Saturday, September 22, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Amma
Called Amma to find out that she'd been sick and feverish for two days.
Sick since she got home from Benares; since she bathed in the Ganges with its famed sin-eliminating waters and decomposing corpses downstream.
She said she only meant to take a token dip but ended up doing nine. She said she swallowed some of the water.
In the last month two childhood friends have told me that their mothers died--one six years ago and C did not make it back to the funeral, the other one month ago on account of which S wasn't celebrating her birthday this month. I loved these "Aunties"--I loved their food, their style, their staunch support of their daughters. I yearn for a chance to tell them this.
I wonder when I'll see my own Amma again.
The kids called Amma this morning to yell "Get well soon, Ammama."
It's only been two months since I was in India.
_
Sick since she got home from Benares; since she bathed in the Ganges with its famed sin-eliminating waters and decomposing corpses downstream.
She said she only meant to take a token dip but ended up doing nine. She said she swallowed some of the water.
In the last month two childhood friends have told me that their mothers died--one six years ago and C did not make it back to the funeral, the other one month ago on account of which S wasn't celebrating her birthday this month. I loved these "Aunties"--I loved their food, their style, their staunch support of their daughters. I yearn for a chance to tell them this.
I wonder when I'll see my own Amma again.
The kids called Amma this morning to yell "Get well soon, Ammama."
It's only been two months since I was in India.
_
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
An Interesting Lesson Plan...
Last week, when the UT campus was evacuated after a bomb threat, English professor Snehal Shingavi followed the news as many of us did: on Twitter. Like thousands of students, faculty, and staff, Shingavi turned to social media for updates on the situation.
But he also did something unusual. In a tweet, he invited everyone to talk about it.
Not long after the University noted publicly that the man who called in the bomb threat had a “light Middle Eastern accent,” Shingavi issued an open invitation to attend his class on Islamophobia. “Did UT have to say ‘middle eastern accent’ as if that told anyone anything about the bomb threat?” he tweeted.
_
Monday, September 17, 2012
Cosmopolitan Vista
Not another Slumdog Millionaire. The San Francisco South Asian Film Festival is full of surprises.
The festival also showcases "Herman's House." Director Angad Bhalla is South Asian, but the film is about an African American prisoner imagining his dream house with the help of a Caucasian artist. Unusual subject for a South Asian? Not really, Bhalla says. "We rarely wonder why a white filmmaker makes a film about South Asia, or anywhere else, because we assume they have a valid opinion on the subject."
_
The festival also showcases "Herman's House." Director Angad Bhalla is South Asian, but the film is about an African American prisoner imagining his dream house with the help of a Caucasian artist. Unusual subject for a South Asian? Not really, Bhalla says. "We rarely wonder why a white filmmaker makes a film about South Asia, or anywhere else, because we assume they have a valid opinion on the subject."
_
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Where to start?
From Sonia Faleiro's article in the NYT For India's Children, Philanthropy Isn't Enough:
What’s most galling about this corrupt behavior is the fact that the current government is making an unprecedented effort to confront poverty. In 2011, according to a World Bank report, India spent over 2 percent of its gross domestic product on poverty alleviation. Over the past 11 years, India’s government has sought to provide free midday school meals, a guarantee of 100 days of employment annually to the rural poor and free primary education. But endemic corruption, from the very top down to the ground level, prevents them from being implemented effectively. A lack of transparency and a leakage of subsidies to the nonpoor means that poverty isn’t falling nearly as fast as it should be.
The free hot meal is the reason Meena goes to school. But her teachers routinely skip school, three days a week. When teachers don’t come, the school stays shut, and there’s no meal. A well-funded, well-intentioned program created to educate and feed poor children fails on both counts: Meena not only learns nothing, she also goes hungry.
_
Friday, September 14, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Once, twice
Your place is inside someone.
the closing of their heart
a landscape scaled to story
what if you knew everything
About why my sister looks like
my sister, the slap of silence;
the beating that is the phone ringing
The lament of memory in all
the half-remembered childhoods
what if those habits are only errands
dead from scorn; like butter asking
to be left out, sleepy in the sunlight
_
the closing of their heart
a landscape scaled to story
what if you knew everything
About why my sister looks like
my sister, the slap of silence;
the beating that is the phone ringing
The lament of memory in all
the half-remembered childhoods
what if those habits are only errands
dead from scorn; like butter asking
to be left out, sleepy in the sunlight
_
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Dropping Nu off at school this morning,
I saw a woman in the opposite lane
I guess she'd just dropped her kids off?
Her face was scrunched up, red, angry.
She was sobbing. She wore a scarf
on her head that sat flat like she had no hair.
I instantly know what her story is
Imagine I know how she feels
about dropping her kids off at school
About the rest of us undeserving fools
who don't bother thinking about
school drop offs next year
Although we probably should.
I want to be told what to do for her
Big A says, it's not about you.
_
I saw a woman in the opposite lane
I guess she'd just dropped her kids off?
Her face was scrunched up, red, angry.
She was sobbing. She wore a scarf
on her head that sat flat like she had no hair.
I instantly know what her story is
Imagine I know how she feels
about dropping her kids off at school
About the rest of us undeserving fools
who don't bother thinking about
school drop offs next year
Although we probably should.
I want to be told what to do for her
Big A says, it's not about you.
_
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
To Saginaw, to Saginaw
It took us an hour to get to Saginaw. I still feel guilty that Big A needs to drive that far and back every single work day...
_
Monday, September 10, 2012
Today is an animal
Today is an animal
borrowed and sad
done by ten
but going still--
like dead chicken
bamboo shoot
Sun weaned although
It might kill us still
so large and new this
gray maze of morning
sawing through residue
the fixed broadcast eye
_
borrowed and sad
done by ten
but going still--
like dead chicken
bamboo shoot
Sun weaned although
It might kill us still
so large and new this
gray maze of morning
sawing through residue
the fixed broadcast eye
_
Sunday, September 09, 2012
Saturday, September 08, 2012
Friday, September 07, 2012
Thursday, September 06, 2012
Thursday's Tales
First full day of kindergarten.
