oh, blah.
nothing right now is grabbing my attention, either on the news or off. last week worked me so hard i was brain dead for the entire weekend. much to roomie's chagrin i watched hours of remington steele season 1 episodes, slipping immediately into my childhood pleasure. (i loved that show.) i have overdue library books, com'tee meetings and a huge fundraiser coming up next month at work that's just about ready to drive all of us insane at National NonProfit.
and - next weekend is my birthday. 36. it's depressing. my friends are treating me to a pink martini concert and that's great. i love them. i love my friends. it'll be wonderful. but i have to confess that i don't want to think any more than i have to about turning 36. i don't really want to celebrate it. i want it to disappear.
more and more i'm thinking about how invisible women become the older we get. or, maybe this is just about me. i'm feeling more invisible the closer i get to true middle age. it's like, ok if there's no rocking passion in my life at least let there be decadent fun. (yes i'm passionate about my work and about my writing but that doesn't keep a girl exactly excited, you know?) but no. no decadent fun. just age. more hairs in unmentionable places. more evidence of sagging and stretching.
even my bras have changed. from lacy cute things to utilitarian soviet-style underwear that really do the job. it's depressing, this 36. i may even be closer to early menopause than i thought previously. now that i think about it, my mom went nuts right before her 40th birthday. pre-menopause. insanity. dwindling desire. increased hair growth. more stretch marks. aching knees.
shit.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Friday, September 16, 2005
things i read while at work today...
1. I. Wallerstein, 169, Katrina: The Politics of Incompetence and Decline
2. NYTimes - Serving Gays Who Serve God
3. Plain Jane Custom Design (I want pants...)
it's been a busy week. clearly i'm brain dead.
2. NYTimes - Serving Gays Who Serve God
3. Plain Jane Custom Design (I want pants...)
it's been a busy week. clearly i'm brain dead.
AngryBlackBitch: A bitch might hate you if...
for all the reasons we love ABB, her ability to spin a rant into a piece of effing art is highest.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
confirmation hearings: all you need to know here
via bitch, the rude pundit goes meta on the john roberts confirmation hearings.
hippie vacation
hoax or not, this had me snorting at my office.
(and since i've been here since 7 am, i deserve a few snorts.)
(and since i've been here since 7 am, i deserve a few snorts.)
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Negrophile: i wonder how he does it
excellent group of links to articles on race, katrina, pedagogy, media, and other points of interest here.
where does he find the time, i ask you. where??
where does he find the time, i ask you. where??
anger floats
Over on my other blog a commenter noticed that the rantings from the Right have been getting more intense and crazy and his comment led me to think about the overall pugilistic air hanging over everything. In light of my recent contretemps with Sir/Madam Anonymous over here, I’ve also begun examining why I’ve been losing my temper so easily recently. It’s not like people have never disagreed with me and, while I admit I have an issue with criticism (I always have and it always made presenting conference papers a dicey deal), my inability to rein in my anger is a new thing.
Anger, which has generally always floated up towards the power structure from a very deep well, now skims the surface of everything like an oil slick. Any match – a newstory, a blog post, an unframed comment – will set it off. And it’s just not me – we can see it everywhere, from Pat Robertson calling for Hugo Chavez’ assassination to our side calling Roberts the incarnation of the devil. What’s happening to us?
When I shut down Anonymous in an earlier thread my heart was beating faster, my breath was short, my fingertips tingling, my temples pounding. If the context had been different I’d either dropped a really good tab of ecstasy, had a stupendous fuck or been in a fight. And that’s what it is – the adrenaline of aggression.
Most of us who stop here think Bush is a tool and his administration’s handling of, well, everything has sucked and sucked hard; preemptive war makes us nervous, the with us/against us binary fills us with fury and the general jingo/xeno/nationalistic fervor in our culture makes us sick to our stomach. In other words, we hold ourselves separate from the ideologies spewing from the White House. But like it or not, I think we’ve internalized them, too.
We’ve swallowed their flaming sword and the thrill of using it pushes us closer and closer to where They are. Don’t get me wrong; being a shrinking violet has all the appeal of wearing white pantyhose for me. And there is something heady, sexy, arousing to losing one’s temper and letting fly with all the invective you can muster. You feel all…manly. Like you have the biggest prick on the block.
Maybe I don’t have room in my pants anymore for a prick.
Anger, which has generally always floated up towards the power structure from a very deep well, now skims the surface of everything like an oil slick. Any match – a newstory, a blog post, an unframed comment – will set it off. And it’s just not me – we can see it everywhere, from Pat Robertson calling for Hugo Chavez’ assassination to our side calling Roberts the incarnation of the devil. What’s happening to us?
When I shut down Anonymous in an earlier thread my heart was beating faster, my breath was short, my fingertips tingling, my temples pounding. If the context had been different I’d either dropped a really good tab of ecstasy, had a stupendous fuck or been in a fight. And that’s what it is – the adrenaline of aggression.
Most of us who stop here think Bush is a tool and his administration’s handling of, well, everything has sucked and sucked hard; preemptive war makes us nervous, the with us/against us binary fills us with fury and the general jingo/xeno/nationalistic fervor in our culture makes us sick to our stomach. In other words, we hold ourselves separate from the ideologies spewing from the White House. But like it or not, I think we’ve internalized them, too.
We’ve swallowed their flaming sword and the thrill of using it pushes us closer and closer to where They are. Don’t get me wrong; being a shrinking violet has all the appeal of wearing white pantyhose for me. And there is something heady, sexy, arousing to losing one’s temper and letting fly with all the invective you can muster. You feel all…manly. Like you have the biggest prick on the block.
Maybe I don’t have room in my pants anymore for a prick.
Monday, September 12, 2005
while roomie was out of town this weekend i finally figured out the ergonomically puzzling vibe i bought a few months ago (i'd been using it upside down.) it relieved some stress so i thought i'd jump on nerve, despite my rant below, and take a gander at who'd been looking at my profile. (ah, privacy. you're a thing of the past.)
hmm. despite having no new messages in my inbox i've been peeked at by at least 30 guys. (which isn't the point; i just can't get around not using a number. saying 'bunch of guys' sounds worse, as well as not being true, and saying anything else is just vague and inadequate.) the point is that i'm wondering why i don't have any messages. if they're like me, they have credits that carried over into the new system (though now it costs a criminal 200 pts to just say hi to someone on nerve. bastards.) so why no Hi? are they waiting for me to say hi?
and then i saw something that made my heart jump just a little bit.
Dewey (aka, the Librarian).
he viewed and added me to his 'hot' list just a few days ago.
he's not dead.
he hasn't been eaten by connecticut mooses. (moosi? moose?)
should i say something? send him a casual hiya?
seeing his face again made me gasp.
is this me missing him?
hmm. despite having no new messages in my inbox i've been peeked at by at least 30 guys. (which isn't the point; i just can't get around not using a number. saying 'bunch of guys' sounds worse, as well as not being true, and saying anything else is just vague and inadequate.) the point is that i'm wondering why i don't have any messages. if they're like me, they have credits that carried over into the new system (though now it costs a criminal 200 pts to just say hi to someone on nerve. bastards.) so why no Hi? are they waiting for me to say hi?
and then i saw something that made my heart jump just a little bit.
Dewey (aka, the Librarian).
he viewed and added me to his 'hot' list just a few days ago.
he's not dead.
he hasn't been eaten by connecticut mooses. (moosi? moose?)
should i say something? send him a casual hiya?
seeing his face again made me gasp.
is this me missing him?
Saturday, September 10, 2005
well, it's away. the teeny feature for a canadian mag is finished. and now that i've just emailed it to the editor, i want to take it back. crap.
...
my houseguest M- left this morning. it was good seeing him. we bought comic books, watched a little football and smoked a lot of duty-free camels. i spent the whole day with him thursday but friday i went back to the office. it was a long day - meetings, fundraiser deadlines were beginning to hit hard and i had to admit that i didn't give a lot of thought to how M- was going to occupy his time. (since i have no nurturing instincts, i tend to just let people fall where they may.)
so i was not that worried when i got home last night and he wasn't there. i thought, oh, he's taking a walk or he's on his way back from ... wherever. but then it started getting dark. no phone call, the bus that stops right in front of my house had stopped running...where's M-?
poor guy. he had to walk all the way home from michigan avenue.
...
my houseguest M- left this morning. it was good seeing him. we bought comic books, watched a little football and smoked a lot of duty-free camels. i spent the whole day with him thursday but friday i went back to the office. it was a long day - meetings, fundraiser deadlines were beginning to hit hard and i had to admit that i didn't give a lot of thought to how M- was going to occupy his time. (since i have no nurturing instincts, i tend to just let people fall where they may.)
so i was not that worried when i got home last night and he wasn't there. i thought, oh, he's taking a walk or he's on his way back from ... wherever. but then it started getting dark. no phone call, the bus that stops right in front of my house had stopped running...where's M-?
poor guy. he had to walk all the way home from michigan avenue.
Friday, September 09, 2005
things to do today:
1. get out of the house. have early offsite meeting. can't be late!
2. finish writing article for magazine, due TOMORROW!
3. finish reading yesterday's comic books.
4. say eulogy for libido.
5. practice patience and forbearance for annoying anonymous commenter; maybe i'll even say a little prayer for them
6. control my temper
2. finish writing article for magazine, due TOMORROW!
3. finish reading yesterday's comic books.
4. say eulogy for libido.
5. practice patience and forbearance for annoying anonymous commenter; maybe i'll even say a little prayer for them
6. control my temper
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
taps for nerve
remember when Nerve used to be naughty? back in 2001, right before we launched our war on terror, before george bush made us too angry to think about sex ever again? back in 2001 when we wanted all the naughty, snarky, sweaty sexy flirtage in the world because we were doin' it for Freedom? because we "couldn't let the terrorists win!"?
remember when Nerve was the way we hooked up? i remember.
oh, the boys of nerve...snarky, dorky, smart, anti-authoritarian, reclusive, twisted, pervy, unshaven, secret geniuses, overt psychopaths, darling awkward loner boys of nerve. we met them in dive bars, lounges, coffee shops, museum lobbies and train platforms; we had a few drinks, shot a few racks of pool or maybe just got totally loaded at old town. we wrote naughty naughty emails, the kind of emails that could probably get you arrested in a few states now. oh, the words that used to fly! the limericks, the sly innuendo, the abrupt and beautiful candor. the rooftop test (if a boy makes it to the rooftop, someone's gettin' nekkid), the thrill of instant, hectic chemistry. and, god, the phone bills. those long phone calls from the bathtub at 5 am, those calls that interrupted girls' nights out and made us scurry to a quiet corner to chat and flirt and promise to call back later. those calls that all eventually led to someone's voice getting all quiet and rumbly and someone touching something the other person couldn't see.
god that was fun.
say goodbye to all that. nerve, like match.com before them, has sucked all the life out of online frottage. gone is the snark and the loose-y goose-y beery leery come-on; now your profile has all the snap and sweat of a resume. gone is the shadowy lure of assuming a persona, donning a mask that makes you glow faster and hotter than you could manage on your own. now you're nailed down faster than a coffin lid. no more 'self-deprecation'; no more coy dithering about how much you smoke or drink. now you're either a heavy smoker or a light, social drinker or a hard drug user. there's no more 'play' - just short term dating or long term dating. they actually ask you what your 'hopes and dreams' are!
it was like looking at a face under fluorescent lights so i deleted every profile i had in my inbox.
you know, online dating might've been skeevy but it was a fun skeevy; it was the skeevy you couldn't wait to tell your friends about. it was a fucking unknown adventure. feh - they've turned the dark walk to the back room into a frickin' kiddie ride at navy pier.
nerve is dead.
remember when Nerve was the way we hooked up? i remember.
oh, the boys of nerve...snarky, dorky, smart, anti-authoritarian, reclusive, twisted, pervy, unshaven, secret geniuses, overt psychopaths, darling awkward loner boys of nerve. we met them in dive bars, lounges, coffee shops, museum lobbies and train platforms; we had a few drinks, shot a few racks of pool or maybe just got totally loaded at old town. we wrote naughty naughty emails, the kind of emails that could probably get you arrested in a few states now. oh, the words that used to fly! the limericks, the sly innuendo, the abrupt and beautiful candor. the rooftop test (if a boy makes it to the rooftop, someone's gettin' nekkid), the thrill of instant, hectic chemistry. and, god, the phone bills. those long phone calls from the bathtub at 5 am, those calls that interrupted girls' nights out and made us scurry to a quiet corner to chat and flirt and promise to call back later. those calls that all eventually led to someone's voice getting all quiet and rumbly and someone touching something the other person couldn't see.
god that was fun.
say goodbye to all that. nerve, like match.com before them, has sucked all the life out of online frottage. gone is the snark and the loose-y goose-y beery leery come-on; now your profile has all the snap and sweat of a resume. gone is the shadowy lure of assuming a persona, donning a mask that makes you glow faster and hotter than you could manage on your own. now you're nailed down faster than a coffin lid. no more 'self-deprecation'; no more coy dithering about how much you smoke or drink. now you're either a heavy smoker or a light, social drinker or a hard drug user. there's no more 'play' - just short term dating or long term dating. they actually ask you what your 'hopes and dreams' are!
it was like looking at a face under fluorescent lights so i deleted every profile i had in my inbox.
you know, online dating might've been skeevy but it was a fun skeevy; it was the skeevy you couldn't wait to tell your friends about. it was a fucking unknown adventure. feh - they've turned the dark walk to the back room into a frickin' kiddie ride at navy pier.
nerve is dead.
g'night
first-hand account from a volunteer in houston helping out the evacuees.
good reading and a tonic to the news.
