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Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Yay!
I gave Catherine the major part of her birthday present today, five days early, and she is absolutely glowing. Who knew technology could please a woman so much? She is finally the owner of a DVD player of her very own. I thought she might get mad because I spent so much money when we're a little cash poor, but I should have realized she loves anything and everything to do with the television. I can never go wrong with a TV-related present.
She'll have to wait for the rest of her present until the 5th, but since she was planning on going to town to rent videos tomorrow, I figured she might as well rent DVDs instead. She's already got it hooked up and working. I can't even figure out the VCR, so I'm really impressed. I think she would be watching one of the free DVDs that came off one of my cereal boxes, but the Pacers are playing, and she absolutely cannot be distracted from sports these days.
This evening she thanked me for not letting her get rid of the Lunatic. We've both grown rather fond of the little terrorist.
9:20 PM
I thought I saw Jan at the rink today. I'm still not sure if it was her or not. That would be ironic. Or maybe not. I'm one of those people who often has a difficult time telling the difference between irony and coincidence, so maybe it was just coincidental, and not ironic. Whatever.
No, it is irony. I originally started skating because it was the only activity I could find that would take me out of my eating disorder for more than 30 seconds. So, if I run into the person who did the most harm during the eating disorder recovery process while I am participating in the activity that most helped lead me to good health, then that must be irony. Or...maybe it's just coincidence.
If it *was* her, she's got two kids now, and they both looked very happy. I'm not surprised, she's probably a good mom.
Hm...I've got a lot more to type on this subject, but I don't feel like doing it right now. I think I'd rather knock a few pucks around the basement.
2:57 PM
Monday, December 30, 2002
Oh....my brother is the biggest jerk on the face of the earth. He so is. For two cents, I'd call him up and give him a piece of my mind. And I swear to god, if my dad dies without having heard from his oldest son, I'm going to drive down to Arizona and beat the crap out of Tim myself.
2:12 PM
The good thing about having whiplash is that you have every excuse in the world to sit around the house and read. The bad thing about having whiplash is that you really can't rally your mental forces enough to make reading possible.
My head feels okay, actually, no pain at all, but I'm still having a little difficulty coming up with words at the ends of my sentences. Luckily, there's no one around to talk to today. Mostly I just feel like I got hit...not too surprising, since I did. Well, the hit wasn't the problem, it was hitting the ice and bouncing that was the problem. My neck should loosen up in a couple days, though. No serious damage done, I could probably skate again tomorrow if I really wanted to do so.
2:04 PM
Sunday, December 29, 2002
A sporting weekend.
Drove up to Indy yesterday to see the Tennessee v. Notre Dame game at the Fieldhouse. Fantastic seats, third row just off the head of Tennessee's bench. We could hear every word Pat Summitt and her coaching staff said (or yelled, as the case may be). I love to watch her coach, love to watch her work with her staff. Whiplash threatened as I tried to watch both the coach and the players on the court simultaneously.
Tennessee won pretty decisively, but they didn't look all that polished. Still early in the season, I guess. But man, they've got talent on the floor. They have a freshman out of Syracuse, Indiana that is going to be really, really good. I totally bought one of her pass fakes--I was on the train, waiting to leave, I so bought it--and then she puts it in the hoop.
At one point, I turned to Catherine and said, "I made eye contact with Pat Summitt!" (she was really looking back to talk to the people to the right of us), and Catherine responded, "Well, I made eye contact with Kara Lawson!"
Kara Lawson looks like a brick wall on television, but in person, she's really quite small, only 5'-8" and not at all stocky or solid.
So, that was cool.
Then we spent the afternoon in a sports bar, watching IU lose to Temple. Ah...the travesty. Why didn't Coverdale take that last shot? I think the whole team needs to go visit a sports psychologist.
After that, we drove to the Pepsi Coliseum to watch the Indianapolis Ice play the Shreveport Mudbugs (apparently mudbugs are crawdads). It was a pretty good game, but I had a pounding headache by the time it was over. It is beyond me why every pause in the game must be filled in with blaring music. This happens at every professional sporting event, why? Do the teams think the crowd is going to lose interest in the game and go home during timeouts, or what?
But...two live sporting events and one afternoon in a sports bar makes for a pretty good Saturday.
Slept in this morning, then went to a stick-and-puck session at the Frank, which turned out to be a pick-up hockey game instead. Ah. But this isn't the right journal for that entry.
5:58 PM
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Work, damn you, work!
9:16 AM
Friday, December 27, 2002
The imprint from the book I finished yesterday:
I grabbed Henrietta Buckmaster's Deep River off a shelf in the Main Library in as random a manner as possible. I walked through the stacks, stuck my arm up, and pulled down the first book my fingertips dragged across. I do this a lot. Usually I end up reading a page or two of whatever book it is that I picked, then return it to the stacks w/out ever finishing it. This one, though, I checked out and carried around in my car for six months, reading it over lunch every day.
As is obvious from the imprint, Buckmaster published her book during WWII. It was pretty popular when it first arrived at IU--it circulated in Oct. 1945, twice in Dec. 1945, again in Dec. 1946, and then again in Oct. 1947. A faculty member checked it out then, and returned it on Sept. 11 of some unknown year. It had to be 1952 or earlier, though, because it circulated again Jul. 1953. It went out to faculty again, and was returned Feb. 1958. And there it sat, never to circulate again until I pulled it off the shelf.
And this is what I don't understand--how could such a book sit there, unnoticed for 40-something years? I don't understand exactly how Deep River didn't make it into the canon of American literature. Who has even heard of Henrietta Buckmaster? I never had. If you *have* heard of her, it's probably because of her biography of Harriet Tubman, or her book Let My People Go, about the Underground Railroad. It isn't because of Deep River, and that's a damn shame.
It took me awhile to really get into the book, Buckmaster is of the school of writing that believes in capturing actual language w/her writing, and it can be rough going, trying to stumble through her attempts at recording Georgia "mountain" speech. Actually, her entire writing style is different than anything I've read before, so I couldn't just drift off and let my eyes do the reading, I had to keep paying attention with my mind, too. I wasn't sure it was going to be worth the effort, but it was.
A basic summary: it's an abolitionist's novel, written almost a century after Harriet Beecher Stowe published Uncle Tom's Cabin. The book is divided into the two parts, the first focusing on Savanna, the daughter of a plantation owner who marries an abolition-minded mountain man; and the second focusing on her husband, Simon, who leaves the mountains to study law so he can destroy the institution of slavery. The book is set right before the outbreak of the War Between the States. Simon and Savanna have recently married, and between them, they need to decide where their loyalties fall: to each other, to their families, to their neighbors, to the State of Georgia, and/or to the Union.
It is indeed a novel, even though it follows the lives of real people and events as well as any history book, and I think Buckmaster's particular talent shows in her ability to make it feel like a 19th. rather than 20th c. novel. It's obviously of this century, she couldn't write about the events the way she did if she was writing while they were current, but she manages to completely capture the turmoil and political terror of the times. It's too bad it couldn't have been written a hundred years earlier, I think it would have made a better abolitionist argument than Uncle Tom's Cabin.
I didn't even notice this was a "war book" until C. pointed it out the imprint a few days ago. One of my goals in the next few days is to see if I can find some book reviews from when Deep River first came out. Was it controversial? I don't know anything about Buckmaster--I deliberately didn't look her up after I started reading the book, because I wanted to judge it for myself, not let someone else tell me how to think. I have since discovered that she received an Ohioana fiction award and a Guggenheim Fellowship for it, but what did everyone else think? Because if this would have been an abolitionist novel in 1845, it was very plainly a Civil Rights novel in 1945. The threads of Enlightenment philosophy that run through the book are astounding, and although its couched in terms of the Civil War, the declarative statement is really: we are failures as humans as long as we continue to let oppression exist unopposed. It's a book intended to grab white people by the front of their shirts and make them see what they've been doing without thinking all their lives. It's an argument for the abolition of oppression not just of black men, but of women--all women--as well.
