People and Things I "Love"

Instead of complaining about this and that, I think it will be more fun to list some of the people and things that I currently am besotted with, have loved at some time in the past, or have high hopes for true love with in the future. One should note that this list is not exhaustive, nor are these in any particular order. So here we go:

1. The Beatles, especially Sir Paul

2. My car (drive a 1998 Ford Explorer)

3. NetFlix

4. New iPod Shuffle

5. NPR

6. The New Testament, especially the book of John

7. C.S. Lewis

8. Really, really good tea

9. The film adaptation of Forster's A Room With a View

10. Men who understand John Donne

11. Camille Paglia

12. Craig and Andrew, who should always be spoken of as though they were one entity

13. Really, really good tea

14. Ravenwood's Zinfandel

15. This great pasta I make with Grogonzola cream sauce and pine nuts

16. Saturday mornings, especially when reading books and baking muffins is in the offing

17. The Sweet Valley High series of novels

18. Masterpiece Theatre

19. Rachel Ray (her recipes make me think I've reached Nirvana, although her personality is rather over the top)

20. Staying in motels that have good cable TV

21. Wikipedia, not the most reliable source of information, but boy is it fun

22. Reading and / or watching TV in bed

23. A really good hair cut

24. Hello Kitty

25. Returning to the church I grew up in

Valentine's Day

Some may think this crude, but I'm going to just come out and say it.

I called yesterday to make an appointment for my annual thing with the gynocologist, and they scheduled me for Valentine's Day. And it's not like I was all looking forward to Valentine's Day or anything. Oh well, at least now I guess I have something "special" to do for the "holiday." But I mean, the indignity of a pap and pelvic exam is bad enough. And Valentine's Day tends to irritate me anyway. Why do all the crappy things have to happen at once? It's like a really bad Woody Allen movie or something.

I will stop now before I lapse into obscene jokes.

Today

Today is crappy and beautiful all at once, you know? It's rained and rained all day, and the wind bites through one's clothes. And I am feeling increasingly something, only I don't know how to name what the something is.

I didn't prep for my morning class, which was A-OK because we ended up having this really fascinating conversation about how C.S. Lewis seems to write sin. And I had a moment in which I felt truly brilliant, not because I was saying brilliant things, but because I kept ask questions until my students were able to say the brilliant things themselves. That's the kind of teacher I really want to be. So that was the high point of my day. And I love my students, every single one of them. I especially love the ones who sign up for multiple classes with me and get all excited about the things I do. I mean, there's just something satisfying realizing that someone else thinks that, I don't know, C.S. Lewis is uber-cool and, more importantly, has something to say to all of us.

Then, this evening, I'm having dinner with some friends A and R. And they are great. R is like the ideal-goddess-Zen mom or something. They have a 2 1/2 year old, then 11 month old twins. And every time I'm there, I'm amazed at how calm--tranquil, really--everything is. R is all into Iyengar yoga, so maybe that's the foundation for her peacefulness. I don't know. I don't have any super maternal urges or anything. But should I ever be a mother, I would be pleased to be even half what she is, you know? And she lets me come by any time, pours me a glass of wine, and we dish about the babies and books and all kinds of fun stuff. Friendship is a really wonderful thing.

And there's so much more I want to say--about feminism, about writing, about teaching, about books, about movies, about the killer chili I made last week, about embodiment (Dolce Carina has been writing about it, but it had been on my mind recently too), but there's never the time to say all that I want to. So I guess that I simply do the best that I can.

News Flash: I think that David Duchovny has finally been supplanted in my affections by my iPod. What a lovely thing life is!

I'm Falling Behind. . .

I'm here to make a confession; I have not been blogging as faithfully as I'd hoped.

My plan, as some of you know, was to blog about everything I've been reading, but it's all gotten away from me somehow. But I'm going to try to get up to date with just a few blurbs about this and that. These are in no particular order. But I want to preface it all by saying that I have the most amazing job in that I get to read and then discuss really fun, exciting, interesting works every week. And now that Sophocles is behind me, it can only get better.

