Wednesdays are hard right now because my day goes from 7 a.m. to 8:45 p.m. And that's not counting travel time. Up at 6 a.m. and not home until after 9. And I don't
have internet access at work. As a result, my Wednesday evening class is the first class of my graduate student career in which I have broken the rules and facebooked in class. (It's not that I'm a goody-goody, it's that I'm terrified of getting caught)
The rest of this entry has been removed.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
summer turns to fall
Technically, according to the calendar, it's still summer. But summer semester officially ended last week-- first with a bang (the research paper that had been giving me panic attacks all summer), and then with a whimper (leftover assignments for Psychopathology, that I had been putting off until after the paper was done). And tomorrow, fall semester officially begins, with exactly one week in between. Seven days, five of which I had to work. Barely passed for a break. Needless to say, I milked the most out of every free minute during that week, reveling in the fact that I wasn't procrastinating some major assignment that would determine my fate for years to come. Because sometimes, that's what it feels like.
It will amuse my readers to know that the seemingly endless supply of Starburst gave way to more and more chocolate as summer school got down to the wire. As Buffy the Vampire Slayer once said, there is no problem that cannot be solved by chocolate.
The week before the research paper of doom was due was my best friend's wedding. You don't know multitasking until you've bought fruit and champagne, then spent a couple of hours dissecting academic articles on the hotel's wi-fi riiiiight up until time to put on the bridesmaid's dress. Surprisingly, I kept my game face on the whole time.
Okay, maybe not the whole time. There was one point where I was particularly hungry and carrying a lot of the bride's stress and it took every ounce of restraint I could muster not to yell at a Subway employee who would. not. stop. asking nosy questions. Only time in my life I have ever wanted to utter the sentence, "WOMAN! Shut up and make me a sandwich!"
Then there was the moment after the bride and groom drove away, which... let's just say there were tears. That moment is always a little emotional, at any wedding-- the symbolism of them driving off into their new life gets to me a little. But most of the time, it is just symbolic. This time, the happy couple was driving away for their wedding night, and then would be moving to Rhode Island. Meaning, this time when I watched the couple drive away, it wasn't just symbolic-- I knew I wouldn't be seeing them again for months. And I still don't know just how many months it will be.
I remember lots and lots of stories in children's literature about best friends moving away. Somehow I escaped that particular heartache in childhood-- we all stayed put in my small town. This is the first time I've really been devastated by a friend moving far away. Yes, we were all apart in college-- but college has an end date, and everyone is home over breaks. The thing I am really not liking about adulthood is that everything feels so permanent.
It has made me clingy-- I want to hold on to everyone else who is nearby!
I am lucky enough to have two women in my life that I can easily refer to as "BFF"-- both of whom have known me since middle school, and SOMEHOW still like me. Now that one is married and far away, I am demanding that the other stay close. Unless she takes me with her. And since she is the only one of us not married, I will be bringing a ton of experience and wisdom to the table when she does get married. I brought this point up Saturday night. We are working on establishing a biweekly Saturday ritual-- also a part of my clinginess, which I am determined to use productively.
You know what hasn't been productive? All the hours I've spent in the past two days watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. This is my brother's fault. And I am fully aware of how strange that may sound to some. But we don't have to fit your definitions of normal.
It will amuse my readers to know that the seemingly endless supply of Starburst gave way to more and more chocolate as summer school got down to the wire. As Buffy the Vampire Slayer once said, there is no problem that cannot be solved by chocolate.
The week before the research paper of doom was due was my best friend's wedding. You don't know multitasking until you've bought fruit and champagne, then spent a couple of hours dissecting academic articles on the hotel's wi-fi riiiiight up until time to put on the bridesmaid's dress. Surprisingly, I kept my game face on the whole time.
Okay, maybe not the whole time. There was one point where I was particularly hungry and carrying a lot of the bride's stress and it took every ounce of restraint I could muster not to yell at a Subway employee who would. not. stop. asking nosy questions. Only time in my life I have ever wanted to utter the sentence, "WOMAN! Shut up and make me a sandwich!"
Then there was the moment after the bride and groom drove away, which... let's just say there were tears. That moment is always a little emotional, at any wedding-- the symbolism of them driving off into their new life gets to me a little. But most of the time, it is just symbolic. This time, the happy couple was driving away for their wedding night, and then would be moving to Rhode Island. Meaning, this time when I watched the couple drive away, it wasn't just symbolic-- I knew I wouldn't be seeing them again for months. And I still don't know just how many months it will be.
I remember lots and lots of stories in children's literature about best friends moving away. Somehow I escaped that particular heartache in childhood-- we all stayed put in my small town. This is the first time I've really been devastated by a friend moving far away. Yes, we were all apart in college-- but college has an end date, and everyone is home over breaks. The thing I am really not liking about adulthood is that everything feels so permanent.
It has made me clingy-- I want to hold on to everyone else who is nearby!
I am lucky enough to have two women in my life that I can easily refer to as "BFF"-- both of whom have known me since middle school, and SOMEHOW still like me. Now that one is married and far away, I am demanding that the other stay close. Unless she takes me with her. And since she is the only one of us not married, I will be bringing a ton of experience and wisdom to the table when she does get married. I brought this point up Saturday night. We are working on establishing a biweekly Saturday ritual-- also a part of my clinginess, which I am determined to use productively.
You know what hasn't been productive? All the hours I've spent in the past two days watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. This is my brother's fault. And I am fully aware of how strange that may sound to some. But we don't have to fit your definitions of normal.
Friday, July 22, 2011
ain't no cure for the summer school blues
My mom is a teacher. This has affected my perspective of the world.