Nu survived and thrived. Then the perfect first day got muddied by not getting on the school bus home--her apologetic teacher said she'd been overwhelmed and had messed up.
We all took a deep breath, dried the tears (mine), cleaned up (the kids) and went house-hunting. Slim pickings, unfortunately. The house in the picture below isn't happening, although I love the grounds and the view it has out in the country...
_
Nu survived and thrived. Then the perfect first day got muddied by not getting on the school bus home--her apologetic teacher said she'd been overwhelmed and had messed up.
We all took a deep breath, dried the tears (mine), cleaned up (the kids) and went house-hunting. Slim pickings, unfortunately. The house in the picture below isn't happening, although I love the grounds and the view it has out in the country...
_
Wednesday, September 05, 2012
Home-bound
The guarding of the child
like a shadow
dilated smoke
The rest of this afternoon
an absence of centuries
a love scent
All the words in the world
like a shadow
dilated smoke
The rest of this afternoon
an absence of centuries
a love scent
The growing clarity
pierced animation
astringent
All the words in the world
waiting, forcing
a fly to fly
_
Tuesday, September 04, 2012
Monday, September 03, 2012
They both start with the letter "R"
I've never paid much attention to the don't-go-out-at-night-by-yourself line. There was always an interesting story as a journo intern or somewhere fun to be or a late night at the library or a necessary grocery run that was too good or important to pass up. I know I'd go bonkers if my kids tried to do the things I've done.
I do take the necessary precautions like all women everywhere. And although there have been a few occasions when I've prickled with fear, I have never spent time worrying about rape.
So it makes absolutely NO sense that at this particular point in my life, when I'm no longer as gullible or nubile as I once was, to suddenly begin to have fears about rape. True that we're renting in an area that feels a little unsafe. True that I'm sleeping on the first floor for maybe the first time in my life. But it still makes no sense.
Big A wonders if it's because of all the creepy men in women's vagina's lately.
Big A wonders if it's because of all the creepy men in women's vagina's lately.
____
Sunday, September 02, 2012
Before I forget
While I wait for Nu to turn five next month and start Kindergarten this week, I want to write down stuff as she used to say earlier--just this year.
About how she'd get her Rs and Ms tangled and Ms. Rebecca would become the inscrutable "Ms. Mebecca."
How for years, she used T's for all her Ks. And of how we used to tease her by asking her to say "King Kong" so we could giggle when she went "Ting-Tong" like some squishy doorbell.
I'm forgetting things... I want to start doing this vintage postcard calendar journal with the kids.
About how she'd get her Rs and Ms tangled and Ms. Rebecca would become the inscrutable "Ms. Mebecca."
How for years, she used T's for all her Ks. And of how we used to tease her by asking her to say "King Kong" so we could giggle when she went "Ting-Tong" like some squishy doorbell.
I'm forgetting things... I want to start doing this vintage postcard calendar journal with the kids.
Saturday, September 01, 2012
Here
I'm singing again
thinking savage
songs separating
Tonight's
bright hinge
muttered, relenting
Our own world
a handful of breath
veined and racing
_
thinking savage
songs separating
Tonight's
bright hinge
muttered, relenting
Our own world
a handful of breath
veined and racing
_
Friday, August 31, 2012
Possible
the gods of the afternoon
the temple of traffic
the battle of the Buddha
yielding, coming out alright
the siblings barking in my head
on those long trains headed here
_
_
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Voices
Recently, the number of times I've been startled by the sound of a man's voice from the kids' bedrooms upstairs has been legion.
Li'l A, newly 13, sounds bignormous.
And although he still has my puny wrists and ankles much to his chagrin, the mousey voice he inherited from me is now a grownup boom.
I don't note his mustache--because what south asian, male or female--doesn't have a mustache since they're six months old? (What. Just me? Oops.)
Anyway. If I sound surprised, it's because I was a late bloomer--actually the last to "bloom" in my cohort and expected that my kids would be the same.
Segue to say, I've been trying to get the kids up at 6 a.m. after a summer of late-late mornings. And at that hour the afore-mentioned teen voice sounds positively menacing.
Or cracks with pride as he tells me that his reddit comment got up-voted 238 times today.
Ahem. So when we say some commenter sounds about 13 years old... they very well might be.
Just saying.
_
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Week Before Work
Frost sharp as
chin settled on shoulder
looking back
at the pelt of summer
book ruffled
beached by libraries
confiscated bliss
the hypnosis of hope
_
chin settled on shoulder
looking back
at the pelt of summer
book ruffled
beached by libraries
confiscated bliss
the hypnosis of hope
_
Friday, May 04, 2012
Nu-logisms
She has a freshly-minted teen for a sibling, so 4-year-old Nu sounds like she's in middle school too.
Truer to say she tries to sound like that. Frequently, there's a small hilarious twist somewhere. The ones we're currently enjoying:
REGULAR PHRASE NU'S VERSION
"Blew my mind" --------------------------------------> It's blowing UP my mind
(EXAMPLE: Alligators in the sewers? Really Nana? That's blowing up my mind!)
REGULAR PHRASE NU'S VERSION
"For real" -------------------------------------> For real LIFE
(EXAMPLE: Uh-huh. It IS true. Alligators in the sewers. For REAL LIFE!)
Naturally, we've been going around using "that's blowing up my mind" and "for real life" with abandon. And sometimes people will look at me funny, perhaps because I'm not a native speaker and they're wondering how to let me know that that's not how you're supposed to say it...
_
Truer to say she tries to sound like that. Frequently, there's a small hilarious twist somewhere. The ones we're currently enjoying:
REGULAR PHRASE NU'S VERSION
"Blew my mind" --------------------------------------> It's blowing UP my mind
(EXAMPLE: Alligators in the sewers? Really Nana? That's blowing up my mind!)
