Buffalo

As I was driving across the country last week, I spent a little time (admittedly not much) composing in my head a short list of the things that I would miss about living in Buffalo, the seven years I spent there. It's a work in progress and not presented in any kind of order--emphatic or otherwise:

1. My friends. I've lived in a fair number of places, more than most of the people I know, though far fewer than some. In Ohio and Virginia, and a few others, I never really met the kind of people that I really felt represented my ~kind~ of people, for lack of a better way of putting it. Though I made one very dear friend in Ohio--who has since almost entirely vanished into marriage and miscellaneous adult life--most of the time I spent there proved very lucrative for a particular video store. The culture was really all about hanging on porches, playing poker, and drinking beer. Also dogs. I liked the people in the department, and in many many many ways, the academic culture there kicked the ass of the Buffalo academic culture. But I never really made connections in the way that an introvert like myself finds satisfying and meaningful. In Buffalo, I did. I made a few really good friends. Hopefully, lifetime friends.

2. The city. Being from Montana, I never have really lost my sense of wonder at living in places other than Montana. Buffalo was truly excellent for that. It had a distinctly northeastern cultural difference from my birthplace, and the cityscape always made me feel like I had really come a long way, if that makes sense. The downtown felt very distinctly ~urban~ even if most of the storefronts were empty. The city missed it's moment, essentially. It sprung up, had it's hayday, overextended, and then was over. Over. People in Buffalo liked to joke that they didn't really feel the recession because the city had already been in one for decades. Of course, this wasn't exactly true. Though this was certainly the case for the housing market, as it turns out, the same was not as true for employment and cost of living. Renting prices were going steadily up, as was food. Though I begin to linger on the bad stuff, I still always loved downtown Buffalo. I loved its kind of post-apocalyptic feel. It's as close as I ever want to be to living in a real eastern city. All the grit and towering skyline, none of the claustrophobia, expense, and shitty parking. I love it. It's the urban version of a Willa Cather novel, whose descriptions of space and sky make me want to climb into a warm tub and touch myself.

3. The coop. It seems stupid to miss one's old job like I do, but I really had a sense of community there. As banal as that sounds. I learned so much while I was working there. I changed so much. My life changed so much. Primarily, I never thought of myself as a person invested in food and food politics to the extent that I now am. With all its ups and downs, my time spent working at the coop went a long way toward instilling that in me.

4. The summers. Not only are they particularly beautiful in Buffalo, but this beauty is intensified tremendously by their contrast to the long, grey, persistent winters. I will never forget my first early Spring in Buffalo (which is almost the same as the summer). I had spent months in my tiny one bedroom, which had a great location but sucked in terms of space. I vowed afterward to always try to have a separate space for eating and living, though this is no longer the case! Also, we almost never used the dining room when we had one. I went out one afternoon to walk to the health food store on the corner for a cookie. Walking back, the sun came out for what felt like the first time in an eternity. It felt so good to be in it's light that I walked around sort of dazed for a while, like a mole, blinking at the sun. The intense pleasure of that epiphany of sunlight, though, can't be overestimated.

The List

Of resolutions, of course.

Be kinder--to myself. This encompasses so much. I had a very caring and insightful teacher in high school try to obliquely caution me about the tendency toward perfectionism she apparently noticed in my budding younger self. At the time, I didn't really get it. I thought she was merely passing along information, and, at the time, I didn't get that information is never innocent. I was also a Joyce enthusiast. Go figure. Only with time have I slowly begun to realize what it means to have these leanings, which in many ways are extremely compatible with the whole grad school enterprise. Grad students--and perhaps everyone in academia--are encouraged to be in a constant state of tension. This is also called staying current. The need to show oneself to be of superior intelligence and capacity, even in the very small pond of the department. I also think that perfectionism has a kind of positive connotation. It sounds like a solid, American value at some level. Why wouldn't you strive to be the best? All good things come from something like that, right? Financial success? Personal contentment?

The other side of that, though, is that perfectionism is extremely negative and destructive. It highlights and emphasizes the inevitable deficiencies of all of our lives. And it turns all of that negative energy inward. This is why one of my primary resolutions will be to try to pare back my own tendencies in this direction. Doing so, hopefully, will let me work on forgiving myself for the many many moments in my life when I've fallen so short of the mark. So very short. Apart from apologizing where I'm able, this is the best and most effective strategy--I hope.

