We've got a fantastic dialogue going here and rather than keep it all in the comments I thought I would go ahead and branch out a bit. The question is, why worry about the establishment at all? The idea being here (and I am hopefully interpreting this correctly) that since we cannot change the establishment (meaning society/culture etc.) and replacing the current establishment with one of our own creating would simply make us the oppressors instead of the oppressed it is best to focus solely on the individual and individual existence.

The reason I must disagree with that idea is a fundamental difference in ideology. As some sort of post-modernist/feminist/naturally argumentative being that I am I subscribe wholly to the Bakhtinian belief that we are half ourselves and half someone else's. Bakhtin uses this idea in relation to discourse, but taking it one step further brings you to the debate on whether language creates knowledge or knowledge creates language and, hence, how much this connects to language/knowledge creating/shaping reality. Or, at least, perception. Hopefully I am making sense here.

Now, that conflicts with the idea that focusing on myself and ignoring the establishment allows me to distance and separate myself from the establishment. The reason for this is because I cannot separate myself from the establishment--there is no sane part of me that is not influenced by what is around me, or, there might be a sane part of me, but it is impossible to separate out from the rest and any tools I use to do so are also infected by society (the establishment). Thus I find myself in a position of having to acknowledge my own relative powerlessness--that seems odd because here I am, harping away via text about all I believe and wish would change, but it is precisely in that harping that I find what little power I have.

I have to comment on the establishment, not necessarily to replace it with anything I create, but because every time I recognize another piece that in some way affects me (such as cultural ideals of beauty) I am able to name it, and in so doing overrule society's affect with my own language. This all serves the purpose of shaping my reality and allowing me the chance to stand outside society to whatever degree I am able on individual topics and do what I think is ultimately being urged with the idea of "focusing on me."

I've never attempted to actually articulate my own ideology or belief system via writing in a context such as this blog, so I apologize to everyone if this is confusing nonsensical or if I have totally misunderstood the comments providing the context for this discussion.

This is an uncomfortable ideology. I state that with absolute belief in what I'm saying here. I would never return any of the ideas or theories I have garnered in the past few years, but once one enters into a Foucaultdian post-modernist structure you cease to possess all the power needed within yourself to shape yourself (or the world around you). The reason for this is that all the world's structures don't exist on a linear continuum. I can't simply seek knowledge until I achieve some ultimate truth. Instead I must work within the grid of varying discourses/structures which are constantly affecting me as I affect them. Finding one answer does not mean finding all answers, therefore, and what was the answer at one point might change in the future as new knowledge is acquired. (For anyone who knows all of this already please don't think I am attempting to educate. I am simply providing explanation for those who don't.)

I cannot focus on myself then, because all that is me has been shaped by society. Unless I recognize the ways society has shaped me, is shaping me, or trying to shape me, I am unable to recognize where my self-awareness and own personal knowledge has come from. Hence my need to discuss the establishment and dive into the craziness that is society/culture.

No doubt there is a better way to go about all of this. I have never in my life done things the easy way. But as of yet I know not a way that allows me to name structures in society, recognize their affect on me and my personal beliefs, and struggle with that accordingly without using language--hence the majority of posts in this blog. My aims are often political, but outside the American realm of democratic vs. republican, liberal vs. conservative. My aims are actually to share whatever language I create in the hopes that it might spark more language (as it did in this case) which in turn might lead to what Nietzsche calls "unheard of combinations and metaphors." Gotta love Nietzsche.

So that's why I do what I do, and that is the ideology that drives me. The question I am still asking myself, though, is am I thinking things through or just enjoying my ability to think?

Ain't that one always the kicker.

And this all seems appropriate for the 200th post. Woo!

A man is pregnant. That is an unbelievable sentence to write and as I read the news by-line I was immediately filled with doubt that this was a hoax. But after some research I am as sure as I can be without seeing him that this is true. The story is here http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/us_and_americas/article3628860.ece and he is a transgendered man, born a woman and kept his reproductive organs when having sex reassignment surgery. How much does this rock your world?

Of course, because he was born a woman and kept his reproductive organs it isn't biologically astounding, but culturally, ethically, philosophically--it's rocking my world. I've been reading a lot of theory to gear up for Judith Butler's Gender Trouble and the idea of gender as a social construct is one I've been grappling with for awhile. But to see a man, a former woman who has gone through surgery and does self-recognize as a man, pregnant is mind boggling.

What does it mean to be man or woman? If a "man" can have a baby, what does it mean for the definition of gender? Can you be a man and be pregnant? Or does his choice to conceive immediately invalidate his identifying as a man and make him a woman?

I've always been pro-choice in almost all life decisions, and I don't think he shouldn't be able to make this decision. Nor have I been hesitant to allow transgendered women their full identity as female, but as I've done more and more work in feminists studies I've also began to place a lot of value and identity in my reproductive system. Not in my identity as a mother, but in my body--how it is biologically different from a man's. I'm forced to confront the question at this point--is it the body that makes a person a gender or sex, or is it society? Is my femininity threatened by this?

My gut instinct to that last question is of course not, but I am disturbed by the idea of science working to make a man pregnant. This man obviously carried the necessary reproductive organs, but in my research I found discussion of theories on how to make men pregnant. That bothers me a lot. On the one hand, it would be great not to have to carry a baby if I didn't want to; on the other hand, much of patriarchy has revolved around womb-envy, and the scientific ability to impregnate a man would be the culminating victory in this war on women. That isn't an "I hate men" statement, but a belief I carry about society's treatment of women.

