flaneuse.org

Well, I’ve written about student fashion and stereotypes enough on this site, it seems only fair that I should turn it around on my own kind for once and talk about the fashion icon of the hot professor that you see walking across campus… You know who she is, the one with the cigarette pants and stacked heels, or miniskirt and stiletto boots. She doesn’t have to be young, but she does have long hair and, more often than not, those librarian glasses (in black most of the time) that she can take off and chew on in opportune moments. Legs like forever and no fear of hem length or ass coverage. Highly fashionable, and highly desirable. Men want her, women want to be her. I don’t know whether to be jealous or afraid. I mean, in some sense, if you have it, flaunt it, but in our world of schooling, sex doesn’t belong (despite the proliferation of Lolita stories, real or not, and songs like “Hot for Teacher”). Witness the reactions to stories of female teachers seducing their students. Throughout history, male teachers have been the object of the sexual gaze for a long time, but female teachers? We’re supposed to be pure, above the realm of the body, I think. Especially in higher education — male professors with their female students is an old story, but female professors? In a way, I shudder to think, because I believe that is a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, for a long list of reasons. Yet people are people, and ratemyprofessor.com has that stupid chili pepper for a reason (and every professor I know has checked to see if they have one, myself included).

We want to be found attractive, but not too much, I think. What is the place of attraction in education, and how should that be negotiated, particularly for those of us who work with teens and adults? I’ve never had an issue of a student with a crush and, knock wood, I never will — but when we teach, we are on display for all to see. Something to think about.

OK, I realize this post isn’t going to win me any friends. And let me issue a disclaimer first — I am not advocating to anyone that you go out and start smoking. But I want to explain something that I think people forget.

Smoking is actually pleasurable. This is one of the reasons I am struggling to quit.

I started smoking in high school. I grew up with smokers and many of my friends also started in high school. I smoked throughout college, as did my best friend and roommate. (Proximity has everything to do with this — hard to quit when the person you live with is still lighting up. An issue I deal with now, as Chris is a smoker). Then, after college when my grandmother died of emphysema, I quit smoking and stayed quit for 10 years until I was going through a divorce and finishing my doctoral program and under a lot of stress.

Something to think about. Quitting is every day. You don’t just stop once, you stop every morning. I quit again when I came to NJ, but Chris and I met and he smoked and it was easy to start up again. So I have been smoking for the last couple of years that we have been together and I am in the position of absolutely having to stop as smoking is related to the cluster headaches probably, as well as being all around really really bad for you.

Of course I know that. I watched someone die from it. And I watched my parents quit after being smokers for decades. So I am figuring out how to quit (and how to negotiate that with a smoking husband). But the thing for people to understand is that smoking is pleasurable. There’s nothing like that first cigarette with a cup of coffee in the morning, or with your Friday happy hour drink after a long week. Or other times you might want a smoke that I will leave well enough alone here. RJ Reynolds and the tobacco companies know this, but I wonder if the people who give me that wrinkled nose, “I can’t believe someone as smart as you would do something so stupid” look understand that. Yes, it’s about pleasure.

The funny thing is that, in some ways, our society is moving in a direction away from pleasure — about not doing things that feel good even though we know they’re bad. And I have met people who are very proud to be able to deny themselves so many things — no caffeine, no nicotine, no or very little alcohol. No processed foods, etc. There’s this ethic right now that “good” people exercise, eat less, and don’t give in to the pleasures that we know are “bad” for you.

But here’s the thing. Sometimes the bad things feel so good. I think we have to acknowledge that. I also think that the more we pressure ourselves and each other to withhold pleasure, the harder it is. Quit caffeine and only drink green tea as you work your way to herbal (yeah right — I happen to find green tea disgusting, but I guess that’s neither here nor there). Give up meat, and all foods that are that bright orange found in the very best convenience stores. When I lived in Boulder, there was a lot of this, and I think there is even more today.

If you want to change your eating habits because it’s better for the world politically and environmentally, I am all for it. But let’s recognize that there’s a place for pleasure. Sometimes that deep chocolate bar is just what I need. Smoking feels good on about seven hundred levels — that’s why quitting is so hard. A drink can be really nice and relaxing. OK, good. Sometimes there’s a place in life for all of these things — and those who smoke or drink or eat “bad” foods aren’t bad people. Saying this, I think, opens the door for moderation — there’s a place for almost everything and understanding why people smoke, because it is pleasurable, can help people understand why it is so hard to quit.

I need to quit smoking, it isn’t good, but quitting is damned hard — I’ve tried cold turkey and that didn’t work. Next stop (because meds will  interfere with my head they aren’t an option) is the patch. And as for the other things — all things in moderation. The Europeans seem to know this; let’s see if we can’t learn from that.

Yesterday I had a cluster migraine while visiting my neurologist, which was good so that she could see what I was talking about, but that turned so bad that I was in pain all afternoon and much of the night. Not only did I not know there was something worse than migraines, but at least with migraines I know some of my triggers and I can tell when one is coming on. These come on so fast… I had to cancel class just half an hour before because I was throwing up and just couldn’t do it, although I have managed to teach through the beginnings of one before, this one was too advanced.

