More Mix Tapes And Thoughts on Soundtracks

I know that I'm going overboard with all this, but really, this is my nature. When I latch onto something, I really latch. And there's very little I do by halves.

I've been making more mix tapes in my mind (Hey, Carina, remember the Super Booty CDs? I love those!), and I have to admit that I've always had this sneaking feeling in the back of my soul that maybe everything would be OK if only there were the right soundtrack playing in the background of our lives, you know? Like at those 11 moments, when things were just perfect, if there were only a song playing, it could be a way to capture the moment by connecting it to just the right song. Or maybe the tought parts, the 1 moments, would be more bearable if only there were the right song playing. You know, like when I wake up in the morning and have that fatal 3-minute window when I can haul myself out of bed and be successful or succumb to sloth and sleep for another 30 minutes, it seems like it would all be OK if only "Good Day Sunshine" were playing, or even "Here Comes the Sun." And that's another weird thing. Why the Beatles, always the Beatles for me?

It's weird that I'm thinking this because I don't think of myself as someone who's all into music. And I freely admit that I have all these weird, silly musical "guilty pleasures." Ask me if you are really interested to hear abou them.

I'm listening to the Proclaimers right now. If you are looking for recommendations, I think that the Medieval Babes (I think they spell it Medieval Baebes now) really KSA.

Much love and happy listening to all.

Most days, I think it's kinda interesting being me. I mean, I get to think interesting thoughts and do interesting things with my time. But then other days, like now, I wish I could just be "normal," rather than interesting. I know, I know: there are real problems with the whole "normal" thing. But I don't understand how it is exactly that I got stuck in this seemingly-divergent existence when everyone else I know seems to be doing all the normal stuff: having babies, cooking dinner, planting gardens. Whatever. I mean, I know I'm bookish and all, but I like those things too.

And I just read this blog post from this man who was all ranting that single women are single because while others were meeting prospective mates, they had their heads stuck in books and now are too wedded to their academic careers to get married. That really pisses me off. I mean, how dare someone make that assumption about me. I didn't just have my head stuck in a book, and here I am with a career and no spouse, not by choice. I mean, he said things to the effect of: so these single career women made their choice, and now they just need to live with it. That's so not me. To be honest, I always said that I never wanted my career to be more important than personal relationships and particularly than my family. I even took what I thought were appropriate steps so that a career wasn't all I had. And guess what happened.

I suppose I'm just lonely. Sunday evenings do that to me. Why are Sundays the worst?

To counteract all this, my plan is to make a nice dinner and have my weekly "date" with Inspector Morse. That's better than nothing, right?

Mix Tapes

Remember when we were younger, maybe in high school, and if you "liked" someone, you made him or her a mix tape? There was something really neat-o about those old school mix tapes, you know? I mean, I know that now we can download and upload and burn CDs for one another, and I have some pretty great CDs from some of you, but that's really not the same as a mix tape. I think that recording the tape takes more time and energy than simply clicking and dragging and burning. I have a mix tape that Cort made for me in college for my birthday, probably my 19th birthday. I still have it and listen to it occasionally, and I love it because it makes me think of her. One of the best things about it is that written on the label is "I love you, Drenu." That makes me really happy somehow. I bet she doesn't remember all this, but it still means a lot to me. Remember that scene in High Fidelity when John Cusack's character discusses the intricacies and nuances of making the perfect mix tape? There's something loving and meaningful and personal about it.

So I know all this sounds silly, but I'd been thinking about mix tapes lately and feeling kinda nostalgic for the early 90s. And then the last couple of days, I have been making mix tapes in my mind for each of you. And it's become this really interesting exercise. I mean, there are these songs that, for whatever reasons, I associate with particular people. My song for DW would have to be "Particle Man," for example. And my song for Stimerman would have to be that REM song "I am Superman." And this all becomes this fun, nostalgic exercise. So I've been thinking if I were to make a mix tape for each of you, what would it include? Or I'll hear a particular song and think, "This song is so totally so-and-so." There's just this affective association that I keep making.

