This isn't the happiest post, but I've never pretended to be focused on the purely joyful. In response to a lot of feminist criticism I've read this week for Gender and Interpretations I wrote the following. I felt like it deserved to be shared as I do think it applies to all, not just women.

It was inevitable, perhaps, that the subject of rape would arise. In a gender and interpretation class how can it be avoided? I am incredibly uncomfortable with this topic, though; I think because it is so much more difficult to think through than any other.
Why is it so difficult to think about? Rich does it with unwavering honesty, and Gubar looks at it head on. Both seem to discuss the way that rape happens not only to women's bodies by men, but also to a woman's existence--it is that difference that throws me. When I was young the sure way to make me lose my temper was to deny me control. My brother would on occasion lord his power over me because he was older and stronger. This didn't arise (at least not consciously) from a need to play out his male dominance over my female self but none-the-less, when he would take my food/toy/seat just because he could, I would fly into a berserker rage. More recently while playing poker I was too quick of wit and the man whom my tongue had flayed felt insulted (and he was right to feel so since I did insult him). In response he called me fat. I found myself thinking on both of these occurrences as I read Rich and Gubar.
I bring them up because in both cases my power, my self is taken from me. As a child, at some level, I was particularly sensitive to the denial of my self possession. As an adult what bothered me about being called fat had nothing to do with it being true (duh) or him finding me attractive (don't care) but with the knowledge that nothing I said, no matter how smart, witty, or funny, would make him understand. He would never realize how in that moment he had shown his own powerlessness against (fear of) me, by attempting to take my power from me. He had already been outsmarted and in response had gone to that age-old marker of status--physical appearance. Because I am fat my glibness was inconsequential--somehow my body trumps my actions.
It is in thinking of the origins of the word rape--rapere, to take--and realizing how, in that moment my humanity had been taken from me that my difficulty with this topic arises. I wasn't funny or smart or even mean. I was just a fat girl. Rich says that "rape is the ultimate outward and physical act of coercion and depersonalization practiced on women by men" (110) and it wasn't until I read her words on the war and Gubar's words about the blank page that I realized how many different ways a rape can happen outside of sexual force. It is difficult to respond to this subject in any way but an honest one. Perhaps that ties back into what we read earlier about the need for honesty; perhaps that is my own response to the feeling of being powerless. If I can name it then I can resume some measure of power over myself and my body.
I had planned on being humorous and entertaining in my response. How many jokes can be (and have been) made about "the redemptive female whose mission is to 'save' the man, humanize him, forgive him when he cannot forgive himself" (114)? I myself have a top ten list titled "Top Ten Men Who Might Kill Me While I Sleep." This female role has almost become a cliché; something that has taken away the danger and urgency of female awareness of the problem and replaced it with staid acceptance and, even, expectation. And that is perhaps the greatest rape of all--not just of the female psyche but of every psyche that accepts the role placed on it. The expectation that you will be used as an object; the expectation that you will be judged as an object. The expectation that you will be adored and discarded as an object. This expectation is our acceptance of the taking, the rape, of our humanity--by accepting it as commonplace we are as silent as Philomela and Lavinia, but perhaps our silence is more horrific because it is of our own making.
I don't know if this is what anyone is looking for in a response--I'm not sharing it because I'm looking for some sort of catharsis, but because I don't know of a way to discuss this topic or these readings except to talk about them, to talk about me and my experiences. I could summarize what I've read but that seems like false academia. I could relate how the theory of rape is at work in Ovid or Shakespeare, but that doesn't seem to get at the crux of the issue being discussed. I suppose I am attempting to examine the theory as brought forth in our readings as rape being something more than simply sexual (if there is anything simple about it) and specifically how these rapes in literature are metaphorically playing out in the power structures surrounding us. That is the problem I am attempting to name and discuss.

But how to do you name and discuss an activity that simultaneously denies your humanity as it defines it?

I love it when I see there are other people in the world fighting the same things as me. It heartens me and validates my brilliance. In an article titled "The Age of American Unreason" found here http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/23227115/ Susan Jacoby attacks the slow degradation of American language and its effect on the populous at large. I find her attack on the prevalent use of "folks" particularly interesting.

What I like especially about her article is that it points out how a simple substitution of one word an have such far-reaching effects. For those that doubt it, look at the way "terrorist" now equates with the ultimate evil (think Satan) instead of a sort of evil. Terrorist in fact, operates, in much the same way Drug-Lord did in the 80's. Examining action movies would be a really interesting cultural study for that sort of thing I think.

I also find it comforting to know that someone out there is publishing on this age of anti-intellectualism that seems to have come over our country. I've actually had the thought several times: is this how Romans felt as the Medieval Age began to sweep in? The loss of seemingly obvious knowledge, the return to freakishly superstitious ways of life, and a backwards march in humanity's treatment of itself? As religion plays a bigger and bigger role in the public sphere of American life and we elect people to run our country based on their "averageness" I find myself thinking about this more and more. I often consider what the history books will say about this period in time. What will be remembered about the American people? What will children ask? I hope it isn't "how could they let that happen?" That's what I asked when I studied WWII. It's also what I asked when learning our own history of genocide, both intentional and unintentional.

I'm not comparing us to the Nazis; I actually am incredibly encouraged by this upcoming Presidential election. Unless McCain wins we should be okay. And I don't say that simply because McCain is a Republican, though I am not, as you all know, Republican, but because he is so darn eager to bomb Iraq. I don't know what the answer is to our situation over there--we've screwed it up pretty good and I don't see the solution as being quick and easy, but I would really, really like to have someone in the White House who at least understands that it is screwed up. And more than that, someone who doesn't feel like they have the answer. Not to mention that I really do feel a problem equally as large as Iraq is our abuse of civil rights here on the home-front and it is incredibly important to me that we have a President willing to address that.

All of this is to say that things aren't right. Maybe they never were, maybe this isn't as bad as it could be, but it seems to me they are pretty bad. And the ways in which this wrongness is being perpetrated are continually ignored--specifically media and government. As I teach and bring examples up I watch students' eyes widen when they realize how they've been had--by propaganda, double-speak, and advertising. When I read this excerpt I hope (though I know it isn't true) that more people can see how they've been had. I keep thinking that eventually people, somehow, will put a stop to the media's spiraling out of control. I keep thinking that eventually people will demand something better of their government.

It's a hope, and perhaps a small one. But that's the great thing about hope, you only need a possibility to have it, and sometimes having it is all you need to make the possibility a reality. So here's to hoping.

It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, I don't have a coat on and it's February. And am I outside, hiking, spraining my ankle again at Red Rock? No. I'm inside grading papers. And when I'm done grading papers I'm going to do homework. Do you know how hard it is to change the world when you're a graduate student? Sometimes I look around at the university apparatus surrounding me and I think, I'm not part of the Rebellion, oh no, I'm now one of those officers on board the Death Star. My goals to keep fighting for the revolution are steadily being buried under stacks of writing begging desperately to be validated.

I do have good news, though. My students this semester, as a whole, are generally good people. I know, that seems like an odd thing to say, but in past semester's that hasn't actually always been the case. Of course, since this is 102 they may have just better learned how to hide their evil ways. Oh well, I'll pull it out of them if it's in there. But they are all, generally, anti-stereotype. I can't even begin to express how happy that makes me. This isn't to say that they don't stereotype; in fact, many of them used stereotypes to argue against stereotypes, but their little black hearts are in the right place. It rejuvenates me at a time when I seriously beginning to doubt if I was going to make it.

All-in-all I'm enjoying myself now that I am more acclimated to the desert. Red Rock is still, by far, the most beautiful thing about Las Vegas, but one trip out there renews the soul. When I'm hiking in the mountains I don't think about the smell of the casinos or what I have to get done or how hot it will be in the summer. It's just me and the rocks. And the snakes. I saw the delightful sign that said "Stay on trail, snakes are awake."

And on a tangent I have to ask: is that really necessary? I know there are people that are not appropriately afraid of snakes but I am not one of them (see Lonesome Dove inspired snake rant). But once you see the sign all you can think about, and by you I mean me, is that a particularly cranky rattlesnake could be lurking in the bushes just waiting for the chance to eat one unsuspecting chubby girl. Judging by human reaction to my ass I'm guessing snakes might want to love on it too, but theirs is the love that can kill you. Or at least rot your flesh away. So not sexy.

But all of that aside, there is a certain beauty in the desert. I still feel slightly claustrophobic at times, but less so now. And honestly, knowing that everyone back home is shoveling snow and still in winter clothes makes me love life that much more. Someday when I am a rich and famous trashy romance author I will live where there are seasons and totally fly out here or some place like it come January.

So I don't actually have anything of real substance to say. Mostly I just don't want to finish grading and I want you (especially if you are somewhere cold) to feel my pain with me via the lovely weather right now. Of course, I can't really get to high up the moral ground since my world is still rocked by Lonesome Dove. That just seems wrong on so many levels. But first there were the snakes, and then there was Robert Duvall, and then there was Tommy Lee Jones. By the time it was all said and done I felt like I had traveled to Montana and back. And I think I've discovered it's not so much the moving character studies I enjoy in my Westerns as simply hot guys shooting guns and saving babies. Yes, I'm shallow. But it's only to protect my tender heart from the extreme emotional scars of Lonesome Dove. A girl's gotta have her pride after all.

