Wander Lust

So, I am envious of the Wanderlust project, because I will be spending the summer working and writing and working and writing, and honestly, I am a little beat down by the thought. I will be including a blurb about Wanderlust in the section on activism in my Feminist Humor paper, however. There is quite a lot about my paper that deviates away from what I had in mind originally, but that's OK. I am tempted to apologize for talking about my projects so much, but that is such a stupid, stupid thing to do. It's my blog, my life-- I am a parent, doing an independent project (30 or so pages) on feminist humor, while simultaneously working for Voldermorta Suprema, whose latest antics nearly drove Hermione to walk out. I am also doing a creative writing project this summer a non-fiction manuscript and an essay on Joan Didion and other writers of her ilk. Both projects are pretty groovy in my mind but they still involve a lot of work and unless some gigantic miracle occurs I will still be working for Voldemorta while doing them.

The project of riding bikes around the country learning about how gender is perceived and constructed is SO awesome. Kermit and I were watching Anthony Bourdain (my true love!) last night and he went camping in the Pacific Northwest and with a lit cigarette in his mouth attempted to chop wood muttering and swearing about how he loves the city, and that he isn't particularly "outdoorsy." Kermit also feels this way, but I'm somewhere in the middle. I love being outside in the woods, in the city, where ever- for long periods of time, walking around and looking at stuff without any real goals in mind. And then maybe writing about it later. Kermit has the same wanderlust, but it is oriented in the city- I forget Baudelaire's words for it, but his concept usually ended in drunken debauchery-- Kermit is familiar with this concept, but is a responsible parent now so no midnight wanderings in an altered state for him. Guy DeBord of The Society of the Spectacle fame called it the dérive (say that with a French accent- the dereeeve). "One of the basic situationist practices is the dérive [literally: “drifting”], a technique of rapid passage through varied ambiances. Dérives involve playful-constructive behavior and awareness of psychogeographical effects, and are thus quite different from the classic notions of journey or stroll."

The folks who are doing Wanderlust are performing a slightly bicycled form of the dérive with gender and raising awareness in mind. I am really interested in that form of activism. It's all well and good to march down the street with a sign but you're not really connecting with people when you do that, you're forming a spectacle, and I guess I place a higher value in connection to make change happen. (Oh my!)

I really wanted to do my creative writing project from somewhere in the woods and that may still happen in a limited way, but I am not taking a class through the Split Rock Arts program as I originally intended when developing my project because Percy (my simpy supervisor) is worried that I won't meet deadlines if I take vacation and classes in the summer. The shiz will get done. Dang.

Brain=Mush

I have had a sinus infection for the last week, and even though I have drugs, it seems that part of it just has to run its course. This means that I can't hear very well, and for some reason people can't hear me as well. I think my head is so clogged that it sounds like I am talking at a normal volume, to me, but to everyone else I must be mouthing the words with the sound off because no one, not the Kid, not the co-workers, not Kermit, can seem to hear what I am saying.

On the paper front: I'm almost done, but I'm worried that I'll have to extend it because it needs cleaning up and it's taking me so long to fit it all in. Also, a benefit of being married to Kermit is that I when I read it to him, he came up with about 400 more ideas to include-on top of what I am doing, and I have 31 books on feminist theory checked out of the library, and he is giving me more! Thanks to him, I'll be including a whole chapter on visual art-esp. Cindy Sherman who isn't exactly funny as much as she is revolutionary-- and I don't know as much about her, but he does. I tell you it's like being married to a sticky-up-haired librarian.

I am super happy to write about drag queens, Margaret Cho, faux queens and Phyllis Diller in one academic paper and it seriously makes up for what I had to do at my paid job today which is go through 88 citations and try to find addresses of all the authors cited in a consensus paper so we can publicize the publication of a symposium which no one cares about.

The Kid Rules the World: Or, At Least He Rules His Parents'

Yesterday was the May Day Parade. The Kid rocked in the street when the Boys & Girls Club Dance/Drumline came by. I sunscreened us all up in SPF 50 except for Kermit, who is tactile "defective" as I put it, and hates lotion of all kinds, and now looks like Lobster Man. The Kid hates lotion too, but I'm bigger than him and can hold him down.
It is always a long parade and we ran into many old friends during the day. We miss Minneapolis so much. River Falls, as hokey and Christian, and as white as it is, has nothing like the May Day Parade. Truck-pulls and pancake breakfasts at the church.

When it was over we hiked through the throng to the park where we saw Torchy and her family and were about to chat with them when The Kid HAD TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. NOW. The throng of people was so dense that I couldn't see my way to a porta-pottie so Kermit and I made the executive decision to leave and go to the dairy queen as is warranted on a sunny May day. After being outside for 4 hours, the Kid was DONE, even if he wouldn't admit it. We get to the car, pack up all the stuff, load the Girl's wheelchair in the car, buckle the kids in, pull out of our parking spot and the Kid is asleep by the time we got to the first stoplight, but not before he said he knew I wouldn't actually go to the Dairy Queen, and that it was just a trick to get him to leave. The Kid has trust issues.