REGULAR PHRASE NU'S VERSION
"For real" -------------------------------------> For real LIFE
(EXAMPLE: Uh-huh. It IS true. Alligators in the sewers. For REAL LIFE!)
Naturally, we've been going around using "that's blowing up my mind" and "for real life" with abandon. And sometimes people will look at me funny, perhaps because I'm not a native speaker and they're wondering how to let me know that that's not how you're supposed to say it...
_
Thursday, May 03, 2012
Show and Tell
Your frown is a silent accordion
playing down, standing up
standing on fierce ceremony
changing like a carousel
A big tent, this religion
its tenets intense and precise
decorous rules tricky as trapeze
sharing everything save faith
This is the circus of our discontent
perched at my waist, sparrow-hope
and at bottom, on buttered tongue
a juggle of a few thousand inherited words
-
Wednesday, May 02, 2012
Scoop
The gossip
leaves tracks
invisible trains
they run all night.
Everything's a window
where--enter: fear;
light is such a small
compass for a life
One day there will be...
there will be something
Today we can just cut
shit out like fingerprints
_
leaves tracks
invisible trains
they run all night.
Everything's a window
where--enter: fear;
light is such a small
compass for a life
One day there will be...
there will be something
Today we can just cut
shit out like fingerprints
_
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
There (and Back Again)
Tired, waiting at the door
yet another rehearsal.
Deportations.
Surrenders--
blur
On folded legs and wheels
we've accumulated maps
for wrongs, words,
and soon--
an edge
I learn to suspect horizons
and they harbor storms
their pennant winds
find us, rush us
clean
_
yet another rehearsal.
Deportations.
Surrenders--
blur
On folded legs and wheels
we've accumulated maps
for wrongs, words,
and soon--
an edge
I learn to suspect horizons
and they harbor storms
their pennant winds
find us, rush us
clean
_
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Stranger
(Kids at school, Big A sleeping off a night shift, My TTR class done) I took a hike.
At minute 1:24, I saw two figures--one of whom had a strange, lopping, unsteady gait. I began prickling with wariness... Till they got closer and I could see it was a nice woman with a headband, walking her horse.
_
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Monday, April 09, 2012
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Saturday, April 07, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
To Kill a Mockingjay
In 2010, ten-year-old At (Li'l A) told me I should read The Hunger Games because it was postcolonial and feminist and I would like it.
I'm glad I did.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Shiva
You've hired this happiness
for the flowering day
it waits patiently
multitudinous
diegeticI'll never forget how you felt
green leaves rust-edged
their first voyages
whispers
sighs
As if you invented a beauty,
in a curl of misfortune
its willing trident
striking flint
delicious
_
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Sex and Stones (on Abraham Verghese's Cutting for Stone)
Abraham Verghese is a huge talent. He's saved and improved the lives of more people than I've ever even met, probably. And he knows more (about medicine, certainly, but also most other stuff) than I do. The new book--first novel--is an intense, politically questioning, resonant, transnational saga. The emotional yearning and sexual tension in the novel is immense. I loved it.
And I hated this:
In every account of sex, the women seem to sacrifice themselves. In both encounters that the plot revolves around, I wasn't sure if I were reading about coerced sex/rape: one woman has had a clitoridectomy and seems startled by the experience; another woman gives in to the fondling of a man she idolizes because he is in a drunken panic. Both women are younger and less privileged in a variety of ways including social position, education, and race. Unlike many other literary authors, Verghese is not averse to writing about sex (at length, even). So why then is the sex never playful and honest? Never HAPPY? Why is sex repeatedly the ultimate sacrifice a woman can ever make.
What is this shit?
Verghese's novel begins with twin brothers in the womb and ends with the an endorsement of a father-son connection. Whichever way you look at it, that's male centered (for the bros). Which would explain why all (all!) the women in the novel occupy subservient positions as mother figures (who sacrifice lives--literally by dying in childbirth or by neglecting their health and careers) or as sexual objects (those who share sex freely are typed as servient sex workers or literal servants; alternatively they are the sullied/undeserving siren who betrays).
Can it get worse?
Yes. Wait till the women die--in honest-to-goodness childbirth or of consumption. Some punitively patriarchal novelist could have written this... in the 19th century. I won't think about the acrobatic coincidences and biblical / spiritual / numerological rationalizing that occurs in the book--Verghese's writing can compensate for most of that. If there had just been one female character I could identify with or even one (one!!) female colleague who wasn't subject to elaborate sexualization and with whom the male characters had a respectful relationship, I'd have bought the book.
With more than just my money.
__
And I hated this:
In every account of sex, the women seem to sacrifice themselves. In both encounters that the plot revolves around, I wasn't sure if I were reading about coerced sex/rape: one woman has had a clitoridectomy and seems startled by the experience; another woman gives in to the fondling of a man she idolizes because he is in a drunken panic. Both women are younger and less privileged in a variety of ways including social position, education, and race. Unlike many other literary authors, Verghese is not averse to writing about sex (at length, even). So why then is the sex never playful and honest? Never HAPPY? Why is sex repeatedly the ultimate sacrifice a woman can ever make.
What is this shit?
Verghese's novel begins with twin brothers in the womb and ends with the an endorsement of a father-son connection. Whichever way you look at it, that's male centered (for the bros). Which would explain why all (all!) the women in the novel occupy subservient positions as mother figures (who sacrifice lives--literally by dying in childbirth or by neglecting their health and careers) or as sexual objects (those who share sex freely are typed as servient sex workers or literal servants; alternatively they are the sullied/undeserving siren who betrays).
Can it get worse?
Yes. Wait till the women die--in honest-to-goodness childbirth or of consumption. Some punitively patriarchal novelist could have written this... in the 19th century. I won't think about the acrobatic coincidences and biblical / spiritual / numerological rationalizing that occurs in the book--Verghese's writing can compensate for most of that. If there had just been one female character I could identify with or even one (one!!) female colleague who wasn't subject to elaborate sexualization and with whom the male characters had a respectful relationship, I'd have bought the book.
With more than just my money.
