par for the course:
there is an armchair that has sat on its side in the middle of my kitchen for several weeks now.
- received yet another ticket for expired plates.
- drove to the secretary of state’s office at lunchtime and renewed them in about :30 seconds with a machine.
- reviewed my tally of tickets online. realized I had been cited by a camera for a red light violation. got the phone number for setting up a payment plan. will call tomorrow and pray to vehicular gods not to get booted.
- learned that since my car insurance check cleared, my rent check won’t. not sure how to solve that one.
- while driving to and from car reg lunch excursion, ran through a homeric catalog of possible second jobs, meanwhile decimating cuticles.
- wished for the gazillionth time that I were smarter and better at making/managing/saving (ha!) money.
- driving home from work, felt about .5 inch tall. 20 degrees and wicked windchill. knew I should go to the gym, that it would be the Right thing to do. wanted, fervently, only to crawl into bed. reminded myself of a certain donkey-photographing promise, so instead made a couple of stops and operated the camera with icy fingers. afterward felt enormously happier and calmer, nearly even sane.
- then the car engine started making an unsettling high-pitched noise.
- watched people bicycling down the frozen chicago streets and thought, what virtuous people. and then soon that will be me.
- saw a woman pushing a shopping cart and wearing a black plastic garbage bag and drew the line right there.
last night a few dear friends and I took turns preaching to our own collective choir: we all feel our country, this country, the u.s., is in the midst of a very strange, very selfish, and extremely paranoid period right now.
it all started with some grousing about a student who failed to show up for her piano lesson for the fifth time in a row, offering only the most superficial “apology,” little seeming to realize that azi’s livelihood depends on the consistent income from that teaching work or reflecting on the frustration she must have felt waiting there at the appointed time for a student who never arrives. “I forgot,” or, “I had an appointment I didn’t know would run so late,” but no call, no courtesy– just the prevailing performance of a sense that the world is there to serve her, at her convenience (an attitude I see all the time in my own students– the sense of privilege, of entitlement, which seems unaccountable and outrageous to me until I begin to hear what an old fogey I sound like– “when I was a kid, a B was considered a good grade and we respected our teachers…”). because we were already conveniently grousing, it was easy enough to launch into five-part harmony against people in restaurants who demand of servers “gimme this or that” without any apparent awareness of another person’s dignity or common politeness.
and someone– actually, I ohso modestly interject, I think it may have been me– made the bold leap to speculating that the thing these behaviors have in common is a (currently) typical american ugly sort of indvidualism– the spirit of looking out for number one and letting the rest of the world (different–>muslim–>terrorists–>evil) go hang. now, I realize this is quite a leap (mine, I mean– the reasonableness of the other one I leave it to you to wrestle with). perhaps not to excuse but to explain it I should go further into backdrop and other bits of the conversation.
one piece is mimi’s work with indonesians (many muslim) and in particular last year living day in and day out with indonesian migrant workers in korea (before that she worked with indonesian students in canada, looking at how women access higher education). and yesterday mimi met with the president of our university, who is planning an upcoming trip to indonesia– to court better relations, since the numbers show enrollments from asia down 60% in recent years. there’s no doubt that this trend has to do with trickle-down policies in bush’s america, where fear and patriotism are synonymous and the media and average people persistently equate muslims with terrorists. for inhabitants of those countries why *wouldn’t* australia begin to look like a better place to go to school?
