Tightly Wound

2003-06-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

Moving to New Digs

Yep, thanks to the inestimatable Dean Esmay and his anti-Blogger jihad, I now have my own Moveable Type site set up for your enjoyment, faster loading, and accessible archives. < ! fangirly squeal> This is so KEWL! < ! / fangirly squeal, and by the way, you never heard OR saw that and if you say you did I will deny it with my dying breath>.

ANYHOO, NEW URL IS: www.bigarmwoman.com

Please change any bookmarks/blogrolls accordingly.

2003-06-11T07:33:00.000-07:00

Look - A Forest! Would have seen it earlier, except for those dang trees...

In one of the more amazing recent examples of what I will henceforth refer to as "academic wank," the ability of an academic institution to completely miss the simple in its pursuit of, well, I'm not entirely sure what, I present for your inspection the ongoing saga of Professor Sami Amin Al-Arian, the USF prof currently awaiting trial on charges of terrorism.
The main story here (thanks for the tip from J, over at nowatermelons) is ostensibly the American Association of University Professors' inability to understand why Al-Arian might lose his job when he's, you know, currently in prison awaiting trial for an amazingly long list of terrorist activities. Read the article yourself for some fun snarkiness at the AAUP's expense. But the real story is in the details, garnered from the AAUP's very own site.

It seems that FSU had a bit of trouble trying to figure out exactly what to do with Al-Arian back when all this started, and it subsequently put in motion one of the wankiest lawsuit/dueling academic institution/competing high-handed press release wordfests I've seen in a while. Back in 2001 when all this started, USF was all about the "academic freedom" where Al-Arian was concerned:

Regarding the disruption within USF that he was alleged to have caused, the response stated that "Dr. Al-Arian is simply not responsible for the unlawful conduct of those who would threaten to do violence to him or to the university because they disagree with his beliefs" and that his "exercise of his constitutionally protected rights cannot be curtailed because a mindless few have chosen to retaliate against him and against the university because he has spoken out about matters with which they disagree."

Yeah, funny how some folks get touchy about other folks wanting to exterminate them. Philistines.

But then, USF seemed to change its position (I'll go out on a limb here and suggest that they actually paid attention to what Al-Arian was doing with the money laundering and the blood on his hands, etc) and started looking for ways to lose this particular albatross. Enter the shining knights of the AAUP:

At its spring meeting on June 1, 2002, Committee A approved an interim statement on the Al-Arian case which it presented a week later to the Association's 2002 annual meeting and released to the media. The interim statement conveyed the investigating committee's beliefs that it had all the information it needed for a full report on the charges against Professor Al-Arian as they had been articulated in December and, with respect to these charges, that Professor Al-Arian's statements that allegedly injured the university "fell well within the ambit of academic freedom" and that the other stated charges were "too insubstantial to warrant serious consideration as adequate cause for dismissal."

The USF president, after much waffling and meeting, and trustee-ing and lawyering, finally decided to try and cut the cord. Admittedly (read the whole process--it's a doozy!), their grounds were shaky, but that's because they were so interested in covering their asses and being all PC at the beginning that they didn't have a strong history to base their subsequent cases on. At any rate, they looked for constitutionally/legally appropriate ways to axe Al-Arian, and the AAUP got all huffy about it:

President Genshaft's August 21, 2002, announcement that USF was taking legal action against Professor Al-Arian in an effort to obtain a judicial ruling on considerations of academic freedom in his case drew a strong reaction from AAUP general secretary Mary A. Burgan. In a statement issued the following day, she said, "We are stunned that a university would take one of its own faculty members to court on an academic freedom issue. We certainly recognize the difficulty that President Genshaft has faced in dealing with these issues in the midst of intense political controversy; but that's the very reason that we strongly encourage universities to adhere to nationally recognized standards of academic due process . . . . We are baffled by President Genshaft's continuing efforts to evade normal academic due process, especially in this politically sensitive case. . . . 'Pre-suing' faculty members as part of an effort to dismiss them is an extremely rare tactic, with ominous and chilling portents for academic freedom." (emphasis mine)

Wanktastic! Note the insertion of "ominous and chilling portents," the magical witchy-words guaranteed to make any wrongdoing academic wet himself and try to correct the mistake. Now let's leave the enchanted forest of higher ed for a moment and imagine that you or I are currently in prison awaiting trial on charges of terrorism. Ya think we'd have committees and teams fighting to keep our jobs in the name of academic freedom? No, really. Stop laughing. I'm serious!

There's "innocent until proven guilty," and there's "freedom of speech," but neither of these concepts carries the caveat that "by the way, you get to keep your job while you languish in prison on extremely serious charges that definitely go beyond making a few speeches here or there." And then there's reality, in the form of the charges and the stacks of evidence just waiting to be piled on Al-Arian when he does come to trial. But academia is a wilderness where reality fears to tread, and so all that's left to the rest of us is to point and laugh. Or else die of the resulting high blood pressure--whatever.

2003-06-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

The H Factor; Or, Frankly My Dear, We Don't Give a Damn

So I'm spending last weekend trying very very hard to avoid the whole Hillary media blitz on the TV, which, as you might imagine, is impossible. After bouncing between Fox News' lovely snarky commentary and the straightfaced proclamations of the other news sources, I found myself wondering exactly why I have such a visceral reaction whenever someone mentions the "H" word. The reasons are myriad, but since I'm all about the "root causes" here, I've managed to narrow it down.

Whenever I see Hillary on TV, I am always left with the impression (moreso than with other politicians) that HRC is a construct, a persona as fake as the cardboard cutouts of her husband that you could get pictures of yourself taken with at fairs and theme parks. Now the charge you hear all the time among the folks who go rabid about Bill and Hill is the Hypocrisy charge, and Lord knows, we don't need to travel that path again. What I'm talking about here surpasses simple hypocrisy and goes into a level of cold calculation that would make Machiavelli blush. You can see the wheels turning back there, sizing up the potential fallout from every scenario, and then choosing the one most likely to give her the desired result, which is simply more power.

I'm not interested in whether or not Hillary really believes she knows what's best for the country; I'm not interested in her plans, ideas, or even, oddly enough, her politics. My revulsion for her stems from her inability to be an authentic human being, the lust for power that she takes pains to conceal behind conservative pantsuits and middle-aged hip housewife hairstyles and the fact that although she claims to be a progressive feminist of the first water, she's nothing more than a Scarlett O'Hara sans hoopskirts. Don't believe me? Okay, let's examine the facts:

Remember Scarlett's second husband, the ill-fated Frank who owned the lumber yard? Remember how Scarlett married him and took over the entire business, getting herself into a bit of trouble as she did so? Well, here's the Hillary parallel: she rode into the political scene on the coattails of her husband, then proceeded to try and take a hand in policy when she was NOT ELECTED TO DO SO. Say what you will about the 2000 election; at least the people at the center of the debate were ON THE FREAKING TICKET and you could VOTE FOR THEM. My reaction to Hillary's health care hoo-ha at the time (when I was a young, rabid, feminist democrat) was still something along the lines of, "Bitch, please!" A law degree does not equate expertise in socialized medicine, no matter how hard you wish it to be so. I guess we should be relieved that a racial incident involving the Klan and the shooting of Bill by Union soldiers didn't ensue, although that would have been lots more interesting than her health care plan.... But that was merely the beginning.

She famously denounced the whole "Stand by your man" scenario of wifely duty in the face of infidelity and scoffed at cookie baking, yet when it served her purpose to be seen as the strong, suffering wife and modern do-it-all mom she both stood by her man AND submitted chocolate chip cookie recipies. Visions of Scarlett working at the charity ball, anyone?

Just as Rhett forced Scarlett to rehabilitate her image in the eyes of Atlanta society, Hillary has employed ghost writers and Barbara Walters to give the public the impression that she truly is a woman who's in touch with the average American. Scarlett's implacable will to power was disguised behind a pretty face and coquettish smile; Hillary's is hidden behind a wall of P.R. In both cases, the mask slips occasionally and we see what is truly there. The irony is that you can admire a Scarlett O'Hara for doing what she must to survive in a male-dominated post-war society. In Hillary's case--in a post-modern, liberated America--it's not just a pathetic throwback and a betrayal of all those good feminist ideals about being a strong woman, it's also a little bit sinister.

2003-06-09T05:39:00.000-07:00

Well, THAT Sucked.

Up and about and back at work after 1+ weeks of the Infection From Hell! Tonsils swollen almost closed, double eye and ear infections, big fever, horrified doctors, the works. That. Sucked. A lot. And I have only my tiny walking biological WMD--the Boy--to thank for it. Line I'm most tired of repeating: "No, it's NOT SARS!"

On the plus side, got the Boy his first official kiddie pool from Target. It's in the shape of a whale, complete with a little spout attachment that connects to the garden hose for the front, and a big inflatable whale tail on the back. I think I'm more excited about it than he is...

Anyway, blogging shall reccommence as soon as I work up the energy to be pissy about something. Give me five minutes or so.

2003-06-02T06:12:00.000-07:00

Sick. Ugh.

Have been, still am. Left eye is officially Eye of Sauron now, and I've had a fever since last Wednesday, so that should explain the lack of vitriol from this quarter. Going back to Dr today; starting to get v.v.annoyed at this situation.

2003-05-28T05:45:00.000-07:00

Good TV

Well, if by good you mean alternately horrifying and depressing. I've been watching the History Channel's feature on the Tsars of Russia. We hit the Romanov high spots--Ivan, Peter, Catherine and Nicholas and conclude with the Bolshevik revolution and the beginning of Communism--I guess the idea is we all know what happened next.

The main thing I took away from the series was that no matter who was in power, the one expendable resource they all counted on was the Russian people. They seem trapped in some sort of repeating loop of history--sieze power, become tyrant. Hand rule off to inept fool by accident. Another person comes along to sieze power, become tyrant. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. But what a fascinating country and history. May have to do some reading, as the only thing I remember from 10th grade world history was the Catherine and a horse story.

2003-05-28T05:14:00.000-07:00

Gratuitous Whining Self-Indulgent Post

Here's my week thus far:

Eyeball is swollen--I know not why. It doesn't hurt or itch, the lid is merely swollen and droopy. I look like I'm drunk or insane--no comments, please.

Evil fairies have replaced my darling boy with a whining, petulant, demanding, tantruming doppelganger who hates everything but doesn't know why. Helloooo, terrible twos three months early. He's so advanced. I'm so proud.

I cannot figure out how to get past the freaking Nazi tank on screen three of Medal of Honor. You would think this would be a small consideration. You would be WRONG.

My boss is an idiot. And not the way you're thinking. I mean he's really, actually an idiot. He overexplains the most menial tasks, and still manages to get all the details wrong, so that I spend 50% of any job going back and retracing the steps he took and then trying to extrapolate what it is that I'm supposed to do. Example? Okay. Hypothetically, let's say my boss wanted me to build a fire. The conversation would go like this:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

Boss:

Me:

2003-05-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

Neo. And I Ain't Talking Matrix, Here.

So in this whole post 911, Republican in the White House, dusting off the military and getting involved in furrin affairs world, it seems like writers and pundits are trying to define and redefine the shift in American sensibilities from "laissez-faire, hey let's hug a tree or whatever" politics to "don't make me come over there, grow the hell up and let's get moving" politics. In other words, the chattering classes can't seem to figure out why being attacked might cause some folks to re-examine their world view, so they start doing what they do best--parsing words. The latest example is the neo-con kerfluffle. What is a Neo-Con? Hell if I know. I've heard every explanation from "term that was in vogue for 15 minutes in the seventies and is being dusted off again," to "Eeeeevillllle! Pure Eeeeeeeevilllle!" So I took the liberty of consulting some friends of mine...

Me: Thank you all for coming. I had nowhere else to turn regarding the meaning of the whole "Neocon" thing.

Irony: Don't look at me.

Hyperbole: Nope, me neither, although there is some fun hysteria out there that I must modestly take credit for.

Irony: (Rolls eyes.)

Similie: It's kind of like a conservative, only new.

Irony: Thank you, Captain Latinate.

Metaphor: It's merely a mask, a cover, if you will, for the new brand of conservatism--fiscally conservative, socially pretty liberal.

Me: Not according to this chick, it's not.

Metaphor: She misunderstands the basic premise. For her, conservatism is a noxious cloud, preventing those she sees as fun-loving and morally superior from raising taxes, pooh-poohing SUV owners, and feeling smug.

Similie: Noxious cloud? More like a wet blanket.

Metaphor: But you cannot extend the wet blanket comparison as well as you can the noxious cloud. With noxious cloud you can make allusions to "piercing the veil," "drawing a breath," and other...

Me: Ooookay, let's reel that in and get back on topic, shall we?

Irony: Can I go home?

All: NO!

Me: Frankly, if I have to be here, you all do. So metaphor thinks the neo-con label is a smear?

Metaphor: A smear. Yes, yes, I could do things with smear.

Similie: Yo, metaphor. We're not writing a novel here. We're defining a term.

Hyperbole: So why didn't you, like, consult a dictionary? Helloooo! Shiny book on shelf? Lots of pretty words?

Me: It's talking about a movement that started in the 60's, and leaves me as confused as ever about WHY people are so obsessed with it now. I need my labels to be definitively defined and to make sense, dammit, not just be whatever the pundit of the day wants them to be. Look, do any of you have ANYTHING helpful to add?

Irony: It's stupid and needs to die on the vine.

Metaphor: I can get behind that.

Simile: It's like this--yeah, I guess Irony's right.

Me: Okay, so the term neo-con has been hereby banished from our collective consciousness?

All: Hear, hear!

Hyperbole: Great! Now can we talk about this Eagle stuff from Andrew Sullivan?

All: NO!

2003-05-23T11:10:00.000-07:00

Touch Not the Cat

Or, eat not the cat-like mammal, whichever. See, I know a few things about cats. The main thing I know about them is that will happily dedicate their entire lives to vengeance if you do them wrong. Oh sure, maybe the actual cat you bothered won't get you, but he or she will certainly invoke Kitty Karma and sooner or later, you will suffer the wrath of the felines.

China is a case in point. So now it turns out that SARS may have jumped from a "catlike" animal--considered a Chinese delicacy, btw--to the human population. Incidentally, the Chinese also farm and kill cats for their skins. Coincidence? I think not. Kitty Karma has arrived, and payback is a giant yowling alleycat bitch.

Don't mess with cats. They will get you. Oh yes, they will get you good.

2003-05-22T10:42:00.000-07:00

Vomit. Just--Vomit.

No, that's not a pithy commentary on the quality of commencement speeches at our nation's universities, l'affair Blair, or the latest pronouncements by anyone in Higher Ed. That's a three word summary of what my world is revolving around just now, and an explanation for the reduced bloggage. I had no idea that my child was a tiny walking petrie dish for every single germ floating around the world at large. Color me surprised. Oh yeah, and covered in vomit, so color me smelly as well. Is smelly even a color? Sleep deprivation and Wiggles-induced epilepsy (anyone seen the backgrounds on "Hoop-de-doo! It's a Wiggly Party?" It's an on-the-fly amateur epilepsy diagnostic tool!) have obviously taken their toll.

Back tomorrow. Dammit. Or, vomit. Whichever.

2003-05-20T06:46:00.000-07:00

My Sesame Street is WAY More Exciting than Yours

I was watching Play With Me, Sesame the other day, and I had an epiphany: I hate Ernie. No, really. I hate him, with a deep, abiding hatred. Why do I hate Ernie? Because he's The Roommate From Hell.

Look, I might be revealing my inner stick-in-the-mud here, but think about Bert for a minute. He's a quiet neatnik of a guy who likes collecting paper clips and training pigeons. And who does he get for a roommate? Mr. "Hey Bert, let's play a game!" psychotic extrovert Ernie, who tramples Bert's wishes to be left alone, forces him into playing some arcane game, and then abandons him at the moment that Bert decides it's fun to play. Ernie is constantly bringing over univited guests like Cookie Monster who trash the place, installing freaking drum sets in the middle of the living room, and have you SEEN the mess he makes when he bathes? Welcome to Ernie's world, where it's All. About. Ernie. Ernie? You totally suck.

Frankly, I think Ernie is playing with fire. Bert is quiet, keeps to himself, talks to birds...I think you see where I'm going with this. I wouldn't be surprised to see the following scenario played out one day:

Ernie: (in bathtub, singing) Rubber ducky, you're the one!

There's a knock on the door, then Bert enters.

Ernie: Bert, old buddy! You startled me!

Bert: What are you doing, Ernie?

Ernie: Well, I'm just taking a bath here with my best friend, Rubber Ducky!

Bert: Your best friend? I thought I was your best friend, Ernie. (Bert's mono brow creases downward in consternation)

Ernie: Well sure, Bert! You're my best pal too!

Bert: You can only have one best friend, Ernie. That's why it's a BEST friend, not bestests friendses.

Ernie: Hey, Bert! Don't be sad, Bert! You are my best friend!

Bert: (approaching tub with hands behind back) Which is it, Ernie? Me or the duck?

Ernie: Hey, Bert? What do you have behind your back, Bert? Bert? AAARRRRRGGGHHHH!

Later, we see Bert dressed as an old woman, sitting in a rocking chair and talking to a pigeon.

Bert: You were right, pigeon. It's MUCH quieter around here now.

The pigeon coos happily, and continues pecking at its meal. Bert reaches into the dish of bird seed and extracts a fuzzy red pom pom nose.

Bert: Sorry, pigeon. Guess I didn't sift it all that thoroughly.

2003-05-19T05:48:00.000-07:00

What. A. Shock.

That Phil Donahue would use a commencement address to talk politics, not commencement. Could there BE a more inappropriate venue for the content of his speech? Probably not, else it wouldn't be a Donahue moment. Grr. Contrast the excerpts from Donahue's speech with those from Bill Cosby's speech at UNC-CH. Well, on the bright side, the students will always remember their graduation...

2003-05-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

Note to French--Please Stop Digging.

Confession time: it's fun to mock the French. I mean, first of all, it's easy, which is a huge consideration in my life just now, what with my hectic schedule. Who has time to dig up things to mock about, say, Lichtenstein? Secondly, it really seems to get their little panties in a wad, which just adds to the ease of mocking. Look, if your self-worth is predicated on belief in your own intellectual and cultural superiority to the US, and the US, bunch of tubby un-nuanced cowboys that we are, persists in mocking you, well, it's got to be a little galling. Or Gaulling, if you're into the cheap pun (which I completely am not. In fact, I didn't even type that. Lies! All lies! Written by journalists in the employ of the Bush Administration! Oh, wait. Getting ahead of myself here.).

But this is just over the top silly. I truly thought that this article was from The Onion, but unless the International Herald Tribune is code for Onion, I guess not. See, I would think that with a 35 hour work week, a French diplomat would be able to keep busy doing French stuff like striking under the table oil deals with brutal dictators, screwing over other countries for quick cash, or disdaining anything that isn't French. I mean, that's a LOT to do in a week, particularly when you have to stop every few hours to demonstrate solidarity with your fellow public servants back home who are busy striking for more money and less work.

However, I seem to have underestimated French industry, particularly when it comes to generating self-righteous indignation. Ladies and gentlemen, we are Being Monitored for Anti-French Lies Put Forth by the Bush Administration. Hang on a sec, would you? Got something in my throat: Haaaaaaahaaaaahaaaa! Bwaaaaahaaaaahaaaahaaa haa! Heeeeee! Ahem. Better now.

The thrust of the complaint and subsequent monitoring seems to be that newspapers are reporting unfavorably on the French. What are they reporting, exactly?

The impression given, she said, was that France had "protected a tyrant and a bloody dictator" and was "hostile to the United States."

Now WHERE would we have gotten such an idea? Crazy talk! As confirmed by Tom Bishop, professor at New York University, who tells us exactly who's to blame for Jay Leno's recent monologues:

"What's coming out of the right-wing think tanks in Washington, and elsewhere, is not innocent, I think, and is not accidental," he said.

Damn, you, Vast Right Wing Conspiracy! Damn your eyes!

Of course, the French are demonstrating their typical verve and devil-may-care attitude toward danger with this policy, because complaining about press coverage carries some Very Real Danger. Yes, the danger that their complaints "...might be seen...as a 'kind of petulance.'"

Oh, those brave risk-takers! You go, pampered, overpaid, underworked, disdainful little French diplomat! Fight the power! Woo!