What impresses me most, I guess, is that the book was published at all. I understand why it was wartime book, it was unapologetically pro-Union and pro-North, but I'm guessing that the publication censors must have just skimmed the text before saying, "Yeah, pro-U.S., good." They must have missed the whole bit about that guy Marx, who had some good things to say about workers and how they should see the benefit of their labors and how the poor white men of the South would do good to take Marx's lessons to heart and think about what a revolution would get them. I can't imagine the U.S. government at any time taking kindly to teaching black men about Marx, and all I can guess is that they had no idea what the real intention of the book was--to call for a rising up in Buckmaster's own day and age. I also can't believe they missed the obvious oratory on breaking the law--we're morally and ethically obligated to go against the law of the United States if that law violates a larger law (which in this case, was styled as both Biblical law and a more Enlightenment-informed Natural Law).
I don't know, it's a very complex book. A lot of the abolitionist arguments made at the outset are made in relation to the lives of poor white trash: how plantation owners, through their use of slave labor, are manipulating the economic structure of the South to their favor at the expense of the poor Georgia crackers. A lot of the rallying cries in the first half of the book involve getting the poor white dirt farmer to recognize how slavery is ruining his life. Then half way through the book, the argument starts to change to one intent on humanizing black slaves. Simon the lawyer moves away from fighting against slavery to better the lives of his white constituents toward fighting it because he believes in the humanity of slaves and their right to live a safe and dignified and prosperous life.
There's a courtroom scene in the second half of the book, where Simon has to defend not only a slave who has been falsely accused of raping a white woman (who happens to be poor white trash), but also defend an abolitionist who passed Bible scriptures encouraging freedom to the same slave. It's not as accessible as what Harper Lee provides in To Kill A Mockingbird, but it's such a good part of the book. Simon finds he can defend the slave, Harry, more easily than the abolitionist, because the slave is property, and property is money, and no court will take away a plantation owner's property without evidence. So Simon is faced w/a dilemma--he can save Harry by arguing that he is valuable property, an argument he hates, but will spare the Harry's life. Or, he can argue for Harry's intrinsic value as a human being, and sentence him to death. Either way, he finds he has to deal with the institution of "sacred white womanhood," what he can and cannot say about a (white) woman, and more importantly, what he can and cannot say about a *poor* white woman.
As it turns out, he can't adequately defend the abolitionist, because he's of no value to anyone financially, no one cares about him except that he stop trying to steal slaves away.
What makes me angry in the end is I had to read a lot of stupid stuff in high school...oh...Faulkner springs to mind....Hemingway...writers that say *nothing* to me, and here is this great book rotting away on the library shelves. It's a fantastic look back at the all the chaos before the Civil War, but it's also an excellent distillation of this moment before the Civil Rights movement explodes in the United States. I really don't think I'm giving Buckmaster too much credit by saying she was encouraging a Civil Rights rebellion, I think she knew exactly what kind of statement she was making, and it's too bad it was ignored, forgotten and abandoned. Maybe it would have been too challenging for me in high school, but then again, maybe I wouldn't have hated 10th grade English so much if I would have gotten to read something outside the canon of the Great White Male Against the World.
10:54 PM
Feeling good about yourself? Go shopping for new clothes, and that will put an end to it.
6:03 PM
Thursday, December 26, 2002
I suppose there's something a little ridiculous about a 35-year-old woman playing hacky sack in her basement while listening to Avril Lavigne.
5:25 PM
http://www.wanderingtheworld.com/santiago/index.htm
10:12 AM
Something I learned last night: if you're going to use body paint, make sure it comes off with soap and water before you put it some place visible.
My goal for today: knock a few hockey pucks around the basement. I may go get a cup of coffee, and I may go pick up a paycheck. Chances are, though, I'm going to sit in my recliner and read until Catherine gets home.
9:59 AM
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
Oh my....the snow, the snow. We're supposed to get up to a foot, and although I'm usually skeptical about such predictions, this time I think I believe it.
3:27 PM
Three other notable photos (taken neither by Catherine nor by me):
This picture just cracks me up. On the back, Catherine has written "Catherine goes nuts! May 1987." She's freaking out over getting her M.A. thesis done, and well she should freak out, because it was about three times as long as mine, so it must have taken her forever. Notice the article in the foreground and the calendar on the wall--both Thomas Moran.
For some reason, this photo of me and my roommate Mary in Pavlosk was in the same box as Catherine's photos. This is the first summer I was in Russia (it was still the Soviet Union back then). The notable thing about this photo, though, isn't the location, but rather the absolute lack of flesh on my bones. I'm twenty years old, weigh probably 118, and feel fatter than I had ever felt in my life.
I only went to Leningrad that summer because I was kicked off a paleontology team for being too fat. I had spent the spring raising money and volunteering as part of a student group that was going to spend the summer in Montana on a dinosaur dig. I had taken the classes, earned my money, done my time, and was ready to go. But the professor in charge thought I couldn't hack it, I wasn't in good enough shape. I pointed out to him that I was on UW's Tae Kwon Do (competitive) team, and that I cycled 20 miles a day, more on weekends, but he said he would only let me go if I could prove my dedication by losing 10 pounds.
Well, I tried, and I failed. And looking at this picture, I think, "No freaking wonder I couldn't lose any weight. Where would I have lost it from?" Stepan used to just berate me about my efforts to lose weight, and now I see why.
(An interesting side note: this prof. was the first person who ever mistook me for a boy. I turned in some papers to him before class one day, and during class, he asked if the young man who had given him the papers would come back and see him because he had neglected to write down his name. Yeah, that was me, that young man.)
The ironic thing is: I probably lost the ten pounds while I was in Russia. This picture was taken shortly before I became deathly--and I mean deathly--ill with bronchitis. I probably lost a lot more than ten pounds by the time I was over it, and I didn't have that kind of weight to lose. But when I got home, everyone thought I looked great. Freaks!
And finally, this photo was in the same box. Here I am with my brother at Long Bay in Skagway, Alaska. It's 1976, and the notable thing about this picture is that my brother's hair is a lot longer than mine!
3:20 PM
We were looking for a video, but came across a box of miscellaneous photos, so we stopped and spent an hour or so with old pictures last night.
Before I met Catherine, she was a photographer. A really, really good photographer. As part of our move across the country, we sold off her enlarger, her developing trays, etc. We've talked about building her a darkroom, but it has never seemed very practical. But looking through some of her old photographs last night, I decided that the darkroom idea has to be realized. If I move my weight bench, I could put up a partition wall and she could have a little area under the stairs. Catherine points out a partition wall isn't necessary, a temporary wall of storage bins is good enough, and would protect her equipment from any errant hockey pucks. The washer and dryer used to be in the basement, so it wouldn't be very difficult to get her some running water.
So, this will be my project for the new year: putting together some place for Catherine to develop photos, and replacing all her equipment.
Here are a few photos that I found last night that I really liked. Unfortunately, I have a low-end scanner, so I'm not doing them justice.
2:53 PM
Monday, December 23, 2002
Hmmm....Christmas. I should write about Christmas while I'm in a good mood. Christmas is a holiday that never stands on its own, it tends to drag past Christmases home with it. Thanksgiving runs a close second when it comes to holidays weighed down with emotional baggage, but I think Christmas always crosses the line first. We're almost forced to sit down and contemplate the "meaning" of Christmas in our lives, and that usually leads to a consideration of holidays past and their role in getting us to today's state of celebration and/or desperation.
I, unfortunately, have a very good memory. What this means is that before I can arrive at a place of contentment (which is where have been spending a large amount of my time the past few days), I have to remember and then deliberately forget everything that I usually associate with Christmas. Then I can move forward and get down to the business of enjoying myself.
It's a tedious ritual, and one day I'll figure out how to put an end to it. In the meantime, before I can reach a more peaceful spot, I have to drive around in my car and let myself remember how much it hurt to get a box of dirt (and cornstalks!) from my brother for Christmas one year. I have to consider that long, dark Christmas break when I was thirteen when I tried to kill myself (word--it actually hurts to slash your wrists, why didn't anyone tell me that before I tried? Geez.). And I get to relive the long December nights of my freshman year in college when all I did was stay awake all night long worrying about how much my parents seemed to hate each other, wondering if my dad really was going to divorce my mom or if that was just something you say when you're yelling at your spouse, and how much was I going to like having to decide which parent to visit over holidays if they lived in different houses?