Because my mom was home during the summer, I was constantly forgetting that other people's parents still had to work. Working year-round seemed like such a bum deal. Poor grown-ups.
Being a grown-up myself now, and not having had a summer completely free of responsibilities since that one between high school and college, I still find working during the summer an incredibly unfair concept.
One of many weird things about grad school is that you are a functioning, bill-paying, in many cases married, in some cases child-raising, adult, yet here you are schlepping books around a college campus, drinking soft drinks like they're going out of style, and counting the days til the next break. Still, you'd think that whole adulthood and working year round thing would make taking summer classes seem reasonable, wouldn't you?
No, you wouldn't. Summer school SUCKS.
For one thing, Tennessee is in the middle of a massive heat wave. And not only does walking from the nearest parking area to the social work building drench you in sweat, but the AC in said building is mediocre at best.
For another thing, it is an entire semester's worth of information crammed into an abbreviated time period-- in the case of a half-term class, five measly little weeks. And yet, that doesn't mean they scale back on assignments. They just pile them right on top of each other. Sleep? Who needs it.
The only thing keeping my comrades and I sane is the ability to laugh at our predicaments. Talking each other down from the ledge with armloads full of frappuccinos and Starburst.
That's another funny thing about summer school: there is an excessive amount of Starburst. Each day during class, we pass around the giant bags, because there's no way we're getting through it without a sugar rush. Other candies and chocolate bars make appearances, but Starburst, for some unknown reason, is the most frequent preferred sugar source of overworked summer school students. I have eaten more Starburst this summer than I have ever eaten in my life.
And now, back to the books.
Because my mom was home during the summer, I was constantly forgetting that other people's parents still had to work. Working year-round seemed like such a bum deal. Poor grown-ups.
Being a grown-up myself now, and not having had a summer completely free of responsibilities since that one between high school and college, I still find working during the summer an incredibly unfair concept.
One of many weird things about grad school is that you are a functioning, bill-paying, in many cases married, in some cases child-raising, adult, yet here you are schlepping books around a college campus, drinking soft drinks like they're going out of style, and counting the days til the next break. Still, you'd think that whole adulthood and working year round thing would make taking summer classes seem reasonable, wouldn't you?
No, you wouldn't. Summer school SUCKS.
For one thing, Tennessee is in the middle of a massive heat wave. And not only does walking from the nearest parking area to the social work building drench you in sweat, but the AC in said building is mediocre at best.
For another thing, it is an entire semester's worth of information crammed into an abbreviated time period-- in the case of a half-term class, five measly little weeks. And yet, that doesn't mean they scale back on assignments. They just pile them right on top of each other. Sleep? Who needs it.
The only thing keeping my comrades and I sane is the ability to laugh at our predicaments. Talking each other down from the ledge with armloads full of frappuccinos and Starburst.
That's another funny thing about summer school: there is an excessive amount of Starburst. Each day during class, we pass around the giant bags, because there's no way we're getting through it without a sugar rush. Other candies and chocolate bars make appearances, but Starburst, for some unknown reason, is the most frequent preferred sugar source of overworked summer school students. I have eaten more Starburst this summer than I have ever eaten in my life.
And now, back to the books.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
princesses, brats, and girlie girl culture
It’s actually been a while since I finished reading Peggy Orenstein’s Cinderella Ate My Daughter, but it is A Book Worth Blogging About. I took notes for this purpose. The author shares a lot of my feelings about the trouble with maintaining role models in the media for young girls.
I was into Disney princesses when I was little, although Disney Princesses ™ were not yet a thing. I adored Aurora, Ariel, and Belle as individuals, but the company had not yet begun lumping them together in merchandise.
Orenstein comments on the transition: “Old-timers like Roy Disney considered it heresy to lump together those from different stories. That is why, these days, when the ladies appear on the same item, they never make eye contact. Each stares off in a slightly different direction, as if unaware of the others’ presence. Now that I have told you, you’ll always notice it. And let me tell you, it’s freaky” (Orenstein, 2011).
Orenstein (who was already an educated feminist writer before she gave birth to a daughter) struggled a lot with letting princesses dominate her daughter’s play. She consulted with other moms, who were equally confused. One mom allowed the merchandise in the house, but not the stories—seems backwards to me. A story is just a story, it’s not necessarily an ideal. But many people may disagree with me on that. I’m not saying that a story can’t have greater implications, but that opens up room for discussion.
I was never really into Barbie—she was too much of an empty vessel—could she not pick ONE career and ONE best friend and ONE car? I wasn’t into changing her clothes over and over again—wasn’t as fun as some girls seemed to think. Her legs were too rubbery to get them off and on easily anyway. Because I didn’t like Barbie, I don’t think I would have liked Bratz if they had been around then. But if I were raising a daughter, I would definitely think Barbie was preferable over Bratz. Barbie is at least an adult, whereas the Bratz look like prepubescent prostitutes. Then came Moxie Girlz, which are basically toned down Bratz, and now there is Monster High, which, as far as I can tell, simply causes confusion. Personally, I think the Monster High dolls are kind of cool looking, but I don’t know that they’re appropriate for the ages they’re being aimed at.
I did enjoy Jem and the Holograms—and I have watched a few episodes recently--that is a blog entry unto itself.
I imagine that if Disney Princesses ™ had been a thing when I was the right age, I would have fallen right into it. And I suppose there would have been worse things to be into. Orenstein reaches that conclusion: as things marketed to young girls go, princesses seem like the safest bet. Princesses do not encourage growing up too fast. Princesses are innocent. Princesses are many things, but they are not hypersexualized.
I don't know where the cultural fascination with princesses began, but if the recent royal wedding is any indication, lots of grown women have yet to fully outgrow it. I admit it-- I even got sucked in to the footage, and pontificated how this may be the only time I would ever see a woman walk into a church a civilian and walk out a princess.
