More Reality TV: The Real Housewives of Orange County

Some of you know that I watch, with a near religious fervor, The Real Housewives of Orange County. Some of you also know that I really enjoy trash talking the Housewives. And, at least until this new season, it wasn't really any of the individual Housewives, with the exception of Jo de la Rosa, who really bugged me; it was more the whole thing. You know, the whole I'm-cool-because-I'm-from-OC, or the I'm-poor-because-I-live-in-a-townhouse-in-Ladera, or the I'm-hot-because-I've-been-to-the-Playboy-mansion thing that bugged me. However, I can definitely say that the new "Housewife," Tamra Barney is a different story. She's like white trash with too much money. On the most recent installment, she has her Bunco-playing girlfriends over for Bunco night, which I guess is fine. But then she gets wasted on Jell-o shots. Can you get any trashier than that? Oh wait, her 21-year-old son with "Forever Grateful" tattooed across his chest (yes, he got it done for Mother's Day, because he's so grateful to his mom) is possibly trashier than she is. No, I'm not making any of this up. I just checked out her MySpace page--puke! Her husband leaves tons of messages telling her how hot she is. Oh, on the TV program, she says that one of her biggest goals right now is looking as good as she can. Seriously, does anyone else see anything wrong with this? You can call me a "hater," if you like; I don't care.

The real pressing question is this: is the term "housewife" being used ironically in the title of this program? Seriously.

If I Weren't Afraid, Number 11. . .This One's for Zee

Ok, an addendum to yesterday's Thursday 13.

11. If I weren't afraid, yes, I'd write. I'd make it a priority. I'd write regularly. I'd pursue the children's books and the short stories and maybe even the novels that are floating around in my brain. I'd write and write and write. And I'd believe that it wouldn't matter if I never was published; I'd believe that writing for its own sake it the important thing. I'd bravely, fully write my soul.

Kim Kardashian, Reality TV, and Playboy. . .

Ok, this has been bugging me the last couple of days. . . Is Playboy magazine just considered mainstream and socially acceptable? Is it not considered porn anymore? Or is it still considered porn and perfectly acceptable, anyway? So here's where this all is coming from, and I am prefacing this rant with the admission, a somewhat sheepish one, that I watch all that really bad E! and Bravo reality programming, including Keeping up with the Kardashians, The Real Housewives of Orange County, and yes, even The Girls Next Door. And just for the record, I have real objections to The Girls Next Door; I find it offensive on so many levels, and yet I watch it anyway. And I fully realize that by watching what I call "trashy TV" in the form of these offensive and even exploitive reality programs, I am contributing to the problem by simply being a consumer of this kind of thing. So here's the thing. . .

In the last two weeks or so, I've noticed that E! News and other entertainment news programs have been talking up Kim Kardashian's pictorial in Playboy, which is apparently available on newsstands now, or so says Ryan Seacrest. But here's the thing: is Playboy so mainstream, so socially acceptable that Ryan Seacrest sends us all out to buy it? The answer, it seems, is yes. This is so troubling for so many reasons. I am, partly for personal reasons, particularly opposed to pornography and tend to be overly sensitive to it. But it seems to me that, say, even 10 years ago, if people bought Playboy, they kept it on the DL. There was some sense of shame, a sense that there's some sort of social impropriety, or something, about it.

Anyway, I just watched the most recent episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, the one in which Kris Jenner, AKA Mamma K, encourages her daughter Kim to pose for Playboy. Here's what really bugged me about it. (And I realize that so-called reality TV is often edited in such a way that the reality of the situation may be obscured and misrepresented, but still. . .) Initially, Kim has hesitations about posing for Playboy; Mamma K encourages her to do it. Kim agrees to pose, but makes it very clear that she'll do lingerie shots but is uncomfortable with nudity. At the photo shoot, the photographers want her to take her top off. Kim won't do it. Mamma K encourages her to at least consider it. Hef phones for a second shoot. Mamma K and Kim meet with Hef. Hef says he wants a spread of Kim totally naked. Kim says she doesn't know if she wants to. Mamma K encourages it. So who does this to their daughter? What kind of mother encourages her daughter to get naked for Playboy? Seriously, Mamma K is pimping out her daughter, much to this dismay of Bruce Jenner, Mamma K's husband. Does anyone else have a problem with this? By the way, mom if you are reading this, thanks for not pimping me out like that, not that I have the body for it, but that's not the issue. Oh, and I just don't buy the argument that Playboy is tasteful and therefore somehow more acceptable than, say, Hustler. I should add, in the interest of fairness, that by the end of the episode Kim is on board with the whole project. I have to say that, generally, Kim seems likable enough; Mamma K makes me ill, especially in the way that she treats her husband.

And here's the other thing that gets me: apparently, all these celebrities and some of the Housewives of Orange County, people that present themselves as respectable, people that many in our society look up to, attend, apparently, all these crazy, racy, half-naked parties at the Playboy Mansion. I remember Lauri from the Housewives getting all dressed up for a Playboy party and being all proud about being able to get in. She's a mother. Don't her children deserve a better role model than that? And Lauri acting like this is all totally normal.

Don't even get me started on Holly, Bridgette, and Kendra, Hef's three live-in girlfriends featured on The Girls Next Door. A couple of days ago, they were guests on the network program Phonomenon, hosted by Criss Angel. This program isn't especially racy, isn't on cable; it's pretty mainstream. And there we have Hef's girls as the guests. Oh, last week's guest was Raven Simone. So we have the Disney tween star Raven and the Girls Next Door presented as equivalent. This is troubling.

I know that some will just think I'm a prude, that I'm overreacting. Some will say that if I don't like it, I don't have to watch it. And that all may be true. But the bottom line is that and Playboy and Maxim and Victoria's Secret ads and all the rest of the advertising that uses women's bodies to sell a product--all of it, it's objectifying women. It's contributing to a culture in which women are objectified, devalued, and eventually raped.

On an unrelated note: Has Heather Mills totally lost her mind?

Thursday Thirteen: What I Would Do If I Weren't Afraid

Prologue: Here's a great Thursday Thirteen from Zee--Thirteen Turkey Techniques. And I like this topic, what I'd do if I weren't afraid, in part because J.C.'s mantra is, "What Would I Do If I Weren't Afraid?" and she's a totally inspiration to me.

So here goes. . .

1. I'd go on the job market and see what happens. It's not that I'm dissatisfied with my job. I mostly enjoy what I do. But I'm thinking more and more that I'm just not very good at being a Vermonter. And I'm continually discouraged about my paycheck.

2. I'd move somewhere fun and sexy and interesting, or at least somewhere that felt like home. Again, I think there are lots of great things about Vermont. But I'm lonely. And, as I look towards winter, I realize that I just really don't like the cold.

3. I'd travel, see new places, experience new things. This seems important somehow. And yet, it never happens. Of course, money is always a problem--see #1 above.

OK, I'm having a hard time getting to 13 here. Does that mean that mostly I'm doing what I want to do?

4. I'd go to church. I'd go back to church--that's the more accurate way to say it. I'd become involved in a church. But for some reason (well, really for lots of reasons), it's so bound up in anxiety and hurt that I can't seem to do it. I have to admit that I'm really ashamed about this one.

5. I'd take sewing risks. I'd go for it and refashion old thing and sew new things and wear them all proudly, because they were mine.

6. I'd commit to Weight Watchers. I think that I haven't, at least for the past 9 months or so, really given it a shot because I'm afraid I'll fail. And when I fail, I'll have to feel bad about myself, like a failure. So I guess it's easier not to try. I know this isn't logical for any number of reasons. And yet I keep not trying, keep just ignoring it all.

7. I'd make an effort to establish new relationships here in Vermont. This is a hard one for me. I have social anxiety. And I worry that people won't like me; here, I guess I'm bound up in past rejection. Or I worry that I just won't be able to do it somehow. It's like, outside of my colleagues, I don't even know how to meet people any more.

8. I'd consider other career options. I don't know that I'd want to totally switch careers; maybe I would, maybe not. But I'd allow myself to think about it and seriously research it. I mean, I know that I'm mostly competent and that I'm a pretty good employee. And logically, I know that there are a number of things I'd probably be good at. But I don't know what those are right now.

Ok, now I'm really thinking I'll never get up to 13. Maybe I'll have to come back to this later.

9. I'd learn something new, take classes at the college maybe. I'd take art classes, or ballroom dancing, or anything that's simply different and outside of my usual realm of experience.

I got to 9! That's more than half of 13, and I'm good with that. Nine is more than I anticipated when I started typing. And sometimes good enough is good enough.

Oh, 10. I'd commit to find ways to make myself more content, to make my life full and fulfilling, to be a healthier person.

