why I love southern California

overheard in the elevator on a 60-degree morning:

Woman 1: "Well, it was sunny today."

Woman 2: "Yeah, but now it's freezing!"

Woman 1: (makes shivering gesture)


(P.S. My list meeting is in an hour!)

absent-minded

When I'm especially busy or nervous (and especially on days like today, when I'm both), I can get a little irritable and a lot absent-minded. I think my mind simply pushes things away that it doesn't think it needs to attend to, with the result that I forget important things, like the meeting with the student I had scheduled today at 2:15. Ack!

All I can think about (despite trying to avoid thinking about it) is my qualifying exam list meeting tomorrow. It's not supposed to be a high-pressure event, but it is a chance to demonstrate that I'm decently knowledgeable, competent, etc. After all, this is the committee that decides eventually whether or not I'm ready to move on to the dissertation and the Ph.D. I just hope it's not one of the many grad. school moments in which I feel a bit like an imposter, like I'm trying to be an expert in a field I've only begun to understand.

Is academia the only field like this, where you can work your tail off and still feel like you haven't done much yet? I suppose not; being an artist, I imagine, is not much different. Still, it's nerve-wracking and may explain the whole absent-minded professor phenomenon. (Although he at least made flubber; that's cool.)

everyone knows it's windy

It is very gusty today; the Santa Ana winds are really blowing. (They're blowing a steady 30mph and gusting up to 70, according to today's L.A. Times.) My eyes are a bit red, and my hair is a-muss, but the entire place seems swept fresh. The air is crisp, all of the colors are ten times more vivid than they were yesterday, and the kids at the playground I passed on the way home were flying homemade, purple and pink kites.

good procrastination

I've been thinking a lot lately about the ways people manage (or don't manage) time, and why they choose to manage it the way they do. The inspiration for this post was this essay by Paul Graham, but the essay is really just one way of thinking through several concepts I've been mulling over lately.

I should back up here and explain that my current pet project is examining ways in which 18th-century writers envisioned various kinds of futures for individuals and for the British nation. I'm especially interested in narratives and tracts about education, various versions of utopia, exploration and imagination of various kinds of new spaces, economic speculation and credit, and rejections and reaffirmations of the past (in gothic literature, e.g.). I want to tease out the relationship between the different meanings of the word "plot" (the active creation of an alternate future, a path already worn by a work of fiction, a site in which living things can grow) and the imagined relationship between what one reads and what one can become. I am also interested in the optimism surrounding 18th-century "projects," whether they were scientific (including narratives about trips to the moon!) or social (like Sarah Scott's all-female Millennium Hall, which imagined a self-contained charitable society created and perpetuated by intelligent women).

I'm not really sure where this interest originated. I wrote a paper about the use of the word "plot" in Pamela that later became my master's thesis. My interest in this type of topic started before that, though. I've always been fascinated by the idea that, under perfect conditions, someone could make themselves into whatever they wanted to be. (Maybe I am related to John Locke!) I'm a sucker for the kind of resolution that promises that in just an hour a day you could be almost anything . . . a novelist, an Olympic ice skater, a master pianist, or whatever you wanted. I'll confess that I'm mildly addicted to the MTV show Made. The idea that you could mold yourself into whatever type of person you want to be is incredibly appealing to me, even if I know that in practice this idea is fraught with so many complications that it's virtually impossible. For someone to be truly "made" like this she would have to be willing (and able, especially financially speaking) to drop everything else. She would have to be immune to everyday demands--you can't remake yourself while fixing the car or taking care of a small child.

Which brings me to my problems with the essay I linked to. If "good" procrastination requires dropping the everyday things ("errands"), then there must be very few people who can be good procrastinators like this, or who can let their delight in working on important projects run their lives. I'm all for having, as Barbara Kingsolver writes, "dust bisons" in your living room, but I don't think most people have the opportunity or funds to drop, say, grocery shopping in favor of spending more time on a project. This is, I think, an especially difficult negotiation for women, even if you don't think of their lives in terms of a simple work/home division. Women are expected to do good in the world but also made to feel inept if they don't also help people around them (whether it's family or friends) feel comfortable and happy. (This is a huge generalization, I realize, but I think there's something to it.)

Frances Burney, an eighteenth-century novelist who I'm always reading, was especially good at illuminating this kind of tension. Her female protagonists are often expected to do at least two things at once--and be at least two kinds of people simultaneously--and the pressure eventually makes them crack. Camilla, for example, is expected to be open and reserved, and is chided for not being both at the same time. More relevant to this discussion, Cecilia wants to be both a good wife and a good benefactress, only to discover eventually (after losing most of her fortune) that it's impossible to do both. All of her money and time must go to one thing; she can only choose one future. She can be "made" into a wife or into a charitable worker, but not both. Burney even questions the idea that this choice is hers to make.

I'm not really sure what to conclude here. While the idea of a "good procrastination" is appealing (and is, for example, how I'm justifying writing this post now instead of writing headnotes for my "visions of the future" exam list), I don't know if I can subscribe to Paul Graham's version of good procrastination. Maybe I can agree with it if we discuss it in terms of work alone (i.e., I agree that it's better to work on important projects than less important ones), but the discussion gets much more thorny when the "to-do list" Graham dismisses as "bad procrastination" includes tasks essential to maintaining health and happy relationships. I think there's room somewhere for a much more flexible definition of how our use of time shapes who we are, and for an investigation of how much discretion we have in using our time in the first place. (Most people, I'd wager, don't have the freedom to procrastinate in this way, or to choose what work they do.)