__
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Name Changer
Just now, from across another world (I'm heart-deep in an Abraham Verghese novel, about which more later), I heard the kids cheering their dad on as he got his bike ready for the hour-long ride to work tomorrow. "Go dad, GO~Go dad, GO." I could barely recognize their voices.
Baby A (4) doesn't sound like a baby or a toddler, she sounds like a grown kid.
Li'l A (12) doesn't sound little, and the amusingly high voice he seemed to have inherited from me has faded into a sound that's the drawl of a 24-year-old reddit denizen.
Renaming time. Henceforth, Li'l A is "At" and Baby A is "Nu."
So it is written.
__
Baby A (4) doesn't sound like a baby or a toddler, she sounds like a grown kid.
Li'l A (12) doesn't sound little, and the amusingly high voice he seemed to have inherited from me has faded into a sound that's the drawl of a 24-year-old reddit denizen.
Renaming time. Henceforth, Li'l A is "At" and Baby A is "Nu."
So it is written.
__
Monday, March 19, 2012
New neck of the woods
It's completely out of character in that I was born and bred a city kid and will never go camping in my life (if I can help it--all bets off in the zombie apocalypse). BUT I love this house miles from nowhere, nearly an hour from work, and miles down a dirt road. Big A doesn't believe me when I say I'd live there happily.
But the views are incredible. It's kind of a good thing, I suppose, that no moves are imminent since Big A still doesn't know where his workplace will be...
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Because a 17-year-old shouldn't be shot to death for "looking suspicious"
Read Michael Skolnik's piece on race profiling.
Sign the justice for Travon Martin petitions at change.org and the signon.org.
Call someone.
Make a noise.
Cry.
_
Friday, March 16, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Innocently
innocently, I am being killed
hands wrap around me like prayer
the stretch of my arms losing all hope
happily it is done and gone
in intervals of rain, fallen breath
whirling fantastic, flying into release
a comet's fragment of track
this hand across my heart saving me
an empty room to understand everything
_
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
No Good, Very Bad Day
It's only March, but it feels like May. Warm and toasty. Earth's heating up. Global Warming.
And you can thank me (or kick me). I parked the car in the university parking lot at 9 (running late because Cousin N forgot that she'd promised to take Baby A to school), and returned to it at 10:45 (after several surprise student conferences). To FIND THE ENGINE STILL RUNNING.
The hybrid engine (yes, we have some half-assed intention of conserving fuel) is so quiet (and I had turned the radio down to ask for a visitor parking pass, because my parking permit was in the other car, which had to be TOWED to Columbus yesterday because it broke down) that I hadn't realized that the engine was on.
Home now with two kids sick with snot (and feeling like I deserve this).
_
And you can thank me (or kick me). I parked the car in the university parking lot at 9 (running late because Cousin N forgot that she'd promised to take Baby A to school), and returned to it at 10:45 (after several surprise student conferences). To FIND THE ENGINE STILL RUNNING.
The hybrid engine (yes, we have some half-assed intention of conserving fuel) is so quiet (and I had turned the radio down to ask for a visitor parking pass, because my parking permit was in the other car, which had to be TOWED to Columbus yesterday because it broke down) that I hadn't realized that the engine was on.
Home now with two kids sick with snot (and feeling like I deserve this).
_
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The Gift of the Police
The local police chief has grandkids similar in age to my kids--I rolled along in his wake this morning as he dropped off the older child at the middle school, and then turned around to drop off the younger one at the hippie alternative school Baby A goes to. Since he was driving under the 20 mph speed limit, I had plenty of time to notice that his license plates were the first three letters of Li'l A's name.
I told him in the parking lot that he has interesting license plates.
And... it turns out that the car is going to be auctioned.
So... if Li'l A wants, he can have the license plates.
And the best part is that they're undercover license plates.
I know at least one geeky tween who's going to be so happy on the ride back home!
_
I told him in the parking lot that he has interesting license plates.
And... it turns out that the car is going to be auctioned.
So... if Li'l A wants, he can have the license plates.
And the best part is that they're undercover license plates.
I know at least one geeky tween who's going to be so happy on the ride back home!
_
Monday, March 12, 2012
Phony 2012
At the behest of the student newspaper, my thoughts on the Invisible Children documentary, Kony 2012: (I didn't use swear words and fist shaking since I didn't want to scare the young 'uns.)
I would like to believe Kony 2012 is a well-intentioned
exercise, but in execution it comes off as sensationalist and exploitative
posturing. It's also jarringly narcissistic—and repetitively circles around the
filmmaker, Jason Russell, instead of the eponymous subjects of his organization,
Invisible Children (IC). Overall, it
is yet another unfortunate example of the trope of the third-world child
manipulated to become a justification for Western interventions. What makes
this campaign particularly dangerous is that it calls for
a neo-imperialistic military intervention.
As a viewer, I would protest the condescending and
paternalistic presentation of facts in Kony 2012. The explanation that
Russell's toddler gets is, literally, what viewers get too. According to
experts in the field (see International Crisis Group’s November 2011 publication in the UNHCR, for example), the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) is no longer a significant
threat in Uganda, so the information presented in Kony 2012 is misguided at its best, and willfully misleading at its
worst. Also paternalistic is the presentation of Ugandans solely as
victims—the many successful efforts of Ugandan GOs and NGOs on the ground are completely
ignored. One of the glaring examples of the ways in which it would appear the
film is out of touch with basic ground realities is the way Ugandans are
repeatedly referred to as "Africans." (Obviously, Africa is not a country;
it is a continent with a myriad non-interchangeable nations!)
As a global citizen, I'm mystified by the focus on
a manhunt instead of on relief and reconciliation issues. If 30,000 plus children
are hurt and suffering, and the warlord who executed this is in powerless exile,
shouldn't the immediate focus of this outreach be about the rehabilitation of
these children? The Charity Navigator profile for Invisible
Children suggests that as a charity, IC contributes 32% or
less of its revenues to operations on the ground that actually protect and
educate children. This is unacceptable. The Kony
2012 video urges its viewers to donate $30 to buy bracelets and stickers,
donations that fund expensive air travel and other administrative costs for
people from San Diego. A far more responsible and utilitarian donation would be
to donate to local organizations based and staffed in Uganda such as GUSCO (Gulu Support
the Children Organization), in Northern Uganda.