I don't know. I long for the days of mix tapes.

This Morning

Two funny things have happened to me so far today.

First, on the way to work, I discovered that I know every single lyric of "Tainted Love," and I think that's quite an accomplishment.

Second, when I arrived at work, I discovered that my office was infested with pink bunny Peeps. They seem to be decorating everything. Since today's my birthday, I'm guessing this is someone's idea of a fun / funny birthday prank? A birthday present? What is it about Peeps anyway?

All this and it's not even 7:30!

Gail Carson Levine's Ella Enchanted

I've been rereading Levine's Ella Enchanted for class tomorrow, and although Levine is not a brilliant prose stylist, I think this is a really smart book. Before anyone asks, no, I did not see the film adaptation that came out a couple of years ago.

OK, so this is yet another retelling of the Cinderella tale. But it's smart and interesting without being heavy handed. There's something so likeable and authentic about Ella's character. And Levine explores some of the complexities involved with fairy tale notions of goodness and obedience; this is what's most interesting about this novel. Levine shows that forced obedience is not at all the same as intrinsic goodness. She also explores some of the difficulties and contradictions of the folk / fairy tale, especially in the way that women are represented. But this is more than just another feminist fairy tale, a genre that I often enjoy. Levine explores larger issues having to do with what constitutes goodness while playing with some of the conventions of the Cinderella tale type particularly and the folk tale generally. For example, the notion of fairies who practice magic and can influence mortal affairs is shown to be problematic for the mortals themselves. In this way, I think Levine is dealing with bigger themes: the difficulty that accompanies getting what one wishes for, the relationship between "fate," loosely defined and human will, and the troubling nature of magic in the realm of "faerie." (NOTE TO SELF: I'm way overdoing the specialized terms in quotes lately. It annoys me when others do this. Need to stop.) In the end, Levine offers a variety of options for females including marriage, adventure, and scholarly work all at the same time. Maybe this is why I like this book. Maybe part of me still wants to believe in the possibility of having and doing it all. I'm a really bad feminist, aren't I. OK, I'm going to stop with that line of thinking, in part because I keep resolving that when writing about things external to myself, I won't turn it into something about myself.

I think this is a really fun, wonderful book. I don't think I have much maternal instinct, but when I think about the possibility of having children, I get really excited about what I could theoretically read to and with them. Ella Enchanted would be a good one.

You Know You're an Alcoholic When. . .

Let me start by saying that this happens about every two months.

This afternoon, I came home from work, and my neighbors, across the hall (I live in an apartment) had TONS of empty beer bottles stacked up outside their door. I'm estimating that this is at least 25 six-packs. I suppose they are going to recycle them. I'm perpetually annoyed with my neighbors for one reason or another. And all the empty beer bottles don't help. I just had to take a picture of the stack of bottles. I'm afraid that without the pic you'd all just think I was exaggerating.

But really, at what point does one consider that he or she may have a drinking problem? The girlfriend has two young children; should she and her boyfriend be drinking this much in front of the children? One thing I'll say for them; they aren't drinking Bud light.

The Secret to a Good Mood

I just discovered the secret to arrive at work in a really great mood, and Dolce Carina will appreciate this. The key is to listen to the Pixies loudly the entire car trip. That's all it takes! I wish someone would have told me this years ago.