Contemplating Resolutions

The very idea of them, really. This is the time of year when all the blogs I read and at least some of the people I know start generating these lists of promises they make both to themselves and their loved ones (but mostly just to themselves) for things they will do, behaviors they will modify, changes they will seek in the coming year. Will 2010 be a better year? Was 2009 a triumph or a disappointment? And so on. Though it's doubtless very soulless of me, my own celebration/resolution bit is always sort of stymied by how artificial it all seems. Why count our lives by years and not some other measure? Of course, this is likely just a bluff. I'm terrified at the necessity of having to measure my life by an kind of standard. Being in school for almost my entire life has to be somewhat to blame for this. The academic calendar is tightly tethered to the concept of measuring time and clicking off years. I guess what's happened is that I've run out of years to account for in this way. Even more, when I stop measuring my life by numbers and schedules, the future yawns out in front of me. As I think I've said before, in my good moments, this lack of structure looks like possibility and I get little thrills of excitement thinking about all the other directions my life might take. In my bad moments, I feel lost.

It reminds me a little, actually, of teaching Stephen Crane's "An Open Boat" in my comp classes a year or so ago. Or is it "The Open Boat"? It doesn't really matter right now. Anyway, this story is all about these 4 (4?) men who survive a shipwreck and end up tossing about in the waves. They can get close enough to the shore to see people on it, but they can't get to land without swamping their rickety little vessel. Most of the story takes place with them drifting in the sea, paddling up and down the coast, and ignoring the sharks. The journalist figure is the Crane stand-in and through this experience he ponders the futility of human striving in a godless universe. Gotta love the naturalists. I do. He repeats the phrase "If I am to die," over and over, and appeals to some sort of archaic sea gods. One of my students actually thought this meant that he was a devotee of Poseidon (what an excellent sense of history, right?).

I'm not sure why I'm rambling on about that here, except I kind of feel like I was on my own petty ship. And it wrecked. The metaphor works, I think, well enough that I needn't expand on it.

Solipsist, I

More self-focused ramblings today, I suppose. Because it's Friday. And it's Christmas. And I've been drinking scotch and watching movies all day. And something about the holidays brings out my (not so hidden) inner pontificator. And what better place to pontificate than a readerless blog?

Today I feel precariously balanced, as I have been for some time, between multiple distractions and the abyss of my future. Please note, I do not mean to reference the abyss here in any kind of self-pitying way. I do not intend it to resonate with the apocalyptic or to conjure up notions of a futureless future, whatever that might mean. Instead, I mean that for the first time in my brief thirty-something years, I don't know what the future holds. How cliche when I put it that way. Having always been working toward some goal or another, I now find myself goal-less, and I question whether my desire to patch together some kind of idealism is an effective survival strategy, a useful way of imaging the world to myself, or itself a kind of fatalism.

The last day at my job is coming up soon, and that feels very tactile, like a finite amount of something slipping through my fingers. I feel the sudden need to get organized. Like a kind of gasping desperation. What will I do? I need to make lists! And so I do. And for a time, as contrary to intuition as it might be, this quells the storm. My body relaxes ever so slightly once I have a good list. But the best thing of all about lists is how utterly replaceable and tenuous they are. I love that. My need to be organized is at some fundamental level tethered to the need for a replaceable present. Re-listing, throwing out, and listing yet again, offers the opportunity to re-affirm, re-organize, re-vision the future. I find this incredibly liberating.

When I was young and less troubled by nuance, I knew that the future was a function of a person's ability to prioritize--to some extent, anyway (I wasn't a sociopath). Yet I felt surrounded by people who refused this ability. Refused responsibility, in a way. As an adult, I reject this even while I recognize what generates it. In preparing for this new, unpredictable future, I make lists, I get organized, and I try to focus on the potential. Instead of on the waste. The lost years. The mistakes.

Recommitment Fail

So it officially happened. I was sucked down into the facebook K-hole, but it hasn't been all that bad. Status updates, like the ubiquitous tweets, are like blogging in soundbites. Little flash-captures of thoughts. I like them. I like keeping in touch with people I knew so long ago in some of my other lives. For example, I now regularly hear from the woman who befriended me when I worked at the electronics superstore in Billings. We used to go dancing at clubs together, eat at Dennys (!). Her little daughter loved me, and the feeling was mutual. She taught me how to take care of my eyebrows, though I don't always do so as well as I could. I'm also in touch with a guy who I knew really peripherally as an older man who dated a girl who was friends with my friends. He's now very vocally political and leans toward raw foodism. The less satisfying facebook friendships are actually those that were a bit closer to me than the above. My first and third loves, for example. Frustrating relationships that were inevitably disappointing and unrequited, in one way or another.