And I HATE this. I don’t feel like I have control over my own life like this. I carry my head around like this egg, as I think I’ve said, terrified of setting something off. Stupid things, a shower that is too hot, a strange smell, and this feeling of something boring my eye out of the socket comes down around my face. I couldn’t see out of my right eye; driving home was a nightmare. I don’t even know why I am writing this — I know first, that very few people are reading my blog and second, they don’t want to read about it any more but I have to write about it somehow. I feel locked in this pain. I can’t read, I can’t sleep — with regular migraines I could take meds and go sleep in a quiet room but these make me restless, anxious. Angry even.

At any rate, the neuro has put me on a new range of meds, completely different than those I was on before. I am hopeful, because I have to be. Otherwise, I think I would become a hermit. This is taking its toll on my writing and my work and definitely my relationships — how much fun am I to be around when I am locked into pain like that? It is crazy, literally. There’s no rhyme or reason to it — none that I can find, yet. I am looking for logic in something that doesn’t have it — I’m not going to get an explanation as to why these have started or even when they happen. The most I can hope for is to get them to stop.

What to write about this morning? I am trying to get myself back into the habit of regular writing here first, because it is good for me as a writer and second, because any kind of a regular practice is good for a person (or so I hear : ). As I sit here, I ponder the things I could write about:

My cluster headaches, a new and particularly foul kind of migraine I have developed that has made this semester a little tricky. They’re different as they are much more severe in terms of pain and not managed well on the meds I’ve been on for the past year or so. They feel like an ice pick through the eye and make the right side of my face and eye swell up. They, just plain, suck. And I am tired of them, and of trying new meds and not knowing when one is going to knock me out.

The book. It’s done and in, and the proof sheets just went back to the publisher, so that is good. Next step is the final proofing and then I think it will be published in the spring. Unbelievable to think about, really, but I have a new book idea I am rolling about in my head and that’s exciting.

Tenure stuff is in and working its way through the pipeline. I won’t know anything until Christmas or so, but that worry is temporarily off my shoulders, and that feels good, I will say. Just turning in the stuff felt pretty damn good — all two 3″ binders and hundreds of pages of it.

Now what’s on my plate? An article and conference paper, editing a special issue of a journal, conference work and award committee, running the PreCollege Reading Program. Teaching and learning and getting up in the morning and finding time to read and relax and play with the dog and maybe a little balance in there too.

It’s that time of the year again for my Fall fashion update; my completely uninformed thoughts about the fashions of the season, as seen from my position as a professor on a campus in Northern NJ (with a quick note about what Iceland is doing this fashion season).

First, the bad news. There are certain things that need to stop happening. Soon. In no particular order, they are:

Leggings are not pants. Not really, unless they are really thick in which case they aren’t leggings any more, they are jeans or some other kind of pants. So you need to COVER YOUR ASS. Please. Wear a dress, a skirt, shorts (not the best option), or something but please, don’t just wear leggings. And look carefully because leggings are still thicker than tights and more than once recently I’ve seen girls on campus wearing tights and a shirt and there are things apparent that should not be seen in broad daylight. Unless you are Kate Moss or a photoshopped Ralph Lauren model, neither leggings or tights should be worn without your butt covered. Simple. Right?

Now, UGGs. Aren’t we done with this yet? They’re beginning to look pretty scruffy, girls. They smell bad in the classroom after the rain, and they sound terrible when you scuff them down the pavement. They’re slippers. You know that, right? They’re not actual shoes. This is a great season for boots and I’ve seen some beautiful ones. For the amount of money you’re sinking into after ski slippers, get a great pair of riding boots that won’t reek like a wet Labrador after a shower. Again, I’m begging you.

The enormous purse. My classes are overenrolled this semester and as I go from one end of the room to another, working with groups and answering questions, I keep tripping over your bags. Yes, some of them are gorgeous. Most of them are incredibly expensive. But they’re freakin’ huge, and you really don’t need a bag that big pulling one side of your body to your ankle. Then you’ll end up taking the osteoporosis pills that Sally Fields is shilling because your posture is so screwed up. Think proportion. I like big bags but the thing is that they take up space, you tend to fill them, and they get to be complex and ridiculous. Think simple.

And as for the fashions in Iceland. All 80s — skinny jeans and ties for the guys, Madonna lace and huge glasses and stripes in hair for girls. Kids wearing trends they weren’t alive to see — cracked Chris and I up. New Wave is back, folks, and it is heading this way. Get ready (again).

It’s 8:30 am and I am back at my desk, after teaching until nearly 11 last night, reading a scintillating chapter on reading comprehension for narrative texts and wondering how soon I can go down and have a cigarette. In the rain, which should tell you how much I am enjoying reading this. What is it about textbooks, which can take the most interesting information and wring it of any possible enjoyment or interest? Especially this one, which is a compliation of chapters from different textbooks and so ends up being at cross purposes with itself — different page numbers and layouts and definitions. It’s like a bunch of researchers and authors arguing within the covers, but in the driest way possible, which doesn’t make for the best teaching. It’s funny how much a book can drive a class. If you let it.

