As much as my blog is sometimes a communication tool, sometimes a kind of journal, sometimes just a place to stash my stray thoughts, it is also a kind of time capsule -- for myself in the future, as well as anyone else who wonders what life was like for some individuals in 2004. (Shout-out to the anthropologists of 2050!)
Earlier this week, I went to change our cell plan -- excuse me, wireless plan (as I date myself perpetually in my language) -- so my honey and I would have nation-wide free minutes to each other. Because now all the stuff you used to have to pay extra for comes as part of the basic package. So I changed our Old Basic package to New Basic -- same price, way more stuff. But in the process we also had to upgrade both of our phones, because they were too old to handle the new wireless technology. (That was fine since one of them was ancient and barely worked anyway.) So we have new flip phones that are loads of fun. I always just get the free phone, the basic thing they are giving away -- I don't care enough about it to spend extra money on a phone. But because the pace of technology changes faster and faster all the time, today's giveaway phone seems pretty cool to me.
So now we've started Mel's Cell Phone Museum: now housing my first cell, which then became my gf's when we went in together on a "family" plan, and my second one, now relegated to artifact status. Who knows what we'll have in a few years...
Anyway, it got me thinking about my personal technology timeline. When I was a kid, we'd ask my parents to tell us about life before TV -- aside from stories about listening to WWII reports on the radio, they were annoyingly vague about the impact of technological change on their lives. They weren't early adopters of anything, and so my childhood experiences lagged behind many of my peers'. For my generation, we've already been through so many significant tech developments that it's already hard for me to keep track of them. So here's my start at my own timeline, part of my personal time capsule:
1982 I get my first "serious" stereo: separate components. A turntable, a single-deck cassette deck, a receiver, and speakers. The receiver is still in use in my living room today.
1983 I take two semesters of typing class in high school, where we learn on electric typewriters. I know how to calculate space for footnotes and use carbon paper. Erasing technology involved those little sheets of white powder on a plastic backing that you would place under the strike area to cover a mistake with white.
1985 I get a Walkman clone.
1985 I am given an electric typewriter for my high school graduation present. Until that time, all the typewriters in the house (3) were manuals. My parents continued to use manuals for several more years.
1988 I sign up for an account at the computer lab at my university, and learn the Word Perfect function commands. I have a plastic box to carry my 5 1/4-inch floppy disks to and fro. My senior thesis is the first thing I ever word processed on a computer, but I wrote it all in longhand draft first.
1990 Sick of writing long papers in crowded labs at my first graduate institution, I get my first computer: a Compaq laptop with a 486 processor running MS-DOS. It comes with a 2-inch thick manual that allows me to learn anything I want to know about DOS. I liked that. I now use 3 1/2 inch hard floppy disks.
1990 I'm living in cramped quarters, with most of my stuff in storage. I get a "boom box" that has a CD player. I begin to buy CDs rather than LPs.
1991 I get my first email account. I use PINE. I get an external modem. I wish I could remember how slow it was.
1992 I get a CD player component for my "good" stereo.
1993 I get a new Winbook laptop running Windows 3.1. It has a faster dial-up modem built in.
1995? I get my first cordless phone. Now I can wash dishes and talk to my friends at the same time. I soon invest in a headset attachment to ease the crick in my neck.
1995? I get a CD portable player for the gym.
1996 I am an early adopter of the PalmPilot: I get a 1000 model within a month of their release in March. This is probably the only device I've ever known instantly that it would change my life for the better. It did. For several years, people would stop me whenever I used it and ask me what it was.
1997 I get a new desktop PC running Windows 95. I get an external zip drive.
1998 In preparation for moving across the country, I give my turntable and 3 crates of LPs to a good friend who's an enthusiast. I hadn't listened to an LP in several years.
1998 Bypassing my university's crappy modem pool, I sign up with my first commercial ISP.
1999 I get my first TV and VCR.
2000 I get my first cell phone.
2001 My partner brings a DVD player into our new joint household.
2001 We get a Gamecube game console because the guy at Toys R Us told us he'd have some at about midnight on Dec 23.
2002 I get a new desktop computer running Windows XP. A faster dial-up modem.
2002 I get a new Palm, the m130. My original PalmPilot still works, but I wanted some enhanced functionality and some new software that wouldn't run on the old OS.
2002 I get my second cell phone, about 1 inch smaller than the first.
2004 We get DSL at our house and I fall in love with the Internet all over again.
2004 I get an MP3 player. I still listen to music in the old style, however, album by album, rather than mixing up songs. (Mostly.)
2004 My third cell phone, now a trim little flip model.
******
Thank goodness for Wikipedia, since I had to check names and release dates of some of these things to confirm my memories. As you can tell, I'm hardly technologically advanced about anything (although I've been doing informal tech support for my colleagues for years). The PalmPilot is the only thing I've ever gotten right away when it came out.
11/06/2004
what will the weekend bring
My partner is out of town this weekend for work-related reasons. Fri-Tues makes it the longest time she's been away since we've been together. I've had to go out of town for longer spells, and her work schedule last summer meant that we only saw each other for an hour or two a day, which is almost like being out of town, but not exactly. So we've been apart before, but it's different for me to be the one alone in the house. Not entirely alone, of course -- the dogs are happy to snuggle in bed with me, especially since the weather has turned colder.
Before we moved in together, I lived alone for many years. I'm good at being alone. Or at least I was. It was a huge adjustment for both of us to live with someone else. And, frankly, for me to live with a dog (we had just one at first, before we adopted the puppy). I didn't know that I loved dogs -- I'd grown up with cats, who have a completely different way of being in the world. J, our older dog, deserves all the credit for teaching me the wonders of dogs. Seriously, she really changed my life. But when you live with dogs, you're never really alone. They want to be with you all the time, they're delighted when you walk in the door, they give you lots of attention. The first six months we lived together, I actually found it kind of overwhelming, being the introvert that I am. Now I find it comforting, and can't imagine living without the dogs.
But it will be interesting to be on my own for a few days.
Before we moved in together, I lived alone for many years. I'm good at being alone. Or at least I was. It was a huge adjustment for both of us to live with someone else. And, frankly, for me to live with a dog (we had just one at first, before we adopted the puppy). I didn't know that I loved dogs -- I'd grown up with cats, who have a completely different way of being in the world. J, our older dog, deserves all the credit for teaching me the wonders of dogs. Seriously, she really changed my life. But when you live with dogs, you're never really alone. They want to be with you all the time, they're delighted when you walk in the door, they give you lots of attention. The first six months we lived together, I actually found it kind of overwhelming, being the introvert that I am. Now I find it comforting, and can't imagine living without the dogs.
But it will be interesting to be on my own for a few days.
11/03/2004
scattered thoughts
It was oddly comforting to go into campus today, since most of my colleagues were equally depressed.
I never really thought we'd win. And yet I'm feeling down. I'm glad it was as close as it was, at least in some states. That suggests that there is some basis for trying to do the serious work that the left needs to do in this country. But what I've found especially depressing is all the bullshit about moral values. All this spin, now, to try and divert attention away from the global and economic issues.
I vote every year. I wonder what this will do to all those people who voted for the first time this year. Will they shrug and turn away from the process? Will they try to get involved? Can we get a new process? (Since I'm not so thrilled with what the Democratic party's been offering us lately.)
When I voted on Tues, there was a guy there who was very confused about how to do each step of the process -- he was next to me at the check-in table, and then in an e-booth next to me asking for help from the attendant. He was 56 years old and had never voted before. He voted for Kerry. What's he going to do now? I fear that all that vaunted increase in voter turnout is just going to dissipate.
I never really thought we'd win. And yet I'm feeling down. I'm glad it was as close as it was, at least in some states. That suggests that there is some basis for trying to do the serious work that the left needs to do in this country. But what I've found especially depressing is all the bullshit about moral values. All this spin, now, to try and divert attention away from the global and economic issues.
I vote every year. I wonder what this will do to all those people who voted for the first time this year. Will they shrug and turn away from the process? Will they try to get involved? Can we get a new process? (Since I'm not so thrilled with what the Democratic party's been offering us lately.)
When I voted on Tues, there was a guy there who was very confused about how to do each step of the process -- he was next to me at the check-in table, and then in an e-booth next to me asking for help from the attendant. He was 56 years old and had never voted before. He voted for Kerry. What's he going to do now? I fear that all that vaunted increase in voter turnout is just going to dissipate.
ergh.
I'm wiped out from a long crappy-mediocre day of teaching yesterday. My pessimism about the election is getting confirmed more and more by the hour. I could only watch the coverage last night in snippets, it was just too frustrating. I have horrible cramps. (Yeah, that's probably more personal than I usually get on this blog but somehow it seems fitting that I'm nauseous, in pain, and cranky today.) And, I have to meet with my chair because you know that administrative job I turned down in May? Well, they're turning on the pressure to try and get me to do it.
Now, I know I could be a starving orphan in a war-torn country and I should just stop feeling so miserable. But I'm just not real chipper today.
Now, I know I could be a starving orphan in a war-torn country and I should just stop feeling so miserable. But I'm just not real chipper today.
11/02/2004
vegan brownies
OK, since Julie & Profgrrrl asked, here's my recipe for vegan brownies. (From Louise Hagler's Tofu Cookery)
Preheat oven to 350 F.
Whisk together in a saucepan, until there are no lumps:
1/3 cup unbleached white flour
2/3 cup water
Whip in:
1/2 lb tofu, blended until smooth and creamy (HINT: it works best with "silken" style tofu which is already the consistency of yogurt or heavy cream; if not available, get soft or very soft tofu and blend it with a tiny bit of water in blender/food processor)
Stir constantly over low heat until thickened. Cool completely.
To the cooled mixture, add:
2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
Beat well.
In another bowl mix together:
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1/2 cup oil
Add to the other ingredients and stir well.
Mix together:
1 1/2 cups unbleached white flour
1 scant tsp baking powder
Add this to the mixture above and stir until there are no lumps. Bake in a well-oiled and floured 10" square pan for 25 minutes or until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean. Cut into 12 brownies.
For cake-like brownies, increase baking powder to 2 teaspoons and bake for 20 minutes.
*******************
This is one of my never-fails-to-impress-the-carnivores recipes.
If you haven't ever baked with tofu, it's worth a try even if you're not vegan. It creates very moist baked goods.
Preheat oven to 350 F.
Whisk together in a saucepan, until there are no lumps:
1/3 cup unbleached white flour
2/3 cup water
Whip in:
1/2 lb tofu, blended until smooth and creamy (HINT: it works best with "silken" style tofu which is already the consistency of yogurt or heavy cream; if not available, get soft or very soft tofu and blend it with a tiny bit of water in blender/food processor)
Stir constantly over low heat until thickened. Cool completely.
To the cooled mixture, add:
2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
Beat well.
In another bowl mix together:
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1/2 cup oil
Add to the other ingredients and stir well.
Mix together:
1 1/2 cups unbleached white flour
1 scant tsp baking powder
Add this to the mixture above and stir until there are no lumps. Bake in a well-oiled and floured 10" square pan for 25 minutes or until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean. Cut into 12 brownies.
For cake-like brownies, increase baking powder to 2 teaspoons and bake for 20 minutes.
*******************
This is one of my never-fails-to-impress-the-carnivores recipes.
If you haven't ever baked with tofu, it's worth a try even if you're not vegan. It creates very moist baked goods.
11/01/2004
rainy
This is one of those days that makes me really happy to not always have to go to the office. If I had a weather pixie, she'd be dripping and gloomy looking. Woke up to thunderstorms this morning, decided I'd work at home. A good day to over-caffeinate, get my teaching prep done, even do some writing. That is, if I can tear myself away from the internet.
Republican operatives exposed
This is disturbing but also hilarious. Republican operatives tried to disguise themselves as gay Kerry supporters in Florida to try to turn voters away from Kerry. They were exposed in part because they were dressed like Republicans.
10/31/2004
service
Dr Crazy has a great post about service -- the pressures, the drawbacks, the inequities. If you haven't read it, then go there first. I agree with her points about the special pressures for service that women often face, and also with her guidelines about how to cautiously and carefully choose what you say Yes to, especially while in the tenure track. I just wanted to expand a bit about what service looks like from my perspective, as someone recently tenured.
My department expects a lot of service from its faculty -- we are understaffed and underfunded (like most public institutions) and so there is always a need for people to manage the day to day running of a large department: graduate studies, the major, the general ed track-- each of these divisions of our curricula have equivalent managerial divisions, with one or two or sometimes three faculty who get a course release to work as administrators to make sure the bare minimum of student advising, problem-fixing, and degree-awarding gets done. Each has a supporting committee of faculty who review applications, draft proposals for curriculum changes, etc. (basic service expectation is participating on one of these committees).There are two other committees charged with the most important managing of the department (merit reviews, hiring, overall mission) and their membership is elected. Then there are all the other things that crop up during a year: speakers to be picked up from the airport; lectures and receptions to organize and attend; job market coaching; essay contests; committees to deal with special requests from the Dean or Provost, amendments to the bylaws, political brawls with other departments, etc.
As a junior person, I did a fair amount of service within my dept, but was protected from doing anything at the College or University level. So in 6 years I served on three different standing committees, a 2 year term on an elected committee, 3 hiring committees, and probably 10-15 ad hoc projects of varying lengths. I also said no to a lot of things -- especially during the last two years before I was up for review. My colleagues understood the need to protect my research time.
But now I'm tenured, that's all over. The day the letter came from the Provost, I was asked to take on a 3-year administrative position in the department; in the past two weeks I've also been asked to serve on the University-level faculty governance board and asked to advise the Honors students, in addition to my current position on two standing committees within the dept. Now, I said no to the admin position, because I'm in the middle of a big project. It's understood that I will probably be asked again in a year or two. I said yes to the governance board, since I don't know anything about how it works and feel like it would be worthwhile to learn. I said yes to the Honors advising, after one of my favorite colleagues said we could co-advise.
Looking around there are different models in my department. A couple of my colleagues periodically withdraw from all service for a year or two while finishing a project. A few have withdrawn totally. Some of my colleagues on the other hand, have given up 5 or 10 years of their careers almost totally to service -- for some, that's a prelude to a later career in university administration; for others, a recipe for burnout, overwork, bitterness. And then there's a hardworking dedicated group of people who manage to choose service commitments that are important to them, and still produce scholarship. And without these people, we wouldn't have a department.
That's another reality of service, at least post-tenure. It has to get done. And if you completely disinvest, you have to be willing to have people who you disagree with totally in charge of hiring decisions, curriculum, course assignments, parking space alotments, photocopying budgets -- all the big things and the little nitty-gritty things that are a big part of our working lives. I'm a good departmental citizen not because I have to please anybody, but because I really do care who we hire in the next five years -- those are the people I'll be stuck with for a long time. I care about being allowed to teach the kinds of courses I want to teach. Etc. Sure, it can become a disastrous time and energy vacuum -- but without it, I'd have far less input and control over my working life.
