And Never the Twain Shall Meet

But they have!

Just an excited post to reiterate to or inform everyone that they have picked a new president for Harvard... and she's a woman... and a Mawrtyr! Class of '68. I'm soooooooooo thrilled and proud! Also, her name is Faust.

Check this out for more info: www.news.harvard.edu/gazette/2007/02.15/99-president.html

I can't wait to have the opportunity to annass her. How is that spelled?

Anyway... hooray!!

This Would Be Entirely Self-Pitying, Were it Not for the Matter of the Opera

Well, I forgot about this.

The part where Hell Week always has at least one day or evening or whatever that is, actually, hellish. I'm sure it's just superstition, but it did hold true for most years at Bryn Mawr. And then there was last night. Really, I don't know what was wrong with me last night... and isn't that the worst? Just this feeling of anxiety that has no clear root and doesn't seem to go anywhere no matter how many times you remind yourself that, in fact, there is no impending doom. Not a full-blown panic attack or anything, just this feeling where you can't sit still, but you can't quite start doing anything, because it's totally unclear what needs to be done, but totally clear that there are many important things that must happen, and probably should have started happening a long time ago.

Add to this that for some reason I was suddenly much less attractive yesterday than I had been in several days. I looked strange and full of bulges, and my face was abruptly much less pleasant to look at, and I noticed the slight differences in the way I walk. Isn't it odd how perception can change in a flash? I'd been very pleased with my appearance for several days preceeding yesterday.

Add to this that Cristina may or may not be coming tonight, and she's had a really hard week. So I really want to be present to her and help, but I'm afraid I'll stay in Weird Stressland, and there's this selfish part of me that is afraid now I won't get my own crap done, getting ready for Friday, etc. Even though in truth I want to be with her. Feelings are so damn complicated. And when we got home last night she had left this message telling me that she wasn't going to work tomorrow, but she might still want to come today, and she was crying the whole time... and I really wanted to call her back, but she'd said she was going to bed, so I didn't. I think one of the problems is that whenever I think about this whole situation and I can't be with her I feel anxious and agitated and helpless. I mean, that's inevitable. When I can be with her I feel much stronger, much more certain and open and clear. So, we'll see, but goddammit. I wish I could fix it. I really do.

Add to this that I got a thin little letter from Cornell saying that I was not accepted to their English department, but they're sure I'll have a fine career anyway. I really thought I'd get in there. I also thought I'd get in to Duke. I don't know why, but I was much more worried about getting in to other schools. So now, I have this horrible feeling that I did all my applications wrong in some indefinable way and I won't get in anywhere. My mom and Liz will be disappointed that I'm not coming back close to home, though maybe it's good. I guess I have to trust that it's good, and that I'll end up somewhere right for me, just like at Bryn Mawr. But ugh. I hate hearing no. I hate the slippery hold I sometimes have on confidence and faith.

Add to this that we're trying to clean the apartment by Friday, a task I really applaud and want to do, but which is sure to lead to at least a few bouts of paralysis. I get so... irrationally fearful of actually dealing with the messiness. As though somehow that will actually make it worse, or prove that it is impossible to fix. Not helped by the fact that putting liquid plumr (or however that odd thing is spelled) in my toliet made the contents of it it bubble, turn green, and come this close to overflowing all over my feet (which circumstance was staved off my frantic plunging) before just sitting there. That is really not what I was hoping for in my efforts to clear the clog. I mean, actually we got a lot done in the living room. By which I mean that Rachel got a lot done and I put some decorations away, but still. It's a great start. I just have trouble seeing it.

I think that's all there is to add at the moment, but this morning I was just... dreading everything, especially the part where I left the house and went to work. I stumbled down the stairs and had my first shock of pleasure when I saw that there was still a cluster of people at the bus stop-- I hadn't missed it! I hurried over to join them, and there he was. This middle aged black man, casually dressed in jeans and work boots and a sensible, dark, puffy winter coat, with a stubbly almost-beard, carrying one of those little tape recorders, the flat ones about the size of a hardcover book, playing opera. Beautiful opera music shared with everyone! Well, I'm sure everyone didn't love it, but I did. I loved this crazy image of all of us just standing around waiting for the bus while this music floated all around us. I loved the music. It made me smile, this sudden spontaneous smile, and he was smiling too... and well, here I am at work, and I don't really feel that much more together or confident or anything. But I am going to try to remember the opera...

Happy Valentine's Day to Me... and to You. :)

I think it started when I was walking home from the gym on Monday. It felt great to exercise, and I felt suddenly healthier and more capable in the world. Then, as I was walking home, I saw the most beautiful silver-white moon against a dark blue sky. And spindly trees stretching up to touch it. It felt wonderful. I was suddenly at peace, and happy to be by myself, experiencing this lovely night.

I had been feeling some trepidiation about Valentine's Day. I'd been in a generally gray mood lately, quick to self-pity and slow to relaxation. And the thing is, I've never, never been one to complain about Valentine's Day. I like it, and I'm always remembered, even if it's never been romantically meant. But this year... I was feeling complainy. Rachel has a girlfriend, and my other friends are occupied on Tuesday nights, or not at all in the area. I was getting antsy about the idea of being alone. Quite frankly, I thought maybe the day might suck, and I was rather displeased with myself for joining the ranks of the alone-on-Valentine's complainers. But, as it approached, I began to notice how much care I was getting from all different sources. Two adorable cards from my mom, a present from Jeff (her boyfriend), a really hilarious card from Bekah, a card from my aunt and uncle (who always remember me on Valentine's Day), the promise of mail from Katie (which has now come! a wonderful, thoughtful card), and really beautiful and tender cards from Rachel, too. I've never really done much for Valentine's Day in terms of gifts or cards for others, and it touched me that all these people would be so thoughtful and kind and loving to me.

So, on the lovely walk home on Monday, I decided I would take myself out for Valentine's Day, and buy myself a present. I was thinking about comfortable and sexy lingerie, as I have none. I thought maybe I would also take myself to dinner, and see if anything else appealed to me, like seeing a movie or some kind of event. I also had this sudden and striking thought, in the way that sometimes words just appear in your head... that I had no idea what my romantic life would hold. I had no idea who I would end up loving in that way... it could be a man, as I have mostly assumed and sought, but it could also be a woman, which seems oddly more possible (in terms of my own internal compass) now that I am not at Bryn Mawr... it could even, though it's hard for me to imagine, be more than one person... anything was possible. But whatever it will be, the fact that it hasn't started yet is not a judgement on me... it just means there's a surprise coming, and knowing now would ruin the surprise. I don't know where this idea came from, but it was very clear and it felt very good.

Then, Valentine's Day itself started out fine. Almost everyone in the office wore red or pink, which was very pleasing. And I got a valentine from Courtney, with whom I don't even interact that much. But the highlight of the work portion of my day came when we were supposed to have a staff meeting, and instead we had a nice lunch/Valentine's party, courtesy of DeVida. It was yummy and exciting.

Throughout the day, I browsed online for activities and events happening in the evening, and I found this thing called Night of a Thousand Plays. Basically, it was many many little tiny plays (though not actually 1,000) all performed one after the other, by different groups of actors. I was kind of intrigued, though I had no idea whether this format would actually work for me. But they had a half price Valentine's Day special, and I decided to print out the coupon and see if I felt like going when it came time. Meanwhile, I was talking online to this man who had messaged me while I was messing around on Okcupid, with whom I had hit it off decently in our brief conversation... and I mentioned the show, and he seemed interested. So I invited him. And he said yes. Boom, Valentine's Day date. :) I was so surprised! We decided to meet for dinner and he gave me his number and his name (Swami, short for something really really long and Indian).

The plan we made was that I would go to the theater after work and try to pick up the tickets. I did, but the box office was not yet open. So I called him and we set a time to meet for dinner. Of course, there wasn't time to go home and change. Happily, I was wearing a new red skirt and nice shirt, but less happily, I was wearing my very very beat up and scuffed snow boots. I haven't bought new ones yet because I can get spendthrifty about shoes and clothes and I figured, hey, they're still workable. Which they are. But last night, I was suddenly very self-conscious and worried about them. So I found a shoe store, and went in. The cheapest shoes I found in there were over $100, and most were $300 or $400. Um, no. I'm even used to more high end shoes, or so I thought, because my foot is sometimes hard to fit. But PLEASE. What could they possible have done to a few pieces of nice leather or whatever to make it worth $300? NOTHING, at least not from where I and my bank account stand. So I got out of there, beginning to despair of my shoe changing plan... when I turned a corner and saw an Aerosoles shoe store! I went in, and found lovely little red suede boots, with tassels, in my size, for $30. So I bought them. And some tan trouser socks. And popped over to the McDonald's bathroom to change them, stuffing my mismatched cotton socks and scuffed up boots into the Aerosoles bag. Feeling new and spiffy, I hurried out to meet Swami by 6:30.

When I arrived at the appointed corner, at first I saw only an old man. But then I caught sight of a young man on the opposite side of the road, surveying everyone who passed. We ascertained our mutual identities and he came over to my side of the street. To my delight, he was handsome! He had dark, full, wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long eyelashes. He gave me a hug hello, which was interesting to me, because I had been debating between a hug and a handshake. We headed down the street to a little Italian restaurant right across from the theater, and got seats even though we didn't have a reservation. It was a really pretty, cozy place, and all the waitstaff were very friendly.