This is going to require further thought and much more introspection.

I write this from a Drury Inn in Illinois, across the river from St. Louis. Not the hotel I am staying at for the weekend, but rather from the place a nice security guard dropped me when I was stranded at an airport in the middle of cornfields. It's been a hell of a night.

Apparently my airline doesn't fly into the big airport, no it flies into a little one on the Illinois side that doesn't actually connect to anything. Hence, when I reserved the car at the big airport it was, surprisingly, not waiting for me magically at the airport I flew into. So there I was, two hours late thanks to a delay, having just flown through a thunderstorm which was a really unfun ride, and stranded with no means to get to the rental car except an overpriced taxi that was going to take thirty minutes to get to me before the forty minute (at least) cab ride. Then the nice security guard offered to take me to the train. But we got there two minutes after the train left. So he took me a little further up the road, looking for a gas station and I decided, hey, I can hang out at that Drury Inn indefinitely. Thankfully, the other people flying in arrived, were able to pick up the car (which was not at the airport but where they had to take a shuttle to get to) and are now in route, as I type to rescue me. Attempting to navigate thirty miles of stormy, cold midwest at one o'clock in the morning is really not my favorite activity.

The only positive is that this particular inn is hosting a large amount of really good looking men who are playing poker in the lobby. This means that on occasion they walk by to use the restroom and I get to check them out. Somehow it doesn't all equal out, however.

And I just want everyone to know that I read a really interesting book on the plane and was really excited to talk about it. Instead I'm sharing my story of travel woes. It is worth noting, however, that another traveler was delayed two and a half hours, missed her connecting flight and is now in Chicago overnight. I don't know which of us has it worse. In the end, I feel this will be the hardest fought for conference paper ever presented. Someone, somewhere is writing a Hollywood script even as I type.

I would also like to add that the nice man who gave me a ride was a Republican. It just goes to show that you shouldn't stereotype because you never know who come to your aid. It also goes to show that while it might not be wise to accept rides from strange men, at least not everyone in this world is a degenerate. As Blanche says, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." Of course, when she says it, it is horrifically sad and ironic. Thankfully my own dependence in this case did not end up with me raped, dead, or in a mental institution. All-in-all it's been a very successful night.

I suppose it all depends on how you are measuring things.

Why is it legal for parents to consent to breast implant surgery in children under eighteen? It doesn't matter that the FDA recommends no one under eighteen have the surgery (which, 18 is still to young, things are still developing) but we don't let parents buy alcohol for their kids; we don't let parents give their kids cigarettes. But they can buy their kid a surgery which will screw up their body, or at least require corrective measures more often than not, in five to ten years. Someone please explain to how this is acceptable?

Obviously I am against breast implants in general. The technology is fantastic for patients of mastectomies but breasts that are too small, saggy, old? What are we doing to ourselves? What are we allowing to be done to our children? Is a mother's first job not the protection of her children? Perhaps not. Perhaps her first job is actually raising the daughter she always wished she could be. Beautiful, popular, perfect.

Cosmetic surgery not revolving around the implant is a different matter; I understand the need to rectify a birth defect. What qualifies as defective thought? Different sized breasts? Many people have different sized breasts, so how much of a difference? One cup size? Two? What about nipples that aren't perfectly symmetrical? Does that qualify as necessary for surgery? I honestly want to know--at what point am I doing something to fix my body, and at what point am I doing something to make others happy?

I love women who talk about breast implants as if it were a new lease on life. They are so much more happy. So much more self-confident. On the one hand I understand that feeling, often patients of dental surgery feel the same thing if they are able to smile unselfconsciously for the first time in years, but what qualifies as okay, teeth, and not okay, breasts?

I think for me it would have to depend on the severity of the situation. If you had one breast that was a DD and hung down to your waist, and another that was a B and perky, well that might be worth mending. But what if you are a B cup, or an A? Or a DD that has started to sag at thirty five or forty five? Are those things worthy of making you self conscious? Are they worthy of ruining your life and requiring surgery, possibly dangerous surgery, to allow you to be happy? Why must your breasts be perfect for you to be happy? Why must your body? Why is happiness impossible for imperfect people?

I don't think it is (obviously). But I think we are all taught to believe that way. If I had the time or the inclination I would go Marxist on you and explain why most of this drive stems from capitalism. My point here is, though, that this is not okay. It is unethical and immoral to allow a parent to agree to the mutilation of their child's body. Naturally we could argue what constitutes mutilation but rather than be sidetracked into a discussion on drugs, alcohol, tattoos, and piercings I am going to attempt to stay on point. For our purposes right now, I think breast augmentation--specifically in girls under eighteen--qualifies as mutilation.

It is bad for her. It is unhealthy. What else is all of our health/nutrition news about if not better ways to be healthy and, therefore, good? And yet we support surgery that is neither good nor necessary. Oh, let the hypocrisy rule!

I'm not judging people who have received breast implants, I'm judging the society that endorses them. I am absolutely, however, judging mothers that allow their daughters to receive breast implants. You're a bad mother. I'm not normally so outspoken about my judgments of people, especially since I try so very hard not to judge people, but in this case I honestly feel it is bad parenting. I'm having a very difficult time conceiving of it as anything else. Feel free to correct me.

