Danger Mouse

I was recently introduced to "The Grey Album" by DJ Danger Mouse. I guess I am a little behind because MTV was writing about the downloading frenzy over this album a year ago. The album is a remix of vocals from Jay-Z's "Black Album" and music and beats from the Beatle's "White Album." It is quite good. Apparently it has never been distributed because of copyright issues - too bad. I don't often recommend music and I would love to in this case.
Best Grey Album tracks:
#2 - What more can I say
#4 - December 4th
#9 - Allure
#12 - My 1st Song - clever lyrics despite the derogatory reference to women

Q: Do I exist? Am I awful to be around? Am I hopelessly humdrum?

Let's look at some recent evidence:
1. Even though I posted on sconnie of Monday, Lisa writes on Wednesday that "Not only am I the only person who posts here anymore..."
2. I spoke with someone last week about needing a dissertation support group. While she said that she has no time for such groups, I found out today that she is in a group which just met for the first time.
3. The other night, I went out to dinner with my partner and his uncle. They each cut me off mid-sentence at least once without even appearing to notice they had done so.

A: While there is not enough evidence to make a ruling on the status of my existence, it is clear from the data that, if I do exist, people would prefer to avoid being in my presence and, if required to be around me, choose to ignore me to the greatest extent possible.

Cleaning up

We have always cleaned house on Saturday mornings - splitting the job nearly 50-50. However, Jason cares more about tidiness (having everything put away - no piles - even on the desk). I am more a proponent of cleanliness - wiping down everything and insuring there is no dust or dirt anywhere. We make a pretty good cleaning team although we both hate to do floors and the bathrooms.

Anyway, a pending change in our family status led Jason to suggest that we think about a house cleaner every couple of weeks. The cleaner could do the floors and the significant wiping down that I think is important and we could stay on top of the general tidiness and every day cleaning. Sounds good, right?

Today the cleaner is coming for the second time. For the second time, I've gotten up early completely stressed out about how messy the house is and how this cleaning person is going to show up and see what slobs we are. So, I spent about an hour cleaning. I didn't do the floors and the bathrooms - my least favorite chores. I guess it is nice to have someone to take care of the bathroom and the floors.

just like old times

Rowbear is melting down a little as a result of dad's news. As he is abroad, he suggests communicating over AOL Instant Messenger. I haven't IM'ed anyone since 1999. In fact, I'm a little surprised, given the rapid pace of technological advancement, that Instant Messenger is still out there. I downloaded the program and found, much to my surprise, that my "handle" is still good.

It all came back so quickly. The smileys, the sound effects, the little yellow guy. Ah... the halcyon days of my youth!

keep in touch, deuxieme

My older brother sent the following email to the sibs:

News from Dad....

Friday March 25th (Good Friday)
4:30 PM

[location]

There will be a wedding ceremony. Dad's and Mary's. It is for [the family]. For those that can't make it, Dad says we will have a get together this summer. If you are able to attend or want to know more, contact Dad.

I responded:

Jason and I won't make it - we'll be in Alaska. Furthermore, I won't be up to traveling this summer. My last big trip will be out to Maine in May.

My brother Rowbear, who will not even be back from Paris until April, writes:

ah. WTF? J'en ai marre.

I spoke with Dad the other night about including us, I really did. How awful it seems to be turning out.

i've got nothing

I am really, seriously, in trouble with this dissertation. I've just got nothing. In my meeting with my adviser last week, I was charged with writing an informal memo - which I should be sending out this morning - taking stock of the project at this point.

According to my notes, the memo should address the following issues:
Summarize where I think the project stands – in terms of where its going and what it is about – how my sense of the problem has shifted – where I'm at with data collection and where I’m thinking is the most profitable way to go. What is this a case of? What are the larger sociological concerns? What does intensive study of one case tell us about other cases? Cases of what? What are the different angles and possibilities? Where I have what kinds of data and how much and how interesting? What links to theoretical ideas and debates going on in literature.

