There is part of me keeping a wary eye on the hurricane situation with the same kind of trepidation the rest of the country is feeling, and while I am of course happy to see that public figures are falling all over themselves to make sure that NOLA's being looked after, it only revives the sting of Katrina and the sheer indifference of the whole debacle. Part of me also wonders why we are fighting nature so hard to keep a city that is clearly MEANT to be underwater; I don't say that to be flip, either, but if it were me, I'd have high-tailed it out of there permanently after the last time. What is it about human nature that makes us think we can take on forces much larger than ourselves and win? I'm of the mind that sooner or later this planet will get sick of us all and decide to clean house like it did with the dinosaurs.
CNN keeps me pasted to the sofa in the hope that the idiots who are being interviewed who are "gonna ride it out" like good gulf-coasters are "supposed" to do get what's coming to them. It absolutely infuriates me when people who have means and choices to get out of the way CHOOSE not to and then take up public resources for those without choices. These are the same assholes who will need others to risk their lives to save their stupid asses instead of attending to the poor and elderly and sick. Ugh. Human stupidity and selfishness never ceases to amaze the fuck out of me.
And then there's John Mc-Fucking-Cain and his paltry poo-pooing his own convention in light of what might happen with the hurricane. I know I've said quite often lately that I'm going to eschew political rants in this space, but it's starting to feel way too important not to. It seems so perfectly obvious to me that McCain is a crackpot. He's too old, too out of touch, and his VP pick is a downright insulting appeal to "Hilary voters." As if the women who would have voted for Hilary could possibly support this lifetime NRA member, beauty queen, soccer mom who hates abortion (and subsequently choice across the board as far as I'm concerned).
And YET...
The country is clearly falling for it. After Obama's speech the other night - the history making, moving, compelling, intelligent, and frankly fucking LOGICAL speech - the polls still show them neck and neck for th White House. I stand amazed at how this is even possible. I stand amazed at how many lower and middle class women and minority groups are Republican in this day and age. How can people openly support a political party who does not represent nor care about their interests? Perhaps my choice of profession as a member of academia insulates me from typical American society, but still. How can people afford to walk blindly on without ever thinking about the world in which they live?
I'm not so naive as to think that the majority of Americans aren't stupid sheep, but as an educator it's my job to hope that more of them will unplug their fucking iPods and snap their cell phones shut long enough to pay attention to something that actually affects them. I can't figure out how anyone with an IQ over 100 and an income less than a million a year can even BE A REPUBLICAN. I don't even mean that insultingly, either. I'm genuinely mystified by this phenomenon.
If you're still reading this, for heaven's sake, use your brain. Register and vote. Stop being the butt of jokes around the world. Unplug and take ten seconds of your life and think about your future in this country. Ask yourself if abortion and same-sex marriage are really the issues to base a presidency upon, or if having health insurance, owning a home, and being able to get to work and feed your kids might be some slightly higher priorities. I don't know about you, but I'm sick to death of this kind of petty bullshit when oil companies and the Bush family get to enjoy fat tax breaks, graduate from Yale with a C average, and I will never repay my student loans and got A's out of the fucking womb. Think about that next time you pay 20% more at the grocery store and didn't get a raise this year.
31 August 2008
If you don't know, honey, then you don't
One of the things about simply being human that amazes me - and there are many - is the act of dreaming. What is this space where your brain goes when you sleep? Millions of people have studied, pondered, and even theorized about dreams but they remain one of the great mysteries of the human mind, if you ask me. As if the idea of simple consciousness were not puzzling enough, our brains take leave of us while we sleep and take us to places we've never been (to our knowledge) and put things and ideas and scenarios together in ways we do not imagine in our waking lives. No wonder Descartes needed thousands of pages to determine "I think therefore I am."
I woke this morning from one of those dreams (and this list is long for me) that was entirely narrative, long, detailed, and curiously cohesive. I was in London, but for some reason I had planned to go back to Denver just for overnight, and get back in time the next day to catch the train to Scotland with Sarah, as planned. I was there early to teach a literature class, and the students were really fun and all vaguely familiar (<--this is of course an occupational hazard; everyone everywhere under the age of 30 is familiar to me in some way). I was having a great time with the students, but it was one of those times in which I must have been partially waking because in my dream I kept sleeping in front of the class, which is a recurring theme that I can only assume is an effect of generalized anxiety. One of the students was someone I used to know named Anthony, but it wasn't actually him; this guy only looked like him and was sweet and I felt motherly toward him like I do with a great number of my younger students. I was joking with the class and they were laughing at my jokes, but the number of students kept changing and it was so odd. I also had a job interview in some place where I had to go and stay overnight and I was packing (again with the packing - I'd love to know what this means) and getting dressed. Jamison and Sami were there with me, but it wasn't England as I know it, we were staying somewhere more like a mountain town in Colorado. I decided ultimately to stay put and not go back to Denver because I couldn't remember why I was going in the first place.
The whole story sounds innocuous, of course, but I woke feeling tired, as though I had actually spent the entire sleeping time experiencing this. Even though I slept all night to my knowledge, I feel more tired than when I went to bed. In fact, I'm exhausted and I feel strange, like I've been crying, like I've had to say goodbye to people, and it's going to put me in an odd headspace all day now. I don't get it.
I woke this morning from one of those dreams (and this list is long for me) that was entirely narrative, long, detailed, and curiously cohesive. I was in London, but for some reason I had planned to go back to Denver just for overnight, and get back in time the next day to catch the train to Scotland with Sarah, as planned. I was there early to teach a literature class, and the students were really fun and all vaguely familiar (<--this is of course an occupational hazard; everyone everywhere under the age of 30 is familiar to me in some way). I was having a great time with the students, but it was one of those times in which I must have been partially waking because in my dream I kept sleeping in front of the class, which is a recurring theme that I can only assume is an effect of generalized anxiety. One of the students was someone I used to know named Anthony, but it wasn't actually him; this guy only looked like him and was sweet and I felt motherly toward him like I do with a great number of my younger students. I was joking with the class and they were laughing at my jokes, but the number of students kept changing and it was so odd. I also had a job interview in some place where I had to go and stay overnight and I was packing (again with the packing - I'd love to know what this means) and getting dressed. Jamison and Sami were there with me, but it wasn't England as I know it, we were staying somewhere more like a mountain town in Colorado. I decided ultimately to stay put and not go back to Denver because I couldn't remember why I was going in the first place.