So here's my fun reading: I started a silly, fun, inspiring rather creative non-fiction piece called Julie and Julia. DISCLAIMER: This book is probably offensive to some of my readers. But it's a real hoot. This woman, Julie, is dissatisfied with her life. So she decided that in one year she'll cook everything in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Some of her meals are successes, some are not. And she fights with her husband along the way, watches friends make really bad (and some good) decisions, but in this project, Julie's life takes on a new sense of completion. As corny as it sounds, she seems to find herself. I've read about 2/3 of it. But it's a good, quick, fluffy sort of read. And in spite of the offensive bits, I can find something there that I relate to.

Last week I skimmed The Hobbit for my fantasy class. I'm rather disappointed that I only had time to skim it, as I love it so. But my notes were sufficient, and I know it so well that teaching it was a breeze. Oh how I love Tolkien. There's something so completely, solidly English about Tolkien, and I find that superbly comforting. I have an acquaintance who wrote her doctoral dissertation on something about the "comforts" of childrens literature. And I suppose that that sense of comfort that I associate with Tolkien is why I do what I do. The Hobbit is homely in the best sense of the word.

Then, as part of the same course, I reread The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. If you read my previous posts, you know that I freaked out about textual variants. But I cannot tell you how unsettling it was. I mean, here's this text that I'd somehow come to rely on--when things get tough, I read Lewis. And it was different! I've calmed down about the whole thing now, but it's still unsettling. But there's so much that I wan to say about Lewis's novel. I think the fundamental thing that so many people seem not to get is the concern, obsession possibly, that Lewis seems to have with English cultural identity. It's so important that the work is set during WWII. And typical English concerns are prominent in the book. Very few people talk about this, yet it seems so vital to understanding Lewis's project. And it's not just Lewis. I'm obsessed with English concerns about cultural identity during the first half of the twentieth century. Lewis is just one of many examples. I won't bore you with all the details, but I'm fascinated.

Finally, this morning, I read the first third or so of Beowulf, one of my favorites. I really should have been a medievalist--that was my true calling, I sometimes think. But (and I guess this makes me not a purist or something) I really love Heaney's translation. This morning, I had two sections in which we talked about Beowulf, and I have to say that there are few things in life that make me happier. Life is good.

So there's my quick update. I'd like to say more, be more analytical. But right now, simply celebrating what I'm doing and what I'm reading seems enough.

My goal is to read more feminist this and that soon. I'm hoping for some Camille Paglia, the "anti-feminist feminist."

iPod Shuffle

Ok, so I'm enjoying my new iPod Shuffle, which is the little, tiny, baby iPod. And I'm in love already! I'm so excited--the thought of being able to take John, Paul, George, and Ring everywhere with me! Really, what could be finer.

Oh, and I can get all my favorite NPR stuff. This is sooooo great!

Nothing to Say

I told myself I'd post something every day, so here I am. But really, I have nothing to say. I'm home sick from work with a migraine. I feel like I could sleep for the next six weeks. But I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow.

I Think I'm Going Crazy, For Reals This Time

Ok, so I've spent the afternoon and evening obsessing over The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It totally feels like I'm living a Twilight Zone epidsode. Anyway, I just got off the phone with Dolce Carina, who I love more than anyone else in the world right now, and I ate Stoffer's French Bread Pizza for dinner. The thing about it is this: I've been eating a lot of frozen foods lately, and that's just not like me. I mean, normally, I enjoy cooking, and I consider myself a pretty good cook, but lately I just have like zero appetite, so all I can really work myself up to is a meager salad and / or whatever I can throw in the oven at 350 for 25 minutes. And I'm trying to make myself eat. But really, is french bread pizza and bad Merlot really better than no dinner at all? But I went grocery shopping over the weekend, you know, to stock up on frozen foods so that I'd actually eat something this week. And there I was in the check-out line, and I felt like saying to the guy behind me, the bag girl, whoever, "No, you don't understand. This isn't me. I normally don't eat like this--frozen stuff and Romaine." But I didn't say anything. I felt pretty sheepish though.

But I talked to Carina about it, and she, who is chef extrodinare, made me feel much better about what I was eating. So maybe it's OK after all. I don't know. More than anything, it makes me thankful for friends. I know that I can call her, and that whatever I'm doing, she'll make me feel like I, as a person, am OK. Does that make sense.

