Kitty Knits!

Musings on Living Alone

2012-02-06T10:20:00.001-06:00

My Unit has been out of town for the past 22 days; she'll start the 14-hour drive back to me in 17 more days. This is, I think, the longest she's been away for work; it's certainly the farthest she's been away. The previous gigs were within a 4 or 5 hour drive. All of this is a long way of saying while I'm not single again or anything, I have been living alone for the past three weeks.

While one is never truly alone in our house *cue three cats and a circus dog* it's been really hard on me to keep up with school (both going and teaching) and rehearsals and the running of the house. And I kept thinking to myself, "I used to do this all the time. What the hell is my problem?" Besides the near-crippling depression of recent weeks, I also realized one other important factor: the house.

Living alone in a one-bedroom apartment (with 2 cats and a dog) is NOT the same as living alone in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom, complete-with-basement-and-yards HOUSE (with 3 cats and a dog). It's simply bigger. While this may not seem like earth-shattering logic to you, it is (or was at the time) to me. There is more to clean because there is simply more space. A LOT more space.

Moreover, my last (fairly awesome) one-bedroom, single-woman apartment was carpeted. Carpet has its downfalls, of course. When the cats throw up, it most likely leaves a stain. If the dog has an accident, it will leave a stain. Carpet will hold on to all those pesky dust mites that I'm allergic to. But here's the brilliant thing about carpet: you can vacuum it. Magically, all of the pet hair and dust mites are gone. Ta-da!

Our house has hardwood floors. Hardwood floors tend to look nicer, and all accidents are easily wiped up. The hardwood does not hold onto dust mites or fleas (we ripped up the last of the carpet during the Great Flea Infestation of '10). Hardwood also does not trap the pet hair. Instead, dust and pet hair and my hair and whatever else gathers itself into great big dust rhinoceroses and goes drifting about the floor like hairy tumbleweeds in a spaghetti Western. This then leads to the "double-cleaning" that hardwood floors require.

One must first vacuum or sweep up or "Swiffer" all rhinoceros tumbleweeds and any crunchy objects (when your partner is an archaeologist there are plenty of crunchy dirt- and rock-like objects). Then one must mop, spray, or do some other sort of "damp" cleaning to, well, clean the floor. So that's at least two steps of back-breaking work.

And I do mean back-breaking. Nearly every time I attempt to clean, my lower back gives out. Any chiropractor will tell you that housework is one of the worst things for your posture -- vacuuming, sweeping, ironing, washing dishes -- we tend to "stoop" for all of those activities. For me, "stooping" invariably leads to horrible, blinding pain and the inability to move, walk, or bend.

And we haven't even touched on my allergies! When attempting any of these activities or just regular "dusting" or wiping down of surfaces, I need to wear one of those surgical masks. Otherwise it's a day of sneezing, eye watering, nose swelling, and general crappiness. Of course, when/if I don't clean, I seem to have these symptoms also because the dust is just surrounding me at every step of the way. So I'm basically screwed either way.

What is the point of all of this bitching and moaning? Not much, except to say that living alone is hard. Living alone in an apartment is fairly easy; I seem to remember excelling at that. But living alone in a house built for two is a different story. When both my Unit and I are here, it often feels like we don't have enough room. Every time you turn around, there the other person is -- or a cat or a dog or sometimes all three. But all by myself (well, as alone as I get surrounded by my herd), this place seems huge. Impossibly huge, too big to clean or manage.

So I sit on a couch covered in cat hair, and sigh, and drink, and try to get some work done in between the sneezes.

Dear Blank, Please Blank

2012-01-29T10:18:00.000-06:00

I imagine you are already familiar with the site Dear Blank, Please Blank. If not, check it out. It's rather amusing.

Go ahead. I'll wait.
...

I recently gave my high school students a writing assignment based on this website. They had to write a "Dear Blank, Please Blank" style letter. It needed to be a full letter, not just the one-liners the website allows. I personally find such a letter to be a wonderful exercise in some of the writing concepts we've been working on. The "Dear" is the intended audience, the "sincerely" is the author, and the "please" is their thesis statement. Fancy that! Because they had to write an actual letter (of approximately a page, double-spaced), they were able to work on expanding paragraphs with appropriate support. After the "please," they could detail why they wanted their audience to do something, the different options their audience had, or perhaps detail why said behavior is so very annoying.

I got lots of fun responses; I enjoy assignments that make me laugh, and I'm frankly impressed with myself that I wrote such an assignment. It was an easy boost to nearly everyone's grade.

With this style in mind, I have a few "Dear Blank's" of my own (for my students) after this recent binge of grading and commenting. This is all for a Public Speaking class.

Dear blonde student who turned in her outline on "How to Make a Sandwich":

This is supposed to be a four minute speech. Do you really think that you'll be able to speak that long when your steps are to "gather the ingredients" and "put them together"? What are the ingredients? Is there bread for this sandwich? What about mayo or mustard or veggies? I think you may have mentioned "ham" once in your outline, but I still have no idea what kind of sandwich you're making. Even if I did know, I don't think you could talk about it for four minutes. Please try again.

Thanks for proving blonde stereotypes true,

-Miss Kitty

Dear student whose speech is titled "How to Put Your Cat to Sleep":

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU LITTLE -- Oh. You mean "put your cat to bed." Please re-title ASAP.

Sincerely,

-Your teacher with three cats who has put five animals "to sleep" in the past three years and nearly had a heart attack just now.

"Theses" Rhymes with "Feces"

2012-01-20T17:49:00.006-06:00

Last night was the first night of my last graduate class (hopefully). While attempting to take notes, I composed a little poem.

I have created this beast;
Now I must master it.
Sometimes it seems dead.
It lies flat, like sandpaper.
Silly thesis -- playing 'possum.
I creep forward and touch it
-- poke it with a pencil.
It gurgles and burbles forth,
Threatens to consume me.
Death or raging life,
Thesis, have you no middle ground?
How can I squeeze you into this happy medium?
(without you going limp again?)
Big rawr, tiny rawr,
Always waiting in my head.
IhateyouIloveyouIhateyou
My shadow.

Final Exam Part 2

2011-12-25T10:31:00.008-06:00

I pride myself on the fact that my exam questions provide room for creativity and humor along with actually testing for the material we studied. People -- adults and teenagers -- remember things better when it's funny or bizarre. Unfortunately, this also means my tests can't be written using a Scantron sheet, so I must grade them all by hand (especially since I teach writing courses; therefore, the exams must include some forms of writing -- also not grade-able by the "Use a #2 pencil and fill in the oval completely" Scantron test). After grading 38 exams, though, I may have to rethink a combination Scantron-essay test to make things easier for myself. Luckily, both the test itself and their answers made me laugh.

The final exam for my freshmen included this picture:

It said, "Here is a picture of a product." The next three questions asked them what an ad for this product might say using each of the three basic methods of persuasion: ethos, logos, and pathos. In order to understand why these answers are funny, you need a quick and dirty lesson in persuasion:

Ethos: Persuasion by authority or credibility; think product spokespeople and celebrity endorsements
Logos: Persuasion by way of logic, often includes numbers, statistics, etc. ("cleans 99.8% of bacteria!" "4 out of 5 dentists approve")
Pathos: Persuasion by way of emotion, getting a strong emotional reaction (either positive or negative) from your intended audience. If it has a puppy or a Sarah McLachlan song in it, it's most likely pathos.

The answers to these three questions in particular have been amusing to read. Here are some of my favorites [with my own commentary in brackets].

(Ethos) Barack Obama uses this product, so why shouldn't you? Obama says "This sign lets my kids know when our cats have made a mess."
[There were a handful of Barack Obama answers, second only to...Justin Bieber. *le sigh* I have outlawed Twilight in my classroom; this coming semester I'll work on getting rid of Biebs.]
(Logos) Did you know a shocking 45% of cat owners step in their cat's vomit every day? How embarrassing if you were to have guests over! What you need is this product right here. It is proven to prevent you or your guests stepping in cat vomit by 90% Call 1-800-CAT-PUKE to order!
[This particular student managed to come up with some good synonyms for "vomit" as evidenced in the next two answers.]
(Ethos) "Hi, I'm Miley Cyrus, and I know when I'm at home with my kitties they barf a ton! That's why I bought the new 'Caution-Cat Vomit' sign. It is the perfect warning sign, and it is a great house decoration."
(Pathos) We've all walked in cat up-chuck before. It has ruined our shoes and socks. Now, it doesn't have to with the new "Caution-Cat Vomit" sign. Cats feel sad and embarrassed when you walk in their puke, but now, they won't have to.
[A couple of Pathos answers also offered free puppies or kittens or to send food to starving children in Africa if you purchased the product *heh*]
(Logos) Are you tired of cleaning up cat vomit but hate to leave it there to let someone step in it? We have the answer for you -- the Vomit Beware! With the Vomit Beware you can leave your cat's vomit on the ground while still warning others to step around. That means you have time to do the things you want to do like earn a college degree, spend time with family, or go water skiing, all without having to worry about your cat's vomit!
(Logos) Slipping in cat vomit causes 3 deaths a year! That's 0.3% of people who slip in cat vomit dying! So purchase this sign to prevent death.
[And the winner for the BEST answer is...]
(Ethos) Even Ms. [Kitty], the most loved and appreciated teacher at [our school], uses this sign whenever her cats vomit. She knows it works!

As you can see, my students are not above shameless flattery. It won't help their grades, but I won't stop them from doing it either.

Overheard in the Classroom

2011-12-21T09:55:00.003-06:00

Just some tidbits, mostly from the last week of school.

Slightly exasperated student: "Now every time I see a commercial, I think, 'Are they using ethos, logos, or pathos?'"
Me: "My work here is done."

Student (five minutes before the final exam): "Can I ask you a grammar question?"
Me: "Can you?"
Student: "May I ask you a grammar question?"
Me: "Of course!"
Student: "Is it a phrase or a clause that has both a subject and a predicate?"
Me: "Hmmmm, that sounds like something you should have studied."
Student: "Well, I'm asking for her." (pointing to the student next to her)
Me: "Well then it sounds like something she should have studied."

Senior student: "You should have a blog and write down all the funny and weird stuff your freshmen say."
Me: "I do."

I try to offer my students a variety of extra credit questions on their tests and quizzes provided I can come up with random things that are tangentially related to what was on the test or quiz. For example, on a vocabulary quiz that included the word "suffrage," I asked them, "In what year did women gain the right to vote?" It was something I mentioned once in class, but kind of random (which is why it's extra credit). On a vocabulary quiz that included the word "mutation," I asked them to "Name one character from X-Men." About 90% of the students had at least heard of the movie; the others had no idea. Of those 90%, 99% of them wrote down "Wolverine." One and only one student also wrote down Professor Xavier. Who knew Hugh Jackman had such an influence on the 14-year-old girl demographic?

Anyway, on their final exam, one of the extra credit questions said to "Write a haiku about Ellen Foster [the novel we read] or Ever After: A Cinderella Story [the movie we watched during the last days of class].' One student wrote not one, not two, but THREE haiku for my reading pleasure. Then, on the back of her exam, she wrote this "funny Christmas song" for me:

Jingle Bells,
Twilight smells,
Edward ran away!
Jacob died
Bella cried
Harry Potter all the way!

She also wrote as a parenthetical "I'm more of a Twilight fan than HP, but it's still funny." It IS funny, and I'm pleased that my students are well aware of my disdain for anything Twilight-related.

"Gay" Doesn't Mean "Dirty"

2011-12-12T17:16:00.002-06:00

Gather 'round children! It's Strongly Worded Letter time! I just sent this e-mail to a local radio personality, and CC'd his promotions manager.

Dear Guy,

I happened to be listening to your show this morning when you had the contest for two free tickets to La Cage Aux Folles at The Fabulous Fox Theatre. During the promo (with your "French accent") you said the show had adult content, and was only for those 18 an over. I found this to be a little disconcerting, as I've been in a production of La Cage Aux Folles, and there is nothing "racy" in its content to suggest such an age restriction. Moreover, the Fox itself does not list an age restriction on their webpage for the show, so I'm curious as to why you took it upon yourself to declare this "touching tale of one family's struggle to stay together" an 18 and over only show?

Sincerely,

[Me]

It's all true folks. This morning while listening to a show I get more and more disgusted by (with their privileged, heteronormative, prevailing whiteness), the lead personality for the show did a horrible French accent. Trust me, his sad attempt at a dialect wasn't nearly as offensive as his effeminate/gay stereotype "lisp" is. I was listening for once because I adore La Cage Aux Folles, and was thinking about trying to see this touring production.

Every word of that e-mail is true. I was in a production of the show, and I've seen it produced elsewhere. It is not an 18+ show, like Avenue Q or Zumanity. I did my research, and the theatre webpage does not list any such restrictions. However, they do list "Content Advisory," which says:

Adult Language
Sexual Situations and Dialogue
Smoking and Alcohol use

I'll give 'em that. But you know what? Christmas with the Rat Pack and the classic West Side Story also have similar "advisories." Respectively, they say:

Racial and Sexist comments
Smoking and Alcohol use

and

Depictions of Violence

But again, "Advisory" does not mean "18 and older ONLY." Metrotix lists the same information on their website when you go to purchase tickets; I saw no restrictions listed. So the really strongly worded letter will come when/if they reply (and I really, really hope they do).

Did they take it upon themselves to give any such warnings about Christmas with the Rat Pack? Do they plan on doing it for West Side Story? The answer is probably "no" to both of those questions, because, as we all know, racism, sexism, and violence are fun for the whole family, regardless of ages! But don't be bringin' your gayness up in here for innocent children to see.

By the way, the quote in my e-mail is also taken directly from the theatre's webpage about the show, and I think it encapsulates what La Cage is really about: what it means to be a family.

Watch this space for more details.

15 Pages (Updated)

2011-12-07T23:29:00.002-06:00

1^st Installment of thesis has been e-mailed to my advisor. Now just the unending dread and anxiety as I wait for some kind of response in which he'll point out things I already know (in short, that it's rough, unfinished work).

In honor of the occasion, I created a new Wordle word cloud. Isn't it funny how the cloud looks like figure of a woman (horizontally)? Or perhaps I've sunk too deep into Victorian representations of female education?

12-08-11, 9:25 a.m. CST: No strongly worded e-mails yet. I can continue to breathe for a while.

Rhetorical Analysis: Beyonce, Plain White Tees, and More

2011-12-04T22:43:00.005-06:00

My rhetorical prowess is not limited to roadside signs -- oh no! It extends even to song lyrics. Commentary on popular songs, of course, is not new around here, but here are a couple of "gems" that have been niggling my brain for some time now.

Beyonce's "Irreplaceable":
First and foremost, at least Mrs. Jay-Z did not attempt to call her song "irregardless." Unfortunately for her, it is the refrain of this particular song that offends my delicate sensibilities. The song, of course, is the story of her kicking out an old boyfriend for cheating on her. She has all of his stuff boxed up ("to the left"), ready to go, even as he attempts to persuade her she's making a mistake by telling him to hit the road. The refrain, from which the song takes its title, says:

You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me
I could have another you in a minute
Matter fact he'll be here in a minute, baby

You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me
I can have another you by tomorrow
So don't you ever for a second get to thinking you're irreplaceable

On the surface, it's a good sentiment. He's not so special and unique that he cannot be replaced. Okay, fine. But she says "I could have another you in a minute" (my emphasis). Not only "could" she, but apparently she has already moved on as the new guy will "be here in a minute."

Again, far be it for me to stop a girl from gettin' some new lovin', but Beyonce doesn't say "I have this new fantastic guy"; she says, "I could have another you in a minute / Matter fact he'll be here in a minute." A carbon copy of the original jackass is showing up; while that is a replacement, it does not seem like an improvement. Instead of "another you/him," wouldn't you want someone new?

Here's a tip, ladies and gentlemen: if you find yourself with continual failed relationships, what do all of those former significant others have in common? Usually there is some characteristic that links them all. Once you've identified that common denominator, go out and find someone with the complete opposite characteristic. Trust me on this.

Plain White Tees "Hey There, Delilah":
I have to admit, I hated this song when it first came out. Since then, both the song and the Tees' repertoire in general have grown on me. However, "Delilah," a supposed love song, still has a problem. Again, plot summary: separated by miles and ambition, lonely guitar boy promises aspiring girlfriend that one day he'll make enough money playing his lonely guitar that they can be together. In the mean time, listening to him sing about her will have to suffice for a relationship.

But does he really want a healthy, loving relationship? One stanza gives us pause and consternation:

Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all

If a simple song can take her breath away, wouldn't writing ALL the songs take away ALL her breath? In short, wouldn't lonely guitar boy be killing her simply by playing his lonely guitar? Even if writing ALL the songs ("every simple song") didn't do it, Delilah would be brain dead (or damn near it) even by the end this song.

According to the U.S. National Library of Medicine, "Some brain cells start dying less than 5 minutes after their oxygen supply disappears. As a result, brain hypoxia can rapidly cause severe brain damage or death." "Hey There, Delilah" clocks in at just over four minutes, so perhaps the Tees should instead learn the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive".

And More!
Do I even need to mention the ridiculousness in Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl"? I'm still not sure I even understand what exactly a "hollaback girl" is. In the mean time, I'll be happily listening to The Muppets soundtrack.

Hard & Fast Thesis Updates

2011-12-03T11:38:00.000-06:00

It's a blog post extravaganza!

Rather than open the door to my therapy on facebook, I'm posting this here. I just typed "thesis writing support group" into Google search, and came across PhinisheD. My mind is boggled and relieved all at the same time.

"The broad mission of PhinisheD is to provide a non-threatening and supportive online environment for dissertation and thesis writers and others who are struggling in academia. Researching and writing a dissertation or thesis is an intellectually and emotionally demanding endeavor, and the highly competitive nature of the academic environment can sometimes leave graduate and postgraduate students longing for camaraderie, fellowship, and a safe outlet for venting and commiseration. The same can be said for those on the academic or professional job market, as well as those on the tenure track. PhinisheD is an antidote to other discussion forums devoted to life in academia, which seem to be a little colder, a little harder, a little meaner, and a lot less friendly to budding scholars harboring doubts, fears, and insecurities about their lives and their work."

Where was this when I started this project? More importantly, why didn't I think to look for it until now?!? I'm frustrated with myself as I could have used this help months ago.

Even their FAQ has already been enlightening, such as this little Q&A:

What is the "40-minute method" or "40-minute cycle" and how do I use it?
The 40-minute method is one in which one does 40-minutes of sustained work, takes a 20-minute break, and then repeats the cycle as often as desired. This system combats burn-out and fatigue, and also does much to overcome procrastination and resistance. (e.g. "Ugh - I've got so much work to do, but I just can't face my dissertation today! Then again, doing two or three 40-minute cycles doesn't sound so daunting...") You may find people using pact notations such as "3x40", which means that they are going to spend three 40-minute cycles on a particular task.

While it's a little too late for me to join the community and post about my epic failures (that time should be spent writing), I already have some concrete help as I try to write. They even mention "freewriting" and "looping," and explain them.

So relief at this helpful advice and knowing that there is a community to whom I could be held accountable for my work, and frustration that I didn't think to look earlier (and could actually use some of the community).

Bite-Circle

2011-12-03T09:55:00.001-06:00

Filed Under: Weird Shit that Happens to Me

Yesterday I went to the library, then had a lovely lunch with friends at my favorite Chinese restaurant. Then I went to visit my alma mater briefly (and thus avoid doing more work). My alma mater is right next door to my current place of employment, so I parked in my parking spot at Narnia (place of employment), then looked for the quickest route to walk to alma mater.

I walked through an asphalt parking lot that is still under construction; however, it was not cordoned off, nor did anyone try to stop me. The constructions workers just kept...constructing. For that matter, the construction is nearly done.

Anyway, my left foot hit a tiny rock on the asphalt lot, and in one fell swoop, I

fell, landing on my bad knee
nearly ruined one shoe
scraped said knee with some bleeding

Not one of the construction workers asked if I was okay, though I'm sure they saw me. I suppose that's what I get for walking through the parking lot. I think I'm more upset about the shoe issue (although a friend of mine did manage to clean it up with spit, and claims the scratches can be "buffed out") than the fact that my already sore and wonky right knee now is bruised, scratched, scraped, and was a bit swollen yesterday.

But now for the weird part (that was just the sucky part): I drove home to relax on the couch and type whilst icing my knee. When I got home I discovered a half-eaten toaster waffle propped up in the corner of our windowsill.
Not only that, but said toaster waffle had three little "bites" (bite-sized pieces) arranged around it. The entire thing looked like a strange ritual offering.

My facebook status about it also inspired a funny and disgusting comment thread about "bite-circles," and "Magical mama bird juice" used for regurgitating food.

So you see? Random and weird shit does happen to me. Frequently. I don't know exactly what message from the Universe was hidden in "the waffle incident." If you come up with something, feel free to let me know.

Thesis Update (Updated!)

2011-12-02T21:33:00.003-06:00

I have written approximately nine pages of the thirty I need to complete before the end of the semester. They're separate pages, unrelated, and not yet woven together, but they're something.

To get a visual of my work thus far, I went to Wordle.net. Wordle creates a "word cloud" of text, making words that appear many times larger, and words that appear fewer times smaller. Common words ("a," "an," "the") and words that are only mentioned once do not appear at all.

This is what I got:
(~~click to enlarge~~ Correction: click to view larger version directly on Wordle.net):

P.S. In attempt to make the "correction" above, I inadvertently erased nearly this entire post and then saved that "new" version. Sonofabitch! Oh well. It was a brief post anyway.

Updated Wordle as of 12-04-11:

Things Big and Small

2011-12-01T22:03:00.007-06:00

Or: Adventures in Traveling Part 1

My Unit was very recently out of town for work. In fact, she's out of town right now, also for work! But that is neither here nor there. My Unit was all the way in Lexington, Kentucky for this previous job, and she was away for four whole weeks! Somewhere after the first two weeks, we both said (via Facebook, of course), "Okay, I think I officially miss you." Two weeks appears to be our limit.

So on a Wednesday -- one week before Thanksgiving -- she says she's coming home on Saturday. Woohoo! I immediately begin making plans for how I'm going to clean and do laundry and quickly eat all of the junk food that has been accumulating. Then Thursday night she says, "I'm coming home tomorrow!"

Eek!

My plans for cleaning, etc. shift into hyperdrive, and I immediately begin cutting corners before I even start. "I don't really have to dust all the things. As long as I just run the dishwasher/straighten the piles/put away the laundry." Okay, fine.

Friday morning at 11 a.m. I have a long overdue appointment with my therapist. Near the end of that appointment, my phone starts buzzing. I glance at it before turning it to silent. It's my Unit. I can only think, "Oh God, she's already here and I still haven't swept the floors!" As I'm leaving my therapist's office I start to dial my voicemail (for my darling Unit left me a message), when she calls again. So, of course, I answer.

"Did you listen to my message?"
"No, I was just finishing up with -- "
"The car broke down."
"Noooooo!"

My Unit is 150 miles from the greater STL area in some podunk little town in Indiana. She said she started noticing "some black stuff" on the rear window, so she pulled off to the shoulder of the highway to take a look. A car pulled up behind her, and its driver said, "Yeah, I was behind you, and you've been blowing out blue smoke for a while."

My Unit immediately heads to the nearest town (a different podunk town from where she ended up). She asks the gas station attendant if they have a mechanic. They don't, but there's another one in this other podunk town. "Where's that?" my Unit asks. "How far away?"

Another woman glides in from out of nowhere (according to my Unit) and says, "Oh, are you looking for Podunk Town? I'm headed there right now. You can follow me if you like. It's only ten minutes away." This Angel of Good Tidings was a school teacher (I was later informed).

So my Unit follows the Podunk School Teacher (maybe she's the only one? maybe it's a one-room schoolhouse?) into Podunk Town, and to the mechanic's shop. She tells the mechanic what's going on. He suspects the transmission. "80% of the time the transmission is blown" in cases like this he tells her. Unfortunately, Frank the mechanic (that's his name, Frank) won't know until he gets the oil pan off of the bottom of the Big Green Beast (the 1996 Bravada she's driving).

Not a big deal, you say? Then you would be wrong.

See the mechanic's shop is not just a mechanic's shop; it's also a towing service.

Still not a big deal, you say? You're still wrong. Now shut up and listen.

Frank is the only person working there. I repeat: he's. the ONLY. one.

Why? Because the owner just had triple-bypass surgery, leaving Frank "all by his onsies," to quote Captain Jack Sparrow. My Unit didn't get many more details than that, but it sounded like the owner just had this surgery (so Frank was not used to wearing all the hats and at the same time), AND that the surgery may have been somewhat unplanned.

So Frank must leave and go on a tow call. He offered to take my Unit to a nearby "tavern" so she could hang out. Somewhere during all of that is when she called me the first time. She said, "Don't leave to come get me YET since we don't know what's wrong with the car." When she found out it would be at least two hours before we even knew what was wrong with the car (let alone if we wanted to bother to fix it), she called me again.
"Please leave now," she simply said.

So I did. After unloading the groceries I had and quickly running the dishwasher, of course. And I had to map out the directions to Podunk Town. My Unit was approximately two and a half hours away.

So I crossed a couple of state lines to rescue her, and we had some brief conversations on the way, mostly consisting of "NOW how far away are you?" And my favorite (a text message from her): "When you get here, don't act gay. It's a VERY small town." Plus, her phone was acting wonky, so it sent me that particular message three times. I finally called and said, "Look, sometimes my gayness just seeps out. Besides, I haven't seen you in four weeks! I may want to hug you."
(I'll write more on the "look and cringe" that accompanies "not acting gay" later).

I drove to the tavern in Podunk Town. The parking lot was filled with pick-up trucks. I was the only non-pick-up truck in the parking lot. My Unit bolted out of there and into the car. We drove to see Frank. Frank had just gotten back from the tow call and was about to take a look. We waited.

Frank then said that the transmission didn't look bad, but he did want to flush it. Then he gets another tow call. Frank is very stressed and flustered throughout all of this. My Unit and I feel bad, and we leave to get some dinner because it's after four o'clock by now.

When we get back (from "The Red Wagon," formerly known as "The Feed Mill" -- make your own jokes), Frank is finally back and trying to flush the transmission. While we're sitting the car, my Unit says, "I think I should give Frank that beer." You see, one of her co-workers gave her a six-pack of Blue Moon before leaving Kentucky, and my Unit doesn't drink beer all that often. We both thought that Frank would enjoy it more, AND he could probably use it after his harried day.

