Blood and Torture

Doctors office BlaughG. 

So, I was called in for some regular procedure blood tests and such and was told that after my blood is taken, I have to drink something and then wait for an hour to get tested again. I thought this whole shindig was going to be over in 20 minutes. I have a BOATload of work to do and NONE of my books or my laptop. Thank God for my iPhone. At least I can bloggit. 

Had to fast since yesterday. I am an inch away from eating the small child across the row from me. 

Ok...school stuff. 

Today I WILL FINISH my final. Mjon called to quash my obsessive over-writing. It was the classic movie bitchslap I needed. 

See below for top movie Bitchslaps if unsure as to what exactly I am talking about:

http://www.ranker.com/list/the-10-greatest-bitch-slaps-in-movie-history/ian-tindell

Anyhow, I am trimming my first section and focusing on important representative shtuff from each country covered. NO MAS on the over-doing it. THANK you, Mjon for the intervention, you are kind and wise. 

It occurred to me today that I should have kept a hard copy of all syllabi I was given for my LSU courses. I am fairly certain that it won't be too arduous a task to get that done but I sure wish I'd had the foresight to start doing that religiously from the beginning. My notes prior to this semester are all over the place. I finally, in my LAST semester, have come up with a note-taking system that serves me well as far as generals prep goes. If only I had started earlier. 

(Just got kicked SO hard from Izzy that my whole abdomen jumped. How CRAZY is that? Baby wants CAKE!)

Ok, must fill out paperwork so they can commence with the bloodletting. How appropriate that they should be torturing and bleeding me on Halloween. 

A Near Miss!!!

Ack! I ALMOST went to bed without blogging! No doubt, I would have made-up with a tardy post tomorrow and I KNOW the world would not have noticed had I missed an entry, but Dr J-Fletch noted the benefits of committing to the discipline of writing a little every day…for one full month. I am not generally flawless with such things. I usually find myself playing catch-up a bit here and there…but I do adore month-long challenges. And there’s just something that makes me happy about not having missed a post yet. With just TWO more required posts and no infractions thus far, it would have gnawed at me had I missed tonight’s entry.

Silly, but…

So, what am I up to today? Chipping away at my LSU To-DO list…

I’ve been working on the “final” for my 17th/18th century course. I seem to have reverted back to some uneasy habits. To be more specific, I am taking FAR too long and making things far too complicated. The assignment, though vague, was to respond in written format to the material covered in the classroom. The task should have taken two hours, the time we would have been allotted for an in-class exam. From what I understand, the response should be roughly 5 pages, double-spaced.

Because we jumped around so much in the class, and because some material was omitted and some material was covered in a hit-and-run manner, I have been unsure as how to approach the assignment.

I finally decided to just follow the syllabus even though the syllabus doesn’t map the track we took in class. I am already well beyond five pages and haven’t gotten a quarter of the way through the syllabus. What I believe I NEED to do, is to be more general. Responding, in detail, to everything on the syllabus would not be possible if I were crafting a written response to the course IN the classroom, with a two-hour limit.

SO…I believe I am going to modify the format and start giving short identification-style descriptions for key practitioners/movements/treatises. Why am I making this difficult for myself when I have so much on my plate? I have two plays to write, grading, class assignments and a boat-load of reading. MUST. EASE. UP.

On another note, I feel shy saying this but I got another nice compliment in my 1020 class this afternoon. After I released everyone, the usual gathering of 5 or 6 random folks gathered to ask questions. I recognized one of the people as having been really engaged and involved in the discussion we’d had. He introduced himself and told me how much he enjoyed the afternoon. Apparently, he has a friend in the class and had heard a lot about me, so he decided to crash the lecture. He was really glowing and specific in his compliments and asked if I’d be teaching the course next semester. It made me smile.

I really hope I can find a class to teach while I am dissertating.
Teaching fuels me.

Voiced

So, each semester, around midterm, I have my 1020 students write a monologue. To get the started, we review a few monologues and talk about structure and purpose and I have them jot a few brainstorming notes about happenings in their lives or the lives of people they know…as fodder for their stories.

I cannot voice strongly enough how very MUCH I love this assignment.

To come entirely clean, I must admit that a portion of my enjoyment of the assignment is entirely selfish. Reading these monologues reminds me of the humanity of the 1020 room. I LOVE teaching. I am not one of those profs who scoffs at the Intro or Appreciation courses. Though I love the intimacy of a small classroom, I don’t need it in order to feel fulfilled. The larger classes are inspiring to me. But it IS easier to lose individuals in the crowd when your class is comprised of 100 or so.

But to sit down with a stack of handwritten monologues…it is SUCH a humbling, intimate experience. I always feel refreshed in my connection to the humans in my room as I read those stories. I understand I risk sounding sappy here, but I am ceaselessly amazed at how well my students write.