Remind me not to back up a late night class to a morning one next semester. Not good for my overall concentration. How much coffee does it take to kick start a blonde? A lot.

Well, I didn’t get a chance to blog while we were there, mostly because we were so busy seeing the city (which is more the size of a large town — perfect for walking everywhere we wanted to go) and watching amazing music every night. Iceland is much like Amsterdam in some ways — lots of bars and coffee shops (no, not like that : ) and book stores and museums, especially for such a small place — there’s only about 150,000 people in Reykjavik itself. Going for the Airwaves festival was perfect because we had wristbands that gave us access to all the clubs each night and every act played for about 30 minutes, just enough to get a taste and go on to the next thing. We heard music from surf-rock inspired by Joy Division to electronic house with an orchestra to Icelandic rap. Bands to check out? Sweden’s Motoboy, The Drums from here in NY, DJ Margulies, and GusGus — the big name that closed out the festival. And the landscape — outside of the city, there wasn’t a tree in sight. Almost like the surface of the moon: mountains and rocks covered in moss — you could imagine the Vikings riding across the crags, fighting for territory and living in sod houses. The sea comes crashing right up against Reykjavik. Perhaps the most amazing thing of all was the Blue Lagoon, whose waters were this surreal ice blue. Warm currents ran throughout, getting even warmer in places and you could stand underneath a waterfall that pummeled your back as you stood there, bathed in the spa water. The white mud, embedded with tiny particles, was slippery through your fingers and you rubbed it on your face to clear your skin — it felt so good and warm, even though it was 32 degrees and raining, we sat in the water with our beers and listened to the music and watched everyone dance. It was one of the most relaxing moments of my life.

In fact, it was easily one of the best trips I have ever taken. Sometimes you have to do the thing that makes little sense, like taking money out of savings and going to Iceland in October. We’ve already started saving for our next trip — Vienna, Prague and Istanbul. Doesn’t that sound cool?

We leave today right after I teach class for Reykjavik — for the Iceland Airwaves Music Festival (will put up a link when I am less hyper and pressed for time). I am so excited — Iceland has always been on my list of places to visit and this is the chance of a lifetime. The economy seems to be just right and we got the chance — so why not? It will seem real when we’re on the plane… and I know I need this vacation. Will be the first time I have had more than a day off at a time (except for being sick) in a year, so I can hardly wait. Will post more when there, and am bringing my camera (knock wood that it works, it’s been so long since I have taken pics) so am hoping to post photos as well.

Five days, a music festival, the northern lights, the Blue Lagoon, Iceland!!! YAY!

I am prepping class right now — something I would have done earlier but I had a migraine. Yay. And my poor tutor, Jorden, is home with the flu and will be out tomorrow. I think the long, wet spring left us with lots of weird bugs around.

Ugh. My upstairs neighbor is playing his radio AGAIN at top volume. And stomping around. At least his wife isn’t wearing her heels for a change. I wish I knew what they looked like so I could give them the stinkeye when I saw them around the building. I swear they know exactly when to be loud when I am trying to write and/or work and their stereo is located directly above my desk. Lovely.

At any rate, I am supposed to be writing about Pakistan and Afghanistan. I have been reading a lot this summer about not just those countries but Iraq and our role from 2001 on — I really didn’t know much about the wars and so have been reading lots of nonfiction: books, articles, online stuff. I should have known more, we all should have known more. We supported people who supported the war, I thought Saddam should be removed from power (at least now I know more about the kind of tyrant he was) but wow, so little did I know about politics in these parts of the world. I still don’t know much — but I guess now I know how little I know. I know enough to know that we weren’t just nation building and all the simple answers we were given at the time are proving themselves to be much more difficult now.

It doesn’t get any nerdier than to say that books are my addiction of choice. Really, it doesn’t. Alcoholics and drug addicts have long histories and, often, romantic stories — as well as the very real trials of physiological addiction. But me? Life gets tough or complicated or boring, and I delve into whatever I can find, and I do mean *whatever*. I have read both War and Peace and the Twilight saga twice. I will read most best-sellers and just about anything written in Regency and Victorian England, with a newfound love of Dickens (who knew Bleak House could be such a page-turner?). I will read through the toughest times, finding sad books whose characters’ lives are much more difficult than mine, in order to put things in perspective. Lately I have started reading much more non-fiction — good, journalistic prose about the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq in preparation for a course I am teaching, but also the book on the Columbine shootings and much more.

Not only that, but my reading itch means I must keep myself supplied and the libraries in my area often leave much to be desired (not to mention I think I have an outstanding balance at the public library and am so embarrassed about it that I only go to my university library, which has little in the way of new fiction. Besides, I like to own my books — new or used — although I give away quite a few of them). I’m buying about a book a week and also re-reading. At any given time, I’m reading at least three things. By my count, I’ve read more than 20 books either new or that I had already read since the beginning of June. Seriously.

Do I need to get out more? Yes.