No, seriously, France? You can stop digging now. You've hit bottom.

2003-05-16T06:28:00.000-07:00

Ah, Students

So I'm talking to one of the Housing Assignments staffers yesterday, and she's having trouble placing a student. The student's got a medical necessity form for a single, but the only building with singles available isn't up to this student's standards, because the rooms are Too Big. Say, that's not a complaint you hear every day. When I asked why that would be a problem, I was informed that the student suffers from agoraphobia, defined as "Fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places like markets. Fear of leaving a safe place."

Ooookay. Do I even need to type the jokes here, or can you fill them in on your own? NC State has 28,000 students, lots of big, roomy auditoriums, and oh yeah--there's the whole thing with the SKY when you have to GO OUTSIDE to GET TO CLASS!

See? Students are intelligent. They just tend to use their brains for small things, like getting a single in what happens to be the nicest dorm on campus (because coincidentally that dorm has the smallest single rooms).

2003-05-15T06:43:00.000-07:00

Ah, Screw It.

Seems to be the attitude of the American Historical Association (AHA) these days. My pal Jim sent me an article from The Weekly Standard (no link) with this news:

Following a series of scandals involving high-profile historians, the leading professional organization in the field, the American Historical Association, is reducing efforts to investigate claims of dishonest scholarship. The AHA said last week it would no longer evaluate claims of plagiarism reported to it, as had been its practice, despite the dishonor brought to the profession by such recent cases of plagiarism as those of Doris Kearns Goodwin and Stephen Ambrose and by Michael Bellesiles's discredited history of gun ownership in America.

So, I decided to check the horse's mouth, as it were. Sure enough, on the AHA homepage is this press release, which states:

The AHA has ended fifteen years of adjudication because it has proven to be ineffective for responding to misconduct in the historical profession. In place of adjudication, the Association will mount a more visible campaign of public education, explaining why the historical profession cares about plagiarism, falsification of evidence, and other violations of scholarly integrity.

There follows a laundry list of "initiatives," which is basically scholar-speak for committee meetings which will produce documents that no one will read. I read the press release several times, looking for the part where the AHA explains how disassociating the profession's national professional body from investigating and adjudicating cases of professional misconduct is a GOOD thing. Alas, I couldn't find that part. I did find this, though:

The Council does not believe that the modest benefits to the profession justify the time, energy, and effort that have gone into the process.

Oh, dear God. I will leave it to you to insert the incredulous ironic comments about the "benefits to the profession" that came from folks like Bellesiles--and while you're at it, add something about truth being a noble pursuit...I'm getting blurred vision here from the twin assaults of Irony and Rage and need to get more coffee. And possibly some heroin.

The AHA defends its actions with a list of "unintended consequences" that their involvement in adjudication had brought about. The upshot is that because they couldn't be everywhere and do everything, and because their sanctions essentially had no "teeth," they must now wash their hands of the whole process. Right. Because they couldn't work to give some weight to their sanctions. And because obviously, being sanctioned by the professional organization of historians bears no signifigance to ANYONE, ANYWHERE, EVER. And because they could never, ever, simply adjust their procedures to be, oh, I don't know--effective?

The boilerplate at the end of the press release concludes with this lovely sentiment:

Over the years, the Association has changed as the discipline and profession have changed, but its central mission has remained unaltered: the advancement of historical knowledge.

To which I would add the following caveat: as long as advancing historical knowledge doesn't include verifying its accuracy. 'Cause that might be, you know, hard.

2003-05-14T08:23:00.000-07:00

Things That Make Me Go Raaaarrrrr!
(Raaaarrr copyright Frank J, 2000-something)

Yes, the blog has been fairly dullsville this week. However, I have had a valid excuse. This week is the week that the students leave, or, as it is known hereabouts:

The Week of the Hellish End Of Year Program.

Ah, the beloved End of Year Program, in which the entire division is forced into an auditorium for Three. Solid. Hours. During these three hours our Vice Chancellor recognizes individuals and gives awards. Okay, so recognition isn't such a bad thing, right? Riiiiiiiight. See, for one thing, we get "recognized" not only for major division and university-wide awards, but also for individual accomplishments, which culminates in a thirty minute litany of mispronounced names and recognitions like this one:

Finally, we'd like to recognize Bob (garblegarblebarble)son for gaining an Honorable Mention in the University Picnic's Three Legged Race last September. As you may know, Bob (garblegarblebarble)son HAS three legs, and so was able to compete on his own. His Honorable Mention is an Honorable Mention to the three legged everywhere! Bob, you truly are a living embodiment of this University's commitment to diversity!

And on it goes, blah blah blah awardcakes. Plus, our Vice Chancellor has a strange penchant for dressing up in costumes during this event and performing bizarre one man "comedy skits" that would be more at home in a Postmodern Pinter Theatre Festival. This year it was an homage to Phantom of the Opera; in previous years we've done wizards, Santa Claus, and drag. What does any of this have to do with the Division Award for Innovative Use of Technology? Well, on this planet, nothing. But I've come to accept that the End Of Year Program is neither conceived nor written here on earth. It's a three hour tour of planet Vice Chancellor, and I can only be thankful that the auditorium isn't called the S.S. Minnow.

Regular ranting will resume after I resume enough sensation in my legs and butt to go outside and give thanks for my freedom from this torture--well, until August, when we have the Beginning of Year Program. Raaaarrrr.

2003-05-13T07:04:00.000-07:00

The Dangers of Modern History Writing

From the Chronicle, this story about a new history book that's winning prizes and hullabaloo. The book deals with the "other slavery" in the US involving the Spanish and Native American clashes that occurred out West before and during English settlement. It sounds interesting, and I'll probably give it a read (the funny thing about getting degrees in English is that now I primarily read history books for pleasure...), but the quotes that jumped out at me from the article were these:

Some readers are almost certainly going to be offended by Mr. Brooks's attention to the ambient violence of the history he recounts. The Indians that he portrays aren't New Age icons -- peaceful, egalitarian, in touch with the deeper rhythms of the cosmos. The pre-Columbian slave system was by no means as horrific as the Middle Passage, but it was violent even so. ...

"That's where James is taking something of a risk," says Donald Lee Fixico, a professor of American Indian history at the University of Kansas. "It might be safer not to look at the brutality between the two races, but he's quite willing to go into that gray area."

Okay, so what I got from that was that a guy who did painstaking research and presents actual facts about brutality and history in a book is in danger of "offending people." Yeah, that damn reality. Offensive! I suppose I should be impressed that such risk-taking works are being published, but I'm mostly just disappointed that a seemingly straightforward work like this one is being called "risk-taking" in the first place.

2003-05-13T06:08:00.000-07:00

One Question

For those of you who are planning to see X2 but haven't yet--leave lest ye be somewhat spoiled. For those who don't care--ignore this post. But I can't hold this back any longer. I have to ask:

WHY does Jean have to leave the jet to confront the dam? If she can block the Professor, Kurt and everyone else from LEAVING the jet, while simultaneously lifting the jet and deflecting the water, obviously she's powerful enough to do what she did from within the jet. Or couldn't she have just lifted the jet while inside it?

Wait, I lied. There are more questions, like: Helloooo, Bobby? Ice? Water? Freezing it? Oh, and Storm? Controls wind? Can't use the wind to lift the jet?

Basically an otherwise excellent movie was marred by last minute--we have to do these things so we can do the whole Phoenix thing next movie--just "kill" her somehow, consistency isn't a concern! Yes, I do think about useless crap like this too much. Oh, and I REALLY REALLY hate Jean Grey. But you knew that.

2003-05-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

Walden School? You're all Wet.

Apparently the administrators of Walden school got a little carried away with this quote Thoreau included in Walden:

"I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute."

And have taken it to mean that they don't have to deal rationally with legitimate parental concerns. Unfortunately for the Chafee family, moving to a pond in the middle of nowhere to ruminate on the situation isn't an option. Neither is tossing the school's administrators into a pond. More's the pity, since they seem to be all wet.

Via Number 2 Pencil, which has more on the issue.

2003-05-09T08:18:00.000-07:00

Help! I'm Being Repressed by SPAM!
Got an email yesterday from nhulse.womynkind@version.net. Didn't have to open it to discern the contents; check out the spelling of womyn. But, because I sometimes like a good laugh, I opened the email. Nhulse does a series of multimedia, "SPOKEN WORD" (caps hers) performances about--wait for it--violence against women and rape. Both important issues, to be sure, but I had some questions about her treatment of the topics given the following excerpt from an article she references in her email:

Hulse's "A Rose by Any Other Name," is a multimedia performance dramatizing the forms of rape in our culture. It's graphic, driving home the evils of the crime like a jackhammer. The presentation features dance performances by Hulse, the music of artists such as "Marilyn Manson," "Garbage" and "Hole," scenes from films such as "The Accused" and "Animal House," and telling statistics on such crimes as incest and date, acquaintance and stranger rape, "A Rose by Any Other Name" tells the story of our "rape culture."

Uh-oh. Rape culture. Buzzwords for the radical branch of the feminist tree. I wonder if she considers all acts of intercourse rape? No way to tell, but I thought I'd check out her homepage.

Oh, look! Andrea Dworkin's greatest hits! Plus a list of factoids--many of which have been debunked for almost a decade. The newspaper article also said this:

Hulse noted that she meets with a lot of resistance in her work to educate the public about rape. And, she added, women who have performed with her in the past have even been beaten for their participation.

She doesn't say whether the beatings came from victims who don't appreciate their trauma being hijacked for a cause that ultimately injures rape awareness and prevention efforts by making hysterical claims and polarizing male/female relations. But more importantly, I wonder how long before our campus hosts a performance?

2003-05-08T08:06:00.000-07:00

Car Talk

I'm feeling tapped out lately, and I think it's because by the time I finish my 30 minute commute with the Boy, I am done for the day. Here's how a typical afternoon drive goes:

4:15 - Leave Office
4:20 - Arrive at Daycare. Greet Boy by sweeping him into hug and kissing him, then put him down so that he can walk to car ALL BY HIMSELF.
4:25 - Stand by rear passenger door of car as Boy struggles valiantly to get into car seat ALL BY HIMSELF as other cars line up behind us in driveway.
4:27 - Use forearm to brace wriggling, screaming Boy as I secure him in car seat. Hand Boy pre-chilled sippy cup and peanut butter cracker, then get into driver's seat. Ignore peanut butter cracker hurtling past my head as Boy tosses it in a gesture of protest for not being given 45 minutes to explore the car before deciding to settle in for the drive home.
4:30 - 4:38 - Engage in following discussion while waiting to get onto highway:

Boy

(Repeat exchange 43 more times. Brief pause. Then:)

Boy

Wiggly Dance Party

4:50 - Reach exit ramp. Sounds of struggling begin from backseat.

Boy

Repeat variations 43 more times, until mommy snaps. Then

Boy

2003-05-06T07:57:00.000-07:00

Jean Grey is a Big Fat Mary Sue

I'm coming out of the X-Men closet right now and coming clean: of all the mutants in all the parallel universes in all the world, I hate Jean Grey the most. Why? Well, I've given this some thought over time, and beyond the inexplicable damsel in distress vibe she puts out, her super-perfect powers, super-perfect boyfriend, and super-perfect flowing red hair, I've finally realized why she bugs me.

Jean Grey is a Mary Sue.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, "Mary Sue" was coined by fanfiction writers back in the early days to describe an "original character" inserted into an existing fictional universe who just happens to be the most beautiful, most talented, most amazingly gifted being on the earth. If the Mary Sue didn't end up marrying the lead character from that universe, then she would sacrifice herself in an heroic act that saves everyone else, and expire prettily in the arms of the lead character. Then much angsting would ensue. A Mary Sue is a cipher for the author, and is annoying because she is two-dimensional, perfect in every way (even her flaws are designed for maximum angst potential until she manages to overcome them), and completely unnecessary in an established fictional world.

You can see where I'm going with Jean Grey. Except for the whole "cipher for the author" part, she matches this description perfectly. The X-Men already have the most powerful telepathic mutant in the world in Professor X. He's not a telekinetic, but I would consider that unnecessary given the skills of the other team members. The X-Men would be fine without her. Jean is also perfectly lovely, just happens to be a leading scientific researcher who gets to address panels of government officials on a regular basis, and is in a relationship with the leader of the X-Men, Cyclops, PLUS she has the undying affection of Wolverine, the untouchable badass. Jean even gets to sacrifice herself and cause angsting to ensue with the whole Phoenix/Dark Phoenix storyline (which appears in both film and comic, although in very different form.) And I would argue that while she isn't a self-insertion of the comic's creator, she may very well be a projection of the perfect girlfriend.

She doesn't even have a good backstory--Professor X takes her in as a protege when she manifests her mutation and almost goes mad, she becomes Perfect Woman, blah blah blah Phoenix-cakes, insert alternate universes and pseudo romantic triangle stuff here. Rogue and Storm are far more interesting (here I'm talking about the comic Rogue--the movieverse version is toothless and pathetic), with real conflict written into their characters. They develop more over time, as well. And as a bonus, they don't spend all their time in battle situations exchanging these bon mots:

Scott: "JEAN!"
Jean: "SCOTT!"
(something blows up)
Jean: "Scott......" (faints prettily, gets kidnapped or otherwise imperiled)
Scott: "JEEEEEAAAAAANNNNNN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Logan: (running up just in time to espy the trauma of Jean) "JEEEEEAAAAAANNNNN! NOOOOOOOO!" (to Scott): "How could you let this happen?!?!"
(much manly glaring, while Rogue and Storm finish kicking everyone's asses and wander off, shaking their heads at the stupidity of Scott and Logan)

Not that I'm bitter.

2003-05-06T05:07:00.000-07:00

Tunnels, Oppression and Programming, Oh MY!

Erin O'Connor posts a letter today from a student organizer of a "tunnel of oppression"--a travelling exhibit that attempts to educate people about the horrors of oppression through photos and graphics and multimedia hoo-ha. The letter was earnest, and asked for comments on how to better the program. In truth, the best way to do that would be to eliminate it utterly, as several commenters on Erin's site point out, with varying degrees of civility. But that is neither here nor there. To me, the most remarkable thing about the entire communication is this section:

I have helped in the organization and facilitation of the University of Wisconsin - Eau Claire version of the Tunnel of Oppression for three years. I agree that it is probably a very unintelligent and mindless method of educating the general student population. However, life in Eau Claire consists of a mostly white, heterosexual, Judeo-Christian, suburban, upper to middle-class society. Most of the students that attend the University come from backgrounds that follow this same societal structure/pattern.

The Tunnel is aimed at the students that don't realize that life elsewhere is any different from the Suburbia that they grew up in. Ignorance is dangerous. The goal of any baccalaureate is the irradication of the ignorance that they still harbor, though in most cases the targeted ignorance is solely "book knowledge."

Look at the assumptions here. As one commenter on Erin's site pointed out, participants in the tunnel of oppression may tend to display apathy toward it precisely because of the organizer's attitudes, and wonder where they (the presenters) got their "special", enlightened point of view. I don't know this student, or his/her course of study or background, but s/he has certainly internalized the old "bourgeoisie bad" idea--the only things missing are the sneer quotes.

The writer admits to the stupidity of the program, but defends it because he or she has so little regard for the "white, heterosexual, Judeo-Christian, suburban, upper to middle-class society" types on campus that the only way "those people" can be educated about evil in this world is by dumbing everything down to pictograms. I'm surprised that the students at Wisconsin - Eau Claire are even capable of locating the exhibit, much less appreciating it. After all, with a background such as that, we should all be amazed that they've dragged themselves far enough from the primordial ooze to walk upright.

And get the misspelled Orwell-speak at the end. The goal of a baccalaureate is not the "irradication" of ignorance, it is the development of the mind. One may lead to the other, but please don't get this particular cart before the horse. Traditionally, books, lecture, and discussion have been more than adequate to the task of mental development and its corollary in the eradication of ignorance. I suppose the real question here is what has changed about college education that makes these approaches seem inadequate, and why proselytizing has taken the place of encouraging the natural intellectual curiosity of students.

2003-05-05T07:03:00.000-07:00

Road Hazard

Do you want to know why I have absolutely no memory of the last 5 miles of my drive home yesterday afternoon? Well, I don't care--I'm going to tell you anyway, and I'll tell you in three words:

Bobble. Head. Dogs.

You see, I was just tooling along in the purple pickup truck (don't go there--it's a long story involving a seven fingered man and a traffic accident, but it's been a reliable vehicle), reflecting upon my recent viewing of X2, when I noticed a green Chevrolet something-or-other in front of me. The Chevy was going a mite slower than the speed limit, and my annoyance began to grow, until I noticed the decor in the back window of the car. There, arrayed before me like some primitive dog-worshipper's shrine, was a line of 7 bobble-head dogs, craniums busily nodding to the rhythm of the road. Well, 6 of them were bobbling--one seemed to have gotten his bobble hung on something, and looked like the victim of a ninja neck-breaking attack, with his head cocked at an unnatural angle and his grinning face staring at something above me and to the right.

So I began studying the bobble doggies. They were all a different breed--there was a bulldog, a dalmation, a couple of indeterminate terrier-things (one of which was the wounded bobbler), a collie, dachsund, and I think either a rottweiler or pit bull. But in the center of the display, in the place of honor above the rear window brake light, was a tiny grey terrier. Now, perhaps because I had been hypnotised by the bobbling, I became obessessed with the grey dog's position: why did IT get the place of honor? Did the driver have a terrier? Had she lost a beloved pet and this was her way of commemorating the event? Did she in fact own real dogs in the models represented in her back window? Or did she spend a lot of time at truck stops and had absolutely no taste in tchotchkes?

These questions burned in my mind as I hung a right and the bobble Chevy continued onward--and they still do. Oh, bobble-head mystery woman! WHY must you torment me with your cryptic plastic dog decor? What is the signifigance of the breeds chosen? What is up with that one dog's HEAD? Where the hell did you even find this crap, and what possessed you to share it with the world at large? What does it all MEAN?!?!? Well, aside from the fact that bored english majors tend to read too much into things, I mean.

Sigh. A mystery for the ages.

2003-05-02T12:30:00.000-07:00

Anti-Semitism Question of the Day

Why is it always a "sinister cabal" of Jewish advisors? Or even just a "cabal?" What, these words aren't good enough to use instead (from Thesaurus.com):

bunch, cabal, camarilla, camp, circle, clan, club, coterie, crew, crowd, faction, gang, in-group, insiders, mafia, mob, organization, outfit, pack, ring, set, society

I'm pulling for more use of the word "crew;" you know, to drag anti-semitism into the hip hop era. I mean, just because someone's racist attitudes date from the middle ages, it doesn't mean that their language needs to be similarly ancient and stilted.

Or I guess it's just a play on Kabbalah, right? I mean, if you're going to insult a race based largely on religious differences, might as well get in that dig from the get-go, right? How very clever. Not.

2003-05-02T08:23:00.000-07:00

My. Damn. Sinus.

Dear Sinus Located on the Right Side of my Forehead:

It has recently come to my attention that you might be upset with me for something I may have subjected you to in the past. As I am ignorant of the cause of your rage, let me give you an opportunity to meet with me and discuss what's bothering you, face to cranky body part. I am a reasonable person, sinus, perfectly willing to compromise with you on the issues most important to your kind--pollen, dander, perfume, and even mold and dust. In short, I am hip to the sinus jive. So, if it's not too much trouble, could you please explain why you insist on swelling, throbbing, aching and draining into my ear on a daily basis? Your next door neighbor, the Left Hand Sinus, doesn't seem compelled to mimic your behavior, so I can only conclude that you, Right Hand Sinus, are being unreasonable.

I've given you every attention, Right Hand Sinus, including enough Sudafed to fuel thirteen crystal meth labs, nasal sprays, steam treatments, and anti-inflammatories. And yet my overtures are rebuffed--was it really necessary, Sinus, to cause me to look like a stroke victim during the entirety of a very important meeting? To suddenly begin draining with the force of a fire hose during the same meeting, causing me to honk and sniff and drip and water and still look stroked out? I think not.

Frankly, Sinus, I think your continual raging against the machine is making you look bad. In fact, I have taken steps to ensure that if you do not see fit to shape up on your own, you will be compelled to do so by Allergists, Inc. Surgery is not out of the question, Sinus. I don't mean to threaten, but you have forced my hand.

