you want my contacts, too?!?

Lately, I’ve been fielding calls from recent college grads (or their family friends) for informational interviews and I don’t quite know how to feel about it. Ambivalent about my own professional standing and trajectory, I don’t quite know what insights I’m supposed to give these young people. Sure, I have a solid list of contacts (not as fabulous as some, but it’s still a good one); but informational interviewing should be about more than just a polite way to demand names. I see it as a mini-mentoring opportunity.

And since I’m big on mentoring folks who look like me, I was doubly ambivalent when the two people I spoke with this week didn’t. Their accumulated gender, race and class privilege outweighed any contacts or leads I could give them in a lifetime, though there is a lot to say about life experience.
The thought crossed my mind, “Shit, why should I waste my time and so-called insight on these two when I could be giving them to other women of color?”

But I tamped down my impatience and made the appointments with them – because that’s what you do when you’re a professional. You realize that the job search is a dance and these sorts of interviews are part of the choreography. Also, there was no way I was going to look bad in front of the people who referred them to me. So on Monday, I met with a very nice college grad who’s earnestly interested in women’s advocacy – or law school – and today I met with a guy who’s been interning at our org at a long-term research project.

The recent grad was a dream. She was prepared. She came with a list of orgs she was interested in; she had already met with a couple other advocates I knew and she had a couple of career trajectories in mind by the time she sat down with me. We spent 30 minutes talking about the non profit sector, women’s advocacy and why direct service in Illinois is not likely to be a good bet for the next 10 years. I gave her a few names of other women to reach out to and shook hands with her on the way out. What a nice girl, I thought.

Then I met with PolicyDude. Unprepared, vague about his plans, unable to say what he wanted or why, he made my head hurt.

“PolicyDude,” I said. “Here’s a tip. When someone asks you what you’re interested in, saying ‘social justice and progressive movements’ isn’t going to cut it. It’s too vague. That could mean anything and everything. You need to be specific enough so that I know how best to recommend you to someone.”

He scribbled in his pad.

“So…let me hear it. Give me your 5 minute pitch: why do you want to be in policy and where do you want to end up?”

“Um…is that really necessary?”

Tip Number 2: When you’re asking someone to help you find a job, don’t be bitchy.

“Ok…who has the job now that you envision having?” In the past, I had always found this exercise to be helpful in helping me focus on my own professional ambitions; I thought this would work for him, too. But, no.

He looked at the ceiling. “Um, well….policy think tanks…social movements for women…maybe an international organization…”

Sigh. “What about title? Who has the title you want?”

“Um, well…maybe Director of …policy?” Never let it be said that men don’t dream big.

Tip Number 3: For the love of god, be prepared ... and brief.

We spent an hour trying to eke out what it was he really wanted. Did he want to stay in Chicago or go elsewhere? Did he want to try women’s advocacy or poverty work? Did he want to stay in non profit or had he thought about the private sector? (I gave him the name of a blue chip consulting firm in Chicago with a non profit practice and, swear to god – if he finds a job with them, I will lose my shit.) Which foundations or research orgs was he thinking about? Why was he interested in this work? What did he want to do? How could I refer him to anyone I knew (and foist this disaster on them) when he couldn’t answer any of these basic questions?

Before you chastise me for being a chauvinist bitch, I have to say that this guy is a grownup and should know better – he's in his 30s, for god's sake. He had already done some little work in the field but basically expected me to open my contact list and read off a bunch of names and emails for him.

Tip Number 4: Don’t be so overtly greedy.

When I reviewed his resume, I discovered that this guy had never gone through a traditional job process. Through the kindness of teachers and friends, he’d jumped from this random post to that.

“So you’ve never formally interviewed for any job before? You’ve never had to compete for a job?”

“Not really. Isn’t it …um…all about who you know?” Somehow, he managed to maintain a puzzled look of cluelessness as he said this.

Tip Number 5: Don’t let your white male privilege hit you on your ass on the way out my office.
...
Note: Though I was mentally over this conversation halfway through it, I stuck with it and gave him some tips on being a little more strategic about his interviewing: stop mumbling, rewrite your resume, have your pitch ready and ask your contact for more than who they know. I gave him some homework and we’ll talk again in two weeks. But jesus on the cross – really??

