December 02, 2003
Ethan's Box: Oh, the Archives
I rediscovered the little movie I made of Ethan rolling around in the box when we moved this summer. My favorite part is when he shoots back into the box like a bullet at the end of the clip.
Cracks me up.
Referral List for December (so far)
Yeah, I'm bored.
- kobe bryant rape case you want articles on rape? here you go.
- abortion facts [1 2 3 4]
- dialectic journal
- why do people change their bodies? we're taught to fear our bodies.
- hate paris hilton
- i hate paris hilton you, too? see the link above.
- kobe bryant rape this is bordering on obsession
- ass blundering is that like ass plundering? anyway, it turns up here in a place I really didn't expect it.
- spelling lessons
- thinking too much you would be looking for that here
- whiteness
- advertising dehumanizing gender stereotype
- air force academy sex nude not touching these.
- air force rape
- air force rape reasons
- airbrushed fashion model example [1 2]
Hopefully that will satisfy a few of you.
Writing, Writing, Writing
I could kill my profs right about now. All you academics out there should keep me in mind as you assign gigantor assignments directly at the end of the semester.
Your students HATE you.
If you're comfortable with that, great. We still hate you.
While I hate my professors right now, I'm having a marginally fun time writing this paper on moral education (not an excuse for the assignments, god damn it). The information is incredibly interesting, but I'm having difficulty arranging it all in a coherent pattern despite my pre-writing and outlining techniques. I haven't taken a history class in years and tend to the more sociological perspective instead of that of a historian.
An excerpt from the introduction:
At America’s earliest inception of schools, schools were locally organized and reflected the generally homogenous community that created them. The earliest schools were low conflict institutions regarding religion and morality because they were reflections of the surrounding community and its corresponding moral and religious ideals. This first public school experiment was of a virtue-centered code with instructional focus on memorization, recitation, and religion. However, as the country grew more urbanized and modernized with an influx of immigrant populations and the end of the Civil War, a second transition occurred in an attempt to promote a national culture and morality code to reintegrate and Americanize outsiders such as embittered Southerners, freedmen, and the growing immigrant population. While the second transition was intended to promote a more inclusive morality, the “pan-Protestant” moral, Biblical bent on school curriculum alienated many that it attempted to include.
Is it just me, or is that incredibly dense?
My First Knitting Project
I haven't had so much time to work on my first project thanks to the enormous amount of writing required of me at the end of the semester, but I've been getting a few slow rows in a day.
I still can't purl yet, or do anything other than a straight knit and bind-off, but I designed my own project to avoid doing a predictable scarf for my first pseudo-project.
[Sidenote: I once knew a guy who insisted that the correct pronunciation of "pseudo" was something like "sado" as in "sado-masochism" and I still can't think up that word without hearing him say it. (Insert deity here), it's horrifying.]
The project consists of one long rectangle (30 casts wide) and a really long strip about 12 stitches wide. Folding everything in the way I've conjured up and attaching the strip to serve as both sides and strap, I hope to have something resembling a shoulder bag in a week or so. After some machine-felting, I hope everything turns out well considering how much money I've spent on yarn lately.
After Christmas, where I expect to get a nice, big gift certificate to my fav bookstore from my unimaginative sister (to be fair, I don't really have a list) I expect to pick up Stitch n Bitch, the knitting book by Debbie Stoller of Bust magazine. Apparently it has a bunch of silly patterns with things as easy and arbitrary as punk rock wristbands. This might give me an excuse to get the vintage pinup buttons or Vegas-styled appliques that I've been lusting over at Repro Depot Fabrics for over two years now. When I first decided to get crafty, I ordered a ton of felt fabrics from them and reupholstered my hand-me-down computer chair with pink bowling felt and "sewed" (it's really quite sad-looking) a bunch of funky pillows for Ethan to throw around and lay on in his room. They're adorable!
Knitting is incredibly relaxing, but without something or someone to properly teach me, I don't see myself learning more complicated stitches and patterns. I've only been at this for two weeks, but I still don't understand what anyone is talking about in their patterns. I look at the picture included with the pattern and think, I can do that or No way in hell.
