young people I worked with who were queer wouldn’t go to that queer organization because queer wasn’t their “top” priority. Getting a job was. And when that organization started increasing their job training programs more of the youth I worked with started going to that organization.

What I have learned throughout all of this is that we are a lot more complex than we, humans, are portrayed in media, news, culture, and art. And that our portrayals tell us nothing about how we connect on an interpersonal level. There are competing self interests that come and go depending on immediacy. Sometimes those things are factors that are easily seen/heard — gender, race, first language spoken, and perceived sexuality. Sometimes those things are factors that are unseen/unheard — employment status, mental health, personal values and identity. And sometimes these factors collide with what we believe or have lived. If we embrace that collision we find new identities, new ways of being, and new connections. If we resist that collision, we become disconnected and isolated. We are all searching for the communities where we feel most at “home”, whatever that really means.

I appreciate this article and your search for “Why doesn’t [blank] have a bigger queer following?”. I am excited to read what you find. And I think it may have something to do with nuance. For we are at a unique point in history where the nuance of identity matters drastically. Then again, nuance has always mattered. It’s just that theories and history books and news cycles tend to gloss over those nuances and paint with broad brush strokes. And what gets painted is never the same as it was or what gets interpreted.

I look forward to what you paint.

***

COMMENTS: Why do you attend The S. Kitchen events? What have you taken with you? What have you shared? I would love to read your thoughts and comments.

Conversation: Finding My Center - A Lesson in Being

This past fall, I started on a journey to explore rejuvenation and self care through the collaborative work of The S. Kitchen and Youth Worker Collective. It has been an amazing journey over the last five months that brought together over 30 people to help define what it is, connect personal definitions to a larger narrative, and build a network of folks practicing rejuvenation and self care. I am honored to be among such an clever, intelligent, and heartfelt family.

I am, by nature, a workaholic. I dive in to everything I do and give more of my self than I sometimes think is physically possible. It is a cycle that has ruined relationships, given me many restless nights thanks to insomnia and heartburn, and made me feel like I am crazy. It is an aspect of my life that I want to change.

I justified my workaholism because I was doing social change/justice work. I took on the role of a martyr always putting my self on a shelf in order to do more for others. I would come home from a long day working in a middle school mediating fights, supervising in-school tutoring, running after school programs, setting up mental health referral systems, and talking to parents and open up my computer to do the email I couldn't do at work because I didn't have an internet connection. I would wake up the next morning at 6:30 and be out the door by 7:00 and not come home until after 8:00pm.

I moved on to a part-time job but still put in over 60 hours a week trying to get the organization off the ground. I told myself I loved it, and I did. I loved being out in the community meeting people and hearing their stories. I loved doing important and creative work. I loved supporting those that received little support. I lost a lot of my self in this work. I also found that I was perpetuating a type of behavior I was hoping to alleviate: capitalistic ways of being that thrive on constant "doing" and "consuming". I knew that if I wanted to truly support the change I wanted to see -- more compassionate living and being in community with fellow comrades -- something needed to change.

I was laid off from my job in July of 2010 due to funding cuts, so I took this opportunity to change my being. I decided that I wasn't going to continue "doing" as usual that instead I would slow down and take a little time to find where I am. I decided that I would keep engaged in the same projects I was involved in, but the way I would show up would change. I knew that if I wanted to really make a transformation I needed to transform in the realms I already reside in rather than find a whole new realm to occupy. If I just moved, I would most likely end up in old patterns, and that isn't what I wanted.

Luckily, everything I was involved in was also going through a change thanks in large part to economics and unknown directions. This meant there were many ways to reshape intentionality, slowness, and purpose. It also meant that I would have a community of folks that would be sharing this journey with me. For that, I am eternally grateful.

In this process of slowing down and listening, I heard more and more from folks that rejuvenation and self care is important and crucial to living. I heard it from sectors across the board -- youth development, theater, arts education, small business, health, consultants, faith-based organizations. I started hearing that rejuvenation and self care is both singular and beyond the singular. I knew that there was possibly a there there (in the famous speak of business). I just needed to take my time and explore it more thoroughly.

Youth Worker Collective, an organization of which I have been a part for almost 7 years, has a 5+-year legacy of providing Days of Rejuvenation and Self Care for youth workers across the Bay Area. These days were sparked by a Singhashri Gazmuri and a partnership with the San Francisco Buddhist Center, grew stronger from a partnership with Niroga Institute, and then finally became their own thanks in large part to the wonderful work of Victoria Welle, Margaret Schulze, Sangita Kumar, Andrea Juarez, Jonathan Owens, Liane Louie, and myself. Over the course of two years these Days rooted themselves in multiple faith (and non-faith) perspectives, integrated arts education principles, started including an exploration of resistance, and addressed how the personal is organizational and vice versa. These Days turned into FREE curriculum that others can take and use. (Email me at queerlycomplex@gmail.com if you would like a copy!)

Youth Worker Collective was where I worked and from where I was laid off. We had to change the way we did our work now that we no longer had paid staff, so we reevaluated everything that we were doing and started focusing on what we could accomplish. Given our long legacy of Days of Rejuvenation and Self Care, we decided to focus there. It was a simpler starting point than any other. Looking over our work, we realized we didn't have a definition. That seemed like one of the best places to start.

