Letter to a slightly annoying first paper…
ear Paper 1 Draft 1:
I had such high hopes for you, I really did. But grading so many of you really deflates me. And makes me want to eat Kit Kats.
Sincerely,
That graduate student/professor person in the fetal position on the sofa.
P.S.) But you really do have great ideas. If you could only present them well, you know?
It takes a lot of ink to make sense of Sarah Palin.
nce again, Twitter (@littlebrownpen, in particular) bestowed a jewel upon me: the literary editors of Vanity Fair took Sarah Palin’s syntax and, yes, even her knowledge of the U.S. presidents, to task.
And I love every ink marking of it.
From VanityFair.com:
Palin’s Resignation: The Edited Version
If you watched Sarah Palin’s resignation speech, you know one thing: her high-priced speechwriters moved back to the Beltway long ago. Just how poorly constructed was the governor’s holiday-weekend address? We asked V.F.’s red-pencil-wielding executive literary editor,
, together with representatives from the
and
departments, to whip it into publishable shape. Here is the colorful result.
WEB EXCLUSIVE July 20, 2009
Click HERE to view the remaining pages. They’re TOTALLY worth it, I swear.
Writer’s Block.
oday, I opened the mailbox and a little postcard came fluttering out. I bent over to pick it up and caught sight of the large bold letters creepily staring back at me:
STRUGGLING TO COMPLETE YOUR DISSERTATION?
My Pavlovian response to this question was, of course, to scream out “DUH!” and then immediately turn around to see if anyone caught me talking to a postcard/myself. Coast was clear. I proceeded inside my apartment, stripped myself of wool coat, overly stuffed teacher bag, and scuffed Danskos, and then I plopped on my couch and read the fine print of the creepy postcard that somehow predicted my internal disserterror:
Need practical, concrete & specific tips and techniques, along with creative, outside-the-box solutions that will help you finish your dissertation and maintain your sanity and self-esteem in graduate school?
The heavy use of coordinating conjunctions and odd choice of a random ampersand notwithstanding (why a bajillion “and”s but only one ampersand?! WTF?), I still felt as though Big Academic Brother had been peeking through my windows and decided that now was the perfect time to mock me via the US postal service.
So I immediately closed my drapes.
And then I turned the postcard over. And that’s when I discovered that there is apparently something called a “Dissertation Toolkit” that has been available to me this whole time, without my knowledge, thanks to the altruistic and not-at-all-capitalistic motives of Gina Hiatt, PhD. On the back of the postcard, Doc Gina lays out 10 bullet points that describe the “tools” she will generously make available to struggling dissertators (after having proceeded through website-led goose chase). Two “tools” with which I take issue, and which I reproduce verbatim here:
* How Academia Messes with your Mind (and what to do about it)
* Self Assessment: “Do You Deserve a Ph.D.?” Find out if you have Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome!
Gina Hiatt, Ph.D. (Clinical psychologist and gatekeeper of the tools)
OK, first of all, tool #1. If I have reached dissertator status, clearly I am already planted rather deeply in the academic soil. Therefore, I probably have already been “messed with” rather extensively, and I’ve probably played several rounds of trial-and-error with potentially (in)effective actions and reactions (or, more probably, I’ve chosen avoidance as my non-solution of choice). That being said, if I haven’t already been academically jaded, and if I did happen upon your questionable little “toolkit” only to find that I have been even more of a naïve moron than I had previously thought, well… I’d probably want to launch my Oxford French Unabridged (very blunt object) dictionary at my adviser’s very disheveled, Balzac-obsessed head. (notice I said that I’d “want to launch” the dictionary, not that I would launch the dictionary. I am as non-violent and non-confrontational as they come. See above comment re: avoidance.) Why would I want to read all about how my chosen career path is “messing with” me before I’ve even been legitimately accepted into that career path?! If I’m being messed with, I know it. So shut up, Doctor Gina.
Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to expand your “toolkit” to contain a guide that explains proper capitalization for document titles. Seriously.
