No more self-imposed creative limitations.
am highly skilled when it comes to adapting to lengthy guilt trips. So skilled, in fact, that sometimes I actually forget how to get back home to Guilt-Free Land. Since I entered grad school (roughly X years ago), I haven’t really allowed myself much of a creative outlet. My thinking, especially as procrastination on my doctoral work grew stronger, was something along the lines of, “If I have the time to illuminate this initial, then I should be devoting that time to my dissertation.” Instead, I devoted that time to effectuating a stealth downward-spiral into self-doubt and severe depression. Go figure.
This blog, coupled with my second, more design-oriented blog, has been INVALUABLE with respect to me gradually allowing myself more and more creative liberties. Over the past year, I’ve produced more crafty and artistic projects than I had completed in the previous five years combined. No exaggeration. And it’s been such a boost, not only for my mood, but for my motivation, my pride in myself for being productive and producing work I’m happy with… and that confidence and productivity seep into the academic side of my life as well. So, now the key is to find the balance between the creative and the intellectual. Which seems slightly ridiculous, because the two are hardly mutually exclusive. Yet, for some reason, in my mind, I had categorized them as such. I went into my undergraduate career planning on majoring in Fine Arts. I dropped it before my freshman year came to a close, and I moved onto French and English literature. Once I made that switch, it was almost as though I tucked away all my art supplies, donned a beret and became “French girl.” Funny, huh? Considering France’s relationship to artistic revolutions.
Anyway.
So I’m now reacquainting myself with my artistic side. I’ve been doing a lot of paper repurposing, but I’ve also been drawing a lot in my sketchbook and re-honing my lettering and calligraphy skills. Fortunately, it’s been a lot like riding a bike. (Big sigh of relief there.) My fire lit instantly, and it glows brightly. And I plan to keep stoking it as much as I can. Note: as much as I “can” does not equal as much as I “want.” Have to remember the dissertation… May graduation… I think I can.
In the meantime, I’ve finally decided to get my butt on Etsy and attempt to make some money off of my fun little creations. Shameless plug, yes. Sorry sorry. But, please remember, I’m a poor grad student with overdue medical bills. Self-preservation, baby.
I’ve already featured some pics of my new Etsy shop over at Words & Eggs, but I know that I have some followers here that don’t follow W&E. So, here are a few images of my favorite items in my shop: paper packs, mixed paper Paper Clips Journals, custom lettering, and customized handmade family trees. Please take a look, and feel free to contact me or convo me with any questions! Thanks to all of you for your continued support, and for creating a lovely little inspirational community here for me…
The thing with creativity and inspiration is that you never know when it’s going to flood the gates… or when it’s going to completely dry up. For now, I’m taking full advantage and bathing in the flood waters. I’d love the financial opportunity to continue to do so. Please let me know if you’d like to work with me and/or brainstorm any projects. There are LOTS of options for family trees: Christmas advent calendar trees, anniversary trees, newborn baby trees featuring baby stats, friendship trees… the list goes on. They make great, unique birthday and holiday gifts!
OK, I’ll stop plugging myself now.
Thanks again,
LY
The task of the translator…
or my dissertation, I’m undertaking an English translation of a nineteenth-century drame romantique by Alfred de Vigny, which has resulted in lots of sifting through translation theory and methods.
Walter Benjamin, the great German critic, philosopher, and translator, has written extensively on the motivations and moves of a translation and the (often mind-numbingly humbling) “Task of the Translator,” which serves as the title for Benjamin’s 1923 introduction to his translation of Charles Baudelaire. It becomes a bit difficult to reconcile my feelings of paralyzing inadequacy when I realize that, essentially, I am attempting to give (an English) voice to a man who existed at another time, in another land… and who did, indeed, speak English. In fact, he translated works from English into French — works of Shakespeare, no less! So… who the h*ll am I??? (I just had the urge to shout, “Who am I? I’m Jean ValJean!” but I refrained). Unfortunately, Benjamin doesn’t exactly provide an answer. But he does provide some illuminations on the purpose and power of translation, which nicely enlighten on one hand:
. . . a translation comes later than the original, and since the important works of world literature never find their chosen translators at the time of their origin, their translation marks their stage of continued life.
and further terrify me on the other:
A real translation is transparent; it does not cover the original, does not block its light, but allows the pure language, as though reinforced by its own medium, to shine upon the original all the more fully.
