On Breaking Down Gender Stereotypes

Once again, I will not be supporting the GoldieBlox company, in spite of its stated goal to "break down gender stereotypes." In what one online friend referred to as a "jerkmove," GoldieBlox is threatening to sue the Beastie Boys to preempt a copyright infringement case over the use of the rap group's "Girls" song in a commercial. The Beastie Boys have published an open letter in the NYT.

I am so annoyed by this pseudo-feminist company that I can't even repost the original GoldieBlox commercial, even though it offers what I find to be a clever parody of the Beastie Boys song because I think the toy is a stupid gimmick. It features a conventionally pretty, able-bodied girl with long blonde hair. Sometimes she has an African American sidekick who is also as pretty as a Barbie. The toy does nothing to "break down gender stereotypes" other than give these characters pastel colored tools.

Just a quick little OMG

I did my first tweet ever for #AcWriMo.

My kid is breaking the first of her 2-year molars (bottom left, and she's 2 1/2). We were thinking she was just "being TWO" but no, she's just "being TWO in pain." There is a difference. I have to believe that.

Working on Marie Corelli always makes me happy. Because you're reading along and then you come to something like this:

... never in all the passing pageant and phantasmagoria of history did a greater generation of civilised hypocrites cumber the face of the globe than cumber it to-day,—never was the earth so oppressed with the weight of polite lying,—never were there such crowds of civil masqueraders, cultured tricksters, and social humbugs, who, though admirable as tricksters and humbugs, are wholly contemptible as men and women. Truth is at a discount,—and if one should utter it, the reproachful faces of one's so-called “friends” show how shocked they are at meeting with anything honest. We are drifting our days away in a condition of false luxury,—of over-ripe civilisation,—which has bred in us that apathetic inertia which is always a premonitory symptom of fatal disease.  (Modern Marriage Market)

I think she just nailed what folks now refer to as "first world problems." More wine please now.

Teaching Barthes, Foucault, and Gubar this week in my Lit Theory class.
Full of misery about 2/3 of my Composition class.
Waiting for good news from two major submissions last summer. Was supposed to hear "in October." And now it's November 2. Does anyone else watch the calendar like I do, in regards to these sorts of things?? Yes. They do.

Is it possible that there is too much Halloween candy in the house?
And there's this:

Good Morning Goon

This morning, I'm in the kitchen putting lunches together for me and the kid, and I hear her yell from her crib, "MAMA! I WANT A BOOK!" Of all the books on the floor of her room, this is the one she wanted:

I love this kid. 28 months old, and already a dedicated reader with a taste for parody.

Baking Bread is as Hard as I Thought It Would Be

In a charmingly clear essay called "The Intentional Fallacy," which I am preparing to teach to my Literary Theory class this week, William Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley wrote,

Judging a poem is like judging a pudding or a machine. One demands that it work. ... Poetry is a feat of style by which a complex of meaning is handled all at once. Poetry succeeds because all or most of what is said or implied is relevant; what is irrelevant has been excluded, like lumps from pudding and 'bugs' from machinery.

I read this, and then I went to a bread-baking class, and the combination of Wimsatt & Beardsley and yeast was this poem. I have not written a poem in a long while, and I've never made bread from scratch.

How does one judge a loaf of bread?

Not as early as monks, but not as late as students
A morning more humid indoors than out
Seven or eight maybe, imperfections
In a church kitchen.
Unseen hands had heated the milk
Counted the yeast
Distributed spoons.
A wheelchair, a walker, one eye blind and one wandering,
All of us kneading for the sake of our souls
Unequal to our uneven ovens
With no leader, weak lighting, glass loaf pans, cold tea
A rising, then, a falling:
Mine, puckered, but still nourishing.
What is the standard by which we disown or accept the self?

From LJ Notices to Correspondents, December 2, 1854

Q. R. H.—Courtship is an indispensable preliminary to marriage. Sebastopol has to be taken by a regular siege. It is the same with that citadel—a woman’s heart. You must approach it in due form, and fire the big guns of big promises.

Here, the London Journal editor responds to a correspondent's query presumably about whether a period of courtship is necessary, with a timely reference to the Siege of Sebastopol that was, well, ongoing (September 1854 - September 1855), because the Russians did not wish to give up the Crimea. To translate: the peaceful-looking Victorian lady, pictured there in Charles Green's 1878 watercolor (titled appropriately "Courtship"), represents the Imperial Russian Army under attack by enormous British cannons, like this one:

by William Simpson

Sounds very romantic.

