I LOVE THIS GIRL

Remember the argument about whether or not a 13-year old girl in Florida has the right to an abortion? Whether or not the state has the right to think for her, b/c she's a minor, blah fucking blah?

Well all of us can just shut the fuck up, b/c this is one 13-year old girl who doesn't need anyone to speak for her. Read this, and then, if necessary, re-think that idea that women--including 13-year old girls in foster care--can't be trusted to think through the realities of abortion on their own. Better than some goddamn bureaucrat at the DCF or a judge who isn't the one carrying the pregnancy.

L.G.: Why can't I make my own decision?
Judge Alvarez: I don't know.
L.G.: You don't know? Aren't you the judge?

. . .

Department of Children and Family Services: The Department of Children and Families has the custodial responsibility to do what is in the best interest of the child.
L.G.: I think if I want to make the decision, it's my business and I can do that. It would make no sense to have the baby. I don't think I should have the baby because I'm 13, I'm in a shelter and I can't get a job. DCF would take the baby anyway [but] If I do have it, I'm not going to let them take it.

. . .

L.G.: Since you guys are supposedly here for the best interest of me, then wouldn't you all look at that fact that it'd be more dangerous for me to have the baby than to have an abortion?
Judge Alvarez: A good point.
OBGYN: At her age and at her stage of gestation ... her risk of death from an abortion procedure is about 1 in 34,000. The risk of death in pregnancy is about 1 in 10,000.

. . .

Judge Alvarez (paraphrase): Who is the father?
L.G.: That's not really necessary

Via Feministing.

Men who write to and about women who write about women and men

Found an interesting new blog: PhDFraud (which I can't help thinking of as "Dr. Freud," but I hope this guy isn't Dr. Crazy's stupid Freud, b/c that would just be weird).

I'm kidding. Stupid Freud doesn't know that his name is stupid Freud, and anyway, PhDFraud doesn't strike me as stupid. In fact, he's pretty interesting: check out this honest and vulnerable post, which shows that women aren't the only ones that talk and think about their genitalia, or this one, about women in combat. Plus I'm charmed by his blogroll, which so far is: history blog, history blog, history blog, Bitch Ph.D. Hee! An ex-military PhD student with a feminist sensibility! Excellent, no?

The women in combat story he links is an interesting one, especially in light of the recent dumbass NewsMax article claiming that the reason we don't have Bin Laden yet is because women soldiers can't do combat positions. Now, this is horse shit: yes, technically, women are not assigned to "combat positions" but I happen to know--and I'll bet PhDFraud will back me up on this--that what happens in actual practice is that women do the same jobs men do, but when women do it, it gets described as a "non-combat" position, to get around that loophole. This means, of course, that women are disadvantaged in terms of combat pay (not eligible), advancement (no "combat experience") etc; but they're still doing the jobs, and they're still getting killed. The answer, of course, is to just remove the stupid "non-combat" restriction, which is purely bureaucratic anyway--not, as the dumbass article linked above argues, to get women out of the military.

On the question of the advancement of women: everyone reading will remember the most recent "why don't women write about politics" furor, in which more than one woman opinion writer opined that part of the problem is that women don't submit stuff as often as men do. I've thought a bit about this in terms of my email inbox, where something interesting happens that strongly resembles something I've also seen happening in classrooms. Men write to me, and often include long arguments detailing their opinions on abortion, women's rights, etc.--these emails usually run along the lines of, "your stuff is very interesting: what do you think of my pet theory?" To this day, I have not yet had a woman write to me and say this. Women write much shorter emails, and usually begin by saying, "I hope this isn't an intrusion"--that is, by acknowledging that they don't "know" me, and therefore feel a little odd just sending me an email. As I respond to all the email I get, often the second email from an unknown woman suddenly becomes much chattier, and suddenly they, too, will offer theories, ideas, arguments. But that initial approach tends to be more tentative from women than it does from men. Also, I've had a few people figure out how to message me (it isn't that hard), and, voila! Suddenly bitchphd gets a little im saying "hi, I like your blog." Without exception, these messages come from men (including, full disclosure, PhDFraud, which is how I found his blog). I have women I message with too, but in those cases we emailed back and forth a bit before one or the other of us (usually me) said, "can we just take this to im? Here's my i.d."

The "intelligent thought" ratio also favors women: I get a fair bit of crackpot email theorizing from men, but so far no woman who has sent me an email has had some bogus theory about what I "really need to do" with my life, or my marriage, or about how we "really need" to think about abortion. So, purely anecdotally and unscientifically, there's an inverse ratio here, where men are more likely to write, but less likely to have anything worth writing about.

Am thinking about this w/r/t my own writing, and my own publication phobia. I think I may have figured out, with that last message, what book I want to pitch--and also a couple of articles that I can write in an afternoon and get sent out to a couple of different magazines. I have a real anxiety that what I want to write isn't good/important/interesting/well-researched enough. But more and more, I realize that this is a totally idiotic thing to worry about.

So I think that today, I feel like I might just be pulling out of the last few days' funk, and I might just know where I'm going next--not in the "who will I work for" sense, but in the "what work do I want to be doing" sense.

Finally, I want to say thanks, actually, to y'all who read this blog. I've been meaning to say this for a while, because, if I do say so myself, I think those of you who comment here are the best damn commenting group around, anywhere: I have not seen another blog that talks about controversial subjects where the discussion in the comment threads is consistently as respectful, intelligent, and productive as it is here. If you read, but don't read the comment threads, you are really missing out: the posts tend to toss out some kind of polemic, and then it's often the comments where the underlying arguments get really teased out and thought about. This happens when I teach, too, by the way, so I'm sure I get some credit, but I'm not the one writing all the comments, and I have to say that I learn a lot from what y'all have to say in those threads. Those of you who don't comment still show up on my sitemeter stats: the pronounced upward trajectory of my readership in the nine months since I started this thing is extremely gratifying, helps confirm that yes, writing for a general educated intelligent audience is really what I enjoy doing (and do best), and gives me the guts to start trying to do that. And finally, you who do send me the emails and the instant messages, boys and girls alike: the advice, the companionship, the suggestions and links and ideas have been--and I sincerely hope will continue to be--really really helpful as I (hopefully) keep working on figuring out where in the world I'm going with all this.

(And by the way, nothing I say in this post about men who write me is directed at those of you who write me--the crackpots are just crackpots, and if I've ever written you back without basically telling you to fuck off, you're not one of 'em.)

Update: See also this on the "women in combat" issue.

Discrimination against women in academia

In the previous thread, SFTR leaves this comment:

My current Catholic College experience:

Graduate student health insurance requires that I obtain my medical care from the undergrad student clinic. My doctor is not allowed to talk about birth control options with me. She's not allowed to discuss any pill-related problems. If I'm spotting and having mini strokes, I'm shit out of luck. She doesn't abide by these rules because she's not a moron, but I know that some of the other (male) doctors there do follow these rules.

My doctor is not allowed to give me birth control even though I'm an adult and married and too poor to buy diapers and babyfood. She has made up a medical condition for me requiring birth control as a
treatment so that I can at least get a prescription.

I can not get the pill at the University Pharmacy (which is the only place that accepts my prescription card) even though they think the pill is for my "medical condition". I have to go off campus and pay
full price for my pills.

Ok. This strikes me as an excellent example of discrimination against women in academia. Women graduate students at at least one Catholic university are required to have a health plan that doesn't cover all their medical needs; that denies them information about their health; and--most heinously, from the strict p.o.v. of academic careerism--that implicitly expects married (let us accept, for the sake of argument, the idea that unmarried women *and men* remain abstinent in graduate school, HAHAHAHA) women graduate students to have lots of kids (there's an even playing field) or to remain abstinent until they achieve tenure, or to take on the additional temporal and economic burden of researching, pursuing, and paying for birth control in order to pursue their education and careers.

One of my best friends went to Notre Dame as an undergrad; she told me that the men's dorms provided laundry service, but the women's did not. I don't know if that's still true, but again: an obvious statement by the university that supporting women's intellectual work is not as important as supporting men's, and an obvious undermining of their (women) students.

I'm curious, and I would like to write something about this (and if I do, I will send it somewhere that will pay me, rather than post it on the blog--sorry, but I'll figure out some way of letting people know if it gets published). Please leave me your experiences of educational discrimination, either in comments or via email. Specifics (which schools, which years) would be helpful, in terms of documentation and research, but if you're too anonymous for that, then you can just do as SFTR did, and describe the discrimination without saying exactly where it occured.

Thanks.

More places I don't want to live

This whole idea of job hunting gets easier and easier, the more I pay attention to details like "what kind of medical care might I receive if I were raped in, say, Denver?"*

The protocol of six Catholic hospitals run by Centura calls for rape victims to undergo an ovulation test.

If they have not ovulated, said Centura corporate spokeswoman Dana Berry, doctors tell the victims about emergency contraception and write prescriptions for it if the patient asks.

If, however, the urine test suggests that a rape victim has ovulated, Berry continued, doctors at Centura's Catholic hospitals are not to mention emergency contraception. That means the victim can end up pregnant by her rapist.

That's right. If you are a rape victim, and you've recently ovulated--and are therefore likely to become pregnant--doctors ARE NOT TO MENTION EMERGENCY CONTRACEPTION. Doctors. Not to tell you about your medical options. Deliberately omitting information. Knowing that you probably need it. Because they know you probably need it.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Blessed are the merciful, indeed.



* I realize that the issue is Catholic hospitals, which pretty much suck on women's reproductive stuff in every state of the union. But I needed a lead.

Don't ever email me

Unless you want me to put your most embarrassing stories up on the internets.

(Kidding. I'm pretty discreet with the emails, and do not share them. Unless you are my best friends, in which case, you're screwed.)

Me:

Ok, I am coming out for your graduation. And I'm bringing the boys.

Madame X:

Myrna, Jenny Calendar*-- another reason for you to consider buying tickets. Really consider really buying tickets, I mean.

Myrna:

I can't think about tickets right now. All I can think about is that I just conducted four formal oral exams in my office with my bra on my desk. I'm so embarrassed.

p.s. it was my extra bra for during my workout this afternoon. (thought you might be wondering why my bra was on my desk and not my boobs).

Jenny Calendar:

OK Myrna, you just made me hysterical. That is possibly the funniest thing I've heard all year.

Mme X, I am planning on coming if I can. But I need a specific date, please.

Me:

This is formal notice to all of you that if you tell me things like that in email I WILL put them in the blog.

And yes, Myrna and Jenny, please please please go. I can't afford it. We're going to put the tickets on the credit card that's already almost at $10,000 and that will mean that we can't transfer all of the Ikea debt for the kitchen remodel over from the Ikea card that will start running at 27% interest in May.

But I need a vacation. And we are hoping that as we'll be there a while (the cheapest tickets require those fly dates), we can maybe get some goddamn job interviews lined up.

Myrna:

Callous, callous people! I don't think you understand the situation: new visiting professor of three months, trying desparately to project suave professional intellectual image, conducts oral exams with two boobies protruding from desk. I think Professor Natty, who I have a mild crush on and wears a THREE PIECE SUIT to work every day, saw them when he popped his head in my office to tell me he'd received my article on PORNOGRAPHY. I am about to become an office slut of legendary proportions. Oh wait, become SEEN as an office slut of legendary proportions. Crimey.

Jenny:

"Legendary proportions" being something like 36 C,** as I recall?

* Jenny Calendar is another friend who got pulled in by cc after yesterday's little exchange. Keep up here, people.

** As the unofficial spokeswoman for "it's your tits, spend the money on a bra that fits" (well, me and Johnnie Cochran, r.i.p.) I must say that I sincerely doubt that Myrna is a 36C. I would bet 34 or even 32D. If your bra strap rides up in back, it is TOO BIG. If you spill over the cups OR if the center of the bra does not ride flat against your chest wall, the cups are TOO SMALL. Trust me. Go to a good lingerie department (not Victoria's Secret) and have them measure you. And then try a Wacoal in the proper size (handy little linky over there to the right)--I swear you will thank me.

Dragged from the murk of comments, blinking, into the light of day

An anonymous man--no one knows who he is! It's a mystery!--asks:

"When y'all are talking about depilitating yr cooch/snatch/private area, are you just trimming up to the bikini line? Is this a full-on porn-star Kojack look? A landing strip? I wouldn't think that so many people would go for the complete shave, but the way everyone phrases things, it sounded that way to me."

And Amy, in her inimitable, aggressive way:

"what is this about the bald/shiny thing? I totally don't get it. About 15 years ago I decided this whole shaving business was like Catholicism, lots of busywork so you don't go asking too many questions, and besides I didn't want to do it anymore. So I stopped. Funny thing is I never met a man over the age of about 20 who cared about that stuff. Clean, yes. Good bod, yes. Naked, yes. Hairless, no. Makeup, no. Hot/fashionable clothes, no."

The readers ask, the bitch answers. Ok. Working backwards: as I said in the comments, I doubt most women do the femmey crap because they think men care--at least, not in the sense that Amy's implying. I, myself, went for many years not shaving; and then now I am in a femme phase, and so I do. It's just play, like coloring your hair or something. Clothes are the same, shoes are the same: it isn't "for men," it's for fun. You'll notice, for instance, that Mme X., Myrna Loy and I are getting a lot of girl-bonding mileage out of our girlishness, all by our girly selves.

Now, having said that, I will also point out that it isn't the clothes, or the shaving, or the whatever that men (except for a few assholes) really care about: it's the attitude. No one knows what the hell I look like (well, very few, anyway), but the attitude of giving a damn what one looks like, of enjoying femmey stuff (which culturally we do, collectively, value highly--Audrey Hepburn, anyone?), of confidence in one's own attractiveness is, as we all know, *very* attractive indeed. And I don't even think that's particularly eroticized, or it needn't be: it's part of what I adore about Mme X and Myrna Loy, and doubtless it's part of what they enjoy about me.

So, I suspect, for a lot of feminist femme women, femme play (nice clothes, high maintenance hair removal, shoes, lingerie) is a game of confidence and attractiveness. It takes confidence to not feel shy in body-conscious clothing; it's self-indulgent to have expensive soap; it is--like Catholicism--a soothing ritual to engage in the oblations of the toilette. And if you're busy or whatever, fuck it; you don't shave that morning (or that week), and you wear the ratty underwear b/c you haven't gotten to the laundry or b/c you can't afford to wear the good stuff out so you save it for those, ahem, special occasions. And in *that* sense, it is my experience that men do care, a lot. Not about the things, but about what the things communicate and symbolize. Speaking personally, when I didn't shave my pits, I still got plenty of boy attention, b/c the hairy pits were the same kind of confident body play as the high heels: "here I am, I look good." Also, I actually like the look of hair under a woman's arms--and my girlfriend Mme X, herself as femme as the pseudonym implies, always loved it that I didn't shave, too, which is why she referenced it in that email. But now, I am in a different phase, so I'm doing something different.

On to the nitty gritty: what does my personal cooch look like? It is, of course, as Dr. Evil says, "breathtaking"--but that's not really what we're here to discuss. Let's stay on topic. There are a wide range of twat depilatory possibilities. If you spend the money at a really good salon, they can not only remove hair, they can shape it into amusing little shapes: a star, a question mark, a lightning bolt, etc. I used to go to a salon that had a photo book out front, which was fun to look at while you were waiting for your pedicure (that was in the days before I got into twat trimming myself). Basically, you have two kinds of bikini waxing: the old-fashioned "bikini wax," which, as the name implies, means removing the hair at the edge where leg meets body, the tendony part, so that the hair won't stick out the sides of a bikini. Cleaning up the edges, basically.