I roll my eyes at the princess merchandise, because I feel it strips the characters of their individual personalities, and a lot of it is just plain cheesy. But I have been known to defend the characters as shown in the movies—some say my perception is skewed, but what I took from Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine was a strong THINK FOR YOURSELF message. These chicks are not settling for what they are “supposed’ to do—they know what they want. Even Jasmine, whose end goal is to get married, demands that Aladdin like and respect her for who she is.
One thing Orenstein pointed out jumped out at me. The princesses never have female friends. At least not in the best-known stories: Pocahontas had one, and Tiana too. I can’t believe I never noticed that. Everyone notices that they never have mothers—again, Tiana had one. I’m not really sure where Disney is going with stripping almost every princess of all female companionship. Granted, none of the male main characters have mothers either—but they have male friends.
Orenstein continued her journey by venturing to American Girl Place. If you’re looking for dolls that don’t encourage girls to grow up too fast, American Girl dolls seem like a good solution—but they are expensive! They were created by Pleasant T. Rowland, a former teacher and textbook editor, with the goal of countering Barbie’s glorification of woman hood by celebrating girlhood and forging a bond between mothers and daughters.
Again, I have to confess that American Girls were something I was into. My grandmother encouraged it—she brought me one of the books and the doll catalogue, and I was hooked. I was in love with the Victorian one, Samantha, and I did learn a lot about American history in the process. I haven’t read the books in years, but I enjoyed them at the time. And the catalogue itself was fascinating—each page summarized a book and had an outfit and accessories JUST FOR THAT BOOK. Although, as Orenstein points out, “The books preach against materialism, but you could blow the college fund on the gear” (Orenstein, 2011).
American Girl Place did not yet exist when I was at the target age, but I have since had the opportunity to visit the one in Chicago. It’s really just a large department store, but like FAO Schwarz and the Disney Store, has a vaguely theme park-esque atmosphere. The friend I was visiting and I wandered from floor to floor and stared at all the surrealness around us—doll accessories wall to wall, doll dioramas, a restaurant with seats and food for dolls, a doll hair salon. And lots and lots of money being spent. Orenstein observes that the mothers are fascinated by the accessories and the detail work, while the daughters’ main focus is on the clothes. What do they buy? Usually some of each. Forging a bond between mothers and daughters indeed.
In 1998, Pleasant sold out to Mattel, the creator of the doll she was trying to compete with (can’t really blame the woman, as it was a hefty paycheck). I’m not entirely clear on the timeline, but I’m betting that’s when the historic girls were relegated to the background and the “American Girls of Today” took over. And when American Girl Place came into being. “The simplicity of American Girl is expensive, while the finery of Princess comes cheap” (Orenstein, 2011).
I talked about the tween stars in an earlier entry. Orenstein describes Miley Cyrus and her ilk as “a different kind of Disney princess” and she is so right. I also appreciated that she mentioned my beloved Clarissa-- Clarissa proved that a female lead could play to both sexes, which encouraged Disney to take a chance on Lizzie McGuire.
That’s So Raven came next, and is to this day the longest-running of the bunch They filmed 65 episodes in rapid succession before Raven could age. I forgot about
That’s So Raven when I wrote the previous entry. It always seemed pretty harmless to me. Then there was the first Disney Channel original musical—The Cheetah Girls. It also starred Raven Symone, and I think its main purpose in life was to cash in on That’s So Raven’s popularity. That and to lay the groundwork for High School Musical. BUT, when I worked at The Disney Store, there was a song that used to play in the store from The Cheetah Girls which had a very strong girl-power message which actually bashed the Disney princesses. I still find that ironic and incredibly cool:
I don't wanna be like Cinderella
Sittin' in a dark old dusty cellar
Waiting for somebody, to come and set me free
I don't wanna be like Snow White waiting
For a handsome prince to come and save me
On a horse of white, unless we're riding side by side
Don't want to depend on no one else
I'd rather rescue myself
I was into Disney princesses when I was little, although Disney Princesses ™ were not yet a thing. I adored Aurora, Ariel, and Belle as individuals, but the company had not yet begun lumping them together in merchandise.
Orenstein comments on the transition: “Old-timers like Roy Disney considered it heresy to lump together those from different stories. That is why, these days, when the ladies appear on the same item, they never make eye contact. Each stares off in a slightly different direction, as if unaware of the others’ presence. Now that I have told you, you’ll always notice it. And let me tell you, it’s freaky” (Orenstein, 2011).
Orenstein (who was already an educated feminist writer before she gave birth to a daughter) struggled a lot with letting princesses dominate her daughter’s play. She consulted with other moms, who were equally confused. One mom allowed the merchandise in the house, but not the stories—seems backwards to me. A story is just a story, it’s not necessarily an ideal. But many people may disagree with me on that. I’m not saying that a story can’t have greater implications, but that opens up room for discussion.
I was never really into Barbie—she was too much of an empty vessel—could she not pick ONE career and ONE best friend and ONE car? I wasn’t into changing her clothes over and over again—wasn’t as fun as some girls seemed to think. Her legs were too rubbery to get them off and on easily anyway. Because I didn’t like Barbie, I don’t think I would have liked Bratz if they had been around then. But if I were raising a daughter, I would definitely think Barbie was preferable over Bratz. Barbie is at least an adult, whereas the Bratz look like prepubescent prostitutes. Then came Moxie Girlz, which are basically toned down Bratz, and now there is Monster High, which, as far as I can tell, simply causes confusion. Personally, I think the Monster High dolls are kind of cool looking, but I don’t know that they’re appropriate for the ages they’re being aimed at.