Sincerely,
Your Landlord, The Head

2003-05-02T05:13:00.000-07:00

Refreshing Quote of the Day

From Pay-Per-View only Chronicle, an interesting article by an English professor among physicists, in which he explores the differences in collaboration and collegiality between the disciplines. Reading this explained to me the faith my hard science pals had in peer review versus my scepticism about the process in the humanities. But beyond that, there's this quote:

The story of the Bell Labs physics scandal initially intrigued me because I thought it might turn out to be a scientific version of the culture wars, with scientists coming under attack from groups that help finance them. It didn't turn out that way. ... But humanists have long been embroiled in their own conflicts with the society that finances them--and one of the reasons lies in the way that we raise roadblocks and bar the world from entering our neighborhood. That's the opposite of what we ought to be doing, and it's all the more shameful because humanists are in an unusual and enviable position: The nature of our work makes it easy to open our doors and share that work.

Thank you, professor Cassuto. Part of my extreme disillusionment with the English discipline came from the desperate attempts of faculty to justify its worth by making it more "scientific" and thereby more exclusive. I believe that the worth of humanities education is in teaching subjective versus objective analysis, and in learning how to read, comprehend, ENJOY, and make cogent and accessible arguments about a text. There is value in those skills--the declining quality of debate in this country demonstrates that when the humanities give in to their insecurity and try to add "science" to their field, the students--and by extension, the populace at large--suffer.

2003-05-01T07:35:00.000-07:00

The Post-Modern Anti-Intellectual

Hublet and I often spend time with a fellow ex-grad student who also happens to be our "token uber-liberal friend." He's a nice guy, but the views he espouses remind me why I decided that getting a PhD in literature would be the intellectual equivalent of becoming a two-dollar whore--selling myself cheap and pretending to be whatever the customer of the moment wanted in order to survive. One of his favorite topics is the "rise of anti-intellectualism" and its pernicious effect on society. I've always disagreed with this idea, but it's only recently that my reasons why have crystallized into any sort of cogent argument.

In order to hold the position that America is a nation of anti-intellectuals, you must begin with the belief that the average American is stupid. This belief is widely held in academia--to point out to these people that professors are merely "average Americans" with degrees is a non-starter, as you will be subjected to a lengthy diatribe the upshot of which is that their intellectual curiosity is a rarity, and thus establishes them as members of the intellectual elite. It's a circular argument, and one you cannot win, but it is a useful illustration of the attitude that Den Beste points out in his recent essay: they're in the club, and they OUGHT to be in charge.

When you persist in arguing that there is no inherent superiority in being able to apply post-colonial theory to MacBeth, because the theory itself is as questionable as its application, you get the Stanley Fish answer: the theory is merely misunderstood and misapplied by rubes and enemies of the intellectual left. Never mind that the majority of the folks "misapplying" the theories are being published in journals edited and distributed by the intellectual left, or that these writers are intellectual lefties of impeccable credentials. If you point out that there is a sense of entitlement among the humanities professoriate based entirely on ephemera and circle-jerking self-congratulation, you are charged with the greatest of all crimes: anti-intellectualism!

It is not anti-intellectual to question the truths held to be self-evident by the PoMos. It is not anti-intellectual to hold theories of education up to rigorous scientific investigation; in fact, it is classical intellectual investigation. The only objections the PoMos consistently raise to standardized testing, to the teaching of the Western Canon, and even, in society at large, to what are considered "traditional" values, is that they might be offensive or discriminatory. Instead, the enlightened view goes, we must replace these old offensive and discriminatory ideas and practices with new ones--which are equally offensive and discriminatory, but only to the average (read: stupid) American. When there is an outcry, when the real damage being done to the minds of our young people by failing to insist upon excellence is pointed out, they go underground, hijacking textbook approval panels and inserting their agenda behind the scenes (thanks, Jim, for pointing out that article). Because they know best, after all.

If anti-intellectualism means standing up to smug, insulated, self-righteous intellectual hacks with weak theories and even weaker defenses of those theories, then by all means, call me anti-intellectual. A post-modern anti-intellectual, in fact.

2003-04-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

A Day in the Life

So, I'm just sitting around, having a beer or three with Irony, and listening to her sob story about her lack of name recognition when there's a knock at the door.

Me: Who is it?

Person Outside: Ohmigod! Like, let me in! I am totally exhausted beyond the ability to tell it! My world is ending in a fiery cataclysm! You've got to DO something! I'm at my wit's end!

Me and Irony: It's Hyperbole!

Irony: Don't let her in, okay? I am just not in the mood. Really.

Me: Oh, come on, Irony. She's obviously distressed.

Irony: So she says. She's HYPERBOLE, for crying out loud. It's not outside the realm of possibility that she could be, oh, I don't know, exaggerating.

Me: (sigh). Come on in, Hyperbole!

Irony: (rolling eyes) Gimme another beer.

Hyperbole: Ohmigod! It's a total jungle out there! Have you HEARD?

Me: Sit. Have a beer. Breathe in, hold it, release.

Irony: Or, you could just continue holding it. That might be fun.

Me: What's up, H?

Hyperbole: It's this whole free speech dissent thing! I mean, I've done some big jobs in my time, but I usually have time to prepare! Presidential elections give me at least a couple of years off--but this! Everyone in the whole world is speaking at once, and they are totally wearing me out--like, to a frazzle! I'm mostly dead!

Irony: We could only hope.

Hyperbole: You know, bitterness is not your best feature, Irony. Look, it's this whole McCarthyism thing all over again. Chill winds, crushing of dissent--and the whole bicoastal aspect is just wearing me out. What time zone am I even in?

Me: Yeah, we know you're working hard, H. Why don't you sit down and take a load off?

Hyperbole: I can't! I have to apply duct tape to Martin Sheen and buff his cross at noon! Then I've got to sit in with the Dixie Chicks, I've got a 2:30 with Daschle to prep for his press conference and--dammit! I hate pagers!

Me: Who--

Hyperbole: Oh, for the love of God! WHO gave Tim Robbins my beeper number? He's such a freaking hack--chill wind, indeed. I told him grandiose imagery needs to be original, but nooooo! He wanted to go classic "chill wind." What. Ever. Why even call me if you aren't going to take my advice? I'm a professional, and I don't have to put up with this crap!

Irony: Oh, cry me a river, you vapid tramp. I've been working the same jobs you have, and not only am I tired, I'm not even getting any credit. Subtlety is never appreciated.

Hyperbole: Subtlety is soooo 19th century. Maybe if you actually got OUT more, you know, combed your hair or bathed or something...

Irony: Bring it.

Hyperbole: I am so gonna kick your ass!

Me: HEY! There will be no figurative or literal ass-kickings in my living room! Sit. Drink. Then go out there and do your jobs. Irony? You're appreciated. See? Look at all the pretty bloggers out there--they recognize your worth, and I have it on good authority that all bloggers are not only intelligent, they're also thin, good looking, and way superior to everyone else in the world. Hyperbole? You're just gonna have to grit your teeth and bear it a while longer. I have a feeling the majority of your abusers are about to hit critical mass, implode, and vanish.

Hyperbole: Then can I go to San Cristobal?

Me: Yeah, whatever. Look, this has been fun, but I have a life to get back to.

Irony and Hyperbole: Okay, fine, we can take a hint.

Me: Good. Now go. And if I hear that you've been fighting again...

Irony and Hyperbole: What?

Me: I'll sick Metaphor and Similie on your asses.

Hyperbole: I can never tell those two apart.

Irony: Color me surprised.

Me: OUT!

2003-04-28T05:43:00.000-07:00

Reality 100 - A Remedial Course for Professors and Administrators

Reality 100 seeks to address the cognitive dissonance experienced by many of today's college professors and administrators when faced with modern student protests against their policies or instruction.

The majority of class discussion will focus on the conundrum faced by many who spent their college careers railing against the status quo created by those over thirty, only to find themselves both over thirty and in the position of defending their own status quo. Topics covered will include:

Those miserable ingrates--don't they realize that we're trying to save them? A primer for dealing with professorial frustration.

No, see OUR parents were wrong about everything, not yours; we FIXED all that--guiding Gen Y through the rebelliousness of youth with an eye toward accomplishing the glorious revolution we dreamed of.

Dealing with in-class dissent without showing up on NoIndoctrination.org.

Damn you, Reagan! DAMN YOU!--A weekly therapeutic roundtable for addressing the root causes of the malaise affecting today's youth.

Reality 100 is a for-credit course only, as the administration feels that grades are an abitrary and restrictive tool of authority, and thus counterproductive to freedom of thought and creative expression. Power to the people!

2003-04-24T09:18:00.000-07:00

The Rub

I remember taking my first theory course--it was, interestingly enough, in grad school, because my undergraduate institution focused on reader response when it came to literary texts. I am glad of that approach, as it seems to me that familiarity with the words on the page is essential when you start delving into theoretical schools of thought--there are so many that often students get overwhelmed by the need to apply the theory to make their point and forget what the text itself says. I think this is why so much academic output is so easy to mock--it's become an exercise in pushing the envelope, not in reading the text, and the envelope gets pushed right into (unwitting) self-parody.

I also remember moving rather quickly from the glow of "what interesting ideas" to a jaded "this is stupid, but I need an "A"" approach to my own writings. When I try to pinpoint the reason, I realize it's more a combination of factors than One Big Flaw in Education. I was reminded of this when I reread a Stanley Fish piece (slow day at work, okay?) in which he spends a LOT of type to make the point that postmodernism isn't to blame for the vapidity of much scholarly debate or the insipid nature of students, but that the failure of intellectuals (and society at large) to properly understand postmodernism leads to these problems. Well okay, Stanley, I get that. But it doesn't actually solve the problem, does it?

And here's the rub: when confronted with the negative consequences of a particular school of thought or philosophical movement, intellectuals almost always fall back on the "it isn't properly understood" defense. Which can almost always be true, based on the myriad interpretations of any given idea, theory or approach to life. Real life example--I made a post mocking a particularly vapid proclamation by a professor, and pointed out that his views were unsurprising, given his penchant for decorating his website with Che Guevara posters. I received an earnest non-flaming email from a lady who informed me that I didn't properly understand what Guevara was about--he was a freedom fighter, etc. etc. Okay, I'll admit to deficiency in my Guevara knowledge, so I did a little research. And what I came back to, and what I pointed out in my reply to this emailer was that at the end of the day, there was blood all over Guevara's hands, and not because he was "misunderstood," but because he did precisely what he said he would do. In addition, Guevara shares in the blood on Castro's hands, because he gave the fellow a "leg up," so to speak. As such, my contempt of those who hold him up as a paragon of virtue is defensible.

Proclaiming and preserving someone's innocence because they've been "misunderstood" even when their own actions and history point to the opposite conclusion is wrong. Ideas do have consequences, but it's almost impossible to see what they'll be when the ideas are being put forward. So it's back to the rub. Philosophies will almost always be misunderstood, misused, and abused. The question is, what do we do about it?

2003-04-23T05:26:00.000-07:00

Weirdest. Dream. Ever.

Okay, so for some reason a friend of mine (who I've never seen before) and I decide to go snowshoeing in Finland. So we snowshoe around, ride some trains, cross some suspension bridges, and find ourselves at the Royal Palace, which has a small pond in front of it that has never thawed, except for once in 1996 (you can see one crack in the ice). In my dreamworld, there is no summer in Finland.

So we enter the palace, because, hey! That's what you do, and who should greet us except Donald Rumsfeld, George Bush and Dick Cheney. It doesn't dawn on me how odd it would be to a) just walk into a government building and meet these folks in FINLAND, or b) that they all seem to know who I am. So we chitchat, Dick Cheney looks absolutely dour about something, then Rumsfeld grabs my arm and says we're going to take a tour of the palace. He kind of marches me down the hall to this room where - SURPRISE! My family and some other friends are throwing me a surprise birthday party. I get a really cool charm bracelet with these odd purple stones on it, and my mom makes the comment that the stone matches some velour outfit she has. Then I start to get the feeling that something isn't quite right. But before the evil lurking surprise (something involving Rummy, I think) can reveal itself, I am jolted awake by my son's demands for a midnight (or 3:44 a.m.) beverage.

I was quite relieved to wake up.

Of course, my dreams have nothing on Michele's. Nothing like a mountain of rotting flesh to really give you that rested and refreshed feeling.

2003-04-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

Rick is Reilly Pissing Me Off

Confession time: I, a female, womanly type person, regularly read Sports Illustrated. I don't follow sports that closely, but I usually like the columnists and features, although the overwrought heartstring tugging style of sports reportage currently en vogue does annoy. However, I deal with it. I liked the movie Rudy, after all, so I'm not essentially opposed to the Lifetime for Men aspects of sportswriting. But lately my enjoyment of SI has dwindled to almost zero, and it's all the fault of one person: Rick Reilly.

Let's get something straight: When I pick up an issue of Sports Illustrated, I assume that the issue will contain stories about, oh, I don't know, SPORTS. Imagine my surprise when the March 19th issue contained a Reilly-penned paean to Dean Smith--not for the winning at basketball thing, but for his politics. Okay, I thought, that's odd and a little annoying, but perhaps I'm annoyed because as a State fan I must automatically despise all things Chapel Hill. But it's still weird to see someone celebrated in SI for his politics...oh, well. Hublet and I discussed our surprise and annoyance, engaged in a little healthy Chapel Hill bashing, and moved on.

The following week, Reilly wrote about the disconnect of getting excited about sports when there's a war on. Okay, fair enough. But must we descend into this lovely little PSA in the middle of the column:

Chris, there are millions of us in this country who hate this war, hate how it came to this, hate what it will leave behind in sorrow and debt and newly minted terrorists. But we respect you who must fight it, are humbled by your service, honor you for your willingness to die for our flag.

Again, my response was something along the lines of eyeroll, shrug, move on. It was a wartime column, after all, though I found the "those of us" somewhat smug and condescending. Have you checked your readership demographics lately, Ricky boy? But I digress.

The following two weeks were back to form--light satire. Tra-la. But then I get this crap last week, in a column entitiled "Three Ring Masters;"

Or was it when a Canadian, a lefty and a hockey nut won the Masters -- all in one day? It was a big week for lefties: winner Mike Weir, third-place finisher Phil Mickelson and Burk, of course.

WTF? There were about 50 protesters, and half of them had nothing to do with Burk, and some of them were mocking everyone there. Reilly then relates this freaky story about almost coming to blows with a KKK guy at the protest:

"You want to shake my hand?" he said, offering it.
"No, but I'd like to spit in it," I replied.
"If you do," he said, "they'll have to get the law over here to pull me off you."
"Pack a lunch, motherf-----," I said, reaching deep into my clever bag of names, "'cause it'll take you all day."

Okay, Rick? Listen to me. I do not even give the left cheek of a rat's ass about your stance, your politics, or who you bravely stood up to in a group of 50 people at an irrelevant protest at a GOLF TOURNAMENT. I do not give the right cheek of a rat's ass about the politics of any athlete, coach, ball boy, or caddy. Know why? 'Cause it's SPORTS, you ridiculous turd! Don't go getting your politics in my sports, or I will smite you with furious anger! Sports are supposed to be about universals--striving, achieving, surviving the agony of defeat, insert cliche' here. That's why people watch sports, to see the best (and sometimes the worst) of human nature writ large, not to reflect upon socialized medicine.

And I can't help getting the impression that you're inserting politics here not so much to make an argument, but to demonstrate your pc street cred. Ooh, you're so fabulous, Rick! You got all involved in a Martha Burk protest! You stood up to (one weirdo proclaiming himself) the KKK! Wow! You are so gonna get laid for that! Rock on, tiny dissident sportswriter! No one will dare crush your dissent! Or blow you with a chill wind, or, or something--check with Tim Robbins for the wording on that.

So in addition to being annoying, you're also a sanctimonious prick. Hey, Rick? Do us all a favor and stick to being sarcastic about Major League Baseball drug testing. Because when you do that, we aren't reminded that you're a whiny little moron. And our day is made a little brighter.

2003-04-21T09:55:00.000-07:00

Southern Gothic III - Deliverance

So my cousin Lee (you know, the one whose dog was devoured by his brother's lioness) moved up to the NC/TN mountains after he got out of the Marines. He married a nice mountain girl named Nellie, and took up carpentry, doing cabinetry and other work for all the rich yankees who build houses near the ski resorts up there.

Nellie's dad is named Otis, and he's a failed teetotaler who vacillates between being "saved" and making moonshine runs (Oh, and he got in trouble with the law once for growing a single pot plant in the flowerbed in front of his house. The DEA can't find the drugs pouring over the borders in a flood but they can harass one dissolute mountain man. And not find his still. Whatever, DEA.). But I digress.

Anyway, Otis has a bit of a hairtrigger temper when he's off the wagon, and like all good moonshiners, he's armed. Lee and Nellie have a house on land adjacent to Otis', and there's a creek running along the back of the properties. One night, Lee awoke to this screeching, grinding, crashing noise. Since they don't live near any large highways, this was worthy of notice, so Lee grabbed his rifle and his flashlight and went to investigate.

If you're unfamiliar with this part of the state, there's a large, mobile population of migrant workers that comes through during the summer to work the tomato farms. Most of them are illegal aliens, and very few speak English. What Lee discovered when he went out back was a car full of non-English speaking, drunk, and confused Mexicans. Apparently, they weren't paying attention, and the driver thought that the creek bed was an extension of the unpaved road they'd been driving on. He soon discovered otherwise.

The biggest danger here was not the carload of confused and frightened Mexicans, nor the lone mountaineer with a rifle. The biggest danger was that Otis, having been imbibing a bit himself, would interpret this event as a hostile takeover attempt and react accordingly. So it was without irony or overstatement that Lee trotted back up to the house, got the keys to his truck and told Nellie,"There's a carload of Mexicans in the creek. I'm gonna tow them out before Otis shoots them."

So Lee did, Otis' wrath was averted, and the workers, now very, very sober, drove off. Just another day (or night) in the holler.

2003-04-21T07:28:00.000-07:00

Oh, and Here's Something Actually On-Topic for the Blog

This article, which proclaims the death of post-modern theorizing. Amusing, but I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for the rest of the scions of modern-day academia at large to admit these truths (they can't afford to lose the publishing deals):

"...Sander L. Gilman, a professor of liberal arts and sciences at the University of Illinois at Chicago, replied instead. "I would make the argument that most criticism — and I would include Noam Chomsky in this — is a poison pill," he said. "I think one must be careful in assuming that intellectuals have some kind of insight. In fact, if the track record of intellectuals is any indication, not only have intellectuals been wrong almost all of the time, but they have been wrong in corrosive and destructive ways."

Mr. Fish nodded approvingly. "I like what that man said," he said. "I wish to deny the effectiveness of intellectual work. And especially, I always wish to counsel people against the decision to go into the academy because they hope to be effective beyond it."

So Stanley Fish arrives at the only destination made possible by deconstruction--deconstructing deconstruction. Wheeeee! Come join the intellectual circle jerk; just be sure that you understand that Nothing. You. Do. Matters! Of course, you should still expect a nice salary and the perks that come with draconian thought control inside your classroom--gotta have that stuff or there's no point!But wait, there's more:

If theory's political utility is this dubious, why did the theorists spend so much time talking about current events? Catharine R. Stimpson, a panelist and dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Science at New York University, offered one, well, theory. "This particular group of intellectuals," she said, "has a terror of being politically irrelevant."

You know that hackneyed old saying, "The truth will out?" Yeah.

(via NRO)

2003-04-21T07:16:00.000-07:00

We Interrrupt the Familial Mockery to Bring You This Public Service Announcement:
What the Hell is WRONG with You People?

Okay, I would have considered this article to be Swiftian, except for the inconvenient fact that it's not a satire, but an actual report. By and large I stay out of the abortion debate, but this is just over the freaking top. When you're so subsumed by a political issue that you cannot ever see a reason for an exception for fear of some damn "slippery slope," even when the exception is obvious, sensible, and done in the name of freaking JUSTICE, then you've crossed the line from fanatically stupid into actually evil.

An (almost) full term baby, who was capable of life outside the womb and who was WANTED by the mother, died, because his father murdered his mother, and because, to put it scientifically, a chemical had not yet been released by the baby's body that would start labor. To split hairs over whether the baby had actually been "born" in order to prevent your politcal opponents from gaining some sort of "advantage," is evil. No wait, let me rephrase that. It is Fucking Diabolical. Stupidity is no excuse here, lady. Neither is the slippery slope. For justice to be done in the Laci Peterson case, the prosecution should bring a double homicide charge against the murdering asshole responsible. If you can't see the depravity inherent in coldly calculating the worth of a human being in order to preserve the political status quo, then I've got nothing left for you except contempt.