So my Unit goes in to offer Frank the beer -- when he's done, of course, not when he's fixing our car. She comes back with a smile.
"What did he say?"
She says, "He said, 'Thank you but I'm not twenty-one yet.'"
We were both stunned. I thought Frank (judging by appearance only) was at least 26.
Then my Unit says, "He wasn't looking right at me when I asked him if he wanted the beer, but I could see his face. When I asked him, he got this big smile on his face. It was worth it just to see him smile."

And then I was struck by two things, the first of which is that My Unit is much better, nicer person than I am.

Looking at the two of us, you would think that she's "the mean one," and again, you'd be wrong. You really suck at this game, don't you?

I only look sweet and charming. In reality, I'm harsh, angry, and judgmental. My Unit only looks scary and angry. She's quiet because she's thinking, and she's often thinking consciously about what kind of energy she's putting into the Universe, what other people might be feeling, and how things are rarely what they appear to be.

When we have a horrible time in a restaurant because of a rude and/or careless server, I tend to reflect my judgment in their tip. My Unit doesn't just say, "Maybe they're having a bad day"; she says, "Maybe he just got some really bad news," or "Maybe she's working three jobs to make ends meet."

When I can't believe the idiocy of some of my students or the things they write in their papers, my judgment is reflected in their grade. My Unit doesn't just say, "Maybe they're really trying their best." She also points out that perhaps no one in their family is supportive of their education, perhaps they are also working full-time in addition to going to school full-time, perhaps no one has taken the time to correct them before, maybe they were just rushed through the educational system (as so often seems to happen in this city).

My Unit does not make excuses for people, nor is she a pushover or a doormat. But she's really good at seeing a larger picture and feeling empathy that does not come naturally to me.

The second thing I thought was perhaps we were there to make Frank smile. You see, when bizarre things happens in my life (and they do. A LOT.), I can usually find some weird end that might have justified the perverse means, some coincidence or twist of fate that would not have otherwise happened. (My Unit is also really good at pointing these out.)

For example, how I got my current job happened as a bit of a fluke. I was in a show with a cast of sixteen other people -- a show I almost considered dropping. One of those sixteen was another actress who I hadn't met before. She had heard me talk of teaching, so she asked, on a whim, if I knew anyone interested in teaching high school English and Public Speaking. I was still looking for a job for the fall, so I raised my hand. I e-mailed her my c.v. to pass on to her department chair, and I really didn't expect anything to come of it. Lo and behold, I have a better paying job than before WITH benefits and co-workers who are just as insane (and funny) as I am. None of that would have happened if I hadn't been cast in that show over a year earlier.

So I was trying to figure out what large, miraculous, weirdly coincidental thing was the result of my impromptu trip to Podunk Town, Indiana. What could my Unit and I possibly have to do there? But maybe it wasn't a big thing. Maybe it was a small thing. Maybe it was being able to make Frank the stressed out mechanic smile. Frank has a long road ahead of him since his boss will be in recovery for something like four months. Maybe we helped Frank stay with that job. Maybe we helped to brighten Frank's day. Or even smaller, maybe we helped Frank not feel so shitty for those five seconds.

Sometimes the Universe speaks to us in small ways, as well as the big.

Sometime after 6 p.m. we left Frank the mechanic and Podunk Town, IN. We got home just before 9 p.m. The whole ordeal, from the first phone call to pulling up to our house, took about nine hours.

By the way, before she left town again just this past Tuesday (this time to a place not far from Chicago), my Unit had written some checks to pay some bills. They were all in their envelopes, stamped, waiting to be mailed. Among the pile I noticed a distinctly non-bill-looking envelope.
"What's that?"
"A thank you note to Frank," she said.

Diction: It's Not Just for Breakfast Anymore!

2011-11-20T10:01:00.000-06:00

This post was originally going to be titled "An Open Letter to Fergie," by which I mean the female singer in The Black Eyed Peas, not Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York¹.

The Black Eyed Peas' song "Just Can't Get Enough" starts with "Fergie" singing:

Boy I think about it every night, and day
I'm addicted, want to jump inside your love
I wouldn't want to have it any other way
I'm addicted, and I just can't get enough

I know she sings these words because I just looked them up. However, when listening to the song it sounds like she says "I'm addicted, wanna germ inside your love," which sounds rather awkward and painful, among other things. Her enunciation of "jump" is so bad (the "m" sound is barely there, let alone the "p") that "germ" is the closest word my brain could associate with the sound issuing forth from my radio.

Now lots of songs have misheard/misunderstood lyrics, but I think Ms. Fergie's case is an example of incredibly poor diction and/or enunciation. When pondering that thought, I was reminded of all the other mispronunciations/lazy word enunciations which get on my nerves. And here I need to quote Angela Lansbury in the movie Nanny McPhee: "If there's one thing I won't stand for, it's loose vowels!"

So here are some of the worst offenders. Take notes.

Supposedly: Take a careful look at the spelling of this word. There is a "D" before the "ly." SupposEDly. The word is not pronounced "supposably." "Supposably" is not actually a word of any kind. Please stop treating it as such.

Interesting: One is perfectly allowed to say "in-ter-rest-ing" or the slightly more academic (and British) sounding "IN-trest-ing." However, "inna-resting," even if you pronounce that last "g," makes you sound anything but. "Inner-resting" is also unacceptable. Stop saying it.

Asterisk: Again, look carefully at the spelling. There are two "s's" and both are pronounced. "Aster-rick" sounds like some weird backwards version of "Rick Astley," and we do not -- I repeat -- we DO NOT Rick Roll diction.

Espresso: As I have repeatedly told my mother, there is no "x" in this word. "Express" is a means of sending a package; I don't know what that makes "expresso." But when speaking of coffee deliciousness, use all your "s's."

Anticlimactic: In honor of Hyperbole and a Half, say ALL the THINGS! Err, I mean, pronounce ALL of the letters, including all three of those "c's." Like you mean it!!

Missouri: This is a regional problem, make no mistake. There is no "a" in the state "Missouri," therefore it is NOT pronounced "Meh-zoor-RAH." Incidentally, when I was younger and my dad would take me to Nebraska football games, he said Mizzou's team was called "the Misery Tigers."

Mostaccioli: Another regional issue, given the large Italian contingent in the city. In fact, you would think these Italian people would know how to correctly pronounce their own food stuffs. Unfortunately, that is not the case in this city. The locals insist on pronouncing this delicious dish as "MUSK-a-cho-lee." There is no "u" in this word, nor is there a "k." It is pronounced "MAHST-ti-cho-lee." "Muskacholee" makes me think of "Muskrat Love," which is not altogether appetizing.

I'm sure there are more, but I seem to be at a loss to think of them. What about you? What mispronunciations and/or examples of lazy diction irritate you? You'll feel better once you get it off your chest, I promise.

¹ Another reason why I dislike "Fergie": she calls herself "the Dutchess," misspelling the word "duchess." I suppose it's to set her apart from Sarah Ferguson; however, it's teaching millions of people to misspell the word. And why "the Dutchess"? Is she Dutch? Does she hail from Holland? Wikipedia has this to say regarding her "Dutchess" album:

The title is a derivation and misspelling of the title "The Duchess of York", as Fergie (a derivative of her last name "Ferguson") and Sarah Ferguson, the real Duchess of York, share a surname and nickname.

I still think it's stupid.

An Actual Thesis Post

2011-11-10T09:41:00.001-06:00

Yes, an Actual Thesis Post on my blog which states "adventures in ... writing a master's thesis." Wonders never cease!

I recently sent an outline to my thesis advisor. I generally detest outlines. I don't think in outline form, which is probably why paper organization is one of my weakest skills. I managed to write nearly the entire outline during one of the less stimulating presentations at the Midwest MLA conference last weekend.

Once I started going, I was somewhat surprised at my own ideas and at how helpful seeing them laid out like that was. I'm also very happy that 50+ pages of writing requires section/subject headings (so I don't have to focus too much on transitions). When I e-mailed the outline to my professor, the subject line said, "Outline!" (exclamation point and all).

Then I said this:

I put an exclamation in the subject line because I'm so excited I actually wrote one! More than that, it really was helpful (I didn't realize I had these ideas, and here they are!). So please read it with the exclamation point's intended enthusiasm, with "jazz hands" if possible -- "Outline!" (It's attached.)

This professor is not known for his sense of humor, but via e-mail, I tend to find him hysterically funny. He's also usually very prompt in his e-mail replies, so when a couple of days went by without a response from him, I began to wonder if I offended him with the request for jazz hands.

I finally did receive the much anticipated response Tuesday night. And I nearly crumpled into a pool of crying Jell-O. It wasn't good. He didn't say I was brilliant. He pointed out where I need to do a lot more work, and that my thesis statement/idea itself is weak (although in my defense, this is the exact thesis his approved when he said he'd be my advisor; I cut and pasted the exact sentence from that e-mail). Incidentally, his reply was delayed because his access to the Interwebs was cut off all weekend.

In his long response (filled with many attachments I've been too ashamed to open), he said my "thesis needs work. I mean you need a thesis, not just a simple characterization of how Jane’s teacher affects her development...If you can find some other model for interpretation that gets you past character summary and false generalization, wonderful."

Then he gave this as an example about false generalizations with a heavy helping of circular logic:

“My argument is that this character is tall. My evidence is that the author tells us the character is tall. Moreover, another character says, “My goodness, you certainly are tall.’ We can therefore conclude that this character is tall. Yet further, we can conclude that this character is above the average height. And finally, we can infer that if this character had been a different character, a short character, this character would not have been a tall character. This character had an uncle. Therefore we can infer that if these other two characters in other novels by other authors had had uncles, they too would have been tall.”

Then he simply said, "That won't do."

Now hopefully you see why there was soul- and ego-crushing and crying (and drinking). Doing that "telegraphic outline" (as he called it) gave me a feeling that I actually had a handle on this thing; it was concrete, in front of me, and looked like, well, not a mole hill instead of a mountain -- but maybe like a smaller mountain. I finally felt like I was doing something, AND that I was doing something I could finish and accomplish. All of that hope and good feeling was destroyed with his brutally honest and realistic e-mail.

I certainly don't agree with all of his comments, nor will I be attempting to force myself into all of the options he suggested (even he said, "I’m uneasy about forcing a specific model on a student"). But now that I'm crying a little less, I'm getting angry. Perhaps that's the fuel I need to keep going and to PROVE my thesis (they call it a "thesis defense" for a reason).

RAWR!

Although I may need to wallow (and knit) just a teeny bit more.

How the Devil Stole Prada

2011-11-09T19:03:00.007-06:00

All right, first things first: In the interest of full disclosure, I never read the book The Devil Wears Prada. I watched the film; I loved the film. I was ecstatic when I found out it was based on a book. Later, a friend picked up a used copy of the hardback for me from someone's book sale.

I couldn't get past the first two pages. Unlike the film -- which is a sort of female bildungsroman -- the novel does not start at the beginning of Andy's career with the fashion industry. The book starts with her already working for "the devil," in the full swing of her glamorous, fashion-filled life. And she isn't likeable. She's shallow, petty, bitchy, and well-dressed. There was nothing to keep me reading as I didn't give a rat's ass if there were other shallow, petty, bitchy, well-dressed people out there, let alone what they were doing.

In the film version, Andy is, in my opinion, likeable. She's cute, a little nerdy, and has depth, something the fashion industry lacks in her eyes. The film carefully takes the viewer along, rooting for Andy, until we realize she's turning into those things ("the clackers") we all decided we hated at the beginning of the movie. If she's already that thing we all decided we hated (like she is in the book), why bother?

(Sidenote: I was recently validated in my opinion of the book, as The Devil Wears Prada showed up in the local paper's list of "The Movie Was Better than the Book.")

But, like I said, I really do enjoy the movie, especially the beginning sections. I adore Stanley Tucci in nearly everything he does. He has excellent timing and delivery, and he's just bitchy enough in this film. The opening in sequence, in particular, as they're scrambling to prepare for Miranda's arrival is one of my favorites. (On the DVD's gag reel, Tucci does this scene a number of times, shouting out different lines, including "Man your battle stations!" and "Tits in!").

Here's that scene:

Brilliant, non?

So, a couple of weeks ago the Unit and I were (re)watching the hysterically funny, often forgotten 1988 comedy Big Business, starring Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin. Bette and Lily play two characters each -- twins separated at birth -- so each has a "country mouse" and "city mouse" double to play. Bette Midler's "city mouse" version runs a multimillion dollar company. It's a little cut off, but the first line (from the phone) says, "She's coming!" Watch and see:

Look at all familiar? Certainly, the Big Business scene is meant to be more comical than the DWP scene; although their respective tones might only be apparent when watching the movies from the beginning (not just these individual scenes).

I was rather taken aback when rewatching BB with my Unit. I'm sure I squealed something like, "The Devil Wears Prada did this same scene!" And now, as I'm writing this and searching for YouTube clips, I find that I'm not the only (brilliant) person to realize this. Watch and learn:

At any rate, while I'm obviously not the only one who realized the connection between the two films, I do find it interesting that they were made nearly 20 years apart but have such a similar scene/introduction of a main character. I have not bothered to see if any of the production staff or film editors were the same for both films.

So, do we categorize this as plagiarism, an homage, "borrowing," or flattery (as in "imitation is the sincerest form of")?

P.S. Upon watching the 1988 film in 2011, I was surprised (and pleased) to find an openly gay couple portrayed -- well, pretty openly, at least. Such nonchalant attitudes about homosexuality are sometimes hard to come by even now, let alone in a 1980s film.

Douglas Adams Could Tell the Future

2011-11-05T21:47:00.006-05:00

I popped the 2005 movie version of Douglas Adams' brilliant piece of science fiction The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy into the DVD player the other day to have some background noise whilst I was reading, writing, grading -- you know, the normal life of an academic.

After having read Adams' six-book "trilogy" -- having read, highlighted, annotated, and loved Adams' six-book "trilogy"-- in my youth, I was excited about this film version. After watching the film in the theater, I was slightly disappointed and mostly puzzled. I had remembered the books being much more complicated with their logic and plot points than the film was. I had an e-mail discussion with my older brother about our thoughts regarding the movie, and he made several salient points, such as:

Adams was working on the screenplay when he died on May 11, 2001
Many of the changes from the novel to the film were things Adams himself wanted to try and/or institute. He viewed the screenplay as yet another place to try out new ideas, new characters, things he hadn't been able to do (for whatever reason) in the Hitchhikers novels -- which leads me to the next point.
The novels themselves -- yes, all six (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; The Restaurant at the End of the Universe; Life, the Universe, and Everything; So Long and Thanks for All the Fish; Young Zaphod Plays It Safe; Mostly Harmless) -- are not a fixed, finite thing. The idea of a hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy started as a BBC radio series, then some of the books, then a television series, then some more books, and finally the movie.

In short, the 2005 film was not just a "version" or "reproduction" of the books; it was yet another item in the progression of Adams' ideas, an evolution, if you will, rather than a (re)production. Finally knowing that made a lot of sense for me; it made me view the film with renewed interest and love for its quirks and forgiveness for its supposed flaws. The DVD of the film is, too, another "evolution" of the Hitchhiker's Guide. On the title menu of the film (pictured above), there is an option for the "improbability drive." As quoted in the book, the improbability drive "is a wonderful new method of crossing vast interstellar distances in a mere nothingth of a second, without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace" (Adams 78). So, basically, one can go into any point in space, no matter how improbable; as demonstrated in both the book and the film, the Infinite Improbability is also highly unpredictable.

When clicking the button for the Infinite Improbability Drive on the DVD menu, one can expect, then, to be taken to any point in the film, as happened to me the first time I used it. But it's much more metatextual than that. The Infinite Improbability Drive can take one to any point or place on the entire DVD -- another DVD menu, a piece of bonus footage, a trailer for another movie shown on the DVD. The Infinite Improbability Drive on the DVD treats the entire DVD as a text or space to be navigated, not just the film itself. Quite clever, I think.

But back to my main story: last week I was watching the movie again (whilst grading), and admiring how the DVD menu mimics the look and feel of the actual Guide Arthur and Ford use in the movie. Then I watched closer as they tapped the screen of what looks like a very flat book but is in actuality a screen capable of finding information from a variety of texts in a "nothingth of a second," to use Adams' own words. And then the flat screen book thing tells the two protagonists the information they want, often with accompanying animation. In fact, it looks a lot like this representation:

Or like this one:

Oh, I'm sorry! That last one isn't a Guide. It's an iPad -- two iPads, actually, next to each other. Maybe this Prezi.com timeline will help make it clearer. (Either push the arrow on the screen to view each "piece," or mouse over the "More" button and "Autoplay.")

Damn. That Adams was a brilliant man. My towel and I salute you, sir.

12 Days of Christmas (Not Really)

2011-10-16T10:47:00.000-05:00

Last night, whilst lying in bed, another song was created. I don't exactly remember how the conversation started, but suddenly the Unit sang out, "ONE les-bee-aaaaaan" (to the tune of "five golden rings" from "The 12 Days of Christmas"). Next thing I know we had 3 cats, 2 circus dogs, and a squirrel in a tree.

But I was corrected; she said I couldn't have two circus dogs because we actually only own one. So then we had
5 les-beee-aaaaans
4 crack whores
3 kitty cats
1 circus dog
and a squirrel in our backyard (whoisdead)

But again, I was told that I can't have five lesbians; I am only allowed to have ONE lesbian (the Unit), and vice-versa. And the squirrel whoisdead (sung in one breath and note) is because yesterday we caught Doogie gnawing on the corpse of one the Unit had buried in the backyard (we've had two squirrel deaths in the past week). Which then led to the next verse:

6 rabies shots
1 les-bee-aaaan
4 crack whores
3 kitty cats
1 circus dog
and a squirrel in our backyard (whoisdeadandDoogiechewedon)

I soon started singing, "On the [blank] day in the ghetto, my true love gave to me," since all of the verses are inspired by our house and neighborhood. It's not really the ghetto (there are worse neighborhoods, trust me), but it has its unsavory elements (see: pantless man in wheelchair). In fact this week alone, my Unit has witness no fewer than four possible drug deals during the day.

Once I found a theme, I was on a roll:

7 sirens flashing
6 rabies shots
ONE les-bee-aaaaan!
4 crack whores
3 kitty cats
1 circus dog
and a squirrel in the backyard (whoisdeadpossiblykilledbyPoePoe)

My Unit kept adding more to the intoned "whoisdead" after the squirrel part. "What else?" she asked. I tried to have "8 pieces of litter" because people will just stop at stop signs and toss stuff out their car, or litter in people's yard when they're walking down the sidewalk. My Unit pointed out that "people will think you mean kitty litter because we've already been singing about cats," so there went that idea.

8 drunken neighbors
7 sirens flashing
6 rabies shots
ONE les-bee-aaaan!
4 crack whores
3 kitty cats
1 circus dog
and a squirrel in the backyard (whoisdeadandburied)

9: She said, "screaming kids," and I think I tried to sing "truant kids" (since they are kids and teenagers constantly running around when I'm sure they're supposed to be in school), but it didn't have the same ring to it.

I don't think we got past eight, but I bet if I put my mind to it, I could do all twelve days AND with the fancy alliteration ("seven swans a-swimming," "ten lords a-leaping") the original song has.

During one sing-through, we changed "squirrel in the backyard (whoisdead)" to "pant-less man in a wheelchair" as a small shout-out to our friend.

Then my Unit announced she couldn't sleep, and went back to the living room to finish watching The Shining on AMC (because that will help you sleep?!?!?). I promptly fell asleep whilst trying to compose this blog post in my head.

This sing-along song break has been brought to you by:

The numbers 1-9
Insomnia
Stanley Kubrick and Stephen King

Ghost Coffee!

2011-10-14T17:14:00.006-05:00

Last night I saw Stray Dog Theatre's production of The Who's Tommy*. I came home, all wound up from the awesome show, and sat outside briefly with my Unit to tell her all about it, smoke a cigarette, drink a drink, etc. Once inside, it was bedtime -- as we announced it to all of the animals. But Doogie was not having any part of that.

He, too, was wound up, and was busy chasing Poe up and down the hallway, jumping on him, chomping on him like Poe is his own personal squeaky toy, and generally being a jackass. (Poe doesn't really mind this "rough housing" as he never runs away from Doogie or uses his claws as a defense; sometimes he even instigates the behavior.)

Lights out time: Doogie refuses to stay in his bed (a large wicker basket with blankets and pillows in it which is in our bedroom, near my side of the bed). He keeps hopping out, taptaptapping down the hallway (his claws are overdue for a trim), pacing, and then sitting eerily in front of the basement door. Twice I attempted to bring him back, "tuck him in" (yes, he's that spoiled), only to have him pop back out again and go in search of mischief.

Then the barking started. The first time, he was already in the Magic Fairy Room, barking at something we presumed was in the back alley outside. The dogs next door were not barking, but the dogs two houses down were. The Unit and I could see nothing outside in the dark. After the chorus of dog barking was complete, Doogie came back to his bed; we did the same.

Barking episode #2: he jumps up, out of bed, starts barking, and races down the hallway again, through the kitchen, and into the Magic Fairy Room. Again, the Unit and I follow because, as we've learned in the past, Doogie is a good watchdog and creeps hang out behind and around our house sometimes. Again, we see nothing.

Sometime between episodes #1 and #2, the Unit says, "It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?" Meaning a night where we don't get much sleep because the dogs are barking, the cats are running laps, people outside are being weird, and general jackassery abounds. She even asked if it was a full moon last night (it wasn't).

Finally, all is quiet on the homefront. Doogie's in bed; the cats are relatively quiet; my Unit and I are quietly conversing in bed in the dark, making up stories for when we one day start writing children's books. (Last night's book title was Dolphins Don't Eat Dogs.) Suddenly, both of us hear a noise. It takes about two beats before we realize what the noise is, which prompts me to ask, "Why is the coffee-maker going off?"

It was midnight, and our coffee-maker in the kitchen spontaneously decides to start brewing, despite the fact that there is no water in it and only the grounds and filter from that morning. Oh, and the fact that NO ONE TURNED IT ON!

She answers, "I don't know." And we both lie in bed for a moment, waiting for the other to decide what to do.
"We should check it," I say.
"Okay. Come with me," she says.

We slowly get out of bed. My Unit grabs the baseball bat, and we trek down the hallway to the kitchen, and I turn on various lights along the way -- saying quietly "Light!" each time (so she isn't startled by blazing lights while she IS carrying a baseball bat).

There is no one in the kitchen. There is no one in the Magic Fairy Room. There is no one lurking in my Pepto Bismal colored office. My Unit reminds me that "if anyone were in the house, Doogie would know," which is true. Besides, who breaks into someone's house only to make coffee at midnight? There is only one explanation then: ghost coffee.

The Unit and I both believe in ghosts, spirits, afterlives, and all sorts of theories. We watch Ghost Adventures on the Travel Channel every Friday night (we also like to laugh at the three guys on that show, but that's a different post). One of the reasons we bought the house we did is because it did not have any weird, creepy, possibly haunted feelings about it. It felt very neutral to both of us.

By the time we get back to bed, and my Unit has asked me if I was anywhere near that part of the kitchen counter on which the coffee-maker sits after I came home from the show (I wasn't), I say, "Ghost coffee."
"DOO-DOO! We bought this house because it has NO ghosts in it." Her tone says, Stop it! You're creepin' me out!

Pause.

Unit: "Maybe it's because we've been watching all those episodes of Ghost Adventures. The ghosts are coming into the house through the t.v."
Me: "DOO-DOO! Don't say that! You're creepin' me out!"

We eventually try to sleep, and every tiny noise from cats and dogs and leaves outside and Unit's snoring causes me to jump. I didn't get much sleep last night.

I actually do have a logical (if somewhat improbable) theory about the midnight ghost coffee. While I was getting ready to go out to see The Who's Tommy, I caught Poe on the kitchen counter where the coffee-maker is. I made him jump down, but it is possible that he somehow rubbed up against the coffee-maker, hitting the "Auto" button. When attempting to use the alarm on the coffee-maker, the time is automatically set to 12:00, so if one just hit the "Auto" button and nothing else, it is possible to set the alarm for 12:00. Even if one is a fluffy cat nicknamed "Black Ops Squirrel Killer."

* WOW. I might write an actual review of this fantastic production soon, but until then, do yourself a favor and SEE. THIS. SHOW. And be sure to RESERVE your tickets because they are selling out.

I Won't Be Staying at the Four Seasons Hotel

2011-10-08T10:18:00.003-05:00

Not that I was ever intending to stay at a Four Seasons hotel, mind you; they're far to expensive for this little kitty. But a recent bout of what appears to be GLBT discrimination at the St. Louis location has got me writing Strongly Worded Letters.

A local news station reported that a lesbian couple was kicked out of the hotel for kissing. (Please click the linkie and read the article for yourself.)

Kissing in public and other public displays of affection (PDA's) are murky territory. How much is too much? When is it "affection," and when is it dry humping in public? It's very hard to manage and police an issue of taste and decorum. That being said, what really disturbs me about the above news article is the woman saying that the security officer told her "that they didn't even allow heterosexual couples to kiss on their property." That sounds likes straight out bullshit to me.

However, I am a firm believer in doing one's own research, rather than blindly jumping on bandwagons. It is possible that this couple was breaking some kind of rule or policy regarding kissing in hot tubs; not probable, but still possible. So I went online in an attempt to find the Four Seasons' rule of conduct or expectations for their guests.

I found squat. Trying to search the website for the St. Louis location led me to the national, corporate website for Four Seasons, with a link to send comments or question to the Office of the President. Here's what I wrote:

A recent news article has stated that a lesbian couple was kicked out
of the St. Louis Four Seasons hotel for kissing (http://www.ksdk.com/news/article/279931/3/Lesbian-couple-kicked-out-of-local-hotel-for-kissing).
I am unable to find the St. Louis location's Terms of Service or other standards of expected guest conduct. I was hoping you could let me know where I can find the Four Seasons' written expectations of guests, rules for conduct on the property, etc. The news article states that the guests in question were told by the security personnel that "they don't even allow heterosexual couples" to kiss in public. I highly doubt the legitimacy of that policy, but I would like to see your company's policies for myself before passing judgment.
Thank you for your time!

Today, I received an e-mail response. Here's what it said:

Dear Ms. [misspelling of my last name],

Thanks for your note. At Four Seasons our culture is based on The Golden Rule – to treat others as we’d wish to be treated ourselves. We do not permit intimidation, coercion or harassment of any kind - this includes discrimination based on sexual orientation.

As a hotel company, it's our goal that each of our guests feels respected and welcomed. We want everyone to feel comfortable to behave as they wish, while of course respecting other guests and our employees.

Obviously, I have read the article you have shared. As General Manager of the Hotel, I was upset by the allegations. I was working on the night in question and spoke personally with these guests. Please let me reassure you that the gender of this couple was never at issue.