Then you have the recent fun trend of the brazil wax. Basically, the idea is to remove pretty much all the hair, and, like the bikini (and like so much hair removal, really), it's dictated by clothing: if you are wearing a thong-style suit, as in Brazil, you do not want hair sticking out around the g-string. Interestingly, of course, this is an acknowledgment that hair is actually *more* sexually significant than bare flesh, I think, but of such fascinating inconsistencies is culture woven. It is like a nubby silk shantung, this culture thing. So paradoxically showing body hair when clothed (even barely) is somewhat obscene; but lacking body hair, when naked, is hot. Go figure.

Anyway, so. When I, personally, talk about hair removal, I am not into the landing strip or the totally bald pudenda. To me, that looks too pre-pubescent and it kinda freaks me out. When I'm going for high-maintenance, that means shaving everything down below, trimming what's up front, and cleaning up the edges, so you end up with a tidier version of what looks like normal adult woman pubic hair from the front when you stand there. Some women do more, and most do less or none. And surely some day this particular fashion fad will have had its day, and we'll all move on to something else. I also don't shave my legs above the knee, by the way, but then I am fairly fair. And lazy. Also btw, a shaved shimmy isn't, in fact, shiny. It's kinda soft and matte-textured. Except for the wet parts, but then, they didn't grow hair in the first place.

Why bother? I'll tell you a story and a secret. (I hope I haven't blogged this story before, but I may have--too lazy to search my own archives, so those of you who've known me a while, congrats! We've finally gotten to the point where you can roll your eyes and go, "god, she's telling that story again." It's all downhill from here folks. Haha, geddit?) The story is, when I was pregnant with Pseudonymous Kid, we decided to have a baby shower. Though it would upset Miss Manners, we threw it ourselves; but, so as not to be terribly greedy shits, it was more of an actual real-type party than a "give us crap, please" occasion (though our friends did, being lovely people, buy cute things for the soon-to-be Pseudonymous Kid). As party favors, we made a mockup fetish mag cover, for an imaginary magazine called "KUNT: Knocked Up' N Totin." A couple of our grad school friends had come up with this idea at some point unrelated to my pregnancy, probably discussing made-up fetish mag names in a bar over drinks, you know how it is.

So we went to the local drag queen shop, which of course sold large-size fetishy lingerie (as they do), and bought some stuff. And then we went all over town trying to find realistic toy guns, which is surprisingly difficult in this day and age, what with small children getting accidentally shot by police and all; we ended up buying realistically-shaped guns in garish colors and then using a permanent black magic marker to "paint" them. We also got a wig, but the wig shots ended up being terribly disturbing, as they looked nothing like me, and we didn't use them. At that time, my real hair style was a fairly severe bob, very dark (not black), and between that and the black vinyly lingerie and the guns, you can sort of imagine the vibe.

So we took a ton of photos, with actual film since we didn't have a digital camera then, in various stages of nudity and with guns. And then Mr. B. dropped them at the Walgreens for developing. When we went to pick them up, I had an attack of nerves and hid in the candy aisle (six months pregnant: ooh! Candy!!) while Mr. B. went to discuss with the young man working the film counter that really, he'd tried his best, but some of these were kinda underexposed, see, and they were a bit grainy. But the other ones, those over there by the window, they turned out nicely. Thank you, said Mr. B., and collected the two rolls of pictures. (Yet another reason why living in a big city is vastly superior to living in a small town, by the way.)

Then we went back and Mr. B. used Power Point (!!!) to do a layout that looked exactly like a fetish magazine cover. Not that either Mr. B. or I know what those look like, you realize, but I mean, exactly what a fetish magazine cover probably looks like. If you look at those things. Which neither of us ever has.

Where was I? Oh yeah, he made the layout. And then we didn't have a good printer, so he went to Kinko's to print it out. He was a little embarrassed, but this was the Kinko's across the street from the drag queen shop where we bought the lingerie in the first place, and, as the Kinko's clerk said, "oh, this is tame." And then we handed them out at the party, and we mailed a few--in plain brown wrappers, natch--to a few long-distance friends, including a college friend of mine whose boyfriend had never met me. When he--the friend--opened the package, there it is: fetishy het porn. And he said he fell down on the floor in the mailroom laughing, while his boyfriend stood there saying "what the hell is that? WHAT IS THAT?"

Years later, when we were in their town and had dinner with them, the (conservative log-cabin type; they went to the goddamn Bush inaguration, if you can believe it) boyfriend said, "oh, that was YOU" and pretended to be all offended. And I smiled smugly and said, "yes, yes it was."

Wait? Weren't we talking about naked pudenda, and now we're sitting having wine with an affluent conservative gay couple in their ridiculously expensive apartment in one of the most ridiculously expensive cities in the world? How did we get here? Oh yes. Well, to do the photo shoot, I had to shave. I figured, I'm happy for my friends to see me pregnant, to see my ass and my tits, but I don't think they really want to see my pubic hair. So, you see, it was out of consideration for them and their Republican boyfriends that I first ventured into the realm of the hairless snatch. And I found out the secret--when you're not all covered with hair, you are actually *more sensitive*. I.e., it's fun that way.

It also helps, of course, that I have found that men who do a little grooming of their own are, well, not to put too fine a point on it, let's just say that hair in the throat has ruined many a good blow job, and lack of hair in the throat is really in everyone's best interest. So there's that too. As my boyfriend once said, "it seems only polite to remove the hair from anything you expect people to put in their mouths." And after all, he's a cook, so he should know.

What was I thinking?

I can't possibly off myself, I have too much reading to do. Assassination Vacation for me, Alexander's Wind-Up Mouse and Chato's Kitchen for PK. Y'all are too kind, really. (Lord, I sound like Blanche DuBois.) No, but, seriously. Thank you, whoever. I hope you won't mind if I start maybe pacing the introduction of the new toys and books to PK: wouldn't want to spoil him. It's much too late to worry about spoiling me, though.

Neither of us is so spoiled, however, that we don't realize we should thank you in person, if you'll tell us who you are.

If suicidal pussyblogging isn't your thing, how about power, ethics, and religion?

Since there was some good discussion of the Ja'eisha Scott case (the little girl arrested in Florida) a few posts back, I figured I'd direct interested parties to the really good continuing posts on the subject over at Hungry Blues: I, II, and III. I really like that blog: it's one of those great examples of someone with a real body of knowledge using that knowledge to flesh out and deepen the discussion of stuff that otherwise would just flit in and out of the news cycle.

Also, my email box turned up this very interesting article that ties together Ratzinger, Frist, Dachau, and the USAF in very clever and interesting ways. Oh yeah, I know: the Nazi thing again. Godwin's law and all that. But seriously, it's a very good piece and the connection is not just hyberbolic metaphor: good, concrete, thought-provoking stuff.

And finally, speaking of the Nazi thing, presumably most people have seen these posts over at Body and Soul on Ratzinger. Jeanne is always excellent, it is true. But a somewhat less prominent blog, Is That Legal?, has also been writing some fantastic stuff on Ratzinger's past: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18. Whew! And no, it's not all just belaboring the mini issue of Ratzinger's personal history: the reason this stuff is important, and interesting, and good, is that it asks big questions about morality, public speech, power, and the law--precisely the kinds of things that inform the crisis we're going through in this country right now.

And finally, a heads up: one of my other posting spaces is going to have a series of posts about the Pope in May. Yours truly will do feminism, of course, but some of the other people posting are, like, actual theology students. I'll remind you when it happens, b/c I think it might be some interesting stuff.

Fabulous group blogging

Well, email excerpts, anyway, from my fabulous grad school girlfriends (this, in answer to John Johnson, is what grad school was mostly good for) who read the blog and email me behind the scenes, by way of cheering me up.

Madame X:

Met B & G at a bar yesterday-- walked in to find B lip-locked with M, the fellow that she brought to Myrna Loy's wedding & who broke up with her a few short weeks afterward-- they still see each other from time to time, apparently, & apparently lip-locks still very much on the menu. He is really rather extremely hot, actually--Anyway, G walked in a while afterward, alleviating my discomfort at being massively third wheel-- M took off & it was the three of us. Think that you were missing? Yes. Think that Myrna Loy was missing? Very much so. We drank to her several times-- though I was very, very sweet & did not dial
her on my cell phone, tempting as that was. I know pretty much exactly what it's like to get those phone calls-- "hey! we're having a glorious time & you're not here! we miss you-- but we're still having fun & you're not & you're doing something else!" so I didn't.

Speaking of which, I'm about to copy her on this email. Hi, Myrna!

There's a basement opium-den kind of thing at this bar that can be rented for $300/night, apparently-- why don't you both come out for my commencement & we'll rent it & have a massively opium-den-like party. So yes, Bitch, move the fuck back before I forget why I should stay here myself-- now that everyone else has either left or is going to.

Ok, have to hop offline & buzz downtown-- I know that you'll be terribly ashamed of me, but after having had laser-hair removal done on my armpits some years ago, I'm having them trained on my bikini-line. The armpits version was some of the best money I've ever spent.

Myrna Loy:

I KNEW it. I feel raw and red just thinking about it.

Me:

I shave my cooch. I'd wax it if I could afford. And I shave my pits
nowadays too--am in a femmy mode. So there ;)

Dude, in all seriousness: if I can get a job, I will move. The problem is overcoming the depression enough to actually do what's needed for that to happen.

Madame X:

Lasering one's cooch is actually cheaper than one might imagine. A little under $250 for the 6 sessions which happen 6-8 weeks apart, so you don't actually have to cough up the money all at once.

Today's cooch lasering was not impossibly painful, but it was no picnic. I think that they did some sort of bait & switch thing-- this time hurt quite a bit more. "Why is this?" I asked. "Oh, we're using a different laser head." "Why can't we use the old one which DIDN'T hurt?" "This one's better-- you want this one."

Ok, I guess I do, but I didn't enjoy it. Thankfully it was done with in under 5 minutes, however. 2 down, 4 to go.

Myrna:

Hmm. I feel like I should report on the state of my snatch, too: it's actually wearing its little bride panties today,* as luck would have it, and has a preference for waxes but where the fuck do you do that in Nowheretown, New Job??? I think I have to pilgrim to Urbanville, but not til the semester's over.

But more importantly than snatch (but only very slightly, of course): Bitch, why depressed?

Me:

Because this place sucks ass and it is snowing today? Some other things. I'll email more later. But real quick, y'all, if I totally hide references to identity, can I excerpt the conversation about depilatory activities for the blog? It's too funny. We're all so clever, it must be shared with the world....

Madame X:

Yes of course you may use whatever you'd like, Bitch. And the part that I didn't tell Myrna-- I was so annoyed by the whole b & switch thing and by the pain, more to the point, that the 300th time the vapid tech referred to my hair "follicUles," or "follikewels," I corrected her.

Myrna:

Bitch, I'm going to be up in your neck of the woods this summer... we should plan to meet somewhere and lunch and catch up and stuff. Will you be in town? Anyway, please do excerpt all you like from my contribution to any conversation about pussy (and any portion thereof) that we might have, ever.

*I gave Myrna "bride panties" as a wedding gift. I shan't describe, you'll just have to imagine.

Florida: the most advanced state in the union

Where apparently turning thirteen-year olds into breeding animals is a-ok!!!

. . . the [ironically named] state Department of Children & Families asked a Palm Beach County juvenile judge Tuesday morning to block the procedure. The state agency argued the 13 1/2-week pregnant girl — described as L.G. in court documents — is too young and immature to make an informed medical decision, according to the ACLU appeal.

Yes! Too young and immature to make an informed medical decision, but not too young and immature to become a mama!

The ACLU is taking the case and pointing out that some shitty state agency cannot overturn a constitutional right. Though, of course, if they drag it through the courts long enough it's a foregone conclusion. Lucky little girl.

So here we go. I *think* this may be the first post-Roe case where a state really truly is blocking someone from having an abortion--not indirectly, with parental consent laws and lack of providers, but just flat-out saying, "you're legally entitled to this, but no, we will not let you have it." That's how arrogant these fuckers have gotten. I predict it's gonna get worse. Margaret Atwood, I'm sorry I ever dissed that book as melodramatic....

And thanks to jointhenoise for emailing me the story.

That's it, I'm takin' the pills

Because why? Because it is GODDAMN SNOWING OUTSIDE. Christ.

No, that's a bitter joke. The pill thing, I mean. The snow is not a joke. Well, it is, metaphorically speaking, but it really is snowing. What. The. Fuck.

Anyway. Thank you all for lovely love, and please don't fret. I am not *really* suicidal: I have no plan, I have no means, I have no intention of getting either, and I do have an intention of seeing my bad psychiatrist and saying, "more meds, please." It is just one of those things: one has bad days, and one goes, "huh, this is one of those incredibly crappy days. Well, shit." And then one waits for the day to be over so the next day will be better. It helps if someone holds your hand and sort of walks you through the day, which someone did. I actually even did a couple of useful things like made a list of the crap I need to add to my cv.

But anyway, so yeah, I just wanted to write down the way those thoughts sort of go through your head, because they do, and they're worth noting. And now I have to go to campus, but I wanted to check in and do the reassurance thing before I toddle off IN THE SNOW to go do cruddy job crud.

Oh, and speaking of cruddy job crud, my mentor emailed me yesterday to say the thing I missed was not a big deal and she was relieved I missed it because it was unexpectedly lame. And then she asked if I wanted to get together with her and some other cool women for a night out, b/c she read through the lines of my "oh my god I suck so bad I can't believe I blew this off, let's just say I am not really on top of things right now" email that maybe I could use that kind of thing. She also suggested getting together to talk about our dreams of freelance writing careers. I dig her.

Could she be reading the blog?

Shower thoughts

If I didn't have a kid, there'd be no reason not to kill myself, really.

That's stupid. If I didn't have a kid, I could quit my job, move into a studio apartment somewhere, get a slacker job, and be just fine.

Clearly getting off meds isn't such a great idea, and my depression isn't purely seasonal.

Oh well, at least this will convince my psychiatrist that I'm serious. When is that appointment again?

God, I am turning into my mother.

I really *would* rather kill myself than turn into my mother.

Ok, well, this just goes to show that whatever cultural or feminist objections I might have to meds, taking them is better than being my mother.

Isn't it interesting how children trap you.

Obviously killing myself would be more damaging to PK than being like my mother. I guess I have to give my mom credit for not killing herself.

I sound like Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I never really liked that book.

I really need to get out of here.

I should write this shit down.

I shouldn't write this shit down, I'll scare people.

Actually, moving into a studio apartment would be difficult because of all the furniture I own.

I can't sell it because it was Grandma's.

Maybe Grandma can set me free if I sell some of it to pay off debt and/or move.

No, I don't ned a new project of inventorying my shit and putting it on ebay. That's just procrastinating.

I need to update my c.v.

The acoutrements of grownup life are really confining.

I can't believe I'm thinking of tossing my career when I just started it and I'm almost forty.

If I hadn't put off everything for ten years while I was in grad school, maybe I'd feel less like a huge failure for thinking about throwing out that ten year investment.