We talked throughout the meal about various things. He's really smart. I mean, he's about to get his PhD from Penn in physics (he'll be done in December) and he's only 25. Apparently in India he just had this really driven life and had to go go go all the time... and now that he's here, he's sort of sick of science and he doesn't really want to keep on with it as a career. He's more interested in the artistic arena, apparently, and tried many things before he settled on this improvisational jazz thing that he does. He plays percussion. But it's funny how I could notice his scientific training coming through in his way of perceiving and noticing things. For example, there was a candle on our table, and we were watching the light come through the candleholder and splinter into little points on the tabletop. And suddenly he tells me that he did a project on why light does that in just that way. It was kind of fascinating. He also told me that he loved to play with fire as a child and he has little scars on his hands from it. Which sounds like he's way more edgy than he mostly seemed, and I'd almost forgotten that until I wrote it down here.

We also talked about adjusting to a new culture, and movies... he asked if I thought he should see Brokeback Mountain, and of course I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, and then that led to an interesting discussion of how he has trouble connecting emotionally to gay stories. He basically said that he can understand and accept it intellectually, but emotionally he hasn't made that connection. So... I tried to indicate how connected I am to such matters without exactly saying "some of my best friends are gay." Though that's basically what I said, because even though it sounds silly, it's absolutely true. And he hastily assured me that he lived in an "artists' house" and that most of the time when they had parties there were gay people making out all over the place... though it didn't seem he was entirely comfortable with this. Yet, he could hardly be entirely uncomfortable or he wouldn't have brought up Brokeback Mountain, I suppose. Anyway, we had a pretty lively talk about the movie, and how I really thought he should see it because I think it's ideal for making exactly that emotional connection. He expressed some skepticism about "Oscar movies" in general, which I found a bit pretentious, but you can't win 'em all, right? This discussion led me to ask about cultural differences in this area of thought between India and the US, and he said that, because men and women were mostly kept apart until marriage, the bonds between male friends there are much more at the level of intimacy that is expected between female friends here. I think this is really interesting, though it makes me wonder if he had much contact with women his own age before coming here.

We also talked quite a bit about the intellect, and what kind of importance it has to us, or has had in the past... he said that for his whole life he has been so focused on the intellect as the paramount thing, but now he realizes that it is not the most important thing, and he really wants to branch out and explore other parts of himself. It's funny, because he's obviously excellent in an academic environment, but I got this strong sense of him being, more than anything, sick of it. I told him about my decision to take time off after Bryn Mawr. I think, in a lot of ways, he's in a similar mental place now as I was then, even though he's light years ahead in terms of the schooling he has finished. Although from how he speaks, his work in physics is never going to be his life commitment, or even his job beyond a few money making years. He said something about wanting to work for a few years and save up money to do something else, like open a restaurant. That surprised me, since he also said he didn't like/know how to cook. So I don't know what's up with that. Really, it seemed like his real love was this percussion/improvisation/free jazz thing. I find this kind of fascinating, because I can see that trait in him (starting with the fact that he was often drumming with his fingers and working out a rhythm in pauses in conversation, especially in the theater and once we were out of the restaurant). According to him, he just decided that science was not his thing (which continues to astonish me, given how far he's going with it), and that he wished to engage artisticially. He then tried writing and painting, among other things, and finally hit on his affinity for music. Maybe this is baffling to me because I had my strongest affinities from a very young age... the first thing I was going to be was an actress who writes her own plays. And, the way Swami tells it, he was all science science science, and then one day decided art was it for him, instead. It's a very different sort of experience.

He asked me lots of questions, but I think I did the same. There were a few awkward pauses, but less than you might expect for two total strangers. Overall, I really enjoyed it. He was an interesting combination of being rather shy-seeming and a little deferent (sp??) on the one hand, and being sort of suddenly extremely committed to his opinion (the Oscar movie thing, for example). And dinner was quite excellent. I had lobster ravioli, and he had some kind of other seafood/pasta dish. Oh, this was kind of odd- at the beginning of the meal, when we were looking at the menus, I asked him if he wanted to get wine. He responded right away by saying he didn't drink. I said ok. Then he said I could get it if I wanted to, of course. Then he said he would have wine if I picked one for him that wasn't too strong. He said he was happy to try things but he didn't like them too strong. So I picked cabernet sauvingnon for myself, and then asked the waitress if she had a suggestion for a sweeter, less dry wine. She seemed very confused about what I was asking, for some reason, and finally pointed one out that said "dry" in the description. So I had no idea what was going on there, and I decided to order him chardonnay, since I find that sweet and in general white is sweeter and more palatable to less enthusiastic wine drinkers than red. I don't know if he liked it. He ate like a bird... only about half his entree (I find many restaurant entrees big, but this was just the right size, to me) and maybe half of his wine. I polished off my whole entree and my whole glass of wine, which, just to give you a picture, came in a glass the size of my head. I mean, it was not full, of course. But his came in this tiny, delicate wine glass. I know it's something I would understand if I knew more about wine, but it was odd. I had the briefest moment of being insecure about my dramatically larger appetite, but it passed quickly. I was hungry, and I decided to be ok with that. :-) I think it was interesting (word of the day, sorry), too, that were had this sort of odd back and forth in who took what kind of role in the evening. I mean, I invited him, made the plans, ordered his wine, and paid for his theater ticket. He, on the other hand, carried my shopping bag, paid for dinner, stood on the bus behind me instead of sitting somewhere else, and initiated all of the (awkwardly executed yet warm and pleasant) cuddling that took place during the play. So I don't know. I probably wouldn't be this obsessed with it if I didn't worry a little that he will suddenly turn into a real partriarchal type. Or, to be honest, that the cultural differences between us mean that he has expectations of women of which I'm fundamentally unaware. Well, who knows, I guess.

By the end of our dinner he'd expressed interest in my theological leanings (I told him about applying to grad school), and we discussed my thesis briefly. He latched onto the idea and said he could tell me about parallel situations in Indian religion and mythology. I'm super excited about that. I tried to explain it carefully and well, without assuming that he had or didn't have a base knowledge about Christianity. I can't wait to see what ideas he has about it...

Anyway, we finished up our dinner, and headed out. The waitress came running after me to give me a rose, which apparently she was supposed to bring to the table! I was thrilled! A pretty red rose, just for me, just because it was Valentine's Day and I was a woman and there. :-) Though I've also been thinking lately how men must sometimes feel less special than women, overall. I mean, I won't say that women don't still get the raw end of the deal, because we do, and I would trade being coddled for being powerful any day... but still. On Lost, there was this part with two men talking about the possible destruction of an Iraqi village in the first Gulf War. And the one said to the other, think of everyone who will be killed. Innocent women, children. And I thought, what about innocent men? What does it say that men are consistently told that women are somehow more "precious" than they are? I'm not saying I don't understand the concept of "women and children first," or whatever, but just as it is destructive to women to assume that we are inherantly sweet and innocent, it is destructive to men to assume that they are inherantly not, or that women have some kind of uncorrupted innocence/worth that men must seek to protect even at the expense of themselves, because men are powerful, and therefore not innocent. My dad said that as a kid he hated hearing that girls were "sugar and spice and everything nice" and boys were "snakes and snails and puppy dog's tails." He didn't understand why he didn't get to be nice things, too. Bah, the whole dualistic hierarchical gender system hurts everybody!

But that was a loooooong soapboxy tangent. I was delighted with my rose. Let's go back to that. ;-) We went to the show, and I insisted on paying for his ticket (it was, after all, still much less than the meal). It was at the Adrienne, in this space called the Playground, which was a really nice little theater. I wanted to sit front and center, and he was startlingly adamant about sitting back (and side, which I thought would be the worst view), and we agreed at last to sit back and center. I wasn't sure why this was such an important thing to him, like, we were looking around and i was like, well, we could sit up front, and he was like, no. Back. It was odd. Aggressive reticence? I don't know.

The play was good. I know if you've made it this far you probably are getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in this post, but it was, and I feel I should say something about it, too, not just my date. For the first couple of little three minute (or so) bits, I wasn't sure if it would be good. Then either I wrapped my head around the format or they hit their stride or both. There was one that was basically ruined because for some reason one of the young women was on book, which was utterly distracting for us, for her, and for the other actors. And there were a bunch that fell flat. But there were also wonderfully hilarious ones, especially as the evening wore on. There was one that reminded me a lot of Dilexi, in a way! It started with this coffee barista trying to sell coffee to a rushed man. The man kept asking for something plain, and she would offer him a ridiculously complicated list of choices. It seemed a funny, if ordinary set-up. But then, the man remained calm, and the barista got all crazy, saying that he couldn't win, and the way the sketch had to go was that she kept offering him all these pointless choices until he became overwhelmed and collapsed to the ground. And then another woman came in and she and the man started flirting, and exchanged names, and the barista was freaking out because they weren't supposed to be able to do any of this... well, it was funny and exciting. The best one, hands down, was this one about a really reserved, precise man who got into a totally unexpected sexual situation... i was so funny and so well acted. There were also a couple of songs done by this guy who apparently was the musical director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I don't know where, but they seemed pretty proud of this, so maybe it was the original production. Anyway, he was very good.