Every year, I work my way through the past to my freshman year, which seems to be some sort of watershed. From that year on, Christmas seemed to get better instead of worse. I think at some point the concept of "personal agency" really took hold, and I started holding myself responsible for the way I spent the holidays. I could enjoy myself or not, and the choice my mine to make. And, of course, it goes without saying that choosing to spend the past ten Christmases with Catherine was an excellent decision.
Anyway, remembering my way forward from some of those bleak childhood Christmases takes less time and energy w/each passing year. Things that used to be painful are now mostly just stories I tell my friends to make them laugh. And that brings me to the real point of this entry. I think all (emotionally healthy) glbt persons at some point make a decision to surround themselves w/people who make them happy, who respect and care for them, and who help make life that much more pleasant. I'm lucky in that my biological family eventually came around to a more civilized way of behaving, but I'm even luckier that I managed to build my own family of good friends. It's an interesting process, learning to care about other people and letting other people care about you, and what I think most right now, is that I kind of like Christmas, because even if it come burdened with the past, it also gives me a chance to stop and look around in the present. That way I can recognize everyone I hold close to my heart, and just let myself enjoy their presence in the spirit of the holiday.
3:36 PM
Once again, I've conclusively proven that rollerblading and ice-skating are two completely different sports. You'd think the skill set would transfer between the two, but it doesn't. And ten seconds into today's activities, I remembered exactly how it was that I broke my elbow the first time. I am just not a good rollerblader. I totally do not get the stopping concept, I instinctively tried a hockey stop and almost broke my ankle. I know I should be using that little stopping thing behind my right heel, but it seems to me to be an invitation to the emergency room every time I consider it.
Well, the good news, I'm better than I was before I quit rollerblading (after said broken elbow three years ago), but I don't think I'll be playing inline hockey anytime soon. Maybe it would be easier if I got rockered skates. I think, though, Catherine would divorce me if I started buying inline hockey equipment along with ice hockey equipment. We'd be in the poorhouse by the end of next month.
I'd love to be that sporty chick who can play anything, do anything, but I think I may be smart enough to recognize my limitations on this one.
2:52 PM
Sunday, December 22, 2002
What I really wish is that someone would e-mail me and tell me what to write in Shawn's Christmas card. It's the first card I should have sent, yet it will be the last one that actually goes out. Everytime I pick up a pen, my mind goes blank. I want her to know I'm thinking about her, but my god, what am I supposed to say?
There's very little in the world I wouldn't talk to Shawn about--there's very little we haven't talked about at some point in the past--but I can hardly think of a word to write to her these days. I can't bring myself to call because I just hang on the line in silence, trying not to make my grief her problem.
So, even if you're a complete stranger, have a heart and drop me a line and tell me what to write, because I am absolutely without words at this point.
9:56 PM
Never in my life did I think I would hear Dorothy Allison quoted in a church sermon, much less hear her identified as "an author and lesbian feminist" in front of a religious congregation.
I feel like I've been taking a crash course in theology. Religion--our new hobby! We went to church *twice* today, once for Sunday services and once for a winter solstice concert. It may be that hell is freezing over somewhere.
We actually hung out for a few minutes after church and talked with some people. It completely stressed me out, talking to strangers. We met an older couple, Gerta and Edward, they are new to Bloomington (but longtime Unitarians), and we talked with them for awhile. Catherine pointed out to me last week that if nothing else, the whole church experience is good for us because where else would we interact with people of such different ages? We're never around kids, and never around old people, and now we've spent four Sundays with both.
The Rev. Breeden's sermon was excellent, actually. I teared up twice at church today, once during the children's story, and then at the end of the sermon, an unheard of event. I never cry in public. I never even cry in front of Catherine if I can help it. Anyway, I felt like sitting there listening improved my life a little bit today, even if I didn't agree with the entire text of the service. Gerta had some strong opinions on it as well, especially on the part about loving people who seem unlovable, or at least not letting unlovable people take away our option to love. She was pretty old, and she was wearing a pin that was a combination pink triangle and Star of David (we think her son is gay), and she said, "When you get to be a certain age, you just want to talk back during the sermon. There are people in the world who can't be loved, who are truly evil. There is nothing to love about them, and I shouldn't be asked to love them." And I guess I have to agree. You can't really stand there talking to a person of a certain age w/some sort of European accent wearing a Star of David and expect them to concede to the idea that everyone in the world should be loved.
Anyway, I don't believe love can be de-personalized to such an extent that you can apply it to the entire world. Love to me is pretty much a one-on-one emotion, and grows out of personal interaction. I can respect humanity in general, have compassion, empathy, sympathy, and a variety of other emotions toward the world at large, but I can't love you unless I've established a direct, personal relationship with you. The things I feel for all humankind--that everyone should be entitled to live a life free of fear, hunger and (preventable) disease, for instance--don't really fall under the heading "love," in my mind.
Anyway, I'm too tired to write a dissertation on love at the moment. Today I: slept in, went to church, went out for coffee, did some grading, went to a concert, went to the gym, drove around and looked at Christmas lights, went out to dinner, and addressed at least three Christmas cards. No wonder my head hurts.
9:18 PM
Saturday, December 21, 2002
What do I miss about graduate school? Nothing! Okay, that's not true. The one thing I really miss from the old days is the graduate reading group Todd and I sort of organized. All the participants were history grad students, but all from different fields: I was 19th c. British imperialism/colonialism, Todd was 20th c. American intellectual, Pat was Tokugawa period, Loyd was...hm...also Tokugawa? I can't remember. Something Japanese. Kristen was medieval Italy. Jeff was 20th c. Environmental/Native American. Every other week, someone would recommend an article, and we'd get together and discuss it over beer and pizza. It was great, because we got to read across several disciplines--anthropology, philosophy, gender studies--and different subsets of history.
That's the only thing I miss: A cohort interested in reading and talking about what we read. I undervalued it when I had it, I bitched and moaned about all the work involved in making it happen, but as it turns out, it was the only memorable part of the whole never-ending academic experience.
Since quitting grad school, I've slowly been weeding my bookshelves of books associated with my discipline(s). About once a year I dig a little deeper and add a few more into the stack to take to the used bookstore. I have almost no British history books left at this point. I've gotten rid of a large chunk of my art history books, and even some architecture books. I'm still holding on to a few philosophy books--Foucault, Kierkegaard, Said, Sartre--even though the longer I'm out of school the less ability I have to comprehend any of them. I don't know, maybe they're just there to remind that once upon a time my brain actually functioned on a reasonably high level, unlike now.
Anyway, tonight I very firmly closed the door on going back to grad school. I decided to get rid of not only The Return of Martin Guerre, but also The Epic of Gilgamesh. Two classics of world history, and I'm finally ditching them. That's a pretty good signal to myself that I never expect to teach History 101 ever again.
8:58 PM
Before anyone else sends me an article suggesting I'm not the best husband in the world, I would like everyone to know that instead of settling into my recliner to watch the NCAA volleyball championships today, as a husband should on a Saturday afternoon, I took myself into the bathroom and gave it a good cleaning. I scrubbed the tub, the sink, the toilet, the floor, everything. I missed two volleyball games in the process, but hey, at least I'm pulling my weight. Happy now, tocaya? :)
Blah...Stanford lost, anyway. And then we got to watch our men's basketball ball coach totally melt down on national television, taking what might have turned out to be a tied game going into over time and turning it into a definite loss by 7 points. I hope his mother calls him tonight and chews his butt good.
Our women won, though, beating South Florida. Not a snappy win, but a win just the same, so I'll take it. Cyndi Valentin is going to be a fantastic player, if she ever learns how to stop messing with her shorts while she's on the floor.
I'm going to rest and relax for the next few days and see if it helps me feel any better. I know I haven't been getting enough sleep or eating enough protein. I almost hit the floor tiles again today when I was at the used book store, and all I can think is maybe it's a low blood sugar thing, or maybe I'm anemic and just need to pump up my blood. I'll just say, the floor at Caveat Emptor isn't all that clean, and I don't want to have to sit down on it to keep from fainting again anytime soon.
8:42 PM
Friday, December 20, 2002
Feeling a little steadier today. I almost fainted twice yesterday afternoon. Add that to the two times I had to put my head on my desk on Wednesday to keep from fainting and/or vomiting, and that makes for a very annoying couple of days.