It's Not Just Me

One of my colleagues recently referred to me, to my face, as "baby crazy." Hunh. I did not realize I was so transparent. But you see, I am merely channeling a cultural preoccupation, one that rivals "belly melt."

Summer Break Update 2

Illustrated London News at Alderman Library

In June, I attended a class at the Rare Book School at UVa. We (8 students and 1 professor) spent the week reading about and discussing the theory and practice of bibliographic description, textual criticism, and scholarly editing. We also practiced collation (side-by-side page/image comparison) using the Lindstrand Comparator, the Hinman collator, and electronic options like Juxta. The week was not so much a carefree gallimaufry summer camp as a diversely focused conference *on the purest crack* -- with obligatory attendance, no late entrances to sessions, healthy food at breakfast and breaks, and "electives" that included a talk on rare text preservation, a screening of a documentary about paper, a printing press demonstration, lunch-break visits to Special Collections, weeping in the Alderman Library stacks (OK, I'm probably the only RBS student who took that elective), and lots of used book store shopping.

I am eager to put this new, hard-won knowledge to work, both in the classroom (Literary Theory and Criticism this fall) and in my research (planning for a scholarly edition is under way).

Other fun events in June? I was invited to give a lecture for the local chapter of the Victorian Society for America. I presented a PowerPoint about Victorian matrimonial advertising, because the subject is fun, accessible, and makes people reconsider what they imagine was/is "conventional" in match-making and courtship then/now. A reporter and photographer from the Virginian Pilot were present, and the story was printed in last Sunday's paper.

Sewing projects:

Found some English home-dec fabric scraps at an old upholstery shop

There were enough scraps to make the doll a dress, too

Not a fantastic picture, but there you have it: we all match

The Summer Reading-for-Pleasure Project continues to be a challenge. I finished Maisie Dobbs in record time, really loving the development of the lady detective character and the suggestive inter-war English cultural history lessons. I picked up--and put down--and repicked--and reput (and so on) The Wonderful Life of Oscar Wao. I just cannot get into this story, although many of my most respected reader-friends recommend it. I was counseled to drop it for this summer, since it's defeating the purpose of the Project. I have also been trying to finish The Marriage Plot. I never got through Middlesex and I found The Virgin Suicides alienating in a too-frothy (do I mean precious?) way. I'm not sure Eugenides does it for me, but the premise here is too good to pass over. Mostly, though, it seems like a rip-off of Franny and Zooey. What am I ripping through because it's so over-the-top awesome? Marie Corelli's 1887 novel Thelma. It merits a post of its own.

Television: OMG this season of Master Chef features mean girls, pretty girls, vegetarian girls, and hipster girls. SO GOOD. At home, we are practicing our pasta-from-scratch, our eggs benedict, our cheesecake, and our sentimental background narratives about why we would make TV-candy competitors for when we go out for the show.

I also started watching Alias. It's Buffy without the camp; Lost without the brain-teasers. I object to the frequency of torture scenes, especially to the constant representation of Sydney-Bristow torture. But otherwise, the show is awesome through Season 3 (I just started Season 4: jury is out), and it motivates me to exercise my pout.

Banjo: I can now strum the alphabet song, and my daughter doesn't run away screaming in terror anymore. I feel pretty smug about this. This week I'm supposed to practice some basic frailing and learn "Good Night Ladies."

Summer "Break" Update 1

Book review? drafted (and then I found out it's not due until end of June, so I'm a month ahead--victory!--but anyway, it's a double header of this and this)

Beehives? we moved the bees from their mailing packages into their gorgeous new waterfront apiaries this week

Bad television show? watched (Hemlock Grove S1)

Banjo? not much--the C chord is hard to get right and my kid screams when she sees me bring out "jo jo"

Sewing? so far, just this dress (Simplicity 5695)

Next up:
1. Felt food is my newest DIY toy project idea... who knew there was this out there?
2. Matching outfits for me, the kid, her dolly
3. Book proposal and prep for RBS course in June
4. Finish reading The Beetle and move on to a real "for fun" book, as opposed to reading something fun that I also plan to teach in the fall
5. Sign up for banjo lessons

Thoughts on Two

This kid eats frozen peas stuck in fresh raspberries. She pretends to apply make-up to her face with a tampon. She gives me "pedicures" while I get ready for work in the morning. Today her new words were "dirt" and "hummus" and she correctly identified the number 8 after pushing that button a gazillion times on my cell phone. She is two.

In this picture, she is sitting on my lap and eating a birthday cupcake at school, surrounded by her beloved friends and teachers (and papa is in the background). She makes life worth living.

