Oh, and next time I'm in CA, I really, really, really want to visit the La Brea Tar Pits.  I've been before and all, but I just really want to go again.

Thursday Thirteen: Personal Anthems

I haven't done the Thursday Thirteen in AGES.  But this morning on the way to work, I realized that there is this whole set of song which, when I sing them at the top of my lungs, make me feel somehow better.  And I decided that a list of such songs would work for the T13.  I have to say that "personal anthems" doesn't really seem like an appropriate term for this list, but I can't think of anthing better.  So here we have it:  songs which, when I sing them, automatically make me feel better.  They work best sung as loud as possible while driving down the highway, windows down.

1.  Willie Nelson:  "Where the Soul Never Dies"

2.  Creedence:  "Lookin' Out my Backdoor"

3.  The Pixies:  "Here Comes Your Man"

4.  Tom Petty: "Mary Jane's Last Dance," but I'm also big on the one about "you don't know how it feels to be me."

5.  U2: "Stuck in a Momen," but "Mysterious Ways" is right up there

6.  The Beach Boys: "Sloop John B."

7.  Dusty Springfield: "Son of a Preacher Man"

8.  Aerosmith: "Rag Doll."  I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but for a while my "party trick" was knowing (and singing) all the lyrics to this particular song.

9.  The Beatles: "Here Comes the Sun"

10.  The Specials: "Enjoy Yourself"

11.  REM:  "The End of the World."  Oh, but I am also quite fond of "Superman."

12.  ABBA:  "Take a Chance on Me"

13.  The Eagles: "Heartache Tonight."  Oh, and in case I've never told you this, I think "Hotel California" is cursed.  So don't listen to it all the way through.

So things have felt weird lately.  And don't ask me what I mean by "weird."  It's just like everything's been a little off, you know?  So maybe I should be embarrassed to admit this, but I've been reading some of the _Gossip Girl_ novels, and boy are they bad.  Really, really bad on just about every conceivable level.  Seriously, these novels have no redeeming qualities whatsoever, as far as I can see.  Of course, the logical question at this point is why am I reading them.  And I can't really even say why.

Also, adding I think to my general feeling of weirdness is that on Tuesday, I attempted to explain literary postmodernism to my students.  And I can never really define or explain postmodernism in a way that really works.  So I always resort to just looking at some examples, and I think it works, but I am never quite sure.  And so we spend all this time looking at _The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales_, which is OK because it's a children's lit class and stuff.  But I guess I feel unsure.

More later about general weirdness.

Degrassi

OK, have I mentioned that over the past year or so, I've watched a ridiculous number of Degrassi episodes?  It's so, so bad on so many levels, and yet, it's like I can't stop watching.  Here's a break down for those of you who may not know what Degrassi is.  There are several incarnations of Degrassi, the most recent being Degrassi: The Next Generation.  But basically, it was a series first produced in the late 1980s and early 90s in Canada.  The program apparently received subsidies from the Canadian government and ran in the States on PBS at that time.  The Kids of Degrassi Street was followed by Degrassi Junior High and finall, predictably, but Degrassi High.  The series was resurrected as Degrassi: the Next Generation, which is now on season 8, I think.  Currently, The Next Generation (which sounds Star Trek-y but isn't) runs in syncdication on the cable network The N but also elsewhere, such as my local Fox station.  Episodes are available on hulu and can be streamed from Netflix, if anyone is interested.

I guess that originally, the show was conceived of as dealing with "issues" that face the real teenager:  drugs, alcohol, sex, unwanted pregnancy, all the things that "real" teens in the "real" world apparently deal with.  It was supposed to be a realistic look at being a teen, as opposed to the more sugar-coated representations that were available.  Anyway, one result of this is that we have a limited cast, maybe 12 teens, who deal with an inordinate amount of problems.  Seriously, I hope that no one teen has to face as many problems / issues / drugs / cases of sexual assault as any one of the teens on The Next Generation faces.  There's a truly soap opera quality to the whole thing, IMO.