Ugh. Pure language. “Pure” language? I fear I do not have the holy grail to language purity. (Does anyone?) Way to kick me while I’m down, Benji.
(Benjamin image from HERE; Initial “F” from dailydropcap.com)
Whenever it rains like this, I think of Verlaine.
“Il pleure dans mon coeur . . . “
II pleut doucement sur la ville.
Arthur Rimbaud
Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?
Verlaine & Rimbaud (Henri Fantin-Latour, 1872)
Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un coeur qui s’ennuie
Ô le chant de la pluie!
Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s’écoeure.
Quoi! nulle trahison? . . .
Ce deuil est sans raison.
C’est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine!
-Paul Verlaine, from Romances sans paroles (1874)
Doggie style.
ave you ever seen the movie Lars and the Real Girl, starring Ryan Gosling (of The Notebook fame – or notoriety, depending…) as the eponymous character opposite an unsettlingly animated doll whom he loves in the most profoundly caring (and, yes, delusional) way?
Yeah, well, apparently someone felt like male canines maintained similar longings. Which is why I would occasionally find my former pup, Toby (R.I.P.), going to town on the leg of my Pound Puppy. It wasn’t pretty. Or a healthy vision for a 10-year-old just before bedtime. But, perhaps if Toby had a Doggie Lover Doll to keep him satisfied, my humping-induced trauma would have been minimal.
It seems somehow fitting that the Doggie Lover Doll® hails from the land that brought us the ever-so-comforting Brazilian wax. Oh, and get this: it’s created by this company called PetSmiling, Inc.. Umm…someone’s a little overly confident in the success of their product. In their press release, they explain the science behind this alleged one-of-a-kind canine sex toy:
During the doll’s test period with a few canines, including the Maltese Flock (responsible for the idea), the pets showed a better quality of life based on less anxiety, less barking, and less territorial demarcation. In other words, the dogs live a better life, satisfying their repressed sexuality, in some cases for many years.
When a dog tries to hump legs, stuffed animals and other objects, he cannot reach an ejaculation. With the DoggieLoverDoll he can. Human beings have their hands to masturbate themselves, now the domestic animals, which have practically no contact with females in heat, can alleviate themselves with a toy designed specifically for them. Dogs have a great sexual appetite and this novelty, surely will better their lives.
Yeah, OK, doggie civil rights and sexual equality, woohoo. I dig it. But, there’s a wee little problem with PetSmiling’s press release. See, they claim that the Doggie Lover Doll® is
“The world’s first sex doll for dogs”
and they planned a celebratory unveiling at the 8th annual Pet South America convention São Paulo, which apparently took place last week, from July 22nd to 24th. Yet, a quick Google search led to the immediate discovery of one
HotDoll — Love Doll for Dogs, by Clement Eloy
which apparently went public in… wait for it… 2007. And early 2007 at that. So, over two years ago. Granted, it didn’t immediately go on sale in 2007; in fact, it just went on sale this summer. But the creation was widely publicized in 2007 (see links at the end of this post). And Eloy’s a Frenchie, which just seems even more fitting than the Brazilian knock-off. No offense. Oh, and there are plenty of images of dog-on-rubber Hotdog action. I know you want to see at least one, so… here’s my favorite:
Image source: http://www.yankodesign.com
I love the wind in the fur as if to emphasize sheer doggy exuberance. And how the HotDoll is bigger than the actual dog. I’m not sure what the head/nose knob is about, but this design seems much more sleek and ergonomic than the Doggie Lover Doll, don’t you think? Plus, PetSmiling doesn’t seem to have any photos of any dogs actually smiling as a result of this faux copulation. In fact, the only image I could find containing a dog is this fuzzy little number from their website:
And I’m pretty sure my 6-year-old neighbor created that graphic. When she was 4.