My department expects a lot of service from its faculty -- we are understaffed and underfunded (like most public institutions) and so there is always a need for people to manage the day to day running of a large department: graduate studies, the major, the general ed track-- each of these divisions of our curricula have equivalent managerial divisions, with one or two or sometimes three faculty who get a course release to work as administrators to make sure the bare minimum of student advising, problem-fixing, and degree-awarding gets done. Each has a supporting committee of faculty who review applications, draft proposals for curriculum changes, etc. (basic service expectation is participating on one of these committees).There are two other committees charged with the most important managing of the department (merit reviews, hiring, overall mission) and their membership is elected. Then there are all the other things that crop up during a year: speakers to be picked up from the airport; lectures and receptions to organize and attend; job market coaching; essay contests; committees to deal with special requests from the Dean or Provost, amendments to the bylaws, political brawls with other departments, etc.
As a junior person, I did a fair amount of service within my dept, but was protected from doing anything at the College or University level. So in 6 years I served on three different standing committees, a 2 year term on an elected committee, 3 hiring committees, and probably 10-15 ad hoc projects of varying lengths. I also said no to a lot of things -- especially during the last two years before I was up for review. My colleagues understood the need to protect my research time.
But now I'm tenured, that's all over. The day the letter came from the Provost, I was asked to take on a 3-year administrative position in the department; in the past two weeks I've also been asked to serve on the University-level faculty governance board and asked to advise the Honors students, in addition to my current position on two standing committees within the dept. Now, I said no to the admin position, because I'm in the middle of a big project. It's understood that I will probably be asked again in a year or two. I said yes to the governance board, since I don't know anything about how it works and feel like it would be worthwhile to learn. I said yes to the Honors advising, after one of my favorite colleagues said we could co-advise.
Looking around there are different models in my department. A couple of my colleagues periodically withdraw from all service for a year or two while finishing a project. A few have withdrawn totally. Some of my colleagues on the other hand, have given up 5 or 10 years of their careers almost totally to service -- for some, that's a prelude to a later career in university administration; for others, a recipe for burnout, overwork, bitterness. And then there's a hardworking dedicated group of people who manage to choose service commitments that are important to them, and still produce scholarship. And without these people, we wouldn't have a department.
That's another reality of service, at least post-tenure. It has to get done. And if you completely disinvest, you have to be willing to have people who you disagree with totally in charge of hiring decisions, curriculum, course assignments, parking space alotments, photocopying budgets -- all the big things and the little nitty-gritty things that are a big part of our working lives. I'm a good departmental citizen not because I have to please anybody, but because I really do care who we hire in the next five years -- those are the people I'll be stuck with for a long time. I care about being allowed to teach the kinds of courses I want to teach. Etc. Sure, it can become a disastrous time and energy vacuum -- but without it, I'd have far less input and control over my working life.
spotted on the way home from yoga
- a Kerry sticker on a Jaguar
- near the little dog park: a couple on bicycles, one of which had one of those child trailers behind it: with two little dogs inside! a Jack Russell and another small dog. Super cute! (although those trailers can't be very good for the dog or child dragging around at exhaust-fume level -- I just hope they weren't biking very far)
getting unstuck
I've been feeling really stuck lately, here on this blog. Not so much elsewhere in my life -- the past week wasn't especially great or terrible -- actually fairly smooth. Which maybe gives me less to blog about? Some of it is my election anxiety-- reading the vast amounts of commentary on other people's blogs only increasings my own angst about Tues. Some of it is the recovery from midterm hell -- I've been sleeping a lot. And I was working at the office a lot last week -- I've been sticking to my no blogging at the office rule, partly to stay productive, but also to keep the shreds of my pseudonymity together. But mostly I've just been feeling like I didn't have much to say that wouldn't be just so far embedded in my own navel as to be even too narcissistic for a blog. Bleh. Time to get unstuck.
10/29/2004
my brain needed some down time
Well, Profgrrrl had declared Friday to be a writing day. Without declaring or really even planning it, my Friday turned out to be Sleeping Day. I slept for 12 1/2 hours (waking up only briefly to let the dogs out & decide I was too tired for morning yoga class) , and probably would have just kept on going if the dogs hadn't woken me up because of thunder. And it was really deep sleep, too, with long, complicated, but not upsetting, dreams (which I don't usually have (or remember)).
So then I made some food & talked to my best friend for 2 hours on the phone -- we usually talk at least once a week, but work & family schedules have interfered so we've been out of touch for a long time.
Now, although I'm ready for a nap, I'm going to walk the dogs first. Maybe watch a movie. And then sleep some more. Guess that's what I needed.
So then I made some food & talked to my best friend for 2 hours on the phone -- we usually talk at least once a week, but work & family schedules have interfered so we've been out of touch for a long time.
Now, although I'm ready for a nap, I'm going to walk the dogs first. Maybe watch a movie. And then sleep some more. Guess that's what I needed.
10/28/2004
eminem's latest
Have you seen Eminem's get-out-the-vote video? You can, at Guerilla News Network.
Despite the fact that Eminem is often unbearably homophobic, I also think he's smart and charismatic. 8 Mile, and the single he released from it, was oddly inspiring to me as I was working up to tenure :
Despite the fact that Eminem is often unbearably homophobic, I also think he's smart and charismatic. 8 Mile, and the single he released from it, was oddly inspiring to me as I was working up to tenure :
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
[note to self: what am I doing this late wandering the blogosphere and posting about Eminem when I should be crafting powerpoint slides for tomorrow's class? or sleeping? ]
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
[note to self: what am I doing this late wandering the blogosphere and posting about Eminem when I should be crafting powerpoint slides for tomorrow's class? or sleeping? ]
election angst
I was insanely busy Monday and Tuesday, to the point that I was rendered nearly wordless, so I didn't blog. And then this morning, when I had some time to catch up on the blogosphere, Blogger's servers were down and I couldn't post. Couldn't even read other blogspot folks.
Well, it's all speeding along just fine now, thankfully. But I feel dreadfully out of touch with everyone.
But I realized this morning that I've also been reading less and saying less the past few days partly out of my anxiety/exhaustion/cynicism about Tuesday's election. The world I live in is populated with people who are all going to vote against Bush on Tues--there's no convincing necessary. And my tolerance for wading through political faction-speak has really really worn thin. So that's part of it. But another part is my anxiety and pessimism. I actually think it's entirely possible that Kerry will get the votes next week -- but that doesn't mean they'll let him "win." Each time I check my inbox, I read more dreadful news about voter intimidation, registration tampering, etc. And that's just the stuff we already know about.
Unfortunately, I can't even say that I once had a belief in representational government that has now been tarnished (as I've heard many people claiming lately). I've never lived in a state where the Electoral College rep voted the way I did (or would have, in my pre-voting age years). I've never lived in a state where my politics, my beliefs, were given voice at all. I've also lived in more than a few places where the state government was so obviously corrupt as to be practically a joke. (For instance: I grew up in a state where all jobs in the parks, the DMV, the road crews, and many other things were controlled by whichever party was in power in the State House. And this was written into the state constitution.)
Yet I do still vote. I believe in voting. That was one of the few things that was really impressed upon me as a child. Voting was a solemn, somewhat mysterious activity, not just a civic duty but a moral responsibility. My mother is a 1st-generation American, and her parents had left an essentially feudalist society in coming here. They took the democratic process very, very seriously.
Once when I was young, my parents brought me along to the polling place with them. I had to wait in the hallway while they went into the curtained booths, making the whole thing seem very mysterious and powerful indeed. Afterwards, I asked my mother if she and my dad voted together. She said no, that whatever you voted was secret and you didn't have to tell anybody. She said they might talk about it beforehand, but in the little booth you were by yourself and it was only up to you. (Yup, the existential overtones were pretty common in my family. That was the closest thing we had to a religious creed. By the time I actually read Sartre, I already knew that existence involved suffering and responsibility.)
So I believe in voting. Especially in the local elections held in off years -- who sits on city council often has much more direct impact on my life than my ineffectual votes for Senate or President. It's odd to believe in the act but to know that in an election like this year's, it's purely symbolic. My little ritual of participating in a system, in a society, that doesn't really want me to participate.
Well, it's all speeding along just fine now, thankfully. But I feel dreadfully out of touch with everyone.
But I realized this morning that I've also been reading less and saying less the past few days partly out of my anxiety/exhaustion/cynicism about Tuesday's election. The world I live in is populated with people who are all going to vote against Bush on Tues--there's no convincing necessary. And my tolerance for wading through political faction-speak has really really worn thin. So that's part of it. But another part is my anxiety and pessimism. I actually think it's entirely possible that Kerry will get the votes next week -- but that doesn't mean they'll let him "win." Each time I check my inbox, I read more dreadful news about voter intimidation, registration tampering, etc. And that's just the stuff we already know about.
Unfortunately, I can't even say that I once had a belief in representational government that has now been tarnished (as I've heard many people claiming lately). I've never lived in a state where the Electoral College rep voted the way I did (or would have, in my pre-voting age years). I've never lived in a state where my politics, my beliefs, were given voice at all. I've also lived in more than a few places where the state government was so obviously corrupt as to be practically a joke. (For instance: I grew up in a state where all jobs in the parks, the DMV, the road crews, and many other things were controlled by whichever party was in power in the State House. And this was written into the state constitution.)
Yet I do still vote. I believe in voting. That was one of the few things that was really impressed upon me as a child. Voting was a solemn, somewhat mysterious activity, not just a civic duty but a moral responsibility. My mother is a 1st-generation American, and her parents had left an essentially feudalist society in coming here. They took the democratic process very, very seriously.
Once when I was young, my parents brought me along to the polling place with them. I had to wait in the hallway while they went into the curtained booths, making the whole thing seem very mysterious and powerful indeed. Afterwards, I asked my mother if she and my dad voted together. She said no, that whatever you voted was secret and you didn't have to tell anybody. She said they might talk about it beforehand, but in the little booth you were by yourself and it was only up to you. (Yup, the existential overtones were pretty common in my family. That was the closest thing we had to a religious creed. By the time I actually read Sartre, I already knew that existence involved suffering and responsibility.)
So I believe in voting. Especially in the local elections held in off years -- who sits on city council often has much more direct impact on my life than my ineffectual votes for Senate or President. It's odd to believe in the act but to know that in an election like this year's, it's purely symbolic. My little ritual of participating in a system, in a society, that doesn't really want me to participate.
10/24/2004
Sunday groggy Sunday
Well, it's Sunday. Not even morning any longer, in my time zone. And, like my fellow bloggers, I'm trying to figure out where the weekend went, and what to do with the remnant that remains. I wound up taking yesterday off: yoga, lunch with a friend, some shopping at TJ Maxx (found an inexpensive jacket for teaching, and a fleece blanket for the dogs) and the cosmetics discount place (hair gel! lotion! new lipstick!), dinner with my gf, fun browsing (but virtuously, no buying) at the CD shop. All in all, a very relaxing day. I just want to hang onto that feeling and not have it shadowed by the Sunday grumps.
Slept really late today (I'm definitely catching up from last week), which was enjoyable and necessary, but also makes me feel limited in what I can accomplish.
things I've done already:
The big question is whether I work at home this afternoon, or go into the office. I have a bunch of overdue administrative stuff that can only be done at the office, and it would be satisfying to go in and get it taken care of. Yet, although it's urgent, it's not necessarily the highest priority task. I've got other priority and urgent things I could easily do from home. A few years ago, when I was unpartnered, I'd go into the office on the weekends both to get stuff done and for the socializing (several of my colleagues were frequently there too). Now that I have a settled down life, it's harder to leave the house. Yet also harder to get stuff done when I'm at home.
Trimmed down priority short list:
And then, at the end of the day: dinner with gf and our Sunday night indulgence, Desperate Housewives -- anybody else gotten hooked into this? It's wonderfully campy, sort of Stepford feminist, very different from what I usually expect from TV.
Slept really late today (I'm definitely catching up from last week), which was enjoyable and necessary, but also makes me feel limited in what I can accomplish.
things I've done already:
fun reading & breakfast while lounging in bedclip dogs' nailshelp gf express the dogs' anal glands(truly disgusting, but it costs $15 each dog each time at the vet or groomer, so we learned to take care of it ourselves)-
start laundry answer student emails
The big question is whether I work at home this afternoon, or go into the office. I have a bunch of overdue administrative stuff that can only be done at the office, and it would be satisfying to go in and get it taken care of. Yet, although it's urgent, it's not necessarily the highest priority task. I've got other priority and urgent things I could easily do from home. A few years ago, when I was unpartnered, I'd go into the office on the weekends both to get stuff done and for the socializing (several of my colleagues were frequently there too). Now that I have a settled down life, it's harder to leave the house. Yet also harder to get stuff done when I'm at home.
Trimmed down priority short list:
purchase & finish setting up new software --I've been using the trial version and am loving itresearch for conference paperwork on ongoing writing project- grading
- go to the gym
(long walk instead) it's my turn to take the dogs to the park
And then, at the end of the day: dinner with gf and our Sunday night indulgence, Desperate Housewives -- anybody else gotten hooked into this? It's wonderfully campy, sort of Stepford feminist, very different from what I usually expect from TV.
10/23/2004
movies you should see
Run, don't walk, to I Heart Huckabees . It's smart, funny, and it features a bunch of eminently likeable actors. (Mark Wahlberg AND Lily Tomlin, for starters. Jude Law and Isabelle Huppert. Someone for everyone.) Probably more appealing to those of you prone to self-examination -- but somehow I suspect that already includes anyone who keeps a blog. It's been getting mixed reviews, I suspect because it features environmentalist idealists (a rock-hugging poet and a firefighter who both bicycle everywhere) talking about trying to discover the meaning of life outside of the consumerist pap fed to us by Big Corporations. The surreal existential detectives are charming in their enthusiasm for interconnection, as is the devilish dark French philosopher who operates as their opponent. Finally, both teams (and their philosophies) are reconciled: everything in the universe is interconnected -- and life involves suffering. The great challenge for human beings is to try to embrace, understand, and deal with both of those axioms. Now, for me, none of this is new -- nor do I expect it would be for the select few who actually read my blog. But survey the reviews over at Rotten Tomatoes and you quickly realize how threatening a little Buddhist philosophy can be to some viewers.
You should also see Tarnation. The story behind the making of this movie is every bedroom auteur's dream: Jonathan Caouette, the editor/director/subject of the film, took 160-plus hours of home movies and captured audio, sat down with his Mac and iMovie, and created a film that got Gus Van Sant and John Cameron Mitchell to sign on as executive producers. The original 3 hours has been further edited down to 90 minutes for its general release. The other story behind this film -- Caouette's experiences growing up and his mother's many treatments for mental illness -- is plenty compelling in and of itself. But this is a film that takes your conventional ideas about autobiography, documentary, and self-exposure, and remixes them into something totally new.
You should also see Tarnation. The story behind the making of this movie is every bedroom auteur's dream: Jonathan Caouette, the editor/director/subject of the film, took 160-plus hours of home movies and captured audio, sat down with his Mac and iMovie, and created a film that got Gus Van Sant and John Cameron Mitchell to sign on as executive producers. The original 3 hours has been further edited down to 90 minutes for its general release. The other story behind this film -- Caouette's experiences growing up and his mother's many treatments for mental illness -- is plenty compelling in and of itself. But this is a film that takes your conventional ideas about autobiography, documentary, and self-exposure, and remixes them into something totally new.