Thank you again for writing.
Regards,
Alper Oztok
General Manager

So somehow my letter to the Office of the President was answered by the local General Manager, who obviously cannot be impartial as he was present during the incident. Moreover, he never answered my questions regarding actual policies, written standards of conduct, etc. And he misspelled my name, though it's on the original e-mail message several times (spelled correctly).

I had to take several deep, cleansing breaths before I typed a strongly worded, but not offensive ("spell my fucking name right, you fucktard!!") response. This is what I sent:

Mr. Oztok,

Thank you for your reply to my e-mail to the President of Four Seasons. I appreciate the idea of "The Golden Rule," although I asked what the company's written policies were -- either nationally for all Four Seasons hotels, or even locally at the St. Louis location.

If it's your "goal that each of [your] guests feels respected and welcomed," and "to feel comfortable to behave as they wish," I think you may have missed the mark with the couple in question. However, since I was not present during the incident and I do not know anyone involved, it's hard to say exactly who was wronged; hence, why I asked for Four Seasons' written policies.

Sincerely,

-[My name] (not [his misspelling])

My friend Stephen who first pointed out this news item to me suggested that we boycott the Four Seasons. I would rather stage a Kiss-In on or near their property. For that matter, we do a Kiss-In at/around Southwest Airlines locations as they, too, have come under fire for discriminating against affectionate gay couples.

Watch this space for more updates.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2011-10-02T09:11:00.000-05:00

Friday night I saw Insight Theatre Company's production of Rabbit Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire. There were things I really liked (in particular, the actor friends of mine who were in the show), and some things I didn't like. But this is not a theatre review. This is a THANK YOU to David Lindsay-Abaire for the best description of loss that I think I've ever heard.

Without giving too much of the plot away, the main husband and wife of the show have lost their four-year-old child in a horribly tragic accident; there is no one to blame despite human nature's desire to find a scapegoat. Regarding the pain of losing a child, the wife asks her own mother, "Does it ever go away?"

Here is a juxtaposition of paraphrasing and direct quotations (that I can remember) of the mother's answer:

"No, it doesn't." But it changes. Eventually it becomes something "you can crawl out from under and carry around with you...like a brick in your pocket." And you get used to it, to the weight of it with you. Sometimes you even forget about it, but then you "reach into your pocket for something else, and there it is. 'Oh. That.'"

The above piece of writing was so incredibly accurate and truthful, that listening to it was exquisitely painful. I didn't even lose a whole a child; I lost a blob of cells that didn't yet have a heartbeat. But I remembered it again acutely, listening to the actor say those poignant words. In an incredibly metatextual moment, the playwright's description of what happens to the brick in your pocket caused me to find my brick in my pocket. And I recognized it as my brick in my pocket. It doesn't ever go away.

Thank you, David Lindsay-Abaire, for putting something into words so honest and real that they sounded like they came from my own head. And thank you, of course, the actors who gave it life, even if I cried all during your show and had to fix my make-up both during intermission and after the show.

On the subject of rabbit holes and parallel universes:

"Well that's a nice thought -- that somewhere out there I'm having a good time."
-- Becca (as played by Jenni Ryan)

Just Keep Writing, Writing, Writing

2011-09-29T10:43:00.000-05:00

I am attempting to stay true to yesterday's statement that all "free" time will be spent writing. Unfortunately, I have nothing interesting to say, so this is an exercise in "free writing," defined by Peter Elbow as:

"sometimes called 'automatic writing,' 'babbling,' or 'jabbering' exercises. The idea is simply to write for ten minutes (later on, perhaps fifteen or twenty). Don't stop for anything. Go quickly without rushing. Never stop to look back, to cross something out, to wonder how to spell something, to wonder what word or thought to use, or to think about what you are doing. If you can't think of a word or a spelling, just use a squiggle or else write 'I can't think what to say, I can't think what to say' as many times as you want; or repeat the last word you wrote over and over again; or anything else. The only requirement is that you never stop."

Or, as I like to tell my students: "Less thinking, more writing!" It's a lot harder than it appears; Elbow's brief essay also later talks about editing, self-censoring, etc. But this is not a discourse on free writing (although it could be). This is an exercise in how I'm easily distracted by -- LOOK, something shiny!!

Right now, running in the background of my computer is an inane game called "My Farm Life 2." Yes, 2. I already own the original "My Farm Life." They're silly "time management games" that cause me to ineffectually manage my own time by wasting it in playing the game. I'm addicted to them. They're easy (although they do get harder), and it's a chance for my brain to not think while still feeling like I'm accomplishing something as I milk my pretend cows and arrange my pretends crops. Games like "My Farm Life" and "My Farm Life 2" are part of the reason I'm so behind on my thesis reading. I come home, want to relax from teaching or learning, eat a snack, have a drink, and occupy my brain with useless visual stimulation though not as passive as watching t.v. or a movie. This is time that should otherwise be spent reading or writing or even cleaning or house -- something productive.

But it calls to us, precious. The siren call of the game with the cute sheepies and cows and a perky little girl farmer....Oh God! I'll be right back.

Cue Dream Sequence

2011-09-28T07:45:00.000-05:00

Why, hello blog! It's been a while since we've talked. Too long, in fact. I am attempting to make a commitment to write more. That is, when I'm not reading or grading or sleeping or eating. Any "spare" time should (and will!) be spent writing: writing essays, writing assignments, writing blog posts, writing the half-formed stories and novels that continually germinate inside my head.

I had a small breakdown coming home from class last night when I realized that it is nearly October and I haven't done shit on my thesis. I'm supposed to have a first draft by the end of this semester (beginning of December), and I've only done about 2% of the necessary reading. I found some great stuff this summer. Gathering research has more instant gratification than "just" reading. I'm tickled when I find things that have good titles, look relevant, and are readily available to be checked out, printed off, etc. Now all of those delightful pieces are siting on my other desk in my office in neat little stacks, and have been sitting there since June. Just waiting for me. Silently passing judgment each time I go into my Pepto pink office.
We've gathered dust.
And cat hair. Lots of cat hair.
Do you even remember our titles?
Other people are waiting for these books; you've renewed us twice already without turning a page.
Selfish, lazy bitch.
The Brontës would never approve.
Jane Austen hates you.

It's amazing I can even get any work done in my office with all the noise from their dry rustlings and papery whisperings.

It's hard to get all fired up and jazzed about a thesis when it involves so much reading. Before you dissect that ridiculous statement too much, lemme 'splain. I do enjoy reading. I even enjoy reading non-fiction and academic criticism. But reading, unfortunately, is not an energetic activity. And while reading is not passive (as I continually try to impress upon my students), it is very difficult to read for hours on end (assuming I could find two hours to put together) without falling asleep and/or feeling like the life-force is slowly being sucked out of you by The Great Thesis Vampire.

Again, reading is not and should not be passive. But even with all my underlining, highlighting, and general annotating, it is very difficult to not feel like I'm just spinning my wheels uselessly in a rut when I should be up and "doing something." Even folding and putting away laundry feels more "useful" than "just" reading. Putting away laundry also has an immediate, visible, tangible result -- as does ironing (which is on my current To Do list). Reading, thinking, germinating ideas = invisible, mental, "locked safe inside my head" (to quote Shakespeare in Love) with few results.

Nonetheless, I endeavored last night to make yet another foray into the stack of thesis readings. (Said foray was only made, however, after crying, yelling, smoking, complaining about EVERYthing, yelling at the animals, and drinking a beer.) I grabbed The Madwoman in the Attic, found my Jane Eyre chapter, said, "Fuck you, introductory and background readings!" and dove in headfirst.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU Gilbert & Gubar for writing in what seems to be "easy" language but filled with astounding, brilliant ideas. I have crushes on both of you, even though you've only been accused of being lesbians (as many feminists have been).

Is it any surprise, then, that my dreams were filled with essays, schools, ex-husbands, and disappointments?

There was a dream in which I was getting reading to present a paper [yes, M/MLA conference in November, I feel you knocking even though I haven't looked at my materials since I was accepted to the panel in April]. I had to buy a new outfit and shoes, and my mother was shopping with me -- instantly the stuff of which nightmares are made. There was the getting reading in a giant, communal bathroom and the putting on of make-up. Then rushing to the platform where I had to sit with other ~~attendees~~ nominees. Yes, that's right. Now it's a contest to win.

We all stood up as my family rushed in to watch me, late as usual. The man at the microphone announced the winner, but I couldn't hear him. Immediately, my fellow nominees dispersed into the crowd, receiving congratulatory handshakes and back slaps, while I stood there, dazed.

"Who won?" I asked no one in particular, as I stood impotently near the microphone, waiting to read my award-winning paper for which I may not have actually won an award.

"Everyone!" said the girl next to me, who looked suspiciously like a girl I went to high school with. "Well, we did," she clarified. It was a four-way tie, and I was the fifth wheel out.

I continued to stand there, still confused, for so long that finally a moderator had to come over and ask me if I "understood what had happened" (read: "You realize that you lost, right?"). Just like Mitch the comfort counselor in The 25^th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, the moderator had to finally escort me off stage.

All that preparation (and shopping!) and I didn't get to present my paper because it didn't win.

I exited the auditorium, but took a different hallway than my mother so I would run into fewer people, when I hear someone call "Jane?" behind me. I turn around, and lo and behold! It's my ex-husband! What a coincidence, running into me here! His feigned surprise at this convenient set-up is not lost on me, even in my dream sequence.

I tell him that my mother is just down the next hallway, which is code for "Are you sure you want to be here? She hates you and will eat your face off. Follow me and insist on talking at your own risk, idiot."

Undaunted, he follows me anyway, still chattering away like we're old friends. (We're not.) I realize he's wearing a white, fluttery, chiffon skirt [a combination of the skirt Carrie wore to Pam's party Saturday night and the cat toy the niece and nephew were playing with Monday afternoon, in real life]. He says, "I know you're surprised at seeing me here since I promised not to show up anymore, but I'm having trouble. I can't seem to finish my book without visiting the house."

Like flashes of lightning, I have two simultaneous thoughts:
"You're writing, no, finishing a book?!? You're no writer. I'm the writer. I hate you."
and
"Your location and lack of follow-through are not my problem."

Only the second sentiment comes through as I simply say, "Not my problem," and keep on walking.

There was much more to this dream sequence, including some echoes of Gilbert & Gubar's words, but that's all I can remember. I woke up in pain, as I have been lately, and tried to figure out why I was already so angry. After lying in bed for an extra half of hour of kitty cuddle time, I got up, took out my pink yoga mat from the back of the closet where it has sat for at least the past year, and I did seven sun salutations.

I had wanted to do at least ten, but I am so sore and in so much pain that I could only manage seven. A very slow seven, at that. I need to stretch, to get a massage, to see a chiropractor, and start physical therapy, but all I could think of to do by myself were sun salutations. Sadly, it took 1.5 of them before I actually remembered how to do one; rather, my body/muscle memory remembered. And, unlike reading thesis materials, sun salutations "feel" active and have somewhat tangible results (especially when I heard a tiny but satisfying "pop" from somewhere in my lower back). I'm still in pain, but I feel a bit better about myself -- both from the yoga and this writing.

Now it's nearly 8 a.m. and I must needs shower before going to teach my little high school girls all about sentence structure and the wide world of plagiarism.

I can get through this day. I can get through this day. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Missouri Law Rants Continue

2011-08-05T10:26:00.004-05:00

So the Post-Dispatch also published a story about the new so-called "Facebook law", and I read it. Then I made the mistake of reading many of the comments users posted in response. Oh Lord. Why do I do this to myself?

While the P-D news article did mention that this is only one part of the whole bill, the "facebook" part took up most of the discussion, if you can call commenting pseudonymously on a board "discussion." Many of the opposing opinions covered familiar ground. Lemme give you a brief list:

it's in appropriate for teachers to be "friends" on social media with students, PERIOD.
teachers who do bad things will continue to do bad things despite this new law
some teachers use social media and private e-mail and messages for completely legitimate reasons
Students need a way to contact teachers privately because what if they're reporting physical abuse, substance abuse, or other touchy issues about their guardians, or things they're afraid to tell their guardians?
Teachers should stay out of their students' lives because they are their teachers, not their parents or friends
teachers need to "CYA" (a phrase my own mother loves) because when/if the shit hits the fan, parents lawyer up and seek scapegoats (and teachers make easy prey).
Facebook is going to sue the state of Missouri over this. I have looked this up to see if I can find any evidence about it; more on that in a bit.

So, as we discussed earlier, this law only applies to public schools, and it's asking (requiring/demanding) that schools implement written policies by January 1, 2012 which detail appropriate and inappropriate use of social media, e-mail, private conversations, etc. But as one commenter pointed out, part of the law is especially disconcerting (and I'm puzzled as to how I missed this the first time around):

"Each policy must include appropriate oral and nonverbal personal communication, which may be combined with sexual harassment policies, and appropriate use of electronic media as described in the act, including social networking sites" (SB54, my emphasis)

However, "oral and nonverbal personal communication" is never defined within the law. Such text leaves a LOT of gray area and room for interpretation, and I don't mean that in necessarily a good way. I think I stand by my original thought that this law -- in particular this section of it -- is poorly constructed.

At first, I thought, "it's just a knee-jerk reaction" since the bill is "also called the 'Amy Hestir Student Protection Act,' [...] named for a Missouri woman who was continually molested and assaulted by her junior high school teacher" (from Time News Feed). But here's what I also learned from reading the comments section: Amy Hestir Davis is 43 years old. That means that the continual molestation and assault happened over thirty years ago, long before the Internet, let alone Facebook, existed.

I don't think it's possible to have a "knee-jerk reaction" to something that occurred three decades ago. If your reflexes are that slow, please seek medical attention ASAP as you may actually be dead and/or a zombie.

While any sexual abuse is horrendous and appalling, especially when the abuser is someone that a young person trusts (like a teacher, counselor, coach, or family member), the fact is that Ms. Hestir Davis' traumatic experience had nothing to do with social media. In fact, her 2008 testimony before the Missouri House Education Committee doesn't mention any such interaction (again, because this all happened between 1980 and 1981), which, I think, proves the sad fact that bad people will find ways to behave badly. Yes, laws can help, but they are not "fool-proof," and poorly written laws can do more damage that good.

The Associated Press also has an article on this, although they do not mention the above disconnect between the law and its "honoree" (that doesn't seem to be the right word for someone a law is named after, but I can't find any other words at the moment).

I did try to find (via Google, of course) any sources that mention Facebook taking legal action against the State of Missouri, etc. I found this article which mentions the ACLU taking possible action against the State of Missouri for Freedom of Speech violations. The article also contains this one sentence: "Facebook is also investigating the legality of the law." An unidentified "Facebook spokesman" also contributed this:

"Every day, there are more stories of innovative teachers using social networks as a valuable educational tool — from answering simple homework questions online to helping identify bullying. It is imperative that this law does not limit schools' and teachers' ability to use technology in this way to educate Missouri's children, and we are working with the education and legal communities to investigate."

While the ACLU gets their share of crap for lawsuits that are, well, useless and/or unnecessary, if someone is going is going to take up the fight against this poorly constructed section of Senate Bill 54, it may as well be them. I'm not sure I agree that this violates Free Speech; rather, that's not my concern, but, as Tony Rothert, legal director for the ACLU of Eastern Missouri said, "The law is much broader than what it's supposed to do." We'll forgive his lack of parallel sentence structure in this instance, as he also added, "It's fairly easy to conceive of ways that this could be much more narrow." Again, grammatical issues aside, I believe he's correct.

I am in support of most of the law's other sixteen sections requiring communication between schools and districts about allegations of sexual misconduct of teachers, but mostly, I'm grateful that, as a former college educator and soon-to-be private school teacher, this doesn't apply to me; that I don't have to wade through the red tape bullshit of bureaucracy to attempt to do my job.

No Facebook for YOU!

2011-08-03T11:53:00.005-05:00

Well, this story about Missouri making it illegal for teachers to be "friends" (online) with their students has been making the rounds, so it's time I speak out/up/whichever direction you choose about it. The news story goes something like this: TEACHERS NO LONGER ALLOWED TO USE FACEBOOK or something equally terrifying said in all caps to incite terror, fear, and anger in people (like me) who get easily up-in-arms.

First things first, the "Facebook part" is only ONE small part of a much larger law. Unfortunately, this small section is the only part getting news coverage, which makes the entire law seem like using a sledgehammer to kill a mosquito.
More than that, the law specifies "appropriate use of electronic media as described in the act, including social networking sites," meaning they never actually say "Facebook."

The law, in its entirety, is devoted to encouraging and enforcing communication between school districts regarding allegations, accusations, and investigations of improper and/or sexual (mis)conduct between teachers and students.

Further Issues and Misconceptions:

The laws only apply to MINOR students; college students (who are 18 or older) need not apply.
While the law states that "[t]eachers also cannot have a nonwork-related website that allows exclusive access with a current or former student," it later defines "former student" as "any person who was at one time a student at the school at which the teacher is employed and who is eighteen years of age or less and who has not graduated." Once a student has turned eighteen and/or graduated, teachers may misbehave all they like.

Apparently (and this I did not know), it is not a requirement now for school districts "that [have] employed a person for whom there was a finding of substantiated from a Children's Division investigation" to "disclose the finding of substantiated to any other public school that contacts it for a reference." So, from what I can understand, this is to require communication between schools and schools districts so that a person who has had an investigation of sexual misconduct (that's been "substantiated") cannot simply get another job elsewhere.

I'd also like to point out that the law says "public school[s]." Private schools have to find their own way. As I will soon be a private school educator (in another week!), I can say that a criminal background check has already been performed on me after accepting my contract.

Problems with the Law:
In addition to the public/private "loophole" I just mentioned, many people have pointed out that students and teachers e-mail or can e-mail all the time, and those e-mails aren't monitored. While it's true that many schools' IT departments don't "actively" monitor all e-mails, the point of the law is that the capability is there: "Teachers cannot establish, maintain, or use a work-related website unless it is available to school administrators and the child's legal custodian, physical custodian, or legal guardian." Additionally, parents of children who have Facebook (or other social networking media) accounts can choose to monitor their own children's activities, as I hope they would, but that is an individual choice; there is no law for this, although Facebook says you must be 13 years or older to use their website (although I already know people [and their children] who break this Term of Service).

These words: "that contacts it for a reference" are problematic. There is still the possibility that a teacher's new school will not contact the old school for a reference and/or recommendation, so that information regarding alleged and substantiated misconduct will not be passed on. It's a somewhat smaller "hole" than the public/private school one, but a "loophole" nonetheless.

Again, my main "problem" with the law is the fact that what's being reported currently is only one small facet. And I'm all for schools having "a written policy concerning teacher-student communication and employee-student communications." I think it's sad that this need to be made into state law. I guess I assumed such policies were already in place, but you know what they say about ASSuming.

I think it's even sadder and more depressing that teachers need to be told to not have inappropriate contact or communication with their (minor) students. We are their teachers, not their friends, even if we are friendly; there is a difference. I've been teaching college for the past six semesters (3 years' worth of academia in two years' time -- wow!), and I refuse all Facebook "friend" requests from students until long after I'm done teaching them (and even then, only two have requested my friendship after the fact, and they're students who are close to my own age). I do not give out my phone number or personal e-mail address. There is a line between my life and the parts they get to see in their academic life, and while some people may think it's blurry because I say things "correct use of grammar in creative writing is a frequent argument in my household," it's really not. The line is clear in my head. Like a friend of a friend said (on Facebook -- oh, the irony!):

"I am so happy my code of ethics prevents me from friending past or present clients. It keeps things so much more professional."

Feel free to discuss, but I can't emphasize enough the question that we should be asking is not "Why can't we be friends on Facebook?" but "Why is the media only reporting on one section of this seventeen-section law?"

Note: This post was inspired by a person who told me, rather rudely, "before you criticize [the law], try reading it" when I said "Wow, what a poorly constructed law." My comment was based on the original news story I posted here. After that comment, I went back to the news story, clicked the link to the actual law, and read it. Yes, the whole thing (skipping lightly over words I didn't understand :-). If I had to revise my response now, I would said, "Wow, what a misleading news article." Never let it be said that I don't take criticism.

Fuck Off and Die: A Pre-Menstrual Translation Guide

2011-07-27T19:38:00.003-05:00

In the future, I simply need to mark off the 3-5 days before my period and the first couple of days of said period on the calendar with a large warning of "OFFLINE TIME." The Internet is a horrible place to be when one's snarkiness is out of control. Faster than a card-carrying NRA member with an itchy trigger finger, my typing fingers fire off round after round of sarcasm and just plain meanness. Sometimes I don't even know what's happened until I see the carnage: hordes of innocent surfers and Facebook users in my wake, slain with my deadly wit and acerbic phrases.

Even a website as innocuous as Pinterest.com awakens my ire. Some poor user who said "gray & navy -- two of my favorite neutrals" about this dress nearly got the following response:

"Navy is not a neutral; it's navy -- a blue, a cool color."

And this person who thinks they're oh so funny nearly got a snarky and snappy "Way to reinforce gender stereotypes!"

This small hair tutorial I actually published on Facebook with the following commentary:

I don't understand shit like this. Why go through all that work for a "not too perfect" wave? You can just put your hair in a giant clippie when it's wet (put some curly-girl gel in if you want), and later in the day, take the clippie out. Ta-da! Messy waves. And no offense to Erin [my hairdresser] and my other friends who are more hair-talented than I am -- although I think even Erin would agree that my way is easier. :-)

In an attempt to curb the acid tongue, I've started saying things that really don't reflect what I'm thinking at all. Here's a handy-dandy translation guide for the brave.

"Congrats!" or "Congratulations!" = "Fuck off and die."
"Sure, I can do that for you!" = "Yes, I will do that, but please for the love of God and all that's holy, stop boring me with your endless reasons of WHY you want me to do that because I don't really give a fuck. At all. Not even a little bit. Why are you still talking?"

In fact, many of the statements from the second bullet point are useful translations for most anything said during this ten-day Internet sabbatical (5 days of PMS, 5 days of period). Nevertheless, I have provided you with some further translations to clear up any confusion.

You Said:	I Said:	It Really Means:
“How are you?”	“Fine.”	“I hate everything today.”
“How are you?	“Okay.”	“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Fuck off.”
	“Fuck you!”	“Fuck you.”
	“Fuck off.”	“Off is the direction in which I want you to fuck.”
“Sure is hot outside.”	“Yep, sure is.”	“Oh. My. God. Why are you talking?”
“Could you/Would you/Will you [fill in the blank]?”	“Sure.”	“I have nothing better to do than hemorrhage and be bloated and listen to your never-ending list of bland everyday life – DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN MAKE IT STOP! Before my ears start bleeding.”
	“Thank you for the information.”	“I do not need more proof of your idiocy. Stop boring me with details of your ineptitude. I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t care! La la la la la la – NOT LISTENING!!!”
	“I love you!”	“You brought me chocolate!”
“I love you.”	“I love you, too.”	“Your offering is displeasing to me. Go away and do not return until you have something worthy and useful like chocolate, vodka, jewelry, a new book, a new movie, new yarn, SOMETHING SHINY, a kitten.”

This Public Service Announcement bought to you by ibuprofen, Playtex Glide tampons, and a whole heapin' helpin' of vodka.

Lil' Wayne in the Feminist Classroom

2011-07-24T12:57:00.007-05:00

All of my students, freshmen and seniors alike, have to do a "Song or Poetry Presentation."* As the assignment sheet says, they need to "Pick a poem or a song that [they] believe relates to the day’s readings. How or why does [the] piece relate to the readings? How does it accomplish this goal (i.e. does it make any use of particular imagery, simile, metaphor, et cetera)?" For the presentation itself, the student must either read the poem aloud or play the song aloud (after having provided the lyrics or words to the whole class and myself). Then they discuss the poem or song, providing a brief analysis and explaining how they think it relates to what we've been discussing in class. They must also ask "two creative, insightful questions" of their classmates in order to start a discussion.

I tell my students there is no limit on this project; there are no "rules" about what kind of song or poem they can pick. In case they haven't already figured out from my horrible habit of swearing like a sailor, I'm not easily offended. I tell them if they're comfortable playing the song (or speaking the words) in front of their peers, then I don't have an opinion one way or another. If they are concerned that their classmates may be offended, then perhaps they should rethink their selection. I've had students do everything from Eminem to Emily Dickinson. About a week or so ago, a student played Lil' Wayne's "Pussy, Money, Weed."

We had been discussing "ceremonial rhetoric" in class, which, according to the textbook we're using, means "to praise and blame, to celebrate and censure" (Diogenes 179). I had assumed from the title of the song, that this would be Lil' Wayne's version of "My Favorite Things"; he would be praising those things he liked, namely pussy, money, and weed. I was mistaken.

The song appears to be "praising" or "celebrating" a woman -- rather, a woman's body and/or the things he can (or would like to) do to that woman's body. Why? Because he "loves [her] as much as pussy, money, weed."

Like I stated on Facebook that day, after that class I felt an intense need to shower, scrubbing away at least the top two layers of dermis. The song is that disgusting to me. Oh, and here's the kicker: the student was a woman.

One of the questions she asked of her classmates was, "Did anyone feel alienated by the song?" Several of her female peers shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they tried to verbalize the discomfort they had been feeling. One female student said, "That was the most uncomfortable four minutes of my life."

The student doing the presentation had stated outright that she does like the song, and her way of relating it to discussion was to (sort of) say that Lil' Wayne was "celebrating" a woman. After she asked that discussion question, the poor thing got my mini-rant, angry feminist style. The highlights went something like this:

He was not "celebrating" a woman, so much as identifying (and objectifying) her by only the physical parts involved.
Or, as another student pointed out, not even her physical parts but the idea of having sex or doing things to those parts.
Comparing the woman you love (or lust after) to "pussy, money, [and] weed" is not really a compliment, no matter how much you like those things. One would hope a songwriter and/or lyricist could come up with something better when supposedly "celebrating" something or someone they like ("Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?")
While some of the rhymes were clever, many of them did not even make sense. For example: "I see you with my daughter, or son - more than one / Maybe five like the Jacksons, or John Paxson." Jackson 5 makes sense (five kids), but why John Paxon? The students familiar with both Lil' Wayne and the basketball player could not answer why; did John Paxon have a lot of kids? If not, why mention him? And what is "woman's soap" that he wants her to smell like?
Last but not least, the music was slow, repetitive, and boring.