Oh, wait, I just found this photo:
Image source: http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/sexist
But how lame and suspicious is that? I can’t even be certain that’s an actual dog standing awkwardly behind the doll. What’s up with those star stickers? Is that Orion’s belt? What is that orange ensemble with the colored puffballs hanging off of it? Did he just come back from a salsa lesson? And why is the dog not on the doll? I mean, isn’t that the point? Shouldn’t the PetSmiling people at least show the dog’s mouth so we can see if he’s actually smiling? I mean, WTF???
But maybe those PetSmiling goons have already been found out. Because, shadier yet, the link to their online store yields a website that is currently “under construction.” Yet the rubber pooch was supposed to go on sale starting July 22nd according to the press release. Maybe some sex toy sniffing dogs sauntered into that Pet South America convention and kicked some doggy A. Maybe the people at HotDoll hired a hitdog to knock off the PetSmiling pooches? I don’t know, but I bet it was awesome whatever it was.
Oh, OK fine, here’s another dog-on-HotDoll image to tide you over, you pervs:
Image source: http://www.yankodesign.com/
And in case you’re still wanting more, here are some additional links about HotDoll, ©2007:
1. HotDoll, and, because I know you’re itching to, you can follow HotDoll on Twitter HERE
2. Divine Caroline review, with snippets from creator Clement Eloy
3. Gizmodo
(*Doggie image of initial “H” found HERE)
Happy Fathers’ Day / Bonne Fête des Pères
Père Ubu will eat an extra hot dog for you in celebration.
*Image from Wikimedia
This ain’t your grandma’s first lady…
arla Bruni-Sarkozy (born Carla Gilberta Bruni Tedeschi — I know, it’s a mouthful) has been on my radar lately. Carla (or C-diddy, as I affectionately refer to her) married French President Nicolas Sarkozy last February, which sent the world into a tailspin because of a teeny-tiny minor detail, which was that Sarkozy started dating C-diddy while he was still married to his former wife. In America, that kind of sh*t would never fly. I mean, we impeached a guy for a temporary blip involving a cigar and a blue dress, so… one can only imagine. But in France… eh. Just another day at the office.
But back to Carla, who just so happens to have quite the pedigree, what with having been named heiress to the Tedeschi family fortune (a lot) and having been born to a renowned concert pianist (her mother) as well as a classical musician and composer (her father). Coming from such a musically-minded family, it seemed fitting that once she’d had her run as a world-renowned supermodel and dated the likes of Mick Jagger and Eric Clapton (among others — I’m sure she’d rather forget The Donald, particularly The Hair), Carla turned to her own instrumental and vocal stylings and crafted her own music career.
C-diddy’s music career is now, understandably, eclipsed by her role as France’s First Lady. But it’s too bad, really. Quelqu’un m’a dit, her 2003 debut album, remains in heavy rotation on my iPod. And not just because the title song makes for a great accompaniment to a French grammatical lesson on the discours indirect. Her voice is raspy and rough around the edges, yet solidly emotive as it playfully jockeys with her acoustic guitar. I love this album. For me, she will always be Carla the folk-ish singer… who just so happened to marry that Sarkozy guy.
I checked up on Carla the other day, because I’ve been waiting for her to put out another French album (her second album was in English and contained poems by Auden, Dickinson, and Yeats, among others, put to music. Meh.). As it turns out, she put out a third, very français, album in July! Where the F have I been?! In dissertation hell? Oh yeah. Anyway, I’m excited. Also, I think it’s very admirable that First Lady Former Supermodel Bruni-Sarkozy ain’t just taking tea with the Queen Mum or attending Paris Fashion Week galas in designer dresses. She’s still channeling her creativity and doing solo projects unrelated to Sarko. And yes, of course, the fact that she’s Mme Sarkozy won’t hurt her CD sales, but… Quelqu’un m’a dit debuted at number one on the French Album Chart way back in 2003. That’s five years pre-Sarko. She had her sh*t together.