[via heretik]
good reading and a tonic to the news.
[via heretik]
gasp - a day off!
after four months of social do-gooding i am taking my first day off this week. a friend is in town for a few days and i will relish the chance to wear jeans in the middle of the week while we hit comic book stores and visit (yawn) wrigley stadium. (his idea; not mine)
i might post here and there but be forewarned - i'm going to be very shallow.
i might post here and there but be forewarned - i'm going to be very shallow.
Monday, September 05, 2005
a good eye: Body and Soul
for really well-argued analysis and a fine sense of integrity as well as a true moral sense, i go to this blog.
her collection of what other blogs/commenters are saying about katrina and the fissures in our race/class consciousness are top notch.
her collection of what other blogs/commenters are saying about katrina and the fissures in our race/class consciousness are top notch.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
it's not just a storm
I just got off the phone with my father who’s been very distressed by all the images and news coming out of New Orleans at this time. A man who’s been expecting some kind of race war since 1984, my father is looking at this moment in time as a perfect opportunity for The Man to finally throw up his hands about The Violent Looting Hordes of Black People and put us all in Gitmo-like camps.
I had to calm him down; he said that things are tense where he is. Since he’s in Los Angeles, I’m not surprised. The images and news of the stranded shooting at rescue helicopters, of the city degenerating into chaos over the past week – those things resonate strongly in a city still simmering in its own racial tensions. For him, our people have turned into animals and it scares him. (He’s having a very Bill Cosby moment.)
He woke me up very early this morning (before church!!) to ask if I’d heard the rumors about cannibalism in New Orleans. I hadn’t. So I googled it. Almost all the sites that mentioned cannibalism were wacked out extreme right-wing, white supremacists. Dad barely heard my reassurances that 'No, black people were not eating dead bodies.'
My father was so distraught he came awfully close to saying things like this guy is saying (found via steve gilliard). I'm not going to go into an impassioned plea for racial tolerance or some pedagogical song-and-dance about how racism takes an individual act, substitutes it for the whole and then leaps off into insanity from there. It's too exhausting to teach white folks (and black folks like my dad) about the power structures of Racism. Let's keep the conversation on the micro level.
Is that what the majority of us think? Deep down, below our manners and our politics? Beyond stats on FEMA, levees, poor planning, poor execution, is this what we really think? Is this the reason we won't donate to the Red Cross? The reason we don't find any sympathy for the people down there? They're just too .... Other for us to really dig?
If it is, the problem isn’t just in New Orleans.
I had to calm him down; he said that things are tense where he is. Since he’s in Los Angeles, I’m not surprised. The images and news of the stranded shooting at rescue helicopters, of the city degenerating into chaos over the past week – those things resonate strongly in a city still simmering in its own racial tensions. For him, our people have turned into animals and it scares him. (He’s having a very Bill Cosby moment.)
He woke me up very early this morning (before church!!) to ask if I’d heard the rumors about cannibalism in New Orleans. I hadn’t. So I googled it. Almost all the sites that mentioned cannibalism were wacked out extreme right-wing, white supremacists. Dad barely heard my reassurances that 'No, black people were not eating dead bodies.'
My father was so distraught he came awfully close to saying things like this guy is saying (found via steve gilliard). I'm not going to go into an impassioned plea for racial tolerance or some pedagogical song-and-dance about how racism takes an individual act, substitutes it for the whole and then leaps off into insanity from there. It's too exhausting to teach white folks (and black folks like my dad) about the power structures of Racism. Let's keep the conversation on the micro level.
Is that what the majority of us think? Deep down, below our manners and our politics? Beyond stats on FEMA, levees, poor planning, poor execution, is this what we really think? Is this the reason we won't donate to the Red Cross? The reason we don't find any sympathy for the people down there? They're just too .... Other for us to really dig?
If it is, the problem isn’t just in New Orleans.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
'they followed directions': Countdown with Keith Olbermann - MSNBC.com
transcript of olbermann's thursday show here.
'they are so black': reporters finally get it
this is a column from jack shafer about the problematic response to katrina and the thousands still stranded in new orleans. it's worth reading because what these reporters are seeing (not their opinions, not their media talking points) - what they're seeing is the face of the massive underclass in our country - black, poor, desperate, dying, stranded.
wolf blitzer, moved out of his jc penny dummy-like stupor riffs in response to the pictures:
You simply get chills every time you see these poor individuals, as Jack Cafferty just pointed out, so tragically, so many of these people, almost all of them that we see, are so poor and they are so black, and this is going to raise lots of questions for people who are watching this story unfold.
you can use his words as a metaphor or you can take it for what it is - reality.
[via alternet - which has a great series of stories on the storm, the coverage, and the response]
wolf blitzer, moved out of his jc penny dummy-like stupor riffs in response to the pictures:
You simply get chills every time you see these poor individuals, as Jack Cafferty just pointed out, so tragically, so many of these people, almost all of them that we see, are so poor and they are so black, and this is going to raise lots of questions for people who are watching this story unfold.
you can use his words as a metaphor or you can take it for what it is - reality.
[via alternet - which has a great series of stories on the storm, the coverage, and the response]
Friday, September 02, 2005
"Finding" versus "Looting"
so...what's the difference?
(and, please, if any anonymous asshole writes something problematic, i'm deleting it. and yes - i do get to decide what's problematic.)
(and, please, if any anonymous asshole writes something problematic, i'm deleting it. and yes - i do get to decide what's problematic.)
Friday, August 26, 2005
i swear. last one. THEN the break.
AngryBlackBitch: Take a stand...
money quote:
A bitch has met several generation Y motherfuckers and they are disturbingly stupid. How the fuck are these idiots going to pay for my retirement? Education is not rocket science, for the love of all that’s holy! Tell the religious right to get serious about private school and fucking take it back to basics. Instead of debating “intelligent design” lets [sic] have a debate on why children can’t fucking spell “intelligent”!
money quote:
A bitch has met several generation Y motherfuckers and they are disturbingly stupid. How the fuck are these idiots going to pay for my retirement? Education is not rocket science, for the love of all that’s holy! Tell the religious right to get serious about private school and fucking take it back to basics. Instead of debating “intelligent design” lets [sic] have a debate on why children can’t fucking spell “intelligent”!
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Shut up and Listen
i met a friend of hers over the weekend and i guess i'm not the only brown girl who's having a tough racial summer.
it's ranty, powerful and impolite. read it.
[update: this is the original piece from kiwi grrl that pointed me to the above post. she rocks!]
i met a friend of hers over the weekend and i guess i'm not the only brown girl who's having a tough racial summer.
it's ranty, powerful and impolite. read it.
[update: this is the original piece from kiwi grrl that pointed me to the above post. she rocks!]
I was going through some of my archives last night – couldn’t sleep again – and wow – I was feisty and the writing wasn’t bad, either. Lately, I’ve come to realize that my postings are a little uneven; they’re a mixture of ‘hey, my butt!’ and ‘grr, the latest moves against women’s rights’ and ‘look, shoes!’ Work has been hectic (not complaining) and our fundraising season is heating up and will most likely stay there until October. But I’m sad the writing has been so choppy lately. My bad.
So, I’m taking a little break. Just for a couple of weeks. To regroup my writing and get thoughtful again instead of merely reactionary.
(having said all that here's a piece about GAP's new store that's supposed to be for women like me - over 35. I guess I'm supposed to be happy they have clothes in my size.)
So, I’m taking a little break. Just for a couple of weeks. To regroup my writing and get thoughtful again instead of merely reactionary.
(having said all that here's a piece about GAP's new store that's supposed to be for women like me - over 35. I guess I'm supposed to be happy they have clothes in my size.)
it's back to school!
as the late summer partying winds down, don't you wanna write an essay?
over at alas, a blog we see that The Anti-Feminists Want to Give You $5000! the partisan think tank IWF is holding a contest and i think it would be smashing if they received actual feminist essays.
(not an undergrad? shhh. but if you are...go for it.)
it's 750 words. easy peasy.
over at alas, a blog we see that The Anti-Feminists Want to Give You $5000! the partisan think tank IWF is holding a contest and i think it would be smashing if they received actual feminist essays.
(not an undergrad? shhh. but if you are...go for it.)
it's 750 words. easy peasy.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
fearless leader: wrong on women
"Bush, spending a day at the resort with Idaho Gov. Dirk Kempthorne, a Republican, said he was getting updates on the Iraqi constitutional process from Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.
He said Rice had assured him that the rights of women were being protected. ''Democracy is unfolding,'' the president said."
Really?
Huh. He really has no idea what he's talking about, does he?
He said Rice had assured him that the rights of women were being protected. ''Democracy is unfolding,'' the president said."
Really?
Huh. He really has no idea what he's talking about, does he?
since elvis mitchell is no longer with the times, i guess i'll have to get my movie snark elsewhere.
(yes, more important things are happening in the world but let's put them off for a few more hours...)
(yes, more important things are happening in the world but let's put them off for a few more hours...)
chicklit, pt 2
we (ok, I) often assume that most chicklits are white. i'm often wrong.
if you haven't heard of her, jackson writes paranormal romance (!!) and her blog tackles being brown in the romance community.
love the comment how chicklit critics 'roll around in a self-congratulatory frenzy over how intelligent [we] are.'
if you haven't heard of her, jackson writes paranormal romance (!!) and her blog tackles being brown in the romance community.
love the comment how chicklit critics 'roll around in a self-congratulatory frenzy over how intelligent [we] are.'
Sunday, August 21, 2005
ladies who lunch
today was hot, and not in that paris hilton vapid kind of way.
it was so hot i felt my head was on fire, a blazing bush. (why oh why did i wear a shirt that didn't breathe?)
i woke up late-ish, checked email for a bit, then left to meet a few chicago blogging women for lunch (including Bitch, who is totally cool.) we then went shopping on southport but the heat was too much for us - who can enjoy shoes when your skin is melting? i can't. but, despite the heat, i liked the women i met.
more and more, my world is filling with women. we rock.
(i drooled over a luscious red leather bag and a few pairs of low heels at this boutique: dilani on southport. and on friday, i finally found the jacket i've been looking for: a pin-tucked grey wool with 3/4 sleeves and sparkly frog closures. i'm so happy with it, i can't wait to find a good pair of cuffed grey trousers to go with it.)
it was so hot i felt my head was on fire, a blazing bush. (why oh why did i wear a shirt that didn't breathe?)
i woke up late-ish, checked email for a bit, then left to meet a few chicago blogging women for lunch (including Bitch, who is totally cool.) we then went shopping on southport but the heat was too much for us - who can enjoy shoes when your skin is melting? i can't. but, despite the heat, i liked the women i met.
more and more, my world is filling with women. we rock.
(i drooled over a luscious red leather bag and a few pairs of low heels at this boutique: dilani on southport. and on friday, i finally found the jacket i've been looking for: a pin-tucked grey wool with 3/4 sleeves and sparkly frog closures. i'm so happy with it, i can't wait to find a good pair of cuffed grey trousers to go with it.)
Saturday, August 20, 2005
soapbox? check.
ahh, the relief of fiber.
