The scene: Two teenage girls standing roughly 50 ft. apart in the middle of my street. They are shouting so as to be heard despite the distance between them.
Girl 1: Guess what?
Girl 2: What?
Girl 1: I'm pregnant!
Girl 2: Bullshit.
Girl 1: No. I am.
Girl 2: Bullshit.
Girl 1: No! I am!
Girl 2: You are not.
Girl 1: I am! You can come over and see the paper work!
Girl 2: Why is there paper work?
Girl 1: Just come over.
Girl 2: I can't.
Girl 1: Why not?
and so on it goes....
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
thoughts about some words
I just taught section, and we talked about Paris is Burning, one of my most favorite movies. After listening to three students describe the movie as "interesting," I asked them to refrain from using the word interesting, knowing that it is pretty near impossible to make it through a section without succumbing to the "interesting" at least once. They tried, and they all giggled when someone, everyone, slipped.
I told them that I couldn't stand the word "interesting" because it didn't mean anything, or rather, that it meant too many things to function as a useful term in an academic context.
Mostly I was tired of listening to 25 people say that the thing we are meant to talk about is interesting. In all honesty, I don't mind the word interesting and I'm not much of a stickler for specificity in verbal communication. But I thought this word ban might help them think of new ways to express their...interest...in the topic.
There is one word that I truly can't stand. A word that makes my hair stand on end when I hear it thrown around -- on TV, by my beloved husband, by everyone.
Curious?
Blessed.
Yes, I am the kind of person who can't stand the word blessed. Draw your own conclusions. My yoga teacher uses the word blessed to talk about getting to do yoga. People I haven't spoken to in 13 years who appear on Facebook use it in response to the question, "Hey! What have you been up to for the past decade?"
The obvious problem, from my perspective, with the word blessed is the implication that one's good fortune is somehow the work of some kind of deity (sometimes referred to as the Universe, fate).
It sounds so smug. As if I have been chosen by God to do yoga. I have not been chosen by God to do yoga, of that I am sure. I did, however, have the good fortune to be born in the first world and meet a man who would marry me and subsidize my yoga practice. If I am blessed because I get to do yoga, instead of say lucky or thankful or appreciative, what about those people who can't do yoga? Are they cursed? And if the non-yoga do-ers are cursed, how do we account for x horrible things happening to children right this minute? I'm not going to give examples, but I study German and American history so know that I have plenty of examples at my fingertips.
I know there is some really simple theological/epistemological/philosophical explanation that accounts for the widespread use of this word, and that really I'm making a familiar, not terribly sophisticated point about language and the presence of inequality of experience in the world (universe?). But, I just listened to 25 people describe young, gay hustlers dancing and dying in Harlem as INTERESTING and this leaves me feeling entitled to type a screed about a word.
I'm so blessed. (You saw that coming, I'm sure).
I told them that I couldn't stand the word "interesting" because it didn't mean anything, or rather, that it meant too many things to function as a useful term in an academic context.
Mostly I was tired of listening to 25 people say that the thing we are meant to talk about is interesting. In all honesty, I don't mind the word interesting and I'm not much of a stickler for specificity in verbal communication. But I thought this word ban might help them think of new ways to express their...interest...in the topic.
There is one word that I truly can't stand. A word that makes my hair stand on end when I hear it thrown around -- on TV, by my beloved husband, by everyone.
Curious?
Blessed.
Yes, I am the kind of person who can't stand the word blessed. Draw your own conclusions. My yoga teacher uses the word blessed to talk about getting to do yoga. People I haven't spoken to in 13 years who appear on Facebook use it in response to the question, "Hey! What have you been up to for the past decade?"
The obvious problem, from my perspective, with the word blessed is the implication that one's good fortune is somehow the work of some kind of deity (sometimes referred to as the Universe, fate).
It sounds so smug. As if I have been chosen by God to do yoga. I have not been chosen by God to do yoga, of that I am sure. I did, however, have the good fortune to be born in the first world and meet a man who would marry me and subsidize my yoga practice. If I am blessed because I get to do yoga, instead of say lucky or thankful or appreciative, what about those people who can't do yoga? Are they cursed? And if the non-yoga do-ers are cursed, how do we account for x horrible things happening to children right this minute? I'm not going to give examples, but I study German and American history so know that I have plenty of examples at my fingertips.