Note: What’s Tip Number 1? Don’t be lazy!

(incidentally, that @princessding twitter feed over there isn't mine. if it is your wont, you can follow me @DeliaChristina)

Unbecoming an Officer

Stanley McChrystal, General, United States Army, has offered his resignation to the Secretary of Defense.

Please, Mr. President; accept it.

General McChrystal made clear in this article he does not understand how to maintain good order among his subordinates. He made clear that he does not appreciate the role of a flag officer in a self-governing, democratic state.

Most significantly, he fails to grasp that a general officer of the United States does not have political standing to criticize the President of the United States if he does not prevail over the enemies of the United States!

Today, I have heard comparisons made to the confrontation between President Truman and General of the Army Douglas MacArthur. This comparison is ignorant. President Truman was, of course, absolutely correct to sack General MacArthur and bring the Army to heel. The difference is, MacArthur's views were buttressed by the fact that he had actually defeated the enemies of the United States in the field. When he complained that he was being denied the means to destroy the enemy, he was taken seriously because he had, in fact, led the forces of the United States against our enemies and destroyed them.

McChrystal has failed to destroy the enemy. He is a whiner and a careerist. His anti-democratic attack on the civil authority must be suppressed and his commission must be terminated.

He serves at the pleasure of the President. I can't imagine the President is pleased with his service.

The Sex Which is Not One; or, Holy Shit This Made Me So Sad

Several days ago, LV opened up a fortune cookie from the previous night's takeout and asked me to read it. The paper read something like, "A person who trusts himself will always have a ready confidant." When I read it aloud to her, I changed the pronoun to "herself."

She looked up and said, "Why doesn't it say 'himself'?

Dear Prudence, You are Fired

I've just read the worst advice column, ever. To the editors of Slate Magazine, I suggest you offer me Prudence's job. Because she is a terrible, terrible advice-giver. If you like, you may hire me, or any other non-asshole person of your choosing. Because Prudence is an asshole.

A reader writes in with a pretty nuanced question:

Dear Prudence,
I have been married for almost a decade to my high-school sweetheart. A few years into my marriage, I had an affair with a colleague. My husband found out, and we decided to work things out and stay together. Then I found out I was pregnant. As hard as it was to know I was carrying another man's child, my husband stood by me, and he's been an amazing father. My question is, do we ever tell our son, now 3 years old, that my husband, his "daddy," isn't his biological father? His biological father has kindly always offered to do whatever I wanted in terms of what I tell my son. I worry constantly about my son growing older and learning of his paternity in some way. Are my husband and I better off with a lie of omission or telling a terrible truth?

Fascinating. First, kudos to all parties involved, because that is awesome. There is a way to make this situation good. But what does Prudence do? She basically says that you should lie to your kid, and hope the kid never finds out:

But as I imagine you one day having the "I have something to tell you" conversation with your son, I wonder what for. Sure, he would be finding out the truth, but it's such an undermining and unnecessary truth that I don't see the point.

WHAT? Excuse me, WHAT?! Dear lord, people. You think that you know what your kids need, but you don't. And you think that telling them some truth is going to undermine everything so much, when if it's never presented as a shameful thing from the very beginning, it doesn't matter. Do you know that my mother was married before she met my dad? I didn't. Until I was twenty-three. Isn't that stupid? Because they kept it a secret for so long and no one could figure out how or when to tell me. A STUPID THING THAT DOESN'T MATTER like someone having been married before (which, of course, to them is super shameful because blah blah blah divorce whatever). Do you know what sucks? Secrets. Do not lie to your kids.

Dear Reader:
You have an opportunity here. A great opportunity. Kids flourish the more loving, stable adults they have in their lives. Don't exclude your friend from your kid's life. Your son may end up benefiting in untold ways from having his biological father around--ways you can't even imagine. You don't know what could happen down the line. You and your husband could divorce. He could die. He could have a falling out with your son for whatever reason. You need to provide your son with all the love he can get. And he is already getting a ton from you, and from your husband. I suspect that his biological father will have some to give as well. This could provide some love security. And your son, like everyone else, needs back-up. Here's what you should do. Bring your friend around. Have him be involved. You can call him "Uncle" Steve or whatever. Tell Uncle Steve you want him to spend time with the kid. As your kid gets older, you can explain to him what's really going on. That parenthood isn't just about biology. I am sure your son will learn about these things, because he will have a friend who is adopted, or a friend who has a stepparent, or a friend with two mommies. And, depending on his development, when he is five or six or seven, you can can explain that there are different kinds of dads, and Dad is the person who has chosen to raise you and live with you and me. Uncle Steve is the person who is related to you by biology. We all love you and we will all be a part of your life.