Well, we did go through the drive through for ice cream (which is naturally when the Kid woke up and started demanding ice cream). It was a very long day, which extended itself into the night because even though Kermit and I were completely exhausted and Kermit was a fried tomato, the Kid would not go to sleep and kept getting up and only wanted me, not Kermit. And he wanted water, and he had to go to the bathroom, and he had to arrange all his stuffed animals, and he was hot, then cold. To top it off, the Girl's dad showed up an hour late to pick her up, and that really threw things off. The Kid shot out of bed when the doorbell rang so he could say hi to the Girl's other siblings. And, the kid was particularly loquacious last night. Asking me about getting divorced from the Girl's dad and why and I'm not going to divorce his dad, right? and he wanted me to tell him the story of the Prince who meets the talking snake, and he wanted to know where all the places I've traveled, which naturally were all categorized in relation to whether he was a) not born yet, b) inside of my belly, or c) with me but not remembering because he was too little. Also, the Kid is insisting that he not be called the Girl's Little Brother, but younger brother is fine. After I told him about some of the places I traveled (and after we cleared up the Utah was not in China- and that Asian people are not all from China) and after I let him play the drums on my belly (which he called belly war)and after we got up from his bed, and went to my bed, graciously inviting his father to cuddle and also provide a belly (much hairier) for drumming, did he FINALLY fall asleep. And, now it's Monday and I am at work, and completely in need of a nap.

Happy belated May Day.

Cheeky Monkey

Here's a story about a baby monkey.

Life in a Northern Town: Hey oh na na na

For kicks I looked up arts and entertainment for my beautiful city of River Falls and not only does the arts and entertainment list include a link to the city municipalities office, but # 9 on the arts and entertainment list is the Masonic Temple Association. The Masons were ahead of the one and only movie theater that is in the town but after the recording studio. There is a university in River Falls and I know for a fact that plays, concerts, rodeos, and the spring hog sale happen every year, not to mention the mud-fest, demolition derby during River Falls Days. But, not according the the random internet guide I was just looking at.

My real point is: should Kermit try to find a way into the Masons? He knows some dude in his class whose family has 7 generations of Masons and the kid would not tell Kermit anything about the secret handshakes. I was trying to encourage Kermit to get an invitation to join the freemasons, but he balks. What is with you, husband??!! Secret, fraternal, manly meetings! It's that or Scientology for you!

Funny: Or Not So Much?

Cartoon by the most-awesome Lynda Barry, whom I love and adore and love.

So, I am writing this paper on Feminist Humor. Which, by the way, is not an oxymoron.
I commented to the instructor of my research project class that I am not finding theory so funny right now as I write and edit and look up new sources, etc. and trudge through the drudgery of writing coherently. One of the jokes I had as an example of anti-feminist humor in my original proposal, was :

Q: How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: None. It's not the light bulb that needs changing.

Ha. Effing Ha. Not funny, right? Stupid. I mean, I have heard far better sexist jokes that make me laugh. No one thinks that joke is funny. It doesn't even bear consideration which is why it didn't make it to the final draft. Well, my prof. emailed me back with this joke that he wrote and posted on his blog:

How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?

The very choice of patritypical hyper macho sexual imagery in reference to what one might do with a light bulb exposes a deeply held and hegemonic bias objectifying the light bulb as both passive, willing victim and as compliant proxy for the colonial fate of southern hemisphere alterity.

You can decide for yourself if you think it's funny. I thought it was funny because I am mired in post-modern theory as I write this paper which is what I complained to him in my email about. Theory, in general, tends to be elitist, and full of itself, whether it's feminist theory, or not. So, in so much as theory and criticism can be liberating, they are also, mostly-white, non-inclusive, and confining as fuck which is what his joke is alluding to.

However, this joke generated so many furious responses, many attacking his blog and credentials and whatever, and some really well-thought out beginning of good discussions, including another article written and commented on at another blog.
that I thought, you too, should weigh in, but please don't 1: insult anyone's character in doing so, or 2: use the words FeminiSS, of Feminazi. Geesh!

If, the joke had said "professor" would it have had the same response?

Also, it's clear some of the people responding in the comments already have a bone or two to pick with him, but that's no excuse for attacking him.

Remember what I said before?

Remember that I said I wasn't going to go off in tirade about Republicans and the administration because it is making me have a headache, and honestly why bother, because they will keep earning my hatred whether I blog about it or not? Well, ladies and gentleman, read this.