So you see, Carla wasn’t necessarily “trading up” by linking up with Sarkozy. Quite the contrary; I suppose one could argue that she is, in fact, slummin’ it with Sarko. (aww, poor, diminutive Sarko and his Napoleon complex…) Further proof: her family just sold their castle (what, your family doesn’t have a castle to sell?), the Castello di Castagneto (in Castegneto Po, Italy), for upwards of 10 million Euros. Apparently, the 40-room Castello wasn’t a quick sell.
“Yes, we have finally found a buyer,” said [Carla's mother] Marisa Bruni Tedeschi. “After all, we had finished with Castagneto Po, nobody went there any more,” she added.
The 40-room, 1,500-square-metre residence and grounds were bought by industrialist heir and father Alberto Bruni Tedeschi in 1952. The castle — repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt — is believed to first date from the year 1019. (Source)
Castegneto Castle -- just your typical family retreat
So anyway… I’ll let you know what I think of her latest album once I get it. Who knows. Maybe I’ll take one listen and deem her a total sell-out loser. But I kind of doubt it. I mean, check out her boots!
France's First Lady, knee-high to awesome.
It’s Monday. I have questions. And some random observations. And stuff.
ome days, I wake up and instantly feel extremely complacent and accepting. I easily take people, places, and things (uh, nouns?) for what they are, no questions asked. I’m not saying it’s a good thing or a bad thing, it’s just the way it is. Sometimes I just really am way too self-absorbed do not have the energy. Other days, however, I am less noun complacent. I have questions. Lots of questions. And I can’t simply let it slide, for example, that someone thought ballet flats-in-4-inches-of-snow was a good idea. Or that pains au chocolat have not become a permanent fixture of the American breakfast. Or even lunch or dinner. I don’t care. But it should definitely be a permanent fixture during at least one major meal. While we’re at it, so should crêpes with Nutella & coconut. That said, I amazingly never gain weight when I go to France. Curious.
Some other curiosities on this Monday of the StupidGroundhogThatSawHisStupidShadow:
Image: http://flickr.com/photos/creekrunningnorth/530921810/
1. What gave pizza joints the idea that cinnamon foods proved an appropriate accompaniment? I do not shovel a slice of sausage pizza in my mouth and think, “Ooh, I can’t wait to eat a cinnastick right after this.” Gross.
2. Who invented the Peep? because I’m pretty sure whoever it was suffered from some pretty freaky hallucinations.
3. Some dude is auctioning off his “867-5309″ number on eBay. Amazingly, despite the fact that this same number occurs under a bajillion other area codes, this dude’s number (in area code 201) has already garnered more than $34,000. WTF?!? Oh, and the winner also gets the dude’s DJ business. Because Jenny was a sick-@ss DJ.
4. Apparently, Puffs Ultra is not the same as Puffs Plus. The difference being that Puffs Ultra SUCKS.
5. Even though I completely agree that Heath Ledger was brilliant in The Dark Knight, I found Iron Man to be a more complex, cohesive film. Also, I love Robert Downey, Jr. Whether pre-, during-, or post- drug years, my RDJ love is unconditional.
6. I kind of want to start a “Life is Bad” campaign to rival “Life is Good.”
7. I’m not a total cynic, I swear.
8. How does one “accidentally” air “10 seconds of eye-popping pornographic imagery” instead of the Super Bowl?! The best part is that the accidental airing only occurred in Arizona, just as the Cardinals “scored.”
Personally, I think tomatoes are heinous, whether stolen or not. (Image courtesy of: http://www.worldcommunitycookbook.org)
9. When it snows, my landlord’s son barrels into the driveway in his huge monster truck-with-plow, and he then continues right into the backyard. He plows the yard. Every time it snows, he plows the yard. I’m pretty sure plow-on-grass does not equate to healthy lawn growth.
10. WHY THE F*CK DOES HE PLOW THE YARD?!?
11. The same dude came over last summer, saw me reading in the backyard, said a quick/awkward “hello,” stole a couple tomatoes from my neighbor’s garden, and then promptly drove away.
12. Apparently they don’t have tomatoes where my landlord’s son lives?
13. Didn’t the copy-cat shoe thrower in England today realize that his shoe-launching would forever be eclipsed by The Shoe That Almost Whacked Bush?