If I hadn't gone to grad school, I could have had three kids by now.

God, that was a stupid decision.

I should probably get something to eat.

Abortion rights bill in congress **today**

Via feministing, last-minute news about House Resolution 747 (H. R. 748), the "Child Interstate Abortion Notification Act," which apparently is being considered in the House of Representatives today. Details here and here and here. You can send an email letter with this form, but phone calls and real letters (as opposed to form letters) are more effective. Please take a minute to contact your representative and senator, because this thing is almost certainly going to make it to the Senate.

Update Be sure to read this post over at Daily Kos, in which Rep. Louise Slaughter tells us how Republicans actually rewrote Democratic amendments to the bill in order to frame the Democrats as defenders of child rapists. Yes, I am not shitting you.

Maybe I can just get fired

And solve this whole dilemma of whether or not to quit.

I spaced something I'd agreed to do last week. Something my mentor, who I really like, had arranged for me to do as a special privilege. And then, because I haven't checked my email in several days, I also missed an important meeting (that got called at the last minute) on Monday. And of course there are now half a dozen students who want recommendation letters by, like, yesterday but who only emailed me in the last week or so to ask. And another very special thing I got asked to do is due in four days. And I did an interview with the campus paper and they need to do a follow-up interview today, and schedule a picture of me before the stupid thing goes to press on Friday.

Yesterday I spent quite some time drawing up a list of tasks for the summer: major priorities, minor ones, things with deadlines, things without deadlines but that are actually too important to back-burner. Of course, the things that are *my* priorities (job search, writing) are not the priorities of the job I currently have; and the things I "need" to do for the job I currently have only manage to stress me out and get in the way of the things I truly do need to do. So apparently my latest very mature coping strategy is to avoid things and miss deadlines and fuck things up. And then when I do square my shoulders and open my email inbox, voila. More petty deadlines and more evidence of failure and more reason to practice avoidance even more fiercely.

One of the things I am currently avoiding is knowledge of when my next therapy appointment is. I don't remember. I hope I'm not currently missing it or anything.

Great.

Leaving Mayberry

Obviously I got out of smalltownmidwesternville this weekend, since I ended up encountering (gasp!) blackness. God, I gotta get out of this whitebread town before I start thinking black people are all exotic and shit.

1. I picked up The Known World this weekend (yes, I'm late to the game). Wow, what a great book. It's very interesting formally: it combines the kind of sweeping historic panorama and well-populated character list of Tolstoy or Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy (another great novel, by the way, if you haven't read it) with a more modern and kaleidoscopic sense of time and non-linear plotting. The form/content effect is really well-handled: different chapters present different aspects of one long story framed through different characters' viewpoints, which helps give the novel the sense of moral complexity it's been praised for, and the moving around in time draws attention to the problem (and necessity) of history, which is of course a particularly charged issue w/r/t the subject matter of American slavery. When talking about slavery or race, people have a strong tendency to draw very clear lines between "then" and "now," and (for white people in particular, I think) the issues of blame and responsibility become real stumbling blocks to a full understanding of historical continuity and difference. So, for instance, you get the defensive "why am I responsible for what happened 150 years ago?" question, or the well-meaning liberal racism of abstracting the victim/perpetrator roles from their historic context in ways that deny agency to blacks and overascribe it to whites. Jones's novel does a fantastic job of complicating all of this, so that you can see the layers of cause and effect and the ways that people understand their own actions as good or bad in short-sighted ways: noble deeds have damaging consequences, and horrific actions are excused as motivated by good intentions, and so on. An excellent novel, and if (like me) you missed it when it first came out, I recommend getting it now.

2. Flea drew my attention to this story, which she got from Jesus' General. Mamita Mala has a strong post about it, too. Benjamin T. Greenburg--whose blog deserves a much wider readership (I was just recommending to someone the other day)--does a good job of providing the history and statistics needed to move beyond "wow, that's awful" or even the kind of knowing (and outraged) recognition that yes, this kind of thing "happens." In light of my weekend reading, a very interesting--and sad, and sobering, and enraging--story and illustration of the ways that stupid and obvious racism is still explained away by many.

3. Also last weekend, I saw The Mammy Project. It was a very good one-woman show, ostensibly about Nancy Green, the woman who played the original "Aunt Jemima." But Michelle Matlock, whose show it is, brings in her own experiences as an actor (being told that she'll mostly play maids; refusing to play maids; going on a casting call for Aunt Jemima in 2001 (!), being unable to do even a half-decent job of reading her lines) to make the show about performance and identity, shifting and competing ideas of what constitutes "advancement," individualism vs. group loyalty, history, the relationships between black and white women, the significance of images, and the endurance of the mammy role (discussion question: does Oprah's popularity as a warm, nurturing figure who uses her celebrity for good, who distributes money and makes people's wishes come true, who tells us what to read and how to successfully lose weight, who keeps us company during the day, make her a modern-day American mammy? And if so, does that say more about her, or more about us?) The show just ended, but Matlock is trying to get it on the road, especially at universities, so if anyone reading is interested, I highly recommend getting in touch with her (complete name of the play, all one word, including "the" at hotmail dot com): it's really a very excellent and complex piece of work.

Big picture, little skirmish

Big picture: a really great Salon article giving an overview of the various things going on in the sex- and gynophobic cultural wars: "consciense clauses" to allow pharmacists to deny women birth control; lies about the efficacy of condoms in preventing STDs; lies about how birth control actually works; deliberate blurring of the distinction between birth control and abortion; and (though the article doesn't cover it) deliberate falsehoods about what constitutes pregnancy; and so on.

Little skirmish: this very disturbing story about an Arizona pharmacist who, when his governor vetoed one of those "conscience" bullshit laws, wrote a letter to the editor of his local paper suggesting that, hey, if pharmacists just lie about being out of stock on birth control, then "problem solved." NARAL Pro-Choice Arizona is calling on KMart to fire him; I see no reason not to contact KMart to explain that you would like to know whether or not they intend to continue to employ a pharmacy manager who thinks it is okay to lie to customers before you decide whether or not to continue shopping there.

Cross-posted at XX

Pseudonymous Kid learns metaphysics by being sat on and hassled

Pseudonymous Kid: Mama, why is Tyrano a good cook?
Me: Who?
Mr. B: The cook in the Thunderbirds.
Pseudonymous Kid: NO!!! Papa, NOOO!!! You don't answer!!
Me, grabbing Pseudonymous Kid and wrestling him to the ground: PK, don't yell at your papa, or I will have to sit on you!
Pseudonymous Kid: No! Stop!
Me: Stop yelling or I will have to kiss you!
Pseudonymous Kid: Stop! Your kisses are disgusting!
Me: DISGUSTING!?! (mock crying)
Pseudonymous Kid: Your kisses are very sweet, but I am not in the mood for kissing right now.
Me: Okay. (I get off him)
Pseudonymous Kid: So why is Tyrano a good cook?
Me: Who is Tyrano?
Pseudonymous Kid: He is the cook in the Thunderbirds.
Me: Hm. I dunno. Maybe the Connoisseur (aka "Boyfriend") taught him to cook?*
Pseudonymous Kid: No! Because Tyrano is not real! He's a puppet!
Me: Puppets aren't real?
Pseudonymous Kid: Puppets are people made of wood.
Me: And that means they're not real?
Pseudonymous Kid: They're real, but they are not alive. Puppets cannot learn.
Me: Pseudonymous Kid, you are so! smart! Do you mind if I write down what you said?



*Boyfriend Connoisseur is, some of you may remember, an actual real professional chef and restaurateur. PK really wants C. to teach him how to cook. And yes, I know I still owe you a post about PK meeting C. It's on the "to do" list with about fifty other things, including "make to-do list."

When I grow up

I want to be Sarah Vowell. That's my new career goal. I love her. Could I possibly have a career like hers and ditch this academic crap? She's smart, she can communicate smart things and interesting information in a very accessible way, she writes well, and she's funny. Dig this excerpt from an interview in Salon between her and Chris Walla (from Death Cab for Cutie):

CW: My only real memory of Garfield was when I was in the fifth grade I picked up the phone, my parents weren't home, and there was a guy on the line who said I could win a barbecue if I told him when Garfield was assassinated.

SV: Did you know?

CW: I didn't know the date but I knew the year. It was 1881.

SV: Wow!

CW: I don't know how I knew that, but I won a barbecue. It wasn't ever delivered. I think it was some kind of scam. But Garfield has always held a special place in my heart for that tiny, tiny reason.

SV: Well, he means the possibility of barbecues.

CW: The possibility, but not the actuality, of barbecues.

SV: Well, that's a lot like Garfield's presidency. He only got to be president for a few weeks, so he didn't really get the full barbecue, either.

I had a lovely time

Thanks to Nichelle and Lisa for putting together the girl boggers get together. A extra special personal thank you to Lindsay and her partner for giving me a place to stay last night. By the way, y'all, not only is Lindsay smart as hell (as we all knew from reading her blog), she is is also very lovely and sweet and she made me espresso and man! she has a nice place. Lindsay, next time I'm in town, I get to buy you dinner.

I was also thrilled to get to meet Elizabeth, Ianqui, Carolyn (who apparently lied to us all about her real reasons for blogging). Plus I got to be obnoxious and haul out the laptop and show off pictures of Pseudonymous Kid! I am seriously bummed, though, that Geeky Mom didn't come after all. Next time, okay?

I also got to have dinner with a couple of nice boys while I was in town--Scott Lemieux of Lawyers, Guns and Money on Saturday and Mithras on Friday.

AND I outed myself to my cool sister-in-law, who now knows about the blog, and who was (as I really expected her to be) pretty cool on the whole open marriage thing. We had great discussions over breakfast and window-shopping about relationships, expectations, social norms, work stress, and all that kinda stuff. Yay for cool relatives.

So I had a fantastic weekend, and then I came home and the boys were happy to see me, and they made cookies, which I am now going to eat.

Too bad your mama doesn't speak English kid. Tell her adios now.

Lucky Jim links to a story about a very unlucky woman who has been ordered, by a judge, to learn English in order for the judge to hold a hearing about custody of the woman's children.

Yes. Apparently if you can't speak English, you are not a good parent and you and your kids don't deserve equal protection under U.S. law.

How the hell do these idiot judges get on the bench?

Support our troops

No matter what they do. Apparently the soldiers who shot at released hostage Giuliana Sgrena and killed someone who was in the car with her have been--guess--cleared of wrongdoing.

Senior U.S. military officials say it took only about four seconds from the first warning to the fatal shots, but insist the soldiers acted properly under the current rules of engagement. . . . the U.S. military will review its procedures regarding the use of lethal force at checkpoints, but senior military officials say they'll take no action that would put American soldiers at greater risk.

TranslatIon: yes, it's totally ridiculous to expect people to stop on a dime, so sure, lots of innocent civilians will continue to die, but hey, better foreign civilians than US soldiers.

From my email inbox

A reader has forwarded me an email from Allan Cameron, the computer science teacher who sponsored the high school robotics program that produced those four kids who beat MIT, remember? Here's the latest about them.

This has been a busy few weeks for the Carl Hayden Robotics Club. The April Wired article "La Vida Robot" which highlighted four of our students has produced an outpouring of support for the four kids as well as congratulations for Fredi Lajvardi, Sam Alexander and myself. We will see where this all leads.

Right now we are packing for our trip to Atlanta for the FIRST robotics championship. A few weeks ago we competed in Arizona and we were awarded the highest award, the
Chairman's Award:

"The FIRST Robotics Competition is about much more than the mechanics of building a robot or winning a competitive event. It is about the impact FIRST has on those who participate in the program and the impact of FIRST on the community at large. The FIRST mission is to change the way America's young people regard science and technology and to inspire an appreciation for the real-life rewards and career opportunities in these fields.

The Chairman's Award was created to keep the central focus of the FIRST Robotics Competition as our ultimate goal for transforming the culture in ways that will inspire greater levels of respect and honor for science and technology, as well as encourage more of today's youth to become scientists, engineers, and technologists.

The Chairman's Award represents the spirit of FIRST. It honors the team that best represents a model for other teams to emulate and which embodies the goals and purpose of FIRST. It remains the most prestigious team award FIRST presents."

We are departing Phoenix this Wednesday with 13 students and a few chaperones. Josh Davis, the author of the Wired article and friend, will meet us there. I think there will be some other media coverage there also. I will email our experiences when we are in Atlanta.

Speaking of media, we have received quite a few movie offers. I'm thrilled to report Warner Brothers has bought the rights to the ROV story. They plan to make a feature theatrical film. The producer is John Wells (or West Wing, E.R.) The current game around school is who should play everyone. (I think Sean Connery should play me. "Cameron, Allan Cameron". It will take years, but what a surrealistic experience.

For those who have been asking about the four kids: I think they will all get the higher education they wish. They have received over $44,000 in scholarship money to split and many offers of assistance. Most likely they will choose local community colleges and/or Arizona State University. I know they will be successful because they have hundreds (if not thousands) of people encouraging them. Their world has expanded a hundredfold.

A lot of people ask what they can do to help. The article mentions the "Dream Act" (pdf), federal legislation that is introduced every year that allows undocumented children who have been in the U.S for years an graduate from high school and have no criminal record to apply for temporary residency. If they go to college or the military, they can become permanent residents. It will take a lot of people writing to their congressman encouraging them to support the bill. These kids already are Americans. They were brought to the U.S. by their parents; they attended our school, play baseball, join the Scouts and most go to church every week. As young adults they will get married, have children and will be contributing to our society. These are exactly the people we want to belong in our neighborhoods, not drive them away.

This morning, National Public Radio's "Weekend Edition, Saturday" played an interview with us. Susan Stamberg interviewed us and it can be heard here.

We are building our current ROV to compete in the June MATE ROV competition in June. Not only will we be competing against MIT, but aobotics and Artificial Intelligence powerhouse, Carnegie Mellon University will be joining the competition.

I should be sending the next report from Atlanta, GA. Thanks for all your support.

A thought occurred to me on reading this. First, I know I have readers who work at MIT and Carnegie Mellon. Now, for all I know, the reason these kids are choosing Arizona State or community colleges is because they want to stick close to home; but $44,000, while an impressive fundraising effort using paypal, is nowhere near enough to pay for a private college education (let alone four of 'em), so it could be the money thing. Surely some of us who teach at private schools with good engineering programs could alert the admissions committee to this story and say, "hey, should we not recruit these kids?" Get some talented students and reap some good publicity for your institution? If you can, why not? Maybe William H. Macy or Holly Hunter will play you in the movie someday.

Thanks to the reader who sent me the alert, and please continue to forward me any updates you receive on this story.

Not really surprising

But it should be. It should cause shock and outrage that the army's cleared four out of five high-ranking officers of responsibility for Abu Ghraib. Janis Karpinski, who was the woman immediately in charge of the unit that Graner et. al. were assigned to, was reprimanded and relieved of her command. "She has repeatedly said she was made the scapegoat for the failures of superiors." Ya think?

Barring new evidence, the inquiry, by the Army's inspector general, effectively closes the Army's book on whether the highest-ranking officers in Iraq during the Abu Ghraib prison scandal should be held accountable. . .

the Kern-Fay-Jones report, found that at one point General Sanchez approved the use of severe interrogation practices that led indirectly to some of the abuses.

