My partner has this uncle, Carl, who manages to offend me pretty much every time I speak with him. I don’t really think it’s his intention, so I let it go, but it does get tedious after a while.
At root, I always end up taking offense for the same reason – he just seems to lack any awareness that there are different yet acceptable ways of living, different standards for judgment, that people have different experiences, and can count different things as important. It’s not that I am faulting him for being the person he is, which includes being a middle-class, life-long Milwaukee suburbanite with limited exposure to people who are not. It’s that he irks me because he doesn’t recognize that his perspective and experience are not universal.
Exhibit #1
When Jason’s family was leaving Maine after our wedding, Jason and I decided to meet them at the airport with a box of pastries from Standard Baking, this really great Portland Bakery. One of their most delicious treats is morning buns, which are nothing like the morning buns in Madison, instead they’re gooey and cinnamon-y with a pastry that is almost like croissant. Anyway, we brought them the box of pastries and I explained what everything was. No one was willing to try the mini-brioche or the scones. However, the pain au chocolat and morning buns were instantly rechristened “chocolate croissants and cinnabons” by Carl who pronounced them to be almost as good as what is available at Milwaukee’s Mayfair Mall.*
Exhibit #2
On their last night in MAINE, we took them to the restaurant that offers some of the best lobster stew (they were tired of pulling their own lobsters by this point and, consequently, wanted pulled meat). Carl turned to me and said, “The restaurants here have been OK, but isn’t there are Red Lobster?”**
Exhibit #3
New Years Eve at one of Milwaukee’s Japanese restaurants. As I couldn’t order an alcoholic beverage, I asked the server what she had in the way of sparking water. I ended up with a liter of sparking Voss water ($5). Carl laughed into his Sapporo when it arrived on the table, asked how much I was willing to pay for some bubbly water, probably from Lake Michigan instead of Norway, in a fancy glass bottle that probably cost more than the water.
Exhibit #4
Christmas Eve. Somehow we got on the topic of beverages. Jason and I explained that we don’t drink soda and that we’ve begun stocking just a little soda and beer so we’ll have them when people drop by. Carl asked, “What do you drink, then?” “We drink mostly water but we also buy soy milk and skim milk in glass bottles.” “Glass bottles?” “Yeah, it tastes better, the glass is easily sterilized and reused and the milk is from a local dairy that doesn’t use rBGH.” Carl snorted, “But it probably costs more.” “Yes it does.” “It’s really stupid to pay more for milk just because it comes in glass.”
I haven’t seen Carl since the new year (not my new year), so why did he come to mind today? I’ve been circling around a series of thoughts for a few days - having to do with the difference between disliking something and a negative reaction to something new.
I read in a child development book that, when introducing babies to solid food, many parents give up on a new food too early. We tend to assume the child doesn’t like beets, for example, because the child spits them out the first couple of times they try them when, in fact, infants should be introduced to new flavors 12-15 times because it takes about that long for them to become familiar with the taste.
In Blink, Gladwell discusses the fact that market researchers are unable to distinguish the negative reactions people have to things that they just don’t like from the negative reactions that people have to something new. According to Gladwell, this short-coming in what market research can tell us about what people will like in the long term proves a challenge for those who want to develop innovative and creative products. Gladwell goes on to provide examples of folks who disregard marketing analyses of their cutting edge products and go on to have enormous success.