I got called fat tonight. Not a statement of fact, but a pointed "At least I'm still thin." I believe the last time some one tried to insult me via my weight I was twenty and the comment was "at least I'm not as fat as Jessica." Six years later the sentiment is the same, but I'm happy to say I am not. I didn't cry. I didn't yell or even bite back. I knew if I spoke nothing but venom would come out and so I abstained. The comment was made because no snappier insult was at hand and like a cornered dog, he snapped at me. I feel a strange sort of pity, and yes, anger, at that.

I forget sometimes that I'm fat. I know, that sounds odd, how does one forget she's fat? And the truth is I don't, not really, but I forget how I appear to other people. I forget that when they see me the first thing they see is a fat girl. Not everyone, certainly, but enough. Being reminded hurts, but it isn't the fat part that hurts; it's the powerlessness that comes with it. What I mean by that is when someone insults you for your appearance (or sexuality or gender or race) there is no reasoning with them. You can't explain to them why it doesn't work as an insult or how they failed to be witty or even how it crosses the line. When dealing with hate, however unintentional, you are simply left with no recourse but to fight it with dignity. I can. I have. I did it tonight, but it comes at a cost. All I want to do is scream and yell and perhaps physically hurt, but none of that will get the point across. The simple reason being if they feel it is an insult to call you what you are then you've already won, but you will never make them admit it.

It's a cliché to say that people make fun because they are insecure but the older I get the more I feel it is true. And when I was younger I was hurt very deeply by such things. To have it acknowledged that I was unattractive--especially over something I should, conceivably, be able to change--was akin to torture. After all if I were thinner someone would love me. And the only reason I wasn't skinny was because I didn't have the mental fortitude to work for it. I had, therefore, no one to blame but myself for my lonely nights. And, what's more, it was rude of me to expect someone to find me attractive; it was, in fact, rude of me to go out in public and pretend to be attractive. No one wants to look at the fat girl. No one wants to sleep with the fat girl. Not if they have the chance to sleep with the skinny girl.

That is, of course, all ridiculous and I now know that, but it doesn't change the fact that others still believe it. It doesn't change the fact that every time I meet new people I have to wait for an opportunity to make a joke so they will see me as funny, charming, or witty, and not simply fat. It doesn't change the fact that every time a friend calls me to come out I know their guy friends will be disappointed I'm what they have to flirt with. It doesn't change the fact that men looking for a quick lay constantly hit on me thinking me easy and insecure.

The best part is everyone always feels so bad after they call you fat. As if they know they have crossed the line. As if they know they should be better than that. But they do it anyway. And they still think it, regardless. Others condescend. "You'll make someone a great girlfriend/wife someday." "Why can't all girls be as cool as you?" "I wish I could find a girl like you." As if they are unaware of the words coming out of their mouths. And it isn't about being found attractive or unattractive--I long since stopped caring whether everyone found me attractive or not, but it is about being objectified. Especially because I'm a woman.

This is why I get so upset with the fight against "obesity." I get upset because my weight relegates me to an economic and societal number--am I healthy? Am I costing society money? Am I being a bad citizen? Fat people are one of the last bastions of acceptable prejudice in this country and it is becoming more acceptable every day. And the economic concerns, the news reports, the fat camps, and talk shows--it isn't about helping people get healthier or helping society; it's about the objectification of people fat and thin alike. By judging them based solely on one aspect of their being we can categorize and judge. Good citizen, bad citizen, attractive, unattractive, healthy, unhealthy, strong, weak, so on and so forth. If the issue were really helping our citizens lead the best lives possible we would have free healthcare and no judgment. Has anyone ever wondered if the obesity rates would go down with that? I might very well still be fat, but others might not. And regardless, when did it become okay to stereotype? Objectify? Demean? Dehumanize? Discriminate? Did the civil rights movement fall on deaf ears?

I'm off topic here, but only by a little bit. And frankly I don't want you to think that me being called fat is worthy of much notice. It is more a statement of how easy we all find it to use someone's appearance against them when outmatched. If someone's too witty or sharp of tongue it happens as it did to me tonight. If someone feels they must compete it is used as women do it to each other. If someone feels innately less valuable or worthwhile it is used to level the playing field. And I have to ask if anyone truly finds that acceptable? When faced with the truth of the matter, commenting on appearance as carrying any truth about a person's worth being juvenile and flat out mean, does anyone honestly feel that is okay? And if you do, why? Because it is owed by one person to another to be attractive? Because everyone could be thin and beautiful if they tried hard enough? Because there is a morality to it that should be addressed?

I am, no doubt, preaching to the choir here and I'm not looking for sympathy or words of comfort. More a heightened awareness of what we do every time we let someone say "why would he date her?" or think to ourselves "wow, I'm glad I don't look like that." And I do it too. I do it for appearance and I do it for intelligence. Every time we objectify and demean someone we demean ourselves. That's why you never feel as happy being snide as you do being loving. At least, that's true for me. And I think that is because to hate someone else in such a manner, you have to hate yourself--at least to some degree.

So yes, I am fat and I am emotional, though I'm still not gay. Who knew Las Vegas would be a larger more flashy version of my elementary school playground.?

I need to write this here because I will need to keep a scholarly voice when I respond in class. But I just read the most inane, idiotic, misreading of the Iliad...ever. I'm reading an introduction on rhetoric and the author examines the speeches in Book IX when Odysseus and others plead with Achilles to return to the battle. Not only does he pick the speeches apart like a math problem whose formula is Aristotle, but he does so without considering the motives of the speeches, why Homer would have them argue as they do, or the character motivations for different reactions. I know this isn't literary theory, but this is just plain bad reading.

After analyzing Odysseus' speech the author says of Achilles, "One is not surprised then to find Achilles' speech emotionally charged--and, as a consequence, disorganized." Of course, because emotion always results in disorganization and weaker persuasion or reasoning. Seriously?! Preachers, televangelists, politicians--many, many public speakers make a living off of speaking emotionally, or at least feigning said emotion. Now, the point there could be that unfeigned emotion, or rashness (which is an emotion, not all emotion) leads to disorganization, but there is no proof within the text of the Iliad that Achilles is responding rashly. Old dude does seem to realize that later on when, surprise of surprises, Achilles is apparently responding with direct and serious thought. And yet, when it is all said and done he ends with:

"This is all the argument that one can make out of Achilles' rebuttal. Most of his speech is taken up with impassioned but eloquent ranting. One thing is clear, though, at the end of his speech: he will not fight. And it appears that Odysseus, the renowned orator, the man who was never at a loss, has utterly failed to move Achilles. It is now Phoinix's turn to appeal to him, and then Ajax's. But we have not reproduced these two speeches in our selection."

I'm without words. Actually, I have many, many words but I would have to be guilty of "impassioned but eloquent ranting." I understand many of you may not have read the Iliad, but this is just so indicative of my irritation with the teaching of writing as it goes on in our education system today. Writing is an art. It is an art because it specifically appeals to those non-quantifiable parts of ourselves. I'm not speaking of technical writing here, or purely informative writing, but communicative writing. Writing that is intended to persuade, entertain, enlighten, communicate on some deeper level. You can look at why some things and work and some don't, in the same way you can examine a musical score and see why certain notes complete the phrase but others do not, but breaking it down in pieces doesn't teach someone how to write well. It doesn't teach them how to enter the discourse, how to choose words, how wield their words powerfully according to the situation.

And all of that aside, I feel as if this incredible reduction of the Iliad shows, more perfectly than I ever could, why such an approach to writing will never work in creating better writers. This total misunderstanding of Achilles' character, motivations, and Homer's choices in making him that way, shows a lack of awareness of Homer's discourse. Why is Achilles' emotional, impassioned? Why does he only return to the battle for vengeance, not for honor or riches? These are, perhaps, literary questions, but important to decoding the speech. Words are not numbers; they carry context, situational, societal and otherwise. You cannot look purely at the word and forget the situation that birthed them.

Perhaps I have ranted and not eloquently. I'm not sure I am making myself known here as effectively as I would like. My point is that to discount something for its emotion is as grave of a mistake as to allow emotion to completely overcome rationale.

And Lit and Comp aren't that dissimilar. Except when people do them both wrong.

How am I ever going to get a PhD?

Oh my god! There were snakes! And they swarmed! And bit his face! My stomach hurts from me freaking the heck out right now!

Stupid Lonesome Dove. Crossing the river and then there wasn't just one water moccasin, but all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a swarm in the middle of the river and they attack, viciously without recourse. What is that?! I'm so disturbed by this that I'm having to abuse exclamation points and share my pain in hopes that I will be able to sleep tonight. This is bothering me even more than Snakes on a Plane. I was ready for snakes in a movie like Snakes on a Plane, but Lonesome Dove, maybe I expected doves, maybe I expected to be lonesome on occasion, but nobody said anything about swarming snakes attacking doves who are alone. I was not warned by the title, there was no foreshadowing of what was to come. Instead it was a sweet Irish kid, afraid to cross a river, and me gently mocking him from my air mattress. And then he's in the water and then...

I think I'm suffering from post-traumatic stress. Did you know I hate snakes?