I did enjoy Jem and the Holograms—and I have watched a few episodes recently--that is a blog entry unto itself.
I imagine that if Disney Princesses ™ had been a thing when I was the right age, I would have fallen right into it. And I suppose there would have been worse things to be into. Orenstein reaches that conclusion: as things marketed to young girls go, princesses seem like the safest bet. Princesses do not encourage growing up too fast. Princesses are innocent. Princesses are many things, but they are not hypersexualized.
I don't know where the cultural fascination with princesses began, but if the recent royal wedding is any indication, lots of grown women have yet to fully outgrow it. I admit it-- I even got sucked in to the footage, and pontificated how this may be the only time I would ever see a woman walk into a church a civilian and walk out a princess.
I roll my eyes at the princess merchandise, because I feel it strips the characters of their individual personalities, and a lot of it is just plain cheesy. But I have been known to defend the characters as shown in the movies—some say my perception is skewed, but what I took from Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine was a strong THINK FOR YOURSELF message. These chicks are not settling for what they are “supposed’ to do—they know what they want. Even Jasmine, whose end goal is to get married, demands that Aladdin like and respect her for who she is.
One thing Orenstein pointed out jumped out at me. The princesses never have female friends. At least not in the best-known stories: Pocahontas had one, and Tiana too. I can’t believe I never noticed that. Everyone notices that they never have mothers—again, Tiana had one. I’m not really sure where Disney is going with stripping almost every princess of all female companionship. Granted, none of the male main characters have mothers either—but they have male friends.
Orenstein continued her journey by venturing to American Girl Place. If you’re looking for dolls that don’t encourage girls to grow up too fast, American Girl dolls seem like a good solution—but they are expensive! They were created by Pleasant T. Rowland, a former teacher and textbook editor, with the goal of countering Barbie’s glorification of woman hood by celebrating girlhood and forging a bond between mothers and daughters.
Again, I have to confess that American Girls were something I was into. My grandmother encouraged it—she brought me one of the books and the doll catalogue, and I was hooked. I was in love with the Victorian one, Samantha, and I did learn a lot about American history in the process. I haven’t read the books in years, but I enjoyed them at the time. And the catalogue itself was fascinating—each page summarized a book and had an outfit and accessories JUST FOR THAT BOOK. Although, as Orenstein points out, “The books preach against materialism, but you could blow the college fund on the gear” (Orenstein, 2011).
American Girl Place did not yet exist when I was at the target age, but I have since had the opportunity to visit the one in Chicago. It’s really just a large department store, but like FAO Schwarz and the Disney Store, has a vaguely theme park-esque atmosphere. The friend I was visiting and I wandered from floor to floor and stared at all the surrealness around us—doll accessories wall to wall, doll dioramas, a restaurant with seats and food for dolls, a doll hair salon. And lots and lots of money being spent. Orenstein observes that the mothers are fascinated by the accessories and the detail work, while the daughters’ main focus is on the clothes. What do they buy? Usually some of each. Forging a bond between mothers and daughters indeed.
In 1998, Pleasant sold out to Mattel, the creator of the doll she was trying to compete with (can’t really blame the woman, as it was a hefty paycheck). I’m not entirely clear on the timeline, but I’m betting that’s when the historic girls were relegated to the background and the “American Girls of Today” took over. And when American Girl Place came into being. “The simplicity of American Girl is expensive, while the finery of Princess comes cheap” (Orenstein, 2011).
I talked about the tween stars in an earlier entry. Orenstein describes Miley Cyrus and her ilk as “a different kind of Disney princess” and she is so right. I also appreciated that she mentioned my beloved Clarissa-- Clarissa proved that a female lead could play to both sexes, which encouraged Disney to take a chance on Lizzie McGuire.
That’s So Raven came next, and is to this day the longest-running of the bunch They filmed 65 episodes in rapid succession before Raven could age. I forgot about
That’s So Raven when I wrote the previous entry. It always seemed pretty harmless to me. Then there was the first Disney Channel original musical—The Cheetah Girls. It also starred Raven Symone, and I think its main purpose in life was to cash in on That’s So Raven’s popularity. That and to lay the groundwork for High School Musical. BUT, when I worked at The Disney Store, there was a song that used to play in the store from The Cheetah Girls which had a very strong girl-power message which actually bashed the Disney princesses. I still find that ironic and incredibly cool:
I don't wanna be like Cinderella
Sittin' in a dark old dusty cellar
Waiting for somebody, to come and set me free
I don't wanna be like Snow White waiting
For a handsome prince to come and save me
On a horse of white, unless we're riding side by side
Don't want to depend on no one else
I'd rather rescue myself
Sunday, April 24, 2011
And now, some silly academia...
Not gonna lie: a lot of things about the past three and a half months have kind of sucked. But the classes themselves have not sucked at all.
I am currently working on the take-home final for the class for which I was the least prepared. In doing so, I am looking over my notes. This was the first class ever which I have taken notes on my laptop. I just got the laptop for Christmas, and my other two classes this semester were not paced in such a way that I felt I had to type notes to keep up.
The whole reason I am blogging when I should be working on my final: these notes are freaking hilarious. Shall I share? I think I shall.
Yes, they are out of context. That's what makes them funny.
you can't get caught up in trying to socialize/educate everyone else in the world. there's not enough time. You don't have to legitimize yourself to everyone
who doesn't understand our profession-- unless you want to pay me a hundred dollars an hour to teach you about it, screw you!
today's pop culture references: Star Trek, Jay-Z, M.C. Hammer, Ben Vereen, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers
POLITICS ARE IRRATIONAL
POLITICS MAKE STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
DON'T LOOK FOR LOGIC
negotiate the environment... don't get shot!
how do you fight fairly? you don't!
it's a cutthroat world out there!!!