10/22/2004
signage
There's a run-down strip of storefronts that I drive past on my way home. For years it's contained only a mini-mart, with a big sign out by the street that says:
Neighborhood Mini Mart
Bread
Milk
WIC Accepted
Just recently there's been some signs of new activity in the strip. And now the sign says:
Just recently there's been some signs of new activity in the strip. And now the sign says:
Neighborhood Mini Mart
Liquor
Beads
WIC Accepted
Hey, dude, let's pick up some beads since we're stopping to get beer and chips.
???
Liquor
Beads
WIC Accepted
Hey, dude, let's pick up some beads since we're stopping to get beer and chips.
???
10/21/2004
in today's email
Emailing me to let me know that you missed class because you were too hung over because of watching baseball is really Too Much Information. Emailing me to request that I write you a letter of recommendation for professional schools when we're only half-way through the semester and you've barely ever spoken in class gives me Not Enough Information.
And, from the administration: Useless Information I Don't Really Know What To Do With.
And, from the administration: Useless Information I Don't Really Know What To Do With.
10/19/2004
80s 80s 80s
New Kid started a Bad 80s Clothes thread, which I just have to follow up on. I did sport some truly horrendous 80s looks:
- denim mini skirt, black T-shirt, and black Reebok hightops (now back!)
- the fuschia sweatshirt minidress -- just a big huge sweatshirt, really
- huge, huge, HUGE shirts over leggings
- stripes and patterns together
- neon
- rock n roll eyeliner (black, purple, silver...)
- ruffled hippy-peasant skirt with big clunky boots: punk on the prairie
- white shirt with a super- skinny black tie (a la Duran Duran)
- asymmetrical dangly earrings (I don't think I wore matching earrings for maybe a decade)
- a mandarin collar pink patterned jacket that was very Prince
- pointy-toed boots
- Culture Club t-shirt (one of the best shows ever!)
- denim jacket festooned with vintage rhinestone brooches
10/17/2004
dryer lint
In Margaret Atwood's novel Cat's Eye, there's a minor character who's an artist who makes sculpture out of dryer lint. I often think of her when I'm cleaning the lint filter. We just bought some lovely new blue sheets, which I washed for the first time this morning, and the lint they made was so appealing -- a pretty blue, so soft and fuzzy. So then of course I had to check Google. I found at least one sculptor working in dryer lint; recipes for dryer lint clay and other crafts; and tips for composting and firestarting with lint.
Yup, I should get to work.
Yup, I should get to work.
10/16/2004
why it's good I don't live in the suburbs
We would never survive in the suburbs. Not only for the cultural reasons (I haven't yet heard of a gay lefty bohemian suburb in my city), but because we'd probably be stoned out of there for not keeping up appearances.
I just spent 90 minutes or so cleaning up our (fairly large) back yard-- scooping dog poop, gathering up dead branches, raking leaves. Really the bare minimum kind of maintenance. And that's about all I ever do to it. We rent our house, but I don't really think that if we owned property I'd suddenly be planting flowerbeds. We didn't do a very good job of keeping up the minimal decorative planting that existed here when we moved in. And I just don't really care about having a nice lawn. It's better than dirt. But the kind of focus and energy required to keep a lawn watered and green and mowed is just more than I have available to me. Our landlord (well, actually, another of her renters who gets a deal on rent) takes care of mowing our front yard, so that at least looks semi-respectable (except for the flowerbeds). But she's refused to deal with our back yard, so that's up to us.
And we just really don't care that much. As long as the dogs are happy and have space to run around, and we can sit out there and drink coffee in the mornings, it's fine with us.
Luckily, we live in a mixed-income neighborhood, on a not-yet-developed and not pretentious street. I'd say we are maybe the 3rd or 4th worst-looking yard/exterior house on the block -- so that puts us at the 75th percentile, maybe 80th. More than a passing grade. After all, down the street there's a guy who runs his own contracting business and usually has two bulldozers and other heavy equipment in his back lot. And we don't have chickens in our yard, like they do one street over.
So I guess I don't really need to worry too much. It's not the suburbs.
I just spent 90 minutes or so cleaning up our (fairly large) back yard-- scooping dog poop, gathering up dead branches, raking leaves. Really the bare minimum kind of maintenance. And that's about all I ever do to it. We rent our house, but I don't really think that if we owned property I'd suddenly be planting flowerbeds. We didn't do a very good job of keeping up the minimal decorative planting that existed here when we moved in. And I just don't really care about having a nice lawn. It's better than dirt. But the kind of focus and energy required to keep a lawn watered and green and mowed is just more than I have available to me. Our landlord (well, actually, another of her renters who gets a deal on rent) takes care of mowing our front yard, so that at least looks semi-respectable (except for the flowerbeds). But she's refused to deal with our back yard, so that's up to us.
And we just really don't care that much. As long as the dogs are happy and have space to run around, and we can sit out there and drink coffee in the mornings, it's fine with us.
Luckily, we live in a mixed-income neighborhood, on a not-yet-developed and not pretentious street. I'd say we are maybe the 3rd or 4th worst-looking yard/exterior house on the block -- so that puts us at the 75th percentile, maybe 80th. More than a passing grade. After all, down the street there's a guy who runs his own contracting business and usually has two bulldozers and other heavy equipment in his back lot. And we don't have chickens in our yard, like they do one street over.
So I guess I don't really need to worry too much. It's not the suburbs.
10/15/2004
friday
It's 8:30 at night and I'm actually contemplating getting ready for bed. Though I'm reading blogs, which could easily take up an hour or two -- except I'm so tired that I don't feel able to comment or even read terribly clearly. Which is probably a sign that I should cease and desist.
After posting my cranky list yesterday, I actually went on to have a not-terrible day. Just kind of long and tiring. And today was my day off: went to yoga, went out to lunch with my gf, we did a few errands. But then the tiredness of the week hit me all at once. Took a nap, took the dogs out, ate some food, and I'm still braindead exhausted. But not yet really sleepy. Just too tired to think.
It is helpful to realize from other people's blogs that lots of people are suffering from midterm malaise.
Large Urban U doesn't have a fall break. This is when we could really use one. Only half my students showed up on Thursday -- and if I could have blown off class I probably would have. If I weren't so darned conscientious, I'd just cancel a class day. I should have planned ahead to cancel one. But I didn't, and now I feel like there's too much still to cover on the syllabus. By the time Thanksgiving comes around, the semester is basically over -- it's a nice relief, but not really a rejuvenating break -- just a pause before the final crunch of exams.
But as tired as I am, I still know that my job could be so, so, much worse. So I really should just stop with the kvetching already.
After posting my cranky list yesterday, I actually went on to have a not-terrible day. Just kind of long and tiring. And today was my day off: went to yoga, went out to lunch with my gf, we did a few errands. But then the tiredness of the week hit me all at once. Took a nap, took the dogs out, ate some food, and I'm still braindead exhausted. But not yet really sleepy. Just too tired to think.
It is helpful to realize from other people's blogs that lots of people are suffering from midterm malaise.
Large Urban U doesn't have a fall break. This is when we could really use one. Only half my students showed up on Thursday -- and if I could have blown off class I probably would have. If I weren't so darned conscientious, I'd just cancel a class day. I should have planned ahead to cancel one. But I didn't, and now I feel like there's too much still to cover on the syllabus. By the time Thanksgiving comes around, the semester is basically over -- it's a nice relief, but not really a rejuvenating break -- just a pause before the final crunch of exams.
But as tired as I am, I still know that my job could be so, so, much worse. So I really should just stop with the kvetching already.
10/14/2004
blah. bleh. pluh.
Reasons why I'm feeling pretty pluh today:
- I was supposed to get up at the crack of dawn (well, 7:30 which is awfully early for me) so that I could take care of a bunch of scanning for one of my classes, do some work on my own writing, and finish skimming the reading for my other class. But I absolutely, positively, Could Not Get Vertical. So then I sort of slept and dozed for 2 1/2 more hours. (my classes aren't til afternoon) So now I'm behind on the stupid crap, behind on my own work, and have to prep class and get out the door. More rested, but more cranky.
- it's gray and rainy.
- I wrote two long thoughtful posts earlier this week and now have nothing left to say.
- midterm season sucks.
- there's nothing good in the fridge to take for my lunch.
- yesterday was Day of a Thousand Meetings which effectively wiped my brain.
- haven't been to yoga class since Monday. Will go do 15 mins of home practice to attempt to change my attitude. Though part of me obviously just wants to wallow in the suckiness of today.
10/12/2004
National Coming Out Day
In honor of National Coming Out Day, which occurs every October 11, I thought I'd write a bit about what it means to me to be an out lesbian professor.
I've been out to my colleagues since I first interviewed for my job. I asked a lesbian prof to tell me about the local glb community. Obviously, I was asking her to get some information and also to clarify things, in case her gaydar wasn't working. But I chose to ask her in front of some other people, which apparently surprised everyone. (But this is also a campus where one person told me that she was impressed that I wore pants to my interview instead of a skirt. Apparently I was getting bravery points left and right without even knowing it.)
I have two gay or lesbian colleagues in my department, and there are others on campus. Because of our urban location, there isn't much organization or community for glb people on campus -- there's an undergrad student group, but very little networking among glb faculty. But since I've been here for several years, word of my existence has sort of gotten around -- I can tell when certain students show up in my classes and say that "Dr. Gay Sociologist told me I should take your class for my Lit requirement."
And the same holds true for students. I don't explicitly come out to all of my classes -- my rule is that it has to be pedagogically relevant and useful to do so. But I drop enough clues that any student who has a vested interest in figuring out that I'm a lesbian can do so. (My appearance, the picture of my partner on my desk, no screening of gender pronouns, no hetero-normative assumptions in course lectures, etc). Of course, there are plenty of students who'd rather not figure it out. And that's OK too. Because I teach women's studies courses, my students are busy dealing with Feminism 101 and sometimes that's more than enough for them to handle.
I also teach courses that explicitly deal with sexuality and identity politics, and I do come out to my students in those classes on the first day. The first time I actually came out to a roomful of students was an incredibly powerful moment, even though most of them already knew or assumed I was a lesbian. I gave my usual spiel about how I don't make assumptions about aspects of their identity -- gender, race, ethnicity, religion, orientation, etc -- and how they are never required to self-identify in class dicussions. If they choose to, they can. But the ground rule of my class always is that you can't force someone else to self-disclose if s/he doesn't choose to. So I said all of this, and then said "But I should also tell you that I'm your lesbian professor." I could feel the energy in the room -- something sparkled like electricity. I'm quite sure none of them had ever had a teacher say something like that before. And even if they knew it beforehand, it does make a difference to say it. But my reason for coming out in those courses is a pedagogical one, and has to do with creating a safe discussion space for exploring cultural issues around sexuality. In my other courses, my explicit self-disclosure wouldn't have any connection to the course material, and might (at least on the first day) actually shut down students' minds more than help open them.
Being one of the few out professors on campus, and one of the few who teach courses related to sexuality, brings with it certain responsibilities. I frequently wind up being the unofficial advisor or mentor for glbt students, or the listening ear for students who are beginning to question their orientation. It happens less often than it might at a smaller college, simply because there actually is a thriving gay community in the city. But just because we're in a city doesn't mean that it's not important for glb faculty to be out on campus, to offer students advice and resources, to be the role models most of us didn't have.
"Coming out" is always a process, if only because you have to repeat it over and over again. It's not like you do it one day and then you're done. But every single time, no matter what response I've gotten, it's always been worth it.
I've been out to my colleagues since I first interviewed for my job. I asked a lesbian prof to tell me about the local glb community. Obviously, I was asking her to get some information and also to clarify things, in case her gaydar wasn't working. But I chose to ask her in front of some other people, which apparently surprised everyone. (But this is also a campus where one person told me that she was impressed that I wore pants to my interview instead of a skirt. Apparently I was getting bravery points left and right without even knowing it.)
I have two gay or lesbian colleagues in my department, and there are others on campus. Because of our urban location, there isn't much organization or community for glb people on campus -- there's an undergrad student group, but very little networking among glb faculty. But since I've been here for several years, word of my existence has sort of gotten around -- I can tell when certain students show up in my classes and say that "Dr. Gay Sociologist told me I should take your class for my Lit requirement."
And the same holds true for students. I don't explicitly come out to all of my classes -- my rule is that it has to be pedagogically relevant and useful to do so. But I drop enough clues that any student who has a vested interest in figuring out that I'm a lesbian can do so. (My appearance, the picture of my partner on my desk, no screening of gender pronouns, no hetero-normative assumptions in course lectures, etc). Of course, there are plenty of students who'd rather not figure it out. And that's OK too. Because I teach women's studies courses, my students are busy dealing with Feminism 101 and sometimes that's more than enough for them to handle.
I also teach courses that explicitly deal with sexuality and identity politics, and I do come out to my students in those classes on the first day. The first time I actually came out to a roomful of students was an incredibly powerful moment, even though most of them already knew or assumed I was a lesbian. I gave my usual spiel about how I don't make assumptions about aspects of their identity -- gender, race, ethnicity, religion, orientation, etc -- and how they are never required to self-identify in class dicussions. If they choose to, they can. But the ground rule of my class always is that you can't force someone else to self-disclose if s/he doesn't choose to. So I said all of this, and then said "But I should also tell you that I'm your lesbian professor." I could feel the energy in the room -- something sparkled like electricity. I'm quite sure none of them had ever had a teacher say something like that before. And even if they knew it beforehand, it does make a difference to say it. But my reason for coming out in those courses is a pedagogical one, and has to do with creating a safe discussion space for exploring cultural issues around sexuality. In my other courses, my explicit self-disclosure wouldn't have any connection to the course material, and might (at least on the first day) actually shut down students' minds more than help open them.
Being one of the few out professors on campus, and one of the few who teach courses related to sexuality, brings with it certain responsibilities. I frequently wind up being the unofficial advisor or mentor for glbt students, or the listening ear for students who are beginning to question their orientation. It happens less often than it might at a smaller college, simply because there actually is a thriving gay community in the city. But just because we're in a city doesn't mean that it's not important for glb faculty to be out on campus, to offer students advice and resources, to be the role models most of us didn't have.
"Coming out" is always a process, if only because you have to repeat it over and over again. It's not like you do it one day and then you're done. But every single time, no matter what response I've gotten, it's always been worth it.
10/10/2004
Jacques Derrida 1930-2004
The news of Jacques Derrida's death is currently being reported in a variety of ways, some more irritating than others. The NYT obituary, for instance, twice detours into allegations surrounding Paul de Man's Nazi involvement -- which ultimately have very little to do with Derrida's life and work. I'm glad to see that various news sources are at least taking note of his passing -- and some are trying to be neutral in their appraisal of his contribution to 20th-century philosophy. But others are just rehearsing the same old tired claims that his writings are "absurd" or "difficult" or "controversial." (Actually, it's sort of fascinating to read several of these news clips -- most of them clearly derived from one never-to-be-located Ur-text, but each recombining the sentences in slightly different ways.)
Every week or two, famous actors and public figures pass away -- but at this point in my life, most of them have not yet been actors I identified with or saw as part of my own formative imaginative life. Musicians are a different category, of course; but I'm thinking here less of the tragic early deaths than those at the end of a long glorious career -- I'm not really familiar with actors from the 40s and 50s, so their passing registers less strongly with me.