A few questions:
· Is Kony 2012 misguided? Yes.
· Is it banal and sloppy in its presentation? Yes.
· Is Kony 2012 evil? No. To
many, especially young people, this video has brought an awareness and
consciousness of realities in other parts of the world. This is welcome, and an
example of what Maria Lugones has called “world
traveling” or engaging with different ways of living.
· But can we crowdsource our way to justice? Perhaps. The successes of the
Arab Spring are rife with citizen documentaries. But as that example shows,
there needs to be committed activism on the ground—being willing to show up to protest
while being threatened with guns, for instance.
·
Can so-called
slacktivism (the slacker activism of clicking "like,"
"share," or "retweet" via social media) and shoptivism
(buying stuff to signal activist engagement) enable justice? It’s a beginning, but
cannot substitute for engaged activism or genuine support. Clicking/Buying a
button will never be enough.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Me, Michigan
I've been abruptly announcing to everyone that we're moving to Michigan. Mostly, I don't believe it myself, so saying it aloud and experiencing hearing it is an exercise in extreme dislocation.
Speaking of which--holy selling-house, packing-up, finding-place-to-live, enrolling-everyone-in-new schools! Lag Liv has been doing this with the kind of aplomb that should be inspiring or frightening, but we're not there yet.
Also, at last parent discussion (that's me and Big A) we decided that we should probably rent for a year before we build our own house. Everything that's out there is either small and dingy with wall-to-wall or huge and ostentatious with wall-to-wall. (Little A has the kind of asthma that's terrified of wall-to-wall.) One house I've been looking at repeatedly, is a not-so-charming trifecta of vinyl siding, beige carpet, and ranch rambling everywhere. It bears little connection to my dream house on Pinterest. But it sits on a lake and one of the online pictures captures the rising sun dead center through the huge windows. I could live with that view for the rest of my life.
But as Big A pointed out, it's inside a gated community and sits on a private lake, and has an obnoxious number of rooms. Where we live now--we live on the edge of a small lake, but it's a semi-public lake and we have neighbors who walk across our yard to visit friends in the nursing home on the other side. That's who we should continue to be. (See, he's not always about fart jokes!) In any case, Big A is interviewing in Michigan again at the end of the month, so we'll have a better idea of where we could live then...
_
Speaking of which--holy selling-house, packing-up, finding-place-to-live, enrolling-everyone-in-new schools! Lag Liv has been doing this with the kind of aplomb that should be inspiring or frightening, but we're not there yet.
Also, at last parent discussion (that's me and Big A) we decided that we should probably rent for a year before we build our own house. Everything that's out there is either small and dingy with wall-to-wall or huge and ostentatious with wall-to-wall. (Little A has the kind of asthma that's terrified of wall-to-wall.) One house I've been looking at repeatedly, is a not-so-charming trifecta of vinyl siding, beige carpet, and ranch rambling everywhere. It bears little connection to my dream house on Pinterest. But it sits on a lake and one of the online pictures captures the rising sun dead center through the huge windows. I could live with that view for the rest of my life.
But as Big A pointed out, it's inside a gated community and sits on a private lake, and has an obnoxious number of rooms. Where we live now--we live on the edge of a small lake, but it's a semi-public lake and we have neighbors who walk across our yard to visit friends in the nursing home on the other side. That's who we should continue to be. (See, he's not always about fart jokes!) In any case, Big A is interviewing in Michigan again at the end of the month, so we'll have a better idea of where we could live then...
_
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Mindful Embodiment
Spent yesterday in a wonderful workshop on embodied pedagogy with Jen McWeeny, learning and brainstorming ideas on how to enable students to allow experience to count as learning. I want to use more of her work in class, especially the witness circle as a way of getting everyone in class to speak (feel invited to speak).
Today, wished my parents a happy wedding anniversary and brought out the old joke about how I was born a full six days before it. Mindful embodiment, indeed.
_
Today, wished my parents a happy wedding anniversary and brought out the old joke about how I was born a full six days before it. Mindful embodiment, indeed.
_
Friday, March 09, 2012
Happy International Women's Day
Oh. I love Linda Wolf's "Full Woman."
Yet another reminder of how many different kinds of living there are in our world.
Yet another reminder of how many different kinds of living there are in our world.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Indie Earworms
I canNOT stop listening to this on repeat.
A Facebook friend identified the ragas in Bombay Bicycle Club's "Shuffle" as a mix of Kalyani/Mohanam (Carnatic) and Yaman/Bhoopali (Hindustani), if you're into Indian classical music.
And yes, it sounds a lot like Matt and Kim's "Daylight."
_
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Daybreak
There is a river
rubbled wrong
with illicit sun
there is a silence
mighty, fruitful
festering
there are lies
and examples
legs trailing
into the temple,
comprehending monuments
in their unruly
matted and
sultry sleep
_
_
Sunday, February 05, 2012
T(H)AT Seattle
When not being coached on how to interview by my lovely friend P, David Fleming drew me a pretty picture.
I can't thank P and D enough.
_
I can't thank P and D enough.
_
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Quiet
A rubble of such wrong
a refuge made
sitting here just talking
to me, just me
I say "love" again and again
careful (so full of care)
birthing past and future
star after star
the children define words
with pictures
branching color, fencing
feeling
the root green of difficulty
rooms of blue sky
a refuge made
sitting here just talking
to me, just me
I say "love" again and again
careful (so full of care)
birthing past and future
star after star
the children define words
with pictures
branching color, fencing
feeling
the root green of difficulty
rooms of blue sky
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Science
(for NuNu)
dusty as machines of snow
in rhythm already known
flowers, taller than towers
grown while everyone sleeps
wanting nothing, taking nothing
but the tiniest of mysteries
in the doorway the child stands
frightened by tread as of tigers
pulped in her squinting clutch
the gossamer of dryer lint
dusty as machines of snow
in rhythm already known
flowers, taller than towers
grown while everyone sleeps
wanting nothing, taking nothing
but the tiniest of mysteries
in the doorway the child stands
frightened by tread as of tigers
pulped in her squinting clutch
the gossamer of dryer lint
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Hope (n.) Vs. Hope (v.)