I couldn't stop myself from saying all of this, since she asked the question. I also found it very telling that she admitted to listening to the song alone, but then feeling "awkward" when listening to it with her peers. Some of my friends commented on Facebook the following insightful things:

"Deeply disturbing that a young woman would pick that song. It's hard to be taken seriously as a woman for your academic capabilities. We don't need Lil' Wayne's help. But maybe it's a good thing that people were uncomfortable and that you pointed out your misgivings. You can only hope she understands why her choice was offensive."
"Still--we ain't got enough against us we gotta turn on ourselves? Seriously."

And I concur with all they said, and many of these things will probably end up in the comments I write on her essay (a two-page essay has to accompany each presentation). Like Hannah (comment #1) said, I find it deeply disturbing that a young woman would choose this song, especially a woman of color (did I mention that part?).

Women have enough against them -- yes, even now -- in the world of academia, and women of color even more so. As a young black woman striving to get a higher education in a continually divided (and sometimes downright racist) city, she has to fight all sorts of stereotypes and cultural stigmas. I have heard many tales from other young, black women trying to work multiple jobs and get a college degree; stories about family members and neighbors continually questioning their desire to get an education. "Why do you wanna do that?" "Why read all those books?" "Why do all that hard work?" Or worse yet, "Why do you wanna sound white?" With all of those voices telling her "no," why would a young, degree-seeking, black woman choose to play a song which just reinforces so many of those negative views of women, of herself? I don't think the young woman who played the song is like the woman (or women) Lil' Wayne presents in the song, and, if I were her, I would not want to be associated with that kind of idea of "woman." I'm not going to be grading her upon this song choice, not necessarily, but I do feel compelled to reiterate to her (in written form) just why her choice is so deeply unsettling, for me and for her.

P.S. I refuse to link to the song, video, or its lyrics here as I will not contribute to or perpetuate the popularity of such talentless assclowns like Lil' Wayne. Like I told my students, "Yes, he is free to make his songs, just as I am free to not listen to them."

*This assignment was adapted from one my former professor gave in her class "Love & Intrigue."

I Have a Lot of Time on My Hands

2011-07-16T11:35:00.002-05:00

Not really, but when I pass by the same signs four or five times a week, the rhetorical analysis that occurs is practically muscle memory. With that in mind, I present to you The Department of Redundancy Department.

As the article states, the man won a lawsuit (well, it's been sent back down to a lower court) in which his large sign on the side of his building has been deemed "not a sign," therefore he doesn't have to comply with "sign laws." Or something like that. But the real issue here is that his sign is utterly redundant.

As I said on Facebook, putting an item inside the "international 'no' sign" (red circle with a slash) means "no" or "don't." For example, a cigarette inside the international "no" sign means "No Smoking."

But if you put the words "No Smoking" inside the "no" sign, it means "No No Smoking." As we all know, a double negative equals a positive. So what this man's sign says is to not end eminent domain abuse, which I'm pretty sure is the opposite of the message he meant to give.

Again, this is a fairly well-known sign in the city, and I pass it all. the. time on my way home. The lawsuit started in 2007, so the sign has been around for at least the past four years, probably longer. I took a cursory glance at the comments on this article to see if other people had made this point about the sign's incorrect usage of the international "no" sign, and, indeed, they had.

In fact, so many people made "the joke" (grammar is no laughing matter, folks!) about the redundancy involved, that someone said (I'm paraphrasing here) we should all ignore the joke, since we all know what he really means by this sign, eminent domain abuse is a real problem, yadda yadda yadda.

We should ignore the misuse of words and symbols on this 360-square-foot sign? Really?? While I agree that most people with a high school level education will understand the intention of Mr. Roos' sign, we cannot ignore the fact that the actual text of the sign is utterly redundant. Ignoring things like this, frankly, makes us stupid. While language is a living, breathing, somewhat malleable thing, that's not an excuse for blatant wrongness -- especially when one has taken the time and money to paint a two-story sign filled with wrongness!!

The road to hell (and bad grammar) is paved with good intentions, my children. Say (and write) what you mean, and mean what you write and say. You cannot rely on intentions and assumptions; your actual text must also bespeak the message you are attempting to send, especially when there are rhetoricians like myself out there. And there are many of us lurking about, analyzing (and correcting) your signs and advertisements every day, passing much-needed judgment upon your sloppy messages.

P.S. For some geeky humor regarding this situation, feel free to read the following exchange between me and my friend Erin.

Erin: You should put a sign next to his then that says "THIS IS REDUNDANT".
Me: But with the unreferenced pronoun, people will think I'm referring to my own sign as being redundant. Aaack, grammar paradox! Somewhere Schroedinger's cat is ending a sentence with a preposition.
Erin: You could point an arrow towards his sign. OR make a deadpan statement with your sign that says END REDUNDANCY with a circle and slash through it.
Me: Hahahaha! I like the last option. It's like an M.C. Escher-type paradox in written form (and makes my brain implode just a tiny bit).

Today Has Been Canceled

2011-06-27T21:47:00.000-05:00

That's right, canceled. Not "cancelled." While it is becoming increasingly acceptable to spell the word with two "L's," Little Miss Grammar does not approve.

In other news, I have some blog posts brewing, including some Strongly Worded Letters which need to be written and some extra "research" I'd like to conduct, but for right now, we must needs sleep.

The Visit has closed, my hair is still recovering from all the teasing and hairspray, and two giant decisions have been made today within hours of each other. I'm exhausted. I mean, more so than usual.

I'll be in bed with Jane Eyre if you need me.

Bombs Away!

2011-06-10T11:51:00.000-05:00

Did you know that tomorrow is International Yarn Bombing Day (2011)? Well it is, according to an event on Facebook, and if it's on Facebook, it must be true.

I found some inspiration as I'm totally psyched about doin' a little somethin'-somethin' in my 'hood. I'll be coming home late from Stray Dog Theatre's performance of The Visit, and, of course, a true yarn-bomber needs the cover of darkness, so it's perfect!

Check out Knitta Please's blog for more info and some fun pics of their crazy stuff.

Unfair [Boob] Advantage

2011-06-07T16:20:00.001-05:00

"Say, suppose the ship hits an iceberg and sinks. Which one of them would you save from drowning?"
"Those girls couldn't drown."
-- Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, 1953

Let's be frank: I have a great rack. It's true. Even gay men admire it. One gay male friend said he'd like to paint a picture of my boobs; he's not a painter, "but if he was, he'd paint them." They are larger than average, nearly entirely symmetrical (rarer than you think; I know women whose breasts are whole cup sizes different), still pretty perky even when not corralled into a bra, and my skin is smooth and milky white. All of this leads to what one could call "an unfair boob advantage." I shall explain.

While I often forget how fantastic my rack is (it's there everyday, often in the way of daily tasks), I am occasionally reminded when I make random (and infrequent) forays into the public sphere. Why? Because people (usually men) go out of their way to help and assist me, and trust me; it's not because of my sparkling, kind-to-strangers personality. I hate shopping and I don't like people, especially when I'm shopping.

Take for instance last week, when I pulled into a gas station to fill up the tank and to refill my windshield wiper fluid. I popped open the hood, then stood in front of my car, unable to find the latch to fully open the hood. I contemplated my own idiocy until I realized that I have never had to open the hood on this car before (it's only a year old). No wonder I couldn't find the latch! In the whole thirty seconds that took, a young thirty-something man walked by and said, "Are you okay? Do you need some help?" Keep in mind this is a gas station in the middle of a weekday afternoon; I was not stranded on a dirt road with my car on fire or anything.

I responded with, "Well, I can't find the latch to release the hood" which could also be read as, "Teehee! I'm just a dumb girl who doesn't know how to work her car."

He found the latch, opened the hood, AND put up the arm to hold the hood open because obviously a chick with a nice rack who doesn't know how to open her own car will also not be able to figure out how to keep it open. I said thank you and didn't give him a second glance, and then proceeded to fill up the windshield washer fluid tank.

Just a good Samaritan, you say? Well, then, how about this trip to Lowe's two days before:

The Unit and I went into Lowe's on the Sunday before Memorial Day to buy a gas grill on sale. The sales person in the grill department very enthusiastically greeted me and all but ignored my Unit. I dismissed him because 1) I don't like people, and 2) he was creepy-looking. We had decided which grill we wanted ten minutes later, at which point I called him back over so we could get everything taken care of. No big deal. Here, the Unit and I parted ways. I went over to the paint section (pretty colors!) while she went in search of an extension for the gutter to redirect our water run-off.

What I didn't realize is that less than a minute later, she was ten feet behind me because she couldn't find what she was looking for. She watched while another (still male) sales associate attempted to approach me, VERY enthusiastically, with a LARGE smile, saying "Hi! Can I help you find anything?"
Me: "No thank you. I'm fine." I barely looked at him out of the corner of my eye because I was absorbed with the pretty colors (and see #1: I hate people).

The Unit approached him to ask where the gutter extensions were, and, as she tells it, the change in his demeanor and body language was quite dramatic. He wouldn't even turn around to address her; he simply mumbled "the back of the store" and pointed. What lesson can we learn here (besides the fact that I hate people)? No boobs = no customer service.

Fast forward to Wednesday again. While I was being approached at the gas station, the Unit was attempting to pick up our fully assembled gas grill to bring home. She related her experience to me when we were at home again. Filled with quiet rage and armed with an English degree, I quickly typed up a Strongly Worded Letter and sent it off to Lowe's via their customer service website. I'll let it do the talking.

My partner and I purchased a gas grill on Sunday 5/29. My partner had a very unsatisfactory experience when she picked up the grill on Wednesday, 6/01 from the store. To begin with, when she approached the Customer Service desk, there were two employees there -- one helping a customer and another who appeared to be doing nothing. The employee who was NOT helping a customer told my partner to go to the other employee's line where she had to wait at least ten minutes to be helped.

After the assembled gas grill was brought out (after at least another ten minutes), the employee told the young man who brought out the grill that my partner would like help loading the fully assembled gas grill into her car, at which point the young man ignored this comment and started to walk away, talking on a cell phone. The first employee (still doing nothing) said, "Oh, I asked him to do something for me." We found this comment rather shocking because one would think that helping a customer would come before personal needs.

The young man eventually joined my partner at the vehicle and simply stood there. He finally helped her lift the grill into the back of the SUV ONLY after she asked him. He then continued to stand there, useless, as she struggled to fit the grill entirely into the car. She asked, "Why aren't you helping me?" and the lackadaisical young man responded, "Well, all I can see is you bending the product."

We had no issues when purchasing the grill on Sunday, but all in all, the experience of picking up the assembled grill was filled with seemingly rude, lazy, unprofessional employees who appeared to be doing everything within their power to NOT be helpful.

The Unit and I both agree that none of this would have happened if I had been there with her. Besides the Unfair Boob Advantage, I simply do not tolerate poor customer service or rude people. Instead of a Strongly Worded Letter, the parties involved usually get a personal tongue-lashing right then and there.

Lowe's Customer Service responded to my letter. They forwarded my comments to the manager of this particular store who, in turn, responded directly to me with an apology and 10% off our next purchase should we deign to visit their store again. Never doubt the power of the Strongly Worded Letter, my friends.

The Unit had at first said, "No, it's not a big deal" when I was asking her for details so I could compose my letter. I responded, "Yes, it IS a big deal. People need to know that this kind of behavior isn't acceptable. And you also can't expect people to change their behavior unless you tell them that it's wrong."

While she and I both use my Unfair Boob Advantage to our advantage (I'm almost always the person talking to sales reps, ordering food, etc.), it's not okay to treat other people shabbily when the UBA is not in effect. And just because I have a nice rack doesn't mean I'm stupid (although sometimes I'm a little slow ;-). But these three events (all happening within a three-day period) reminded me of both my UBA and my spectacular vocabulary.

Don't ever piss off the English teacher. She will use all of her ten-dollar words to exact revenge.

Just Another Day (and Night) in the 'Hood

2011-06-04T11:37:00.002-05:00

The Unit and some of our neighbors had an impromptu "meeting" about a week ago to discuss things happening in our neighborhood -- disconcerting things. Within days of each other, two homes were broken into. The man across the street from us had his front door kicked in during an attempted burglary. Said neighbor is a former security officer, and his house is tricked out with cameras looking out on his front porch and the street; I'm sure he has an alarm system, too, which is probably why the would-be burglar bolted. This happened at 9 p.m. in the evening; when I came home at 10 p.m. from rehearsal, he was still attempting to fix his front door.

Two days before that, a woman down the street woke up in the middle of the night to find a strange man standing at the foot of her bed. Would-be burglar or worse? She told the Unit that as soon as she saw him, she closed her eyes and started screaming at the top of her lungs. When she reopened her eyes, he was gone. She did not have an alarm system, that we know of; she also moved out last week.

During the "meeting," the neighbors also discussed how people we've never seen before have been walking up and down the street in the daytime, and in the alley behind our houses. They must also be trolling during the night because the neighborhood dogs have been barking a LOT at all hours of the night. Which brings us to last Monday night...

Midnight. Cue click-clicking of dog toenails on hardwood floors.

Unit, half-asleep: "What's Doogie doing?"
Me, half listening: "He got up to drink some water."
Unit: "He's not drinking water. What's he doing?"
Note: if Doogie has to suddenly pee in the middle of the night, he will start pacing between the back door and my side of the bed until I take him out.

Thinking Doogie suddenly had to go out, I turned off our alarm, and let him out into our backyard (which is enclosed by a six-foot-tall, padlocked-at-both-entrances, fence). While he went to do his business, I went to do mine.

12:05 a.m. Cue massive dog-barking outside in the midst of me peeing.

Unit: "What's all that barking outside?"
Me: "I don't know. I'm in the middle of peeing."
Unit: "Doogie's out there!"

She runs to the Magic Fairy Room to look outside, and says she can see someone skulking in the back alley. When I tried to let Doogie inside a minute later, he didn't want to come in; he was still barking at whatever strangers were in the alley. He came inside in another couple of minutes, I reset the alarm, and we all attempted to fall back asleep, however uneasily.

The following night (Tuesday)...

2:05 a.m. Cue Doogie barking from his bed on the floor next to my bed.
Doogie wakes up, barking, jumps out of his bed, and runs to the back door. The Unit and I are both immediately awake. I follow Doogie, but I do NOT let him outside, etc. I squint out the window (having fallen asleep with my contacts in) to see if I can discern any shadowy figures in the alley. I see nothing. But I do hear loud voices coming from the street in front of our house.

2:10 a.m. Cue man in wheelchair.
In the middle of the street, directly in front of our house, is a black man in a wheelchair shouting loudly, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" I can't see much else. The Unit gets up to look out the window as well as I go searching for my cell phone to call the police. When I join her at the window, Wheelchair Man has been joined by four other people -- two men, two women -- who came from seemingly nowhere. (Upon further thought, we realized that they were probably whomever was in the alley, causing Doogie to bark in the first place.) Wheelchair Man is standing up, though leaning heavily on his wheelchair, and the four mystery people appear to be trying to put a pair of pants on Wheelchair Man.

Was he without pants the whole time? Were his pants around his ankles? (There are rumors that hookers roam the back alley at night.) Were these his own pants or were the probably-hookers-and-johns giving him new pants? I don't have answers to any of these questions.

2:16 a.m. Cue phone call.
I finally find my cell phone (on the nightstand the whole time -- duh!). I call 911.

Me: "Hi. I live at [my street address], and there is a man in a wheelchair yelling in the middle of the street outside of my house. He may or may not be wearing pants."

The Unit and I discussed (briefly) whether or not to call the police. Those four people did appear to be helping Wheelchair Man. However, as the Unit pointed out, it was 2:16 a.m. on a weeknight. Anything happening at that time of night is automatically suspect, as are people who may or may not be wearing pants.

The police eventually showed up; the mysterious foursome had disappeared, but Wheelchair Man was still there. I briefly caught a look at the cop's face from my bedroom window; his facial expression was utter confusion. I didn't envy his job.

Love [and Porn] and Other Drugs

2011-06-01T10:40:00.001-05:00

On Memorial Day, I watched the romantic comedy Love and Other Drugs, starring Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway. I must say, for a romantic comedy (or "rom-com" as the cool kids are saying nowadays), this movie had a lot of sex in it. A lot of graphic sex. And many gratuitous shots of boobies.

Or maybe the sex just seemed graphic and the boobies gratuitous because I was also watching the movie with my sixty-five-year-old mother-in-law, who, after staring at Jake Gyllenhaal's ass-crack for five minutes, simply said, "I thought this was supposed to be a documentary."

She had rented the movie from Netflix, thinking that it was a documentary about "Big Pharmacy." The Netflix description says:

Pharmaceutical representative Jamie Randall (Jake Gyllenhaal) becomes a player in the big game of male-performance-enhancement-drug sales and, along the way, finds unexpected romance with a woman (Anne Hathaway) suffering from Parkinson's disease. Based on the real-life Jamie Reidy's memoir, Hard Sell: The Evolution of a Viagra Salesman, this satirical look inside the culture of Big Pharm is directed by Edward Zwick.

I think what caught her attention was the "satirical look inside the culture of Big Pharm."

I said, "You didn't recognize Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathway's names?" (as famous actors)
She did not.

Watching the movie did make me want to read said memoir (Hard Sell: The Evolution of a Viagra Salesman) as the first 2/3's of the movie -- which concentrated mostly on Jamie's sales rep deeds -- were pretty funny (and, yes, satirical). I didn't really care for the parts that dealt with his dramatic love affair with Maggie, the hot chick with Parkinson's Disease; although I did tear up at the end while the Unit and her mother discussed the improbability of the ending and how their relationship would suck going forward -- to which I replied, "Well, this is why they don't make sequels to romantic comedies!"

My friend Stephen said he watched the movie based on its subtitle: "Jake Gyllenhaal Is Naked." When I mentioned wanting to read the memoir it's based on, he rolled his eyes at me and said, "This is why they make the movie version: so you don't have to read the book."
I know. Silly Kitty, books are for nerds!

Aliens with Charisma

2011-05-30T09:21:00.001-05:00

Charisma has bloomed! And I managed to take a picture before the torrential rains we've had beat the poor blossoms to the ground:

I unfortunately did not get another picture of Broadway before the blooms died, which is a damn shame. She turned into these fantastic neon-colored productions of fuschia and construction cone orange. The rose site I had read didn't lie! They really did get more of orange and red colors the longer they were exposed to the sun.

Charisma appears to be just one color, and that's okay. You may or may not be able to tell from this photo that someone/something has also been nibbling on these particular blooms:

Behind the right-hand blossom you may notice a tall stalk with no flower on top. Someone lopped it clean off -- cut it, ate it, or something. The Unit and I had a conversation about what kind of animal could eat the bud right off the top like that, and I came to the conclusion that it must have been very tall rabbits. Or rabbits with incredibly good balance as they would have had to sit on the ledge (behind the rose bush) and strrrreeeeeeeeeeeetch out their neck and front paws to reach the blossom.

Hey, it could happen!

In other news, this little guy was caught red-handed trying to steal my phone:

Or would that be "green-handed?" Either way, he was caught midway through the act. Note the surprised expression.

Top Five Reasons Glee Annoys Me

2011-05-26T10:26:00.001-05:00

Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one who was utterly bored with the Glee season finale on Tuesday night. I hadn't watched the series since Christmas, primarily because I was teaching on Tuesday nights, but also because the episodes reviews I was reading were generally crappy and disappointing. I've been home the past two weeks, so I gave it another whirl in the hopes of some redeeming one-liners or to be exposed to new (good) music. No such luck. But the lackluster season finale did remind me of the Top Five Ways the show annoyed me from Day One.

High School Stereotypes. The first trailers for the first season were rather traumatic for me as it simply rehashed all the high school stereotypes we've seen for the past twenty or thirty years, including the verbal, emotional, and physical abuse many of us suffered. I hated high school the first time around; why would I want to watch a t.v. show where other people are ridiculed and terrorized -- a t.v. show that tells contemporary audiences that this kind of bullying is okay? "NO THANK YOU!" as Niece #1 would say. About halfway through Season 1 many of the characters had transcended their original flat "types," and yes, I watched the episodes dealing with Kurt's gayness. But "slushie as theme" still bothers me because it reinforces, however subtly (or not subtly) that physical abuse.
Glee Club vs. Show Choir. Glee Club and Show Choir ARE NOT THE SAME THING people!! Glee has used the terms interchangeably from Day 1, and it bothers the crap out of me. Here are some important differences. Glee Club is usually smaller than a high school show choir (as, indeed, the club on Glee originally was). It is also usually one sex -- all male is common, but not exclusive -- often focusing on a fun, poppy a capella numbers. One of the scenes featuring the all-male choristers from the private prep school (which Daren Criss' character of Blaine attends), sporting their ties and sports jackets is a perfect "glee club" example. Think "prep school crooners."
Show choir or swing choir is larger and co-ed, often with even numbers of guys and gals so they can dance in pairs (though not exclusively so). Show choir is formal -- guys in tuxes and girls in, well, show choir dresses (see pictures below). As the names "show choir" or "swing choir" suggest (terms which can, incidentally, be used interchangeably), the songs sung are typically showtunes and/or swing/Big Band era music -- both genres which lend themselves to the type of paired choreography used. Glee clubs rarely have choreography other than snapping fingers and looking cute. But "singing" hip-hop or rap or other popular music? While the show choir rules (and there are competition rules) may not have explicitly said so, choirs doing music like that would have been laughed out of any competition.

Standard contemporary show choir dress, although sleeveless and/or halter tops were nigh unheard of in my day (and practically scandalous!). Note the full skirt, excellent for twirling. And you can be damn sure that every one of us had on dance tights, bloomers/cheaters/Spankies (whatever you want to call them), and character shoes. (I do have some show choir photos in an album, but I'm too lazy to scan them.)
By the way, one of the most disgusting things I saw during the Glee finale -- the only thing that garnered a reaction -- was the female choir "singing" (I use the term loosely) that hip-hop song while wearing those white, mini-goddess dresses. The song itself was not the problem, nor was the accompanying choreography as the two suited each other. The problem was the fact that they were wearing girlie, Greek-inspired half-dresses while thrusting, gyrating, standing with legs apart, and bouncing around the stage. The juxtaposition of the costumes and the choreography/song choice was too much for my delicate sensibilities. I said, "Gross!" throughout the whole number. It was disgusting. But I digress.
"Find your best performer and build the show around them" (Jesse St. James). That strategy may have worked for "Vocal Adrenaline," but that shit never would have flown in my show choir days. Show choir is just that -- a choir. Everyone sings AND everyone dances. There's none of this "swaying in the background" bullshit while some soloist stands in front of a microphone. In fact, I'm pretty sure competition rules have stipulations about soloists versus full choir singing because that's part of what makes it hard. Getting twenty- or thirty-some high school kids to sing and dance and move as one? AND sound and look good?? It's something akin to herding cats, my friends.

Oh, we competed (however subtly) for solos -- sometimes a whole verse to sing! But really, we were competing for who stood in front. Show choir typically performs on risers, and while "short people in front, tall people in back" is standard blocking, being on raised, tiered platforms gives more leeway. So the people who were in front were usually the best performers -- those who gave the best face.
"I want you to look so talented, it's hurting you. I want a look so optimistic it could cure cancer.
Idina Menzel's Shelby Corcoran is right about this. There is such a thing as a "show choir face," and it should be borderline painful. The people in front were the stronger singers, possibly the stronger dancers, and their charisma should have been blinding. One of the perks of being in front is that everyone has to follow you. As any dancer knows, people in front can't see what's going on behind them, so everyone in the middle and back rows needs to match the timing, the shape, and the extension of those dancing in the front. A sweet gig if you can get it.
Larry: "Don't you know the combination, Sheila?"
Sheila: "I knew it when I was in front!"
-- A Chorus Line, 1985
Is this Hogwart's? How long are these kids going to be in [high] school?? They weren't freshmen in Season 1 because Quinn was already captain of the cheerleaders, and Finn was already the star quarterback of the football team. Sophomores, maybe? Although even that's pushing credibility as underclassmen rarely get such positions. I got into show choir as a sophomore and that was pretty shocking at the time. (And yes, I did just stroke my own ego there.) Next year, supposedly, is Senior Year, but are they ALL seniors? Because Kurt (Chris Colfer) looks like he's twelve.
It's high school. I watch these characters fall in and out of relationships, tell their significant other of the week that they love each other, and think "I never did that!" I don't think I was tossing around "the 'L' word" in any of my high school relationships (y'know,...both of them). 99.9% of these relationships won't/don't last, so I have a hard time believing these kids are that invested in their high school sweethearts, and saying "I love you." Or perhaps it's because I was already jaded and bitter in high school. I knew there was life beyond high school, that it wasn't "the best years of your life," and I was frustrated that more people didn't realize this, too.
Granted, almost all of the Glee characters are having sex, too, and I didn't lose my virginity until college, so there ya go.

I could add a few more reasons, like how Rachel's (Lea Michele) Barbra Streisand impression is getting old, or how I laughed my ass off when Jesse St. James said, "You kind of sing and dance like a zombie who has to poop" to Finn because he was absolutely correct, but I think I've listed the important points above. I will say that if my high school show choir was "New Directions" (although we weren't that awkward and ostracized), then East High School's show choir was "Vocal Adrenaline." They were always that much better than we were, just more polished and professional looking. I still remember the first time I was in awe of them, but I think I'll save that trip down memory lane for another post.

Cake on a Stick!

2011-05-19T11:48:00.001-05:00

So Starbuck's has a new item -- well, new to me since I don't go there all that often anymore. But this morning -- this rainy, dreary morning -- I was craving a White-Chocolate-Mocha-girlie-coffee so I went through the Starbuck's drive-thru. And there on their too-many-pictures-but-not-enough-actual-info menu was the new item: Cake Pops.

It is a wee bit of cake on a stick, like a lollipop. The name "Cake Pop" and the accompanying picture actually made me giggle in my car. I ordered my frou-frou coffee, and the drive-thru attendant said, "Would you like anything else?"
I hesitated, and then said, "Can I try a Birthday Cake Pop?" and had to giggle again at the ridiculousness of it.
The drive-thru attendant simply said, "Sure!" and did not acknowledge my giggle or the ridiculousness.

I have to say, it was rather good. Perhaps a little too rich and sugary, but maybe that's why there's only a "pop" worth rather than a whole slice. The cake was super-moist, so moist, in fact, that I wondered if it was not baked all the way through. I chewed away fearlessly, though -- salmonella be damned!

The idea is rather ingenious*, better than a cupcake or bite-sized cake as it requires less hand-eye coordination to eat a food that is attached to a stick. I will say that the "Birthday Cake" flavor was the only one that "spoke" to me. Besides the fact that it's an adorable pink color, the Tiramisu and Rocky Road "Pops" struck me as being entirely too rich with too much "stuff" on/in them to enjoy. I'm a bit of a purist; I don't like a lot of crap on my cakes or in my ice cream, etc. Like I said, the Birthday Cake flavor was rich in and of itself, so if you order one of the other two, chew with caution and see your dentist immediately afterward.