But Derrida had a huge impact on my intellectual development and my drive towards the academy. I was introduced to his work as an undergraduate, in two different classes in one amazing semester: a mixed grad/undergrad course on literary theory and a modern philosophy course (also mixed grad/undergrad, now that I think about it). Quite simply, his work turned me on, caught my imagination, opened up new horizons for me in a way that other writers hadn't. Reading Derrida in the context of Kant, Hegel, Heidegger, Gadamer, Sartre, and others meant I came to his work from a different perspective than many literary scholars. It demonstrated to me that philosophy wasn't dead, and wasn't inaccessible -- that instead there were people committed to the exploration of new ways of thinking about the most basic ingredients of human thought and communication.
The late 1980s were an amazing time in the American academy -- by the time I started my PhD work, my cohort understood theory as an integral part of the study of literature. At no time were we ever taught that there was only one right way of reading a text, or developing an interpretation -- instead we were handed an amazing toolbox to use in figuring out for ourselves which methods and paradigms seemed most interesting and most useful for our particular questions. What the right wing and the general media never seemed to understand, in characterizing all literary theory, and especially deconstruction, as the Evil Force of Chaos about to Destroy the Canon (remember the so-called Culture Wars?), was that in order to really understand Derrida's work, you had to be steeped in the Western literary and philosophical tradition. And, of course, Derrida's goal was never to produce a "reading" of a single literary text. To read any text is necessarily to participate in an endless process of creation, misunderstanding, and re/creation -- the play of the text is what allows for the free play of the mind. To watch Derrida's mind at work in his essays is still an awe-inspiring performance for me -- and has the effect of strong espresso on my brain cells. It wakes me up, makes me think in new ways, helps me see the larger horizons and stakes in what we do as readers and teachers of texts.
My own published work rarely draws on Derrida's, because my goals and procedures are rather different. And yet I credit his work as one of my formative influences. Although I didn't know him personally, I had the privilege to see him lecture twice (in English, at US universities) -- I found him completely captivating, exhilirating, and funny. His quirky personality was legend in certain academic circles -- yet the sweet side of him showed through, I thought, in the documentary film released two years ago. Sure, he was sort of a rock star for geeky academics -- there was some kind of thrill in watching him butter his toast in the morning, to see the room where he wrote, to see him putter around the house with his wife. But the film also nicely captured the complexity of his life -- his early life experiences, his intellectual trajectory, his commitment to political causes -- and even, in some well-selected quotes, gestured at the rich emotional tones in his work on nostalgia, memory, and loss. Reading Derrida, I never lost sight of the individual man behind the text -- playful and serious together, unafraid to swerve, to alter course midway through an essay -- in just the way the human mind and its languages invariably lead us to do. He was a great thinker, a complicated person, and a wonderful writer who pushed our boundaries about what serious texts could and could not do. I know my own intellectual life is richer and more free because of his work.
*********
Update 10/10/04 2:30 pm: Others too around the web are recollecting Derrida's impact. A few worth reading:
I know there will be many more over the next few days.
Every week or two, famous actors and public figures pass away -- but at this point in my life, most of them have not yet been actors I identified with or saw as part of my own formative imaginative life. Musicians are a different category, of course; but I'm thinking here less of the tragic early deaths than those at the end of a long glorious career -- I'm not really familiar with actors from the 40s and 50s, so their passing registers less strongly with me.
But Derrida had a huge impact on my intellectual development and my drive towards the academy. I was introduced to his work as an undergraduate, in two different classes in one amazing semester: a mixed grad/undergrad course on literary theory and a modern philosophy course (also mixed grad/undergrad, now that I think about it). Quite simply, his work turned me on, caught my imagination, opened up new horizons for me in a way that other writers hadn't. Reading Derrida in the context of Kant, Hegel, Heidegger, Gadamer, Sartre, and others meant I came to his work from a different perspective than many literary scholars. It demonstrated to me that philosophy wasn't dead, and wasn't inaccessible -- that instead there were people committed to the exploration of new ways of thinking about the most basic ingredients of human thought and communication.
The late 1980s were an amazing time in the American academy -- by the time I started my PhD work, my cohort understood theory as an integral part of the study of literature. At no time were we ever taught that there was only one right way of reading a text, or developing an interpretation -- instead we were handed an amazing toolbox to use in figuring out for ourselves which methods and paradigms seemed most interesting and most useful for our particular questions. What the right wing and the general media never seemed to understand, in characterizing all literary theory, and especially deconstruction, as the Evil Force of Chaos about to Destroy the Canon (remember the so-called Culture Wars?), was that in order to really understand Derrida's work, you had to be steeped in the Western literary and philosophical tradition. And, of course, Derrida's goal was never to produce a "reading" of a single literary text. To read any text is necessarily to participate in an endless process of creation, misunderstanding, and re/creation -- the play of the text is what allows for the free play of the mind. To watch Derrida's mind at work in his essays is still an awe-inspiring performance for me -- and has the effect of strong espresso on my brain cells. It wakes me up, makes me think in new ways, helps me see the larger horizons and stakes in what we do as readers and teachers of texts.
My own published work rarely draws on Derrida's, because my goals and procedures are rather different. And yet I credit his work as one of my formative influences. Although I didn't know him personally, I had the privilege to see him lecture twice (in English, at US universities) -- I found him completely captivating, exhilirating, and funny. His quirky personality was legend in certain academic circles -- yet the sweet side of him showed through, I thought, in the documentary film released two years ago. Sure, he was sort of a rock star for geeky academics -- there was some kind of thrill in watching him butter his toast in the morning, to see the room where he wrote, to see him putter around the house with his wife. But the film also nicely captured the complexity of his life -- his early life experiences, his intellectual trajectory, his commitment to political causes -- and even, in some well-selected quotes, gestured at the rich emotional tones in his work on nostalgia, memory, and loss. Reading Derrida, I never lost sight of the individual man behind the text -- playful and serious together, unafraid to swerve, to alter course midway through an essay -- in just the way the human mind and its languages invariably lead us to do. He was a great thinker, a complicated person, and a wonderful writer who pushed our boundaries about what serious texts could and could not do. I know my own intellectual life is richer and more free because of his work.
*********
Update 10/10/04 2:30 pm: Others too around the web are recollecting Derrida's impact. A few worth reading:
I know there will be many more over the next few days.
10/09/2004
anti-growth rant
I'm a week or so overdue for a haircut -- and today my hair crossed over that line between "needs a good trim" to incredibly annoying overgrowth. Comparable only to the feeling of when your fingernails are too long and you don't have a clipper handy. Eventually all you can feel is the length of your nails touching the keyboard or even your skin. Errrggh.
I've often suspected that my hair and nails grow awfully fast (I have to clip my nails every 4-5 days), but maybe it's just that I'm more sensitive to it than other people. So, humor me please with a quick poll: If you keep your fingernails short (and you should for hygienic reasons if nothing else -- and how else could you type, dear bloggers?) , how often do you have to cut them?
I've often suspected that my hair and nails grow awfully fast (I have to clip my nails every 4-5 days), but maybe it's just that I'm more sensitive to it than other people. So, humor me please with a quick poll: If you keep your fingernails short (and you should for hygienic reasons if nothing else -- and how else could you type, dear bloggers?) , how often do you have to cut them?
10/08/2004
students
Update on Mr Text Messaging: he did come to meet with me about rewriting his paper. Yet he spent most of the time trying to impress me by reciting the names of some of the other profs he'd had (all men) and saying that "I think I've been pretty well educated." OK, but you still wrote a C- paper. "Well, I just have such an archaic writing style." And how do you think that will serve you? He did eventually admit that he hadn't spent much time on the paper, and that he couldn't find a thesis sentence in it either. As he was walking out the door he was quoting one of my colleagues who'd apparently said some maxim to him about writing style that this guy took as a compliment, when it really wasn't. I'd sort of suspected earlier this term that this student has some issues with having a female professor, and now it's become much clearer. Invoking the authority of my colleagues isn't going to make me back down, dude. Get a grip.
And at the complete other end of the spectrum, one of those golden moments that make it all worthwhile. A shy young man who'd also gotten a C on his paper came to see me last week about it -- obviously nervous about talking to me one on one, but I felt that by encouraging him to explain his thoughts about the text I'd made a better connection with him. He's never spoken in class. Yesterday, he did! and the passage he brought forward started off a great discussion thread. It's really wonderful when you can help a student feel empowered to participate in the conversation -- especially when it's a class with a number of strong students who talk a lot. Each time someone new joins in, you can see the other quiet students taking notice. A kind of ripple effect.
Like most English departments, I'd say our major enrolls more women than men -- but I don't know any exact figures. In one of my classes this term, I have one-third men, which is a higher ratio than I often do (although that also has to do with some of the courses I teach). I've written before about how I think my presence in the classroom is significant for many of my women students. It's harder for me to theorize /understand what I represent for the male students, since I don't usually have so many of them. Sort of an ongoing project in this particular class. Thinking about these two examples -- I think my teaching persona & pedagogy must be a novel experience for both of these men. (Does it clarify anything to point out that Mr Text Messaging is a large white guy, and Mr Shy Speaker is Hispanic?) More on this anon.
And at the complete other end of the spectrum, one of those golden moments that make it all worthwhile. A shy young man who'd also gotten a C on his paper came to see me last week about it -- obviously nervous about talking to me one on one, but I felt that by encouraging him to explain his thoughts about the text I'd made a better connection with him. He's never spoken in class. Yesterday, he did! and the passage he brought forward started off a great discussion thread. It's really wonderful when you can help a student feel empowered to participate in the conversation -- especially when it's a class with a number of strong students who talk a lot. Each time someone new joins in, you can see the other quiet students taking notice. A kind of ripple effect.
Like most English departments, I'd say our major enrolls more women than men -- but I don't know any exact figures. In one of my classes this term, I have one-third men, which is a higher ratio than I often do (although that also has to do with some of the courses I teach). I've written before about how I think my presence in the classroom is significant for many of my women students. It's harder for me to theorize /understand what I represent for the male students, since I don't usually have so many of them. Sort of an ongoing project in this particular class. Thinking about these two examples -- I think my teaching persona & pedagogy must be a novel experience for both of these men. (Does it clarify anything to point out that Mr Text Messaging is a large white guy, and Mr Shy Speaker is Hispanic?) More on this anon.
10/06/2004
to the disgruntled guy in the back row:
OK, dude, I know I kinda embarrassed you Tuesday when after almost 30 minutes of watching you text message I directly told you to put your phone away. But you know? the rest of us here are doing our jobs -- being students and being the teacher. If you want to message your friends, do it somewhere else, some other time. After all, my attendance policy does not require that you come to class every day. I simply point out that if you don't, it's likely that you will do poorly on assignments because you won't know what's going on.
Like the paper I handed back to you last week with a nice fat C- on it. You've got the rewrite option, like everyone else in class -- but only if you conference with me first. I'd be willing to bet that you will try to hand in a rewrite without having met with me. And that it will be just as crappy a paper as the first one. Unless of course you resort to plagiarizing. In which case I will bust your ass.
Oh, whine, whine, I'm being so tough on you? Well, it's partly because you've been acting like a jerk all semester. You sleep half of every class. And then when you do raise your hand to speak, you say something designed to rile up all the serious students who are actually doing the reading. Something really brilliant like "well, she wrote like that because she was a woman." I actually don't mind the devil's advocate comments that much -- it's just that I'm beginning to suspect that all of your "participation" is just a front for your basic slackness. You don't have to have done the reading to make the comments you do. And in fact, I heard you boasting to someone else that you hadn't read any of the novel that we're currently studying. Well, participation isn't just opening your mouth -- it also involves some thought and content.
You're a big guy, with a loud voice, and fairly decent speech. I'm pretty sure you've gotten this far in your life with people just assuming you know what you're talking about. Well, I know that you don't. Game's up, buddy.
Like the paper I handed back to you last week with a nice fat C- on it. You've got the rewrite option, like everyone else in class -- but only if you conference with me first. I'd be willing to bet that you will try to hand in a rewrite without having met with me. And that it will be just as crappy a paper as the first one. Unless of course you resort to plagiarizing. In which case I will bust your ass.
Oh, whine, whine, I'm being so tough on you? Well, it's partly because you've been acting like a jerk all semester. You sleep half of every class. And then when you do raise your hand to speak, you say something designed to rile up all the serious students who are actually doing the reading. Something really brilliant like "well, she wrote like that because she was a woman." I actually don't mind the devil's advocate comments that much -- it's just that I'm beginning to suspect that all of your "participation" is just a front for your basic slackness. You don't have to have done the reading to make the comments you do. And in fact, I heard you boasting to someone else that you hadn't read any of the novel that we're currently studying. Well, participation isn't just opening your mouth -- it also involves some thought and content.
You're a big guy, with a loud voice, and fairly decent speech. I'm pretty sure you've gotten this far in your life with people just assuming you know what you're talking about. Well, I know that you don't. Game's up, buddy.
10/04/2004
work habits
Two of my blog favorites have recently been writing about procrastination and academic deadlines. I've been thinking a lot about these two posts, since I could easily have written much of their content myself.
In particular -- New Kid wrote about how somewhere during dissertation writing, the typical fuzziness about meeting academic deadlines set in:
I too have this idea that sometime in my past, I was better able to manage my time, my writing, and my deadlines -- I've been saying for years that in college I was not only turning things in on time, but sometimes had them done early. Well, that's true -- but the "early" part was mostly because I didn't have a computer -- I had to handwrite my papers, and then type them on my typewriter. (Yup, I'm a dinosaur. I first used a computer for word processing in my last year of college -- but that involved standing in line at the computer lab -- again, I wasn't composing on the PC, just editing and typing.) And, when I really think about it, I can remember a lot of late nights listening to REM on perpetual repeat as I wrote my papers. (Anybody else have certain albums from college that were standbys for writing papers? I can't listen to Murmur, or Low without getting that up-all-night-thinking-about-philosophy feeling).
OK, so maybe I wasn't completely super-organized in college. But it was also a heck of a lot easier to manage my time then -- far fewer responsibilities dragging me in different directions.
Profgrrrrl provides a wonderful glimpse inside the familiar procrastination so many of us know and dread:
Every single time I'm up late working for a deadline -- whether it's a writing deadline, or even just grading my students' papers, I think: how could this be happening, AGAIN? How could I be so dumb?
Now, depending on my frame of mind, I have a variety of answers to that question. (And I know several good books on overcoming procrastination: The Now Habit is the best, I think.) But tonight's answer involves a deeper look back into my work habits.
My very first research paper assignment was in fourth grade. We got to pick our own topics -- mine was ESP. We had to write outlines, use note cards, and eventually write a five page paper. This was a huge project for 9-year-olds in the Jurassic era. (I'm sure today's hyperachieving kids are doing this in kindergarten.) I read books on my topic, did my outline and notecards, and wrote the paper. But what do I remember most? I had to stay up way past my bedtime the night before the paper was due: til midnight. Because I had to slowly, painfully recopy the whole damn paper because the teacher was going to be grading us on our penmanship, and mine was crap. And my mom got mad at me for staying up so late.
