Larry McMurtry's The Last Picture Show

I just finished reading McMurtry's The Last Picture Show. I'd never read McMurtry before, with the exception of the first hundred or so pages of Lonesome Dove, which I only just started on the plane last week. But Last Picture Show was interesting. It is in some ways a coming of age novel, and I tend to like those. But here, there seems to be an alienation, maybe even an inability to love or to find love, that goes along with the coming of age. (I'm always excited when my students remember that bildungsroman is the fancy-schmancy term for a coming of age novel!) Maybe it's a book about the whole post-modern sense of alienation. I don't know. But by the end, the characters, epsecially Sonny, feel like they want to be a part of something larger than themselves, but they can't. They can't connect. Maybe this is what resonates with me right now--the wanting to be part of something. Forster would remind us to "only connect." Maybe the very act of my blogging is connecting and being a part of the larger something. I'm blogging because I know that at least Dolce Carina will read this and will appreciate that I'm here and that I'm writing. She's on the bus with me; I know that. (Gosh, here I am turning a post about something else into something about me again!) I don't know. I want to believe that I am a part of something larger. And I guess that deep down, I do believe that. I just get discouraged sometimes.

Anyway, The Last Picture Show had way more sex than I'm really comfortable with--I feel the need to give this disclaimer. But it was an entertaining read. And I think it probably captures something about life in a small town. It's not the most deep, important, moving thing I've read lately, but it was OK.


I did like the film adaptation, which I saw a couple of years ago, and I think that Cybill Shepherd as Jacy Farrow is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Which is really neither here nor there, just an observation.

I have to read some stuff for school, but I think my next personal read will be Augustine's Confessions. How's that for a contrast? Or maybe Augustine is really about dealing with alienation and wanting to belong in this other kind of way. I guess I'll keep you posted (pun entirely intended!)

Miscellaneous

Ok, so I have about 10 minutes before I have to go to a meeting (ick!), and all I really want to do is write. I just got out of a yoga class--today's the first day of a 5-week class. I feel so much better than I did when I got up this morning. This should be a lesson to me.

So I've been thinking about style and my brother and what C. said. And I think really, that I should just dress the way I want to, provided that I don't wear marginally offensive tee shirts to work. For example, you know the one I have that says "Dorks are hot"? Well, not appropriate for work. But really, I mean, I can wear knee socks and fun colors, right? And I can wear all black with very purple lipstick, right? Or Hello Kitty tees. Hey, my students say that they like it when I dress like one of them. I mean really, why can't my uniform be a fun tee shirt, a denim skirt, colored tights, and then just to professional it up a little, a stylish jacket? What's wrong with that? I've toned it down some--my hair is a color that theoretically could be someone's natural color. I don't know. I just want to feel like I'm interesting looking. I don't even go for cute / pretty / attractive anymore; I gave up on that long ago. I strive for interesting. Lately, I just feel like I'm getting more and more boring, as far as my appearance goes, and I don't want that.

So the therapist I fired in October would say that I'm just focusing on the wrong things and trying to get attention for the wrong reasons. But I still maintain that's a gross misjudgment of my character. She actually told me that I needed to get new friends, friends who would apprecaite me for reasons other than my appearance. But I just don't think it's true.

This for Dolce Carina, Calamity Jane, Joybug, and all the rest: Loneliness and Riding the Bus

Ok, so here I am. And it's bed time. And I've had a good day, relatively speaking. I mean, I stuck to my list and did Pilates and read interesting stuff and took a bath and read some more and felt really relaxed. And now it's bed time (or something like it, but I'm still on West Coast time, which would be fine if only I were on the West Coast), and I find myself in spontaneous tears, and I don't know why. And I don't even have the hormone / baby excuse. But, you know, maybe that's the thing. Maybe it's just that I'm lonely. Maybe it's that all day my phone hasn't rung once. I know that I'm being petty. But I'm alone, and I'm afraid. And I don't understand why I can't just be OK ,and I don't understand why no one wants me, and I don't understand what's wrong with me that I'm successful in all the ways that don't really count. But in all the ways that count most, I'm a failure. I don't want to apologize for myself or my past or my feelings anymore, you know? I just want to be OK. And I don't know who started the whole bus metaphor, but I feel like I've been the only one on the bus for a long, long time. And right now, I am not sure that I want to stay on the bus any more.