Lose the battle but win the war... sometimes you don't even have to win the war, you just have to survive the battle.
Nerve... you've got some nerve... taking everything that you deserve...
Would you hire someone if they told you that they had no weaknesses?
don't end up in jail
don't be like Caesar-- realize what Brutus is about to do before he does it.
The sky is blue on Thanksgiving duck. There were three men walking through a suddenly.
lilies of the field, Sidney Poitier
typing something so my computer doesn't go to sleep
regular class time BUT TRY TO GET THERE EARLY
and be ready to raise hell
Should I revise my powerpoint to be less GRRRRRR and more palatable? Hmm....
PROFESSIONAL DRESS NEXT MONDAY! In other words, go shopping!!!
CHECK OUT SHILOH ROOM!! It is not a Mission to Mars!! I don't remember him saying that, but okay.
presentations will be five minutes long.
Go over working group.... revise powerpoint and political plan, because what I have done is not what is going to work.
This is also the class that gave me an anxiety dream about the professor giving me a grade of -112. That's NEGATIVE one hundred and twelve. I don't know how my brain came up with that particular number. But in the dream, it was very real, and that of course canceled out of my good grades and flunked me out of the program.
That was when I realized I was taking everything way too seriously.
I am currently working on the take-home final for the class for which I was the least prepared. In doing so, I am looking over my notes. This was the first class ever which I have taken notes on my laptop. I just got the laptop for Christmas, and my other two classes this semester were not paced in such a way that I felt I had to type notes to keep up.
The whole reason I am blogging when I should be working on my final: these notes are freaking hilarious. Shall I share? I think I shall.
Yes, they are out of context. That's what makes them funny.
you can't get caught up in trying to socialize/educate everyone else in the world. there's not enough time. You don't have to legitimize yourself to everyone
who doesn't understand our profession-- unless you want to pay me a hundred dollars an hour to teach you about it, screw you!
today's pop culture references: Star Trek, Jay-Z, M.C. Hammer, Ben Vereen, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers
POLITICS ARE IRRATIONAL
POLITICS MAKE STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
DON'T LOOK FOR LOGIC
negotiate the environment... don't get shot!
how do you fight fairly? you don't!
it's a cutthroat world out there!!!
Lose the battle but win the war... sometimes you don't even have to win the war, you just have to survive the battle.
Nerve... you've got some nerve... taking everything that you deserve...
Would you hire someone if they told you that they had no weaknesses?
don't end up in jail
don't be like Caesar-- realize what Brutus is about to do before he does it.
The sky is blue on Thanksgiving duck. There were three men walking through a suddenly.
lilies of the field, Sidney Poitier
typing something so my computer doesn't go to sleep
regular class time BUT TRY TO GET THERE EARLY
and be ready to raise hell
Should I revise my powerpoint to be less GRRRRRR and more palatable? Hmm....
PROFESSIONAL DRESS NEXT MONDAY! In other words, go shopping!!!
CHECK OUT SHILOH ROOM!! It is not a Mission to Mars!! I don't remember him saying that, but okay.
presentations will be five minutes long.
Go over working group.... revise powerpoint and political plan, because what I have done is not what is going to work.
This is also the class that gave me an anxiety dream about the professor giving me a grade of -112. That's NEGATIVE one hundred and twelve. I don't know how my brain came up with that particular number. But in the dream, it was very real, and that of course canceled out of my good grades and flunked me out of the program.
That was when I realized I was taking everything way too seriously.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
As the iCarly theme song says, somehow we're gonna get there.
Remember Britney’s meltdown? Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. No last name needed. THAT Britney. THAT meltdown. She was spotted without underwear a few times, she almost dropped her kids a couple more times, and then she shaved her head. The media ate that up.
Britney Spears. Lindsay Lohan. Mary Kate and Ashley Olson. Demi Lovato. Miley Cyrus. To a lesser extent, Britney’s little sister Jamie Lynn and High School Musical’s Vanessa Hudgens. What do these names evoke? Good girls gone wrong. Shoehorned for so long into the role of kid-friendly role models that the minute they were old enough to gain some independence (whatever that means), they went off the rails. Either they had a massive and public meltdown, or they began doing scandalous things like DRINKING. And DANCING SUGGESTIVELY. The horrors! How dare they do the things that eighteen-year-olds everywhere do?
I know the drinking age is twenty-one. I’m not condoning underage drinking. Hell, in college, I was a freaking prude, ask anyone who knew me then. But, statistically (which is another word for “realistically”), most eighteen-year-olds have experimented with alcohol. And yet the famous ones are held to a different standard.
The fall from grace for Vanessa Hudgens was not quite so dramatic, because everyone understood that the suggestive photos she took of herself were never meant to be seen by the public. People are more understanding when you are betrayed. I guess. Still, she revealed herself to be a sexual being, and that made a lot of people upset. I have to say, I’ve watched bits and pieces of High School Musical and I find it highly disconcerting for the simple reason that the high schoolers are not acting remotely like any high schooler I’ve ever met. Glee does a much better job of portraying high schoolers: drinking, sexting teenagers who also happen to sing peppy songs. All played by adults.