When I was doing field research this winter, I stayed with a cousin who has a very narrow palate. She doesn’t like raw vegetables. She doesn’t like any sauces. She only eats white bread. Basically, she eats meat and potatoes and the only condiments she uses are salt and butter. I wanted to make pasta sauce at her place and she didn’t even have basic spices (oregano, etc). At any rate, it was very nice of this cousin to put up with me. I quickly filled her fridge with fresh fruits and vegetables, yogurt, and tofu. I tried to cook for her a couple of times (my sure-fire audience pleasers like chicken and sour cream enchiladas) but she wouldn’t even TRY anything I made. I wanted to take her out to dinner to thank her for having me but I was not really willing to sacrifice one of my few meals in Portland to Pizzeria Uno or Applebees. In the end, I had an idea. I knew that she was a big fan of chicken fingers (no dipping sauce) and I knew that she ate plain rice so why not take her for Japanese food where the sauce is frequently on the side? I took her to Fuji, a Japanese restaurant in Portland. Her "giant chicken finger" came with a salad with ginger dressing. I heckled her until she tried it and the miso soup. I watched her face as she ate them. Her face never showed revulsion to the food. She pronounced them both, “Not my sort of thing.” That’s when I drew the conclusion that it wasn’t that she had an aversion to the flavors, per se, but that the flavors fell outside of the narrow range of what she considered tasty.
So, is Carl’s failure to appreciate even the possible value of something new or different the same as my cousin’s failure to appreciate a new flavor? All those nights when they made me sit at the table until my spinach was eaten, were my parents improving more than the range of food I am willing to eat ? Were they improving my ability to tolerate and even appreciate difference and novelty?
*It would be a tremendous mistake to assume that I am not a cinnabon fan. Despite the fact that one cinnabon supplies you with all your fat for the day, I love to eat them – particularly at the airport. My objection is to the defacto establishment of cinnabon as the standard for judging other pastries – kind of like calibrating all our judgments of cheese to Kraft American singles, which are great with Gulden’s spicy brown mustard on soft white bread. Why can't we judge new things on their own terms?
**No. Some fool tried to open a Red Lobster out in the “Anywhere USA” by the mall. It didn’t last a year.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
sleep work
My dream-life has been CRAZY lately. Sometimes I wake up in the morning wondering if I would feel more rested if I hadn't gone to sleep at all. I had at least 3 distinct dreams last night and I remember 2 of them quite vividly.
Last night, dream #1: I was in San Francisco on the cable car on my way to Chinatown. I was talking to someone else on the car about how many of the buildings in SF rotate, circling around with one another in order to share the best views. The cable car started down a very steep hill and at the bottom of the hill, it detached from the cable and plowed through several Chinese bakeries and gift shops before coming to rest. I had a bit of a pain on my right side and wondered if I had kidney damage but I decided to walk around Chinatown to see if the pain went away. As I was walking up the street, two women wearing the white make-up of young geishas and second-hand wedding dresses came running out of a shop. They were laughing nervously. "Help us," they said with very heavily accented English, "The man in the store, he licks us."
"Licks you or likes you?" I asked.
"Likes us. Do you also have beads on your arm?"
I pulled up my shirt sleeve so they could see that I was wearing a gold bracelet (this horrendous, cheap-o bracelet that Jason's grandmother gave me for Christmas 3 years ago, and that I would never wear - even if I were the type to wear bracelets). They were relieved and described to me the beads the man in the store had around his wrist. As we were talking, the man himself came out of the store. I knew him at once because he was wearing rosary beads around his wrist. He smiled at us and continued to walk on.
The danger passed, I also walked away. I approached a city park and noticed there were several police officers. At first I was concerned that I had done something wrong but then I saw the cops were supervising convicts who were cleaning the park - you know picking up trash. One of the officers blew a whistle and said, "It looks good, time to test it." At that the prisoners laid down and began to roll over the grass. I was angered and disgusted because I realized that any bubble-gum, dog shit, vomit, etc. left on the ground would end up on one of the men cleaning the park. As I stood there, one of the convicts rolling along complained about his bad back.
That's all I remember.
Last night, dream #1: I was in San Francisco on the cable car on my way to Chinatown. I was talking to someone else on the car about how many of the buildings in SF rotate, circling around with one another in order to share the best views. The cable car started down a very steep hill and at the bottom of the hill, it detached from the cable and plowed through several Chinese bakeries and gift shops before coming to rest. I had a bit of a pain on my right side and wondered if I had kidney damage but I decided to walk around Chinatown to see if the pain went away. As I was walking up the street, two women wearing the white make-up of young geishas and second-hand wedding dresses came running out of a shop. They were laughing nervously. "Help us," they said with very heavily accented English, "The man in the store, he licks us."