...
over at bookslut there's a link to a rather pointless conversation about whether chick lit has value. (the discussion starts out promising then devolves into a weird, meandering junior high wannabe snarkfest, and not in that interesting way, either.)
why link to it? it comes back to issues of value, taste, discernment. i've been writing my own piece of dreck lately (one that i am enjoying) and the other night, when i came home a little wasted from a work function, roomie was watching Wedding Date (the one with Debra Messing and one of the Dermots). what an utterly insipid movie. roomie put her finger on it: there's no conflict and everyone is boring. where's the conflict when the most common rule of chick lit is 'marry the boy who loves you for being you'? and where's the conflict when the heroine's journey to self-discovery follows a simple trajectory - middle class dream almost attained, middle class dream deferred, middle class dream reinforced and used as reward for maintaining the (middle class) status quo. what's discovered when she ends up back where she began, perhaps a little more knowing, but basically still unaware?
the chick-lit lovers (and their authors plum sykes, jennifer weiner, marian keyes and that woman who made my roomie throw the book across the room) defend their genre by comparing their domestic dramas to those of austen but they don't seem to have read austen very well. it's no wonder they choose austen as their guide; she's easy to underestimate. her clean and chatty novels of drawing rooms and marriage plans seem like our romance novels but austen had actual conflict. elizabeth bennet was not trying to 'find herself' in the love of a good man; she was fighting for survival, knowing that her future, and those of her sisters, depended on marriage - and marriage, even if you were gently bred, was not a sure thing especially if your family's class and reputation was...in question. this is the conflict - austen's drama is not about darcy loving elizabeth for herself; it's about class distinctions, money, sexual scandal and the laws of primogeniture that endanger a woman's ability to be free.
that's what Conflict is - the very BIG thing outside of the hero/heroine that endangers the outcome of the narrative. it's not whether someone is fat, or fired, or if someone will read the email that was accidentally sent when someone else was drunk with jealousy and stupidity. it's not a misunderstanding or a misheard conversation. that's called a plot point. conflict points to something monumental and the fact that these stories lack that largeness, that weight, just undercuts their argument that what they write is important.
...
over at bookslut there's a link to a rather pointless conversation about whether chick lit has value. (the discussion starts out promising then devolves into a weird, meandering junior high wannabe snarkfest, and not in that interesting way, either.)
why link to it? it comes back to issues of value, taste, discernment. i've been writing my own piece of dreck lately (one that i am enjoying) and the other night, when i came home a little wasted from a work function, roomie was watching Wedding Date (the one with Debra Messing and one of the Dermots). what an utterly insipid movie. roomie put her finger on it: there's no conflict and everyone is boring. where's the conflict when the most common rule of chick lit is 'marry the boy who loves you for being you'? and where's the conflict when the heroine's journey to self-discovery follows a simple trajectory - middle class dream almost attained, middle class dream deferred, middle class dream reinforced and used as reward for maintaining the (middle class) status quo. what's discovered when she ends up back where she began, perhaps a little more knowing, but basically still unaware?
the chick-lit lovers (and their authors plum sykes, jennifer weiner, marian keyes and that woman who made my roomie throw the book across the room) defend their genre by comparing their domestic dramas to those of austen but they don't seem to have read austen very well. it's no wonder they choose austen as their guide; she's easy to underestimate. her clean and chatty novels of drawing rooms and marriage plans seem like our romance novels but austen had actual conflict. elizabeth bennet was not trying to 'find herself' in the love of a good man; she was fighting for survival, knowing that her future, and those of her sisters, depended on marriage - and marriage, even if you were gently bred, was not a sure thing especially if your family's class and reputation was...in question. this is the conflict - austen's drama is not about darcy loving elizabeth for herself; it's about class distinctions, money, sexual scandal and the laws of primogeniture that endanger a woman's ability to be free.
that's what Conflict is - the very BIG thing outside of the hero/heroine that endangers the outcome of the narrative. it's not whether someone is fat, or fired, or if someone will read the email that was accidentally sent when someone else was drunk with jealousy and stupidity. it's not a misunderstanding or a misheard conversation. that's called a plot point. conflict points to something monumental and the fact that these stories lack that largeness, that weight, just undercuts their argument that what they write is important.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
how intolerant of me
if anon hated my intolerance for maxim and its readers, this should really blow their stack.
word snobbery.
love. it.
(and the writing exercises are an excellent way to take a break from work to get the flow going again.)
word snobbery.
love. it.
(and the writing exercises are an excellent way to take a break from work to get the flow going again.)
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
reading sucks
Guardian Unlimited Books | By genre | The tyranny of reading
For someone to say they don't care for reading labels them as some kind of thickie pariah, fair game for any insult. To decide any such thing on the basis of one single trait seems both sweeping and snobbish.
during my footloose-like childhood, two things distinguished me from my sister:
1- my birthmark was on the right side, hers on the left
2- i read books, she didn't
as we grew up, this second division between us became more marked. i horded my books and she launched guerilla attacks at me through them. (oh, the day i found my hardy boys mystery ripped, defaced and chewed by my dogs because my sister threw it in the back yard - oh, that was a dark day.) my sister knew how deeply this hurt me just as i knew how it hurt that i preferred reading to playing with her.
all of this is to say that my sister doesn't read very much. she read in college, yes; now her collection of books can fit in a small file cabinet. but she has read a book. somewhere, a book has felt my sister crack its spine. somewhere an idea has been digested by my sister and now sits percolating in the ether of ideas my sister carries above her.
but NEVER to have read a single book? and boldly to admit it? (and you don't have a condition to account for it?) you're no pariah. just hugely ignorant.
For someone to say they don't care for reading labels them as some kind of thickie pariah, fair game for any insult. To decide any such thing on the basis of one single trait seems both sweeping and snobbish.
during my footloose-like childhood, two things distinguished me from my sister:
1- my birthmark was on the right side, hers on the left
2- i read books, she didn't
as we grew up, this second division between us became more marked. i horded my books and she launched guerilla attacks at me through them. (oh, the day i found my hardy boys mystery ripped, defaced and chewed by my dogs because my sister threw it in the back yard - oh, that was a dark day.) my sister knew how deeply this hurt me just as i knew how it hurt that i preferred reading to playing with her.
all of this is to say that my sister doesn't read very much. she read in college, yes; now her collection of books can fit in a small file cabinet. but she has read a book. somewhere, a book has felt my sister crack its spine. somewhere an idea has been digested by my sister and now sits percolating in the ether of ideas my sister carries above her.
but NEVER to have read a single book? and boldly to admit it? (and you don't have a condition to account for it?) you're no pariah. just hugely ignorant.
illinois rocks: pharmacy access to contraception permanent
yay!
there are a lot of things wrong with illinois government - but this isn't one of them. if things go bad on the federal level, i feel good that my state legislature still recognizes women's needs. (and good on planned parenthood for keeping up the pressure.)
there are a lot of things wrong with illinois government - but this isn't one of them. if things go bad on the federal level, i feel good that my state legislature still recognizes women's needs. (and good on planned parenthood for keeping up the pressure.)
why i'm glad i'm 35: maxim is 'cool'
Do You Read Maxim? Like to Shoot Pool? Welcome to the Club - New York Times
"It's a very cool magazine," Mr. Gerber said. "I've been to a bunch of parties they've had. It's my clientele at those parties." The typical Maxim reader is a 27-year-old male whose favorite alcoholic beverage is tequila and whose preferred leisure activity is shooting pool.
do you fear for the future? cuz i do.
"It's a very cool magazine," Mr. Gerber said. "I've been to a bunch of parties they've had. It's my clientele at those parties." The typical Maxim reader is a 27-year-old male whose favorite alcoholic beverage is tequila and whose preferred leisure activity is shooting pool.
do you fear for the future? cuz i do.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
yawn: Chicago Tribune | BLOGS CAN BITE
same old same old.
here's a thought for writers covering this new-fangled things called blogs: how about writing something interesting?
you have a front page story to write and these are the most interesting stories you can explore? jeebus.
here's a thought for writers covering this new-fangled things called blogs: how about writing something interesting?
you have a front page story to write and these are the most interesting stories you can explore? jeebus.
Monday, August 15, 2005
meme meme meme...
(it's my lunch break. really.)
50 Questions (via ABDmom)
1. First name: Ding
2. Were you named after anyone? Yes; my mother’s best friend back in the philippines
3. Do you wish on stars? No.
4. When did you last cry? Sunday I teared up a little while watching First Daughter but I’m chalking that up to PMS.
5. Do you like your handwriting? Very. My print is very blocky.
6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Um…shhh…liver loaf.
7. What is your most embarrassing CD? I once had a baby face cd. I later sold it in a yard sale.
8. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? Of course! I’m fabulous (despite the fact that I will most likely forget my new friend’s birthday.)
9. Do you have a journal? Yes, one that i’ve been neglecting because of this thing.
10. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Doesn’t everybody?
11. What are your nicknames? Yum-yum, gassy princess...
12. Would you bungee jump? Um, no.
13. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Shoes? With laces? You mean gasp athletic gear?!
14. Do you think that you are strong? My lower body strength is immense – really! I can leg press a muther. I have weak girly upper body strength that only kicks in during panic.
15. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. (because I am a super fudge chunk – ha! Roomy – beat you to it.)
16. Shoe Size? 8
17. Red or pink? Persimmon.
18. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? I think I’m inheriting my mother’s problematic filipina grandmother tendency to be, uh, hairy. I’m not happy about it. At all. Grr.
19. Who do you miss most? My mom.
20. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? Whatever.
21. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? I am proudly wearing a maternity summer dress from Target! Why maternity? Because it’s comfy and gives me an excuse to stop holding it in. Heh.
22. What are you listening to right now? Radiofreevirgin.com
23. Last thing you ate? Corner Bakery croissant.
24. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Burnt sienna.
25. What is the weather like right now? Hot and slightly humid.
26. Last person you talked to on the phone? Roomie, to wake her up.
27. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? I actually have a hard time noticing the opposite sex…(no peripheral vision, dude! None!)
28. Favorite Drink? Red wine, champagne, hendrick’s gin, or whiskey
29. Favorite Sport? That’s funny.
30. Hair Color? Brown (with gray in exactly the same spot my dad has it)
31. Eye Color? Brown
32. Do you wear contacts? No – I’m terrified of them. I sport cute black glasses.
33. Favorite Food? Meatloaf. Always meatloaf.
34. Last Movie You Watched? The Aristocrats. Heh.
35. Favorite Day Of The Year? Thanksgiving.
36. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings? Scary movies; happy endings are for chumps.
37. Summer Or Winter? Summer
38. Hugs OR Kisses? Kisses
39. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? (see Ben & Jerry above)
40. Who Is Most Likely To Respond? Hmmph.
41. Who Is Least Likely To Respond? Phht.
42. What Books Are You Reading? Jonathan Ames
43. What's On Your Mouse Pad? My hand, on the mouse.
44. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? The one with that skinny girl in it and that preternaturally mature child, dakota fanning
45. Favorite Smells? Bread, bacon, jasmine, gardenia, issey miyake’s parfum
46. Favorite Sounds? Traffic
47. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Rolling stones
48. What's the furthest you've been from home? Europe.
49. Do you have a special talent? Um…my (cough) yoda imitation.
50. What is your ring tone? Some baroque thing…
50 Questions (via ABDmom)
1. First name: Ding
2. Were you named after anyone? Yes; my mother’s best friend back in the philippines
3. Do you wish on stars? No.
4. When did you last cry? Sunday I teared up a little while watching First Daughter but I’m chalking that up to PMS.
5. Do you like your handwriting? Very. My print is very blocky.
6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Um…shhh…liver loaf.
7. What is your most embarrassing CD? I once had a baby face cd. I later sold it in a yard sale.
8. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? Of course! I’m fabulous (despite the fact that I will most likely forget my new friend’s birthday.)
9. Do you have a journal? Yes, one that i’ve been neglecting because of this thing.
10. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Doesn’t everybody?
11. What are your nicknames? Yum-yum, gassy princess...
12. Would you bungee jump? Um, no.
13. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Shoes? With laces? You mean gasp athletic gear?!
14. Do you think that you are strong? My lower body strength is immense – really! I can leg press a muther. I have weak girly upper body strength that only kicks in during panic.
15. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. (because I am a super fudge chunk – ha! Roomy – beat you to it.)