The whole story sounds innocuous, of course, but I woke feeling tired, as though I had actually spent the entire sleeping time experiencing this. Even though I slept all night to my knowledge, I feel more tired than when I went to bed. In fact, I'm exhausted and I feel strange, like I've been crying, like I've had to say goodbye to people, and it's going to put me in an odd headspace all day now. I don't get it.
27 August 2008
This is the song that never ends, it just goes on and on my friend
Normally, I try not to engage the stupid side of politics, to comment on that which seems so counterintuitive that it's scarcely worth my time.
However...
Because we're host to the good ol' DNC this week, the stupidity level has reached a new pitch (or perhaps a new IQ low) of "protesters" whose only merit is perhaps keeping the police busy so I can speed on the highway like any other normal commuter. The Dead Baby people are everywhere this week, holding their larger-than-life photos of aborted children and holding their typically single-minded signs that achieve nothing. Yesterday I was subjected to these insufferable morons on every overpass of the southern corridor of I-25. It was all I could do to not stop at each exit and drive on the overpass just to scream obscenities at them - to tell them that their behavior and method is morally repugnant and worst of all, rhetorically pointless. To be honest, this is what bothers me most: I don't care if you're pro-life, pro-choice, pro-fucking dead farm animals - others' belief systems have little bearing on my own - but the aggressive act of holding up gory signs does nothing. That's it. NOTHING.
Well, it does prove that you're a religious, ignorant crackpot, but that goes without saying really. A mass of religious crackpots put an enormous anti-abortion sign on Table Mesa yesterday. They toiled and toiled to walk these massive pieces up the mountain so "everyone would see it." Great. I saw it and the only thought it inspired in me was this:
In a world where genocide of people who are already living, breathing, cognizant human beings is widespread; where Russia gets to march into wherever the hell it feels like because they want to begin another Cold War; where McCain stands a real chance of being the commander in chief of this troubled country; where people starve, lose their jobs and homes, children are illiterate, abused, and neglected; and where senior citizens (and my parents' generation more specifically) are threatened with longer lives and less money to support that life - that ABORTION is what these fucking people are so concerned about that they're willing to come from all over the country to toil on a mountain in the heat of August to tell the DNC that they don't like abortion.
As if fewer people in the world until we can figure out how to live better in it isn't a GOOD thing. As if crack whores and fraternity sluts SHOULD bring babies into the world. As if God (if there is a God) isn't saying a hearty "whew" when trailer park, welfare Bertha opts to not make one more person in the world miserable and stupid. As if these people weren't cruel to the already in the world people who don't fit their agenda (gays, single mothers, and liberals). I don't believe for one second that any one of those idiots would take a step out of their daily lives to help a child who is already here - do you think one of these people would adopt a crack baby? I would daresay few if any of them have even been faced with the decision of whether to bring a child into the world. How very fucking nice for you if you haven't, but if you haven't (or never will for that matter), then shut your mouth for goodness sake. Abortion shouldn't even be a legislative issue. I can't believe we waste our time on this utter nonsense.
And since I'm already on a roll, the John McCain ads are about to push me right over the edge of sanity. The new one with the idiot woman with the most uneducated midwest accent I can imagine claims that she was a Hillary supporter and now she's going with McCain because he has "experience" and he's a "maverick." What is so maverick about playing follow the leader with the least popular president in the history of the U.S.? So what, you were a POW - I don't fucking care because that has no bearing on your ability to lead a country, except to warn us that you may have some serious psychological concerns. But this woman telling us "it's OK" to vote for McCain after not getting to vote for Hillary is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long time. How is it OK to sell out the things you stood for six months ago because you don't like that your team lost? How honest a voter does that make you?
What is with the Hillary people? Some blubbering woman was on the news this morning weeping after the speech last night because she was so heartbroken that Hillary isn't going to be president. Seriously? When W was re-elected four years ago, I was despondent to be sure, even depressed, but I wouldn't go on national television and weep as though I just lost my best friend. It's politics, and at best it's only ever about choosing the lesser of evils. Hillary is no saint, and neither is Barack Obama, but he seems like the least evil of the politicians so I'm going with it. He's sure as fuck better than Crackpot McCain, who is old and crotchety and has that terrible accent - oi - that I'm so sick of hearing. How long does the world need to know us as the country with the fucking HICK in the White House? McCain looks like the Crypt-Keeper with his pasty, wax-paper skin and age spots and his wife is Cruella De Ville with a plastic surgeon. I'm sick of the old white people running this country.
I say, get over the Hillary thing; it's fucking over. There is too much at stake to be so butt-hurt about this fact that you're willing to vote for more zombie politics out of spite. I never cease to be shocked by stupid people.
However...
Because we're host to the good ol' DNC this week, the stupidity level has reached a new pitch (or perhaps a new IQ low) of "protesters" whose only merit is perhaps keeping the police busy so I can speed on the highway like any other normal commuter. The Dead Baby people are everywhere this week, holding their larger-than-life photos of aborted children and holding their typically single-minded signs that achieve nothing. Yesterday I was subjected to these insufferable morons on every overpass of the southern corridor of I-25. It was all I could do to not stop at each exit and drive on the overpass just to scream obscenities at them - to tell them that their behavior and method is morally repugnant and worst of all, rhetorically pointless. To be honest, this is what bothers me most: I don't care if you're pro-life, pro-choice, pro-fucking dead farm animals - others' belief systems have little bearing on my own - but the aggressive act of holding up gory signs does nothing. That's it. NOTHING.