Wednesday (Wish it Was Friday)

I haven't been writing as much lately as I might normally. This, I know, is always a bad sign. Last night when I asked about "hitting bottom," I don't think I really meant it. In the last 2 1/2 years, I have thought I'd hit bottom any number of times, thought, "It has to get better, because there's no way it can get worse." Almost invariably, it does get worse. I have rarely felt so completely isolated. Maybe I shouldn't say that when so many of you have made a point of reaching out to me in the past week--got a wonderful, happy, encouraging e-mail from Cort a couple of days ago! I've not yet replied. So maybe it's my own fault for feeling isolated. I don't know. All I really want to do is sit at home with my puppies (what could be nicer than puppies?) and read and drink tea. It's so hard to get anything done. It's like disappointment and discouragement and going to work and pretending that I'm OK takes up all my energy. And the maddening thing is that I don't know how I got this way, how everything degenerated to this point. But it'll get better. I have decided that starting right now, I'm making it better. I'm here, at work. I'm showing up and doing what I can. And at least I get to talk about interesting things. I guess that all I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other, like I've always done, and trust that some day I will wake up and feel better about things. Anyway, I really hope that's how it works, because I don't know what else to do any more.

How do you know when you've hit bottom?

Update

Not that anyone is all that interested, but I am home sick today. I feel so run down, like I can hardly do it anymore, you know?

But then then bus will pull up to a stop, and I'll realize that all of you are on the bus with me, and everything will be fine.

I really love every, single one of you, just for being there!

P.S. Just started a book called Don't Waste Your Life by John Piper. Has anyone read any Piper?

Fed Up!

So, I just want to say that I'm really tired of the snow. And I'm really tired of grading. And I'm really tired of "March Madness" being the only thing on TV.

Guinnie's Memoirs

Guinevere has decided to finally sit down and write her memoirs. It's something I've been urging her to do for a long time. We've decided that she can dictate and that I'll be her scribe. But just a quick preview--you can expect to read about such high points in her life as

when she was working as a waitress and was picked up by a mafia member, thus getting her start in the world

her involvement as a U.N. goodwill pup

her alleged involvement in the Pup of the Year scandal, the scandal that rocked the canine world, leading to the end of the coveted Pup of the Year Award and even the Pup of the Month award.

Guinnie wants you to understand that whatever she's done, it's always been for the "greater good" and not for "what could appear as the bad aspects" of the activity. She also says that she's a Jesuit.

Look for further posts as Guinnie begins the task of composing her memoirs.

Crazy

One more thing. . .some days I think I must be crazy.

Miscellaneous

There's all this random stuff I want to say. I'm drinking tea, and as I've said before, I do wish that sometimes there were someone else to make the tea. But there's just me. All I really want to do is drink tea and lie on the floor and listen to U2 until it's all better, you know?

Today, in class, we were talking about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and one young woman raises her hand and says, "I know this doesn't have much to do with our reading, but I was just wondering what you think. Do you think chivalry is dead?" (I just talked to Carina about this.) I know that the proper, academic answer would have been to talk about how chivalry is a construct in literature and social history and never really existed, not like she's thinking and blah, blah, blah. I know that's the script I'm supposed to speak from. But instead, I said, "Well, judging from the men I've dated recently, I'd have to say that, yes, chivalry is dead." So, I know that was really the wrong thing to say. But it just sorta happened, you know?

So maybe temporal happiness is U2 and really good tea. Or maybe U2 and tea and a hot bath. And then a episode of House MD. Or maybe just bed in clean sheets. I have this thing for sheets right out of the dryer, you know?

Is it weird that I like George Michael? Does anyone remember back in the day when we could use the word "gay" as a general insult, and that was OK? I miss those days.

Maybe temporal happiness is reading John Donne and drinking tea. Or maybe temporal happiness is 1:00 am with your best, best friends, drinking wine and making biscotti or some such. Come to think of it, there are lots of things I like.

The Cutest Dog I've Ever Seen!

So I know that I'm silly and prejudiced and all that, but I think that Miss Perfect Polly is the cutest dog I've ever seen. Here she is asleep on my pile of dirty laundry. It's nice that my sloth is providing someone with comfort, don't you think? I think she's just beautiful and good and perfect, like an angel in canine form.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

As I've probably mentioned, I'm teaching Sir Gawain this week and next--oh what fun!