"Licks you or likes you?" I asked.
"Likes us. Do you also have beads on your arm?"
I pulled up my shirt sleeve so they could see that I was wearing a gold bracelet (this horrendous, cheap-o bracelet that Jason's grandmother gave me for Christmas 3 years ago, and that I would never wear - even if I were the type to wear bracelets). They were relieved and described to me the beads the man in the store had around his wrist. As we were talking, the man himself came out of the store. I knew him at once because he was wearing rosary beads around his wrist. He smiled at us and continued to walk on.
The danger passed, I also walked away. I approached a city park and noticed there were several police officers. At first I was concerned that I had done something wrong but then I saw the cops were supervising convicts who were cleaning the park - you know picking up trash. One of the officers blew a whistle and said, "It looks good, time to test it." At that the prisoners laid down and began to roll over the grass. I was angered and disgusted because I realized that any bubble-gum, dog shit, vomit, etc. left on the ground would end up on one of the men cleaning the park. As I stood there, one of the convicts rolling along complained about his bad back.
That's all I remember.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Global apology
I explained previously about my feeling that I am not anywhere enough for people to think of me as a person in their lives. I generally assume that people forget about me, but increasingly I have a terrible feeling that people just don't like me. Is it true? Is it recent?
Have I done something to offend you? If so, I am truly sorry. It was never my intention, honestly.
Have I done something to offend you? If so, I am truly sorry. It was never my intention, honestly.
Book recommendation: Blink
So, my book group is reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell this month. Gladwell writes about the power of and problems with snap judgments - summarizing a great deal of work in cognitive psych as he does so. If you are already familiar with FACS, priming, IAT, etc. there isn't really anything new in here. However, the book is a fairly easy read and very accessible. I think it would be very helpful in my quest to develop a social psych class that doesn't use a textbook. This book could easily supplement lectures on cognition as well as prejudice and discrimination, giving students plenty of examples of real-world application and making plenty of claims that could yield interesting class discussion.
Residual
Although my mood has improved considerably since the new year began on March 3 and I have even accomplished a bit, I am still experiencing considerable residual putzing around. That my home is where I live and where I work is part of the reason. That I don't have enough going on makes it a bit more difficult for me to organize my day in a productive manner. Wednesday morning my doctor gave me the OK to return to gym. Perhaps I should get up early, go to the gym, and then work at the library until I come home to give the dogs their afternoon walk? I will give that a try next week - or maybe even tomorrow.
Monday, March 07, 2005
It's not terrible!
So, I just wanted to share my excitement because I've been working all morning on my dissertation and, probably for the first time ever, I am feeling pretty good about what I've got. I mean, it's not terrible and I don't feel like I have no recourse but to delete it all and cry the rest of the day. Let me tell you, this is progress!
Of course, when I meet with my advisor tomorrow I'll probably get the same stuff I always get: "I'm not sure if you know what this is about yet. What is the contribution here?" But, just maybe, he'll say something along the lines of, "Interesting. Write more. Finish this chapter for next week." That would be so great!
UPDATE 3/8: Amazingly enough, my wish was granted. My advisor said, "You've made some good progress . Why don't you read Bakhtin and finish this chapter for next week." I am completely euphoric!
Of course, when I meet with my advisor tomorrow I'll probably get the same stuff I always get: "I'm not sure if you know what this is about yet. What is the contribution here?" But, just maybe, he'll say something along the lines of, "Interesting. Write more. Finish this chapter for next week." That would be so great!
UPDATE 3/8: Amazingly enough, my wish was granted. My advisor said, "You've made some good progress . Why don't you read Bakhtin and finish this chapter for next week." I am completely euphoric!