This is not an undermining truth. This is a strengthening truth. Because your son already has another adult beyond his two parents, not to mention all the relatives, who love him deeply and will be looking out for his well-being. This is good for him. Don't lie to your kid. You don't need to explain everything right now. But don't lie.

Jesus, Prudence, you suck at giving advice.

still on vacation

So, we have this CAT. I might've mentioned. And LV named it Sofia. And fairly quickly, that turned into the cat's being addresses as "So" or "so so: (appropriately enough) or "soey-so." LV, she likes the nicknames.

And that was it for awhile until she watched some cartoon or something where some character greeted another by saying "Hiya dodo." We can't put our fingers on it, but we have a vague memory of hearing that phrase coming from the TV whilst we were in the other room doing something, not parenting clearly. So from there, she started saying "Hiya dodo" to the CAT. Or at least thats what we were hearing. What she was hearing was more like, "Hi ya-dodo." Like, "ya dodo" was Sofia's new name. She explained as much. And from there is quickly turned into, "Yo Do" (rhymes with "mofo") as the new name for the CAT.

[Where is she going with this weird narrative? Is it going to be some interesting and insightful observations about kids and the pliability of signifiers? It is not, I assure you]

So, here we are in this vacation house in a place that is lousy with lizards. Every time we walk outside we see 4 at least. And Vee, she loves them. And one morning, she saw one scamper away really quickly and announced, "It runs like Yo Do!" So then immediately lizards became "Yo Do"s. And every morning she opened the door to look for "yo-do"s. Improper noun, now. And one day we were yo-do spotting and we saw a particularly gorgeous one with a puffed out red neck and I said, "Wow, look how pretty." And she goes, "Oh, it's a yo-pretty!"

From there, lizards were only "yo-pretties." And over the subsequent 48 hours, "yo-pretty" became a term of endearment for mom and dad as well. Within 2.5 days, we were all walking around referring to each other and getting each other's attention with, "Yo-pretty." A day after that, it had been shortened to "yo-prid" (rhymes with "whoa, kid"). And was being used constantly as a generalized noun.

[Seriously, the fuck? Is this what happens to academic brains in the summer?]

Tonight, we went to the home of some distant relatives who live in this town. I've never met them before. They are significantly older. They cooked a lovely meal that we ate on their lovely lanai as we listened to the sounds of the water feature in their pond. And my kid ran around all night yelping about yo-prids in the grass and running up to Mr. V and me, addressing us as yo-prid. And when we go to leave and remind Vee to say her thank you's, she formulates them as, "Thanks, yo-prids!"

[This used to be such a great feminist blog. I wish B would write more. I sympathize, I do.]

And throughout this dinner, I see the weird look the relatives get everytime she says "yo-prid" but I can't bring myself to offer any explanation, because seriously. You just read the explanation. Not only is it long and tedious, it is lame. And it occurs to me as we are leaving that this, the weirdness of inside jokes/language that are basically inscrutable, semiotically completely illegible, but leaving very legible traces of the fact that their weirdness comes from a mutually constituted formative process - a person has no idea *what* any of you are talking about, but is very clear that you have formed this weird language trough your collective weirdness - this is maybe in fact just what family is. A group if weird yo-prids.

[Maybe there's a new post at Jezebel.]

naptime = burning questions*

How does true love work?
How do they get the color into pencils and crayons?
Can you find me a video about that?
How do our eyes get their color?
How will I learn to drive?
What if the oil spill gets to the road by the time I want to drive?
Did you ever have a scientist for a teacher?
Do not all the scientists live in space then? Just most of them?
How many stars can you wish on a night?
Does it have to be the brightest?
Who makes people?
No, I mean who *really* makes them?
No, I mean really.
I mean, it's God, right?
Oh, because God isn't real then?