And, true to his proclivities, I guess, it was during the musical numbers that Swami started snuggling up to me. As I said before, most of this was done rather oddly and awkwardly, but... I find him attractive, so it was nonetheless quite pleasant and I didn't mind. Though there was one moment where for some reason he started stroking my throat quite a bit, and that got weird, so I guided his hand away. But generally, aside from the awkward and abrupt way in which he intiated most of our contact, it was very gentle and nice and exploring, without being too much or going to the wrong places. And he smelled really good. ;-)

After the show we waited for the bus together, having discovered we live about three blocks apart! This got a bit long, and was the part of the evening where I was most aware of not being sure of what to talk about. But we finally got on the bus, and he stood behind me as aforementioned, and pet my head from time to time, and told me a bit about his family and also his taste in ice cream. Oh, yes, this is also when I though he was telling me something more about his grandmother's education, and I said "Wow" with a big smile, and then realized he was telling me that his grandmother had died. Whoops. That was my most awkward moment of the night. But we got over that, and when he left he bent and kissed my forehead before getting off, and we made plans to get together again sometime next week.

I was a happy camper coming home, and I put my rose in water and went online to tell people about my night... where I was promptly engaged in conversation by this other boy from Okcupid, and I found an email from a man who wanted a date for Margaret Garner (an opera I am so eager to see) saying that though he'd already gotten someone to go, I was really cute. And I still have to deal with Mark, who continues to call and email me though I haven't responded in a bit... (I know, it's not a good way to handle it. But I'm not used to this). I think that's the bottom line. This is all really great... but I'm not used to it! Apparently all of a sudden all I have to do for male attention is stretch out my hand... it's soooooooooo so so different from my previous experiences. Not that I'm complaining, but it's... weird. And I definitely want to see Swami again, but it all makes me a bit nervous as well. Like, I've gotten so used to being single I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be otherwise. Bah, I sound like I'm at least middle aged, and I'm not trying to be pretentious... but you know? It's true.

Ah, but all that aside, it was fun. It was fun fun fun and cozy and pleasant and I felt attractive and smart, even though he was definitely also attractive and probably smarter, or at least more educated. (God, at one point he was saying that he should learn a foreign language and I asked if he had studied any, and he was like, no, I just speak six Indian languages, completely serious, and I was l

Anyway, the whole thing left me grateful and happy: Grateful for my first "romantic" Valentine's Day, grateful for my truly wonderful friends and family, who are so central to my life, and grateful for the fact that I really, actually do enjoy my own company... and that I was willing to have a go at being lonely to figure that out.

:-) I wish you all the same sorts of experiences, in whatever way they work for you. And those of you who I know read this... I love you! Thank you for being in my life. It means the world.

My Constant Comment's Phooey? A Complaint.

Oh, fuck this. Oh, fuck this.

Namely being sick. I'm really really sick of being sick. I know a week isn't huge in the scheme of things, but I've had it up to here with the new and interesting variations on my symptoms that my body puts forth each day. And since 3 out of 4 participants in my life urge me to see a doctor, I figure I should probably see a doctor. Well, I know I should, it's gone on long enough and with a severity that is not normal for my colds. I just don't want to deal with my damned insurance and finding a time when I can actually go, which probably is never, or at least not til next Saturday.


I hate it. I really hate it. OW.


It makes everything more sucky than it would generally be, whether or not it would be sucky on its own. I want someone to carry me to a big feather bed, and stroke my hair and give me mint chocolate chip ice cream that also soothes and heals my throat on contact, and makes me stop coughing and stop hurting inside my head. I want storytelling and singing just for me, and maybe even Vicks VapoRub, or however the heck that's spelled. Most of all, I just want to feel rested and normal and fine again, in a consistent way, or for more than a couple of hours. And cared for and not like a prickly sick creature.

And I feel frustrated and overwhelmed and sort of colorless, but for all I know that's another symptom of this sickness thing. It certainly relates. And I'm lonely, and all the bits of my ears and mouth and throat and nose hurt, and ARGH.

Soon I will have another book post and that will be much pleasanter, for I am enjoying the book. But for now.... GRRRRRRRRRRRR. :( Love me and give me pleasant friendly things, says sick Becky. Even though I'm growling. Hold up my end of the conversation until I can talk normally again.

Hehe-- I could end with a song, too.

This is all very neat... this is all very smart! This had better be a goodbye, illness, this had better end in the blink of an eye! Don't feel responsible, after all, we're through. I'm not responsible! Hate me or need me, just make sure you feed me... This had better be a goodbye, illness, why, illness, try, illness, bend... This had better come to a, this this this this, this had better come to an end! This had better come to an end.

I don't know if that's quite right anymore, but in the real thing "illness" is mostly "Marvin." Anyway, trust Falsettos to make me feel a bit better. Except why do I have to go to the bathroom again? And why is my toilet stopped up?

Stupid stupid stupid boo. Thank you for listening to this message of disgruntlement. Goodnight.

The Most Astonishing Description of Me Ever

From a post by a lister apologizing for not recognizing me at an event she invited listers to:

Fast forward. 6:45 p.m., the church hall. People are coming in, and, by
way of giving up a comfort zone, I am extending myself to greet those I
know little or not at all. Suddenly I see a classically beautiful woman,
dressed with the poignant elegance of a young woman of style who is
nevertheless tenderhearted. Her face has a dark Sephardic beauty so
compelling that I have to look away. But I know I have spent several hours
in a group with her very recently; my eyes could not forget that aesthetic
high point. She must be a parishioner, of course. I hastily review my
past and conclude that she must have participated in a "share the graces"
session on Wednesday night as part of a week of prayer the parish sponsored
in January. I met several young women there whom I had not seen before.
Being committed (quite unnecessarily, as it turns out) to giving up looking
good, I asked her name. She said "Becky." I said a few friendly words and
gave a vague smile, hoping to conceal my indecent envy of her invincible
beauty.


!!!! I'm stunned and flattered and a bit embarrassed. I mean, obviously this is overstating things, perhaps for the case of a very nice writing style, but.... just the idea that I could make such an impression is enough to make me grin and blush. Mark should take a few lessons in email description from this (unbelievably) kind lady. On second thought, maybe not. And I probably would trust it less from somebody who was trying to date me. But anyway, uh... wow. If I were to describe my appearance in the ideal universe on my ideal day, I don't think it would come close to this praise. I also don't remember at all what I was wearing.

Well, I'll save this one for a rainy day, even though it could never be quite lived up to in real life! Thank you, lister friend!

A Bit of Homegrown Gender Theory

I wrote this up for the Bryn Mawr Alumnae list serve, and decided I wanted to post it here as well... I probably said something about this to many of you when I first conceived of it, but let me know what you think anyway...

I think our basic societal perceptions of sexuality and gender are predicated upon the man-as-subject, woman-as-object relationship. (By subject and object I mean perceiver and perceived, or actor and acted upon, not necessarily the popular meaning of objectified as devalued, though it comes from the same root, I think.) This relationship is central to our societal conceptions and regulations of, as well as needs from, gender and sexuality.

This is the reason that heterosexual men (in the non-specific, societal sense) are both able to handle women falling in love and having sex and also basically encouraged to fetishize this-- and also why lesbians are, generally, far less visible than other populations. The women (two objects) are acting as subjects, true... but because the man is the real subject, the owner, if you will, of subjectivity, he can objectify them both, and there is less actual threat perceived from them because of this. Of course, it also tends to invalidate and/or veil the lesbian experience. Heterosexual women, for their part, are less likely to feel personally threatened by female homosexuality than heterosexual men by male homosexuality. I think this is because, as a subjective person, everyone must act as a subject in her or his own perceptions of the world. Therefore, all women experience the doubling, somewhat disconcerting sensation of being simultaneously a personal subject and a societal object-- as a normal part of their existance! So, to see women acting as subject and object to each other is not as threatening to their understanding of themselves and their societal role. However, this mushiness between subject and object identification, and indeed the intial construct that one must be a subject or an object in any sexual relationship to another might explain the confusion people sometimes experience/express about what constitutes "real" lesbian sexual intercourse-- and even the rather bizarre assertion that "real" lesbian sexual intercourse cannot exist.

It follows, then, that this is also why heterosexual men tend to be threatened by male homosexuality in a much stronger way. Male homosexuality creates a situation in which men act as subject toward male objects. As mentioned before, men have the power of subjectivity-- the whole system requires them to have it. So, a man will have trouble denying another man's subjecthood, which is fine as long it is turned upon women... but when it is turned upon men, any man may be suddenly put into the object position. This "feminizes" him in a much more disconcerting way than a simple sex act could, by making his relationship to society essentially feminine. (And, in turn, destabilizing the assumptions that our entire societal gender system is built upon!) This would also explain the almost compulsive societal need to stereotype homosexual men (not that lesbians are "un"stereotyped, but, as a general rule, it is the stereotypes of homosexual men that ellicit constant remark, use, parody, and also which have the most credance in society as a whole. If at least one homosexual man can be externally feminized enough to deintentify him with other men, placing him in his own special category, the threat he bears can also be isolated. Brokeback Mountain offers no such defense... in fact, no defense at all. To me, this is what makes it have the potentional to be so wonderful and liberating to people of all genders and sexualities... but therein also lies the threat. When someone reacts by striking out wildly at the very concept of homosexuality, I assume it is not merely a personal sexual discomfort and threat that s/he is reacting to, but also the implied dismantling/reshaping of (what I view as a false and very harmful but nonetheless extraordinarily pervasive) an entire societal system of gender.