Next, tool #2: the “Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome”?!? Do I “deserve” my Ph.D.?!? My initial, very academic, doctoral response to this “tool” is an intensely guttural F*CK YOU. (what were you saying about people messing with me?) But, beyond the expletive, I guess I’d just like to state that, seriously, if ANYONE proves masochistic enough to put themselves through years and years of self-doubt, constant scrutiny and judgment from those who will decide your fate at the eventual defense, fatally dwindling self-confidence, loss of nights and weekends that do not involve reading/grading/writing/planning, living off of pizza and caffeine, massive guilt complex if we choose to read any non-dissertation-related material (“pleasure” reading? what’s that?), draining of all self-worth and self-esteem and self-assurance and SELF, development of multiple personalities that alternate between student/teacher/child/adult/inadequate/in control/powerless/powerful, etc.etc…. TRUST ME: THAT PERSON DESERVES IT. And if ANYONE, let alone some pseudo-doctor equipped with a so-called dissertation tool belt, tries to tell a dissertator that s/he doesn’t deserve the Ph.D. for which s/he has sacrificed all of the above? Well, once again: F*CK YOU.
And, newsflash: we ALL feel like impostors. We’ve felt like impostors and like we’ve been “playing school” from day one. A much more appropriate “tool” would be one that explains why we ARE deserving and why we are NOT frauds. Where’s THAT tool, huh?
Which brings me back to: F*CK YOU.
P.S.) Curiosity got the better of me and led me to Doc Gina’s website: www.TheDissertationToolkit.com. My first attempt, I got an error. Which then led me to believe my computer got a virus. And then I got scared. But then I tried again (see above re: masochism), and it connected. There are several PDFs (free access, go figure). I will spend time checking out the “Ph.D. Impostor” PDF and let you know what I find. I looked at it briefly, and it appears as though there is some type of suspiciously crafted Impostor Test. If I fail, sh*t will hit the proverbial fan. In any case, Doc Gina has also created the Academic Ladder Writing Club to foster a community among dissertators and relay methods to motivate and enhance dissertation writing. Does her altruism know no bounds? The Writing Club and all of Doc Gina’s dissertating tools are available to all… for either $70, $230, or $610, depending on your commitment. And if you’re deserving.
P.S.S.) If, by some chance, one of you readers has joined the Academic Ladder Writing Club, I would LOVE to hear your insights and how it’s helping you. Please comment or e-mail me!
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.
In which I dissect Beyoncé/Sasha Fierce’s hypothetical boyish existence. And find that it generally sucks.
t’s 10pm on a Saturday night.
I could be out with friends or something, but… why would I do a thing like that when I have pajamas and Swiss Miss With Mini-Marshmallows and internet and down slippers and crap TV?!?
Also, I’m somewhat anti-social.
Anyway, my mind has been reeling all day, and if I don’t do something to channel the energy, then bad things could occur. We do not want bad things to occur, right? Right.
So, instead, I’d like to talk about the bootylicious anomaly that is: Beyoncé Knowles. Or Sasha Fierce. Or Ms. (Jay-)Z. Or whatever the H her name is today. More specifically, I’d like to talk about her craptastic song, “If I Were a Boy.”
Despite the grammatically correct usage of the past subjunctive “were” in the title, I take major freakin’ issues with the lyrics of this song, most of which indicate that Ms. Fierce probably has a little more penis envy than she should really admit to her fans. I don’t think they’re ready for this (jelly). I mean, first she’s all bootylicious and shakin’ her T & A like it’s her job (which, OK, I guess it kind of is), and now suddenly she’s all, “If I had a pecker…”?! I’m all for exploring one’s gender identity and rejecting society’s generalized restrictions on gender performance, but… there’s a reason why “Celebrity World” (CW, not to be confused with The CW of Gossip Girl and ANTM fame) focuses so heavily on packaging and branding… Case in point: Britney. Britney shaves her head and she’s instantly deemed psychotic. OK, that’s not the sole reason for the psychosis diagnosis, but… it contributed. The viewing/listening public just can’t handle that sh*t. Sudden celebrity changes are the equivalent of being blindsided by a Sarah Palin VP nomination. A rapid downward spiral ensues, head-scratching-to-the-point-of-baldness occurs, and feelings of betrayal abound. Beyoncé, stop confusing your fans. You once demanded: “Say My Name (b*tch)!” But now, with your split-personalities, how the F is anyone supposed to know what name to say (b*tch)? If you’re going to market yourself as an @ss-shakin’ “Survivor” and “Independent Woman,” cool. But then don’t go daydreaming about boozing with the dudes and cruising chicks.