I also love listening to the discussion outside the classroom as students in the hall tell each other what they chose to write about. Seems like monologue day is always a day when people speak to each other more than they customarily do.

I LOVE being cognizant of voices. How do I explain this?

I am a HUGE fan of libraries and book stores. When I walk down aisles and scan shelves of books, I am often very aware of the many voices housed within the binding of those books. I imagine these places are full of all the voices speaking at once and suddenly the room sings with every human need.

In a way, the monologues remind me of this. All these people who sit for an hour or so every Tuesday and Thursday in my classroom contain such brave, funny, heartbreaking and powerful stories. And through the course of this assignment, they have VOICES beyond the give and take of our normal classroom discussion.

How LUCKY those of us are who are able to teach within a discipline that gives voice to the human condition.

Jumping Borders

Border crossing seems to be among the hot topics of this scholars’ era I have inherited. From Cyber-Vato to roboticized humans to the subjects of Monday’s reading assignments, the present-day Caminata Nocturna and the Chop Suey Circuit of the mid-20^th century. We seem fascinated by notions such as creating races through the creation of spaces, we are on the lookout for instances of assimilation in tension with cultural pride, we like to talk about the subversive act of departing areas of belonging.

When we look to maps, city limits, district zones and state lines, we can speak with confidence about border crossing because even highly theoretical or philosophical musings somehow seem based in tangible fact when we have a measurable “space” to ground ourselves in. The more porous and less regulated the border, the more ethereal the dialogue becomes. Who can reign in dialogue when we address borders of understanding, borders of memory, and borders of self-identity? It seems that the less stable the actual GROUND, the more abstract we become in our relationship to it.

I am interested in the perpetuation of delineation in instances where the borders are not neatly marked or defined. How can the simple IDEA or SUGGESTION of a border be effective in containing humans be it physically or mentally done? Do we cross “borders” internally? If a fence is not discernible, if no wall or physical barricade is there, what substance are we dealing with? Fear? I can think of instances where fear succeeds in creating borders. Is there anything else? Pride? Can I decide to remain within my assigned spot because I have pride in the culture or place of my origin? The Caminata enactments are reportedly steeped in pride of this kind. If so, is it reasonable to say that the suspicions of those believing the performance to be a dry run for actual illegal border crossing is debunked?

And aren’t all borders imaginary, anyway? I recall, early in my LSU college career, being exposed to material which altered my perception of time. Time always seemed very REAL to me. I live in a society where time is one of the main measurements that regulate my actions. Time dictates when I can and cannot carry out certain physical tasks. It is what ensures that I am in a certain place when I have to be. It is frowned upon if I have a loose faithfulness to deadline, class time, work time. I always felt frustrated with those who claimed that time was not real.  Try living as though time does not exist and you will end up paying dearly. BUT…in a very real sense, time does not exist, it is simply a construct…an agreement. I feel the same about borders. Borders are born of a sense of entitlement, a sense of fear, a need for protection. In the pre-ordered world, did they exist? If we stopped talking about them, would they diminish in power? If border-crossing was no longer a sexy scholar’s topic, would they take over and become unmanageable or would they simply atrophy?

I have no aversion to the border banter, just interested in what might happen if we ceased talking about things we seem to have simply made up in the first place.

Wishing I Was Buildning a Haunted Gingerbread House Instead

Woke up to bacon cooking in a cast-iron skillet, wind whipping over the tin-roof, a fresh-mown tract of land, fallen leaves, a bright blue sky and chilly morning air. This place is stunning  today.  How I WISH I didn’t have an LSU to-DO list as long as my leg. Today is the EXACT type of day I would like to be doing a million things OTHER than reading, researching, or writing yet another play-for-a-grade…

I really am struggling this morning with what to include in this blog-post.

I don’t care about theatre today, or higher education or articles, reading assignments, theory, 17^th and 18^th century catch-up work, contrived one-acts or anything of the sort. I care about them in general, I care a great deal. Tomorrow I will care, but not today.

I would rather go buy some pumpkins and carve them, or find some recipes for fun Halloween chow and whip them up, or go buy preggo-lady clothes, or get a cheap manicure, or drag my canoe to the water and paddle around a bit or find a book store and sit outside with a NON-work related book and sip  iced chai.

I want to think about ANYTHING other than education.

Ugh. Arrrgh. Ok. Ok…

Um, WORK. Ok, I have loads to do.

Going to start with my reading for Monday.

Next I will try to get closer to finishing my 17^th/18^th century play.

Then I will complete one of the two hours I’m supposed to spend on my 17^th/18^th century “final” document.

Meanwhile, outside, the most gorgeous day I’ve seen all year is passing me blithely by…

Which way do I GO, Which way do I GO?!

So, my mind had been drifting repeatedly back to the idea of Fringe-studies for my dissertation. I’m actually pretty excited about the idea.