another piece is my recently having watched “hotel rwanda”– a pretty good flick in which the awesome don cheadle portrays “an ordinary man in extraordinary circumstances”: a hutu hotel manager who struggles to shelter over a thousand tutsis in his hotel during the ethnic cleansings the country endured while the west simply fled. the biggest take-away, for me, from that movie was some degree of chagrin at our, at my privileged western complacency– at one point joaquin phoenix’s journalist character essentially pricks the bubble of hope don cheadle’s character has been puffing into when he reasons, with anguish, that even if people across the oceans do witness the grim footage he’s captured of people being slaughtered by machetes in the streets, they will merely shake their heads, say, “that’s terrible,” and then go back to their bowls of wheaties. which is exactly what came to pass, with that instance of genocide as with many others before and since. life goes on, I guess, but still there seems something deeply wrong. like, if this is the effect of global media, what good is it doing us? if our only response to the delivery of so much devastating information is overwhelm, rationalistic thinking, and going on with the daily routine in any case, remind me why it is we’re all so all-fired determined to get the latest feeds and downloads? anyway, I threw “hotel rwanda” into our discussion last night as a link back to brian’s several years working in africa– and it led him to tell us, firsthand, about arriving in rwanda just after the “cleansings” depicted in the film, of the devastation. which leads to a declaration of the entire continent of africa’s going down the shitter, while we just sit by over here, munching our wheaties. sorry, bono.
which a few minutes later led mimi to draw the parallel up out of historical events and into the present– to mention a television report she’d seen recently in which a bbc reporter managed to broadcast from north korea– and in the course of the broadcast one car passed in what would otherwise have been a bustling city street– because kim jong il has sent all the people into the countryside to help the farmers because the country has no food. I mean, yikes. I’ve been operating on a pretty severely curtailed budget for the last five months, but as bad as it gets, there’s always stuff I’ve squirreled away in my cupboards and freezer that I can eat. despite my mom’s worries over the years to the contrary, I have in fact never gone hungry. two blocks away is a grocery store whose shelves are simply brimming with plenitude (reaped from industrial agriculture and monoculture crop farming and archer daniels midland’s whole “supermarket to the world” whitewashed approach to multinational monopolization– but that’s a whole other gripe– which I should get to sometime and maybe even will). meanwhile, all we hear about north korea is whispers of, gasp, nukes— which, by the way, don’t we have some of those ourselves, despite various “nonproliferation” treaties past and present? oh, but we’re the good guys, right? we’re not going to go off half-cocked like some religious extremist third world nation– or that’s the common argument, anyway. striking me just now like an extremely convenient rhetorical position.
another piece of backdrop is that we’d just been to a matinee of “star wars episode iii: attack of the clones”– which, I’m sorry, niall, but I feel was just a lot of simplistic, binary, and, it seems to me, particularly american claptrap. now, don’t get me wrong– I *loved* the original “star wars” and even more so “the empire strikes back”– they were big and glorious, eye-opening and paradigm-shifting. and then I saw “return of the jedi” and decided the magic, for me, was pretty much gone. I didn’t even bother with either of episodes i and ii. and it’s not about jar jar binks, excess muppetdom, or racist stereotyping– it simply seems that the lessons the lucas industry had to deliver to this audience got delivered– and now he just keeps churning out tired retreads. that particular ship of innocence in film-going has sailed. and it’s very hard to swallow– 20 years after “empire”– all this hooey about “the dark side”– such an uncomplicated delivery of bad guys who dress like history’s fascists and the fighting-monk-like-agrarian good guys. maybe it’s just me who’s gotten excessively cynical seven years into grad school– but I found it impossible to get behind a portrayed battle between Good and Evil in which I was intended to sympathize with a character who was supposedly struggling with a gruelling ethical decision and yet found it possible to snap to and slaughter a bunch of kids. maybe it’s like porn– which I also can’t stomach, due mainly to its lack of subtlety. but I’m getting off-track– my point was my sense of a kind of americanist propaganda the movie seemed to be lobbing– all that “fighting for democracy” crap. it just rang too familiar.