Starbuck's has their own blog post about the Cake Pops over here, if you are so inclined to read.

*I realize after writing this post, that Starbuck's did not invent the "Cake Pop." Apparently Bakerella made them famous.

Is That an Alien in Your Pocket?

2011-05-18T14:46:00.006-05:00

Or are you just happy to see me?

Per request, I knitted this adorable pocket alien. I should amend that. I was asked "Can you knit me a monster?" So I searched on Ravelry for (free) monster toy patterns, and this one excited my "client" more than anything else. Plus, it was quick. I did it, finishing and all, in one viewing of Ratatouille.

While mine didn't turn out exactly like the pattern (I was all out of googly eyes), it's still pretty damn adorable.

Alien vs. Mouse (to show scale):

I want to make more of them. Plus it will give me an excuse to go to Michael's or Ben Franklin and invest in googly eyes.

Magic Fairy Room

2011-05-15T11:57:00.007-05:00

Or: Left to Our Own Devices, We Will Decorate

The Unit likes to say that, left to her own devices, she will stay at home and fall asleep. And that's true to a certain extent. A fair amount of couch-sleeping happens in our house, especially during the dark winter days. But a more realistic statement would be that, when work is slow, and she's at home left to her own devices, she will create projects, rearrange furniture, landscape the yard, and paint things. Most of our home improvement projects have happened because she was home and bored and stir-crazy. Such is the case with the Magic Fairy Room.

The Magic Fairy Room used to be our sun porch/back room which has been used as a storage space, a home for kittens, a place to gather materials to be burned in the firepit, and a home for the Unit's large clothes rack (because she likes to see all of her clothes at once, donchaknow). You can see a bit of the back room in this picture taken when we redid the floors last summer; it's through the French doors (please ignore the dog):

The Unit decided that we needed to invest in a twin bed for when Niece #1 spends the night. She's spent the night with us before, and no one (except for her) got much sleep because one adult is on the couch and the other adult shares the queen-sized bed with Niece #1. Niece #1 kicks, snores, drools, and talks in her sleep. So a smaller bed was in order. Plus, when/if other people crash with us because they're in town for a conference or too drunk to drive home from a firepit party, they can also sleep on this bed. So we bought a twin bed and box spring.

Well the bed certainly couldn't live in a room at the back of the house surrounded by recycling materials and random junk. So operation "Magic Fairy Room" started. The Unit was home and decided to paint parts of the back room using leftover paint from other house projects, including paint left here by the previous owners. Niece #1 saw the Magic Fairy Room as it was in progress, and she approved. She also requested that the ceiling be painted purple. (That hasn't happened yet as we don't own any purple paint.)

The Unit used the leftover "Antique Coral" from my home office to paint the entryway into the room (just past the French doors). I said, "It's like walking into a vagina!" (And I meant that as a compliment). She used the leftover robin's egg blue from our bathroom to paint the walls, and continued to use the antique coral to paint the trim around the windows. About this point, she announced that the back room now looked like "a salt-water taffy factory."

The door leading to outside was painted antique coral on one side, and tangerine on the other side. The tangerine paint is leftover from our front door:

She "refurbished" an old (read: "cheap") kitchen hutch leftover from my single-living apartment days by painting the fake wood parts tangerine as well, and then using the other end of the paintbrush to scratch designs into the paint. The headboard to the old bed frame (taken from the Unit's mother's house) was painted a very light sage green (so light, it looks white to me, but I'm also partially colorblind), and the footboard was painted a light, antique yellow (compliments of the Unit's mother's kitchen).

Once the paint was dry, the decorating commenced -- and that's where I came in. You already read about my Goodwill mishap in trying to find bedclothes and fun decorative things. Everything else came out of my home office, which, as visitors can tell you, is painted Pepto Bismal pink (the antique coral is an accent color on a built-in bookshelf), decorated with collectible Barbies, pieces of leopard-print nonsense, and a heavy sprinkling of Bettie Page and leather fetish goods. Out of all of that (and out of the walk-in closet in said office) came all the toys, fabric swatches, beads, and glitter you'll see in the following photos.

Without further ado, I present to you The Magic Fairy Room!

What one sees when viewing through the French doors:

The bed is from Value City furniture, the sheets and blanket from Target. The green satin "grass" is one of the items I got at Goodwill, as is the pink scarf tied to the bed frame.

Eagerly awaiting the arrival of any small person are (from left to right), Gobo Fraggle, Boo (from Monsters, Inc.), Wembley Fraggle, and Boober Fraggle. The yellow "valance" was a dust ruffle in its former life, and was also rescued from the Goodwill Outlet. Orange paper lantern from the dollar section at Target.

The door leading to outside; the other side of it is painted tangerine.

Another view of the backdoor, along with the refurbished kitchen hutch (filled with toys and Barbies and other pieces of goodness). Please notice the "fairy dust" (glitter) at child-level along the hutch and the backdoor. They're not smudges of dirt; they're fairy farts.

This piece nearly ended up in my office instead of the Magic Fairy Room (and still might). A picture from the dollar store (that I've had for years and never used) + an old gift bag = "Fabulous!"

Eloise and Weenie and Skipperdee (who you'll see in the next photo) have been sitting on a bookshelf for probably ten years; Weenie and Skipperdee were still in their box! I decided it was time to let them actually get played with. I'm a big fan of Eloise. I own all her books. Kay Thompson was original from St. Louis, y'know! Anyway, this collage (using another dollar store picture frame) was made from Weenie and Skipperdee's packaging.

Eloise, Weenie (a dog), and Skipperdee (a turtle). "The Plaza is the only hotel in New York that will allow you to have a turtle."

Another Eloise cut-out, plus Mardi Gras beads and a ribbon.

And there ya have it! The Magic Fairy Room -- aren't you jealous? Don't you wish you could sleep in there? I know I do. What you also can't see (because they're put away in the hutch and boxes) are all the other toys, crayons, stuffed animals, Barbies, doll furniture and accessories. I might have to go play in there right now.

Goodwill/Bad Idea

2011-05-13T21:46:00.002-05:00

"It's time for another good idea/bad idea..."

"Buy the pound!" their sign exclaimed. Despite the obvious grammar faux pas (I know they were trying to be witty about "Buy by the pound," but still!), I was intrigued. Oh, heck! I was excited! A Goodwill Outlet, my darlings, Ooouuutleeeet.

There used to be a vintage clothing store in a warehouse downtown where one could also purchase clothing by the pound. The place was two or three stories tall, filled with boxes and "dumpsters" sorted into T-shirts, lingerie, pants, jeans, and my favorite section of all: The Bridesmaid and Prom Dress Graveyard. You were handed a large, plastic garbage bag upon entering and set loose. It was wonderful! I had visions of this dancing in my head when I read the fine print on their sign: "a new deal will be discovered every twenty minutes!" and "The Outlet Store is the largest Goodwill Outlet Center in the country, boasting more than 20,000 square feet of retail space."

Good golly, Miss Molly! This was the place to go as the Unit and I were trying to finish decorating the "magic fairy room" (more on that later). Since we had started painting it using leftover paint we already owned, it made since to go bargain shopping for creative decorations, including bedclothes for the new twin bed back there (we don't own any twin-sized stuff).

What a freakin' disappointment. While yes, the space is HUGE, it is not "filled" with goodies waiting for me to buy. The bins, as promised, were hardly "filled" with stuff. They were more reminiscent of the random crap you find at the bottom of the junk drawer after you've cleaned it out. There was little rhyme or reason to said bins or the contents therein. Some shoes, some books, sometimes clothing, sometimes half-eaten toys and puzzles. In short, it was junk. Crap. Crappola.

And before you say, "What do you expect? It's Goodwill!" I will tell that there is a Goodwill store much closer to my house that is full of clothing that is organized and priced and does not smell like my neighbor's socks. I dare say that Goodwill has more items and variety than this brand-spanking-new "outlet."

I sent the Unit a text message saying, "This place is a mess!" to which she responded, "Ew." And it wasn't messy or dirty. It was new and still clean (though I cannot say the same for the clientele). But it was unorganized and had little to offer. The Unit then said "Go to Target." At first I replied with, "Why?" and then "I'm going there next. I just realized that used sheets gross me out." She had apparently come to the same conclusion mere moments earlier.

I ended up spending $2.29 at the outlet for some floofy, princess-y fabrics to be used for dress-up and decorations. I had hoped to maybe get some cheap summer sandals, too, but no such luck. Target, however, yielded some Pepto Bismal pink flipflops for $2.50, three large paper lanterns for $2.50 each, and a set of polka-dotted twin size sheets on sale. Oh Target! Why did I ever doubt you?

So the moral of the story, darlings, is to save your time and pennies if you live in my 'hood by skipping the new Goodwill Outlet. Go instead to the Goodwill on Bayless, Value Village off of Watson, and never ever doubt the power of Target.

June Is Bustin' Out All Over!

2011-05-12T10:18:00.000-05:00

Except, of course, that it's May.

The Unit planted some rose bushes for me in our front yard, and they're blooming! I'm very excited. Why? Because I don't plant things. I don't garden, I don't touch dirt, and I most certainly don't have a green thumb.

My mother loves plants -- rather, she Lenny loves* them. As such, we continually had dying plants when I was growing up. Said dying plants would spend a day or two with my mom's friend Honey, who owned a flower shop, and come back healthy and lush. Within a week or less, my mother would have managed to kill them again.
So I don't garden or mess with plants.

But my Unit has planted blueberry bushes, raspberry bushes, two grape vines, an apple tree, a plum tree, tomato plants, cilantro, and echinacea. And, of course, the two rose bushes out front for me. You don't understand why this makes me grin like an idiot and giggle. Because they're for me.

She actually bought two different types of roses, in honor of me: Broadway and Charisma. Those are seriously the names of these two strains/hybrids of roses. (Look it up; I dare you.) And she picked them specifically because they reminded her of me. So, naturally, I love them. And her (my Unit).

Roses are my favorite flower, and if you're going to bring me flowers (for a show, an opening night, or just because I'm awesome), roses are the way to go. And the Unit's philosophy is that because we now have our own rose bushes, she never needs to buy me flowers again.

In actuality, she has only once purchased flowers for me. It was for opening night of Bluish, and we had only been dating for a couple of months. She thought, "This is what people do, right? They give flowers to actors on opening night?" She bought a dozen, long-stemmed, red roses and personally delivered them to the theatre box office. The white box they came in was as long as I am tall. It was wonderful. And it hasn't happened since. Bluish was the first show she saw me in; there have been about a dozen then, but no flowers. Pooh!

Oh, well -- on to the roses!

"Broadway" just started blooming two days ago:

A lovely closeup of that bud:

And today, it's blooming even further/more (Note to self to look up flower/blooming terminology)

I read somewhere that as the plant gets more exposure to the sun, that orange-red color will increase.

However, poor "Charisma" seems to be, well, slightly less than "charismatic."

No buds or blooms yet.

So there ya have it. Watch this space for further plant developments.

*Lenny Love: In honor of Lenny from John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, to "Lenny love" something is to love it (or pet it) to death. To be too hard and forceful in one's attentions, to the point of damage, injury, or death.

Ch-Ch-Changes!

2011-05-11T13:14:00.000-05:00

I have redesigned the blog once again. The leopard-print repeating background was getting a little hard on the eyes. Plus, one of my office-mates said, "Love the early 90s repeating background!" which made me realize how dated it was (instead of "cool" or "quirky").

I've also relabeled my blog's "description" since I rarely talk about knitting anymore (but it's still there, lurking in the background as yarn stashes are wont to do). I talk about teaching and students and, of course, my thesis. Soon it will be "all thesis, all the time." All of this is in addition to my regular philosophizing and dramatic recreations of the nonsense that occurs in my household on a daily basis.

Oops! I should probably add "acting" to that list since that also makes its way in here as well (I'm currently in rehearsals for Stray Dog Theatre's production of The Visit, FYI -- I'm playing "The Teacher" in a delightful display of art imitating life).

I have also updated the list of fun links ("Catnip!") to include things like Shit My Students Write, Tom and Lorenzo (formerly "Project RunGAY"), and the ever funny The Oatmeal for all of your grammar and velociraptor needs.

My students always get a virtual folder full of "Fun Stuff," which includes links to things like the Fry & Laurie "Balls!" video, The Oatmeal's instructions on how to use a semi-colon, Wade Robson's "Zombie Prom," et cetera. As soon as I figure out how, I hope to do that here as I find all of these amusing and educational, and therefore, so should you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fourteen-page paper to write on feminine blood in Sir Thomas Malory's Morte D'Arthur because, yes, I'm that crazy feminist scholar.

-Miss Kitty

Funny Because It's True

2011-05-10T16:06:00.000-05:00

These two websites can also be filed under "Why Didn't I Think of This?"

Shit My Students Write -- as I just said on Facebook to the colleague who posted the link, it's like a trainwreck; I can't stop watching (reading). I particularly like the "Random" feature as it will give me a new "love morsel" to read and giggle over and then revile. I suppose one could view this website as job security.

Perhaps some of the students featured should have taken a look at "How to Write an 'A' Paper With Minimal Effort". The sad fact is I do use (though not consciously) many of these steps in my own papers. And yes, they are "A" papers.

So Much for Butch/Femme Designations

2011-05-10T09:20:00.001-05:00

And now, a dramatic recreation of Sunday night's scene...

Me (in home office): *scream*
Unit (in kitchen): What?
Me (panicked, staccato rhythm): Big bug. BIIIG giant bug. Come get it. Come get it now. Please come NOW. RIGHT NOW.
Unit (calmly, philosophically even, still in kitchen): Why do I have to come get it? I don't like bugs either. I don't do that.
Me (rising hysteria): Oh God! Now the cats are trying to eat -- *swoosh, squish*
END SCENE.

EPILOGUE:
I grabbed a paper towel I had been using as a napkin, dropped it onto the GIANORMOUS beetle-type bug thing (as big around as a quarter), then stepped it on. I was thankfully wearing shoes at the time. Then I stood in front of it and shuddered, trying not to vomit. Both cats continued looking for the beetle, causing me to believe there were more of them swarming my office. (There was not.) I eventually peeked under a corner of the paper towel to make sure the bug was dead since I hadn't squished/stomped all that hard in an effort to keep the "splatter zone" to a bare minimum. After confirming his death, I gingerly removed said paper towel to the kitchen trash can, passing the Unit on my way. I offered to show her my conquest; she declined.

I'm Not an Atheist; I Just Hate Religion.

2011-05-03T16:29:00.003-05:00

I realized after reading the last few posts back to back, people might come to the conclusion that I am an atheist of some kind; indeed, those previous blog posts have been a big hit with my atheist friends. And some of my Christian friends even found "Angry, Grammatically Incorrect Christians" amusing.

That's right. Some of my best friends are *taking a ragged breath* Christian. And the reason I'm friends with them is because they are, in my mind, the exception to the rule. They're good people, good human beings; not narrow-minded, judgmental fucktards -- which, believe you me, can spring up, in, and out of any religion. It's just the religious ones (fucktards, that is) that get all the press.

I am not an atheist. I have a very hard time believing that this is it; that WE are it. However, nearly all so-called "organized" religions leave a bad taste in my mouth. I believe in something, I guess -- Fate, the Universe, The Flying Spaghetti Monster -- something. And that is the same part of my brain that believes in reincarnation, past lives, life on other planets, and the Loch Ness Monster. If we, human beings, are all there is -- well, it's an awful waste of space*. I've also had too many bizarre encounters, moments of deja vu and clairvoyance to say that once we're dead, we're worm food, no more and no less.

A friend of mine, though, once gave an excellent reason for atheism and not believing in any life after death: because if THIS is all there is, a person has that much more incentive to make this life count (and to not be a fucktard). While there's a hint of Marxism in that statement (i.e. "religion is the opiate of the people" meaning if people are promised a better hereafter, they will do nothing to improve their lives right now), I tend to think this friend was thinking more in terms of humanism -- do good things, be a good human being, because it's the right thing to do, not for some otherworldly reward. I do like that idea, but here's the real reason I believe in these things: because when I was ten I realized the Fraggles aren't real, and I've been looking for magic in my life ever since.

After watching A Muppet Family Christmas on television, I decided to make an expedition to our dark and leaky basement to look for possible Fraggle Holes. I didn't find any, not even behind the washing machine. And in the back of my mind, I knew I wouldn't find any, but that didn't stop me from looking. It was the beginning of a disillusion that started at least one year earlier when we went to Disneyland and I did not see one. single. Mickey Mouse character. At all. I think we saw a couple of Snow White's dwarves, and that's all. I felt so gypped.

Religion irritates me for many reasons, but it has never given me the feeling of hope and belief and inspiration that an episode of The Muppet Show or a great piece of literature has. Religion has never given me the eerie feeling of clarity that I've gotten after having a dream during the night, and then seeing parts of it actually happen during that day. Religion doesn't make me feel gypped like the Disneyland trip did; it makes me feel dead inside because (at best) I have no reaction to it (at worst, I foam at the mouth and hiss like a cat). Then I have to go watch A Muppet Family Christmas or The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring to realize that my soul does exist, and it is capable of great feeling.

So there ya have it. I still look for magic (though not in the form of Fraggle Holes) now and then, and, in the mean time, I'm trying to create my own. And making fun of religion along the way because, let's face it, it is an easy target.

*Quote shamelessly paraphrased and possibly plagiarized from 1997's Contact starring Jodi Foster.

The Miracle of Cannibalism

2011-04-24T16:47:00.001-05:00

(Repost of an "oldie but goodie" of mine from the Journalspace days)

No Fish Fry
But Great Meal
Served on Sunday!

That statement is on the marquee of one of the four churches that are within walking distance from my apartment. The sheer proximity of Christianity on all sides of me sometimes makes my skin itch. This particular marquee, however, nearly reduces me to a quivering, shivering mess with its implications.

The “meal” that it’s referring to, of course, is the wine and Eucharist served during a Christian church service (I refrain from saying “Mass” since, contrary to commonly accepted belief, that is strictly a Catholic term., and I can’t recall if this church is Catholic, or some variety of Christian. Only Catholics have “mass”; everyone else has church services – little known and downright useless fact). Now here’s where things get tricky: some people who make fun of Christianity (and Catholicism in particular) will say that it involves cannibalism.

“’Eat of my body, drink of my blood’ – how obvious can you get?? Jesus is saying to eat his body and drink his blood. They’re practically vampires!!!”

And most well-intentioned Christians will respond that the sentiments at the Last Supper are not to be taken literally. “It’s just a symbol. It’s only wine and crackers, for goodness sake!” And some churches don’t even use wine, but wimp out with grape juice of the unfermented kind.

Enter the Catholic Church (those fuckers!) and the “miracle of transubstantiation.”

tran·sub·stan·ti·a·tion ) n.
Conversion of one substance into another.
In many Christian churches, the doctrine holding that the bread and wine of the Eucharist are transformed into the body and blood of Jesus, although their appearances remain the same.

I don’t care who you talk to or what people try to defend; this belief is taught in parochial schools nearly as soon as a child’s “First Communion.” Of course, those kids only really understand the concept and what it implies several years later in high school, and freak out, and start to challenge religion teachers at every opportunity. Or maybe that was just me. At any rate, I don’t make this shit up:

“That the consequence of Transubstantiation, as a conversion of the total substance, is the transition of the entire substance of the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, is the express doctrine of the Church (Council of Trent, Sess. XIII, can. ii).”

That is taken from the “Catholic Encyclopedia.” Read it if you like, but I’ll be continuing on.

So the juice and crackers are really Jesus Christ’s body and blood (beneath the outward appearance of juice and crackers, of course). Okay, fine, great. If you’ve never had communion, it’s a fairly small, thin wafer, smaller than a Ritz TM cracker. But to insist that what you’re serving at church is not just a “bite,” but an entire meal?!?!? Not only is that Hannibal Lector gross, it’s false advertising! A sip of juice (or even wine) and a tasteless cracker do not a meal make. I want my money back! Pass the collection basket back over here, bitch – I want my two dollars!

If it were to be an entire meal, I’d need at least a leg o’ Jesus. Even Colonel Sanders offers a drumstick. That being said, there’s simply not enough Jesus to go around! Have you seen any of the pictures? He was a skinny, skinny, almost sickly man. He and Gandhi together would barely make an appetizer!

Lastly, if it is his body that we’re eating, then human beings (contrary to popular belief) do not taste like chicken! Jesus Christ tastes like Styrofoam. Trust me on this; I have at least ten years of wine-tasting and cracker-eating experience (and a good two years of Styrofoam-eating experience) to back me up.

And this entire rant is one of the many reasons why I’m not allowed in churches anymore. They don’t like me there, but that’s okay. I’m not mad. Their taste in wine sucks anyway.

Angry, Armed Citizens

2011-04-23T09:42:00.001-05:00

and who cares if they're grammatically correct or not when they're pointing guns and knives at people?

*le sigh* I should know better than to read the local news* about escaped convicts, and teenagers fatally beating random strangers because of a supposed game. Yes, sometimes it makes me scared to live here; I often regard the people running or walking up and down my street with immediate suspicion. More than that, though, it makes me sad.

I find myself lamenting like someone's elderly grandparent, "What is the world coming to?" What is this city coming to? How do people hold human life so invaluable that they can stab someone over twenty times or use a three-year-old boy as a human shield? How are young people (eighteen and under) so jaded or even unrealistic that they think it's "fun" to beat someone? Have they no sense of self-preservation, i.e. what will happen when (not "if") they are caught -- not to mention, of course, a sense of guilt or disgust at the atrocities they have committed on other people??

I often think St. Louis is a horrible place to live; these two news stories are representative of the whole, not exceptions to the rule. After having lived here for fifteen years, my sense of the world is becoming warped; I'm beginning to think that people act this way everywhere. But then I take a moment and find the silver lining of living in the country's #1 Most Dangerous City: there are at least 49 other cities on that list with statistics lower than St. Louis, and many others "not dangerous enough" to make the list. That means that while what I'm seeing IS the worst of the worst, it's better in other places -- much better in, fact. Now if I could only move to one of those places.

*And don't even get me started on the general douchebaggery and asshattery that happens in the online "Comments" sections of these and many other articles.

Angry, Grammatically Incorrect Christians

2011-04-20T12:27:00.002-05:00

This post was inspired by this news article, in which various Christian organizations are asking/demanding/protesting that an atheist billboard be taken down. Oh, the irony. Despite the obvious argument about freedom of speech, freedom of religion (or lack of religion), et cetera, et cetera, this news article reminded me of my daily commute to the university's campus.

On the way to school, I pass two (2) billboards that scream their Christian values at me. One says "Jesus, I trust in you" in "glowing" letters, complete with a "glowing" picture of Jesus. This billboard confuses me. Who is speaking, saying they trust in Jesus? If it is a random believer, why is there a picture of Jesus next to their speech, rather than a picture of who is doing the speaking? Is Jesus doing the speaking? His picture is directly to the left of the text, as if the text is his speech bubble, in which case he is managing to speak about himself in first, second, AND third person -- no small grammatical feat!

If it is a believer speaking, why is s/he using a billboard to communicate to Jesus? I thought billboards were to communicate with one's potential audience/consumers -- in this case, me and other drivers along I-70. Does Jesus read billboards like daily news headlines to see who trusts in him and who does not? Perhaps a more effective marketing strategy would be to address the statements to those reading the billboard in order to get them to share your beliefs. (One thing I'll say for the Mormons, their new "...and I'm a Mormom" marketing strategy is interesting and catchy.) Speaking of addressing one's audience, the next billboard does just that. Sort of.

The second billboard says "LOVE GOD REPENT" -- just like that, in all caps, white text on a dark gray background, no punctuation. I think it's the lack of punctuation in this billboard that bothers me more than anything else. "Love" is both a noun and a verb; the lack of punctuation gives the reader no indication of which usage of "love" we should be making here. If "love" is to be a verb, and it's immediately followed by "God," I guess we should be loving God. But if we're loving God, why are we repenting (the very next verb)? Is it bad to love God, so we need to repent that we've fallen into the Christian trap? And if it's bad to love God, to whom are we repenting anyway? (My guess is Cthulhu or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, but I could be wrong.) Moreover, what if "love" is neither noun nor verb in this instance, but a closing of a letter:

Love,
God.
P.S. Repent

This is what happens when you give an English major a 20-minute commute to school. All signs read along the way become subject to textual analysis.

Silly Christians! The Gracie Allen quote may say, "Never place a period where God has placed a comma," but I think I would have been happy for either -- SOME sense of punctuation in order to give a bit more insight into your beliefs! Religion is a confusing, often contradictory place. We heathens need grammatically correct signage in order to better understand what it is you're trying to say, Christians. Help me help you. I can't be converted by people and religions who (which) don't have a fine grasp of the English language.

Note: I would not limit my textual analysis to only Christian signage, but these are the only signs I encounter on my commute. There are no billboards proclaiming the benefits of Judaism or Hinduism or Islam or even the Church of the FSM. Why do you think that is?

April Fool's FINALLY

2011-04-01T16:52:00.001-05:00

This morning, I received the following text message from my mother (yes, my mother knows how to send text messages; if you are not frightened, you should be):

"Kitty -- don't even think about calling me today to say you're pregnant. I'm not falling for that this year! Happy April Fools Day."

I really did LOL. Since about the time I was eighteen years old, I would call my mother and announce that I was pregnant, and she fell for it nearly every year. Sometimes I would mix it up a little bit by saying things like:

"I have good news and bad news. The bad news is I'm pregnant. The good news is I'm fairly certain who the father is."

Now, fifteen years later -- in which time I've had a miscarriage and have been an "out" lesbian for about four or five years -- my mother has finally figured it out. :-) Kudos to you, Mom!

Now if she had called to tell me that SHE was pregnant (she's sixty and had a hysterectomy about ten years ago), now THAT would have been funny.

Jane Eyre: A Review (Updated!)

2011-03-31T23:34:00.005-05:00

So I saw Jane Eyre tonight (starring Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender, directed by Cary Fukunaga) and first things first: this post contains SPOILERS! Of course, if you've read the novel at all, these aren't "spoilers" in terms of plot, but rather what Fukunaga and adaptation writer Moira Buffini have done with it.

I was eager to see this interpretation of Charlotte Bronte's classic because 1) I realized I had never watched a visual version of Jane Eyre (movie or mini-series -- nothing), and 2) Jane Eyre is the first Victorian novel I discovered and loved. People may call me an Austenite, but Jane Eyre was my first.