Basically, as much of a curmudgeon as I've become in my early-middle age, facebook offers the veneer of contact. It is an immediate avenue for contacting people who otherwise slip into the void of personal history. I almost wish that absolutely everyone was on facebook. One could friend them or not, but at least they would be there. For this reason, I have a handful of names that I periodically search for, just to see if perhaps they've popped up. No luck so far. Some people just resist social networking, and that for reasons familiar to all of us.

I've recently started to miss my blog more acutely, however. I'm in danger of confusing it for a journal in which I might write more or less completely uncensored. This is the peril of having no audience. I'm hoping to pick it back up. We'll see if I can do better this time around.

Finally

I'm giddy today. Positively giddy. After three pretty good classes, as such things go, I submitted the last three hard copy drafts of my entire dissertation. Now I have only to wait a little less than a month for the defense date that will, I once thought, put the perfect seal on my terminal degree. From what I can gather from talking to my director, the defense should be really pro forma, not anything to worry about or prepare for. In spite of this, I'm sure to torture myself for weeks in advance, reading over the copy obsessively and imagining endless questions that they might ask that I wouldn't be able to answer. This is my particular form of self-flagellation. Not that it works out very well for me. Indeed, you'd think in my early adulthood I would move on to other forms of masochistic torture, but this has proved a long-lasting and painful habit. I can fondly remember being an undergrad, and even at the beginning of my grad career, fantasizing excitedly about being asked questions that I would be able to answer and that would showcase my "considerable" knowledge to best possible effect. What does it say about my life now that my fantasies are rather a darker version of this?

Grieving

One of my students passed away this week. It's been a few days now, and I guess I'm still processing. This is the first time this has happened, really, and it's the strange little details that are the most disturbing. I was sitting in my office holding conferences all damn day yesterday after receiving an email from campus judiciaries. All day long I was looking at his name on the sign-up sheet and wondering what would happen at 2:00 when he wasn't going to be there. Every time I flipped through the stack of graded papers I was returning to people in these conferences, I would see his paper. I suppose the obvious thing would have been to remove it from the stack, but I just couldn't find my way to doing that. It's the weirdest thing. We weren't friends, of course, by any stretch. By his own admission, he didn't like me. (As a matter of principle, due to childhood trauma, he didn't like any English teachers.) In class he was erratic and off-beat, unpredictable and slightly disruptive. He was quite bright but not extremely motivated. He wanted to major in philosophy and admired H.P. Lovecraft. Other than those tidbits and a partially completed paper on which he'd received a C-, I don't have anything else. All my comments on his work went something like this: "Jack (not his real name), This is a very engaging and promising discussion of these texts. I'd really like to see where you would go with this if you expand it to fulfill the page requirement for this paper. [and so on]." It's refreshing, really, because most of the papers I get are so deeply uninspired and banal. This not because the students themselves are either of these things but because they're not sinking much of themselves into their 4-6 page paper for composition. In short, he was the kind of student you noticed.

I've been thinking that if there's a memorial service I'll attend. As far as talking about this with my class? I don't know. I need to, of course. While I work really hard on a rather jovial and cool rapport with my students, I wouldn't describe it as in any sense touchy-feely. A lot of the advice I've gotten from people is targeted at a different kind of teacher, I think. A collage? A collaborative epitaph? A heartfelt outpouring? I'm not sure yet what I'll be able to manage. The one thing I know for sure is that I can't say nothing. You know? I might send an email this weekend just to make sure every one knows. Then, when I bring it up in class on Tuesday, perhaps it will be less...surprising? Abrasive? Otherwise unexpected? Truly, I'm at a loss and very much grateful for the intervening week that will let me gather my thoughts. David, I think, was right on when he said to me earlier that there really is no right thing.