I can see places in this where people might ask, but where is the penis? The vagina? Penetration etc.? Especially when I talk about what constitutes sex acts, and certainly with the subject-object motif. I agree that this is relevant, but I would argue that instead of our ideas about gender roles arising spontaneously out of the sex act itself, the way in which we frame and conceive of sexual activity and its implications arises from (and serves) the prevailing gender model.

A warning before I get off my soapbox: The evidence I have for all of this is based on my own experience and observation, and I'm sure many theorists that have soaked into my brain, but at this time I can name none, so I take credit for both my insights and my errors.

Syriana, or This is My Brain on Western Guilt and Human Fear, or Even the Hour When Wings are Frozen

Hah, I got my font back! And apologies to anyone who saw my blog yesterday/this morning, when it apparently gotten eaten by Vixen the reindeer. I had to try and delete Vixen three times before I got anywhere with it.

So, last night I went with Nathaniel and Rachel and Patrick and Mary, the latter two of whom I have not seen since summer, to see Syriana. We ended up with a choice between that, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Brokeback Mountain. While I did want to see Syriana, I was a little disappointed to be with a group of people for whom "gay cowboys" was not an immediate trump card in movie selection. I think Charlotte would classify it as one of those "not at Bryn Mawr anymore" moments. However, as I seemed to be the only one whose ears (and libido) were perking up at the concept, Syriana it was.

I'm not sure how to classify my response to this movie. It was... exhausting on many, many levels. I don't know if I've spent a more tense two hours in my life. My whole body was totally wired the entire time, and every scene, almost, I was waiting for someone to blow up or shoot someone else, or whatever. Which is kind of interesting, because that actually did not happen many, many times... it's just that the atmosphere was one of incredible tension almost all the time. More than in a fantastic movie, even, because here there was this incredibly palpable edge of reality to the horror. So it was physically and emotionally frightening, and also required rather intense intellectual attention to figure out what the hell was going on in the plot and with all the different characters. To be honest, I never figured out exactly when this was supposed to be going on. For some reason I had assumed it was in the recentish past (like, somewhere between 1980-2000, probably), and was therefore surprised when they made a brief reference to 9/11. Anyway...

It definitely impacted me, but I can't decide if it's somehow more or less of an impact because I was in such tension and terror throughout. Because of those very factors, I think I remained a little bit separate through most of it, holding myself tightly (so tightly-- my shoulders ached by the end), and therefore holding myself, not going into or merging with the story the way I did with something like Capote. It was so intense. There was just this sense of terror, tension, impending explosions pervading the whole thing. And it made me realize again the incredible importance of understanding history, and how little even the excellent instruction I received in school has given me even a semi-complete perspective on the forces and ideas that do shape the world, every day. I just don't know these things, and everything I learn about them makes me realize how much more I don't know, and on the other side how important it is to know. One thing that totally frightened me... one of the plotlines was about two big oil companies trying to affect a merger, and when they did manage to do that, they became the 25th largest economy in the world, or something like that, bigger than many countries. I know people have said things like this many, many times... but this made it make sense to me, the power of corporations, the way corporations are a potent force in the world. I found it chilling, though I'm not intellectually certain why it should be frightening to me for a corporation to have such power, while the (also intially arbitrary) concept of national sovereignty seems basically good. Or, maybe it does. I assume it does. I assume too much. This movie certainly showed me that. But I am not sure what to do. There was a website at the very end of the credits about changing oil dependency or something... maybe I can find that. I feel rather overwhelmed. Like I am part of a whole system of destructive power that I never understood, because it is not openly taught about. How are we supposed to actually be informed citizens if we are not taught basic things about the way the world is run? I see this insane dependency on oil, and I feel like whoa, we just have to stop using it right away... because it's bullshit, it's such bullshit that any substance, any thing should create such an economy of instability and need and death. But I can't do that, at least not if I wish to continue to participate in society in the ways I am accustomed to doing. What does it mean to be a part of an unjust structure? To me, as a person? How much do I have to question and fight before I can... I don't know, just rest, like I want to, and enjoy my life, enjoy that it is luxurious? Which makes it sound like I'm engaged in some kind of titantic struggle against the powers that be... I'm not! Just thinking about it exhausts me. But the situation is not right. What did they say in the film, we have, I don't know 5% of the population and spend 50% of the world's military budget, along with making 50% of its garbage?

It reminds me of this thought I keep having, with all the things I've been buying lately... like, the other day, I went to get a sandwich at this little deli, and I had to go get cash, because they didn't take a card. So I'm walking down the street with my ATM card, and I started thinking, geez, I have this card that symbolizes all the money I have. So I have this card that symbolizes paper money, that symbolizes gold which may or may not exist, that in turn symbolizes... what? My worth, I think, my worth in society. It's so odd. It's the oddest system. But it's true. I have worth in society because I am not poor. I can go and do the things I want, eat, buy clothes, whatever, because I have money as my passport. It's not true of everything, but in a large sense it is true. And that's... arbitrary and fucked up. It's totally ridiculous and impersonal. I receive personal courtesy, in places I go to, because of an assumption of my impersonal monetary worth, because I look... not rich, but like I have enough to buy what I need. And I do. So they'll be nice to me in big hotels and fancy stores, even if I don't buy anything, because I have that potential. But if I was a street person, I'd probably be back out on my ass. When, in that case, I would really need somewhere to be, if only for a little while. But the thing is... and I want to make this very clear... I love having money, I love that I make enough to buy myself things that I want, get hardcover books without flinching, buy lots of Christmas presents, or drop $50 on dinner and not panic. I want to have more... I want a truly rich and luxurious life. But... at the same time... there is so much injustice, and I am struggling hard to reconcile it all in my own mind, my own life. I do not want to feel that every time I have something lovely, somebody had to work in some degrading and ridiculous manner to make it for me, or that because I am eating a luxurious meal, someone else is starving. Which I think maybe is my fundamental problem with the mental conception of this whole thing: it isn't because of, or not directly because of. But it is while. Not because I am eating the meal, but while I am eating the meal. I think I'm struggling with this especially because of all the Christmas presents I've bought... and loved buying, I've had a wonderful time. This whole thing has produced such a feeling of competence and pride in me... like, look at what I have done for myself, look at what I am able to afford for you, I am doing a good job in the world. But I meant to give money to the Pakistani earthquake victims, I keep trying to budget it in and squeezing it out again, thinking, well, I'll wait until this and that and the other thing are paid for, and then I will write my check. And every time I go to do it, there's some other expense coming up, something I am nervous about not having enough for. So I have this sense, that people are freezing to death because I didn't put myself out to help them. I don't know if this is legitimate, or if it's a disordered way of looking at the situation. I do know that guilt doesn't help me get anything done, but I don't know how to avoid it. At the same time, guilt is a convenient veil between me and the truth, whatever that may be. Because I can stay behind my guilt and, shrouded in the unpleasant fogged feeling, not perceive with any clarity what I wish to do. Perhaps for Christmas I want some clear-seeing. Clear-seeing, and a nice dress.... it's funny, I read an article where George Clooney talks about this dilemma too, talks about the luxurious lifestyle that he loves, and talks about the desire he has to be socially just... maybe that's why his movie made this issue so present to me.

There are other things from the movie I want to talk about... like the horrible, horrible torture I definitely did not watch most of. It was so frightening... so, so frightening. The stuff leading up to it was terrifying. They grabbed George Clooney's character, Bob, and put a black sack over his head, and just that image, of him with the hood over his head was so terrifying, and then there was this shot where we saw everything through the fuzzy black. It was excruciatingly horrifying. I could just imagine it, this sudden feeling of being totally unable to tell what is happening around you, with people who are going to hurt you. And then when the Mussawi (probably not how it's spelled) guy started describing the options of torture I thought I would... I don't know what. It was just viscerally, horribly scary. I mean, having your fingernails pulled off. God. And then I wasn't really looking, just hearing these horrible noises and every now and then glancing up and seeing blood or something... but I heard Mussawi saying he was going to cut off his head, and even though I knew he wouldn't it was like everything just went blank inside me. I don't know how to describe that feeling. I had my hands over my face and it was like something shut off, I was still terrified but in addition there was this blankness. And I was imagining what it would be like, to have my head cut off, but imagining this in a very serious way... like, how would I deal with that, how could I deal with that? It's rather ridiculous, but I had this whole idea... which actually I have had before... that maybe my whole fear of decapitation actually means that somehow I will eventually die that way. I never take it too seriously, this idea, but when I am forced to deal with decapitation in some direct fashion it often comes back to me. So I was thinking, I would have to keep my dignity, but I don't know if I could, in that terrible, terrible moment when you are waiting for the blade to come down. I would want so much to be brave, because my own composure would be the only thing I had left in myself to have sovreignty over, but I don't know if I could be, if I could help begging for my life. I became a bit obsessed with the idea of one of those cyanide tablets that I read about in Gone to Soldiers, because taking my life would also be an act of sovreignty and I could avoid that most horrible moment. And, when this idea happens, I worry about the people I love, that they will find out how I died and it will be terrible, because they will know how much I hated the idea of having my head chopped off. I think that it's even more important that I make sure to stay calm and dignified so that they can have some peace. Wow, I'm realizing how bizarre this whole negative fantasy sounds. I don't know why I get this way about this particular form of execution. And torture in general... I don't know if I could stand it. I have no conception of how I would be in such a situation, none. That disturbs me. It's possible that I would be brave... it's possible that I would try to give up even people I love to make it stop... it's possible that I would die of fear or pass out or leave my body until it was over. Aside from my personal fixation on the head thing... it's all disturbing because I can do everything I want to make myself a strong, good person, and I will still never know how I would be in this circumstance, what it would take to make me betray myself and others. Not that I want to know, or to be put in a position where I have to know... but it bothers me nonetheless.