Anyway, I cannot at all figure out why I find this compelling.  I mean, I tend to read and watch a lot of pretty trashy media aimed at preteens and teens (I tell myself that I need to keep up, as part of professional development or something, but really I find it relaxing!)  But why am I drawn to this nonsense, which in no way reflects my own experience of junior high or high school.  What I'm trying to say is that I'm pretty sure it's not about nostalgia.  Nor are the issues dealt with in a particularly interesting way.  For all the attempt at being progressive, it strikes me as a repackaging of hetero-normative, white, middle class values and lives.  In fact, when I went to a conference a couple of weeks ago, I went to a panel dealing with Degrassi, and one of the papers I heard explored this very topic--the ways in which, although the teens have sex, the representations of promiscuous females is really NOT terribly progressive. 

One thing I do like about the earlier episodes, even of The Next Generation, is that the males do, for the most part, look very much like average, teen males, often complete with acne and a physical awkwardness that seem authentic.  The producers seem to be using more of the beautiful people in the more recent episodes.  And on the whole, the females are more attractive than the males.  Is this sending the message that it's more acceptable for males to be somewhat unattractive but that females have to be pretty all the time?  I don't know.  I'd like to see more average-looking women with leading roles.  I guess that's not going to happen. 

I am not sure where I'm going with this post.  Maybe it's just this:  long before Gossip Girl, the Canadians depicted teens partying, sleeping around, and living with little adult guidance or even interaction. 

Oh and one more thing:  Have I mentioned that there are days when all I really want is to be in So Cal?

OK, I'm sitting here eating a hot, toasted, buttered bagle, thinking that I really should post more often.  Everything's just felt so crazy lately.  And it's like I have ZERO motivation to actually get anything done, particularly work-related stuff.  And I know that when I feel this way, writing--blogging, journaling, even e-mailing--often helps me feel more grounded.  So yeah.  There are only three weeks of class left in our semester--and I guess that's good.  I mean, in some ways, I'm so "over" it, so ready to be done.  But in others, it feels overwhelming, like there's so much to be done in so little time.  I am looking forward to simply having some time off, to having time for other stuff.  I feel like my house is a totally mess, and my yard needs some serious attention.  But really, I'm thankful just to have a yard.  I don't know--I've been feeling weird about things lately, like there's something missing from my life, but I can't totally put my finger on what it is, although I have my suspicions!  And it feels like there's really nothing I can do about it anyway.  And so I just try not to think about it, you know?  Seriously, I just never really featured myself as a "career woman."  And what really gets to me are those people (some of you know the types) in the church who are all critical of "career women" and who would probably say that my personal problems stem from my choosing of a career over marriage.  And that really gets to me because I didn't choose career over marriage and family.  I can honestly say that I never one put career above those things.  I've just tried to make the best of the hand I've been dealt (metaphorically speaking), even if it's not the hand I would have chosen for myself.  And sometimes, I want to say to people, "Look, instead of the criticism, how about extending a little kindness and understanding."  I mean, really, I kinda always assumed I'd end up like just about everyone else I know, living a quiet life as a homemaker in suburbia, spending time with family, attending my same little chuch, the one I grew up in.  And it just didn't work out that way for me.  And it's not that I'm not content with my lot in life; it's just that it's really, really hard sometimes.  And I feel like so few people get that.  There are times when I want to say, "Umm. . . .a little help?"  But there's no one to ask for help.  It gets overwhelming.  And even now, after 5 years, there are still nights when I miss J. so much that I cry myself to sleep.  Wow!  When I started typing, I had no idea I'd get into all this--guess it's what I needed to say just right now.

To Tweet or Not To Tweet

So I've been debating about getting aboard the Twitter Train.  My hesitations?  It seems somewhat self indulgent--I mean does anyone really need updates of what I'm doing every 30 minutes?  Also, I'm afraid it's just another way to waste time.  And do I need that?  I spend FAR too much time on the internet and such as it is.  At the same time, there's something appealing about "tweeting," I have to say.  I like the idea of little updates popping up here, on my bloggy, or even on my new Facebook page.  And yes, I got sucked into Facebook; I'm blaming A.H. for this.  I saw him last week, and he seemed to think I needed to be on Facebook.  And of course, I always do what he says.  Haha.

Anyway, if you have thoughts either way, I'd love to hear them.