But don't argue that "if a person wants to it's okay." Where kids are concerned that is a whole different ballgame than adults. And breast implants are not about tattoos and piercings. You aren't fighting the establishment or declaring your individuality. Exactly the opposite. So I guess the question is, is it more reprehensible to fight the establishment without any grander purpose, or to give in to it?

All I really want to do is go back to the ocean. Instead I'm going to talk about sexuality. Why? I don't know; because it's something to do I guess.

I just finished reading Twelfth Night for class. In all honesty I only half read it, but I did watch the whole movie (which was also for class). Shakespeare plays around with attraction and sexuality a lot in this play and it made me start asking questions. I understand it's hard to believe as I rarely ask questions.

My most pressing question is this: where does attraction reside? Is it purely physical, purely mental, or somewhere in between? When I was younger I took the road of many a young, teenage, chubby girl--that it is purely mental. That if someone just go to know me and weren't so shallow he wouldn't help but fall in love with me. When I got older I began to realize that I, for all of my "appearance doesn't matter" rhetoric, was, in fact, unable to be attracted to particular men--even if I found their personality fascinating. This is turn made me ask the question, is it possible that some men will simply never find me attractive, either because of my weight or despite it?

I think, as a starting point, I would say that attraction is a mixture of physical and mental responses. This seems supported by the way a personality can both increase attraction and destroy it. But I want to say there is some physical reaction there, some biology at work, because sometimes you see someone and are immediately aroused. Not ready to have sex aroused, but attracted. And sometimes even if there isn't what one would call "attraction" there is what we as a society call "chemistry."

However, is it possible to discover how much of our physical responses are purely biological and how much have been created by the society surrounding us? If you have learned your whole life that a particular physical body is attractive then how, when you are fifteen, twenty-five, or forty, do you know if you are reacting because your body wants to mate, or reacting because you've internalized that as "sexy?" Are you following my conundrum here?

I have, at different points in my life, had people completely uninterested in me because of my physical appearance. I have also had friends effuse about my beauty, usually women, but not always. And also, amongst my friends, I am consistently told I am "not fat" which is a patented untruth. But I believe, that they believe it. This raises the question, do you see someone differently after you know them, or do we refuse to see egregious physical failings (as defined by society) in the people we respect and love? If you find yourself attracted to someone, or even just imagining them as beautiful, are you forced to also deny that they are fat, or stupid, or any other loaded term that depicts a failing of not just the body, but the character?

I don't think it is possible to establish what is biology and what is not, quite honestly, at least not where attraction is concerned. Sexuality, gender identification, these things might be discernable, if only because when someone cannot conform to society it must be concluded there is something else keeping them from conforming than a simple state of immorality or rebellion. But attraction, attraction is not the same as sexuality or gender identity.

So what causes it? What affects it? What makes us lust after some but not others? Can you love sexually if you are only mildly attracted? Do couples sometimes find their partner unattractive? How often? Why? Did it occur over time was it always there? Some of these questions I assume I will find answers to some day, but some I may never. Of course, I keep reading books that theorize about such things and so perhaps the answers are forthcoming.

And, finally, due to our Christian culture (and one could argue the other big religions of Islam and Judaism) we have the moral/ethical belief that if you think a thing it is as bad as doing it. This has given rise to significant strife over lustful thoughts (not to mention angry, hateful, or any other type of thought). Are lustful thoughts avoidable, or do we "allow" them into our heads? How much entertaining of such a thought is too much entertaining? When is a fantasy acceptable, and when is it cheating?

Anyway, I'm going off on a tangent. Regardless here are some thoughts for you all to contemplate. I am curious as to your thoughts on the matter. Maybe next time I find myself attracted to someone I will attempt to break down the feeling. Of course, usually I'm too busy drooling to think academically, but perhaps if I'm trying to think academically I will neither drool, giggle, nor be mean. And then I might get a date.

Hey there's an idea...

My studying of writing continues and I once again find myself angry with heartburn at academia. Why am I going to fail out of grad school? Because I seem incapable of pretending to believe what they want me to believe. Obviously if I want to graduate (which I do) I need to get my stuff together (which I haven't). I hate everything.

More to the point--I have been considering No Child Left Behind and I am in need of envisioning some way to take it down. I'm talking covert ops mission here people. I may be about as sneaky as a mac truck, but for this situation I feel I could whip out my hidden ninja. NCLB is such a bad idea that it might have a place alongside such activities as the Spanish Inquisition.

We want to "fix" education we want to "fix" our students. We want to be the best. In my readings I found one sentence that I feel perfectly describes this need. It comes from Mike Rose and his discussion of the teaching of English. The focus of writing instruction was narrowed to grammar and mechanics because they were quantifiable. Rose sums it up when he says, "The narrow focus was made even more narrow by a fetish for 'scientific' tabulation" (553). I love that. "fetish for 'scientific' tabulation." Have you ever heard it described better? I think not.