but I’m typically somewhat uncomfortable making such big political proclamations like I’m doing here. I mean, for one thing, I’m always acknowledgi
ng to people how I live in a self-imposed media blackout (aka “assume ostrich position”). every time I start reading papers– even just reading headlines, let alone once I start delving into the prose text and begin to wonder about the positioning of the journalist, of the paper that pays her wage, of the editor that chooses the pieces to run, etc.– I get pretty quickly overwhelmed. which is why I’ve so determinedly, years ago, staked claim in this little itty bitty area of focus, the inside of my own head, i.e. navelgazing. not that I’m convinced that it’s the most noble or courageous approach, only knowing that we all have our strength and limitations, I’m trying to mobilize some of the former of mine. and mitigate against the latter– because I tend to be all too aware of how inflated my own postulating positions and perspectives inevitably are and how limited my point of view is– and this feeling just undermines any effort to be effective I do make. I see all the holes and reasons why I’m wrong far more glaringly than I feel any conviction in my rightness. my boy willy b. once again hits it on the head: “the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.” though really… “best” and “worst”… there again, I dunno.
anyway lately I’m re-reading one of my all-time favorite writers, david james duncan (author of _the river why_ and _the brothers k_, fab books both, plus a couple collections I haven’t gotten to yet, but really should soon, and, damn, but once again I wish I had it in me just to sit down and write fiction, for godssake)– and looking up what he’s done lately online, I come across this piece he published in orion magazine now like 2 1/2 years ago, declaiming bush’s “patriot act,” aggressions against iraq, and general lack of reason– and in addition to being struck once again by how goldurned articulate the man (duncan, right, not bush) is, I was also struck by the date– two and a half years ago and it’s already a catalogue of the ills the people in iraq were suffering back then on account of our “patriotic” military actions (malnutrition, radiation poisoning)– how much worse must their lot be now? which of course makes me realize the answer’s probably out there somewhere in all this vast plethora of information at my fingertips, the marvel-ous worldwide web– and then I stumble on an article in today’s cnn.com (along with a particularly gorge-provoking photo of our commander and chief) that describes how shrub is now lobbying for the renewal of the patriot act– cuz it’s just worked so durn well! and then I realize I’m at the end not only of this diatribe but also of my limited powers of peeking out from inside my little ostrich hill– and my head’s itching to get stuck back inside.
the label says, “take one tablet BEFORE BEDTIME,” for good reason. if you wake up in the middle of the night, say, three a.m. with the cats doing laps across your head and your sinuses suddenly full of solid snot (so clogged indeed that you know you’d make zero progress with the flonase inhaler, your first line of defense against your body’s hypersensitivity to everything from dust mites to animal dander to common tree and grass pollens) from all those spores drifting in the open window off the flowering pear trees– WHATEVER you do, do NOT take a zyrtec. at least, if you do, do not expect to be ambulatory and coherent before noon.
me, i’ve been downing very strong coffee and careening around the place, missing colliding with walls by merest breaths since 11. because I have to teach today. I’ve got to get my head back in the game. I need to ransack and turn my house inside-out in cleaning frenzy– because only two days left, and I can’t afford to be a zombie for an instant longer.
incidentally, check out this compelling descriptor: “In ZYRTEC studies, side effects were mild or moderate, including drowsiness, fatigue and dry mouth in adults, and drowsiness…”– anything jump out at you? actually, I edited it kind of unfairly to emphasize a point– it does go on to list other side effects “in children,” but still, I think my point holds. and, remind me again, what the difference is between drowsiness and fatigue…
birthday parties I remember– “fishing” down the laundry chute. somebody down in the basement attaching toys and prizes to the end of the line– sister or a brother, surely, but to me it seemed magical– as if the architecture of everyday had grown transformed by MY BIRTHDAY. kept that sense for many years– listening to the beatles’ “birthday” in 9th grade boarding school dorm room, thinking my birthday– my very birthday. same way the name sarah used to feel– my very own, distinctly mine (long before the legions of the current day). something inherently mine inside a day, a name.
and the other good games– the spider web made out of eight different rolls of string for eight little girls, each line with a treasure at the end; easter egg hunt at the country club, clutches of dark chocolate foil-wrapped eggs and jellybeans in the folds of curtains in the bar room– the last time anything felt like something for nothing; capture the flag in the woods up in michigan in the summer after-dinner twilight or flashlight tag in the grosse pointe pitch-black– and the ecstatic thrill of daring to rescue prisoners from jail; spite & malice and dominoes with gran; the game of lucy that first time new year’s eve in the old henry ford cabin with the two storey living room ceiling and the windup plastic bird that actually flew in circles in the vast space overhead; masterpiece; mastermind; clue; poker the christmas the high school boyfriend came home to michigan for a visit with the parents; sardines; kings in the corners; backgammon; kick the can; boston; killer; murder.