The Schlesinger inquiry last summer also determined that General Sanchez's deputy, Maj. Gen. Walter Wojdakowski, failed to act quickly enough to make urgent requests to higher levels for more troops at the understaffed prison.

But those inquiries were not empowered to impose any punishments; that was left up to the Army.

The new review, by the Army inspector general, Lt. Gen. Stanley E. Green, exonerated General Sanchez and General Wojdakowski of the allegations that were included in one or more of the 10 major investigations over the past year into detainee abuse.

Just a few bad apples.

Pseudonymous Kid can't eat

Me: Pseudonymous Kid, eat your breakfast.
Pseudonymous Kid: I am too excited about all the toys people bought me.
Me: If you don't eat, I will have to tell people, "Pseudonymous Kid is so excited about the toys that he can't eat. Please stop buying him toys." Is that what you want?
Pseudonymous Kid: No!
Me: Then eat your oatmeal.
Pseudonymous Kid (picking at his food): Mama, can you tell me the story of "Whose Mouse are You?"
Me: Yes, I think so.
Pseudonymous Kid: Why?
Me: I remember it from when I was a kid. (Summarizing the story.) Now, eat two more bites.
Pseudonymous Kid: I am too busy thinking about the toys!
Me: I am not going to tell you about them any more if it means you won't eat!
Pseudonymous Kid: But it doesn't matter. Because now my brain will think about them all by itself. (Thinking.) Oh no! What if someone steals them from Boyfriend?
Me: He won't let that happen.
Pseudonymous Kid: What if they come in when he is sleeping?
Me: He will put them under the bed, and if they come in to steal them, he will wake up and GRAB their arm and growl, "Hey! Those toys are for Pseudonymous Kid!"
Pseudonymous Kid: But what if he doesn't wake up?
Me: He will. He's a very light sleeper.
Pseudonymous Kid: Why is he a light sleeper?
Me: That's just the way he is.
Pseudonymous Kid: Are you going to go see Boyfriend on an airplane to get the toys?
Me: No, honey, that's not what this trip is for. I'm going to New York and I will see Auntie A.
Pseudonymous Kid: And then will you get on another plane and go to Boyfriend and get the toys?
Me: No, not this time.
Pseudonymous Kid: Like a dot to dot, only a plane to plane.
Me: Honey, I'll call Boyfriend and see if we can get the toys soon, okay?

BRB

I'm off to NYC for a weekend of hanging out with other blog people, eating good food, hanging with my sister-in-law, museum and play-going (I do hope I can manage to get to see this while I'm there). Shoe shopping is much desired but probably unlikely, given that I actually can't afford it--we deposited $250 today at our new bank, Home Depot, and I look forward to my new, honeydew-colored study. But nonetheless, there will be a weekend of actual urban life.

This all means that, regrettably, I may be too busy actually enjoying myself to bother to blog for the next few days. But there are all those good folks over there on the right hand side of the page to keep you company in my absence, and with any luck I'll have good stories when I get back.

Pseudonymous Kid is very excited

Waking up this morning:

Pseudonymous Kid (groggy): Mama, what time is it?
Me: It's late, you slept in. Maybe 10?
Pseudonymous Kid (angry): No! I hate sleeping in! I want my own clock.
Me: Well, you're in luck. I just checked my blog this morning, and someone bought you a clock.
Pseudonymous Kid: What's a blog?
Me: Well, you know how mama is always writing on the computer? Well, I am writing this thing, called a blog, that anyone who wants to can read. It's sort of like a book or a newspaper, but on the computer. And I write all sorts of stuff on there. And sometimes I write about you. Here, have a look.
Pseudonymous Kid: You write all that?
Me: Yes, that's all me. And people like the things I write, and especially the stories about you. They think you sound like a really neat kid. So, here, let me show you. Do you see this little button over here? If I click on that, it goes to a list of things I want to buy someday. Sometimes people click on it and buy things for me. Here, let me show you. (Clicking quickly past "unpurchased" and over to "purchased items.") See? Mostly people buy me books. But one person who reads what I write suggested I should put toys on the list too, so people can buy things for you, so I did. And here are all the things people have bought you. Here is the clock. See, you will be able to paint it yourself.
Pseudonymous Kid: Can i paint whatever I want on it?
Me: Yes, it will be your clock. And see, it has a little drawer, you can put things in it.
Pseudonymous Kid: Little, tiny things? Like things for mice? Whatever I want?
Me: Yes, exactly. And see, look. Some people have also bought you these books.
Pseudonymous Kid: Books about mice?
Me: Yes, and one about water. See? Here are the covers.
Pseudonymous Kid: Can we read them on the computer?
Me: No, but we can look at some of the pictures. But you'll have to wait until we get the books to really read the whole things. (We did, however, read through all the excerpted pages.) And look, what is this?
Pseudonymous Kid: Playmobil pirates!
Me: Yes. And look, it has a cannon. And a trap door.
Pseudonymous Kid: How does it work?
Me: I think you press this button for the cannon. And pull this lever for the trap door.
Pseudonymous Kid: What is that?
Me: That's playdoh. Someone bought you that, too.
Pseudonymous Kid: Look at how much playdoh! And what are those?
Me: Those are tools for cutting the playdoh and stuff.
Pseudonymous Kid: That's good, because all my playdoh is all dried out.
Me: Yes, I know. We'll have to try to remember to put the lids on the new playdoh, ok?
Pseudonymous Kid: Yes, okay. When do I get all these toys?
Me: Well, they're all being shipped to the boyfriend's house, and he will send them to us soon.
Pseudonymous Kid: Can I go with you next time you visit, and get all my toys from boyfriend?
Me: Well . . . we'll see. If not, he can send them here.
Pseudonymous Kid: Wow! I am so excited!* People bought all these toys for me?
Me: Yes, they did. Because they think you're a pretty neat kid, I guess.
Pseudonymous Kid: Can I write them letters?
Me: Yes. If they tell me what their addresses are.


*Yes, I swear he really did say that. I almost left it out, b/c it sounds so stilted, but it is, in fact, the kind of thing he says.

Shorter David Brooks

We boys would sure get along better if the women would just shut up. And if a few of 'em die, even better.

Via mis amigas ding and Orange, who emailed me.

Are we there yet?

Are the workings of the Bush administration close enough to fascism yet to start worrying people? Do the folks who voted for him on the grounds that terrorism was the most important issue feel safer now? Are they, in fact, safer, or are they dangerously ignorant dupes?

US Eliminates Annual Terrorism Report.

The State Department decided to stop publishing an annual report on international terrorism after the government's top terrorism center concluded that there were more terrorist attacks in 2004 than in any year since 1985, the first year the publication covered.

A senior State Department official, speaking on condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of the issue, confirmed that the publication was eliminated, but said the allegation that it was done for political reasons was "categorically untrue."

The intelligence officials requested anonymity because the information is classified and because, they said, they feared White House retribution.

The senior State Department official said a report on global terrorism would be sent this year to lawmakers and made available to the public in place of "Patterns of Global Terrorism," but that it wouldn't contain statistical data.

The U.S. intelligence officials said Rice's office eliminated "Patterns of Global Terrorism" when the counterterrorism center declined to use alternative methodology that would have reported fewer significant attacks.

When the data doesn't fit the propaganda, force people to cook the books. If they don't or can't, then just bury the data.

What were the numbers?

625 "significant" terrorist attacks in 2004. That compared with 175 such incidents in 2003, the highest number in two decades.

The statistics didn't include attacks on U.S. troops in Iraq, which President Bush as recently as Tuesday called "a central front in the war on terror."

Babies in church!

I was gonna put this into the comments section of the last entry, but thought better of it, so here it is on the main page. It's my favorite ranty "those darn Catholics" rant, even though I really actually liked the parish I was in when it happened. But it's a good story.

When Pseudonymous Kid was a babe in arms, we went to Easter Vigil mass. Now, the Catholics reading know what this means: It's an incredibly long mass, a bigger deal liturgically than midnight mass on Christmas eve. The city we were in had a fantastic Cathedral, very progressive parish politically, but very conservative aesthetically, which is a lovely combination imho. Also the priest there had an incredible knack for sermonizing about complex and sophisticated things in language simple enough for a child to understand. So we liked that place and I liked going to mass there.

Anyway, the point is, there we were at the Easter vigil, and PK was about six months old. He was a pretty big baby (10 lbs 1 oz when he was born). And he was still nursing. Of course, it being a big mass, we ended up standing. I dunno if PK started to fuss, or what, but anyway he needed to be nursed so I pulled one tit out of the top of my blouse (I recommend this nursing method far above the lifting the shirt technique, by the way; easier to access, more matter of fact, and you can better see what the baby's doing) and applied baby.

And then I proceeded to STAND throughout the entire mass, nursing a 20-lb baby. (I even carried him up to communion, still nursing.) Because no one would offer me a seat.

Anyone who has a moment of "ewww" at this can bite my other tit. It's a CATHOLIC CHURCH for god's sake, people. We venerate Mary. If there is any place in the world where a woman oughta be able to nurse, and where people ought to damn well understand that nursing an infant is a little bit easier if you're sitting down, it's in a Catholic church.

Jesus.

Do you trust women, part 2

Via Orange Tangerine, a good brief essay about women's reaction to the new Pope.' One passage stood out to me as a very cogent summary of why "not trusting women's moral judgment" is not just a subset of "not trusting people's moral judgment." Remember during the election, when a lot of people, from a Cardinal to some archbishops and bishops to influential and regular laypeople made a stink about denying communion to "pro-choice politicians" (but obviously, they mostly meant John Kerry)? Well then,

. . . then let's talk about the leaders of the church and the moral issues they chose to emphasize. Just like abortion, Pope John Paul II opposed the war in Iraq. Which cardinals or bishops threatened to deny communion to political candidates who supported that war?

None.

Which church leaders considered denying communion to Catholic politicians who supported capital punishment, which the pope also condemned?

None.

Which cardinal or bishop openly questioned why Cardinal Bernard Law should remain a prince of the church in good standing after his horrifying failure to protect young men and boys under his care from predator priests whom he lied about protecting?

None a single one.

In other words, this issue--this issue where women have to exercise their moral judgment--is far, far more important than almost any other moral issue. No, not everyone is Catholic. But it's a very illustrative example, and it happens in non-Catholic contexts as well. People make decisions we disagree with every day. But we don't sit around and argue over those choices with nearly the intensity and constancy that we do over this abortion thing. Hmmm.

And that is why I say, yes, it is very much about distrusting women, specifically.

The meaning of life

I am in love with someone I have never met. Specifically, this guy in JM's critical theory (?) American Novel class.

That is all I ask of my students and people in the world at large. A recognition "that there are entire different groups of people that read things differently than I do."

That is all I am saying about abortion, feminism, teaching, whatever. Recognize that other people read things differently than you do. And be okay with that.

Follow up on Summers' latest

I can't be bothered with this ongoing Summers thing, except to say that okay, good, maybe the public smackdown will make the man feel he has to be accountable on the question of women and tenure. But Sean Carroll, who actually does work in the hard sciences and he's a man, and he's a pretty sound feminist, has more stamina than I do, and has a good post about Summers's remarks last week. If you missed them, all of Sean's posts on the subject have been great. Start here, then this, followed by this and this. Good reading, good evidence, good science, good analysis.

Pissy

Email exchange today (summarized and mildly fictionalized, to protect my ass, but basically accurate in the important particulars):

Graduate Secretary: Dear Professor B., I am writing to ask if you have ever received a paper from graduate student X, who took an incomplete in your class last semester. The reason I am writing is because she dropped out of the program in January, but she has just turned in a paper for another incomplete with Professor Y, and I am wondering if she has done the same with you.

Me: What?!? No, I never got anything. Also, I am was on X's exam committee, and I have been sending X emails asking her where are her exam lists. I guess that would explain why I never heard back from her.

Me, to Hooker Boots: Guess what. You know X, whose exam committee we're on? Apparently she dropped out in January. Woulda been nice to know that, huh? But at least we don't have to keep worrying about the fact that she's way behind on scheduling her exams.

Hooker Boots: WHAT! For the past few months she's been on my list of annoying issues to resolve and she's been gone the whole time! Since January!!! Nice. Really nice. Breathe..... I'm over it. Whoo-hoo!

Me: Yeah, that was my reaction too.

Not enough horrible essays to read?

Then toddle on over to Ben's site and read the entries in the Bad Student Writing contest. The nice part is, you don't have to grade 'em--they're all F papers--so you can just laugh and then vote for which one's worst. It's like a little bit of vindictive wish-fulfillment on a sunny spring Tuesday. How often can you just go ahead and say, "this is the shittiest paper of the lot"?

Then they came for the suicidal teenage girls

But I was not a suicidal teenage girl, so I said nothing.

Check out this story. From what I can tell, it's been picked up by bookofdays, Body and Soul, and the Heretik, although the story is now over a week old.

Here's the synopsis. Two sixteen-year old girls, both undocumented, were arrested almost a month ago and are being held in detention. Officially, on immigration charges, but apparently what originally brought them to the notice of authorities was suspicion that they might be terrorists (though they are not charged with this). Based on the fact that they are (1) suicidal; and (2) Muslim. One girl's father has also been arrested, for overstaying his visa. The other girl's family apparently had gone to the police, feeling that their daughter was defying their authority, but then withdrew the complaint. Nonetheless, the police searched her room--without a warrant--and found some writing saying that she was suicidal.

You can get more updated news stories here, where you can continue to follow the situation and, if you are so inclined, donate to a fund to help the families with their legal expenses.

America. Land of the free. Unless you're a suicidal teenage girl.

Cross-posted at XX

Update: I pulled this up from comments to put it on the main page:

1) LETTER OF SUPPORT: Send in your organizational letter of support immediately! Sample letter of support is attached. Send/Contact Kavitha at DRUM - kavitha@drumnation.org, (718 ) 205-3036 for more info. DRUM is collecting all letters of support and fwd to lawyer for the hearing to demand her release!

2) SAVE THE DATE -- 5/11 -- GET ON THE BUS: As of now, the Bangladeshi woman's bond hearing is scheduled for WEDS. MAY 11th at York Courthouse. CAIR-Philadelphia office is getting a bus and mobilizing community members to support and put further pressure! Contact Adeeba at CAIR-Phila (215) 592-0509, aalzaman@gmail.com to reserve seats now!

3) Contributions: Both families are in dire need for financial support for housing, legal expenses, travel, etc. ie - The Bangladeshi family has gone into hiding due to surveillances and threats.

To contribute to the fund, you can mail checks written to:
Emergency Family Fund / CAIR NY
C/o 9-11 relief program / Adem Carroll, ICNA
166-26 89th Avenue
Jamaica, NY, 11432
Donations are tax exempt.

If you would like to direct your contribution to A (Guinean woman) and T (Bangladeshi woman) and their families, please write that on your check. Otherwise, surplus donations to the fund willbe used for the Emergency Family Fund for detainee families more generally. For more information, please contact Brother Adem at 718-658-7028.

Thank you

To whoever spent their hard-earned money on On Bullshit and/or The Story of Jane. I've wanted to read both of those for a very long time. Thank you. I can hardly wait to get my hands on 'em.

Will you drop me an email so I know who you are?

Dear Fornicating Harlot

How could the possible pregnancies of adulterers, fornicators, monogamous heterosexual married couples, and rape victims be anything but a joyous occasion and source of future cheap Walmart labor?