So Carina, if you read this, just know that I love you and that you've saved me from insanity, at least for now.

More on Narnia

So I'm really obsessing now. And I can't find anything online (not that "online" is such a good research tool) about textual variants of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe beyond the issue of which order we ought to read the series in.

Does anyone out there happen to know anything about textual variants of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? This is really bugging me.

As a side note, I found this weird "Narnian Creed" based on the Apostle's Creed, only Narnian terms seem to be inserted. I think it's weird / heresy (and I don't normally throw that word around):

http://www.pford.stjohnsem.edu/ford/cslewis/documents/narnia/Credal%20Elements.pdf

I mean, I get that it's not so much an actual creed but a commentary both on Narnia and the form of the creed. But I still think it's a bit much.

There are lots of crazy Lewis fans (posing as scholars) out there. I don't know. I'm frustrated with the lack of information I've been able to come up with. But if anyone knows anything about this, please let me know!

I'm Having Fits. . . About Narnia

I'm blogging because I'm about to have a fit, and I figured I could vent about it, get my feelings out, and (I hope) go on. I'm reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which I have read many, many times. And I have my old (like 20 years old) copy which I've read and reread and marked up many times when I've taught the book, when I was working on my diss, whatever.

Anyhow, I have a new copy that I was working through, the edition that I'd ordered for my students. And I figured I should "bite the bullet" and go ahead and annotate my new copy (I hate having to work with a new edition) so that my pagination would match what my students have, and thus, class tomorrow morning would go much more smoothly.

Anyway, as I was reading, I started noticing little things that had been changed. Wording was different; one character (Fenris Ulf / Maugrim) even has a different name. This was news to me. In my research and my work on Lewis, I'd never read anything about differing editions of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And I'm about to have a fit. I said above that little things are different. But they aren't little. I mean what seem to me to be clear references to Norse myth (the character Fenris Ulf, a reference to the "World Ash tree") have been replaced with something else. This to me seems thematically important.

But what really bothers me is why I've been unaware of this until now. Why haven't I read anything about these different versions of Lewis's famous novel? Hasn't anyone done a textual study? Why don't I know about it? I can't be the first person to be aware of this with all the Lewis loonies in this world. So why am I just now noticing this. Goodness, I feel like Oedipa Maas. And I'm about to have a fit. This seems like a big deal to me. Does no one care?

I don't really have time to write, because I have class in 10 minutes. But I'm frustrated. How is it that I work and work and work, yet never seem to accomplish much of anything? Is this just part of the human condition? Or is it just that I'm a perfectionist (which I am; I don't deny it, although I try to somehow moderate this unhealthy tendency.) Can someone tell me why and how it is that I never seem to get enough done?

I've Made my Peace with Joyce Carol Oates

Ok, in spite of my threats to the contrary, I just finished reading We Were the Mulvaneys, and I guess I'm not sorry that I stuck with it (I really love the above picture of Joyce Carol Oates, although it's really, really and old one. There's something beautiful about her.) Anyway, I just wouldn't, couldn't admit that this novel, this one novel, had somehow defeated me, so I finished. And there's something satisfying about that. Maybe it's just me being neurotic, compulsive, but I somehow felt like I had to finish, like I just couldn't let this one long novel get the better of me. Was it a life-changing book? No, of course not. Much of it made me angry. It's really the story of a family, and maybe the central part of the plot is that the teen-age daughter is raped, and her father just can't cope. So what do we do? We treat the daughter as though it's her fault, send her away to live with an old, spinster relative, and never mention her again. And the mother goes along with all of this, for years hinting to the daughter that maybe dad will come around, and maybe you can come home again soon. Of course, that never happens, and the daughter internalizes it all, believes that the rape is her fault, and cannot relate to men in a healthy way. It really kinda annoyed me. I know, I'm the English Professor, and I should be able to make some sort of profound statement about this literary work, but there's nothing profound that I want to say. I just want to say that it made me mad, made me feel sorry for Marianne, the daughter, made me want to throw the book across the room. And I don't think that Oates wants us to be OK with everything that's done to this poor young woman. But I finished it. And I'm somehow glad that I did. I feel as though I've made my peace and can go on to whatever the next book is on my list.