Well, it does prove that you're a religious, ignorant crackpot, but that goes without saying really. A mass of religious crackpots put an enormous anti-abortion sign on Table Mesa yesterday. They toiled and toiled to walk these massive pieces up the mountain so "everyone would see it." Great. I saw it and the only thought it inspired in me was this:
In a world where genocide of people who are already living, breathing, cognizant human beings is widespread; where Russia gets to march into wherever the hell it feels like because they want to begin another Cold War; where McCain stands a real chance of being the commander in chief of this troubled country; where people starve, lose their jobs and homes, children are illiterate, abused, and neglected; and where senior citizens (and my parents' generation more specifically) are threatened with longer lives and less money to support that life - that ABORTION is what these fucking people are so concerned about that they're willing to come from all over the country to toil on a mountain in the heat of August to tell the DNC that they don't like abortion.
As if fewer people in the world until we can figure out how to live better in it isn't a GOOD thing. As if crack whores and fraternity sluts SHOULD bring babies into the world. As if God (if there is a God) isn't saying a hearty "whew" when trailer park, welfare Bertha opts to not make one more person in the world miserable and stupid. As if these people weren't cruel to the already in the world people who don't fit their agenda (gays, single mothers, and liberals). I don't believe for one second that any one of those idiots would take a step out of their daily lives to help a child who is already here - do you think one of these people would adopt a crack baby? I would daresay few if any of them have even been faced with the decision of whether to bring a child into the world. How very fucking nice for you if you haven't, but if you haven't (or never will for that matter), then shut your mouth for goodness sake. Abortion shouldn't even be a legislative issue. I can't believe we waste our time on this utter nonsense.
And since I'm already on a roll, the John McCain ads are about to push me right over the edge of sanity. The new one with the idiot woman with the most uneducated midwest accent I can imagine claims that she was a Hillary supporter and now she's going with McCain because he has "experience" and he's a "maverick." What is so maverick about playing follow the leader with the least popular president in the history of the U.S.? So what, you were a POW - I don't fucking care because that has no bearing on your ability to lead a country, except to warn us that you may have some serious psychological concerns. But this woman telling us "it's OK" to vote for McCain after not getting to vote for Hillary is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long time. How is it OK to sell out the things you stood for six months ago because you don't like that your team lost? How honest a voter does that make you?
What is with the Hillary people? Some blubbering woman was on the news this morning weeping after the speech last night because she was so heartbroken that Hillary isn't going to be president. Seriously? When W was re-elected four years ago, I was despondent to be sure, even depressed, but I wouldn't go on national television and weep as though I just lost my best friend. It's politics, and at best it's only ever about choosing the lesser of evils. Hillary is no saint, and neither is Barack Obama, but he seems like the least evil of the politicians so I'm going with it. He's sure as fuck better than Crackpot McCain, who is old and crotchety and has that terrible accent - oi - that I'm so sick of hearing. How long does the world need to know us as the country with the fucking HICK in the White House? McCain looks like the Crypt-Keeper with his pasty, wax-paper skin and age spots and his wife is Cruella De Ville with a plastic surgeon. I'm sick of the old white people running this country.
I say, get over the Hillary thing; it's fucking over. There is too much at stake to be so butt-hurt about this fact that you're willing to vote for more zombie politics out of spite. I never cease to be shocked by stupid people.
24 August 2008
It's the greatest thing that's yet to have happened
I have been trying to repay the karmic debt I incurred at jury duty this last week. Obviously, I needed to get out of it, but something about the way I handled it bothered me. It shouldn't have, being that the whole governmental institution is problematic, but I should because I know that people like me should be involved in the "process" so that it is not perpetually run by the idiots of the world. That's my optimistic perspective at any rate, egomaniacal as it sounds (or is). So yesterday I let the person with only a salad go in front of me at Whole Foods instead of making him wait in line. Then I wished him a great day after he said thanks. I'm trying.
There has been some odd epiphany of late that is worth noting here. I have been troubled with the impending return to DU and with the state of my scholarship in this regard (or complete lack thereof), and when I ran into a colleague two days ago at the gas station and we chatted about the dissertation stuff, it hit me: I don't want to be a scholar.
I don't want to be a tenured professor in a college with a graduate program
I don't want to publish scholarship on anything except that which makes me happy
I don't want to play politics or become a cog in the machinery of this petty pace from day to day
I don't want to teach over-privileged trust fund babies who have nothing compelling to say
I DO want to teach; to write fiction (or whatever the hell else floats my boat); to maintain my dear friendships; to continue trying to inspire the kinds of students who need the most inspiration; to be a member of a community that fosters independent thought, etc.
This changes everything for me as I approach the end of my doctoral program. The whole reason I applied to a Ph.D. in the first place was so I could keep doing what I love for the rest of my life with some job security, not so I could be an elitist snob who uses phrases like "discourse communities" in my daily life. When I walk into a classroom and meet a new batch of students who think reading is a waste of time, or that they have nothing of value to say, or that they aren't intelligent free-thinkers, I get excited. I get excited even when I know it's going to be hard work to shepherd some of them to the end of the semester, especially when they tell me that their boyfriends beat them, or that they spent the weekend in jail for... whatever. I know that at the end, when I ask them about the choices I made for the syllabus, at least one person will defend Bartleby the Scrivener and that makes me smile.
But I became victim to the rhetoric that if I'm not reading Foucault in pure orgasmic bliss and talking philosophy with someone over vegetarian food, I've somehow fallen short of the mark.
That if I'm not in the mindset of wishing to spend my spare hours in the future poring over others' scholarship in a smelly and extremely RED library, I'm not who I say I am. And if I my creative projects planned for future days don't include at least one of the various theoretical approaches of modernist thought, then I'm a hack. If I write a book that people will want to read, I dunno, for the sake of ENTERTAINMENT, then I will be a sellout. A traitor to the hundreds who toil in obscurity in small presses, properly starving for their art. I admire those folks, but it's not my bag.