So there's everyone else with the cute little house and the 2.5 kids, or whatever it is now, and what do I have to show for myself? A stupid piece of paper that says I'm supposedly an expert in something that no one really cares about anyway. And what does the piece of paper entitle me to? It entitles me to coddle / nurture / teach / mentor a bunch of 20-year-olds. And they appreciate me (I think, most of the time), but I give and give and give to all of them all day long until there's nothing left. But I guess it's OK because there's no one to burden with my nothing anyway.

So whatever. I'm just venting because it's better than crying alone for no apparent reason. Maybe I'm over tired. And my one wish for this moment is that there were someone to make biscotti with.

More Pics of My Brother J.

Here's another pictuer of my brother, the Gibb. Ok, ok, so the BeeGees references are getting old. But I like the vintage look. I think that J said something about opening himself up to ridicule by dressing the way he wants to, but I say, go for it bro. I think the world would be a much happier place if we all felt brave enough to pursue our own style.

I used to think that I had an interesting sense of style. I, however, am becoming increasingly conservative in my old age. Mind you, I don't mind the old age part, but I do mind the having to look more conservative or professional or something part. If I'm not careful, I'm mistaken for a student. That happens on the days when I wear something silly, like a Hello Kitty tee. Crap! I've turned a post about my brother into a post about me. But maybe that's OK, because maybe the whole style thing is like genetic. Maybe it runs in the family. I don't know though--our other brother would say that he doesn't share our sense of fashion. Which only goes to show that one man's trash is another man's treasure (inside joke!)

My Brother

Ok, so this is a picture of my youngest brother J. I'm posting this, in part, for his benefit so that he can add it to his MySpace or whatever.

I think he looks way kick-ass here. You'll note that his pants are authentic polyester double knit, and his sports coat is also vintage. I think he looks like one of the Gibb brothers. He's going for that 70s look, I guess.

He's 15, but he looks much older.

More pics of J are forthcoming!

Ok, so I'm just going to say it. . .

Ok, I'm lonely. I admit it. I am lonely, and I am sometimes scared. And sometimes I spend the day, waste the day, feeling anxious for no apparent reason. And here I am in VT, and it's so cold out, and everyone I love is far away. And some days I just don't want to do it any more. I admit all this. And it's OK that I feel like this. And deep, deep down I hope, I hold on to a tiny flicker of hope, that it won't always feel this way.

Insomnia Redux

Here I am, unable to sleep again. However, this time I chalk it up to jet lag. I'm not as frustrated as I might normally be, because I figure that getting up at 5:00 tomorrow morning ought to fix everything by tomorrow evening. Until I'm ready for bed, however, I think I need to write.

I'm frustrated that I can never seem to get as much done as I'd like. It's like I can't quite get my act together enough to decide what changes I need to make in my life. But that's not exactly true. I mean, my act is more together than most, I'd say. Honestly, I tend toward over-organization; I have this overly developed sense of responsibility. I'm not a procrastinator. I never have been. The real problem and the real source of my frustration is that I have unrealistic expectations. It sounds so neurotic when I admit it, but I expect more from myself than I would from other people. I'm not sure why I'm this way, although I could offer a few fairly convincing specualtions. I don't know that it really matters why I'm this way. But the reality that I live with is that I expect more of myself than any one person can reasonably accomplish. But it's frustrating. I don't have a spouse or children; I don't have the obligations that many of my friends have. It seems as though I should be able to do whatever I want with myself and my time, yet so much of it is wasted. Here it is, Sunday night, and I'm frustrated that I somehow didn't do more with my day. I know, I know: I should focus on what I have accomplished today, this week, this month, this lifetime. And yet, there's always the sneaking feeling, just at the edge of my consciousness, that my life somehow should amount to more. I'll be 31 in just a few weeks, and it seems as though I should have more to show for 31 years.

I've been told that my problem is with contentment. I don't think that's necessarily the case. I think that the "problem" I have is that I'm not realistic about my physical and emotional capabilities. I think I'm realistic about the capabilities of others. I would never, never berate my dear friend C., for example, if she were in my position. I'd encourage her; I'd point out all her accomplishments; I'd tell her it was OK not to be perfect and productive and happy all the time. I'd tell her it was normal; in fact, I did tell her it was normaly earlier this evening. So why can't I say and believe those things about myself? It's OK and it's entirely normal to do nothing some days. It's OK to work only 8 or 10 hours a day. It's OK to feel disappointed when disappointing things happen. And it's OK to miss a day of exercise. I'm going to work at telling myself that all these things are OK. I'm going to work at talking to myself the way that I would talk to anyone that I respect and care about.