Which reminds me. . .I need to work on that list!

I Can't Believe I'm Posting This

Ok, I'm only posting this because Dulce Carina asked for it. And, naturally, I wouldn't want to disappoint her or anyone else. This is a not very good quality photo of my tattoo. If you can't tell, it's Smaug the Dragon, as drawn by Tolkien. You see, as I was finishing grad school, it seemed like a good idea to get a Tolkien tattoo. I think this demonstrated how nerdy I really am, although I still like to think of myself as a "cool, modern nerd;" I have been tested, you know. This is on my lower back, which explains the poor quality of the photo. I took it myself. Anyway, assuming anyone besides DC is interested, here it is. I absolutely love it, and if I had it to do all over again, I would get the very same tattoo.

The Muppets

Lately, I've been watching The Muppet Show on DVD, and it's really fun because it has this fun "pop up" trivia feature where as one is watching the episode, fun facts pop up on the screen. So really, it's an educational experience. That, of course, is why I'm watching the Muppets; it's all educational. No really, if I am in a crappy mood (which I am far too often), watching the Muppet show makes me laugh. At this point, that's worth a lot. And, really, who doesn't love the Muppets? Who, I ask. What's not to love. Oh here's a fun one: why don't we all list our favorite Muppet and why he or she is our favorite. And hey, you know how I've been on this whole weird anti- / maverick feminist thing? Well, I bet that the feminists don't much like the Muppets. I mean, let's look at female representations here. Well, there's Miss Piggy, and we all know what she's like. I mean, on the one hand, she's kinda kick-ass because she karate chops whoever gets in her way, but really she's superficial and not very pleasant to be around. There's a word for that, but I won't use it here on account of this is a G-rated post. You know who I really like? Statler and Waldorf, the old guys who sit in the balcony and make snide remarks. They're lots of fun. But really, really, Fozzie Bear is my favorite. I guess it just makes me feel better how nothing ever seems to go right for him, and he's always kinda sheepish. I really like that about Fozzie. So, who's your favorite?

My New Favorite CD

So here's my new favorite CD. It's this band called The East Village Opera Company, and they do these cool rock & roll versions of opera songs. You know, so there are violins and electric guitars and drums and keyboards, and it's all quite lovely. One of the best things about living alone is that one can listen to the same CD over and over, and no one complains. I really, really dig this CD right now. I'm especially fond of their rendition of the "Habanera" from Carmen, one of my favorite opera pieces. OK, I admit that I know very little about opera, but I'd like to learn about it. And this CD is really, really great. I wonder of real opera purists would turn up their noses at these pop remakes of opera favorites. I don't really care--I just know that I like it. I always get excited to discover a new CD that I can absolutely fall in love with. And right now, this is it for me. But not to worry, I'm still listening to a healthy dose of Johnny Cash each day. Oh and just think, if I get an iPod, I can take opera and Johnny and the Beatles with me everywhere I go. Really, that would make me happier than I can say. I tend to get really excited about the little things in life. And satisfying music makes me very happy. And right now, I am absolutely besotted with the East Village Opera Company.

Weekly Goals

So here's my commitment to myself regarding my weekly goals.

Each morning, when I get up, I will meditate for 8 minutes, then read my morning devotional.

Each evening, I will read my Bible.

I've been doing these things regularly, and I want to add one more goal to the mix. Each day, I want to do some reading that's not immediately required for work. i.e. prep for class. I also want to spend some time this week creating a reading list for myself. I want to read more that is meaningful and spend less time watching TV. Oddly, because I really only get one channel, one would think this wouldn't be too difficult. Still, I want to spend more time reading each evening, and I want to come up with a plan to implement this new goal.

Gregory Maguire's Son of a Witch

Ok, I'll just come out and say it. I thought this novel was just blah--nothing terrible, nothing great. The issue of sexuality was dealt with in a heavy-handed way, nothing especially interesting or provocative. It seemed forced, predictable. I had high hopes because I loved Wicked and liked Confessions of an Ugly Step-Sister. I hated his Lost, however; it was really bad. I started Mirror, Mirror once, but lost interest.