Next potential project? the Rockstar Scarf. Anne said she wants a scarf since she gave me a bunch of her unused knitting stuff and I've intended to make her something over break, but I have a feeling that if I make this it's staying around my neck.
December 01, 2003
The Most God Damn Depressing Song Ever Written
B² believes that Elvis Costello's I Want You is "the most depressing god damn song ever written."
It's a pretty god damn depressing song, but I want to challenge this assertion.
The Most God Damn Depressing Song Ever Written Contest:
- Search your illegal mp3 list.
- Find the most goddamn depressing song ever written.
- Stop crying. Put the knife down. S/he wasn't good enough for you anyway.
- Upload the song to your webpage for download. You may use the MGDDSEW picture for your link or create your own. It must be heart-wrenchingly down-and-god-damn-dirty depressing.
- State your case. Declare that you have the most depressing god damn song ever written.
- Bask in your glory before total, irreversible, institutional breakdown.
Right Click and Save Target
Erykah Badu is straight funky, but when she's down, she's down.
This song is written in three movements. In the first movement, she declares that she isn't jealous of her man's new friend. But she is lying. In the second movement, my favorite, she admits her love and jealousy about her ex's new love. The third movement is when she begs for her old love to come back to her, and it seems to no avail.
Badu is at her best here - conveying a profound sense of loss, fighting with her pride to let go and not wonder what it is that makes the new girl so attractive to her man. While there is a sense of hope and recovery, there remains an emotional void in her voice.
I love you, Elvis Costello, but this is absolutely the most god damn depressing song ever.
Runners up:
- Beatles - While My Guitar Gently Weeps
- Elliott Smith - Angeles or Everything Means Nothing to Me [the dude stabbed himself in the chest earlier this year - he probably deserves the recognition]
- Jeff Buckley - Corpus Christi Carol
- Nick Drake - River Man or Parasite [another suicide, but less grisly]
- Cat Power - Baby Doll
- And the near winner, Britney Spears - I Love Rock n Roll [for the disgust and nausea she induces in me while perverting the eminent glory that is Joan Jett - if you want a Joan Jett sound-alike band, this is how it's done god damn it]
MT Irks Me, And So Does the Flu
I just discovered that my MT Comments Auto-Notification is sending some of the comments you make through the spam filter and coming up bad. Other make it through fine.
This makes me wonder how many responses people have sent MY comments that I've deleted when I delete the bulk mail. What a bitch.
In other news, I just figured out that I have an enormous project due tomorrow that I haven't started yet thanks to the afore-mentioned research paper.
Get your freakin' flu shots people. Losing a week directly before finals is not my idea of a good time. Nope, not having a good time. Not at all. Nope. Nope. And now to send humble and apologetic emails to the professors.
November 30, 2003
General Weirdness: When the Past Comes Back Biting
I'm being contacted by a voice from the past, an ex-boyfriend that called my house twice last night, four times this morning, and four times at my parents in the wee hours. Mom told him that he had the wrong number.
It's strange that I get phone calls at all. Something was weird when I had messages on my answering machine last night. Those who want to find me know to call my cell phone - if I am home the dial-up consumes the phone line. This is an arrangement I am comfortable with - if I don't recognize your number, I won't be answering anyway.
I played the messages again and again. It sounded like a teenage boy on the other line - false bravado, feigned disinterest. But people who aren't interested in you don't call a dozen times late at night at two addresses just because they are bored.
This is one voice I don't want to hear, a voice from a traumatic past that is better off unheard. I ignored the phone this morning, turning back over to sleep in, nuzzling deeper into the pillow.
But last night, looking up the phone number and realizing who the voice on my answering machine blonged to, I was in a full state of panic. What if he continued to contact me? Found my address and came to my door? Could I turn him away? Call the police? Be cold enough to warrant another five years of silence?
I can now. I couldn't when we were together, the main reason for the trauma. I was afraid to be mean, to be seen as mean, to be unfriendly.
I've changed over time. I've learned how to advocate for myself. Set boundaries, be unfriendly when warranted. I'm not who I once was. This brings a bit of disappointment - I want him to know how much I've grown, want to rub it in his face, tell him what an idiot he is. It's the thing with exes, you want them to know how much better you are without them, since them, in lieu of their stupidity. But I'm not ruthless, I've decided not to care.