Ennui

Lately, I've been feeling this general ennui, with the except of the hours when I'm really able to concentrate on working, which is maybe the most fulfilling part of each day. But there's this pall of ennui, of general lethargy. I want to feel energy, to feel like the creative self that I actually like being. On and I do realize that this larger ennui is probably related to the lack of style I discuss below. And yet, I don't know just now, how to get beyond any of it. But what I'm REALLY trying to get to is this: nearly every day, I think, I really should blog (of course, labeling anything "should" is really just a guarantee that one probably won't actually do whatever it is). And I think, I really want to blog. Or, I really would enjoy blogging. See, it's more than just a should. But I don't. I just realized that this is my first post in weeks. And I don't even quite know how that happened, because it's truly something that I enjoy and find somehow nurturing. Maybe that's at the heart of it all--maybe I'm just not bothering to take care of myself lately. I don't know anymore. But maybe this is the important thing: I'm here now. I'm posting now. Oh, by the way, I really kind of like the word "ennui." I mean it's almost like onomatopoeia or something. I mean, something about the word sounds like the thing is means, or the emotive connotation that the word means. I feel the same about the word "skank."

Ok, so I hereby resolve to work through this ennui. Or at least figure out how to do it (and yes, I do have an appointment to see a new therapist in a few weeks!. Or at least to start taking care of myself. Every time I speak to my grandfather on the phone, he says that he hopes I'm taking care of myself and reminds me that if I don't take care of myself, no one will. I do know that the bottom like there is that 1) he loves me and 2) he's right. So I'll do it.

A New Look

You may or may not notice that I've a new look (which is really a comfortable, old look) for my blog. This is indicative, I think, of my desire for a new "look" for myself. The past six months or so, I've just suddenly felt so frumpy! And I can't quite figure out why I feel so frumpy (is it because I'm feeling so chunky? because the clothes I like don't fit the way they used to?), but I do. I mean, I'm no big fashionista or anything. But I used to do my hair and put on funky eyeshadow and wear fun, funky clothes, and I felt good about myself, about how I looked. I mean, I felt like I had this fun, funky, interesting, sometimes cute look. And I felt good about myself. And that has just somehow fallen by the wayside. Is this some weird result of depression? Or am I just growing up and becoming less superficial? I don't think that's it, because I still want to feel like I look cute and fun. Evidence (and Zee can testify), at least one morning a week, I do march into work and say, "Hey, look at my fun socks," to at least one person. And I guess that I want to get to that place where I'm having fun with my appearance and being creative with my appearance and feel like I look cute--here I concede that what I consider cute others may consider ridiculous, stripey knee socks, for instance. And that's Ok--I mean if most of the rest of you think it's silly or just don't get it or whatever, that's fine. But I still want to feel like I'm being creative in this way and like I'm being true to my own sense of style. And that's just not happening lately.

So what's the solution to all this? I can't figure it out. Is it just as simple as losing weight? Or is there more to it? Or is it as simple as getting a new hair cut and actually styling it before going to work in the morning? Or is it as simple as buying a few really basic but wonderfully fitting wardrobe items, you know, basic things that I can wear all the time and that make me feel really good when I put them on? I don't know what the solution is, and I suspect that it's not anything terribly simple. Maybe it's just that I'm slowly but surely secumbing to being a Vermonter--yikes! I hope that's not it. I just can't get a handle on this, and it's making me feel more discouraged.

Back to Work

After a hiatus (a somewhat working hiatus) of just over 10 days, I'm back to work. And I'm ready; it's good to be back; I'm ready for structure and a schedule. However, this morning, I had a rude reminder of several things. One: the college doesn't bother to turn on the heat until after mid-October. Consequently, it's below 60 in my office. I'm not exaggerating! But I am freezing. Two: a 10-day hiatus means a backlog of e-mail. Ick! I spent far too much time this morning simply hitting the delete button in my e-mail program. Three: although I grumble about the pay, I really do enjoy my job. I get to spend my time reading and writing and talking about all kinds of fascinating things each day. I remember one of the first college-level literature classes I taught, and I remember at the end of each three-hour class meeting, thinking, "I can't believe that someone's paying me to do this. I do this all the time with friends just for fun." I suppose that now, grumbling about the low pay demonstrates just how mercenary I've become. But the work is, for the most part, still lotsa fun.

On an unrelated note: Over the weekend, I started reading Anne Sexton. And apparently, she loves (yes, I'll talk about her in the present tense) the palindrome "rats live on no evil star." And that seems like one worth sharing.

Thursday Thirteen: Home from Calgary

Thirteen Things About Being Home from Calgary: Pros and Cons

One: Sleeping in my own bed--a definite pro. I didn't sleep all that well in Calgary, in spite of the frou-frou hotel room. And sleeping in my bed, with my cotton sheets, and the window open to a fall-in-Vermont night is superb.

Two: Getting work done--another pro. I am feeling, in part, inspired by having been around other academics and talking about work and about our ideas (on the flight home, I got to sit next to an interesting conversationalist from U of South Carolina). And as a result, I feel like working! In fact, earlier today, I sent off a draft of an essay that I'd been revising for the last six months. It's not great, but it's done! And this feeling of inspiration brings me to number

Three: Cara--both pro and con. The pro is, of course, that I got to see her and M. in Calgary. The con is that I feel like we didn't get to spend nearly enough time together and that I miss her already. It seems like such a huge thing to have a friend that spurs one on to be a better person and also to have a friend who simply understands.

Four: Guinnie and Polly--pro. I'm just happy to see the pups again!

Five: A.--pro. I definitely missed him while I was away, more than I'd anticipated. And missing someone and being happy to come back home to him counts for something, right?

Six: Reading Elizabeth George--pro. I heard George speak while at the conference, and hearing her talk about her work and her process helped me understand, at least in part, what it is I find appealing about her novels. Namely, her Lynley novels are so much about her characters, characters who are compelling and full. And I'm motivated to keep reading.

Seven: Not eating out--both pro and con. Ok, so I ate some fun food in Calgary. And that was a pro. But I'm now somehow feeling like cooking, like making soup and nesting in that way that the autumn makes me feel.

Eight: Autumn in Vermont--pro. So the foliage was OK in Calgary, certainly more interesting that what I'd see in, say, SoCal, but this is just such a perfect, lovely time in Vermont. And even now, as I'm typing away and gazing out the window, it's like gazing on a scene from a postcard. I suspect that there's no better place to be just now.

Nine: Getting caught up on TV--pro. Ok, I know I watch way too much TV. And it's not like I didn't have access in Calgary. Still, it's nice to sit down and get all caught up on the lastest episodes of House and Dirty, Sexy Money, which could be my new favorite.

Ten: A week off of work--pro. Although I mostly enjoy my job, coming home to a full week off feels like such a luxury, and I can't believe it's already Thursday! But it's so nice to have time for things other than paperwork and meetings and classrooms.

Eleven: Checking e-mail--both pro and con. I'd anticipated having internet access in Calgary, but that somehow didn't happen, which is fine. So I now have a whole backlog of e-mail. And I'm not sure what to do with much of it. On the bright side, I did have at least some fun e-mail to come home to.

Twelve: Time to read and write--pro. Now that I'm back home (back to a wonderfully clean house!) and not having to teach, I have time to read and write in my journal and all the things that I find restorative and replenishing. And it's great to have the luxury of being able to sit and read and read and read and really throw one's self into it!

Thirteen: All the comforts of home--definite pro. Having a fire and a cup of tea and reading long into the night, shuffling around in my bathrobe, taking a long bath in the middle of the afternoon--I love all these things. And it seems to me that these little things are the best parts of home!

Hey, not only did I get to thirteen, but they are almost entirely "pros." The conference was fine, and seeing C. was great, but being home is a good thing.

Rehab, Retreat, Healing, and Yoga

I know that I've been having this conversation in several forms over the past six month or so with those of you whom I know in "real" life. But over the summer, when we kept hearing these news stories about LiLo and Britt going into rehab, especially that cushy rehab, Promises, in Santa Barbara, I kept thinking that I really, really wanted to go to rehab. Not that I necessarily need rehab. Not that I have a substance abuse problem. But the idea of going away and eating healthy foods and reading nurturing stuff and writing in a journal and being away from the day-to-day-ness for a while, just to focus on wellness, on getting healthier (all with a massage therapist on staff!) sounds like just what I need right now. And so I thought about taking a few days for a yoga retreat at Kripalu, which sounds just divine, for their Retreat and Renewal program. And I keep thinking "retreat and renewal" over and over, as though it's a mantra or some sort. Well, Kripalu isn't going to happen for me any time in the immediate future, although I'm promising myself that I will go, if even for three days, sometime in the next year. But this is what I'm trying to get to: I may not need "rehab," but I do need retreat and renewal, even if it's just yoga practice and journal writing with the perfect cup of tea. But I realize that I need regular retreat and renewal in my life, although I'm still trying to figure out what that might look like. I mean, I keep thinking that I want to devote a block of time each week to activites that will contribute to a sense of retreat and renewal. Maybe I need a mini retreat each day. I'm just thinking out loud here, I guess. But it seems important to get these things out.

The Thursday 13, Special Wednesday Edition

My pal Zee has a super blog. And one thing she does is the "Thursday 13" where she composes a list of some sort. And I think it's great fun. And, using Zee as my inspiration, I've decided to inaugurate my own Thursday 13. I'm so excited, however, that I'm going to start today, Wednesday.

