…or maybe I’m just lame.
A lot of things have been eluding me lately. Total head-scratchers. Maybe you can help explain them to me… or maybe I’m just lame.
Why is this a good idea? (From http://www.flickr.com/photos/somethingshidinginhere/)
1. MUSTACHES???? Really??? Why is a fake mustache the latest fashion and party trend? Mustache-themed weddings, mustache parties, mustache jewelry, mustache hair pins, mustache hand towels… How has creepily tweaked facial hair become its own must-have party theme? When did it become a good idea to resemble the Pringles dude? I don’t get it. Holding a mask up to your face is one thing — still rather creepy, but not a gender-identified follicular occurrence. It might even annoy me more than the “Keep Calm & Carry On” craze.
2. Vampires. I don’t get it.
3. How to respond to not-quite-compliments on my appearance. Or on anything, really. For example: yesterday, I wore a batik-patterned maxi dress for the first day of teaching, coupled with a jean jacket and leather strappy flat sandals. It was sunny, mid-70s… it felt appropriate. A colleague saw me and exclaimed, “Wow, you look so summery!” Instinctively, I felt like I should respond, “Thank you,” but I immediately realized that it wasn’t exactly a compliment. It was merely her opinion about how I physically appeared. So, how do you respond to that? “Umm… yes, it’s a light-weight cotton ensemble, so I suppose that qualifies as ’summery.’ You are accurate in your seasonal assessment of my attire.” I don’t know. I’m sure this lame example illustrates my social awkwardness (which actually stretches WELL beyond “you look summery”), but… I just have ZERO CLUE what an appropriate, non-awkward reaction to such a comment would be. I ended up just smiling and mumbling something completely incoherent like, “Than–shmehshmehshmeh.” And then another colleague came bounding down the stairs, saving me from further social awkwardness, so I freakishly waved goodbye and promptly left the scene of the crime. I just don’t get it.
4. “Obama = Hitler” posters adorning the sidewalks in front of my university, along with a poster of Obama’s face stamped with a Hitler mustache. (Again with the freakin’ mustaches!) Since when did a black, democratic president who wants HEALTH CARE FOR ALL become the symbol of an anti-semitic, homophobic, generally hateful man who led a mass genocide?!? Seriously, What the F is wrong with people?!? And why are the “Obama = Hitler” supporters the ones with the most firearms?!? And why must they wield them at town hall meetings about HEALTH CARE??? WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!? Fortunately, just past the “Obama = Hitler” protesters, there were some dudes dancing around and singing “Obama’s not Hitler! Obama’s not Hitler! Give me five if you like Obama!” And a ton of people did. In fact, I gave him ten.
The degging: If Paris is doing it, you probably shouldn't. (From http://www.denimology.co.uk/)
5. Leggings are not pants; rather, they represent an unfortunate extension of the hosiery family. I realize that the current denim-legging (degging?) hybrid adds a slightly complicated element to the mix. Apparently “skinny jeans” weren’t enough, and now fashion designers want to make it look like females’ legs were painted and distressed. But think of it this way: if I can see your legging-shrouded bum and/or, more grotesquely, the outline of your freakin’underpants, you’re probably making me and the general public gag and lose our collective appetites. I would rather not have visual confirmation of the wedge you need to pick. Yeah, I’m talking to YOU, you three like-minded leggings-with-crop-top-wearing students in my writing seminar yesterday.
6. Levi Johnston, why are you on my TV and on my interwebs? As far as I can tell, your sole talent resides in shooting things: semen into a flighty former Alaskan governor’s daughter and, of course, animals. I saw your interview with Larry King, which really only further proved that you are a strong supporter of the monosyllable (preferentially “yep” and “nope”). Oh, and a lot of grunts, which I’m assuming are your solution to the “awkward silence.” And that’s fine. You’re a camo-loving, gun-toting Alaskan hunter, and you’re proud of it. So why are you suddenly on red carpets with Kathy Griffin? Why are you threatening to “write” a book? Just stop it. Go shoot defenseless sheep or something. (No, seriously, he shoots sheep. Sheep being all feral and over populating the earth and everything.)
29? (From http://cdn.picapp.com/ftp/Images)
7. There is no effing way that Kim Zolciak was only 29 when she filmed the first season of the Real Housewives of Atlanta. NO. EFFING. WAY. I mean, right? And I’m not just doubtful because that would mean I’m older than she is, I swear. Oh, and P.S.) In the sentence “They are going sightseeing,” “sightseeing” is NOT a verb. And P.S.S.) “Tardy for the Party” is seriously one of the Top 10 Dance Singles on iTunes?!? How many synthesizers did it take to drown out the fact that she’s tone-deaf?!? And is Nene singing background? Shouldn’t she get most of the credit for “writing” that song? (and I use the term “credit” very loosely).