I don't know where this phobia comes from. I've had it as long as I can remember. In fact, while living in Jacksonville (so I was under two) I refused to get in the plastic backyard pool (you know the circular plastic ones that held around five gallons of water?) because the hose looked like a snake to me. The only thing holding this fear at bay was because at some point in my childhood when we visited the Children's Museum in Indianapolis there was always a snake available to pet. So long as I forced myself to touch the snake I was okay. The first year there wasn't snake for me to pet my phobia started to spiral out of control. Now I'm left pacing the floor and checking my bed when I see snakes on t.v. attack unsuspecting Irishmen.

Snakes are, in fact, the only nightmare I suffer from. I don't really have nightmares per say; on occasion I have disturbing dreams or unsettling dreams but it is rare that I feel the all encompassing terror of the nightmares I suffered as a child. Those nightmares, of course, were due mostly to U.S.A. Up All Night and the silly monster movies I would sneak downstairs to watch after my parents went to bed. But the snake dream, that is something else altogether. There are always snakes everywhere, slithering, hissing, coiled, and laying, and it is always the same house, standing alone in the middle of a wasteland also covered with snakes. Sometimes I manage to keep all the snakes outside, but usually they are all trapped in a cupboard and someone sets them free--right after I tell them not to. But even with all of that I get along with the snakes, by mid-dream I'm handling the phobia. It's not fun, but I'm not scared either. And that's usually when the bad snake shows up.

Red and white candy-cane striped, this snake is a mix between an anaconda and one of Ridley Scott's aliens. It's huge, it's mean, and it hates me. And it is always extremely poisonous and capable of constricting. Obviously my sub-conscious likes for my monsters to come fully prepared to deal slow, painful deaths in multiple ways. Inevitably the snake and I fight and while I don't die I'm always hurt and it's always a horrifically torturous experience made worse by the knowledge that had someone listened to me it would all have been avoidable. I hate this snake, and because of him, I hate all snakes.

Joy Harjo, a fantastic poet, relates the night she met the spiritual representation of her feminine self. She awoke to find a giant cobra looming over her, but she wasn't scared. She recognized the cobra as a spirit animal, the energy of her femininity being expressed to her. If my spirit animal is a snake I am completely screwed and doomed to unenlightenment. If I wake up to a giant cobra looming over there will be screaming, there might be bed-wetting, and there will be freak-the-heck-outting, but there will be no spiritual enlightenment. And really, I'd like to think that unless my femininity hates me with the firey passion of a thousand suns, that it would pick some other shape to take, like a three-toed sloth, or maybe a lemur.

I know what you're thinking. Aren't you a spiritualist? Don't you love and respect Nature in all that it is? Yes I am, and yes I do, but I simply can't handle the snake. I respect its right to slither along its happy way; I respect its right to sun on rocks far, far away from me when I go hiking in the desert. I even respect its right to inhabit the Mississippi--though I do question its intelligence in that decision. But I don't need to love it, or like it, or romanticize it. The snake represents so many things and many of them are not negative. I've worked so hard to come to peace with this fear and the sad thing was, I thought I was getting better. Who knew Lonesome Dove was going to rock my world. Certainly I wasn't expecting any life-altering scenes when I bought it cheap.

It was the last shot when they showed the snake, jaws fully distended biting old dude right on the cheek. He was flailing in the water, dying slowly, snakes biting him, coiled around his arms, legs, torso, and neck, and there was the one, attached to his face, pumping him full of venom. It just seems like a bad way to die. A really, really bad way to die.

I hate snakes.

I have been musing on Titus Andronicus for a few days now. Every time I read a new play by Shakespeare I am reminded how much I truly enjoy him, but every time I read a tragedy I am reminded why I rarely do so. Titus Andronicus is, I think, one of his best and, therefore, most painful.

I watched the movie Titus starring Anthony Hopkins before reading the play and it was really very good. It also helped me to "see" the play in my head as I read it. But there's no escaping the pain of this story now--the movie pulls no punches, spares no blood or gore, and I was so bereft after finishing it that it has taken me two days to come to a place where I can even begin to talk about it in some sort of public way. Shakespeare seems to have a knack for depicting the "human condition." Somehow, even at his most misogynistic, most cynical, or most whiny, he still has some of the best written lines. And it is more astounding for the time in which it was written.

I almost cried the first time I saw The Merchant of Venice and I was left with heartburn after completing my thesis on Macbeth. Now, having finally read Titus Andronicus I find that the reason I hate Romeo and Juliet so very, very much, is because it seems pointless. Titus doesn't suffer because he couldn't wait five minutes, or killed his king when he knew better (though I argue that about Macbeth) or couldn't make up his mind whether or not to revenge his father's murderer. Titus suffers because he made the wrong choice in emperor. And more than that, everyone around suffers because they are related to him. Lavinia's rape, the death of his sons--all of these things are done with glee by the Goths because it hurts Titus. There is, at least to me, few ways to make a rape scene more horrific then to give it the most realistic, and flimsy, of motives. Tamera's sons "love" Lavinia. And Tamera, a woman, bids them rape and torture her if only because Tamera hates Titus so much. Like the unnaturalness of patricide, Shakespeare's placement of a woman ordering the rape of another woman deepens the monstrous aspect of the scene. He manages to capture how wrong such an act is with less of his usual "this is how a woman ought to be" rhetoric. Instead he just looks at how a woman is, and how that doesn't always matter.

All of this is my way of getting to the point that I don't think people like to consider real life. We gravitate towards the tragedy's that have "obvious" reasons for their tragic actions and scoff at the comedies as less poignant. Scholars focus on the use of the mask, or the role of theatre in Shakespeare and shy away from looking at why he would comment on human behaviors the way he does. What is he trying to say? What do we do to each other that is so wrong? Some people do take this topic on, but mostly it is considered unscholarly. Or the topic is addressed purely from the viewpoint of society--never from the margins.

And this is wrong, I believe, because the more Shakespeare I read the more I see him speaking directly to society about the margins. So many of his characters with eloquent speech and moving stories are marginalized by society; so many situations heroes and heroines find themselves in occur because they are misunderstood or cast off by those in power. So many villains hate because they have been ignored and mistreated. Do we not think about this because we know better now? Do we not discuss this because it isn't academic? What knowledge can be gained by examining Shakespeare's depiction of marginalized society? Have our civil rights battles been won so completely that we no longer need to think about injustice of the past or look to where it still exists?

I feel as if, to some degree, Shakespeare is too good. He makes people feel too much, react to strongly. In a world based on the suppression of emotion that is unacceptable. People can't talk about what they experienced while watching or reading the play because that very discussion will invalidate it and them. And I should say that some scholars, specifically Feminists, Marxists, and others who look at the margins, have been taking some of these issues on. But it isn't nearly as widespread as I would like to see it.

And so we come to my point: there is much great art in our world, but instead of talking about it we observe it. We look at its themes and lines and shading and allegory. We talk about plot and development. But heaven forbid we ever discuss really, what it's saying about society or people. This isn't a "we all need to be better people" diatribe (though, of course, I think we do) but a vocalization of how tired I am with the futility of our news, our reviews, and our media. We have reality shows and political roundtables, both designed to show the worst in human nature. We have movies and books and art that are ignored or undervalued because popular culture isn't worth discussing at any great length. We have scholars, those who seek knowledge, who are so separated from society, so cut off from the populous and its popular culture that their knowledge no longer carries any currency. The message isn't being shared. Nobody cares. And it is this last one that bothers me the most. What good is an education when you attain it to willingly marginalize yourself? Why seek knowledge if you don't want to use it for anything?

So, I should be grading papers and reading Titus Andronicus but I just watched Sunshine instead. It was, an interesting movie. Better than I expected, I won't lie. I don't know that I would call it great, but perhaps good. I think it is worthy of a B at least, perhaps even a B+.

The music was surprisingly moving, and it was as depressing as I thought it would be. What's more, after watching the movie and conducting a little bit of research myself I've discovered that the science isn't all bad. That was a pleasant surprise. It assumes certain theoretical principles to be true, but I can accept that under suspension of disbelief. When I first saw the preview I thought it was about detonating a bomb in the sun to reignite it because...just because. All of a sudden the sun was burning up a few eons early. Not to mention, if the sun were just running out of fuel it wouldn't really be reignitable. Thankfully that was not the case. Nope, they used some theory that I'd never really spent much time considering, but I can buy it for the purposes of the movie.

It didn't quite succeed at the moral/ethical dilemma, however. Specifically because the situations presented don't have enough gray area to provide a true morality issue--at least, in my opinion. Should they kill one crew member so that the rest can live long enough to deliver the payload, after which time they will die too? Everybody's going to die, one crew member is mentally incapacitated. Call me cold, but there isn't much of a dilemma there. You're trying to save humanity after all, and you all already willingly entered into the situation.

Now, on top of that, there isn't really any back story into the characters at all, and yet it somehow manages to provide an incredibly well done character-driven plot. I have no idea how this is accomplished myself. It wasn't even until most of the movie was gone that I realized I wished I had more story on some of the other characters. Somehow the use of archetype was done originally enough that I accepted it, didn't realize I accepted it, and moved past it. Surprising. I couldn't even bring myself to look away long enough to grade papers--how crazy is that?

