Holy crizzap! Someone tagged me!

o one’s ever tagged me before! This is so freakin’ exciting! I probably feel more important than I should, but hey… for a girl who generally sloshes around in vats of low-salt low self-esteem, I’ll take what I can get! (I don’t know what I mean by “low-salt self-esteem” either, so please don’t ask)

OK, so the graphic novel-loving Un-Mom tagged me on the so-called “Bookworm Meme,” and I am nothing if not a highly dutiful tag player. So I’ll play.

But first I just have to say that I really don’t care for all this “meme” nonsense. Not the “memes” themselves — those are often highly educational and entertaining. OK OK, the real reason I enjoy “memes” is because I always love an excuse to take a pause from my grading (see my “Overheard” pog below). But anyway, my gripe with “meme”-ing concerns the very title of “meme.” See, in French, “même” means “same” or “even,” depending on the context. And, granted, a non-French “meme” DOES represent a like-minded (same) thread of information that is being passed on, so it DOES relate to the French, but… I don’t know. I just instinctively think of the French expression “quand même” (“even so/ all the same/ anyway”) rather than “fill this out and pass it on.” It’s confusing, OK? OK. I’ll shut up and fill out the d@mn (quand)meme:

BOOKWORM MEME!

RULES:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 56.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next two to five sentences.
5. Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book or the intellectual one. Pick the closest.
6. Tag five people to do the same.

OK, closest book (not in French) = The Madwoman in the Attic, by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar. It’s awesome, just in case you wondered. But, umm, to be honest, it’s seriously (and literally) been collecting dust for almost a year now. True story. So it’s probably good that I’m picking it up and shaking off the dust bunnies and stuff. Anyway, you ready for this jelly shiz? Page 56 actually includes a ton of quoted material, which I kind of don’t think should count. So if I go to Gilbert & Gubar’s own writing, the fifth sentence actually ends up occurring on page 57. How come I always get the pain-in-the-A texts?!? Anyway, here’s the sentences five through eight, which also include some quotes from an Anne Sexton poem, in case you care:

After all, dancing the death dance, ‘all those girls / who wore the red shoes’ dismantle their own bodies, like anorexics renouncing the guilty weight of their female flesh. But if their arms, ears, and heads fall off, perhaps their wombs, too, will ’shrivel’ to ‘the size of a pea’?

In this connection, a passage from Margaret Atwood’s Lady Oracle acts almost as a gloss on the conflict between creativity and ‘femininity’ which Sexton’s violent imagery embodies (or dis-embodies). Significantly, the protagonist of Atwood’s novel is a writer of the sort of fiction that has recently been called ‘female gothic,’ and even more significantly she too projects her anxieties of authorship into the fairy-tale metaphor of the red shoes.

Fun times!

OK, so now I have to tag five people. Hmm… Let me think… Whose books do I oddly care to discover? 

OK, I’ve decided.

CONSIDER YOURSELVES TAGGED:

1. Melanie at Secret Notebooks/Wild Pages,
2. The New Kid on the Hallway,
3. Katrina at Pugly Feet,
4. Anna at abdpbt.com,
and
5. StyleyGeek at Fumbling Towards Geekdom

I know that all five of you have WAY more important things to do than look up the fifth sentence on the 56th page of your nearest book, but… then again, don’t you want a break from those “important things”? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

ps) why the 56th page?
pss) why the fifth sentence and not, say, the sixth? WHO ARE THESE “MEME” PEOPLE ANYWAY?!? AHHHHHH!

Overheard while grading papers in… Panera Bread #1058

 

 

reetings from Panera Bread store #1058!

OK, I just totally made up that store #. I guess I feel like the inclusion of a store # somehow grants my “Overheard” stories more legitimacy or something. Also, the mention of a store # propels me DeLorean-flux-capacitor-style back to the summer I spent living off of cereal and entering data from mystery shopper visits for roughly 2 pennies an hour (give or take), courtesy of Temp Agency Craptacular (TAC), Ohio. Actually, I still pretty much live off of cereal. It’s become a kind of religion, really. But, for all I know, my devotion to all things frosted and mini and wheaty just may have begun that great Mystery Shopper Summer of 2001. How can we possibly know the origin of such things? I mean, no matter how big things bang — whether from the heavens or from Stephen freakin’ Hawking — they’re still just educated guesses, right? 

But I digress. I have some serious eavesdropping to tell you about, for crying out loud!