8. Chalkboard paint. At first, I thought it marked a genius solution to kids slapping crayon all over the walls. But now, not unlike the mustache and Keep Calm crazes, it’s become a bit much.
Case in point:
Yes, that’s a chalkboard-painted car.
Nicholas Hughes & natural selection
icholas Hughes, a passionate stream ecologist and former biology professor at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, hanged himself in his Fairbanks home on March 16, 2009. Hughes was 47.
Recently, Hughes was one of the principal investigators of Alaska’s Chena River Chinook Salmon Study. You can find the related blog and Hughes’ professional profile HERE.
Dermot Cole, a columnist for the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, dedicated today’s column to Hughes:
Photo of Nicholas Hughes from Dermot Cole's column
FAIRBANKS — Nicholas Hughes, who died last week at 47, found a home in Fairbanks for much of his adult life, discovering a perfect place to pursue the full depth of his lifelong curiosity about fish and the outdoors.
After earning a bachelor of science degree and a master of science degree at Oxford University in England, where Nick spent his childhood, Hughes became a prominent fisheries scientist at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, where he earned a doctorate in 1991 and joined the faculty.
He made lasting friendships in Fairbanks with those who shared his inventive interests in such varied pursuits as stream ecology, pottery, woodworking, boating, bicycling, gardening and cooking the perfect pecan pie. Nick guided many people in the winter to spots along the Tanana to savor the art of burbot fishing through the ice.
He spent countless summer hours in his research of grayling and salmon in the Chena River, exhibiting all the patience and wonder that defines a great fisherman. One of his innovations was rigging underwater cameras to get a three-dimensional view of the fish feeding in the passing current.
Many of the best days of his life were in the company of his partner Christine Hunter, also a biologist. He resigned from the faculty more than two years ago, but continued his research.
Photo of Nicholas Hughes from www.chenakings.org/people/
Nick spent time in New Zealand as well as Alaska pursuing all aspects of his research. His writing was as clear as a grayling stream.
In 2004, he published a paper in which he offered an explanation of why larger fish tend to swim upstream farther from the river bank than smaller fish. This seems counterintuitive, he said, because the current is faster in the middle which would require more energy to overcome. Natural selection would work against that, it seems.
“One explanation for this apparently paradoxical behavior is that large fish swim further from the bank to avoid wave drag, the resistance associated with the generation of surface waves when swimming close to the surface,” he said.
The topics of natural selection and the “energy to overcome” prove especially poignant (and eerie) considering the unfortunate history with depression that haunted the Hughes family.
Nicholas Hughes is survived by his sister, Frieda, who released the following statement to Britain’s Times Online:
It is with profound sorrow that I must announce the death of my brother, Nicholas Hughes, who died by his own hand on Monday 16th March 2009 at his home in Alaska. He had been battling depression for some time.
His lifelong fascination with fish and fishing was a strong and shared bond with our father (many of whose poems were about the natural world). He was a loving brother, a loyal friend to those who knew him and, despite the vagaries that life threw at him, he maintained an almost childlike innocence and enthusiasm for the next project or plan.
Nicholas and Frieda are the children of poets Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.
Many news outlets (and bloggers) have already scooped up the “legacy of suicide” headline and dripped it all over the internet. I’d rather not venture into that territory, but if you’re interested, here are some objective and not-so-objective stories:
1. Frieda Hughes waltzed gracefully (albeit a bit cautiously) into the literary world and has established herself as a poet, author, and artist. If you’re interested in her work, here’s a brief Q&A that she did with Time Magazine in 2007. She also has her own website, which you can find HERE.
2. Reuters
4. Times Online
6. CNN
7. A discussion of the genetics of depression and suicide and a rather inflammatory Op-Ed piece by Judith Flanders, both at The Guardian
(*Initial “N” found HERE)
How I celebrate MLK Day.
artin Luther King, Jr., probably didn’t think that his monumental, historic fight for civil liberties would result in a holiday that spawns huge clothing sales and a free day for students to go gorge on buttery popcorn and Sour Patch Kids at the local multiplex.