This movie did cause me to rethink the position of hero. Well, not so much rethink, as to revisit previous thoughts. I've decided there really is no benefit to being a hero. Humanity, civilization, people, however, need them. Sometimes someone has to do something to save everyone else, almost always at the cost of their own life. That is not a great job. Sure, you're remembered forever, but you're dead however many years prematurely. It's an unfortunate side effect of heroism. And this makes me consider the role of heroism in our society. Why are heroes lauded so publicly? Self-sacrifice is praised above all else while we all simultaneously strive to find ways to prolong our own lives. We love icons like James Bond who somehow, always find a way, but part of that (for me certainly and I would guess for others) is that he survives.

And this thought plays directly into the concept of nobility. There are certain behaviors in which I have to engage in order to be able to stand myself (see the previous post on freedom) but are these behaviors inherent or learned? And does it matter? And is it a good thing one way or the other? My cousin and I had an ongoing debate for years after she posed the question "are people inherently good or evil?" I claimed, and would still maintain, the answer is both, but that nurture significantly affects nature. Due to my spiritual beliefs I don't believe we are all blank slates, but I do believe we are malleable. So, what happens if our malleability results in a willingness to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good? Is a willingness to die for others an evolutionary benefit?

It's sort of a weird thought, I'll grant you. And perhaps the problem isn't a willingness to sacrifice one's self for their beliefs or others, but the prevalence of others to exploit that. Perhaps in this particular era when propaganda once again graces the silver screen demanding that you do what is asked of you, my questioning of social inspired nobility is only natural. And then I have to wonder, are there different types of nobility? Obviously there are, but what I mean is, are there people who would do what they have to do no matter the situation, and are there people who do it because society has brainwashed them into thinking they must? This is becoming significantly more complex than planned. And I don't have any answers.

Perhaps my answer is that I do believe in both. If only because of the presence of rebels who thwart society at every turn, but would throw themselves in front of a bus to save an old lady, and people who swallow all that is told to them whole pill, and interact "appropriately" because they are too scared, or too stupid, to consider otherwise. I've known both of those people, and perhaps at some point in my life I have been both of those people. Which is better? I would say the second is better for society, but which is better for humanity? And which do you want on a ship flying to reignite the sun, humanity's last hope?

Bush seeks to extend the spying law. The House, however, doesn't like it and protested with a walkout on Thursday. This is the news brought to me by msn today. Bush keeps up his fear rhetoric reminding everyone who listens that we are still in trouble, still in danger, that we must give up our civil liberties so that the government can "do it's job." Well what about the job to protect our freedom? Is that job best accomplished by revoking said freedom?

I am angered by the rhetoric of the Bush administration--have been since it began. I am also angered by the rhetoric surrounding our troops. A blind trust rhetoric that labels you a "troop-hater" if you don't support the war and reminds everyone not fighting in Iraq that we've never done anything for freedom. Let me tell you what I'm willing to do for freedom. I'm willing to die for what this country is supposed to be. I'm willing to die to make sure it doesn't turn into what it shouldn't be. I would rather keep my freedom and see the ideals of America maintained than be kept "safe" and watch America turn into the very thing it rebelled against during its inception.

If everyone in this country were willing to do that, willing to accept the risk of possible terrorist attacks and not willing to give up civil liberties for the appearances of safety, and they are appearances, then we would all, as a country, be fighting for freedom. I don't say this as a troop-hater, though I am against the war. Many of my good friends have been over to Iraq, some more than once. I will do whatever it takes to best support them. But I think right now, what can best support them, is making sure that the country they are fighting for is still here when they get back.

No one ever stops to think about that. No one ever stops to think about whether the American Dream is still viable or pursuable. No one ever stops to think about what our country should be, what it was meant to be, or what it means to be American. We listen to the news; we listen to each other. My students label those protesting the government "Anti-American" and claim we are better off with the Patriot Act. We still have more civil liberties than other countries, they say, so what's the big deal in giving up a few? "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free" the Statue of Liberty says; "Give me liberty or give me death," said Patrick Henry. Are these things not part of the American Dream as well? The dream of acceptance, advancement, freedom?

It seems we care only about money anymore, as a people. The ability to earn it and the ability to spend it. If I were a sociologist or economist I would hazard a guess that it has something to do with the recession these past eight years. The gap between the economic classes is growing, and I don't ever remember a time in history when that resulted in a good thing. But what happens when nothing is more sacred than the dollar? Republicans (specifically conservative ones) love to discuss how we are taking God out of the country and ruining our ideals, but what about our increasing dependence on money? And I don't mean to imply that things haven't always run by money here and everywhere else in the world, but we've had amazing moments surpassing it. The monopoly laws in response to the Railroad Barons, for one. But now the people who are supposed to enforce those laws have a stake in the monopoly. And so I ask you the same question I ask my kids--what do you do when laws go bad? Do you follow them because they're the law? Do you duck and hope they go away? Do you scream at the wall, hoping it will come down? Do you accept the inevitable and just hope it will all leave you alone?

I don't have any answers for you besides my own, which is that I will not stand by idly while my government makes a mockery of my civil liberties. I will not bow down to their authority to keep me "safe" for "my own good" from a threat they will never be able to completely protect us from. Terrorists are willing to die to accomplish their goal; no matter where you are or how good your security there are any number of places people congregate where you can kill a lot at once. There is no way to stop this unless you specifically enforce how/when/where people interact in public. And if we are willing to give up anything, are we willing to allow this? People no longer have a right to a speedy trial, or any trial. People are being tortured. People are being taken without knowing why and held without any recourse. Is this the government we are proud of? Is this the country we want to live in? We say that as long as it's not me it doesn't matter, but I ask you why. Because you'll never do anything that will put you in that position? What do you do when there is a misunderstanding? What do you do when they take you, or your friend, or your family member away because of a misspoke word? Who do you go to? How do you fix it?

You can't. That's why checks and balances were in place. That's why we valued freedom over safety. If you want to be free you must be free. There is no half-way on this. They say we shouldn't live our lives in fear even as they warn us to be afraid of another attack. They say we shouldn't change our way of life even as they change the laws around us. They say we should fight for freedom even as our interests seem purely monetary and personal.

You have to decide. Are you willing to die for what you believe in? And why not? What values do you hold that are not so important as to be worthy dying for? And if you aren't willing to die for them, why are you willing to send troops to fight for them? Is what you believe in as noble as you think it is, or is it just what everyone else believes in too?

So I've deleted any posts that might get me in trouble. That's not true, but I've deleted all the ones for which I'm not willing to be in trouble. Not much of a difference, but definitely an important one.

I've received some results about my psychology--apparently I have a problem with authority figures. I share this because I know you will all be as shocked as I was to hear the news. Also apparently I am slightly anti-social. This also surprised me, coming on the heels of the best Valentine's day ever and all. Of course, it's the best Valentine's day ever because I've spent it completely alone. It's been absolutely fantastic. And I'm anti-social. Perish the thought.

My aloneness, though, has come with the chance to watch The Magnificent Seven. No, not the movie, but the television show. This is why I love netflix--I can watch the most horrible t.v. at no cost to myself. Think of all the great bad t.v. out there just waiting for me to discover it. And discover it I will. I thought this particular show worthy of some notice though. You see--it's in many ways such a fantastic idea. Seven men, noble, brave, strong, and, of course, good-looking. And all they really do is hang around a town and protect people. Sometimes this involves saving babies. How is that not the best idea ever?

Plus, it's a western. I've discovered I have an unabashed love of westerns. All the gun-fighting and horse-riding, it gets me, well, you know how it gets me. Unfortunately this show only ran for two seasons and the first season was only a half of one. It's depressing quite frankly; the writing isn't the best and at times it is just this side of horrid, but it isn't bad. The chemistry between the characters is great, the action is good, and it makes you smile. Who can argue with that? TNT apparently didn't find it worth keeping on, however, and so I content myself with the few shows I have to enjoy. They've certainly made this Valentine's day a pleasant one.

It is a little weird, though; you see the hot one, Vin Taylor, (ah, what a name, "Vin") looks just like a kid I went to high school with. And not a kid I particularly want to fantasize about. He was good looking, and he's probably an okay guy, but I'm not looking for him to intrude upon my seven magnificent fantasies. It makes for an uncomfortable sensation. Perhaps that sounds strange coming from me, the girl who has an inappropriate fascination for bestial characters--I won't deny there is some incongruity there, but I find it unhandy just the same. That is so unhandy when dealing with cowboys who are, by nature, incredibly fantasy material. Is my predicament understandable? In any case, I offer in honor of this another list--I'm feeling "listy" lately. And so, in honor of this, the day of commercial love, I give you my favorite commercial cowboys who we would all like to love.

Top Ten Cowboys

10. McLintok (McLintok)

He was known as "the Duke" but when I watched him with Maureen O'Hara I knew I wished he would be known as "mine." John Wayne isn't he prettiest face in Hollywood history, but the thrill of cowboys is that they shouldn't be pretty; they should be tough, and MicLintok was nothing if not tough. And in love with his wife. I can get behind that.