A part of me feels that the abandonment of my two previous ideas is, well…weakness, but the OTHER part of me knows that mode of thinking is simply a self-sabotaging waste of time. YES, I have a great deal of passion for helping to create a reputable Tennessee Williams archive in the playwright’s home town. But I can help to accomplish this without dedicating my dissertation to the task. In fact, I am guessing that I would be MUCH more effective at getting things done on that front if I was NOT saddled with the formalities of dissertating. An approach to this work, were it done through the university, would likely turn into a theory-heavy venture which would probably fail to serve the actual building OF an archive.

There…so I’m off of the hook on THAT front.

And as for my interest in examining prize-winning drama as a canon representative of national identity and social ideals, I’ve been beaten to the finish-line. I found a book which accomplishes just that. Yes, I could certainly find a fresh angle of analysis but I’d simply be looking to find a fresh angle of analysis and LOOKING for fresh angles without being inspired to do so through a personal passion or perception of a NEED is exactly the self-serving and contrived kind of scholarship that makes my stomach turn.
I feel that if I were to dedicate myself to this focus of study, I’d be tap-dancing.

On the other hand, I DO feel that there is a dearth of Fringe scholarship and I DO feel very strongly that the Fringe phenomenon deserves more attention. I feel that my research in this area would be worthwhile, timely and needed. I feel like my background with the Fringe would position me to do the needed research with a behind-the-scenes understanding that would serve the work immensely.

So now what?

Dr. J suggested I might consider taking a close look at 2-3 or 3-4 festivals. I would certainly want to look at the Orlando International Fringe as one of the oldest/most successful in the states. I would also like to look at the New Orleans Fringe as one of the newest .

I think that all of the theory and history-heavy work that we do at LSU has caused me to be a smidge irresponsible in forgetting that criticism is also part of what we do. I LOVE the idea of case-studies and analysis of the NOW. But I don’t know where to start. I feel like this is the area where I have the least amount of training. What NEXT?

Women, Write Your Bodies

While I did enjoy recently reading Helene Cixous, I have had to learn to navigate an awkward relationship with some feminist philosophy. This is an uneasy admission. I feel that I should wish to carry banners and bullhorns but the honest truth is, I’m of a generation that has enjoyed the fruits of the warriors for women that came before me. I am just removed enough from blatant oppression to rarely feel infuriated. I am not proud of this.

But today is different.

Today I am feeling petulant and angry and hormonal and distressed.

Today I finally got an email containing the list of doctors I must choose from in Lake Charles. These are the only doctors in the area who deliver babies and are covered by the insurance I have through LSU. Men. They are ALL men. On the list was a man in particular who came recommended by an acquaintance of a cousin of mine. He’s the ONLY person on the list who I have even HEARD of in my multi-week search for a comfortable match. He is also the man who I was warned would, under no circumstances, prescribe birth control. His convictions dictate that he requires women to give up all agency concerning when or how many children they are willing to have. I struck him from the list. The only man recommended had to be struck from the list.

I am so angry. I have absolutely NOTHING against men who wish to be OB/GYNs. I have the utmost respect for anyone who wishes to dedicate their medical practice to the health of women and the successful delivery of babies. But I do not want a male doctor. A man can only theoretically understand the birthing process. I did a massive amount of reading concerning the physiological, psychological and emotional changes that a pregnant woman goes through. I have often been aware of what would happen to me BEFORE things happened with me. And yet, for all the reading and theoretical preparation, I have been ceaselessly amazed at how the EXPERIENCE blows the book-knowledge clean out of the water.

This process is indescribable. There is something overwhelmingly astounding and humbling and beautiful and scary and exciting and inconceivable about it all. There is also something inexplicably isolating about it. I do not mean this is a morose manner. It isn’t a depressed isolation I speak of, its just that during this process, you must necessarily experience the MOST intense “stuff” you’ve EVER been faced with, largely by yourself. You sit in restaurants, classrooms and offices while people around you talk about whatever it is they speak of in day-to-day conversation and meanwhile you can feel your child learning to move. This puts you into dual-consciousness. You can be present in the pizza parlor or the conference room but you are also sitting with life, death, fear, God, hope, development, spirit and movement. MOVEMENT of the most intense and fluid kind…movement of thought, movement within, movement of the machinery in your mind whirring to handle the logistics, movement in your heart. And with ALL this movement, you physically remain still. You sit still until class is over, you sit still until the meal is done.

I feel like this is where the women SHOULD be communing. I feel like I should be with mothers, grandmothers, sisters. A tribe. My intuition strongly and clearly shows me that THIS is the time to be mindful, deliberate, aware.

I understand that access to medical help is important…especially since I am older and especially since there have been previous losses in my family throughout this process on both sides. But I feel like I should be able to go through this with a woman to guide me. I feel like I should be in a birthing center and not a fluorescent-lit stark and soul-less room.

Lake Charles is not a micro- town. How can there be no women doctors there who are covered my insurance? I feel like waving banners. I feel like picking up a bullhorn.