Kevin Mazur/Courtesy of HBO via image.net
This year is, of course, a hallmark year for MLK, Jr., appreciation. One word: inauguration. I’m so ridiculously ecstatic that Americans have chosen to reinstate intelligence (among other positive — and greatly missed — qualities) in the White House. Obama represents progress, hope, change… the list goes on. And it’s wonderful to feel that energy and see it displayed across the country through the various celebrations, posters, etc.. But… I don’t know… something about the several-day-long inauguration celebrations seem a bit, kind of, overkill? Not that I don’t think President-Elect Obama (or America) deserves it — of course he/we do/es. But… I don’t know… considering the financial/economic state of the union right now, it strikes me as a bit bizarre to hear of all the lavish parties and top-notch concerts and opulent balls. Celebrities have invaded Washington, and suddenly the presidential inauguration has become a pop culture phenomenon, the hot ticket, the “it” place to be. I mean, socialite-infested inauguration parties probably offer swag and are sponsored by Nintendo Wii or Ugg or something. I don’t know. Something about it kind of makes me cringe. I’m excited about Inauguration Day tomorrow, of course. OF COURSE. But… I just feel as though it’s all become rather circus-like (Britney?). Thousand-dollar tickets, people trying to make a buck (or a few thousand) off of it… How disconcerting when one of the brightest moments of our/our nation’s life gets transformed into a Super Bowl before our very eyes. A Super Bowl with an endless supply of halftime shows.
Anyway.
I’ve been occasionally checking in with CNN and various Twitter birds so that I can be sure not to miss any all-important updates. But, other than that, here’s how I’ve spent my MLK, Jr., Day off from teaching:
1. I ate Grape Nuts
2. I checked my kitchen ceiling, which began leaking last night when my upstairs neighbor drew a bath. I was on the phone with a dear friend when, suddenly, I heard what sounded like water sloshing down through my kitchen walls. I was pretty sure the Deluge was coming. But it hasn’t come. Yet.
3. I read the latest issue of Time and felt conflicted about Pope Benedict XVI’s comment about Jesus and putting patches on an old suit.
4. I greeted Maintenance Man, who came in to investigate aforementioned leaky ceiling. Maintenance Man’s investigation involved: a. me directing him to leaky culprit, b. Maintenance Man looking directly at leaky culprit, c. Maintenance Man deciding to go knock on upstair neighbor’s door to check out her leaky pipes (Perv.), d. Maintenance Man driving away.
5. I chatted online with another dear friend. For, like, 45 minutes.
6. I watched some cheese-infested Lifetime movie about a bad girl-of-divorce-gone-good (standard plot of 98.7% of Lifetime movies) while filling up some pages of my Creative Journal, which felt lovely.
7. I watched as a dude in a truck snowplowed our driveway, and then proceeded right on through to our backyard and plowed the grass? No clue.
8. I took pictures of Nor’easter loveliness. And plowed backyard.
9. I ate leftover pizza. I actually reheated it in the oven rather than in the microwave. I am becoming more and more domestic. I make me proud.
10. I looked back (several times) at pictures of my baby niece and nephew and, more specifically, me feeding baby nephew and wanting to run away with him. It could have been so easy! Sh*t.
Another Listless Monday:
10 Things my mom would say if she walked in my living room right now
ith Christmas looming (TEN FREAKIN’ DAYS, ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME WITH THIS?!), I have entered the annual phase I like to call: MomPrep (MP). There are several components of MP, none of which I care to share with you at this juncture (you’re welcome); however, a residual effect of said MP is that I unfortunately “hear” my mother’s voice in my ear pretty much constantly so that I may begin to anticipate potentially frustrating/enervating/absurd motherly confrontations that would make me want to slam a candy cane up my nose. So to speak. The whole point is: once I can successfully identify Crazy Mom Patterns (CMPs), anticipation and recognition of predictable CMPs will allow me to save myself (and my gram, and my sister if she’s around) and our collective sanity and, therefore, our familial Christmas experience as a whole. So, basically, MP and recognition of CMPs represent the means by which I shall become my own Christmas Savior.
Amen.
So, as I sit now in my living room, ruminating on this Monday list, with ungraded student papers strewn about and CNN on in the background, I can’t shake my mom’s running commentary. Which really just means that I’m progressing nicely through my MP, don’t you think? Thank you.
Here are 10 things my mom would definitely want to tell me RIGHT NOW (because nothing can wait with my mom — that’s, like, step 1 of MomPrep.):
1.) “I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks cute. But… (adjusts plant-lamp ratio on end table) … there, that’s better.”
2.) “Wow, you’ve received a lot of Christmas cards… (goes to mantle and pretends to read/appreciate the cards… thinks I do not notice when she “fixes” the card order). Very nice.”