So yeah, I’ve spent the past 4 hours here in the local Panera (#1058) establishment, perched at a 2-person table with my laptop, poring over student essays that take a ridiculous (and what should be totally illegal) amount of time to comment upon and grade. Because of the mind-numbing nature of the activity, occasional pauses prove crucial so as not to lapse into severe catatonic state (semi-severe catatonic state, on the other hand, is entirely acceptable, and even sometimes fun). My “occasional pauses” generally involve Mountain Dew refills and trips to grab more napkins, which will inadequately serve as makeshift Kleenex because, for some reason, my body temperature prefers to remain in the subarctic range and my blood likes to stage frequent coups against flowing freely. It happens. Blood can be a real b*tch sometimes. Anyway, my occasional pauses have also granted me admission to several entertaining conversations taking place within earshot. And, (un)fortunately for me — and, now, for you! — “within earshot” equates to about 8 different tables. SCORE!

Within 4 hours’ time, though, the rotation taking place among those 8 tables ultimately equals some crazy-@ss permutation of patrons and conversation topics that range from sexually inquisitive fifth-graders to an abnormally loud sexagenarian conversing with herself (and, unbeknownst to her, the entire patron population of store #1058) about the mysterious identity of another Panera patron at a neighboring table. Yeah… not at all awkward. Stomach ache.

Oh, sometimes I just say “stomach ache” in reference to embarrassing, awkward situations that cause me to have sympathy pains for whomever I am embarrassed for. Whoa. Did I seriously just write “for whomever I am embarrassed for”??? ISSUES.

Anyway. I had a total stomach ache for that sexagenarian. And for the mystery dude she was rambling about for a solid 15 minutes, who patiently sat with his family and pretended not to pay attention to the fact that an elderly woman was verbally stalking him from 2 feet away:

“Did I run into him at the library? Or maybe he works at the hospital. Or it’s possible he was in line with me at the post office. Or maybe we had a hot ‘n steamy love affair in a past life, but he was a really awful tipper.”

OK, I made up that last one. But hey, a reincarnation-prostitution link seems equally as likely as the other options, don’t you think?

Then, for about 35 of my 240 Panera minutes, I had the pleasure of deciphering the political viewpoints of a trio of Frenchies seated to my right. I love eavesdropping on francophones in America… mostly because I know how I acted as an anglophone in France, and how sometimes — just sometimes — I wrongly assumed that no one around me could understand English, so I’d naively divulge some utterly embarrassing and/or personal piece of information. Or, worse, I’d make some sarcastic, smart-@ss comment about a certain odor being emitted from the dude violating pressed up against me in the metro. And then he’d turn to me and be like, “F*ck you,” in English. And then I’d be all, “Oh sh*t — no, no — I didn’t mean YOU, I meant–,” but he was already gone. Stomach ache. Anyway, so I like the She-Raesque power that I possess as a bilingual eavesdropper, ready to lay the smack-down on anyone who so much as HINTS at a negative comment toward me or anyone around me. Though, the truth of the matter is that I’m a non-confrontational wuss that would NEVER have even a paltry fraction of the balls the metro dude had when he called me out and made me feel like A. And I mean metaphorical balls, just to clarify. I don’t have literal ball envy, just to clarify. Where was I?

Yeah, so this French trio was heatedly discussing Obama and “le bonheur” (happiness) and closed-minded pricks and all that good stuff. At certain points of the conversation, I had the distinct impression that Française 1 (the lead Frenchwoman of the threesome, which consisted of one dude, two women) felt that le bonheur and Obama supporters are mutually exclusive. I could be wrong. Regardless, I despise talk of le bonheur as the ultimate end to justify the means. Or just as the ultimate end in general. The pursuit of happiness and all that kind of stuff. I mean, what does that even MEAN? “The pursuit of happiness.” Pff. As if some box-’o-happiness sits there, mocking us humans at some super top-secret, undisclosed locale, and we each have “Amazing Race”-style clues that may help or hinder us in our trek. Whatever. Also, what if I’m in the pursuit of UNhappiness, huh? because it definitely seems that way more often than not. So what does THAT mean? that I’m not exercising one of my inalienable rights? or that I’m just an alien? On second thought, don’t answer that.

Maybe I should have saved this for Tuesday’s “Random Thoughts” post. Cr@p. Oh well.

OK, one more overheard conversation. And I promise you: this one’s a doozy. So, toward the end of my 240 Panera minutes, 2 adorable little fifth-graders tumbled into the booth in front of me. I know that they were fifth-graders because they couldn’t help themselves from inserting “fifth grade” into just about every other sentence/question. Proof:

1. “Are you gonna go to our fifth-grade dance?”