I sat this morning with Jamison over bagels and Darn Good Coffee and we talked about vows we make to each other that have nothing to do with the ones you'd say at a wedding. The vow we decided upon was not to make each other miserable and to strive to be happy until the ends of our lives and to support each other to those ends. That is, I never want to succumb to sitting around and waiting to die as our parents have much too young, and I hope to always follow my passion wherever that leads, until the end of my days. This is what I take to DU this fall, and god help whoever tries to stand in my way.
There has been some odd epiphany of late that is worth noting here. I have been troubled with the impending return to DU and with the state of my scholarship in this regard (or complete lack thereof), and when I ran into a colleague two days ago at the gas station and we chatted about the dissertation stuff, it hit me: I don't want to be a scholar.
I don't want to be a tenured professor in a college with a graduate program
I don't want to publish scholarship on anything except that which makes me happy
I don't want to play politics or become a cog in the machinery of this petty pace from day to day
I don't want to teach over-privileged trust fund babies who have nothing compelling to say
I DO want to teach; to write fiction (or whatever the hell else floats my boat); to maintain my dear friendships; to continue trying to inspire the kinds of students who need the most inspiration; to be a member of a community that fosters independent thought, etc.
This changes everything for me as I approach the end of my doctoral program. The whole reason I applied to a Ph.D. in the first place was so I could keep doing what I love for the rest of my life with some job security, not so I could be an elitist snob who uses phrases like "discourse communities" in my daily life. When I walk into a classroom and meet a new batch of students who think reading is a waste of time, or that they have nothing of value to say, or that they aren't intelligent free-thinkers, I get excited. I get excited even when I know it's going to be hard work to shepherd some of them to the end of the semester, especially when they tell me that their boyfriends beat them, or that they spent the weekend in jail for... whatever. I know that at the end, when I ask them about the choices I made for the syllabus, at least one person will defend Bartleby the Scrivener and that makes me smile.
But I became victim to the rhetoric that if I'm not reading Foucault in pure orgasmic bliss and talking philosophy with someone over vegetarian food, I've somehow fallen short of the mark.
That if I'm not in the mindset of wishing to spend my spare hours in the future poring over others' scholarship in a smelly and extremely RED library, I'm not who I say I am. And if I my creative projects planned for future days don't include at least one of the various theoretical approaches of modernist thought, then I'm a hack. If I write a book that people will want to read, I dunno, for the sake of ENTERTAINMENT, then I will be a sellout. A traitor to the hundreds who toil in obscurity in small presses, properly starving for their art. I admire those folks, but it's not my bag.
I sat this morning with Jamison over bagels and Darn Good Coffee and we talked about vows we make to each other that have nothing to do with the ones you'd say at a wedding. The vow we decided upon was not to make each other miserable and to strive to be happy until the ends of our lives and to support each other to those ends. That is, I never want to succumb to sitting around and waiting to die as our parents have much too young, and I hope to always follow my passion wherever that leads, until the end of my days. This is what I take to DU this fall, and god help whoever tries to stand in my way.
20 August 2008
They will see us waving from such great heights
Today is indeed a strange one. I didn't sleep well and I'm still in a strange limbo with too many things to do. I had to report for fucking jury duty this morning, and I always get picked. You know what they say: the curse of the highly competent (or intelligent) is perpetual servitude, and this is true. There are moments when being highly educated, reasonable, and mature do not pay off and that is when you are put into a room of randomly selected members of your so-called community in a county that contains an overwhelming percentage of mobile home parks. You get the idea. I kept trying to come up with ways in which I could easily contradict my normal pattern of needing to be viewed as smart and capable. I wore sweats and a scowl and insisted on doing a crossword puzzle even when I was asked to pay attention. When I was put in the jury box and interrogated about my irritation, I stated simply that I didn't care to be here and had too many pressing matters to possibly be interested in some petty theft case. I remained intractable, and after rolling his eyes, the judge dismissed me - in short - for being a total selfish bitch. Ha.
Had I been aware that openly being such a bitch would have remarkable payoffs, I would have done it much sooner in my life.
I left the courtroom with everyone glaring at me and all I could think was "so long, suckas" as I skipped all the way to the car. I'm sure I now owe a karmic debt, but at least I'm aware of the fact.
Had I been aware that openly being such a bitch would have remarkable payoffs, I would have done it much sooner in my life.
I left the courtroom with everyone glaring at me and all I could think was "so long, suckas" as I skipped all the way to the car. I'm sure I now owe a karmic debt, but at least I'm aware of the fact.
13 August 2008
Meh.
Here it is, Wednesday afternoon of "fall" semester that begins in the middle of the summer. Every year it seems like we start earlier and yet we get out at the same time every December. What used to be distinct periods of time now all seem to bleed together, even overlap, and the separation I enjoyed between the various arenas of my life is now one big jumble. For example, Andrew is now my office mate at Metro (which is no small feat given how many people reside in how many offices of the English department), and I ran into Greg Howard in the hallway a few minutes ago. He's so nice, and part of me wishes I knew him better, but alas, there is never time. So DU life has bled into Metro life, summer classes have bled into fall, and winter and spring will ooze into summer next year. Just thinking about it makes me tired.
And I'm going through some kind of ennui of late in which I feel overwhelmed and nearly paralyzed by the magnitude of what I have to accomplish in the coming months. Then it makes me wonder why I'm bothering at all, which launches me headlong into an existential mortality crisis, and this is not good. I fight it off by counting my steps in threes, using three towels in the bathroom to dry my hands (whether or not three are actually required), drinking three cups of coffee, composing lists in my head into threes, counting backward from a thousand by three, dreaming in threes. Thinking in threes.
1
2
3
1
2
3
1
2
3
1
2
3
1
2
3
I need a break and a vacation, and I'm just getting started. It's far too early in the day to be this glum.