3.) “What’s that bright orange ticket sticking out of your mail file?” (umm, a parking ticket that is 99% hidden behind other envelopes, thereby further proving the existence of Mom-(ra)Dar)
4.) “Have you paid all your bills this month?” (yes.) “HOW have you paid all your bills this month? Do you still owe a bunch of money on your credit cards?” (ugh.)
5.) “Are all those papers graded?” (no.) “Well don’t you think you should stop typing and watching Larry King and get them graded? Aren’t grades due on Wednesday? Isn’t it going to take you a long time? How long does it take you to grade one paper? Why have you waited this long to start grading them when you only have a little over a day? Come on… how long have you been in school and teaching? You’d think that over a decade in higher education would teach you a thing or two about procrastination.” (you’d think.) *note: notice that my mom strings along a ton of questions without a break for me to have a chance to answer. This is a common CMP.
6.) “Why do you have my wedding picture hidden in the corner behind your coat rack? You can barely see it!” (umm… because, I don’t know, I guess, for some reason, I thought that maybe a photo of you with step-dad #3 could be viewed as an optional design feature that probably wouldn’t gel with the overall comforting aesthetic that I’ve tried to create for myself in MY HOME.)
7.) “And why do you have that horrible, old picture of me and your father on your bookshelf where everyone can see it?” (umm…)
8.) “Are you still seeing that guy who’s friends with your good friend?” (no.) “Well, what happened? I thought you really liked him? Do you think you’ll get back together.” (NO.) “Why not?” (ugh.)
9.) “I know you don’t have much money, so why don’t you just make Step-Dad#3 and me something for Christmas?” (because I almost feel more pressured to make you something?) “Well, Jesus, I’m trying to help you here. Fine, then spend $20 or $25 on us, tops.” (gee, thanks.)
10.) “You spend an awful lot of time on that computer. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could get paid for it? Have you still been looking for a part-time job? Have you called the temp agency? Do you know for sure if your Writing Fellowship will be renewed next year? because, if it’s not, that means you need to look for a full-time job, have you thought of that? and if you have a full-time job, how will you find the time to write your dissertation? and you need to finish your dissertation. What are you going to do???” (*coma ensues*)
Yeah… definitely still a lot of work to do in my MomPrep before I hit the road on Sunday.
Think happy thoughts, please. And I will think happy thoughts for all of you and your family (dys)functions this holiday season.
GLORY TO ANNA IN THE HIGHEST!
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.
I’m a slacker nerd, CVS steals Halloween’s thunder, & The Hardy Boys
o, it’s Friday. Just in case you didn’t know. The weekend has officially commenced. Those of you who are/have been grad students, please feel free to tune out for a minute. As for the rest of you, allow me to bestow upon you the knowledge that, for a grad student, the term “weekend” is synonymous with “the days when I can finally be productive and do work.” It can also be synonymous with “the days I catch up on sleep that I lost to class prep/grading/research/etc. during the week.” In other words: we are geeks with no social life.
Ok, I should probably only speak for myself, but… I have found this to be true among many demographic samples of graduate students. We are a nerdy, isolated people.
Anyway. So I had these high hopes of coming home from campus, changing out of “teacher clothes” and into comfy (read: scuz) clothes, and heading either to a nearby coffee shop or to a nearby Barnes & Noble to plop down in a big chair and finally crack open a book that arrived from Amazon.com two weeks ago. Or wait, maybe three? Whatever. The point is: I’ve been wanting to bust it open for a really long time. Oh, and I should mention that it’s a book related to the course I’m teaching… material I may be able to use, but also some sh*t that I just generally get off on.
So anyway… I was excited about this. But then the inevitable occurred: I got home, changed into comfy clothes, had some dinner (aka, heated up leftover pizza), settled on my couch to check e-mail and cr@p, and now…….. I have officially entered near-catatonic state, whereby the energy required to walk to my car proves roughly equivalent to the exertion necessary to climb Mt. Everest. So yeah, that ain’t happenin’. So now I’m writing this pog, but you can safely assume that in, oh, say 45 minutes, I’ll be nodding off to a CNN lullaby or something.
Whatever. There’s always tomorrow. After I grade a bajillion papers.
So yeah, the other thing kicking around my mind today is that I went into a CVS to pick up a few lame things (precisely what a CVS is for), and I turned the corner of the candy aisle only to find a whole freakin’ aisle devoted to CHRISTMAS CR@P!!!!! We’re talkin’ stockings, Santa hats and beards, Christmas-themed socks, red & green M&Ms… the list goes disturbingly on. What the F?!? I thought the unspoken rule of consumerism was that companies wait for one holiday to be over, and then BOOM!, the little marketing elves haul tiny @ss to make the instantaneous switch of products/marketing for the next big holiday. Like, at 00:00:01 on New Year’s Day, BOOM! Valentine’s Day throws up all over our TV sets.