9, Pardner (Paint Your Wagon)

They said he couldn't sing, and maybe he was no broadway star, but when I watched this move I understood the appeal of Clint for the first time. That tall frame, those good eyes, and yes, a smooth voice. It's no wonder when your choice are Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin that you would opt to marry two men. Me, I would just start a harem, but I'm not as morally upright as others.

8. Jim Craig (The Man From Snowy River)

Like so many movies I caught part of this on Encore or some such station and immediately had to go to the video store and watch the rest of it. He was young, he was wounded, and he needed the love of a good woman. Why oh why isn't it ever my love?

7. Paden (Silverado)

Kevin Kline rarely gets the love he deserves. Well, as a gun-slinging man on a hunt for his clothes, guns, and horse, I'm more than willing to love him along the way.

6. Chris Larrabee (Magnificent Seven)

Chris has all the makings of a great hero. He's wounded, he broods, and he wears black. And sometimes he saves babies. How do you argue with that?

5. Matthew Quigley (Quigley Down Under)

Tom Selleck is still, to this day, the only man that can wear a moustache with style. It's not sketchy on him, it's just hot.

4. Josiah Sanchez (Magnificent Seven)

He's a preacher who lost his way and now works to make his way back. Frankly, when Ron Perlman is playing this character I wish he'd just make his way back to me.

3. Johnny Gault (The Outsider)

I know, I know. He was just on a list. But this character is really, really hot. Really hot.

2. Vin Taylor (Magnificent Seven)

He's the pretty boy. Normally that doesn't work so well with cowboys. But he's all man. A sharp-shootin' man of mystery. What we have there is the cowboy equivalent of Batman.

1. Sam Elliot

Dude, he's Sam Elliot. The man defines cowboy. Did you really think anyone else could be number 1?

I don't want to be serious today. I've read quite a bit of feminist theory and I'm tired of thinking too deeply on issues that matter. My solution to that is to give you the greatest solution: gratuitous violence. Therefore, in honor of this need, I present to you my top ten list of men who make you think guns are cool. These men wield a gun like the swashbucklers of old and while you might despise guns in the real world, if one of these guys were using them instead of weapons of destruction they suddenly become instruments of hotness. Enjoy.

Ass Kicking Gun Shooters:

10. Paladin (Have Gun Will Travel)

He's not an obvious choice. I understand that. Made in the '50's Have Gun Will Travel is not a well known show and were it not for my father I would know nothing about it. In all honesty I don't think my father need ever know why I actually like this show. But regardless, Paladin walks around saving people and helping out, his bounty hunter experience being put to good use. I can respect that.

9. Zack (Dark Angel)

The actor that played Zack did not go on to do great things. In fact, all he really did was go on to make Blood of Beasts and wear really bad extensions. But before he came to such a despicable end he was Zack, doing his best to help Alex and looking incredibly hot while he did so. It's not easy being wounded and unloved.

8. Han Solo (Star Wars)

He's at number eight because he has made previous lists. But can you have a list about gun-wielding heroes and not include Han? No. Because even if it is a laser gun he wields it with aplomb and does it all while making a vest look like a good fashion statement. That is not an easy task my friends and only someone with such innate coolness has Han Solo possessed could ever have pulled it off.

6. Dean (Supernatural)

First there was a hot dad. And then he had two hot sons. And then these sons went around the country helping people. Sometimes without their shirts on. What a brilliant, brilliant idea. Wield your shotgun Dean. Wield it well.

7. Smith (Shoot 'em Up)

Anyone who has experienced the greatness of Clive Owen knows why one of his characters is here. Smith does something never before accomplished in this movie. He has sex (well) while holding a gun fight. I'm not saying I want bullets flying past my head while orgasming, but if it has to happen it should happen with Clive Owen. The man obviously has skill.

5. Young Guns (whole cast)

They're young and they have guns. Thank you.

4. Johnny Gault (The Outsider)

It's a little known movie by Showtime. Had I not had the fortune this past Halloween to be in the mood for a western I might have spent my life oblivious to the delightful wonders awaiting me. Clearly the fates smiled upon me. Johnny Gault is a "shootist", wounded, and totally falls in love with the girl. The only thing better than a gunslinger is a gunslinger that loves you.

3. John McClane (Die Hard)

Do I really have to explain this? Just gauge the reaction of your body while watching this movie. I think that's all the explanation any of us need.

2. James Bond (James Bond)

Obviously Mr. Bond would be on this list. We suffered through some unfortunate years with the face of Roger Moore but I think Daniel Craig has more than made up for that. I may be a feminist, but I'm pretty sure if Mr. Bond walked through the door I would say, "Oh James..." That is assuming, of course, that I don't giggle uncontrollably and drool as I'm prone to do in the presence of exceptional magnificence.

1. El Mariachi (Desperado)

He gets number one because, let's face it, he's perfect. Spanish accent? Check. Deep soulful eyes? Check. Wounded? Check. Saves babies? Check. Kicks more ass than one's libido can safely endure? Double check. And he can sing to you. What more could you want?

This has been bothering me since last night, and I'm not sure I can lay out my argument clearly, but I'm going to try anyway. It concerns women and sexuality.

Obviously, this is an extremely complex subject, and I'm not interested in discussing it in broad general terms. I want to discuss particularly, is what could be known as the thirteen-year-old blowjob girl. Every school has them; that girl who as soon as she hits junior high starts "favoring" boys. Often she gets a boyfriend early and always has one, usually an older one. The reason this is on my mind is because of a conversation I was taking part in, while discussing one version of this particular girl I pointed out that probably she wasn't quite right in the head.

This was, perhaps, an unfair assessment as not every girl who delights in providing sexual acts at a young age is wrong in the head--I certainly don't know what age becomes acceptable for loss of virginity; I think (and I'm sure most of you would agree) that depends entirely on the girl. Some girls are ready at sixteen, some not until twenty. But my question is, are any girls ready at thirteen? I would even expand it to ask are any boys ready at thirteen?

I have known people who gave blow jobs at twelve and they weren't molested or suffering from any obvious tragedy or self-esteem issues that might normally be used to write off such behavior. And I don't exclude the possibility that some girls are ready; that it isn't a matter of fitting in, or impressing boys, or feeling loved. However, in our society, with our socialization practices, and the extreme weight of the Madonna-Whore complex that girls feel from almost the moment they are cognizant, I'm not sure it is particularly likely for such an occurrence to happen here. I don't have any credentials to back my observation up outside my own status as a woman, and my studies of feminist theory. I do, however, believe this gives me more insight than a man. Perhaps that is fallacious, I wouldn't deny the possibility, but as I would never presume to argue that I know what it is like to grow up a man, I don't believe a man could conceive of being a woman any better. Especially a particularly closed-minded man that is well known for making fallacious arguments in all other cases.

My point is simply this--thirteen, while on the cusp of maturity is certainly not mature. Perhaps in another place with a different socialization process it could qualify, but not here and not now. I don't want to belittle those who have experienced tragedy by saying one "hasn't lived enough" by thirteen, nor do I want to exclude the possibility of a particularly "old" thirteen year old. Lolita comes to mind, but I haven't read the book and that's why I'm not bringing it up. It might have significant bearing on this conversation, but, regardless, I think she would be the exception, not the rule (if you read the story favorably).

That being said there is a difference between experimenting with boys your own age, two thirteen year olds, or perhaps a thirteen and fourteen year old, and experimenting with a boy that is practically a man. A thirteen year old and an eighteen year old have a lot of difference--it might only be five years, but it's a big five years, especially if she is still in middle school. All of this leads up to me asking the question is it possible that she wanted of her own free will, through no negative ideas about her femininity or need to be loved, to give a blow job? I can't deny the possibility. It seems to me, however, extremely unlikely.

I don't think this is an anti-feminist response because I am choosing to believe that young teen age girls can't enjoy sex with older men--rather I think this is an awareness of how much baggage a girl carries, even at thirteen. Sex is different for women than it is for men. In choosing to have sex we are making ourselves completely vulnerable--you are letting someone into your body. For anyone that doesn't know what that feels like imagine your revulsion at the idea of homosexual sex with another man, then, multiply it. I say multiply it because due to all the extraneous stuff that gets heaped on women's sexuality it's never a simple thing for a woman (or rarely). A blow job is simultaneously the most empowering experience and the most debasing. Like any sexual act if done properly it's wonderful and fun, but if done wrong it's incredibly humiliating. I don't even know that I could explain properly without a whole blog discussing those feelings in and of themselves. Sex is simply too complicated for women in this society. Not the act itself, but the mental repercussions that go along with it. We (women) jokingly call each other sluts and whores as a way of acknowledging the behavior and laughing it off, but I don't know of any one I have ever met that hasn't at some point felt like a bad sexual encounter was, to some degree, her fault. That she should have been more discerning. That she has lost some value of self because of it. I've known some that didn't admit it, and I've known some that got over it, but in most cases the fallout is the same. You seek further validation through sex acts searching for the one man who will love you and heal you. This is, of course, a false assumption, but one we are fed through Lifetime, romance novels, and everything else.