*3 more days of full on mommyblogging, bitches, before I get lost in the details of house buying, closing, packing, new job, blerg. If you don't like the current content here, hold on to your hats cause it's gonna get wicked more boring soon.

Children are people too

LV, holding somethng behind her back and with a whiny sort of tone: "So, I'll show it to you once you say the magic word. Do you know what the magic word is?"
Mr. V: "Usually it's 'please'."
LV: "This time is starts with fffffff......"
Mr. V: "fffffuckingshowittome."

Check Please!

Nice going, Mr. President! Thanks for grabbing BP by the short hairs. Thanks for making them put Gulf Coast restitution and restoration on the lay-away.

In a half-hour meeting, President Obama got the BP buccaneers to plunk down a $20 billion deposit against liabilty claims. He also squeezed them for $100 million against lost wages.

The GOP has spent weeks throttling a bill to raise oil drillers' liability to $10 billion. The president ran the table on BP and their GOP button men in a thirty minute meeting.

Now that's Large Dee Democracy for ya.

Thanks, President Obama!

So much for feminist parenting

Pseudonymous Kid, on the way to school this morning:

Mama, you're so lucky. Papa has to go to work and I have to go to school, but you get to stay home and do whatever you want.

Natural Resources, Waste and Abuse

We spent a day at the Gulf this weekend, mostly in St. Pete. I hadn't been to this side of the Gulf coast in years and years, and LVee had never been. My god it is so beautiful. And so very quiet in St Pete (but maybe it always is? I don't know what it's usually like as a summer town). It felt like elegy, being in that clear water.

*******

Yesterday we had this plan. It was Mr Vs plan, not mine, so the logistics were poorly considered and lazily implemented. After breakfast we drove north for awhile to go to a state park that has natural springs that flow down into a lovely cool pool of cold freshwater. We stopped and rented some tubes on the way and pulled into the park to find a line of cars and a sign saying the park was filled to capacity; no one else in for 4 hours. I nodded knowingly. LVee whined. Mr. V grumbled. We fiddled with Blackberries and navigation tools and drove to another park 10 minutes away, where tubes would be irrelevant but where there is a natural spring fed pool for swimming. There, we were greeted by another line and a 'overfull' sign. Vee became despondent. Mr. V and I adopted the "goddamnit this is a vacation and we WILL have fun," attitude that has driven so many movies to box-office success.

We returned the tubes (nice guy gave me a refund) and drove around aimlessly for a bit until we came to a canoe rental "operation." Guy tells us how much to rent a canoe, that it will take 4 hours to "canoe" (which he assures us can really just be floating) down the river where a bus will pick us up and bring us back to the car.

Fine. Ok. Canoeing. We have minimal water and sunscreen and no bug spray but THIS WILL BE FUN.

I've never been in a canoe before y'all. I shouldn't have been in front really.

So, there we go. This was not a river one "floats" down. 85% of it was incredibly narrow and full of "s" turns. We had to paddle pretty much the whole time. It took us 5 hours, more or less constantly paddling (someone, in fact, someone who can't use internet resources well enough to plan a trip to a tubing park by finding out that you really have to get there by 9am, seems to think that part of our problem was due to my over-paddling; it's my way). And I don't know how much fun it was for Vee, who went from mentally prepared to tube and swim all morning to sitting in the middle of a canoe and getting snapped at when she jumped around too much lest she capsize us.

However, hooboy the nature. We were 5 feet from 6 foot-long alligators in the side of the river at several points (which made for some *real* nervous getting out to pee in the river moments), right next to grazing deer, gliding by families of turtles, and following blue heron. The water was crystal clear and cold. It was beautiful, even if I can't move my arms today.

********

When we got to the marina, we had to wait for about 30 minutes for the bus with other river-tired canoers. I immediately got out and made my way over to the bathroom area (there hadn't been any certifiably gator-free zones for awhile). A woman was in front of me, sort of trotting, and the guy she had been canoeing with, who was behind me, whistled and said, "Woowhee, look at that! Is that ass mine? Holy shit!" She turned and giggled, and I nearly stepped in my own sick.