16. Shoe Size? 8
17. Red or pink? Persimmon.
18. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? I think I’m inheriting my mother’s problematic filipina grandmother tendency to be, uh, hairy. I’m not happy about it. At all. Grr.
19. Who do you miss most? My mom.
20. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? Whatever.
21. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? I am proudly wearing a maternity summer dress from Target! Why maternity? Because it’s comfy and gives me an excuse to stop holding it in. Heh.
22. What are you listening to right now? Radiofreevirgin.com
23. Last thing you ate? Corner Bakery croissant.
24. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Burnt sienna.
25. What is the weather like right now? Hot and slightly humid.
26. Last person you talked to on the phone? Roomie, to wake her up.
27. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? I actually have a hard time noticing the opposite sex…(no peripheral vision, dude! None!)
28. Favorite Drink? Red wine, champagne, hendrick’s gin, or whiskey
29. Favorite Sport? That’s funny.
30. Hair Color? Brown (with gray in exactly the same spot my dad has it)
31. Eye Color? Brown
32. Do you wear contacts? No – I’m terrified of them. I sport cute black glasses.
33. Favorite Food? Meatloaf. Always meatloaf.
34. Last Movie You Watched? The Aristocrats. Heh.
35. Favorite Day Of The Year? Thanksgiving.
36. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings? Scary movies; happy endings are for chumps.
37. Summer Or Winter? Summer
38. Hugs OR Kisses? Kisses
39. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? (see Ben & Jerry above)
40. Who Is Most Likely To Respond? Hmmph.
41. Who Is Least Likely To Respond? Phht.
42. What Books Are You Reading? Jonathan Ames
43. What's On Your Mouse Pad? My hand, on the mouse.
44. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? The one with that skinny girl in it and that preternaturally mature child, dakota fanning
45. Favorite Smells? Bread, bacon, jasmine, gardenia, issey miyake’s parfum
46. Favorite Sounds? Traffic
47. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Rolling stones
48. What's the furthest you've been from home? Europe.
49. Do you have a special talent? Um…my (cough) yoda imitation.
50. What is your ring tone? Some baroque thing…
Sunday, August 14, 2005
scribble scribble
roomie sits on the couch tonight blissfully engrossed in miracle, the movie about our olympic hockey victory in 1980. (have i mentioned roomie is from minnesota?) i sit at our dining table, surrounded by a watered down whiskey, a coke, cigarettes and unopened mail. (mail=bad news!)
it's been a nice weekend, rainy and warm, and we spent hours at the movie theater yesterday. march of the penguins (hey, we thought it'd be educational!) was less than satisfactory. first, seeing any G-rated movie is a mistake if you see it in the afternoon. children. everywhere. really chatty children. we had to move to an empty part of the theater but we were pursued into that section, as well. here's a piece of movie theater etiquette: when your newborn starts wailing at the top of its lungs, pack up everyone and leave the theater. please.
we decided to wash the children's fare from our minds by taking in 'the aristocrats.' ah, profanity, vulgarity, incest, shit and bestiality. it was the perfect tonic to the curiously bloodless march of the penguins. (i'm sorry, if you intone pretty much from the beginning of the movie that some penguins won't survive the winter, i want to see penguin carcass; if you say predators are coming for the fuzzy babies i want to see that weird ass bird snatch a fuzzy baby, rip off its head and fly away with it. it's nature.)
we came home to watch tv (we're total potatos) and then had a brief discussion of race - again - and why people of color ask less questions about white people. roomie has come to terms with her privilege and i've reassured her i don't blame her for anything, though perhaps some reading would be in order. (remember that reading list?)
today, i stayed home to write. the Worst Romance Ever is in full swing, though i'm having some issues trying to keep my heroine from sounding like a humorless prig. it was good to puzzle some things out. i miss these times when it's just me, a cursor, a question and a pack of cigs. these are the things i miss most from graduate school.
...
B- sent me a short series of emails this week. it's been a couple of months (or has it been three?) since he and i were last together. our contact is spotty and usually follows a familiar cycle: a night together, several months apart, a tentative attempt at reestablishing contact, contact is made, another night together. and so on.
his last three messages went unanswered and sooner or later i'm going to have to figure out a way to say i'm not up for it anymore.
it's been a nice weekend, rainy and warm, and we spent hours at the movie theater yesterday. march of the penguins (hey, we thought it'd be educational!) was less than satisfactory. first, seeing any G-rated movie is a mistake if you see it in the afternoon. children. everywhere. really chatty children. we had to move to an empty part of the theater but we were pursued into that section, as well. here's a piece of movie theater etiquette: when your newborn starts wailing at the top of its lungs, pack up everyone and leave the theater. please.
we decided to wash the children's fare from our minds by taking in 'the aristocrats.' ah, profanity, vulgarity, incest, shit and bestiality. it was the perfect tonic to the curiously bloodless march of the penguins. (i'm sorry, if you intone pretty much from the beginning of the movie that some penguins won't survive the winter, i want to see penguin carcass; if you say predators are coming for the fuzzy babies i want to see that weird ass bird snatch a fuzzy baby, rip off its head and fly away with it. it's nature.)
we came home to watch tv (we're total potatos) and then had a brief discussion of race - again - and why people of color ask less questions about white people. roomie has come to terms with her privilege and i've reassured her i don't blame her for anything, though perhaps some reading would be in order. (remember that reading list?)
today, i stayed home to write. the Worst Romance Ever is in full swing, though i'm having some issues trying to keep my heroine from sounding like a humorless prig. it was good to puzzle some things out. i miss these times when it's just me, a cursor, a question and a pack of cigs. these are the things i miss most from graduate school.
...
B- sent me a short series of emails this week. it's been a couple of months (or has it been three?) since he and i were last together. our contact is spotty and usually follows a familiar cycle: a night together, several months apart, a tentative attempt at reestablishing contact, contact is made, another night together. and so on.
his last three messages went unanswered and sooner or later i'm going to have to figure out a way to say i'm not up for it anymore.
yikes
ever had one of those moments when you read something that makes you swear the person who wrote it is sitting right in front of you at your kitchen table? you know this voice. it belongs to the woman who says the angry uncomfortable truth that makes you look around wondering if anyone heard that. (my roomie is one of these women.)
they are AngryBlackBitch.
and, man, does she have ideas about that story last week about that jail break down in tennessee.
(she's going on the blog roll)
they are AngryBlackBitch.
and, man, does she have ideas about that story last week about that jail break down in tennessee.
(she's going on the blog roll)
please no
no. way.
i mentioned this to my roommate and she about had a fit. 'no, they can't do that!'
considering this article is from july and no one's heard anything about it, maybe we've all dodged a very icky bullet. television can barely raise itself above a junior high level of discourse; it's hardly a subtle enough tool to look at race.
i mentioned this to my roommate and she about had a fit. 'no, they can't do that!'
considering this article is from july and no one's heard anything about it, maybe we've all dodged a very icky bullet. television can barely raise itself above a junior high level of discourse; it's hardly a subtle enough tool to look at race.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Girl Crush; the times has a word for everything
first it was metrosexual.
then came man-date.
now it's girl crush.
my old roommate was fond of 'office boyfriend'.
pretty soon we won't be able to walk, the world will be so plastered with words defining relationships that had previously been unknown.
then came man-date.
now it's girl crush.
my old roommate was fond of 'office boyfriend'.
pretty soon we won't be able to walk, the world will be so plastered with words defining relationships that had previously been unknown.
All Cultures Are Not Equal: so says david brooks
sigh.
is it me or is david really talking about two different things when he uses the word 'culture'?
i'm prompted to ask, why write this column? what is he going after? does he think no one will really notice he's misusing terms?
i'm going to bed.
is it me or is david really talking about two different things when he uses the word 'culture'?
i'm prompted to ask, why write this column? what is he going after? does he think no one will really notice he's misusing terms?
i'm going to bed.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
birfday
So the birthday is next month.
It’s giving me a little trouble. Not the usual ‘I’m so old’ crap. I look forward to getting older – my body is changing (again), my outlook is changing and I’m only dreading menopause because of the discomfort (ding hates discomfort). The women I’ve gotten to know through the Social Do-Gooder Job are older, yet look and act younger because of the immense fire they have in their bellies; they are given youth through what they do.
So it’s not the fact of my age that’s throwing me for a loop.
It’s the aesthetics, or the imagery, of this number. I mean, when I was approaching 35, there was a roundness to it that appealed to me. It was dead center; 35 was such a good, steady number. It signified balance to me. 36, however, is off-center; 12 goes into it 3 times. (right?) It’s weird. It’s not a milestone age, like 30 or 35. It’s after the milestone. It’s sort of the chapter after Happily Ever After.
It’s the Then What? page.
So now what? These are the less than ambitious plans now that I'm officially approaching middle age:
Learn how to sew properly (which means I’d need my mom’s old Singer …)
Take a tango lesson (or maybe the foxtrot; I’ve always liked the foxtrot)
Take a vocal class (it’s been ages since I've belted anything out)
Have a girly golf outing (I know but it’s really about the drinks afterward, isn’t it?)
New pillows for my bed.
It’s giving me a little trouble. Not the usual ‘I’m so old’ crap. I look forward to getting older – my body is changing (again), my outlook is changing and I’m only dreading menopause because of the discomfort (ding hates discomfort). The women I’ve gotten to know through the Social Do-Gooder Job are older, yet look and act younger because of the immense fire they have in their bellies; they are given youth through what they do.
So it’s not the fact of my age that’s throwing me for a loop.
It’s the aesthetics, or the imagery, of this number. I mean, when I was approaching 35, there was a roundness to it that appealed to me. It was dead center; 35 was such a good, steady number. It signified balance to me. 36, however, is off-center; 12 goes into it 3 times. (right?) It’s weird. It’s not a milestone age, like 30 or 35. It’s after the milestone. It’s sort of the chapter after Happily Ever After.
It’s the Then What? page.
So now what? These are the less than ambitious plans now that I'm officially approaching middle age:
Learn how to sew properly (which means I’d need my mom’s old Singer …)
Take a tango lesson (or maybe the foxtrot; I’ve always liked the foxtrot)
Take a vocal class (it’s been ages since I've belted anything out)
Have a girly golf outing (I know but it’s really about the drinks afterward, isn’t it?)
New pillows for my bed.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
ouch. my ass.
this post officially goes in the TMI box. if you're squeamish then look away - like, here maybe.
if you're brave and bold, like a listerine breath pak, then read on:
i have a hemorrhoid.
it's making me afraid to poop. this fear, in turn, is making me constipated. which makes it harder to poop. which hurts my ass visitor. two weeks ago, after church, i went to walgreens. i just couldn't take it anymore. so there i stood, in the itch/burn/ben gay aisle puzzling over what to put up my butt to make it stop hurting. a suppository? i couldn't figure out the directions. a topical cream? my roomie told me stories of her dad complaining of leakage. the least invasive remedy i could think of: a medicated towelette.
i reached out to take a package when a guy came over and stood next to me, also pondering the mysteries of tucks vs. preparation H. we stood there, frozen, each with our own ass issues. i finally grabbed my box of towelettes and got the hell out of there. i even bought a box of girly laxatives (the box was pink!). but then my way too efficient cleaning lady came and threw them away.
tonight, while watching peter pan with my roommate, i decided to see what web md had to say. eesh. not good. words like 'vigorous wiping' 'pushing strain' 'probe' 'see your doctor right away' and 'fiber' throbbed at me.
i don't think i want to see a doctor about this, i said to roomie.
i think you should have a colonoscopy, she said.
i can't believe you just tossed that out like - like it was nothing! nothing is going up my ass! no one is going to send a periscope up my butt!
the fact that nothing is coming out my butt is not lost on me.
...
there's just no good way to finish a post like that, is there?
if you're brave and bold, like a listerine breath pak, then read on:
i have a hemorrhoid.
it's making me afraid to poop. this fear, in turn, is making me constipated. which makes it harder to poop. which hurts my ass visitor. two weeks ago, after church, i went to walgreens. i just couldn't take it anymore. so there i stood, in the itch/burn/ben gay aisle puzzling over what to put up my butt to make it stop hurting. a suppository? i couldn't figure out the directions. a topical cream? my roomie told me stories of her dad complaining of leakage. the least invasive remedy i could think of: a medicated towelette.
i reached out to take a package when a guy came over and stood next to me, also pondering the mysteries of tucks vs. preparation H. we stood there, frozen, each with our own ass issues. i finally grabbed my box of towelettes and got the hell out of there. i even bought a box of girly laxatives (the box was pink!). but then my way too efficient cleaning lady came and threw them away.
tonight, while watching peter pan with my roommate, i decided to see what web md had to say. eesh. not good. words like 'vigorous wiping' 'pushing strain' 'probe' 'see your doctor right away' and 'fiber' throbbed at me.
i don't think i want to see a doctor about this, i said to roomie.
i think you should have a colonoscopy, she said.
i can't believe you just tossed that out like - like it was nothing! nothing is going up my ass! no one is going to send a periscope up my butt!
the fact that nothing is coming out my butt is not lost on me.