The last few days of Advent... I've done so little Advent-related this year. I didn't even get out my book. But I have had a certain favorite Advent song in my head, and I feel like it will help me close this entry:

O come, O come Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come thou dayspring from on high,
Who orders all things mightily,
To us the path of Knowledge show,
And teach us in Her ways to go.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

What does it mean if Emmanuel comes to us? I think it's interesting that for some reason Jesus is never actually called or named Emmanuel, even though it is stated clearly that he will be called so. Emmanuel... God with us. There was a line in Syriana, something like, "If we're really made in God's image and likeness, God must be fucked up." God with us... God in us? Truly, I don't know. I don't know, and I don't know if I want God to be with/in me. I mean, Jesus, that could change everything. Or it could not, but it could change me, I guess is the point. I don't know if or how this relates to the state of the world, the terrifying and destructive state of the world... I had this whole stark moment where I really felt, during the movie, that we were going to self-destruct, that the Earth would end through human folly and evil. I don't know if somehow, having Emmanuel will change that, or what I want or expect or need. Can real truth be found in a strange system of beliefs? Not just religious beliefs... all beliefs. I don't know... I just don't know. Again, in the movie, there was a subplot about a young man who becomes a suicide bomber. He is a Pakistani living in Iran, and the idea of sacrificing his life for what is great in the next life appeals to him very much. He sort of gets involved in the whole Islamic school/movement that encourages these acts because of his poverty, because they get good food at the school, and he and his father have lost their jobs thanks to the aforementioned merger, and are in danger of losing their immigration permits. His father always talked about the snow-covered mountains in Pakistan, and I found the images of snow really powerful. I really loved the young man's parts of the story... his face was gentle and interesting... and I was so appalled by the scenes leading up to his actual death. Saying goodbye to his father, when his father had no idea of what he was about to do, and especially the image of him on the boat with his partner, getting ready to blow up this big oil tanker... seeing how he went from no, I don't want to do it, to yes, I am going to do it, to this expression of peace and transcendance at the moment of impact. I think... many, many people want something, be it religion, another person, an idea or something to work on, that they can give themselves completely to, essentially making a sacrifice of themselves to this thing. It's a strong urge. It can accomplish good or bad things... but is it ever good for the person? And why do we want to do this?

Clearly that song did not help me end this. I don't know if anything really can end this, so much as pause it so that I can get on with living. But here's another try, in the name of mystery:.

People, look East, the time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Guest, is on the way.

Furrows, be glad, though Earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there.
Give up your strength, the seed to nourish,
That in time the flower may flourish,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Rose, is on the way.

Birds, though you long have ceased to build,
Guard the nest that must be filled.
Even the hour when wings are frozen,
God for fledging time has chosen,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Bird, is one the way.

--Eleanor Farjeon

Since I Haven't Lived at Bryn Mawr in Two Years...

It's definitely time to figure this out.


What Bryn Mawr College house are you in? (The BMC Sorting Hat)
brought to you by Quizilla


Very good. :)

Five Questions From Maddie

1) Those governmental schmucks! They have decided that all books that should be writtern are written. They only way to write anything new is to rewrite old books with new twist. The characters must stay in character and you can't really change genres. That being said, what classic book would you rewrite?

Do you have any idea how hard this was for me? First, I thought of classic novels that I love too much to fuck around with... for example, what am I going to do? Have Gene and Phinny hooking up in a Separate Peace? Get Hester Prynne and Rev. Dimmesdale back together? Perish the thought! Most masterpieces should be left the hell alone, thank you very much. But then I started thinking about books I didn't like... for example, the Mayor of Casterbridge. I disliked it so much, in fact, that I remember hardly anything about it... except some crap about a birdcage that I think I wrote an essay on. So obviously rewriting works I don't like will only cause frustration and mediocre investment. What is this hapless, governmentally hampered authoress to do? Other than publish original works on the literary black market, which I assume you anticipated. But then, I started thinking outside the box. And I realized I would quite like to rewrite something like Ovid's Metamorphoses, with all those weird and tantalizing tales that could be done really nicely in a modern or at least slightly altered context... and of course I would like to rewrite the Morte D'Arthur, as people do all the time... and now I have realized what my calling must be in this new writerly environment. Clearly, I will rewrite the Bible! It will stay an epic, and I'll even keep each of the books in their genres: poetry, history, epistles, etc. As for the character development, you'll have to trust me on this one. Also, expect lots of exciting and wonderful twists. This should be ready for reading... hmmm... maybe around your 43rd birthday.

2) It was decided, although new books cannot be written, new plays can be, except you can only use character traits from specifically assigned characters. In your case, it's all the characters you have ever played. How would you combine their traits to make a new exciting character? You don't have to use all of them but you need at least 3. Bonus points for more than 3.

First, I am trying to make a list of every character I have ever played, though I'm sure I am missing some.

Bunny (via a puppet, in a fable about the cheese-stealing fox, Kindergarten, primary trait: desired cheese)
Solo Caroler (in A Christmas Carol at Onondaga Central High School, 1st grade, primary trait: liked to sing about Christmas)
Really Rosie (in Really Rosie at Rockwell Elementary School, 2nd grade, primary traits: showy, charasmatic, an excellent story teller)
A Box or Bowl of Oatmeal (in Really Rosie at Rockwell Elementary School, 2nd grade, primary traits: warm and thick)
Dolly (in Onions in the Stew at Onondaga Central High School, 3rd grade, primary traits: fought with her brother, loved her doll, was quite loud. I remember that the first Gulf War started during this play, while we were getting ready in the Home Ec. room. Also how old the high schoolers seemed)
Cinderella (in Cinderella, 4th or 5th grade, primary trait: knew how to waltz)
Bunny (via a mask, in The Magic Flute,sometime in elementary school... this was just for a little scene or rehearsal or something, but it's one of the only times I missed my cue to go on. I was sad. But the mask was beautiful. Primary trait: concern that Papageno see Papagena.)
Leslie something-or-other (in a play written by my acting teacher, Val, sometime in elementary school, primary trait: loved chamomile tea. Also had a "communicating conscience" which spoke to her.)
Danielle the Dandelion Fairy (in a play about Wanderlust Wonderful Forest, also by Val, also sometime in elementary school, primary trait: struggled with an addiction to the soporific juice or dust or something found in the dandelion)
Mary (in a monologue done in the same acting class, sometime in elementary school, primary trait: was irritated by her perpetually following lamb. I had this stuffed lamb that I dressed up in a little sweater and cap and gave it a lunch box and everything... it was kind of fantastic)
Evilena (or something like that... one of three witches in another play about the Wanderlust Wonderful Forest, a musical actually. By Val and this other woman Muriel, who wrote the songs. I found out later that Muriel wrote this "head witch" part for me, and was mad when Val switched it around on her. Primary traits: evil and witchy)
Dentist on Vacation (at Pyramid Lake, a camp families from my church went to, as part of our first skit, which I wrote... sometime in elementary school. Primary trait: obsessed with fixing teeth.)
Jan (in selections from Grease at Onondaga Community College's Broadway in Syracuse class, part of their College for Kids program, sometime in elementary school, primary trait: loved to eat)
Billy (in selections from Anything Goes at Onondaga Community College's Broadway in Syracuse class, part of their College for Kids program, feminized just for me, sometime in elementary school, primary trait: thought that friendship was the perfect blendship)
Princess (in The King and I at Salt City Playhouse, 5th grade, primary traits: sweet, liked to give surprises, fun)
Molly (in Annie at Henniger High School, 6th grade, primary traits: orphaned, small, a bit mischievious, said "Oh my goodness" constantly)
Marcie (in You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown at Onondaga Hill Middle School, 6th grade, primary traits: smart, bookish, loyal, odd, confused about the gender of others)
Red Bus Driver (in The Red Bus at Pyramid Lake, sometime in middle school I think, primary trait: frustrated with her passengers)
Princess (in The King and I at Henniger High School, 7th grade (I think), primary traits: a more generic princess than the last; I don't really recall...)
Sharon (in Let's Rock at Onondaga Hill Middle School, 8th grade, officially the Stupidest Play Ever, primary trait: angry that her boyfriend would not wear socks to the sock-hop.)
Anne Frank (in a monologue, for our Off-Broadway Showcase after the Beginnings Acting Workshop... I still remember the room we waited in to go on. I was so nervous. Primary trait: Hope and faith in human beings despite very bad circumstances.)
Cookie Cusack (in Rumors at Westhill High School, 9th grade, primary trait: Crazy Old Lady, of course. The first of many)
Reporter #3/Adult (in Bye Bye Birdie at Westhill High School, 9th grade, primary traits: nosy, and worried about the state of modern youth).
Random Disciple (in Godspell at Westhill High School, 10th grade, primary trait: sincerity, as I recall Spado saying that he needed someone sincere to do such and such a line, and then he picked me. Doesn't make him any less of a sleazy favoritist, though.)
Coriolanus (for the Shakespeare Competition at Westhill High School, 10th grade, primary trait: pissed off and aristocratic. My first foray into the world of male Shakespearean roles... I mistakenly assumed it would be my one chance to play the boys. And I won 2nd place.)
Belinda Cratchit (in A Christmas Carol at Westhill High School, 11th grade, primary trait: Got picked up and carried offstage by the most desired boy in the school. I didn't especially desire him, but how I loved the idea of making all those girls jealous. Also, speaking of sleazy favoritism...)
The Yellow Brick Road (in The Wiz at Westhill High School, 11th grade, primary trait: Encouraged people in song to ease on down me.)
Richard III (for the Shakespeare Competition at Westhill High School, 11th grade, primary traits: terrified and haunted. And I won 2nd place.)
Bernice Roth (in The Musical Comedy Murders of 1940 at Westhill High School, 12th grade, primary traits: drunk, nervous, inspired... another Crazy Old Lady.)
Mrs. Evangeline Harcourt (in Anything Goes at Westhill High School, 12th grade, primary traits: Social climber, wants MONEY, loves her dog, her jewels, and her daughter... probably in that order, irritating squeaky voice. Crazy Old Lady.)
Cleopatra (for the Shakespeare Competition at Westhill High School, 12th grade, primary traits: loved Antony. I memorized it immediately before doing it... and I did not win at all. Clearly I should stick with the boys. And actually memorize my parts.)
Jack's Mom (in Into the Woods at Bryn Mawr College, freshman year, primary traits: Worried about money, loves her son, practical, brave. Crazy Old Lady... the end of an era.)
The Voice (in Sonnets at Bryn Mawr College, freshman year, primary traits: Sang. And did not get laid.)
Lynnette ( in Anything for You at Bryn Mawr College, sophomore year, primary traits: desperate to have an affair. With her best friend, Gail. Who is secretly in love with her.)
Bill, maybe? (in All in the Timing at Bryn Mawr College, sophomore year, primary trait: his timing was off.)
Feste (in Twelfth Night at Bryn Mawr College, sophomore year, primary traits: clever and cunning and perceptive and funny and liked to sing and destroy plantlife with his friends)
Antipholus of Syracuse (in Comedy of Errors at Bryn Mawr College, junior year, primary traits: confused and generally honorable and desirous to avoid Satan.)
Wife and Cain (in Love's Fire at Bryn Mawr College, senior year, primary traits (of Wife): furious and heartbroken and wanting to undo things, including her blouse... (of Cain): yelling and killing.
Borachio (in Much Ado About Nothing at Bryn Mawr College, senior year, primary traits: crafty and coarse and lusty... but not really a bad guy for all that)
V (in Production Values with Uncut Pages, summer after senior year, primary traits: wonders what the fuck you are doing on her stage!)
Professor Dilexi (in Professor Dilexi Presents Dramatis Personae of the Apocryphal Menagerie, last summer, primary traits: sees the map, the pattern, the choices, incredibly sadistic, lonely and creepy, eschews physical contact)