But Halloween still hasn’t happened, and yet Christmas is already infringing upon it and stealing its thunder in CVS stores. That is soooooooooo wrong and soooooooooo rude on sooooooooo many levels — not the least of which is the fact that Halloween is my second favorite holiday (first = Bring Your Grandparents to Work Day).
A.k.a., Reese's Peanut-Butter Menorah
So, instead of buying my sister a Reese’s Peanut-Butter Pumpkin in celebration of Halloween next week, I was forced by some blasphemous See-Vee-Ess b@stards to skip Halloween and buy her a Reese’s Peanut- Butter Tree instead (*note: Reese’s doesn’t call them Reese’s Peanut-Butter Christmas Trees,” because then they’d also have to create Reese’s Peanut-Butter Menorahs, and the Reese’s people apparently aren’t that crafty. I mean, come on, calling their Trees “trees” is being quite generous. So I can only imagine that an attempt at a menorah would wind up resembling one of Matisse’s leaf designs or something. But, like, Matisse’s b@stard step-brother or something.).
Which brings me to my final story for the day, which recalls an episode of “Writing 100 With Professor Plume” (uh, I just decided to call myself that). So, my students are required to research a tortured poet (one whom we are not already studying), present upon that poet’s life, and then offer a detailed analysis on one specific work that was influenced by aforementioned torture. OK, so one of my students today presented on Thomas Hardy. 
It proved to be a very interesting and lovely presentation, and afterward Presenter Student took questions from her classmates. This is generally when class can go a bit haywire, but in a uniquely informative fashion — I swear, I learn more from my students through their questions than I do through their answers to MY questions. So, OK, Thomas Hardy… my student L. raises her hand and asks (I sh*t you not): “Umm, this is kind of random, but… I was wondering if Thomas Hardy had any relation to the Hardy Boys?”
I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS. This was an actual question.
And I proceeded to almost choke myself with laughter. So then the class basically roared and it was hilarious. I made sure to apologize to L. for laughing and assured her that I was not laughing at HER but rather at the thought of the very fictitious Hardy Boys (whom, by the way, I was surprised my students even KNEW, considering that they were popular when I was a little girl) being related to Jude the Obscure. As it turned out, L. didn’t TOTALLY know who or what the Hardy Boys were; she only knew the name. But some classmates knew… in fact, one said, “Dude, that’s like Nancy Drew and stuff…” . Ahahahahahaha… oh my god. Too freakin’ funny…
Happy weekend.
Decent Arab. Oxymoron?
t’s been all over the news already and referenced by political analysts and late night talk show hosts alike: at a recent campaign rally for the Republican Presidential nominee, a white-haired McPalinist woman by the name of Gayle Quinnell proclaimed, “He’s an Arab,” in reference to Democratic Presidential nominee, Barack Obama. McCain swiftly stole back the microphone and corrected Quinnell in an unmistakably flustered (and stuttered) fashion:“No, ma’am,” McCain stated. “He’s a decent family man –citizen– that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues. And that’s what this campaign is all about. He’s not. Thank you.” (You can watch the video of the exchange HERE)
Now, that’s all well and good, and there’s little doubt that McMuppet really did possess genuine, good intentions and truly does consider Obama a “decent family man –citizen,” but… umm… well… I suppose I just wasn’t aware that being a “decent family man –citizen” and being an Arab were mutually exclusive? I guess I’m just ill-informed.
But you know what else I found out, from one of my very dearest, most cherished friends, who just so happens to be an Arab? He was ill-informed, too!!!! He didn’t know that “decent Arab” was an oxymoron! We’re so naive and sheltered. I guess we’ve been studying at the wrong university. And I guess my friend grew up in a pseudo-Arab culture or something. Sucks to be us. I wonder if Gayle Quinnell offers online courses in cultural awareness? I’ll have to look into it.
Anyway, it’s just completely frustrating and infuriating to witness such a blatant lack of regard for any individual (let alone an entire ethnic group) that does not subscribe to the stereotypically WASPy notions of “decency.”
Fortunately, we have CNN journalist Campbell Brown (host of CNN’s “Campbell Brown: Election Center”), who did not shrink back from addressing the ignorance (and racism) and the hatred fueled by such careless comments as the one uttered by McCain at his rally, nor did she mince words when acknowledging the media’s guilt as well. Brown states:
Now, I commend Sen. McCain for correcting that woman, for setting the record straight. But I do have one question — so what if he was? So what if Obama was Arab or Muslim? So what if John McCain was Arab or Muslim? Would it matter?