Facebook Usurper

The blogs are kind of bumming me out recently. Q accurately diagnosed the problem last night when she quipped, in a shockingly (to me) casual way about something to the effect of how the blogs are done, having been replaced by facebook. And, indeed, why bother blogging about anything if you can just obsessively comment and read status updates on facebook? I would submit, though, that these two things simply don't serve the same function. Perhaps if we were all more open and confessional about leaving Notes on our profiles, this would be the case. As it is, pretty much the only stuff you're supposed to write in such notes are interesting and compelling bits and lists of favorites. It's the myspace survey all over again. While this has it's place, admittedly, and I like facebook way more than I ever liked myspace (the latter is quite simply too damned fussy), it doesn't rival the blogs. I've gotta say, though they've fallen off in recent months--first GeoffreyCrayon, then B--I still like them. I still like having one. This is really the only time I do this kind of writing, and while I'm not particularly good at it, I do enjoy it. A lovely difference from my bloody dissertation. Bloody in more than one sense.

So I, for one, am clearly guilty of not blogging. I think this is partially the time of year. I have more momentum in the late spring and fall, or maybe I'm just making that up. Really what it is is I've been waiting until I felt like I could write about something other than how devastated I feel after experiencing my worst case scenario on the job market this year. I always knew it would be bad, people start warning you about that when you're an undergrad with grad school ambitions, but I didn't think it would be as bad as it was. Where this leads me from here is into a shame spiral, k-hole, whatever you want to call it, where I obsessively recount my failures and wail mournfully about my future prospects. I've done that enough, so I'm not going to do it here. I'm trying really hard to pull myself out of that and reclaim my sense of forward motion. So I'm focusing on finishing. And putting off, for now, the job hunt. I'm telling myself that next year, when my dissertation is off my lap, I'll be able to focus on a number of different possibilities. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, a job announcement I saw recently for a book manager at Amazon gave me a great deal of pause. Anyway, suffice it to say: badness.

Moving on, I really want something else to talk about. And this seems silly because I have so much else going on. I have dissertation drama, teaching drama, money drama, family drama. But for the last couple of months, all I've been able to do is scream about the job market. Ridiculous, right? I'm recommitting to my blog. Perhaps it can keep me from being such a whiny bitch.

Just in case you were wondering

or idling conjecturing...or pondering...or smugly musing...

Bret Michaels admitted on the third episode of Rock of Love Bus that he, indeed, has the finest hair extensions Europe can provide. Imagine all those flaxen-locked Swedish ladies swooning under his masterfully tied bandanna.

*sigh* A perfect ending to an otherwise mediocre day. Also, dig the pout.

Savage Love Fest

I just saw this on the Slog. I loved it too much to keep it to myself, even though I think BEM reads the bloody thing as much as I do. Anyway, if you can get past the weirdness of the letter, all the "imaginings" and "believings," which Dan is graceful enough not to mention, the whole thing is beautiful. Just the kind of pick-me-up we all need on the eve of the inauguration and Bush's last night in office. Enjoy.

Savage Love Letter of the Day

Posted by Dan Savage on Mon, Jan 19 at 2:06 PM

In your response to "Faithful Obama Girl" you refer to Rick Warren as a "gay-hatin', right-wing Christian bigot." I found this confusing. I can understand that he represents a political/social faction which has an agenda opposed to your own. I can also imagine that I can not even begin to imagine how any criticism of a gay lifestyle takes a sinister aura when it has a religious basis. However, is it accurate to describe Warren this way? Certainly, he does speak against the gay lifestyle, but would you say that anyone who does this is a hateful bigot? Is there a difference between the beliefs of Rick Warren and those of Fred Phelps?

I could understand if you described Warren (or myself) as a dangerously deluded Christian fanatic because you believe that our beliefs naturally lead towards the hateful bigotry of Phelps. I would disagree but differentiate between that description and the one you gave.

A Biblical Christian

Rick warren is Fred Phelps plus 100 pounds and a smile.

You can speak against the gay lifestyle without being bigoted. There are certainly aspects of "the gay lifestyle" that trouble me, and I'm as gay guys get. You'll certainly find examples of me taking gay men to task if you read through the "Savage Love" archives. But a person can't insist that people shouldn't be gay, or that gay people shouldn't have relationships, or that gay people shouldn't be parents or adopt, or that being gay is a sinful choice, without being considered a bigot.

Imagine if I told you that I only hated "the Christian lifestyle," and not, you know, actual Christians. Hey, nothing personal! I know and like tons of individual Christians, and I've broken bread with Christians, and I've had Christians over to my house. But I nevertheless think that Christianity—just the practice, not the people—is immoral and that no one needs to be Christian—it's a lifestyle choice, and Christians can change! Indeed, I was a Christian once. And while I have great affection for Christians I also believe that no one who is Christian is fit to parent, that Christians should not be allowed to marry or adopt, and that Christians aren't going to heaven because my God condemns their immoral lifestyle.