And I'm going through some kind of ennui of late in which I feel overwhelmed and nearly paralyzed by the magnitude of what I have to accomplish in the coming months. Then it makes me wonder why I'm bothering at all, which launches me headlong into an existential mortality crisis, and this is not good. I fight it off by counting my steps in threes, using three towels in the bathroom to dry my hands (whether or not three are actually required), drinking three cups of coffee, composing lists in my head into threes, counting backward from a thousand by three, dreaming in threes. Thinking in threes.
1
2
3
1
2
3
1
2
3
1
2
3
1
2
3
I need a break and a vacation, and I'm just getting started. It's far too early in the day to be this glum.
12 August 2008
Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see
Because I'm tired, I've spent the afternoon in front of daytime television. I don't need to say what a pointless endeavor this is, but can I just complain for a minute on how much closer we get to "Ow! My Balls" each and every day in this country? Oy. The political ads may push me right over the edge soon, and the Everest College ads are positively the most disturbing things I have seen in some time. Have you seen them? One has a guy in a crooked baseball cap standing in a parking lot telling "you" to get off the couch and call Everest. He barely speaks coherently. The next one - and this may be my favorite - is a young African-American woman with terrifyingly white teeth and ridiculous hair complaining about her life and how she "had" to go Everest "for me and my kids" - are you kidding me? She can barely speak English (as a NATIVE English-speaker, mind you) and she's college material? Really? If I can forget the fact that these ads clearly target the stupid and the unfairly stereotyped, is it really a selling point of a college to repeat the mantra "if SHE can do it, anyone can" to sell the enormous tuition and vo-tech training? I thought the point of education was to educate people. No wonder the world feels like it's headed to hell most days. Guh.
And on a side note, the most recent commercial ad was for the animated Star Wars film coming out soon, with the announcement, "Finally, what Star Wars fans have been waiting for!" And my only response was, "what? A good SW film after the mid-eighties?" I'm dismayed at how far my distaste of the recent SW efforts has clearly soiled my otherwise glowing SW adoration. All I can say is that thank the gods they finally made a Batman film worth the admission, and I'd like a "hell yeah" for Iron Man, which was simply an orgy of explosions and great entertainment - visually stunning in every way. Oh, and a hell-fucking-yeah for Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury. Damn. With exciting stuff out there delivering this magnitude, why is Lucas still bothering to bore us with all this prequel shit?
But on a more serious note, and the entire reason for my empty afternoon rant: The top of the newscast this afternoon is the Chandler story and the Phillips trial, and that he was found guilty of starving that little boy to death. Even the judge got choked up in reading the verdict, I hope because he is as horrified as the rest of us. Phillips will spend the rest of his life in jail. Big fucking deal. I consider myself a reasonable person and I don't openly endorse or challenge the death penalty because it's complicated; when I hear stories like this, however, my often philosophical approach and scholarly liberal response to capital punishment gives way to solid unadulterated desires for vengeance and vigilante justice. For this motherfucker, I wish we still had humiliating public executions in which the convict was brutally tortured and killed only after his worthless, lifeless body had all but died anyway. What happened to drawing and quartering? The rack? La guillotine? Gladiator battles with carnivorous and angry animals? Hot pokers up the ass, splinters under fingernails? I can't think of anything too barbaric for a person who - with a plethora of public services available to him - consciously decided that locking up and starving a child is the logical course of action. What's worse is how many people knew about it and did nothing. I don't believe a word that any of them say about not knowing, not suspecting that something was amiss. Who does this kind of thing? I can't possibly wrap my brain around it, and all I can hope is that what's his name and his wretch of a girlfriend suffer the worst kind of psychological hell and physical torture possible in our prison system. I've seen Shawshank Redemption. We all know what I'm talking about.
And on a side note, the most recent commercial ad was for the animated Star Wars film coming out soon, with the announcement, "Finally, what Star Wars fans have been waiting for!" And my only response was, "what? A good SW film after the mid-eighties?" I'm dismayed at how far my distaste of the recent SW efforts has clearly soiled my otherwise glowing SW adoration. All I can say is that thank the gods they finally made a Batman film worth the admission, and I'd like a "hell yeah" for Iron Man, which was simply an orgy of explosions and great entertainment - visually stunning in every way. Oh, and a hell-fucking-yeah for Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury. Damn. With exciting stuff out there delivering this magnitude, why is Lucas still bothering to bore us with all this prequel shit?
But on a more serious note, and the entire reason for my empty afternoon rant: The top of the newscast this afternoon is the Chandler story and the Phillips trial, and that he was found guilty of starving that little boy to death. Even the judge got choked up in reading the verdict, I hope because he is as horrified as the rest of us. Phillips will spend the rest of his life in jail. Big fucking deal. I consider myself a reasonable person and I don't openly endorse or challenge the death penalty because it's complicated; when I hear stories like this, however, my often philosophical approach and scholarly liberal response to capital punishment gives way to solid unadulterated desires for vengeance and vigilante justice. For this motherfucker, I wish we still had humiliating public executions in which the convict was brutally tortured and killed only after his worthless, lifeless body had all but died anyway. What happened to drawing and quartering? The rack? La guillotine? Gladiator battles with carnivorous and angry animals? Hot pokers up the ass, splinters under fingernails? I can't think of anything too barbaric for a person who - with a plethora of public services available to him - consciously decided that locking up and starving a child is the logical course of action. What's worse is how many people knew about it and did nothing. I don't believe a word that any of them say about not knowing, not suspecting that something was amiss. Who does this kind of thing? I can't possibly wrap my brain around it, and all I can hope is that what's his name and his wretch of a girlfriend suffer the worst kind of psychological hell and physical torture possible in our prison system. I've seen Shawshank Redemption. We all know what I'm talking about.
I hesitate to say that you're a liar; I never tell the truth myself
Yes. The time stamp on this entry is correct. 6:25 a.m. and I'm groggy, like my brain is firing synapses through a bowl of Jell-o. For the last few days I've been back on "normal" time, which dictates I stay up until one or two doing something manic and obsessive, like writing, puzzling, etc. and sleep until nine or ten. If I'm letting my inner clock run my life, this is what it looks like, but my job and life require a different schedule. Once I get used to waking at six, I'll do it regularly and without complaint. Today, however, I'm complaining.