Dog-cat
My parents got a dog when they were first married - an Irish setter named Red. Although I have no conscious memory of Red, my parents had him until I was about three and there are several pictures of the 2 of us together. I think that my early experiences with Red made me the dog lover that I am.
As my parents used to tell it, Red was a devoted dog but he had terrible separation anxiety. If they left him outside when they left the house, he howled incessantly. If they left him inside, he tore the house apart. At one point, my parents were going away for a few days so they left him at a kennel on the mainland. Red scaled the 8-foot fence at the kennel. My parents received a call that he had run away so they came home. After a week Red showed up at the kennel. My mother was sure that he had been trying to get back to them in the meantime but, as he couldn't swim to the island, he returned to the kennel when he was unsuccessful.
At any rate, I have no conscious memory of Red but I was obsessed with dogs from day one. Every story I wrote in kindergarten and first grade was a tale of "My puppy" or "The day I got a dog." Often the story involved some kind of subterfuge. For example, I would purchase a puppy for myself with the $5 my grandmother had given me for my birthday and sneak it under the Christmas tree. My parents would think that Santa had brought it, and, since no one argues with Santa, their opposition to having a dog would be overcome. Most of the books I read in those years were about kids and their dogs: "Missy & Me," and "A Dog named Schnitzel" were a couple of favorites. My mother told me that I would wake up in the night crying. When she asked me what was wrong I would reply "I need my dog." She was certain that I would hate her as an adult because she never got me a dog.
But this isn't a post about my dog obsession, it's a post about Pepper, the cat that I got instead of a dog. My mother reasoned that cats were less work ("I already have six kids," she would say when I requested a dog, "I don't need any more.") Pepper was a Maine coon mix -long-haired, black with a white spot on his chest. We got him when the neighbors cat had kittens. I raised Pepper to be a dog, taking him on my paper route with a leash and collar, teaching him to fetch, etc. Pepper died many years ago.
This morning when I was taking my dogs out for their first walk, a long-haired black cat with a white patch on his chest was sitting on my front porch. My dogs bristled and started barking immediately. The cat turned serenely and stared them down. "Oh my god," I thought, "It's Pepper, come back to check on me." I like the idea.
As my parents used to tell it, Red was a devoted dog but he had terrible separation anxiety. If they left him outside when they left the house, he howled incessantly. If they left him inside, he tore the house apart. At one point, my parents were going away for a few days so they left him at a kennel on the mainland. Red scaled the 8-foot fence at the kennel. My parents received a call that he had run away so they came home. After a week Red showed up at the kennel. My mother was sure that he had been trying to get back to them in the meantime but, as he couldn't swim to the island, he returned to the kennel when he was unsuccessful.
At any rate, I have no conscious memory of Red but I was obsessed with dogs from day one. Every story I wrote in kindergarten and first grade was a tale of "My puppy" or "The day I got a dog." Often the story involved some kind of subterfuge. For example, I would purchase a puppy for myself with the $5 my grandmother had given me for my birthday and sneak it under the Christmas tree. My parents would think that Santa had brought it, and, since no one argues with Santa, their opposition to having a dog would be overcome. Most of the books I read in those years were about kids and their dogs: "Missy & Me," and "A Dog named Schnitzel" were a couple of favorites. My mother told me that I would wake up in the night crying. When she asked me what was wrong I would reply "I need my dog." She was certain that I would hate her as an adult because she never got me a dog.
But this isn't a post about my dog obsession, it's a post about Pepper, the cat that I got instead of a dog. My mother reasoned that cats were less work ("I already have six kids," she would say when I requested a dog, "I don't need any more.") Pepper was a Maine coon mix -long-haired, black with a white spot on his chest. We got him when the neighbors cat had kittens. I raised Pepper to be a dog, taking him on my paper route with a leash and collar, teaching him to fetch, etc. Pepper died many years ago.