Not an illustrious beginning to my research writing career. Although I did get an A, thereby rewarding my late night and suggesting that academic success and working right up to the deadline go hand in hand.
p.s. I also remember being mad that the teacher had marked my careful copying of the digraph in Encyclopaedia Britannica wrong, even though she'd impressed upon us that we had to copy all the titles exactly.
In particular -- New Kid wrote about how somewhere during dissertation writing, the typical fuzziness about meeting academic deadlines set in:
In grad school especially, my friends and I disdained this behavior. How hard was it really to get things in on time? What kind of slackers were these people? WE would never act that way. After all, we needed good grades and letters of recommendation and jobs. We couldn't afford to turn things in late, and really, why would we?
But somewhere along the line the rot set in. I think it was during the dissertation, when external deadlines really had no meaning at all. I needed to set my own deadlines, and damned if I was no good at this at all. Because, really, deadlines came to seem so arbitrary.
I too have this idea that sometime in my past, I was better able to manage my time, my writing, and my deadlines -- I've been saying for years that in college I was not only turning things in on time, but sometimes had them done early. Well, that's true -- but the "early" part was mostly because I didn't have a computer -- I had to handwrite my papers, and then type them on my typewriter. (Yup, I'm a dinosaur. I first used a computer for word processing in my last year of college -- but that involved standing in line at the computer lab -- again, I wasn't composing on the PC, just editing and typing.) And, when I really think about it, I can remember a lot of late nights listening to REM on perpetual repeat as I wrote my papers. (Anybody else have certain albums from college that were standbys for writing papers? I can't listen to Murmur, or Low without getting that up-all-night-thinking-about-philosophy feeling).
OK, so maybe I wasn't completely super-organized in college. But it was also a heck of a lot easier to manage my time then -- far fewer responsibilities dragging me in different directions.
Profgrrrrl provides a wonderful glimpse inside the familiar procrastination so many of us know and dread:
I have oodles of things to do. Some with hard deadlines. Some with my own softer ones. Some (dangerously) with no sense of deadline.
Some of the deadlines have passed (thankfully not many). Some are right upon me. And a few are upcoming, just close enough to feed into that panic feeling.
I hate feeling like this. I hate the out-of-control world spinning around me. I hate that this seems to happen to me entirely too often.
Every single time I'm up late working for a deadline -- whether it's a writing deadline, or even just grading my students' papers, I think: how could this be happening, AGAIN? How could I be so dumb?
Now, depending on my frame of mind, I have a variety of answers to that question. (And I know several good books on overcoming procrastination: The Now Habit is the best, I think.) But tonight's answer involves a deeper look back into my work habits.
My very first research paper assignment was in fourth grade. We got to pick our own topics -- mine was ESP. We had to write outlines, use note cards, and eventually write a five page paper. This was a huge project for 9-year-olds in the Jurassic era. (I'm sure today's hyperachieving kids are doing this in kindergarten.) I read books on my topic, did my outline and notecards, and wrote the paper. But what do I remember most? I had to stay up way past my bedtime the night before the paper was due: til midnight. Because I had to slowly, painfully recopy the whole damn paper because the teacher was going to be grading us on our penmanship, and mine was crap. And my mom got mad at me for staying up so late.
Not an illustrious beginning to my research writing career. Although I did get an A, thereby rewarding my late night and suggesting that academic success and working right up to the deadline go hand in hand.
p.s. I also remember being mad that the teacher had marked my careful copying of the digraph in Encyclopaedia Britannica wrong, even though she'd impressed upon us that we had to copy all the titles exactly.
10/03/2004
times are a-changin'
My partner and I attended an event this weekend that drew a large number of people, mostly from the so-called "women's community" (i.e., mostly middle-class lesbians). What was nice at this particular event was that there was a wide range of ages -- this is one context in which I don't mind falling into the old fart routine: You know, in my day, we didn't have events like these, or support groups in high school, or lesbians represented in film or on TV.
It's really great to see these young kids who are able to explore different aspects of their identity in a public and community fashion, not simply by sneaking off to the library to read whatever sociological treatises and 70s feminist tracts they could find. Sure, it doesn't necessarily make your life easy, just because you have the option of being out in high school -- but simply the greater availablity of a public discourse about sexuality in general, and homosexuality in particular, means that young people with a vested interest in exploring such topics can find their way to resources. The internet alone would have made my life so much better. I'd still probably have been a sulky, depressed adolescent -- but I'd have been able to write bad poetry and chat with other sulky kids online.
Growing up in a small Midwestern college town, I actually had it easier than many people I know -- there was a decent library, so I could at least read about gays and lesbians. My family knew gay people -- all of them men -- and there was a gay male English teacher at my high school. He wasn't out -- but everyone knew that he was gay. But that kind of unspoken tolerance only goes so far. A few years later, he was one of the first HIV cases in our town, and the nurses at the hospital refused to feed him, so our (female) high school Latin teacher would go every day so he could take his meals.
Gay/lesbian students at my high school? I can make some guesses now. But at the time (early 80s) no one was openly gay. Sure, there were the odd rumors about the daring exploits of the drama club. And several people probably handled things as I did, on an individual need-to-know basis. But there was no sense of community, no opportunities for glb students to connect with each other.
I basically just counted the days until I would graduate. Then, I knew, my real life would begin, somewhere else. (And it did!)
It's really great to see these young kids who are able to explore different aspects of their identity in a public and community fashion, not simply by sneaking off to the library to read whatever sociological treatises and 70s feminist tracts they could find. Sure, it doesn't necessarily make your life easy, just because you have the option of being out in high school -- but simply the greater availablity of a public discourse about sexuality in general, and homosexuality in particular, means that young people with a vested interest in exploring such topics can find their way to resources. The internet alone would have made my life so much better. I'd still probably have been a sulky, depressed adolescent -- but I'd have been able to write bad poetry and chat with other sulky kids online.
Growing up in a small Midwestern college town, I actually had it easier than many people I know -- there was a decent library, so I could at least read about gays and lesbians. My family knew gay people -- all of them men -- and there was a gay male English teacher at my high school. He wasn't out -- but everyone knew that he was gay. But that kind of unspoken tolerance only goes so far. A few years later, he was one of the first HIV cases in our town, and the nurses at the hospital refused to feed him, so our (female) high school Latin teacher would go every day so he could take his meals.
Gay/lesbian students at my high school? I can make some guesses now. But at the time (early 80s) no one was openly gay. Sure, there were the odd rumors about the daring exploits of the drama club. And several people probably handled things as I did, on an individual need-to-know basis. But there was no sense of community, no opportunities for glb students to connect with each other.
I basically just counted the days until I would graduate. Then, I knew, my real life would begin, somewhere else. (And it did!)
10/01/2004
on biography
As a literature teacher, I generally feel some obligation to explain to my students some key elements from the life stories of the authors who we are studying: not only because they expect it, and because the anthology provides some cursory information, but also because it helps me explain aspects of the specific historical period. Issues about access to education, class status, professional options for men and women, etc, etc, all come up when you're talking about the lives of individual writers.
But at another level I hate having to do this. Not because I believe in Transcendent Literature that escapes all place and time (in fact, quite the opposite) or because I'm a staunch Formalist/New Critic /Deconstructionist who only wants to look for linguistic patterns of meaning (that's part of what I teach, but not my only approach). The historical approach of my own work means that sometimes specific biographical contexts are relevant -- and sometimes not. I can pick and choose depending on the kind of question I'm trying to answer.
But in the classroom, any discussion of an author's life inevitably seems incredibly reductive -- 10 minutes, 20 minutes even, to explain a whole life? And worse yet, some students want to take whatever tiny smidge of biographical information I or the anthology have given them, and construct elaborate and usually patently misguided readings of the texts.
I don't think it's their fault, exactly -- our general culture still valorizes a Romantic model of artistic production that equates the text (or song, etc) with the author's own feelings and is very resistant to models of aesthetic signification that complicate or pluralize the possible meanings in a text. And, faced with a text that might be deliberately ambiguous in its "message" or alluding to various layers of literary history that my students are relatively deaf to, they fall back on biography as the explanatory model. Obviously, my job is to explain those multiple layers of meaning, and I think I do that fairly well in the classroom. But then I still get one or two papers that insist "Robert Browning wrote this poem because he was jealous of his wife's success" with absolutely no way of backing up their claim. Sure, I can treat it as a problem of evidence, which I often do in my comments. But it seems to me there's a larger question about literary pedagogy here.
So, if you're in a humanities field for which questions of authorship are relevant to the interpretation of texts or artworks: how do you deal with biography?
But at another level I hate having to do this. Not because I believe in Transcendent Literature that escapes all place and time (in fact, quite the opposite) or because I'm a staunch Formalist/New Critic /Deconstructionist who only wants to look for linguistic patterns of meaning (that's part of what I teach, but not my only approach). The historical approach of my own work means that sometimes specific biographical contexts are relevant -- and sometimes not. I can pick and choose depending on the kind of question I'm trying to answer.
But in the classroom, any discussion of an author's life inevitably seems incredibly reductive -- 10 minutes, 20 minutes even, to explain a whole life? And worse yet, some students want to take whatever tiny smidge of biographical information I or the anthology have given them, and construct elaborate and usually patently misguided readings of the texts.
I don't think it's their fault, exactly -- our general culture still valorizes a Romantic model of artistic production that equates the text (or song, etc) with the author's own feelings and is very resistant to models of aesthetic signification that complicate or pluralize the possible meanings in a text. And, faced with a text that might be deliberately ambiguous in its "message" or alluding to various layers of literary history that my students are relatively deaf to, they fall back on biography as the explanatory model. Obviously, my job is to explain those multiple layers of meaning, and I think I do that fairly well in the classroom. But then I still get one or two papers that insist "Robert Browning wrote this poem because he was jealous of his wife's success" with absolutely no way of backing up their claim. Sure, I can treat it as a problem of evidence, which I often do in my comments. But it seems to me there's a larger question about literary pedagogy here.
So, if you're in a humanities field for which questions of authorship are relevant to the interpretation of texts or artworks: how do you deal with biography?
9/30/2004
perhaps hopeful signs
A friend sent me an article from the NYTimes (from the 9/27 edition) discussing NYU's planned expansion of its liberal arts faculty:
Apparently the visit of an accreditation team pointed to the relatively small size of NYU's liberal arts faculty as a factor that would hamper its quest for research university status.
What's also interesting is that the article points to other universities which also plan large scale hires:
People have been promising some improvement in the dismal market statistics in the humanities for years; the problem is that many retirements were just never filled again, causing faculty lines to dry up or be reassigned to other units.
But if a few big players start doing major hiring, perhaps the idea will catch on...
New York University is on a hiring campaign that it hopes
will put its graduate and undergraduate liberal arts
programs on sounder footing and give them the stature of
some of its most prominent professional schools.
Over the next five years, it plans to expand its 625-member
arts and science faculty by 125 members, and replace
another 125 who are expected to leave.
Apparently the visit of an accreditation team pointed to the relatively small size of NYU's liberal arts faculty as a factor that would hamper its quest for research university status.
What's also interesting is that the article points to other universities which also plan large scale hires:
N.Y.U. is not the only university recruiting many
professors at once. Other universities also engaged in
wholesale hiring include Brown (expanding 20 percent in
five to eight years), Temple (hiring 176 new professors
this year and next), the University of Southern California
(hiring 100 new senior faculty members at its College of
Letters, Arts and Sciences) and the City University of New
York (adding 300 new faculty members and staff at its six
community colleges).
People have been promising some improvement in the dismal market statistics in the humanities for years; the problem is that many retirements were just never filled again, causing faculty lines to dry up or be reassigned to other units.
But if a few big players start doing major hiring, perhaps the idea will catch on...
9/28/2004
I guess this is a compliment
"You know, I just signed up for this class because it fit into my schedule. And I really didn't want to take it, but my friend, who's a real jock, said he'd taken Victorian and it wasn't so bad. But I was really dreading it. But you know, I actually kinda like this stuff. You know? And, like, I have this other class and the professor is really, like, boring and he never tells us whether what we said is right or not. I have a paper due in there tomorrow! So anyway, I just wanted to say that."
9/27/2004
better grading through chemistry
Red Bull.
It's the answer to my grading woes. (Plus it's a full moon so I wouldn't be sleeping much anyway tonight.)
I've enjoyed RB before when meeting writing deadlines, but hadn't indulged while grading. It definitely makes grading a less painful experience.
It's the answer to my grading woes. (Plus it's a full moon so I wouldn't be sleeping much anyway tonight.)
I've enjoyed RB before when meeting writing deadlines, but hadn't indulged while grading. It definitely makes grading a less painful experience.
9/26/2004
for the next few days
here's what the short version of my list looks like:
And my personal list:
grade papers for class #1 (approximatelyHAPPY DANCE!!2520126 left to go) (plus 5 late papers coming in today makes 11 to be graded by Thurs)grade papers for class #2 (approximately 28 left to go)write quiz for #1write class outlines for #1write lecture for #2update powerpoints for #2write assignment for #2readingfor #1 (approximately 5-6 hours total for the week,2-3 for Tues)reading for #2 (approximately 3 hours)write first draft of funding application for proposed guest lecturer visit- write first draft of paper proposal for upcoming conference
- read three articles related to my current research project
- actually write something towards my current research project
plan upcoming week, report to writing group- write two letters of recommendation for former students
And my personal list:
- yoga (goal:
Sunday, Monday,Wednesday, Friday, Saturday) rake yard, bag leaveshomework for shrink appointment- time with gf
- minimum weekly housecleaning chores
- cook real dinners at least 4 nights
- blogging!
9/25/2004
more on appearances
There's been lots of interesting discussion the past few days about clothing and other aspects of academic self-presentation -- in the comments to my post, at BitchPhD, at New Kid on the Hallway, at Pharyngula, and Lilliputian Lilith. And probably elsewhere too that I've just lost track of.
In the five months I've been reading academic blogs, this or similar topics have come up several times -- and I'm always an interested participant in such conversations. Academics (or at least those I've encountered in these virtual spaces) are interested in our appearance not because we're hopelessly vain or self-centered, but because we have the skills to analyse our own visual texts (at least some of the time), and our somewhat contradictory position within general professional middle-class culture. In Distinction, Pierre Bourdieu offers a framework for a sociological understanding of cultural taste, based on extensive empirical work with French subjects. Although the specifics of his analysis don't translate to U.S. culture, much of his analytical framework really hit home for me when I first read his work. Academics, for Bourdieu, are the "dominated fraction of the dominant class" -- those who have the education and cultural capital equal to or greater than that of the socially/politically dominant group, yet don't have the social prestige or economic power of that dominant class. So we often respond to that situation by cultivating an anti-establishment attitude, aesthetic, personal style. Yet the desire to buy into the mainstream can still persist (witness the discussion about the economic constraints faced by academics in many of the blogs linked above).
Academic jobs do require us to be up in front of large numbers of people several days a week. Unlike media figures, we don't have handlers, designers, and makeup artists to get us ready to "appear"; unlike people in the so-called "service industries," we don't get uniforms handed to us with the job. So we're on view in a performance or quasi-public kind of way, unlike many people in the corporate world, who may only interact with the people in their unit or meeting room, or a handful of clients at a time. And in that classroom space, we are simultaneously representing ourselves as individuals, but also a number of large abstractions: the University, Knowledge, The Professor.