As a side note, I always think it's funny when something devoted to a particular day of the week is moved to another day yet retains the title of the day it was originally scheduled for. For example, we sometimes have Monday Night Football, Special Thursday Night Edition. Or when I was teaching at on of the California State Universities, every fall quarter, we would have one Tuesday near the end of the term when we'd run on a Monday schedule. You wouldn't believe how inconvenient and confusing this was.

I am, by the way, borrowing my topics from Segalove and Velick's List Your Self. And so, here I go:


Qualities I Love About Being Human

1. The ability to create: In Genesis, God as Creator, says "Let us make man in our image." When I teach Genesis in my lit class, students always ask what this means. And I've thought about it a lot. I think it means a lot of things. But I think that, in part, it meas that as God is Creator, we too are creators. And whether we believe in God or not, whether we accept Genesis or not, the creative impulse and ability is clearly something that sets humans apart. In her Artist's Way, Julia Cameron talks about this concept. She says that practicing and exercising our creativity is a way to be more closely connected to the divine.

2. The option to love: Now, I'm convinced that animals, or dogs anyway, can and do love. In some ways, I think that a dog's love is more pure than that of most humans. But I'm not sure that dogs can choose not to love. And let's face it--in humans a dog-like love becomes neurosis. But that's what I'm saying. We, unlike, dogs and in some ways choose love, or not. We can opt out. Or we can love whole-heartedly because we choose to love.

3. The ability to appreciate beauty: I'm most struck by this one when I look at the stars. I'm no astronomer (no astrologer either, for that matter); to me stars are there for the sake of sheer beauty.

4. The ability to read: Sometimes, I feel as though books and the characters I know from them are almost more real than some of the people I encounter in real life. I don't know who I'd be if I weren't a reader.

5. The ability to write: Clearly related to the ability to read, the ability to write is, of course, unique to humans. And I'd go so far to say "I write, therefore I am." Or maybe just, "I write, therefore I know myself." Writing, for me, is the way, the only way, to find out what it is I really, truly think and feel and want. And so I fill up journal after journal--I'm fond of both moleskine notebooks and of cheap, marble covered composition books. I write lists; I fume and say all the things I'd never actually say to anyone; I acknowledge my shame and my hurt; and sometimes I write and write and write until I feel better.

6. Having pets: OK, so this may not be a quality that's specifically tied to being human. But I love, love, love my dogs. When writing doesn't work, I cuddle and skwooze Guinn and especially Polly until I feel better. The thing about dogs is that they love in the ways that dogs love. And they're always glad to see you. And the don't hold grudges. Aside from a parent's love for a child, I think that the love of dogs may be the only unconditional love in this world.

7. Cooking: Yes, I'm a "foodie" at heart. I like planning, preparing, consuming, and even talking about food. And cooking so often feels like a truly, fully creative pursuit to me. Maybe this gets back to #1 somehow.

8. Family: I LOVE my family, and I love that my family is a part of my life, although they are far, far away :( But where would we be without them? How could I have become anything in this world without their love and suport?

9. Friends: Do animals have friends? Certainly they often live in groups, and maybe they feel some sort of companionship. But do they have those go-to friends? The ones we know we can call at midnight if we're in the midst of a crisis? The ones who love us at our best but especially at our worst? The ones that we may not talk with for six months, yet we can always somehow pick up where we left off? I'm thinking of JoyBug and Cort from college and C. from now.

Ok, I was aiming for a Thursday 13. And "Thursday 13" sounds great because it alliterates. But I only came up with nine. But it's a start, a place to go, a foundation upon which to build. Hey, did you notice my effort not to end that sentence with a preposition. Oh hey, here's a tenth:

10. Grammar: Yes, how nerdy, I know. But grammar is infinitely interesting and important in my world.

Back to Normal (or something that resembles it!)

I am happy to say that I am finally feeling back to something that resembles normal. And I don't mean normal for normal people but normal for me, because I have to say that I don't really know what normal to normal people feels like. Anyway, I went to the doctor yesterday for some other "stuff' ("stuff" is code for female problems, if you know what I mean), and she prescribed Xanax for me. Now, I am well aware that there are all kinds of potential problems associated with Xanax, most of them having to do with addiction. And so I'm careful to use it responsibly. But it really does help. And I took a dose yesterday evening. And I felt soooooo relaxed and slept soooo deeply. And when I woke up this morning, it felt as if my entire emotional and psychological system had been rebooted and reset. And I just feel so much better, so much more optimistic in a healthy, realistic kind of way.

It all reminds me that the whole depression / anxiety spiral is so difficult to claw one's way out of. I think that people who've never felt these things maybe can't understand how hard it all is. And I think it's hard in part because in the middle of it all it seems like there's no point in even trying to feel better--everything seems so hopeless. I realize that's distorted thinking, but it just seems so real when one is trapped in it.

But, at least for now, for today, I'm beyond all that ickiness. And I'm Ok, even hopeful. It's like suddenly I have things figured out, or I at least have some things figured out. I've (finally!) come up with a plan, a workable, practical, yummy plan to eat in a healthier way than I had been. And I'm excited to get to be traveling to Calgary next week. And even the Boca burger that I have planned for dinner sounds pretty darn exciting. It's just such a relief to feel capable and able to deal with life again.

So, yet again, this has been another self-indulgent post. But I'm OK with that.

Update

And so, yet again, I've simply not been posting. And I think that it's really somehow beneficial to me to post, to write regularly. There's not much to say. I feel like I work and work, but that's about all I've been up to lately. Oh, I've been watching some CourtTV and lots of Law and Order. But none of that makes for very interesting blogging. I know that my family thinks that I'm a little too into Court TV. But I disagree. If I can get in 10 or 15 minutes every other day, or so, I'm good. And I'm STILL fascinated by the Phil Spector trial. I have promised myself, however, that once the Spector verdict is in (if there's ever a verdict), that I'll kick the trial-watching habit. I guess that, on reflection, I can see why some claim that I'm a little too invested in these big trials. I do have to say that the current O.J. turn of events holds only a little, tiny bit of interest for me. I have no plans of getting all wrapped up in that.

Oh, so has anyone else heard that next month new episodes of Law and Order: Criminal Intent are premiering on USA and then running on NBC? This is what USA's website indicates. And it seems like a strange move to me.

Anyway, enough of this meaningless babble, I suppose. I should, at least, pretend to work.

Little Miss Matched

Ok, my mother called my attention to the Little Miss Matched brand. And their socks are super cool. I totally LOVE the idea of mismatched but still coordinated socks. This is really the greatest stuff--exactly the sort of thing that I like!

Margery Kempe

I've been (re)reading _The Book of Margery Kempe_ for a class I'm teaching. And the text, although not Margery herself, always feels like an old friend. Margery seems to represent so many things, many of them strikingly modern-feeling. And she is, you know, the first autobiography written in English. Or at least, the oldest text we have that's an autobiography. But even this autobiographyness is remarkably complex and interesting. For Margery herself is, apparently, illiterate. And she cannot speak and write to us directly. Rather she speaks to a scribe (probably a series of scribes) and he tells us her story, almost exclusively in the third person. What does it mean, then, that she doesn't have the agency to write her own story? And is it truly autobiography?

Statler and Waldorf

Ok, one last item:

Click here for a montage of Statler and Waldorf clips.

Enjoy!

Some Favorite Jim Henson Inspired Moments

Inspired by C's recent post, I have been thinking about some of my favorite Sesame Street and especially The Muppet Show moments. And although I probably *should* be working, blogging about Jim Henson and company sounds like much more fun right now. First, I absolutely LOVE when Grover sang "The Monster Song." There's something super-fly about Grover in the first place. And I love the line about "The monster in the mirror, he just might be you." Like isn't it great that we can identify with Grover somehow? Now, on to The Muppet Show. And I absolutely love the Muppet Show, love just about everything about it. Who doesn't love "Mahna, Mahna"? Or what about when they do The Village People's "In the Navy"? I love when the Swedish Chef makes chocolate "moose." You "put the chocolate on the moose," you know. I read recently that Fozzie Bear nearly got the axe after the first season of the show, which makes me sad. Fozzie is so great. Ok, enough for my banal trip down memory lane.

Today's the second day of the semester, but the first day of Tuesday / Thursday classes, so it's really just more first day stuff for me, which really means that it's going to be boring, boring, boring reading over syllabi, explaining policies. Phew! That was a long, poorly constructed sentence. And I was awake at 3:00 this morning. I lay in bed until about 4:15 and have been up ever since. Needless to say, I'm at work very, very early, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Getting dressed was kinda a pain this morning. I had two tops all picked out and planned to wear one or the other. Well, surprise, surprise--neither one fit properly. Seriously, since I've gained weight, my boobs are big enough that none of my button-down shirts fit. It's all pretty annoying. Some days I wish I could just take a break from boobs, could leave them at home for a while. OK, so my apologies to my family and anyone else who objects to hearing about this. It's become a big issue for me lately.

So I'm at work now and should probably settle in and get some stuff read or something. But I thought I'd check in first!