...
there's just no good way to finish a post like that, is there?
Liberty University: where liberty means none
Student Affairs - LW - Code of Conduct - JudicialSys - Reprimands... - Liberty University
so imagine how much you'd have to cough up in fines if:
you visited your (illegal) non-catholic boyfriend at his apartment off campus, failed to identify yourself when you snuck back and then decided to cap off the evening at an illicit seance.
[via foreword]
so imagine how much you'd have to cough up in fines if:
you visited your (illegal) non-catholic boyfriend at his apartment off campus, failed to identify yourself when you snuck back and then decided to cap off the evening at an illicit seance.
[via foreword]
Monday, August 08, 2005
to see if i can, i've been writing a really crappy romance novella. i thought the discipline of regular writing would be good for me and, for once, to FINISH something would be nice. i had a few versions of it from a few years ago but, when i quit my job earlier this year, i dug them up, reread them, and started over. unemployment was the best thing to happen to this little project - whole days of writing crappily, yet happily.
i gave myself a goal - something in vague finished form by my birthday - but because i've been so consumed with work (which is good) i've had to catch up with my own writing. and, because i've been so consumed with politics, romance just hasn't been on my radar (erotica/porn, yes-romance, no) so i checked out a couple contemporary romances/chick lit last weekend, to get my feet wet again. research.
how's it going?
aack. i hate it. it's all crap. these books suck. kill me. kill me now.
(thank the book gods i also checked out a novel about a forensic entomologist and one about a gay man's wacky adventures with his butler.)
i gave myself a goal - something in vague finished form by my birthday - but because i've been so consumed with work (which is good) i've had to catch up with my own writing. and, because i've been so consumed with politics, romance just hasn't been on my radar (erotica/porn, yes-romance, no) so i checked out a couple contemporary romances/chick lit last weekend, to get my feet wet again. research.
how's it going?
aack. i hate it. it's all crap. these books suck. kill me. kill me now.
(thank the book gods i also checked out a novel about a forensic entomologist and one about a gay man's wacky adventures with his butler.)
Ms. Magazine | The Dialectic of Fat: From Kirstie Alley to Broadway to Fiji
if i wasn't so constipated and worried about renal failure i'd think harder about this.
but no matter your lower GI situation, it's a good read.
but no matter your lower GI situation, it's a good read.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Delicious Biting: Savory pancakes
what does a french literary icon have to do with buckwheat pancakes? plenty.
damned by faint praise
i like the word play in curtis' title "Terry McMillan - Waiting to excel" but, really, a whole literary history on the black aesthetic movement?
it's significant that most of the review is about that instead of mcmillan's new book.
in fact, this is about as much enthusiasm as he can muster:
The Interruption of Everything may not be a great novel, but it's a far more ambitious one than McMillan has written in years, and it seems like a lurch toward something important.
i stopped reading mcmillan years ago. i thought she was bland. boring. tired. done. cliched.
so, curtis, just break it to us: she's a bad writer. we can take it.
it's significant that most of the review is about that instead of mcmillan's new book.
in fact, this is about as much enthusiasm as he can muster:
The Interruption of Everything may not be a great novel, but it's a far more ambitious one than McMillan has written in years, and it seems like a lurch toward something important.
i stopped reading mcmillan years ago. i thought she was bland. boring. tired. done. cliched.
so, curtis, just break it to us: she's a bad writer. we can take it.
Friday, August 05, 2005
what to do...?
the day is bright and cool and i have the rest of the afternoon off...
what to do?
go back to the neighborhood and write in the cafe?
see a movie?
buy a comic book? (oooh)
window shop for fall stuff?
return overdue library books? (boo)
eat a cheap, yet satisfying, lunch?
try on shoes? (yay!)
museum?
walk in the park?
take a train ride to a new neighborhood?
sigh.
what to do?
go back to the neighborhood and write in the cafe?
see a movie?
buy a comic book? (oooh)
window shop for fall stuff?
return overdue library books? (boo)
eat a cheap, yet satisfying, lunch?
try on shoes? (yay!)
museum?
walk in the park?
take a train ride to a new neighborhood?
sigh.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
dove: i like the ads
and so does poundy, who penned a rebuttal to the lame asses at the sun-times who think the ads are ugly, offensive and gross.
fuck you, asshats.
(poundy's rebuttal is more articulate than that but you get my drift.)
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
yick.
Filipina Brides And Marriage Resource
i wish i knew the tagalog for 'you sad little man.'
all i know is tatay mo kalbo. (used to crack us up when we were kids.)
that doesn't fit the situation somehow.
[via feckless, though were she finds this stuff i don't know.]
i wish i knew the tagalog for 'you sad little man.'
all i know is tatay mo kalbo. (used to crack us up when we were kids.)
that doesn't fit the situation somehow.
[via feckless, though were she finds this stuff i don't know.]
sorta.
Salon.com Life | I want you to want me - NP
The letters in response to this essay are interesting.
Most of them accuse her of being a drama queen, contrary, 'white', whiny and to 'get over it.' Well, sorta.
Maybe the Beyonces or the Halle Berrys among us don't want to admit to being needy and so Dickerson’s need for affirmation from white people is too … ugly.
Maybe there’s a generational difference; in a lot of ways I have the same reaction to Terry Macmillan and her books. That particular slice of older black woman waiting to exhale was too dependent on male approval for my taste.
On the other hand…
As a reasonably cute brown girl who doesn’t fly off the handle for just any reason (cough) I think she has a point. But her position is a tricky one – using the Wedding Crashers to argue for cultural acceptance as sex object while black women are also objecting to being just a booty in hip hop videos is a highwire act I’m glad I don’t have to sustain.
I think her larger point is that black femininity is either one of two types – the Halle Berry/Beyonce/Dorothy Dandridge type (ultra feminine object) or the workaday capable black woman who’s so capable we’re hardly women (Missy Elliot before she lost weight.) Her point is that, for whatever reason, black women don’t count as representable cultural objects.
Is she wrong? I mean, other than Oprah, where are black women visible in our culture (other than entertainment) and how are we visible?
The letters in response to this essay are interesting.
Most of them accuse her of being a drama queen, contrary, 'white', whiny and to 'get over it.' Well, sorta.
Maybe the Beyonces or the Halle Berrys among us don't want to admit to being needy and so Dickerson’s need for affirmation from white people is too … ugly.
Maybe there’s a generational difference; in a lot of ways I have the same reaction to Terry Macmillan and her books. That particular slice of older black woman waiting to exhale was too dependent on male approval for my taste.
On the other hand…
As a reasonably cute brown girl who doesn’t fly off the handle for just any reason (cough) I think she has a point. But her position is a tricky one – using the Wedding Crashers to argue for cultural acceptance as sex object while black women are also objecting to being just a booty in hip hop videos is a highwire act I’m glad I don’t have to sustain.
I think her larger point is that black femininity is either one of two types – the Halle Berry/Beyonce/Dorothy Dandridge type (ultra feminine object) or the workaday capable black woman who’s so capable we’re hardly women (Missy Elliot before she lost weight.) Her point is that, for whatever reason, black women don’t count as representable cultural objects.
Is she wrong? I mean, other than Oprah, where are black women visible in our culture (other than entertainment) and how are we visible?
amen, sister.
via bitch (you know where to find her) a fab rant on nursing, professional obligations to provide patient care and why religion needs to stay out the medical business:
The Drunken Lagomorph :: Medical duty vs. faith and religion :: August :: 2005
there are some days when i wish i could take the pill just so i could ask for it and, when i'm refused, lose my shit on somebody.
it's one of those days, you know?
The Drunken Lagomorph :: Medical duty vs. faith and religion :: August :: 2005
there are some days when i wish i could take the pill just so i could ask for it and, when i'm refused, lose my shit on somebody.
it's one of those days, you know?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
brilliant
in-fucking-credible. that didn't take long at all.
i thought we had at least a few years until the right started going after birth control wholeheartedly, but this was faster than expected: banning the dispensing of birth control at a university hospital.
what. the. hell.
'birth control leads to promiscuity'?
these are adult women who can make up their own minds and don't need a legislature telling them they're not supposed to have sex - and if they do, tough shit.
so let's keep a running tally of the conservative wish list for women:
no rape counseling
no emergency contraception
no regular contraception
no access to abortion
no pregnancy counseling
what's more likely to happen: women stop having sex or women start getting pregnant and catching diseases? women stop having sex or women drop out of college because they're pregnant and can't deal? women stop having sex or...what?
what?!
i thought we had at least a few years until the right started going after birth control wholeheartedly, but this was faster than expected: banning the dispensing of birth control at a university hospital.
what. the. hell.
'birth control leads to promiscuity'?
these are adult women who can make up their own minds and don't need a legislature telling them they're not supposed to have sex - and if they do, tough shit.
so let's keep a running tally of the conservative wish list for women:
no rape counseling
no emergency contraception
no regular contraception
no access to abortion
no pregnancy counseling
what's more likely to happen: women stop having sex or women start getting pregnant and catching diseases? women stop having sex or women drop out of college because they're pregnant and can't deal? women stop having sex or...what?
what?!
Monday, August 01, 2005
what's the effing point anymore, you know?
Bush Appoints Bolton as U.N. Envoy, Bypassing Senate - New York Times
why not just declare himself king and get it over with?
why not just declare himself king and get it over with?
Saturday, July 30, 2005
my moment of black zen: the dan band
I went to see the Dan Band last night (it was roomie’s birthday and they are funny) and there was a brief moment when it became problematic.
When I use the word problematic I’m using it in my ex-academic brown girl/UCLA activist kind of way. What this means is that one or more of the following triggers was pushed: race, class, gender, sexuality. My brain doesn’t necessarily go there all the time (you gotta choose your battles) but sometimes something pushes the buttons.
The lame-ass opening act Waiting Game already had me at a slow simmer when, because we all hated them, they forced a young woman to bare her breasts onstage to distract everyone from how fucking craptacular they were.
And when the Dan Band came on, I was enjoying it. They were funny – they’re like that wedding cover band that already seems to be drunk, so you either go with it or you hang out in the lounge and wait for them to be over. So I went with it. The Dan Band sings girl songs: Shoop, Whatta Man, No More Drama, Genie in a Bottle, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Get your Freak On, Nasty, Tyrone, Milkshake. Generally it’s like a huge frat party.
Not being a fan of the frat party I sort of detached. The crowd was into it, though: those there for the nostalgia factor of 80s songs and the frat kids there for the beery, accelerated, fun of three white guys doing bad choreography onstage to girl karaoke. I can appreciate that – his version of ‘Genie in a Bottle’? Fucking funny.
But there was a point when I thought, This is a moment of white male appropriation of the female voice (especially the black female voice) at its best. For example, Badu’s ‘Tyrone’ is so good because every black woman recognizes it as a song of empowerment; the black woman tells the truth, draws the line, asserts her power and that last line – ‘but you can’t use my phone.’ – this is the payoff. This is the knockout, the Amen moment. But take that song, strip it of context, speed it up, put flashing lights behind it and get the Dan Band to cover it for a bunch of kids and suburbanites who don’t get it, then it’s stripped of anything vital and just becomes another thing for a consumerist privileged audience.
(see, i'm rereading what i just wrote and i'm thinking, oh some folks aren't gonna get this and just think i pick on everything...maybe i should tone it down...maybe i'm thinking too hard about the dan band...they're just a fun band...maybe i should lay off for a bit...maybe i'm sounding too militant...
but no. i'm letting it stand.)
When I use the word problematic I’m using it in my ex-academic brown girl/UCLA activist kind of way. What this means is that one or more of the following triggers was pushed: race, class, gender, sexuality. My brain doesn’t necessarily go there all the time (you gotta choose your battles) but sometimes something pushes the buttons.