In the real, nuanced, shades-of-gray world, exceptions exist. Sometimes, there is a higher good than political gain. Not that I would expect the current NOW flunkies to understand something like that--it's too abstract and smacks of morality. And when you start talking about morality, it means you have to actually examine your actions. Can't have that, NOW, can we?

2003-04-18T06:49:00.000-07:00

Southern Gothic II - A Gun for Miss Emily

My Aunt Pat's first husband (and father to the three sons involved in the whole lioness fiasco) died when the youngest son was about 15. She remarried a fellow named Steve, who was a WWII veteran and active in local politics. Steve was also a widower, and he had one son and one daughter. The son is fairly normal. The daughter, however, is not. She is crazy in that uniquely southern way that inspires people like Faulkner to write dark tales of familial intrigue and violence. I say all of this not only by way of explanation, but also to make the point that I share NO DNA with this person. Thank you, God.

Linda was married and had 4 children--three daughters and a son. Before she was married she was athletic and adventurous; a cheerleader who counted skydiving and shooting among her favorite hobbies. After marriage and pregnancy, though, some odd trends began to surface. Linda became obsessed with collecting antiques, and living the "pageant lifestyle"--dressing up the daughters and parading them around in pursuit of crowns, scepters and sashes reading Little Miss Boll Weevil, or whatever. She also let herself go physically, replacing activity with food. Eventually Linda's collecting and controlling got out of hand, and she ended up driving her daughters into early marriages and her son into permanent sullen withdrawal.

Linda lives in a large home in a rural area. However, you cannot walk through the house, because it is crammed with antiques. She has something like 30 full sets of china, as many sets of silver, tons of furniture, etc. She even has a tractor trailer parked behind the house, also crammed with expensive antiques that are rotting, because they aren't being properly stored. She will not sell them. Meanwhile, the house itself is falling down around her, because she "cannot afford" to get things fixed. Her church buys her groceries. This weird combination of hoarding (if she sold her dining room table, it would fetch at least ten grand) and poormouthing finally broke her on-again, off-again marriage, and her husband left. Linda was furious.

Things came to a head one day when her oldest daughter called Linda and asked if she'd come over to help her (the daughter) out. Halfway there, Linda realized that her daughter would never, ever, call her for help. Her father (Linda's ex) must have put her up to it! With a screech of tires, Linda turned the car around and sped home. Sure enough, there was her ex's car, and he (and his new girlfriend!) were just leaving. Apparently, he needed to pick up a few belongings, and knew that Linda would never consent if she were home. He was right.

After a brief confrontation, Linda went inside and returned with her pistol, which she began firing at the tires of the ex's car. The ex and the new girlfriend made it out unscathed, but a little upset. It's not every day that a large crazy woman shoots at you in the driveway, after all. When word got back to Steve, he just shrugged and made the following reply,""Aw hell. She was just mad and trying to shoot his tires out. She's an excellent shot--if she'd wanted him dead, he'd be dead."

And that was that. Everyone in that area knows each other, and they know Linda, so they tend to be a little more blase about this sort of behavior than, say, I would be. Yep, gotta love the SC branch of the family tree. Next time, I'll round out the Southern Gothic series (for the time being--I have many stories, grasshopper) with a visit to the mountain dwelling branch of the family, where you'll get this quote explained:

"There's a carload of Mexicans in the creek. I'm gonna tow 'em out before Otis shoots them."

Yes, I have not one, but two relatives named Otis. Do not start with me.

2003-04-17T05:29:00.000-07:00

Southern Gothic

Occasionally I am reminded that my family is not exactly run-of-the-mill. This usually happens when I visit my South Carolina relatives. I truly believe that something in the water down there causes insanity. Not the grand schizophrenic kind of insanity, but the random gun-firing, inappropriate pet-having, reckless endangerment form of insanity that's a little harder to pinpoint until after the fact, when upon reflection you realize that these people are quite possibly insane.

Case in point: We were discussing "grandparent stress," the disorder whereby grandparents cannot enjoy even ONE MOMENT of time with a grandchild without first envisioning every way their darling could be killed or maimed in any situation, and I remarked that my Aunt Pat wasn't as freaked out about stuff with her grandkids as my mom is. Pat replied that it was all a matter of perspective; after all, two of her grandchildren were almost eaten by her son's PET LIONESS once, so run of the mill problems like falling off the sofa just weren't a big deal.

Yep, my cousin had a pet lioness named Kimba. I remember her--I was about 10 at the time (my cousin is 15 yrs my senior), and Kimba lived in Jimmy's (my cousin's) garage when she wasn't escaping and terrorizing people. Jimmy's children were 2 1/2 and 1 then. Here's a fun list of Kimba's shenanigans:

She escaped and scared the hell out of two fishermen, who were just sitting in the river in their rowboat when suddenly a lioness sprang from the long grass at the river's edge and charged them. Again, this is in South Carolina, not Kenya. I suppose we're fortunate that neither of those men died of a heart-attack.

She almost ate my other cousin, Alan (the oldest of Pat's 3 boys) when she escaped (notice a theme, here) and hid behind the paddock at my aunt's house. Alan saw her out of the corner of his eye and ran like hell. He got into the house and closed the sliding glass door. Kimba hurled herself at the door so hard that she bent the metal frame, and Alan calmed her down by throwing raw hamburger and chicken from the fridge out to her.

The final straw came when Kimba devoured my OTHER cousin Lee's (the youngest of the three) little dog.

It was then pointed out to Jimmy that his idea to keep a pet lioness on a chain in the backyard with two toddlers around probably wasn't such a good idea, as those two toddlers just the week before had gotten out of the house and wandered onto the dock and almost drowned. If they could do that, how could anyone guarantee that they wouldn't wander too close to the pretty kitty on a chain? So Jimmy gave Kimba to a zoo. And his children are both grown and relatively unscathed. At least, they aren't displaying overt symptoms of SC insanity yet.

I have firsthand memories of this animal, yet it all seems like a fuzzy dream. I blame it on the SC water. It has to be a mild hallucinogen.

Next time on Southern Gothic, this quote explained: "Aw hell. She was just mad and trying to shoot his tires out. She's an excellent shot--if she'd wanted him dead, he'd be dead."

2003-04-16T07:56:00.000-07:00

True Colors

I considered not blogging about the Burk-Augusta non-protest fiasco last weekend, mainly because it seems the only thing keeping all this stupidity going is the media hoopla, and I didn't want to add to it. But then I realized how stupidly pretentious that was--I mean, come on people, this ain't USA Today, and besides, this stuff has passed annoying and gone straight to knee-slappingly funny. Well, if by funny you mean wasting everyone's time and being really annoying but not much else. Guess I have an odd definition of funny. But I digress...

Look, if you really think that Burk's whole Masters protest is about anything except self-aggrandizement and publicity, then let her speak for herself and put an end to that silly notion (from USA Today via Instapundit):

So will Burk march on Georgia again? "I don't think so," she said Sunday.
Her term as the NCWO's chair expires at the end of 2004, and she's already thinking about her future plans.
"But if Hootie thinks he's going to outlast me," she said, "he's going to have to wait a while yet."

Yeah, all that talk about injustice and inequality? Piffle. Here's what she's after--power and publicity, and she's willing to not only beat that dead horse, but tapdance on it naked if that's what it takes to obtain her objective. Hootie can't win! That's not fair! Who cares that it's a PRIVATE CLUB, who cares that most women aren't even interested in the issue, and that those who are probably couldn't afford a membership--the important thing here is that Martha Burk will not be bested by some upstart southern MAN! Burk will keep on until she pushes herself into irrelevance, because she's a publicity hound and an idiot. And I will laugh and laugh and laugh. Because the only antidote to idiocy like this is ridicule.

By the way, where do I go to join this group--they're right up my alley:

A local group called People Against Ridiculous Protests carried out the day's most tasteful protest. Founder Deke Wiggins appeared at his designated protest site in the morning, planted a sign, then departed. The sign read: "Look at all these ridiculous people."

I see big things ahead for PARP. Maybe I'll start a local chapter. That's a protest group I could really get behind.

2003-04-15T07:33:00.000-07:00

Go Here. Speak Up. It's Important.

Via everywhere, this lovely notion by the folks at the University of California that if students start speaking out against their classrooms being politicized, well, just change the rules on them so that they can't. Clever, no?

Oh, look everyone! It's Irony again! I think I should just have the guestroom on permanent standby for you, old pal. What? You tried to talk to the UC folks and point out that they were some of the biggest agitators against oppression by the over thirty crowd in their pot-scented heyday? And that maybe your presence as they try to rewrite speech codes to squash student dissent was appropriate? Good for you, I. Glad to see you've been keeping up with that assertiveness training. What happened? Oh, is your foot okay? I understand that doors can really hurt you when they're slammed on your foot. Bummer. Keep fighting the good fight, I. Here's a beer.

And for the rest of you--head on over to NoIndoctrination.org and work up a righteous head of indignation. It's for a good cause. And being indignant on a regular basis leads to long life, good health and improved virility. No really, I'm serious.

2003-04-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

The Cruelest Month(s)

All this happy crap about the coming of spring cheeses me off. The popular conception of spring is balmy weather, fluffy bunnies, warm sunshine and fresh flowers and grass underfoot. Spring is the time when we turn to thoughts of luuuurrrve and happy sunny things. What a load of utter crap. I hate spring with the fury of a rudely awakened rattlesnake, and here's why:

Balmy weather brings with it the yearly Exploding of the Oaks and Pines, whereby everyone in my town must go about masked or succumb to the swirling noxious yellow clouds of pollen. When you can go outside at night and actually SEE pollen motes floating through the beams of your home's floodlights, something is very, very wrong.

Fuzzy bunnies? Oh sure, we have them. For about five minutes, and then my cat deposits their headless corpses on our doormat. We keep her in at night--doesn't matter, and no one sleeps, as she was a stray who is very much an outdoor cat and who doesn't mind letting you know it. Buy her a bell--no good. Nothing can stop her single-minded quest to herald spring by mercilessly killing every one of God's creatures in a 3 block radius. I have nursed bluebirds to health in my bathroom, held bunnies as they expired (did you know that fleas leave a dead bunny's body IMMEDIATELY after death? I do! Ask me how!), and attempted to salvage moles, mice, and even hummingbirds. My success rate is unfortunately very low. In addition, I have had the joy of stepping, barefoot, into any number of pieces of ex-wildlife. At least by summertime the survivors are big enough, smart enough, or scarce enough to avoid her wrath.

Flowers? Grass? It is to laugh. I am surrounded by pine trees. Nothing grows here except pine trees. The soil sucks, the flowers wither, and the black widow population just loves hanging out around my deck, porch, flowerbeds and driveway. Oh, and that's not counting the snakes--or at least the snakes that are too big for the cat to eat.

Okay, so what about the other stuff--the luuurrrrve stuff? Puh-leeze. Spring is the time of year where I emerge, Sta-Puff like, from my cocoon of sweatpants and comfort food and find that I can signal passing aircraft by allowing the sun to reflect off of my white, white legs. My complexion always freaks out in spring; I'm pale, untoned, and scruffy. And as for the clothing--the human being does not exist who can pull off a lime green spring sheath dress. What is wrong with bright red or blue for spring? Pale pinks, lavenders and yellows have the added bonus effect of EMPHASIZING my puffy pallor. There is no love here. I scare myself, not to mention the pilots of those low-flying planes who mistook my calves for runway lights.

And then, just as I resign myself to the inevitability of fruitless yard work, spider squishing, wildlife rescuing and resumption of jogging, we have a freaking cold snap. Oh, very funny, spring! Ha. Ha. Joke's on me, I guess. Oh, and on my toddler, who doesn't understand that 40 degrees and rain are a pretty good reason for coming inside. Whee! Cold weather AND tantrums! It doesn't get any better than this!

Spring? I hate you.

2003-04-10T09:59:00.000-07:00

The X-Files? Was A TV Show, Dammit

Listen to me, because I am only going to say this once (today), albeit loudly for the benefit of those of you living in soundproofed bunkers and draped in tinfoil:

Those images you saw yesterday? You know, the hoopin' and hollerin'? REAL. Yep, really real. Not staged, retouched, digitally enhanced by Peter Jackson's WETA workshop, or pulled out of Brit Hume's ass by the photoshop fairy. Okay? You got that, you bunch of mental midgets?

Perhaps you've spent too much time smoking Longbottom Leaf with your fellow sociologists, but I'm no longer interested in excuses, root causes, or medical theories to explain your bizarre behavior. So I'm going to spell this out for you:

You are insane if you believe, actually believe, that there is some sort of all powerful, all knowing illuminati out there pulling the strings of every government worldwide.

You are insane if you think that there is a top secret jewish cabal plotting to wipe out muslims, twist christians to do their evil bidding and control ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD!

You are insane if you seriously claim that the current administration is a dictatorship, that earth was settled by humans during an alien experiment, or that Michael Moore ever gave a rat's ass about any "people" whose initials weren't "Michael Moore's Bank Account."

You are merely deluded if you think that one day, somewhere, communism can work out, and that ANSWER is a grassroots conglomeration of concerned citizens with no other agenda.

You are deluded if you think that a government will EVER overcome human nature and result in a utopia, that people everywhere will someday spontaneously start getting along, and that Star Trek was a pretty accurate depiction of the future.

You are inhabiting another dimension entirely if you think "Castro's not so bad, no worse than our government," that foreigners will like and respect you for agreeing with (and one-upping) their anti-American disdainful vitriol, or that "natural anti-perspirants" actually, you know, WORK. And in that same vein--patchouli? The hell, people. There are like a MILLION natural scents that DON'T make you smell like year-old Avon pillowcase potpourri. Pick one.

If you find that you suffer any of these symptoms, there is a cure. It's called Putting Down the Chomsky. Don't delay, get help today.

2003-04-10T06:47:00.000-07:00

Why Does Edward Said Continually Chap My Ass?

Well, aside from the fact that I had to actually read and make use of his theories to get through grad school? Because he's created an image of a people and a region based upon the false nostalgia of youth, and instead of recognizing that reality differs from theory, continues to insist on his worldview to almost the point of madness.

Here's what set me off this time. I recently came across an old article by Said, a defense of the autobiography he wrote in 1999. The idea that leapt out at me was his nostalgic view of life in Palestine (I believe he was 15 when he lived there/left), and his subsequent construction of self-identity as brave rebel, struggling against his parents' expectations as well as those of his adopted country. This isn't unusual, but I was left with the impression that Said's need to fulfill some leftover adolescent fantasy of rebellion fueled his theories. At the very least, it painted an unflattering picture of Said as an egomaniac, and this was in an article WRITTEN by Said to DEFEND HIMSELF against attacks on his AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Irony stopped by as I read the article, and we shared a special moment of laughter, as well as a beer.

I was going to just file that under Well, No Wonder and move on with my life, until this morning when I came upon this special quote (Via Sullivan):

The idea that Iraq's population would have welcomed American forces entering the country after a terrifying aerial bombardment was always utterly implausible ... One can only wince at the way weak-minded policy hacks in the Pentagon and White House have spun out the 'ideas' of Lewis and Ajami into the scenario for a quick romp in a friendly Iraq.

I hope that yesterday's reality created some cognitive dissonance for Said. I find it amusing that he uses sneer quotes around the "ideas" of others, when his own are ripe for the same treatment. And I finally wonder how long it will be before he authors a screed bemoaning the post-traumatic stress disorder of the Iraqi citizens, claiming that their euphoria was caused only by the cessation of bombardment and that it was actually just pragmatic self-preservation for these victims of white hegemony.

I used to think that adolescence was something we experienced and got over. I now find this theory increasingly disproven, especially among those whose only sense of self-worth comes from being seen as a "rebel." I'd be angrier if it weren't so pathetic.

2003-04-09T05:55:00.000-07:00

FIRE is on, Well, Fire.

Got two emails from Thor Halvorssen yesterday--yeah, I know they're mass emails, but I just like saying that I get mail from a thunder god--about cases at Harvard and Rutgers which FIRE calls "victories for fundamental fairness and freedom of conscience." Go read both case studies and be very very glad for the existence of this watchdog group.

I also noticed they're working on a new endeavor, speechcodes.org. Site isn't up yet, but I intend to check back.

2003-04-08T08:30:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm the Most Overwrought Person Ever.

In the latest Chronicle (sorry, subscription only), we have a lovely first person account of the "chilling effect" of the Patriot Act on scholarship. And who, may one ask, is the academic experiencing the chill? Perhaps an outspoken pro-Palestinian political science professor? Maybe a high-profile critic of imperialism, like Edward Said? Why no, not at all. Just plain ol' Judith Grant, associate prof at USC who teaches poly sci and--wait for it--women's studies.

Far be it from me to paint with the broad brush just by looking at Judith's disciplines. Let's allow her to speak for herself:

"I am now experiencing what American legal scholars call 'a chilling effect' and I was indeed first aware of it as a sort of chill running up my spine--a half-second of anxiety, almost subconscious, the moment I heard the act had been passed. I feel that chill again when I realize that I now pause a moment before I write almost anything."

Well, the case could be made that the pause is a good thing, in that it might let you actually EXAMINE the self-absorption apparent in this article and perhaps develop a sense of embarrassment about writing it, but I guess the chill isn't yet that pervasive. Why, may you ask, is she feeling chilled?

It seems she gets emails about politics from former students who are now abroad. They run the gamut from the reluctant American soldier to the Israeli citizen puzzled by her increasing feeling that many Arabs in the region are "crazy extremists" to the South Korean who wants to know if capitalism caused the mental illness of a mass-murdering countryman. Our good professor thinks of contacting other former students in Saudi Arabia and China, to see how they're doing, but she doesn't. Why? Well, that pesky chilling effect, why else?

"Is my email monitored, now that I have been in contact with people in countries that border the 'axis of evil'?"

Short answer: no, you self-important hack. But it goes on in this vein, concluding that:

"I hear President Bush tell the nation that the number of protestors against the war with Iraq doesn not matter, that the opinions of American citizens are irrelevant."

I must have missed the "Fuck You, Hippies" speech. Or perhaps they only aired it on Planet Judith.

Okay, so she concludes that she must now stand up and speak out about the eeeville Bush while she still can, dammit, or else she won't be able to hold her head up in class. What. Ever. This article is most instructive as an exampe of the sanctimonious hysteria and egoism that thrives on campuses. Obviously, the eeeeevillle hegemonic imperialist mental-illness inducing capitalist globalizing Bush junta will not be appeased until it can read every trite email from a no-profile academic with the hopes of crushing her freedom.

I get the impression that secretly she yearns for just a taste of real oppression, perhaps to lend legitimacy to her persecution complex. And what better indicator of a free society is there than a complete lack of understanding of what oppression actually means? Hey Judith? Chill.

Caveat: I'm not addressing the whole good/evil issue of the Patriot Act. Here's the text of the Patriot Act--read and decide for yourselves. Here's my short take: can it be abused? Yep. Can every law written be abused? Theoretically, yes. Example: NARAL's attempt to prosecute pro-life protestors with RICO. Didn't work. Why? Courts. Overly simplified point here? Probably. Do I care? Not really, because I'm more of a "wait and see" person when it comes to this stuff. And anyway, I'm all about the mocking. I'll leave that legal analysis to folks who do it for a living.

2003-04-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

There's Someone for Everyone

And thank God I found mine sooner rather than later. Last night, after the usual ritual of dinner, war news, bath for boy and excerpts from the Wiggly Safari DVD before his bedtime, the hublet and I were relaxing in the den, reading, playing video games, and digesting the day. We were humming the last tune we'd heard from the Wiggles--the Crocodile Hunter song (click to listen to audio clip--it plays after a 15 second intro.)--and as we typically do (to alleviate the tedium of hearing the same song on infinite brain loop) we started making up words. A sample verse went something like this:

Hublet: Chemical Ali
Me: He's a dead man
Hublet: Chemical Ali
Me: He's a corpse!
Hublet: Chemical Ali
Me: Really dead, now
Both: Crikey he's so dead! Dead as a dead horse!