I know there is some really simple theological/epistemological/philosophical explanation that accounts for the widespread use of this word, and that really I'm making a familiar, not terribly sophisticated point about language and the presence of inequality of experience in the world (universe?). But, I just listened to 25 people describe young, gay hustlers dancing and dying in Harlem as INTERESTING and this leaves me feeling entitled to type a screed about a word.
I'm so blessed. (You saw that coming, I'm sure).
Thursday, October 22, 2009
cleaning
I've spent the past few days trying to put my house together in preparation for Mike's big sibling reunion 2009. It's been 4.5 years since all the kids were together -- since our wedding, actually -- so it feels pretty momentous.
I swept and swifted and dusted and vacuumed and washed down the sides of appliances. It's a two bedroom apartment, but I could spend all my time cleaning it. I just walk from room to room with a wet rag, occasionally getting so swept up in a streaming episode of Fresh Air that I forget what I'm doing.
So now the house looks in order, and there are clean sheets on the guest bed. It's very quiet -- Mike's at the airport retrieving two of the siblings -- and I'm sitting in the semi-darkness wondering why I don't keep the apartment this nice all the time.
I swept and swifted and dusted and vacuumed and washed down the sides of appliances. It's a two bedroom apartment, but I could spend all my time cleaning it. I just walk from room to room with a wet rag, occasionally getting so swept up in a streaming episode of Fresh Air that I forget what I'm doing.
So now the house looks in order, and there are clean sheets on the guest bed. It's very quiet -- Mike's at the airport retrieving two of the siblings -- and I'm sitting in the semi-darkness wondering why I don't keep the apartment this nice all the time.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Open Letter to Jewel Staite
Dear Jewel Staite,
When I saw you in Trader Joe's this afternoon, I had just eaten half a pan of brownies and was on something of a sugar high. It was just two weeks ago that Mike and I watched our first episode of Firefly. We watched the whole first season over three days. The minute it was over, we ran out and rented Serenity. Then we cursed Fox for canceling it after just one season. Stupid network honchos. (See also: My So Called Life and Freaks and Geeks)
So Firefly has been on my mind a lot these past few weeks. I've looked at some fan sites, I listened to an hour-long interview with the creator, and I came this close to downloading a screen saver.
And I love your character, Kaywinnit Lee Frye. Also known as Kaylee. Also known as the coolest girl on television.
I swear you are not the first celebrity I have seen in LA. Or even in the Trader Joe's. Half the cast of The Office shops there. So do the guys from Flight of the Conchords, and most of the former contestants on Project Runway. And I've seen Andy Garcia, Meg Ryan, and Giovanni Ribisi at the ArcLight. I'm not even going to talk about New York, where I used to see Uma Thurman nearly every month. (See also: yesterday's posting).
Which is all to say that when I saw you in the frozen foods aisle of the Silverlake Trader Joe's and yelled, "Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God!," it was something of an aberration. And then when I asked if I could take your picture with my phone? That was totally unprecedented.
I'd like to take this opportunity to say I'm sorry for being so totally uncool. I know the deal, I really do. Living in LA means that when you see celebrities you just act super chill. You might nod a "hey, nice work" nod, but really it's best to just look away, kind of like when you see someone getting arrested in front of a bar on Saturday night. Shrieking, camera phones, fluttering hands? Not cool, I know.
I'm sorry for creating a scene, I really am. But thank you for letting me take your picture, because seeing you in real life was really exciting. O.M.G.
Long live Serenity and her gifted mechanic. May you fly forever in our hearts and on DVD.
xoxo,
La Critika
star, rock.
Saturday night we joined P + Q at the Eagle Rock Music Festival for some moonlight strolling and music. It was a free event, and it felt very low pressure. We listened to the bands we liked for as long as we liked. I spent the better part of the biggest act's set wondering around looking for caramel corn. The Occidental College students were out in force, many dressed in essentially the exact same outfit I wore for the better part of 9th grade. Yes, I mean to say that I saw girls in mom shorts, band t-shirts, and sneakers with black socks. No, no one was wearing a t-shirt as cool as the Holiday in Cambodia shirt I'm sporting below. Perhaps because that was the coolest shirt ever.