The lame-ass opening act Waiting Game already had me at a slow simmer when, because we all hated them, they forced a young woman to bare her breasts onstage to distract everyone from how fucking craptacular they were.
And when the Dan Band came on, I was enjoying it. They were funny – they’re like that wedding cover band that already seems to be drunk, so you either go with it or you hang out in the lounge and wait for them to be over. So I went with it. The Dan Band sings girl songs: Shoop, Whatta Man, No More Drama, Genie in a Bottle, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Get your Freak On, Nasty, Tyrone, Milkshake. Generally it’s like a huge frat party.
Not being a fan of the frat party I sort of detached. The crowd was into it, though: those there for the nostalgia factor of 80s songs and the frat kids there for the beery, accelerated, fun of three white guys doing bad choreography onstage to girl karaoke. I can appreciate that – his version of ‘Genie in a Bottle’? Fucking funny.
But there was a point when I thought, This is a moment of white male appropriation of the female voice (especially the black female voice) at its best. For example, Badu’s ‘Tyrone’ is so good because every black woman recognizes it as a song of empowerment; the black woman tells the truth, draws the line, asserts her power and that last line – ‘but you can’t use my phone.’ – this is the payoff. This is the knockout, the Amen moment. But take that song, strip it of context, speed it up, put flashing lights behind it and get the Dan Band to cover it for a bunch of kids and suburbanites who don’t get it, then it’s stripped of anything vital and just becomes another thing for a consumerist privileged audience.
(see, i'm rereading what i just wrote and i'm thinking, oh some folks aren't gonna get this and just think i pick on everything...maybe i should tone it down...maybe i'm thinking too hard about the dan band...they're just a fun band...maybe i should lay off for a bit...maybe i'm sounding too militant...
but no. i'm letting it stand.)
Friday, July 29, 2005
whoops. pardon me!
there is a certain someone i know who's been having a rather difficult week, digestically speaking. we still don't know the cause of all this lower-GI action and it's causing much discomfort, disruption (eruption) and strange noises.
but i think i've found the problem. clearly, this someone is a sea cucumber and, feeling endangered, is expelling themselves through the ass.
it's a theory.
[via smart bitches]
but i think i've found the problem. clearly, this someone is a sea cucumber and, feeling endangered, is expelling themselves through the ass.
it's a theory.
[via smart bitches]
Thursday, July 28, 2005
huzzah!: custom fit pants/jeans
Plain Jane custom design
i have a pair of jeans that i love love love. they're cut generously through the thigh and leg with a slight flare at the bottom; they have a good cuff and pockets that lay flat; they're the trouser equivalent of jeans and when i wear them to work, they look best with a mule or a shoe with a distinctive low heel.
i've had lincoln park trixies come up to me and say they love my pants. this NEVER happens to me unless i'm wearing these jeans.
and i want more. they fit perfectly and make me feel tall, sexy and action-oriented (i could run for a taxi!). i want another pair of jeans made like them and a pair of black pants cut just like them so i can wear office pants without looking like a postal office worker. (not that there's anything wrong with being a postal worker...just dressing like one.)
so take that, new york.
i have a pair of jeans that i love love love. they're cut generously through the thigh and leg with a slight flare at the bottom; they have a good cuff and pockets that lay flat; they're the trouser equivalent of jeans and when i wear them to work, they look best with a mule or a shoe with a distinctive low heel.
i've had lincoln park trixies come up to me and say they love my pants. this NEVER happens to me unless i'm wearing these jeans.
and i want more. they fit perfectly and make me feel tall, sexy and action-oriented (i could run for a taxi!). i want another pair of jeans made like them and a pair of black pants cut just like them so i can wear office pants without looking like a postal office worker. (not that there's anything wrong with being a postal worker...just dressing like one.)
so take that, new york.
sigh. still not it.
For Sweet Size 16, Stylish Workout Wear - New York Times
call me crazy but the zaftique site mentioned in the article still has stomach shuddering ugly clothes for big soft girls. grr. a cute boot cut yoga pant! how hard is that??
call me crazy but the zaftique site mentioned in the article still has stomach shuddering ugly clothes for big soft girls. grr. a cute boot cut yoga pant! how hard is that??
sigh. inappropriate desire.
Girls in Boots: Attitude on the Hoof - New York Times
oh, the boots. i love the boots. ever since i was a kid, boots have been my friend - cowboy, lace up, ankle. bootie. motocicleta. love them all.
they're butch, they're hardy, they're femme.
they also don't get stuck in street grates and wack out your sciatica.
oh, the boots. i love the boots. ever since i was a kid, boots have been my friend - cowboy, lace up, ankle. bootie. motocicleta. love them all.
they're butch, they're hardy, they're femme.
they also don't get stuck in street grates and wack out your sciatica.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
duh.
HoustonChronicle.com - When spouses come out as gay, marriages suffer
i shouldn't laugh. really.
but i can't help it.
[via bookslut]
i shouldn't laugh. really.
but i can't help it.
[via bookslut]
Monday, July 25, 2005
Feckless Pursuit: in the navy
snort.
i no longer work for the Man so i'm all out of corporate bitchiness (it would be rude for me to be bitchy about my new gig) but thank god my roomie, still stuck in the corporate skinner box, has enough bile for us all:
I have been assigned three studies, one of which is headed by a Brazilian with a large head and very short legs. I was distracted thinking he may be a jockey, but decided that his parents must be cousins.
heh. i miss sharing an office with my roomie.
i no longer work for the Man so i'm all out of corporate bitchiness (it would be rude for me to be bitchy about my new gig) but thank god my roomie, still stuck in the corporate skinner box, has enough bile for us all:
I have been assigned three studies, one of which is headed by a Brazilian with a large head and very short legs. I was distracted thinking he may be a jockey, but decided that his parents must be cousins.
heh. i miss sharing an office with my roomie.
public sex: what's all the fuss?
'Oh, and for those of you who want to discuss your sex life on your blog: don't, it can only come back to bite you, and you gain nothing in doing so. If you must include some sex, feel free to steal this paragraph:
And then I [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] with my [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] and couldn't feel [censored] [censored] [censored] tuna salad.'
Those who occasionally stop by here know that, occasionally, I mention the fact that I, in fact, do have sex. Not always with the same person but the dry spells have been so far in between, the matter is pretty moot. (Or 'moo' as Joey would say.) So it's no wonder that I heartily disagree with the advice from Nathan at WebPronews.com (who can't seem to spell 'embarrassment' correctly.)
The nanny story from last week was pretty horrific; I don't think I can recall reading anything quite so self-righteous, self-indulgent and faux-thoughtful than Olen's piece about why she fired her nanny. I found her wide-eyed dismay in the face of her nanny's brief mentions of sex bourgeois (not 'seeming bourgeois' as Olen says in her essay but actually bourgeois). Olen can't be much older than I am and so she's surprised when a healthy woman in her mid-twenties has sex? She's shocked when a young woman mentions (again, briefly) that she's attracted to both men and women? Sweetie, please. I think the words you're actually looking for here are titillated and aroused.
Most of the response has been supportive of the nanny, who's off to grad school for her lit degree where she will undoubtedly encounter the same kind of 19th century squeamishness and prudery (there is nothing more hetero-coersively normative than graduate school), but always with a bit of avuncular advice thrown in: tut, tut, you should have known better than to write about your sex life.
Really? Why? How should women write and talk about sex? Where is the appropriate place to write about sex?
We're free to rant on about politics - just as long as it's not about sex. We're free to spew forth about religion - but, hey, nix the sex. We could rail about pop culture, current events, our latest recipes and even our job (whoops, maybe not that) but never ever about (shh) sex. Is it too embarrassing? To whom? The sexer or the person who reads about the sex? Who blushes when you read that the last time me and a certain someone got naked we experienced a total prophylactic malfunction and a condom got stuck inside my girly parts and it took me FOREVER to remove it, contorted in a funky yoga position in the bathroom while the boy knocked hesitantly on the door offering help and I, through gritted teeth, told him to fuck off?
Something happens when you write in/for the public. I daresay the same thing happens when you go onstage. A transformation takes place. The truth becomes Story. The truth becomes a narrative, one chunk of story set in place next to other chunks of narrative. My Prophylactic Malfunction becomes part of the dubious collection of stories about misplaced rubbers, emergency room disasters, broken off cucumbers and other such tales of modern sex. [This is not to say that feelings (especially for those intimately involved) should not be watched over; but that is an ethical issue with which all writers who write memoir or creative non-fiction struggle.]
So why the squeamishness? Some whisper that sex should not be spoken of in public, but I think that if you hang out with the average office worker on a Wednesday evening at a bar in the Loop, near the trading houses, you'll hear just about the same thing. Or during a girls' night over wine. No one's throwing up their handkerchiefs about that. In other words, it's already floating in our public discourse. Some whisper that it's indecent but I think that's a matter of taste and degree - there's a difference between writing like Washingtonienne and writing that you have sex, like it, and look forward to having it again soon.
Enough with the titters about sex. Enough with the horrified gasps that someone, especially a woman, writes about her sex life. Enough with the bullshit patriarchal words of advice to women about protecting ourselves when we mention our sexuality. Sex isn't a crime. It's not a shame.
And then I [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] with my [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] and couldn't feel [censored] [censored] [censored] tuna salad.'
Those who occasionally stop by here know that, occasionally, I mention the fact that I, in fact, do have sex. Not always with the same person but the dry spells have been so far in between, the matter is pretty moot. (Or 'moo' as Joey would say.) So it's no wonder that I heartily disagree with the advice from Nathan at WebPronews.com (who can't seem to spell 'embarrassment' correctly.)
The nanny story from last week was pretty horrific; I don't think I can recall reading anything quite so self-righteous, self-indulgent and faux-thoughtful than Olen's piece about why she fired her nanny. I found her wide-eyed dismay in the face of her nanny's brief mentions of sex bourgeois (not 'seeming bourgeois' as Olen says in her essay but actually bourgeois). Olen can't be much older than I am and so she's surprised when a healthy woman in her mid-twenties has sex? She's shocked when a young woman mentions (again, briefly) that she's attracted to both men and women? Sweetie, please. I think the words you're actually looking for here are titillated and aroused.
Most of the response has been supportive of the nanny, who's off to grad school for her lit degree where she will undoubtedly encounter the same kind of 19th century squeamishness and prudery (there is nothing more hetero-coersively normative than graduate school), but always with a bit of avuncular advice thrown in: tut, tut, you should have known better than to write about your sex life.
Really? Why? How should women write and talk about sex? Where is the appropriate place to write about sex?
We're free to rant on about politics - just as long as it's not about sex. We're free to spew forth about religion - but, hey, nix the sex. We could rail about pop culture, current events, our latest recipes and even our job (whoops, maybe not that) but never ever about (shh) sex. Is it too embarrassing? To whom? The sexer or the person who reads about the sex? Who blushes when you read that the last time me and a certain someone got naked we experienced a total prophylactic malfunction and a condom got stuck inside my girly parts and it took me FOREVER to remove it, contorted in a funky yoga position in the bathroom while the boy knocked hesitantly on the door offering help and I, through gritted teeth, told him to fuck off?
Something happens when you write in/for the public. I daresay the same thing happens when you go onstage. A transformation takes place. The truth becomes Story. The truth becomes a narrative, one chunk of story set in place next to other chunks of narrative. My Prophylactic Malfunction becomes part of the dubious collection of stories about misplaced rubbers, emergency room disasters, broken off cucumbers and other such tales of modern sex. [This is not to say that feelings (especially for those intimately involved) should not be watched over; but that is an ethical issue with which all writers who write memoir or creative non-fiction struggle.]
So why the squeamishness? Some whisper that sex should not be spoken of in public, but I think that if you hang out with the average office worker on a Wednesday evening at a bar in the Loop, near the trading houses, you'll hear just about the same thing. Or during a girls' night over wine. No one's throwing up their handkerchiefs about that. In other words, it's already floating in our public discourse. Some whisper that it's indecent but I think that's a matter of taste and degree - there's a difference between writing like Washingtonienne and writing that you have sex, like it, and look forward to having it again soon.
Enough with the titters about sex. Enough with the horrified gasps that someone, especially a woman, writes about her sex life. Enough with the bullshit patriarchal words of advice to women about protecting ourselves when we mention our sexuality. Sex isn't a crime. It's not a shame.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
future iconoclast or IT administrator?
via metafilter: a guy who made his prom tux out of coke cans. love it.