2. “How will you wear your hair?”

3. “What fifth-grade boys are you going to dance with?”

But that’s not the “doozy” part. Here’s the “doozy” part: suddenly, Girl A launched into an enthusiastic description of a heated, verbal fight that had occurred among four of their fifth-grade friends the other weekend. Girl A couldn’t seem to contain herself with the back-and-forth, hilarious zingers that her friends pelted one another with. Girls A and B then proceeded to laugh and laugh and laugh (and so did I, albeit nonverbally). Once the laughs abated, Girl B understandably entered Skeptic Land and demanded the authenticity of this information. Truth be told, I was wondering the exact same thing — Girl A seemed oddly omniscient and an unsettlingly skilled storyteller/fabricator from my vantage point. But Girl A was quick to state that their friend Maggie was the all-knowing source of all this priceless information: as it turns out, Maggie was at the scene of the fight-crime with her girlfriend Abby, “because Maggie’s a bisexual,” she nonchalantly added, as though bisexual fifth-graders are just as common as gossipy fifth-graders. By the time I had digested this fascinating piece of information (Maggie and Abby — who knew?!), Girls A and B had already begun dissecting the outcome of the fight and who was still friends with whom among the four fifth-grade hellions. 

AWESOME.

I love Love LOVE that fifth-graders find bisexuality as common as gossip. Isn’t that one of the best “doozies” you’ve heard of in a very long time?!? You’re welcome.

I am so thankful for generationally increasing acceptance and openmindedness.

Hey, everyday is Thanksgiving, right?

Happy Day of Thanks!

(Image: Panorama Press)

Random Tuesday Thoughts (not to be confused with my random EVERYDAY thoughts)

ecause Anna’s Listless Mondays have proven to be so utterly spanktastic, I thought I’d go ahead and tap into the Un-Mom’s wellspring of weekly Random Tuesday Thoughts. I mean, the case could certainly be made that randomness-of-thought does not discriminate by day of the week. I’m pretty sure my thoughts will be just as random tomorrow as they are today — perhaps even more random. It’s like a fun little surprise, really. However, because the Un-Mom has officially designated Tuesday as Grand Central Station for my random, directionless trains of thought, well… it’s kinda like an extra heaping spoonful of peanut butter sauce on my Friendly’s Reese’s Pieces Sundae of perfection.

A.K.A., it freakin’ rocks. Hardcore.

So, here goes… my inaugural:

Wait a second. Can I list my random thoughts? Or does the very essence of “listing” de-randomize the randomness? Sh*t. Does the very fact that I’m even thinking about listing random thoughts (oxymoron?) prove my analness? anality? analiciousness? Whoa. OK, the “-licious” suffix should never find itself adjacent to an “anal.” My bad. I totally just grossed myself out. But anyway, hey, this is my inaugural go at this RTT stuff, so… I can make it up as I go along, right? Right.

1) I just got done watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, and all that sticks with me is: WHAT THE F*CK DID THEY DO TO THE VOICES?!? The only one that sounded authentic was the voice-over-the-phone going “WAWA-WA-WA-WAWA.” All the others sounded like the b@stard step-children of the originals. Not that there’s anything wrong with b@stard step-children, but… just don’t go stickin’ your voice in my Peanuts characters, got it?

 B) It’s amazing how soap opera world only progresses about one day in two months’ time, yet tabloid world seems to progress two months in one day’s time. Case in point: just yesterday I pogged about Heidi & Spencer eloping in Cabo. Then, this morning I wake up to Perez spouting sh*t about Speidi setting the whole thing up with US Weekly in typical fame whore fashion, and that they’re not technically married at all. Dude, whatever. I give you 6 months, regardless.

III) My scalp’s ridiculously dry. Like, way past Head-’n-Shoulders dry. Maybe approaching Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club dry. OK, I just grossed myself out again.

D) Who are these nutjobs that go to Kohl’s at 4am the day after Thanksgiving?!? (A.K.A., Black Friday) Well, OK, in the past, my sister has been one of those nutjobs. But then she came to her senses. 