As an example: for many of my students, I represent the Highly Educated Woman, who seems sort of like an alien from outer space. Every semester, I'll have women in their twenties or thirties, often from East Asian or Hispanic backgrounds, show up in my office and shyly start asking me whether I'm married, if I have kids. For them, I represent an entirely different way of being in the world, one that they hadn't really imagined. I'm Youngish Unmarried Childless Educated Professional Caucasian-Appearing Woman. (The fact that I'm also an out lesbian is usually a bit much for these women to comprehend early on in the term. Other students figure that part out right away.) Whatever content I'm teaching them in class, I'm also teaching them something just by being who I am.
What does this have to do with clothing? One one hand, not much: the fact that I'm at the front of the classroom and have the power to grade will always reinforce certain kinds of power structures, etc. But on the other hand, I'm wondering if the tendencies that are so easily mocked in academic dress (shabby or sloppy appearance, outdated styles, or eccentric costumes) not only serve to mark us as members of our own academic tribes and sub-groups (in English, for instance, medievalists are statistically far more likely to wear velvet to class than scholars in any other subfield), but also present a kind of vague-enough screen for students to project their own classifications and wishes onto us. For them, it's probably better if we look not quite parental, not quite like their peers, not quite of this time period, not quite like anything you could see at the mall. Who wants to be able to stroll into the Gap and come out looking just like Eccentric Biology Professor?
Now, if the comments I've been reading on various blogs are truthful and not just wishful, perhaps the new/next generations of academics will be more stylish. We all (and I have done this too) like to criticize our colleagues but suggest that we ourselves know how to put an outfit together. Part of the freedom and the difficulty of having these discussions online. For all you know, I could be a total J Crew prep who just likes to talk about her proto-Goth alterna-80s aesthetic. [grin]
In the five months I've been reading academic blogs, this or similar topics have come up several times -- and I'm always an interested participant in such conversations. Academics (or at least those I've encountered in these virtual spaces) are interested in our appearance not because we're hopelessly vain or self-centered, but because we have the skills to analyse our own visual texts (at least some of the time), and our somewhat contradictory position within general professional middle-class culture. In Distinction, Pierre Bourdieu offers a framework for a sociological understanding of cultural taste, based on extensive empirical work with French subjects. Although the specifics of his analysis don't translate to U.S. culture, much of his analytical framework really hit home for me when I first read his work. Academics, for Bourdieu, are the "dominated fraction of the dominant class" -- those who have the education and cultural capital equal to or greater than that of the socially/politically dominant group, yet don't have the social prestige or economic power of that dominant class. So we often respond to that situation by cultivating an anti-establishment attitude, aesthetic, personal style. Yet the desire to buy into the mainstream can still persist (witness the discussion about the economic constraints faced by academics in many of the blogs linked above).
Academic jobs do require us to be up in front of large numbers of people several days a week. Unlike media figures, we don't have handlers, designers, and makeup artists to get us ready to "appear"; unlike people in the so-called "service industries," we don't get uniforms handed to us with the job. So we're on view in a performance or quasi-public kind of way, unlike many people in the corporate world, who may only interact with the people in their unit or meeting room, or a handful of clients at a time. And in that classroom space, we are simultaneously representing ourselves as individuals, but also a number of large abstractions: the University, Knowledge, The Professor.
As an example: for many of my students, I represent the Highly Educated Woman, who seems sort of like an alien from outer space. Every semester, I'll have women in their twenties or thirties, often from East Asian or Hispanic backgrounds, show up in my office and shyly start asking me whether I'm married, if I have kids. For them, I represent an entirely different way of being in the world, one that they hadn't really imagined. I'm Youngish Unmarried Childless Educated Professional Caucasian-Appearing Woman. (The fact that I'm also an out lesbian is usually a bit much for these women to comprehend early on in the term. Other students figure that part out right away.) Whatever content I'm teaching them in class, I'm also teaching them something just by being who I am.
What does this have to do with clothing? One one hand, not much: the fact that I'm at the front of the classroom and have the power to grade will always reinforce certain kinds of power structures, etc. But on the other hand, I'm wondering if the tendencies that are so easily mocked in academic dress (shabby or sloppy appearance, outdated styles, or eccentric costumes) not only serve to mark us as members of our own academic tribes and sub-groups (in English, for instance, medievalists are statistically far more likely to wear velvet to class than scholars in any other subfield), but also present a kind of vague-enough screen for students to project their own classifications and wishes onto us. For them, it's probably better if we look not quite parental, not quite like their peers, not quite of this time period, not quite like anything you could see at the mall. Who wants to be able to stroll into the Gap and come out looking just like Eccentric Biology Professor?
Now, if the comments I've been reading on various blogs are truthful and not just wishful, perhaps the new/next generations of academics will be more stylish. We all (and I have done this too) like to criticize our colleagues but suggest that we ourselves know how to put an outfit together. Part of the freedom and the difficulty of having these discussions online. For all you know, I could be a total J Crew prep who just likes to talk about her proto-Goth alterna-80s aesthetic. [grin]
9/24/2004
I'm already missing my Friday
I'm up earlier than I'd like to be. . . and in about ten minutes I have to start the shower/dress/drive routine in order to be in the middle of morning freeway traffic (which I never do) in order to go and sit in a day-long planning meeting with my department. Whoo-hoo. I am so excited. I know, I should just use this as an opportunity to reflect on the ways in which my life doesn't have to follow this sort of routine very often. But at the moment I'm tired, not-yet adequately caffeinated (holding back since I know there will be big urns of coffee at the meeting), and feeling sad that I won't be able to catch up on blogs until the end of the afternoon. Not to mention all the other Friday things that won't happen today: lunch with gf, yoga, my day off. I know, I know, poor little tenured girl who likes her Friday afternoons to herself.
Did I mention I have a big stack of grading to do this weekend? Yippee.
Did I mention I have a big stack of grading to do this weekend? Yippee.
9/22/2004
there's a body in the classroom
Now, I am fully aware of the fact that I am both mind and body -- and I actually feel that I live and work very much aware of and in my physical form, considering that thinking is such a big part of what I do and who I am.
Part of my pedagogical practice also involves being aware of how I present or manage my physical body in the classroom. My first teacher training instructor stressed a lot of things about bodily awareness -- for instance, your students are asked to sit relatively still for the 75-90 minutes of class -- if you walk around the room, it helps keep them alert, as you are moving for them by proxy, in a sense. We all tend to have a preference to look towards the right side or the left side more often -- figuring out what your tendency is and then remembering to include the other side of the room (or seminar table) is especially important. Bending your knees while you're teaching is crucial to keep your energy up and your back comfy. Deep breathing.
At the same time, I'm also aware that my students will, like it or not, be observing me for those 90 minutes. Female professors tend statistically to receive more comments on their personal appearance in course evaluations than do male professors. That's an inevitable feature of patriarchal society, but not something I want to encourage. So what I choose to wear to teach in is selected to be stylish, yet comfortable and not especially revealing. I don't wear very revealing clothes at any time -- that's just not who I am -- but, for instance, I usually wear long sleeves when I'm teaching. I'd never teach in a sleeveless top, though I have some female colleagues who do in warmer weather. Having certain clothes I wear when I'm teaching helps create my teaching persona, and mark that persona as distinct from who I am on the weekends or at home.
But then sometimes the body makes its presence known anyway. I've occasionally taught with a cough or a scratchy throat during cold/flu season. Once I sneezed during class, which made me feel oddly vulnerable.
But yesterday was perhaps my most embarrassing moment yet. My stomach was growling. Loudly enough that I'm sure the students in the front row could hear. Not just once, but a couple of times. Grrr. Grrr. GRRR. I was embarrassed enough that I didn't even make a joke about it, just continued on as if nothing had happened.
Part of my pedagogical practice also involves being aware of how I present or manage my physical body in the classroom. My first teacher training instructor stressed a lot of things about bodily awareness -- for instance, your students are asked to sit relatively still for the 75-90 minutes of class -- if you walk around the room, it helps keep them alert, as you are moving for them by proxy, in a sense. We all tend to have a preference to look towards the right side or the left side more often -- figuring out what your tendency is and then remembering to include the other side of the room (or seminar table) is especially important. Bending your knees while you're teaching is crucial to keep your energy up and your back comfy. Deep breathing.
At the same time, I'm also aware that my students will, like it or not, be observing me for those 90 minutes. Female professors tend statistically to receive more comments on their personal appearance in course evaluations than do male professors. That's an inevitable feature of patriarchal society, but not something I want to encourage. So what I choose to wear to teach in is selected to be stylish, yet comfortable and not especially revealing. I don't wear very revealing clothes at any time -- that's just not who I am -- but, for instance, I usually wear long sleeves when I'm teaching. I'd never teach in a sleeveless top, though I have some female colleagues who do in warmer weather. Having certain clothes I wear when I'm teaching helps create my teaching persona, and mark that persona as distinct from who I am on the weekends or at home.
But then sometimes the body makes its presence known anyway. I've occasionally taught with a cough or a scratchy throat during cold/flu season. Once I sneezed during class, which made me feel oddly vulnerable.
But yesterday was perhaps my most embarrassing moment yet. My stomach was growling. Loudly enough that I'm sure the students in the front row could hear. Not just once, but a couple of times. Grrr. Grrr. GRRR. I was embarrassed enough that I didn't even make a joke about it, just continued on as if nothing had happened.
9/19/2004
various good things
Some good things:
- Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow: we caught a matinee today and both thoroughly enjoyed it. It's a lush filmic love letter to George Lucas, Spielberg, and all the 30s & 40s serials that inspired them. But it's also just a lot of fun, too. It's not retro only for the sake of being retro, the way some of Spielberg's later stuff seems. It's kind of more campy than that, which I like.
- it was phone call weekend -- calls from three dear long distance friends! I wish they were local, but I'm awfully glad for the phone.
- The Time Traveller's Wife, which I finished a few days ago. Loved, loved, LOVED it. It's smart without being ponderous -- the author is an academic, actually, and one of the characters works in the Newberry Library -- the references to Rilke etc actually blend in pretty well. The premise involves time travel (which doesn't put me off, since I read SF/fantasy) but it's a novel anyone could enjoy. Time travel is just a device for exploring the complexities of human relationships - - how people change, how you can't forecast the future of a relationship. It's well written, moving, completely engrossing.
- being available to help a friend deal with her dead car battery (it wouldn't take a jump, so we had to go get a new one) -- it's great to be able to be concretely helpful for someone in a bind.
- the excellent t-shirt my friend sent me. (To underscore her comment on my blog.)
- a relaxing Sunday mostly free of the usual Sunday grumps
- play time with W and G. Dogs keep you really zen. They don't care about the future and they don't care about the past. Only the now.
- feeling grateful for my gf. Nothing like a night out at one of the bars to make you extra super glad you've got a good catch right here at home.
9/18/2004
yesterday's frenzy
We have a houseguest with us this weekend, an old friend of my gf's, who is very sweet and great to have around. So yesterday afternoon involved a mad dash to clean up the house -- we really ought to have guests more often, so as to keep everything in tip top shape. I was cleaning the bathroom, Roomba was vacuuming the family room, the washing machine was going, and my gf was cleaning her car and carting things off to the recycling drop-off. All this activity plus an unseasonably warm afternoon put our younger dog into a panic. G. tends to be a bit nervous anyway, especially in new places or around strangers. But she hasn't had a panic attack at home in over a year--shaking, panting, basically just like a human in panic. So I had to shut off the appliances, sing to her, stroke her with an ice cube, and play dogmommy for a while (if I put my chin over her neck the way a superior dog does, she calms down, remembering that I'll take care of her). She recovered, and today even deigned to sit on the couch next to our guest, which is a big brave step for her.
Roomba hasn't bothered her before this. I think it was the combination of all the noise factors -- especially, perhaps, my gf going in and out of the house with stuff in her arms. She knew something was really up, but didn't know what it would be.
I know many people have preconceived ideas about certain dog breeds, or certain training methods, and how "labs are friendly" or "poodles are smart." But no matter what your dog's heritage, she will also have her own learning style and personality. Plus, since G was a street puppy when we found her, her past experiences have definitely shaped her attitudes about bicycles, teenagers, and various other potential aggressors. (Krista Cantrell's Catch Your Dog Doing Something Right is an excellent training book that offers advice on how to figure out what your dog's learning style is and how to motivate her appropriately.)
For all sorts of reasons, it doesn't bother me at all that we have a sensitive dog -- I'm glad both G and W are cautious around strangers rather than goofily friendly -- no one can walk into our yard or down the alley without our knowing about it, which in our neighborhood is a good thing. G's anxieties are just part of who she is and I love her as she is. I kind of share her sensitivity to loud noises, and I completely understand her dislike of new situations, although my response is far less visible. Her panic yesterday was a good reminder that maybe we didn't need to spaz out quite so much with the cleaning.
(Do my dogs need pseudonyms on this blog? I've outed them before, and only recently started to wonder if I should alter that practice. Though you'd have to be a pretty smart searcher to (1) know my dogs' names and (2) imagine that if I had a blog, I'd write about them (well, maybe that's not too tough to figure out) and then (3) search the web for them. Something to decide another day.)
Roomba hasn't bothered her before this. I think it was the combination of all the noise factors -- especially, perhaps, my gf going in and out of the house with stuff in her arms. She knew something was really up, but didn't know what it would be.
I know many people have preconceived ideas about certain dog breeds, or certain training methods, and how "labs are friendly" or "poodles are smart." But no matter what your dog's heritage, she will also have her own learning style and personality. Plus, since G was a street puppy when we found her, her past experiences have definitely shaped her attitudes about bicycles, teenagers, and various other potential aggressors. (Krista Cantrell's Catch Your Dog Doing Something Right is an excellent training book that offers advice on how to figure out what your dog's learning style is and how to motivate her appropriately.)
For all sorts of reasons, it doesn't bother me at all that we have a sensitive dog -- I'm glad both G and W are cautious around strangers rather than goofily friendly -- no one can walk into our yard or down the alley without our knowing about it, which in our neighborhood is a good thing. G's anxieties are just part of who she is and I love her as she is. I kind of share her sensitivity to loud noises, and I completely understand her dislike of new situations, although my response is far less visible. Her panic yesterday was a good reminder that maybe we didn't need to spaz out quite so much with the cleaning.
(Do my dogs need pseudonyms on this blog? I've outed them before, and only recently started to wonder if I should alter that practice. Though you'd have to be a pretty smart searcher to (1) know my dogs' names and (2) imagine that if I had a blog, I'd write about them (well, maybe that's not too tough to figure out) and then (3) search the web for them. Something to decide another day.)
9/17/2004
where did my week go?
Urgh. I can't believe it's Thursday night -- I'm glad enough, mind you -- that means my teaching week is over, my day off is supposed to be tomorrow, and all time is "my" time, for the next couple of days at least.