The thing is, from where I am sitting right now, I just can't see the whole project. I can sit for hours and talk to you about how it seems from my perspective that:
1. Assumptions about an American baseline cultural knowledge of what race is and how one orients toward racial difference are largely erroneous.
2. Common diagnoses of the root of racial tensions often fail to take this basic fact into account and, consequently, center on a few issues (e.g. personal and structural racism) at the expense of others (e.g. concrete difficulties stemming, for example, from cultural differences).
3. Subsequent efforts at easing racial tensions, therefore, are incomplete in that A) they are generally focused on "the inner racist" or racist institutions and often culminate in requiring individuals to "recognize that they have racism inside them," and b) leave no space for folks to identify or develop strategies for dealing with other issues (e.g. miscommunication, the cultural space in which their actions are judged to be racially/culturally appropriate/inappropriate) that can be addressed more effectively than bigotry because they yield concrete strategies for action.

So, yeah, that's what I think. Do I have enough data? I don't know - how much is enough? What is this a case of? What are the larger sociological concerns? How is this related to theoretical ideas and debates going on in the literature?

Someone kill me please because not getting my degree really isn't an option - my family would be so disappointed. I would die of shame.

fragile equilibrium - welcome to my world

the dentist today - a new one - seems OK

something noteworthy about Milwaukee - best timed street lights ever - no waiting for both motorists and pedestrians - seriously, I've never been anywhere with better-timed lights

things not to do if you want to feel OK: go too long after getting up before having a bite to eat; eating rice because it BINDS you right up; staying up too late; skipping the gym; letting too much toothpaste lather build up in your mouth while brushing; eating a whole lot of Sour Patch Kids because you really want something sweet and sour and with artificial orange; not drinking water because you are SO GODDAMN TIRED OF DRINKING WATER ALL THE TIME!

keep in touch

I stayed with my cousin on my recent trip. Because my parents got married in their early thirties, much older than their siblings who, almost without exception, married right out of high school, most of my cousins, many of whom also started families right out of high school, have children that are not much younger than I. The cousin with whom I was staying, Janet, has a daughter who is 22 and living in Florida. Janet and Lisa spoke on the phone several times every day - generally Lisa made the phone call. Janet knows absolutely EVERYTHING about Lisa's life and vice versa. Both the quantity of time spent conversing and the extent to which all details were shared struck me as kind of odd but then events transpired that caused me to wonder if, perhaps, I am the strange one.

I am the second oldest of six. I can never remember a time when either of my parents took interest in the details of my daily life. That is not to say that they were bad or disinterested parents, just that there was too much going on for each of us to get that much personal/private time. So, even when I lived at home, my parents were informed of what was going on with me on a "need to know" and "I want to tell you" basis. Once I went off to college, I was rarely in touch. I probably spoke with my Mom twice a month. She filled me in on what everyone else was up to. It never struck me as odd that I did not speak with my siblings or father for months on end. Furthermore, I still felt close to my family - I always called home right away when the situation demanded it - a broken heart, an honor received, a book recommendation. To this day I feel perfectly happy and comfortable sitting around the kitchen table with my siblings even if we haven't spoken in months because I know that our bond doesn't hinge upon the minutiae that I missed out on since I last saw them.