And now for something completely different:  allegedly, there are major changes coming to YouTube.  It sounds like there pushing aside the "You" in favor of more TV/movie/advertising driven content.  That sux.

Some People Never Learn. . .

And by "some people," I mean me.  This is not the first time I've had this SNAFU.  It's not even the first time this semester.  And it's all totally, totally my fault.  So this afternoon, I left work kinda early-ish with the intention of coming home and grading tests for two sections of the same class (this is maybe about 45 tests).  Anyway, I have a tote bag that is dedicated just for totin' around work stuff--papers and tests to be graded, books to work on prep, that sort of thing.  And I was convinced that I had my 45 Touchstones tests in my tote bag.  I even looked to make sure my grading scale thingy was in the tote bag.  And I *saw* a bunch of papers.  But guess what.  I just finished some other work, opened up the tote bag, and the tests aren't there.  I left them at work.  So since I promised the students I'd have them for tomorrow morning's class, I have two choices:  I can hop in the car and drive the 30-miles, round trip, and go get the tests to grade this evening, or I can go into work really early, like at 6:00, tomorrow morning.  Oi.

Ok, so 9:15 on Thursday morning.  As soon as I finish this post, I'm going to start working on my conference talk.  I don't know why, but it's like I have to write myself into writing.  Did that make sense?  Yesterday was a good day in terms of getting work done.  As a reward, I bought some wildflower seeds to sprinkle in the wooded area around the perifery (how do you spell that?) of my lawn.  I'm pretty excited.  Spring in New England is a much bigger deal than in central or southern CA, let me tell you.  I remember my first spring in Vermont thinking, "Oh, I finally get it.  I understand what spring really is."  And seriously, after such a long, cold, relentless winter, spring is a big relief and so joyful all at the same time.  And after it's been in the 20s for so many days 45 or 50 feels really good.  There are days when I take the dogs outside for a potty break, and Guinnie especially just wants to lay on her back in the grass, sunning her belly.  And it's like I know how she feels:  Your enitre being wants to soak up warmth and sun all the way to your bones.  I'm hoping that today it won't rain so that, even if it's only high 50s, I can sit on the deck and read and listen to my iPod.  It's just so wonderful.  Ok, so maybe I should move on to Twilight, which isn't so spring-timey.  In fact, it's set in a particularly dreary part of the Pacific Northwest.  So far, I'm finding the writing of this whole thing less a chore than I was expecting.  And in spite of dispising the novels, I'm rather enjoying thinking about them and analyzing them.  I feel like I'm mostly doing a close reading and that I should have some sort of theoretical framework to which I can refer.  I've never been very good at that.  And I'm sure that the paper will work well enough for this particular conference, so I guess it's fine, but I kind feel like it's really not much more than a glorified undergrad paper.  Glorified only in the sense that I do speak with authority.  Oy.  What would Eco do?  As you may know, chatting with Umberto Eco is my big fantasy.  Maybe it's like porn for academics--I really don't know.  And normally, I really bristle at the use of "porn" as metaphor anyway.  But seriously, I often think my way into papers or talks or just topics by this whole imaginative game of what Eco would say and what I'd say and how he'd think I'm just dazzlingly clever, or at least "adorable."  (As me later about the whole "adorable" thing.  I'm not sure it belongs on my blog.)  And sometimes I wonder if Eco would be at all weirded out if he learned that he's the nexus of my fantasy, because I'm pretty sure he doesn't think of himself that way.  Ok, I really need to get to work.

More on Twilight

Ok so my goal for the day was to draft four pages of my Twilight paper.  I've got four and one-half.  And I think I'll keep going.  Here's the thing.  As I'm rereading and writing, I'm seeing that the whole thing is just as annoying and insipid and even insidious as I first thought.  For a while there, I was second guessing myself:  Maybe I'm just over reacting--maybe it's not that bad.  But it is.  For me the bottom line is that Edward, no matter how charming and handsome and yummy-smelling he may be, is basically just really controlling of an infantilized Bella.  And it makes me ill.  It makes me ill that 12-year-olds (and I maintain that it's "tweens" who are most at risk and probably most reading all this) are absorbing all these ideas about how relationships should be and how romantic E's devotion to B really is, when he's like the classic abuser.  He tells her what to do, questions her sanity, even ultimately isolates her from her family and friends.  This is so not OK.  And yet, in the context of the novel it's presented as not just acceptable but desirable, the mark of Edward's love.  And as I was writing I realized this:  isn't this the very rhetoric that the abuser uses?  Doesn't he say that he somehow has the right to be controlling because it's in the best interest of the female and because it shows how much he loves her?  Excuse me while I barf!