I suppose my point is this--a thirteen year old girl might in complete innocence think it's a good idea to give her first blow job. And if, following that experience she launches into repeating it with whatever guy she can find then I would have to assume either the experience was unpleasant or something else was wrong going into it. It isn't that the blow job is a bad idea or that sexual experimentation is a bad idea (I would hope my views are clear on this) but thirteen is not the same thing as twenty or thirty. You do not have the sense of identity to protect against the message of the "unclean woman" at thirteen. And if your first blow job goes wrong make no mistake, you will feel unclean.

I wanted to discuss this because I'm seeing the next move in the rhetoric chess game of those in power against those who are powerless. The sexual revolution happened and now we hold it up as if all the societal pressures and judgments disappeared. Women have the pill, women can make the choice, therefore, it is silly to assume that women wouldn't want to engage in prostitution or stripping or giving blow jobs to anyone who will let them. But that's not true. We have the pill and we have the choice but we still don't have our bodies. Now we are supposed to use our bodies to give pleasure instead of holding them chaste, but we are simultaneously supposed to be discerning in our use so that we are "mostly" chaste. And what's more we should celebrate the choice a woman makes to work in a strip club or pornography or prostitution or sexual promiscuity before she can drive.

And yet you still don't want to take those girls home to mom. That seems like an odd celebration of freedom to me, how about you?

This one got my blood flowing. It's in response to an article on blogs in the classroom I had to read for my 701 class and even though I posted it over at 701 B.C. I thought I would put it up here for everyone else too. The link for the article is here http://blog.lib.umn.edu/blogosphere/moving_to_the_public.htmlThis is going to be a long one. Gird your loins and settle in. I'm about to break all the brevity rules.

I (in an attempt to get homework done early so that I could enjoy my weekend) thought I would read the blogging article tonight because it was short, looked fun, and why not? All jokes about Terminator, Tron, and I, Robot aside I'm incredibly disturbed, not by teacher's choice to use blogs or even the public vs. private issues, but by the assumption, unchallenged by anyone who replied, that computer communities are superior to real live ones. To explain I must share a bit of personal information, but I promise it is relevant.

I used to be a computer nerd. What I mean by computer nerd is in the computer lab from the time it opened until the time it closed playing Tsunami, a MUD (a telnet program that is purely text based, a precursor to Everquest and all other online roll-playing games). On this game we could chat, we could play, and we could dream. I learned many valuable skills such as how to type upwards of 80 wpm, how to process text incredibly fast, and how to reinvent myself into whomever I wanted to be. I started playing around the age of thirteen so really it was perfect timing. We, of course, played all other manner of games but Tsunami, being a text-based game, is particular to this discussion.

By the time I graduated college with my undergraduate I had learned several incredibly important lessons: life is more fun when not encapsulated on a computer screen, friends are more real when you've met them, and no amount of pretend teaches you much of anything except how much everyone wishes they were someone other than who they are. And make no mistake, when the brunt of your interaction occurs via the internet it is all pretend.

As I read this article I grew increasingly upset by the teacher's unfettered excitement at student's opportunities to interact via the Internet. The pressures of the classroom could be avoided, shy students could engage, and writing could be shared more publicly and more easily. The last part about the writing is fantastic--I agree with the idea of public and easily accessible writing; it is important to give authority to the students. But the first two issues, avoiding classroom pressure and not demanding live interaction in a serious way is ridiculous and quite possibly harmful. Also, their assumption that any writing is as good as any other writing is false. Not because we need to write college essays of particular types, but because what matters, specifically, is the thinking process. That does not occur through everyday text messages, emails, and musings. Unless you discover or are directed towards the sort of dialogic cognitive moves that it takes to truly write well, you will have a significantly harder time mastering the writing process. It isn't about introspective, personal assignments, it's about thinking about your thinking and attempting to force the students into that sort of rhetorical move. A blog might very well be the best place to do it, but not just because it's more "normal" for them or because they might like it better.

Computer relationships are not the same thing as real relationships, teacher-student, student-student, or otherwise. I say this as a former serious computer-user. With things like match.com and eharmony we live in an age when relationships are increasingly being handled online. I understand the appeal. When instant messaging you can think through what you want to say before you type it. You can avoid confrontation. You can say what you want without having to deal with someone staring at your or challenging you vocally. Computers offer a buffer that allows for the user to feel powerful and if that user has a margin of rhetorical ability they can feel like a god.

But I'm not interested in promoting that sort of behavior in my students. Perhaps you think I overreact to this article and it isn't the use of the blog that bothers me, but, specifically, the replacement of in-class writing and dialogue with the blog. That is what is prompting my reaction. I've seen computer relationships and I've seen what they have done for people and to people. I do not consider my job as a teacher to be one that encourages this sort of disconnect with humanity. Yes I strive for dialogism in myself, my classroom, and my students, but while I may accept their lack of awareness of my message I do not accept the inevitability of that lack.

With the aid of the internet students don't have to write for themselves; they write for who they imagine themselves to be. With the lack of classroom interaction there is no accountability and the image of what they imagine can reign unchallenged. I'm not in the habit of judging my students or even praying for their change, but when one of my student's says something unacceptable (like Jews are greedy, or fat people cause children in Africa to starve) I can hold them accountable for that thought process, demand they prove it through verbal debate in a way that teaches them more about discourse, writing, and their own thought processes than blogging ever can. There is a barrier when you blog. It is not nearly as public as reading a paper aloud or watching someone read it in front of you. The danger of the internet is that it is a one-way mirror. You can see everything while remaining safely at home, hidden in your booth.

I am not opposed to blogs as tools to use in conjunction with freshman writing classes and I am not unaware of the theoretical advantages blogs offer to a classroom. But blogs must be recognized as what they are, a tool, and harnessed as any other tool is to a teacher's personal teaching philosophy. The assignments still need to be recursive and sequenced. The writing still needs to be held up to some sort of a standard (not grammatical, but dialogic, meaning-making). And teachers should not hide themselves behind computers because it's easier to deal with people through a screen.

And it is easier. They aren't challenged and you, while giving them the authority to write what they will are always, ultimately, in control. It's the perfect solution to a society with all the aspects of free thought and none of the responsibility. We certainly won't be making them better people then. But I guess we can shoot for better writers.

I saw this article on msn http://movies.msn.com/new-on-dvd/feature-article/?news=298766 and was so very excited because here was a top ten list of romantic movies the writer loathes! And then I thought, I should do a list like this. But by the time I finished the list I was so incensed by her poor choices that I have to first rant over her lack of understanding of the romance genre.

She makes several excellent choices (Sleepless in Seattle, Ghost, Pretty Woman) for fabulous reasons (stalking = not hot, dead = not hot, prostitution = not hot) but then goes on to choose My Big Fat Greek Wedding, While You Were Sleeping, and Dirty Dancing?! Hello, I'm not going to argue the "classicalness" of these movies, but they don't deserve to be loathed. Greek Wedding was hilarious for anyone whom has ever experienced a big family you love and adore but can rarely please, and Dirty Dancing is the ultimate fantasy of every post-high school pre-college late teen ever born. If you wanted to take issue with Dancing you could make the argument that it makes a social statement about abortion after which (directly following in fact) the protagonists have seemingly unprotected sex. Perhaps not the best move in movie history. But the reasons this lady gives sound like those of a unimaginative, calcified woman.

I hate stupid people.

So, in honor of her lack of ability to properly construct a romantic movies to loathe list I offer up my own. I will opt not to include repeats, therefore, the ones already on her list will not appear on mine even though she has some of my favorite haters. Oh well, we must make do.

Top Ten Romance Movies You Should Hate:

10. Camelot/First Knight etc.
So I had a hard time with this choice but felt I needed to include it. It was a hard choice for me because I've always loved King Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot, but I've got to go on record here and say the only thing less hot than adultery is adultery with your best friend. That being said this story is about love in all it's various complications, hence why I let it sit at number 10. And at least the characters are noble people who make mistakes instead of horrible people that happen to fall in love.

9. Carousel
If he dies and leaves you to gestate, birth, and raise the child on your own that’s not romantic--it’s tragic. At no point do I watch that situation and think “gee, I wish I could have that experience.” It might be better to love and lose, but not in 1950 when a single woman raising a child alone will probably result in prostitution, depression, and no Richard Gere to make it all go away.

8. Anna and the King
Silly me, when I watched this move the first time having never seen The King and I all the way through I thought it would have a happy ending. At the end of the movie I screeched “they don’t end up together?!” My mother informed me that was a given. Why don’t they end up together? Cause it just won’t work? He’s a friggin’ king. Disney you lied to me. Lied.

7. Angel Eyes
Imagine this: watching this movie having no idea what it’s about, but thinking it is some kind of a thriller. Now add in Jennifer Lopez’s amazing acting (sarcasm) and the natural unnerving acting of Jim Caviezel. Suddenly every dramatic pause that is supposed to show the tension between the characters becomes a moment when I keep expecting him to attack her. That if nothing else shows how similar love and hate actually are. Mostly though, this movie makes it for the pure creepiness factor. He remembers her eyes after his wife and kid dies and somehow, while suppressing his memories because he has POST TRAMAUTIC STRESS DISORDER he can fall in love with the girl? I know we all like the wounded boy, but this is just unnatural.