5) I just got done watching “The Real Housewives of Atlanta, the Reunion Special” on Bravo, and I have to say that it totally met all cracked-out expectations. But don’t worry, I switched between Atlanta pseudo-reality and CNN in a (vain?) attempt to reach some sort of mixed medium utopia world — half fake, half “real”…. I don’t know. But it’s pretty d@mn funny to hear “Oh, HELLLLL no!” juxtaposed with Wolf Blitzer’s mind-numbing “uhh”s. John King and his Magic Wall sort of clinch that psychedelic otherworld deal. ps) Nene’s cropped haircut looks annoyingly good. I wish I could pull that sh*t off.

VI) My students and I are now discussing The Bell Jar. It’s either my fourth or fifth time reading it. But, amazingly, the increasing number of reads doesn’t make it any less potent for my psyche. We’ll see how this goes. I don’t think I’ve ever read it around Christmas before. Maybe egg nog will help to sideline the SP-induced crazies (*note: I’m referring to Sylvia Plath, though Sarah Palin does still drive me crazy in an entirely other capacity).

G) What’s the deal with the vampire bullsh*t?

8 ) I really miss Paris. I really miss WALKING in Paris. I miss the smell of the metro, which wasn’t even pleasant. But it was the metro. And it was mine for a time. And I miss the aroma of freshly baked baguettes at 6am, wafting out of the boulangerie below my studio. And I’m not even a morning person. But baguettes can wake me up any day.

IX) OK, I guess I’m done for now. Except I really wish I could find some part-time employment. It’s driving me bonkers. I’ve done freelance writing, I’ve done translations, I’ve done tutoring, I can calligraphy, I can type super freakin’ fast… it would be really lovely if somebody hired me and offered me more than $6/hour to do something. But, you know, not the whole Ashley Dupré “something.” OK, shameless plug over.

Say goodbye to the random thoughts for now.

Goodbye, random thoughts.

3 unfortunate things I am unable to eject from my brain right now

1) Heidi and Spencer eloped in Cabo San Lucas over the weekend. The blonde bandits exchanged “personalized” vows, and I hear that Heidi even managed to squirt some tears down her plastictastic face. My BFF Perez Hilton tells me (and only me) that Spencer’s “self-penned” vows went a little somethin’ like this:

Heidi, from the moment you came into my life, I knew my life would never be the same without you. You are the light in my life like the sun to the earth! Your loving warmth makes me want to be a better person. Being with you, I feel complete. I’m honored to even be able to call you my wife. You are the most amazing, loving and caring woman on this planet. I will love you forever and always. (Source: PerezHilton.com)

Ohhhhhhh, Spencie… Spence-the-Dense… I’m sure you’re probably not really used to writing. Or thinking, for that matter. I mean…seriously, do you even work? WHAT DO YOU DO? WHAT DO YOU DO BESIDES GROW STUBBLE, PROMOTE GUN USE, AND WHORE YOURSELF TO THE PAPARAZZI?!?

Sorry, tangent. My point is that Spencer’s ridiculousness shouldn’t surprise me, but… for some reason, I feel compelled to comment. Couple things:

a) so… your life “would never be the same” WITHOUT HER? Umm… but you’re WITH her. You’re NOT without her. So, are you saying your life *IS* the same WITH her? like, she didn’t affect you in any capacity whatsoever, good or bad? Or are you already foreshadowing your relationship’s end and imagining that your life would not be the same if she left your sorry A? Which, no offense, Spence, but, I mean, DUH. CLEARLY your life wouldn’t be the same without her. Because then you wouldn’t have anyone to act like a stalker-obsessed-childish freak around… and around her bosses, who would then fire her because of what an A-hole you are.

b) are you implying that Heidi’s lovelight does not exist nocturnally? Or, like, when it rains? I mean, what happens when the sun goes bye-bye? Because it DOES, you know. What happens when the moon comes out? 

c) I’m not sure if wedding vows can be brought up on plagiarism charges but, if they could, I’d slam Spencer’s stubbly @ss with charges of knocking off both As Good As It Gets and Jerry Maguire in an attempt to present his betrothed with some personal words never uttered to another human soul. ”You make me want to be a better man” and “You complete me”?!? REALLY?!? REALLY, SPENCER?!? Is that REALLY as good as it gets with your sorry A?!?!?!? 

Anyway, the first photo above (of the happy couple ‘o gun toters) was found here: VideoGum.com. The last photo of the US Weekly cover is courtesy of PH, of course.