So here I sit.  It's nearly 10:00 on Wednesday morning.  One of my goals for today is to draft 4 pages (single spaced pages!) of my conference presentation, you know, the one that could accurately be titled "Why Twilight Sux and What It's Doing to Our Young Women."  Oh wait--that wouldn't be academic enough.  I need to throw in terms like "reify" and "Foucault" and "Power" and even "Binary" and "Otherize."  Then it would be fine.  No really, the title is something like "A Veneer of Vampirism: A Feminist Reading of Relationships in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Saga"  That's pretty good, right?  I guess it begs the question, what's the difference between a saga and a series.  I don't know how to answer that other than to say that I think a "saga" is more overwraught than a series.  But what do I know?  Oh wait, I'm the PhD; I'm supposed to know these things.

So I intended to get an earlier start, like maybe be writing by 7:00.  But I didn't get to sleep until 2:00.  If you are on the West Coast, and your caller ID tells you I called at 9:45, your time, which would be 12:45 mine, it's because I had wicked-bad insomnia last night.  So I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in.  I mean, what's the point of spring break otherwise?  So here it is--nearly 10:00 and I haven't started.  And seriously, I'm thinking about going out for a bagel in a minute.  Because I'm pretty sure I have nothing breakfast-y on hand.  And how can a gal work without breakfast?

So here are my goals for the day:

1.  Draft 4 pages of my Twilight thingy
2.  Write up a budget for April
3.  Balance and rectify my checkbook
4.  Pay bills
5.  Return library materials due today!
6.  Mail DVDs to NetFlix so that I have something to watch over the weekend

I think those are manageable, right?  OK, now for that bagle. . .

Random Rant-y-ness

So where do I begin? I feel like crap just now. No really. And there are probably lots of reasons for that, but I'm trying to focus on the things I really want to get out, you know?  So basically, I just kinda feel like I never get anything done.  Today, I went into work (although it's spring break) with the intention of getting a set of exams graded.  Well, when I got there, the heating in the building was malfunctioning, and it was, no kidding, 98 degrees in the building.  And I thought I could just open the window, because it was like 40 degrees outside, but then it was just all windy and papers and stuff kept blowing around.  All this to say that I didn't actually get grading, or much of anything else, done.  And oh yeah, also the fire alarm keep beeping intermittently in the building, which it does occasionally.

But that's really the least of my issues at the moment.  You see, I have this essay that I want to revise.  It's a long (and boring) story, but it's possibly been accepted for publication pending revisions.  Anyhow, so one project for this week, it being break and all, is to at least work on revisions for the piece.  But I'm feeling lost as to what the editors are wanting me to do.  I mean, they've emailed suggestions for revision, but I just don't "get" it, which really kinda makes me feel dumb.  But what's even worse is that I finall today read through the piece today, and I feel like it's total crap.  I mean, I think I have some interesting ideas, but it's like there's no cohesion, and I've no idea where the essay is really going.  It's all this and that about Narnia and the cultural context of WWII England, but it's like there's no point or direction to the whole thing.  And I feel like I need some sort of theoretical grounding that I can't really get ahold of.  I mean, I open by trying to situate my discussion within the context of current critical responses to Harry Potter, which makes sense in one way, but it's just not working.  And I don't know where to go from here.  I'm always a believer that I can somehow write my way out of this sort of thing, which is probably part of what's motivating this particular post.  Uggh!!!  Why does writing have to be so painful?  The thing is that I sorta just don't even care about this essay any more--I have no passion for it.  And yesterday C. said that maybe I need detachment to get it done; this seems reasonable.  But I'm not really detached in a healthy way; I'm more just annoyed and want it to be over.  This is exactly the feeling I had to get to in order to get my dissertation done.  So maybe it's a productive annoyance.  But really, it's not very pleasant.  But who said life was supposed to be pleasant????