Anyway, it appears that my dad was never fully versed on the intricacies of intrafamily communication. When I called him to let him know I would be home and wanted to get together he told me that the first weekend he would be away in Connecticut visiting a "lady friend." I had heard a couple of rumors from my older brother that dad had been doing a lot of talking on the phone with one woman in particular and that dad went down to Boston to meet her for the weekend a couple of times. I was curious but figured that my dad would tell me about this woman when and if there became reason to do so. Well, when I saw him Sunday, the first thing he said to me is, "I've got to talk to you about Mary (apparently his "lady friend's" name) because..." (long pause in which he looks pleadingly at me hoping that I will bail him out).
"Because you're getting serious?"
He responded with a nod of encouragement.
"Are you getting married?"
"We've talked about it."
It took me a full 30 minutes to piece together the entire situation from the vague utterances he was able to choke up. She is a widow, 6 months his junior, from Portland originally but has lived all over, they met through dad's sister's second husband, he met her children and grandchildren in Connecticut last weekend and she was up in Portland this weekend. He took her out to eat at a fancy restaurant and PROPOSED to her, ring and all. She accepted. He would likely be moving to Connecticut and selling the house on the island. She is a good egg, except that she is a little conservative and "evangelical."
"Have you told any of my brothers and sister about this?" I asked, knowing full well that most of them probably had no idea he was seeing anyone in particular..
"No. I thought you could let everyone know." This was not surprising. It has become my job in my family to deliver big news. I was the first beside my mom to know that her cancer was terminal. My mom couldn't tell anyone so she brought me into a consultation with the doctor and the doctor told me. I told everyone else. When my mom died, I was in a motel in Syracuse, having just quit my job in Chicago, driving all of my possessions back home in a Ryder truck so I could take care of my mom. Dad told me and I called my siblings from the Knights' Inn.
"Absolutely not. This is your news and you need to call everyone right away. This is a big deal, dad."
"I suppose you're right."
"Am I going to get a chance to meet your fiancée?"
"Maybe sometime."

That night as I lay in bed, my dad's news hit me like a ton of bricks. We all have been hoping that he would remarry but I guess I expected I would get a chance to get to know the person. Not necessarily before the engagement or anything but EVENTUALLLY. I guess I thought that we were important enough to my dad that he would want to connect his shiny new life with the life he has lived for the last 35 years. At this point, she is completely blameless because if anyone should have seen to it that she met his kids, it would be him. I was in town when she was, for pete's sake.

I know, I know. Cut him some slack. Widower remarrying - it's difficult and confusing for him. Yes, yes, I grant him that but if he doesn't incorporate us into his new life up front, how in the world will he squeeze us in later? I would like just a little reciprocity when it comes to empathy! I'm down to my last parent as it is.

final days

1. The first time I was ever conscious of the smell of the ocean was when I arrived at the ferry terminal upon my return from a month-long student exchange in Arkangel'sk, Russia. Although I had lived on the water all my life, it took significant time away - my third fourth trip out of Maine & New Hampshire ever for me to understand that the ocean has a smell. It's the all-the-time smell I am talking about, not the fishy briny smell of low tide and exposed mudflats, but instead the fresh and cool smell of the air circulating over the salt water.
2. I went to the island on Sunday. No one was at the house so I was on my own. I took advantage of the warm weather and the sunshine to "take a lap." An amazing thing about the island is how much it will always be home to me. Soon my dad will sell the house and I will no longer have family out there, but it will still be home. First, there are the people who still know me - who stop me to find out how everyone is doing and to ask what I am up to these days. Then there is the place itself - whaleback rock, the tablerocks, big little rock, sandy beach, Brackett cemetery, and the familiar views of Portland Head, Ram Island Ledge Light, Halfway Rock Light, Junk of Pork, Inner Green, and Outer Green. It is as if I belong to the place - not that the place is mine. Long after I am dead and forgotten much of what I know about the island will still be true.

sunlight induced euphoria & Portland

Today the sky is blue and the sunlight is reflecting off the snow, dazzling. I am tempted to drive up to Lost Valley, buy a two hour lift ticket, rent some skis, and enjoy a couple of hours on the south-facing slopes. Alas, my cousin decide to schedule a "girls' night" to coincide with my visit so I would really be shirking if I took off and left her to prepare all alone.

I drove down to Portland for lunch with my brother and his girlfriend. They seem to be in a good place right now. They scraped together enough cash to buy a car and they have both been recognized for exemplary performance at work. She is a shift leader at Starbucks and he is a cashier at the local supermarket. It was nice to see them content.