OK, next…

2) I know I should be better than this, and I swearSwearSWEAR that I am generally a positive educator and rarely EVER “complain” or talk negatively about students, but… BUT… there’s this one student who has been making my skin crawl lately. Like, just in the past few weeks. Let’s call him Winston. Winston has been challenging me both via e-mail and in the middle of class, in front of everyone. Challenging my intelligence, asking me to give concrete examples of certain theories I mention, criticizing my writing assignments and, just today, he essentially told me that my entire course has been a sham (not in so many words, but…the intent was there. I felt it. I’m very intuitive.). So, yeah… it’s been getting to me. It’s especially been getting to me because I’m not the most confident, assertive person in the world. My skills of self-defense have been inwardly honed (I’m a big internalizer and often emotionally/psychologically protect myself), but… when it comes to confrontation, I pretty much run for the mountains. Preferably the Alps. So… I guess, what’s really bothering me about this is that I actually feel like Winston’s winning. Only, I’m not really sure what the prize is or what we’re even racing for? Control? Ego? I think we’re each fighting for different things. But, whatever it may be, I feel like he’s winning. And that sucks. Because… I should be winning, shouldn’t I?

3) I had to make some photocopies before class today, so I was all “ma-kin’ co-pies” for about 15 minutes when, suddenly, out of my peripheral I noticed that someone else had sidled up to the copier to my left. So, I turned my head to see what colleague it might be, prepared to offer a friendly greeting, when, suddenly, WHOOSH!!!!!!! My head snapped back as if I were one of those unfortunate canine victims of electric fencing. The aforementioned “colleague” just so happened to be my dissertation adviser, whose contact I have successfully managed to avoid THIS ENTIRE SEMESTER. You could definitely say I feel guilty about this fact, and it would not be incorrect. You could also say that I think about writing her daily, but that I ultimately reach wuss status and never click “send.” You could also say that the approach of Thanksgiving means that only about 3 weeks remain in the semester, and I still haven’t made a pen length’s of progress on my dissertation. Have I mentioned that you could also say I feel guilty? Yeah. Lovely.

 

Another Monday, another list. Check out Anna’s list and others here:

ps) One Monday — one Monday soon – I’m gonna do a listy pog all about the mind-boggling universe-’o-estrogen-induced-madness known as: THE BABY SHOWER.

Another reason why technology (& clueless people) sometimes terrifies me…

ave you all heard this horrific, mind-numbing story? A 19-year-old Florida male broadcast his suicidal overdose on Justin.tv on Wednesday, as an undisclosed number of watchers sat by and did nothing to help the troubled college student … for close to 12 hours.

The following article was posted on CNN.com:

Officials: Teen commits suicide on webcam as others watch

MIAMI, Florida (CNN) – With his webcam trained on him, a Florida teenager died in his bed of a drug overdose while others watched over the Internet, officials said Friday.

Some of those watching urged him to take more drugs while others debated whether he had taken enough to kill himself. Hours passed before someone finally notified authorities that he appeared lifeless, officials said.

The teenager was pronounced dead Wednesday afternoon in Pembroke Pines, Florida, said Wendy Crane, investigator for the Broward County Medical Examiner’s Office.

The cause of death was found to be an overdose of benzodiazepine, an antidepressant, as well as other opiate drugs used to treat depression, Crane said. CNN is not reporting the teenager’s name.

The youth’s body was found in his apartment behind a locked door, which police broke down. Police turned off the webcam and computer, Crane said. Watch CNN’s John Zarrella detail the webcam suicide »

She said he did not take anything on camera, according to footage she reviewed, but he blogged between 3 and 4 a.m. Wednesday that he had taken an overdose of drugs. He also posted a suicide note.

He was seen lying on his bed on the streaming video, posted on the Web site Justin.tv. On the site, a person can stream video from a Web camera while “viewers” chat with each other in a box next to the video, Crane said. The comments and video have since been removed from the Web site.

Crane read the comments posted during the 10 hours the youth could be seen lying on his bed.

As the teenager was lying on his bed, she said, people were typing things like, “Oh, that’s not enough to kill you.” Others, she said, were egging him on, saying things like “Go ahead and do it.” Still others thought it wasn’t real, Crane said.

About 11 a.m. Wednesday, Crane said, some viewers began to get concerned, writing things like, “He’s not moving” and “He’s not breathing.”

One contacted the site’s moderator to get the youth’s contact information, she said, and the police were notified.

The teen “has made threats in the past regarding suicide and possibly had previous attempts,” she said.

Justin.tv CEO Michael Seibel said in a statement, “we regret that this has occurred and want to respect the privacy of the broadcaster and his family during this time.”