I came out of the theater dry-eyed and disappointed. While some people near me (in the nearly empty theater) were sniffling during some of the emotional scenes, crying along with the characters, I did not. Of course, that may have more to do with me than anything with the movie. But I was disappointed, and I will tell you why. But first, the good stuff!

Fukunaga, Buffini, and cinematographer Adriano Goldman have, through many wobbly, transient shots of Jane (and Rochester, too, but mostly Jane) and her surroundings, captured the dark, Gothic, and uncertain nature of the English moors -- a necessary element in any Bronte novel and any adaptation thereof. It is dark. It is cold. It is windy. It is fleeting, indistinct, and precarious, by turns "dark scary forest" and beautiful Spring garden in bloom. Well done, lady and gentlemen.

The story is also told in a series of flashbacks that work surprisingly well. The novel, of course, is told in linear fashion, in first person, with a lot of Jane addressing the reader directly. The most obvious film device for this would be voiceover narration, but that is not used. Instead, we see glimpses of Jane's childhood, et cetera, through flashback. I would contend that the flashbacks and then the "present tense" of being with the Rivers family goes on a little too long; I'm sure other readers of the novel were silently asking, like me, "When do we get to Rochester??"

Thirdly: Mia Wasikowska and the fact that she looks like she's fourteen. I was intrigued by the previews of this film because everyone looked so young. However, after watching, I think screenwriter (and whomever the casting director was) stayed true to Bronte since Jane is only supposed be nineteen or twenty. This is how things were "back then." People were thrust into the world to make their way at a much younger age. And somehow Michael Fassbender still looked older and more "worn" than she did. It worked.

Now for the not-so-good stuff. Several key elements -- in terms of character development -- were left out of the film, things that I think are integral to our understanding of Jane and how she views the world. Those things are:

Miss Temple, the instructor at Lowood
Rochester's revelation that Adele is, quite possibly, his daughter
Jane's refusal of Rochester's wedding dress and jewels
Bertha attacking Jane
Rochester's "joke" as the gypsy fortune teller woman (okay, maybe that one is less integral).

The first one is the one that bothers me the most, and here's why. Lowood wasn't entirely devoid of affection and care for Jane. And while Helen Burns (who is featured) greatly affects Jane's spirituality and sense of forgiveness, it is Miss Temple who gives her her education. It is Miss Temple who encourages Jane to become a teacher in return (thereby making her fit to be a governess in the first place). It is Jane's education (and I've stated in a previous, however poorly written, paper) that keeps her from a fate of religious fanaticism (like Maggie Tullier in George Eliot's Mill on the Floss) or false religious estheticism (like Dorethea Brooke in Eliot's Middlemarch). Jane has a fine intellect and a desire to DO something with her life, and the only option for her, as a woman, is as a teacher and governess. It is her education which inspires her to be useful "like a man" and to have an occupation. It is her education which solidifies her sense of independence and sense of self; without those latter two things, she never would have been able to leave Rochester after the discovery of Bertha Mason. Leaving out Miss Temple seems to be a grave travesty to Jane's character and development as a person. In fact, the film does not explicitly say that Jane was even a teacher at Lowood School. Those of us who have read the novel can make that assumption based on what is shown, but the uninitiated may never make that connection.

Concerning Adele: I may have missed it, but I don't believe Rochester ever makes the statement to Jane that Adele's mother told Rochester that he had fathered Adele (before dying and passing Adele off to Rochester). (In his defense, even Rochester can't be sure of what Mama Adele says; she had many men.) Again, those of us who have read the book know this assumption, and Rochester's brief quip of "Yes, and that's how she charmed my English gold out of my English pocket" to Adele is all we need. But unless Fukunaga and Buffini are assuming everyone and their dog has read Jane Eyre, I think it is something important to know because 1) it says a LOT about Rochester, his past, and his character (and flaws therein), and 2) it says a great deal about Jane's love for and faith in him when realizing everything that she's accepting when she accepts him, first as a friend, then later as what -- a lover? A husband? Again, the film does not give us the definitive ending of marriage and child; it must be assumed by the embrace and the fact that we know Jane would not stay with him when she knew he was married.

No Bling for Jane: I could not quite understand what Mia-as-Jane said when looking over the wedding dress and veil that arrives in a box for her, but as I recall in the novel it's a fairly big deal (and every feminist critic and her dog has written about it) that Rochester tries to gussy her up with rich things. And that she refuses them. She eventually consents to wear a veil of better-than-average material, but she refuses the family jewels (make your own jokes) and rich dresses he throws at her. This Jane does wear the dress and veil and bonnet, and looks gorgeous and virginal doing so. But it is a testament to both Jane's character and Rochester's that she refuse him. She is trying to retain her independent self amidst his loving bullying, and his "bullying" is evidence that he is not worthy of her yet; he is not ready to marry her, Bertha or no Bertha.

And speaking of Bertha...Their Bertha did not look all that scary. Did she look bat-shit crazy? Absolutely, but more in a Helena-Bonham-Carter-as-Bellatrix-Lestrange kind of way, than anything swarthy and swollen and red-eyed that Bronte describes in the novel. Bertha also does not appear in Jane's room late at night (maybe it was just a bad dream?) and rip the aforementioned veil the night before the wedding. The director does such a good job of starting to set up Bertha's introduction; some actual suspenseful, truly Gothic moments happen, enough to make even Catherine Morland (of Northanger Abbey fame) happy. So why did he leave out this one?? I can pinpoint exactly what I was doing when I first read this scene because it scared the shit out of me. Curse you, Fukunaga and Buffini, for leaving it out! It especially would have been nice to see what the actress portraying Bertha would have done with more screen time.

Rochester the cross-dresser: So maybe not so integral to character development, but for all his brooding (and Fassbender-as-Rochester does brood A LOT), it would have been interesting to see how they would have approached this bit of whimsy. The gypsy bit also explains why it is not hard to get rid of Blanche Ingram, but the Ingram issue is never really discussed here.

While I realize that there is not room for EVERYthing in a screenplay, this film is well under two hours long. I think there was plenty of room for some of these important elements, and maybe fewer wobbly shots of Jane running through the forest and across the moors. They did retain one of my favorite lines (the bit about a "string" under Rochester's "left ribs" connecting him to Jane). I tried to remember what my favorite Jane lines were, but I came up empty-handed. Much of Jane's dialogue in the novel is directed at the reader; in actual action she says a lot of "Yes, sir" and the like. Although Rochester does get a bit of comeuppance when she has a speech about being "plain and little" (I won't give it ALL away here).

Update Insert Here: I forgot to give a shout-out to Dame Judi Dench as Mrs. Fairfax! She, as usual, has some fantastic facial expressions which say all that needs to be said without uttering a line of dialogue. And some of her lines are very brief ("How very French") but her timing, as usual, is dead on. I heart her.

So there you have it: why I was disappointed with this production of Jane Eyre. Lastly, here's Fry and Laurie to tell your their reasons:

Why Line Breaks Are Important: A Poem

2011-03-30T17:51:00.000-05:00

Haikus, dialogue,
We need scene changes sometimes,
Grocery lists to do.

The Perils of Subjective Grading

2011-03-28T12:00:00.005-05:00

In an excerpt from his/her upcoming book In the Basement of the Ivory Tower (which is an AWESOME title!), Professor X talks about the desire to inflate students' grades. The excerpt (from which I will be quoting liberally) can be found over here at the Salon.

Both Professor X and I are English teachers, and as everyone knows, English -- whether it's composition, rhetoric, or literature -- is a very subjective study. 2+2 may always equal 4 in the Math Department, but in the English Department, it will only equal 4 if you have supporting textual evidence which you have explained thoroughly, including proper in-text citations, and did you mention 2+2 in your thesis statement?

In fact, the struggle to "legitimize" English as a curriculum can be dated back to the Modernist and New Critical movements beginning in the 1930s, but that probably deserves a blog post of its own. But what Professor X says is somewhat relevant to struggles college teachers face today: that evil thing called "grading."

Grading is hard. Grading is not for the faint of heart. No matter how many rubrics one devises, grading someone else's writing will always feel subjective rather than objective because, as Professor X says, "In every assignment submitted the instructor sees all that surrounds the writer: the past, the future, possibility, disappointment, local narratives, desperate circumstances, sinking hopes, even the ghostly rattling chains of previously failed English courses."

I teach my students that no one writes in a vacuum; we are constantly influenced by our circumstances, our past experiences, our expectations and fears and things that go bump in the night. And if all of those things influence their writing, they also influence me and my grading -- or do they? The logic seems sound, but at the same time, we, as teachers, are taught/told/instructed that our grading should not be influenced by outside factors. We are grading the essay in front of us, not the circumstances surrounding that work. So if one student overcame heartbreak and a stalled car and their parents' ongoing divorce to produce their essay, and another student had ample time and no distractions to write her essay, those essays should be judged the same way using the same criteria. Or so we're told.

Professor X seems to feel that the former student maybe deserves, sometimes, a little "oomph" is his or her grade because of the tremendous effort put forth to overcome obstacles in order to produce the essay at all. Rather, Professor X finds it hard, sometimes, to give that B- instead of a B or B+, knowing all of the outside circumstances. Shouldn't students who struggle be rewarded? Professor X "suffer[s] Dickensian visions of starving children, missed mortgage payments, dunning creditors" when s/he fails a student, as all of those things are possibly riding on that student's education.

I have to say, I don't feel the same way as Professor X. I joke with my colleagues that I'm dead inside, which is why I have no problem failing students. And maybe there's some truth to that statement. Professor X says "Many of the female adjuncts I have spoken to seem blessed and cursed by feelings of maternity toward the students." I am not one of those female adjuncts. The "winds of compassion," as Professor X calls them, are not issuing forth from my uterus. In fact, I found that whole paragraph stereotypical and almost offensive, as a woman who isn't afraid to "[murmur] 'fuck it,' half-angry and half-miserable, possessed by the fatalism of someone throwing the first punch in a bar fight, mark an F in the grade book." (A colleague of mine who read this same article called Professor X's statement here a "uterus=compassion logic.")

I do sometimes feel bad when failing students, but I also know that college is hard. There. I said it. College. Is. Hard. Going to college while working full-time or being a parent or having outside responsibilities is harder, exponentially, for each "other activity or occupation" one adds to the mix. And not everyone is capable of doing these things. And that is not my fault. Struggling students who have illnesses, or family issues, or work struggles (or often, "D: All of the above") inevitably get my "Maybe this isn't the best time for college" speech. If real life is taking its toll on you, perhaps you should pay attention to it, and return to academia (or at least my class) when things "settle down." And I tell them this as a former college drop-out. I know, first-hand, that it's all in the timing, and admitting that fact is a sign of strength, not weakness.

I also know, as Professor X says, that "teachers don't fail students; students fail themselves." It's true. If you don't show up to class, if you don't hand in assignments, if you don't follow directions, you won't pass. And that has little to do with me. In those cases, the grading is objective and mathematical: 0+0+0+0=0 which equals F. But students who do show up, students who do turn in assignments -- not matter how shoddy -- will be graded and advised and helped as much as they want or choose to respond to said help. (I tell my students on the first day of class "If you don't read my comments on papers, your grade in this class will never change. And eventually I'll stop commenting because I know you're not reading.")

And the way my particular institution of higher learning teaches us to teach our writing courses provides a system for rewarding students who "do the work," no matter how imperfect their actual writing is. It's called a "portfolio." Did the student complete each draft of the essay? Have they gone "through the process," so to speak? Then they receive a favorable portfolio grade, and portfolio grades are usually "completion" grades, i.e. you get a point if you do it; there is no evaluation of the content. When the portfolio is worth as much as the essay itself, it is a way for students to be rewarded for "being there," for "doing the work," for showing up and participating despite whatever hardships real life has thrown their way.

Granted, not everyone utilizes portfolios the same way, and while we're not told explicitly to do them (and I originally thought it was a crock of shit when I started), they are strongly encouraged. And even I saw the light after my first semester. (We are, however, told explicitly that the students must complete drafts of formal essays; so the institution lends itself to the "portfolio method").

Do I struggle sometimes with grading? Of course I do, no matter how dead I am inside. I struggle at that particular moment in time with a particular essay because I want to get it "right" because I don't want to have to think about it after I have written the grade down; I don't want to spend sleepless nights wondering if Johnny deserved a C+ or a B- because I have other, somewhat more important, things to think about. If my failing grade means Johnny loses his scholarship which in turn causes him to drop out of college and work at a gas station instead of going to medical school, well -- my instinct is to say there are other forces at play. One failing grade (or failing course) does not a college drop-out make. It may be the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak, but it is not the only contributing factor. And while it sucks to be that straw, I take comfort in knowing I am just one of many straws.

Professor X is right, though, that "Cars break down, don’t they? Computers crash. Infants get sick." Yes, life happens. And my policy of "I'm sorry, but that's not an excuse" or "What would you like me to do about that?" stands across the board for all of those things. And if a student has been attending class, turning in assignments, one missed day or one assignment lost in the depths of the computer's hard drive will not cause them to fail. The fourth missed assignment, the tenth "car wouldn't start," the fifth grandparent to suddenly die, will. And while we teachers are tempted to act sympathetically for each unfortunate circumstance, it starts a dangerous pattern or slippery slope (choose whichever metaphor you prefer) for the rest of the semester and the rest of students because never fail to realize: they will try to take advantage of your good will. It is not malicious or evil; it is simply human nature. And I know this because even as a graduate student I do the same thing, seemingly unconsciously. If we receive leeway in one circumstance, why should we not continue to push against that weak spot when it suits our goals?

So instead I say (and my syllabus says) "technology malfunctions are not an excuse for late work," and "you are allowed four absences for the entire semester; your final grade will be lowered by 1/3 for each subsequent absence." Of course I reserve the right to make exceptions where I see fit, but in the few circumstances when I have done so, it has backfired. Said student continued to miss class or make excuses, continued to disappoint, did not meet deadlines or expectations. Teaching is a fairly sad and depressing study of human nature, when all is said and done -- and there is perhaps a larger lesson to be explored about how we raise our children and the expectations or excuses we give them when they are forming their study habits (and life habits) in their early years -- but that, too, is a discussion for another time.

Professor X's excerpt is entitled "Should I Feel Guilty for Failing My Students?" and my answer is "No, you should not." Of course "should" is not the same as what will happen, and while Professor X may feel guilty anyway, I do not. Do I occasionally feel bad for the student who fails? Sometimes. But feeling bad for them is not the same as me feeling guilty, as the latter implies that I may be at fault, where the former is simply a testament that I am not as dead inside as I claim to be, that I can still have emotions for and about people who struggle to lie in their own proverbial beds once they've made them.

P.S. Below is my original comment (read: "rant") on the Salon article which a colleague posted, which, in turn, inspired this lengthy post.

Wow. [...]I must say that I found his/her paragraph on women in academia (and the "winds of compassion") rather stereotypical and/or almost offensive. Or maybe that's because I'm one of those few women who does say "Fuck it!" when assigning grades. In fact, I didn't agree with much of what was posted here as I like to think that I'm adhering to academic standards and that most of my students fail simply by not doing work or not showing up. And we do have a mechanism for students who improve or actually "do" the work -- the portfolio method. Whether or not the essay itself is crap, if the student has done the process work, their grade will reflect that (in a positive way). I can't say I've felt the urge to inflate grades more than once or twice because my syllabus and assignments provide the criteria for improvement in multiple ways. do I struggle with grading? Absolutely; I want to make sure I get the grade "right" the first time because I don't want to think about it when I'm done. I also like to think of what Taylor Mali said in his piece "What Teachers Make": "I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor, and I can make an A- feel like a slap in the face." Many of our students are not expecting "A" grades, nor are all of them capable of "A" work. For many, that C+ or B IS a great achievement.

Angel of Death '09-'11

2011-03-24T16:15:00.000-05:00

If you've worked in any customer service job, you know that workers usually have a method of identifying "special" customers. Sometimes it's a note in their file that says, "Real pain in the ass!" Or maybe it's like the woman who sued Walgreen's pharmacy because her "special note" (which said she was crazy) ended up printed on her bottle of prescription pills. When I used to work in a Network Control Center, we would sometimes put notes that like about customers -- as warnings to other employees to tread softly. And even as a bartender, my colleagues and I would occasionally say "Not it!" when certain people walked through the door. With that in mind, I wonder what my file at the vet says about me.

Consider the following list:

02/09: RIP Milo
01/10: RIP Oliver
03/10: RIP Evie
07/10: RIP Sasha
03/11: RIP Munsell

That's right. I have killed five animals in the past two years. Well, perhaps "killed" is too strong of a word. But everyone on that list made a trip to the vet from which there is no return. Some, like Evie, were due to old age (she was 21). Oliver had an inoperable tumor on his lung nearly 1/3 of his body size. But I still have to wonder -- when the women at the reception desk recognize me upon entering (and they do), do they think (or say under their breath), "I wonder who's going to die today?"

Of course, those five animal deaths happened at two different veterinary clinics. And while you think that might make me feel better, it does not. I feel like some kind of criminal or addict. I feel like a person who is addicted to prescription painkillers, but they have to go to different doctors and pharmacies so no one catches on to their addiction. Unfortunately, my addiction is euthanizing my animals.

Wow, this post is coming across a lot more depressing than it sounded in my head! Oy. I suppose I'll sign off then.

-AoD

A History Lesson

2011-02-12T10:04:00.005-06:00

From the people who brought you "Smutty Kitchen Talk" and "Suggestive Non-Sequitor Day*," we present "The True History of the Egyptian Pyramids."

The Unit and I were lying in bed one evening when she started "angry humping" my leg. "Angry humping" devolved out of a completely different conversation, but involves fast ("angry") pelvic thrusts against an object one would not normally "hump," such as my leg or a chair, unless one were a dog. She then put a very cold hand under my shirt on my bare skin, at which point I complained: "I don't recall ordering any angry humping, let alone cold angry humping."

Unit: "That's what my receipt says."
Me: "Really."
Unit: "Yes. 'Please deliver one angry humping. P.S. Please add cold.'"
Me: "And who signed this alleged receipt?"
Unit: "Jack-Jack and Poe."
Me: "And may I see this alleged receipt signed by the cats?"
Unit: "Well, you could, but you wouldn't be able to read it. They wrote it in their old language, a combination of pawprints and symbols."
Me: "Like hieroglyphics?"
Unit: "Well, cat-a-glyphics, yes. Because you know that the Egyptian pyramids weren't built by humans."
Me: "Of course not. They were built by aliens. Everyone knows that. Didn't you watch Stargate?"
Unit: "No, they were built by cats. Well, by slave-cats. The royal cats (from whom Jack-Jack is descended) ordered the slave-cats to build the pyramids. Slave-cats were the hairless cats; they were hairless because they were out in the sun in the desert all the time."
Me: "Slave-cats...?"
Unit: "And all the mice were slaves, too. Of course."
Me: "Of course. So there were some royal cats, and some slave-cats, and some slave-mice. And the slave-cats and slave-mice dragged the blocks out in the desert to build the pyramids. Were there any free mice?"
Unit: "No, but that does bring up the subject of the Micesons."
Me: "The Free Micesons?"
Unit: "Exactly. But most cats don't believe in them."
Me: "It's just a cat-spiracy theory."

What you have to know is about the time we got to "the Free Micesons," we were both laughing so hard (in bed) that we were crying. After that we started coming up with definitions for words, along the lines of "cat-spiracy." I can't remember what the definitions were, but I believe we had "catapult," "catalogue," and "catastrophe."

So there you have it. The TRUE history of the Egyptian pyramids. The recent unrest in Egypt has, of course, been very upsetting for Jack-Jack since it's her country of origin, being descended from royal cats as she is. She's very grateful that Mubarak has stepped down. Poe-Poe, being the black cat of the family, does believe in the Free Micesons (did you know you can find evidence of them in the hundred dollar bill??), much to the shame of his mother. It's a very sore subject, so please don't bring it up.

*SN-S Day went something like this: "Dammit, a spice jar just broke! There's cumin all over the counter."
"That's what you get for putting on underwear!"

My Dog Has an Identity Crisis

2011-01-15T19:22:00.004-06:00

The Unit and I made an important discovery last night: we've been calling my dog by the wrong name for the past two years.

His name is (was) Doogie. I did not name him; that's the name he came with from the rescue place. I thought it was cute enough, and I originally called him "Doogie Howser, M.D. -- Major Dog." This, of course, has devolved into Doogers, Doogie-pants, and Mr. Pant-Pants.

Doogie, while he is a good dog at heart, does not listen very well. We went to obedience class and everything. He learned some commands, and sometimes he does them ("sit," "stay," "off"). But one thing he has never done is come when he's called. Last night, my Unit dropped a piece of food on the kitchen floor, and she called the artist formerly known as Doogie to come get it. He was sitting on my lap in the living room at the time. When she called his name, his ears actually went down instead of up. And he did not come (even though there was free food for the taking!).

We started discussing (across the two rooms, of course) how he never answers his name. I said, "His ears didn't even go up when you called him."
She said, "What do you think his name is? What are the most obvious names?"
And we went through Spot, Spike, Ruff, and Fido. No go.

And Kim said, "No, what does he look like?" And she was right. Many novice animal owners (or just uncreative people) name their animals after what they look like; therefore, gray cats are Smokey, black cats are Shadow, and white animals are Snowballs. Doogie -- as you can see from the picture below -- has a "mask" over his eyes, kind of like a raccoon does. I've always said he looked like "a little masked bandit." So I said, "Bandit!"

Kim called: "Here Bandit!"

And he jumped off my lap in the living room and ran to her in the kitchen. We were stunned. "Doo-doo, he never comes to me when I call," she said. And it's true.

So we tried calling him "Bandit" back and forth, and he ran back and forth between us. But it was hard to tell if he was actually "answering," or excitedly running back and forth because we were both paying attention to him. We decided that we'd try again tomorrow and see what happens.

That was last night. We tried again today, and he still seems to answer to "Bandit." Not always, but certainly much more than he ever answered to "Doogie." Although sometimes I throw "Doogie" in there just to see if he's paying attention, to see what he'll do. And like any young, excited dog, he gets confused -- happy, but confused.

So I guess he's "Bandit" now -- or "Bandito" if we're feeling exotic. Now if he answered to that, it would really make sense why he didn't listen to our commands -- they're in English! But his nicknames (Mr. Pant-Pants) are still the same, although we'll have to change his rap ("Doogie From the Street") AND his poem we composed ("Oh Doogie!").

Two at a Time Socks -- One More Time!

2011-01-13T13:05:00.002-06:00

I do all my socks two-at-a-time after reading Melissa Morgan-Oakes' book. However, and I'm sure I've mentioned this before, her books drives me craZy! There is errata for every. single. pattern. Including the sample pattern that teaches you the 2@atime method!! I don't understand how a book can be published when the foundation on which the skill is built is written incorrectly. My friend Aimee answered this question for me, though: "Umm, because the editors of the book are not knitters, and therefore they don't give a fuck if it's Sock A or Sock B?"

She may have a point.

Anyway, besides the foundational errata, many of the charts and patterns also have "typos," including the cable chart for her "Be Mine" socks. I am rather proud of myself, though, that I figured out there was a typo on my own. (You can't purl two together and still end up with the same number of stitches in your round unless you also make a stitch somewhere.) It sounds pretty rudimentary, but when you're dealing with cables and making stitches and kfb and p2tog, it can get a bit hairy.

Anyway, I gave up on the "Be Mine" pattern because I was (foolishly) using a variegated yarn instead of a solid color, so even without the chart typo, my "heart" looked like a bunch of garbled stitches. For some reason, I had thought that my Lorna's Laces Shepard Stripe (which doesn't really stripe) would be fine because it doesn't really stripe. No such luck. But I wasn't willing to completely rip out both socks.

I already had nearly two inches of 2x2 ribbing for the cuff, and don't nearly ALL sock patterns start out in similar fashion? So I flipped through the book looking for a pattern that called for 64 stitches cast on for each sock that would look decent in a variegated yarn. Ta-da! I found her "Twilight" pattern (NOT named for that pimple-on-the-ass-of-the-literary-world book series, thankyouverymuch!!!).

While "Twilight" also has a typo on the chart version of the repeating pattern, there was also a regular text version of what to do for the six-round repeat. And my discerning eye could see that that version matched what was shown in the picture. I do much better with text patterns than charts anyway. And while "Twilight" had a slightly different ribbing at the cuff, I didn't care. It had 64 stitches and I was already 2 inches in!

The pattern in Lorna's Laces "Flamingo Stripe" makes me think of peppermint ice cream, for some reason. Don't ask why; my brain is a scary place. But, hoping against hope, these socks should be done before school begins again on the 18^th.

And then I can start on my Unit's next pair of fingerless gloves because "I need variety, honey! I need more pairs of gloves to choose from!" Plus she set one pair on fire while we were on vacation.

Pink Sock Pair:

Pink Sock Sideview (my hand is wearing it, not my foot):

The cute li'l stripey heel:

An Open Letter to Christina Perri

2011-01-07T11:30:00.000-06:00

Dear Christina,

First of all, congratulations on your single "Jar of Hearts" being played consistently on the radio. I'm sure that must feel nice. In fact, that single is the reason I'm writing to you.

I really, really, really want to like you and your song, Christina. I enjoy your weird, slightly angsty, Fiona Apple-esque, mid-90's, piano chick rock sound. But the lyrics, kiddo, I can't get past them.

Your refrain is a perfect example of my disappointment:

"And who do you think you are
Running 'round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart"

I may have been able to forgive "Running 'round leaving scars." It's kind of interesting, but the second two lines are just so, I don't know, juvenile? I realize that they give you the title of the song and all, c'mon! "Tearing love apart?" I haven't read anything this bad since I looked at my own poetry -- that I wrote in high school.

Moving on....
"You're gonna catch a cold / From the ice inside your soul" -- oh, Christina. Those particular soul metaphors were done already, circa 1966 (please see Grinch, How the... or Dr. Seuss, Chuck Jones, and Boris Karloff, or "garlic" and "soul").

I'm gonna need you to work a little bit harder on your imagery and metaphors, my dear, and then get back to me. I'd love to chat more, but I have to go. Sara Bareilles is calling.

Ta-ta!

-Miss Kitty

A Fly on the Wall -- Updated!

2010-11-19T14:02:00.001-06:00

Or would that be a "bee" on the wall? These were overheard recently during As Bees in Honey Drown rehearsal.

Gary: "Remember that one day in acting class when you worked on movement? Now I need you to hunker down."
Bess: "I failed Hunkering 101."

Gary: "Yes, you will come trummeling over the platform there."
Martin: "What did he say?"
Me: "'Trummeling.' I don't think it's a word."
Martin: "Trummeling?!?"
Gary: "It's in the gay dictionary."