And then there is just Portland. In my mind it is the best place on earth! How is it that I have chosen a career path that makes it almost impossible for me to live there before I retire? You basically have to wait for the right person to die in order for there even to be a tenure track opening at the University of Southern Maine and Maine Law School. Who knows? Maybe we'll be in the right place at the right time.

butter scraped over too much bread

I have people that I consider to be my friends but I don't think the relationships are reciprocal - not because I am not the kind of person you want to have as a friend (or at least I hope that is not the case) - but because I am not really around enough for people to think of me as a friend. Since June of 1995 I have lived in 12 apartments/houses in 7 cities in 3 states and 3 countries. For two years I lived part-time in 2 different cities and for all but the first year of my Ph.D. program I spent the majority of time living away from my department.
Everywhere and nowhere. Sometimes I think this transience accounts for a great deal of the mental degeneration that I described below - maybe for most people it takes until they are old before they have lived in too many places and had too many phone numbers and known too many people to keep it all straight all the time.

update from the field

I have been here 11 days and I must say that, although I have more work to do, I am ready to head home for a spell. Except for a couple of days of respite here and there it has not stopped snowing since I arrived. Normally, there is nothing like a lovely Maine winter but, while here on this trip I am staying in the woods and I need to drive absolutely everywhere. I loathe driving on a sunny summer day. I am positively miserable driving when it is 7 degrees with 3 inches of fresh powder on the road.
On the positive side, this is shaping up to be a fairly productive trip. I am redesigning my project a bit - one of the parts of my tripartite design is just not feasible. Thus, this project is going to be a little less focused on interaction than I would have liked. No big deal - I'll do it later in a place where there is a wealth of the necessary data.
Although I struggle to actually PRODUCE research, I really enjoy coming up with research ideas and conducting the research itself. I am always getting interesting ideas for research. I often think I should just give up on the academic research enterprise and start a journal, "The Journal of Sociological Ideas." The journal would be full of research ideas and accompanying background information. For example, the segment of my dissertation that is not getting done is concerned how social difference/distance is constructed within interactions. If I wanted to publish this idea in "The Journal of Sociological Ideas," I would prepare a description of the project with accompanying lit review and even develop the research design and make guesses as to what the findings might be. Thus, in merely developing the question, I would be freed from ever having to be definitive - assert that I knew the answer.

Geezum*, what a city mouse!

Growing up on a small-ish island off the coast of Maine is a unique experience in many ways. One way in which islanders tend to be different from your average rural person is that we often do not get driver's licenses (or get them very late). Why? No need for cars on the island and difficulties with owning/parking cars on the mainland are 2 big reasons.
I got my license at age 24, because I was heading back to Chicago for graduate school and I had acquired a dog (making mass transit less feasible). Thus, I really developed my driving abilities on the huge highways and busy streets of Chicago.
Currently in Maine, I am staying with my cousin in a rural area about 20 minutes from Portland and about 30 minutes from my field site. Even though I am a bit closer to my research site than I would be if I stayed in Portland, I no longer have a highway route to get me where I want to go. This is a big problem for someone who, when it comes to driving, is a city mouse.
Maine has 2 actual highways, 95 and 295. In most of the state they are 4-lane highways (2 lanes in each direction) although they expanded the southern end(from the NH border to Portland), where 95 is the only highway, to 6-lanes. So, to get where I needed to go this morning. I had to drive down several rural routes. Remember, folks, Maine roads pre-date the homestead act, trains, cars, and all that other stuff that insures that roads in the Midwest mostly move either North-South or East-West. Instead, our roads run a lane in each direction with no shoulder. They curve and they rise and fall and wind their ways through town after ancient town.
My knuckles grew white as I tried to make sure that I kept the tires of my rental car in grooves other vehicles had already made in our fresh snow. On the way home I went 20 miles out of my way so that I could stay on highways and very major thoroughfares. What a wimp!