And since Archer asked, I thought I'd mention something about the hunt scenes in part III which parallel the Lady's purusit of Gawain. So these scenes are pretty clearly written to mirror one another, I would say. The narrative structure, if nothing else, indicates this for us. What I find most interesting is that on the three successive days, as Lord Bercilak hunts a deer, a boar, and a fox, both the Lady and Gawain seem to take on the characteristics of these creatures. I'd expect Gawain, the hunted, to parallel these animals, certainly, but I think the Lady does too. On the first day, her purusit of Gawain is graceful and apparently noble, like the deer. Gawain's response is the same. As one of my students said today, they are very "deery." On the second day, both are more stubborn, pig-headed even, as is the boar which Bercilak hunts and kills. In both scenes, the literal hunt and the figurative hunt back at the castle, both hunter and hunted show tenacity. Finally, both the Lady and Gwain behave in the manner we traditionally associate with the fox: they are cunning, sly, tricky, and not totally above board. So that's that. And it's interesting.

But I keep asking myself, "But what does it all mean?" And it seems to me that Gawain finds himself in a situation where he can only fail; it's a question of which fault he will pick, I suppose. Again, in the words of my students, he needs to cut his losses and get out with as much dignity in tact as possible. Arguably, this is what he does. But he still feels himself to be a failure. And I think this is exactly what it "means." Humans fail. Expecting perfection just doesn't work. Gawain can't be entirely perfect all the time, as he learns, in spite of his intentions. And, in the end, it's OK. I suppose that as much as anything, this analysis is really coming from where I am right now. (Ok, ok this is maybe not very sophisticated literary criticism, but it's what it is. And really, if we can't learn about ourselves from literature, what's the point?) We try to be perfect; maybe we think we have to be perfect. But we can't. This world just doesn't work that way. And in the end, it's Ok.

I'm entirely honest that I struggle with perfectionism. And it makes me crazy and anxious and miserable, sometimes. And it also means that I do a really good job with some things, but I don't even enjoy my successes because I focus only on the one, tiny thing that could have been better. I'm learning more and more to move away from this, but it's hard. I know that some of you can identify. I was talking to a colleague today, and he seems to think it's a product of being a female of my generation. Maybe there's something to that. Maybe it's the same old issue that I have with feminism--the idea that I have to be all things to all people all the time. Only I can't.

So I've done it again: I have taken a post about something outside of me, and I have made it about me. But I guess this is what I needed to write.

One more thing: henceforth, I want to be known as Pajama Sam.

Some days, you work and you work. And you feel guilty because you've made a student cry. And you come home and work at not having a panic attack. And once the panic subsides, you work some more, grading essay exams, which turn out to be much better than you'd anticipated. But still, the panic is there just below the surface. And you try really hard not to give in to the urge to pick up the phone to call your ex-boyfriend. You just want someone to talk to, but you know that calling him will bite you in the backside in the end. So you just keep working. And all of a sudden the exams are graded, and it's 6:30. So you order a pizza with feta an artichoke hearts. And you watch Empire Records, all the while unable to remember if you've seen in before. And you think how you love this genre of cheezy, high school hijinx movies, all the while telling yourself that maybe tonight's the night to start that "thing" you've been meaning to write. And you hope that bed time comes soon. And you hope that once bed time arrives you'll be able to sleep. And the phone never rings.

Sometimes Blessings Come From Unexpected Places

I'm taking a break from grading midterms for my "Touchstones of Western Literature" course. One of three options that my students had was to write an analysis of the story in Genesis chapter 22, where God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. I was pleasantly surprised at how many students chose this particular option. I was even more pleasantly surprised by the insight of their responses. So many of them pointed out that doing what we are supposed to do is difficult but that we are blessed in the end, blessed precisely because we do the difficult thing. I suppose this is exactly what I needed to hear, yet I didn't expect to find it among a set of sophomore-level midterms.

It so often strikes me that what we need comes from a source we wouldn't have expected.

iPod and Podcasts

I have little energy for today's post, so I'll keep it short.

NPR's free podcasts are a wonderful thing.

D