I'm at work. And today is Tuesday. And classes start Monday. Which means that I have less than a week to get my act together. So, I really should be reading feminist theory and thinking about all kinds of challenging intellectual things and typing up notes and all that. But all I really want to do is go home and sew (I'm making the best dress ever--so excited!) and cook and read murder mysteries. And I guess that isn't very feminist-scholar of me, but I don't really care, because somehow working with my hands and creating brings me great joy that feminist theory just doesn't. And the other thing I really want to do is listen to the same Willie Nelson songs, especially "Red Headed Stranger" over and over. On 2 September, A. and I have tickets to see Willie and Merle Haggard ("The Hag"), and I'm all gearing up for that. Again, I suppose it's neither very feminist or scholarly of me, but it brings me great joy. Oh, "Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain" just came on the iPod. (What did I do pre-iPod????), and it's so much more exciting than Kristeva and Irigaray and whoever else. I don't know--designing clothes and making Mexican food in the evenings is just so much better than work, somehow. I mean, I really enjoy my job, and once the semester starts, I'm sure I'll be back into the routine of it all. But just now, I want to go back to my Bakersfield, 4-H (the place I learned to sew), not-quite-redneck roots and enjoy all those other things that work sometimes keeps me from.

Insomnia

It is now 1:21 am. And I am not asleep. When I'm working, when I'm productive, I'm totally an early to bed, early to rise type of girl. But lately, it's like I just can't get to sleep. This is really not anything new: I've been plagued by insomnia since childhood. Literally. Lately, I've been having really upsetting dreams, and I get in bed and am tired but feel anxious about going to sleep because I don't want to wake up all panicked or sad or hurt over some incredibly vivid dream that I've been having. And I do wake up that way at, say, 4:00, and it's difficult to get back to sleep. But tonight, and this is weird, I was lying in bed and kept thinking of Neil Gaiman's novel American Gods, which I read maybe a year or 18 months ago. And when I read it, I remember enjoying it and being rather enchanted by Gaiman's use of myth. But what I really loved was the concept that the gods, mostly European, who were brought to the States by immigrants, tend to congregate at and find power in crazy roadside attractions, like Wall Drug, for example. They are the types of roadside attractions

OK, SIDE NOTE: I'M NOW WATCHING THE SERIES PREMIER OF NEWPORT HARBOR: THE REAL ORANGE COUNTY. I HAVE A THING FOR OC REALITY PROGRAMS, WITH THE REAL HOUSEWIVES BEING MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE.

K, back to Gaiman. They are the types of roadside attractions that are really campy but somehow seared into the collective American imagination. And my sense is that Gaiman has really had a stroke of genius in citing these locations as locations of primeval power. Is this like J. Campbell and the world navel thing? I forget how that works. Of course, Gaiman's gods explains that the roadside attractions have sprung up where they have because people are drawn to them because they are primeval, mythic places of power. But I guess that most of us normal mortals aren't aware of this on a conscious level. But the larger point is that as I can't sleep tonight, I keep thinking about this, about what it means. I think that what it means for me is that maybe I should read more Gaiman, because, clearly, I find him both entertaining and engaging. Maybe I'll pick up Anansi Boys soon.

On Weight Loss and Exercise and Eating Healthier and Feeling Better:

I am writing this post, as much as anything, to be a reminder to myself a couple of weeks from now when I want to give up. I am back on the Weight Watchers program (I totally recommend Weight Watchers Online, by the way), and although I've not been working at it long enough to lose any weight (yet!), I feel so much better, both physically and emotionally. So here's the lesson: eating healthy foods and lots of veggies and less cheesecake is so worth it, even if I never lose weight, because I simply feel so much better. And I've been slowly incorporating more exercise--Pilates, yoga, dance aerobics--into my schedule. I'm not exercising a whole lot (yet!), but I still feel so much better. Physically, I simply feel better, and it's good emotionally, because I feel like I'm accomplishing something. I know that none of this is like any big revelation, but I think that it's probably good for me to have this reminder: taking care of myself pays off, even in the immediate. If I never lose weight, which I do really want, eating satisfying, healthy foods and exercising is an important way to be healthy and to live in the present.

Just one More Doggie Pic. . .

Here's Polly all night-night. Isn't she just about the cutest thing you've ever seen. I know that I tend to go kinda overboard with the pics of my dogs, but please, just humor me. I just think they are the cutest, funniest, sweetest things in the whole world.

Polly in Bed

Ok, the rule is that dogs are not allowed on the bed. But of course, that doesn't stop Polly. Every morning, I make my bed, and as soon as I leave the house, Polly makes herself comfortable by rearranging the pillows to suit her. Here she is, all comfy-cozy in my bed.

There's A Mouse in my Toilet

When I went downstairs this morning, this is what I found. Yes, it's dead. Of course, I panicked. And I called my dad. He said it would be OK to just flush it, but I can't bring myself to do it, so I'll have to wait until tonight when Alan has time to flush it for me. It's all been very traumatic.

Rainy Days and Mondays Always . . .

. . .make me pretty happy, when I can spend them at home, with a good murder mystery and a pot of tea and the pups. Guinnie has been extra cuddly lately (this is out of character, and I attribute it to A's influence on her), and it's so nice to be home in the quiet with nothing to do besides read and sew and cook and whatever else I want to do.

And I'm back on the Weight Watchers wagon--hooray! I am eating the most wonderful salad with chickpeas and feta on top of greens and tomatoes. I'm a firm believer that a small amount of wonderful cheese and some protein--chickpeas, nuts, canned tuna, smoked salmon, whatever--is the secret to a good salad, although fruit, especially dried cranberries, can be substituted for the protein.

But more importantly, it's good to feel excited about the little things, like sewing and salad, you know? It's just good to be non-depressed. Anyway, there's not too much "exciting" going on to report, and quite honestly, that's the way I like things. I've been on a sewing kick; I think it's that I'm feeling like a need some new things (or at least some things that actually fit!) before school starts in a few weeks. I always look forward to the start of the new school year. It feels like New Year's Day or something, like starting over fresh. And autumn is my favorite time of year, especially since moving to New England. For the first time in too long, I'm excited about the future while being comfortable in and thankful for the present. This is a big deal to me, a big sort of change from how I was feeling not too long ago.

This Blog Has Become Unmanageable or Maybe Just Schizophrenic--Seeking Contributors for Collaborative Blogs

I often feel like my blog lacks focus. Some days it's about cooking, and some days it's about what I've been reading, and some days it's about depression (I don't like those days). And it seems like maybe it's OK to lack focus, because then it just becomes a blog about who I am and what's going on in my life. I've compared it to the Golden Notebook before, and I can be OK with that.

At the same time, I have a fantasy about having other, more focused, possibly collaborative blogs. I mean, I'd love a blog devoted to crafting where several of us could be posting pics of our projects, offering suggestions, that sort of thing. And I'd love a collaborative kind of thing where we could post something about new favorite recipes and that kind of thing. And of course, a bookish blog is always good. If any of you are interested in forming more specifically focused blogs, communities really, let me know. I think it could be tons of fun. Oh, I'd be all for a writer's blog as well.

Not Buying It: August and September

During July, I had intended, among other things, to not eat out. And honest, I failed miserably. It worked for, like, a week. I'd like to say that I've learned something from the experience. But I haven't. However--and I'm really excited about this--I've given up buying clothing for the next two months. I've signed up for this interesting group / blog, where members take a pledge to not buy clothes for a two-, four-, or six-month period and instead to make clothes, reinvent and restructure old clothes, or even buy at a thrift store with the intention of reinventing and recycling. Then, and this is the fun part, members post pics of what they've been making. The Wardrobe Refashion website is super fun! I'm excited about this. So here I go:

I Drennan AKA Pajama Dren pledge that I shall abstain from the purchase of "new" manufactured items of clothing, for the period of 2 months. I pledge that i shall refashion, renovate, recycle preloved items for myself with my own hands in fabric, yarn or other medium for the term of my contract. I pledge that I will share the love and post a photo of my refashioned, renovoated, recylcled, crafted or created item of clothing on the Wardrobe Refashion blog, so that others may share the joy that my thriftyness brings!

Great Crafters Magazines

I've recently discovered two really wonderful, hip, fresh, fun magazines devoted to crafting. They both have really great web sites as well, with all kinds of projects and ideas for free on the web.

First, is Craft. Zee introduced me to this one. And they have tons of cool ideas, although many of them are rather complicated. But the web site's got, I think, all the same stuff as the magazine. I loved the Harajuku-inspired tee shirt in issue 3, and I hope to make one myself soon.

My other fave is Adorn. Their web site is less extensive than Craft's, but they still have some fun projects avaliable, including the cutest passport organizer in the most recent issue. A subscription to Adorn is less expensive than Craft, and Adorn's project seem simpler and, quite frankly, more manageable.

I guess that I'm excited to know that it doesn't all have to be my mother's embroidery or sewing or whatever (no offense, mom) but that there are all these hip, funky things out there.

Oh, DIY TV has a great program called Stylelicious. It's got the same young, hip vibe. I've not poked around the website too much, but the program has fun, manageable ideas.

Anyway, I guess that, maybe indirectly, this post says a lot about what's been on my mind lately.