Pembroke Pines police Sgt. John Gazzano said the case is under investigation.

Broward County Chief Medical Examiner Joshua Perper said the teen may have stood a chance of surviving had someone notified authorities right away.

“If somebody had come immediately after he took tablets, then probably not all the tablets would have been absorbed. Then, therefore, they could wash his stomach and get rid of the additional tablets. Certainly, he would have had a much better chance.”

The youth’s father said he is “appalled” that people watched and did nothing.

“I wish they would have given him the assistance that he was crying out for,” the father said. “They did not respond to him. They only did long after the fact.”

He said his son, who attended Broward Community College and wanted to be a paramedic, had bipolar disorder and was being treated for depression.

The father dismissed the suggestion that people thought the video was fake. “It was not fake, was it? You don’t assume. You have to find out if it was true or false.”

Perper said the existence of a note left no doubt that the young man committed suicide.

“He left a note, which is very clear. And our examination did not reveal any evidence of trauma or any evidence of natural disease on internal examination. And we did a screen of the urine, which revealed the presence of medication, mostly antidepressant drugs,” Perper said.

The father said he had no reason to believe his son was having problems.

“He was a good son,” he said. “I’m sorry that no one could help him when I was not around to help him myself.”

Additional stories about this tragic event:

1. Fox.com, Broward County local affiliate (this source reveals the deceased’s name and more personal information)

2. Yahoo! News (Associated Press)

UNM & Its (non-)Attempts To Right the Creative Writing Department

y dashboard has revealed a surge of traffic for the University of New Mexico in the past couple of days. My deductive reasoning skills, masterful as usual, led me to the conclusion that somethin’ must be a-brewin’ over yonder at the You-Enn-Emm. Low and behold: I was right! Another resignation in the English Department! SCORE!

(please note my sarcasm: I really do sympathize with the downward spiral-into-hell that the department has taken over the past year, which clearly SUCKS for current UNM English and Creative Writing students who, of course, represent the true losers here)

So, to re-cap, HERE was my last post (dated 13 September 2008 ) about UNM and the administration’s handling (or lack thereof) of the whole Lisa Chávez/Mistress Jade debacle. At the time, various students were speaking out both in support of and with contempt for Professor Chávez (pictured right), who had posed in compromising pictures with former students of hers on the local PeopleExchangingPower S&M website. What’s more, the Chairman of the UNM English Department, David Richard Jones, resigned, thereby sparking further talks of rifts and divisions among the department faculty members.

Well, here’s the latest, unfortunate chapter, as published in UNM’s independent newspaper, the Daily Lobo:

Creative writing professor Joy Harjo has resigned amid rumors that strife between the department’s faculty and senior administrators cannot be resolved.

Harjo, the University’s only Joseph Russo Endowed Professor, said her resignation was a result of the administration’s decision to retain associate professor Lisa Chávez.

Pictures of Chávez posing with one of her students on a sadomasochism Web site were discovered in spring 2007.

Chávez could not be reached for comment.

Diane Thiel, associate professor in the English department, said Harjo’s resignation is an incalculable loss to the University.

“The administration’s mishandling of the very serious matter regarding professor Lisa Chávez and apparent ignoring of at least eight formal student letters reporting mistreatment has created a learning and work environment that is untenable for numerous faculty and students,” Thiel said. “Faculty and students have resigned and left UNM over this and will likely continue to. The recent resignation of Joy Harjo, arguably the most well-known Native American poet in the world, highlights the seriousness of the situation, many details of which have yet to be reported to the media.”

Harjo said Chávez was retained as a University employee because administrators were afraid of a lawsuit and wanted to keep the problem quiet.

Harjo said she could not continue to work in a program “that has been so deeply compromised” and that she didn’t trust the University to uphold the rights of its students and faculty.

“The Chávez-and-students sex-site debacle was mishandled,” Harjo said. “Because of this, the creative writing program lost face and credibility locally and nationally. Those of us – a majority of the creative writing program – who pushed for a proper ethics investigation based on policies already in place were retaliated against for speaking up. This whole situation could have been handled in a way that was respectful to all parties. As it is, only the rights of one person was considered.”

If you would like to read the rest of the Daily Lobo’s article, please click HERE.

Yeesh. 

Suddenly, my department’s mild pettiness and predictable politics seem much more manageable.