And if you’ll excuse me, I have to contradict myself—what I just said is ENTIRELY beside the point, because—are you listening? This is important—GLEE IS NOT A KID’S SHOW. I shouted that from the rooftops when Lea Michele was recently shamed for appearing on the cover of Cosmopolitan in a *gasp* low-cut dress. If you don’t want your kids seeing Rachel Berry in a low-cut dress, you probably don’t want them watching her get sloppy drunk and draping herself over the ex-boyfriend who, last season, honestly believed he had gotten a girl pregnant by ejaculating in a hot tub. The ACTUAL father of the baby seduced the President of the Celibacy Club with winecoolers and then sold marijuana-laced cupcakes to pay the doctor’s bills. In the meantime, Rachel Berry dated her co-star from Spring Awakening—the show in which she actually got naked on stage. And yet, because she then played a high schooler on a show occasionally watched by children of parents with questionable judgment, it wasn’t okay for her to wear a low-cut dress. Naked on stage—okay. Low cut dress on the cover of a magazine—not okay. Can someone please explain this to me, because I’m very confused.
I caught a lot of flak from friends around the time of the epic Britney meltdown, because I felt the need to defend her. I couldn’t really tell you why, except that I know how it feels to be mentally unstable and yet self-aware enough to know that things are spiraling out of control. It’s not fun. And if I had had paparazzi on my tail around junior year of college—or junior year of high school for that matter—I don’t even want to think about the pictures that would be haunting me.
I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Miley Cyrus. I find the Hannah Montana franchise pretty annoying, because it’s terribly over merchandised for a TV show that’s moderately clever at best and hellooooooo, Jem did the “rock star with a secret identity” schtick first and did it better. But, I do think Miley is a good performer, and I will in fact sing along with her songs. Or, if I’ve had even one drink, I’ll sing them in my living room for no apparent reason. But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m trying to think who the girls were that played the “kid-friendly role model” role in my life, but I don’t think there were as many choices in the 80’s and early 90’s. After I outgrew Rainbow Brite and Jem, there were D.J. and Stephanie Tanner, but they always took a backseat on their show to the adult male performers and the Olsen twins in their age of innocence. As far as accessible female characters who I could look up to and relate to, who were given the freedom to carry a franchise on their own, only one name springs to mind: Clarissa Darling. That’s right—people think Disney invented the tween girl heroine, but Nickelodeon pioneered the concept first. And as this excellent article points out, it was a show starring a girl that both girls AND boys watched, and that is still something people seem convinced can’t happen.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t a franchise. It was one TV show. But it was AMAZING. I wanted to wear her clothes, live in her bedroom, and have a male best friend who regularly climbed through my window via ladder. But even as that impressionable young girl who wanted to be Clarissa, I understood that there really was no Clarissa. I didn’t want Melissa Joan Hart for a role model. She was older than she played, and frankly, uninteresting (I’ve since learned that she’s a homophobic Republican who gets very bitchy when her acting style is criticized, so it was probably for the best). I didn’t want Melissa, I wanted Clarissa. That seemed to be fine then. So why is Miley’s identity so intrinsically linked with Hannah that the world goes into a tailspin if she does something out of character?
Melissa Joan Hart did get in some trouble for posing in Maxim during her Sabrina the Teenage Witch days, but—please correct me if I’m wrong—I don’t remember that being a big deal.
These thoughts all came to mind after reading this New York Times article about Miranda Cosgrove, aka iCarly. I am not too proud to admit that I enjoy an occasional episode of iCarly, largely because it has the same kind of snarky-but-cute/ let-me-tell-you-what-I-think/ girl-power-is-a-dish-best-served-with-humor vibe that Clarissa Explains It All had. The article makes Miranda Cosgrove seem like a real, down-to-earth, positive role model, but that could just mean she has excellent PR. What’s really striking about the article is the sad truth that everyone is expecting her to crash and burn. Because that’s what kid-friendly female superstars DO. Notice the key word: female. As a follow-up article on Jezebel (which incorrectly states she works for Disney) points out, the boys don’t have this problem. The oldest Jonas brother is twenty-one: no sign of meltdown. Nobody seems concerned about what will happen when Justin Bieber turns eighteen. Let’s face it: it’s different for girls.
But why? That’s the part I can’t quite understand. So I called my brother (the film student) for consultation. He says it’s because little girls are supposed to be sweet and innocent, and there is no clear point where one is allowed to shed that image. The New York Times Article also points out that career-wise, it’s very difficult to move on and have a real career when you’ve already been pigeonholed into the “sweet and innocent” role.
My brother also says that what made Melissa Joan Hart as Clarissa different than the girls today is that cable TV just wasn’t as big of a deal. Nickelodeon flew under the radar then, and there was never any expectation that Melissa Joan Hart should be a role model, or that she should grow up and have any kind of adult career. The fact that her name is still recognizable is probably a surprise to the Nickelodeon execs of yesteryear.
I should probably stop rambling, but I want to point out that there are exceptions. I had the great pleasure (that is sarcasm, in case you didn’t notice) of working at the Disney Store in 2003, and at that point in time, Disney’s great mission in life was to promote Hilary Duff with all their might. Star of a little show called Lizzie McGuire. Don’t remember it? That’s because Hilary Duff had enough of Disney (as did I), and the minute Lizzie McGuire ended, they began pushing Hannah Montana. The first time I saw a promo for Hannah Montana, I said to myself, “Oh, look, they got themselves a new blond girl show.” Little did I know the extent to which that particular blond girl (actually a brunette girl in a wig) would take over Disney. Granted, Hilary Duff is far from a superstar, but she’s not an object of vitriol either.
Good luck, Miranda Cosgrove. I’m rooting for you.
Britney Spears. Lindsay Lohan. Mary Kate and Ashley Olson. Demi Lovato. Miley Cyrus. To a lesser extent, Britney’s little sister Jamie Lynn and High School Musical’s Vanessa Hudgens. What do these names evoke? Good girls gone wrong. Shoehorned for so long into the role of kid-friendly role models that the minute they were old enough to gain some independence (whatever that means), they went off the rails. Either they had a massive and public meltdown, or they began doing scandalous things like DRINKING. And DANCING SUGGESTIVELY. The horrors! How dare they do the things that eighteen-year-olds everywhere do?