Before she was born, I was afraid she wouldn't be. And after she was born, I was afraid I would fail to get my dream job and I'd have to explain to her later why I gave up trying. Neither of these fears came true, and most of my biggest hopes have. I am so blessed to have the constant challenge and opportunity to balance my life with this brave/cautious, grinning/screeching, easily frustrated/simply pleased, mischievous/curious, strong/fragile, hilarious/heart-breaking kid and my life as an English professor teaching college kids who roughly fit the same description.

Breast-pumping at Conferences, and the Renewed Curiosity of the Boob

Miriam Posner has published a valuable, informative article about how to accommodate a breast-pumping mom at an academic conference on her blog.

HEAR HEAR!

At a conference in Houston, someone (someone really smart, with a PhD and lots of books and articles) suggested that I should use a public bathroom to pump during a large group dinner at a fancy restaurant. I was desperate, so I checked out the bathroom: the only outlet was near the sink, far away from any locking stalls. To relieve myself of engorgement--or just to stay consistent so I could keep producing milk on my daughter's meal schedule--I'd have had to get half-naked (I supposed I might have fashioned a drape out of my suit jacket) and stand before a wall of mirrors with vacuum cones stuck to my boobs, the loud WHIRRRR of the machine defeating even vague aspirations to inconspicuousness. I ended up taking that meal to-go.

At MLA in Seattle, a well-meaning volunteer sent me on a wild goose chase looking for *the mom room* deep in uninhabited portions of the Convention Center. Eventually, I was so frustrated that I finally locked myself into one of the presentation rooms, hoping I'd not meet someone famous, or anyone on any of my interview committees, on the way out, 20 minutes later. I also pumped my way through some over-scheduled campus interviews. (You just try to explain to the interviewers why you need 20 minutes to yourself between that meeting with the dean and the luncheon with the students--without revealing you have a hungry 8 month old two states away waiting for your happymeals.) And I was the one begging the airplane attendants for new ice to put in my travel cooler that was full of the saved milk I was dragging home for the kid. That stuff is liquid gold! Pumping-and-dumping can make a hormonal, sleep-deprived new mom on a job interview dissolve into a puddle of tears on the inadequate floor space of an airplane bathroom.

I nodded my head the entire time I read Posner's article, but there are a few things she was simply not petty enough to mention: 1. how fast you leak when you can't pump in time--milk blossoms ruining your nice conference outfit and causing untold embarrassment (and 1a. the discomfort of those maxi-pads for breasts); 2. how hard it can be to find ways to save the milk you've pumped--ice, coolers, decent sized fridge/freezer units in a hotel; and 3. how darn heavy the pump equipment and cooler (full of ice and bags of milk) can get over the course of a day (and 3a. that awkward moment when someone asks you what is in the huge blue plastic case you're carrying around with your laptop, or jokes about what the cooler might contain, you know, to get you through the long day of panels.)
I paid some good money (about $30 or $40/month) to rent a hospital-grade breast pump for some of these conferences, and that thing was a brick. It's like carrying a precious brick--one that will cost you about $450 to replace--in your suitcase through airport security, lounges, bathrooms, lines, planes, taxis, hotels, and so on. You already never stop thinking about your boobs and when they're going to betray you, and now you've also got a gold-producing brick (with various tubes and funnels) to babysit.

Funny thing: my kid weaned herself as soon as she learned how to walk (away from me), and she has not considered my chest since that time, eight or so months ago. Until last week, when she learned the word "boobs" and now she's constantly checking to see if mine are still around. At my house, we are hoping that this renewed interest in Mama's chest does not transfer itself to daycare.

Stung

Can you see the queen in this picture? Just take a moment to look for her. She's gorgeously golden, largely beautiful, and hard at work laying eggs.

This afternoon I spent a couple hours at the apiary on campus. I wore a smock with a hat-and-veil for protection, and I congratulated myself on not getting stung. Then on the drive home (not from my school, but from Mat's daycare!), a stray bee who apparently decided to hitch a ride with me/us discovered she did NOT want to be stuck in my hair anymore and stung the back of my neck.

I was thrilled! The sting was not any worse than a tattoo. I saw my first queen bee in action and learned a little something about beekeeping, a long-time fascination. I cupped a drowsy drone in my palm, ignored the agitated worker bees buzzing around my ears, and assisted in the splitting of a hive. A few years ago, I saw this film, Queen of the Sun, at the Seattle International Film Festival with a best friend. I already knew about Colony Collapse Disorder when I saw the film, but the documentary clarifies the potential for devastation, confirmed by this recent NY Times article. Do you love vegetables? Do you love almonds? Do you eat plant-based foods ever? This PSA is for you! Our crops are in danger. Crop monoculture is an enormous problem. I don't think backyard-schoolyard-churchyard apiaries are going to solve this dilemma, but they surely are a start.