My other writing project for the week is to work on this conference presentation on S. Meyer's _Twilight_ saga for this conference that I'm presenting at next week.  And seriously, I just increasingly hate the series for a number of reasons, and am kinda annoyed with myself for deciding to present on why I think something is dumb instead of why something is really great or really interesting or whatever.  Anyway, I guess that I just need to sit down and draft some pages and see what I can come up with.

On a happier note, Fenway thinks I'm just the cat's pajamas.  And that makes me feel better.  Also, being off of work for the week is nice.  I've been reading lots of interesting stuff, including Ian Rankin's Inspector Rebus series.  I've also been watching as much of Prime Suspect on DVD as I can.   

Gogo Para Presidente

OK, does anyone else remember this? I've been searching the internet for this clip for, like, the last 5 years, and today I finally found it! All I have to say is, "vote Goat."

Fear in a Handful of Dust

Ok, I just sort of realized that for the last couple of weeks, I've had all these lines from Eliot rolling around in my brain.  And I don't know what it all means.  I mean, I know what the individual lines mean, or at least I think I do.  But I don't know why I've been sort of non-consciously meditating on Eliot.  And it seems like maybe it is significant that here I am, a week before my birthday, contemplating Eliot's "handful of dust."  Anyhow, it seems like maybe I should throw out there the lines that have been popping in and out of my awareness.  And I should maybe preface this all by saying that I've been reading Dante pretty intensely lately; Eliot is certainly interested in Dante.

So clearly, "I will show you fear in a handful of dust" is striking a chord with me.  And as I've been walking around, breathing in and out, going to class, whatever, I find myself repeating over and over, "I will show you fear in a handful of dust.  I will show you fear in a handful of dust."  When I finally stopped and thought about it, I realized that this was a line from The Wasteland.  So here's the line in context:

And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

So here I am, the week before my thirth-fourth birthday, thinking not about youth, the shadow at morning, nor old age, the shadow at evening, but death, that "handful of dust."  That makes it sound like I'm all depressed; I don't think that I am.  And yet, mortality is on my mind.  It's like a refrain in and out of days and over the weeks and through the years, this "fear in a handful of dust."  And yet, I'm believing more and more that death is but a "sea change."  Doesn't Eliot quote "those are pearls that were his eyes" in The Wasteland?

The other line, this one from Prufrock, that keeps playing in my head is the one about preparing "a face to meet the faces that you meet."  And I do so often think about all the energy, really, that I spend preparing that face; that is, I spend too much effort trying to present myself to the world in such a way as to demonstrate that everything is OK, trying to convince everyone (and maybe myself) that I'm just fine, that I'm getting through.  And I am getting through.  But so often, it's painful.  And just prepaing that face is hard some days.

I'm certainly no Eliot scholar, but I am finding myself drawn to Eliot.  And I've spent much of the afternoon reading and rereading The Wasteland, and Ash Wednesday, and the Four Quartets.  Eliot makes me want to pick up my John Donne.