"Daddy's here, darling; he will fix it for you."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, whore, bitch."

"It's called being 'a fag on fire.' Now go be a fag on fire."
Me: "I have a lighter if you need it."

"Behave, or I'll make you do your monologue."

Added (meaning I just remembered): "I was a dancer. Once."

"You're all fired."

"You look like you should be in the company of Grease. It's kind of fantastic."

"Did I just flash my boob? My tanktop's too small."

And those are just the spoken things. Things I can hardly do justice in describing were also:

"Sven" casually putting his hand on "Wyler's" thigh during a group scene, which then morphed into holding hands.
Bess doing her Mary Poppins act with my patent leather handbag prop.
Anna one-upping Bess' Mary Poppins act by fitting her whole arm into said patent leather handbag, making her look like a bizarrely accessorized parapalegic
These antics causing Bess to nearly miss her entrance, but instead enter, well, strangely
Me trying not to laugh
Kevin's voice cracking immediately thereafter
I totally lost it and started laughing
And then took the patent leather handbag purse away from Bess and Anna, saying, "This is why we can't have nice things!"

It's no wonder we spend so much time laughing; we think we're hilarious. ;-)

That's My Alma Mater, Bitches!

2010-10-31T16:56:00.000-05:00

(Yes, everything ends with "bitches" these days.)

My alma mater (or "llama meter" as my hands want to keep typing) is featured on EatLiver.com. Go see for yourself!

Sadly, Webster U. has also torn down one of its few parking lots in preparation to build yet another building. "But where will people park?" I asked a friend of mine who works there.
"In the parking garage," she said despondently.
"But wasn't the parking garage already overflowing?" I asked.
"Yep," she said, still despondently.

Like they say on Fox News here: "You paid for it!"

Unfortunately, the parking situation at my current institution of higher education isn't any better. There never seem to be enough spaces, the cost of the parking permits is ridiculous (will someone please tell me why that is not covered in my cost of tuition?!?!), and of course, people are jackasses (see post below).

A Week of Updates

2010-10-30T11:36:00.000-05:00

Monday: Kim left went out of town for work; I started rehearsals for As Bees in Honey Drown
Tuesday: My voice sounds like Kathleen Turner, and someone hit my car in the school parking garage leaving a HUGE dent in rear driver's side door.
Wednesday: Feeling even worse, voice still low, had to ask for extension on Bleak House paper.
Thursday: Still soundin' husky, plus hot and dizzy. Had to cut my 9:30 a.m. class short. Went home and passed out for six hours; did not attend my Thursday night class.
Friday: Had a good hair day, but found out that it'll cost a thousand dollars to fix the dent in the door!! Finished Book I of Middlemarch. Watched new Ghost Adventures.
Saturday: Slightly better today, but still cough-y and stuffy. Attempting housework amid animals and sickness.

Ugh.

Boswell and Johnson and Tourett's Syndrome

2010-10-27T09:41:00.000-05:00

So the script for my current production, As Bees in Honey Drown by Douglas Carter Beane, is chock FULL of names and places, historical and pop culture references. It is, in short, a dramaturg's wet dream. So in my perpetual procrastination of school work, I've been "researching" (I use the term loosely since most of my info is coming from Wikipedia) many of the people mentioned since so many of them are outside of my (relatively narrow) field of knowledge.

Up for today, Boswell and Johnson:

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) is best known for his book Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language. But more importantly to our discussion is that his biography -- Life of Johnson -- was written by James Boswell (1740-1795). The biography is considered "revolutionary" in its writing style because, among other things, Boswell "included far more personal and human details than contemporary readers were accustomed to" (Wikipedia contributors). Boswell created a "a vivid portrait of the complete man," rather than a "dry" albeit "respectful" account of Johnson's life (Wikipedia contributors).

In terms of As Bees in Honey Drown, Evan Wyler is supposed to be writing the screenplay version of Alexa Vere de Vere's life -- making Marty (Evan) Boswell, and me (Alexa) Johnson. A neat little reference, though not necessarily stunning in its revelation, although Boswell's biography later led to Johnson's posthumous diagnosis of Tourett's Syndrome (a medical conditional that was not within the scope of 18th century medicine). That makes my identification with Johnson very apropos, given my tendency to randomly shout expletives during rehearsals (especially when trying to learn lines).

Up next: My recent (and unhealthy) obsession with Joan Collins as Alexis Carrington on Dynasty.

Book My Rooms Now, Bitches!

2010-10-19T21:14:00.007-05:00

This commercial aired during the Mad Men season finale on Sunday night. It's for the Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas hotel. Watch the whole commercial, then read below the break to see why I love it so much.

Oh my God! Leather and high heels and corsets and KITTEHS!! A brilliant fucking ad showing nearly everything I want at every luxury hotel experience (because I have so many of those). There are also puppies and bunnies and wee chickadees for those who are not feline inclined. But after the tagline -- "Just the right amount of wrong" -- sunk in, the bunnehs and kittehs made sense, and I looked at Kim and said, "That was awesome!"

I want to stay at that hotel.

And I own some of those outfits.

And some of those kittehs.

We're on to You, Kraft Corp.!

2010-10-16T11:39:00.000-05:00

Oh sneaky, sneaky Kraft with their new "Homestyle Mac & Cheese"! I broke down and bought it at the grocery store because I've discovered that I like certain kinds of baked, "gourmet" varieties of mac & cheese which have been finding their way onto all sorts of menus recently.

First off, the commercial (linked below) is a little misleading. You don't necessarily have to bake this macaroni & cheese in the oven. There is simply an "Optional Oven Bake Finish." Secondly, there are more steps involved than just baking. The steps are a glorified version of the regular, blue-box-and-orange-powder Kraft mac & cheese; cook some noodles, then mix some milk and butter together.

But here's where Kraft gets sneaky: you melt two tablespoons of butter, then you add the "Seasoning Packet." The "Seasoning Packet" contains a white, powdered substance. Upon further inspection (read: "licking the tip of my finger, sticking it in the seasoning, then licking the seasoning off"), said "Seasoning" is only basic white flour. If you do any type of cooking at all, this process should already sound familiar. After mixing in said seasoning (flour), you "slowly add" 1/2 cup of milk.

Kraft has just taught its public how to make a roux, a white sauce that is the basis for many cooking sauces. It's the base for the shrimp curry ("yellow rice" as we call it) that my mother taught me. Oh, you sneaky Kraft people! You just taught us something, but you've covered it up with enough "packets" and steps that people won't realize they've just been taught how to cook.

The result of making the Kraft cheese sauce this way is that it is thicker and creamier than the traditional blue-box-and-orange-powder method. (Oh, and you add a lump of disgusting orange sludge ("Cheese Sauce") to the roux, instead of orange powder, which bears a disturbing resemblance to melted Velveeta.)

After combining the roux-based cheese sauce with the cooked noodles, you are, technically, done; unless you want the oven-baked finished. Then you sprinkle the breadcrumbs on top and bake for five or ten minutes just to get that crispy finish.

End Result: While it needed a hefty helping of salt, I did like this new baked Kraft version. It was pretty satisfying. Additionally, I felt pretty fucking clever when I realized that the "seasoning" was actually flour and that I had just been instructed to make a roux. I only wish everyone realized this, since it's a cooking skill that can go a long way towards a lot of recipes, instead of just a single dish of box-based macaroni.

I'm on to you, sneaky Kraft Corp., just like the little minion says below.

Get Your Mind Out of the Kitchen

2010-09-27T09:40:00.000-05:00

...and back in the gutter where it belongs! Overheard in our kitchen yesterday morning:

Me: "Can I put some more sugar in your bowl?"
Kim: "Yes, you can."
Me: "That sounded a little dirty."
Kim: "Yes, it did."
Me: "I was hoping it would."

Oh how we amuse ourselves! I was literally refilling the sugar bowl (which she generally uses and not me, hence "your bowl"). And in honor of our smutty kitchen talk, this post requires the incomparable Ms. Nina Simone and her rendition of "I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl."

A Strongly Worded Letter

2010-07-03T09:08:00.000-05:00

Cranky this morning? Want to get your rant on? The strongly worded letter I just sent to Pure Romance Customer Service is below.

To Whom It May Concern:

I recently attended a Pure Romance party hosted by a friend of mine (last Wednesday night, to be exact), and I have to tell you that I'm completely soured on the whole Pure Romance experience. While much of my dissatisfaction stems from things that are probably beyond your control (I don't use heavily perfumed products, most of the products are geared toward heterosexual women, most of the bondage products are for "beginners"), the icing on my complaint cake is, I think, something you should be aware of.

During the solo sales session, amid the representative's attempts to get me to buy more items, I was shocked when she charged me three dollars for "shipping." The $14 item I purchased was sitting directly in front of me -- no shipping needed. The sales rep explained that the "shipping" wasn't to get the product to me (obviously), but to replace the necessary item in her stock. She has to pay to have a new pink "Tickle and Whip" shipped to her to sell to other customers.

I'm sorry, but since when is it the customer's duty to pay for the company's "overhead"? I would think that paying to have items restocked falls under the duty of the representative, just as it costs to "start" this home-based business. In addition to the ridiculous "shipping cost," I also paid city tax on my item for a total price of $18.53 -- that's 35% of the original cost of the item that I paid! Is this common practice for Pure Romance, to charge more than a quarter of the item's price in addition to the item itself? To make your customers pay the cost of restocking the sales rep's goods?

Whether or not these are accepted practices for Pure Romance, I can tell you that I won't be shopping here again or attending any more "parties." It was made fairly obvious to me that I am not your target audience, and I find deceptive sales tactics and pressuring people into buy things repulsive, no matter what the product is.

Sincerely,

Miss Kitty

Pure(ly Heterosexual) Romance

2010-07-03T08:29:00.001-05:00

If you know anything about me, you'll realize the weirdness of that title, but bear with me for a moment.

A dear friend of mine recently hosted a Pure Romance party.

For those of you who don't know, Pure Romance is -- how to put this delicately? Fuckerware. It's like a Tupperware party, but selling sex toys instead of plastic storage containers. Someone hosts it, a sales rep from the company is there to put on demonstrations (while remaining fully clothed -- get your mind out of the gutter!). They play some silly games, have some snacks, and then pressure everyone to buy things. It's the same scripted format that's worked for years for Mary Kay, Tupperware, Pampered Chef and the like. (Trust me, I know. My own mother sold Mary Kay for years and years.)

In preparation for my friend's party, I looked at the Pure Romance catalog online. Parties like this can turn into sensory overload for my poor nervous system, so I wanted to be prepared and mentally mark anything that I wanted to purchase. When Kim came home that afternoon, I told her about the party and whined, "There's nothing I want to buy!"

She told me I didn't have to buy anything; in fact, I probably shouldn't buy anything because even though it was payday, we had bills to pay and groceries to buy. Part of the reason to go to these parties is to be social (not just to shop), so that was my goal. But I didn't tell Kim my real fear: this party would not be meant for me.
Pure Romance sells items like "Great Head": a cream that "contains a gag reflex relaxant that keeps you completely comfortable" while giving a blowjob. Or "Like A Virgin" which will tighten up the inside of your vaginal wall "so you feel tighter to him and he feels larger to you." Their selection of books includes titles like The Complete Manual of Sexual Positions, Ride 'Em Cowgirl, and Tickle His Pickle.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Pure Romance is geared almost exclusively to straight women. Now, I certainly don't expect every product to be applicable to me, but I do expect more "universal" language, I guess -- things like "you and your partner" instead of "you and your man." I suppose this comes from having shopped a lot of other "real" sex stores. The PR store online does use some of that language, but party's sales rep did not.

It had been a long time since I felt left out like that. When she was extolling the benefits of Ride 'Em Cowgirl saying there was good information in every chapter, another friend spoke up and said, "Even for gay people, like Miss Kitty?" She was sort of joking (but not really). The rep said, "Well, maybe only one chapter for you." The chapter in question is called "Clitoriffic" (or something like that), and I think I'm all set on that account.

The sales rep went on and on about the pheromones in some of their beauty products (presumably to garner the attention of the opposite sex), what to do when your man looses his mojo, how to use things like "Great Head" and "Like a Virgin" and even "Booty Ease". When she got to how to put on a cock ring, I said, "I'm gonna take a smoke break."

And it wasn't just the "hetero thing." Even though the website says the company is about "helping women empower themselves and improve their intimate lives," it still seems to be directed to a certain "type" of woman. My first response would be "bored housewives." But that's not entirely true. Of the women who were in attendance Wednesday night, only two were married, and they are certainly neither bored nor boring. So maybe that's not it.

I'm having a hard time putting my finger on what bothers me so about PR's selection of toys. Wait! That's it! The selection...or should I say, the lack of selection. The catalog is woefully thin. Even some of my local porn stores have more to offer. So even though they're trying to help "women empower themselves and improve their intimate lives," they seem to be doing it in a very limiting fashion.

Also, a lot of the products seem to be geared toward "beginners." Nearly everything the sales rep had to say was old news to me (and to some of the guests), and the sad thing is when we tried to chime in, her tone changed. She seemed to get defensive, or even just annoyed that we were interrupted her scripted schpeel. (And don't let anyone tell you different -- it IS scripted.)

Last but not least -- the buying process. The rep tells us that when she's done, we can meet with her privately to order things "so no one is embarrassed" about what you're ordering. The truth of the matter is they want to get you alone, one-on-one, to pressure you into buying more items. They say things like "You get to pick an item out of my goodie bag...if you spend $100," or "Your hostess gets two free gifts...if every one spends $50." Then they'll also pressure you to host parties, etc., but more on that later.

I bought ONE item: this adorable thing simply because I don't have one in pink in my collection. And our lovely sales rep kept trying to get me to buy other things -- creams and lotions and things. I no longer use heavily perfumed, chemical-filled items (that's another thing I dislike -- all the putting on of creams and perfumes; I finally had to say "No thank you" when she came around because it's just too much). I have super sensitive skin, and Kim has a super sensitive sense of smell, so all of the flavors and scents and things just make us want to gag (then take a shower). But I digress....the rep actually said to me, "I want you to have Between the Sheets."
I repeated back to her, "You want me to have it?"
"Yes, because I think you'll really like it."

No, what she meant was "I want you TO BUY it." Saying "I want you to have it" implies that she's giving it to me. Grrrr! I hate sales talk. But I haven't gotten to the part that really ruffled my feathers yet.

I'm writing out the check for my pink flogger; the catalog says it's $14. And she says, "And three dollars for shipping."
I blinked at her. "Shipping?" The flogger was sitting right there in front of me; in fact, earlier in the party she told us all how she was excited that she was completely stocked with nearly everything.
"Well, not shipping the item to you, of course. But I have to pay to have one item shipped to me in order to restock it."

WTF??? That's not my problem! Having your own stock shipped to you is part of YOUR "overhead," the cost of running your own home-based business like this.

Then she says, "And I live in the city, so sales tax is a bit higher." All in all, my cheaply-made $14 pink flogger cost $18.53 -- that's 35% of the price in taxes and "shipping"! Ridiculous!!
Which is exactly what I'll be telling Pure Romance when I send them a strongly worded letter (e-mail) later today.

So, all in all, from the hetero-aligned products to the outrageous (and deceptive) sales tactics, I am completely soured on the whole Pure Romance experience. I had fears going in, but I went anyway because I was trying NOT to be negative, to have an open mind, and to be social with my friends. The last part was true (I adore my friend who threw the party), but it sucks when my cynicism turns out to be well-placed.

And by the way, for any of my friends reading this, do not ever EVER give my name, address, phone number, or e-mail address to any of these people as a referral for "hosting a party." I don't even host regular parties at my house, let alone a party to pressure people into buying things they probably don't need.

With that in mind, I'm off to Blowfish.com to buy a new strap-on.

No More Hobbit Feet!

2010-07-01T19:10:00.000-05:00

Closing a show is always a bittersweet event. We are sad to leave our co-stars, sad to break the fun bonds we built during the process. But we are also ready to move on, inhabit new costumes and new lives. Only once or twice have I closed a show where I truly felt I could happily continue doing that same show for another three weekends. Even when I've had a great run, I am usually ready to part ways with that show; it has run its course. That always gives me new found awe and respect for people who do touring shows or stints on Broadway and off-Broadway for months and years at a time.

This weekend is the first in a long time where I don't have anything to do or any place to be. I may be getting reacquainted with the Xbox today and tomorrow. But more to the point: now that Now I Ask You is over, I can paint my toenails again!!

Seriously. They have been naked for nearly a month now. While nail polish (or "nail enamel," as it was called) was invented in 1916, the same year Now I Ask You was written, I decided that Leonora could not really afford make-up and such. Whatever money she and Gabriel had, she blew on paints and booze. It probably wouldn't have mattered during the course of the show, except that I was wearing sandals (or no shoes at all), and in that small space, even toenails are obvious. So for the sake of my art, my piggies went nekkie.

I hated going toenail-polish-less during the week! I wear a lot of cute open-toed shoes during the warmer months, but it just wasn't the same when my toes were all plain and boring. More importantly, I need nail polish to distract people from the fact that I have two GIANT black hairs on each big toe -- big enough and hairy enough to make any Hobbit proud. (Unfortunately, I wasn't in that show :-P )

Yesterday afternoon, I whipped out "Chianti Wine" (by Borghese) and went to town on my tootsies. And this afternoon, whilst chasing the damn dog down the alley, I sliced open my pinkie toe on a rock. There was a lot of blood. A lot. At first, I couldn't tell what was blood and what was Chianti. The bleeding eventually stopped, leaving a gaping jagged flesh wound on my poor pinkie toe. And my $3 leopard-print flipflops from Big Lots are ruined (at least the right flipflop is) because of a giant blood stain. But hey -- at least my nails look good, right?

But Enough About Me -- What About You?

2010-06-26T09:16:00.001-05:00

What do you think of me??
:-P

Speaking of seeing my name in print, Stray Dog Theatre has posted their 2010-11 season. If I may call your attention to the information for Douglas Carter Beane's As Bees in Honey Drown.

(I'm listed in The Visit, too, but,...you'll see the difference for yourself ;-)

The Reviews Are In!

2010-06-25T14:08:00.002-05:00

Remember all that stuff I said about not doing this for the fame or publicity or reviews, but because we're making art and having fun, yadda yadda yadda? Fuck that -- the reviews are here!

Okay, I don't quite mean that. I still believe in the integrity of my work, but I also have this obsessive need -- an illness, really -- to see my own name in print. Reviews, blogs, articles, wanted posters -- it doesn't matter, as long it's in public view and my name's spelled correctly. Hell, I'll even take a misspelling! Seeing my name in print just thrills me to no end. The key here is "in public view," which is to say I don't get the same thrill when opening mail addressed to me (named spelled correctly, even) from the collections agency trying to get $352 for an item I never purchased; that's not the same at all.

I continually hit "Refresh" on my web browser (since many of these reviews are available online as well as in print) to see the latest updates. Then I print them off and highlight the parts where I'm mentioned for ease of reading when I hand them to my friends and family and the guy who panhandles on the corner of my street.

A theatre colleague of mine once said he didn't like to read reviews because "if you believe the good ones, you have to believe the bad ones, too." I laughed and said, "No, you don't! You don't even have to believe all of the same review if you don't want to." Reviews, to me, are like the way many people "nowadays" treat religion: it's perfectly acceptable to pick and choose the parts you like, and simply ignore the rest. Try it and see!

Without further ado:

Mark Bretz for Ladue News
Dennis Brown for The Riverfront Times
Robert A. Mitchell for KDHX
Chris Gibson for BroadwayWorld.com
Gabe Hartwig for The Post-Dispatch
Bob Wilcox for Two on the Aisle (it's the first part of the third section of video)

Last (and somewhat least) Joe Pollack for...Joe Pollack. Joe used to review things for our local NPR station here, KWMU. Now he puts reviews on a blog (not that I'm knocking blogs, of course!). I don't know how that came about, but his review is an excellent opportunity to utilize my "One from Column A, and None from Column B" theory. :-)

I'll leave you with this quote from a movie I just started watching:

"I could write a blog. I have thoughts."
-- Julie (Amy Adams), Julie & Julia, 2009

The Play's the Thing

2010-06-12T10:46:00.000-05:00

J.M. Barrie: "It was never meant to be taken seriously."
Charles Frohman: "You know what happened, James. They changed it."
J.M. Barrie: "Who changed what?"
Charles Frohman: "The critics. They made it important. What's it called? What's it called?"
J.M. Barrie: "Play."
Charles Frohman: "Play."

That is one of my favorite bits from Finding Neverland, a brilliant movie filled with lots of favorite bits. We call it "a play" for a reason -- because we're playing. Now, after weeks of hard work, is the time to have fun. If we're not enjoying ourselves onstage, the audience surely won't either. A similar criticism I've often heard given to dancers is that no one wants to see the effort behind the movement; we want to see the fun and the joy and beauty, not the "work."

We opened last night to wonderfully receptive and nearly-full house. The audience was happy to be there and wanted to laugh and did laugh, for which we were very grateful. This play is not without its flaws, which may be perhaps why this is only the third time it's been produced in nearly one hundred years, but as a cast, I think we do wonders with what we've been given.

Now as reviews may come out, as lines are drawn in the sand over the "right" and "wrong" way to do such-and-such scene or technique or line -- times when I often shrink into a corner and say, "Hey, I just show up and do what I'm told" -- I am reminding myself that it's not just a play; it is play.

I'm here to have fun -- to work hard and produce things I'm proud of, yes, but if I'm not enjoying myself somewhere in the process, then it's time to go. Years ago when I was doing community theatre (read: "unpaid theatre"), and gossip and backstabbing and politics reached a certain frenzy, I said, "We're not getting paid. This should be fun. I do this because it should be fun. This [meaning the off-stage drama/crap] is not fun." And I walked away.

Now the circumstances of that situation are in no way reflected here presently, but the sentiment is the same: if I'm not having fun, then something is wrong. And this show IS fun. I adore my co-stars. They are individual shining lights of talent in very different ways, and (more importantly) we crack ourselves up in the dressing room. And let's face it: if you can't get along backstage, it's going to be a loooooong run.

Anyway, enough of me waxing philosophic about why we make art. It's time for more funny! (Isn't that why you're here?) We shall next speak on dressing room etiquette and how I have a big epic FAIL on that mark so far. :-P

The Blonde Beast

2010-06-10T11:43:00.001-05:00

Rawr!

We did it! And by "we," I mean the talented people at Bouffant Daddy. And Ben, I guess, too, since he had to sit there for nearly an hour and a half to go from this:

to this:

He's blonde! He said he feels dumber already. *heh* Just to put all of this in perspective, this is how Mr. Ritchie prefers to look:

So he's gone through quite a number of stylistic changes in the past few months, having played Peter in Desire Under the Elms (Muddy Waters), Han Solo in The One-Hour Star Wars Trilogy: LIVE! (Magic Smoking Monkey Theatre), and now the so-called Great Blonde Beast (a.k.a. Tom Drayton) in Now I Ask You (Muddy Waters).

But enough about him -- what about me?!? Well, I'm a redhead again. I took a picture of my lovely roots showing, but now I can't find my camera (it's going to be one of those days, I think), but here's a picture from one of the last times I was fully red; it's pretty similar:

I don't have too much else to report (Ben's hair was yesterday's biggest news), except this other tidbit of my brainlessness: After last night's rehearsal, I had problems getting dressed. I got out of my last costume, into my jeans and bra and flip-flops, and then stood there for five or ten minutes trying to remember where I put my shirt. I seriously couldn't find it. Moreover, I couldn't even remember what shirt I had worn to theatre, so I really didn't even know what I was looking for. Jerry was giving us some final notes, and I was standing there half-dressed, saying, "I'm pretty sure I wore something. I didn't arrive topless...did I??"

I did eventually find said T-shirt; it was over the back of Katie's chair (and it was a grey babydoll T-shirt with Pussyfoot on it that says "Kitty Got Claws," in case you're wondering).

On that note, it's nearly lunchtime, and I haven't accomplished anything today, unless you count watching the season finale of Glee on Hulu.com. Ta-ta!

Sticks and Pins and Turbans -- Oh My!

2010-06-08T09:53:00.001-05:00

Let's take a look at last night's rehearsal, shall we?

I nearly put my bare foot directly on a straight pin (thank you Soupy for catching me in time!!)
I completely missed my entrance for Act I (thank you, Robert, for coming to get me)
There was no A/C in the theatre
There was a gross amount of whining on my part because of said lack of A/C
Soupy nearly busted open his lip on Katie's engagement ring prop
Ben has pants that look like bananas
I completely messed up my lines in Act II (and I thought all the way through the act that Soupy had dropped his line, instead of the other way around)
Did I mention there was no A/C?
Katie wore a turban in Act I
Jerry cut the turban in Act I because she looked like a) a Conehead, b) a Lego person, c) an astronaut, or d) all of the above
I added the turban to my Act III costume, much to the surprise of those onstage when I made my entrance *heehee*

In other words, it's Tech Week a.k.a. "Hell Week" in theatre parlance. We add lights and sound cue and costume pieces, and suddenly everything I ever knew about acting (which, admittedly, isn't much), about my character, about simply saying my lines as they're written, goes completely out of my head. I told Jerry that I was blaming all mishaps on the heat, but really, I'm one of those people that if I make one mistake that's big enough, I get all flustered and it's all downhill from there. In last night's case, it was missing my Act I entrance. For that brief scene, I have no idea what crap came out of my mouth; I'm pretty sure it wasn't anything that Eugene O'Neill wrote. Of course, I was going so fast that no one could understand me anyway.

Hi, my name is Miss Kitty, and I'm a fast-talker. I always have been, and probably always will be. It's one note I get consistently from all directors -- SLOW DOWN. The thing is, it sounds "normal" in my head. I only realize I'm going too fast when I stumble over my own words, and that's going "too fast" for me! Long before the stumbling occurs is still "too fast" for "everyone else." I try to slow down, and it sounds so wonky (squiffy?) in my head. And, naturally, if I'm nervous, excited, flustered, whatever, I just speed up. Maybe I was a professional auctioneer in a previous life?

In my defense (for last night), I missed the entrance because I was trying to pin up Katie's gorgeous silk chiffon Act I dress so she doesn't trip over it. Why am I doing tailoring, you ask? Well, we've had some costuming issues during the course of this show, so I'm trying to help where I can. I have a ten-pound Janome sewing machine, and I brought it to last night's rehearsal -- along with other sewing paraphernalia; hence, the near-bloody-mishap with a straight pin. I also managed to take in Soupy's pants at the waist, and thankfully he's wearing a long jacket so you can't see the waist. My slapdash "tailoring" job (I mean "tailoring" in the loosest sense possible) made him look like he was wearing some sort of diaper in the back. Again, thank GOD it's not visible!