At the end of the night, just as we were getting ready to walk back to the car, we stopped to listen to a band called The Happy Hallows. I really liked them, enough that I apparently didn't notice we were standing next to Adam Goldberg of Dazed and Confused, Friends, and 2 Days in Paris fame. Q pointed him out, and since he was just a few feet away, I predictably squealed and buried myself in P's chest. Because in the excitement of the celebrity proximity, I forgot that I was standing next to P and not Mike. In one smooth move, I think I managed to alarm Adam Goldberg, Mike, P, Q, and myself.
I pulled it together and we went home, walking back through the residential streets of Eagle Rock by the light of the harvest moon.
At the end of the night, just as we were getting ready to walk back to the car, we stopped to listen to a band called The Happy Hallows. I really liked them, enough that I apparently didn't notice we were standing next to Adam Goldberg of Dazed and Confused, Friends, and 2 Days in Paris fame. Q pointed him out, and since he was just a few feet away, I predictably squealed and buried myself in P's chest. Because in the excitement of the celebrity proximity, I forgot that I was standing next to P and not Mike. In one smooth move, I think I managed to alarm Adam Goldberg, Mike, P, Q, and myself.
I pulled it together and we went home, walking back through the residential streets of Eagle Rock by the light of the harvest moon.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
nice.
Yesterday felt momentous. It wasn't, but it felt that way. At 5 p.m. I felt like I had finally put something to rest. It's not entirely clear what that something was, but I'm just happy to note that I felt a lightness last night that I haven't felt for a long, long time.
At Intelligentsia, where I was the only person in the entire place with a PC, I wrote a 4 page mini-prospectus for my entirely new dissertation topic. They were strangely easy to write, those 4 pages. What I produced was better, on every level, than the 15 drafts of mini-prospectuses I produced for my other, now abandoned, topic.
Then my computer battery died, crappy PC, and I left the beautiful people at Intelligentsia. I was bouncing after drinking a real coffee, the first real coffee I have had in months. Bouncing doesn't really describe it. I was sparking. I think the kid behind the counter winked at me on
my way out.
I stopped by the fancy store next door, which I always do when I leave Intelligentsia. I like to look at this one purse.
And it was on sale. My purse was on sale, and I spent about 45 minutes talking to the sales guy about the purse, about the possibility that it would ever go on sale again, and about his biggest sale so far this year (6 bags at once).
And then I bought the purse. I left before I could change my mind. I'm pretty sure I really was sparking at that point.
I raced home and finished the mini-prospectus, the bag in my lap while I typed. I sent it off 30 minutes before my self-imposed 5 p.m. deadline, and then I just sat there, staring at the giant map of California on the wall in my living room.
I wrote some emails and waited for Mike to get home. He wrote a paper about mortgage backed securities, and I went out for drinks down the street with my girlfriends. And the bag.
At Intelligentsia, where I was the only person in the entire place with a PC, I wrote a 4 page mini-prospectus for my entirely new dissertation topic. They were strangely easy to write, those 4 pages. What I produced was better, on every level, than the 15 drafts of mini-prospectuses I produced for my other, now abandoned, topic.
Then my computer battery died, crappy PC, and I left the beautiful people at Intelligentsia. I was bouncing after drinking a real coffee, the first real coffee I have had in months. Bouncing doesn't really describe it. I was sparking. I think the kid behind the counter winked at me on
my way out.I stopped by the fancy store next door, which I always do when I leave Intelligentsia. I like to look at this one purse.
And it was on sale. My purse was on sale, and I spent about 45 minutes talking to the sales guy about the purse, about the possibility that it would ever go on sale again, and about his biggest sale so far this year (6 bags at once).
And then I bought the purse. I left before I could change my mind. I'm pretty sure I really was sparking at that point.
I raced home and finished the mini-prospectus, the bag in my lap while I typed. I sent it off 30 minutes before my self-imposed 5 p.m. deadline, and then I just sat there, staring at the giant map of California on the wall in my living room.
I wrote some emails and waited for Mike to get home. He wrote a paper about mortgage backed securities, and I went out for drinks down the street with my girlfriends. And the bag.
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