My goal today: plot the final drawings for 934 W. 6th St., and plot the draft set for 902 W. 7th St. That should take a few hours. I told my students yesterday that I plan for three hours for every set of working drawings I plot, and they told me I was nuts, but then they tried to plot out their drawings in an hour yesterday and discovere it wasn't possible.
I've got a ton of correcting to do, but I'm not even going to think about it until Sunday. Grades aren't due until Dec. 26, so I can slack for a couple of days.
8:09 AM
Thursday, December 19, 2002
Just got a Christmas card from my cousins Sean, Meaghan and Torin. Enclosed was a list of "three of life's lessons learned this year that [they] would like to share with those we love":
Torin: "Baseball doesn't hurt nearly as badly when you try to catch with your eyes open."
Sean: "The walls may appear solid, but people can still hear what you say about them when they're outside of your cubicle."
Meaghan: "Grandma REALLY DOES have a good reason for telling us not to play on the stairs."
Lessons to live by.
7:08 PM
Well, that totally sucked. I really hate instructors who write up these finals that are ten times harder than the stuff you've been doing as homework. I worked up to the last second, and I still didn't get it done, and let's face it, I'm the best student in the class by far.
11:06 AM
The thing that gets me about Trent Lott is that he doesn't even understand how facile the remark "I am not a racist" is.
You can't magically become "not a racist" just by saying it is so, or by wishing it is so. To become even *sort of* not a racist takes a lot of work. You have to think, read, listen, talk, ask, work and work hard. You have to be willing to educate yourself and others, but also to let other people educate you. You have to be willing to listen to yourself and catch yourself and find out that you're far from perfect even though you've been working hard. You have to be willing to change. No matter how much progress you make, there's a lot more that needs to happen to make you a little closer to being "not a racist." It takes constant vigilance, and even then, you'll find yourself thinking or saying something you just wish you hadn't. Every day you have to start over, and start over willingly, or it doesn't get you anywhere.
Every single one of us lives within a social framework riven through with racism, and every day we need to reassess it and see what can be done about it. Who influences what we think? How do we pass on that influence? What's the television telling us, the radio, the magazine at the doctor's office? What kind of jokes do we tell our friends? Do we laugh even though we know we really shouldn't ought to? Do we notice who makes us nervous in an elevator and why? Do we notice who we make eye contact with on the street and who we pretend not to see?
That Trent Lott even expects me to believe that he isn't a racist shows me what an idiot he is even more clearly than his remarks in praise of Dixiecrat politics. He obviously slept through all the courses requiring any sort of critical thinking in college, and he should probably lose his position in Congress just because he's an intellectual embarrassment.
8:00 AM
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
I know everyone is tired of hearing how much I love my partner, but I must say it at least one more time. While I basically just freaked out and broke down, she went out and solved the problem. She took time out yesterday afternoon to contact every printer in Bloomington, looking for someone who handles AutoCAD files. No luck. So she moved on to Indy, where she found a printer who will print them for $1.50 sq.ft. That's excellent--less than $20 a set of working drawings. *And* I can e-mail my .dwg files to them. Yeah, I'll still have to drive up there to pick them up, but it's better than shooting myself in the head.
I'm still mad, just no longer desperate. I just feel like I'm getting shafted, that I have to play by these stupid rules because I'm adjunct faculty. It's not that its against policy to use the dept. printers for personal work (in fact, my boss encouraged me to do so, we need to run the plotter out of ink because the stuff in the wells is 2 years old and really needs to be replaced with new ink). And it's not that they don't trust me to take care of the labs, because I'm in charge of unlocking them twice a week, and locking them up when I teach at night, there's no one around babysitting me. So, I'm not sure why suddenly it's like, "No access until January 13." Someone could at least give me a good explanation, I think. It's not like I couldn't just wander in and unlock them, but I'm a good girl and would never think of breaking the rules.
I'm just generally pissed off about being an adjunct right now. I mean, I want the job, I knew what I was getting into, but let's face it, if they were paying me a living wage, I wouldn't be doing this work for BRI in the first place. I'm teaching five freaking classes, and I take home $1450/month. $300 of that goes to pay for the insurance the college isn't providing me, and I'm not even going to talk about the other benefits. You'd think the least they could do is say, "Use the plotter for an hour? No problem." Especially since the work I'm doing for BRI makes me that much more valuable to them--they needed someone who had experience with specifications manuals, and now they have me and I can speak with authority.
Okay. I'm OTR and just generally in a bad mood.
10:05 AM
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
Catherine brought home an advance copy of the new Kinsey book last night. It looks really, really good. Nothing you could let your parents see on your coffee table, but still, really good.
11:35 AM
I very nearly had a break down in class today. Being overscheduled is catching up with me. I'm running too many errands, correcting too many papers, doing too much stuff in general. Anyway, the fourth time the computer crashed during my final, all I could do is sit there and hold my head in my hands. Recovery from the crashes would have been easier if I had just realized the layout view was in 3D mode. I lost data (from a saved file!) every time it crashed, but replacing it would have been easier if I had just looked at the icon and noticed that it was in 3D instead of 2D wireframe mode.
It's not like I need this class, and it's not like I'm not going to get an A, but I hate being an idiot, and I hate being tired.
11:30 AM
Monday, December 16, 2002
"I see a plump turkey, a leeetle boat of gravy and...yams!"
7:28 PM
I am totally down with point number three of the Philosophy statement by Indiana Coalition Against Domestic Violence. Hold the right person responsible for the crime.
Yesterday's article on Malia Van Deneede's murder was better than the previous ones, in that it was all about blaming the police and the hospital instead of the victim for a change. At least that's a step in the right direction. When her husband first shot her, all I heard was, "Why did she go with him? Why didn't she stay in the hospital? Why did she go back with him if they were divorced?" as if it would have made any difference in the world what she did or didn't do. Asking why she did or didn't do this or that puts all the blame on her, makes her responsible for the way things turned out, and that is SO wrong.
For all the horror and outrage there is floating around in our society about domestic violence, I still don't see the level of understanding I would prefer to see on the subject. It's apparently still preferable to try and figure out the battered woman's behavior--why did she stay, why didn't she go to a shelter, why didn't she leave--instead of the batterer's behavior. The batterer's behavior is viewed as a social problem--w/poverty, alcohol, financial pressure, institutionalized oppression at its root--but when it comes to the battered woman, everyone wants to see a particular reason behind her supposedly flawed choices. The fact is, Ms. Van Deneede should have been able to make any choice she wanted to make without fear of being killed, but that's not the way it was, and she shouldn't be held responsible for her own murder.
Catherine and I have had a dozen conversations on this topic in as many days. We've both had our experiences with hazardous relationships. I consider us both lucky in that we came out the other side more or less okay. We learned early on to be careful with each other, and to make sure we don't add to any damage caused before we met each other. We appreciate each other more, I think, because we both know how damned unpleasant life can be with the wrong person.
But that's not the point. The point is, everytime I hear someone say, "Why didn't she...?" I get angry, partly because I feel like people would be saying the same thing about me if they ever knew the truth about my previous relationship. But also, what gets me is that people don't understand how damn easy it is to find yourself in an abusive relationship and how damn hard it is to end one. You never think it will happen to you, and even when it is happening, you don't believe it. It's almost impossible to see when you're in the middle of it. I mean, I was over-educated even at the time, I had my act together, I was stable, I was with it, and I didn't even see what was really going on. The stuff I did see, well, I thought that would change if I just started doing the right things. If I said the right things, if I was loving enough, understanding enough, patience enough, giving enough. Whatever I saw that was wrong, I also saw as something I had caused, and therefore I had the power to change it if I just tried hard enough.
I'm very lucky, I got out before it's too late. But even that wasn't because I suddenly wised up or saw things as they were or any of that. I left because I thought it would make her happier. I truly thought I was the root of her anger, that I caused all her violence, and I left because I couldn't stand to be causing her all that pain. If I left, it would be better for her. It wasn't until much later that it seeped into my brain....wait...I wasn't doing anything wrong. I didn't deserve that...I should have left for me, not her! I'm a totally smart chick, but I didn't see any of that.
So, I count myself and my wife as two of the fortunate ones. I would rather we hadn't experienced some of the stuff we did before we met each other, but at least we came out of it alive. I think--I know--things could have turned out much differently, very easily.