Phew! I'm sure I missed something, but there they are. Now, to make a new character...

Brenda Susan Carl Richard Rodney Brian Beryl Orville Devon Caroline Britney Louise David Dominick Franchesca Melvin Edgar Daniel Veronica Jackie Bertram Pollyanna Mork Martin Rivka Bobby Delores Petra Sally Algernon Florence Carter Connie Rasputin Albert Rosalie Dirk Calvin Bonnie Cedric Yusef Brigid Reba Ronald Betsy Roman Evelyn Hector Collin Jim Moses Veronica Libby Beatrice Fabian Allison Oscar Severus Walter Cristina Bertha Victor Patsy Digglesworth: A lonely hermaphroditic orphan who becomes addicted to sleeping pills after his/her brother dies tragically (this tragic death occuring after they have fought over a doll, which young Brenda Susan Carl etc. had been examining in order to figure out the mystery of her/his own genitalia. S/he naturally feels confused about the doll, and also the gender of other people in general, but has become convinced that if she can figure out the doll, this confusion will be relieved, and therefore is willing to fight her brother for it. Unfortunately, the brother falls down the stairs while tugging on the doll, and breaks his neck). S/he screams "Undo this!" when she finds that nothing can be done to save him and tears off her shirt. In a mad fit of guilt and confusion, the heartbroken Brenda Susan Carl etc. takes to running around with a bad crowd (when s/he isn't sleeping) and this group of people encourages her/him to destroy plantlife. S/he becomes known as "The Cornfield Monster," but the police are not able to discover his/her identity for some time. During this interval s/he begins to hallucinate as a result of overdoing the sleeping pills, and for awhile is convinced that a lamb is following her everywhere she goes. As yet another side effect of her/his addiction, Brenda Sue Carl etc. begins to crave cheese excessively, eventually yelling at people to give up their cheese. S/he jumps up on the stage at his/her high school and is carried off by the most popular, desired boy in school, making him even more popular and desired. Because s/he has become so loud and ostentatious, s/he is captured by the police. Because they cannot classify his/her gender, they do not know which prison to send him/her to, and therefore opt for house arrest. It is worth noting that her/his growth has been stunted by all the sleeping pills (called "Essence of Dandelion" in genteel circles), and therefore s/he is quite small. In severe withdrawal from Essence of Dandelion, Brenda Sue Carl etc. develops a fixation on chamomile tea, and refuses to drink anything else. During this withdrawal stage, s/he begins to experience visions of her/his brother, which leave her shaken and terrified. In a desperate attempt to connect with somebody, s/he signs up for a prisoner letter exchange program with a woman named Gail, who quickly becomes Brenda Sue Carl etc.'s best and only friend. Brenda Sue Carl etc. is quite sincere with Gail, experiencing a genuine love for another human being for the first time since her brother's death. S/he begins to fantasize about sleeping with Gail, and is overjoyed with Gail confesses her love for Brenda Sue Carl etc. However, when s/he reveals that s/he is a hermphrodite, the letters abruptly stop. While still hoping that Gail will write back, Brenda Sue Carl etc. distracts herself by watching a video version of The Magic Flute, and channels his/her romantic and sexual frustrations into an obsessive, nervous concern over whether Papageno will in fact see Papagena. After some time, Brenda Sue Carl etc. writes another, more plaintive letter to Gail, and Gail replies that she is not comfortable ever communicating with Brenda Sue Carl again. Brenda Sue Carl etc. is completely devastated, and also decides that s/he will never get laid. Around this time, Brenda Sue Carl etc.'s sentence is up, and s/he is released into the world. Overwhelmed, s/he goes to a bar and gets drunk. While under the influence, s/he is inspired to sing, and the other patrons of the bar notice that her/his voice is quite mellifluous, the perfect blend of male and female sound. Thus, Brenda Sue Carl etc. embarks on a singing career. At first, s/he sings mostly Christmas carols and selections from The Magic Flute, but eventually s/he realizes that her/his voice can be used as a tool of seduction, and begins to encourage people to "ease on down his/her road," and see what they find. S/he develops a charasmatic and showy stage persona, telling wonderful stories in song. To Brenda Sue Carl etc.'s delight, s/he realizes there are some circles in which what she considered a sexual deformity is actually an exciting advantage! S/he embarks on a new life full of music and lust, though she is plagued by financial problems, and worries about money a good deal. At last, s/he finds a sugar daddy named Antony, a middle-aged, social-climbing playboy who thinks he has seen all the world has to offer. Antony is enamored of Brenda Sue Carl etc. because in his/her very flesh s/he proves this maxim false. He takes care of Brenda Sue Carl, showering her/him with jewels and gifts in exchange for sexual pleasure and experimentation. At first, Brenda Sue Carl etc. remains very practical in this relationship, liking the money and the relative luxury, and living the life of an aristocrat. S/he buys a little dog and lavishes her/his affections on the animal, carefully avoiding any human entanglements beyond the merely physical. Antony decides to teach him/her to waltz, and when Brenda Sue Carl etc. says s/he doesn't know whether to lead or follow, Antony whispers, "I don't care as long as you are in my arms." It is in that moment that Brenda Sue Carl etc. realizes s/he is in love with Antony, even more deeply than s/he was with Gail, since this of course is a much more real and reciprocal relationship. Brenda Sue Carl etc. begins to blossom in this relationship. She starts to enjoy eating, and finds that she is gaining a bit of weight and growing warm and perceptive and funny and clever and sweet, at least in her private interactions with Antony. Antony and Brenda Sue Carl etc. build a life together full of music and sex and dancing, and their most serious quarrel occurs when the fastidious Antony insists on wearing his shoes to a sock hop they attend together. Other than that, life is finally good for the hapless Brenda Sue Carl etc. S/he is faithful to Antony for almost ten years, and eventually they adopt two children together, a boy, Carl Antony, and a girl, Sue Brenda, and they both love them very much.. One day, Carl Antony brings home a friend, who happens to catch a glimpse of Brenda Sue Carl in the nude. The friend finds her/him creepy, and spreads rumors about her all over the upper class community they live in. Antony is humiliated, and finds the social and business prestige he is accustomed to enjoying trickling away from him. Bravely, Brenda Sue Carl etc. volunteers to come out as a generally honorable hermaphrodite in front of the entire community, and proclaim her deep love and loyalty to Antony and her family, but Antony is horrified and begs her not to do that. Though his embarrassment hurts her, Brenda Sue Carl etc. develops a crafty, cunning plan to discredit the gossipy child. She finds an old contact and procures some Essence of Dandelion, and, when Carl Antony has several friends over for his birthday party, takes the opportunity to plant it rather conspicuously in the boy's belongings. The boy is caught and discredited, but the police investigation leads back to Brenda Sue Carl etc.'s shady past. When interviewed by the police, Antony panics and claims that Brenda Sue Carl etc. seduced him without first revealing that s/he was a hermaphrodite, and has been blackmailing him with this secret for years. When Brenda Sue Carl etc. asks him why he has betrayed her/him in this way, Antony only says, "You have the most horrible timing to be outed as a hermaphrodite, muffin. I'm up for membership in the Amazing Antelope Club this year." While the police do not believe Antony's story, and in fact give Brenda Sue Carl etc. only a minor fine for dealing with the Essence of Dandelion again, Brenda Sue Carl etc. is furious and completely destroyed by this allegation, and turns to witchcraft and black magic to regain some sense of personal power, dabbling in the forces of evil. S/he stays with Antony, but becomes embroiled in a series of increasingly risky and sadistic affairs, toturing his/her lovers physically and emotionally to punish by proxy the man s/he still adores. One night, drunk on evil power and wine and the aftermath of heavily sadistic sex, Brenda Sue Carl etc. accidentally conjures up a demon, who possesses her, and prompts her to kill and eat