I also taught Mona Caird's 1888 essay "Marriage" for the first time today, and it went very well. Oh, fin-de-siècle marriage debates. Sigh. All in all, today was a very good day-after-birthday. (And yesterday, the actual birthday, was less great, because I discovered a student had turned in this lousy paper as his own work. Somehow plagiarism is even worse when it's about one of one's most beloved novels.)

Reading and the Potential for Combustion

How fun it would be to participate in an online Wilkie Collins reading group.

Except that I'm in the middle of King Solomon's Mines, Jane Eyre, and Wives and Daughters just now, and a student just enthusiastically loaned me A Great and Terrible Beauty (which I shall squirrel away for Spring Break, when I shall deserve it most).

This term I am teaching three literature courses: ENG 250: Heroes and Monsters in Victorian Fiction (focusing on textual analysis); ENG 289: Approaches to Literary Study (the gateway to the English major course); and ENG 302: Marriage/Divorce in Victorian Literature. Such disparate topics yield interesting textual coincidences. For instance, in the first two weeks of the semester, I read Beowulf--and then The Tempest--along with Dracula and Wuthering Heights. This provoked comparisons of Grendel and Heathcliff, Grendel and Caliban, Dracula and Heathcliff, and so on. The coincidences make my head explode, and then my brains leak all over my classrooms. Today I found myself saying to my ENG 289 class, "Jane got calibanned by Aunt Reed."

Illustration by Walter Crane, c. 1893

Loyal Huggies Fan Reconsiders

I was at the gym today when this commercial caught my eye. Luvs has a whole series of these amusingly true "first kid/second kid" TV ads. Jezebel liked it last summer. AdWeek approved. Of course a whole lot of other viewers and critics were offended. We're pretty committed to Huggies Lil Movers here, but I am awfully tempted to show Luvs some love, now that I've finally caught up with the ad that made a big splash last summer. (What else did I miss last summer when I was moving across the country? The Magic Mike phenomenon. Well, I finally caught up with that last weekend, too. How I value my new colleagues.)

Incidentally, the best advice I heard as a new mom was to "raise your second child first." We're working on that. I never wasted money on a hooter-hider or bothered to drape, except in the presence of my grandfather or my Russian FIL. Breastfeeding in public should not be taboo.

I wish I knew how to hyperlink this image!

Movie Tripping

I used to get a lot of joy out of reviewing movies here on this blog.
Now I just get joy out of going to them.
Over my very long holiday break, which I supposed I would spend writing an article, I traveled much, I was very sick, along with the rest of my entire family (biological and chosen), and I used that as my excuse to go see four movies currently playing in movie theaters. This is noteworthy because I have not seen a movie in a movie theater since my child was born. Last Oscars-season sucked for me. I am the sort of person who will go see any movie playing especially if someone else is paying for it. "Romantic" relationships have been sustained for me by spending long times at the movies. Yes, the syntax in that last sentence was creative, and only I know what I meant; my point is, da films are crucial.

Movies I clocked over the break:
The Hobbit
Les Miserables
Lincoln
Silver Linings Playbook

Quick & totally unnecessary reviews:
Hobbit: seen with BFF 1, enjoyed, stunned that it ended mid-story. If I remember correctly, Tolkein's Hobbit was a relatively short book. I read it in Jr. High School and hated it. Must re-read. Very glad to be teaching Beowulf this term, because thanks to this movie, my students may have greater appreciation for the Anglo-Saxon epic which features many of the same elements: gold-hoarding dragon, women-excluding community of back-slapping/mead-drinking warriors.

Les Mis: seen with BFF 2, lurved, other than Russell-who-can't-Crow and high-warbler Seyfried. My love of productions of this story goes back to the Pantages Theater circa 1989. I have the entire Original London Cast Recording memorized. I have multiple worn-out garments featuring young Cosette's face. I wish I had more critique of this movie version... but that's lurve for you.

Lincoln: I am historically idiotic, but didn't Lincoln outlive two of his sons? I kept measuring this movie against Seth Grahame-Smith's inspired book Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. The movie kind of fell short.

Silver Linings Playbook: unconventional love story that ends conventionally. Sometimes (but not with regard to X-Men) I wish I was Jennifer Lawrence.