I know the drinking age is twenty-one. I’m not condoning underage drinking. Hell, in college, I was a freaking prude, ask anyone who knew me then. But, statistically (which is another word for “realistically”), most eighteen-year-olds have experimented with alcohol. And yet the famous ones are held to a different standard.
The fall from grace for Vanessa Hudgens was not quite so dramatic, because everyone understood that the suggestive photos she took of herself were never meant to be seen by the public. People are more understanding when you are betrayed. I guess. Still, she revealed herself to be a sexual being, and that made a lot of people upset. I have to say, I’ve watched bits and pieces of High School Musical and I find it highly disconcerting for the simple reason that the high schoolers are not acting remotely like any high schooler I’ve ever met. Glee does a much better job of portraying high schoolers: drinking, sexting teenagers who also happen to sing peppy songs. All played by adults.
And if you’ll excuse me, I have to contradict myself—what I just said is ENTIRELY beside the point, because—are you listening? This is important—GLEE IS NOT A KID’S SHOW. I shouted that from the rooftops when Lea Michele was recently shamed for appearing on the cover of Cosmopolitan in a *gasp* low-cut dress. If you don’t want your kids seeing Rachel Berry in a low-cut dress, you probably don’t want them watching her get sloppy drunk and draping herself over the ex-boyfriend who, last season, honestly believed he had gotten a girl pregnant by ejaculating in a hot tub. The ACTUAL father of the baby seduced the President of the Celibacy Club with winecoolers and then sold marijuana-laced cupcakes to pay the doctor’s bills. In the meantime, Rachel Berry dated her co-star from Spring Awakening—the show in which she actually got naked on stage. And yet, because she then played a high schooler on a show occasionally watched by children of parents with questionable judgment, it wasn’t okay for her to wear a low-cut dress. Naked on stage—okay. Low cut dress on the cover of a magazine—not okay. Can someone please explain this to me, because I’m very confused.
I caught a lot of flak from friends around the time of the epic Britney meltdown, because I felt the need to defend her. I couldn’t really tell you why, except that I know how it feels to be mentally unstable and yet self-aware enough to know that things are spiraling out of control. It’s not fun. And if I had had paparazzi on my tail around junior year of college—or junior year of high school for that matter—I don’t even want to think about the pictures that would be haunting me.
I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Miley Cyrus. I find the Hannah Montana franchise pretty annoying, because it’s terribly over merchandised for a TV show that’s moderately clever at best and hellooooooo, Jem did the “rock star with a secret identity” schtick first and did it better. But, I do think Miley is a good performer, and I will in fact sing along with her songs. Or, if I’ve had even one drink, I’ll sing them in my living room for no apparent reason. But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m trying to think who the girls were that played the “kid-friendly role model” role in my life, but I don’t think there were as many choices in the 80’s and early 90’s. After I outgrew Rainbow Brite and Jem, there were D.J. and Stephanie Tanner, but they always took a backseat on their show to the adult male performers and the Olsen twins in their age of innocence. As far as accessible female characters who I could look up to and relate to, who were given the freedom to carry a franchise on their own, only one name springs to mind: Clarissa Darling. That’s right—people think Disney invented the tween girl heroine, but Nickelodeon pioneered the concept first. And as this excellent article points out, it was a show starring a girl that both girls AND boys watched, and that is still something people seem convinced can’t happen.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t a franchise. It was one TV show. But it was AMAZING. I wanted to wear her clothes, live in her bedroom, and have a male best friend who regularly climbed through my window via ladder. But even as that impressionable young girl who wanted to be Clarissa, I understood that there really was no Clarissa. I didn’t want Melissa Joan Hart for a role model. She was older than she played, and frankly, uninteresting (I’ve since learned that she’s a homophobic Republican who gets very bitchy when her acting style is criticized, so it was probably for the best). I didn’t want Melissa, I wanted Clarissa. That seemed to be fine then. So why is Miley’s identity so intrinsically linked with Hannah that the world goes into a tailspin if she does something out of character?
Melissa Joan Hart did get in some trouble for posing in Maxim during her Sabrina the Teenage Witch days, but—please correct me if I’m wrong—I don’t remember that being a big deal.
These thoughts all came to mind after reading this New York Times article about Miranda Cosgrove, aka iCarly. I am not too proud to admit that I enjoy an occasional episode of iCarly, largely because it has the same kind of snarky-but-cute/ let-me-tell-you-what-I-think/ girl-power-is-a-dish-best-served-with-humor vibe that Clarissa Explains It All had. The article makes Miranda Cosgrove seem like a real, down-to-earth, positive role model, but that could just mean she has excellent PR. What’s really striking about the article is the sad truth that everyone is expecting her to crash and burn. Because that’s what kid-friendly female superstars DO. Notice the key word: female. As a follow-up article on Jezebel (which incorrectly states she works for Disney) points out, the boys don’t have this problem. The oldest Jonas brother is twenty-one: no sign of meltdown. Nobody seems concerned about what will happen when Justin Bieber turns eighteen. Let’s face it: it’s different for girls.
But why? That’s the part I can’t quite understand. So I called my brother (the film student) for consultation. He says it’s because little girls are supposed to be sweet and innocent, and there is no clear point where one is allowed to shed that image. The New York Times Article also points out that career-wise, it’s very difficult to move on and have a real career when you’ve already been pigeonholed into the “sweet and innocent” role.
