Singing A New Sgt. Pepper Song

And so last night, my favorite best friend called around 8:00, and since then, I'm singing a new song. She listened to all my worries and said all the right kinds of encouraging things. I think that you know you've found a really good friend when you tell her all the stupid decisions you've made, and she doesn't make you feel like you are so stupid after all. And so now, I keep thinking, "I get by with a little help from my friends."

I Love You, Billy Shears!

Ok, so I woke up with this crazy headache, which I was sure the perfect cup of coffee would cure. Incidentally, I've a new favorite coffee; it's Green Mountain Coffee Roaster's Harvard Blend. And I'm pretty sure it's only avaliable in New England. But it's this great blend of light and dark roasts, not too bitter. It, however, did not completely cure my headache. And the weird part about all of it is, I can't stop singing the Sgt. Pepper album to myself. You know it's like I'm walking down the hall, hearing "Woke up, fell outta bed, ran a comb across my head." And later: "We're Seargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we hope you will enjoy the show." And still later: "And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong, I'm right, where I belong I'm right, where I belong. See the people standing there who disagree and never win and wonder why they don't get in my door."

And another thing. . .

I'm rather fed up with Sophocles. One can only read the Oedipus cycle so many times before losing interest. It's hard to teach as though one is excited about something that's become "old hat." Now, Hans Christian Andersen, on the other hand, is infinitely fascinating at the moment. And this morning, I made what I thought were interesting, maybe even brilliant (OK, so brilliant is probably over-stating it) observations about Andersen's "Little Mermaid" and "The Snowman." Oh yeah, so if you ever are assigned to read Andersen's "The Little Mermaid," don't think that you can skip the reading just because you've seen the Disney movie. WARNING PLOT SPOILER!!!! Andersen's story does not "end happily" with "Ariel" and the prince "getting married." Should you be asked to summarize the story, don't try to fake it by assuming that Andersen's story ends like the Disney movie. And, whatever you do, don't say to your instructor, "It really kinda pisses me off how Andersen messed with the Disney movie. I don't think he really has a right to take a good story and mess it up like that with a dumb ending." These are just helpful hints from my own observations and experiences.

And one more thing: if you are in a class in which Andersen is being discussed, please don't bring up all kinds of crazy urban myths surrounding the Disney movie. That's just not helpful to anyone.

A Quick Note on Susan Howatch

Recently, someone posted a comment regarding Susan Howatch, and I feel compelled to reply. I'm actually not sure who posted the comment, but I'm guessing it must have been L.C., because he's the only one I can think of that I know has read Howatch's novels. So I just wanted to throw out a couple of observations:

First, I agree that the Starbridge novels seemed to explore the masculine psyche, generally speaking. I would note that the one in which Venicia has the affair with the married guy (was he Argyle? I don't remember), seems to be an exception, in that Venicia's point of view is dealt with there, specifically her tendency to fall in love with an older, father figure type.

Second, I've read Wonder Worker and the next in the Nicholas Darrow series--was it High Flyer? And I agree that both seem to explore the woman's experience in a way that the Starbridge novels (and I think I've read all of those) just don't. But what I find really interesting is that mysticism and the miraculous are explored more deeply in Wonder Worker and High Flyer. Although Darrow's father certainly has mystical experiences in the Starbridge series, it seems that the mystical element of Christianity, the mystical possibilities are dealt with more directly in this series that deals more directly with the female experience. And I don't know what to make of this. Naturally, because I'm me, I automatically think of Margery Kempe and especially Julian of Norwich, where mystical Christianity becomes so much feminized (We all remember the whole Jesus as Mother argument, right?) So is there some necessary connection between the female experience of Christianity, feminism, and mysticism?

Third, I want to publicly acknowledge that Howatch is not "high" literature in any sense of the word. In fact, I think she's a pulpy romance writer who turns to Anglican settings and characters. That said, her novels are good reads, provide an interesting way into different brands of Anglicanism, but are, in the end, rather soap opera like. Forgive me if I'm making too much of Howatch. I just suddenly felt interested and thought I should sound off.