*Note: the photo above is of Professor Joy Harjo, courtesy of www.unm.edu

*Click HERE for more information on Joy Harjo’s writing and music

2 things that would give me ROAD RAGE if I weren’t rage-ophobic.

oston remains masterfully notorious for its sucky ways of the road. And, trust me, it is with very good reason: Boston earned second place this year on the list of US Cities With the Worst Road Rage. And you know what else? Last year, we ranked third on the same list, which means that we’re only getting “better” in our crazy-mofo-driving-etiquette-from-hell. Which is kind of scary. And which means that the land of baked beans and tea parties and green monstahs just ain’t as festive as you might think. Well, unless you choose to define “festive” as “cutting people off in traffic and then making the person you cut off think it’s his/her fault for being a shmuck for letting you cut him/her off.” And, you have to admit, that is kinda fun, but… festive? Not so much.

And I do sometimes let a vestige of road rage squeak by and, like, honk my horn at someone before they bash into me (which would be my fault for letting them, see how it works?). But, generally, I just tend to yell things to myself, question the date of a driver’s last eye exam, assume that most Bostonians with cars have somehow cheated on their drivers’ exams,  and then maybe I’ll top it all off with a “What The F*ck?!?” hand gesture to the guy who just grazed my bumper while making a left turn on red.

But there are a couple head-scratchers that make me question the local Boston driving psyche. And I would like to list some of them for you, in the hopes that maybe you could shed light on whether or not these vehicular enigmas represent Boston-specific phenomena, or whether they’re on their way to becoming a nationwide epidemic.

Un) At the tolls, there are generally three types of lane possibilities: 1) lanes for “EZ Pass/Fast Lane” users (annoying phonetic use of the letter “z”, which is a whole other source of rage for me), 2) “CASH ONLY” lanes for non-EZ Pass users, and then 3) what appears to be a mysterious, psycho-bizarro hybrid of types 1 and 2, thereby forming freakish “EZ Pass or Cash” lanes that force the majority of Bostonians to slip into a catatonic state. It would seem that, for Bostonians, the mere mention of “EZ Pass” for non-EZ Pass users results in plague-like avoidance, as though non-EZ Passers-by believe that EZ Passers-by belong to an elite MassPike Country Club whose members’ gas don’t stank or something. Now, I’m not an EZ Pass holder (my gas certainly does ”stank”), so you’d think that I’d be stoked that the scary “EZ Pass or Cash” lanes rest barren and wide open for my fearless ‘97 Civic to barrel up to.  But here’s the thing: non-EZ Passers-by become so freakin’ entranced by the “EZ Pass or Cash” sign that they are somehow incapable of reacting and turning their d@mn wheel until they’re almost on top of the freakin’ toll booth, thereby almost causing a bajillion accidents, usually involving ME. GRR.

Deux) I think my #Deux actually ties in with #Un, because it’s another example of the avoid-like-the-plague mentality. So, there are some busy 4-lane intersections around town and, thankfully, the traffic masters were nice enough to post some very clear signage that prohibits left turns during rush hour, generally from 7-9am and 4-6pm. Of course, we still get some morons who have a He-Man complex and think they can become less effeminate by holding a sword up to the sky and screaming “By the power of Grey Skull!” Only, in Boston, that kinda thing doesn’t jive. The cars behind them will be ramming their @sses before they can finish saying the word “the.” But it’s not those losers that bug me. The losers that bug me are the ones who, between the hours of 7-9am and 4-6pm, STILL refuse to drive in the left lane, petrified of discovering that the Satanmobile in front of them might pull a He-Man and switch a left-turn-blinker at the last minute, thus causing massive back-up and heinous attempts to filter into the right line (if you get hit, it’s your fault — don’t forget). So, instead, the right lane backs up for miles, and the left lane pretty much stays barren, just like the “EZ Pass or Cash” lane.

Curious, right? I’m convinced that the terror of a POTENTIAL game-changer (whether the fear of someone potentially prepping for an illegal left turn, or the fear of an “EZ Pass or Cash” toll booth operator potentially chastising a non-EZ Pass holder for having the audacity to enter into such a sacred lane) reveals a sh*tload about the Bostonian/American psyche. I’m just not really feelin’ the motivation to conduct the necessary research. But it’s a huge deal, I swear.

    

ps) It’s another Listless Monday, baby.

Blue and Pink and Gender-Specific Baby Clothing

irst, I just wanted to say that my poggy silence for the past several days directly represents both my internalized and my externalized celebration of our new President-Elect (which, by the way, YAY!), but the silence has also resulted from the preparations being made for my sister’s upcoming baby shower, which is now less than a week away. But who’s counting. 