*Geezum (could also be spelled Jesum, I assume) is a nice Maine expression that used to be a staple of my repertoire of interjections. Today my waitress at the Bill Davis Luncheonette was talking about her problems with her daughter giving her lip. "Geezum, call it tough love, but I am not letting her get into trouble with those friends of hers." Is this lovely interjection widely used anywhere else in the world? Any of you non-Mainers out there ever let out an exasperated "Geezum?"

degeneration

I am losing my mind.

exhibit 1: Wednesday I was having a fairly important phone conversation and the person with whom I was speaking needed to call me back. She said, "Just give me your number and I will call you back once I deal with this [issue that has just arisen]."
I said, "Sure." but then was unable to recall my phone number. I paused a minute and glanced at the numbers on the phone, hoping that I would be able to recall the pattern the numbers make and, hence, the number. No luck. "You know what," I said, "I am going to be in and out so why don't I call you back. When would you like me to call?"
exhibit 2: Yesterday I had to move my things to my new departmental office, which is on the second floor. When it came time for me to head down the hill to catch the bus back home, I walked to the elevators, pushed the up button, got in and stared blankly at the wall unit. I had absolutely no idea which floor I needed to exit the building. I guessed 5, incorrectly.
exhibit 3: At the end of last semester, I was working on the bus. I was so absorbed in my work that when I looked up I was surprised to find I was on a bus. Then I realized I had no idea where I was - was I between Madison and Chicago, Madison and Milwaukee, Portland and Boston, Portland and Lewiston? I took a deep breath so as not to panic and looked out the window. The relative treelessness confirmed that I was not in New England. I thought about it for a minute and realized that I don't live in Chicago anymore. Thus, I was between Madison and Milwaukee. So, the next question - was I on my way to Madison or on my way home. I tried to remember if I had already lectured that day - to no avail. It was cloudy so the day gave no indication what time it was. A glance at the clock on my cell phone is what finally confirmed that I was on my way home at the end of the day.

Each time something like this happens I struggle not to panic. I feel so disoriented.

What are we doing for dinner?

I know I seem to be dwelling on food but indulge me.
So, I try to work in our home office largely because I am an hour and a half (by car) from my actual office. My beloved partner, who is only 20 minutes by city bus from his office, tends to work there at least part of the day. This is good as our home office is too small for us both to be working comfortably. However, for some reason my dear, dear partner seems to think that, since I am at home, I should also be thinking about dinner. Thus, each evening when he is on the bus he calls and invariably asks the question, "What are we doing for dinner?"
Now, I admit, some evenings I procrastinate by locating interesting recipes on epicurious.com and preparing them. Usually, however, I am just as uninterested in thinking about what we're doing for dinner as he is. Frequently I am annoyed by the question because it seems to place the onus on my shoulders (we could give him the benefit of the doubt and say it is ONLY because I am the one at home and has nothing to do with gender but I know this is just incorrect). I've tried various approaches to voicing my annoyance with the question. "I haven't thought about it." "I don't care." "What you eat for dinner is your own business." "I'm sure that you'll put together a very nice meal once you get home." "Can you stop asking me that? It's not my responsibility to prepare dinner!" Unfortunately, I seem unable to eliminate both the question and underlying assumption that I should prepare dinner.
It's infinitely frustrating.

