Resolved: 2011 will be queerer than 2010. And what could be queerer than Magic: The Gathering and Alejandro Jodorowsky? Here’s everything you need to help you stick to those resolutions to fill out your scrawny Blue Deck and get serious about pyschoshamanism…

Folks, there just isn’t that much queer stuff going on this weekend. Whaddya want? It’s Christmas. Go see a movie, or a musical, or do something touristy you can only justify because it’s the holidays–ice skate in Millennium Park, learn something about your city, go to a museum…

Are you sick of holiday spirit yet? The Christmas earworms, the Salvation Army bell-ringing, the treacle jewelry ads? Too bad for you, because there’s a week and a half to come, and it’s only going to get worse. But look, only four of this weekend’s Preview events are holiday-themed…

Maureen’s post about living a double life (queer by day, straight-assumed by night) and Sylvia Renee’s question “how have you navigated the minefield of interpersonal gender?” got me thinking about my own relationship with gender and the closet. Namely, I’m not in the closet and don’t want to be, but these days it’s oddly hard for me to avoid—not because I face bigoted parents or discrimination at work; nothing like that. The problem, such as it is, is that I’m a cisgender girl dating a transgender boy.

So there isn’t much queer stuff going on this weekend–and I’m not about to pad the list with Bearracuda and drag Christmas shows. It’s called tough love; you’ll thank me later. Instead, queer your weekend by listening to Robyn while you do everything…

With the beginning of December, the funeral of fall. Our first real snow came like clockwork on the 1st; now it’s time to take the long underwear out of the mothballs and dance ourselves warm. You’ll have ample opportunity…

Can someone remind me why I’m in Maryland for Thanksgiving? Is it family? Old friends? The bewitching scent of roasted Brussels sprouts, which I started smelling last week through a warp in the space-time continuum? This weekend’s lineup is almost enough to make a gal forgo Thanksgiving sentimentality in favor of queer booty-shaking.