Tina Mahle and I met over dinner to plan a course of action. I am not going to go into the full detail of what we developed. If you want to read more about that, please click here. Instead, I want to focus on how I changed as a result of going on this journey.

I have grown tremendously. This experiment I call my life is changing everything. For the first time, I feel grounded. I feel like I cannot be swayed. This doesn't mean that I can't bend or compromise. Rather, I feel like I know more about what I can and can't compromise or bend on. I know that I believe, truly believe, that only way we are going to change this world is by being that change we wish to see right here and right now. I know that the competitive nature of non-profit fundraising is hurting our ability to achieve our missions. I know that going slow in a society based on capitalism is counter-cultural and that it make others uncomfortable. I know that this isn't easy.

These past five months have been wonderful and challenging. I have little money in my pocketbook to do anything other than have an occasional night out, pay rent and bills, and put food on the table. At times, I find myself sitting at home anxiety coursing through my body wondering if I have made the right choice and eager to step up and do more. I want to pack my days full with meetings and other "stuff". I call friends freaked out and needing comfort. I have to resist this urge to just fill, fill, fill and do, do, do. And when the anxiety parts, after I have allowed it to just be, I find myself renewed. I find that I don't need to cure it. This is liberating and reflective of how I want my self and my work to show up in the world: being is sometimes the best course and not everything needs fixing.

In a culture that needs a quick fix or just throws a band-aide over a festering wound or is always seeking the newest fad, the most revolutionary thing to do is let it be. I know that this path I am on will lead me to greater possibilities. I know that even though it is occasionally rocky right now in this time and space, it will be different in the future. It is always different for we don't know where the future leads. By simply being, I can respond. I can listen to the nuances and the tiny shifts made over time and adjust my self accordingly. When I am lost in doing, I can't be this response for I cannot hear or feel it.

I am excited to keep on this path. I am glad to have family that is going along on this journey. I believe a tide is turning: people are searching for solutions to societal problems raised by our ever increasing consumerism. The time is now to become that solution. And in the words of Lao Tzu, the solution is to "become the center". For the solution will not be found externally. It can only be found in each one of us.

I am happy to be finding and living my truth, and I am happy to be sharing that truth alongside my family both of choice and of origin. For together as each of us realizes our own personal truths and realize our own center, we are changing the world. And the most beautiful thing about this experiment is that it is rooted in both the personal and collective. For I wouldn't have realized my truth/center without the support of those around me.

Conversation: Go Giants! Go Vote!

It is election time and the Giants are in the World Series. I can't think of a more wonderful juxtaposition. San Francisco is abuzz with a tangible feeling of camaraderie. It is as if we have momentarily set aside all the things that make us different and united around a common cause: the Giants. I hope we learn form this feeling as we head to November 2nd.

I am not a sports fan. I never have been. In fact, I pretty much hate sports. I hate playing them. I hate watching them. I hate the food at the ballparks. I really, really hate sports. And yet even I am caught up in the spirit of the game. I am yelling at people in the orange and black, "Go Giants!" I am high fiving people as I come out of BART. I am listening in to conversations on Muni between people who would normally never speak to each other. In fact, I am even throwing a special The S. Kitchen for game 3 of the World Series. I am a bandwagon fan, and it feels great!

I am a politically active person. I may not be the one who is out there holding signs or signing people up for campaign lists, but I always try to stay informed and always try to inform others. Hey, it is why I transformed The S. Kitchen into potluck dinner parties for a cause: to connect people, ideas, organizations, and food. I know how crucial it is to build a engaged, informed, voting community in a democracy. It is what makes it function. It is how elections are decided.

San Francisco politics are a tricky thing. Everyone sees themselves as an outsider. Everyone. And because of our unique make up that is true. This city has a long history of supporting the poor, the vagrants, the disparate, queers, artists, immigrants, the homeless. It doesn't always succeed in providing the best support, but the heart is there; the passion is there. And supporting these populations is directly at odds with the wealthy that want to maintain their wealth. Here even the wealthy are outsides. And this makes coalition building incredibly unique here.

Watching snippets from national news coverage of the playoffs and the World Series, the rest of that national media looks at us as fags, socialists, potheads, freaks. All of our populations even with all of their uniqueness are being lumped into a single mass: freaky Giants fans who like drag queens and pot. And by the feel and look all over this fine city, they are right. We all are Giants fans. We all are San Franciscans. We all have pride in our city. We are all uniting around one thing. It is transformative.

But the World Series isn't the only thing playing right now. We are days away from November 2nd -- the same election date that brought us George Bush's second term. And this election is equally important. The propositions and candidates on the ballot will set the course of this city, state, and nation for years to come. Crucial decisions on taxes, new laws punishing sitting and lying on sidewalks, legalizing marijuana, redistricting, and more are moments from being decided. We need EVERY VOTER to make these decisions.

What amazes me about San Francisco right here and right now is the sense that the impossible is possible, that we all are Giants fans, that the game unifies. We need to build on this hope. We need to not just high five our brothers and sisters. We need to tack on, "Go Giants! Go vote!!" For while we all will not vote the same, if we ALL vote we have another common unifier: we are all PARTICIPANTS in our democracy. And that is something to truly celebrate.