OK, I'm going to resist the temptation to post this long apologetic thing about why I haven't been posting. There's really no good explanation, except for that I was really depressed, badly depressed for quite a while. But I'm feeling so, so much better lately. I'm feeling like a normal person anyway. And I'm getting actual work done, which makes me so much more content in that day-to-day sort of way. It's like I suddenly feel like my existence matters when I'm able to work. But the weird thing is that there was nothing beyond depression and anxiety keeping me from working in the first place.

The other thing about being non-depressed is that I can, again, enjoy the really simple things, like cooking and reading and writing. I mean, when I'm depressed, it's like there's no pleasure in anything. But when I'm feeling just normal, the little things, like a really good cup of coffee or a really great murder mystery, bring me so much pleasure. But when I'm depressed, really depressed, I can hardly bring myself to do all those things, much less enjoy them. So I guess what I'm really trying to say is that it feels really, really good to just feel normal. It's so exciting to have read Harry Potter all weekend and to have actually enjoyed it. I guess that when I'm depressed (and maybe this is the thing with all depression--I don't know), I expend so much energy just trying to make myself do the things that have to be done, like getting out of bed and taking a shower and going to work and doing the dishes and going to bed on time, that there's no energy at all for anything fun. I realized as I spiraled back up, out of depression, that I couldn't even remember the last time I'd done anything fun. And aside from that, I think it would be good for me to try to have more fun in my life. But when I'm depressed, just the essentials are all I can handle, and even the essentials are sometimes more than I can handle. I'm just so thankful and relieved and happy to feel like a normal person again.

So thanks if you've read all this. It's not particularly interesting or insightful, I know. It's all even kind of self-indulgent. But I do think it's maybe, probably what I needed to write just now.

Emotional "Funk"

So, try as I might, and believe me, I'm trying everything I know, I can't seem to pull myself out of whatever emotional funk I'm in at the moment. And I feel frustrated because I've exhausted nearly all the normal avenues that I perceive to combat depression and anxiety and all that. It's all somehow exhausting. Just getting through the day feels like about all I can handle with on most days. I realize that I'm getting all broken-record and stuff. I guess I just keep blogging, even when I don't have much to say, because it's a way to feel slightly less isolated. But it's hard. Anyway, I'm still here and still trying.

Anxiety

OK, so the last four days or so, my anxiety has been pretty bad. And it gets really, really discouraging sometimes. When I'm really anxious, it's like I cannot concentrate on anything--work, pleasure reading, watching a movie. And it's just about the most frustrating, discouraging thing in the world. There are days, literally, when I am afraid that I won't be able to get through teaching a 50-minute class period. And although I sometimes feel like I can't do it, I most often manage to get through teaching, but it seems to take so much out of me that I can only crash afterwards. It's like fighting off the anxiety uses all the emotional reserves and resources that I can muster.

Starting about mid-March, I'd decided I wanted, as soon as school was out for the summer, I wanted to reread the Harry Potter series, in anticipation of the final book being released later this month. And I get so anxious that I too often can't settle down and read. And the really weird part about it all is that I just feel so apathetic (talked to J.S. about this the other day--he agrees that this particular apathy could be, seems like a symptom of depression. It's sad that something, Harry Potter, that used to bring so much pleasure on rereading just seems so flat, so unimportant).

However, I have discovered a tremendous help in my struggle against anxiety. A psychologist named Frank Lawlis (who is also Dr.Phil's mentor) has a series of relaxation CDs that I find tremendously helpful. They seem to be exercises based very much in biofeedback training and in simple breath observation meditiation. Here's a link, if anyone's interested:

http://www.mindbodyseries.com/

I admit that the set-up of the web site looks rather cheezy, but I'm using the series on general relaxation, and I do find it useful. I often listen to the disk as I'm falling asleep. And when I'm feeling super anxious, I listen too. It really does help me calm down and focus. I've loaded the program onto my iPod, and that way I can have it with me wherever I go, in case I'm out and about and get all panicky. This happened today between classes. I was only able to listen to about 5 minutes of the 20ish minute program, but it helped. And on the one hand, carrying around my iPod to cope with panic attacks seems a little extreme, maybe even neurotic. But it really does help, and I'm convinced it's a healthy way to deal with it all.

Guinnie is All Ready For the Fourth!

They are forecasting thunderstorms for tomorrow, July 4. But not to worry because Guinnie is all set. She's got her slicker on and is ready to par-tay!

Detox Diet Day Two--I Miss Bread

OK, I should have anticipated this. I feel really good physically, eating lots of veggies and such. But I really miss bread just about now. The bakery in the local grocery store makes this really great olive oil rosemary bread. And I'm so craving it. With lots of butter, naturally. While there's all kinds of good stuff out there that I can and even should eat, I'm longing for a carb binge. You know, I want lots and lots of refined carbs, preferably with dairy on top. I love to make (and A. can attest to this, as he's often the receipent / victim of my cooking) real Mac and Cheese. I've nothing against Kraft and will gladly eat Mac and Cheese out of a box, but there's something incredibly comforting about making cheese sauce from cream and butter and garlic and shredded cheddar while the pasta is boiling. *sigh* I suppose I'm just making myself want all this stuff more by sitting here and dwelling on it.

Maybe I'd be better off thinking about all the yummy things I have been eating. I'm sure I mentioned this yesterday, but I made this great Indian-inspired lentil soupy stuff. And it was wonderful and comforting and makes a complete protein when eaten with brown rice, right? And yesterday evening, I was very hungry and made this great salad and it was beautiful and wonderful and satisfying. And in some ways, this whole detox diet feels like rediscovering all this really great stuff, like the joy of a beautiful, wonderful green salad.

One of My Better Ideas

So about an hour ago, I wanted to take a shower and exfoliate. And I was convinced that I had some sort of lavender salt or sugar scrub, probably from Bath and Body Works. But I couldn't find said scrub. And that's the kind of thing that really annoys and frustrates me, you know? It's the whole, "I know it's got to be here somewhere. Am I just crazy?" So after a fruitless search, I decided that I should be able to whip up some sort of sugar scrub in the kitchen. I googled and experiemented, and here it is:

All you need are equal parts white, plain, cheap sugar and olive oil. I threw in a little lemon balm and a little lavender from my yard. But it was totally great. My skin is soft and smooth. It worked at least as well as, probably better than, many expensive scrubs I've bought.

Plus, you know, there's the whole added bonus of feeling really smart somehow.

Jicama

OK, I want to say that I LOVE jicama, and I cannot figure out why we're not all eating it more often. Weight Watchers says that, like so many veggies, it's a zero-point food. What that basically means is that one can eat as much of it as one wants. So it's all, you know, good for you and stuff. But I love the texture of it. It's so crunchy, and it almost, but not quite, satisfies the desire for potato chips. I love it plain, love it with lemon juice and chili powder, love it dipped in hummus. Jicama is just so great. It's kinda ugly, I guess. Maybe that's why we don't bother with it more often--I don't know. But right here and now, I am vowing to eat more jicama.

The Detox Diet

OK, so as I'm kicking off my "Living Well Through Acquiring Less" project (and I'm feeling like the project maybe deserves its own blog, maybe a collective kind of thing, if anyone else is interested in simplifying and experimenting and all that!), I have decided to do a two-week cleansing, detox thing. And I'm excited about it. Basically, I'm eating this really basic, vegan-like diet. No dairy, no meat, no animal products at all. Lots of fruits and veggies. And only very simple grains and such--I'm planning brown basmati (my fav!) and an Indian-inspired lentil / daal kind of soup. It's all kinda exciting. Lately, I don't necessarily feel sick, but I too often just feel not good. So my plan is to cut my diet way back to really basic, healthy stuff, just to see how it makes me feel. And from there, I want to slowly add in dairy and maybe just seafood.

I'm also taking a program of detox herbal supplements.

Here's the thing: detox plans that I've read about all recommend that one give up caffeine. And really, I'm just not willing to do it. I could even give up coffee for a while (BTW I anticipate that cream in my coffee is the thing I'll miss most during this whole detox period), but I'm just not willing to let go of tea. It provides so much comfort and fun and whatever. I guess that it seems like keeping tea around is an OK tradeoff.

Anyway, that's it--my detox plan! I'll let you know how it goes.

Living More, Buying Less--July: Eating Out

I know that this isn't any new kind of concept. But I have decided that for this month (and depending on how it all goes, next month and the month after) to give up one thing. I've been reading a book by Mary Carlomagno titled Give It Up!: My Year of Learning to Live Better with Less. And it's not an especially well written book. However, I'm borrowing Carlomagno's idea here. Each month for a year she gives up something that "has a personal and significant 'ouch' factor." She writes that her "selections were designed to push [her] out of [her] traditional comfort zone, where a change in habits would force uneasiness, questions, and finally scrutiny." After discussing consumerism and her need to acquire "stuff," Carlomagno writes "This year of living without forced me to put my habits of accumulation on hold, ultimately giving way to an awareness and enjoyment of the things in life that I was bledded to have and be part of. . . [T]he biggest lesson of all was not about what I had given up, but what I had gained."

And so, with the idea of performing an experiment, I have decided to give up one thing this month, and I've chosen eating out. I'm a little bit nervous about it really. I mean, what will happen when on a Sunday afternoon, I decide that I NEED Chinese take-out? Or what will happen when I miss out on a fun social event because I'm not eating out. But it's only a month, right? I can do this. Well, we'll see how it goes.