Fall semester began yesterday at Metro and I'm feeling cheated out of my summer because I opted to work my ass off instead of taking a deep breath as I normally do. Such is life. I have only been to one class, and so far it's a little odd. 21 out 30 showed up, and already there are two guys sitting in the back of the room (already nicknamed of course - Beavis and Butt-Head) who giggled and tittered amongst themselves for the duration. I did in fact warn them that when vexed I am prone to throwing things at people (not AT them, per se, but certainly near them, and there's the caveat that I throw like a girl, so it's a crap shoot). The jury's out thus far on this group.
Fall semester began yesterday at Metro and I'm feeling cheated out of my summer because I opted to work my ass off instead of taking a deep breath as I normally do. Such is life. I have only been to one class, and so far it's a little odd. 21 out 30 showed up, and already there are two guys sitting in the back of the room (already nicknamed of course - Beavis and Butt-Head) who giggled and tittered amongst themselves for the duration. I did in fact warn them that when vexed I am prone to throwing things at people (not AT them, per se, but certainly near them, and there's the caveat that I throw like a girl, so it's a crap shoot). The jury's out thus far on this group.
10 August 2008
What in the name of "Are you there, God, it's me Margaret" are you talking about?
I've been grouchy today. Grouchy and the only way this thing will let me type is in italics. Grr.
I had the strangest set of dreams this morning that seem to be letting me know that I'm experiencing a high level of anxiety lately. For example, there's the one in which I am starting to teach a new class at some massive campus that is a combination of Metro and UNC in Greeley and I can't find my way to the classroom I need. As the class period ticks by, I am burdened with too many heavy bags, can't walk quickly, and generally can't find my way around. I'm always on the opposite side of campus and this time Sarah was with me, and we found these two super heroes who were shadows - these shadows could apparate us, but only a few hundred yards at a time. I finally arrived to class ten minutes before it was over and only a couple of students were still there and angry. Some other part of the dream included me continually "losing" my office - that is, the office was the same, except I had too many things and I couldn't decide what I needed to carry to class, and I'd walk out of the office and suddenly wouldn't be able to find my way back to it.
Which is a new theme in my anxiety ridden nightmares - this notion of losing my way. Yesterday I had a dream where I was driving downtown in Denver and trying to get to Auraria, but no matter which way I turned, I was far away from where I needed to be. What is ironic about this of course is the fact that I'm a master navigator - I know where everything is, keep detailed maps in my head, can find my way with almost uncanny results in nearly any city (Portland, Oregon notwithstanding). Every one I know calls me from cell phones for directions around Denver. So the notion of my being lost is an odd one. The notion of my being late to class is equally silly since I'd sever a limb to be on time, but only to class and so I can be self-righteous about punctuality. Ha.
Perhaps that's the nature of anxiety - that the least likely thing to happen is what you experience and what you worry the most about. I also find it amusing that when I'm stressed out and feeling panicky or tense is when I notice that I'm "anxious" but I don't feel the effects of "anxiety" until periods when I'm relaxed and seemingly calm. And sleeping well. And feeling generally okay about myself and the world. This recently occurred with a friend of mine and I find it similarly amusing. I know it's because school starts tomorrow at Metro and I always have anxiety dreams at the start of term. I wish I could show these things to my public speaking students, for example, to show them how even though we can become skilled at speaking to others regularly, much of the jitters never really go away. Ugh.
I had the strangest set of dreams this morning that seem to be letting me know that I'm experiencing a high level of anxiety lately. For example, there's the one in which I am starting to teach a new class at some massive campus that is a combination of Metro and UNC in Greeley and I can't find my way to the classroom I need. As the class period ticks by, I am burdened with too many heavy bags, can't walk quickly, and generally can't find my way around. I'm always on the opposite side of campus and this time Sarah was with me, and we found these two super heroes who were shadows - these shadows could apparate us, but only a few hundred yards at a time. I finally arrived to class ten minutes before it was over and only a couple of students were still there and angry. Some other part of the dream included me continually "losing" my office - that is, the office was the same, except I had too many things and I couldn't decide what I needed to carry to class, and I'd walk out of the office and suddenly wouldn't be able to find my way back to it.
Which is a new theme in my anxiety ridden nightmares - this notion of losing my way. Yesterday I had a dream where I was driving downtown in Denver and trying to get to Auraria, but no matter which way I turned, I was far away from where I needed to be. What is ironic about this of course is the fact that I'm a master navigator - I know where everything is, keep detailed maps in my head, can find my way with almost uncanny results in nearly any city (Portland, Oregon notwithstanding). Every one I know calls me from cell phones for directions around Denver. So the notion of my being lost is an odd one. The notion of my being late to class is equally silly since I'd sever a limb to be on time, but only to class and so I can be self-righteous about punctuality. Ha.
Perhaps that's the nature of anxiety - that the least likely thing to happen is what you experience and what you worry the most about. I also find it amusing that when I'm stressed out and feeling panicky or tense is when I notice that I'm "anxious" but I don't feel the effects of "anxiety" until periods when I'm relaxed and seemingly calm. And sleeping well. And feeling generally okay about myself and the world. This recently occurred with a friend of mine and I find it similarly amusing. I know it's because school starts tomorrow at Metro and I always have anxiety dreams at the start of term. I wish I could show these things to my public speaking students, for example, to show them how even though we can become skilled at speaking to others regularly, much of the jitters never really go away. Ugh.
07 August 2008
There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic to human behaviour
One of my students last week, when prompted by my book-of-questions game (it's a public speaking course and I put them uncomfortably on the spot for my own amusement), gasped in horror when asked about her preferred manner of death and to explain her answer. It occurred to me then that she must be considerably younger than I am. I was right. I have a theory - or shall I say I simply amalgamated the bits I recall from Psychology 101 - that people in their twenties don't consider their mortality except as something that's far away and abstract. Like an extension of the teenage years, early twenty-somethings live in ignorant bliss, believing all the while that they are "adults" and rarely have the capacity to think about how their own thoughts and actions fit into the larger world. My own early twenties were so fucked up that I often remark that none of us should be held responsible for anything we did before we were thirty.