Five students have followed me from last semester and into the new class that started yesterday, so I should be feeling validated as a teacher.
But the teaching gig that I applied to back in November and sent additional material to in December, and interviewed for in Seattle in January, and have obsessed about since I first heard about it in April of 2011 has completely passed me by.
Other scholars have received follow up interviews.
But not me. not me.
Disbelief and crying.
Crying and wondering.
L & N tell me there's something better in store.
I hope so.
-
But the teaching gig that I applied to back in November and sent additional material to in December, and interviewed for in Seattle in January, and have obsessed about since I first heard about it in April of 2011 has completely passed me by.
Other scholars have received follow up interviews.
But not me. not me.
Disbelief and crying.
Crying and wondering.
L & N tell me there's something better in store.
I hope so.
-
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
A Warm
Open, open the door of sky
the sun waits outside
Welcome, welcome, come in
I've walked everywhere
Like the sand's memory
of waves are words
Pilgrims stuttering, saunter in
like blessings upon bread
_
the sun waits outside
Welcome, welcome, come in
I've walked everywhere
Like the sand's memory
of waves are words
Pilgrims stuttering, saunter in
like blessings upon bread
_
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Not Shake and Bake
For the first ever time in our marriage, Big A and I have equal school duty with the kids. I teach a MWF at 9, so Big A drops them off MWF, I pick them up MWF. TTH, I teach an afternoon class till 4, so I drop them off, Big A picks them up.
Equal. I'm launching into an aria of "At Last..."
But not so quick. He asks, "When I drop them off, I can do a Wake and Take, right?"
(Translation: They'll be ready to go, right? All I have to do is wake up and take them?)
(Explanation: He hates morning 'cos he works the late shift and is home around 2/3/4/5/ a.m. so yeah, I can do this.)
(Addendum: For the first time ever, the family schedule is being moulded by my schedule. Yay?)
(Addendum 2: Nope. It's being moulded by kid school schedules.)
_
Equal. I'm launching into an aria of "At Last..."
But not so quick. He asks, "When I drop them off, I can do a Wake and Take, right?"
(Translation: They'll be ready to go, right? All I have to do is wake up and take them?)
(Explanation: He hates morning 'cos he works the late shift and is home around 2/3/4/5/ a.m. so yeah, I can do this.)
(Addendum: For the first time ever, the family schedule is being moulded by my schedule. Yay?)
(Addendum 2: Nope. It's being moulded by kid school schedules.)
_
Monday, January 16, 2012
Dream
The gorilla eating cereal
is real is real
I never knew him
but friends are falling
falling off really high ledges
Husband has been thanked
for something things
he says he never did. Never.
Paler than winter, the approach
of winter--these swells
In the space between wish
and nudged words, a miss,
a mispronounced reality--
an enormous medieval
leech wriggling its lure
_
is real is real
I never knew him
but friends are falling
falling off really high ledges
Husband has been thanked
for something things
he says he never did. Never.
Paler than winter, the approach
of winter--these swells
In the space between wish
and nudged words, a miss,
a mispronounced reality--
an enormous medieval
leech wriggling its lure
_
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Get it?
So.
There's actually nothing to see here, and absolutely nothing to get.
But I wanted to chronicle Baby A's endearingly goofy question.
She's watched her older sibling make his geeky little puns, and ask us if we "got it?"
So she's taken to making "jokes"and insistently shrieking, "get it?" at us.
She's always rewarded with the laughter she wants, because the limpid earnestness of her question is kind of irresistible.
We've taken to yelling "Get it?" at each other with alarming frequency ourselves.
_
There's actually nothing to see here, and absolutely nothing to get.
But I wanted to chronicle Baby A's endearingly goofy question.
She's watched her older sibling make his geeky little puns, and ask us if we "got it?"
So she's taken to making "jokes"and insistently shrieking, "get it?" at us.
The Cat in the Mat! Get it?
Dr. Moose! Get it?
Go to bed, go to sched; get it?
She's always rewarded with the laughter she wants, because the limpid earnestness of her question is kind of irresistible.
We've taken to yelling "Get it?" at each other with alarming frequency ourselves.
_
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Hinge
The past's prelude
In the dark
a child's cough.
Breadth of beginnings
the point of decision
uncome
In the dark
a child's cough.
Breadth of beginnings
the point of decision
uncome
the phone call
the e-mail
falling is like flight
in my body,
and the earth's--
thoughts run wet
_
Friday, January 13, 2012
(Once)
They say the sky is on our side
greeting the pain uncomfortably.
I think the snow shoulders souls
snapping twigs and keepsakes
Into a flatter season of longing
springing and then re-learning.
Snowdrops by the handful are
already, guiltily offering hope
On our first view of this house
someone else's youth and life.
In a warm corner, like a flare
a picture of Gandhi and the
name "Michael Schwerner"
speak, then flower into trees.
______________
(Remembering the first time we looked at this house in the snow and found snowdrops and Michael Schwerner's posthumous Gandhi award from CORE sitting in the garage. Friend S has always said that--that's when the house spoke to us.)
_
greeting the pain uncomfortably.
I think the snow shoulders souls
snapping twigs and keepsakes
Into a flatter season of longing
springing and then re-learning.
Snowdrops by the handful are
already, guiltily offering hope
On our first view of this house
someone else's youth and life.
In a warm corner, like a flare
a picture of Gandhi and the
name "Michael Schwerner"
speak, then flower into trees.