When did that become a disqualifier for higher office in our country? When did Arab and Muslim become dirty words? The equivalent of dishonorable or radical? Whenever this gets raised, the implication is that there is something wrong with being an Arab-American or a Muslim. And the media is complicit here, too.
We’ve all been too quick to accept the idea that calling someone Muslim is a slur.
I feel like I am stating the obvious here, but apparently it needs to be said: There is a difference between radical Muslims who support jihad against America and Muslims who want to practice their religion freely and have normal lives like anyone else.
We can’t tolerate this ignorance — not in the media, not on the campaign trail.
Of course, he’s not an Arab. Of course, he’s not a Muslim. But honestly, it shouldn’t matter. (Source: CNN.com)
All hail the King! (aka, CNN-Addicts Anonymous)
y name is PauvrePlume, and I’m addicted to CNN. True story. I’ve actually heard (via my radio addiction, NPR) that there is a type of disorder/addiction that runs rampant during high-profile political seasons, whereby unsuspecting victims find themselves perched for hours (nay, DAYS) in front of the TV, hoping to get their politics fix, drool pooling around them, soaking into the couch cushion, leaving a dry trail of skin around their mouths. Yeah, it ain’t pretty. And that’s me. I’m the resident dry-skinned drool maven. Hey, I could do a lot worse, right? Right.
Besides, it’s not my fault. It’s my grandma’s fault. I stayed with her during spring break 2008, which just so happened to coincide with the Eliot Spitzer/call-girl controversy and the Democratic primary season. My pop-culture-plus-political-fascination naturally kicked into overdrive, but when you add my ridiculously cute, 90-year-old Gram to the mix — who just so happens to partake in a 24/7 CNN fiesta while also still finding the time to mow her own lawn – you might as well just strap me down with Larry King’s suspenders and shove John King’s super hi-tech, multi-touch collaboration wall down my throat.
Speaking of Lare-Bear… could someone please tell me why no one at CNN checks that dude before he goes on the air?!? I’m not being mean, I swear. I have Larry’s best interest at heart. In fact, I feel bad for the senile sap because he clearly inhabits some type of parallel universe in which royal blue oxfords, turquoise blue suspenders, and orange-red striped ties seem like a good idea. It’s not just the suspenders. I’m actually kind of a fan of suspenders. They’re fun. Strappy and fun. I always imagine that they could become loose and pull free at any second, flail around and ultimately smack somebody in the cheek. Now, come on: that would be AWESOME, right?! Right. Anyway, poor Larry needs some freakin’ help, that’s all I’m saying. I love when he has “up-’n-comers” on his show, and it’s so obvious that he just looked at the index card, like, 5 minutes before he went on the air, so he pronounces names wrong, effs up show titles and biographical info… I freakin’ LOVE when that happens.
But, I mean, who can bash him, you know? It’s freakin’ LARRY KING!!!!! The suspenderized fossil has hosted his own successful talk show for an incomprehensible 23 years, for crying out loud. His success flies in the face of his public arrest for grand larceny in the ’70s, a heart attack and quintuple-bypass surgery in 1987, seven marriages and six divorces… Somehow, King managed to meet and marry Shawn Southwick, a woman 26 years his junior (Larry is 74, Shawn is 48) and with whom he has had two children, aged eight and nine. The dude doesn’t quit, apparently. I just think it would be cool if he didn’t quit while NOT wearing an unspeakably heinous suspender/tie/oxford ensemble, that’s all.
So, it’s no secret that a ton of people love to tune into CNN because of a certain handsome and witty, prematurely grey anchor who just so happens to be Gloria Vanderbilt’s son. Anderson Cooper is truly enjoyable, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been a huge fan ever since he zoomed his journalistic way into my high school TV sets via Channel One in the 1990s.
But my CNN crush is another handsome, witty, prematurely grey anchor. But, not just any anchor. Oh no. John King happens to be CNN’s Chief National Correspondent, thank you very much. And he’s d@@@@@@mn good at it. Not only does he NOT wear obnoxious suspender/tie/oxford ensembles, but he also possesses some mad multi-touch skillz and impeccable analyses of political strategies and f*ck-ups. John King, I choose to ignore the fact that you foolishly married your CNN colleague, Dana Bash, earlier this year. Minor detail. I will not let this stand in the way of my daily JK appreciation. Especially because CNN stuck her with tracking the McCain Campaign this election season. I can only imagine that your wife is being infested by McPalinisms on an hourly basis and, therefore, it is best that you spend as much time away from her as possible. Which will help me to delude myself into thinking that you two are not together AT ALL. And which re-confirms the fact that your marriage to Ms. Bashketcase is completely inconsequential.