6. Return to Me
Wife dies. Heart is transplanted to another woman. That woman falls in love with widower. If it’s a good heart you have Return to Me. If it’s a bad heart you have Fatal Attraction. Either way it’s wrong and disturbing. And unlike a Mickey Rourke movie the opposite of hot.
5. Message in a Bottle
I hate it when one of the characters dies because, why? Life sucks sometimes? Gee, that’s sweet. And yet women call this romantic. Not to mention it had Kevin Costner being serious and no Morgan Freeman to save him. I think that pretty much covers why this is here.

4. The Taming of the Shrew
Sometimes this movie seems facetious. He isn’t really breaking her like one would a horse, they’re just compromising as couples do. If you read Katarina’s final speech as tongue-in-cheek the movie isn’t so bad, but even before that she breaks down and agrees to say what he wants her to. And when you factor in the truth, that she carries no power in the situation--that were she black you would see her for the slave she is--it suddenly becomes significantly less sexy. If she hadn’t capitulated he actually would have killed her with his kindness. How is that romantic?

3. Prince of Tides
Adultery is, in fact, the opposite of romantic. Why? Because everyone can fall in love, but only some people can treat others with consideration and understanding by not cheating or breaking off the relationship prior to starting a new one. It’s harsh I know and I’m not judging adulterers here so much as just saying cheating isn’t sexy. We all want to imagine romantic situations and I ask you: is it romantic to sleep with a married guy? (The older you get the more the answer to that question becomes obvious.) Is it romantic to have the one you married sleep with someone else? These situations do not happily ever after make.

2. Romeo & Juliet
Five minutes Romeo. Five minutes and you could have lived with your love in peace. Five minutes is like one bout of masturbation for a thirteen year old. And you were incapable of waiting just a little bit longer on the off chance that you guys had miscalculated how long it would take her to come out of it? Who does that? Stupid people do that. And stupid people aren’t romantic.

1. Gone with the Wind
Rhett loves Scarlett. Scarlett loves Ashley. Ashley loves his cousin. By the time Scarlett loves Rhett, Rhett leaves her. Never mind the rape scene in the middle. At what point does this make a love story? Don’t you need love, real love, to have a romance? How does unrequited love with a dash of destructive relationship and a tablespoon of rape make a romance? It might be a great story, but it is not a romantic one. I’m still bitter over the three hours of my life I gave to this thing.


And so you have it--my contribution to February, the great month of love. Just remember, it’s only stalking if the one you stalk doesn’t like it. But unless you’re Meg Ryan you probably can’t get away with stalking and passing it off as love when you’ve never talked to the object of your obsession, I mean desire. Most people do go to jail for that.

The Giants won! I say that in gleeful disregard of all Patriots fans. It's not that I don't love you, I'm just really enjoying your pain. Is that really so bad?

On another note--Newsweek has a really interesting story on happiness today here http://www.newsweek.com/id/107569/page/1 I rather enjoyed what they had to say. I would like to point out as a disclaimer, however, that Van Gough might not be the best example of depression as a good thing. He wasn't so much a brooder as an ear cutter-offer.

That being said, for those of you who have read Brave New World, where's the soma? I remember after reading that book carefully for the first time two years ago feeling sick to my stomach as I got to the end. The soma was just the means, but the power was given over by the people so long before. They just wanted to be happy. They just wanted to be safe. I look around at modern society and tremble in fear of where things may go.

I also like that Newsweek comments on the problems with stigmatizing normal reactions and trying to suppress them. I know of at least one instance where a couple broke because after one partner's daughter had been murdered the other partner didn't understand why she couldn't just "get over it." For myself I chiefly hate funerals because everyone is just so darn sad. It wouldn't be so bad if everyone weren't so sad.

I think that we have an emotionally castrated society; I honestly do. We all want to be happy, healthy, and good citizens. Kids are raised with a sense of entitlement to such happiness--if you prevent them from attaining that it's unfair, unAmerican. To be grief-stricken is more than simply not fun, it's downright rude. I won't lie, I generally hate being around melancholy people. I myself hate anyone knowing I'm melancholy. But having been around genuine depression there is definite difference between actual depression and heartbreak. And worse than either, I would say, is the systematic repression of negative feelings.

I see a lot of this as the culmination of the "self-esteem" rhetoric of the mid-late 90's. Suddenly kids were supposed to only have positive feedback and sports weren't supposed to be competitive. It was more important that our teenagers liked themselves than that they deserved to be liked or liked themselves. When combined with the natural self-centeredism of adolescent you end up with a person who thinks that their opinion is as valid as any other opinion because it's theirs. Obviously everyone gets to believe what they wish, but that doesn't make you right. What's more, judgments and ideologies were reclassified under the umbrella of opinion and so free of scrutiny. If thoughts were criticized or challenged it might hurt the student's feelings. Now we have a bunch of feel-good adolescents who are all concerned with personal happiness, even at the cost of someone else's.

I exaggerate, but not very much. Along with the loss of manners in society I feel like this feel good rhetoric, this drive to make kids happy, is all part of this drive to be "happy". The humorous side to all of this is that people are meaner and more confrontational then they have been in the past (it seems to me without data to quote at the moment) and suicide is still a big problem. Our constant pressure on appearance causes unhappiness while the industry continually profits from our purchasing of items to "fix" ourselves and so find "happiness". Meanwhile our appetite for schadenfraude, happiness in the misery of others, continues to grow. What does it say about our happiness when it comes at someone else's expense?

But that's the result of working towards being happy all the time. Of forgetting the natural rhythms of emotion and, more than that, repressing the societally taboo ones. I'm not sure this all makes as much sense as I wanted it to. Hopefully my train of thought hasn't been too difficult to follow.

I'm off to read Spenser. That makes me very unhappy, but I guess that's how I know it's good for me.

I wasn't planning on going here, but I just took a break from the homework to watch an episode of Boston Legal concerning the death penalty. I felt that perhaps before I did anything else today I should express my opinion to whomever will listen to me that the death penalty is barbarous, insane, and unworthy of any "civilized" country.

When I was little I bought into it--there are enough vestiges of the Wild West that it seemed like an apt punishment. Perhaps there was a time when hangings were a deterrent, or necessary due to lack of prison facilities. It was a different time. But even accounting for that, how many people were hung for crimes undeserving of death? I don't think I need to look up statistics to prove the answer is many. Then there were the witch trials--an example not as much of the death penalty gone awry as it is the consequence of allowing the government to kill citizens for crimes. Death as an acceptable punishment leads to abuse.

I think there are people that are dangers to society, serial killers, serial rapists, and pedophiles not least among them. I think, especially in the case of serial killers that there is a definite need to make sure said criminal is never released, never escapes, never hurts anyone again. Why keep someone alive who is beyond rehabilitation? More than that, does embody, to some degree, a degree of evil? But the issue, as it is with so many things of this nature, is how can you be sure? In a movie it's easy--you see everything. The character's thoughts and actions when no one's looking. But the problem is that people are not characters, and characters, no matter how well written, are not people. Perhaps with certain criminal leaders who possess the power to continue to hurt even from behind bars you can have overwhelming evidence, but short of that...how do you know?

Add to that the situation of unfair distribution of the death penalty. Without looking up statistics I know that it is true there are more minorities than whites in U.S. prisons. I also know that more minorities than whites are executed. Is this because minorities are inherently prone to criminal activity? Is it because their crimes are so much more heinous? Somehow I doubt it. And what crimes are deserving of the death penalty? Of life imprisonment without parole? Does a drug-addict who robs a convenience store and shoots the clerk deserve the same punishment as a rich, white man who systematically plans out the death of his wife? What about the guy who discovers his wife having an affair? What about a serial abuser? What about a poor man? Does it not matter why you kill someone or how many you kill? Should you die the moment you kill someone else, regardless of circumstance?

Add to this the propensity for abuse. Once you make it legal to kill people then you have all of these questions being interpreted and answered by judges all over the country, each with different values systems and agendas. Suddenly the crime of killing a little old lady serves as precedence for the execution of an almost retarded kid, addicted to drugs, who didn't know what he was doing.

My point is that so long as the death penalty remains in place our efforts are not towards rehabilitation. To claim they are is a lie and an insult to everyone with intelligence to see otherwise. Our efforts are solely towards punishment--if you do a thing we will make you wish you hadn't. What does that solve? There is the age-old argument of dissuasion; by allowing the death penalty criminals will be adverse to committing particularly heinous crimes. But how has that worked? We have more people in jail than most other countries. Again I'm not going to bother with statistics, but feel free to look them up. We have incredible drug laws, the consequences of which are so over the top compared to the crime as to be laughable. Carrying cocaine, not committing a crime while on cocaine but just possession can land you in jail for as long as rape. Tell me, please, how that makes sense? How can you doing something to your own body possibly be considered as horrific as the violation of someone else's? And yet still, people do drugs. Excellent job on preventing crime with that philosophy.