Dear old Plato divided our heads from our hearts and we've been fighting with ourselves ever sense. I must be logical, I must be rational, I must be quantifiable. Never mind the fact that you are you regardless of how much you ignore yourself. Never mind that your emotions affect you regardless of how much you ignore them. Oh no, suppress them, control them! It began with Plato and was exacerbated by Freud. And now we find ourselves, a culture overridden by its fetish for science, following the scientific method even when not applicable. Forcing activities into quantifiable results that cannot be translated into numbers. Or, perhaps, everything can be translated into numbers, but until it is understood, I would argue, the translation will be flawed. Humans speak first in words, second in numbers (a mathematician might argue with me here) and for the majority (see how I qualify myself?) they must first describe their reality in words before it can be described or predicted or quantified. Composition studies is an excellent example of this. In an effort to improve the teaching of writing (isn't it always in an effort to improve) hypothesis were made and theories put in place that predicted particular outcomes. Thus it was we had quantifiable data and ways to measure it, but we never stopped to consider if it actually applied. Soon it was discovered the writing process was complex, recursive, that people learned differently than we imagined. But how do you measure or account for human thought?

To consider the student, to understand what is driving the student (and in turn to teach more effectively) is emotional, soft, bad science. We need an applicable theory that does not allow for malleability. It must work for everyone in every case and be taught to new teachers in under four years. It never occurred to anyone that a teacher armed with a general, malleable theory who could self-analyze and react to different teaching situations might better stimulate the writing process and help students become better writers. Or maybe that did occur to someone, but they didn't know how to test it. After all, we need a way to gauge students before they hit the workplace. Knowledge exists in a vacuum and, thus, it can be taught and tested that way.

I'm ranting, and perhaps not making any sense. My annoyance derives specifically from the way that we as a culture, in our fetishizing of science cut out the parts of human beings that are messy. We relegate them to teenagers and chick-flicks, alcoholics, and fools. Occasionally someone says something brilliant and we quote it like a fortune cookie, put it up on our wall and cease to reconsider it in new ways. We search for ways to scientifically prove things the common person already knows is true. Male scientists "prove" that hormones affect people (specifically women) or psychologists "prove" suppression of emotion is unhealthy. Well, now that we've proven it I can feel better about myself.

I'm not arguing against science here, I'm arguing against science as religion. Once science becomes a vacuum, a place where all truth resides and neglects to acknowledge the existence, or even the possibility of existence, of truth outside of what it might hypothesize and/or prove it ceases to be useful. It becomes reductive and limiting. It no longer allows us to better understand our world, anticipate and live in it, but tells us what we may or may not do/believe/allow. It tells us what we should or should not feel, what is and is not valid. Why do women get angry when you ask them if they are PMSing? Because you are invalidating their emotions. You are, in effect, saying "if you were rational, non-hormonal, manly, you wouldn't feel this and, thus, I do not have to acknowledge with any seriousness or contemplation on my part what you are saying." This happens because now we know what PMS is; we have proven it. But we never bothered to consider if PMS creates emotion or exacerbates it. If it is actually controllable or not.

I am not suffering from PMS right now. And my problems, while most recently inflamed by composition scholarship, are not about any one thing. They are, rather, an issue with society as a whole. That's not surprising really, but what I ask you is--after you discover how something happens do you ever really consider why?

In an effort to avoid doing homework I should be doing, I am instead going to write about the silliness of crushes.

Now, I say silliness, but in all honesty I think there is something healthy, necessary, and adorable in one's ability to "have a crush." I myself began to wonder if I wasn't dead inside because I didn't have one for well over four years or so. When you find yourself liking someone--wanting to get to know them, see them, spend time with them--it rejuvenates you to some degree. I also find it intensely annoying, but I think it shows that the tender emotions are alive and well.

What is it about us that causes us to crush? This is the question I find myself pondering. Is a crush different than being in lust, or in love for that matter? In my late teens and early twenties I pondered the idea of love at first sight to a painful degree. It seems that when one discusses love, or the one (if there is just one) you cannot avoid the discussion of whether you believe in love at first sight or not. And if you develop a crush but not immediately does that cheapen whatever connection may arise from there? If you don't immediately want to be close to someone does that mean that any longings or urges thereafter are less sincere? Finally, is having a crush the same as having lust? Or is lust always a crush, but having a crush not always lust?

This is the problem with higher education, I can wax philosophical on just about anything.

But this is an issue I haven't given much thought, at least not in a good five years or so. Having a crush, certainly talking about it, is thought of as a young person's urge--I think. Certainly drawing your name and someone else's with a heart around it is juvenile, but what about seriously considering the feelings and where they come from? Is it immature because it's a crush, or something not enough adults do for fear of being laughed at? I figure I might as well have at it since my tolerance for being laughed at is so high, and I think someone ought to do it.

We'll start with the crush/lust dynamic. I think you can lust without a crush--this seems obvious by every person that has ever wanted to sleep with someone, but didn't necessarily want to date or know them. I don't know that you can crush without lust, however. What is a crush if it doesn't involve sex, after all; wouldn't that just be friendship? And how do we account for crushes that arise later in a relationship and not immediately; I don't think a feeling is less real or viable because it was lacking an immediate connection. And that brings me to love at first sight.

I don't think I believe in love at first sight. I have certainly felt an (almost) overwhelming lust when seeing someone; I have also felt an undeniable urge to get to know a person or spend time with them. But I don't think I would call this love. Even when things work out and you do end up dating or what-have-you, it doesn't seem in my experience that the initial emotion would qualify as love. It is romantic to think of love at first sight as real, and, perhaps, one could claim that connection at first sight is real, but is love possible in an instant? Or, perhaps it is always love at first sight because even if you've known a person for years you find yourself in one moment, unexpectedly, loving them and seeing them anew for the first time? That I could believe.