A Quick Summary of My Trip

Ok, as some of you know, I just returned home from a week-long visit to my family in California. I just wanted to post a couple of quick observations:

One: The weather in California was perfect the entire trip. I think it was in the 70s every day. As a result, returning to Vermont and temperatures in the teens is rather unpleasant.

Two: I have a neice who's nearly five. She says about the funniest things that I've ever heard. More on E. later.

Three: I have a brother who's fifteen. He says the second funniest things I've ever heard. He's recently changed up his style for the better. He's gone from marginally offensive heavy metal tees and baggy jeans to a vintage 70s look with polyester bell bottoms and the whole thing. I think he looks good and admire his fashion sense and the self-confidence that it must take to wear thrift store pants and jackets handed down from dad.

Four: Fifteen year old brother is also a dancer. I saw him performing in scenes from Into the Woods Friday night. He plays the Big Bad Woolf, ha ha. He dances in a number that he choreographed himself. It was very impressive. He wore cool stage make up. He's also a kick-ass actor. I think that teen age boys who can do a good pirouette are pretty impressive.

Five: Spent much of the trip pointing out to my mom men who aren't my "type." Sadly, didn't encounter a single one who is my "type." Does this mean I'm too picky? I'd admit that I'm particular in ways that others would find odd.

Six: started reading Larry McMurtry.

These are just the hilights. More later, if I feel inclined.

MC Hammer has a Blog:

Here's a link to a blog that supposedly is the real MC Hammer's:

http://mchammer.blogspot.com/

Do we really believe this belongs to the real MC? I think it looks pretty convincing. Does anyone remember when MC was on the first season of The Surreal Life with Vince Neil (or is it Neal?) and Webster and Cory Feldmann? Good times. Apparently, MC Hammer is an ordained minister of something or another.

So if MC is blogging, I figure all the cool kids are doing it.

I'm Back Home

"It's snowing. It's snowing. @#* I hate this weather."

Jessica Simpson

I hope this goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway.

I am really annoyed by Jessica Simpson. And, really, I don't see what is supposed to be so attractive about her. I really don't get it.

Random

Today I stayed at work later than I might have because the governor was visiting the campus to promote some new plan for funding student aid. Well, it seems to funny to me that the governor can bother to visit such a small campus with so few students. Clearly, I'm comparing this to my California experience where the Governator wouldn't be able to visit a small campus, but then I guess maybe our campus isn't so small by VT standards. You know, we are the largest of the three state colleges. It all seems funny somehow. The high point of the talk was when one faculty member's cell phone rang really loudly, but he couldn't seem to locate the phone in his many coat pockets. He finally had to leave. I would have been embarrassed, so much so that I wouldn't have come back. But not Professor K. He returned about 10 minutes later, during the Q and A time, raised his hand, announced that he was the "idiot" whose cell phone rang, then proceded to ask a question that had already been answered. It was too much.

I'm reading Lloyd Alexander's The Black Cauldron. It's lots of fun. In my class we're talking about the ways in which fantasy draws on various mythic traditions; here Alexander clearly uses Welsh myth. Tomorrow, we're going to look at selections from the Mabinogion. This is such fun--everything I love all at once. Well, most everything I love all at once: fantasy, european myth, medievalism. If only we could throw pasta, chocolate, and red wine into the mix, I'd have reached nirvana. Ok, ok I know that's not really nirvana, not at all. But wouldn't it be lovely? Oh, let's not forget tea and Boston terriers and late night phone calls from boys. Hee hee.

To DVL and sundry others: Yes, I really kinda like They Might Be Giants. Does this make me geeky? Probably. I have a theory that there's about a 5-year age window of people who know TMBG and the rest of the population doesn't know who they are. So, yes, I'm totally dating myself my mentioning my undieing like. However, this changes nothing. And it's all very silly, I know. But I refuse to apologize for it all. In case anyone's interested, my musical true love is, of course, the Beatles. I think the Cranberries are fun. I listen to this cool / whack group called the Medieval Babes as well.

So I know this has all be v. random, and I'm fine with that.

Just a warning: I'll be out of town for a week starting Saturday, so don't be surprised if you don't hear from me. My apologies to those of you who have come to rely on me for your bedtime reading.