This morning when I was taking my dogs out for their first walk, a long-haired black cat with a white patch on his chest was sitting on my front porch. My dogs bristled and started barking immediately. The cat turned serenely and stared them down. "Oh my god," I thought, "It's Pepper, come back to check on me." I like the idea.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
If I had my life to live over....
Second semester, senior year of high school. I am taking a required course: American History 1945-present, or something like that. Mrs. Payson is the instructor. The course meets immediately after lunch and the whole group – the people that I have been taking classes with since tracking began in seventh grade – is in the class.
From what I remember, the class consisted of lecture in which Mrs. Payson rattled off important dates, places, and people. Every week or so we had an exam which required us to regurgitate the information Mrs. Payson had given us. For example, the exam would list a date and we would be required to write what happened or vice versa. I was doing quite poorly in the class. One day Mrs. Payson asked me to stay after class to speak with her.
“Islander, I must tell you that I am surprised. I had always heard what a good student you were but you’re not doing well in my class. Not well at all. If your performance doesn't improve, you are going to end up with a C or even a D. Is something troubling you?”
I greeted her concerned smile with a smile of my own, “I know I’m not doing well, Mrs. Payson. It’s just that I believe memorization is a poor educational technique and a waste of my time.” I was so cocky and certain that I was being reasonable that I half-expected she would agree with me and give me the option of writing a term paper or something. Instead she bristled.
“Well, if you can live with a D than so can I.”
What an arrogant little twerp I was!
Perhaps you are wondering: Did Islander stick to her principles and take the D? Of course not. I studied for the last couple of exams and received an A- in the class.
From what I remember, the class consisted of lecture in which Mrs. Payson rattled off important dates, places, and people. Every week or so we had an exam which required us to regurgitate the information Mrs. Payson had given us. For example, the exam would list a date and we would be required to write what happened or vice versa. I was doing quite poorly in the class. One day Mrs. Payson asked me to stay after class to speak with her.
“Islander, I must tell you that I am surprised. I had always heard what a good student you were but you’re not doing well in my class. Not well at all. If your performance doesn't improve, you are going to end up with a C or even a D. Is something troubling you?”
I greeted her concerned smile with a smile of my own, “I know I’m not doing well, Mrs. Payson. It’s just that I believe memorization is a poor educational technique and a waste of my time.” I was so cocky and certain that I was being reasonable that I half-expected she would agree with me and give me the option of writing a term paper or something. Instead she bristled.
“Well, if you can live with a D than so can I.”
What an arrogant little twerp I was!
Perhaps you are wondering: Did Islander stick to her principles and take the D? Of course not. I studied for the last couple of exams and received an A- in the class.
book: Brothel
Last night I read Brothel, a book about Mustang Ranch (and less directly Nevada's legal brothels), written by Alexa Albert.
Albert gained access to Mustang Ranch for health research but became very interested in life inside the brothel. She visited to the ranch for extended periods of time over a few years doing research for her book. She is clearly a proponent of legalized prostitution, citing decreased violence toward prostitutes in the legal Brothel system and dramatic numbers on the prevention of infection with HIV and other STDs among legal Nevada working girls. Her conclusion is based upon the realistic assumption that there will always be prostitution.
However, it seems to me that she glosses over a great deal of evidence that women are just as exploited and unhappy in Nevada's brothels as they are in the sex trade generally. For example, women are not allowed to leave the brothel and they are not supposed to have family visit. Women live at the brothel for as many as three weeks at a time and then take a vacation to return to loved ones. They are charged for their meals and board. In addition, they must pay someone to run errands off site. Surprisingly, Albert discovers that many of the women have pimps that take a cut (or all) of their earnings. Their occupation interferes with their family lives in other ways. For example, most of the women feel they cannot reveal their occupation to family and neighbors back home. Many have a difficult time being sexually intimate with their spouses. Finally the stigma attached to their occupations tends to lead to relationship dissolution anyway as, eventually, most significant others pull out the "You're only a worthless whore" line at some point in the relationship.