Update

It just dawned on me that I've not posted anything in quite a while.  I'm going to avoid the post about why I've not posted and, instead, try to give a quick round-up of what's cookin' in my world.  At the moment, my linner, a spinich artichoke heart calzone, is cookin' thus limiting my post to about 15-minutes worth of ramble.  I feel like I've been working a lot, in a good way.  I've been preoccupied with things like Dante, Beowulf, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which is a not-at-all bad combination.  I've also been reading quite a lot.  The week of 16 February, we had winter break, so I spent the week reading and watching DVDs and cooking, quite a lovely way to spend break.  Oh, I made this divine cheddar beer soup!  It's one of the best things I've ever tasted.  Seriously.  Yesterday, I had lunch at Cafe Provence, where I ate scallops wrapped in smoked salmon.  It's possibly the single most wonderful thing I've ever tasted.  I've read a couple of PD James novels lately; I'm in the middle of her Unsuitable Job for a Woman just now, and it's quite good.  I also read something--13 Stairs?  13 Steps?--by Ruth Rendell; it was quite disappointing.  I also read Rosalind Miles's Guenevere Queen of the Summer Country.  It was sorta too Mists of Avalon.  (Side Note:  I really want to like Marion Zimmer Bradley, but I just don't!).  More interesting are the DVDs I've been watching.  I watched the first two seasons / series of Helen Mirren in Prime Suspect--wonderful!  This is just the sort of British who-done-it that appeals to me.  And how can one not like Dame Helen?  Also, I've discovered Battlestar Galactica, thanks to A., a much appreciated colleague.  And it's totally kick-ass.  Seriously.  I probably watched a good 10 hours of it over the weekend.  Totally recommend.  The plot's interesting and not entirely predictable, and there's interesting character development.  I've also sprinkled in episodes of Upstairs, Downstairs, As Time Goes By, and *gasp* Gossip Girl.  I'm not sure if I can really do Gossip Girl or not.  I watched the first four episodes from Netflix and was entertained enough to order the next disk.  But really, there's a limit to how much disbelief I can suspend when it comes to NYC teens.  I mean, 90210 is soooooooooooo much more believable.  So that's pretty much it for me:  food, books, and DVDs.  I'm sparing you the narratives about students texting in class and not reading Beowulf. 

Oh yeah, on 15 February, P. and I saw Willie Nelson in Albany NY with Asleep at the Wheel.  I LOVE Willie.  Love him.

I've Been Tagged

Ok, I was "tagged" by Cheri.  I'm supposed to post the forth picture in the forth folder in my photo program--I use Photoshop--without editing it.  So here it is.  I took this not too long after I moved to Vermont a a local cemetery.  I have this thing for graveyard photos. 

So it just sorta dawned on me that I haven't posted anything in a couple of weeks.  That's not because nothing's been happening--it's more that I've been totally preoccupied with work for the last three weeks.  And that's not all bad.  So as part of our first-year student program, we assign a common reading assignment for all first-year students to do over the summer (we're not supposed to call them Freshmen anymore, in case you are wondering).  So I'd volunteered to be on the committee to choose the reading for this summer.  Hey, I read; I review books; I work with literaure.  This seemed to make sense.  Additionally, I'm one of many faculty members who will have to work with the students using the book in question.  So I'm not sure where the various nominations came from--mostly from other faculty members, I think.  Anyway, I was assigned to read three books in order to give my opinion, input, whatever.  Well, I felt like the proverbial stick in the mud, because I absolutely hated all three. 

First, we had Three Cups of Tea.  This was the work that originally I was most excited about.  It's the account of one man, Greg Mortensen, who has built a number of schools, particularly for females, in Pakistan.  I'd heared Mortensen on NPR, and his story is interesting and inspiring.  In many ways, he's simply an ordinary man who has accomplished remarkable things.  Well, I just hated the book.  It's written by a ghost writer, not Mortensen himself, and it's just not very well written.  I'd much preferred to hear Mortensen's own story, first-hand, in the first person.  But what really bugged me--and apparently noone else on the committee sees it this way--is that the work feels like it's just trying too hard to be inpsirational.  I hate that.  I've realized through this process that too often what other people perceive as deep and meaningful and moving, I just see as contrived and maudline.  I like a well-told story, and I like when it's a poingnant story, but don't hit me over the head with how meaningful and deep it's all supposed to be.  I mean, it seems to me that NPR's This American Life does this great job of simply telling a story and allowing the meaningful, inspirational bits to emerge, or not.  That's what I want.  I recently saw Garrison Keillor--he does that kind of thing well too.

Next, I was supposed to read Randy Pausch's The Last Lecture.  This one I'd also heard about on NPR.  Apparently, it's the hot thing to read in some circles right now.  Basically, Pausch is dying (of cancer, I think) and he gives a lecure or series of lectures in which he reflects on his life, on following one's dreams, that kind of thing.  This work is adapted from his lectures.  Apparently, you can see Pausch on YouTube, if you are so inclined.  Again, there's something overly sentimental about the dying guy giving us his last reflections.  I feel bad writing this, which illustrated part of my objection about this book, at least for our FYS program:  I mean, it's really hard to have a critical conversation about the ideas of the dead guy, you know?  We all feel bad that this man had to die in the prime of life, that his wife and children are living without him--this is sad, and we feel for these people.  And that makes it really difficult to say that we find what he has to say irrelevant or frivilous or just plain wrong.  We're reluctant to be critical about the dead guy.  I might also add that, again, this feels like a work that being inspirational in a way that's just too much--even the format of the book screams, "Hey, here's a work that'll move you." 