After we amused ourselves with variations on the theme, hublet looked at me and opined,"You know, I bet we are the only people in the whole world right now singing about Chemical Ali to the tune of a Wiggles song."

I think he's probably right. And I'm not sure how to feel about that.

2003-04-07T08:41:00.000-07:00

Note to Baby Boomers--It's the Beginning of the End

Saw that Cher's televising her final performance ever. Guess it's about time, as the buffed, polished, and shellacked visage on my screen was largely indistinguishable from that of one of her female impersonators. When you become your own drag queen, you might want to stop with the surgery. I'm just sayin'. Could someone pass that along to Joan Rivers? 'Cause she didn't get the memo.

2003-04-04T06:58:00.000-08:00

Noooooooooooo! (Pause, Deep Breath.) Noooooooooooooooo!

In an example that chaos theory is alive and well, the commencement speaker for NCSU will be (drumroll please) Phil Donahue.

Collective campus response: head-scratching, followed by "The Hell?"

NC State is best known for engineering and ag science. This has what to do with a Notre Dame alum and random sensitive yankee man? If your answer to that question is "nothing that I can think of," you win a prize.

I just...no words. Too random.

2003-04-03T08:34:00.000-08:00

America. Bringing the Sexy Since 1776.

Via Andrew Sullivan:

What, the man was asked, did he hope to see now that the Baath Party had been driven from power in his town? What would the Americans bring? "Democracy," the man said, his voice rising to lift each word to greater prominence. "Whiskey. And sexy!"

Hee!

2003-04-03T08:01:00.000-08:00

Oh, Sorry Tina. Didn't See You There.

Though I can't imagine why not, since she's trying soooo very hard to remain relevant in the face of all sorts of proof to the contrary. This diminutive loud mouthed catty Ted Turner wannabe manages to stun the world again with her latest screed, which demonstrates both her amazingly tenacious self-absorption and her complete lack of understanding of anyone or anything who isn't Tina Brown.

First, the gratuitous "It's all about me, dahlings!" moment:

"No doubt the Bush White House has its own good reasons to feel cross with me, but scheduling Operation Shock and Awe to begin precisely at the moment of my new CNBC TV show seems a little excessive."

Yeah, Tina. Operative words here are "CNBC TV show", as if anyone anywhere would be watching it, or would know who the hell you were even if they did stumble across it. Oh, I see, it's supposed to be a joke--poking some humble fun at your inflated sense of self-worth. Hmm. Doesn't work, mainly because anyone who's ever read anything by you knows that you're not REALLY joking. Whatever.

More random ramblings designed to demonstrate that she understands the "little people"--what, she had a conversation about the weather with a doorman once in 2000? I'm sure you have your finger on the pulse of America, Tina. As this demonstrates:

“If only Tony Blair were President” is still the prevailing feeling among Americans, whatever they feel about the war. It’s only a matter of weeks before Bush starts to become seriously jealous of Saint Tony’s press. He is already put out by Blair’s insistence on the importance of the UN in postwar Iraq.

Umm, no. I love Tony Blair for standing by us, but I doubt he would have spearheaded the effort to get rid of Hussein, since he's more UN friendly than we. And although jealousy and image supercede all other factors in your little world, I doubt Bush is jealous of Blair. And he's "put out" with the UN, not Blair, because the UN has consistently demonstrated itself to be hypocritical, irrelevant, and self-interested. But like they say, it's difficult to see your own faults in others, so I'm not surprised you missed those salient points.

And finally, this foray into the bizarro world of Shakespearean tragedy viewed through the lens of current events:

Blair’s complex nobility makes us feel that he is on his way to being a tragic figure, which is something Bush could never be. When they appear side by side at press conferences the disparity in quality is almost painful. There is something dense and taciturn about Bush even when he’s being charming. He has the damped-down anger of the dry drunk. When he’s not scripted, his bald answers seem to be covering up ulterior motives. His true motives are private and his own and he will tell us only whatever it takes to mollify us. He is the embodiment of a crack Eleanor Roosevelt made when a friend pressed to know what FDR thought about an issue: “The President doesn’t think. He decides.”

Could someone please explain what the hell the "damped-down anger of the dry drunk" is supposed to mean, except to remind us that Bush was in rehab? Do you truly mean to suggest that W. would be happier if he were an alcoholic? That he just needs a Budweiser and suddenly all the messy world events that coincidentally pre-empted your TV show would vanish? Have you been hanging out with Mark Morford?

Additionally, I kind of like folks who make decisions, and seeing as that's a president's JOB, I can't get behind your smugness here, Teen. Nor do I think it's a bad thing for a president to be a little more emotionally reserved than say, Phil Donahue. I guess your complaint is that W. doesn't make good TV. So sorry. Maybe next time we'll elect a president who makes a point of emoting all over each national "event" to demonstrate that he "feels our pain"--oh, wait. Been there, done that. Didn't work out too well; ended up parsing the meaning of "is" on national TV and bombing an aspirin factory. Not exactly King Lear, but I guess you can't have everything.

The sad thing is that the size of this column in inches is probably 8 or 10 times greater than Tina Brown's emotional or intellectual depth. But TV is a two-dimensional medium, so I can see why she fits right in.

2003-04-02T11:58:00.000-08:00

Can You Hear Me Now? You Can? Oh, Nuts.

So I've been thinking--a dangerous pastime, I know--about love and war and death and taxes and education and health insurance and politics and what I'm going to eat for lunch today because I've only got $2 in my pocket and I'm really tired of soup, and I have realized a few important things. The main thing is that all this thinking makes my head kind of hurt, but that should be obvious and in any case, isn't really my point.

I'm a ranter by nature. Little things build up, I vent, fume and spew, then I'm fine. My blood pressure routinely stays around 80/60, so either I HAD a heart attack years ago and died and my body hasn't figured it out yet, or the volcano approach to self-expression seems to work for me. And I really only get worked up about little non-personal things; I tend to be able to deal rationally with stuff like car accidents and medical emergencies while losing it completely over ill-worded signage at the local Wal-Mart.

I think it's a control issue. Car accidents and medical emergencies are out of my control, for the most part. They're things that just happen sometimes, regardless of how careful and prepared I am, and I'd better accept that reality and move the hell on. But the little things, like that sign--well, they piss me off because they ARE controllable, and folks should know better. Someone was sloppy and muddied communication was the result.

Words are controllable and controlling--this has been done to death, so just think "Orwell" here, and move on. There is no excuse for sloppy language, particularly when the sloppiness is intentional. I started this blog because I found humor in the ways professors routinely use 43 words where two will do, usually in the interest of making their ideas appear weightier. But now it's starting to lose some of its humor, mainly because in posting their words I've done what I never did in college--started paying attention to them. And a lot of times, the thinking behind these writings isn't merely wrongheaded, dated, obscure and muddled, it's dangerous and damaging.

The funny part is, these profs are so accustomed to either having their colleagues skim their work because everyone is so inundated with poor language that it's no longer worth the effort to fight through the copious prose in search of meaning, or being rubber stamped as "right-thinking" and reflexively praised, that when they are finally called on their opinions they freak out. Case in point: DeGenova, whose idiot blather and subsequent spin and disappearing act point to the fact that true academic inquiry and debate must be dead. If DeGenova honestly had a clue about the reception of his speech, I doubt he would have made it. At the very least (one would hope), he would have tempered or controlled his language. He is a pure product of the insulated, self-congratulatory professoriate, so involved in ginning up masses of words and catchphrases for the approbation of his peers that he no longer understands what those words mean to the unindoctrinated.

Further proof: the organizer's attempt to spin the whole thing as a wacko conspiracy. Well sure, if by conspiracy you mean a whole bunch of people who you regularly hang out with, talk to, and whose papers you read and sometimes edit for publication. The reality is everyone else up there was expressing similar ideas; DeGenova's problem was that for once in his life, his language was straightforward and his meaning was crystal clear.

Sloppy communication is annoying and sometimes amusing, sure, but it's also a tool whereby unacceptable opinions can fly below the radar of the public. Is it a conspiracy? No, it's just an academic culture thing. Me, I'm all for more teach-ins whereby this crap can come to light. Well, that and Wal-Mart employees who can spell. But that's a rant for another day.

2003-04-01T13:05:00.000-08:00

You Suck, Edward Said

Here's a fun quote (via Campus Watch):

Edward Said, university professor, calls the U.S. policy in Iraq a "grotesque show" perpetrated by a "small cabal" of unelected individuals who hijacked U.S. policy. He accuses "George Bush and his minions" of hiding their imperialist grab for "oil and hegemony" under a false intent to build democracy and human rights.

Said deems Operation Iraqi Freedom "an abuse of human tolerance and human values" waged by an "avenging Judeo-Christian god of war." This war, he says, fits into a larger pattern of America "reducing whole peoples, countries and even continents to ruin by nothing short of holocaust."

Look on the mindless parrotting of unproven tropes, ye mighty, and despair! Let's just count them up, shall we?

1. The amazing "unelected" myth. Yawn. Check out US History, as well as every paid and unpaid recount from 2000. This idea only survives among professional nutjob conspiracy theorists, race baiting rabble rousers, and those with no actual intellectual might. Which one might Mr. Said be? You can pick more than one, in case you were wondering.

2. Oil and hegemony together again! I'm thinking we need a corollary to Godwin's law just for the War on Terror--the Hegemony Corollary. It should hold that anyone using the word hegemony in reference to US Government has already lost their argument, just because they've demonstrated a complete lack of independent thought. The word is often overused in Post-Colonial studies, and its meaning runs the gamut from "evildoing white people" to "evildoing white people," no matter the context or the actual definition of hegemony. Same thing goes for "imperialism," as if only democratic societies can be imperialistic and there never was a Caliphate. Perhaps Mr. Said means that only successful cultures are capable of imperialism? Maybe we should ask him, just to watch his tiny head explode.

3. The Avenging Judeo-Christian god of war. Wow, he sure knows a lot about my religion, doesn't he? And history, too! Why, just this past century America was involved in a Holocaust. No, wait, that was Germany. Well, then we were being all imperial--no wait, that was Japan! Well, I'm sure we were involved somehow--oh, right. We fought AGAINST those things. Such an easy mistake to make, particularly if you're distracted by visions of hegemonic crusaders intent on feeding oil to babies before sacrificing them to Jesus...wait, something's not quite right there. Well, that would require thinking instead of knee-jerk hate spew, and we high minded intellectuals are simply too busy for piffle such as facts.

Edward, your sustained years of raging against the machine are taking their toll and you're finally coming completely unglued. While it's fun to watch, I'm thinking we should remove all sharp objects from your room for a while. Here's a nice crayon--why don't you go draw a diagram of hegemony on that soft, padded wall?

2003-04-01T08:20:00.000-08:00

I am So Proud

To live in North Carolina, especially since our state motto has been changed to "You Want Fries With That?"

Yes, unfortunate denizens of the not-Carolina, tremble before the intestinal fortitude of our citizenry! And you, drive-thru workers of the world, realize that you cannot stand against the force of our redneck fry munching army! When we say curly fries we mean it, dammit! And don't quibble about the fact that we may have eaten some of the substandard potato product you first gave us. Just hand over the curly fries, and no one gets hurt. We are a strong people, and we require our carbohydrates. Do not thwart us. You will regret it.

2003-03-31T08:23:00.000-08:00

Things That Make Me Laugh

If you ignore the fact that the laughter is a little unnaturally high pitched and kinda maniacal, when you get right down to it...

This online colloquy from the Chronicle on whether or not a professor should be terminated for lying about his credentials. As expected, discussion devolved into parsing the nuances of the unfairness of demanding qualifications from those esoteric artist types. Reality was inserted by, of all people, a grad student. See, we probably should determine different standards for folks in creative programs, but that's not the point here. He lied. It's wrong. Penalty paid, he'll move on. The "funny" part is that everyone's scratching their heads lately about rampant academic cheating, but no one seems to notice that when authority figures have to debate the merits of dismissing someone for falsifying their credentials (or cheating, not to put too fine a point on it) it might have an effect on campus culture generally. See? Funny! hahaha!

Or this little item (via Erin O'Connor) about how easy it is to purify a campus from all hate crimes--why, you just stifle speech and reprogram dissenters! Why hasn't anyone ever thought of that before? How very droll! Haahaaahaa!

And guess what! That new pneumonia? Why, turns out it's a lot deadlier and easier to spread than anyone thought! Know what else? China wasn't entirely honest about the extent of the epidemic! Those wacky commies! Guess the joke's on us! HAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAA!

Whoo! Nothing gets your heart racing and your head pounding like a good laugh. Or maybe that's an anxiety attack. Hard to tell the difference, lately.

2003-03-28T06:31:00.000-08:00

This and That

How is it that I can spend at least half my day reading about or watching war coverage, and still have no idea what the hell is going on? I'm thinking I might just go home and play video games for a while; if the Iraqi army shows up at my door, I will assume the war went badly. If not, I'll continue with my arrogant American assumption that we'll win.

I have a secret crush on Tony Blair. Obviously it's no longer a secret now, but whatever. I wanted to send him a happy gram, but apparently you cannot just email the Prime Minister of Britain. On their official web site, they say you may fax or write him, and that email will be coming soon. Umm, guys? It's 2003. I realize the PM is not eager to receive "TonyBLair! Grow Your Penis!" spam, but I would think you're sophisticated enough to weed out the crud. That's what lackeys are for--and you're British! You should know all about lackeys, fer cryin' out loud. Anyway, I heart you, little Tony Blair! I would give you a big hug if it wouldn't a) embarrass your british sensibilities and/or b) result in my arrest for assault or stalking.

I also have a warm place in my heart for Donald Rumsfeld, mainly because he reminds me of my grandfather (Paw-Paw) who literally tossed his brother-in-law off of his front porch for being rude. Paw-Paw could do anything, was a great storyteller, and loved his family. But it didn't pay to piss him off. I get the same vibe from Rumsfeld--is there an official fan club?

Attended a seminar on the Invisible Knapsack of White Privilege yesterday, and while I believe that the speaker is correct to a degree, I couldn't get past the fact that all of her examples of white oppression and male oppression dated from 1986 or earlier. Is it really safe to assume that nothing would have changed in almost 20 years? I found this particularly disturbing when coming from an academic who has built her entire career around this subject. I kept thinking "bug in amber" every time she referenced an event from 1986. That was apparently a banner year for her. Is she aware that there's an entirely new generation around now? Just wondering.... There was also the unfortunate impression that she sought to curry favor by self-flagellation. Ah well.

We are going to break down and purchase a new lawn mower tomorrow. I'll be sad to see the old one go. We bought it for about $100 at Wal-Mart, and it has reliably cut our 3/4 acre lawn for 5 years, despite having been on fire, having its motor cord spliced together in 3 or 4 different places, and having no actual oil in the engine on several occasions. Fare thee well, brave mower--the fire was particularly exciting.

2003-03-26T07:28:00.000-08:00

Self-Absorption 220: Advanced Topics in Puling

Course Description: This course seeks to emphasize the importance of self-aggrandizement over all other concerns, even in moments of national crisis. We will discuss the place of the peace protestor in society at large, with particular emphasis on his/her response to being ignored by all rational people. Discussions will revolve around the following sentiments:

"We aren't being listened to, so what do you do?"

and

"One day of disruption in people's lives is nothing compared to the $1.1 billion a day that the US is spending to fight this war. If this is the only way that people are going to start listening, it's worth it."

The instructor's focus will be on making students feel better about themselves, and ignoring or justifying vandalism, violence, and the real consequences of taking resources away from those in need of emergency health care or protection.

Students' grades will depend upon class participation in frivolous and ultimately self-destructive activities such as:

Creating convincing papier mache missile dildos

Stilt-walking for peace

Making protest signs that cobble together no fewer than 4 unrelated causes in support of a brutal dictatorship

For the final, students must demonstrate competency in treating road rash received from naked die-ins, mental agility in avoiding actual debate about the issue at hand, and evading reality by shouting doggerel rhyme. In addition, a final self-esteem test will be administered. Passing grades will be given to all those who still manage to hold their heads up and retain their belief that they are acting "for peace" or in the best interests of "the people" or "the majority."

2003-03-25T10:40:00.000-08:00

Expiration Date

Let me just say right now that I have been ripped off. No one told me that my body had such a short half-life, yet here I am at the ripe old age of 34 and unable to bend at the waist or the knee without groaning and clutching at furniture for support like some pathetic Caucasian Yoda on Dagobah. Is it too much to ask that my back muscles actually do more than contract into a tiny immobile ball of pain when I attempt to lift my child? And don't lecture me on lifting with my legs--that requires working knees, and mine haven't had cartilege for about 10 years now.

The most annoying thing is not that I am apparently mortal, but that I am now forced to confront the cold, hard, reality of never being able to live out my badass Xena fantasies. Xena would never finish a chakram toss by grabbing at the small of her back and trying to stretch. Xena would never be thwarted by a toddler who has figured out that he can evade pursuit by getting under the sideboard. And this is particularly galling as I find myself getting worked up into a righteous warrior princess snit about morons here and abroad. So I am left with only words to do my smiting, and I chafe--chafe I tell you--under these unfair conditions!

But there is hope. Tomorrow I shall away to the doctor's office and procure a muscle relaxant. Or maybe just some Doan's pills and a heating pad. And a cane. And possibly some bifocals. Oh man, I am so old.

2003-03-24T12:02:00.000-08:00

Adventures in Reality

So I'm having a bit of trouble reconciling reality with, well, reality right now. I'm still getting up early, dealing with the fact that my son is most emphatically NOT a morning person regardless of how much sleep he gets at night, rushing to work, rushing home, and trying to find time for a leisurely family stroll, a moderately healthy dinner, and a few minutes of "me time" before bed.

Then I turn on the television, or check my blogroll, and a wholly different reality appears. War and protests and oscars, oh my! I feel disconnected from everything I see on the screen, and then I feel guilty for not "feeling" appropriately, whatever that means. It seems like something this earth-shattering should be more earth-shattering, I guess, not just reduced to sound bites and maps and the reactions of pundits and guesswork and talking, talking, talking all day. And how utterly self-absorbed is that? "Oh, the war in which people are dying is insufficiently moving. It lacks that certain...reality."

The boon of the communication age is that we're immediately and intimately aware of each other and the world. The curse is that we don't understand that the other people and the world are real, when all we get are pixels, not people.

There was one sad little protester outside our office today, whacking a bongo, ostensibly to simulate the drums of war. She's gone now, probably had to get some lunch or go to class. After all, what are symbolic drums of war when compared to Taco Bell or an "A" in Comparative Lit? I could insert a little caveat here about how wonderful it is that she can be a dilettante for peace, but I won't, 'cause it's just stupid and a waste of time. Whatever, little girl. Thanks for playing the home game. I'd suggest that she give that plane of existence called "the real world" a try, but that'll happen for her soon enough. Or not. Particularly if she's getting her reality from pixel-ville.

2003-03-21T09:31:00.000-08:00

Addicted

Nothing original here today, folks. Can't get the blog checking monkey off my back, I'm afraid. I'm spending all of my time at The Command Post--it's like 2, 2, 2 blogs in one! Well, more like 50 blogs in one, but the syllables didn't work out for the Certs commercial ripoff when I said it that way.

2003-03-19T11:03:00.000-08:00

Grocery Slumming

Because I'm trying to wean myself (unsuccessfully, thus far) off of clicking all over my blogroll every 6 seconds and obsessively scanning every news site on the planet, I've decided to take a step back, breathe, and focus on the mundane.

So Lileks and Instapundit had some sort of bizarre "grocery-off" via their blogs this morning, with Insta musing over a margarine wrapper and Lileks doing the grocery shopping full monty. This made me think that I'm missing out on the whole grocery experience. See, I live outside of Raleigh, in what used to be a pretty rural area. Until recently, we had only one grocery store: Food Lion. I hate Food Lion with large chunks of bitter hate, because it is the antithesis of everything I look for in a shopping experience; namely, The Shiny. Food Lion has no Shiny. Food Lion doesn't even have a muted glow. Food Lion is dull and unpolished, and it sucks the life right out of me every time I go there. And I go there a lot, because the next most "convenient" store is about 10 miles away.

The clientele at the local FL all look as though they'd rather be ANYWHERE else, shuffling dispiritedly through the badly lit, kiosk-obstructed aisles, loading their tarnished, squeaky carts and wrestling them to the checkout, then toting their drab plastic bags to the exit. I can see their shoulders straighten and the faint blush of life returning to their cheeks as the automatic doors open and allow the fresh, fresh air of freedom to caress their careworn faces. Okay, so that's over the top. I still hate Food Lion.