5 minutes later, this same guy, a really big guy, started fighting with his kid, maybe 16. He was screaming at this kid, right up in his face, really aggressive and threatening. Everyone stared. The kid tried to talk once in awhile but got shouted down. He had tears, his face was all blotchy. I watched, glad that Vee was off by the water's edge throwing pebbles with her dad and wasn't seeing this. As he got closer and closer to the kid's face I got more enraged. I walked off to an area where I had seen park security standing and explained that a man was being incredibly aggressive and verbally abusive to his kid, it was a real spectacle, I was worried for the kid's safety, etc. The "cop" came over and quietly talked to the douche, who quietly talked back. My sincere hope that he would hit the officer did not pan out. After 5 minutes, the security guy left and the asshole went back to getting in his kid's face, this time more quietly. The boy looked so desperate and so filled with hate and humiliation. I felt stupid and helpless and useless. We all sat on the bus staring at each other and I knew I would spend the rest of the day thinking about what happened when they got home.

**********

I have been circulating an email to some people asking for help thinking of people who might be in a position to take a one-year position at my school to fill my classes for next year (is this you? Email me). One of the emails went to a person who had been on my committee and contained, naturally, an update about why the classes needed filling, where I had taken a new job, when we were moving, etc. This former mentor wrote back, beginning the email with the observation that I would be "wasted" at this new school, but that wanting to have my family together is "understandable." This was, I've no doubt, intended as a compliment.

So, What's New with You?

As per the schedule laid out here, we have embarked on our first 2 weeks in a vacation location. We've been here since Friday. Mr. V is going to work, Little V and I are biking to the park and sweating. Little V watches a lot of TV, I stare blankly at my computer thinking of things I should do.

I did, however, also per that schedule, get a chapter revised and sent out before we left and have written a lot of words for this introduction thing. So I did some shit. The cigarettes? Don't ask. Not just yet.

It's hot enough here to have melted all the good neural links. I just graze over the internet, not really seeing or thinking anything much, just kind of floating like a tar ball. I blame the humidity. And also the home of All the Licensed Characters a Little Girl Loves (Despite Her Mother's Best Efforts), a place whose gravitational pull is so strong that I found myself there on Sunday, taking fucking photos and buying shitty ice cream and putting the kid on a fucking flying carpet ride. You need the perspective as a kid, right? To really be able to marvel at how garish it all seems as an adult?

I'm taking her to the Gulf tomorrow. I'm hoping it makes a bigger impression, given it's as likely that, when she's an adult, it will seem just as different and cheapened as the former Place Which Shall Not Be Named.

Anyway, it all means I don't have much to say about things in the big wide world. I watch videos. Pace Sady, the new Gaga video is weak tea, which is not good for my grand plan to scrap all the stuffy scholarship and go full in on Gaga studies. I think about the Peruvian justice system, where apparently a "crime of passion" (umm, really?), like, say, murdering some woman on the anniversary of when you murdered some other woman, gets you 7 years, but robbing the same woman before you murder her gets you life. I think about how much I hate the HuffPo.

And there you have it. Well, except for this one development I've been coy about but I should just bring you into the circle.

You'll never guess.

I got a job offer. In the town we used to live in and where Mr. V can work full-time and where we've put a house with a wraparound porch under contract.

I've got feelings about this development, internet. Big ones. Some of them are sad ones about leaving a job that I like with coworkers and a chair whom I adore and new friends who have been so good to us. But most the big feelings involve total relief. That we can be still for some time, that I can go to yoga on Tuesday nights again, that I can worry about other ways we are fucking up our kid beyond the missing-daddy-so-much routine, that I will have my partner back around for average nights of the week. I also have some minor nagging feelings about, oh, starting a new job with new classes and new preps and moving, again, and having to pack up and organize despite being in this ridiculous town where I don't live for the next 1.5 weeks and being committed to a vacay with Mr. V's family for the last week of June. I can keep that to a dull roar mostly, but, as I said, not the time to ask about the cigarettes.

So there's my news then. I am happy-feeling. Just wanted you to know.

What It Don't Get I Can't Use

Whilst honoring the Sacred Dead, I drank a lot of beers with my weekend guests. Also, many cups of wine. Pinot Noir from the Williamette Valley, if you're taking notes.

Naturally, we considered the great events and issues of our time, among them the hardships of the current and protracted Great Recession.

There was widespread agreement that the single greatest hardship was the shortage of money.