______________
(Remembering the first time we looked at this house in the snow and found snowdrops and Michael Schwerner's posthumous Gandhi award from CORE sitting in the garage. Friend S has always said that--that's when the house spoke to us.)
_
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Spin
Yesterday, after I'd dropped the kids off at school and was driving home to work at syllabi and class prep, I ran over a squirrel. I've braked-swerved-stopped for the suicidal little creatures before and would have this time, except that this one leapt out of the undergrowth before I could harness a reaction. Serves me right. I should have biked/walked the kids. I felt the thunk of its body under the wheel and could see its inert form lying an inch or so from the edge of the road. I felt miserable.
I called my mother.
She was horrified. And suggested that to make up for taking a life, I should scatter grain in the garden for other squirrels to eat.
I'm such a bad person, that all I could think of was--but I'm not the one who eats meat!
_
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Yea to Tea
Hello, Michael Graves for Alessi teakettle. How I have loved you from afar. Were you designed for me? For my blue and wine colored kitchen? Or were you designed for me because it's widely-known that I collect birds?
O, Michael Graves for Alessi teakettle. Whoops. Did you forget I'm too skint/stingy to spend three HUNDRED $$ on a tea kettle?
Oh hello, Michael Graves for Target teakettle. No birdies? No problem. I prefer your buttercup-yellow knobbed lid to the other one anyway. And $ 29.99 and discounted because you're being discontinued? Well, well. Welcome on in!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
Big A and I watched the Louis C.K. show after the kids went to bed. We're long time fans of LCK back from when he used to write for Chris Rock, had his show on HBO etc. So I was kind of taken aback to hear LCK say his self-marketed website show had gone so well that he had a million dollars all at once for the first time.
Me: I feel bad that LCK didn't have a million all this time.
Big A(outraged): Do you feel bad that we've never either?
(Not so much--I don't expect us to, and I guess I think people on TV are automatically wealthy. That plus he's made so many people laugh--that's worth some good karma in my book.)
_
Me: I feel bad that LCK didn't have a million all this time.
Big A(outraged): Do you feel bad that we've never either?
(Not so much--I don't expect us to, and I guess I think people on TV are automatically wealthy. That plus he's made so many people laugh--that's worth some good karma in my book.)
_
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Li'l Mr. Right
I returned from the grocery store, delighted that I brought back some Mrs. Meyer's products: aromatherapeutic, biodegradable, natural, never tested on animals, ammonia- paraben- phosphate- free.
At least I'm doing something right?
-
Li'l A [horrified]: You bought cleaning products called "Mrs. Something"??? Because only women are supposed to clean, right?
At least I'm doing something right?
-
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Baby A wants to know:
a) Are there *ANY* kids in India?
(b) What are their names?
(Four-year-olds are thorough!)
(b) What are their names?
(Four-year-olds are thorough!)
Monday, December 19, 2011
Gone
Dreams
of apocalypse
of apology
turn this sheet:
winds are witchy
twitch in tantrum
these sorries--base
and bloodless
yet seduce
to always elsewhere
arrivals; hearts
apart from here
December--lucent and lost
is patterned frosts
and year's finish
_
of apocalypse
of apology
turn this sheet:
winds are witchy
twitch in tantrum
these sorries--base
and bloodless
yet seduce
to always elsewhere
arrivals; hearts
apart from here
December--lucent and lost
is patterned frosts
and year's finish
_
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
PreOCCUPY
It was a weekend of extended socializing--dinner and drinks and friends, and a pub crawl, and a movie and a gallery opening.
It's true that the only money I spent yesterday was on UNICEF, and the only money I may spend today will be on utilitarian Indie art. Yet through it all, there's the outrage of knowing that students were being brutally beaten and terrorized on a variety of campuses for non violent protests. Of seeing the howling courage of untenured assistant professor Nathan Brown's letter demanding the resignation Chancellor Katehi.
So earlier this morning there were some hasty FB exchanges with a colleague at Antioch College. And now, there's one more thing to put on the calendar. A post-kid-bedtime meeting across the kitchen table to draft a teach-in on the #occupy movement across campuses.
_
It's true that the only money I spent yesterday was on UNICEF, and the only money I may spend today will be on utilitarian Indie art. Yet through it all, there's the outrage of knowing that students were being brutally beaten and terrorized on a variety of campuses for non violent protests. Of seeing the howling courage of untenured assistant professor Nathan Brown's letter demanding the resignation Chancellor Katehi.
So earlier this morning there were some hasty FB exchanges with a colleague at Antioch College. And now, there's one more thing to put on the calendar. A post-kid-bedtime meeting across the kitchen table to draft a teach-in on the #occupy movement across campuses.
_
Saturday, November 19, 2011
(Un) Speak
I pilot riposte storms
through landmarks,
the dust of excuses
cycle them past solar
broadcasts, sorrows
innocent as spiders
Soprano speech bides
ordinary time by this
boat on my breath
through landmarks,
the dust of excuses
cycle them past solar
broadcasts, sorrows
innocent as spiders
Soprano speech bides
ordinary time by this
boat on my breath
Friday, November 18, 2011
At a Tangent
We're driving from dinner with friends and towards drinks with friends.
We're supposed to meet at "Sidebar," which makes me giggle like a middle-schooler inwardly because it sounds like "sideboob." I tell Big A, anticipating having to explain what sideboob might mean, but he works it out for himself. I'm disappointed.
One of the many reasons I shouldn't be a doctor.
_
We're supposed to meet at "Sidebar," which makes me giggle like a middle-schooler inwardly because it sounds like "sideboob." I tell Big A, anticipating having to explain what sideboob might mean, but he works it out for himself. I'm disappointed.
So. How did you know?
I see a lot of boobs, Puppy.
: /
I also see a lot of dicks and balls and buttholes. I've had to stick my finger in a lot more buttholes than you ever will.
One of the many reasons I shouldn't be a doctor.
_
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Lisp
Smaller than every sound
and consummating all.
Sorry, I think you have the wrong number
Oops.
Love is turned on
and then is gone.