This Morning

Trying not to cry. . .trying not to cry. . .trying not to cry

Can I still be a feminist if. . .

I decide to take up papercrafts?

I make a really kick-ass apple pie?

I think that crocheting is a lot more exciting than activism, marching for peace, or recycling?

I still think that stay-at-home moms are the biggest heroes in the world?

I love C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien?

I'm in love with Inspector Morse?

I wear glittery eye-shadow?

I actually WANT to live in traditional gender roles, at least some of them?

I have to call my dad every time I have a problem with my car or my yard?

I worry about my weight, about looking "interesting," about all my grey hair?

pink is my favourite colour?

I cry every time I watch You've Got Mail, mostly because I don't have any interesting "mail"?

although I say I want a career, I secretly envy all my friends with toddlers and houses in the suburbs?

I still believe that an intimate relationship with a man will necessarily make my life more fulfilling?

It's not quite 8:00 am, and I'm at work. And class starts at 8:00, and thank goodness I can teach this one with only a tiny sliver of brains, because most of my energy this morning is taken up by simply trying not to cry.

Father Brown and "Only Connect:" This One's For Dolce Carina

Ok, so I'm reading Chesterton's Father Brown stories. And I'm all super excited about it for any number of reasons. But what I'm noticing most right now is that everything I'm reading (Chesterton and everything else!) is reminding me of all kinds of other stuff I've already read. It's like it's all connected, and knowledge, books, reading, thinking, all of it seems to become this matrix in which to live and work and think and love, you know? And this is good, right, because we know that insanity is compartmentalizing our lives, trying to separate the professional from the personal, the work from the reward. And Father Brown, who so reminds me of C.S. Lewis, is both the work and the reward right now. And this makes me happy.

And C.S. Lewis read and liked and appreciated Chesterton's work. But Father Brown himself says things that Lewis's characters, maybe even Lewis himself, would have said: "Reason and justice grip the remotest and loneliest star. Look at those stars. Don't they look as the they were single diamonds and sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don't fancy that all that frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason and justice of conduct. One plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pears, you would still find a notice-board, 'Thou shalt not steal.'" This could totally be Lewis's Ransom; in fact, this very idea is maybe what Lewis's entire Space Trilogy is really about.

But Lewis, Tolkien, now Chesterton, even Inspector Morse (had a date with Morse last night), all these these writers, these characters, they seem to be doing the same kind of thing somehow, not just with morals and Christianity, but with cultural identity, what it means to be English, what it means to have a medieval cultural heritage. So here I am, right back at medievalism, right back at my dissertation. And it all makes sense. And suddenly the dissertation itself feels like more than just a hoop to jump through, more than just an exercise. It's become a foundation, a foundation to do and think other kinds of things. It's led to, or maybe it's created, this nexus, this matrix. And now I can say for sure that I'm a better person for having finished it.

So I hope that at least some of this made sense. It's what I needed to write just now. The important thing, at least for the moment, is that I'm reading Chesterton, and Chesterton means something to me. And Chesterton will connect back to Lewis, to Tolkien, and someday will connect to Dalgleish, to Morse.

Peeps!

Ok, so my friend A. just gave me the coolest, best gift ever. It's for the Labor Day holiday, and guess what it is. Go ahead. . . guess. So, you want me to just tell you? Ok. . .wait for it. . .wait for it. . .it's a make your own Peeps kit. It includes "colored sugar packets" and a "surprise mold inside." Isn't that the greatest thing ever?

Livin' on California Time

So yesterday morning, I was teaching, and I tend to glance and my watch often. Because, you know, once I start talking, it's hard to stop. So I have to keep glancing at my notes, which by the way are usually meticulous because I'm me, and in my notes, I have everything all timed out. So I'm teaching, watching the minute hand, realizing that there's only about 10 minutes left in class, and there's still so much more I want to say about early printed works for children, because that's the topic for the day. And I notice that my watch is still set for West Coast time, three hours earlier than what it really is. Maybe I hadn't worn this watch since I'd been back from California. I don't know. In class, when I realized that my watch was set for California time, I nearly cried then and there! And maybe it's fitting, because I think about California time all the time anyway. I'll look at the clock and think, "Hey it's 9:30 here; that means it's 6:30 in California. Dad is probably on his way to McFarland to check out the grapes." Or, "Hey it's 10:30, so I should go to bed, but in California, everyone's finishing dinner and settling in for the evening." You know, that kind of thing. It's like having this sense of some weird sort of dual consciousness.