I was also assigned to read Loung Ung's First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers.  This, as the title would suggest,  is a kind of memoir by a young woman, a refugee from Cambodia, who lost many, many family members.  Come to think of it, I've also heard Ung on NPR, talking about another book of hers.  This one was written entirely in present tense, which kinda annoyed me.  I honestly didn't read much of it, as it simply felt too depressing.  I mean, I tend to be depressed anyway, and it just felt like whatever payoff I'd get wasn't worth the depression it seemed to be feeding, you know?  Again, I'm sure that Ung has an absolutely remarkable and maybe even inspiring story to tell.  But it just didn't feel appropriate for our program.

OK, so on Wednesday, the committee met to choose a book.  I was pleased to discover that I wasn't the only one who really didn't feel enthused about any of the options--and there were others on the table.  The three listed above are just the three that I happened to be working with.  Many of my colleagues did like Three Cups of Tea, and I think that it got more positive feedback than any of the others.  But ultimately, we decided that we'd like to consider more options.  This is good in that I thought all the options were pretty crappy; this is bad in that it means more reading of things I might not really want to read (see below.)  I promptly suggested anything by Jon Krakauer, preferably Into Thin Air, which I absolutely love.  I also suggested Gregory Maguire's Wicked, another favorite of mine.  I've used both successfully with first-year students, I should add.  (Side bar:  OK, Cheri, I know you thought Wicked was disturbing, and it is.  I think it's supposed to be.  But I still think it's really, really wonderful, though not at all like the musical.)

Anyhow (this is turning into a long post!), many on the committee also thought that Daniel Quinn's Ishmael was a good option for our program.  I'd never read it before, but it is a work that you see all the time on lists of life-changing works.  Honestly, I'd been avoiding Ishmael for the last 10 years or so.  I've known of colleagues who use it in class, often with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintainence, and somehow I've had the impression that both are works that appeal to former hippies and maybe not the rest of us.  But the dean was saying that students find Ishmael really moving and all that, so I decided that it was time to read it.  So here's my quickie overview:  it's written much like a Platonic dialogue.  You have the student and the teacher talking back and forth, asking and answering questions about philosophical matters.  There's very, very little plot and lots of talk about ideas.  I don't necessarily love this set-up--I find it rather tedious (I'd rather just read an essay) but it could have been OK.  What really killed it for me is this:  the teacher-figure is a 500-pound, thinking, telepathic gorilla.  Apparently, when he was younger he learned to understand English, tried to learn to speak but doesn't have the necessarly apparatus.  So he learns to communicate telepathically.  I'm not making this up, but it sounds ridiculous, I know.  In fact, as a way to frame the story, the discussion it IS ridiculous.  I just couldn't take it seriously.  Really.  And as the book progressed, I kept thinking that there would be this big revleation at the end, something that would really hit me, you know?  And yes, there were big ideas, possibly life-changing ideas, that come up, but none of it felt particularly fresh, or insightful, or new, or even all that compelling to me.  Again, maybe I just can't swallow the whole telepathic gorilla, Ishmael, sending us all brainwaves to communicated his profound insights.  Annoying.  The work was only published in 1992, but it felt oddly dated to me.  I cannot, in good conscience, support this as something we compell our incoming students to read.

I don't know where to go from here--can't we all read Umberto Eco or C.S. Lewis and be done with it?  All this, combined with students who keep saying that they just don't "get" The Wind in the Willows, has made it a frustrating week.  I totally feel like I need some make-up therapy or to at least indulge in a book that I actually like.