What I plan to eat in Western Maine

In no particular order, the food that I am going to treat myself to upon my arrival in Maine Saturday afternoon (spread over the 2 weeks I am there, of course):
1. Eggplant Italian Sandwich from Amato's (no olives, no cheese, no salt, extra tomatoes, extra-extra pickles, olive oile and pepper).
2. Eggplant Parmigiana Sandwich from Amato's
3. Mediterranean Vegetable Wrap (add green tabasco) with 1/2 order of yam fries from Federal Spice
4. Tofu, Asian slaw, coconut rice and sweet red chili sauce wrap from Federal Spice
5. Oshi-tashi maki and inari sushi from Fuji
6. Vegetable Potsticker Salad with sushi rice and tofu from Natasha's lunch menu
7. Breakfast at Blue Spoon
8. Breakfast at Bintliff's
9. Humpty Dumpty Salt'n'vinegar chips
10. Creme Horns and Whoopie Pies from Labadie's Bakery
11. Vegetable dinner from Safari Africa Restaurant
12. Grilled cheese and fries from Gilbert's Chowder House
13. Balsamic Infused Portobellas and Spinach from Norm's BBQ
14. Beal's ginger ice cream
15. Napoleons from Foley's Bakery
16. Hummus sandwich and peanut butter chocolate chip cookie from Big Sky Bakery
17. Little Lad's vegetarian lunch buffet
18. Morning buns, gingerbread, and mini-brioche from Standard Baking

tweety a.k.a. inspector gadget a.k.a. peanut

ht: 1.9
hr: 174
dt: 59
dd: 82005

Hello, Wisconsin!

San Francisco was fine. At this point in my life I have seen enough major Western cities to experience them as a fundamentally comfortable and known quantity. I feel at home right away with well-developed mass transit, over-crowded sidewalks, Chinatowns, people on the streets at all times, tremendous diversity, Neiman Marcus, FCUK, and the Disney store (even though I have never shopped at any of them). Incidentally, Seattle was one of the more surprising cities in that it didn't remind so much of Paris and Chicago and New York and Moscow but instead really felt a great deal like Portland.
So, the strangest thing about my trip was that when I thought about going home, I initially failed to recognize that HOME is Milwaukee, Wisconsin and was disappointed each and every time I realized that I would be returning to Milwaukee.
On the flight back, I was sitting near a gentleman who was returning from a business trip to Arizona. As we were landing, he glanced out the window at the snow on the ground and the bungalows and said, "Lovely Milwaukee." I looked at him, trying to gauge the sincerity in his voice but, as I had only spent about 20 minutes speaking with him, I couldn't tell if he meant it. I smiled and replied, "Hello, Wisconsin."
It's not that Milwaukee is terrible. It really is much nicer than I thought it would be. However, something isn't right. Maybe it's that there really isn't a vibrant city center, or that most people who live here are from here. I need to figure it out so next time we move to a place with more long-term potential.

i know i know

I know it's been a long time but cut me some slack.
I have lots of great excuses to give - no one reads this blog anyway, I'm in a tremendous end-of-the-semester I'm-never-going-to-finish-this-program-successfully-so-why-even-try my-life-is-chaos funk, and the biggest and somewhat all-consuming thing going on with me right now is so top secret that i can't even blog about it.
At any rate, I'm off to San Francisco tomorrow, home for a few days and then off to Maine for 2 weeks of imposed exile/productivity regarding this dissertation-thingy. I won't have much with me besides my laptop so I imagine I will have plenty of time to wax poetic from the road.

fyi

I am FINISHED with the grading for my course. I am FINISHED leaving my home at 6:20 a.m. three mornings a week and spending the majority of my work time trying to figure out how to fill 50-minute lectures with interesting and relevant information. I am wiping the dust of SS6104 from my feet and never looking back!

I am going to spend the next 3 or 4 days cooking and visiting. Then I will throw myself enthusiastically into the mountains of work that have been sitting on the back burner for far too long. I feel so FREE!