Take this unlovely thing we call time
oh little child.
__
and consummating all.
Sorry, I think you have the wrong number
Oops.
Love is turned on
and then is gone.
Take this unlovely thing we call time
oh little child.
__
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
(Un) Break
Almost everyday that I didn't write here, I felt terrible, as though I was breaking a promise I had made to myself. Other days, I felt terrible anyway, because there was just so much to do that I couldn't spare the time to feel bad about not writing. And although some other deadlines were being met (dinners, grading, family time, job searches), things have felt wrong, off-center, subject to a constant tension resulting from getting things done *just* in the nick of time.
So today, another jab at the restart button.
I'm surprised it's just a week to Thanksgiving. But that's nothing like the shock I got the morning of Oct 28th when I discovered that it was Baby A's Halloween parade in two hours. Both kids had to manufacture their own Halloween costumes--so unlike the years when we decorated, hosted huge Halloween parties, and had costumes picked out a month in advance. It's a good thing Baby A had her heart set on wearing a sheet to be a ghost (Shades of E.T., plus the book about Corduroy's Best Halloween Ever!) and Li'l A wanted to be Lemonhead Zombie--the fact that I know nothing about what that means is a good indication that the kid's about to be a teenager. (I'm getting old--when I tried to link to my favorite movie of all time, Google gave me a Katy Perry song? Sacrilege!)
On to pictures!
_
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
At Close
Some idle pleasures
but also, idle duties
unworthy of youth;
too old to be killed
Facts as confessions
perimetered clumsily
with great, odd love
receding every day
Betrayal is boundary,
wandering rebellion
listen to its arrhythmia
muted and unsuspecting
but also, idle duties
unworthy of youth;
too old to be killed
Facts as confessions
perimetered clumsily
with great, odd love
receding every day
Betrayal is boundary,
wandering rebellion
listen to its arrhythmia
muted and unsuspecting
Sunday, October 09, 2011
Feminists [super heart] Ryan Gosling
No one needs a reason to love Ryan Gosling. (Half Nelson. Drive. Lars and the Real Girl.) If you need a reason, there's this quote that went viral when he was on the Blue Valentine junket:
Or simply this genius mashup of feminist theory and the most dashing actor in Hollywood:
You have to question a cinematic culture which preaches artistic expression, and yet would support a decision that is clearly a product of a patriarchy-dominant society, which tries to control how women are depicted on screen. The MPAA is okay supporting scenes that portray women in scenarios of sexual torture and violence for entertainment purposes, but they are trying to force us to look away from a scene that shows a woman in a sexual scenario which is both complicit and complex. It’s misogynistic in nature to try and control a woman’s sexual presentation of self. I consider this an issue that is bigger than this film.Or this Ms. Magazine Post. Or Hugo Schwyzer's Ode.
Or simply this genius mashup of feminist theory and the most dashing actor in Hollywood:
Saturday, October 08, 2011
Friday, October 07, 2011
Mid-term Break: Embers
Almost at the end of the midterm break and I'm still struggling to finish Sándor Márai's highly-acclaimed novel Embers. A very sweet (also assiduous) student gave me their copy because they "knew" I would love it.* It's only fair that I try hard to finish it, because I impose my tastes on those poor students all the time, after all.
_________________________________________________________
*Not to be confused with the student who, throughout his final paper, used my name instead of the name of the protagonist in the novel he was writing about. We weren't able to decide if that was ironic or ignorant or obsessive.
_
_________________________________________________________
*Not to be confused with the student who, throughout his final paper, used my name instead of the name of the protagonist in the novel he was writing about. We weren't able to decide if that was ironic or ignorant or obsessive.
_
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Embedded
The sex accomplice's
labyrinths, leprosy of lies
his reason is a mirror's body
there is never a void of words
always the cruelty of sounds
he has captured in his mouth
labyrinths, leprosy of lies
his intimacy of technique
his innoculation of angerhis reason is a mirror's body
there is never a void of words
always the cruelty of sounds
he has captured in his mouth
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Graffiti
This skin my page,
guttural blasphemy
on the radio
voices are melting
who would you be
fair, ordinary light?
double helixed, sublime
under slight scaffolding
you wait, an injured violin
chiming a century of travel
then your answer reverses
moments I can hear myself
_
guttural blasphemy
on the radio
voices are melting
who would you be
fair, ordinary light?
double helixed, sublime
under slight scaffolding
you wait, an injured violin
chiming a century of travel
then your answer reverses
moments I can hear myself
_
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Back
Fair, hostile sky
grumble of wind
music wakes up,
an umbrella of rain
splinters of silence
In the cramped cage
of childhood
My mothers already
see everything
_
grumble of wind
music wakes up,
miscommunicates
splinters of silence
In the cramped cage
of childhood
My mothers already
see everything
_
Monday, October 03, 2011
Sunday, October 02, 2011
Project
All morning, the kids and I walked around town putting up posters for Ubuntu Canteen.
A day perfect in so many ways.
A day perfect in so many ways.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
A Taste of the Future
Today at 7:30, I was nearly the first one at the Farmers' Market and it looked completely different from when I typically show up with the kids a good three hours later after breakfast and dilly-dallying around. I must try to do this more often, although the only reason I was there instead of under covers was because I had to drop Li'L A off so he could take the school bus to a cross country meet. The hours vary, but he's usually gone most of Saturday.
We putter around, Baby A and I, doing Saturday toddler stuff, Big A not back from work yet, and it was a reminder that soon, this will be us: Big A at work as usual and Li'l A away at college, making a life. If those are the worst separations fate has in store for us, I won't complain--although they sound chillingly lonely.
_
We putter around, Baby A and I, doing Saturday toddler stuff, Big A not back from work yet, and it was a reminder that soon, this will be us: Big A at work as usual and Li'l A away at college, making a life. If those are the worst separations fate has in store for us, I won't complain--although they sound chillingly lonely.
_
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Friends and old neighbors shutting it down in honor of John Crawford. _
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