I think the biggest thing that has my thoughts in a bind, however, is telling the difference between true like/lust/love and being lonely. Sometimes when you're lonely enough you seriously contemplate romantic thoughts where you never would if things were different. Naturally, if things weren't the way they are they would be different, but my point here is that is it possible to trust such feelings when such loneliness is present? And, if you are desperate, lonely, whatever, how do you know when something that started in that situation became something real or recognize it for the filler that it is? On the flip side of this I have to wonder how often romantic tendencies are brushed off because a person is happy in their solitude. Having a crush or any variation thereof is annoying--you find yourself thinking on a person, wishing to see them, wanting to talk to them and suddenly the island of you just isn't enough any more. That is so darn frustrating when you are a loner like myself. In that case, should one pay more attention to a crush that has gotten through the layers of solitude, or does it just mean that everyone like someone from time to time? I seem to have nothing but questions for you today.

I know what a healthy relationship should look like, but I'm not sure I know how one would feel. I certainly haven't had one in my adult years and now, the older I get, the more I flounder as I consider how to progress. Certainly there are some rules that clarify things for me--never approach anyone in a relationship or that you think would be perfect if he just changed a little. These are easy rules to follow, but don't necessarily stop the feelings themselves. That in turn leads us to the ultimate question of how does one shake an unwanted crush? I've been asking that since high school and I don't think I know of anyone that has an answer. I think that is why the book He's Just Not That Into You annoyed the crap out of me. It doesn't matter if he isn't into me; it doesn't matter that logically I know that. The problem is that I am into him. Of course, being able to vocalize to myself that I should wait for someone who is into me helps put things in perspective, but these tender emotions still persist. Did I say I was glad I wasn't dead inside?

Frankly, life is so much easier when you are the person you can be instead of working at being the person you want to be. That's pretty much the only nugget I have garnered from this contemplation on crushes. There is a positive side to all of this, though: all-in-all I'm significantly less insane than I was in high school. At least I've got that going for me.

I'm at my computer for the first time in over a week. It's really rather liberating. I don't have internet access at home you see, and I've been camping so there has been no email checking, no web surfing, and definitely no blogging. Never fear, however, I've been writing in my head.

Of course, I've also been drinking so I might forget everything I've written.

Let me begin with how much I love to camp. It is difficult in this day and age to say you "love" anything without sounding sentimental and clichéd, but I do love to camp. It makes me happy. I can't wait to go and I rarely want to leave. The real problem with describing it isn't so much that it sounds bad to say "love" as it is that love no longer carries the weight it should--thus when I say I love to camp it sounds like I like it a lot. In reality I think I need to camp or my soul withers and dies. That perhaps better communicates what the great outdoors does for me.

I was in California, near the beach and spent my days on the beach. I watched the sun set over the ocean; I played in the water. I laughed as surfers rode the waves. I woke up cold, but with fantastic bed head every morning. I don't know how I feel about California. I vacillate on how much I like it, but it is beautiful. There are a lot of people there, but I understand why. And the Pacific ocean, oh the Pacific. Is it any wonder so many people run to it? I have to admit, I think I prefer the Pacific to the Atlantic. I know coastal people are very protective of their ocean, but the Pacific is just so fantastic. It feels bigger. And the water is so gorgeous. One gets in and for just a second you're not sure you care if you are swept out to sea or not. I understand, I think, why people chose life on the sea. It is never easy for me to leave the ocean when I'm not living next to it.

All of this is waxing philosophical of course about the beauty of nature and the spiritual aspect of camping--boring stuff I know. If it makes you feel better I alternated between expanding my consciousness and checking out surfer boys who were way to young for me. This is the duality of my self. Truth-seeking philosopher on one part, shameless male objectifier on the other. My fellow campers and I also spent a great part of the weekend discussing various liquids produced by the body (specifically urine) so don't believe for an instant we were all sitting around being deep.

And I must tell the tale of the wonder twins. While two of us were off walking I stepped away for a bathroom break and a walk myself leaving two others back at the campsite. When I returned I saw our group had grown by two twenty-one year old undergrads. Both of these young men were incredibly intoxicated and so intent on imparting life knowledge to us that it can be described as nothing but precious. There were two moments in particular: the first came when it was still myself and two others trying to casually usher the drunk bopsy twins out of our campsite. "These are the best years of our life!" one slurred at us. "This is it. After this it's all over." Such words of wisdom from a twenty-one year old. He went on to ask if we had read Death of a Salesman and one of us had, but none of us were particularly interested in discussing it. That didn't stop him, though, oh no. Plunging ahead he informed us that after college life was, in effect, over. We didn't correct him that we had all survived graduation happily. No doubt the idea of out growing the nineteen and twenty year old girls he has been dating is disturbing him greatly.

The second great moment came when genius #1 asked the men in our group if they preferred to masturbate right handed or left handed. This in itself wasn't spectacular (I had already covered all necessary masturbation questions on the first day as is my habit) but he followed his question with a disclaimer to the other female and myself. "I'm sorry ladies, you may not know this," he said helpfully, "but everybody masturbates." I'm really, truly happy I ran into him on this camping trip. Had he not been there to inform me that everyone masturbates and to watch out for my female sensibilities I might have gone to the grave thinking the only person masturbating in this world is me. And that would have been just sad.