But where did my week go? The Sleep Monster ate it. I've just been dragging my sorry ass around this week. At first, I blamed it on my Tuesday night graduate seminar -- seminars themselves are always exhausting -- I walk out of there completely wired 'n tired -- I have about 45 minutes to go pick up take-out dinner and get home before collapsing on the couch to watch a silly movie. And, of course, there's the sometimes frantic prepping beforehand. This is a new course for me, in a new area, so it's taking up a lot of time.
So I slept in a bit on Wed morning but was in a foggy haze for the whole day. Maybe it's the zillions of mold spores I'm apparently breathing in my geographical location. One of my favorite students (in my AWESOME undergrad class this semester -- I love this group, they're way better than the students I've had the last 2 times I've taught this course, so they're consistently exceeding my expectations) on Tues was talking about a poem -- "well it's just so existential, it's really about how there's no hope in the world" and I'm looking at his watery red eyes and thinking Is this because of the poem, or did you forget your allergy meds today? (I think it was the latter. At least I hope so. I'd hate to be accused of causing mental distress and physical symptoms of ill health in my students with the poems of Matthew Arnold.)
And today? Teaching was fine, meetings weren't too onerous. It really wasn't a bad day, or a tough week, or anything like that. But I'm still dragging around, and frustrated at my lack of productivity on the real stuff this week: my own writing. (I'm ready to play the self-flagellation game with Jimbo.) (oops, that sounded a lot naughtier than it actually would be --)
A few years ago, when I was involved in training new TAs, and doing pedagogy workshops etc, I read a book (unfortunately don't remember author or title) that made some really good points about the rhythms of the semester. How every term has its own life cycle, and if you're trying to accomplish certain things during midterm week, for instance, you're bound to be frustrated because your students won't be at their best. Right now, week 4, is a pretty good week -- the students who are staying are committing themselves to the class, they're doing the reading, and taking it seriously because 1st or 2nd assignments are due. Things usually get tough around week 8 or 9, when everyone is getting sick, they're behind on the reading, and we could all use a spring break, which we don't get in the fall of course.
I really did enjoy my classes this week. That was the good part. And I want to hang onto that feeling since I know it won't last through the whole term.
Maybe if I appease the Sleep Monster with 8 1/2 hours tonight, he'll let me do some of my other work tomorrow.
But where did my week go? The Sleep Monster ate it. I've just been dragging my sorry ass around this week. At first, I blamed it on my Tuesday night graduate seminar -- seminars themselves are always exhausting -- I walk out of there completely wired 'n tired -- I have about 45 minutes to go pick up take-out dinner and get home before collapsing on the couch to watch a silly movie. And, of course, there's the sometimes frantic prepping beforehand. This is a new course for me, in a new area, so it's taking up a lot of time.
So I slept in a bit on Wed morning but was in a foggy haze for the whole day. Maybe it's the zillions of mold spores I'm apparently breathing in my geographical location. One of my favorite students (in my AWESOME undergrad class this semester -- I love this group, they're way better than the students I've had the last 2 times I've taught this course, so they're consistently exceeding my expectations) on Tues was talking about a poem -- "well it's just so existential, it's really about how there's no hope in the world" and I'm looking at his watery red eyes and thinking Is this because of the poem, or did you forget your allergy meds today? (I think it was the latter. At least I hope so. I'd hate to be accused of causing mental distress and physical symptoms of ill health in my students with the poems of Matthew Arnold.)
And today? Teaching was fine, meetings weren't too onerous. It really wasn't a bad day, or a tough week, or anything like that. But I'm still dragging around, and frustrated at my lack of productivity on the real stuff this week: my own writing. (I'm ready to play the self-flagellation game with Jimbo.) (oops, that sounded a lot naughtier than it actually would be --)
A few years ago, when I was involved in training new TAs, and doing pedagogy workshops etc, I read a book (unfortunately don't remember author or title) that made some really good points about the rhythms of the semester. How every term has its own life cycle, and if you're trying to accomplish certain things during midterm week, for instance, you're bound to be frustrated because your students won't be at their best. Right now, week 4, is a pretty good week -- the students who are staying are committing themselves to the class, they're doing the reading, and taking it seriously because 1st or 2nd assignments are due. Things usually get tough around week 8 or 9, when everyone is getting sick, they're behind on the reading, and we could all use a spring break, which we don't get in the fall of course.
I really did enjoy my classes this week. That was the good part. And I want to hang onto that feeling since I know it won't last through the whole term.
Maybe if I appease the Sleep Monster with 8 1/2 hours tonight, he'll let me do some of my other work tomorrow.
9/15/2004
blogs for a friend
I'm trying to come up with a list of some blogs to get a friend started -- he's a great writer, and sends out travelogues to people via email. A transition to blog format would seem natural. But I'm anticipating he'll be skeptical that he would find blogs he'd like to read, or any sort of community (just as I used to be long ago). So, I'm trying to gather up some good links for him and maybe you can help -- I know I've come across some good ones in other people's blogrolls but didn't record them for myself.
My friend is a stay-at-home father, a travel writer, a former academic, married to an academic. I don't think my roll of mostly academics would interest him at this point -- still a lot of issues to be worked out. But if you know of any interesting dad blogs or travel blogs, that would be really helpful.
My friend is a stay-at-home father, a travel writer, a former academic, married to an academic. I don't think my roll of mostly academics would interest him at this point -- still a lot of issues to be worked out. But if you know of any interesting dad blogs or travel blogs, that would be really helpful.
the blinders of patriotism
Driving to campus on the freeway yesterday, I was behind a small, lightweight pickup truck with two "W" stickers placed symmetrically at the left and right edges of the back windshield. A large flag (or perhaps a flag-printed towel or other heavy cloth) was hung inside the truck cab, covering the entire windshield.
Who needs to see clearly when we've got W?
Who needs to see clearly when we've got W?
9/13/2004
my new love
I'm in love: with a new coffee shop that just opened in my neighborhood. Really, I'm completely delighted -- far beyond what I'd think of as the range of "normal" responses to such a thing.
So, to explain. They've been working on the building for this place for a while -- rehabbing an older property, with a tantalizing sign that made it clear it would be a coffee shop eventually. Then finally last week we drove past and they were open. So today I went over there for the first time. It is amazingly great: cool old space, with heavily varnished wood floors, beamed ceiling, nice windows. Plenty of seating -- about 15 tables or so, plus two counters with bar stools. Great selection of coffees and tea, soy milk espresso drinks available, pastries and lunch food even. Friendly alterna-girl working the counter. The chairs are actually comfortably padded without being armchairs. Not too cold, not too dark, not too bright. Just perfect. They were playing the Cure. How could it be any better?? Plus it's only 4 minutes from our house.
The only other coffee shop in our neighborhood has turned into really more of a bar -- a problem with a lot of the independent cafes in this city. I know that's how they make their money, but still. The other one near us is totally bar-like from 4:00 on as the happy hour crowd comes in. Plus they have TVs over the counter now, and loud music. It's fine if you're going to socialize (although sometimes too loud even for that) but impossible for working in.
So that means a 10-minute drive to another neighborhood, where there are 2 Starbucks that I like OK, but their seating is pretty limited and many's the time I've gone over there at 3:00 and all the chairs are taken by other people studying/working. There's a local chain coffee place I like to work at, but it too has very limited seating -- and a heavy student-type crowd. So again, if they're full then you're really out of luck, since there's not much turnover for the chairs.
There are 4 or 5 other non-chain cafes in the same general area -- several of which I really like for social coffees, but not so much for working in. The cool Greek place is my favorite for a night out -- great jukebox, weird international magazines to flip through, eccentric old guys playing checkers -- but it's dark and full of smoke which is too much to deal with while grading papers. There's the yuppifying boho place which used to be mellow and has gotten increasingly overpriced and fascistic over the years. OK but I'm not happy supporting their bad attitudes -- and they're very anti-readers, anti-studiers in their quest for profit. An arty place that tends to be really smoky. (Sure, there's supposedly a non-smoking section, but it's sharing the same air space as the smokers.) A super yuppy place I really dislike.
So to have a fabulous new cafe to work in that is so close to my house really brightens up my world. I love to work at coffee shops and haven't done as much of that as I would like to lately -- partly just because of the lack of a really inspiring place to go.
I've found my second home. And it's beautiful and groovy and not very crowded in the mid-late afternoon, which is my primo cafe time. Let's hope it stays that way. (Though I'm wishing them massive crowded success in the early mornings so as to keep them in business...)
So, to explain. They've been working on the building for this place for a while -- rehabbing an older property, with a tantalizing sign that made it clear it would be a coffee shop eventually. Then finally last week we drove past and they were open. So today I went over there for the first time. It is amazingly great: cool old space, with heavily varnished wood floors, beamed ceiling, nice windows. Plenty of seating -- about 15 tables or so, plus two counters with bar stools. Great selection of coffees and tea, soy milk espresso drinks available, pastries and lunch food even. Friendly alterna-girl working the counter. The chairs are actually comfortably padded without being armchairs. Not too cold, not too dark, not too bright. Just perfect. They were playing the Cure. How could it be any better?? Plus it's only 4 minutes from our house.
The only other coffee shop in our neighborhood has turned into really more of a bar -- a problem with a lot of the independent cafes in this city. I know that's how they make their money, but still. The other one near us is totally bar-like from 4:00 on as the happy hour crowd comes in. Plus they have TVs over the counter now, and loud music. It's fine if you're going to socialize (although sometimes too loud even for that) but impossible for working in.
So that means a 10-minute drive to another neighborhood, where there are 2 Starbucks that I like OK, but their seating is pretty limited and many's the time I've gone over there at 3:00 and all the chairs are taken by other people studying/working. There's a local chain coffee place I like to work at, but it too has very limited seating -- and a heavy student-type crowd. So again, if they're full then you're really out of luck, since there's not much turnover for the chairs.
There are 4 or 5 other non-chain cafes in the same general area -- several of which I really like for social coffees, but not so much for working in. The cool Greek place is my favorite for a night out -- great jukebox, weird international magazines to flip through, eccentric old guys playing checkers -- but it's dark and full of smoke which is too much to deal with while grading papers. There's the yuppifying boho place which used to be mellow and has gotten increasingly overpriced and fascistic over the years. OK but I'm not happy supporting their bad attitudes -- and they're very anti-readers, anti-studiers in their quest for profit. An arty place that tends to be really smoky. (Sure, there's supposedly a non-smoking section, but it's sharing the same air space as the smokers.) A super yuppy place I really dislike.
So to have a fabulous new cafe to work in that is so close to my house really brightens up my world. I love to work at coffee shops and haven't done as much of that as I would like to lately -- partly just because of the lack of a really inspiring place to go.
I've found my second home. And it's beautiful and groovy and not very crowded in the mid-late afternoon, which is my primo cafe time. Let's hope it stays that way. (Though I'm wishing them massive crowded success in the early mornings so as to keep them in business...)
the reconstructed lost posting: on training
Ok, this is a reconstructed version of yesterday's lost post. Feel free to imagine it wittier, more insightful, and illuminating...
I saw The Bourne Supremacy a week ago, but didn't have the time to post about it. And I should say up front that I enjoyed it for what it is -- I didn't go to see it in order to exercise my cultural analysis skills or anything. In fact, mostly I go to the movies as pure entertainment. And I have a pretty capacious tolerance for big Hollywood schlock and spectacle as well as artsy indies. So, I went to see an action pic on a hot summer afternoon. I enjoyed the first film (Bourne Identity) and figured I'd like the second. But it also has given me a lot to think about, specifically in terms of why I respond to the main character and how the 2nd film seems to be responding to an ambivalence in our culture right now about the highly trained physical body.
I haven't read the books that these films are based on, so I only know what the films show. But what makes Jason Bourne an interesting action/spy/assassin hero for our current historical time is that he's on a psychological quest. In Bourne Identity, he wakes up with amnesia and doesn't know who he is. Eventually he gets to a safety deposit box and discovers a handful of passports, all with different identities. Amnesia is always an interesting premise, but here it's expanded into an analogue for the modern professional: how do you know who you are, if your life/job requires you to be many different things? The second film continues the psychological framework as Jason Bourne is suffering headaches and recalling fragments of his pre-amnesia memory. He's searching for wholeness, to pull together the lost pieces of his internal self -- a basic premise of much Western psychotherapy. Ultimately in this film he has to try to reconcile the newly healing self he is becoming with who he was: one of the most highly skilled CIA assassins.
So viewers can relate to JB because of the way his psyschological issues mirror those faced by many professionals who feel constrained by their jobs, or who find themselves seeking new self-knowledge after achieving a certain level of financial or professional success.
Now, one of the things I really liked in both the first and second films was that, unlike Bond or other classic spy heroes, Bourne doesn't have a lot of gadgets and high-tech stuff to get out of sticky situations with -- instead these films show the viewers again and again how he uses his powers of observation and basic martial arts skills. For example, there's a scene early on in Bourne Identity when Jason and Marie walk into a diner. As he sits down, he says to her something like "the back door is the closest exit to our table, there's a policeman at the counter, and the guy in the corner looks suspicious" (NB: that's not a quote, I don't remember the specific details) -- pointing out all sorts of things most viewers hadn't paid attention to yet --and then he says "why do I notice these things? I can't help noticing these things" because he hasn't yet figured out who he is, and why he has these skills. And then shortly thereafter, those details are what let them escape some kind of attack.
Now, when I saw that, one of my first responses was "cool, I wish I was so alert to my surroundings." We are put in a position of admiring JB not because he's super suave or clearly on the side of Good (morally he's somewhat ambiguous, as are all the other parties in these films), but because he's a smart, relaxed, strong street fighter. He has skills that anyone can learn, at least at a basic level of effectiveness.
The word "training" is repeated numerous times in Bourne Supremacy -- it's part of a memory fragment that haunts JB as he tries to understand why the CIA seems to be trying to hunt him down again, several years after he defected. The film opens with him out on a run along the beach. He stops, gets a bottle of water, and then suddenly finds himself outwitting a pursuer. The connection between training for physical fitness and his advanced skills is evident throughout the film, as well as in some of the media interviews with actor Matt Damon, who trained in boxing and martial arts to play this role. We are always interested in the physical transformations actors undertake to play a role -- but in this case, some publications seem to really enjoy the ambiguity inherent in Damon's training -- if he could play the role of a killer so well, does this mean he too has a killer's capabilities?
I should note that Jason Bourne's skills aren't that far-fetched -- I studied taiji in Chinese martial arts schools for a number of years and met several individuals who work as bodyguards, private detectives, and probably other less well-defined things. These men know how to disable someone using pressure points, how to break out of a locked room, and how to deflect an attacker's weapon. These are not super-human qualities, but learnable skills. And that's something that the Bourne films seem to be reminding the viewer.
Thus they tap into a strand in our current physical fitness culture that celebrates and admires those who test the limits of the human body: witness the increasing popularity of military-style boot camps for suburban dwellers, endurance events like marathons, and adventure races like the Eco-Challenge. During the Moscow section of the film, there's a shot of a billboard advertising some kind of exercise facility or equipment -- a torso with six-pack abs, and a slogan that read "~~Ergo" (I don't know what the first part was). The film thus points out that Western-style physical fitness culture is one more element in the emulation of western-style capitalism. (The cars and suits in the Moscow sequence are another example too.)