Buh-Bye DirecTV

OK, I've decided that I''m getting rid of television.  I'll keep my two TVs, and I'll watch DVDs, but no more satellite TV for me.  Before I go further, I should say that I really do love DirecTV.  I love watching the cable news channels and USA and TNT and the Food Network and ID, which is new-ish.  Anyway, I love it.  But I've come to the conclusion that I'm watching more TV than can possibly be good for me.  It's not a good sign that I know, every single day, what's transpired in the Caylee Anthony case.  It's not a good sign that I sleep with the TV going all night.  It's not a good sign that I know what's on Bravo almost every night.  Also, I have to give a shout out to the customer service people at DirecTV.  Seriously.  When I've had questions, which isn't often, I've always been amazed at how helpful they are.  And it appears that they've not outsourced calls to techs in another country.  I hope this isn't too un-PC of me, but I hate it when you call and 800 number and get someone who just doesn't speak English very well. 

Anyway, I've been thinking, for quite some time really, that I'm simply watching too much of what I call "default TV."  That's when I turn on the television and zone out in front of something I don't necessarily really, really want to watch but it's just what's on.  And I feel like I am just wasting too much time, time that could be spent reading or writing or crafting or relaxing in a more productive way (read: yoga, bubble baths, and meditation practice).  I mean, I think that I'll be a happier, healthier person without TV there to distract me.  Oh yeah, I've also fallen into the habit of just having the TV running in the background all the time when I'm at home.  So I feel like getting rid of TV will free up my time and attention (not to mention my finances) for other more productive or more bliss-producing activities.

Finally, I just feel like I need some changes in my life.  I feel like I keep working and working and working on somehow getting my life in order, getting my life on track.  And believe me, it often feels like it's dramatically, inexplicably derailed.  When I feel like this, it always seems like some big change shakes things up and helps make the adjustments I'm looking for.  This is a much larger issue with me, larger than whether or not to watch TV.  It's just that every week, almost every day, I feel like I can never get enough done.  If I manage to stay on top of it all at work, which I often do, it seems like my house is a total disaster.  If I'm really disciplined about one thing, say what I'm eating, I can't seem to be at all disciplined about another.  It's so frustrating.  And I keep trying and trying to be better about it all, but I'm not sure I've made much progress in the last five years (or maybe ever!).  Anyway, I know that many of you may not understand, but getting rid of TV feels like a way to move towards getting my life and myself in order.

Not to fear:  I am keeping Netflix!

First Day

So today, inaguration day, is the first day of the new semester for me.  First day of classes is always, always kinda boring--going over syllabi, learning students' names.  But starting a new semester always feels good, like a fresh start.  It's a time to reassess and set goals and all that kind of thing.  One of my goals is to spend more time prepping for class (but not more time grading!).  I so enjoy the prep work when I set aside the time to do it properly. 

Well, I'm off to 20th Century Children's Lit!

Mama Said There'll Be Days Like This

So you know those days when nothing disasterous happens but it still feels like every little thing goes wrong?  In spite of a couple BIG reliefs, it's been one of those days.  After several nights of insomnia, I slept really well last night and woke up a little before eight.  But there was no water coming out of any of the taps--I was certain my pipes had frozen, although I had left the heat running last night.  I called my heater guys.  Well, it turns out the pipes hadn't frozen--it was no big deal.  But it was still really stressful.  At that point, I decided I'd go into campus for a couple hours.  I intended to wear my snow boots, but about half way there, I realized I was wearing these old Birkenstock clogs.  I've had them for about 13 years, and the sole is all worn down--not good for walking across the icy parking lot.  Also, I forgot to take my lunch with me.  Once I got to work, I got an e-mail from the bookstore that one of the books I'd ordered was unavaliable; it was out of stock at the publisher.  This would be no big deal except that classes start Tuesday.  This was all especially annoying because moths ago when I picked books, I had all kinds of confusion over the particular edition / translation.  The publisher's materials were incorrect, and it was a big pain just figuring out which translation was the one I really wanted.  Oh, and I'm having cramps, so I feel just generally icky physically.  And I have, like, zero appetite, which isn't necessarily bad--just weird.  Anyway, although I'm so thankful that my water pipes didn't freeze (and subsequently burst!), it's still been one of those days.