There was also a reasonably entertaining story containing the characters of Den Mother, Goofy-foot Dudley, and Dirty Harry the girl with more hair, but those characters will find life in other writings. The humor really revolved around the young Leonardo Davinci relating the story more than it did the characters themselves. All-in-all a very memorable experience.

I'm working my way up to more thought-provoking writing on alphas vs. betas, highschool crushes, and masturbating, but I'm not quite there yet. I'm still trying to get over my separation from the ocean and even though I don't hate the desert--it certainly has its moments and its beauty--I might have to live on a coast some day. Of course, I still have to get a grown up job and that means I might end up in Arkansas, but we'll all hope that doesn't come to pass.

Until then I bid you adieu, and offer you this picture from my weekend.

I finished my latest cowboy series tonight, and I'm left feeling exceptionally bereft. Not that the show was all that good, but I thought I had a whole other disc to go through and then...it was just done. It's such a shock when your cowboys are taken from you so suddenly, especially since it didn't seem like a series finale--I can't help but wonder if they were hoping to get picked up again the next season. Oh well, I guess The Magnificent Seven will not be riding again anytime soon.

The cowboy archetype is a strange one, though. It's had me thinking on it for the past few days. Cowboys (as a character) are polite but traditional, fair but patriarchal, intelligent but down-home. He's the alpha male without all the pomp and circumstance, the true alpha. He doesn't need to prove he's the best, the strongest, the fastest, it just rolls off of him in spades. He also treats ladies with respect, but it's a respect born of a cultural norm I despise. And yet, every time he tips his hat to a lady I swoon.

So what in the world is a girl like me, crazy ball-busting (and ball-loving) feminist that I am, doing loving on cowboys?

I don't know if it could ever work in reality. He equates irrationality and hysteria with women and all that is strong, rational, and good with men. I equate that sort of mindset with idiot. But then he wears those boots and rides a horse and shoots a gun. And I don't even like people who are big on guns. Cowboys are inherently Republican--I'm inherently not. They like a woman who can be a lady and I like a man who'll love me while I fart. You see my problem here?

What is it that draws me back time and time again to the cowboy fantasy then? What is it about this archetype that makes it so appealing? I would hazard that part of it was my upbringing; being in the midwest the sort of ubermensch rough-riding rebel appeals to me. But has my socialization been so strong that I can't shake it or is there something about the cowboy archetype that appeals to me as a heterosexual female? Is there even any way to figure it out?

The way to discover my answer, I suppose, would be to look at the qualities I find so appealing and decide if they are inherently "cowboy" qualities (whatever those may be) or qualities owing nothing to any particular type. The qualities would be (at a guess) in no particular order: moral goodness--not Bible-thumping god-fearing moral goodness, but run into a burning building to save a baby moral goodness. The kind that doesn't hit other people without good reason, stands up for the little guy and never, ever judges unless given proof of character failing. Strength--both physical and mental. Someone who can lift what needs to be lifted, work hard all day and what not. Someone who also handles stress well, adversity and all that. Crying is natural and fine, but crying every day/week/month because something went wrong? A little excessive. Intelligence--duh. He doesn't have to be the same smart as me, but he does need to be reasonably educated, and quick witted. Good at what he does--talent is sexy. I won't say it has to be a cowboy talent--carpentry, music, hell even math--any talent is fine. Deep--hanging out with shallow people, people with nothing to talk about and no ability to learn is exhausting not stimulating. Funny--must be able to laugh. Nobody likes a sourpuss.

So these aren't specifically cowboy traits. I suppose the respect that I find so enamoring in cowboys falls into the moral goodness category, respect without judgment. Hard to pull off but so incredibly attractive when done well. The actual cowboy gun-slinging activities would fall into talent and strength categories. And, of course, it occurs to me now that what I'm describing here is a hero. The cowboy archetype is just one more version of the hero archetype. And that, of course, brings us back around to square one. Are heroes sexy because heroism appeals to some innate attraction zone inside of me, or have I been socialized to find heroism hot? Or is it both?

This might seem like an odd tangent to consider, but you have remember that knowing why you like something is often as important as knowing what you like. Liking what you like is not nearly as harmless as everyone would like to believe. That doesn't come from a Southern Baptist place of judgment, just cold experience. My hero worship isn't necessarily as dangerous or destructive as someone's say, rape fantasy (many people, men and women, have them) or ethnic preference or any other socialized unhealthy yearning we hide behind "it's just what I like." But it does shape what I look for in men, how I approach men, and how much I allow men their humanity--which, for those of you keeping score is what I'm always harping on is being denied women. Stupid knife, cutting both ways. You'd think girls would get at least a good decade or two to objectify men. But no, we have to be all wise and mature about it--recognize that just because he's a hero doesn't mean he's not human and vice versa. So inconvenient.

I guess where I'm going with this is the question, do you fall for and seek out the archetype because it is so much less messy than a real person, or do you try to find it because that's what you really want? And if you really want just the archetype (which, even as I type this I realize I don't) what does that say about what you're looking for in a relationship? An archetype would be sort of like a blow-up doll that talks.

But even after voicing all of this I'm not sure I could shake my attraction to specific male characteristics and my lack of attraction to others. And if that is true, how do you ever change what society has taught you? Should you try? Is it worth it? Do you try to keep it from happening to your kids?

Or do you just like what you like and move on?