her little dog. This is the wake up call that Brenda Sue Carl etc. so desperately needs. Traumatized, s/he begins to avoid Satan and, terrified that she will spiral back into sadism, eschews all physical contact for some time. S/he leaves Antony and starts driving a bus for a living, putting up with the annoying customers and eventually moving into a small house and, discovering a long latent skill at academics, trains to become a dentist. For awhile, Brenda Sue Carl etc. channels her/his anxieties, guilt, and memories into a constant obsession with fixing teeth, and this, combined with his/her natural intelligence, enables him/her to graduate quickly, at the head of his/her class. S/he opens a dental practice and begins to work. Though s/he becomes adept at normal, nosy gossip, and wonders with the best of them about "kids today," etc., s/he still never touches anyone unless s/he is fixing their teeth, even in a casual, friendly way. Every day s/he strives to be more generic and forgettable than s/he was the day before. Also, in an effort to pass for female and avoid further humiliation, s/he begins to speak in an irritating, squeaky voice. S/he is extremely reticent with her/his language, and never says anything stronger than "Oh my goodness," because she truly does not wish to attract Satan's attention anymore. This causes people to think that s/he is in fact a Crazy Old Lady, and not a hermaphrodite, but neither of these traits helps to create a comfortable social environment for Brenda Sue Carl etc., and s/he grows slowly more and more depressed. One night, after watching The Magic Flute six times and crying her/himself to sleep, Brenda Sue Carl etc. wakes with a sudden, strong craving for chamomile tea. S/he goes to the kitchen to find some, and is immediately confronted by a vision of her brother! "Brenda Sue Carl etc.," the vision says, "I am your communicating conscience. I have taken the form of your dead brother because you loved him so much, and he would want you to be happy. You are not to blame for the terrible things that have happened in your life. Please touch people again. Please have lots of good, mutually loving sex. You should also join an acting troupe." Puzzled but full of joy at this message, Brenda Sue Carl etc. joins a community theater group, and finds that her/his old love of performing returns almost at once. S/he tentatively begins to make friends, confessing her/his identity almost as a challenge to them, and, after her/his first show, is even inspired to hug some of them. Suddenly, Brenda Sue Carl etc. realizes that friendship really is the perfect blendship, and invests her/himself more fully in these new relationships. Her/his personality is recovered, and s/he gains a reputation for being fun, mischeivious and full of surprises both at work in the dental office and on the stage. One night, during a performace of "The Littlest Christmas Angel," Brenda Sue Carl etc. catches a glimpse of Carl Antony and Sue Brenda in the audience, and for a moment is paralyzed with shock and joy, then tries to perform her/his best for them. After curtain call, s/he hopes that they will come up to speak with her, but instead Antony himself jumps out from a shadowy corner where he has been hiding and leaps onto the stage. "My darling Brenda Sue Carl etc.!" he exclaims. "I have been so wrong! Please, come back to me." Brenda Sue Carl etc. promptly screams, "What the fuck are you doing on my stage?" breaking the last of her mental enslavement to Antony, and eventually s/he is given visitation rights with the children. Finally, in a dream come true, Brenda Sue Carl etc. is cast in The Magic Flute, as Papageno. The identity of Papagena remains mysterious, however, until the final week of rehearsals. The director will only say that a very special singer is preparing the role out of town, and will come and join them at the last minute. When Brenda Sue Carl etc. finally meets Papagena, she is introduced as Gail Williamson, and Brenda Sue Carl etc. nearly faints. It is, in fact, her/his penpal from so long ago! In that moment, the map, the patterns, and the choices that have shaped Brenda Sue Carl etc.'s life come into perfect clarity. Gail explains that she realized her mistake several months after rejecting Brenda Sue Carl etc., and wanted to tell him/her that s/he was not such a bad guy after all, but because of restrictions on giving out the addresses of former prisoners, she had been unable to find him/her for all these years. They end up singing in perfect harmony, both on and off the stage, and Brenda Sue Carl etc. becomes an inspirational speaker, telling groups of students and office workers how her faith in humanity was restored after a life of trial.

There. I better get a hell of a lot of points for that! May I just point out in my favor that I did not write any of the second part until I had made my entire list, with whatever traits came to mind?

3) If you could only say one word during a conversation, what would it be?

Well, if it was a conversation where I wanted to keep things non-commital, it would be "interesting."
If I wanted to make things actually interesting, but didn't mind if it ended abruptly, it would be "no."
But if I really could just pick one without any qualifiers... "Why?"

4) You have been chosen to be on a Billboard but only one of your features will be shown. Luckily you get to pick it. What is it?

What I have learned from considering this question is that many, many perfectly attractive features become somewhat creepy or lifeless when displayed all on their own. Therefore, I think I would have to pick my eyes. Because eyes may be disconcerting all on their own, but at least they are eyes. To clarify, for example: I think my smile is very nice. But when I put it on a billboard all by itself, I think it's a little weird. I keep looking for the eyes, to see how it all fits together. If you can see my eyes, it may be odd because they will seem to be enormous and staring, but you will have a sense of life that is direct and real and certainly more pleasant than an enormous hand or pair of boobs. (To give you a hint about what I consider attractive on myself when taken more in context.) For some reason, though, when I first though about this question I imagined my nose, which is ok but not my favorite feature. I don't really know why. To close, I think my eyes are very expressive and interesting and a lovely dark color, although I confess they are not as fascinating to waitresses as the eyes of some other people I could name...

5) You have to eat one food at least once a day for the rest of your life. Which one will it be?

Ice cream. If I must be more specific, Breyer's mint chocolate chip. But ice cream is the obvious choice. I think only once in my life ever have I felt that I had too much ice cream. I was really full, I guess, and it was a big bowl. Ooh, I want ice cream from Spain right now. Avellana Americana (hazelnut). Wow, I am having a yummy flashback. We used to have ice cream almost every day. I would get it at the Cafe de Indias when I went to use the internet, or we would meet at any one of a number of little ice cream shops. It was so good! I remember when some people set up an "ice cream budget" of how much money they were allowed to spend on ice cream. I didn't bother to do such a thrifty thing. Ice cream is necessary in a foreign, hot land. Also, if one walks for several hours everyday, one does not gain weight, even if one is eating ice cream all the time! I had the most wonderful lifestyle ever in Spain. And I love ice cream a lot. The end.

On Leaving the Nest

Sometimes it catches you off-guard,
on an updraft when your wings are tired,
you remember the feeling of a whole tree to explore.
Hopping from one place to the next felt
like freedom enough.

And it was enough. I was a chestnut
robin with a scarlet front, I was a
red-winged blackbird, they are always
magic. I was a dragon, hot and full of
scales. I was something
else, leaving behind the old skin, the old
memory self.

Weeping and fighting
through the night will express
demons. You can find the
clensing in the cold new light
of dawn, seen with eyes tired and
relieved, in the sudden chirping
surreally floating through the window screen.

There was a hawk we used to see,
circling above the towers and the
wind-snapped flags and the tall
yellow-leaved branches. We did not
know, we did not know, or we pretended
not to know, that we someday would have to be the
hawks, circling solitary on strong broad wings, in the
endless pale blue, looking back down on the towers
and the spirit-laden flags and the tall pencil-thin
branches. Hunting now, for our own meat
with our own claws, and never mind the
stench, the stench was ours.