In a similar vein, I refuse to allow any alleged “John King Lovers” to diminish my adoration for you — or for your Magic Wall. 
You are about to enter one of the most highly charged and significant times of your — and your Magic Wall’s — life: Election 2008. You will be tired. Your neatly-tied tie will begin to crookedize itself. Your multi-touching fingers will become crampy and weary. But you will persevere, JK. Oh, yes, you will persevere, as only a strong-willed, determined Chief National Correspondent can. And I will be there for you, JK, every step of the way.
Now, apparently I am not your only admirer. I mean, besides me and, you know, your wife. Apparently there are others. Please don’t misunderstand: I am extremely grateful that the world is catching on to your brilliance and journalistic magnetism. I am. I swear.
Still, you must understand that it is always difficult to share something one admires so much. So, while I praise a site such as “John the News King,” I must admit that I am a bit saddened to learn that you do not exist solely for me. Oh, and your wife. And for me.
(*Note: I mean this pog in the least creepy way possible and pinky-swear that I am not a stalker. Though I really would like to get my paws on that Magic Wall…)
Another school year, the C word, and torture.
onfession: My pogs have been politico-centric lately so as to avoid the main order of PauvrePlume business, which isHOLY F*CKING SH*T ARE YOU SERIOUSLY F*CKING TELLING ME THAT ANOTHER F*CKING SCHOOL YEAR IS BEGINNING AND I’M *STILL* F*CKING HERE AND *STILL* NOT DONE WITH MY F*CKING DISSERTATION?!? SERIOUSLY?!?!?
Ahem.
Composure.
My sincere apologies for all the “F*CKING”s. Sometimes it’s just impossible for me to rein it all in. Especially when that “sometime” equals the night before my fall course begins. And said “fall course” is one that I’ve never taught before. Ever. And it’s in English. And I’ve never taught in English before. Even though English is my native language. You might think that this point is moot and that slipping in my native tongue should be a non-issue. In response to such thoughts, I retort: quelle naïveté! When teaching French language and literature, I could hide behind the French. The students viewed everything I said as smartly wrapped bundles of brilliance. No, seriously. Reminder: there are no annoying, de-intellectualizing “likes” in French.
Stop the insanity!
While I am well aware that the course topic and selected readings should take their positions front-and-center, insecure PauvrePlume can’t help but worry that her English just ain’t as intelligent/cool-soundin’ as the French, and that her students are going to trample all over it and wonder where the F their $40K is going (umm, not sure why I’m doing the third-person thing… I plead night-before-classes-start. Please bear with me). Basically, I’m afraid that I could singlehandedly cause my university’s freshmen dropout rate to escalate to Guinness-Book-of-World-Records proportions.
I never exaggerate, fyi.
So anyway… here I am, night before my “Tortured Poet” class starts, and I’m switching between CNN’s Republican Convention coverage and the new 90210 version 2.0. Talk about whiplash. I’m not sure which is more contrived. What I *do* know is that neither has managed to calm me down and take my mind off of the fact that HOLY F*CKING SH*T, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY F*CKING TELLING ME THAT ANOTHER F*CKING SCHOOL YEAR IS BEGINNING AND I’M *STILL* NOT F*CKING DONE WITH MY F*CKING DISSERTATION?!?!?
Ok, I’m sorry. Truly. I am. It’s like Tourette’s or something. I’ll try better to censor myself. Though censorship is such an awful, dirty word. I really think it should be what we refer to when we say the “C word,” rather than the C word that rhymes with “punt.” Tangent.
So…where was I? Oh yeah… so, I’m nervous about teaching this course for the first time — and teaching in English for the first time — but mostly I’m just uneasy about the curious connection between my (hopefully) final school year here at University X and my designed course that focuses on torture. Coincidence? I think not. And if you know me, you KNOW not.
Hair helmet + unexpressive (cross) eyes = Laurabot
*Sidenote: Is Laura Bush cross-eyed? She’s always disturbed me (potential crossed eyes notwithstanding). Her hair never moves, have you noticed that? It’s a total helmet. And her eyes are disturbingly unexpressive — undoubtedly a result of 30 years of marriage to Dubya. Perez Hilton and Jon Stewart (and others, I’m sure) enjoy highlighting Cindy McCain’s roboticism (I just invented that word), but I’m more concerned about Laurabot. Sh*t. I just missed the end of 90210 because of this Laurabot obsession.