Oh, and I also believe that Christians being allowed to marry infringes upon my right to, um, live in a world where Christians do not enjoy that right.

Would you consider me an anti-Christian bigot then? I expect you would, ABC, and you'd be right.

I don't even care

that none of you care. I'm posting the vegan's 100 list that's been making the rounds on the foodie blogs for the last several months. I've been holding off, resisting, if you will. Today, though, in the midst of the shit storm, I don't even care.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

1) Copy this list into your own blog, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Post a comment here once you’ve finished and link your post back to this one.
5) Pass it on!"

1. Natto
2. Green Smoothie
3. Tofu Scramble
4. Haggis
5. Mangosteen
6. Creme brulee
7. Fondue
8. Marmite/Vegemite
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Nachos
12. Authentic soba noodles
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Taco from a street cart
16. Boba Tea
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Gyoza
20. Vanilla ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Ceviche
24. Rice and beans
25. Knish
26. Raw scotch bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Caviar
29. Baklava
30. Pate
31. Wasabi peas
32. Chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Mango lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Mulled cider
37. Scones with buttery spread and jam
38. Vodka jelly
39. Gumbo
40. Fast food french fries
41. Raw Brownies
42. Fresh Garbanzo Beans
43. Dahl
44. Homemade Soymilk
45. Wine from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Stroopwafle
47. Samosas
48. Vegetable Sushi
49. Glazed doughnut
50. Seaweed
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Tofurkey
54. Sheese
55. Cotton candy
56. Gnocchi
57. Piña colada
58. Birch beer
59. Scrapple
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Soy curls
63. Chickpea cutlets
64. Curry
65. Durian
66. Homemade Sausages
67. Churros, elephant ears, or funnel cake
68. Smoked tofu
69.Fried plantain
70. Mochi
71. Gazpacho
72. Warm chocolate chip cookies
73. Absinthe
74. Corn on the cob
75. Whipped cream, straight from the can
76. Pomegranate
77. Fauxstess Cupcake
78. Mashed potatoes with gravy
79.Jerky
80. Croissants
81. French onion soup
82. Savory crepes
83. Tings
84. A meal at Candle 79
85. Moussaka
86. Sprouted grains or seeds
87. Macaroni and “cheese”
88. Flowers
89. Matzoh ball soup
90. White chocolate
91. Seitan
92. Kimchi
93. Butterscotch chips
94. Yellow watermelon
95. Chili with chocolate
96. Bagel and Tofutti
97. Potato milk
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Raw cookie dough

from Bittersweet. I kick so much ass I can barely stand it. Either that, or I really do eat my way through every place I visit. And I'm a huge fatty.

My God. I Love a Reunion Special.

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It Fills the Void

I feel like the blog-o-sphere has gotten quieter, recently. Perhaps we're just looking at the late fall, holiday ennui that strikes all of us and saps of our desire to emote, at least in such a bizarrely public format. Well, you know. Public in the sense that people could inadvertently read it. Private in the sense that most likely nobody will! And I'm comfortable with that. There's a certain amount of pleasure in even the slight promise of anonymity, such as it is. Anyway, I hope someone was as tickled by the objectivist personals as I was. I will strive to keep you updated on the absurdities of Ayn Randism, particularly as the global crisis launches it into even unprecedented levels of hilarity. Ah, to be fifteen again and mulling over the crisis of my own gigantic ego.

What else? Happily keeping a handle on what remains of my self-esteem (or self of steam, as my students would have it) while rejection emails trickle in. A few here, a few there. It's all good. U of Colorado, though, hit a certain level of suckiness by sending out a perfectly nice rejection letter (So sorry, we got a billion applications, appreciate the effort, so on and so forth) on Thanksgiving day. Who does that? Maybe people in Boulder are simply more enlightened, and it wasn't a big deal to take a moment off from dwelling on the atrocities of colonialism to tap out a mass email to the hundreds of people who are no longer in the running for the position in Ethnic Literature? Thanks! I will admit, though, that they darken my day for a moment each time I get them. Here's to hoping that I don't receive thirty in a single afternoon! Maybe some kind school will send me a batch of cookies as a consolation prize? Poor B got the brunt of my frustration yesterday when he asked QC and I how many interviews we had lined up. I think I'm just getting to the point where when anyone asks me that I'll start screaming like the cast used to on Peewee's Playhouse whenever anyone said the word of the day!