Via green gabbro, who alerts us to get a copy of the letter, explaining why Wal-Mart does not give a rat's ass about its women customers, in the "original Wal-Martese" by signing this petition.

Sorry for wasting your time

Technology in the Modern Era

For many millennia, man has tried to create ways to measure time. Time passes so quickly, sometimes but then at other times it can seem very slow. The experience of being in love, when time becomes almost meaningless, is one that everyone knows, so that time is a very confusing thing. Nonetheless, one thing we all have in common is the need to tell time, for without time, time would flow together like rivers, and we would be unable to count our days. So time is necessary to us all, but at the same time, it can be very confusing.

This is why the invention of the computer-based calendar is so important. For the first time ever, we can now keep track of our time and help others keep track of time, too. Paper calendars allow a person to keep track of their own schedule, but you cannot share that with others. Also, you cannot carry a wall calendar with you. With the advent of modern computer software, however, you can carry both a personal computer, or PDA, with you, but you can also sync it to a bigger computer, and you can share your schedule online. This means that your friends, family, boss, or whoever can then access your schedule, and it makes organizing time much easier for everyone. Imagine a family with three children. All of them have many activities to keep track of: soccer games, dates, school activities, and so on. Plus the mother has activities of her own, and so does the father. It can be very hectic and confusing to keep all those schedules straight, but with good computer calendar software, the task is much easier and the family will run more smoothly.

This is why computers are, according to many people, the most important invention of modern times. They also do many other things, like help us write papers, or do complex calculations, or keep in touch with friends through email and other computer-based communication methods, but all of these can be summed up by the one thing they have in common: they help us save time. As they say, time is money, so in conclusion, computers are very important to our modern way of life. They are perhaps one of the most important inventions of the modern era, and it is very hard to imagine a time without them.

This is my entry for Ben's Bad Student Essay Contest. Hurry to enter! There's still time! Today is the deadline!

I am fancy, too!

Not, perhaps, *quite* as fancy as Dr. Crazy, but I just got an email from a publisher soliciting a book proposal! Whoo!

It's not a monograph, so in that sense it's not "fancy" as far as the academic hierarchy feeding chain goes; but in some ways it's more gratifying. They want me to put together an essay collection in connection with the conference panels I recently organized. How cool is that? Let us count the ways.

1) It means my work is timely; this also gives me a boost in terms of proposing the monograph on a subject that's related to what the panel was on;

2) It gives me a chance to work closely with the people who were on my panels, which is great as their work was quite interesting (in fact, I was thinking of trying to put together a collection anyway);

3) It could give me a publication without having to actually write the thing myself (and yes, I know that organizing and editing is also a lot of work);

4) It gives me a chance to work collaboratively, which I really enjoy doing.

Nice stuff, huh?

Uppity women, unite!

Yes, I am going to the NYC girl blogger meetup. Am staying with my sister in law, despite Lindsay's generous offer of free housing, but I sincerely hope to be able to meet / hang out with her and anyone else who's in NYC and interested. Ianqui, I'm looking at you. Sadly, Wardell is out of town, as is Joe D. (who comments here sometimes). But the rest of y'all, drop me a line if you want to get a drink or something. And if you know of secret little places to get fantastic shoes cheap, also drop me a line, please :)

A weekend in NYC! So much to do! I'm gonna go see The Mammy Project on Saturday night, and at some point I will check out the Basquiat exhibit, and, and, and... No sleep 'til Brooklyn, if I can swing it.

And speaking of uppity women, go check out Andrea's awesome manifesta about feminism and women's anger.

Not that I'm angry right now. In fact, I am giddy with anticipation...

Civil bodies

Really good, provocative post over at Culture Kitchen that touches on issues of civility, embodiedness, legislating sex, and torture in ways that I find very thought-provoking. Check it out.

Feminisms

Since the comment thread on the "Do you trust women" post has gotten so long and is now kind of veering off the topic of abortion per se onto the topic of whether or not it is feminist to say that, as men do not get pregnant, their views on the matter are less informed than the views of women; or whether "feminism is about eradicating sexism in favor of equality and civil discourse"; whether feminism is about legal equality or whether it is about recognizing difference; whether feminists think women are just like men or not; and so on, I figured I'd just do a new post so we can start a new thread.

So. What is your feminism about?

Updated: Ok, here is my answer, pulled up from comments by popular demand:

In many ways, I suspect my feminism is fairly bourgeois. I don't want a revolution that doesn't allow me to dance, flirt, and buy shoes. On the other hand, my feminism is fairly absolute in that I will not allow myself (or others) to demonize "radical feminists" or to ignore poor women or women of color, and I object very strongly when I see women fighting with each other over crumbs. I'm sure I do it too, sometimes, but I try very hard not to. My feminism is material in the sense that I believe that the body is irreducible (more and more so, as I age, and more since becoming a mother). I do not believe that there are no differences between men and women; but I believe that what differences there are have been vastly exaggerated by social conditioning, and I reject essentialism. My feminism likes men, and is sympathetic to the ways that they, too, suffer from narrow definitions of gender. My feminism insists on being heard, and will not give up a fight, and will not back down. On the other hand, my feminism deplores unfairness, meanness, and insensitivity. I believe in principles, including the principle that people matter. I believe in forgiveness and second chances, and in teaching, and in learning; and I also believe in having high expectations and firm boundaries. My feminism is polemical but embraces ambiguities. My feminism is aggressive and protective.

Kansas legislation alert

Via feministing, this story about Kansas's Governor Sebelius, who yesterday vetoed a bill that would have imposed additional burdens and restrictions on abortion clinics in Kansas.

The Kansas legislature is likely to try to override the veto, and unless some legislators change their votes, the override will pass.

If you are in Kansas, contact your legislator and make some noise. The bill is HB 2503. I am afraid I can't find a list of which legislators voted for it and which against, but if anyone can, please leave a comment and I will update the post.

Cross-posted at XX

Mbaye Diagne

This is a hell of a story. Just go read it.

Via The Heretik, who also left a link in someone's comments somewhere, but I no longer remember where.

Do you trust women?

Cleis points to an essay by Katha Pollitt that mentions in passing that apparently Naomi Wolf has written an article "calling for the banning of abortion after the first trimester."

Lovely.

Here is the issue. Recently, elsewhere, there was a very long discussion in which someone argued that I had said men had no right to an opinion about abortion, and that men who object to abortion do so only out of a desire to control women. Now, I never said either of those things, but the beliefs I do have could be interpreted that way, by an unsubtle or defensive auditor. Naomi Wolf gives me a good opportunity to explain, precisely because she is a feminist (though not my kind of feminist), and a woman.

The bottom line about abortion is this. Do you trust women to make their own moral judgments? If you are anti-abortion, then no. You do not. You have an absolute moral position that you don't trust anyone to question, and therefore you think that abortion should be illegal. But the second you start making exceptions for rape or incest, you are indicating that your moral position is not absolute. That moral judgment is involved. And that right there is where I start to get angry and frustrated, because unless you have an absolute position that all human life (arguably, all life period, but that isn't the argument I'm engaging with right now) are equally valuable (in which case, no exceptions for the death penalty, and I expect you to agonize over women who die trying to abort, and I also expect you to work your ass off making this a more just world in which women don't have to choose abortions, but this is also not the argument I'm engaging right now), then there is no ground whatsoever for saying that there should be laws or limitations on abortion other than that you do not trust women. I am completely serious about this.

Let me unpack a bit, because I know this sounds polemical, since I am clearly stating a bottom line. When pro-choice feminists like Wolf, or liberal men, or a lot of women, even, say things like, "I'm pro-choice, but I am uncomfortable with... [third-trimester abortion / sex-selection / women who have multiple abortions / women who have abortions for "convenience" / etc.]" then what you are saying is that your discomfort matters more than an individual woman's ability to assess her own circumstances. That you don't think that women who have abortions think through the very questions that you, sitting there in your easy chair, can come up with. That a woman who is contemplating an invasive, expensive, and uncomfortable medical procedure doesn't think it through first. In short, that your judgment is better than hers.

Think about the hubris of that. Your judgment of some hypothetical scenario is more reliable than some woman's judgment about her own, very real, life situation?

And you think that's not sexist? That that doesn't demonstrate, at bottom, a distrust of women? A blindness to their equality? A reluctance to give up control over someone else's decision?

Because if you cannot see that, then I don't care who you are. Male, female, feminist, reactionary asshole. You are acting as a conduit for a social distrust of women so strong that it's almost invisible, that it gets read as "normal." The fact that abortion is even a debate in this country demonstrates that we do not trust women.

-----------------

A second, related point. Pollitt mentions Wolf in the following context:

the public face of organizational feminism is perched atop a power suit and frozen in a deferential smile. Perhaps some childcare? Insurance coverage for contraception? Legal abortion, tragic though it surely is? Or maybe not so much legal abortion--when I ran into Naomi Wolf the other day, she had just finished an article calling for the banning of abortion after the first trimester. Cream and sugar with that abortion ban, sir?

This, I think, is a real problem, and like Pollitt, I've found that Dworkin's death has crystallized a lot of things. As Bitch has gotten bigger--and particularly because a lot of its recent growth has come about because of some pretty pissed-off ranting directed at supposedly well-meaning men--I've started getting more troll behavior, more nasty emails, and I've seen some fair to serious bitch-bashing. This, of course, is the price of fame, even ridiculous bloggy fame. It's not like I didn't know that there were people out there who hate feminism, feminists, children, and so on. And it's not like I didn't know--and this is more important--that there are people out there who don't hate women, but who do feel acutely uncomfortable around "bitchy" women. That is, women who don't ask for permission before speaking; women who don't just state their opinion and then back off to let you decide if you want to hear it or not, but who insist on having their arguments acknowledged; women who feel entitled to be angry; women who want to be heard more than they want to be liked. Hell, one reason this blog is anonymous is because I have a hard time with that myself, sometimes: I can be just as ranty in person, but no, I don't generally take people on to their face. Here, though, I can and do.

Am tempted to duck away from the self-invovlement of that last paragraph (and have deleted a couple of abortive attempts at a self-involved follow-up to it), but no. I was talking not long ago to a friend of mine, a man, who is a great teacher. And he said, "I'm a great teacher." And I said, "wow, no woman would say that," and--though hyperbolic--I think that's largely true. I know that when pseudonymous kid brags, Mr. B. and I usually agree with him: "yes, you are very smart"--and I know that when my sister and I used to brag as children, my mom would say, "showoffs always fall on their ass." And I sure as hell know that when a man talks about his qualifications, people generally listen, and when a woman does, people often think she's being insufferable. So I'll leave that paragraph, but still, I want to make a broader point with it.

In some ways, this Dworkin/anger/bitch thing is, like abortion, a bottom-line issue. How do you react to women's political anger? Is it okay for a woman to have strong opinions as long as she doesn't make anyone uncomfortable? If she sounds angry, does that automatically invalidate what she's saying? Do you think that feminists would be more effective if they were nicer? If there's a disagreement between a woman and a man, do you instinctiively see "his side"? Do you mistake strong convinctions for personal attacks? Do you value civility over fairness? Because if so, then that, too, is a kind of distrust, hubris, a reluctance to cede control.

I am not advocating a free-for-all; and I think that considering the rhetorical effect of one's words matters; and I value good manners as much as anyone. There is an important difference between private anger and public anger, and it is the latter I am talking about. It is important to recognize that the ability to remain "civil" about injustice is a demonstration of power, and, arguably, is itself a kind of violence--more subtle than yelling, and for that reason, far more damaging. Because it is easy to isolate the angry woman, to shun her because of her anger. Many people will not see past the anger, and therefore many people will find it justified; she is, after all, being "unreasonable." After all, just as with abortion, women are not supposed to make people "uncomfortable." But when that happens, that amounts to denying women the right to public speech: the angry woman's anger is taken personally, as an indictment of her character, rather than as a legitimate political expression. (And then, of course, men say things like "women don't feel comfortable arguing.")

If you're pro-choice, you have to give up the right to have a "say" in someone else's choice. If you're pro-feminist, you have to give up the right to expect your personal feelings to be more important than women's public rights--including the right to be unpleasant, if, in her judgement, unpleasantness is called for.

There there, baby

Feeling upset? Sexist remarks gotcha down? Frustrated b/c some prominent guy just made some forehead-slappingly idiotic remark about "women's issues"? Someone key your car? Fight with your partner? Pharmacist steal your birth control prescription? Worried about the destruction of the middle class? Angry that the bankruptcy law passed? Bill Frist pissing you off? Li'l irked about the House of Representatives repealing the estate tax just before your income taxes were due, in the face of massive budget deficits and cuts to human and social services? Losing your mind reading sub-literate student essays and feeling sure that the fact that they still can't write is All Your Fault? Dissed by a friend? CDs stolen? Kids yanking your chain? Stood up yet again? Meds not working for ya? Still worried about all that silly torture stuff? Feeling powerless that the US is still mostly giving lip-service to the crisis in Darfur?

Well, worry no more, my friends. Just click here, and keep on' clicking 'til you feel all your righteous anger melt away in a sea of cuteness.

Via Shrinkette, who hopes the HMOs don't get wind of this.

Now that the taxes are filed

I can actually blog something.

Did everyone see the NYT article on Women in science? Fantastic stuff. Really good article. Some choice exerpts:

1. . . . Women now account for 45 percent to 50 percent of the biology doctorates, and 33 percent of those in chemistry....

So much for the theory that women don't choose science.

2. Female scientists, and senior female professors in general, have been particularly concerned about Harvard's record in the past decade, including the last four years under Dr. Summers, with the number of tenure offers to women on the faculty of arts and sciences dropping to 4 out of 32 last year from 14 out of 41 in the 1999-2000 academic year.

No comment necessary.

3. . . . the findings of numerous studies on sex bias in hiring. For example, men are given longer letters of recommendation than women, and their letters are more focused on relevant credentials. Men and women are more likely to vote to hire a male job applicant than a woman with an identical record. Women applying for a postdoctoral fellowship had to be 2.5 times as productive to receive the same competence score as the average male applicant. When orchestras hold blind auditions, in which they cannot see the musician, 30 percent to 55 percent more women are hired.

So much for those who argue that it's specious to say that women still have to be better than men to be considered equal, or that there's no bias on hiring committees, or that if there is that it privileges women (I have been on hiring committees, and I can tell you, this is not the case--at least not on the committees I was on, where comments about women candidates tended to run along the lines of, "ok, I think we have enough women on the list now.")

4. Professor Hochster said he was not inclined to join the committee until Abigail Stewart, a professor of psychology and women's studies who is leading Michigan's effort, made a presentation on sex bias to his department. "I vastly underestimated the problem," Professor Hochster said. "People tend to think that if there's a problem, it's with a few old-fashioned people with old-fashioned ideas. That's not true. Everybody has unconscious gender bias. It shows up in every study."

Look, a man is saying it! Does it count now?

5. Catherine Drennan, 41, an associate chemistry professor at M.I.T., said she might still be teaching high school chemistry in Iowa, as she used to, were it not for JoAnne Stubbe, a prominent molecular biologist at M.I.T. Professor Drennan was a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Michigan when she first met Professor Stubbe at a chemistry conference. She was stunned, Professor Drennan said, when Professor Stubbe later asked if she would be interested in applying to M.I.T. for a faculty job. "I had never thought of myself as someone that a school like that would be interested in," said Professor Drennan, who arrived at M.I.T. five and a half years ago. She is now being reviewed for tenure, and is expected to receive it.

