Co-opt

After watching Exit through the Gift Shop with us, Li'l A turned into a rebel overnight. And now they're offering a class in "Urban Art" (helpfully subtitled "Graffitti") at his elementary school.

And he's taking it.

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In the hea(r)t of the SnOw-M-G

We have no heat, but we have two Pillow Pets (TM). The bumblebee ("Bumby") and the ladybug ("Lady, I Love You"--yes, Baby A could name horses or ice cream flavors soon.)

Big A thinks we should get the unicorn. He leans across the table to claim in a stage-whisper that we could name it "Horny."

He's not in middle school. Swear.

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Next Up: Video?

Big A and I talked all weekend long (remainders from my women's studies class) about how how words associated with privilege cannot be used as insults. i.e. women, people of color, poor people can be insulted on the basis of their group membership in a marginalized/minority group e.g.: bitch/W.O.G./cracker, but it is impossible to insult the dominant group on the basis of their group identity. With the notable exception--and I wonder how hoary this tradition is--of "dick." ("Prick" carries with it the implication of not being sufficiently allied with the dominant group--too tiny, not big enough.)

Looks like we're going to have to write that incipient book of feminist philosophy. Because we then decided that "Quit Dicking Around" would be an awesome title.

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Egypt: Neotonous

Empty script,

an empty score

the words are licked

till there can’t be more.

Transcendent tasks

constants depart

trials unmask,

breath beats, battles heart.

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Singing, Dancing, Cross-dressing...

 Big A says:

Who knew cross-dressing was going to be the theme of this weekend.

(We chased Friday’s Twelfth Night with Beethoven’s Fidelio on Sunday.)

Me: (And yes, everything is about me, and I’ve asked some version of this question before. But I think about this a lot as a non U.S. citizen. Especially these days.)

If I were a political prisoner, you'd dress up as a woman to come rescue me, right?

 

Big A: (Knows I know his answer.)

Yes. But let’s make sure you don’t break the law, don’t get framed, and that we use our every penny to hire the best lawyer so you don’t have to go to prison in the first place. 

 

(Fidelio was powerful—dark and bleak, with none of the frilly, frivolousness I usually love about Western opera at all. The level of iconoclastic authority-questioning was particularly surprising—and extra brave given that Beethoven must have depended on royal patronage.)

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Friday Frenzy

Two departmental meetings at 12:30 and 3:30 interleavened with classes at 12:00 and 2:00. After the meetings end at 5:00, I race home to bake some bean+spinach+chipotle+cheese pastries for the department potluck at 6:00.

Actually manage to get there at 6:30. Realize the cheese was a mistake because vegan colleagues cannot eat them now. By 7:00 the pastries are gone anyway. Stay till 7:30 to talk to various people I don’t get to talk to very much outside of e-mail. Drive the half mile home.

Big A and I have tickets to go see Twelfth Night by Human Race Theater, thanks to a friend. It starts at 8:00. I had promised to be home by 7:00. Big A is mad at me. On the half-hour ride over, it’s very silent in the car. Big A won’t talk because he’s mad. I’m kind of grateful for a silent space.

We get there ten minutes late (parking!) and get seated in the seats of shame (late arrival seats). At some point Big A puts his arm around me because I’m laughing helplessly (there were a lot of extraneous fart jokes). He also smiles at me (yay!). I’m vaguely aware that the rest of our party is making plans, but we split to wind up at our dive-y haunt.

One order of fiery almonds and jo-jo potatoes later, it’s as if happiness balloons around us and the cover band and the crowd just melt away. Actually, that would have been because of the hot toddy. It was good anyway.

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Princess Bride (Two words I usually abhor)

[This snippet happened a few days ago and proves that I'm horrible. And that although our marriage bed is tiny, just one step up from a the kind they used to give monks, our married home occupies way more space than is necessary--or responsible.]

Anyway. After a big fight where I claimed not to like him at all.

Big A: I know you like me. A lot. [This is the single most irritating thing I've probably heard.]
Don't be mad at me. Can I go take a nap now?

Me: No. I don't want to see you in bed.

Big A: Ok. I'll go live in the basement.

Me: What? No! 

[Pause]

Me: That's where the exercise stuff is. You go live in the play room.

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