Mermaids and Manatees

I know that I should be working at something or another, but I really just want to write. So here I am. What I wanted to say is that I really like mermaids and manatees. I find mermaids and sirens so appealing as mythical characters ("Is mythology true? Like was there a time when people really lived like that? Or is it all just a bunch of myths?"--inside joke). I am entranced by this representation of powerful, seductive females. And I tend to associate water with some sort of female principle. It's like mermaids are these strong, self sufficient females. I'm not explaining this very well. Cixous talks about "the laugh of the Medusa," and I don't pretend to understand Cixous, but I really think that if I were going to write about female power, I'd choose the mermaid or siren as my metaphor, not Medusa, although she's interesting too. There's just more going on here than just a set of stories about mermaids and sirens. I think of Andersen's "The Little Mermaid" (let the record show that Andersen's story has very little in common with the Disney adaptation--my students are often shocked by this). . .anyway, I think of Andersen's story as implying that to become a fully functioning, healthy woman, a man is needed. The Little Mermaid, who significantly does not even have a name, must give up her agency to win the man she loves; she gives up her voice and can walk only with great pain. Yet, it seems that we are to praise her for these sacrifices, sacrifices for "love." Yet she doesn't even get what she wants in the end. She's turned into sea foam with the possibility of gaining an eternal soul, only if the child reader is good enough. I mean, what's that all about? Mermaids / sirens are powerful because they can exist happily enough in a community without men, it seems to me. In Andersen's story, the Little Mermaid's sisters are happy without human men. Oh, I get frustrated when I can't say things the way I intend to. I'll just write the best I can and revise later.

But then we also have the very real manatees. Although they are endangered, I hope they will be around for a very long time. I like manatees quite a lot. In part, I admit I like them because it is thought that when sailors first encountered manatees and other species of sea cows, they confused them with the mythical sirens. In fact, the biological order to which the species belongs is "sirenia," emphasizing this. But manatees are not particularly beautiful, nor do they appear at all seductive in the ways that we might associate with sirens. Manatees are fairly docile, which is probably one of the reasons why they are endangered. They get in the way of boat propellers and are often injured badly. I suppose it would be more accurate to say that humans invade the manatees' territory, creating havoc for the creatures. I know this is silly, but manatees make me think of really big puppies. And they are sea "cows," not bulls or steers. We implicitly associate them with the female. Oh, this isn't going where I'd hoped. I'm not explaining at all in the way I want to. I guess I think of manatees as kinder, gentler mermaids. They are mermaids in their own way, mermaids in our world. That's another reason I like them. It's a way to pretend that the line between so-called fantasy and reality is in fact blurred. To know that manatees exist maybe allows for the possibility of other so-called mythical creatures. I want to believe in mermaids. I know it sounds silly, but I do. And maybe manatees are close enough.

Musings

Ok, so yesterday evening, my mom asked if I was going to post my "musings" on Valentine's Day. I really have nothing to say about the topic (this doesn't happen very often). But here we are. It's the day after V Day, and I have nothing to say, no musings at all.

So I went to work this morning, and 12 hours later I left. And I'm tired, so tired. But coming home seems so very lonely. I just want to talk to someone sympathetic, but there's no one to talk to, not right now. I called my mom on the way home, so I've sorta already used that resource. I don't know. I walked into my dark, crappy apartment and just felt so isolated, you know? And I'm really thankful that Guinn and Polly are here because at least I have them. But I'm so discouraged about feeling distant and isolated and cold. What was I thinking when I moved here in the first place. And now I'm here writing this because it makes me feel a little better, a little less lonely knowing that I can write and maybe someone will read it and care. I guess I just wish that there were more to come home too. Maybe I'm just over tired.

Meetings. . .Arrgh!

I know this isn't a very original observation. I spend way more time each week in meetings than I really want to. I'm on my way to one in just a few minutes. I really hate it. It always feels like such a waste of time. There are so many things I could be doing that would contribute to my teaching effectiveness, but instead I'm stuck in meetings were everyone says the same thing over and over again. Maybe it's naive of me, but I didn't anticipate this when I pursued a career in academia. Dumb! So here I am, spending precious hours in meetings.

Insomnia / Anxiety

I don't know why I feel the need to post this, but there is something comforting about the thought of documenting what I'm thinking and feeling, so here goes. . .

You know the soy latte I promised myself several posts and several hours ago? Well, it turned into a near-fatal decision, let me tell you. I made myself the latte, which seemed like a good idea at the time. But now I'm wanting to start at least thinking about bed time, but I'm all like "Brrrrr." I don't know how else to say it. I can feel the insomnia creeping up on me, and that is making me anxious and panicky. So here I am, on the verge of panic, all because I'm worried that I won't sleep well--another of those self-fulfilling prophecy thingys. I've read recently that insomnia is really about fear that one won't be able to sleep, and that makes sense to me. Again, here I am thinking, "Ok, so I have a big day tomorrow, and what will I do if I can't get at least 7 good hours of sleep? What will happen to me then because I'm going to have to be at work for at least 11 hours tomorrow. Crap! I need to get to sleep right now. If only I can get to sleep within the next hour, it'll be OK." And on and on like that. And I start to worry, although I know it's counter productive, and I'm working myself up into this state of panic. And I feel really stupid about it all, but I don't know how to stop either.