Emotional Eating

Sometimes, I feel like all I do is eat. And I don't know. It's like I feel crappy or lonely or deprived in some way, and of course the obvious answer is to eat. Now those of you who aren't emotional eaters probably don't get this, I know. And once I eat, you know for emotional reasons, I feel even worse, although in the middle of it all, it feels pretty good. But it's a cycle, a habit that I want to break. I don't think I'm quite to the point of needing Overeaters Anonymous (not quite yet anyway) but I'm so frustrated and ashamed, really. I mean, not only do I feel crappy about my weight lately, but more significantly, I feel crappy about myself, about who I am as a person. And I do believe that part of the problem here is that I keep trying to change my outside, when what I maybe need to work on is changing myself from the inside out. I'm sorry if this isn't so coherent; I'm really just working through all this in my own head.

I do (and this is the good news) have an action plan. At least, I'm working on an action plan, reading and writing and thinking about how I'm going to work through not the emotional eating necessarily but whatever the deeper issue is. I mean, I believe that emotional eating comes from somewhere, that it happens because I'm not dealing with stress or worry or whatever in a healthy way. And I'm working on finding that healthy way. In fact (wow, I feel a little funny saying this) I've started Emotions Anonymous. EA is like AA in that it's the same kind of 12-step program, but clearly, it has a different focus. I've been reading up on it and all, and I believe that this is at least part of the solution, a step in the right direction. But it's somehow a painful step to make.

Schizophrenia--What's This Blog All About?

This is maybe silly of me, possibly evidence of ever-so-slight OCD. However, I spend far too much time thinking about the identity of this blog: I think, "Hey, I want this hip blog where I say really smart things about serious literature." And then I think, "Wouldn't it be cool to have a blog where all I do is provide commentary on pop culture, notably all those really bad so-called reality programs on E! and BRAVO." And then, "Oh, since I'm all committed to my emotional wellness, wouldn't it be perfect to have a blog where I can really hash out all that." And so on. I'm convinced I need a more collective-oriented kind of blog where we can all post pics of our latest crafts. And then we need a space devoted just to cooking and great food finds.

So all this to say that I realize that my blog rather lacks any sort of definite identity, beyond, "Oh, here's what I'm thinking today." And so, I've considered having, like, six different blogs, you know, one for each of the separate, fun, smart (?) categories that I'm interested in. But that's not very practical. I mean, it seems like it will only be all this pressure to blog about all these different things every day or once a week or whatever. I mean, how's a girl to keep up? And then it dawned on me: maybe this blog is my own Golden Notebook. This seems empowering somehow. I mean, isn't it great if this blog can encompass all the things, some serious, some silly that interest me. Isn't it OK to post one day about anxiety and insomnia and the next about Hef and "The Girls Next Door." (OK, it's time for an admission. I am embarrassed to admit this, but it's true. Although I object to it on so many, many levels, I am completely sucked in by E!'s _The Girls Next Door_. If you don't know what that is, it's really just as well.) But really isn't that how life and personality and existence is? We think about our TV guilty pleasures (Oh, A&E's _Confessions of a Matchmaker_ is great!) and about our emotional struggles and about great literature and about the risotto we've been craving and about our next home improvement project and whatever else we carry around, both positive and negative. And the more I sort of reflect on it, the more I think that I want my blog to reflect all these things, because all these things really are me. And I don't need a red and a green and a blue notebook, blogstyle. Golden note books are the way to go!

So, posts to look for in the new future:

1. Drennan and the 12-step journey

2. My thoughts on E!, especially Sunset Tan

3. Why I can't seem to say anything smart about Harry Potter

4. Risotto (What is going on with me and risotto lately???)

5. Crafts and more crafts

Today's Topic: Why I Believe in Cooking

Although I like to cook and generally consider myself a good cook, I haven't been cooking much at all for the past six weeks. And today as I've been considering my predicament, it occurs to me that, for me, this not cooking (and I've certainly been eating) is both a symptom of and a contributing factor to my recent emotional "funk." It's both symptom and contributing in that weird, icky vicious-cycle sort of way.

Earlier today, I was listening to a podcast I enjoy, and the guest, a holistic health dietitian kind of woman, was talking about cooking, preparing a meal and both a meditative and a creative activity. And it's true that cooking for me is not just about consuming the meal and nourishing myself physically. The act of cooking can be so much more, even when I'm cooking only for myself. It's relaxing; it's creative. It's somehow an affirmation that I'm a worth more than settling for whatever at a fast food place, although I confess to a weakness for Taco Bell. Still, cooking is this engaging, rewarding, meaningful activity. And cooking for someone else, someone who appreciates it becomes even more than that: it's this act of affection, of caring. I have to say that some of my favorite memories with friends, C. especially, involve cooking together. That's one thing I miss now that I'm here and she's on the Left Coast, when she's not all jet-setting!

Today, I read this quote from Julia Child: "I was 32 when I started cooking; up until then I just ate." And it strikes me that a really wonderful meal prepared by someone else can be this really wonderful experience. But it's still "just" eating. Engaging in the process, both physical and emotional, of preparing a meal, even when it's glorious comfort food or Nachos at 11:20 while I'm waiting for SNL, is a different experience entirely.

I miss cooking. And as part of my newfound resolve to be more at peace with myself, I think that cooking more often, even simple things (like maybe barley risotto!) is part of my path to being more content and more at peace.

So happy dining to all. Does anyone know how to say that in Italian?

And Just One More Pic of Guinnie, Because She's Just So Beautiful. . .

Alan and Guinn

Just because I think it's too cute, here's a pic of A. and Guinnie.

A New Craft Project!

Ok, so my craft of the moment is these great crocheted, beaded chokers. They are super fun to make. And I really like how they look. Pictured at the right are three that I've made recently. The picture below is one of them on my neck. I guess I think that we'd all be happier if we'd take more time to indulge in and then celebrate our creativity. So that's what I'm trying to do here.

I'm BAAAAAAACK

I'm back. By popular demand. Well, I suppose that's a tiny bit of an overstatement. But I'm here and I'm posting, maybe not by popular demand, but because C.'s been encouraging. She even told me earlier today that she misses my posts. And of course, I wouldn't want to deprive her or the rest of you of good reading or at least of some sort of voyeuristic insight into my life and my emotional health. Or maybe you're just interested in what I've been reading and eating.

First, maybe a word about my silence (since 15 May) is in order. I've been really busy, at least for the two weeks that my family was visiting. And I've been pretty depressed--I'm finally admitting it--for the rest of the time. What's really kinda bugging me about this particular bout is that I cannot figure out why I'm depressed. But I do recognize the symptoms. Possibly most frustrating, at least at the moment, is my sense that I just cannot seem to get anything done. There's just no motivation there. Even things that I want to do, things I enjoy, fun things seem to elude me somehow. I know that it's not rational, and I cannot really figure out what to do about it. I'm teaching summer school--the one thing I can seem to get done each day--but when I get home, around 1:00 each afternoon, I seem to just sit. Even fun things just aren't happening for me. And it worries me when I get like this. And the weird part about it is that I'm not so much aware of feeling sad or bad, just lonely sometimes. It's more like I'm just this big slug, and I don't want to be this way. And I honestly can say that it's not that I'm just lazy, because even lazy fun things, like reading Harry Potter and watching fun DVDs, aren't especially appealing somehow. It's like I get home and I think that I want to read something fun, something not too challenging, but I just never quite seem to get to it, but it's not like I'm busy with other things either. I'm really doing nothing. And it doesn't make me too happy, I have to say.

However, I (finally, after three weeks of blah) am taking steps, concrete steps, to feel better and even to be better some how. And maybe I'll write more about that later. For now, I think it's enough to say that I AM doing something about it all. And just knowing that I'm doing something to start to pull myself out of whatever this weird funk is makes me feel better already.

Now that I'm here and I'm posting, I realize that it somehow feels good to be back. Or maybe it's that it feels good to be connected to the outside world, even in this "virtual" format. I've missed you all!

Gulag Archipelago

I've just started Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago. And, at least so far, it is endlessly fascinating. And sad. And horrifying. And mesmerizing. How is it that I've never read this before? It's one of those things that for years and years I've been telling myself I "should" read, and of course telling one's self that one "should" do something is maybe the best way to dissuade one from actually doing it. I've read about 50 pages so far, and the writing itself is amazing. I suppose that the translator is maybe partly to credit here, but the writing, the individual sentences, are so well crafted. And all I really want to do is keep reading, in spite of the fact that both Elizabeth George and J.K. Rowling are beckoning. I don't know how to put into words how I'm feeling about Solzhenitsyn just now.