On the front page of this morning's paper was a new story. Lisa Schwein, 33, of Gnawbone, Indiana, was shot to death by her estranged husband. And the first person I hear ask, "Why didn't she get a restraining order? Why didn't she call the police?" is going to get an earful. Trust me.
7:18 PM
Hmmm....totally torn. Loyalty to friends demands that I pull for Stanford...loyalty to Coach Summitt demands that I pull for Tennessee. Decisions, decisions.
2:59 PM
Well, I suppose that's one reason I got married. Only one of us is allowed to freak out at a time. Only one of us can cry at a time. The second party is morally obligated to hold it together until the crisis blows over.
1:51 PM
The amount of money being sunk into our kitchen--a kitchen I never even use--is starting to make me physically sick.
10:21 AM
Yesterday, I impressed my wife. And that, my friends, is all that it takes to call it a successful day.
6:54 AM
Sunday, December 15, 2002
I think we're going to skip the church thing until after Christmas. I've had about enough of the whole Christ in a Manger thing. Let this be a lesson: never check out a multi-denominational congregation during the high holidays for the dominant religion. I don't mind Christmas carols in the privacy of my own car--I heard a very nice rendition of 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' this morning--but when I'm standing in a crowd with everybody singing it, I feel complicit in Christianity, and that makes me uncomfortable.
During the "meditation moment" this morning (the PC version of "now let us pray" is "now let us be silent together"), a cell phone went off a few rows behind us. The ringer was set to play a Scott Joplin tune, and it just cracked me up, the silence suddenly interrupted by "The Entertainer." Even funnier was the cell-phone owner's heartfelt, "Jesus!" as she rushed to turn the thing off. I think Catherine and I are the only two people who laughed, but it made the meditation for me.
12:34 PM
I'm proud of Catherine. She has a very visible, controversial--not to mention stressful--job, and she handles it very well. It's kind of interesting being married to a world expert, I'm always amazed by the all the stuff she knows and all the things she does in a day.
However, it's also kind of weird knowing that on any given day she's having a very public conversation on a topic that I would be embarrassed to discuss with anyone even in private. Case in point: she didn't get as much work done for her cataloging class as she'd hope to get done yesterday, because she and her class partner got sidetracked. They were working in the Catherine's office, and I'm not sure if her class partner saw a photograph or an article or what, but something prompted her to mention to Catherine that she didn't think a certain part of her female anatomy was normal. So, she and Catherine apparently had a long conversation about the possible variations of said body part.
Catherine is relating this story to me this morning as I'm driving her to the office, and I'm trying not to listen, saying, "Whoa! I don't want to *know* that kind of stuff about other people, particularly not people I'm going to have to give a ride home to in the next couple hours, okay?!"
It used to be that I was the frank, outspoken, sexually matter-of-fact person in our relationship. Ten years ago, if you asked me a question, I took it upon my lesbian-ambassador-to-the-straight-world self to tell you everything you wanted to know. These days, I won't tell you a damn thing, but my formerly shy and retiring partner will not only talk to you about it, but bring visual aids if you need them.
12:28 PM
Friday, December 13, 2002
Belated snow pictures. Maybe I'll add new ones tomorrow, we're supposed to get 2-4 inches tonight.
6:30 PM
I'm so tired. I don't think I'm hardy enough for life on this planet.
8:41 AM
Thursday, December 12, 2002
I'm pretty sure Rob is going to get himself into trouble.
3:18 PM
Randy called with the latest crisis--he can't put in the counter top because the short end is too wide. It's 7" wider than the cabinet underneath, and I guess the only way to fix it is to order a new top. Because that will take a month to arrive, he's going to put in a temporary top so at least we'll have a counter to use.
1:53 PM
I've spent more time with God in the past two weeks than I have in the past twenty years. Well, last night was spent with Baby Jesus, which isn't quite the same thing, I guess.
Last night we went to the annual "Chimes of Christmas" concert at IU. As far as I could tell, very few chimes were actually involved. It's been awhile since I've spent such an intensely Christian evening. I guess I tend to forget that Christmas is a religious holiday. I live in an atheist household, so it's kind of an "out of sight, out of mind" situation. When I do think about Christianity, it's always in relation to a political question (ie., if you use your religion to legislate my life, there will be trouble).
Anyway, it was a good concert in most ways. The wind ensemble was nothing to write home about, but the Singing Hoosiers were something else. I'd definitely pay to see them again, especially if they would do their "popcorn" Jingle Bells again.
During the time the wind ensemble was playing a Santa Claus song medley, a guy dressed like Santa came out into the audience. You would have thought the audience was comprised entirely of 5-year-olds (it was 90% old people) the way people reacted. A mass movement to lean closer to see him, and everyone saying, "Oh, look! Santa!" There was a similar reaction when Rudolph appeared in the doorway. It was kind of cute.
Anyway, I haven't heard so much Christian music at one time in years, probably not since I went to an All Souls' Day mass in 1989.
1:50 PM
I'm not going to type out the whole story, because that would be totally unethical, but just in case some college student somewhere stumbles across this, I want to say this: Your instructors aren't stupid. You may think they are, but they aren't. Even the least experienced graduate T.A. can recognize a plagiarized paper. Don't fuck up your future because you think you're smart enough to not get caught. If you have to plagiarize, do yourself a favor and copy the paper out of an obscure 19th-century textbook. Don't put your topic in google and look for a paper, because we all know how to do that, too. If you have to get your paper from the internet, at least dig down a few pages in the list of hits, don't take the *very first hit* that google returns. Because you know what? Even if your instructor can't find the source you copied, there's a good chance there's someone in the department (like me) who knows everything there is to know about search engines and the internet. It's not like faculty members don't talk to each other. Don't become a topic of one of our informal gatherings. Do your own work, or you'll find out how bleak your future will be after you're expelled.
11:54 AM
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Ghost kitty.
9:03 PM
Caught about 10 seconds of a newspot on the What Would Jesus Drive people last night. I'm obviously not going to be throwing my weight behind the Evangelicals, but hey, if Jesus drives a hybrid, that's good enough for me. I wish the group all the luck in the world in this particular mission--if they could get Christians to consider preserving the enivornment and reducing our dependence on fossil fuels as a moral imperative, well, I say more power to them.
On a side note, this is exactly the kind of political action that the Unitarians would support. The best part of the church's newsletter is the six page insert on all the political activity in which various church members are involved.
11:00 AM
Imagine a fishhook at the end of each tendon stretching from the palm to the tip of the finger. Five hooks each hand. Attach a line to each hook, and find someone to pull on the lines as hard as they can. Experience ache.
9:49 AM
Yay, my Amazon order finally shipped today. Everyone will get Christmas presents after all.
I'm continually amazed by my friends, they all seem to have it together in one way or another. They are happening people! But I wish they would not be such over-acheivers. I'm already receiving Christmas cards--what's that about? Even worse, I got a handmade card yesterday, where did Lisa find the time? I did make it as far as buying a couple boxes of cards, but as to getting them mailed....eh. For one thing, my hands ache way too much. I wrote out six short notes a couple of days ago to send along with the team programs I mailed to my sponsors, and then I had to quit and have Catherine address the envelopes because I couldn't write anymore.
I think I'm going to have to just scrawl my name on the card and then type anything else I might want to say on another piece of paper. Such a personal touch!
It is still snowing, it is wet, it is cold, it is icky, and I forgot my lunch on the kitchen table. The contractors will probably eat it.
9:44 AM
In the midst of a winter storm. I'm not getting paid enough to drive to work in these kind of conditions.
7:15 AM
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
I'm trying to be a good sport about this, because if I get worked up about every stupid thing the contractor does over the next two weeks, I'm going to go nuts, but I just have to say: It is incredibly fucking poor planning to take out our kitchen window at the same time our furnace is disconnected. And we're experiencing single digit weather and an ice storm at the moment. And why the fuck does our furnace have to be shut down to remodel our kitchen, anyway?
5:05 PM
1:25 p.m.
Hi--Randy left an ominous message for me this morning. He said the cabinets are 24" tall instead of 48", so there's going to be a lot of space between the top of the cabinets and the ceiling. I can't remember what our friend Dave at Lowe'stold us to order, but I remember we discussed it with him. Do you remember if we meant to order 24" cabinets?