Not even the food looks happy to be there. The produce is sad and listless, despite the best efforts of the water-misting system to keep it perky. The bananas all huddle together on one side of their display for comfort, and the meat department frankly forces me to avert my eyes. Even mass-produced canned goods manage to seem as though they've been recently discovered in a cold war era bunker and yanked from their underground lair for our consumption. And this is AFTER a 6 month renovation to the store. I can't even remember what it looked like before the "improvements"--I think I'm suffering from a post-traumatic memory loss.

So imagine my delight when I discovered that a new grocery store would be coming to our area. I waited impatiently for the ground to be cleared and construction to begin, visualizing a shopping area with cheese that didn't all come from Kraft, and a bakery that didn't consist of 6 shelves of Merita's Sweet Sixteen powdered doughnuts. Finally one day as I drove past the site, I saw the long-awaited sign announcing the arrival of the new store. In large letters, it read: Coming Soon! Food Lion! My tears were bitter indeed.

2003-03-18T08:04:00.000-08:00

Self-absorption 101

I know this has been done, but I'm sorry, I've just gotta get it off my chest. Let's kick it off with this quote:

When you get to the point that the war actually begins, that's a point when many... feel they have to take the strongest action they can personally take,"

And what might these actions be? Let's recap--first, the absurd:

In Portsmouth, N.H., protesters plan to make noise by banging pots and pans

Many groups plan to carry out die-ins, where activists lie on the ground to symbolize war victims and to block passers-by

Some students at Swarthmore College, in Pennsylvania, plan to lower campus flags to half-staff

In SC, they want to plaster a federal building with duct tape and plastic sheeting

And the ubiquitous naked thing--again, I respond with, the HELL?

Next, the mildly annoying:

In Seattle, envelopes with white powder and anti-war messages were left at six locations Monday, including a post office that was evacuated.

Eight anti-war opponents were arrested Monday in Traverse City, Mich., when they tried to block an Army Reserve convoy headed to a training area. One handcuffed himself to a truck and the other seven locked arms in front of the vehicle, police said.

Four others were were arrested in Lansing, N.Y., on Monday on charges of trespassing at a military recruiting station. During the protest, about 20 people splattered what they said was their own blood onto recruiting station walls and windows and an American flag.

And finally, reckless endangerment of the lives of ordinary folks:

San Francisco anti-war groups have laid out similar plans on a larger scale for the outbreak of war, including blocking traffic and an effort to shut down the Pacific Stock Exchange and some high-profile commercial buildings.

"The bare bones of the plan is to basically shut down the financial district of San Francisco. The way we see it is that we basically unplug the system that creates war," said Patrick Reinsborough, an organizer.

Sooo, blocking traffic that could result in the deaths of people who are forced to wait for police or medical assistance because of your arty "traffic jam for war" is just dissent, eh? Oh, you didn't THINK about that, did you? Or perhaps you just don't give a shit. I'm thinking you're leaning toward the latter.

And let's not forget the calls for actual attacks on military installations.

When it's pointed out that perhaps there are more constructive ways to protest, here's the response:

"What else are we supposed to do? Sit and say nothing ... and be silent? That's not very American."

Umm, no. But you could adhere to the "civil" part of civil disobediance, you know, the part where no one gets hurt as a result of your actions? I mean, I thought that was what being "for peace" was all about. Guess I was misled. It's obviously just all about you not getting your way and throwing a tantrum. Don't make me come over there and give you a time out.

2003-03-18T06:58:00.000-08:00

Anatomy of an Academic Bloat

Ever wonder how new courses of study pop up in academia and rapidly become entrenched, even when, to the casual observer, they seem pointless?

This article, on the free version of the Chronicle, provides insight into just that phenomenon, even though I don't think it's the article's intent to do so. The subject is the development of the "field" of Comp-Rhetoric, which is basically teaching college students to write (At State, the course for Freshmen is English 111, which I taught for a couple of years while I worked on my MA. Interestingly, I had no idea that there was a Comp-Rhetoric discipline, or if I did, I didn't care. But I digress).

Apparently, the field is gearing up for a big "theory war." But the more interesting angle is that the development of this discipline is evolving in the same way that most twentieth-century additions to the curriculum have:

Federal cash flows into universities in the '60s to address a "problem"--in this case, it's poor writing skills.

Educators follow the money, and create a new sub-cateogory, "rhet comp," which has a decided lack of a curriculum. Professors fill the void by dumping linguistics, developmental psych, sociology and anthropology into the "rhet comp" field of study.

Newly minted PhDs begin to take up "theoretical stances" pertaining to their discipline.

Intra-discipline debate becomes Pythonesque, as the intellectual equivalent of "Follow the Gourd" versus "Follow the Sandal!" ensues and the whole discipline just gets goofy.

Someone finally admits the truth, "It may very well be composition's dirty little secret that many of us who teach writing would rather talk about cultural studies or critical theory and not trouble ourselves with the writing that our students do,"

The truth, however, doesn't have the power to stop or change anything, because professorial ego, cash, and prestige are now involved, the field has reached critical mass, and its own inertia keeps it moving inevitably on. When you think about it, it's kinda like a Usenet thread...

Meanwhile, actual Freshman Composition is being quite adequately taught--by graduate students in the Lit. field.

For a fun exercise, substitute "Women's Studies," "Higher Education," or any other new discipline for "rhet comp" and then ask yourselves again what you're paying for when you send your kids to college. Whee!

2003-03-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

Cho-sen for All the Right Reasons

Short posting today, as the bizarre confluence of green beer, shamrocks, and stuff getting ready to be blown up REAL GOOD is making me a little edgy. But--I did notice today that State will be hosting a Tunnel of Oppression during next week's Unity Week! My joy knows no bounds. In related news, Margaret Cho has been invited to campus to perform during Unity Week, "because her performance addresses such a wide variety of issues, including race relations and gender equity."

Nowhere in the article does it state that Ms. Cho is being invited to perform because she is actually funny or entertaining. She may well be both, but apparently these considerations are not important in light of the fact that she is both Korean and bisexual, and thus "a great figure to promote diversity."

And here I thought she was a comedian. Thank God for Unity Week; otherwise, I'd have been forced to evaluate Ms. Cho on the basis of her entertainment value, not her value as a disseminator of, well, campus lip service to diversity. I wonder how much the university shelled out for the experience?

2003-03-14T07:56:00.000-08:00

Gearing Down for the Weekend

Since this week was Spring Break at State, I've not spent a lot of time on the "Hey, I'm stupid, look at me, and my shiny PhD" crowd. And this post will be no exception, so if you're here just for the ranty goodness, you may want to bebop on over to NoIndoctination.org. Big fun site, if you define "fun" as getting worked up about the learned class. For the rest of you, a mellow Friday post that will be absolutely Seinfeldian in its lack of real content. And it'll be bulleted!

How I know I live in the South--reminder #4,125: We have a possum. A full-grown, fairly slow-moving possum who likes to hang out on our front porch and rifle through the recycling on the deck. Every night about 8:30, the dog will go to the screen door and sniff the air. Soon after, we'll hear plastic being rearranged. I'll wander over to the door, flip on the deck light, and say, "Move along, possum." The possum will look at me, then meander/scuttle away until the next evening. If a possum's top speed is demonstrated by the way ours moves, well then it's no wonder they tend to populate the center line of the highways.

Yesterday evening I was outside with the boy, trying to burn off his excess energy before dark. He was excited about seeing birds flying overhead, and kept pointing skyward. I had been absently replying, "Yes, sweetie. Birds," but then I looked up and noticed that he was pointing at the moon, which was visible in the still sunny sky. I thought, "Oh! He's never really noticed the moon before!" and named it for him. Then he walked over to me and asked to be picked up. Even in my arms he kept stretching upward, pointing at the moon, and I realized that he thought I could lift him all the way up to touch it. And I would love nothing more than to be able to do just that.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

2003-03-13T11:43:00.000-08:00

Take a Number. I'll Call You When I Care.

In this time of uncertainty and turmoil, isn't it refreshing to know that the Oscars are planning for every contingency? In the event that a tacky war breaks out before the broadcast, they're bandying about the idea of a scrolling news feed. Well thank God. I mean, I understand that the bad fashion, half-baked political commentary and sheer length of the Oscars can be paralyzing to the average viewer, but I had NO IDEA that we will be rendered completely incapable of SWITCHING THE CHANNEL or WATCHING ANYTHING ELSE until the ceremony releases us from its hypnotic thrall.

In happier news, Eminem will be "on vacation" during the Oscars, hence unable to perform his Oscar nominated song. Hee! Eminem might be a rat bastard, but that's why he's fun. I do believe his absence gave the program planner a bad case of the vapors.

Eh, showbiz. I'll check the web the morning after to laugh at the badly dressed. That's about all the energy I can muster for anything "Hollywood" anymore.

2003-03-13T11:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Bill Clinton,

Please stop talking now.

Sincerely,
America

PS - Could you please forward this message to Jimmy Carter? Thanks ever so.

2003-03-12T05:56:00.000-08:00

Overthink

So yesterday I'm in the car, returning to work from a dental appointment, when Young Turks by Rod Stewart comes on the oldies station (Ack--it's an oldie! Guess I am too, then. Dammit.) Anyhoo, I'm sort of half-listening, doing that whole "remember how we'd listen to this on the radio at the pool in '80-something," when I caught myself beginning to pay attention to the lyrics. Then before I knew it, I was engaged in this mental conversation:

Don't let them put you down, don't let 'em push you around,
don't let 'em ever change your point of view.

Riiight. They're SEVENTEEN! The only point of view they have is informed by watching MTV news, fer cryin' out loud...

Happiness was found in each other's arms as expected,
yeah Billy pierced his ears, drove a pickup like a lunatic, ooh!

Yeah, that's about right. Teenage sex, illicit piercings and a truck. My bumpkin high school in a nutshell. Billy--you're a moron.

But there ain't no point in talking when there's nobody list'ning so we just ran away
Patti gave birth to a ten pound baby boy, yeah!

Young hearts be free tonight, time is on your side.

Sure, time does tend to seem endless when you're an unemployed, umnmarried, high school dropout with a new baby, doomed forever to a LIFE OF GRINDING POVERTY because you couldn't KEEP IT ZIPPED OR KEEP IT COVERED for like the FIVE EXTRA MINUTES it would take you to at least get a DIPLOMA, YOU STUPID GIT! And what's WRONG WITH YOU, ROD STEWART, GLORIFYING THIS STUFF LIKE IT WOULD BE BLISS?!?!? Damn you and your satin stretch leopard print pants, Rod Stewart! Damn you!

And then the stoplight turned green, the song faded out, and I realized that I am, at the very least, in need of decaf. Or possibly valium.

2003-03-11T06:19:00.000-08:00

Help! My Writing and Reasoning Skills are Being Oppressed!

Okay, I know I crib a lot from Critical Mass, but dangit! It's worth it. From today's entry, Erin O'Connor posts a response from a local organizer of the Tunnel of Oppression meme that has unfortunately taken hold on campuses as the ultimate diversity experience. We will leave aside the oftentimes absurd nature of the practice itself--go see one sometime if you have an hour to kill and have run short of bamboo to ram under your fingernails for fun--and let its defender speak:

it's people like you that don't allow us to move foward and add to the oppression in society. Being educated means being open to new ideas you may not agree with. As a scholar myself I ask you to look beyond the actors and role play and look at the real hidden meaning of this program and what it truely does. Because numbers don't like and when 750 students ATTEND a program.....you guys have no leg to stand on

It's a self-fisker, really, but that's not my point. What a lot of folks don't realize is that university housing programs, in a desperate bid to avoid privatization, have instituted "residence hall programming" designed to slap a veneer of scholarship over dormitory living. The culprits are almost uniformly Higher Ed majors, and the bulk of their "programming" consists of diversity training, because frankly, Higher Ed as a discipline has nothing concrete to offer dormitory residents. These programs are under the purview of Resident Advisors, Directors and Residence Life Coordinators, and attendance tends to be gained either through bribery or compulsion. So the idea that the mere presence of 750 bodies lends credence to something is patently ridiculous, particularly when the stated purpose of that something is to "move forward and add to the oppression in society." Okay, so I couldn't pass that one up. Fish, barrel, bang.

Also, I would lay money on the fact that the writer of this letter is probably a higher education major (AHA! Google proves me correct--the referenced document is standard in res hall programming, and NACURH is a national body for Housing professionals, much like the MLA for English majors. Added bonus--NACURH will be hosted by my university this year. Huzzah!) Like Liberal Studies, this discipline came about as a way to ensure job security for professors more than anything else. It's a weird hybrid of pop psychology, education theory, and a touch of statistics, and tends to produce "scholarship" of the poorly written, evangelistic variety.

Higher Ed as a discipline also proves the point that more is not always better, particularly where dogma is concerned. Replacing critical thought and literacy with activism should be disdained by the educated, but hey! If it's easy and gets you tenure, then I guess it's all good.

2003-03-10T11:03:00.000-08:00

The Deadliest Continent

Australia--designed to kill the unwary. At least, that's my impression of it from, well, everywhere. Any time you turn on a nature channel about deadly animals, you learn that most of them live in Australia, and not far removed from the average Australian. Let's see, they have the world's deadliest snakes (with, I think the exception of the black mamba), the world's deadliest spiders (funnel web, anyone?) and their bodies of water are populated with crocodiles, sharks, eeeville box jellyfish and some tiny little octupus that will Kill. You. Dead.

Usually, I dismiss that information with a "Wow! Remind me, when I visit Australia, to avoid the ocean/outback/ponds/lakes/streams/fields/woodpiles/backyards," (as of today, I believe my future trip will consist of touring one pub in Sydney) and amazement that the prevailing attitude toward these items by the residents is fairly breezy. I am also comforted by my geographical distance from the Australian Scary. But, ladies and gentlemen, we have been duped. The Australian Scary has become more than a mere collection of venomous fauna, has escaped its former pen, and now threatens the world. In fact, the Scary has arrived on these shores, even in my very home, and it is trying to end my life. The scary in question?

The Wiggles.

Specifically The Wiggly Safari, which features, in addition to the aforementioned Wiggly types, the presence of the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. Even now, the haunting tones of "Crocodile Hunter, big Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter, Action MAAAAANN!" from the Wiggly Safari's opening number echo in my consciousness, and they are driving me maaaaad, I tell you! Maaaaaaadddd!

Oh, it all started innocently enough. I noticed that my child would sit still for thirty entire minutes when The Wiggles came on The Disney Channel, captivated by four slightly goofy men in colored shirts, a pirate with a feather for a sword (do not go there--just, it's been done, okay?), a dog, a dinosaur, and an octopus with a disturbing penchant for plaid. And the songs were WAY better than that saccharine Barney tripe or the creepy songs of satan sung by The Little People. So, God help me, I encouraged Wiggly consumption.

But I fear I have gone too far, and am now caught in the Wiggle trap. In a fit of motherly dotage I purchased the DVD of the Wiggly Safari, thinking it might prove a nice break from repeated viewings of Baby Shakespeare and the Veggie Tales. And now, it is the ONLY THING MY CHILD WILL WATCH. EVER. AND DID I MENTION IT'S AN HOUR LONG? SO THAT ALL OF HIS ALLOTTED TV TIME IS SPENT WITH THE WIGGLES? I am spending hours of my life that I will never get back watching Captain Feathersword with a fake "cockatoo head" hat screeching "Pieces of Eight! Pieces of Eight!" over and over again. I can actually feel the brain cells running out of my ears.

That's not even the worst part. The worst part is that the songs, however irritating they become, are also impossible to remove from my head. They're on eternal loop. I have no escape. I am doomed. I can only hope that this blog entry will save others, for it is too late for me. Beware the Australian Scary! Beware grown men who hang out with plaid-clad octopi in straw boaters and patent leather! I can't believe I just typed that sentence! Save yourselves! Aaaaaaaaaa!

2003-03-07T08:02:00.000-08:00

Behold the Power of Uterus

Maybe it's just me, but I didn't think that the way to liberate women from manichean stereotyping was by replacing one set of stereotypes with another. It's still just a bunch of gibberish. I've been thinking about that lately after the whole Lysistrata thing, and then I came across this article on a "progressive" website. Here's the most offensive paragraph (and I had a hard time choosing):

Liberation, the act of rescuing the damsel in distress, the art of war to free people seen as incapable of carving out their own destiny, is a patriarchal fallacy. The idea of liberating Iraq by force represents the systematic domination of male over female, the forcible rape and ensuing grief and shame of disempowerment that women have historically encountered as victims of male-perpetrated violence.

As opposed to the everyday reality of rape, grief, disempowerment and shame that women endure under Iraqi rule. By this logic, no population, no matter how forcibly repressed, has any excuse for not liberating itself. And no one can help them, either, because that's patriarchal. Instead, we should listen to our feminine side in the matter:

Embodied in the female experience is this notion of conscience. It is the intuitive, secret voice that whispers the directions for following a higher path. It is the dreamlike symbolism revealed through humility and introspection. Turning inward requires reflection and self-knowledge, faith in the unseen. It is the root system which takes hold beneath the soil before peering upward into the light. First we must go deep before emerging into the world.

Iraq, the religious and historical cradle of civilization, is a potent metaphor for femininity. It is the Fertile Crescent, the great mother womb which gave birth to inventions like the wheel, the art of writing and three of the world's far-reaching religions, Islam, Judaism and Christianity which share a common Abrahamic lineage. It is the home of archaeological treasures buried deep in the vast desert sands. It is the home of unheard weeping, suffering borne disproportionately by grandmothers, mothers and children.

The invasion of Iraq is a crime against all women, against all that is feminine and sacred.

Here's where I'm going to get a little wound up. Women aren't somehow "closer to the divine" than men. Iraq is a country with a history. It is not a womb, not a sacred repository of the earth mother, and not a cypher for the great and powerful holiness that is WOMAN. And while I don't doubt that there is weeping and suffering borne disproportionately by women there, it's NOT because Iraq will probably be liberated by force, it's because REAL WOMEN, with REAL, NOT FIGURATIVE WOMBS AND BODIES, ARE BEING OPPRESSED, TORTURED AND KILLED BY THEIR FELLOW CITIZENS.

Get your head out of your sacred womb, you stupid cow, and look at reality. You're so caught up in "big ideas" about patriarchy and earth mother symbolism that you cannot see how your pseudo-intellectual analysis and resultant paralysis lead to the continuing perpetration of crimes against living, breathing women. There is a fine line between deliberate ignorance and willful evil, lady, and you're walking it. No matter how enlightened you think your uterus makes you.

2003-03-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

The Energizer Bunny of Stupid

It just keeps going, and going, and going. Read this if you need a laugh. Me? I want a Hip Hop Against Racist War t-shirt. Sigh. Especially when its spokeswoman says stuff like this:

We feel that the nature and intensity of these attacks reveal the clear white supremacist sentiment that is driving the push for war by its supporters. In addition, the violence embedded within this attack reflects the real and present threat of violence that students of color feel every day at North Carolina State University.

Gee, I must have missed the "KKK Says Bombs Away" pro-war demonstration.

2003-03-06T12:44:00.000-08:00

Holy Hobbit, Batman!

I think I missed something in my first reading of The Hobbit, as this book description reveals. The original page from Wal-Mart has been taken down, but TORN helpfully provides a screencap. Hee!

Sorry for the light posting--hope to get back to my regular raving tomorrow.

2003-03-04T07:01:00.000-08:00

Bon Mot of the Day

"War is Terrorism. Just ask those who have plastic and duct tape for windows."

Had to pass through the Free Expression Tunnel, or "The Goofy Gauntlet" this a.m. on the way to Kinkos and Starbucks, and saw the above painted on the wall. I am...puzzled by the sentiment, to say the least.

What does that mean? Does it mean that squatters in unfinished housing are war refugees? Does it mean that Iraquis only have plastic and duct tape for windows? Just--what? Does it mean that Americans are having war perpetrated on them? See, if War is Terrorism, then I guess Terrorism means War. Following that logic, an act of Terrorism is an act of War, and we are more than justified in defending ourselves, so going into Iraq to dismantle a regime that funds terrorism and therefore creates war isn't pre-emptive at all...oops. Maybe they didn't think that little trope through. Or maybe they just ran out of paint before they could finish the thought.