Although I have quite a few friends with babies, I have never attended a baby shower, nor have I spent much time in the “Infant” department of retail stores. And I’ve certainly never patronized an all-baby-all-the-time store such as Babies ‘R Us. Now, I’m well aware of the gender-specific binaries that run rampant throughout Western culture, for their flame has had centuries of fueling. Girl = pink, Boy = blue, blah blah blah. 

(*Sidenote: There’s a fabulous French movie called Ma vie en rose (1997), which craftily employs the pink/blue binary through set design and clothing in order to illustrate various characters’ evolving relationships with this type of dualistic thinking as they relate –or DON’T relate– to the main character, who is a little girl born in a little boy’s body. Umm…was that just a major run-on? Yeah, I’m a writing instructor. Sheesh.)

Media packaging of the pink/blue binary through television and advertising is one thing; however, the attempted reenforcement of this binary by parents proves doubly alarming for me. Example: When I was nine or ten years-old, all I wanted for my birthday was a 10-speed bicycle. But not just any 10-speed bicycle: I desperately wanted a RED 10-speed bicycle. And my mother knew this. So, once it came time for my birthday party and my presents were to be festively filtered into our living room, I was pretty much dancing in my pants, aching with anticipation for the big red reveal. Finally, my mom wheeled in my new 10-speed………..gasps from the audience……….rather than purchasing me my desired red, regal wonder, all I saw was…PINK. Pink, seemingly everywhere: from the seat to the handlebars to the wheels to the freakin’ pedals. PINK. And not just any pink, either: PEPTO-BISMOL PINK (which I suppose was somewhat fitting considering the indigestion I felt upon seeing this barftastic contraption on wheels). GAG. It was like Paris Hilton barfed a bike.

And, I mean, yes, OK, pink is a derivative of red. Fine. But… if that was my mom’s line of thinking, she was taking some major creative license there. How was I ever supposed to be taken seriously on such a thing?!? 

For whatever reason, my mom refused to exchange the Pepto-speed for the color I had actually desired. I was not particularly well-versed in expressing my distaste/disapproval of certain things when I was a child (umm…I’m still not), but I’m pretty sure that the pink Huffy inspired some pretty vehement, objectionable words. But still, my mom wouldn’t budge. And that pink Huffy became the bane of my existence, from elementary school right through junior high.

God, I’m still embarrassed for myself just thinking about it.

Anyway, my point with all this is: despite the progress that has been made with gender and sexual stereotypes for the past couple of decades, my recent trips to various retail outlets’ children’s departments (both online and not) have proven that much progress still remains. MUCH progress. I think I’ve mentioned that my sister’s having twins, right? One boy, one girl. I have been chomping at the freakin’ bit to rampage around baby clothes and pick out super cute outfits for my future niece and nephew… but when I finally got to Target, I was ready to throw a temper tantrum. Growing up, I always felt like boys had it made when it came to clothing — they always had more comfortable, versatile stuff, as far as I was concerned. And then I’d go to the girls’ section and there’d be a bunch of pastel garbage that was closer fitting to the body (and, therefore, WAY uncomfortable as far as I was concerned). It sucked. But I had just assumed that things had changed, and that my future niece would have way cooler options to stand out in a comfortable, non-frilly way alongside her brother. But instead, what I found was a bunch of pink bullsh*t, generally with some floral pattern and/or a reference to princesses. COME ON!!! Haven’t we advanced past this woe-is-me, save-me-I’m-dainty-and-helpless type of gender restriction?!? Ugh. It drives me nuts. Meanwhile, all the boy clothing has super cool animals and modern technological references… I mean, why can’t “girl clothing” have some doggies or something? Rather than cats? Since when did girls = cats and boys = dogs?!? I despise cats. I am therefore a boy.

I could go on and on forever about this, but I’ll stop. I would love to tell you the items that I ended up purchasing for my sister/the twins, but my sister might read this, so… maybe I’ll clue you in after the shower on Saturday. Because I’m sure you’ll all be white-knucklin’ it until then, dying from suspense.

Hope you’ve all enjoyed your weekend.

It’s not often that I’m at a loss for (written) words, but…

…I am today. So I thought I would, instead, allow the following images to display my pride, joy, and hopefulness — feelings that I know are generously enacting upon the vast majority of Americans (and the world) on this lovely and historic post-election day.

First image: Lisa Congdon

Second: Keri Smith

Third: My personal photo album. Kidding. Babble.com