1:41 p.m.
I talked to Randy on the phone--he has talked to Dave, and has ordered 36" cabinets (he says that's the perfect size--Dave had 42" and 24" written down in his notes, so either way we wouldn't have gotten the right size). They may be here in 2 weeks, if we are very lucky. In the meantime, Randy's going to work on the sink and countertop. He said the small cabinet was too tall, but he thinks he can modify it to fit under the counter. So much for all of our careful measuring, eh?
Randy told us 42", and Dave talked us into 24", so I'm not paying for the 36". If there was an error in the ordering, it's their problem, not mine.
1:22 PM
Monday, December 09, 2002
Rob continues to crack me up.
7:50 PM
As it turns out, some of my students pay attention to what I say after all.
Seven students were already working in the construction lab when an eighth came in, arms full of some white, sheet-y thing. What the hell is that? I wondered (but I asked w/out profanity). Turns out he brought in a whole big piece of Tyvek house wrap to put on his scale model. He's a totally motivated student, so I shouldn't be surprised, but I'm willing to bet it was the first time anyone went out and got Tyvek just for a model. He brought enough for the whole class, which was nice of him. He said he brought from a job site, they were just going to throw it away, so he grabbed it. Very thoughtful.
Anyway, we were all standing around congratulating him on his ingenuity when one of the students asked, "What is that?" And he answered again, "Tyvek. House wrap." And the first student said, "Oh. What's it for?"
I'm not kidding, everyone in the room froze. There was a collective inhale of breath, I think they were all waiting for me to explode and say, "How can we be in Week 14 and you don't know what house wrap is?" But I didn't, I just said as gently as possible, "House wrap, to prevent air infiltration." And she nodded. But then one of the other students said (not meanly), "Boy, you can tell who hasn't been coming to class on a regular basis," and her building partner leaned across the table and said, "Those are the kind of questions you should ask me instead of the teacher so she doesn't know how clueless you are."
I thought it was pretty funny, and even better, it means that 7 out 8 students know what a house wrap is, and that's a pretty good ratio.
4:21 PM
I am what should probably be called a secular, or ethnic, Christian. I'm an atheist to the core, but I was raised a Christian (even worse, a Baptist, but that's another journal entry), and most of my holiday rituals and traditions came to me through Christianity. I like Christmas a lot, even if the Christian element makes me irritable. I find myself humming Christmas carols like "Joy to the World," even though I don't believe for a second that "the Lord has come." It's an odd time of year, one that feels familiar, comfortable, and part of me, but at the same time is alien in its embrace of Christian theology. This must be what it's like for atheist Jews--they feel that they're Jewish, they identify with Jewish holidays and traditions, but, hey, that whole God and Law of Moses thing? Rubbish.
The point, the point, the point....oh, yeah. The point is, we attended Sunday Services at the local Unitarian Church on the last two Sundays. Every six months or so, we have a vague discussion about trying out the Unitarian Church, mostly because it seems like it would be a way to meet a lot of community-oriented, politically-active people. But we never do it, because let's face it, church sucks. Who wants to go sit still for an hour and listen to someone talk about God or a Higher Power or Jaweh or whatever it is you call her/him/it? Still, we decided to try it, on the theory that it probably can't make my depression worse, and maybe being around other people would make it better.
The first Sunday was actually pretty good. The order of service was pretty Protestant, the church bulletin looked like the ones from my childhood, but the service as a whole was nice and agnostic. No mention of anything Christian (although there were a couple allusions to the congretation as "people of faith," and that pretty much means I'll never belong because I don't have faith in *anything*), no Christian hymns, no God, no greater power. The Rev. Macklin gave an interesting talk about solitude v. loneliness, the value of the first and the avoidance of the second, and overall, we felt okay about the whole thing. Not ready to become church members, but comfortable enough to go back a second time and hear one of the other ministers (or whatever the Unitarians call their leaders) speak.
Yesterday's services was run by the Sunday Services committee, though; maybe it was atypical in that one of the three ministers didn't speak, instead the service was put together by the committee. The theme for the service was Light and Dark, and was more or less centered around the story of Hanukkah. I don't know, we left feeling really uncomfortable. We heard the story of Hanukkah. One of the hymns was Christian, one was Jewish, and the other was kind of bowdlerized Christian (I learned it when I was a kid, but they had changed the words to something less Christian). A lot of the service was totally New Age, with modern dancing and everything. And then there was a meditation part, where someone led the congregation through breathing exercises for relaxing. Oh, and there was a Buddhist story, too.
Overall, it was weird.
We're pretty tolerant of listening in on other people's religious traditions--listening to the story of Hanukkah didn't bother me all that much. But I hate to be around anything Christian. It wasn't a large element of the service, but it was still there. I know not everything Christian is bad, but...well....everything Christian is bad! I think if they dropped that one element, we'd be open-minded about everything else. There's probably something useful to be taken from most religions/philosophical traditions in the world, but the minute something Christian comes up, I back away.
Well, Rev. Macklin sent us a welcome letter, and we've been talking about maybe making an appointment with her to see what the church is really all about. I mean, I'd have to be honest and say, "Look, I don't believe in anything. No God, no higher power. I am not a person of faith, I don't believe everything will work out for the best, I don't believe the sun will come up tomorrow, I don't believe, period. I'm not spiritual, I'm not seeking truth through meditative silence," and see what she says. I don't know what we're looking for, besides the vague notion of "community," so I'm not sure where we're going with this one.
10:50 AM
Sunday, December 08, 2002
My family is full of crazy people.
When I called my parents this evening, my dad answered the phone, and the first thing he said was, "Oh, I was going to call you this afternoon." My dad *never* calls me, so I asked why. "I wanted to be sure and tell you to watch 'Married With Children', it's the Christmas special today."
I thought...surely he isn't saying what I think he's saying. "The one where Santa Claus lands on the spiked fence?" I ask. "Yep, that's the one, I remember how much you loved it."
Okay, that show must have aired 15 years ago. I hated the show, and I thought that episode was particularly disgusting. How like my father to remember something that bugged the hell out of me, and how like him to be tempted to call me and remind me of it.
When my mom got on the phone, the first thing she asked was, "Did your father tell you about 'Married With Children'?" Yeah, Mom, he did, I didn't like it the first time, and I don't think I'd like it now. And what does my mom say?
"Well, you know, in those days it was really shocking, but now everyone's killed Santa Claus. You know, Bart...blue hair...and South Hill. Everyone's killed Santa."
I'm guessing she meant Bart Simpson and South Park. My parents watch TV 24-hours a day, you'd think they'd know the actual name of the shows they watch.
But maybe not, because they're probably *distracted*. When my brother and brother-in-law were home for Thanksgiving, they stacked two console televisions on top of one another in my parents' living room, and wired them so when you turn one on, the other one comes on. One is set up for TV viewing, one is set up for video games. Now, my dad can play Nintendo on the bottom TV, and my mom can watch hockey on the top TV. So, maybe they don't know the name of the South Park kids because they get distracted by all the explosions coming out of the lower TV, I don't know.
For Christmas, my dad is getting my mom DirectTV, even though they already have a satellite dish. It apparently comes with a Canadian TV package. My mom figures she can now watch hockey and/or curling 24-hours a day, 7 days a week. That will be a nice break from CNN and the Game Show Network, if you ask me.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
8:16 PM
I expected to spend the entire game with my head in my hands yesterday. We haven't been playing well, and that's putting it kindly. We have no backcourt. We have no one who can pound it out down in the paint. Our three-point shooting is erratic.
Eventually, I will expect big things from local girl Cyndi Valentin. She's a freshman, so I'm willing to wait for her to develop. In the meantime, I'll enjoy watching Jenny DeMuth, 'cause I like any woman who will throw herself hard to the floor to get a ball.
But our backcourt. Aye. We've been told to trust that Kristen Bodine can lead the team, but if you ask me, she's doing a lousy job. She isn't a natural point guard, she doesn't handle the ball well, and she's no floor general. She may have other strengths, but I started the game out grumbling because once again, Coach Bennett had Bodine in at point.