Anyway, an interesting book and a very quick read.
Albert gained access to Mustang Ranch for health research but became very interested in life inside the brothel. She visited to the ranch for extended periods of time over a few years doing research for her book. She is clearly a proponent of legalized prostitution, citing decreased violence toward prostitutes in the legal Brothel system and dramatic numbers on the prevention of infection with HIV and other STDs among legal Nevada working girls. Her conclusion is based upon the realistic assumption that there will always be prostitution.
However, it seems to me that she glosses over a great deal of evidence that women are just as exploited and unhappy in Nevada's brothels as they are in the sex trade generally. For example, women are not allowed to leave the brothel and they are not supposed to have family visit. Women live at the brothel for as many as three weeks at a time and then take a vacation to return to loved ones. They are charged for their meals and board. In addition, they must pay someone to run errands off site. Surprisingly, Albert discovers that many of the women have pimps that take a cut (or all) of their earnings. Their occupation interferes with their family lives in other ways. For example, most of the women feel they cannot reveal their occupation to family and neighbors back home. Many have a difficult time being sexually intimate with their spouses. Finally the stigma attached to their occupations tends to lead to relationship dissolution anyway as, eventually, most significant others pull out the "You're only a worthless whore" line at some point in the relationship.
Anyway, an interesting book and a very quick read.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Defection
1. Sociology is concerned with a great deal more than sex and politics.
2. I'm not really a chest-thumper. Nor do I want to be associated with a whole lot of poorly reasoned (even if playful) posturing.
That's right... I'm just a big snob.
Incidentally, I have to argue that The Dead Milkmen have made many forgotten contributions to music. "Punk Rock Girl" is one of the least of the songs that we should never forget.
2. I'm not really a chest-thumper. Nor do I want to be associated with a whole lot of poorly reasoned (even if playful) posturing.
That's right... I'm just a big snob.
Incidentally, I have to argue that The Dead Milkmen have made many forgotten contributions to music. "Punk Rock Girl" is one of the least of the songs that we should never forget.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Real people and real accomplishments
So, today is the day that we get our house cleaned. Carolyn, the woman who runs the cleaning business, is one of my favorite people in the State of Wisconsin. She reminds me of my mother and her siblings: good, hard-working, friendly, caring, go-getters. In fact, my Aunt Bobbie, my godmother, is also a self-employed cleaning person. My mother, who worked as a waitress during "tourist season" also worked caring for elderly people all year long. My mother used her job as a caregiver much as Carolyn uses her business. Carolyn hires people to work alongside her who she feels need some direction and support. For example, she often cleans with a young woman who is a single mother and is struggling to move out of her own mother's home. Carolyn takes these people on, not just to give them a chance to make some money, but to mother them, to give them advice, etc. Growing up, I remember a great many troubled young women that my mom took on as co-workers and mentees. When my mother died, we received so many letters from people I didn't even know about - people writing to tell us how my mother saw that they were in need and got them on track.
It just seems so much more real to me in so many ways - measuring your achievements by knowing that you've helped concrete others.
It just seems so much more real to me in so many ways - measuring your achievements by knowing that you've helped concrete others.
resolved, resolute
January 1 is a strange time to start the new year. It's dark. It's cold. You're emotionally and fiscally exhausted from all the cooking and shopping you did over the holidays. Really, it is an odd time to feel that one can turn over a new leaf.
Early spring/ later winter, on the other hand, when the days are noticeably longer and brighter and the anticipation of green grass and leaves and flowers begins to mount, is a pretty good time for new beginnings. In the spirit of all I just described, I hereby declare March 3, the first day of the new year. Or course, it might not be March 3 next year. It will all depend upon whether or not March 3 is a bright day that holds the promise of spring and puts me in a resolute mood.