14. Dirty Dancing: The Musical? SERIOUSLY?!? Gag. I’m pretty sure someone’s trying to capitalize on Patrick Swayze’s cancer “popularity.”
Another Monday, another List in homage to Anna at:
Maybe he should try doggy yoga?
‘m cross-referencing this post from my Words & Eggs site where, each Friday, I celebrate “French Friday.“ The story makes me giggle too much not to share here as well…
Our lovely, newly confirmed US president isn’t the only world leader faced with trials and tribulations…
On the 21st of January, former French president Jacques Chirac was bitten by his clinically depressed Maltese doggy, appropriately named… Sumo. I’ve found endless humor in the reporting of this incident via various media outlets. For example, the Daily Mail Online reports that Chirac was “hospitalized” after being “mauled” and “savaged by” Sumo, while a headline from the Agence France-Presse (AFP) declares: “Sumo the depressed lap dog bites Chirac.” Meanwhile, the blogosphere has reacted in a predictably sensational and humorous style, such as Scandalist, who announces: “Former French President Attacked By Prozac-Popping Poodle.” AWESOME. I mean, not awesome that the 76-year-old right-winger was chomped by his own traumatized doggy, but… awesome that journalists (and blogalists… I just made that up) are finding creative, alliterative inspiration (even though a spokesperson for Sumo Chirac has yet to confirm the brand or dosage of the medication).
Who wants to bet that SC simply got angry at JC for falsely diagnosing him as a sufferer of doggy depression? and for taking him to a doggy whisperer who ended up putting him on sucky medication that probably gave him insomnia? SC’s just sticking up for himself. I don’t blame him.
In any case, here are some pictures of the former président and his tortured little Maltese (*cue Babs and “The Way We Were”):
Meanwhile, current French president Nicolas Sarkozy might be feeling a little left out (especially since he’s trailing Chirac in popularity polls, too). So, in case you want to “maul” Sarko to make him feel more included, here you go:
(Images above found HERE and HERE. *Note: Sarko attempted to ban the sale of the voodoo doll… but he lost.)
In which I kind of ramble and blame it on insomnia
ave any of you seen Revolutionary Road yet? I saw it last night and, I must say, it was absolutely everything I had anticipated it would be –the rather excruciating level of sadness that was evoked (which I sickly thrive on), but particularly the brilliance of Kate Winslet, who can pretty much do no wrong in my eyes. Watching this film, watching her character’s downward spiral (don’t worry, I’m not giving anything away), I couldn’t help but see Sylvia Plath… over and over… and over. Which then made me think of the 2003 movie Sylvia, which was disappointingly painful, primarily due to Gwyneth’s flimsy portrayal of Plath. I kept wanting to knock her off her bicycle, and was pretty sure I could, right through the screen. It infuriated me. Why couldn’t Kate Winslet have played Sylvia? Probably because the script was less than stellar, too. But still… Kate would have been a brilliant Sylvia.
Anyway…
Michael Shannon rules.
Revolutionary Road was certainly not without its faults, but I could easily overlook those flaws when considering the insanely beautiful acting (two words: Michael freakin’ Shannon. I’m a believer.) and the unique emphasis on the links between communication, emotion, and the limits of sanity. I still have some issues with Leonardo Dicaprio, though. I’m not even sure I can articulate what those issues are, because I do generally think he does really great work and has chosen impressively interesting and complex roles. But… I don’t know… sometimes he still just makes me cringe. And he finally is starting to look his age, which was reassuring (I was worried Kate would outperform him — she’s a presence to be reckoned with, and sometimes Leo’s baby face proves a bit difficult to be taken seriously.). Close up, Leo looked every wrinkle of his thirty odd years. But still, from a distance, he maintained the posture, build, and swagger of a tween, and I couldn’t help but constantly see the foul-mouthed, boy genius Rimbaud.
So, the film set my mind reeling. In both positive and negative ways. The film was not the only reason for my insomnia last night, but it didn’t ease the pain. Especially the fact that Vinnie from my much beloved Doogie Howser, M.D., played a colleague of Leo’s, which only resuscitated my love for all things Doogie and my old-school yearning to be the keyboard that his fingers so intimately graced on a nightly basis.