Ah...freshman Kali Kullberg enters the game. Not expecting much of her. She has foot speed and ball-handling skills, but she's still a freshman. She had an excellent game yesterday, though, and it seems our team may have found its future. Thank god. An entire season with no point guard would have had me slitting my wrists before March Madness was even close.
She probably can't help it if she looks more like a cheerleader than a ball player.
7:20 PM
It seems to me that instead of bowing down and kissing the feet of American imperialists, Europeans should be re-reading Sartre's essay on McCarthyism. If more people had listened to Sartre, I'm willing to bet the world would be a better place today.
7:11 PM
I tried to get ahold of Ameritech last week, but had to give up because I was on hold so long. Tomorrow, I'm not giving up. We have to get our phone number changed. I am so tired of being harassed everytime I pick up the phone. I'm not sure if it is one guy, two guys, or a whole group of them. The first guy--the one who told me he was coming right over and listed off my address--didn't bother disguising his voice. The new guy is trying to speak in a falsetto.
Sometimes I really, really hate men. All of them.
4:21 PM
Saturday, December 07, 2002
All of my e-mail is gone. I had 80-something e-mail messages in my inbox, and now I have zero. Dreamhost is really starting to get on my nerves. Luckily, I'd just transferred the personal messages that I wanted to save into other folders, and they seem okay, but I lost everything Steve sent me about the projects manuals I've been working on.
10:43 PM
Friday, December 06, 2002
I really hate to disagree with Aaron McGruder about anything. His voice is so important, and he's usually so right on that I wonder if I'm not the one having the brain freeze on those rare occasions when I think he's on the wrong tack.
A couple of weeks ago he ran a series that started off with harshing on Winona Ryder, suggesting that the reason she got off with a slap on the wrist was because she was white. I wish I could find a copy of it online, but anyway, I'm down with that one. The whole week was funny. But in one of the later strips in the series McGruder suggested--I'm paraphrasing--that Eminem was more popular than other rappers because he was white, and I found myself thinking, "Well....no. Eminem is popular *despite* the fact that he's white."
To begin with, I think any white rapper is damned from the outset thanks to Vanilla Ice. I wonder how many times Eminem heard, "Ah, he's just another Ice, Ice Baby." White rappers aren't cool, they're dorky. White people don't want to hear other white people rap.
What I really think, however, is that when you say Eminem is palatable because he's white, you really leave out a lot of the story. Over the past couple months I've been doing a lot of thinking about white privilege because it's not actually all that visible in the lives of my students. I know if one of my students was up against a student of color for a job here in southern Indiana, and they had equal education and qualifications, the white kid would get the job. That seems clear. But the thing is, I don't think these kids will ever be in the position to experience the privileges of their race. They're never even going to be offered an interview, much less a job. Watching them, I have to wonder which plays a larger role in their lives: race or class?
I am teaching a large group of young men, essentially disenfranchised, essentially powerless. They all live with their parents, they have jobs stocking grocery shelves, they all have payments they can't afford to make for their pickup trucks. One of my students missed class the other day because he was home watching his sister's baby--he still lives at home, his sister lives at home. I'm sure none of my students have ever voted or will ever vote. I'm not even certain they registered for the selective service, although surely someone chased them down and made them do it.
I guess the point is, I often wonder if they will ever have the chance to be "rewarded" for their race, if they will ever pull themselves out of their present circumstances far enough to even have the possibility for profiting from their white male-ness. I have a student who can't read. Or, if he can read, it's at a very low level. Unless some miracle happens, he is going to live out the rest of his days out in the county, sitting in front of the television, feeling angry and ripped off and not even know why. He probably doesn't even know he's supposed to be privileged, he just know life sucks and he can't get a job.
Okay, back to the point about Eminem--all of my young, male students like him, they were completely psyched to go see Eight-Mile when it opened, and they're always trying to watch his videos and stuff online. And I've been listening to them talk about the movie and the music, and it just strikes me that they identify with the image that Eminem projects--an angry, disillusioned, white boy who grew up in a single-wide trailer in the wrong part of town, whose family sucked and always will suck, and who only managed to save himself from repeating his family history because he rapped his way out of Detroit.
It's all an act, I think, but Eminem has a fantastic talent for expressing anger. In his "Cleaning out My Closet" single, there are a couple of lines addressed to his mother, ("Wasn't it the reason you made that CD for me, Ma? So you could try to justify the way you treated me, Ma?"), and it is absolutely stunning how much bitterness he manages to squeeze into the one-syllable word, "Ma." And I'm watching my students watch him, and I compare the way I listen to an Eminem song and the way they listen to the same song, and I suddenly wish our school had metal detectors at the front gate.
West coast/East coast rappers say nothing to a poor boy from out in the county who is being promised everything via DirectTV but can't seem to actually get his hands on it in real life. Eminem, on the other hand, knows all about it. So, I guess I think that, yes, Eminem's success is because he's white, but not in the way that Aaron McGruder was suggesting.
Okay, it sounds like I want my student to all grow up and realize that they can live the good life because they're one step ahead because they're white and they should take advantage of it. But I'm not. I'm just a little confused as to how great a role class plays in the formulation of a power hierarchy. When does race overtake class and offer power? When does class erode race and disintegrate power?
What I really think, though, is just that I want my students to start doing their homework so I can quit worrying about them being unable to get a job so they can feed their kids and put a decent roof over their heads.
10:57 PM
And can I just say? I really, really hate dumb blonde jokes. I know I need to develop a sense of humor, but I just really hate them. And if I say anything, try to point out that as a blonde, I don't think they're all so funny, the joke-teller always says, "Oh, I don't think of you as a blonde," which could mean, "I think you're smarter than a blonde, even though you are the only natural blonde I know," but which really means, "I don't think of you as a blonde because you're not a statuesque beauty." And if I try to (diplomatically) point *that* out, everyone just gets pissed off at me and tells me to lighten up.
9:07 PM
Rev. Macklin sent us a letter today. I'm just cynical enough to wonder if they run down their list of names and pick out all the glbt couples and hand them off to the lesbian minister, then give the rest to the straight minister. That's assuming there is a straight minister, I really wouldn't know.
Practice went a lot better today. I think the coach must have read my "more positive reinforcement" comment (or maybe someone else wrote that on the survey, too), because he must have said, "Good job, JR" a dozen times tonight. And it was a good job. I've finally nailed the backhand shot on the ice. All that practice in my basement is paying off.
I'm totally bummed that Melissa Estrella isn't coming back. I was so happy to see her back at practice last week, then it turns out she's only here for two weeks, and then is moving to Connecticut Dec. 20. I'm happy for her, but I really liked her and wish she could stay around.
9:00 PM
If I ever meet the guy who thought AutoFormat in MSWord was a good idea, I'm going to put a gun to his head and tell him to dare me to pull the trigger.
8:49 PM
Oh...I feel so much better this morning. The cats fell asleep before Catherine left for work, so aside from a few minutes of wakefulness around 6 a.m., I slept through from midnight to 9 o'clock this morning. Then I fell back asleep for another half hour. I'm congested, but I just feel so much better rested.
I love the snow. I'm not sure when I became a winter person, in theory the dark days should feed my depressive cycle, but snow always kicks me back to life.
I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Only two more weeks of teaching, and even so, a lot of my lecturing is already done. Only one more topic to cover in drafting, one more to cover in construction materials, nothing new to cover in architectural design. So, hopefully I'll have time to finish my own homework.
It's so true that you just have to push through depression, take all the positive steps you can think of taking, even if they don't seem to help at the time. Eventually something will kick in. I think the pendulum is still low on the upward swing, but at least it's out of the trough.
And now that I'm feeling a little better, I feel worse about how much I've probably been bugging my friends. Yeah, and I've been leaning particularly hard on Susana, I think I must have sent her 10 e-mails yesterday! Well, okay, my guilt didn't prevent me from e-mailing her again this morning, but really. I need to give the girl a break.
9:31 AM
Thursday, December 05, 2002
What amazes me is that even though there were only 72 people in my graduating class, I don't recognize half the names listed under my graduation year on classmates.com. Who are all these people?
10:32 PM
My gosh. It's so beautiful here this morning. The snow is a deep, fine, powder, and everytime the wind kicks up, the trees rain crystals. The shadows are cobalt blue on the snow. Quiet, slow and cold.