Weight

Since the first of the year, I've gained about 15 pounds. And there's not such a good reason for it, unless it's paxil (some call it pack-it-on-paxil). But I'm off that now, have been for six weeks or so. And the weight isn't going away. And I don't know how to explain how painful and difficult it is, living with the weight. My clothes don't fit--I'm down to about 2 pairs of pants and 3 skirts that I can wear. And I don't know. It's just emotionally debilitating, although I can tell myself it shouldn't be. So I've started Weight Watchers, again. But I don't know; it's all so hard. And I'm so discouraged that I do rather just want to give up and give in and decide that I'm going to be OK with being heavy, although I don't really know how to be OK with it. And I'm so, so frustrated, mostly with myself, which is the worst frustration of all. And I feel so alone in it somehow. Isn't that like some kind of weird refrain for me? I don't want to feel alone any more.

The Phil Spector Trial

When I'm home during the day, I like to have Court TV on, and of course they are currently covering the Phil Spector trial. The witness, Kathy Sullivan, who was on the stand yesterday afternoon and this morning makes me ill. She really does. She's a woman who claims to be a "platonic acquaintance" of Spector. And she was out for drinks with Spector earlier on the evening that Lana Clarkson was shot. So, it's obvious to me anyway, that it easily could have been her, rather than Clarkson. Of course, I suppose that statement implies that Clarkson's death wasn't suicide. Anyhow, this Sullivan woman is testifying as to the nature of her relationship with Spector and what they'd done earlier in the evening. And she's clearly turning this into her own 15 minutes. She's on the stand, acting all cute, cracking jokes (which the attorneys laugh at, by the way), turning this all into something about her, turning it into her chance to be on TV, to talk, to have attention. And it just makes me sick. I want to scream. I want to say, "Look, a woman is dead. Can you only think about yourself?" And it's not the normal thinking about self in the sense of saying, "Oh my gosh, this is terrifying. This could have been me." She seems not at all shaken by the whole think. It's friggin' unbelievable. And I use "friggin'" sparingly, so you can judge the severity of my reaction here.

The other weird thing that strikes me is this. And here I have to credit Lisa Bloom and Vinnie Politan for exploring some of this in their commentary. Spector seems to have this pattern of going out to dinner with a female friend, then picking up other women at the restaurant or bar and saying something like, "Hey, after my driver takes this woman home, do you want to join me for drinks?" There's something supremely creepy about that, in my opinion. And all these women he hangs out with claim that their relationship is merely platonic. Politan points out that "platonic" means that Spector was interested in a sexual relationship, but the women were like, "No thanks." If that's true, platonic must mean the women are like, "no thanks," until Spector drinks too much and then pulls a gun on them.

I don't know, rather like Anna Nicole's life and death, as Spector's story unfolds, I am struck by how supremely unbelievable it all is. I mean, I do believe it, and I think that the way that the prosecution is portraying him is reality. But if this were merely a movie and not real life, I think we'd all say, "That would never happen. That's totally unbelievable."

I sorta alluded to some of this a couple of posts ago. I sometimes feel like there's all this "stuff," important, sad stuff that's happened in my life, stuff that I'm just not talking about. And it seems like I somehow need to talk about it. I think that just avoiding it, or acting like it's unspeakable makes it more damaging. And really, why not talk about it? I think I'm just somehow protecting people who don't care about me. Here's an example: just over three years ago, I didn't get married. I was engaged, and J. waited to decide that he didn't want to marry me, waited until the last possible second. Seriously. He waited until there we were, in front of our families, in this public forum to say, "Oh sorry--don't want to marry you after all." OK, that was a paraphrase, but you get the idea. I suppose it would be more accurate to put it this way: he said something like this, as he dropped the ring he was supposed to put on my finger: "I'm really sorry, but I just can't do this." What he said isn't my point however; my point is that he chose to do it in a very public and thus extra humiliating fashion. He chose not to deal with me; he broke up with me, in front of, like, 50 people. But here's the part that I'm getting to. A week or so later, when I told some colleagues of both of ours that we didn't get married after all because he changed his mind, he got all bent out of shape. He got mad and told me that I had not right to tell people, especially people with whom he had a professional relationship, as did I, that it was his decision. That, he said, was too much personal disclosure. So that made me really angry. I mean come on! One: it was his decision, and I didn't want the additional pain of having my character called into question as the one who didn't keep commitments. Two: he did it in this oddly public way anyhow. I mean, after that, I think that any reasonable expectation of privacy was gone anyway.

The more I write about this whole situation, the more I feel absolutely disgusted with J. He'd be horrified, I think, that I'm posting this publicly, and I'm proud to say that I've gotten to the point (finally!) that I really don't care. It's somehow therapeutic and helpful for me to say it all publicly. The more I think about how he dealt with the situation and what he's done since (he lives with his mom. He's 35 and lives with his mom, not because he has to for any reason, but just because he's kinda pathetic like that). . . oh, the more I think about what he's done since, the more I just feel really, really sorry for him. And so there it is: I was in love with a pathetic loser. He was the love of my life. And I'm sure that I'll never be quite the same. But still, at least I've moved on and actually have a life of my own. Oh, his mom's quite wonderful, but that's not really the point. I've found a career that's mostly fulfilling and that I'm mostly successful at. I've forged other meaningful relationships. I have friends. I have interests outside of work. I guess I don't know where I'm going with all this, just that I need to get it out.

Lonely

Ok, this afternoon, I'm really lonely. And I know that this sounds kinda dumb, seeing that I teach at a college and all, but I sometimes feel like I'm languishing intellectually. You'd think that being a professor (ha, ha) and all, my work day would be filled with all kinds of smart, intellectual interaction, but really most of my day is filled with kinda mundane activity. And what I really want is someone to talk with about women's writing and women's experience and feminist theory. And there's sorta, kinda no one I feel like I can talk with. And T., my usual go-to-guy for this sort of thing, is busy. And Carina is far away, and maybe I'm just missing her. So I'm thinking about this Women Writers course that I'm scheduled to teach this fall, and I'm all obsessing about the possibility of a true women's discourse, you know? So here I am, getting all "Laugh of the Medusa," and it seems like there's no one around who can relate, you know? And then, I miss J. at times like these, because although he wouldn't be all into feminist theory and although I've had to explain second- and third-wave over and over to him, still he'd listen and ask the right questions to get me thinking about it. But how do you corner someone new and say, "So I'm reading Irigray lately. What do you think?" Or, "I'm interested in how the question of embodiment, especially the experience of the grotesque body, affects one's sense of identity." Or on a different note, "I'm convinced that Eco and Rushdie are speaking to one another in some important ways, but I can't figure out how they might be connected." I mean, I want these ongoing (possibly slightly tipsy) conversations about literature and feminism and postmodernism and medievalism and the self, and it's just not happening in my life. And my students are great. And they are attentive and responsive, but it's just not the kind of exchange that I'm craving. I don't even know where I'm going with this whole post. Maybe it's just that I'm missing friends and the life that I had (or maybe just some idealized version of it) in Riverside/cide.

Observations Made While Grading Essays on Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest

1. When someone introduces a thought with, "Not to be sexist or anything, but. . . " the subsequent thought is sure to be offensive.

2. "I found it boring" is not particularly insightful as a critical response.

3. The use of the word "crap" creates a decidedly non-academic tone.

4. What I really need is "a frivolous and partying alter-ego."

Ronald McDonald

Ok, I just need to get this out: I'm totally freaked out by Ronald McDonald. I don't much like clowns anyway, but he's the worst of the worst. The stuff of nightmares, really.

Procrastination (Again!)

It just occurred to me that I've been procrastinating about posting again. And the reason for my procrastination is soooooo annoying. I realized that there are all these things I want to say but, I feel, for a number of reasons, like I have to censor myself. And that's so irritating that I'm just not wanting to deal with it. It's like I want to talk about my recent weight gain and how that makes me feel. I want to talk about C., my ex-husband, and how that makes me feel. Sometimes, I just want to talk about what a struggle work is some days. But it's like I'm suddenly all paranoid. Is it paranoia if it's justified? Seriously, I want to tell the world about all the crappy, mean, evil, destructive things that C. did to me. But will that come back to bite me in the backside some day? What happens if I ever apply for a job and a potential employer Googles me, only to read all this crap about my personal life? I mean, this isn't just paranoia on my part. If I had used the half-brain that I do have, I would have started this whole project with some clever, interesting pseudonym. But now it feels too late. And so, I just have to say the nice things. I can't say that my breasts are bigger than they used to be and that it really bugs me or that I still dream about C. several times a week. And I hate that I feel like I can't talk about these things, so I guess it's sometimes easier not to talk at all.

An Update

This is for those of you who are concerned about my well-being, given the icky, stubborn New England weather.

I am tired of this weather. Tired of snow, tired of cold. All I want is a sunny 55 degrees. I'm feeling so worn down by it all. However, I have heat and power and hot water. And at this point, I feel so, so grateful for that. Hot water seems like this wonderful luxury that, apparently, most of the rest of the city does not have. I'm also thankful to have sustained no damage, at least so far. No trees have come down in my yard; more importantly, no trees have crashed into my house. So all is well, as far as I'm concerned.