Ack! I just read some really interesting composition theory (trust me, it is interesting to those of us who've forgotten the meaning of fun) and now I'm having a completely crisis of teaching ability. Am I teaching my student's what they need to know or just what I think they should know? How do I know the difference? How do I offer the best classroom environment possible to enable them to learn? Why do I care so much?

I blame this all on my mother. That darned saintly woman that she is taught special-ed for thirty odd years, and she didn't do it because she couldn't figure out what she wanted to do, or because she liked the breaks. She did it because she cared. And she cared about the kids. When she retired, tired and beaten, she said "I wasn't sick of the kids. It was never the kids." That's a special sort of teacher right there. The sort of teacher we all wish we had and hope our kids have. A teacher that isn't in it for herself, but because she feels like she can do something for a particular educational practice. I think that mindset goes for doctors, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, and paramedics too (and anyone else I left out). So now, here I am a teacher--not always because I have saintly ambitions so much as no direction--and I am scared to death what I'm teaching isn't what I should be teaching. I have good materials to work with, but not the best. I have good supervisors to work with, but because of the sheer volume of graduate students they can't keep a close eye on us all. That means I'm mostly unsupervised. Moreover, their teaching theory is slightly different then mine. I don't know if that means one of us is right or wrong, but it means that I'm flying free. I love to fly free; I live to fly free, but what if my flying free hurts the students? What if I'm not careful enough, learned enough, or pointed enough in my teaching?

You see my fears here. On the one hand freshman composition is not all that important in the long run. No matter how badly I screw up I will never be as bad as others or as good as some, and the students will not be traumatized for life. On the other hand, I want to be a good teacher. Unfortunately, just like parenting, wanting doesn't make it so. I still have to work at being a good teacher. Why did I pick this profession? What sort of silliness prompted me to come back to school?

That's not fair. If I still worked my office job I would be morbidly obese (even by my own standards) incredibly unhappy, and most likely self-destructive. School was the right choice, we all know this. But why can't I accept being a mediocre teacher? That, perhaps, is the better question. And, for any teachers out there, does anyone set out to be a mediocre teacher? Some days we just don't care, but overall, do you think, "eh, whatever"? And theory is great; theory is necessary. I love theory. But you still have to be able to think on your feet. You still have to be able to react to the different classroom dynamics of each class. I think academics are responsible, to some degree, for the classroom stereotyping. Sure, college freshman are A LOT alike, and a lot of their thought processes are similar, but you can't approach each class the same. You don't have all the same "teachable moments", as one of my professors would say.

I don't think I could ever be a nurse or a doctor. Assuming I could get over the body stuff (clean-up sure, sticking anybody with anything, not so much) I don't think I would ever shake the anxiety of messing up. I had one student chose to write about the stereotypes of cops for his first paper, and in arguing against the stereotypes that all cops are bad, he said that all cops were good. He even acknowledged that abuse of power sometimes happens, but it was just because they're people too and have a bad day. In talking over his paper with him I was pointing out why you can't argue a stereotype with a stereotype, and said something along the lines of isn't it those bad and good days that make both stereotypes false? And don't you need to explore the complexity of what you're arguing since when a cop has a bad day somebody goes to jail, or dies? I'm not relating the conversation very well, but I remember thinking, here is this guy who wants to be a cop, and will make a good one I think, but he has no idea why the pressure is so great. It's great because you have to make hard decisions and see horrible things, but it's also great because you don't always get to have a bad day. You don't get to be off you're game.

Teaching is obviously not life and death like that, but I wonder how it is we prepare students for those situations. After all, since I'm teaching them to think through writing, the emphasis being on thinking, I am hoping that these cognitive skills will carry over into their professions. What I teach badly and somebody becomes a bad lawyer, or doctor, or cop? I am, of course, assuming entirely too much responsibility, but it is sort of the dilemma of the teacher. You don't want to (nor should you) just teach punctuation and word choice. But once you try to teach more there is always the possibility of failure.

And since people aren't a mathematical equation how do I account for all their variables to minimize my failure? This is why I shouldn't read theory or philosophy or any thing more complex than a trashy romance novel. Nothing good ever comes of it!

I'm going back to waxing philosophical about love.

So I've finally read and watched A Streetcar Named Desire. What an odd thing to do after musing (half-asleep) on love last night. And I have to say Stanley Kowalski does not make any lists of hot men that I want to have relations with. He's up there with Heathcliff as just plain evil no matter how hot Marlon Brando was when he played him.

I've discovered that while I have extremely sketchy taste in men (sometimes even in men that are arguably not human) I don't particularly go in for the obvious abusers. A little rough-housing, a big fight or two sure--maybe even someone that can provide rough angry sex on occasion, but just plain beating me? So not hot. While reading Wuthering Heights it was the moment Heathcliff decided to hurt Hadley's child to get back at Hadley that did it for me, with Stanley it was the rape of Blanche. If Blanche were a little more into it sure, but she's not. She's crazy, and maybe she used to be a whore, but she's scared of Stanley--and not in any sort of hot, sexy way. Nope, Marlon Brando is incredibly attractive in the role, but I just can't bring myself to feel anything but revulsion for him. I take this as a good sign. Maybe I'm not as emotionally hopeless as previously imagined.