This gets back to the women in symphony orchestras thing--apparently many of the women who started getting jobs once blind auditions happened were shocked, because they themselves did not think they were as good as the men. So, guys, stop getting defensive when a woman points out sexism--the whole CULTURE is sexist, and we all internalize that crap.

6. Professor Hopkins, who in January walked out of the academic conference where Mr. Summers made his controversial remarks about women in science, said she nearly lost out on a large grant years ago because she had been left out of the information loop by some of her male colleagues. After reading in a newspaper that a biotech company was awarding grants to M.I.T. scientists, she asked a colleague if he knew how to apply for the money, she said. He told her he knew nothing about the grant, she said, though she later learned that he was urging another man in their department to apply for the money. Professor Hopkins said she then went to her dean, who submitted her application to the company, asking for $30,000, The company gave her $8 million, which allowed her to expand her cancer research and led to the discovery of a pair of cancer genes.

In other words, her grant was excellent. But she would never have gotten it if she hadn't applied, and she almost didn't apply b/c she wasn't part of the old boys' network.

7. Princeton's president, Shirley M. Tilghman, a molecular biologist and mother of two, said . . . "to paraphrase the political strategist James Carville, is to recognize, 'It's day care, stupid!'" Princeton, like many other universities, offers one-year tenure extensions for each child and workload relief to new parents, men and women. But Princeton found that men were more likely to take advantage of the tenure extension than women, who were afraid that requesting the extra year would be interpreted as a sign of weakness or lack of confidence. Princeton has recently made the tenure extension automatic so that it will have no value judgment attached to it, Dr. Tilghman said.

In other words, as I've argued before, having "choices" isn't all there is to it. Because smart women are smart enough to "choose" to do things (or not to do things) that will overcome the biases that really do exist--or else, to "choose" not to play the game, because they're smart enough to realize that being twice as good only to be judged half as worthy is a crock of shit.

Academic laugh o' the day

Gzombie, with the help of commenter Ryan, definitively solves two thorny issues at once with a beautiful little bit of Socratic questioning.

Pseudonymous Kid wants mice

Of Pseudonymous Kid's first written words, one was his name; one was "NO," and one was "MOUSE." When he wishes on a star, he wishes for mice. When he blows out candles, he wishes for mice. Once or twice he has cried, with no provocation, because he was thinking so much of how much he wants mice.

He has a little family of toy mice (yes, those exact ones) who he carries around in his pockets. Sometimes he sneaks them to school. They have parties, where he bakes mouse cakes out of play-doh and we blow up balloons and sing "happy birthday" to the mice; they have tea (with a mouse-sized tea set my boyfriend sent me; his mother handpainted it and PK keeps it in the china cupboard so it won't get broken); they carry around little drink umbrellas; they sit in little chairs made from champagne cork cages (also courtesy the boyfriend); they stand on the table and keep PK company when he is eating. But this is not enough. He wants real mice.

But, see, we have a cat. A vicious, murderous, cat. Let me explain. She is twelve, which is well into cat middle age; but the only sign of it is that she finally has a bit of a kitty belly (that slack belly skin they get as they age). This is a cat who can haul live Norway rats up a tree to a third-floor window (Norway rats can weigh up to a pound; my cat weighs, in summer, about 7 1/2 lbs. 8 1/2-9 lbs in winter). I have never known a better hunter: birds are par for the course, but she has also regularly brought home prey as large as gophers and rabbits. Mice are nothing--in fact, last night PK was watching "The Incredibles" and the cat brought in a mouse. I knew she had it because she was making that "mmpf mmpf" noise she makes when her mouth is full. Neither Mr. B. or I said a word, hoping PK wouldn't notice or hear the crunching sounds (luckily he didn't). There is no way on earth that, if PK gets mice (or hamsters, or a guinea pig, or a rabbit) that the cat is not going to end up making very short work of the thing.

Get him a kitten, you say. Or a puppy.

Vicious cat--let's call her Daisy--will not tolerate dogs. Nor other cats. Once we had a stray kitten that hung around for a few days. Our cat would go outside and beat the crap out of him, but he kept coming back. So, okay, we took him in. We locked him in the study for ten days. The entire time, Daisy sat outside the door, growling, reaching her clawed paws under the door every time she heard a noise. A few times we brought the stray out, and Mr. B. would hold him while I held Daisy; once she scratched the crap outta me, the other times she swore words that were not fit for a kitten's ears (nor even mine).

So finally, we figured, this isn't going to work, and we took stray kitten to the no-kill shelter. We left the study door open while we were gone.

When we got back, Daisy had trashed the study. Books and papers were knocked off the desk; the computer keyboard hung by its cord; books were pulled from lower shelves; pictures were knocked off walls. Daisy is a tiny cat, but she is fierce, and she will tolerate no competition.

So what are we to do? Fish are in no way a substitute for mice, and aquariums are expensive (and fish die so easily.) I was thinking of a hedgehog, but apparently they spit all over themselves. Eww. A ferret? The cat goes outside, via cat doors; presumably a ferret could figure that out. Can a cat kill a ferret? A parrot? Expensive, and the opposite problem of fish: the damn thing will live forever (plus, too expensive), and I have no desire to clean up after a bird.

I fear that PK is going to have to remain petless, even though it is heartbreaking. It doesn't help that Daisy barely tolerates him (children are so unpredictable, she thinks). But I can't deal with the cat killing his mice and thereby causing him to grow up into a serial killer who locks women in his basement.

Excuses, excuses

Carla wanted a poem that you can dance to. As I am

1. Grading my way through a pile of essays higher than my head;
2. Frustrated by blogger's continuing bloggeredness (I think I will be moving off blogger soon, btw--have reached maximum fed-uppedness);
3. Upset over personal bullshit that I should have been over long ago, but am not, and therefore having a hard time thinking of anything worth writing about other than a personal petty rant (which may yet go up, you never know);
4. Busily trying to finish this grading so I can go out! Tonight! With my husband! And the couple who are our best! friends! here!

I shall post you a li'l poem you can dance to. Am listening to it as I grade, which is probably slowing me up (it's such a great li'l tune), but hey. If you don't know this guy, seek him out: this song in particular is a great little piece of very contemporary retro-soul. It's witty; it has the real soul sound; it's got the plaintiveness mixed with a refreshingly hilarious li'l knife-in-the-back at the end of the chorus; and, well, just seek it out, okay? You can surely find it online--I did.

Jacksoul, "Still Believe in Love"

She left with all the clothes and all
She walked with all my CDs
She was too small to take the big screen
So she took all my DVDs

I swear the woman went crazy
Cussin' and yelling at me
I tell you nothing's gonna break me
As long as I still believe

That's why you got to know,
I still believe in love
Yeah, you know, I still believe in love
Girl, you know, I still believe in love
Yes I do

Just not with you.

She called me all kinds of names and all
She cussed me right where I stood
She said she no longer loves me
(falsetto) She called me triflin' and no good

I didn't open my mouth at all
There wasn't nothing to say
If it's not written in the stars, girl, no
No, I won't beg you to stay

But you know I'm gonna make it 'cause
I still believe in love
Yeah, you know, I still believe in love
Don't you know I still believe in love,
Yes I do

Just not with you...

You KNOW I have to submit something

Apparently Bitch magazine is looking for submissions. Time to set aside some writing time.

I recently realized that I haven't yet followed up on the cfp for blogging papers at the MLA. I suck. Note to self to email the person requesting papers and see if there's still a chance to get on the panel, or if I have totally blown it.

If you liked America: We stand as one

You'll love America: Fuck Yeah.

No, actually, watch it. Really. I promise. Would I do that to you again? No, really, it's good. It's funny. Trust me. It really is. I'm your friend.

Via email, and I notice Ianqui found it, too.

Food, glorious food

Jo(e), being perfect, has come up with the perfect meme. The perfectest part is, there are no rules, so I'm gonna just pick and choose the questions I like or have actual answers to: if you want all the questions, go get 'em from her.

Favorite food to crunch: Salty snacks. Popcorn. Fritos. Potato chips.
Favorite comfort food: Quesadillas, by the pool, in my paternal grandparents's back yard.
Favorite picnic lunch: Fried chicken, which I learned to do from Mr. B.'s best friend's Kentucky mother. I have had southerners tell me they've never had better. With cucumber salad. Fresh organic strawberries, or perhaps ripe peaches with cream. Crusty poppy seed baguette. Champagne.
Favorite food scene in movie: Tampopo is one long extended excellent food scene, but perhaps the best part is the bit with the raw egg. Or perhaps the shrimp.
Favorite food lyrics: I want a little sugar / In my bowl / Want a little sweetness, down in my soul. / Whatsamatter daddy, come on, save my soul. / I wanna little sugar in my bowl.
Best food smell memory: This isn't mine, but my cat's. The first time we made Thanksgiving dinner, she stalked the kitchen for hours, yowling. When we pulled the turkey out of the oven, she got up on her hind feet and walked across the kitchen, bug-eyed, open-mouthed, out of her mind with joy at the thought that That. Whole. Delicious. Thing. Was. For. Her.
Favorite summer snack: Like Jo(e), I'm gonna go with watermelon. Partly because Pseudonymous Kid loves it so much. When he was two, he could eat half a watermelon all on his own; I would pick up watermelons at the grocery store pretty much every day walking home from the bus and carry them up the hill. Sometimes in the rain, satchel with books over one shoulder, toting him on the other hip. That is how much I love my son.
Food that reminds me of the ocean: Oysters. Which I love. In part for this very reason.
Favorite winter snack: Stilton, walnuts, and pears. With wine.
Most likely to eat for lunch: Whatever crap is available, I'm sorry to say.
Least likely to eat for lunch: Something I'd actually enjoy.
Makes me gag: Gristle. Eggshells in scrambled eggs.
Food tradition I hate: Marshmallow yams.
Saturday night food: Popcorn, in bed, watching a movie on tv.
Favorite wild foods: Salal berries. I learned to identify them on a camping trip as a kid, and never really outgrew my pride at being able to identify them. But for flavor, blackberries in August.
Favorite food for sex play: The first time I visited my boyfriend, I lay on the floor while he lay cool slices of mango on my skin, then fed them to me.
Favorite medicinal food: Cranberry juice.
Food that reflects my heritage: Tamales and pan dulce on Christmas morning.
Food most like me: No idea. Someone else will have to answer this.
Favorite raw food smell: Cilantro. Smells green.

No, no, I beg your pardon. After you.

Dorcasina is under the gross misapprehension that I am a "Better Blogger" than she is. You go read this essay about, among other things, students, religion, and Dworkin, and make up your own mind.

Uppity women

Via feministing, Senators Patty Murray (D-W) and Hillary Clinton (D-NY) are blocking the nomination of Lester Crawford (currently acting commissioner of the FDA) until the FDA makes a decision on whether or not to allow Plan B over the counter. You may recall (sorry, cannot find a link) that Crawford was making vague noises about how he would surely approve otc Plan B once he was nominated, but that there were bureaucratic reasons why it just couldn't go forward until after that. But really, everyone, you can take my word for it. Murray and Clinton have apparently decided that vague promises aren't worth shit, and are forcing him to take a goddamned stand before he gets to come up for a vote. Which is it, Crawford: science, or politics? Let us know before we decide whether or not you get the job, not afterwards.

Further proof that, far from being the death of the Democratic party, feminist politicians are its last goddamn hope. B/c the boys don't seem to be standing up for shit.

Another favorite poem

Love is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial to creation, and
The exponent of breath.

Emily Dickinson

That's my sarcastic voice

More evidence that women opt out of careers in science for reasons that have almost nothing to do with discrimination.

Edited to note the fortuitous appropriateness of today's "Feminist of the Day."

I give good link

Some really interesting stuff about the whole "denial of care" / "pharmacists & physician's rights to refuse medical treatment to women" thing today. Start with my friend ding, who provides some rather suggestive background on Karen Brauer, the woman who is behind that whole "Pharmacists for Life" b.s. I feel a little odd about it, b/c it's taking things she said that were obviously hyperbolic and constructing an ad hominem attack, but the preponderance of evidence does pretty much suggest that she's kind of a sex-obsessed kook, and that is pretty relevant, given what it is she's trying to do.

Then scoot on over here, courtesy of the always excellent Ema: an overview of the whole "denial of treatment" thing with some really good links at the bottom of the page. Excellent information.

And finally, on a different subject, check out this most excellent blog portal, courtesy of my homegirl Shakespeare's Sister. Sorta one-stop surfing for bitchy feminist blogs. She wants suggestions for links, too, so feel free to propose your own damn self or someone else who fits the bill.

And finally, speaking of bitchy feminists, Trish Wilson and Susie Bright both note the passing of Andrea Dworkin. Bright's eulogy is, to say the least, somewhat ambivalent, but this one passage really stood out to me:

Here’s the irony... every single woman who pioneered the sexual revolution, every erotic-feminist-bad-girl-and-proud-of-it-stiletto-shitkicker, was once a freakin’ crazed fan of Andrea Dworkin. We all were. She was the one who got us looking at porn with a critical eye, she made you feel like you could just stomp into the adult bookstore and seize everything for inspection and a bonfire.

Yes. Count me in there. Dworkin's work has been grossly misrepresented in the public imagination (what feminist hasn't?), as many folks have pointed out; even so, agree or disagree, her work was very important, and it's important to note her passing.

Edited to add links to Clancy and Dr. B. (the other Dr. B.), both of whom note Dworkin's death as well.

Since the dawn of time

professors, a bit giddy with the onset of spring and the prospect of summer, have engaged in totally geeky pursuits like having "bad writing" contests.

Here's the basic idea. Write an essay starting with either sentence two or four from this post of Hirta's. Let's say it should be no more than ... two pages. . . .Essays essayed, the enblogged can post it to their blogs and include a link back here [to Ben's] or use the trackback mechanism or make a note in the comments or some such. The disenblogged, or those who don't want to sully the purity of their blogs with this kind of drivel, can email me their entries and I'll post them in some fashion.

Go for it! Not only will it be fun, but one might even be able to use the results as instructional examples in the fall....

Oh fuck it, the truth is, it'll just be geeky academicish humor, because we have no lives. Still, c'mon. It'll be fun.

That's it, I'm emigrating

We Stand as One. Nope, no way, no how. I ain't standing next to you, buddy.

Could this mean that post-9-11 unreflecting pseudo-patriotism has finally jumped the shark?

Link via that damn foreigner, Eurotrash.

Another good poem

Over here. I want so badly to talk about why this poem is so great--the imagery, the sense of longing, the truth of it, the layers of truth in it, the way it so perfectly captures how the object it describes itself embodies the beauty of ambiguity (good, not good), the way it makes the object a synechdoche for writing--which it so often is, and perhaps because of its symbolic relationship to ambiguity....

But it's a poem, and so it ends up saying all those things better than I could. Sigh.

Bwahahaha

My plans for blog domination proceed on apace. Not only do I now occasionally post at XX, but also I've been giving posting privileges over at an odd little site called the Weblog. Mostly boys over there, but congenial. The current post describes my dining room table--exciting stuff!