Although, if you're reading this, maybe you'll start looking for these tiny blunders when you come see the show -- eek! I've already said too much. All of our backstage secrets revealed! *gasp* Oh horror of horrors!

Stay tuned on Wednesday when Ben and I have our date at the hair salon to get me back to my proper redheaded state of being and to make him blonde *insert ominous sound cue here*

P.S. Turbans are making a comeback, baby!

I Only Speak the Truth!

2010-06-05T08:59:00.000-05:00

It must be true, because Judith Newmark said it, too! :-) She posted a little piece about our show and our opening night reception. Read it here.

P.S. Gratuitous Bohemian/theatre humor:

Luuuuuuuuuucy! You Got Some 'Splainin' to Do!

2010-06-04T16:34:00.001-05:00

Yes, the main character's name is Lucy, which has spawned no end of I Love Lucy jokes during our rehearsal period. As promised, here is Lucy's Sim character:

As I said, it looks nothing like Lucy or Katie; it just made me laugh, with her furry boots and red mesh top and hot pants and kitty hat. Oh but wait!

What's this?

As I was trying to research women's fashion from the time period (1916 is a little hard to pin down, incidentally), I found this picture:

That's right! It's a woman from a 1914 fashion plate from le Gazette du Bon Ton wearing a hat that looks like a cat! And I didn't even plan that. Damn I'm good.

I love costumes and period pieces, and I was able to indulge in two hours of "dress-up" today while searching for the perfect pieces for Leonora's wacky self to wear. During my research (read: "Google"), I also found this authentic 1917 fashion show:

I particularly like the descriptions of the clothing, and the models' facial expressions.

Last but not least (although in a completely different time period), this "newsreel" shows some predictions of what fashion would look like in the year 2000. Some of the items look eerily familiar. "Ooh, swish!"

It's the Eugene O'Neill Drinking Game!

2010-06-03T10:56:00.004-05:00

For those of you playing along at home, we now have the Now I Ask You home addition! Here are the rules:

Drink each time someone says "Nietzsche"
Drink every time someone says "Blond Beast"
Drink each time someone says "row" (rhymes with "cow," as in a fight or argument; not something you do with an oar in a boat)

Follow these simple rules, and you, too, can be good and shit-faced long before we reach Act III! Speaking of drinking, if you come opening night (June 11^th), Muddy Waters is having a small pre-show reception in honor of some special guests in attendance, complete with drinks. Come have a free drink on them*, meet Eugene O'Neill's grandchildren, and stay after the show for a talk-back Q&A session with said grandchildren and the actors and anyone else who wants to participate. A word of warning: I have a swift kick in the shin for the first person to ask "How did you memorize all those lines?"

Last but certainly not least, a bit of useless trivia for this Thursday: The phrase "Now I ask you" is said six times in the show (not including the fact that it's the title). Of those six times, I say it...six times. I apparently was the last one to realize this. It went a little something like this during one of our first rehearsals:
Me (going over lines): "Now I ask -- hey, am I the only one who says that?"
Everyone else in the room: "YES."
Me: "Oh."
Jerry: "Well, it's because the show's all about you." (It really isn't.)
Me: "I love it when you lie to me."

Ta-da! Happy Thursday.

*I believe it's just one complimentary drink per person. Prices and participation may vary. See complete rules for details. Not valid in Alaska, Wyoming, Hawaii, my backyard, or France.

Too Much?

2010-06-01T09:24:00.001-05:00

Subtitle: Farewell Sanity! I Hardly Used Ye.

I have created Sims in each of the four young characters from Now I Ask You, hence the title(s) of this post. (I left out the parents, Mr. & Mrs. Ashleigh -- please don't hate me.) Why did I do this inane and utterly silly thing? Because I can, naturally! And because I have an inordinate amount of free time during the day until I begin teaching for the summer session starting on June 14^th. (Yes, they let me inform and influence young, impressionable minds -- scary, non?) I decided that I should occupy my time with as many useless things as possible while I have this brief chance; getting reacquainted with my Sims is at the top of the Useless List (somewhere in between watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and blogging).

I thought "How fun would it be to try to [re]create these characters and see what they do?" because I'm a big dork like that. So I did. And I encountered many problems just in their creation.

For example, I have no extra, super-special downloads for my copy of The Sims 3, no "custom content," as it were, so I have no "period clothing" or even clothing that could pass for "period." So I decided to approximate what the characters would wear perhaps today or within the past twenty or so years (rather than nearly a hundred years ago). And I then I found myself with yet another dilemma: do I make the characters as the script describes them physically (and O'Neill did give them phsyical characteristics, almost down to their height and weight), or do I approximate what the actors look like? An interesting dilemma (well, "interesting" is a relative term since we're still talking about Useless things), since in its myriad of choices, The Sims still couldn't offer me exactly what I was looking for in terms of height and hair style. I attempted to do a combination of both character and actor, and here's what I came up with:

Leonora Barnes:

Tom Drayton:

Gabriel:

Lucy is not represented because I haven't been able to get a good screenshot of her in the midst of keeping up with my Sim-mayhem. I do have to stipulate that her "mini-me" looks neither like the actor (Katie) nor the character description of Lucy. The game gives a random assortment of attributes when you first create a character, and what it came up with for Lucy was so bizarre and made me laugh so hard (I really did "laugh out loud") that I simply kept it.

As for the rest, well....poor Ben Ritchie does not look nearly so ridiculous as my representation of Tom Drayton; nor does he float through rooms (the game character was walking in that screenshot...I think). Nor is Ben blonde (yet). There was no way for me to recreate Soupy's litheness as Gabriel, although that character in the game has proven to be the funniest of all. Each morning (and whenever he has a chance), he admires himself in the nearest mirror. He is also a coward, and fainted five minutes after a burglary occurred. Leonora has my red hair -- well, what my hair will be once I get it re-colored (Note to Self: Call hairdresser ASAP!) and a similar hat, but there the similarities end.

All in all, this experiment has proven to be an exercise in both hilarity and frivolousness, and once again proves the following points:

I am incredibly easily amused.
I am adept at wasting time.
No one finds me nearly as entertaining as I do.

You can judge for yourself how true these Sims likenesses are (either in character or physicality). Now I Ask You opens at the Kranzberg on June 11^th. Click here for more information and tickets.

Word of the Day: Fuckstockings

2010-05-30T12:43:00.001-05:00

No, this doesn't have to do with Eugene O'Neill or Now I Ask You (which is why it isn't tagged as such), but it does have to do with theatre. Sort of. I just finished Christopher Moore's book Fool, and I highly recommend it. I especially recommend it if you are a fan of literature, William Shakespeare, British comedy, theatre in general, and gratuitous snogging and shagging.

Moore's novel Fool is William Shakespeare's King Lear. Sort of. It's Lear told from the perspective of Lear's fool, Pocket, along with tidbits from and references to many other things, including (but not limited to) Macbeth, Love's Labor Lost, and Monty Python. Moore also has a fantastic repertoire of British- and Shakespeare-sounding insults and swear words, of which "Fuckstockings!" is my new favorite. Use it in a sentence today!

Do yourself a favor and go out and read Fool. You won't regret it. Well, maybe you will, in which case feel free to complain to me, so I can say "Fuckstockings!" in response.

Word of the Day: Squiffy

2010-05-24T11:31:00.000-05:00

Squiffy: alcohol intoxicated, very drunk, tipsy, high, as in "Let's go drink some absinthe and get squiffy!" which is an approximation of one of my lines from the show.

Dictionary.com does consider it a real word (if slang), I was surprised to find out (but I have to thank our inimitable dramaturge Andrea England Braun for first providing me with the definition, et cetera).

I think it's a fantastic word! I get to say it twice in the show, and I think we should bring it back into vogue for the 21^st century. In addition to meaning "drunk" or "high," I think it could have various vague meanings, like the word "wonky" (also one of my favorites). I also think it makes a spectacular name for a cat. I'm still trying to convince Kim to let me name our new kitten "Squiffy" or "Squiffy Kitty" -- it has such a great ring to it! I'm losing the battle so far; her name suggestion that I haven't vetoed is Edgar Allan Poe ("Poe Kitty"!), and it's a good name. She did suggest Elliott (as in T.S. Elliott, not Detective Stabler from Law & Order: SVU), but I said I've never been a big T.S. Elliott fan. She said, "Just T.S. then," and I said, "Yes, it stands for: 'THE Squiffy!'" at which point I'm sure she stopped talking to me.

But I digress....

Squiffy -- use it in a sentence today! And for your viewing pleasure, a gratuitous cat video:

Smokin' in the Boys Room

2010-05-19T10:24:00.002-05:00

Motley Crue - Smokin In The Boys Room (Official Music Video)

Now that the song is in everyone's head (they were some heavily made-up fuckers, weren't they?), I can tell you the bad news. I am disappointed. *insert melodramatic sigh here* My delicate artistic ego took a beating when Jerry said to replace any stage directions or lines that deal with smoking to drinking. There will be no smoking on stage, just heavy drinking. I was crestfallen -- at least I would have been if I thought people actually used that word.

This would have been my third show this year (in a row) to do some "cigarette acting." We added it to a brief scene in WEPG's Based on a Totally True Story (and by "we," I mean I added it when my director said "Do something!" ;-), it was written into the climatic final scene of Act I of Mauritius as a point of contention between the two sisters ("It makes me really nervous to see you just--" "Just what? Smoking? In front of the stamps? Because it's bad for them to know that I smoke?"), and in the stage directions for Now I Ask You it said that not only does Leonora smoke, but she actually pulls out a bag of tobacco and some papers and rolls her own cigarette! For some reason, the mental image of trying to do that on stage cracks me up. It apparently cracked up my girlfriend, too, since she offered to teach me how to do it correctly.

Alas, there will be no "S.O.S." -- smoking on stage. Jerry mentioned that audience members tend to complain when there is smoking in such a small space -- and it is an intimate black box theatre. I'm sure I said something like "That's ridiculous!" in reply, but the conversation brings up an interesting point: has smoking on stage gone out of vogue?

As an actor I have no problem doing it (yay for props!), and as an audience member I have no problem seeing it/smelling it/being around it, but since I am a sometimes-social-smoker, I suppose my opinion is a bit biased. I will say that what I don't like seeing are those "smokeless" cigarettes that are specially made for on-stage use. They look ridiculous, in my opinion, and they're infamous for going out after one or two puffs, leaving the actor stranded with an unlit cigarette, looking even more ridiculous (not to mention the horrible taste of trying to smoke a cigarette that's gone out -- blech!).

To me, complaining about smoking on stage is like complaining that a show has swear words in the script. It is what it is, and it's how the show was written by the playwright; if you don't like it, don't go. But as I said, my opinion is probably a bit more contentious and snarky than most. If someone said, "You can either smoke on stage or you can have audience members," I'm sure I'd be singing a different tune.

What do you all think? Smoking On Stage (S.O.S.) -- yay or nay? Are you speaking as an audience member or an actor or both? Do you not mind doing it, but don't like seeing it as an audience member? Go ahead and say so; I won't call you out on your double standard here. In this day and age where smoking in public places is becoming harder and harder to do, where even restaurants and bars are not being allowed to decide for themselves if they want smoking on or in their property (don't get me started on that debate!), are the arts exempt from such things? Is smoking okay on stage because it's "artistic" and/or because it's usually short-lived? (Smoking on stage for one five-minute scene is nowhere near the same as stepping into the Hi-Pointe Bar during its heyday.)

While you discuss that amongst yourselves (and you don't need a Google/Bloggers/Gmail account to post a comment, by the way), I'm going to finish my coffee a la Ms. Sarah Vaughan:

Whoopsie-Doodle!

2010-05-18T08:14:00.000-05:00

The Interwebs leads to confusion, miscommunication. Film at eleven.

No, seriously. I realize that my original Now I Ask You post reads as though the actors are deciding which "version" of the play to do, and that is not the case. We gave our thoughts and opinions at the read-through (which it's always interesting and enlightening to do this kind of "table work," I think), and the actual decision will be made by the powers that be at Muddy Waters.

I still think it's fascinating that so much "mystery" surrounds the script of this show, and I love the fact that it's only been produced twice in the almost-one-hundred-years since it was written!

Anyway, sorry for the confusion (I was confused, they were confused, we were all confused). On to bigger and better things, including my next post of S.O.S. (Smoking On Stage).

And by "We," I Mean...

2010-05-17T12:29:00.000-05:00

...copper tubing. (Sorry for the gratuitous NonProphet joke/reference).

A cast breakdown for those so inclined to read such things:

(in order of appearance)
Mr. Ashleigh - Robert Ashton
Mrs. Ashleigh - Andra Harkins
Leonora Barnes - Sarajane Alverson
Tom Drayton - Ben Ritchie
Lucy Ashleigh - Katie McGee
Gabriel - Alan "Soupy" David

Off with a "Bang!"

2010-05-17T11:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was our first official rehearsal for Muddy Waters Theatre's production of Eugene O'Neill's comedy? Now I Ask You. Our esteemed director, Jerry McAdams, encouraged us to blog about the show and rehearsal process if we wanted to. Well, I that was all the encouragement I needed; my blogging mojo has been sorely lacking. Perhaps this will be the stimulus my blogging muscles need to get back into shape. Here we go!

Let's start with the fact that Now I Ask You is a Eugene O'Neill comedy. Yes, you read that correctly -- a comedy. When people have asked me what show I'm doing for the summer, I say, "Now I Ask You. It's a comedy by Eugene O'Neill," and then they look at me as if I just started speaking in tongues. The prolific Mr. O'Neill was not known for feel-good comedies. In fact (according to the bio on his website), Eugene O'Neill only wrote one (well-known) comedy, Ah, Wilderness! (on Broadway in 1933). Now I Ask You was written during O'Neill's time at Harvard, and according to the Eugene O'Neill Foundation newsletter, it is, along with The Movie Man, the only surviving comedy from his early years.

Whew! So basically, we're doing a play that has only been produced twice (that we know of) since it was written in 1916, a play very few people have heard of, a play which was originally intended as a bit of a satire of Ibsen's Hedda Gabler, which, frankly, is not THE PLAY (in terms of popularity, etc.) that it once was. Oh, and did I mention that we have two different versions of the script, some with the original annotations in O'Neill's own handwriting?

While it's exhilarating to have a piece of history in your hand like that, it also makes for a daunting, complicated task when it comes to producing a play. There isn't an "official" version of the script that we could get from Samuel French, Inc. or someone like that; in fact, there is no copyright on this play. We don't know how the other two productions approached the issues of the script and revised Third Act. We don't know Eugene O'Neill's intentions for either version (we also believe that his wife, Agnes Boulton, made the revisions that make up the "alternate ending"). We have been given an opportunity to decide how this play will look and sound -- literally. Do we do the Prologue with the gunshot ("Bang!")? Do we say this line or that version of that line or scrap it altogether? These were the decisions we were trying to make during last night's read-through of the script (with both "versions").

We, as a cast, are lucky enough to have a director who very much believes in a collaborative process. Jerry let us read through each version, and then we had a round-table discussion of what ending we preferred and why. We realized quickly that there was not an "either/or" decision to be made; you can't simply "pick" one ending/version. It just doesn't work -- theatrically, dramaturgically, in terms of character development, etc.

So I suppose you could say that we are doing neither version of O'Neill's script. What on earth does that mean?? I guess you'll have to come to show to find out. We open June 11^th at the Kranzberg. ;-)

P.S. A little nonsensical, tangential fun for you: Strindberg and Helium ("Heliuuuuuum!")

Teacher Diaries

2010-02-28T12:57:00.003-06:00

Teaching two sections of Freshman Comp. this semester has been...illuminating, to say the least. So far I have had:

A manipulative student with a seizure disorder who said I "hurt her feelings."
One student try to hit on me during a paper conference
One student say she didn't have the assignment to turn in because she had been arrested the day before
One student use Snoop Dog's song "Gangsta Love" for a poetry presentation (and it took every fiber of my being not to throw up or make him turn it off)
One student ask if I was "advocating homosexuality" based on a reading assignment (an excerpt from David Sedaris, who, by the way, is gay).

That's all I can think of for the moment, but it would seem that I have been given all of the "special"/"fun"/"interesting"/vocal students. Seeing as how many of my colleagues cannot establish authority in their own classrooms and/or they frequently apologize to their students for things that are the students' fault ("I didn't know we were supposed to read that," leads to "Oh, I'm sorry that wasn't clear"), I suppose this is for the best. Apparently I am the only TA who can "handle" these more "active" and "opinionated" students.

By the way, this is a freshman composition course in college, not high school, but few of my students seem to understand (and/or notice) the difference. On that note, I must go read and grade 46 crappy student essays.

Beware What You Look For...

2010-02-22T08:47:00.002-06:00

...you may actually find it. Case in point: stalking a former lover on Facebook may cause you to discover that they no longer live on the other side of the country; that they now live two minutes away from you in the neighboring neighborhood.

Oy.

This is neither good nor bad -- it just is. It is also a bit shocking, along with simply "being." This is a person with whom I had a relatively volatile, up/down, love/hate relationship with. This "stalking" behavior is not new for me where he's concerned. In my defense, he did a fair amount of his own stalking of me back in the day. It was like a weird "Spy Vs. Spy" courtship....and break-up. And the subsequent hooking up and break-ups: one part romance, one part competition, and two parts of just plain crazy.

I'd like to say that I was very young back then, which is true, but obviously many of my behavioral patterns have not changed if I'm still "stalking" now. And I use the term "stalking" loosely; perhaps saying I've been "conducting research" would be better. And do I continue to "research" this person because it is in my nature to do so or because it's what I associate with him and our past relationship? There's a whole chicken/egg-Nature vs. Nurture thing going on as well (in addition to the Spy vs. Spy). No wonder I'm exhausted.

I'll Have the Soup Du Jour of the Day

2010-02-09T15:23:00.006-06:00

We have many choices on today's menu, folks. Some of our feature items include:

Grief over lost pets
Anxiety over family business bankruptcy
Depression because everyone is pregnant except for you
Constipation & nausea simply because Nature hates you

Don't forget that all orders come with a side order of fatigue and your choice of drink.

A List of Change

2010-02-08T09:28:00.007-06:00

All the major changes in the past year (since it's been almost one year exactly between my postings):

Milo J. Poggers, Esq. passed away on February 28^th, 2009.
May: I "officially" graduated with my Bachelor's in English, and I was the commencement speaker.
July: Kim and I bought and moved into a 2-bedroom, 1-bath house.
August: I started graduate school. I also started teaching Freshman Composition at said school.
December 15^th, 2009 marked my and Kim's 2-year anniversary.
January 4^th, 2010 Oliver Maus passed away.

Those, I think, are the major events. I'm also in my second semester as graduate student and graduate teacher. I now teach two sections of Freshman Composition and take two graduate classes. I have also been cast in two shows for the spring -- the first of which opens this weekend. Two appears to be the magic number for 2010. In less than 12 months I have lost two of my babies. Kim and I have been together for two years. I have two feet. Okay the last one, while true, is not new.

Needless to say, there's been a lot of change. And some days it's just hard to keep up with everything. I basically have three jobs: student, teacher, actor. I also was invited to join the Board of Directors for my theatre ensemble, which I delightfully accepted. But that is another commitment to add to the calendar. And now I should go grade some extra credit assignments for my two classes whilst sitting in my two-bedroom house away the 2+ inches of snow we're supposed to get.

Milo J. Poggers, Esq. (1995-2009)

Oliver Maus (2000-2010)

Yet Another New Year

2010-02-08T09:00:00.002-06:00

It seems like just one year ago, I was contemplating using this blog as more than just a place to talk about knitting. And then I did nothing. Real Life, as usual, swept in and blogging was put on the back back back burner, second from the left.

Once more, I find myself needing a writing outlet. And hey, I may actually still write about my knitting, too. Lord knows I haven't been doing much of either (writing, knitting, writing about knitting).

Of course, it doesn't help that I know no one really reads this blog. And that makes me sad. :-( But way back when I first started blogging, nearly before the term "blog" had been coined, I didn't think anyone read that either. And I was okay with that. The realization that 1) people read my drivel and 2) that they enjoyed it was both amusing and amazing. But those two points were never my goal in posting writing online. Maybe it's time I remember that fact.

I'm going to let that thought simmer while I get another cup of coffee.

Bunny Taxidermy

2009-02-01T10:36:00.003-06:00

Well, Ann of Mochi Mochi Land fame made a Bunny Head Drawer Pull, and I loved it. I especially loved the idea of making the eyes little X's so it looks like he's dead. (Yes, I'm weird; this is not news.) I also have a dear friend, C. Bunny Binx, who (obviously) loves da bunnehs, so I attempted to make a drawer pull for her.

Ta-da!

Here he is, pre-ear-attachment:

Here he is next to a DVD to show scale:

As you can tell, he's a little wonky.
1.) I completely improvised this pattern, which is something I rarely do. I used the basic increases that Ann uses for Bob to get started. I stopped once I had 32 stitches, then I started decreasing. Unfortunately my decreases were not necessarily "planned." I am going to attempt a second bunneh head, in which I will make more precise decreases.

2.) This was my first attempt at intarsia (with the pink inside the ears). When one pulls the yarn too tight across the back of the stitches, the whole thing gets pulled a little wonky (I have since learned). Also, some of the stitches are a little loose. I also put a tiny bit of stuffing inside the ears (which was a major pain in the ass, lemme tell you, because the ears were so small!), which was probably unnecessary. I did write down the entire process I used for each ear, though, for future reference.

I also think one could start the bunneh in pink (since I started the head at the nose), and then switch to white, rather than embroidering pink over the white for the nose (especially since my embroidering skills leave a bit to be desired).

So there ya go. Ann commented on Herr Bunneh Head and said, "Wow, good job!" so I'm still flying high from that comment. w00t!

Decisions, Decisions

2009-01-11T10:12:00.001-06:00

So the place which hosted my "regular" blog has bitten the dust. It's been a sad New Year for Journalspacers the world over. And now I need to make a decision -- do I find a new place to host a new blog, start another blog here on Blogspot, or simply integrate my knitting blog with my "regular" blog into one fabulous Kitty blog bundle? I have no idea.

I'd ask my readers to weigh in on the issue, but no one reads this blog.

I Can Has Gauge??

2008-12-31T11:20:00.003-06:00

No, apparently I cannot. The sweater (vest) saga continues...

December 17^th: I cast on for the Boogie Vest with yarn I had originally purchased with the intentions of making Jennifer Stafford's Li'l Red Riding Hoodie. But then I got freaked out about the thought of sewing a zipper into knitted stuff, and did I really want to spend that much time/yarn on one project and what the hell am I doing??? So I thought a nice (quick) sweater vest was a good alternative. And those first 2 inches of ribbing do go by fast!

December 30^th: I discovered last night that my gauge was incorrect; it was too big by one whole stitch! Aaack. So I will be ripping this out and trying again on a size 9 needle instead. I guess that’s what I get for bragging that my knitting tension is absolutely in-the-middle average (thereby eliminating the need for gauge swatches).

December 31^st: Sometimes I really am an idiot. My sweater (pre-frog) was one stitch too big in the gauge dept., so I went down one needle size. Bad Kitty, BAD!!! Smaller gauage = MORE stitches per inch and vice-versa for a larger gauge. If I want fewer stitches per inch, I should have gone UP a needle size. The sad thing is, I actually like the way the sweater feels with the tighter gauge; I thought it seemed too big/too loose on the 10’s. I think a 10.5 needle will make the sweater just hang off of me. But what if the size 9 version will be too tight (although I can always block to a bigger size, not to a smaller)?? ‘Tis a puzzlement.

Have Textbooks Lying Around?

2008-12-27T11:17:00.004-06:00

Is your semester over? Wondering what to do with your textbooks now that they're rendered useless and you know you'll never get their full value no matter where you try to sell them? Make those heavy textbooks that have been wreaking havoc with your spinal alignment all semester earn their keep by blocking your knitting!

Featured here are the two largest, heaviest books I have had for the past five months: Literary Criticism and Modern Drama. They are currently helping to block my cabled wrist bag:

Ta-da! The pattern for the Bangle Wristlet Purse can be found by clicking the linkie.

I Don't Crochet...

2008-11-15T11:35:00.002-06:00

...but I own three crochet hooks. And I just used one to pull out the drawstring on my pajama pants because it had snuck back inside the waistband (causing my pants to fall down).

Ta-da! Thank you very much! I'm here all week.

For my next trick, I'll reprogram my harddrive using size 1 steel DPN's.

Who Says I Never Finish Anything?!?

2008-11-08T09:47:00.005-06:00

I'm in a bit of a knitting funk, y'all. I have started and discarded at least five different projects in the past two days. My girlfriend has caught me pawing through my yarn at random moments. She doesn't even ask, "What are you doing?" anymore; she just stares in wonder as I grunt and mutter to myself, tossing balls of yarn left and right, occasionally poking myself in the eye with the gratuitous stray knitting needle.

My restlessness is due to many things, not the least of which is this is my last semester of school and it's more than half over. Plus, my theatre ensemble is throwing a small fundraiser in mid-December for which several of us will donate hand-made goods. Naturally, I'm thinking, "What can I 'whip up' in a few weeks' time in addition to doing homework, going to dance rehearsals, and trying not to go insane?" Of course, I don't want to "whip up" just anything. I have to "whip up" the bestest, most interesting, useful, "Yes, I'd pay money for that!" thing!!! No, I'm not an overachiever at all -- I HAVE TO BE THE BEST!

~ahem~ Sorry. Moving on.

I have also recruited some friends to donate handmade goods (including C. Bunny Binx) so that I won't feel bad when I only turn in two things to sell. And (of course) I want to donate something different than what my friends might knit or make. It's not a competition! ...But I still have to be the best.

Anyway,...where was I going with this? Oh yeah, finishing stuff. Pictures were finally posted from the Webster Works project I posted about in October. Here's the knitting group:

And here's my head sticking up in there:

And in front of us are the finished (donated) projects so far. I have circled the ones that were mine.

That's (from left to right)

1 furry garter-stitch scarf
1 scarf with tassels
1 baby hat
a second furry scarf (in red)
1 pair of armwarmers
1 Big Bad Baby Blanket
1 Ribbed For Her Pleasure scarf (not shown)

So when I start feeling like I don't finish anything (the way I feel right now), I look at this picture to soothe my ego a little bit...because I have to be THE BEST!!

And now I have to go frog another pair of armwarmers that I started last night.

Easier Said Than Done

2008-10-13T09:07:00.001-05:00