I knew I had a lot of cousins, but this is insane.

According to the New York Times (login required, I think), new evidence suggests that my grandmother (nee O'Connor)--and approximately 3 million other people--are probably descended from Niall of the Nine Hostages, an Irish king with a very prolific sex life.

I am amused. And kind of grossed out.

update (re: help!)

Thanks for your helpful comments; I did e-mail the student back and suggest that he focus on Aristotelian definitions (and maybe briefly nod to others in his conclusion or somewhere), mostly, I said, so that he could have time to do justice to an analysis of Macbeth itself. I think part of my panic the other day was due to the tone I was reading into the e-mail; I thought it was trying to snub my authority and tell me what the paper and class really ought to be about. It didn't help that I was conflating this particular student in my mind with a student who tends to kind of stare me down in class, watching me with a kind of "so what?" glare while everyone else is taking notes. After I called role yesterday, I realized they were two different people. (Some day I will know all of their names.)

I realized other things yesterday too. The student who wrote the e-mail actually seemed kind of nervous in class, although eager to talk about things. Students who had previously seemed quiet became really talkative when I changed topics. The Staring Student stopped staring as much and started talking, and seemed less threatening the more he participated. I guess I shouldn't be so hasty to make quick impressions or assume that students just won't take me seriously because I'm female, young-looking, and only a graduate student.

I'm still working on negotiating that line between my need to feel like I have some sort of control in directing discussion and my knowledge that students questioning my terms and ideas is a very good thing, pedagogically (if not emotionally, heh) speaking.

help!

I have a student in my Comedy and Tragedy class who knows more about dramatic theory than I do. (Potentially much more.) He's already critiquing my paper prompt; while I asked students to refer to Aristotle, he wants to refer to (and here I quote his e-mail) "Nietzsche, Socrates, Horace, Racine, Castelvetro and the modernist movements in tragedy." (This is for a 3-4 page paper.)

I know I have read most of these philosophers, but I couldn't tell you right now what they wrote about tragedy. And I'm kind of beginning to panic.

How can I turn this into something positive (and avoid self-destructing)?

and now for a little puppy love (+ squirrel)

(Thanks to cuteoverload for the ridiculously cute photo.)

Angelina Jolie is . . .

. . . Grendel's mother?

rant about theory, my lack of knowledge of

My friend and I recently discussed the frustration we have in theory classes (specifically, we were talking about a feminist theory class we just attended for the first time). Neither of us had strong theoretical backgrounds in our undergraduate studies, and because of this we feel lost during a large part of our so-called introductory theory classes. It's not that we aren't able to read and comprehend things well (I hope!), but that the discussions frequently refer to theorists we haven't read. The most frustrating thing is that I haven't been able to find any resource (text, class, or otherwise) to help me catch up on the most popular or most influential theoretical texts. This is mostly, I think, because the field of theory rejects the idea that there is a canon of texts everyone ought to read. The idea as I understand it is that any canon would give undue authority and privilege to certain voices while necessarily excluding others. I understand and agree with this.

However, the problem I've found is that it's nearly impossible to follow a discussion in theory class without having read "major" theorists (and, if we're speaking honestly and practically, there are major theorists). I want to be able to critique the authority of these theorists, but first I really have to know who they are, what they argue, etc. I think there must be undergraduate courses at some schools that help with this, or books that can provide a survey of the theoretical landscape. Something like that would be extremely useful. I just don't think it's helpful that I've read all sorts of critics in my field of literature but only yesterday learned something about, say, Deleuze and Foucault. (Okay, that's not exactly true; I did know some things about Foucault before. Still, my prof. looked shocked when I confessed I hadn't actually read anything by him yet.)

I think sometimes theory professors expect people to be bilingual; they have to be critical and original, forging their own new voices, and able to speak with authority about the "major" theorists of the past.

self-referential post

(via boingboing, I believe)

in which I make amends for my tardiness with adorable photos

Happy New Year!

It's time, I think, for a few updates. I've been away from the blog for a week or so, but for very good reasons. Here is the first:
















That's my grandpa holding my cousin's baby (my second cousin?). We visited family in Phoenix for a few days after New Year. The catalyst for the trip was the Fiesta Bowl (which my sisters' school lost, sadly), but the best part was getting to see so many relatives I hadn't seen in a while, and the baby, whom I hadn't met before. It was sunny and beautiful, and wonderful hanging out with my cousins late into the night.
















My other excuse is that I was preparing to start teaching . . . today! (My sisters don't go back for a week. Stupid . . . quarter . . . system . . . grumble.) I felt woefully unprepared to teach a class on drama (comedy/tragedy) at the beginning of the break, and still feel a little unqualified. I woke up the other morning from a nightmare in which it was painfully clear that I didn't know what I was doing in class (I was asking questions about The Taming of the Shrew after I had assigned Macbeth). Today I managed to sound prepared, though, and I'm pleased with the class' dynamics so far. For a 9am class, they managed to pretend they were awake--which is a good sign, I think.

I'm looking forward to this quarter, and to seeing Justin this weekend. (He just called! He's almost here!) I think I like 2006 already.