Or maybe, if you're in a confined area (like a tunnel) where paint fumes tend to be trapped, at 1 a.m. (when the slogan was painted--we're now datestamping our graffiti at State to prevent premature whitewashing), and you've never really HAD an original idea in your life, combining all the slogans you've ever heard into one gobbet of dumb and spewing it forth onto a tunnel wall seems like brilliance.

But then, I've had a LOT of coffee this morning, so maybe I'm just thinking too much. Gotta hate when that happens.

2003-03-03T05:54:00.000-08:00

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise

Actually, this took about a whole minute longer than I would have expected. Perhaps the reflexes are slowing down in knee-jerk land? Yes, it's the ubiquitous "Look, there were racist slurs in the free expression tunnel about the war in Iraq! War is racist!" piece, written by someone in the "vaunted" and appropriately titled "liberal studies" program.

For the uninitiated, "liberal studies" is a catchall for folks whose attention spans are far too short for them to actually concentrate on one discipline. It's a mishmash of humanities courses, seasoned with marxist and feminist theory, whipped into a lather of reactionary and lazy scholarship, and half-baked for easy intellectual consumption. Yum-my. Here's a little taste from the aforementioned dish:

Since the United States embarked on its never-ending "War on Terrorism" in 2001, many of us who stood to oppose this endless war identified racism as one of the key components in the ideological backing for war. As war in Afghanistan turned into war in Iraq turned into war in Korea, we had our suspicions confirmed: The United States is much more interested in the economic, political and social control of black and brown bodies and their resources than ending "terrorism."

Note that the actual racism practiced by the people who flew the jets into large buildings is glossed over. See, if you're conducting a religious war against the infidel, it helps if a lot of the infidel happen to be white. That way, if the infidel get kinda pissy and start shooting at you, you can count on mental midgets in liberal studies programs to freak out and cry racism. See also how the racism inherent in the idea that black and brown bodies are always victims, never independent actors, is ignored.

Read the rest, if you're so inclined. But really, you don't have to. Here's the conclusion, just to give you some closure--or indigestion, if you'd like to continue with the belabored food metaphor:

Tuesday's messages were sad, frightening and telling, as the pro-war forces confirmed what we have known all along. War and racism are linked, and our world will not be safe until they are both eliminated.

No, that wasn't at all predictable. Just think--this guy's gonna have an MA soon. This piece could have been written by a random Chomsky generator. Explain to me again how academia is about rigorous mental discipline?

2003-02-28T07:05:00.000-08:00

Oh, for the Love of God, People

It's just a graffiti tunnel! Perhaps I should have saved the "Tempest/Teapot" post title for this one. Hold on while I take a deep cleansing breath.....okay, here goes.

From our campus paper, The Technician, this story regarding the "clash of ideological titans" in the graffiti tunnel. Note how the disagreement has now escalated into a full-blown "ohmygoditsahatefilledcampus" kerfluffle, complete with a Statement on Tolerance from the Chancellor.

To me, the money quote is this statement, prepared by the students who were confronted in the tunnel:

"As people who believe that white supremacy and heterosexism are fundamental stumbling blocks to any sort of meaningful humanity, we feel it is our duty to challenge racist and homophobic violence whenever we see it," the statement read. "We have come here today to demand that the administration of N.C. State denounce the environment of hatred and violence that faces its students every day." (emphasis mine)

Okay, look. There was apparently a threat of physical violence, which is criminal behavior and can be prosecuted as such. The slogans were offensive and in poor taste. But someone needs to explain how we got from that to the need for a definition of "meaningful humanity" from a sociology major. And how this one incident has now become indicative of an "environment of hatred and violence."

There are the usual calls for "mandatory diversity training," and a need for the university to "do more," while everyone mouths platitudes about respecting "free speech." No they don't.

Frankly, I think the training needed is a course in etiquette by Emily Post.

2003-02-27T06:14:00.000-08:00

Oh, Hello Tempest! Your Teapot is Right Over Here.

Reading this forum on childbirth and leave from The Chronicle of Higher Ed was eye-opening, to say the least. The article to which it refers was, to my mind, a pretty straightforward accounting of ways in which universities need to prepare themselves to meet the needs of students when the unforeseen happens. In this case, three female professors in a fairly small department were going to have overlapping maternity leaves, raising some legitimate questions about leave policy, preparation, etc.

However, as tends to happen when resident "deep thinkers" get hold of an issue, discussion soon devolved into name calling and disparaging comments toward those women who have the ABOSLUTE GALL to want CHILDREN when they're tenure track professors. Then of course we had to have the whole "what really defines a family" posts, the smug asides about family leave policies in Scandinavia and Canada, etc. etc. My personal fave was this one, entitled "use birth control." Here's an excerpt:

"Having babies is a choice -- already, people who have babies are getting tax breaks, getting hugely discounted insurance (forcing those more reproductively responsible to subsidise them), and often getting to slack off work for some 15 years using children as an excuse to reschedule meetings and avoid heavy committee work. This is NOT a women's issue -- it is a matter concerning a specific group of people taking advantage of the rest of their department."

Bitter, much? Her sentiments are breathtakingly condescending. I'm assuming that the writer, Lisa Jenkins, counts herself among the "reproductively responsible" here. Wonder if it's occurred to her that if all women were similarly responsible, she'd have no one to impart her wisdom to? Oh, but I'm sure she's merely referring to those within her profession. Because, after all, it's ALL ABOUT LISA. Sounds like the girl's got issues, to me. Speaking of issues:

"It seems to me that if employees want special "perks" for having a baby, then they should be responsible enough to schedule their baby having time, with their department.
With Ithaca, had the three faculty agreed to the dates when each want to be with child, and scheduled these dates with the department, the department wouldn't be so shorthanded."

Yes, because as we all know, the human body is a simple clockwork mechanism, and that's why everyone can schedule when they want children, and infertility doesn't exist, and all birth control is 100% effective. Let's see, set the timer for May 15, procure sperm, preheat the womb...no problem! Oh, and I'll switch the safety lock on, so that there will be no premature labor or complications. This is so easy! There's absolutely no excuse for anyone, anywhere, ever to have a problem with scheduling maternity leave! La, la, la! Look at the pretty green sky! At least, in my world, that's its color. Wheee!

I never cease to be amazed by people who cry freedom all day in their classrooms, but deny it to anyone who might inconvenience THEM by exercising free will. People who support all kinds of radical feminism, but who are enraged by women who then use their freedom of choice to "go traditional." Hey, professors? Here's a nice big cup of Get Over It. Will that be one lump, or two?

2003-02-26T08:25:00.000-08:00

War Bad! Arrrrrrr!

I think I may have actually reached critical pissed-offitude today. Oh, it's been building for a while--a really long while, now that I think about it--but it's finally hit the whole cartoonish "head with exploding thermometers for eyes and steam-emitting ears" phase today. Why? First, let's just make a list:

From Cold Fury--this piece about "educators" deliberately villifying children's parents who serve in the military.

From Juan Gato--well, pretty much everything, but particularly the existence of the Wonder Twins Morford and MoDo,and their continuing, unreasonable belief in their own superiority.

Hollywood. My, they're full of themselves lately, aren't they? (via Andrea Harris)

And just read Critical Mass for a distillate of distasteful declarations from the dissolute dimbulbs who inhabit Ivory Tower land.

I could go into a lengthy analysis of knee-jerk anti-war leftism descending into the depths of contentless ad hominem crapola, but it's been done. Perhaps the problem is that we've been spending too much time trying to lend intellectual discussion to a debate which is quickly becoming a Usenet flamewar writ large, instead of, as we are taught in "Instructor 101," making our message "audience appropriate." So in the interest of time and clarity, here goes:

Grow. The. Fuck. Up.

No, really. You don't like Bush? Fine, whatever. Vote against him in 2004, write your congressfolk and senators, have bake sales to support his opponent. But stop letting your hatred of one man blind you to, well, everything else. The world has changed in the past 18 months, and the rest of us don't have time to wait for you to catch up.

Stop letting your belief that he "stole the election" send you into hyper conspiracy mode, wherein every single person who may have even considered voting for him somehow manages to be stupid, evil, yet diabolical enough to aid and abet the Wellstone assassination. Stop. It. NOW. And don't even try with the whole "nuanced debate" bullshit. Bush=Hitler? Where's the friggin' nuance? I see no nuance! I see a bunch of people so enraged by the fact that "our side lost" almost THREE FREAKING YEARS AGO that they're throwing a mass tantrum. I include Hollywood, France, The New York Times, and the current democratic petty obstructionism in that list. And when it's pointed out that their tantrum is actually having the opposite effect re: making war more likely, as well as being directly responsible for the subjugation of an entire nation by a fellow who would, incidentally, set their anti-war asses on fire as soon as they stopped proving useful, what happens? They get naked! What the fuck is that?

I'll tell you what it is. They're channeling my toddler. Scream and cry when thwarted. Reason doesn't work--the screaming merely intensifies, sometimes coupled with throwing things, or tossing a diaper at my head. Do you know what works? Ignoring the toddler. And it looks like the "eeeeville Bush Junta" (aside: stop with the junta, okay? Likewise with the whole hegemony thing. It doesn't make you seem smart or clever. It makes it seem like you just spent 10 minutes in a post-colonial theory course and you jotted down the glossary terms 'cause you thought it might help you get laid at the kegger later on) is going to do just that.

Everyone loses sometime. You can either accept it, learn from it and try harder next time, or you can throw a fit. But it doesn't change reality. No, not even if you click your heels together three times, hug your blankie and wish REALLY REALLY hard.

2003-02-25T06:01:00.000-08:00

Damn You, February!

Ya know, for the shortest month, this one does seem to go on and on and on. Sorry, Sartre, you were wrong. Hell isn't other people--it's February.

I hate you, February. I hate you with fiery, burning, lava hate. And a good thing, too, because that's all that's keeping my feet warm at work right now. There's a reason why I live in the South, February, and apparently you haven't been paying attention, because you Aren't. Leaving. Quickly. Enough. Oh, and the ice storms? The hell? Look, February, maybe you've had some hard times. Maybe people have been cruel to you in the past--calling you names, making fun of your relative size, or the way you spell your name (what IS with that "silent r", anyway?), whatever. Is that really any reason to act like a big bully, overstay your welcome, and piss all over my gardenia bush? I think not. You're never going to make people love you that way, February, especially when you try to force us to love you by tacking on that stupid holiday with the chalky candy so that we can all add tooth decay to the list of ills you bring us. I mean, the flu? Dude, that's just harsh. Get some counseling, February. You know, anger management? And maybe you should lay off the booze. You get ugly when you've been drinking.

2003-02-24T07:52:00.000-08:00

The Wages of Sociology

See, this is what happens when an otherwise talented student is exposed to 4 years of unmitigated sociology--they get all huffy and release self-important statements like this one:

"For some time now, the inequalities that are embedded into the American system have bothered me. As they are becoming progressively worse and it is clear that the government's priorities are not on bettering the quality of life for all of its people, but rather on expanding its own power, I cannot, in good conscience, salute the flag,'' Smith said in a statement released Thursday.

To which the soc-whipped administration must reply:

Manhattanville President Richard Berman said he told Smith "what she's doing is courageous and difficult.''

No, no it's not. This is America, and the worst thing that will happen to Ms. Smith is that she'll be mocked. Not stoned to death, not imprisoned, not prevented from pursuing a career in sports or the private sector, just mocked. Of course, in a world where our students are so sheltered that the occasional appearance of snow porn is enough to cause PTSD, this could be construed as an horrific punishment, but your mileage may vary. Mine sure as hell does.

Life is inequality, Ms. Smith. I'm sure that I would enjoy being able to play basketball as well as you do, but alas! I cannot. How do you propose we address this inequality? Oh, I get it. Inequality only counts in cases where the government can step in and intervene through preferential treatment for the oppressed. But doesn't that create a different kind of inequality? Ah, that inequality doesn't count. It's all so very clear to me now. Thanks for the help.

Via Campus Nonsense.

2003-02-20T05:37:00.000-08:00

Tina Brown is a Tiny Moron

Don't believe me? Read her latest column, full of lamentation for how the poor fashion industry is suffering, struggling to regain its footing after its self-absorbed hedonism was so cruelly stopped by those insensitive jihadis. But that's not the really annoying part. This is:

IS IT JUST THE RESIDUE of fashion week that makes me wish there were more, or should I say any, gay men in the Bush Administration? At The Sunday Times in the Seventies one top editor used to shake his head when the paper became too humourlessly high-testosterone and say that what it needed that week was “more pooftah power”.

Behold the power of the gay! I know that in matters of dire national emergency, the best way to ensure the success of our nation is not to find qualified folks to lead, but to randomly select people on the basis of their sexuality! Because it's all about offsetting that deadly testosterone! Although, I do want to bitchslap Tina Brown. Could that be due to the Power of the Gay, or is it just that she's a twit?

In lieu of outright womanhood — except for Condoleezza Rice, who crosses the gender barriers by becoming the most zealous enabler — perhaps an injection of androgyny could be brought to bear on diplomatic relations in this moment of crisis. The Bush crowd’s only management style, like that of many who subscribe to the outmoded cult of America’s Toughest Bosses, is to unzip and thwack it on the table. As Senator Robert Byrd put it in his speech last week, they deal in “crude insensitivities”.

Yeah, gotta get in the gratuitious "slap Condi" moment. So now, not only is she inauthentically black, she's inauthentically female. And while we're flailing that broad brush of stereotyping around, let's do mention the whole BSD trope. It's all about the penis, people. Power to the penis! Wait a minute--there's a knock at the door....oh, look! It's our good friend Irony. Hi, I! What's up? Oh, yeah, I noticed she's talking about insensitivity by using a former Klansman as a mouthpiece--I was trying to ignore that. Hey, Irony, you look a little down. Beer? Help yourself. I'll be with you in a moment.

The offence of it is enhanced by the fact that we know how unauthentic Bush is in this role of macho man. Unlike the war vet Powell, who never swaggers, he has no credentials for talking the tough talk.

Is it just me, or is anyone else having Village People flashbacks about now? Macho man, pooftah power...once our Tina gets her tiny pointed teeth into an extended metaphor, she just doesn't let go, does she? Like a tiny, rabid chihuahua, she's just worrying this column to death. Really slowly. And not very effectively, either. But, like the aforesaid diminutive doggie, she's managing to be very annoying, all the same.

Bush never said that the trouble with the French is that they have no word for “entrepreneur” — that turned out to be an urban legend. But I wish we had a leader who did not believe that “nuance” was strictly for cheese eaters.

Behold the mighty TB! Clairvoyant, y'all! Able to see through the urban legend and into the very heart and soul of our leader! Down with the bi-lingual shizzy! Oh, hold on a sec--Irony? Why are you crying? Well, yes, I know you've been poorly utilized of late. I'm sorry. No, we do appreciate you, Irony. And we don't judge you based on crap like this. You don't have control over every hack columnist on the planet. Shh, shh. It's okay. Have another beer. Go to your happy place. Focus on the happy place.

2003-02-19T12:51:00.000-08:00

We'll Be Back After this Brief Word from Our Sponsors

Sorry for the non-posting this week. I discovered today that the nagging, piercing pain in my ears was not, as I had previously thought, caused by the Toddler's new penchant for tantrums (helloooo, 18 months!), but by a double ear infection on top of a sinus infection and bronchitis. Given how short my fuse has been lately, a couple of days off with drugs and The Two Towers video game (woo-hoo! Go Gimli!) have been good for the soul.

I'll return to my regularly scheduled ranting and raving tomorrow.

2003-02-16T19:16:00.000-08:00

Bugs in Amber

In undergrad, there was a running joke at my school that you could tell in which year a professor received his or her PhD by the way he or she dressed. It was particularly true in the Psych Department: the two professors who matriculated in the seventies--one male, one female--still wore lime green leisure suits and peasant blouses and skirts (with knee socks!), respectively. And the newest addition to the faculty (this was in the late 80s) was all about the Capezios shoes and parachute pants. At the time, I chalked it up to "absent minded professor syndrome"--they were so busy thinking deep thoughts that they never looked around and noticed that things change.

Fast forward a decade plus three, after more schooling and a university job, and I realize that my first analysis was at least half right. Those professors and a lot of the ones I ran into subsequently didn't notice that things change, but it wasn't because they were thinking deep thoughts, it was because they were repeating the same thoughts that they had in grad school (or earlier) over and over until the thinkers became completely paralyzed--trapped in one mindset and preserved like bugs in amber, unable to recognize or react to the outside world.

How else can you explain the disproportionate number of academicians who cling to the rhetoric of class warfare and who still believe that Marx holds the answers when human nature and real world regimes have proven this false? How else do you come to terms with ideologies that are all about "shades of gray" until someone offers an opposing viewpoint, and right and wrong suddenly solidify into darkest black and starkest white? And how else can you begin to understand a worldview in which the academic alone holds the key to correct knowlege and the greatest sin is hypocrisy, not the consequences of actions undertaken in the real world, where those shades of gray are much more apparent than in a classroom?

The "explosion" of critical theory in the last couple of decades is simply the application of popular late-nineteenth and early twentieth century philosophies and causes--Marxism, Existentialism, Nihilism, Feminism--to literature. The ideas are recycled, the concepts are nominally "freshened up" by adding a dash of race or sex, and voila! Post-Colonial theory, Queer theory, and New Historicism magically appear. Yes, part of the joy of literature is finding universally relevant themes. But turning the themes that you find into courses of study all their own just leads to an overabundance of specious research and poor writing, as each little critical theory sub-group fights for a piece of the pie. And for all of their writing and research and scholarly production, these folks are still basically talking about Marxism, the academic cause du jour when they were up and comers.

This watered down Marxism pervades academia to such an extent that it is every bit as unquestioned as the old-fashioned reader-response approach to literature used to be. Incoming students are fed it, learn to regurgitate it back, and even if they don't necessarily buy into it, they learn how to play the game if they want a career in academia. Until recently, no one bothered to question the politicization of literature courses--it was simply accepted that your english professor was probably going to make a snide comment about Reagan, and no one batted an eye when he or she did. What was that old chestnut? The battles are so fierce because the stakes are so low--that about summed up the student attitude toward politics in the classroom.

But the world has a stubborn tendency to change, and so for whatever reasons--the end of the cold war, the rise of the internet, 9-11--students, scholars, and those outside the academy are a little less apt to swallow the old line. This is a healthy thing, I think, for the university, provided there is energetic debate about the issues involved. However, I am not encouraged by what I've seen thus far. CampusWatch and NoIndoctrination.org are being held up as the new McCarthyism, as though anyone with the temerity to question a professor's tactics or beliefs must automatically be an imperialist troglodyte and tool of the man. We have professors writing course descriptions in which those students who aren't "right thinking individuals" aren't encouraged to attend. And we have universities implementing draconian speech codes, to protect the young from the consequences of speaking their minds, one would assume.

These responses are ridiculous and out of touch, and expose the universities and scholars who hold them as fearful, inflexible relics, unable to fulfill the basic definition of a university: unity from diversity. The folks in charge of academia today are, by and large, the youthful rebels of the sixties, who wanted to get rid of the old strictures in the name of freedom. I submit that they have become what they once beheld: rigid rule-makers, or to put it metaphorically, bugs in amber.

2003-02-14T12:48:00.000-08:00

Brushes With Mayhem, Part the Second,
Or,
Hey! There's an ATF Agent in My Den!

One year after the Summer of Police Protection, the soon-to-be-hublet and I were finishing up our degrees and working at the local Barnes & Noble bookstore to help with expenses. The big exciting Raleigh news event that summer was the attempted murder-by-mail-bomb of a female BTI employee, which served to remind everyone about the Oklahoma City bombing, and brought the usual complaints about our store stocking The Anarchist's Cookbook. Incidentally, we had moved that volume behind the register after Oklahoma City, in response to those same complaints.

I was coming home from work one day about a week after the BTI bombing, and as I got ready to turn into my apartment complex I noticed an abandoned car at the bottom of the driveway. Something about the vehicle made me think "unmarked police car," but I didn't pay any more attention than that. So I pulled into my parking space, hopped out of the car, checked my mail, and opened my door, expecting my fiance' to be there.