He contacted me several Easter Sundays ago. I met up with him over coffee, tried to make small talk. At one point during the conversation, I had an epiphany. This guy is straight stupid. And all this time I thought he was pretending.
I never claimed to be smart with relationships.
But at that point I told him thanks, but no thanks. It's been nice talking with you but I would prefer that you not contact me again. He was appalled, but reticent. He tried to hide how disappointed he was that I didn't fall all over myself in gratefulness that he would bless me to speak to me. I was way over him, way over the shit we went through together, moving on. Just moving on. Keepin' on truckin'. He kept talking about my hair. Was surprised that I wasn't "fat anymore. How did you lose all that weight?"
Fade away, little man. We're not interested.
Before I go to bed tonight, I'll figure out how to block that number. In the meantime, the computer stays online. I'm hogging bandwidth for a reason. I'm blocking out voices from a past looking for a me that is no longer.
Remember that poem? Let's revise.
I am sick
of caring.
So fuck off.
Naps: The Best Way to Screw Up Your Day
Ethan is finally home after spending Thanksgiving week with his dad. He's spoiled rotten - being a sick kid with a ton of loving adults around willing to do anything for you will spoil a child. I feel like a broken record: Use your manners. Remember your manners. Are you using your manners? No? Well, you'd better start.
Tonight after dinner we lay down for a bit of pre-nite-nite lovin'. Ethan has this habit of playing with my hair while we rest together. It's my sedative - play with my hair and I'll be dozing within a few minutes. Sometime between the moment that he told me again that he "loves my yellow hair" and the Discovery Channel insisted that a mega-tsunami was going to knock out the entire east coast of the United States, we promptly fell asleep.
I was intending to use this time to knock out some more of my paper on moral education but I don't think it's going to happen. My head is too foggy.
All the oatmeal cream pies don't help either. Not exactly brain food.
And the final deterrent: I'm a cross-legged sitter. With the enormous swelling from the sprained ankle, complete with purple bruise running down the side of my foot, I can't sit comfortably in the computer chair or anywhere else. And you can't write if you aren't comfortable.
A million excuses, sure, but I'm tired and grumpy. This is why I don't nap. It screws up my entire day.
November 29, 2003
Name the Spider; I'm in a Writing Slump
I've noticed that I'm away from political and social posts, posts that I generally enjoy writing, because I'm having a hard time staying engaged with the news.
Talking with my sister this weekend, I realized (it seems so obvious) that I'm generally an angry person, an angrily impassioned writer, whose style leans more toward the imbittered rants that I deride so often in private. I don't have a great sense of humor, so I don't write in ways that suggest these issues roll off my back - probably because they don't.
A few years ago, I wrote a poem:
Of caring,
So fuck you.
And that's how I feel right about now. You can generally predict my feelings toward thinking and writing when I resort to posting ten-second poems.
Short of taking a hiatus, expect me to be absent from politics and news. Instead I'll divulge you with navel-gazing and half-wit observations about my daily life. Hope you don't leave me in the meantime.
Here is the first declared half-wit observation in a string of many:
I have a spider-buddy that hangs out on the wall behind my computer. S/he keeps rebuilding a web in vain - there are no bugs in the basement.
Good luck, little dude, just stay away from the keyboard. And the phone. And my CDs and coffee and bulletain board. And away from me. Follow the rules and I'll let you live.
NAME THE SPIDER! Give him/her a good name and I'll do something nice for you. I don't know what yet, but it will be good.
In the meantime, the spider just rappelled down the wall. S/he is out of sight and that makes me a bit nervous. Considering the X-treme! nature of spider-dom, you have to kind of respect the little guys.
Song of the Week
I need to remind everyone how cool and funky Al Green actually is. He's cool and funky. Remember that.
Love and Happiness never sounded so good.
Enjoy.
P.S. By the way, how many of you actually listen to the music I post here? Is this a feature I should continue or offer only occasionally? Dial-up users, does this affect how often you read my blog?