I just copied/pasted the lyrics to “If I Were a Boy” from a site that referred to the song as “Beyoncé’s new hard-hitting ballad.” Umm… “hard-hitting”? Like, when I hit my head hard against the wall in an attempt to knock the Fierce right out of it? Apparently, in a statement to reporters, B.S.-Fierce (sort of) explained: “Sasha Fierce is the fun, more sensual, more aggressive, more outspoken side and more glamorous side that comes out when I’m working and when I’m on the stage.” Hmm. Curious. Especially when considering the so very non-fun, non-sensual, non-aggressive nature of this lame-@ss song.
Anyway, here are the mind-numbing lyrics. Reader beware.
BEYONCE – “IF I WERE A BOY” LYRICS
If I were a boy
Even just for a day
I’d roll outta bed in the morning
And throw on what I wanted then go
Drink beer with the guys
And chase after girls
I’d kick it with who I wanted
And I’d never get confronted for it.
Cause they’d stick up for me.[Chorus]
If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl
I swear I’d be a better man.
I’d listen to her
Cause I know how it hurts
When you lose the one you wanted
Cause he’s taken you for granted
And everything you had got destroyedIf I were a boy
I could turn off my phone
Tell evveryone it’s broken
So they’d think that I was sleepin’ alone
I’d put myself first
And make the rules as I go
Cause I know that she’d be faithful
Waitin’ for me to come home (to come home)(Chorus)
It’s a little too late for you to come back
Say its just a mistake
Think I’d forgive you like that
If you thought I would wait for you
You thought wrong(Chorus)
But you’re just a boy
You don’t understand
Yeah you don’t understand
How it feels to love a girl someday
You wish you were a better man
You don’t listen to her
You don’t care how it hurts
Until you lose the one you wanted
Cause you’ve taken her for granted
And everything you have got destroyed
But you’re just a boy
So, OK, there’s this whole starter stanza that has a condescending tone toward Ms. Fierce-if-you’re-nasty’s definition of guys, which involves wearing what they want and having fun with other dudes who stick up for them when friendship duty calls and horrible stuff like that. Because girls totally can’t wear what they want and girlfriends suck and are not to be trusted and stuff. Clearly.
Then she oddly switches from the “dude friend stanza” to the Chorus, which hypothesizes how holier-than-thou Beyoncé would act if she were her own dude: she’d listen, she’d know “how it feels to love a girl” (homoerotic?), she’d “be a better man,” and it would totally be as good as it gets. She would basically complete herself.
But then s/he oddly non-transitions into the next stanza, which returns to the condescending tone and talks about the horrors of putting oneself first and making up the rules as one goes. Now, OK, relationships involve more than one person (well… not always, but…mostly) and there should be a good balance struck between the partners involved and mutual consideration and give and take and yada yada yada. I get it. But… since when did putting oneself first get such a bad rap, huh? I mean… d@mn. I think we could all use a little more of putting ourselves first, in my own humble opinion. Any time I’ve truly felt effed-up in my life, it’s because I got sidetracked from myself as a result of focusing my attentions too much on someone else and putting THAT person first. How can you be good with someone else if you’re not good with yourself? (and then, I inevitably wonder: “What if I’m NEVER ‘good with myself’? Answer: a life of solitude.”) So, again, as in Sasha’s first stanza of the song, s/he’s presuming that guys have it “better” than women in some fictitious way, when in reality, women *do* have those same choices Sasha F’ed-in-the-head mentions: we can wear what we want, we can stick up for one another, we can put ourselves first, and we can make up the rules as we go. And choosing to do those things would not be bad or shameful. Don’t we all make up the rules as we go along and feel things out? I mean, sh*t Beyoncé. Furthermore, what’s all that cr@p about the phone? You could turn it off as a guy, but not as a girl? What the F is happening here?!?