He was there all right, along with two ATF agents complete with guns and those blue nylon "Hey! We're ATF agents!" jackets they wear. I took in the scene, said "hi," and retired to the bedroom to quiet Gertie, the barking wonder. About thirty minutes later, they left, and I wandered out to politely inquire of my fiance why he was being questioned by federal agents.

Turns out that he had sold the BTI bombing suspect a copy of The Anarchist's Cookbook, and furthermore, he was able to pick the guy out of a set of photographs. Long story short, the bomber had come to the counter, asked hublet for a copy of TAC, and made small talk while he looked it over. He then purchased it from hublet, pretty much guaranteeing he would be remembered. Then, he left the book and the receipt in his basement, which his wife remembered seeing after she got out of the hospital. Did I mention his wife was the victim? Well, she was. Lost two fingers and the thumb on her left hand, but all things considered, she was pretty lucky.

About 6 months later, hublet and I got a free night's stay in Wilmington while he testified at the trial. I talked to some of the other witnesses for the prosecution while we waited, and it turned out that this guy did something memorable or stupid at every store he went to. The lady from Home Depot who sold him the pipe he used for the bomb remembered him because he was talking so much; he had recently upped the wife's insurance policy to $250,000--the list went on. Frankly, all I could think of was, "He was gonna kill his wife for a measly $250,000? Chump. That won't even get you 4 bedrooms in Raleigh!" But I digress.

The next summer was the last in our trifecta of Mayhem--Hurricane Fran hit. After that, I decided that maybe a house would be a good investment. Preferably somewhere a little bit out of the way of tangentally related criminal activity or natural disasters...so we moved. And I'm happy to report that neither the ATF, Raleigh PD, or FEMA have shown up at my door since then.

2003-02-14T06:34:00.000-08:00

Best. Valentine. Ever.

From my pal, this lovely ode:

Four years.
Can you believe
we've been together that long?
It's hard to even remember
what things were like before you.
All I know for sure is
I had a lot more room for pizzas and ice cream.
And look at you.
You haven't aged a day.
And your make-up is still perfect.
I love you, head in my freezer.

2003-02-14T06:32:00.000-08:00

All Hail the Mighty Talbert!

This man is an idiot. He's going to be successfully sued, and Shaw University will probably suffer for it. Read about his funny ideas concerning free speech and the importance of staff "loyalty" here and here. Now that he's finally stepped down, perhaps they could send him to work for Robert Mugabe. Sounds like they have similar ideas concerning freedom.

2003-02-13T12:23:00.000-08:00

Brushes with Mayhem

All this duct tapin', water buyin', orange alertin' stuff has made me reflect upon my own brushes with mayhem, and because it's my blog, I'm gonna share. Plus, I'm not in the mood for the stupid just now--somebody opened the floodgates yesterday, and I simply cannot process that much idiocy. So for your reading enjoyment, Part 1 of Brushes With Mayhem, or, "How far are we from Central Prison, Again?"

Graduate school marked my first foray into independent living. I was fortunate enough to move to Raleigh before the giant mid-nineties boom, so I was able to procure a 900 square foot one bedroom apartment in a decent, convenient location for $400 a month. Yeah, I'm old. And?

Anyway, my apartment complex was a good mix of graduate students and professionals--pretty peaceful, especially after the woman I affectionately referred to as Rodan moved out as my upstairs neighbor and a young married grad student couple moved in. It was a dog-oriented complex, so we all knew one another by dog names--oh, look! It's Maggie's mom! The new upstairs neighbors had a sweet but high strung dalmation who loved nothing more than to sit on my grumpy weiner beagle's head. Gertie (the weiner beagle in question) hated this dog with a passion, and we (the neighbors and I) would just stand around and laugh as the small brown curmudgeon tried to kill the gangly dalmation. All I knew about them was that she was from Iowa originally, and that he liked to skateboard and mountain bike. A lot.

So imagine my surprise as one fine summer afternoon I exit my car and stop at the mailboxes mounted on the wall of the entryway (it was all open air) to my building, only to notice two large men in dark suits sprinting toward me. I remember thinking, "Oh dear, this can't be good," because there was no way I could get to my door--which was about 5 feet away--and unlock it before they reached me. So I just decided to be nonchalant, and moved toward my apartment.

"Are you Wendy?" the shorter of the men asked when they got to where I was standing. "They told us that Wendy had brown hair and a dog." They must have heard Gertie barking through the door. Gertie was always barking. Still is, nine years later. Stupid dog.

"Um, no." It was then that I noticed the badges and sidearms. "Are you with the police?"

"Yes ma'am." They showed their badges and introduced themselves. "Does she live in this building?"

"Yeah, she lives upstairs, but probably won't be home for a few hours yet."

They thanked me, and returned to their unmarked car to wait. Later, I heard my neighbors return home, and shortly thereafter, two pairs of footsteps heading upstairs, a muffled knocking, and then voices. That evening, I was walking Gertie when I ran into my next door neighbor (who had an old, fat Cocker Spaniel that Gertie also hated. Detecting a theme here?) My next door neighbor always knew what was going on. I think she had the place bugged.

"So what's up with Wendy?" I asked. It turned out that her dad had just escaped from prison. NC Central prison, which was located about 3 miles from where we were living. And, oh, here's the kicker--Wendy's testimony sent him to jail, and he had vowed to kill her and her sister if he ever got out. So she--and we--were to be under police protection until they got the guy.

The irony was that Wendy's dad had no idea she was living in Raleigh. He headed out to Iowa, in fact, and Wendy told us later that her grandmother (his mom) had tried to find out where she was living--obviously to help with the "family reunion."

It took the cops about a month to track the fellow down. In the meantime, we moved a charcoal grill out to the parking lot and had impromptu cookouts with the detail assigned to our building. Once or twice the officers went charging around the underbrush near the apartment--guess they thought they saw something--but he never showed up, and was finally nabbed in Florida at his mom's house. Obviously, he wasn't too clever.

I never asked if he found out that Wendy had been less than 5 miles from him all along--she and her husband moved soon after her ordeal. It seemed like a random event, an interesting story to tell folks when making small talk. I mean, how many people have you known who were actually under police protection? I figured it would make a fun anecdote. Little did I know, the following summer would prove even more bizarre.

Next time, on Brushes With Mayhem: "Hey! There's an ATF Agent in My Den!"

2003-02-12T07:52:00.000-08:00

The Grandmother's Script

Here is a list of phrases to keep on hand in the event that you become a grandmother. Because contrary to what you may think, your paranoia level ratchets up to about a million when you reach that stage of life, and you completely forget that you allowed your offspring to leave the house without a suit of armor.

"Are you sure he's warm enough?"
"Why is he crying? Did he get enough to eat?"
"No, I think he's (insert one: tired, hungry, wet, sick). Give him here."
"Is that water too hot?"
"Is that water too cold?"
"There's a draft in here, I feel it."
"I think he needs a hat."
"His little feet are cold!"
"He'll break his neck doing that."
"He's going to break his neck!"
"Why isn't he eating?"
"His room seems chilly."
"Don't let him play with that!"
"Zip his jacket all the way up. And here's a hat."
"I don't think he got enough at dinner."
"Don't get water in his ears! He'll get an infection!"
"Look out! He's going to break his neck racing around like that."
"Watch his head/arms/legs/body/face/other random part!"
"His little hands are like ice."
"Be careful!"
"Don't let him near the dog!"
"Get him away from the cat!"
"I think he's allergic to those animals of yours."

To grandmothers everywhere, and I say this with love: On behalf of me and my overfull, overheated, surrounded by pillows and safety gear toddler, thank you for your concern. You'll find the Valium on the counter. Feel free to help yourself. He'll be driving in about 15 years, and you should probably start preparing yourself now.

2003-02-12T07:19:00.000-08:00

Saw Sneak Preview of Daredevil

Eh. That's all. Just, eh. Maybe I'm too jaded by the whole angsty vigilante comic book thing now. Had some good moments--Michael Clarke Duncan was a nicely understated Kingpin, but still, overall, eh. It was free, though, so I'm not complaining. And the extended preview of X2 was very exciting. Deathstrike looks good, and at least from the preview, Halle Berry doesn't seem as stilted this go 'round.

Geek announcement endeth here. Now back to your regular programming, already in progress.

2003-02-11T12:15:00.000-08:00

Yeah, You Heard Right. We're Willing to be Slightly Inconvenienced for Peace.

This article made me laugh out loud; unfortunately, I doubt that was the writer's intent. Fave quote:

"We want to provide a visible statement to people that there are folks who are willing to inconvenience their lives in some ways in response to the way that the lives of so many other people have been inconvenienced," said junior Dave Allen, one of the event organizers.

Yep, that pesky war surely does inconvenience people. Way to show solidarity through braving mild irritations! Hee! I could launch into a doomsaying tirade about the youth of America, but the endorphins from the laugh attack have mellowed me out too much. Hee!

2003-02-11T08:24:00.000-08:00

Because I Have a Sadistic Streak

I give you this little exercise in "poetry" from the Poets Against the War site. Come, join the fun, as Tightly Wound presents: Poetry Corner!

Ari Fleischer the President's spokesman says all Americans need to watch what they say

it's easy for George W. to watch
when Ari is speaking for him

and for Ari it's easy to watch because
it's on the news later

but fulfilling this need
is harder for me

I devised a rearview speech mirror
and affixed it to my skull

but no one wanted to talk with me
while I watched what I said

in despair I abandoned the act of speech
and devoted myself to a life of text

I wrote: The President's appointment was illegal.
and watched

I wrote: Wilfully causing the death of others is the supreme failure of the human species.
and watched

Ari, as my fellow American
I am watching what you say too

so far I haven't spotted
anything new

Anyone up for a round of scansion? I'll give you a cookie! And people wonder why students rate poetry lowest of all the literary forms they study. Note trite e.e.cummings "look how cool I am! I don't have to punctuate!" affectation, which lends that air of intellectual gravitas to a poem that basically regurgitates Commandments 1 and 2 of the Indymedia Bible. Yeah, I'm moved. Wow, before I read this poem, I had no idea that there was controversy over the 2000 election! Thank you, brave poet! And watch your back--I'm sure that Ari Fleischer has your house bugged, what with you being a fearless dissident artist and all.

Laura Bush should probably reconsider rescheduling that poetry symposium, for the simple fact that no one attending it would be able to recognize poetry if it bit them. Hard.

2003-02-10T10:23:00.000-08:00

Paging Irony...Irony, Please Dial 11

From the Corner, this little blurb about Martha Burk and her opinions on Augusta. Let me make this perfectly clear, in case any of you were wondering: I think that perhaps feminism, if it's serious about making the world a wonderful place for women, might be better served by spending less time whining about a country club and more time focusing on issues like, oh, I don't know, forced prostitution and slavery, genital mutilation, and regimes that brutally oppress women. Just a suggestion. But that's not my main point, this quote from Miss Thang is:

"It is because, when men get together, denigrating women is often a part of the social interaction. When women get together, denigrating men is rarely done. It's just not even on the radar screen. Even among the so-called strident feminists of the women's movement. We don't have anything to hide in that way, and men seem to."

Okay, now aside from the obvious fact that this is a lie if you live on this planet and have ever had any relationship whatsoever with the opposite sex, and that it presupposes omniscience on the part of Ms. Burk (unless she spends a lot of time in drag, eavesdropping on men's private conversations), it also--drumroll please--denigrates men by assuming that their motives are commonly base, sinister, and hidden.

Oh, hello irony! How are you today? Care for a cup of coffee while we discuss a moron? Nah, me neither.

2003-02-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

All Right, Dammit. That's About Enough Out of You.

This'll be brief, as I'm pressed for time. Via the Corner, this lovely piece from the ASA about "the storm of attacks on intellectual freedom and the ebb of open public debate, in the name of patriotism and a war on terror."

Yep, this crap again. Note the use of "chilling effect," the academic's version of the overused "drums of war" trope. It's a collection of the usual suspects--profiling of international students, the eeevillle of Campus Watch--and actually has the gall to state the following:

University administrations are under pressure to silence faculty and researchers who take unpopular political positions. Organizations such as Campus Watch publish lists of faculty and students critical of US foreign policy, especially vis-à-vis Israel. They represent a broad trend among conservative commentators, who call for the censorship of faculty dissent and equate criticism of the government with being anti-American and anti-patriotic. We call on colleges and universities to resist external pressure to curtail academic freedom and to stop aiding federal agencies in the surveillance of teachers and scholars with scholarly or familial ties to other countries.

Look at all the pretty "red alert" words: Israel, conservative, censorship, dissent. It would be funny, except that they actually believe what they're saying. Yes, I stand outside of my office daily, pointing and laughing as the jackbooted thugs drag yet another unsuspecting professor away to the gulag. Hoorah for the suppression of free speech! Viva the quashing of dissent! Can I go kick a puppy now? Oh, sorry, just another fever dream brought on by overexposure to Brit Hume. Ignore me.

Again in the interest of brevity, let me get straight to the point. Dear ASA: Folks are paying attention to the crap you spew, and they're calling you on it. The ivory tower isn't so unassailable anymore, and that's as it should be. And your response is typical--"Ooooh! People on the internet are being disdainful of my intellectually superior beliefs! Our country is acting in its own self-interest, just like every other country ever! The sky is falling!" Get real, get a spine, and get your heads out of your asses. Oh, and you might want to try actually responding to the charges made against you in the name of the academic freedom you hold so dear, instead of running to mommy and crying McCarthyism. You are beneath contempt, you pathetic, puling little whiners, and if I were on your playground, I would take extreme pleasure in knocking your ice cream cone into the dirt. And then stomping all over it. But then, I'm funny that way.

2003-02-07T08:34:00.000-08:00

Share the Pain

I won't suffer alone. Go here. And I don't want to hear about your resulting optometrist bills, either, so just stop it.

UPDATE: Okay, so they have a rotating photo gallery, and I'm on Blogger for Free, so no posty of piccy here. It's currently on Drudge's homepage, though, but look fast.

2003-02-06T12:14:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Modern Politics

Here's a bit of advice from Clinton to John Edwards, hometown boy, on running for the Big Chair:

"So I told him ... that he'd been on TV enough to be hot. Which was good. But if I were in his position, I'd spend lots of time trying to think things through. ... I told him that I thought that my association with the Democratic Leadership Council, with the education commissions in the state, with policy boards, with these groups most of you had never heard of, had given me a chance over a 10-year period to decide what I really believed about the big issues facing the country. ...

"By the way, the great thing about this approach is that if you win, you don't need to wonder what you'll do. You've actually got something in place."

Yepper, THINKING tends to be a good thing. Interesting, though, how it comes in second to being "on TV enough to be hot." That low-level buzzing sound you hear? Ignore it--just the founding fathers spinning in their graves. I hear that sound a lot, nowadays.

Via Drudge.

2003-02-06T04:56:00.000-08:00

Gimme that Old Time Religion

Or maybe not. Via Andrew Sullivan, this lovely course description from Harvard. I thought at first it was a Poli-Sci course, given the reading content and speakers, but a glance at the top of the page shows it listed under religion. What religion would it be, exactly, that embraces Sissela Bok, Peter (bestiality is okay by me, and btw, let's kill people whenever they fall below accepted standards) Singer, and Noam Chomsky?

Ooooh, right. Multiculturalism. See, all this time I thought folks were being figurative when they described mulitculturalism as a religion for its slavish adherents and proponents. Silly me. But the funniest thing about the course description seems to be the professor's need to hype it like the latest release from Tri-Star:

Designed for students who hope to make a positive difference in a troubled world, the course in 2000-2001 received a CUE rating of 4.9; the instructor and the head teaching fellow won the 2002 Levenson Memorial Teaching Prize.

I loved it! It's much better than Cats. I want to take it again and again!

Of course, perhaps there's a reason for the shameless shilling: This is the last year in which Religion 1528 will be offered.

Wonder if that would have anything to do with the bright hot light of reality finally burning through the hazy fog of unworkable propositions and fuzzy thinking that this course has cobbled together? I can only hope.

2003-02-05T11:01:00.000-08:00

Okay, Now This is Just Irritating

Comments are back, only half have gone missing. The. Hell? Maybe if I turn my back and pretend not to be watching, they'll all return.

2003-02-05T10:57:00.000-08:00

Comments? Hellooooo, Where Are You?

Well, my comments have vanished again. Can't tell if it's a problem from work (having trouble accessing several sites), or if Haloscan's gone all wonky.

I should probably get the heck off of Blogger.

Dangit.

2003-02-04T17:08:00.000-08:00

Well, Slap My Face and Call Me Shirley!

Via Instapundit, Stanley Fish, my most un-fave academic, comes down on the side of common sense! I must therefore conclude that the world will be ending by midnight. Seriously, though, it's refreshing to see.

2003-02-04T07:22:00.000-08:00

Hey Look! It's Monday, Except on a Tuesday!

How's my day been? Thanks for asking! Here's a list:

Car needs inspecting.

Car can't pass inspection because check engine light indicates problem with emissions.

Car must go to shop.

Boy must go to daycare.

I drop boy at daycare, and car at shop.

Spend 30 minutes waiting for shuttle with man who sounds like Darth Vader. I fear for my health and sanity, as well as for his health.

Run through basic CPR in head while waiting for shuttle; eye Darth Vader anxiously, looking for bluish tint around mouth or other indication that he is insufficiently oxygenated.

Jump into shuttle when it arrives, thankful to escape Darth Vader.

Shuttle smells...odd.

No, REALLY odd.

Cannot roll down window, as it is now pouring rain.

Think culprit may be oddly dressed man to my left.

Think fondly of umbrella left in car at shop wih Darth Vader.

Think fondly of my car, with its non-smell, left at car shop.

Wonder why it's taking so long to get to work.

Realize that shuttle driver cannot navigate downtown.

Finally arrive at work--at university that shuttle driver couldn't seem to locate.

Get dropped off on corner, in rain.

Think not-so-fondly on stupid umbrella, left in stupid piece of crap car at stupid shop with mouth breathing freaks.

Run to building, stepping in REALLY DEEP, UNSEEN PUDDLE.

Get in, wring out sock, check messages.

Oh, look. The daycare called.

Call daycare. Pinkeye? Are you sure, because he has a blocked tear duct, and....other kids have had it? Oh. Let me make some calls.

Make call to car place.

Make call to doctor.

Make call to husband, who works an hour away.

Make call to daycare.

Arrange to pick up car, go to Very Important Meeting, pick up boy, go to doctor, and get home, while simultaneously arranging for husband to stay home tomorrow so that I can be here for Several Very Important Meetings coordinated with Important Out-Of-Town Guests Who Cannot Reschedule Because the Fate of Our Very Livelihood Rests Upon Their Input.

Look at clock--9:45 a.m.

Think of Army motto--we do more before 8 a.m. than most people do all day.

Wonder if Army would take thirty-something mom, as I have the "doing lots of stuff" thing down.

Sigh, and resume day.

2003-02-03T12:38:00.000-08:00

Embarrassing Personal Admission, Followed by a Rant.

Ahem. Attention, everyone, for I have a confession to make: I HEART Sean Astin. There, I said it. He was a super cute Goonie, great as Rudy, and in my humble opinion, the perfect choice for Samwise, my most favorite of the hobbitses. You got a problem with any of that? Not that I'm defensive or anything...

So there's this press release, in which it's revealed that Astin is going to serve on the President's Council on Service and Civic Participation. Pretty bland, huh? I thought, "Oh, how nice. Sean Astin is trying to help out! This may actually make me heart him more. Yay little Sean Astin family guy man!" Okay, so my thoughts weren't terribly deep. Sue me.

Although, I shouldn't just toss that out there in jest, because there are apparently folks who would probably do just that, given their reaction to this nothing little announcement. Suddenly, poor Sean Astin has either become a Tool of the Man, or a cynical, calculating Machiavelli, because he's a-workin' for "the shrub!" And I can't decide what chaps me more, the idea that if you don't like a president, you aren't allowed to recognize that maybe some of his policies might be okay, ever (or risk getting your Moral Superiority Club card confiscated) or the idea that you can somehow divine the motives of a guy you'll never, ever know, by virtue of the fact that you've watched a couple of movies and seen an interview or two.

I just wanna watch my hobbitses running around and being hobbity. I don't want to hear Arathorn's son's views on petroleum, nor am I interested in the latest conspiracy theory involving New Line Cinema's attempts to squelch dissent and cover up the rampant homoerotic content of their films. Yeesh, folks. Movies. Just movies. And actors. Just actors. Not about you. Not at all.