One final comment for the day - in part to make up for my extended silence

Q: Being the devoted Lemony Snicket fan that you profess to be, were you first in line to see "A Series of Unfortunate Events" when it opened this week?
A: Absolutely not! The books are tremendous - although a couple of the latest are a bit uneven. Mr. Snicket is a a little too aware of the readers in some of these books - trying to "bore you," for example, with endless repetition of the facts of the water cycle so that he can send secret messages to his sister. This makes you, as the reader, a little too conscious of yourself and detracts from the pleasure of reading.
At any rate, although I did learn that in the movie there is a voice over (Jude Law as Lemony Snicket) which may help convey the style of the books, I don't believe for a second that the movie won't become "The Count Olaf (a.k.a. Jim Carrey) Show." Yes, I know that Count Olaf, like Mr. Carrey, is a total ham who succeeds often in taking center stage. However, he does it within the context of the plot, not the book itself. Olaf, although the antagonist, is a secondary character. The threat of his existence receives much more attention in Mr. Snicket's work than his actual presence does. I do not suspect the same can be said for the film. Has Jim Carrey EVER played a supporting role? Can he?
So, I suspect that I will not see the movie - or movies, if they hope to further capitalize on the popularity of the books.

New Orleans Instrumental No. 1

Just as life is pushing me along right now, so has it always been.

I had no college plans at all – honestly. I knew nothing about the whole process, had no idea how it might matter if I went, and, quite frankly, was so unable to picture myself after high school that I thought I would die before graduation. However, I was required to take the PSAT because of the way that I was tracked in high school – they even waived the fee. So I took it.

A few months later we got our scores. I had no idea what they meant – assuming that my percentile was no big deal since it was consistent with how I scored on the Maine Educational Assessment exams I had taken every couple of years up to that point – just some indication that you were learning what they wanted you to. That spring I went to a Russia on a sister-city exchange and returned to an entire trash bag full of college recruiting materials. Fortunately, my PSAT score also prompted Peterson’s academic publishing to send me a free copy of their Guide to American Colleges and Universities. So, I sat down and went through it all – looking up each school that had contacted me and checking to see how many little mortar boards they were indexed with (indication of overall rank), checking the male to female ratio (that’s right – as a probable math major I assumed that schools with more men than women would have better math programs – a bias that implicit association tests still detect), and whether or not they had any other possible majors: journalism; Russian language and literature; French literature; and photography. I requested applications from every single school that had 4 mortar boards (the highest)/or promised me a full-tuition scholarship, more men than women, and majors in mathematics and one of my other possibles.

So, spring of my junior year I learned that I would go to college and developed a list of possible schools. I received from the schools themselves information on the application deadlines and admission criteria.

Fall of my senior year: you’d expect me to be on top of the application process, right? Wrong. I only visited one school – a school that offered to bring me out for a visit. The applications were long and tedious. I had to use an old type-writer to fill them out. My parents refused to fill out the financial aid form, instead giving me their tax forms so I could fill it out on my own. On top of that, I was in love. My boyfriend, Andrew, graduated a year ahead of me and had just returned from a few months in Europe. He had deferred his admission to Stanford and was working a 9 to 5 job. I spent most of my time with him and used the remainder to complete schoolwork.

It was Andrew’s parents who sat down with me and made me fill out my applications. His mother kept better track of the deadlines than I did. They helped me with the financial aid form. They commented on my essays. They hounded me until I sent out each application.

In the end I attended the school that had brought me out to visit – also the school that offered me the most financial aid. I began with the intention of studying mathematics but, when the advanced calculus section I wanted was full, I registered for Russian instead. The rest, as they say, is history. It’s disconcerting to realize how passive I am in the face of life.

sorry. there really is very little to say...

except I just remembered that I wrote a post on my laptop. Hang on....

How about Kwanzaa?