It is a fearful thing
to hold yourself cheaply,
sitting in a room full of truth, and
yet when she tells me this is what I've done,
I believe her for the fierceness in her tears.
All my perceptions are upside-down, and I do
not know, I do not know, I pretend not to
know, this is because I am now
flying. All the secrets that I tell
or keep cannot change the simple fact
of strong, sore, new, uncertain wings.

I thought the grief was over but perhaps
I am now strong enough to live with it
beside me. What sparrow does not want to
cast itself into the sky, and see that it has always been
an eagle? This one, this one, only you and I
and everyone that breathes. Oh God, how is it
you have made me a pheonix, when all the other girls
are peacocks, pigeons, and nightengales? I want to
be like and with and one of. I want to stay curled
in a little home of sticks and hair and books and
passageways. I want to stop but I am already
in the sky, and I have eaten meat that I
have hunted, from lives which I have gracefully
taken, as I was meant and built
to do.

Thing is, I went to Bryn Mawr
and it hurt me. And it was not
my home. Not
now.

On Graduate School and the Research Process Thereof

It's been such a long time since I said anything here. I realized that, while I may not have hoards of readers, nonetheless they may grow bored with continued silence and seek other forms of entertainment.

That, and I sort of want to bitch about grad school.

Grad school is weird. I don't understand it. I feel a little slighted because I am not receiving the volumes of mail I did for undergrad, but beyond that, it is simply difficult for me to sort through the many, many programs that exist without something physical to look at, read over, and judge from. I don't know if I'm doing this for the right reasons, but to be honest I feel rather trapped. I certainly don't want to wake up ten years from now and find that I've climbed some sort of theater management ladder and am doing more of the same in a more high-powered way. Which, when I put it that way, doesn't sound too horrible. But it's not what I want... If school is weird, offices are ten times weirder. I find myself saying my new job (Marketing and Public Relations Assistant) with pride because I think it's a cool title and because I expect that people will be impressed, not because I think it's a fantastic thing to do. So, it's clear that continuing a long time on this path is not for me.

Of course, arguably this whole Merriam thing is just my day job, and nobody's day job is her passion, right? Arguably, I have Uncut Pages to fuel me and satiate my creative appetite. Another tricky question... because no one else in Uncut Pages is, in fact, solely working a day job and biding time until the next project. Which means I must either cut my strings and go it alone, or twiddle my thumbs while everyone else engages in stimulating activities. The question of what I would do if that were not the case looms large, but I truly don't know how to answer it. If everyone else in the group was totally gung ho about working as they needed to keep body and soul together, but otherwise devoting the majority of free time and energy to Uncut Pages, would that be enough for me, too? Not that I'm expecting or truly wanting anyone to do that... but would I be satisfied then without school in my life? Sometimes it seems that way... and it's easy to get caught up in confusion and the illusion that others can control the way I live my life. If they would just answer their surveys, I would know what to do... right? And the idea of losing the enterprise, of letting it drift slowly to an end before it's really begun... well, it fills me with a painful sort of panic, and I'm not even entirely sure where it's coming from. Perhaps I feel that this is my last chance to create my great adventure. But, if it comes right down to that, there's something in me that says I would still want to do this, even if Uncut Pages full time was a totally viable option. I hope that something is right and true. It seems very important to me. I'm quite afraid that I'm going to school as a sort of "everyone else is doing it/better than the other options" measure. And that seems... wrong. It seems like, if that is really the case, then I should not go. But not going... feels wrong, too.

When I first left college, I felt a sort of compulsive desire to return to school. Partially because school was familiar and I knew what to expect. After all, the vast majority of my life has been spent in school. At that time, just a few months after leaving, it felt extremely urgent. I needed to be studying, reading scholastic things, doing research, etc. Yet somehow I didn't need it enough to apply, not then anyway. Now it feels less urgent, somehow. I've seen that it's perfectly possible to survive without school, and have an interesting (and in some ways more relaxed!) time. I still think, I still read, I still have exciting ideas. But this time, maybe because it is less necessary, I am taking more concrete steps toward application. In the form of serious sustained research of schools, and signing up for the bitch of an English subject GRE. As stupid, insane, uneccessary, stiltified, prejuicidal, gratuitously expensive, and plain ridiculous as the thing is, I am in some ways clinging to the fact that I've registered and to my preparations for it... because it's concrete and clear, and it is something I have accomplished and can continue to accomplish in definite ways. You would think the applications might feel that way too... but in truth the applications just feel scary as hell.

Ok. Time to break it down a bit. Why do I want to go to grad school and in what? Last year, I was really gung-ho about the Comp Lit, despite the fact that I do not have a third language, let alone a fourth as many schools require. I felt that Comp Lit was my home, I understood it, I was fucking good at it, it narrowed the list of schools a bit, and, most importantly, I could continue to float around in interdisciplinary land; I could retain my precious transgressive flexibility. Maud's email on the subject confused me (in positive and negative ways) to the point where I stopped looking at schools for almost a year. Well, to be fair, I'm sure it was not entirely Maud's email that did this, but let's use it as a talking point. Maud said she did not recommend grad school in comp lit, because it was difficult, the resources were scattered, and you came out less employable. Also, I was not yet qualified for "any comp lit program worth its salt," because I do not have a second foreign language... whereas, in an English program, my Spanish would serve as a powerful asset. She suggested doing English or "something else altogether," like this gender studies thing her friend was running. I feel like I should have taken into consideration the fact that Maud did her degree some time ago at an institution I was not really considering, but in the long run... I basically took it on faith, abandoned (though not immediately) my Comp Lit search, and began to look at the English programs at schools she recommened for me-- Harvard, Yale, Duke, Princeton, UCLA, UVA... all completely big-shot, top of the top sorts of places... the other part that floored me. She seemed to take it for granted that I was qualified for such schools, that such schools would be the natural places for me to consider continuing my education. I hadn't quite grasped that...that my undergraduate education and performance has, in fact, made me more attractive academically than I was when applying to college. It makes sense... it just hadn't quite occured to me. So it took me awhile to deal with that. And now... well, I'm excited. :) I want to be the best. I just hope these schools are actually, also, the best for me. I hope I end up doing this, all of it, for the right reasons.

And there are so many reasons... I want to be cool, I want people to talk about me and say, wow, she's going to ______, I knew she was smart, but I didn't know she was that smart. I want to be the first one in my family to get a PhD. I want to show my parents, and my uncles, and my cousins, and my teachers, and my friends... and my not-friends... that I, in fact, am the smartest bitch they're likely to know, and that is enough to excuse all the awkward moments, all the lack of boyfriends or a driver's license, the derth of knowledge on feminine arts of beauty... because there was always something greater in me, because I am, perhaps, an excuseable genius. Hmm. It's not them I want to show, really, is it? It's me. I have these problems with myself and I have this need to enhance my own opinion. And that's there. That's totally there, right beside my applications and my study book and my number two pencils (which I don't have yet but should buy before the exam). If I can't be the absolute 100% best, I at least have to show that I'm as good as anybody else out there. All right, so... let's not call it a bad reason, per se, let's just say it's an unachievable one. As long as that frosty drive is inside of me, it will never, never, never be satisfied. I could graduate from all of those institutions at the same time, and it would say that there was something left undone.

Writing that paragraph left me very nervous. Autumn cleaning? I hope so.

So... as of now, the list stands at Harvard (both for English, which boasts an impressive list of names and less exciting courses and for their Divinity School, which I stumbled on by chance, and which is so impractical and so enchanting--Amy Hollywood from my thesis, and tons of classes I want to take. Also Lilah.), Duke (for English. The friendliest, most complete and helpful website ever, and apparently they're very highly ranked for gender studies within the English field. And the classes sound wonderful.), Cornell (for MFA in Creative Writing leading into PhD in English--nifty little program, also very close to Syracuse-home. I think I found a couple of classes I like), NYU (for Comparative Lit, I think, one of the first programs I looked at, and the last Comp Lit holdout... it's beautifully funded, I like the organization of the program, and I promised Charlotte), Yale (for English, mostly because Rachel's into it... like Harvard, lovely professors, less exciting class descriptions. Also, in earlier years for some reason I always liked the idea of Yale better than Harvard, so it seems odd to just apply to the latter.) Not a bad list, you say, and it isn't. It just feels so... random. I'm entertaining a casual flirtation with Drew University, too, and I still want to look up Chicago, and Princeton one last time, because I remember being so impressed with them as an undergrad. Might want to take a gander at the D.C. options too, just because I still would love to get a chance to live and work there. I feel like a safety school or two wouldn't hurt, either. And there was that program in Madrid.... Any input would be lovely.

I was supposed to decide by today, and email my potential recommenders. I know I have to, but the idea of it is so nervewracking. But I can't let it get much later. I don't want this to slip by me again.

What is it I need? Is it patience and faith, that it will all work out somehow? Or perhaps a more decisive and dilligent approach? I try to remind myself that college was once this uncertain, and I agonized over my choices. I only hope something like Bryn Mawr, or the Bryn Mawr-esque experience (in terms of personal fit and importance) emerges now.

I feel like there is endlessly more to say, but this has gone on long enough, and should be posted. More on this and other topics soon, especially if it continues to be this slow at work.