OK, I’m totally exaggerating my Doogie fascination, but for real, how am I supposed to take Leo seriously when Vinnie Delpino’s boozing it up at the other side of the table? I half expected Wanda to come strutting up as a slutty waitress or something.
Anyway, I was up all night. Literally, not a wink of sleep. So, to pass my time, I decided to filter through job listings for potential full-time teaching positions next year (next academic year, that is, starting August or September 2009. In case you don’t know, when you’re an academic, you define time by semesters and breaks and academic years. December 31st may technically be New Year’s Eve, but for us academics, the new year generally begins in September and ends in May.).
So, those of you who have been reading me for a while know that this year has marked my first time teaching a (primarily freshmen first-year-student) Writing Seminar at my university (I’d spent the last seven years teaching various levels of undergraduate French language/composition/literature). It’s been an adjustment, to say the least… but a lovely, inspiring adjustment that has proven challenging in the best of ways. 
I’ve really loved it. So, I applied for a renewal of my Writing Fellowship (what’s allowing/paying me to teach the seminar) for next year since my French Teaching Fellowship expired as of last May. Why did it expire as of last May, you ask? Oh, because I’m having a bit of a rough time completing my dissertation, have I not mentioned that? Yeah. You could say I’m a little behind. But, as long as I can find funding, I’m OK (and by “OK,” I mean “receiving some type of income to support me while I struggle through the Big D”). And, from the outset, the Writing Program People (you down with WPP? - yeah, you know me!) made it sound kind of like a no-brainer: as long as you weren’t a total delinquent instructor with evaluations that related you to Bernie Madoff or something, all indicators pointed to a pretty seamless transition from first-year Graduate Writing Fellow to second-year Graduate Writing Fellow.
It seemed like a no-brainer, that is, until the WP Director sent all applicants an e-mail stating that the “selection process” would take longer than expected due to a variety of criteria that the selection committee was considering. Umm… sh*t? So now I’m scared cr@pless that I’ll have zero income secured for next year and I’m going to have to sell everything I own — which, granted, isn’t that much, but still, it’s MINE — and go live on the streets or on the beach or in the basement of the Harvard Library or something (notice I didn’t say “live with a family member — that’s just too scary). So… that’s why I started applying for jobs in my insomniac state last night/this morning. I applied to four, all of which were full-time faculty positions (mostly non-tenure track, which is OK by me) for English Writing/Literature instructors. This is interesting to me for a variety of reasons… not the least of which is: umm, I’m getting my Ph.D. in French Literature. But… I’ve always done the comparative thing… and this year has taught me that teaching French in English translation can be very satisfying as well (except poetry… too much lost in translation for the majority of verse I’ve come across). So… anyway.
A pair of insanely cute Robeez baby booties
The disastrous state of my financial affairs (no thanks to my stupid-head health insurance company mentioned in my previous pog) sort of begs me to say “screw you 2009/2010 Writing Fellowship,” and then miraculously receive some fabulous income doing some fabulous teaching of some fabulous subject with fabulous colleagues at a fabulous university (preferably on the sea or in the mountains, but I’m not picky), and life would be fabulous and I could finally get a doggy and pay off bills and actually be able to afford to get car washes and buy meat and buy my new baby niece and nephew Robeez and stuff. Wouldn’t that be fun?
It would be fun. But only if someone actually thinks that one year of experience teaching Writing/Reading/Composition/Literature in English qualifies me for a faculty position. But I can teach French, too! I’m a double threat, people! COME ON, SMALL LIBERAL ARTS COLLEGES!!!!! WORK WITH ME HERE!!!!!!!!!!
Ugh.
Anyway. Wish me luck that I have some type of income next year, please.
Though I suppose living on a beach somewhere couldn’t be all bad. I mean, hey, if you’re gonna be an impoverished, homeless, pseudo-intellectual, at least be a tan impoverished, homeless, pseudo-intellectual, right?
(***Academia-related images borrowed from the always entertaining PhDcomics.com***)
2 comments