Long Time, No Bloggy

And there won't be any today. Instead, I bring you news from that other, parallel universe occupied by Ayn Rand fanatics. What could be better, more gut-ticklingly funny, even at a time of extreme uncertainty, financial collapse, and soaring unemployment, than Objectivist Personals! I reproduce below for your pleasure. You're welcome.

Via Slog, for you non-sloggers.

In the Free Market for Love

Posted by Erica C. Barnett on Tue, Nov 25 at 2:17 PM

Three attractive Objectivists at The Objectivist Center's 2006 Summer Seminar

From the listings on the Atlasphere, a dating and networking site for Objectivists (via New York Magazine):

waitingfordagny, Chicago, Illinois
I want to meet a serious woman who both challenges me intellectually and inspires me to noble things by her beauty.

mxjohnxm, Greenville, South Carolina
“One can’t love man without hating most of the creatures who pretend to bear his name.”

thustotyrants, Selden, New York
[I am] short, stark, and mansome.

You should contact me if you are a skinny woman. If your words are a meaningful progression of concepts rather than a series of vocalizations induced by your spinal cord for the purpose of complementing my tone of voice. If you’ve seen the meatbot, the walking automaton, the pod-people, the dense, glazy-eyed substrate through which living organisms such as myself must escape to reach air and sunlight. If you’ve realized that if speech is to be regarded as a cognitive function, technically they aren’t speaking, and you don’t have to listen.

Zak, Long Island, New York
I am rational, integrated, and efficacious. So far, I’ve never met a person who lives up to the standard I hold for myself (except online).

I take my relationships seriously. I am simply not attracted to many of the women in this world. I do not “hook-up” with girls. I only kiss those who deserve, and so far I have only encountered one who did. I would love to find someone I can learn something from; someone who challenges me to think; someone I can feel like I’ve won, rather than lowered myself to.

lostpainting, Hagerstown, Maryland
Please note: If you’re overweight, I won’t date you. If you believe in God, I won’t date you. If you vote for Democrats, I won’t date you.

Lewis, London, U.K.
I love intelligent, sassy girls, particularly those working in consulting or investment banking (but other fields are great too). Really, nothing is hotter than an accomplished girl in a suit, as long as she is willing to settle down and have my children. I want a girl who will support my ambitions against the naysayers in society.

Rob, Stanford, California
Ayn Rand ignited the fire within me that was searching for the right spark. My every action is guided according to my philosophy, and my philosophy is the philosophy of Ayn Rand.

I am interested in meeting someone that truly embodies the values and virtues of Objectivism. I have found very few women that have not already been beaten down to a flimsy, irrational, empty pulp. I have changed many girls’ lives, but no one has blown me away yet.

I never “hook-up” randomly, I never kiss a girl that doesn’t deserve mine. I have yet to find a girl deserving of my falling in love with her. But “other people” are secondary values no matter what, so finding someone is not a priority for me.

Illuminations

A slogger posted a link to the Mormon Stock Index. I knew they had their fingers in a lot of pies, but I didn't realize the diversity and ubiquity of those pies. This is good information, though, if we'd rather not help them fund future Prop 8 debacles. Dell? American Express? Marriott? Well, okay, I knew the hotels were Hellmouths. But Black & Decker? Ugh.

Struggling with Dismay

I write this as I'm preparing to go teach the second part of the fourth episode of Black.White. I've always thought of the show as not particularly progressive or interesting, just another one of these narratives about how much skin color contributes to and in part determines the way that the world interacts with us. Every decade or so cranks out at least one because we remain, in some fundamental way, unable to see things from perspectives other than our own. I was really surprised, in perhaps an incredibly naive way, by how hostile and defensive a few of my students were to a scene in which the black father on the show talks to his son about why he shouldn't be okay with the n-word. Immediately after, my confronto student, who I've written about before, started bellowing about how the father was standing in the way of racial progress. He started throwing the word around and talking about how ridiculous it was. Apparently, we should all use racial slurs freely as a way of taking their power away from them. Is this the post-racial world I keep hearing about? My second class, of course, was completely different. We managed to have a calm conversation about the show and how it engages with ideas about race in the U.S. today. We were able to talk about how the show frames the issues and what it's doing rhetorically. In my first class, I ended up asking my confrontos to not be so defensive. Now I don't know what will happen today. I've long said that I'll settle for anything short of overt hostility. Is it wrong that I'm relieved this is our last discussion-oriented day? I just hope I can make it semi-productive for the other students. Wish me luck.