I guess what I'm trying to say is even if you loved Wicked like I did, you shouldn't get your hopes up for Son of a Witch.

That's my lazy, Saturday evening, pajamas analysis. Not very literary or professional. I guess that sums up my response to the book. There's nothing especially literary to say. And I suppose that's fine, but it wasn't even especially entertaining.

Just my self-imposed obligatory post!

Drennan, the Maverick Feminist

Why I Love Saturdays!

Because I got to sleep in until 7:30

Because when I got up, I went straight to the couch with my cup of tea and read all morning

Because I didn't get dressed at all, wore my jammies all day

Because I didn't have to do anything other than exactly what I wanted

Because I made a really delightful luncheon, just for me

Because I got so much done, none of it related to work

Because I had the time to catch up on correspondance and phone calls

Because I took a long, hot bath and listened to really great music

Because there's something wonderful about watching DVDs and reading novels all afternoon

Because I feel more relaxed than I have all week

What I'm Reading Now

Just a quick update:

Last night, I finished rereading C.S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces. It is absolutely my favorite novel ever, and it has changed my life. I think everyone should read it. I really do. But it's so hard to talk about, probably because I find it so moving and important on a very personal, intimate level.

I've read about 2/3 of Gregory Maguire's Son of a Witch. I just want to say that it's OK, although I don't like it nearly as well as its predecessor Wicked. That's just for the record.

I think I've given up on We Were the Mulvaneys. Maybe it just didn't do it for me--I know many others think it quite brilliant. I'm just not that into it.

My new resolve is to NOT be reading like five books at once. I think that whatever I'm reading for work is fine, plus one fun book, plus one non-fiction something that's supposed to enlighten me somehow. That seems like a good mix. I tend to have lots and lots of books going at once so that I can have something that fits with my mood. But then things seem to somehow get lost in the process. I suppose, however, that if something isn't complling, why should I waste my time? C.S. Lewis said that if he just wasn't into a book by page 50, he didn't bother. And I guess if it's OK for Lewis, it can be OK for me.

Moment of panic: I realize that I'm turing into one of those crazy academics who brings up her research interests in nearly every conversation. I don't mean to be this way. It's just that Lewis so often speaks to whatever it is that's going on! This is not a good sign.

More on Feminism

So here's what I don't get. Aren't there some out there who would argue that feminism is really about having control over our own bodies? And maybe this is a good point. Maybe, arguably, freedom means doing what we desire with our bodies. But really, this idea that we CAN have control of our bodies seems to me a big lie of feminism.

Let's face it, our bodies fail us, or at least disappoint us, all the time. My body, at this point, would not allow me to run a marathon, no matter how much I wanted to right this second. And I'm in reasonably good health. My body rebels if I eat more than about two bites of beef, quite honestly. People get cancer all the time. Our bodies betray us in a thousand ways.

Is the notion of having control over our bodies really even realistic? Or did I just miss something? Along the path of indoctrination, did I just miss something really important?

This simple, activist kind of feminism that argues that we should do whatever we want specifically with our bodies just doesn't work for me, for a number of reasons.

Words Are Not My Friends

Right now, it feels like words have failed me, again. DVL knows this, because I just sent him an e-mail in which all I really said over and over is that there are no words adequate to convey the sense that I mean. How can there be words for how opera sounds, for example? And there are even fewer words to show how the sound of opera makes one feel. And there are no words to describe how on a cold, wintry day, waiting for snow storms, I finished rereading my favorite, favorite book, how I felt when I finished because I knew that simply the rereading had somehow in a way imperceptible to others altered who I am. How can I describe that? How can I show someone else that my soul is different for having reread something? It's maybe not even logical. Maybe it's not logical at all, hence the inability of language. And so what I wanted to say to DVL was that I am a different person, a more beautiful, less-like-Ungit person now. But where are the words for that?

I trust words. I depend on them in a thousand little ways and a hundred thousand big ways. But sometimes they betray me.