My brother also says that what made Melissa Joan Hart as Clarissa different than the girls today is that cable TV just wasn’t as big of a deal. Nickelodeon flew under the radar then, and there was never any expectation that Melissa Joan Hart should be a role model, or that she should grow up and have any kind of adult career. The fact that her name is still recognizable is probably a surprise to the Nickelodeon execs of yesteryear.
I should probably stop rambling, but I want to point out that there are exceptions. I had the great pleasure (that is sarcasm, in case you didn’t notice) of working at the Disney Store in 2003, and at that point in time, Disney’s great mission in life was to promote Hilary Duff with all their might. Star of a little show called Lizzie McGuire. Don’t remember it? That’s because Hilary Duff had enough of Disney (as did I), and the minute Lizzie McGuire ended, they began pushing Hannah Montana. The first time I saw a promo for Hannah Montana, I said to myself, “Oh, look, they got themselves a new blond girl show.” Little did I know the extent to which that particular blond girl (actually a brunette girl in a wig) would take over Disney. Granted, Hilary Duff is far from a superstar, but she’s not an object of vitriol either.
Good luck, Miranda Cosgrove. I’m rooting for you.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Earwax Buildup
I was going to blog about my car's terrible fate, but it seems insensitive in light of the tragedy in Japan. Why should I be sad about losing a car when others lost everything? So, instead, I'm going to blog about earwax. Yes, earwax.
I remember saying "do you have an earwax buildup?" when I was a teenager. My friends and I just thought it was a funny thing to say when someone couldn't hear something. I never knew that earwax could actually build up to the point where it affected your hearing. But it can, and it did.
For about two weeks, I've been feeling increased pressure in my right ear, and if I was lying in bed on my left side (I am a side sleeper), I couldn't hear anything. I had this problem once before, but it cleared up on its own. I kept thinking it would do that this time, but it didn't. It got worse.
By the beginning of this week, it had spread to both ears, and was still getting worse. I had the TV turned up to 34, and I didn't hear the door when my husband came into the apartment. My mom thought it might be allergy-related, so when I went to see her on Sunday, she sent me home with Zyrtec. When I finally went to bed at 1:00 am (spring break!), all the Zyrtec accomplished was knocking me out for twelve hours.
Last night I went to Bible Study, and had barely gotten in the door before I was asking friends to repeat themselves. I nodded my way through most of the conversation, imitating what my grandfather does. There was a cat outside, apparently, that my friends kept saying was yowling. When I admitted that I couldn't hear the cat at all, my friends told me to go to the doctor. This sentiment was later echoed by my husband when he realized how loud the TV had been turned up.
I went to the walk-in clinic today, lacking the energy to make an actual appointment. After sitting in the waiting room for over an hour, I finally saw a doctor, who looked in my ears and proclaimed them "all the way blocked" and in need of being "washed out." I had no idea this was something one could actually have done at a doctor's office.
Only one nurse in the place was willing to take on the task, since even among medical professionals, earwax is considered pretty darn gross. And it was pretty gross, to see the water and peroxide she pumped in with a heavy duty syringe type shooter (I do not know the proper terminology) come out BROWN. And it took several times, but finally she pulled out what-- I kid you not-- looked like a small animal.
And that's when I was struck by how LOUD everything seemed. On the drive home, I could hear not only the engine running, but the wind blowing, and then I came into my apartment and heard a clock ticking. I can't remember the last time the clock was audible. My earwax had to have been building up for some time. When I turn my head, I can hear my hair move. This is a very weird feeling.
In conclusion, kids: clean your ears on a regular basis, with chemicals if necessary. Earwax buildups are not a joke.
I remember saying "do you have an earwax buildup?" when I was a teenager. My friends and I just thought it was a funny thing to say when someone couldn't hear something. I never knew that earwax could actually build up to the point where it affected your hearing. But it can, and it did.
For about two weeks, I've been feeling increased pressure in my right ear, and if I was lying in bed on my left side (I am a side sleeper), I couldn't hear anything. I had this problem once before, but it cleared up on its own. I kept thinking it would do that this time, but it didn't. It got worse.
By the beginning of this week, it had spread to both ears, and was still getting worse. I had the TV turned up to 34, and I didn't hear the door when my husband came into the apartment. My mom thought it might be allergy-related, so when I went to see her on Sunday, she sent me home with Zyrtec. When I finally went to bed at 1:00 am (spring break!), all the Zyrtec accomplished was knocking me out for twelve hours.
Last night I went to Bible Study, and had barely gotten in the door before I was asking friends to repeat themselves. I nodded my way through most of the conversation, imitating what my grandfather does. There was a cat outside, apparently, that my friends kept saying was yowling. When I admitted that I couldn't hear the cat at all, my friends told me to go to the doctor. This sentiment was later echoed by my husband when he realized how loud the TV had been turned up.
I went to the walk-in clinic today, lacking the energy to make an actual appointment. After sitting in the waiting room for over an hour, I finally saw a doctor, who looked in my ears and proclaimed them "all the way blocked" and in need of being "washed out." I had no idea this was something one could actually have done at a doctor's office.
Only one nurse in the place was willing to take on the task, since even among medical professionals, earwax is considered pretty darn gross. And it was pretty gross, to see the water and peroxide she pumped in with a heavy duty syringe type shooter (I do not know the proper terminology) come out BROWN. And it took several times, but finally she pulled out what-- I kid you not-- looked like a small animal.
And that's when I was struck by how LOUD everything seemed. On the drive home, I could hear not only the engine running, but the wind blowing, and then I came into my apartment and heard a clock ticking. I can't remember the last time the clock was audible. My earwax had to have been building up for some time. When I turn my head, I can hear my hair move. This is a very weird feeling.
In conclusion, kids: clean your ears on a regular basis, with chemicals if necessary. Earwax buildups are not a joke.
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