doesn’t matter what you do. doesn’t matter where you live. people are people and people are high schoolers. through and through. this is the key to the cult popularity of napoleon dynamite, and why I myself adore it. also rushmore (different socio-economic bracket). we don’t ever grow up, silly goose! what were you thinking? maturity? responsibility? well, okay, yeah, so some of us hold jobs, raise kids, balance checkbooks. I know I’m hardly the authority on worldly progress. but I’ve seen how those people behave too. we are all of us high schoolers, for goodness sakes. take my word for it. that mom backstage at the church choral production herding those madcap three-year-olds– she’s the insecure bossy girl who never has the right hair accesories. that marketing manager? she’s the niblet with the four thousand boyfriends and the hot car. that sales guy? he’s a hockey player, I don’t care if he hasn’t strapped on skates in years. and that vivacious guy with the awesome wardrobe and the killer sense of humor? he’s that closeted loser who took art or never came out of the band room. just get us together in one place, trying to work together or at least coexist, and the truth will be made clear unto you. life is high school. we never graduate, not really. and god help the teachers.
I’m sorry for the cynicism, but you know it’s entirely age-appropriate.
so while everybody and their cousin fred is traipsing off this week to san francisco (where I should be, if I hadn’t so badly budgeted cash that I couldn’t afford a plane ticket) for professional composition conferences and visits to friends and excellent restaurants and so on, I shall be cooling my heels right here in iowa. now, now, I’m not complaining—and I forbid you to feel the least bit sorry for me—the fact of the matter is that a span of days undisturbed in my lovely home with zero outside obligations and even few (but a couple, so not to despair entirely) friends left in town to offer distraction is precisely what the doctor ordered. and just how am I using these great glorious lakes of undisturbed time? glad you asked: working on my web site’s appendages, joining lovely new cybersphere communities, playing with pots and pans and my excellent new blue mixer in the kitchen, working on several collage boxes, getting class-teaching stuff squared away at a sane pace, and bringing my brain back into line on the diss: sifting through the beginnings of my AWESOME student data, gorgeous multimodal projects, and doing little manageable bits of writing that, over time, are accumulating into a larger whole. how excellent! couldn’t be better, now could it? see, told ya not to feel sorry for me. aaaaaahhhhhh.
for days, even weeks, at a time I’ll forget to open the curtains in my bedroom. for one thing, I don’t spend a whole lot of time in there during the day. for another, the curtains are semi-translucent, so it’s hardly dark in the room. but there’s a big difference between direct and indirect light, and I know it, even if I tend to forget about its importance through busyness and neglect. neglect, in particular, of charlie the cat. I mean, I don’t single him out for neglect or anything—hardly, in some ways he’s even my favorite (tho I don’t like to advertise the fact around the others). I’m simply prone to extensive albeit unintentional neglect of those I love, and it’s always been that way. I’m dramatically periodic in my attentions—when I remember to do so, I’m all about the cuddle and wide-eyes-only-for-you—but the truth is, I’m in this space rather infrequently. far too infrequently for my ex-husband, let me tell you. and the evils of this tendency in the current case are compounded by the fact that charlie the cat lives most of his time upstairs, in my bedroom. so, you know, he doesn’t literally get to see much light of day. fortunately, my most excellent $1 armchair from the auction sits right by the best window in the bedroom and makes for an optimal snuggle spot when I do (appropriately enough, on a sunday) get recalled to my senses and scoop him up for a few minutes’ injection of love. and its lovely and easy enough to reach up and snag the curtain back behind the iron holder, so we can bask in the bath of light together. I mean, for gracious sakes, it’s no wonder the poor cat is so durn fat—he’s probably deeply depressed.