And then s/he non-transitions again and mentions how p*ssed s/he is because her dude ditched her and you better freakin’ believe she ain’t sittin’ ’round waitin’ for him to come back. I mean, she’s writing a song all about him and imagining how she’d act if she were him, but… she’s, like, totally over it. Because…
… he’s “just a boy”… and he doesn’t understand… how to love the multi-faceted Beyoncé Fierce Z Knowles. But… she says that he’s “just a boy” like it’s a bad thing, yet, she spent the entire song thinking about how she’d act if she “were a boy” — not if she were a man — so… what the freakin’ freak?!
This song sucks. It’s confusing in a non-sensical kind of effed-up, poorly written way.
And the only reason I even care enough to pog about it is because I’ve just recently started listening to non-NPR radio again (after, like, a 6-month-or-more hiatus), and the local pop station I sometimes switch on only seems to have about 8 songs on rotation (Britney’s “Womanizer” and “Circus,” Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance,” Taylor Swift’s gag-inducing “Love Story,” T.I./Rihanna’s totally rad “Live Your Life,” The Veronica’s “Untouched,” Katy Perry’s “Hot ‘n Cold,” and then Beyoncé’s piece of S). Apparently, this station is manophobic.
Anyway, so I hear “If I Were a Boy” every 8 songs, and the craptastic lyrics are enough to make me gnaw my freaking steering wheel.
I’ll save my commentary on Taylor Swift’s “I’m a princess who needs to be saved” lyrics for some other whiny post about sucky pop lyrics from women for women that seem to perpetuate the idea that women shouldn’t put themselves first and do what they want and adjust their lives accordingly, rather than sit around conforming to mainstream notions of gender appropriateness while waiting to be “saved” by a guy (whether they deny that’s what they’re doing or not).
Whew.
Breathe…
Kay. Better.
Night.
592.5-and-a-third bajillion ways to ensure blog traffic jams at intersections of boob flashing and Oprah appearances. Also: make money!
1) Spotted: doggies taking dumps on lawns that are not theirs. Owners looking at their cellphones, pretending not to notice.
Discuss.
17.4) Why, when we want to stand up for something, do we stage sit-ins?
Discuss.
648 ÷ 3) If “Joe the Plumber” had plumber’s butt (which, let’s face it, he does. ALL plumbers do. It’s like a pre-requisite), then would McPalin call him “Joe the Plumber’s Butt”? Because that would create grammatical confusion, causing the listening public to think that McPalin were talking specifically about “Joe the Plumber”’s posterior… rather than generally about “Joe the Plumber,” who just so happens to suffer from plumber’s butt. See what I’m sayin’? And I know that Palin isn’t exactly a fan of grammar (not ENGLISH grammar anyway, as far as I can tell), but I still can’t help but wonder if maybe they’d change the reference to “Joe Plumber-Butt.”
Discuss.
578 + ∏) Chew on this: In his Intimate Journals, the nineteenth-century French poet Charles Baudelaire (arguably the first “modern poet” of our time) questioned: “What is Love?” Clearly not a fan of rhetorical questions, Baudelaire then supplied the answer, which he then amended with a thoughtful syllogism:
What is Love?
The need to emerge from oneself.
Man is an animal which adores.
To adore is to sacrifice and prostitute oneself.
Thus all Love is prostitution.
That’s right: we are all prostitutes. Which leads me to ask: WHERE THE HELL’S MY MONEY, B*TCH?!? But… I *am* a fan of rhetorical questions. So, let’s move on, shall we? (don’t answer that — it’s rhetorical)
Just in case you weren’t sufficiently shocked-and-awed by that little Love=Prostitution equation, my dear Baudie chose to go one step further by stating:
The most prostitute of all beings is the Supreme Being, God Himself, since for each man he is the friend above all others; since he is the common, inexhaustible found of Love.