I just prepared my little teaching binder for tomorrow. Photocopies of syllabi are made. Class list is printed, complete with student photos (hands-down the best invention for teachers to pretend that they miraculously know a student’s name within five minutes of meeting them). I even have my outfit picked out. True story. There was a time when I’d get dolled up for the first day and wear a skirt or *gasp!* even a DRESS (!!!). Yeah, times have changed. Gone are the days when PauvrePlume actually gave a rat’s A about how she looked in a lame attempt to assert some sort of authority over her students, creating the ever-so-important “distance” between teacher and student, which teaching advisors like to cling to as the freaking Golden Rule or something. (I know I know: third-person again. Ok ok…) Nowadays, I wear more what makes me feel comfortable to teach and less what makes me feel like I’m playing teacher. And that’s a good thing. And that’s NOT a skirt and CERTAINLY not a dress.
Besides: I’m pretty sure it’s a conflict of interest to teach about tortured poets while wearing some light, airy frock.
Ok, I think I’m done rambling now.
Really I just need some more Mountain Dew.
Also, the confessional nature of this pog makes me uneasy.
Watch your back, Chunky Monkey
his pog focuses on a very important element of Americana, which is oh-so-appropriate in light of the current Dee-Enn-Sea of mile-high craziness.
I scream, you scream, we all scream for… CNN Ice Cream? If CNN ain’t yer homeboy, then you are, unfortunately, totally missing out on what the self-declared “best political team on television” is droppin’ (like it’s hot. Even though it’s cold.). Not only is CNN rockin’ it 24/7 democratic-style from Denver, but apparently the high altitude has convinced Ted Turner and his Atlanta cronies that they happen to be SO d@mn good that they merit their own version of America’s prized dessert treat!
I'm on to you, Apple!
(*Note: The saying “as American as Apple Pie” is a fallacy proliferated by George Washington, Sara Lee and, in recent years, Gwyneth’s daughter — who, ironically, doesn’t even live in our country. I’m not buying that cr@p. Not only do I not see apple pie stores overflowing Main Street USA, but, umm, there’s no Apple Pie Queen, is there? Dairy’s got her beat. And, as I’ve mentioned in a previous pog, certain flavors and permutations of ice creamy treats are the closest I’ve come to proof of divine intervention. I’m calling out your sucky strategery, Apple Pie! NO MORE!)
Whew. Calm. Breathe in, breathe out. OK. I’m OK. Let’s continue…
I sh*t you not.
So, CNN decided that the CNN Grill and the rest of their makeshift Denver Media Empire wasn’t enough (and Lou Dobbs was probably foaming at the mouth per usual), so of course they thought, “I know: politics plus ice cream! PERFECT SENSE: both give us indigestion!” And they went ahead and made some ice cream and slapped their logo on it (to be fair, some cows also contributed to the production… and I sort of doubt my boyfriend Anderson was churnin’ up the ice and milk. Hello, he has to protect his hair. And his bliss.).
What, you might ask, is the crazy newsy flavor of this CNN-shameless-act-of-capitalization-on-political-intoxication? Well, I’ll tell you, and you better freakin’ brace yourselves. Ready? Here goes: it’s……………….. VANILLA!!!!!!!! AHHH! I’M HYPERVENTILATING WITH AMAZEMENT AT SUCH A BRILLIANT INNOVATION-OF-DELICIOUSNESS!
vanilla + sprinkles = Lamest Political Team on TV
Oh wait. I almost forgot that VANILLA IS THE LAMEST NON-FLAVOR OF ICE CREAM EVER. And the CNN nerds try to compensate by adding the ever zany red, white, and blue sprinkles (or jimmies, but NOT dots). Like, Ooooooh, don’t hurt yourself, Best Political Team! SPRINKLES?! Red, white, AND blue?!?!? You are an ice cream maverick. Ben & Jerry better watch the F out.
Pfffff.
Oh, and like the “recyclable CNN Grill cup” is alleviating the disappointment of the vanilla situation (not sure if you can read the fine print in the photo, but that’s where the cup is mentioned). Like, just in case the CNN lame-o vanilla ice cream isn’t to my liking, well at least I’ll have a lame-o recyclable cup from the lame-o Grill owned by the lame-o company that produced the lame-o ice cream. YAY!
But you know what the REALLY awful thing is? It’s that I actually really like CNN and watch it all the time.
Umm, wait a second. Did I just out myself as being a total loser with no life?
D@MN IT!
I need to stop. For further absurd news from the DNC, I strongly encourage you to check out one of my most favoritest news sources (aside from CNN): The Onion.