But, as much as the film reminds us of our admiration of the super-fit body and the special skills that Jason Bourne possesses, it also plays on cultural anxieties about such "training": what happens when such training goes awry, or produces a rogue agent such as Bourne? (The recent film The Hunted is another example -- I haven't seen it, though.) Bourne's handlers are trying to bring him in -- for various possible outcomes -- reprogramming, counseling, death. The movies put us on JB's side -- he's the hero, he's the hunted prey-- and the CIA is shown as full of corruption and intrigue. It's a thriller/action/spy story, after all. But still I think the film reflects a larger cultural concern about the new political realities of the war efforts of the past 10 years -- vague, confusing situations where events and individuals are continually being reinterpreted -- and especially about the effects on the soldiers trained to fight in those battles, and their eventual reintegration into the larger society. If you are trained to respond to information and stimuli in a certain way, can you ever leave that training behind? Will the war ever be over?
I saw The Bourne Supremacy a week ago, but didn't have the time to post about it. And I should say up front that I enjoyed it for what it is -- I didn't go to see it in order to exercise my cultural analysis skills or anything. In fact, mostly I go to the movies as pure entertainment. And I have a pretty capacious tolerance for big Hollywood schlock and spectacle as well as artsy indies. So, I went to see an action pic on a hot summer afternoon. I enjoyed the first film (Bourne Identity) and figured I'd like the second. But it also has given me a lot to think about, specifically in terms of why I respond to the main character and how the 2nd film seems to be responding to an ambivalence in our culture right now about the highly trained physical body.
I haven't read the books that these films are based on, so I only know what the films show. But what makes Jason Bourne an interesting action/spy/assassin hero for our current historical time is that he's on a psychological quest. In Bourne Identity, he wakes up with amnesia and doesn't know who he is. Eventually he gets to a safety deposit box and discovers a handful of passports, all with different identities. Amnesia is always an interesting premise, but here it's expanded into an analogue for the modern professional: how do you know who you are, if your life/job requires you to be many different things? The second film continues the psychological framework as Jason Bourne is suffering headaches and recalling fragments of his pre-amnesia memory. He's searching for wholeness, to pull together the lost pieces of his internal self -- a basic premise of much Western psychotherapy. Ultimately in this film he has to try to reconcile the newly healing self he is becoming with who he was: one of the most highly skilled CIA assassins.
So viewers can relate to JB because of the way his psyschological issues mirror those faced by many professionals who feel constrained by their jobs, or who find themselves seeking new self-knowledge after achieving a certain level of financial or professional success.
Now, one of the things I really liked in both the first and second films was that, unlike Bond or other classic spy heroes, Bourne doesn't have a lot of gadgets and high-tech stuff to get out of sticky situations with -- instead these films show the viewers again and again how he uses his powers of observation and basic martial arts skills. For example, there's a scene early on in Bourne Identity when Jason and Marie walk into a diner. As he sits down, he says to her something like "the back door is the closest exit to our table, there's a policeman at the counter, and the guy in the corner looks suspicious" (NB: that's not a quote, I don't remember the specific details) -- pointing out all sorts of things most viewers hadn't paid attention to yet --and then he says "why do I notice these things? I can't help noticing these things" because he hasn't yet figured out who he is, and why he has these skills. And then shortly thereafter, those details are what let them escape some kind of attack.
Now, when I saw that, one of my first responses was "cool, I wish I was so alert to my surroundings." We are put in a position of admiring JB not because he's super suave or clearly on the side of Good (morally he's somewhat ambiguous, as are all the other parties in these films), but because he's a smart, relaxed, strong street fighter. He has skills that anyone can learn, at least at a basic level of effectiveness.
The word "training" is repeated numerous times in Bourne Supremacy -- it's part of a memory fragment that haunts JB as he tries to understand why the CIA seems to be trying to hunt him down again, several years after he defected. The film opens with him out on a run along the beach. He stops, gets a bottle of water, and then suddenly finds himself outwitting a pursuer. The connection between training for physical fitness and his advanced skills is evident throughout the film, as well as in some of the media interviews with actor Matt Damon, who trained in boxing and martial arts to play this role. We are always interested in the physical transformations actors undertake to play a role -- but in this case, some publications seem to really enjoy the ambiguity inherent in Damon's training -- if he could play the role of a killer so well, does this mean he too has a killer's capabilities?
I should note that Jason Bourne's skills aren't that far-fetched -- I studied taiji in Chinese martial arts schools for a number of years and met several individuals who work as bodyguards, private detectives, and probably other less well-defined things. These men know how to disable someone using pressure points, how to break out of a locked room, and how to deflect an attacker's weapon. These are not super-human qualities, but learnable skills. And that's something that the Bourne films seem to be reminding the viewer.
Thus they tap into a strand in our current physical fitness culture that celebrates and admires those who test the limits of the human body: witness the increasing popularity of military-style boot camps for suburban dwellers, endurance events like marathons, and adventure races like the Eco-Challenge. During the Moscow section of the film, there's a shot of a billboard advertising some kind of exercise facility or equipment -- a torso with six-pack abs, and a slogan that read "~~Ergo" (I don't know what the first part was). The film thus points out that Western-style physical fitness culture is one more element in the emulation of western-style capitalism. (The cars and suits in the Moscow sequence are another example too.)
But, as much as the film reminds us of our admiration of the super-fit body and the special skills that Jason Bourne possesses, it also plays on cultural anxieties about such "training": what happens when such training goes awry, or produces a rogue agent such as Bourne? (The recent film The Hunted is another example -- I haven't seen it, though.) Bourne's handlers are trying to bring him in -- for various possible outcomes -- reprogramming, counseling, death. The movies put us on JB's side -- he's the hero, he's the hunted prey-- and the CIA is shown as full of corruption and intrigue. It's a thriller/action/spy story, after all. But still I think the film reflects a larger cultural concern about the new political realities of the war efforts of the past 10 years -- vague, confusing situations where events and individuals are continually being reinterpreted -- and especially about the effects on the soldiers trained to fight in those battles, and their eventual reintegration into the larger society. If you are trained to respond to information and stimuli in a certain way, can you ever leave that training behind? Will the war ever be over?
9/12/2004
curses
Damn. I just lost a really long post. I was in the middle of looking it over and editing it and must have accidentally hit some horrible Blogger or Firefox shortcut key that sent me back one screen and totally lost everything I wrote. damn, damn, damn. I know better. I copy things to notepad before hitting Post just so they won't get lost. Arrgh.
now do I try to reconstruct it or do I just give up and do some work. sigh.
now do I try to reconstruct it or do I just give up and do some work. sigh.
9/10/2004
friday library blogging
For some time now, my partner and I have been taking Fridays as our day off: it's the end of my teaching week, and she doesn't teach on Fridays either. So we usually go out to lunch on Fridays, and every 2 or 3 weeks we go to the big public library downtown. She is the only girlfriend I've ever had who liked libraries as much as I do -- and who thinks that spending an hour browsing in the library and returning home with a big stack of books is a great way to have a date afternoon. One of many reasons we're right for each other.
I got my first library card when I was about 4 -- my favorite babysitter, the same one who had taken me to see the circus train come to town when I was 3, took me downtown and signed me up for a card. Surprising my parents, readers and academics themselves, who hadn't yet considered that it was time to introduce me to the library.
During childhood my parents -- often my mother, sometimes both of them -- would take us to the library on Saturday or Sunday afternoons. On the best days -- rainy cold winter days -- we'd make popcorn or hot chocolate when we returned home with our loot. We went pretty regularly -- returning books on time was a serious moral obligation, according to my mother, and the fact that I did return my books was the only reason the children's librarian was willing to relax the five-book-at-a-time rule for me.
Did I say I was a voracious reader? I learned early, on my own -- and many of my strongest childhood memories are of reading -- not just the contents of certain books, but the thrill of waking up before the rest of the household to read, nestled in a quilt; hiding books under my desk at school to read while the teacher was lecturing; and especially the freedom represented by the library. There I could learn anything, become anyone. That library card gave me as much right as anyone else to be there. A kind of equality that didn't operate in all of the other spaces of my life.
As I got older, I didn't need my mother to drive me anymore -- I could walk downtown on my own, and so took to spending several afternoons a week at the library. I was basically a good nerdy kid, so that's really what I was doing. Reading, daydreaming, plotting my escape from small town life. As the years went by, I graduated from the Children's section to Young Adult -- and then to Science Fiction for several years, until I was ready for Classic Literature and Adult Fiction. Eventually I started doing my school research at the College's library, but never entirely gave up my attachment to the public library's easy display of the good stuff: new novels, new magazines, all the possibilities laid out on a big table in the front.
Except for a couple of years during college, I've never been without a public library card. Even during graduate school, I had to have at least one book on hand to read just for me, just for fun. What my third grade teacher would call "free reading." The last 15 minutes before sleep have to be for free reading -- not academic work, not a news magazine, nothing too stressful or taxing. And library books really are free reading -- that feeling of walking in the front doors of the building and not yet knowing what I'll walk out with -- the freedom in being able to ditch a book after a few chapters if it doesn't really grab me -- the freedom to explore, to be wrong, to be delighted by something unexpected.
I love library Fridays. Today I came home with The Time Traveller's Wife -- I'm already 80 pages into it, hooked. (Thanks to profgrrrrl, who was reading this earlier in the summer.)
I got my first library card when I was about 4 -- my favorite babysitter, the same one who had taken me to see the circus train come to town when I was 3, took me downtown and signed me up for a card. Surprising my parents, readers and academics themselves, who hadn't yet considered that it was time to introduce me to the library.
During childhood my parents -- often my mother, sometimes both of them -- would take us to the library on Saturday or Sunday afternoons. On the best days -- rainy cold winter days -- we'd make popcorn or hot chocolate when we returned home with our loot. We went pretty regularly -- returning books on time was a serious moral obligation, according to my mother, and the fact that I did return my books was the only reason the children's librarian was willing to relax the five-book-at-a-time rule for me.
Did I say I was a voracious reader? I learned early, on my own -- and many of my strongest childhood memories are of reading -- not just the contents of certain books, but the thrill of waking up before the rest of the household to read, nestled in a quilt; hiding books under my desk at school to read while the teacher was lecturing; and especially the freedom represented by the library. There I could learn anything, become anyone. That library card gave me as much right as anyone else to be there. A kind of equality that didn't operate in all of the other spaces of my life.
As I got older, I didn't need my mother to drive me anymore -- I could walk downtown on my own, and so took to spending several afternoons a week at the library. I was basically a good nerdy kid, so that's really what I was doing. Reading, daydreaming, plotting my escape from small town life. As the years went by, I graduated from the Children's section to Young Adult -- and then to Science Fiction for several years, until I was ready for Classic Literature and Adult Fiction. Eventually I started doing my school research at the College's library, but never entirely gave up my attachment to the public library's easy display of the good stuff: new novels, new magazines, all the possibilities laid out on a big table in the front.
Except for a couple of years during college, I've never been without a public library card. Even during graduate school, I had to have at least one book on hand to read just for me, just for fun. What my third grade teacher would call "free reading." The last 15 minutes before sleep have to be for free reading -- not academic work, not a news magazine, nothing too stressful or taxing. And library books really are free reading -- that feeling of walking in the front doors of the building and not yet knowing what I'll walk out with -- the freedom in being able to ditch a book after a few chapters if it doesn't really grab me -- the freedom to explore, to be wrong, to be delighted by something unexpected.
I love library Fridays. Today I came home with The Time Traveller's Wife -- I'm already 80 pages into it, hooked. (Thanks to profgrrrrl, who was reading this earlier in the summer.)
9/09/2004
Roomba update
I'm completely delighted with our robot. I just finished cooking dinner -- while I was working in the kitchen, Roomba cleaned our family room, and did part of the bedroom. (He tried to eat the phone & electrical extension cords that run under our bed, which meant I had to keep stopping and redirecting him. I need to get one of those plastic coil wrap thingys for the cords so he can really clean under the bed...) Roomba's definitely a "he" in my mind. Why, I couldn't really say. (Except maybe for my concerns about the exploitation of women as domestic workers. Which is another reason I'm much happier to have a robot.) And I'm beginning to think he needs a stuffy butler-ish kind of name: Cecil, or Roberts, or Carruthers. Because he's so damn thorough!
I set him to work in the family room, curious to see what he'd do, since I'd had him working in there on Monday. (Although I stopped him before the full cleaning cycle was done, wanting to see what he could do elsewhere.) Obviously I had no idea just how thorough Roomba was. He cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. And the floor in there is now far cleaner than it ever has been.
We live in a small older house that has been a rental property for a number of years. Old wooden floors, except in the kitchen & bath, where there's old vinyl with crumbling grout. The last tenant before us was not especially clean -- and she shared the house with two enormous long-haired dogs. When we moved in, we found dog hair clinging to the walls, in the drawers in the kitchen, & clogging the furnace vents. I vacuumed, scrubbed, mopped, etc., and have been doing so in the years we've lived here, although my consistency is sometimes lacking.
We also have two dogs, one of whom goes in and out all the time. So there's frequently a fine coating of dust/dirt on the floor from the dogs -- the throw rugs in the bedroom are mostly to wipe their feet off to try and keep our bedspread sort of clean.
So I never walk barefoot in our house. It's usually too icky.
The Roomba advertising claimed it'd make your floors barefoot-friendly. And, astonishingly enough, when I let Roomba do a full cleaning cycle in our family room -- our ancient cruddy wood floor, with old cracks and crevices full of dirt, is now so incredibly clean. It's smooth. It feels like a new floor. I'm dancing around barefoot. I love our robot.
So not only was I able to prepare dinner while my floor was getting cleaned, it's cleaner than I have ever gotten it -- with the vaccum, with the dry mop, with a wet mop even.
Yay robots!
I set him to work in the family room, curious to see what he'd do, since I'd had him working in there on Monday. (Although I stopped him before the full cleaning cycle was done, wanting to see what he could do elsewhere.) Obviously I had no idea just how thorough Roomba was. He cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. And the floor in there is now far cleaner than it ever has been.
We live in a small older house that has been a rental property for a number of years. Old wooden floors, except in the kitchen & bath, where there's old vinyl with crumbling grout. The last tenant before us was not especially clean -- and she shared the house with two enormous long-haired dogs. When we moved in, we found dog hair clinging to the walls, in the drawers in the kitchen, & clogging the furnace vents. I vacuumed, scrubbed, mopped, etc., and have been doing so in the years we've lived here, although my consistency is sometimes lacking.
We also have two dogs, one of whom goes in and out all the time. So there's frequently a fine coating of dust/dirt on the floor from the dogs -- the throw rugs in the bedroom are mostly to wipe their feet off to try and keep our bedspread sort of clean.
So I never walk barefoot in our house. It's usually too icky.
The Roomba advertising claimed it'd make your floors barefoot-friendly. And, astonishingly enough, when I let Roomba do a full cleaning cycle in our family room -- our ancient cruddy wood floor, with old cracks and crevices full of dirt, is now so incredibly clean. It's smooth. It feels like a new floor. I'm dancing around barefoot. I love our robot.
So not only was I able to prepare dinner while my floor was getting cleaned, it's cleaner than I have ever gotten it -- with the vaccum, with the dry mop, with a wet mop even.
Yay robots!
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