Taking a class such as I am taking this semester and reading the texts I'm reading does make for intense personal revelation, or perhaps, personal remembrance. I firmly believe I was wiser--in a naive way--at fourteen than I am now. At fourteen I knew certain things were true, but I didn't understand why they were true. I didn't understand all the contexts and complications that can muddy the waters, as it were. This meant that when things got gray, when life presented the same situation in a different light I was incapable of remembering what I already knew. I was incapable of recognizing how often different things are all the same. It has taken many, many mistakes for me to reach a place where I once again know and believe all the things I did at fourteen, but I feel I am stronger in a way I couldn't be then. I think personal discovery is important for understanding; some people are more capable of understanding and accepting things than others without it, but I don't think that demeans its importance.

And this brings me back around to love and Streetcar. Our concept of "love" is a construct--this can be proven by tracing the intellectual history of mankind. But our behaviors in love, how does one begin to ascertain what is inherent in the human condition and what is learned? Why do people stay in abusive relationships? Why do people crave "true love"? Why do strive to be monogamous and search for "the one?" How do you tell the difference between seeking personal fulfillment through "love" and having personal fulfillment and seeking companionship? It seems there must be some inherent need in the human being to seek out kindness and acceptance, but how much is inherent and how much is learned? That, I suppose, is really the question I ask.

Is it any wonder no one has snatched me up yet? I can see it now:

Him: Honey I love you.
Me: Really? Are you sure it's love or are you just feeling lonely? And what is love anyway? Do you think I'm the one? Are you realistic about the fights we will have and the lack of romance in our future? Are you prepared to love through anything and not cheat on me? Are you prepared to handle all of my vulnerabilities and be completely vulnerable with me? What socially constructed ideas about gender roles and love are you carrying? And most importantly, do you think you can stand my family?

He would then be silent and perplexed. I would probably fart, blow my nose like a foghorn, or both soon after.

So what is love?

If, after all of that--farting, nose-blowing and all--he just grabbed me and kissed me, that might be love. Hence why I keep saying "liberal barbarian." He needs to vote democrat, and shut me up with kisses when I start trying to define the theory of love.

And he could wear itty-bitty-teeny-tiny-little-leather-panties. Yeah, we'll go with that as a "working definition" of love.

What do you do when you want to write but have nothing to say? A wiser person would perhaps write nothing, but I think it has become abundantly clear at this point that I am not a wiser person--at least not compared to some. I write this from my new apartment. I am moved in, unpacked, and it feels good. It's nice to have my own place again, nice to nest. I made a crack earlier today about how I am half cancer half leo; due to my birthday I am a cusp baby. This means that I always want to move, but always want to nest. I think this paradox describes me in spades. And people say astrology isn't true.

One thing did happen tonight; I had the realization that the same tactics I employ with my students and harp in my teaching--being able to explain the why or the theory behind one's thoughts is lacking in most aspects of life. Perhaps I can explain.

When one is teaching it is widely known that it is incredibly important that a teacher know why she teaches what she teaches. She needs to understand the theory behind her thoughts and actions. I also force this on my students by constantly asking them why. They hate me and I don't blame them for it, but it makes for better arguments, better writing, and (frankly) better thoughts. Tonight in a philosophical discussion about love--not even involving drunkenness or pot--I listened to people describe their ideas on love and realized that theory, if I can appropriate the word, is something lacking in most people's thoughts. This may sound highly egotistical of me, but I think it is a rarity for someone to be able to define an abstract thought or belief, without basing it entirely on example.

In "love" examples would be doing something that makes someone happy, engaging in an activity that offers a feeling of completeness or connectivity. But I wanted to ask (and didn't because I knew it would be way to teachery of me) why those activities offer such a good feeling and why the idea of being connected is important. How often in life do we use words to describe a feeling without really understanding why that word works or even what it means in other terms? I say true love should be unconditional and then I define unconditional by actions. But what do those actions symbolize? Why do they cause the feelings in me they do? These are the questions I think that are often left unexplored.

It seems people in general, and certainly me in particular, use language to approximate an experience but never push their own language, and by extension their thoughts, to a place where they can name wholly what they really feel, felt, or think. Now, as I say this I admit that I don't think many things can ever be named wholly--how could you ever nail down exactly how your mother makes you feel? But often we stop at a cliché or a Hallmark card instead of figuring out what it is about that cliché or card that so captures what we are going for. Is any of this making sense? It's been a very long week and I may very well be rambling.

But how often do we know why we do what we do? How often are we aware of how our actions appear to others? How often do we think about what we believe and attempt to ascertain if it really is what we want to believe or just comfortable? I am not saying that people everywhere are living in ignorance (though I think a great many are) but rather that so many of us, myself included, don't like to think about things, least of all ourselves and our actions, to deeply. That isn't so much a revelation as a statement of well known truth. My point in restating it is simply to illustrate why I'm thinking on this discussion about love. It brings me back to a truth I already knew, many people don't actually like new, challenging knowledge, in a new way. And by arriving at this from a different angle I have a new understanding of it. I am, as Nietzsche would say making "unheard of connections and metaphors."

None of any that really matters of course. No one can give someone else truth I think. You can provide illumination, create the environment through words or pictures to allow for revelation, but I don't think it happens from someone else. I think it always has to happen within. Someone else might just provoke it a bit. And how fatalistic is that? But not sad.

Now I am rambling so I bid you adieu. I apologize to all for my blather and my arrogance, but most of all for subjecting you to a philosophical discussion about love. Though, I wasn't actually talking about love at all. But knowing that such a discussion took place is both sad and stereotypical. Sometimes I'm such a hippie grad student I amaze even myself.

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?