Saving My Sanity

I want to publically acknowledge that writing here and reading speckedmavens and the fidfam blogs are saving my sanity. Or at least, these things are making significan contributions. I suppose I shouldn't discount yoga, reading Proverbs, or tea.

A Pirate's Life for Me!

Is it OK if I take up scrapbooking? I've avoided it on principle for so long, but lately, I've forgotten what the principle was. And hey, when you were a kid, did your mom tell you that you could remember the difference between "principle" and "principal" by remembering that the school principal is your pal? Did your mom say that too? Did she ever say, upon getting in the car in the evening, "Let's just try to have a quiet ride home"? Did yours say that too?

So here's a pic of me and Polly. And I like this one a lot. I just think she has the cutest, funniest little face that I'v ever seen. In the words of some, "She's just a little bit too goosie!"

Really Good Coffee Maker

I'm posting this, in part, because Dolce Carina requested a review of my new coffee maker.

I've been thinking about coffee quite a lot lately, and it seems to me that if one is going to bother with the time and expense and hassle of coffee, it ought to be a really good cup of coffee. I mean, I can't stand bad coffee. And for some reason, I get really annoyed with what I call Coffee Posers. OK, so really, that's not my coinage, but it works. So in the pursuit of really good coffee, I decided it was time to upgrade to a nicer coffee maker. And I bought this great Cuisinart coffee maker. And it's totally cool. The flavour is much nicer. And it doesn't have a carafe, but all the coffee is kept hot inside the thingy (there's a technical term, "thingy") so it doesn't get all burnt tasting or bitter or anything.

So, I was hoping I could write this really smart review that would let you all know exactly how in-love I am with this new coffee maker (Hey, aren't I always claiming to be "in love" with this or that? Let's see. . .there's the coffee maker, cream tea, Inspector Morse. I really sound unbalanced! Or maybe my priorities are just all crazy.) And it isn't a smart review at all. But I guess it does answer the question, you know? Maybe simply answering the question is good enough.

Why do these things happen to me?

So here's the long-version of the I-got-mooned-and-I'm-too-old-for-this story. All weekend, I was working at first-year orientation. And it was mostly anything but fun. So I'm teaching this First Year Seminar in which, in addition to the academic portion of the course, I meet with new students and talk with them and we do activities designed to help them successfully make the transition to college. For example, we'll have presentations about, say, study skills and time management. Anyway, on Saturday night, we had this presentation on "Equalogy," which already bugs me because it isn't even a real word. But the so-called Equalogy deal is this skit-type thingy designed to get students thinking about the evils of acquaintance rape. Now, I think this is an important topic to cover because acquaintance rape is such a wide-spread problem on campuses. I detest even calling it "acquaintance" rape, as though the fact that the victim knows the attacker makes it less horrible somehow. Or as though the attackers actions are somehow mitigated by knowing the victim. Anyway, the presentation was really bad, offensive on so many levels. Last year, I remember walking out about 1/3 of the way through the presentation, because I found it objectionable. It's this skit, right? And it opens with this scene with 4 college students at a party, drinking and telling all kinds of sexist jokes. The sexual innuendo abounds, and naturally, we, the audience, are enouraged to laugh. I mean, in something that's supposed to open our eyes to the sexist attitudes that lead to the perpetuation of rape and rape-myth, we are supposed to laugh at sexism. Nothing is done to problematize it. This goes on and on, with the students behaving increasingly disturbingly. And by "students," I mean our students, my students, not the actors on stage. They are laughing, asking off-color questions during the question time, and finally, cheering during the final rape scene. I was horrified, horrified, I tell you!