(and since today is hotter than the sun i'm staying in all day. so i have a LOT of time of my hands...)
(and since today is hotter than the sun i'm staying in all day. so i have a LOT of time of my hands...)
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
Romance Novel Reviews - Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
i dedicate this blog to my roomie. it's fabulous.
i dedicate this blog to my roomie. it's fabulous.
Phyllis Schlafly: talking out of her ass
Phyllis Schlafly: Time to dispose of radical feminist pork
why i'm spending sleep time responding to this, i don't know. but this burns me up.
a lot of people don't know what VAWA or VOCA is (VOCA=Victim of Crime Act). VAWA is up for reauthorization in the fall; if this act is unauthorized, how women and families who are victims of violence (often domestic) are treated in the legal system will change. and not in a good way.
what VAWA has accomplished:
- between 1993 to 2001 there was virtually a 50% drop in incidents of nonfatal domestic violence and from 1993 to 2000 there was a 20% drop in women killed by current or former intimate partners.
- between 1993 and 2001 there was a 50% decrease in the number of sexual assaults and rape perpetrated against individuals 12 years old and older.
- and in 2003, after being in existence for only seven years, the National Domestic Violence Hotline answered its one-millionth call for assistance. Today, the National Domestic Violence Hotline answers over 16,000 calls a month and provides access to translators in 139 languages.
phyllis may enjoy licking the blood off some man's knuckles but i don't think most women are down with that.
read up on the act and contact your rep to encourage them to reauthorize the bill. it's important.
why i'm spending sleep time responding to this, i don't know. but this burns me up.
a lot of people don't know what VAWA or VOCA is (VOCA=Victim of Crime Act). VAWA is up for reauthorization in the fall; if this act is unauthorized, how women and families who are victims of violence (often domestic) are treated in the legal system will change. and not in a good way.
what VAWA has accomplished:
- between 1993 to 2001 there was virtually a 50% drop in incidents of nonfatal domestic violence and from 1993 to 2000 there was a 20% drop in women killed by current or former intimate partners.
- between 1993 and 2001 there was a 50% decrease in the number of sexual assaults and rape perpetrated against individuals 12 years old and older.
- and in 2003, after being in existence for only seven years, the National Domestic Violence Hotline answered its one-millionth call for assistance. Today, the National Domestic Violence Hotline answers over 16,000 calls a month and provides access to translators in 139 languages.
phyllis may enjoy licking the blood off some man's knuckles but i don't think most women are down with that.
read up on the act and contact your rep to encourage them to reauthorize the bill. it's important.
the ump: an unsung object of lust
baseball...it's a little boring. if not for the alcohol, the fact you're outside and the smell of grilled onions it would be the sporting equivalent of an evening of mime.
inning after inning of three quick outs, your side/their side. back and forth.
but then, one team hits two triples and changes everything.
ah, the white sox. roomie and i sat in some not-so-bad seats at comiskey (it's comiskey, not u.s. cellular field) and watched them beat the tarnation out of america's new favorite team, the red sox. it was also a perfect, warm, dry beautiful night spent checking out the rather adorable umpire behind home plate.
(the third base ump wasn't bad, either.)
...
the weekend is poor (literally) so i'm laying low, trying to avoid the heat wave that'll hit the city. i've already finished the potter (sob) and so will be desperately trying to get my hands on new books to carry me through the end of the month. i also have to do laundry.
...
this week i had an email from a man i had met for a drink a while ago. he'd been in town for a conference and so we met after his sessions to hang out and talk. one drink turned into a walk by the river and we stood in the freezing air talking while leaning over the dearborn bridge until i couldn't take the cold anymore and realized it was later than i thought. he was such a nice guy; so it was with pleasure i read he was back in town for a couple of lectures up north and could we meet again for a drink?
this is how things have changed with me, i think. six months ago, the old ding would have figured out a way to shuffle some appointments, borrow cab fare and get up north when the trains stopped running to meet this guy - especially with some sly offer on the table to share a hotel room if i got 'stuck.' hm. well, who hasn't gotten 'stuck' before? i haven't gotten 'stuck' in quite a few months. the old ding would have looked forward to the possibility of being 'stuck.'
but not this time. i let this one get by me. oh, i hope we have a chance to see each other again (like i said, he seems like a good guy and i felt a tiny little jump in the blood when we said goodnight) but i don't think i'm in the mood for distraction anymore. the idea of dallying makes me tired; i have too much work to do to be tired thinking about dallying. i know, i should be celebrating the one missed chance to (maybe) have boredom sex?
yeah, i should. in the face of boredom, my willpower and discipline usually resembles wet tissue paper.
...
and in other news, the new (still unsatisfactory) vibrator has mysteriously disappeared.
inning after inning of three quick outs, your side/their side. back and forth.
but then, one team hits two triples and changes everything.
ah, the white sox. roomie and i sat in some not-so-bad seats at comiskey (it's comiskey, not u.s. cellular field) and watched them beat the tarnation out of america's new favorite team, the red sox. it was also a perfect, warm, dry beautiful night spent checking out the rather adorable umpire behind home plate.
(the third base ump wasn't bad, either.)
...
the weekend is poor (literally) so i'm laying low, trying to avoid the heat wave that'll hit the city. i've already finished the potter (sob) and so will be desperately trying to get my hands on new books to carry me through the end of the month. i also have to do laundry.
...
this week i had an email from a man i had met for a drink a while ago. he'd been in town for a conference and so we met after his sessions to hang out and talk. one drink turned into a walk by the river and we stood in the freezing air talking while leaning over the dearborn bridge until i couldn't take the cold anymore and realized it was later than i thought. he was such a nice guy; so it was with pleasure i read he was back in town for a couple of lectures up north and could we meet again for a drink?
this is how things have changed with me, i think. six months ago, the old ding would have figured out a way to shuffle some appointments, borrow cab fare and get up north when the trains stopped running to meet this guy - especially with some sly offer on the table to share a hotel room if i got 'stuck.' hm. well, who hasn't gotten 'stuck' before? i haven't gotten 'stuck' in quite a few months. the old ding would have looked forward to the possibility of being 'stuck.'
but not this time. i let this one get by me. oh, i hope we have a chance to see each other again (like i said, he seems like a good guy and i felt a tiny little jump in the blood when we said goodnight) but i don't think i'm in the mood for distraction anymore. the idea of dallying makes me tired; i have too much work to do to be tired thinking about dallying. i know, i should be celebrating the one missed chance to (maybe) have boredom sex?
yeah, i should. in the face of boredom, my willpower and discipline usually resembles wet tissue paper.
...
and in other news, the new (still unsatisfactory) vibrator has mysteriously disappeared.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
mobilize until it hurts
It’s that time again.
Bush made his announcement and the rallying has begun. This morning, between emails and phone calls at the office, I made out checks to Planned Parenthood and HRC. Later, I’ll probably make another donation to another group. I suppose I should pay off my tax bill first, but you know, my priorities are different.
I think of what this country has become because of regressive policies and politics and I shiver; but I am also angry. We’ve become cowed, inured to the idea of helplessness – ‘oh, well, no one is going to do anything anyway. There’s no point.’ That may be. There very well may be no point. But I can’t live like that. I can’t live like there’s no point in fighting back.
So what to do?
Write your representatives – an actual letter with an actual stamp. The staffers in charge of the subject you’re writing about read them and actually pass them on. These matter more than an email or fax. You say you don’t know what to say? Say what you feel: I’m scared of what this person could do to the country; I’m scared of what my life will turn into because of the decisions this person may make; I’m angry that moderation matters less than ideological bullying.
Write your newspapers – become that wonky crank and give it your best, simple eloquence. Make them hear you – and keep writing.
Write the members of the Judiciary Com’tee. And keep writing them.
Write your family and friends – and ask them to pass it along.
Support those groups who wobble on a thin financial line so they can mobilize research and action in opposition to right-wing ideologues. ($20, people. We can spare $20, right?)
Bush made his announcement and the rallying has begun. This morning, between emails and phone calls at the office, I made out checks to Planned Parenthood and HRC. Later, I’ll probably make another donation to another group. I suppose I should pay off my tax bill first, but you know, my priorities are different.
I think of what this country has become because of regressive policies and politics and I shiver; but I am also angry. We’ve become cowed, inured to the idea of helplessness – ‘oh, well, no one is going to do anything anyway. There’s no point.’ That may be. There very well may be no point. But I can’t live like that. I can’t live like there’s no point in fighting back.
So what to do?
Write your representatives – an actual letter with an actual stamp. The staffers in charge of the subject you’re writing about read them and actually pass them on. These matter more than an email or fax. You say you don’t know what to say? Say what you feel: I’m scared of what this person could do to the country; I’m scared of what my life will turn into because of the decisions this person may make; I’m angry that moderation matters less than ideological bullying.
Write your newspapers – become that wonky crank and give it your best, simple eloquence. Make them hear you – and keep writing.
Write the members of the Judiciary Com’tee. And keep writing them.
Write your family and friends – and ask them to pass it along.
Support those groups who wobble on a thin financial line so they can mobilize research and action in opposition to right-wing ideologues. ($20, people. We can spare $20, right?)
Monday, July 18, 2005
Sunday, July 17, 2005
back from canada!
what to (dubiously) look forward to:
- the house where i lost my virginity is up for sale (yes, jp, we succumbed to the siren call of zingerman sandwiches and you'll be glad to know that the people of ann arbor are just as self-absorbed and infuriating as always. to the indecisive young man who couldn't pick a candy bar: you officially suck.)
- why my friend K- rules (and why shiba inus are the dog of the future. hint: no barking!!)
- why detroit road signage can kiss my ass
- why canadian couples need more help than the rest of us
- why reading vogue magazine can give a person gas
oh, and the harry potter book is stupendous.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
nostalgia and karma: payback's a bitch
remember what it felt like to be called in front of the class to solve an equation on the chalk board and explain your every move while you were doing it and you felt like diving through the chalkboard because you never understood the equation in the first place?
well, that's nothing compare to the squirminess scotty mcclellan is experiencing in this week's gaggles, here.
please, infinite lords of justice - please let the summer prove to be a long hard hot one for karl rove and all the rovian apologists. oh please let this be their swift boat summer.
well, that's nothing compare to the squirminess scotty mcclellan is experiencing in this week's gaggles, here.
please, infinite lords of justice - please let the summer prove to be a long hard hot one for karl rove and all the rovian apologists. oh please let this be their swift boat summer.
whither hied the week?
it hied out my ass.
so now i'm finishing up at the office and will meet roomie at home where her old friends M/B (married name = MeBrian) will have cocktails with us. i'm so glad that all i have to do is show up.
i'm knackered.
(shit. and i have to pack for a road trip to windsor. gaah, curse you aqua scum!!)
so now i'm finishing up at the office and will meet roomie at home where her old friends M/B (married name = MeBrian) will have cocktails with us. i'm so glad that all i have to do is show up.
i'm knackered.
(shit. and i have to pack for a road trip to windsor. gaah, curse you aqua scum!!)
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
in praise of procrastination
across the street, my neighbor (one of the arty boys) sits naked at his computer. this is the advantage of living on the third floor. in my email inbox there is a message from B-, also naked, wanting to know what my summer plans are.
i'm glad i'm going to windsor this weekend.
i get to avoid a difficult conversation.
i'm glad i'm going to windsor this weekend.
i get to avoid a difficult conversation.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
this is a hard week at work (tomorrow morning - pancake breakfast at the office), roomie is part of a sleep study tonight (poor thing's circadian rhythms are all blown asunder) and i just watched a 'queer eye' featuring a nudist...
(oooh, hot daddy from the neighborhood crossing the street....oh, yuck. it's only frank.)
all this makes me glad i'm going to canada with K- this weekend to buy the new harry potter.
(no! we can't wait for the u.s release date! we must have it now, i tell you, now!) ah, windsor...home of the Happy Tap.
(also home to the saddest male strippers you'll ever see, but that's a story for another time.)
(oooh, hot daddy from the neighborhood crossing the street....oh, yuck. it's only frank.)
all this makes me glad i'm going to canada with K- this weekend to buy the new harry potter.
(no! we can't wait for the u.s release date! we must have it now, i tell you, now!) ah, windsor...home of the Happy Tap.
(also home to the saddest male strippers you'll ever see, but that's a story for another time.)
heh.