The roads are terrible, though. I think the City of Bloomington owns, like, one snow plow. I'm suddenly driving with my hand on the gear shift. I think I dropped down to L five times on the way to work.
It seems a lot warmer, but I guess it's only 21F. I think hockey has ruined my internal thermometer.
8:58 AM
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Well.
Several months ago, the Bank of Earl (aka, my in-laws) gave us a chunk of change to use on home repairs. They gave us the money thinking they needed to even things up, since they gave C.'s sister money to work on her house. We've slowly been putting the money to good use. For instance, we had a new staircase put in our basement. The existing one was well past being considered dangerous, and I refused to even use it. We had our basement "fixed," meaning the guy promised us he could fix the leakage problem, but $2000 later, it still leaks. We cut our losses on that one. I can bang around a hockey puck, and I can lift weights, and that's all a basement needs to do, in my opinion. We bought a new fridge and a new range. We needed both, in theory, but since we never cook, the range is kind of a waste of money, but hey, it looks nice.
Anyway, we've had the rest of the money sitting in a bank account while we searched for someone to work on our kitchen. It's taken forever. Awhile back, it seemed like things were starting to happen--we ordered new cabinets, counter top, etc., but then things stalled again. Suddenly, the contractor calls and says, "Hey, I'm coming over, we'll start your kitchen on Monday." And we're not ready, of course. We haven't purchased a new ceiling fan, and we haven't ordered a new sink. Haven't bought tile. Haven't bought a new faucet.
So, I have to go do some of that on my lunch hour tomorrow. Have I mentioned I really don't have time to be doing this kind of junk right now? Have I mentioned I really don't have time to be sitting here typing this? There just aren't enough hours in the day, and now this.
Oh. That wasn't the point of this entry at all. Being worn out is only a tangential whine.
The thing that slays me is this: we're kind of poor right now. Not "about to lose the house because we can't pay the mortgage poor," but still, money has been tight since I started teaching. And I'm working on these *stupid* project manuals in anticipation of earning a couple thousand dollars to help us out next semester, because money is going to be even tighter. We always seem to make ends meet despite the fact that hockey is like a huge whirlpool, sucking all my money down the drain, but I'm starting to get that stressed feeling around my eyes everytime I balance my checkbook.
Yet, here we are, about to spend thousands on a kitchen renovation. Whenever Catherine's parents give us money, which is fairly often because they're fairly generous, we always feel as if it needs to be spent on something visible, like getting a new roof on our back porch. But sometimes I think what we really need is just some money to put in savings so we have somewhere to turn when everyday expenses start to overwhelm us.
I must be tired, because I'm whining about free money and about the fact that we finally found someone to work on the kitchen so I won't have to. What the hell is wrong with me?
Addendum: Ah, apparently nothing is wrong with me, because Catherine feels the same way. If we use the money for groceries, or new shoes, or just living, it feels like we're wasting it. It's just kind of odd. We're worried about our finances, but feel obligated to renovate anyway.
9:51 PM
use a circle to measure distance from 6 to 5 in H view
use a circle to measure length of 5 in new F view (TL)
put circle one on right end of 6 in development view
put circle two on left end of 6 (vertex) in development view
intersection should be 5 in dev view
move first circle to intersection 5 (dev view) (dist of 5 to 4 in H view)
use a circle to measure length of 4 in TL view (new F view)
move that circle to left end of 5,6 (vertex) in dev view
intersection should be 4 in dev view
1:46 PM
I hope someone remembers I'm an organ donor when I die of exhaustion.
11:01 AM
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
I don't know...maybe it's time to find another sport. The world won't come to an end just because I stop playing hockey...will it?
10:54 PM
My handsome boy.
8:33 AM
Monday, December 02, 2002
She also quoted Ranier Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Artist, which I've seriously been meaning to read. I actually went to Barnes and Noble specifically to buy it awhile back, but couldn't find a copy. I understand the point she was trying to make, but I'm not sure I agree with Rilke's assessment to begin with. Or, maybe I just don't understand what he was trying to say:
"I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other. For, if it lies in the nature of indifference and of the crowd to recognize no solitude, then love and friendship are there for the purpose of continually providing the opportunity for solitude. And only those are the true sharings which rythmically interrupt periods of deep isolation."
I need to edit this, because it's not true that I don't understand it. What's more true is that it doesn't relate to me personally. I have no problem guarding my own solitude in face of the maddening crowds. Most of the time, that's a good thing. I like being by myself, thinking by myself. Give me a book and a quiet corner, and I don't even care what's going on outside the thick walls of my skull. So, I don't need friendship to run interference for me, I can find "meditative solitude" whenever I want it.
My danger is guarding my solitude too well, spending so much time within myself that I become completely disconnected from the world. I'm not the kind of person about which Rilke was writing. I would say that for people like me, the role of friendship and love is completely reversed. Love and friendship are there for the purpose of bringing me into the world, not "continually providing the opportunity for solitude."
Catherine and I had a discussion last night about the closing comments. The proposition was that the way to avoid loneliness is to embrace gratitude. She suggested that being thankful, thanking someone or something, automatically connects you to the world, it's a relational state. You can't be thankful without someone/something else being involved. I thought that was interesting, but she didn't explain why gratitude was a better relational state than any other emotion. Hatred is relational, too, but I don't find it particularly helpful in combatting loneliness.
That is all.
8:56 PM
It's amazing how many clever (oh...and stupid!) names there are for web logs/online journals. Sometimes when I'm really, really bored, I go to blogger and just hit the refresh button every 10 seconds to watch the list of "recently published blogs" change. The scary part of this exercise is that I've been doing it for so long, I now recognize a lot of the names, and think, "Oh, that one just got updated yesterday," even though I have never followed the link to actually read the blog. I am on a first name basis with a lot of blog titles, but zero blog authors. Am I a people person or what?
8:35 PM
Well, I tried to get Rob's Safeway card for twenty bucks, but got outbid. If I had known it would go for 21.53, I would have bid 25.00. Ah, well. I've been given permission to buy a t-shirt, anyway.
7:40 PM
Sunday, December 01, 2002
The Nov/Dec issue of The Gay & Lesbian Review has an article about the lexical ambiguity of the word "gay." For instance (using the author's example), in the newspaper headline "Cardinal likens gays to WWII Nazis," the word "gay" can be read a couple different ways. The headline could mean:
"Cardinal likens gay men to WWII Nazis."
or,
"Cardinal likens lesbians and gays to WWII Nazis."
However, it can't be interpreted as
"Cardinal likens lesbians to WWII Nazis,"
since "gay" always has a male element. Sometimes it also includes a female element, but it never lacks a male element.
I read this and the first thing I thought was, "Well....duh." This linguisitical analysis probably took up years of the author's life, and it's nothing I didn't know already.
Actually, her point was that by collapsing lesbians into the word "gay," we are privileging male sexuality as the norm. It's like any other pseudo-generic--like the use of "he" instead of "she or he." The author concludes with a statement about the use of "gay" in this way is "robbing us of a wide range of resources and the basic claim to public existence."
Okay, point taken. She's right, of course, language does enforce social norms, and ensures that lesbians remain an invisible class (unless we're hot, of course, then men want us to be *very* visible, preferably naked, and in their bed with another woman). Straight people everywhere were glad to take up the word "gay." They no longer have to lisp over "homosexual" or that horrific adjective masquerading as a noun, "lesbian."
But what the author fails to really explore (few articles in The Gay & Lesbian Review really explore anything) is how complicit lesbians are in this whole process of invisibility. It's not just straight people who choke on the word "lesbian" in a sentence. There are tons of lesbians out there who will reclaim the word "dyke" as their own, but will still use "gay women" to avoid using "lesbian" as if it's some dirty, perverse word-that-dare-not-speak-its-name. It really, really pisses me off.
If I ever meet someone who can use the word "lesbian" in a sentence in a conversation with me without: a) breaking eye contact; b) lowering her or his voice; c) pausing; or d) prefacing it with a "you know"; I will seize that person's arm and say, "Come with me, you are now my new best friend."
8:51 PM
Today's Benediction:
Solitude is not all exaltation and inner space.
Where the soul breathes and work can be done.
Solitude exposes the nerves, raises up ghosts.
The past, never at rest, flows through it.
--May Sarton
2:46 PM
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