And there's the other kind of insomnia, not the trouble with getting asleep, but the trouble with staying asleep. Therapists tell me that this has to do with dream activity. I guess I get to sleep OK sometimes, but apparently, I dream things that are upsetting somehow, so there it is 2:00am, and I'm wide awake. And I toss and turn for a hour or more. I really hate that. When it happens at, say, midnight, it's a little better because then there's at least stuff on TV, but the one channel I get is off the air for a couple of hours, until 5:30. That I even know this is a testament to my sleep issues. Anyhow, I hate all that. I just want to sleep like a normal person.

Why can't I be normal?

They Might Be Giants

I've already written a lot this evening, but I just wanted to say that I really like They Might Be Giants. And I'm listening to "Particle Man" right now, and it makes me happy. Does this make me truly nerdy? I'm not sure. There's something about their music that makes me feel hopeful. That's probably a sad commentary on either my lack of maturity or more likely my taste in music. Does anyone else even remember They Might Be Giants?

What I've Been Reading

Ok, just on principle, here's a quick update on what I've been reading this week:

1. I finished Beowulf. I know I've said it before, but I really love it. So satisfying in its pre-Christian sort of way.

2. Susan Cooper's Greenwich. Also very satisfying for it's pre-Christian / pagan elements. I think this is my favorite if Cooper's Dark is Rising sequence, a fantasy series that continues to appeal to me. One thing I really am interested in here is that Cooper, for the only time in this series, deals with femaleness / the feminine. And it's fascinating. Arguably, she ends up falling back into very traditional gender roles--woman as nurturer--but I appreciate that she's grappling with this topic in a genre that until recently has focused almost exclusively on the male experience. I like that she allows that maybe there's some sort of femine power that is substantively different from male power. Here I'll show that at heart I am an essentialist, so some of you can take me to task for that. But I do believe that male and female are essentially different in some ways, other than simple biology. And Cooper makes an attempt to explore this in a way that still works for young adults.

3. I've spend much of the past two days reading Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, but I'm not ready to write about it yet maybe. It does make me think of the ways in which our biology seems to be our destiny. No matter how hard I try to get away from it, I'm still someone who longs for rather traditional male / female relationships in my own life. I don't know. I'm not articulating this well at all, but it does seem to me that the boundaries created by our bodies are real, are more than simple social structures.

Again, I've just displayed that I'm not such a good feminist. And really, I'm fine with that.

Irritable Bowel Syndrome

Ok, I am posting this mostly for the benefit of Joybug because she always seems to enjoy my adventures (or misadventures). And I want to start off by saying that I realize that irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) is no laughing matter, but I also want to say that context is everything. In the words of Jim West, one of my favorite people ever: Context is King. I feel like it's OK to relate this story because it happened in a fairly public forum.

A couple of weeks ago in my picture book class, we were studying Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit, and we were looking at the picture of Peter with a full, sick tummy after he's over indulged on carrots, lettuce and the like. So Peter is holding his sides and looks fairly sick. And one student in the back of the room raises his hand and says, "Well, I know how Peter feels, and this picture is very realistic, because I have irritable bowel syndrome, or IBS, and when you gotta go, you gotta go. And I mean it's really bad. And this looks totally realistic, and I can totally sympathize with Peter because I have IBS, and I know exactly what he feels like and what's going through his mind right now."

I didn't know how to respond to that, and believe me, I'm not often speechless. But the whole point about Peter is NOT that he has IBS but that 1.) He's disobeyed his mother and has to suffer and 2.) he stuffing himself with veggies so that should he should he be made into rabbit pie, like his father, he'll be all plumped up and seasoned and stuff. But his medical history is not an issue here. But really more to the point, who volunteers this sort of information in front of 19 of his peers? I'm pretty open about things like that, but it was totally irrelevant. Which, again, illustrates that context is everything.

A couple of days ago, I saw one of the females from the class, and she said, "I couldn't believe that guy said all that about IBS. I mean, his chances of getting a date on this campus have gone WAY down."

Why does this kind of thing have to happen to me?