What I'm saying is that something is incredibly broken in our justice system. More than that, however, we have accepted the death penalty as necessary and even laudable. As with everything there are times when it is no doubt the answer--much like abortion I'm sure there are cases when it is both right and wrong. But like abortion it cannot be legislated. Once it is acceptable the precedence stands to abuse it. Just as once one part of abortion becomes illegal there is precedence to overturn it. And no matter how you feel about the death penalty personally, innocent people have been exonerated--after they were killed. Is it really okay to kill the innocent when a mistake is made? Is our triumph over the "evil" in mankind so total that we can excuse the "minor" mishaps? Does the old argument "nobody is innocent" really justify the continuance of a practice that kills people? Mistakes are made and the wrong person has been and will be executed. Tell me how that is acceptable? Because the greater good outweighs your right to live? If you answered yes I wonder if you would honestly have no objection to your government using you as a suicide bomber...against your will.

The greater good always seems like a good idea until it's us that is being sacrificed.

It's eleven thirty on a Saturday morning and you know what is wrong with that? I'm awake. It's a sad state of affairs when you wake up and the first thing you think is "How many hours do I have to do homework? Can I get it all done?" This is my not so exciting life. Though, in defense of my life I did go out and get snookered for the birthday of a relative so I can't complain overly much.

That's not important, though. What is important is that I have now seen The Godfather and The Godfather II. I can almost hear the music in my head as I type that. I don't know that I will bother to watch the third one. The second was incredibly depressing and the third one sounded like it was just a study in misery. I've learned several scary things about myself, however: first) that if we started a grad student mob I would totally be the Don--somehow my classmates have avoided becoming slight sociopaths, something I haven't; second) that while the mob isn't a good thing because, you know, they kill you, organized crime isn't such a bad way for crime to exist. They don't kill women and children (at least not Don Vitto) and they rarely if ever kill a man in front of his family. You might be killed for "good business" but you're almost always given a chance to save yourself. You're bullied, yes, asked to sell out, yes, but given your life if you want it. Gangs are not nearly that polite. Thinking about all the shootings of teenagers and children when I lived in Boston, sometimes by accident, sometimes not, and thinking about all the shootings here in Las Vegas--there's no rhyme or reason to gang violence. You can't plan for it or avoid it. Now obviously, when the mob goes to war with itself the rules change a little bit, people get sloppy, but gangs are always at war. The one thing the news doesn't exaggerate (so it often just doesn't report it) is how bad inner-city violence is. Anyway, that's my diatribe on my preferred criminal activity.

My other thought is how much like a warrior society the mob is made out to be in these movies. A lot of what they do is heartless and without compassion, but it's always for the best of whatever familial unit is acting. Really the reason why the mob is so repugnant is that they are a society within our society. We're taught not to like that, probably for good reason. But as I consider all the things mafia does that is so horrible--gun-running, drugs, slavery/prostitution--it occurs to me that two of those things our government currently does and the third we used too (and still allow at least the prostitution part in places). My point here is not to sing the praises of the mob, but more to point out that our government, and maybe most, is not nearly as different as we would all like to believe. Which is, admittedly, a depressing thought. I blame it on all the homework I've done this weekend.

Oh what is my point? I wish I knew. In between homework bouts I've been watching Boston Legal which is an absolutely fabulous show, but also prone to prompting heavy ethical/moral thoughts. That's not good for my lightheartedness. I can't think of any right now, though I have begun to think on a person's right to a fair trial and just how much I didn't believe that before now. Like everyone, of course, I believed that everyone should get a fair trial, but when I would watch shows, movies, or live cases on television with an obvious villain I would rejoice when the defense lawyer was outclassed. Or, if the defense won I was horrified at how broken the justice system was.

But Boston Legal offers another look. A look at someone's right to be defended fairly; even if they did it, even if you don't want them to go free, they have a right to prove reasonable doubt if they so choose. Kind of like free speech, it's at least, if not more, important that you fight for the people you hate because otherwise it isn't actually free. I have very mixed feelings about the justice system and that could be a discussion in and of itself, perhaps I will attempt to express them later, but for I'm not quite ready to put all of that in words. In any case, I am glad I've had opportunity to think about this fair trial business and realize my prejudice. There's also a fabulous episode on torture that is worthy of some talk as well.

Ah, now the thoughts come. Obviously I am awake. But it's time for me to read more feminist theory, become enraged and write a response paper. Maybe if you're really lucky I'll make you privy to that rage too.

Until then, I bid you adieu.

It's been five hours of homework and four of Boston Legal. That sounds like a Sinead O'Connor song. I feel mine is equally as depressing as hers anyway. I would not look nearly as hot with a shaved head, though. More like a sausage that was speckled only on one side.

That was a completely disgusting visual--I apologize to all of you.

Mostly I'm feeling guilty for watching so much Boston Legal, not having my homework done, and not having blogged when I told myself I was going to. In actuality I should hold off until I read my latest feminist theory book for class but I feel like I should remind everyone that I'm not actually an angry female all the time. Truly. This book is called Silences and it promises to get the blood flowing. I have no doubt.

I feel good though. Tired, stressed, but good. I think part of the problem my first semester here was that there was no challenge. I wasn't working on or for anything. I was going to school, but I didn't like my classes and the one's I might have liked were sub par due to various circumstances. This semester I have great classes that are promising to be an extreme amount of work. That makes me stressed; it means I'll be cloistered in my room doing homework. But it means I'm learning. It means I'm working for something and that is exciting. I'm only me when I'm pushing myself. Is that bad? It never occurred to me that characteristic might be something I need to look into. I think the only problem really is that I'm incapable of doing it to myself; instead I have to put myself into situations that force me to rise to the occasion.

On a tangential thought to that I wonder if that is why I have always gotten along with my brother so well. In my studies both in and out of school I have discovered there are people who see others more accomplished than them, smarter, quicker, more naturally talented, and say ah, I must improve. And then there are people that get angry at the accomplished person and hold their accomplishments against them. They're too smart, or too good. It's no fun to be around someone whom is constantly your superior. I have had it pointed out to me that I am of the former group--perhaps some of you wouldn't agree, but I believe myself to be of the former group anyway. I don't enjoy playing games when there's no real competition, and I don't enjoy discussions with someone who is only interested in arguing instead of dialoguing, but when faced with someone better than I am at something my first impulse is to practice. I need to improve so that I can come back and kick said ass.

My brother is very often better at things than I am. How much of that is due to extraneous factors I don't know and don't care. I don't think he won the genetic lottery nor do I think he has undue advantages from life. Rather he has a very analytical mind and that allows him a certain advantage in most games. My mind enjoys pretending to be analytical, but I don't believe it is my natural state. Couple with that my being four years younger my motor skills were slower to develop as well. This meant that for much of our childhood I was constantly striving to put up a challenge. I imagine for some people that would have been frustrating or demeaning. For me is was fantastic. When I gave him a run for his money it was so exciting; the thrill of having improved was incredible. The first time I beat him at a game I jumped up and down because the victory was sweet. Not because he had messed up or I had cheated, but because I had worked for that and I won. It was a Nintendo game and I could still tell you which one. I remember because it was the first time in my life that I realized if I was willing to work--if I was willing to lose while I learned how to win--I could be as good at something as I wanted to be.

The only exception I have found to that rule so far is bowling and mini-golf. Fate just mocks me with those two.

I share this because I know and know of people who can't take the loss. Either because it isn't in their genetic make-up or because they've lost too many times I don't know. I've witnessed people in classrooms attack or back bite because the idea that someone might be smarter or more insightful is poisonous to them. I've seen my own friends and family nearly come to blows over games. Games that don't even matter.

Life isn't particularly fair and oftentimes we can't succeed at everything we attempt. You don't get hired, or accepted, or asked out, or whatever and that's just the way it is. Sometimes you are just not as good at something as someone else. But the thought I find myself rolling around in my head is, when does it start to matter? When and why does a lack of accomplishment/victory denote a loss of respect? If I fail out of school which isn't likely, but completely possible, there are people that would say they were so very sorry for me while secretly laughing inside. I can't imagine feeling that way over anything.

I have taken pleasure in people's pain; it's not something I'm proud of, but I won't deny it. But never real pain, never serious pain. Taking pleasure in someone else's failure seems to me sadism--is it not the same feelings that go through people that torture, just on a smaller scale? But where is all of this taking us you ask, and it is a good question.

I think that where I'm going is that I'm glad to be challenged, ecstatic even. I'm not happy when I'm not challenged--not really. But I only really enjoy it when it is surmountable. No matter how hard, it still needs to be doable. And challenges, whether you are challenged or challenging (no pun intended) are only enjoyable when there's a chance of victory for both. That's why games aren't fun when there's an obviously skilled opponent on one side.

It's fun and necessary to lose sometimes so that you can still be excited when you win.

That's why I'm glad I'm having a hard time this semester. If school were too easy why would I be in it? Why would I need it? But more than that, I'm glad that I can generally have as much fun failing spectacularly as I can winning. I'm glad that my self-image is not tied up completely in failing. Oh, it still hurts me to fall short, but I've failed spectacularly so many times in my life that I've long since learned that there is more to me than my actions. Despite that, though, I am only what I try to be.

This is an odd post, it's true. I'm not sure what prompted all these musings. You'll notice a link on the right. That is my blog required by one of my classes at school. There is no link from that blog to this one as my teacher will be reading the other. It is my response to the field of Composition as we read articles this semester. Feel free to check it out and leave comments if you desire, but I can't promise the excitement of what you'll find there.

In any case, I think I better watch at least one more Boston Legal before I go to bed. I bid you good night.