So afterwards, we're supposed to have a sort of talk back session with our groups. Each faculty member teaching a FYS, has 18 first-year students. So only about 2/3 of my group shows up for this mandatory activity. You can imagine that my mood is getting increasinly bad, irritable. I'm angry at having to sit through such an offensive presentation, angry that my students had to sit through it, disturbed that some students clapped and cheered during the rape, yadda, yadda, yadda. My mood, however, begins to improve as I discuss matters with my students. Many of them display remarkable maturity and insight. And many, without prompting, express concern that some in the audience reacted the way they did. So this is going on, in the classroom, and two students are outside the window--we have these large picture windows, and the room is at ground level. So the guys outside walk by, real obvious like. They walk by again. Then a third time. I'm certain they are simply wanting attention, so I studiously ignore them. Until they pull their pants down and press their backsides against the window.

Seriously, should I have to deal with this? Is this what my life has come to? Is this why I got my PhD, only to be "mooned" by a pair of unruly 18-year-olds, when I'm supposed to be discussing acquaintance rape? Seriously, how does this kind of thing happen?

And I Got my PhD for This. . .

So last night, while I was having a follow-up discussion with my students about acquaintance rape, our class was mooned. Seriously. Is this why I'm teaching college instead of high school? I'll post the full story later.

I'm not sure what it is I need to say just now, only that I need to write something. Have you ever felt like you don't know who you are anymore, that lost feeling? Like you used to be someone definite (or have at least a definite sense of self, or maybe just a persona to project to the world), only that person got lost somewhere along the way? I know I'm not articulating this very well, but recently, I hear myself saying things, even thinking things, and I think, "Is this me? I don't remember being this sort of person, someone who says this sort of thing. When did this happen?"

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and for a few moments, I think I'm in Riverside, living where I live there and that I'm still with J. And for those few moments, I'm happy, and I think I know who I am and where my life is headed. But, of course, it all comes crashing down, when I realize that I'm the new me, the post-J me, doubtlessly a sadder-but-wiser-me, a less hopeful me. I can't quite decide if I like this new me. I liked the person I was at 19, the young woman who could see hope, who wanted a future. Now, most of the time, I just try to make it through the day without crying too much.

Oh, and One More Thing

Can I just give a yip of joy that, at long last, leggings are again fashionable? Seriously, this open a whole new vista of interesting fashion possibilities that I would never have thought possible. My current favorite being the fashion possibility of wearing a cute micro-mini over leggings. I mean, I get the fun of a mini without the potential immodesty, not to mention embarrassment, that could result from such a fashion decision. And yes, I love the whole dress-over-leggings-or-jeans-look. It seems fun, interesting, yet totally wearable. So hooray for leggings.

P.S. Bought the cutest knee-highs at Old Navy today. I'll have to take a picture soon. I think that I need to get back on the Sock Project Bandwagon.

Susan Cooper's King of Shadows

Last weekend, I read Cooper's King of Shadows. I think her Dark is Rising sequence is just great, so I was excited about this title. It wasn't as wonderful as I was hoping, but it wasn't bad either. So it's the story of a boy, he's maybe 12, who's playing Puck in a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in 1999. But one day he wakes up, and it's 1599, but he's still playing Puck. He meets Shakespeare and what-have-you. What I did think was interesting about the book was the way in which Cooper depicts Elizabethan society, specifically the politics surrounding Shakespeare's theatre. Shakespeare and Richard Burbage are shown having to walk a fine line between appearing to support Essex and still really supporting Elizabeth. It just seems to me that this and so many other cultural elements are forgotten in our misguided attempt to present Shakespeare as high culture. Shakespeare was pop culture, and it seems to me so important to think of him that way. He wrote to make money, writing what he believed the people wanted to see, would pay money to see. None of this art for art's sake business. OK, so enough rant. I make no claim to being a Renaissance scholar. Still, Cooper is saying, especially to young people, something important that it seems that we so often forget about Shakespeare.