So now we've got 1. personal, original bitch (here); 2. all-feminism, all-the-time, newsy bitch (XX); and 3. not yet sure, but probably mental masturbation bitch (the Weblog). Pay your money, take your choice.

I really love Becky Hirta

Her posts about her students are so dry, so gently exasperated. Like, for instance, this one, which still makes me giggle even though I've read it several times now.

My contribution to poetry month

Lot's Wife

They say I looked back out of curiosity.
But I could have had other reasons.
I looked back mourning my silver bowl.
Carelessly, while tying my sandal strap.
So I wouldn't have to keep staring at the righteous nape
of my husband Lot's neck.
From the sudden conviction that if I dropped dead
he wouldn't so much as hesitate.
From the disobedience of the meek.
Checking for pursuers.
Struck by the silence, hoping God had changed his mind.
Our two daughters were already vanishing over the hilltop.
I felt age within me. Distance.
The futility of wandering. Torpor.
I looked back setting my bundle down.
I looked back not knowing where to set my foot.
Serpents appeared on my path,
spiders, field mice, baby vultures.
They were neither good nor evil now--every living thing
was simply creeping or hopping along in the mass panic.
I looked back in desolation.
In shame because we had stolen away.
Wanting to cry out, to go home.
Or only when a sudden gust of wind
unbound my hair and lifted up my robe.
It seemed to me that they were watching from the walls of Sodom
and bursting into thunderous laughter again and again.
I looked back in anger.
To savor their terrible fate.
I looked back for all the reasons given above.
I looked back involuntarily.
It was only a rock that turned underfoot, growling at me.
It was a sudden crack that stopped me in my tracks.
A hamster on its hind paws tottered on the edge.
It was then we both glanced back.
No, no. I ran on,
I crept, I flew upward
until darkness fell from the heavens
and with it scorching gravel and dead birds.
I couldn't breathe and spun around and around.
Anyone who saw me must have thought I was dancing.
It's not inconceivable that my eyes were open.
It's possible I fell facing the city.

Wislawa Szymborska, Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

A brief biography of the poet

The book I own; there are many others.

Also cross-posted at XX. In the event of future blogger burnouts, you can probably find me over there.

Women in the Media

Check it out: The Minnesota Women's Press: A Feminist news paper written for, by and about women. Coolness! And this week's issue is all about women in the media, including a nice article about women bloggers that relies primarily on the research of one Ms. Clancy Ratliff, who despite being currently "full of self doubt" and "in the throes of career crisis," is, as far as I can tell, the leading scholar on these issues--while still in grad school, mind.

See also the story on Ms. Musings, where I found out about it.

cross-posted, yesterday, while blogger was @&$!, on XX

My other mom

When I was a little kid, the woman who was my daycare mom was very active in getting home daycare providers licensed in the state. She pushed to make daycare a profession, to publish standards and activities, to establish good ratios of kids to caregivers, to have this traditional "women's work" be taken seriously, and to do it seriously and well. Which she did. I started going to D's at two; my sister, at two weeks. To this day, my sister has D's laugh, and one of my favorite colors is orange (which was always D's favorite color). I must always have the orange tootsie pop.

D. had a son who was killed, at the age of 18, in a car accident on halloween. Hence, every halloween, she would make big, delicious, hand-decorated sugar cookies--pumpkins, witches, kittycats--and give every one of her daycare kids a big plate to take home. As a kid, I didn't know why, but when I grew up, my mother explained that it was her way of marking the date as special to her, and, I think, maybe finding solace in all her "other kids." She did, also, have other children of her own, grown up by then; a son, and a daughter who was still in college when I was going to D's.

D. potty-trained me; she posted our drawings and paintings up on the walls of her living room; I learned to read at her house. She taught us social justice (she and my parents were active in a post-Vatican II, very progressive parish), she was involved in local politics and the transition to integrated schools. We watched no television at her house, unless our parents were late picking us up, and then we could watch a little bit of PBS while she started cooking her dinner. We played outside in her big back yard, where she had a jungle gym and balls and tricycles, and every fall we were allowed to go on the patch of grass around the walnut tree to pick up walnuts and bring them inside for her to bake with. She had a cat named "Kitty White."

Once my sister and I got older and no longer went to D's after school, we still kept in touch and would visit at holidays and sometimes just for fun; she and our parents remained friends and had other friends in common. I went to the high school D. went to, and she would always contribute to our fundraisers. In high school, my sister used to babysit for D's daughter's daughter. Every Christmas I write to D., and she to me; and sometimes at other times, too. When I go home, I always visit. I, and many of the other kids she took care of, are collectively called "D's kids" by her and all the other adults. D. travelled cross-country to attend my wedding; sent me small gifts when I graduated high school and college; sent a congratulatory note when PK was born; always remembers to ask after Mr. B.

Last time I went home, I went over for a visit, and took Pseudonymous Kid. Now, D. is a very old lady; almost blind, from diabetes, and she has a hard time walking. But she showed PK her magnifying glass, and explained why she used it; introduced him to her cats; let him run around outside in her big yard. When we left, he said, "I don't want to go, I like D."--and any parent of a little kid knows that getting a little kid to like a very elderly relation is not always easy. He still remembers her, when I occasionally ask.

Now, just before that visit, my dad's best friend had died. While PK and I were at D's that afternoon, I asked if she had heard about Bob's death. No, she said, she hadn't; how sad. Would you like to go to the funeral? I asked. Well yes, honey, she said, but I don't drive any more; but please do pass on my condolences to his family. I'll take you, I said. Oh, she said, that's a lot of trouble. No trouble at all, I said; I would be happy to. So, the next day, my dad and I went to pick her up and take her to the funeral. She had to lean on my arm the whole way, and I had to whisper to her who was speaking, because she couldn't see, but Bob's family were glad to see her there (small progressive Catholic community, that). We went out to the cemetery, and she said, oh! This is the cemetery where my son is buried. So, after Bob was in the ground, I offered to help her find the grave. Again, she was reluctant to be trouble, but I insisted, so we went looking for it.

And there it was, with only a very small headstone for a marker. My dad pulled weeds while she explained that, when her son was killed, her then-ex husband refused to help pay for the funeral. At that time, recently divorced, she was very poor, and that was all the headstone she could afford. A few years later, he offered to pay for a nicer one, and, she said, "I refused. I told him that the headstone that is there was the one I bought, that he had not helped when I needed help, that what was done was done and that was the way it was going to stay." I can't remember another time when I saw her angry. She said that the space next to the grave was there for her, and mentioned almost as an aside that this was probably the last time she'd come for a visit, because although she has a woman who comes a few times a week to help her run errands, and her other children do visit, she just doesn't think to ask them to take her out to the cemetery.

So that is D., my other mom. She and my grandmother, really, are the sane mother figures in my life. Whenever I see her or write, she thanks me for remembering her, but really, she helped raise me. Which is what good daycare does: it helps raise kids, and do it well. Daycare helped D. keep her house and put her kids through college; and in the process, she ended up helping a lot of other kids end up being successful, too.

It always pleases me, then, to hear good news about daycare providers. Yesterday, 49,000 home childcare providers in Illinois joined a union. It's part of a larger push, nationwide, to organize home care providers--including child care, but also including women (and men, but mostly women) like the ones who took care of my grandmother as long as she could afford to stay in her home--and who now help take care of D. For more information on how this kind of thing works, see here.

Thanks to A., who asked about women blogging economic issues, for the information. More links over at Trish Wilson's.

Wow. Is this thing working again?

How nice to be able to post again. While 'twas down, I also posted a couple things over at XX; do check 'em out.

Now that we're back in swing, let's talk about clothes. First, I notice that Carlos Santana, of all people, has lent his name to a new line of shoes. As I am a big Carlos Santana fan, I was rather hoping that they'd be decent shoes, and in fact, they are (except for the big cork wedgie look, which is not me, although if I lived in Miami, maybe). Link via, who else, the Manolo.

Second, this Salon article about Torrid. I don't know why I read it--the lead (I keep seeing people spell this "lede," but it's "lead," right? The subtitle in a news story? If I'm wrong, let me know), "do clothes for fat girls encourage obesity," is stupid and offensive. But the picture of righteous Ms. Santiago above the headline drew me in, and in the end, despite some annoying bullshit with idiotic people actually speculating on that question, the article for the most part makes the opposite and reasonable case that, in fact, everyone needs clothes that fit and by the way not being made to feel like crap is probably better for your health than constant humiliation. Quel surprise. What's more interesting, however, are some of the responses I've seen to it: Nyarly's got a good one, as does Poundy (which I found out about via Ancrene Wiseass). Poundy's remarks are especially interesting in light of allaboutgeorge's addendum to the recent story about the pay gap between white men and everyone else, including details about the gaps between different ethnicized groups of women.

One of those moments when random blogreading suddenly coalesces into a kind of coherent narrative. I shan't, however, articulate the narrative; instead, I suggest you follow the little trail of linkys and see what you make of it.

Report card: shows improvement getting along with others

Ok, my doc doesn't totally suck. At least, not the ob/gyn I was bitching about last time. Went back to her today to redo the pap ("abnormal cells." Lovely.) and she was just fine, and not at al squirrely. I guess I just startled her last time.

In other news, I also finally saw a real life shrink yesterday; now that the weather hasfinally turned, we're gonna start tapering off the drugs for the summer and see how that goes. Which is cool, as I've been, if anything, a bit hypomanic the last week or two: four hours of sleep a night, jabbering at myself inside my head (can you imagine how annoying it would be to have a running narrative, of the type you read here, going 20 hours out of the day? You see my point), li'l impatient. Plus my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth all the time (fun with Wellbutrin!). So yeah, let's see what happens and if I can make a decision of some sort sans drugs....

And! I have finally figured out how to butter up the administrative person who controls the budget money. As all academics know, administrative support-type people in academe can be kinda intimidating and cranky. Doubtless this is because we faculty types interrupt their jobs with stupid requests and don't know our asses from our elbows, but when it comes time to turn in receipts or ask what the deadline is for applying for travel funding or whatever, and the person you're dealing with rolls their eyes because don't you know that?--um, no, I don't remember, I'm sorry, I sort of live from day to day and deadlines that rollover annually are totally beyond my event horizon--anyway, when that happens, it is unpleasant.

So our funding person who does all that paperwork and doubtless many other things that I know nothing about is kind of like that, and I have been trying for years now! to figure out how to get into a more congenial relationship with her. I've tried asking about the pics of kids and animals at the desk; no dice. Figured out she rides horses and jabbered horsie talk at her (it's been a while, but I used to ride in my distant youth); no real response there, either. General friendly overtures about weather, work hours, beginnings and ends of terms, "oh dear, I'm afraid I'm pestering you, but I really need to know...": none of that goes over.

Today I was turning in some committee-oriented receipts, including restaurant tabs, and she was looking suspiciously over the receipts to make sure I wasn't claiming anything I ought not to be claiming.

Grumpy staffperson: Ceviche? What is that?
Me: Oh, it's a dish that's got fish or maybe shellfish in it, and diced onion and lime juice and cilantro and a few other things, and it's really good and fresh. When I took Important Visitor to Semi-fancy Restaurant for dinner, she had it as an appetizer.
GSP: Sounds kinda good, I like seafood. But I've never had that.
Me (perky): Oh, it's really easy to make--you just chop things up. Would you like a recipe? I have one at home.
GSP: Wow, that would be great! Can you just email it to me?
Me: No problem at all. And hey, if you do any kind of outdoor entertaining now that it's warming up, it's a great dish for that.
GSP: Cool! Thanks. Now, about your expenses, did you know there's a new internal grant for travel funding? You should apply for it. Here, let me look up the deadline for you....


Yes! I have arrived!

Neato

Check out this weird new search engine.

Moms at work--over there

"There," in this case, being Crooked Timber, which ran a five part series about kids and work last week. If you missed it, check it out.

But I recommend, as always, avoiding most of the discussion in comments. I really feel bad for the bloggers over there; how they ended up drawing such an incredible lot of idiotic commenters, I cannot imagine. I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that they often blog about economics, and for some reason, economic issues just bring idiots out of the woodwork.

The comments to that third post, about "Children as Public Goods" are especially bizarre--but then again, the post itself is fairly bizarre. As I said long ago (interestingly, also in response to a CT post), children are not "goods." They are--are you sitting down? They are human beings. Actual members of society. Who, yes, happen to be in a dependent position. Nonetheless, inasmuch as they are members of society, they have a claim on society to help care for them in their dependence so that they do not starve. Now, since they have parents, there are many aspects of their dependence that society needn't bother with: y'all don't have to wipe Pseudonymous Kid's ass, you don't have to give him his bath, you don't have to read him mouse books over and over and over again. You don't have to help him remember to do his "homework" (i.e., finish coloring the pages he didn't finish at school, because he hates not finishing things), or keep track of where the hell his socks are always going off to, or scramble for milk money in the morning when there's no cash in the house.

But yeah, goddamnit, you do have to deal with his presence in public spaces, even if he's acting like a little turd; you do have to recognize that because I have all that other stuff to do, I might be slightly less at the disposal of my employer for a few years (then again, no one should be at the disposal of their employer 24/7 anyway); you do need to deal with the times when I bring him into work because there is work I can't put off and there is no one else who can care for him on that day; and you do, I think, have an obligation to figure out social and economic policies that take into account the fact that this is not only my life, but the life of most adults at some point sooner or later. And in exchange, my friends, I and he have an obligation to deal with you when you have had a shitty day and are being a turd in a public space; or when you have to leave work early to pick up a friend at the airport or because you have opera tickets or a hot date; or when you have to call in sick; or when your illness turns out to be acute and far more expensive than any individual can afford; or when you get old and need to retire, and yadda yadda yadda.

And note this: I am not saying you have to deal with children because someday they will deal with you; or that other people have to deal with you because you have dealt, or will at some point deal with them. I am saying we have to deal with each other because refusing to do so is wrong, anti-social, anti-human. Everything else comes after that.

Now, some of these issues are indeed economic ones. And it is totally cool to talk about the economics of children, the economics of families. It is important to do so, in fact. But boiling kids down to economics is wrong, just like it would be wrong to claim that society is a purely economic institution. There are human needs that are not all about the bottom line, and that is okay, and people should not have to choose between economic survival and their other human needs. Yes, like all people, children do function as economic actors in many ways, but that doesn't make them "goods" or "pets" or "luxury items." When people start talking about kids as if they were things, those people are demonstrating that they, not children, are outside the realm of civilized society.

What kind of society are we where that even needs to be said?

It wasn't me

Who thought Bérubé was Fafblog. That was the other guy. And you'll notice that Michael has a post today that pretty much proves he's not Fafblog. As if there were any doubt. Which there wasn't.

In fact, that post is an excellent discussion of Schaivo, abortion, right-to-life, liberalism, and the moral principle of autonomy. Seriously, go read it, it's the kind of clear, bright, hard argument that shows why Bérubé is, in fact, smarter than the rest of us. Plus the one flash of temper in it is briliant.

Now, if the person who was WRONG will identify him- or herself, we can put this whole ugly incident to rest.

Emma Goldman

That there feminist o' the day over on the right hand side of the page is one of the Bitch's personal feminist heroes. Emma Goldman and Margaret Sanger. (Don't ask why I'm referring to myself in the third person, I have no idea.) Here are some fantastic Emma Goldman resources for your reading pleasure this fine Tuesday Wednesday (oops. ooookay.) afternoon.