Basically, I guess it's been a rough week. The Tuesday night high followed by a steadily increasing sense of dismay. At prop 8 and the other anti-gay rights legislation. At my co-worker who was furious that a non-citizen was elected to the presidency. At the security guard who blandly affirmed that he doesn't care about the 800,000 people who have lost their jobs this year and just generally doesn't feel much compassion for others. His only regret is that there isn't another Bush to put in office for another 8 years. That's how happy he is with the way things are. This from an ex-marine who probably doesn't make much more than 20,000 a year running necking teenaged couples out of mall parking lots after hours. I'll have something nice to say next time, I'm sure of it.

Sturm und Drang

...which, incidentally, as I've just discovered, is the name of a Finnish metal band. B, you must have known this already. It also expresses, quite adequately, the general tenor of this semester. Hence the lack of blogging. Q and I are taking turns talking each other down off the ledge, though lately, to be fair, she's been doing most of the talking and I've been doing most of the near-leaping. But here we are. Mostly, I'm maintaining of balance of dread and excitement. Running helps. Food helps. Kitties help.

First, the job market: Wow. I've already received one rejection, and one university lost their funding for the position I applied for. Today, though, I'm mailing five more applications to bring me back up to a total of 50. I really can't decide how I feel about this. My understanding is that you're supposed to keep looking at ads as they keep trickling out year round. I had to force myself to do this yesterday and only barely suppressed feelings of nausea while clicking through the pages. But then I think that the job for me might be the one I don't apply for! You can imagine. So, this is exciting in a way. It's the culmination of so very many years and so very much work. Not to mention the sacrifice of full adulthood in exchange for a grotesque, protracted adolescence (of which I am reminded every time I speak with my family). I'm excited at the prospect of starting over somewhere. Of having a real job. Of . . . beginning, really. Again. What balances and occasionally overwhelms all that sunshine is the prospect of getting fifty more rejections. Slough of despond? Here I come.

Teaching: I can't complain, really. I did get that one gem about Victorians that pretty much redeems a lot of other things. I still have the angry confronto, but he seems to have diverted his ire away from me directly and more toward the major injustice facing white men in America today (the only "legally oppressed group," in his words): affirmative action. Other than that, he's mostly fine, and even my white power kid doesn't seem overly upset by having to read bell hooks. Or maybe he's just punching walls every time he leaves my class? Tough to say. As I like to say, I'm happy with just about anything short of overt hostility. I said this to a man who teaches in the African-American studies department recently, and it cracked him up. The exciting news is that I think I might get to teach a one-credit seminar in the Spring on a topic of my choice. I proposed a course via the website for this special program, and it looks like I'm being approved! Though, as I confided to my office mate yesterday, I feel like kind of a fraud because the website specifies "distinguished faculty" as the people who teach this class. My sense is that they probably have a hard time getting "distinguished" faculty members to propose the courses because they don't pay much at all. In fact, one faculty member told me he'd never done it because it isn't enough money. And, indeed. But this isn't why I want to do it. If I get the class, I'll no doubt write more about it. I just can't help but be cautious until I see my course listed on their seminar offerings page. And then people have to sign up for it. Keep your fingers and toes crossed!

By the way, has anyone had the opportunity to see any of the new Charm School: Rock of Love Girls? Fucking fantastic. In fact, I'm miffed that it isn't on today, so I can watch it during my run. Real Chance of Love looks like the worst, lamest spin-off evah. And this coming from me.

For Queercat

The hilarious, existential angst of Jon Arbuckle, Garfield Minus Garfield. Ummm. Feeling a little interpellated right now. Resisting.

Hilarious

It's probably just my slowly setting in paper-grading hysteria, but this is my favorite quote extracted from an evening of freshman writing:

"The troops on the battlefield also want to walk away as Victorians."

It has a quiet sublimity to it, no? A close second would be a description of Rambo, refusing to settle down, "budding heads" with the authorities.

Ahhhhhhhh.

Heirlooms!