In any case, right around thirty-ish, an epiphany of "oh my god, I'm going to keep getting older and die!" happens somewhere most inconvenient, like the grocery store, and suddenly buying fruits and veg doesn't seem so important. After all, if we're only going to die, why not eat whatever the hell we want? Such thoughts for me got thrust to the back of the shelf in my brain and buried beneath mountains of trivial tidbits until one day, years later, I had the same epiphanic moment and I was no longer deeply disturbed by it. Now it just seems like a fact that I have no opinion about and it's liberating - like, if I get onto an airplane tomorrow and it crashes or is crashed by some terrorist, then it must be my day to go. And if there's an afterlife in which I will be told the secrets of the universe, great; if not, then I won't know so I won't care. Now it's just this philosophical thing I can't put my brain around. How do I know that I haven't done this all before? Descartes couldn't answer it, so what makes me think I will? Does the Matrix have me?
These are the things that make being 36 a comforting thing. There's a certain acceptance acquired that I probably won't change the world, I am exactly who I am, what I am, and I don't really care if you like me or not.
Until...
I'm reminded that there were 30 or so years of insecurity, self-loathing, and awkwardness involved in getting to this point.
My daughter will attend my old high school this year as a freshman, and today I went with her to do the packet pick-up thing and as I stood in the hallway where I remember my own locker being, where I remember Ted sitting on a trash can waiting for Meridith next to said locker, I almost forgot to breathe. What always seemed like a massive hallway seemed dramatically smaller and like a remnant of a dream, or when you see an amnesia patient in movies recalling vague moments of the past. The uncanny moment of dream is where I stood this afternoon, deeply disturbed, and yet inexplicably. It's been twenty years and high school no longer seems like it was a real part of my life - it was several distinct lifetimes ago - and how could I be standing there now with a high school aged child of my own? How could it suddenly seem like it was simultaneously just yesterday that I was a student here and so distant that it's as if it never happened?
In any case, right around thirty-ish, an epiphany of "oh my god, I'm going to keep getting older and die!" happens somewhere most inconvenient, like the grocery store, and suddenly buying fruits and veg doesn't seem so important. After all, if we're only going to die, why not eat whatever the hell we want? Such thoughts for me got thrust to the back of the shelf in my brain and buried beneath mountains of trivial tidbits until one day, years later, I had the same epiphanic moment and I was no longer deeply disturbed by it. Now it just seems like a fact that I have no opinion about and it's liberating - like, if I get onto an airplane tomorrow and it crashes or is crashed by some terrorist, then it must be my day to go. And if there's an afterlife in which I will be told the secrets of the universe, great; if not, then I won't know so I won't care. Now it's just this philosophical thing I can't put my brain around. How do I know that I haven't done this all before? Descartes couldn't answer it, so what makes me think I will? Does the Matrix have me?
These are the things that make being 36 a comforting thing. There's a certain acceptance acquired that I probably won't change the world, I am exactly who I am, what I am, and I don't really care if you like me or not.
Until...
I'm reminded that there were 30 or so years of insecurity, self-loathing, and awkwardness involved in getting to this point.
My daughter will attend my old high school this year as a freshman, and today I went with her to do the packet pick-up thing and as I stood in the hallway where I remember my own locker being, where I remember Ted sitting on a trash can waiting for Meridith next to said locker, I almost forgot to breathe. What always seemed like a massive hallway seemed dramatically smaller and like a remnant of a dream, or when you see an amnesia patient in movies recalling vague moments of the past. The uncanny moment of dream is where I stood this afternoon, deeply disturbed, and yet inexplicably. It's been twenty years and high school no longer seems like it was a real part of my life - it was several distinct lifetimes ago - and how could I be standing there now with a high school aged child of my own? How could it suddenly seem like it was simultaneously just yesterday that I was a student here and so distant that it's as if it never happened?
03 August 2008
Can't afford to be just one in a flock
When I looked up from my computer screen and mountain of books, I noted that we have entered the month of August with some despair. Where has the summer gone? Why is the lawn dead? Have I really gained five pounds since June? Isn't the scale going the wrong way? Does the dog smell like she needs a bath? Where is my daughter? What is the day? Have I slept? Am I working nights in a movie theater, splicing single frames of porn into family films?
Metro starts classes in just over a week; ACC the week after that; and DU in just over a month. I wish these facts didn't send me into a tailspin. I wish it felt as though I were closer to done than I am. Apparently, I'm all about the lists today.
I have been meeting with Andrew (a good friend from DU), to discuss dissertation writing this summer, and it's been educational and fun. Granted, Andrew is a year ahead of me in the program, and I should expect him to be further along in his work than I am, and he also reads everything, as he is single, has no kids, lives alone, and has the summer off. It's difficult to remind myself that I am not one of those dedicated grad students whose only focus is education; on my best day, school can only ever be about third on my priority list. But in reading chapters of his dissertation for him and talking about it, I have come to the stark realization that I am nowhere near where I thought I was in this process and that troubles me somewhat. I should also give the caveat here that Andrew is much more scholarly than I am, and a theory nut, so I'm not sure that my own harsh self-judgments aren't amplified by this fact. However, I have lost all sight of my own dissertation; I no longer care at all about the topic with which I started this endeavor, and the new direction is better, more interesting, but still, it's a much longer road than I had anticipated. It now looks as though I may not graduate this year but the next, and I worry that this move only prolongs the state of limbo I find myself in and am frustrated with. I'm ready to be in only one job that I can keep for a while, and while I need continued novelty on a daily basis, I look forward to the day when this novelty need is met by the changing flux in students and not my constantly changing schedule and drive times.