1. The Emma Goldman Papers

2. PBS website, affiliated with "The American Experience"

3. Jewish Women's Archive exhibit, associated with Emma Goldman Papers

4. Background to the quote in the Feminist o' day box, which, though famous, is somewhat apocryphal

5. Apparently there's an Emma Goldman clinic for women's health care in Iowa City! Cool. Apparently they have a number of fun fundraisers coming up soon--one at a local paint-your-own-pottery clinic, a dog wash, a silent auction associated with a downtown concert festival, and one of those pledge drives where you agree to donate money for every anti-abortion picketing fool that shows up to hassle them. Plus if you have stuff to consign, they have an account with a local resale store and you can donate your stuff to them. So if you're in or around Iowa City and have spring cleaning, a dirty dog, a kid who enjoys crafty projects, or you like music--or hey, even if you're nowhere near Iowa and want to just donate to a good cause and discourage anti-abortion picketers (and who doesn't want to do that, really?), you might consider joining in.

Vote early, vote often!

A friend and I are having an argument, and I need you all to help prove that I Am Right. I won't tell you which side of the argument I'm on, though, in order not to sway your voting, b/c I know you all would vote against me just out of spite.

Michael Bérubé is Fafblog. Yes, or no?

I have died and gone to heaven

Fox has a new tv show with Pamela Anderson as a bookstore clerk. Three guesses as to the title (no fair clicking before you've tried to guess for yourself).

Even better is that there's a friendster page for the show.

God, I wish I'd thought of this and pitched it to the network myself. No wonder I'm not rich.

Moms in the academy

Via Mother in Law, a really good post about how student parents schedule their courses. It's framed as advice to other student parents, but it's very educational for instructors. What particularly stands out for me is the advice against taking classes with take-home exams and classes that use the socratic method.

It's also interesting to me to think about the case for scheduling afternoon courses for the benfit of student parents rather than instructors with kids. I recently got into a talk with someone about the whole accomodations-for-parents-are-unfair-to-those-who-don't-have-kids thing. She was trying very hard not to sound like she was begruding her colleagues, but it made me think that this is an issue that is just going to need to get some air time before we can all figure out how to deal with it. My position, of course, is that it's an institutional problem if things are so bad that giving person X afternoon classes makes person Y's schedule suck. For what it's worth, by the way, I do teach evening classes, so I'm not talking about me; at the same time, I must point out that my ability to teach evening classes is predicated on the fact that my husband does not work.

It seems to me that one way to get out of this childless women vs. women-with-kids pattern would be to think about the students, many of whom are also women, and many of whom also have kids. Work situations that are difficult for faculty with children are also, therefore, difficult for students with children. Faculty retention, productivity, and morale are strong arguments, as is the simple issue of equity and justice. But if I'm not mistaken, we often allow the inferred understanding that accomodations somehow compromise the institution, rather than strengthening it. Bringing into the argument the question of how institutional cultures that discriminate against women on the faculty also affect women in the classroom* is something we should probably do a lot more of.



*My own personal issue is the lack of changing rooms in campus bathrooms (let alone the lack of on-campus daycare provisions, especially on a drop-in basis). Having taken Pseudonymous Kid to meetings occasionally when he was a babe in arms--when I would nurse him throughout the meeting, which yes, did keep him quiet, so there--not being able to change him anywhere except in the middle of the goddamn hall or on someone's desk was a real problem, precisely the kind of thing that makes people mutter about how babies don't belong at work. Inasmuch as universities are public facilities--public universities are, anyway--it is really rather shocking to realize that they don't provide the changing tables we've all gotten used to seeing in every movie theater or mall bathroom.

Random linkage

PZ Myers has a great post commenting on Paul Krugman's editorial today about that dumbass David Horowitz (to whom I shall not link) and what he has wrought. Now, despite being academic and bitchy, I haven't really said anything about DH on blog because, well, it's so fucking stupid that I can't think of anything worth saying other than "that whole liberal bias in the academy issue is really fucking stupid." Plus other academic types do blog about it, leaving me free to write posts that demonstrate how much I hate men and how victimized I am. (Those last two links are me being ironic, by the way, but if you wanna see the fun mildly trollish activity that's been happening lately, go check 'em out.)

But for the record, the lefty-professors-brainwashing-students meme is really fucking dumb. Hell, we can't even brainwash 'em into doing the reading.

I dream of Jeanie

Oddly--and this may just be a testament to my crappy research skills, in which case feel free to point out my error but don't tell my department--I can't find this news on the NYT or WaPo web sites; only on the LA Times, which is increasingly becoming the paper of choice for a lot of things, imho. Anyway, here it is: Air Force Clears Officers in Cadet Scandal. It was also in the Denver Post, which has been the primary news source on this story under the heading of "local news" (if you're interested, go to their search page and type in "AFA.")

A recap, to jog memories: 146 cases of sexual assault or rape--reported cases only mind, not cases where women (correctly) figured there was no point reporting it, since it would only ruin their career without resulting in any kind of, you know, prosecution--at the AF Academy; a survey that showed that 50-75% of women at the major military academies had experienced sexual harassment of some sort. Here, for the curious, is a link to a recap of the issues that appeared in Air Force Magazine, no less.

Well, apparently the Secretary of the AF thinks that ranking officers aren't responsible for what went on under their command. I like this bit particularly:

He told the newspaper he did not interview anyone connected to the rape cases, including alleged victims, but said, in retrospect, that doing so would have been a reasonable step.

He defended decisions to not discipline former commanders, including Brig. Gen. S. Taco Gilbert III, who was repeatedly accused of discouraging female cadets from pursuing criminal cases.

"Very frankly, I think this whole situation is somewhat despicable," Teets told the Denver Post.

Yeah, buddy, so do I. But probably not for the same reasons.

Oh, and Air Force guys? Ya'll don't get to feel superior to the Navy on account of Tailhook any more. And you owe the women serving alongside you a collective goddamn apology.



Thanks to the Misanthrope over at Toner Mishap for the heads up.

Tempting

The chick bloggers are planning a meetup. In NYC. I like NYC. Plus I can worship at the altar of Lindsay Beyerstein. Hmmm.....

It's an equal playing field. Not.

Bumped up to point out that the
donations link now has a paypal link, so you can donate online, no check needed.

La Vida Robot. In which a group of high school kids from Phoenix, the children of migrant workers, beat a bunch of college kids from MIT in an engineering contest.

They hope to see all four kids go to college before they quit teaching, which means they're likely to keep working for a long time. Since the teenagers are undocumented, they don't qualify for federal loans. And though they've lived in Arizona for an average of 11 years, they would still have to pay out-of-state tuition, which can be as much as three times the in-state cost. They can't afford it.

And they're not alone. Approximately 60,000 undocumented students graduate from US high schools every year. One promising solution, according to Cameron and other advocates for immigrant kids, is the Dream Act, federal legislation that would give in-state tuition and temporary resident status to undocumented students who graduate from a US high school after being enrolled in the States for five years or more. The bill, which was introduced in 2003 and is slated to be resubmitted this spring, aims to give undocumented students a reason to stay in school. If they do, the act promises financial assistance for college. In turn, immigrants would pay taxes and be able to contribute their talents to the US.

Some immigration activists don't see it that way. Ira Mehlman, the Los Angeles-based media director for the Federation for American Immigration Reform, successfully lobbied against the legislation last year. He says it will put citizens and legal immigrants in direct competition for the limited number of seats at state colleges. "What will you say," he asks, "to an American kid who does not get into a state university and whose family cannot afford a private college because that seat and that subsidy have been given to someone who is in the country illegally?"

Oscar wipes the white gypsum dust from his face. It's a hot Tuesday afternoon in Phoenix, and he's hanging sheetrock. He graduated from Carl Hayden last spring, and this is the best work he can find. He enjoys walking into the half-built homes and analyzing the engineering. He thinks it'll keep him sharp until he can save up enough money to study engineering at Arizona State University. It will cost him approximately $50,000 as an out-of-state student. That's a lot of sheet-rocking.

Link to donate money to pay for these four kids to go to college.

Money money money money...

Points awarded to anyone who can guess the origin of the title.

1. Remember the post asking for women's blogs on labor & economic issues? And how sergei--and I laughingly agreed with him--suggested that such a blog might be kinda dull reading? Well, we stand corrected: here's a brand-new baby blog by a woman doctoral student in economics. She's also a competitive kickboxer. So I take it all back, and pray that she won't kick my ass.

Sergei's ass, on the other hand, is his own damn problem.

2. Mouse books and playdoh and pirates, oh my! I wish those of you who are far, far too generous with the ol' wish list would email me; it's mortifying to keep drawing attention to my greed in a public space. Pseudonymous Kid will think he's died and gone to heaven. Thank you so much.

Which reminds me, I should blog on PK meeting the boyfriend recently. Note to self.

3. A bloggy friend recently offered me hosting space; whaddy'all think? Shall I move Bitch off of blogspot and embrace the joy of wordpress? Will it mean that haloscan will stop pretending that comments more than a few weeks old don't exist? (You can find them if you click on "comments," but the numbers indicating how many comments there are are all funky and wrong.) So far, with the exception of $12 annually for the privilege of longer haloscan comments, I've avoided spending money on this blog thing; I suppose a few bucks a month wouldn't harm me (said friend offered hosting for free, but I would be ashamed to take him up on it), plus there's always the tip jar option. Would you all be excited by a new, prettier template? What other advantages are there to a non-blogspot blog?

I am looking to be talked into it.

4. I missed this column, in which Krugman, who usually does economics, comes out with a discussion of the goddamn pharmacists' conscious clauses, and says what needs to be said:

What we need - and we aren't seeing - is a firm stand by moderates against religious extremism. Some people ask, with justification, Where are the Democrats? But an even better question is, Where are the doctors [and pharmacists] fiercely defending their professional integrity?

Amen. We tend to talk about left and right, but where are the folks in the middle? I know two doctors who fiercely defend their professional integrity, and I'm sure there are more. But what about the civilians with a sense of decency? Are we all just partisans now?

Tap, tap, tap. Is this thing on?

Confession

Watching some of the television coverage today of people mourning the Pope's death was quite moving. I am not, myself, upset by it; but there is something kind of profound in the broad and genuine sense of loss that so many people feel. I, myself, like so many other people, find it hard to really decide what I think about JPII. On the one hand, his attitudes about women offended the hell out of me, and I wonder what the long-term effects of that will be. On the other, it is certainly true that politically, in central and eastern Europe, his role was very profound and I think he was on the right side of things, and that being on the right side was an important accomplishment.

I suppose there are worse legacies than to have been both very great, and very badly mistaken. Or maybe it is just about having an important enough role that one's goodness and one's foolishness have worldwide effects. Whether that is a good thing or a very bad one, I am not sure.

Two good posts I saw today on these things: jo(e)'s, and Heretik's (scroll down to "The Heretik comes not to praise the Pope, but to bury him"). I also find the contrast in presentation somehow quite significant. But I don't think I can articulate why.

In which Pseudonymous Kid demonstrates academic anxiety

Pseudonymous kid: Mama, I feel really bad because I didn't finish my homework.
Me: What homework?
Pseudonymous kid: The work we did in school today. I didn't finish it.
Me: Well, honey, that's okay. That's why it's called "homework." Because you can finish it at home.
Pseudonymous kid: No! Because I don't have enough time!
Me: What do you mean?
Pseudonymous kid: I don't like school, because on the days I have school, I don't have enough time to do the other things I need to do.
Me: Like what?
Pseudonymous kid: Like, some of the playing I want to do that's not allowed at school.
Me: Give me an example.
Pseudonymous kid: At school we have to stop playing when play time is over.
Me: I see. So you're upset because you have playing you want to do, but you don't have time to do it on school days?
Pseudonymous kid: Yes!
Me: Hmm. Let me think about this. Maybe we can write it on the calendar, the things you want to do, and then we can make sure to make time for them? Like finishing your homework, or playing the games you want to play.
Pseudonymous kid (getting angry): No! Because there's no time! The day ends too soon!
Me: What do you mean?
Pseudonymous kid: On school days, by the time I get home, then there is not enough time to do all the playing I want before it is bed time. Writing on the calendar will not help.
Me: Ohhhhhh. I see. Hmm. Well, you know, the days are getting longer now. So there will be more sunlight, and it will get dark later. So there will be more time to play.
Pseudonymous kid: No! You don't understand! There is not enough time.
Me: Hmm. Well, honey, let me think about this one, okay? And we can talk about it tomorrow?
Pseudonymous kid: No, no, no. Because I haven't finished my homework.
Me: How about I help you finish it tomorrow? I promise I won't forget.
Pseudonymous kid: Is tomorrow a school day? Do you have to work?
Me: No, I don't work tomorrow. And I will help you remember to do all the things you want to do, okay? Plus, I'll tell you a secret. Soon, my classes will be over, and I won't have to teach any more for the summer. And then I will have more time to help you remember to play.
Pseudonymous kid: Will you be able to teach me?
Me: Yes, honey, I promise. And we will make time to play, too.

(Thanks to whoever splurged on the water book for PK: he'll be very excited, and we will make sure to have time to learn from it *and* play with water. And if you email me with your name and maybe even your address, PK will enjoy sending you a letter or typing you an email; he really gets a kick out of writing to people. And we will both be happy to know who was kind enough to send him a book.)

Move along, nothing to see here

At someone else's behind-the-scenes urging, I have been convinced to add a few things for Pseudymous Kid (whose pseudonym, I notice, is inconsistently capitalized--must figure out what the rule for that is) to the ol' Amazon wish list. If people must spend money they should be socking away for the coming crash, they can perhaps encourage PK's love of mouse stories or firefighters or pirates witih trap doors.

Unless, of course, those of you who are trying to pick me up want to buy me shoes, which is how it's done.

(Joking.)

(Sort of.)

(Ok, I am embarrassed now.)

Open letter to the young man in the bar tonight

I know you had a lot to drink, but really. My girlfriend and I are each old enough to be your mother--well, almost. And no, we do not want to go to a party with you next Friday night. Moreover, we are actually university professors, and for all you know you may be taking one of our classes next semester.

Better luck next time.

This is really getting embarrassing

Cool! Whoever it was that felt moved, for whatever reason, to send me a copy of Defenders of the Text, I find myself oddly excited by the prospect of having it for my summer reading. Because yes, I am an enormous geek.

Thank you very kindly; if you care to drop me a line telling me who you are, it would be nice to know to whom I owe my gratitude.

That's not funny

I was going to write an amusing post called "Goofus and Gallant," contrasting the dumbass excuses some students make with the excellent explanations other students offer in the same circumstances. But on second thought, it wasn't all that funny.

Apparently the pope just died. I *wasn't* going to make a joke about it, because everyone would tell me how callous I am (although, as a Catholic, I feel kind of entitled to joke about the pope). I might've noted the irony of the pope and T.S. dying within two days of each other, but I wasn't even gonna do that. But then, I was just now messaging with Mr. B., and everyone always wants to hear more about Mr. B., right? So you can blame him for this.

Mr. B.: I have to run and go pick up pseudonymous kid at school.
Me: Ok, cool, see you later. Oh, by the way, the radio says the pope just died.
Mr. B.: And there is no heaven. Bet he was shocked.

Please address all hate mail to Mr. B., c/o Bitch Ph.D. Thank you.