I resolve to stop skulking around feeling completely isolated and hapless. I am going to get myself organized and go in to get my hair cut. I am going to spend at least 3 hours a day working on my dissertation. I am going to make a list of all the people that I've lost touch with over the past few months and get in touch with them. There's more but that's enough for now.
Early spring/ later winter, on the other hand, when the days are noticeably longer and brighter and the anticipation of green grass and leaves and flowers begins to mount, is a pretty good time for new beginnings. In the spirit of all I just described, I hereby declare March 3, the first day of the new year. Or course, it might not be March 3 next year. It will all depend upon whether or not March 3 is a bright day that holds the promise of spring and puts me in a resolute mood.
I resolve to stop skulking around feeling completely isolated and hapless. I am going to get myself organized and go in to get my hair cut. I am going to spend at least 3 hours a day working on my dissertation. I am going to make a list of all the people that I've lost touch with over the past few months and get in touch with them. There's more but that's enough for now.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Book Recommendation - memoirs of a geisha
I know that I am probably a decade behind the times but I just read "Memoirs of a Geisha" and I loved it! As literature it is only good - the plot a little too neat and many characters a little too simple. However, whatever "Memoirs" is lacking as a novel is balanced by the information it contains. Of course, I haven't done any fact-checking, but what an interesting look into a world I knew nothing about - the world of the Kyoto geisha in WWII Japan!
a touch of insomnia
I made some chocolate chip bread this evening and, as I have had almost no chocolate (or caffeine in any form) since November, I think the miniscule amount of caffeine it contains is enough to keep me from sleeping.
However, even if it wasn't enough, my mind would be racing far too quickly for me to sleep on account of this email my older brother sent out this evening:
[...]
Secondly we were wondering if everyone was doing a gift for Dad and Mary. If you are, are you going to want to do one together or everyone separates. We don't have any idea what do get for them because they both have everything for a house. We don't know what they are doing for a honeymoon if anything. Also Dad will be moving to Connecticut so they wont be around here much. Even if you don't want to go in on anything can anyone suggest any ideas.
I guess its getting to be a pretty big affair. roughly 40-50 people so far. If everyone comes that is.
How did it move from a family affair to 40-50 people? Is this going to be the full deal - wedding, reception, etc? Should I cancel my trip to Alaska, which Jason and I have been planning for YEARS and, given our pending change in family status, is a trip that needs to happen NOW, so that I can be at my dad's wedding even though my dad has given absolutely no indication that my presence there matters to him? If my dad would just call and say it was important to him that we all be there, I would be there in a heartbeat but I will end up being really resentful if I go and it feels like it doesn't matter that I did. I don't like feeling all of this doubt and resentfulness especially when it comes to my family.
However, even if it wasn't enough, my mind would be racing far too quickly for me to sleep on account of this email my older brother sent out this evening:
[...]
Secondly we were wondering if everyone was doing a gift for Dad and Mary. If you are, are you going to want to do one together or everyone separates. We don't have any idea what do get for them because they both have everything for a house. We don't know what they are doing for a honeymoon if anything. Also Dad will be moving to Connecticut so they wont be around here much. Even if you don't want to go in on anything can anyone suggest any ideas.
I guess its getting to be a pretty big affair. roughly 40-50 people so far. If everyone comes that is.
How did it move from a family affair to 40-50 people? Is this going to be the full deal - wedding, reception, etc? Should I cancel my trip to Alaska, which Jason and I have been planning for YEARS and, given our pending change in family status, is a trip that needs to happen NOW, so that I can be at my dad's wedding even though my dad has given absolutely no indication that my presence there matters to him? If my dad would just call and say it was important to him that we all be there, I would be there in a heartbeat but I will end up being really resentful if I go and it feels like it doesn't matter that I did. I don't like feeling all of this doubt and resentfulness especially when it comes to my family.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
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
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
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!
It all came back so quickly. The smileys, the sound effects, the little yellow guy. Ah... the halcyon days of my youth!
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, February 14, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, February 11, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
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.
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.
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