White House Silence on Rove's Role in Leak Enters 2nd Day - New York Times
silence=guilt? consternation? anger? denial? this administration is a joke. it's not evil. it's just a bunch of corporate suits doing the usual - playing by their own rules and fucking everyone around them.
it's too banal to be evil.
silence=guilt? consternation? anger? denial? this administration is a joke. it's not evil. it's just a bunch of corporate suits doing the usual - playing by their own rules and fucking everyone around them.
it's too banal to be evil.
Monday, July 11, 2005
i'm full of sounds
gick. feh. ugh. meh. hmph. grr. aggh.
all because i'm working late. (i won't tell you what i'm doing except know that it's tedious and the words MAIL MERGE are heavily involved.) i'll be working late all this week and i even canceled my pelvic exam today because i just couldn't. tear. myself. away. (and i suspected Hal was still visiting. there's nothing worse than steeling yourself for a pelvic, your ankles in the air, when Hal waves his little red hand making the doctor snap off her gloves and tell you to come back in another week or two.)
but i've finished two phil rickman books (horribly addictive) and i'm starting with the last in the jane stevenson trilogy, empress of the last days, so maybe i'll just meander on home and stop to read somewhere. i've nearly forgotten the pleasure of sitting somewhere that's not my apartment or office, reading while smoking a cigarette, eventually losing track of where i am.
but until then i'll just languish here and sigh.
sigh.
grr.
all because i'm working late. (i won't tell you what i'm doing except know that it's tedious and the words MAIL MERGE are heavily involved.) i'll be working late all this week and i even canceled my pelvic exam today because i just couldn't. tear. myself. away. (and i suspected Hal was still visiting. there's nothing worse than steeling yourself for a pelvic, your ankles in the air, when Hal waves his little red hand making the doctor snap off her gloves and tell you to come back in another week or two.)
but i've finished two phil rickman books (horribly addictive) and i'm starting with the last in the jane stevenson trilogy, empress of the last days, so maybe i'll just meander on home and stop to read somewhere. i've nearly forgotten the pleasure of sitting somewhere that's not my apartment or office, reading while smoking a cigarette, eventually losing track of where i am.
but until then i'll just languish here and sigh.
sigh.
grr.
reason # 405 i'm glad i quit academia
because if some pissy ignorant undergrad decided to go after me because of my reading list i'd be one angry pissed off and BITTER brown professor.
and then someone would fail. jesus. why don't we just let undergrads teach the courses and grade themselves?
via michael berube (his photo makes me laugh...don't know why.)
and then someone would fail. jesus. why don't we just let undergrads teach the courses and grade themselves?
via michael berube (his photo makes me laugh...don't know why.)
the money meme: depressing
from wolfangel and dr. bitch.
1. how much money is in your wallet? enough to get me to work tomorrow. and some change.
2. how much money would you need in the bank to feel secure? rich? to feel secure (i.e, all my immediate responsibilities have been taken care of) 15k. to feel rich? anything above that would be gravy. (see? little dreams, little ones...)
3. if someone gave you $100 no strings attached, what would you do with it? i'd put it in my belly. in other words, someone is coming with me to check out the new bar by japonais.
4. if someone gave you $1 million no strings attached what would you do with it? in this order: pay off debt immediately; give some to my dad; give some to my sister; give some to my roomie; hammer out a financial plan; get a new laptop; go to england; go someplace warm for 5 days; worry about not giving all of it to the poor.
5. how much does something have to cost before it starts counting as 'real' money, as purchase to be considered and evaluated, but below which you’ll buy without really thinking about it?
i'm thinking about what i've done with shoes and bags...over $200 i'm wincing; below that i'm open. but it depends on what it is: up to 100 for skin care, up to 200 for shoes/bags, up to 50 for makeup; whatever i need for books; up to 60 for music (in one visit); clothes...i'm a plump girl so it's about what fits, damn the price. large ticket things? ugh. don't talk to me about that. it's why i'm still sleeping on a futon.
1. how much money is in your wallet? enough to get me to work tomorrow. and some change.
2. how much money would you need in the bank to feel secure? rich? to feel secure (i.e, all my immediate responsibilities have been taken care of) 15k. to feel rich? anything above that would be gravy. (see? little dreams, little ones...)
3. if someone gave you $100 no strings attached, what would you do with it? i'd put it in my belly. in other words, someone is coming with me to check out the new bar by japonais.
4. if someone gave you $1 million no strings attached what would you do with it? in this order: pay off debt immediately; give some to my dad; give some to my sister; give some to my roomie; hammer out a financial plan; get a new laptop; go to england; go someplace warm for 5 days; worry about not giving all of it to the poor.
5. how much does something have to cost before it starts counting as 'real' money, as purchase to be considered and evaluated, but below which you’ll buy without really thinking about it?
i'm thinking about what i've done with shoes and bags...over $200 i'm wincing; below that i'm open. but it depends on what it is: up to 100 for skin care, up to 200 for shoes/bags, up to 50 for makeup; whatever i need for books; up to 60 for music (in one visit); clothes...i'm a plump girl so it's about what fits, damn the price. large ticket things? ugh. don't talk to me about that. it's why i'm still sleeping on a futon.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
before bed: cultural criticism in the hinterlands...
this is my favorite part:
The aliens in War of the Worlds are supposed to represent terrorism.
I really feel we give terrorists too much credit when it comes to their organization and capabilities.
heh.
The aliens in War of the Worlds are supposed to represent terrorism.
I really feel we give terrorists too much credit when it comes to their organization and capabilities.
heh.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
the supremes: abortion, choice and polling data (exciting!)
Lawyers, Guns and Money: Abortion, Public Opinion, and Selling Out
i would have linked to this on my kos diary but, you know? fuckit. his site makes my little girly head hurt.
via bitch (who is chock full of useful links to other useful things re: academic freedom, the supreme court, abortion rights and how volcanoes are rude).
i would have linked to this on my kos diary but, you know? fuckit. his site makes my little girly head hurt.
via bitch (who is chock full of useful links to other useful things re: academic freedom, the supreme court, abortion rights and how volcanoes are rude).
judith miller: bad journalism, 101
the trib's public editor takes a step back from the miller/jail thing here.
i'm sorry but wasn't this the same judith miller who was also totally responsible for funneling less-than-credible reports about iraq's wmd capabilities and our ease with which we would win the war - which provided the foundation of the nyt's support of the iraq adventure? wasn't it judith miller who, way back in the day of 2002, wrote these stories also from anonymous sources? and wasn't her biggest 'anonymous' source ahmed chalabi (who later turned out to be a total con man and possible iran spy)?
and, when she was called out on it (and the nyt had to apologize), wasn't this also the judith miller who said that it wasn't her job to be a fact-checker? she was just reporting what someone told her? (listen to the entire interview or click here for the relevant bits.)
cuz if this is the same judith miller, i'd say that she has a habit of protecting rats who have hidden agendas - destructive and problematic agendas - she accepts without question.
i'm sorry but wasn't this the same judith miller who was also totally responsible for funneling less-than-credible reports about iraq's wmd capabilities and our ease with which we would win the war - which provided the foundation of the nyt's support of the iraq adventure? wasn't it judith miller who, way back in the day of 2002, wrote these stories also from anonymous sources? and wasn't her biggest 'anonymous' source ahmed chalabi (who later turned out to be a total con man and possible iran spy)?
and, when she was called out on it (and the nyt had to apologize), wasn't this also the judith miller who said that it wasn't her job to be a fact-checker? she was just reporting what someone told her? (listen to the entire interview or click here for the relevant bits.)
cuz if this is the same judith miller, i'd say that she has a habit of protecting rats who have hidden agendas - destructive and problematic agendas - she accepts without question.
Friday, July 08, 2005
speed of light
have been working so hard i'm like a one-legged man at a shit-kicking contest.
but i'm about to leave the office in 15 minutes (whee! summer hours!) to join my friend G- for a picnic with champagne to celebrate her new job. i can't wait to sit on a blanket in the sun and get totally roasted.
and, last night, i bowled an 85. not bad.
but in case the weekend is light for posting, have a good one y'all.
but i'm about to leave the office in 15 minutes (whee! summer hours!) to join my friend G- for a picnic with champagne to celebrate her new job. i can't wait to sit on a blanket in the sun and get totally roasted.
and, last night, i bowled an 85. not bad.
but in case the weekend is light for posting, have a good one y'all.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
found: african, gay and blogging
i fund this blog through an article on the bbc website: Black Looks.
the writer is gay african woman and it's great reading. (i'll add her to my blog roll as soon as i get home!)
especially take a look at her post 'we are not whales!'. it levels a very measured critique (and a useful one, i think) of the live 8 concert and effort.
the writer is gay african woman and it's great reading. (i'll add her to my blog roll as soon as i get home!)
especially take a look at her post 'we are not whales!'. it levels a very measured critique (and a useful one, i think) of the live 8 concert and effort.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
the supremes: "...all signs point to extremist"
Eschaton
eschaton notes that the conservatives are 'poised to dump $18 million into this process.'
it hurts but it looks like we'll have to dig deep again.
it'll be worth it.
eschaton notes that the conservatives are 'poised to dump $18 million into this process.'
it hurts but it looks like we'll have to dig deep again.
it'll be worth it.
Bush v Choice: new to the blogroll
i'm taking a break from cleaning and watching the live 8 concert.
i'm adding this link to Bush v Choice to keep track of what's going on with the supreme court nomination.
updated: and this is SCOTUS blog - extremely well-informed.
i'm adding this link to Bush v Choice to keep track of what's going on with the supreme court nomination.
updated: and this is SCOTUS blog - extremely well-informed.
Friday, July 01, 2005
oh crap: O'Connor is retiring from Supreme Court
via Bitch. Ph.D
let's lay a few bets...roe v wade toppled in...8 years? sooner?
crap.
[here's my favorite heretik with his always spot on take. can we hope the dems keep their shit together?]
let's lay a few bets...roe v wade toppled in...8 years? sooner?
crap.
[here's my favorite heretik with his always spot on take. can we hope the dems keep their shit together?]
it's summer; what else have you got to do?
Back when I was 19, I was cranky. Crankier than I am now. (Hard to believe, but it’s true.) I was also president of my Black Student Union, a position I abdicated when I thought it was ok for a white guy to join and, uh, my membership disagreed.
I know, hard to imagine, but there you are.
Anyway, back when I was 19, I was very tired of being everyone’s Guide to Blackness so I thought there should be a basic reading list of sorts to keep everyone from asking stupid questions. I've sensed the same feeling swelling in my breast quite recently so here are the texts that shaped my thinking early on (books and sometimes just authors, because it’s, like, past 1 am – it’s also lit heavy because, well, that’s my training):
For the very basics of black women’s history (literary and otherwise):
Where and When I Enter, Paula Giddings;
Reconstructing Womanhood, Hazel Carby;
Reading Black, Reading Feminist, Henry Louis Gates
Subjects & Citizens: Nation, Race and Gender from Oroonoko to Anita Hill, eds. Michael Moon & Cathy Davidson
For (colonized) black consciousness:
Black Skin, White Masks; The Wretched of the Earth, Franz Fanon
Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison
W.E.B DuBois
For white identity and performance, racial identity:
Love and Theft, Eric Lott;
How the Irish Became White, Ignatiev;
White Women, Race Matters, Ruth Frankenburg
For ethnicity:
The Invention of Ethnicity, Werner Sollors
Just because their essays kick ass:
Patricia Smith
bell hooks
Barbara Christian
Valerie Smith
Eric Sundquist
Richard Rodriguez (my old lover B- is actually in a correspondence with him…poor B-. Brilliant, yet unbearable.)
Hortense Spillers
Nellie McKay
Barbara Johnson
Paula Gunn Allen
Houston Baker
Homi Bhaba (incomprehensible but read at least one of his essays anyway)
Paul Gilroy (really terrific books on black Britain)
Ida B. Wells
The Grandissimes; Clotel; Passing; The Wedding (a bunch of tragic mulattoes)
Mary Louise Pratt
Gayatri Spivak (utterly incomprehensible, see Homi Bhaba)
Edward Said (cogent and rigorous on imperialism and colonialism)
Richard Yarborough (old prof at ucla)
Jean Fagan Yellin
A monster book titled something like ‘Critical Theory Since Plato’ (for terms)
The point of this list: know a little somethin’.
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