With the "winter holidays"* here, I have been looking around with a careful eye, taking it all in and looking for wriggle room. I enoy celebrating the winter solstice as much as the next person. I enjoy getting together with family and eating good food. I enjoy watching the snow come down and settle on evergreen boughs while sitting inside wearing wool socks and flannel and drinking hot chocolate. I enjoy time off from work.
I do not enjoy consumerism. I am opposed to people spending money on useless stuff to give to others just because they suspect the other person has purchased something equally useless for them. I object to hypothetical saints clothed in red that further feed the materialistic impulses of young people. I am opposed to celebrating the birth of a man who, even if he was a great spiritual guide, was not any more "divine" than the rest of us and, furthermore, wasn't even born at this time of year.
So, we got a tree this year but all along I've been thinking: what about when we have kids? I feel you have to give them something. The whole country is turned upside down during the holiday season and if you don't attach some meaning to all the hub-bub, the children will take what's being offered elsewhere. So, is there some more humanist, secular "holiday" out there for people like me?
Here's the thing. The humanists and the Unitarians don't have holidays. I've been looking into it and I really think what I am looking for is Kwanzaa, which is a celebration and an affirmation of African culture and African American community. The holiday is based upon wonderful and important principles: unity; self-determination; collective work; cooperative economics; purpose; creativity; and faith in one another. It is a cultural holiday - with no religious content whatsoever.
I know, I know. Am I going to be just another white person who steals African American culture, distorts it, and turns it to my own ends without any regard for who it belongs to and why it exists? Is it OK for a white person with a white partner and hypothetical white children to make Kwanzaa the central holiday of the season while living in a majority white neighborhood in the most segregated city in the country? If I had my way, would Kwanzaa end up being like jazz and swing dancing - elements of culture that have been denuded of their African American roots?
This is what the official website has to say but I am not sure how to interpret it:
Kwanzaa is clearly an African holiday created for African peoples. But other people can and do celebrate it, just like other people participate in Cinco de Mayo besides Mexicans; Chinese New Year besides Chinese; Native American pow wows besides Native Americans.
The question is, under what circumstances? There are both communal and public celebrations. One can properly hold a communal celebration dedicated essentially to community persons. But in a public context, say public school or college, we can properly have public celebrations which include others. How this is done depends on particular circumstances. But in any case, particular people should always be in control of and conduct their own celebrations. Audience attendance is one thing; conducting a ritual is another.
Not OK. I know, I know.


*this, apparently, is the diplomatic way of talking about the season of consumerism that has descended upon us.

For Sale by Owner

I told you Monday about my experience with BPD woman. I don't think I accurately depicted the extent to which the incident upset me - mostly due to my own failure in handling the whole thing but also because BPD woman is pretty scary.
This afternoon I was on the bus home from teaching/the gym. I usually sit in the back to read my book and that is what I was doing today. A few minutes away from my stop I finished a chapter so I packed up the book and looked around at the other riders to pass the time. Even though there were plenty of open seats, there was a woman standing right behind the driver. She was wearing a white ski parka with black accents, black yoga pants, pristine white sneakers, and had a black headband in her dirty-blonde hair (which was pulled up in a messy ponytail). I promise that I am not making this up.
My heart skipped a beat. Has she seen me? Is she stalking me? Is the city so small that I must bump into this person that I hoped never to see again? The bus approached my stop and I made my way toward the back door, all the while keeping an eye on BPD woman and, to my chagrin, she made her way to the front door.
Another regular was getting off behind me. I stepped onto the curb and walked toward the front of the bus in order to cross the street. Meanwhile BPD woman was walking from the front of the bus back toward me. That's it, I thought to myself, this is outrageous. I am the crazy one. BPD woman doesn't really exist, I created her and now I am going to see her everywhere. A moment after BPD woman passed me by (I held my breath and didn't make eye contact), the woman behind me said, "Did you see that woman? Is she crazy? Did you see how crazy her eyes looked?"
I turned and looked behind me but BPD woman had vanished. "Where did she go?" I asked with obvious anxiety. Just then the bus pulled away and we saw that BPD woman had crossed the street behind the bus. "I've seen her before," I said to the other regular, "She is crazy. Scary crazy." The whole time I was watching BPD woman. She got across the street and entered the apartment building on the corner.
"Oh no! I can't believe it!" I cried in horror.
"What's wrong?" queried the regular.
"She lives right across the street from me!"
Because, indeed, that door she entered was the front end of an apartment building, the back entrance is directly across the street from my house.