Too Much Stuff

I've been thinking that maybe I'd try to go for a month, then six months, without purchasing anything that isn't a necessity. You see, I know that I really have too much "stuff." And some of it, like my iPod brings me regular pleasure and, thus, seems justifiable. But really, I just own a lot of stuff that I don't really need. I mean, do you have any idea how many sets if dishes I own? And really, how many sets of dishes does a single woman need? And while I'd have to say that dishes do, in fact, bring me real pleasure, there is a limit. And I think I'm approaching that limit. I could say the same of clothes. And so, as I've been thinking about this all and thinking about my finances and thinking about just simplifying my life, it seems like a good sort of practice to cut back and try to figure out what I really need. I have such an accumulation of "stuff" that I could certainly live for quite a while on what I have. But I worry too. I know that I'll inevitably give in and buy something that isn't really necessary, even just, say, a latte. (Oh, I just ordered a Madame Alexander Olivia doll. Talk about unnecessary. But I'm so excited. Thanks to Zee for that!) And I'm worried that I'll be all down on myself, like, "You didn't need that latte. You said you were only going to spend money on necessities. And then you bought a four-dollar latte that you didn't even need. Why can't you do anything right? You are a failure." I'm afraid that it will simply be an opportunity for my old companion Perfectionism to set in. Perfectionism, you know, plagues me, stalks me, really. You know the routine: I hold myself to an unreasonable, unrealistic standard, then fall apart emotionally when I don't meet it. And yet, I have to say that cutting down on the stuff and figuring out what I really need, then what may be a luxury but one that brings true pleasure, this seems somehow liberating to me. I think that, in the end, rather than feeding perfectionism, it will liberate me from the tyranny of unnecessary "stuff." Because all the "stuff" is causing its own kind of anxiety.

Of course, this all brings up inevitable questions about the necessity of own books: Are books necessary? Need I own them, or is checking them out good enough? How many books are necessary, and when have I crossed the line into "stuff"? Am I spending too much money on books?

Anna Quindlen: How Reading Changed My Life

Yesterday, I went to work for just a couple hours in the morning but came home early in order to make it home before the weather turned too, too horrible. Ice storms, you know.

Anyway, since I left work early, I had some free time on my hands. And after a good, long nap, I spent the afternoon reading Quindlen's How Reading Changed My Life, which, although published individually, is really a long essay. First, I should say that, thanks to my mother, I'm on this Quindlen kick. How have I missed her all these years? My mom sent me her Being Perfect a couple of months ago; and it so much resonated with me. But How Reading Changed My Life was wonderful and made me feel less weird, less nerdy for simply being someone who likes books. I especially appreciated Quindlen's sense that books, novels particularly, are this path to female understanding and female relationships. Books give us, women in particular, a way to understand the internal lives of others and especially of ourselves. But books also give us a way to connect with other people. Books give us something to talk about. Books provide both intellectual engagement but also an opportunity for social interaction.

And as I read Quindlen saying all these things, I thought about all the times I looked to Virginia Woolf for comfort, for the sense that someone understands how I feel. But maybe more importantly, reading Woolf (or McCullers or Charlotte Perkins Gilman), has given me the forum for talking with DC or my mother or whoever else about how it feels and what it means simply to be. And I think that personal connection, that opportunity for reflection and conversation is maybe more important than the books themselves. Eek! It's hard to believe that I'm saying that there's something more important than the experience of reading and writing. But the older I get, the more I come to believe that the interpersonal connections I avoided and even scorned are the really important thing in life.

Anyway, I do recommend Quindlen, especially How Reading Changed My Life.

Snow

So it's nearly mid-April. And it's snowing. And it's cold. And sometimes I feel like I just can't take much more of this weather. I guess I know that it's Vermont and that this is the way it's "supposed" to be. But I'm tired of it. I don't so much miss the sun. I'd settle for 50 and rain showers. But please, no more snow. Guinnie doesn't much like it either, by the way. She makes a big fuss every time I make her go "out." Honestly, the way she acts, you'd think that I'm positively abusing her, making her pee in the snow. She's such the drama queen.

I just want the weather to go away.

Not Me

So lately, I just don't feel like myself. When I pass a mirror, it's like the woman passing on the other side can't possibly be me. She's someone I don't recognize. I don't like this feeling, and I'm not sure how I got to this place in my life. It's like: "Where's the Drennan I know? She was interesting. She wore interesting clothes (not sweat pants every day) and arrived at work early. She read and wrote and cooked interesting things. She had places to be and people to see. This woman, the one with the ponytail in her hair, isn't the woman I knew at all, not at all." I find this troubling, and I'm not quite sure how to begin to deal with it. I don't know how to relax. I don't know how to be the person that I used to be or used to want to be. I'm boring. I'm bland. I'm giving in to being unattractive. I've lost something, and I don't know how to describe it. If I did, I'm sure that I could "fix" it. It's not that something is missing from my life; it's more that something is missing from me.

Burroughs: Running With Scissors

Yesterday, I finished Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs. That's not so very Easter-like, is it? But then, it snowed all day, which isn't so Easter-like either. It's something I'd been intending to read for the last year or so. And it was wonderfully written and funny and horribly sad all at the same time. It's so much written from the point-of-view of the young Burroughs that we see the world that way. Consequently, when Burroughs is, say, 14 and begins having a sexual affair with a man in his 30s, we don't immediately see the horror, see that this man is violating a teen-ager. Although we know that this is wrong, that this can't be "love," we very much see that Burroughs himself, at age 14, believes this is love, believes that it's OK. He doesn't see himself as victimized, for the most part. In fact, he values this relationship. Horrible things happen to poor Augusten. Yet he keeps going. And he sees the humor in it all. And he's a terrific writer. I totally recommend this book. The subject matter is, at times, troubling, as I think Burroughs intends it to be. And yet, it's all so well written that it's not as difficult to cope with as I, as a reader, had anticipated. And there's just something endearing about it all. By the end of the book, I like and even admire Burroughs. At the same time, it was depressing. I guess that I don't have anything all that profound to say about this book, only that I enjoyed it.

Conference Paper

So although it's Spring Break, I'm at work. And I'm writing this conference paper on Gregory Maguire's Wicked and about how it's Gothic and grotesque and carnival, etc, etc. And I think it's kinda interesting, really. But it's hard to focus and get actual work done. You know, it's so much easier to sit and blog and read and journal. And writing, the kind of writing I need to get done, is really hard work somehow. And so I'm sitting here, listening to my relaxing music, sipping tea, thinking about this novel, clearly trying to coax some sort of muse, and all I can think about is the "Book Report" song from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. You must know the one. All the characters are to write book reports on Peter Rabbit. And Lucy opens with, "Peter Rabbit is this stupid book about this stupid rabbit who steals vegetables from other people's gardens." And Charlie Brown spends the majority of the song justifying his procrastination. And while I think Lucy Van Pelt is this great character, I'm especially fond of Schroder's analysis of Peter Rabbit. Schroeder explores the ways in which Peter Rabbit is like Robin Hood. And of course, what Schroeder comes up with is really this summary of the Robin Hood story: ". . .the part where Little John jumps from the rock to the Sheriff of Nottingham's back, and the Robin and everyone swung from the trees in a sudden surprise attack, and they captured the Sheriff and all of his goods, and they carried him back to their camp in the woods, and the Sheriff was guest at their dinner and all, but he wriggled away and sounded the call. The men rushed in, and the arrows flew. Peter Rabbit did sort of that kind of thing too." (OK, is it a bad sign that I know all of this "by heart"?) Anyway, my Wicked paper is feeling like that sort of analysis. Am I writing about Wicked but really writing about something else, probably about myself? I suspect that may be the case. And in the end, are all literary analyses about ourselves? I suspect that most of us are basically self-absorbed; I certainly am anyway. So here I am, when I should be writing about Elphaba, writing about myself.

I think I'll see if I can download the soundtrack from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

Donnie Darko

Ok, so yesterday afternoon, I watched Donnie Darko. How is it that I've never seen this, before? I LOVED it, loved it. And I keep thinking of Jimmy Stuart and Harvey; only it's like this sadder, creepier, truer Harvey, right? And the whole "cellar door" thing is really from Tolkien, right? And I keep thinking about Donnie and the line between genius and insanity, how we as a culture treat creative, insightful artists as though they ought to be medicated. (And those of you who know the last six months of my own history know that it's been six months of fighting with medications, antidepressants.) And I don't know. Is Donnie crazy or is he Super Man? Is he delusional or does he simply understand quantum physics better than the rest of us do? I'd love to see the director's cut. And I want to BE Donnie Darko. Maybe I'm Drennan Darko, which doesn't have quite the same ring to it but is still fun.

So does the movie maybe explore the ways in which we think we are doing good, are helping are simply leading to pain for others. Does the attempt to love simply entangle others in our emotional pain? I don't know the answers to these kinds of questions, but I do think that asking these kinds of questions is important. I guess that I'm still thinking about the movie, about what it means, about why I feel drawn to it somehow.

And it brings up the whole Jake Gyllenhaal dilemma. On the one hand, he looks kinda dopey, and he was kinda dopey in that whole astronomy / rocket-boy movie--I don't remember the title of it. He's got that overly cute, doe-eyed quality. And I want to be annoyed by Gyllenhaal. But I'm not; I actually like him. He was super as Donnie.

And now that I get to the end of this post, I realize that I don't have anything especially insightful or original or productive to say about this film. Only that I really liked it.