Several of our number are unemployed and have been unemployed past the 99 week mark, the point at which unemployment compensation ceases. We discussed the chances the Congress would extend eligibilty for unemployment comp, given that half the unemployed have been unemployed for over a year. We rate those chances low.

There were those who missed their jobs, of course. Any group will contain its percentage of fanatics. Waddya gonna do?

Mostly, though, it was the money from the job that was missed. Jobs will come and jobs will go. The need for money, though, that persists through good times and bad.

The discussion turned to the need for music for hard times. Where are the pop songs that capture the spirit of the Great Recession like Billie Holiday captured the spirit of the Great Depression?

So, after a few more beers and a few more cups of Pinot Noir, we started nominating tunes for these times. We only came up with a few as, by this time, we were pretty deep into the Pinot Noir. Still, I offer them for your consideration and invite you to nominate your own recessionary anthems in comments.

For the Love of Money - I mean, if you're going to list songs about money, you better have this one on the list. It better be number one. Plus, is there a more instantly recognizable bass line anywhere? No, there is not.

Everything Going Up - This was my nominee. I love Mel Waiters. He's got a real Old School sensibility. And I'm the Old School Fool.

Money Too Tight to Mention - Nominated by one of my brothers. My favorite English band after the Beatles. And before the Specials. And neck and neck with UB40.

Money Money - Again, how you can have a list of songs about money and not have this on the list? You can't. Plus, the Beatles.

I Need Some Money - I might have linked this in an earlier post. That's cause Eddie Harris is one my favorite artists. Moya's caught the Eddie Harris bug. She nominated this one. And she doesn't even drink wine.

Dad gets another lesson in feminism: on raising strong daughters

Talking with my dad allows me to say some things children and parents normally don't have a chance to say to one another unless one of them is on a deathbed. So today, I told him how his and mom's messages about our bodies basically created some of the issues my sister and I have with intimacy.  And his brain exploded.

"What did you expect, Dad?" I said. "We grew up in a religiously strict Baptist home, we were taught Satan was real, we were going to hell if we touched ourselves, our bodies were dirty, sex was bad and that boys were rapists. So, yeah - we're gonna have some issues with men when we grow up!"

"Ahhh, well. I don't know," he stammered. "I don't know if I agree with all of that. But we can talk about that later."

"Dad, L- and I still talk about how traumatized we were when you told us about sex. It was graphic!"

"I was just trying to protect you from the little knuckleheads down the street!"

"We were eight! Don't tell us about being snatched off the streets, thrown on a dirty mattress in a van and having some little boy put their fingers in our bodies! That was terrifying!" (And nevermind where a little boy would get a van in the first place...)

"I was being a father! We lived in South Central - not some fairy land."

"Well, congratulations, Dad! You told us our bodies were fodder for rapists - who, apparently, lived down the street, went to school with us and walked the sidewalks! Nice going." I said. "We were EIGHT!  Dude, didn't anyone back then read books about child development? Didn't you guys have Good Touch/Bad Touch?"

"What's that mess?"

And so on.

Anyway, things are not going well with my sister's marriage; she has admitted to Dad that she has hated how men look at her, which has prompted Dad to ask where her attitude comes from.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm serious, Delia Christina. I don't understand it."

I tried to explain how oppressive it is growing up a girl where you're taught that Bad Things will happen to you because of what's between your legs, how this reduces a girl to an object and tells her that SHE is the cause for a man's violence and perversion; but he didn't get it, quite. I told him it was like being under surveillance, all the time.

I said, "You raised us to be afraid, not strong. See the difference?"

My sister and I heard the same messages growing up. But I know what made the difference for me. Feminism. If that kind of awakening hadn't happened to me, I would still be struggling with my body, my value, my worth. I know that I've had a reputation for being a ball-busting man-hater, but I'd rather be a so-called man-hater than a woman afraid of her own body and desire.

But this, I think, is the conundrum of raising daughters. If you know that this world is full of violence against women and girls (which it is, in horrible, horrific ways) then how do you prepare your daughter to face it? And then, how do you raise them to face it without making them afraid of themselves, their bodies - how do you raise a daughter to live without shame?

Mothers and fathers raising daughters, I'd love to hear from you on this one.