Andrew has influenced me to push myself a bit further and has me reading more theory. After I re-read my bit about the Structuralists and actually understanding them, I revisited some things I thought I hated via our meetings. Namely Derrida, whom I normally avoid like the proverbial plague, is starting to make sense to me. If you know me, you know that's a colossal statement from the likes of my pen (er, keyboard). The point is that it's a mixed blessing: I perhaps have a more scholarly dissertation to now work on, but as always, I'm choosing the more difficult terrain to travel upon. Figures.
Metro starts classes in just over a week; ACC the week after that; and DU in just over a month. I wish these facts didn't send me into a tailspin. I wish it felt as though I were closer to done than I am. Apparently, I'm all about the lists today.
I have been meeting with Andrew (a good friend from DU), to discuss dissertation writing this summer, and it's been educational and fun. Granted, Andrew is a year ahead of me in the program, and I should expect him to be further along in his work than I am, and he also reads everything, as he is single, has no kids, lives alone, and has the summer off. It's difficult to remind myself that I am not one of those dedicated grad students whose only focus is education; on my best day, school can only ever be about third on my priority list. But in reading chapters of his dissertation for him and talking about it, I have come to the stark realization that I am nowhere near where I thought I was in this process and that troubles me somewhat. I should also give the caveat here that Andrew is much more scholarly than I am, and a theory nut, so I'm not sure that my own harsh self-judgments aren't amplified by this fact. However, I have lost all sight of my own dissertation; I no longer care at all about the topic with which I started this endeavor, and the new direction is better, more interesting, but still, it's a much longer road than I had anticipated. It now looks as though I may not graduate this year but the next, and I worry that this move only prolongs the state of limbo I find myself in and am frustrated with. I'm ready to be in only one job that I can keep for a while, and while I need continued novelty on a daily basis, I look forward to the day when this novelty need is met by the changing flux in students and not my constantly changing schedule and drive times.
Andrew has influenced me to push myself a bit further and has me reading more theory. After I re-read my bit about the Structuralists and actually understanding them, I revisited some things I thought I hated via our meetings. Namely Derrida, whom I normally avoid like the proverbial plague, is starting to make sense to me. If you know me, you know that's a colossal statement from the likes of my pen (er, keyboard). The point is that it's a mixed blessing: I perhaps have a more scholarly dissertation to now work on, but as always, I'm choosing the more difficult terrain to travel upon. Figures.
I know you know I know, so what's the point in being slow
One of my favorite indulgences on television is Bridezillas. I have no idea why, really, because it embodies pretty much everything I hate about women, TV, weddings, pop culture, and shameless marketing. Yet I cannot drag myself from the idiot box when it's on. And it's always on. Today, Brandi - a 30-year-old ghetto queen who just asked if her groom's cake can be a vagina, because it will be his last "p." The next breath said she wanted a "classy" wedding. The other couple are collectively so fat and unattractive that I cannot help but wonder how - logistically speaking - they even have sex. Seriously, they actually waddle when they walk. She is one of those really large women who wears squared off acrylic nails, too much makeup, and is fairly convinced that she is a goddess. Jamison will actually rise and leave the room if I'm watching it, because he cannot even stand to tune it out while he works on the computer. I tell him that it makes his life better that I watch this because (a) it makes me never want to have a wedding of any kind, (b) makes me feel better about my bitchy days because I have nothing on these tacky bitches, and (c) I'm reminded that J-mo and I have a great relationship that has never, in all these years, included shouting, name-calling, berating, belittling, or even the threat of break-up. Sure, we have our tense moments, but we deal with them like people who love each other. The absence of this between people who are getting married astounds me.
Which gets me thinking about what I've learned about relationships, and it's really simple: they should be easy. I don't mean easy as in, we'll never have challenges, but easy as in it should feel effortless to be together so that when challenges arise, they are tackled because the core of the relationship is never a concern. I know that if Jamison and I were married to other people, we'd still be good friends. I'd still want to tell him about my wins, and be able to lament my losses, and he would be there. How cool is that? Having said this, I will also add here that it's a gift - a blessing - that we have each other and not something I consciously sought out. It's not like I had any great relationship wisdom at the time, but now that I know what it is I found, I wonder how I ever settled for anything less. And believe me, I settled pretty much every time from about high school on. I don't deserve this, but I am thankful for it, and maybe this stupid show reminds me of that which gets lost in the daily I-wish-he-would-mow-the-fucking-lawn gripes.
Which gets me thinking about what I've learned about relationships, and it's really simple: they should be easy. I don't mean easy as in, we'll never have challenges, but easy as in it should feel effortless to be together so that when challenges arise, they are tackled because the core of the relationship is never a concern. I know that if Jamison and I were married to other people, we'd still be good friends. I'd still want to tell him about my wins, and be able to lament my losses, and he would be there. How cool is that? Having said this, I will also add here that it's a gift - a blessing - that we have each other and not something I consciously sought out. It's not like I had any great relationship wisdom at the time, but now that I know what it is I found, I wonder how I ever settled for anything less. And believe me, I settled pretty much every time from about high school on. I don't deserve this, but I am thankful for it, and maybe this stupid show reminds me of that which gets lost in the daily I-wish-he-would-mow-the-fucking-lawn gripes.
02 August 2008
My heart will groan on...
Ah, Titanic on cable television on a sticky Saturday night. It's been so hot here I find the notion of floating in a nearly frozen North Atlantic appealing. I actually envy their icy fog breath. But this movie. Guh. I have to admit that as long as I'm watching it on "mute" it's a great film - effects, sets, costumes, etc. are positively fantastic - but the script. Oi. The script is so terrible it makes me audibly groan when Chet from Weird Science says with no irony "are you ready to go back to Titanic?" Why, oh why couldn't James Cameron spend an extra million on this kabillion dollar film to hire a decent scriptwriter? Oh, the humanity.
But I had no intention of writing about unworthy Oscar winners.
Sadly, I have lost what I was going to write.
But I had no intention of writing about unworthy Oscar winners.
Sadly, I have lost what I was going to write.
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