Discuss.
Wait, before you discuss, please allow me to share that I freakin’ LOVE Baudelaire, and throwing a few uncontextualized lines at you essentially equates to a crime of poetics, but… hey, I’m already a prostitute and on the road to eternal hell-fire, so… I don’t give a sh*t.
OK. Now discuss.
∜177,410,282,401) If McPalin wins tomorrow, and if I decide to find a job in Canada and/or Europe (as a direct result of the McPalin win), would that make me a quitter/ex-patriot, or just really freakin’ smart?
(*Note: if you are questioning my smarts re: becoming an émigrée, I’d like to point very strongly — as strongly as a finger can point — to the movie Sicko, which basically proves that the American healthcare system blows chunks and rapes us any chance it gets. Meanwhile, Frenchies are getting free nannies and a bajillion months off from work and free laundry service and free classes for sophisticatedly tying scarves and free pastry-making workshops and… the list goes on. I mean, seriously, Michael Moore might as well have called the movie Why Americans Are F*cking R*tarded For Still Living in America. I say this with the utmost amount of love and respect for my country. Which George W. has f*cked.)
Discuss.
592.5-and-a-third bajillion) I know a guy whose favorite flavor Starburst Fruit Chew is pink. OK, wait, that’s a color, not a flavor. What flavor is pink in the original Starburst pack? Strawberry, right? And then the red Starburst is cherry? Which I don’t really get, because, I mean, if you compare strawberries and cherries, couldn’t you make the argument that sometimes strawberries are a darker shade of red than cherries? I mean, strawberries aren’t PINK, right? So why’d they get the shaft and have to have the sucky pink wrapper, huh? Though, I guess strawberry yogurt and strawberry ice cream are pink rather than red. Whatever. I just don’t like pink. It’s, like, my LEAST-favorite Starburst, actually. Also, I’ve never heard of ANYONE who privileged the pink Starburst. I’d say the most common preference is for Red/Cherry. And this general Red/Cherry predilection has suited me very well — particularly when snacking on the ‘Bursts at a movie theatre — because my personal favorites are Orange and Yellow, preferably together (oh yeah, I am WILD with the fruit chews, baby. STEP. OFF.).
Discuss.
And, oh yeah, this is another listless Monday. Anna, represent. Word.
Palin Poetics
ello, everyone. It’s been a week now since I’ve been blog-less. It was totally freakin’ rough. I’m not sure how I survived. In fact, I almost didn’t. Picture a very tiny, shredded thread, and some unmanicured fingernails clenched and hanging by it. Yeah, that was me. Or, I guess I should say “that was I.” Might as well be grammatically correct while professing my near-death experience.
In any event, now my unmanicured fingers are back on my iMac, typin’ to the oldies. Wellness is restored in my world.
So, of course, my first post back in “well world” is Palin-related. I’ve missed ripping on her too much. So I just have to. And then I’ll stray and post some other non-Palin stuff, I promise. But for now… let’s enjoy some Palin Poetics, shall we?
From the lovely Slate.com, a few of my favorite Palinisms, in verse:
1. “Befoulers of the Verbiage”
It was an unfair attack on the verbiage
That Senator McCain chose to use,
Because the fundamentals,
As he was having to explain afterwards,
He means our workforce.
He means the ingenuity of the American.
And of course that is strong,
And that is the foundation of our economy.
So that was an unfair attack there,
Again based on verbiage.
(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 18, 2008)
2. “On Good and Evil”
It is obvious to me
Who the good guys are in this one
And who the bad guys are.
The bad guys are the ones
Who say Israel is a stinking corpse,
And should be wiped off
The face of the earth.
That’s not a good guy.
(To K. Couric, CBS News, Sept. 25, 2008)
3. “Haiku”
These corporations.
Today it was AIG,
Important call, there.
(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 18, 2008)
4. “Small Mayors”
You know,
Small mayors,
Mayors of small towns—
Quote, unquote—
They’re on the front lines.
(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 19, 2008)
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