flaneuse.org

Well, I never got to teach the class last night. A migraine came on fast and stole my night. Moreover, it made itself known to such a degree that I have canceled my upcoming trip to that conference, knowing that I can’t fly across country for a weekend and back six hours before surgery. Not like this, not in this shape. After last night, my hands shake, I’m behind even more, and the thought of six hours in a plane makes me want to throw up in my office trash can. This was a really hard decision to make, though. I am excited about this paper, even if I am not writing as much or as well as I want to be (which is also probably related to my brain turning to mush lately). I wanted to be there; I wanted to do this.

ARGH.

Tonight I am going to teach my graduate Nature of Literacy course about teaching writing (just an introduction) and it probably couldn’t have come at a worse time. We’re about 2/3rds of the way through the semester and their big research papers are due today. So many of them were probably up late last night writing, and now they get to come in to learn about …. writing?!?! Yay. They’ll be psyched. This, of all my classes, is in many ways the hardest because I think it is writing they have the hardest time with and lately, I understand. Writing used to come easy to me, but it doesn’t anymore. Maybe it was doing my dissertation on what could only be called an abbreviated time frame, but I am struggling myself as a writer with getting the words to come out right. That’s partly why I started this blog, to give myself a reason to write on a regular basis, and that seems to be working OK. Yet I still fight with myself when it comes to writing articles and conference papers. I’m not sure why — there’s this seed of self-doubt that has definitely taken hold and I am fighting with it…

I am such a bad academic. I can write about three lines on my aera paper (I should link that to something, but don’t want the publicity for something that isn’t done yet and probably should be) and then I start surfing. Argh. Multitasking = bad. I need to just take Laptop offline and work, but can’t seem to make myself do it (no checking to see who’s online? No purchases on iTunes, which sucks my money away from me?)

Bad, bad Dana. Argh.

I just came back from a three-day trip (really, more like two days) to NCarolina, where I presented on new literacies at their state ed tech association conference. The hotel was very nice, the teachers and tech folks extremely interesting and the trees already in bloom. I had a nice talk with a Canada goose roaming about downtown that I named Ted, but this was the most exertion I have put myself to lately and my body is just plain tired and put me through a migraine last night that the meds couldn’t stop.

It was also my first trip down South since leaving Vanderbilt nearly four years ago, and there are many things I had forgotten but that came rushing back to me once we touched down in Charlotte, like how openly religious people are there. It had been a while since anyone had told me to “Have a blessed day.” It also took me a while to convince folks I was Dr. Anyone, given how young I look (does my gender play a role? I wonder — I mean, I  am in the field of education, where women are anything but rare). Everyone is very sweet down there, and the accent just slides from one word to another — almost running them together in a honeyed drip. Yet I noted that the Black teachers and tech coordinators kept to themselves for the most part; just like Nashville, people tended to stay segregated when they didn’t know each other.

When you have a country as large as this one, the differences between regions tend almost to create countries among themselves. So far, I have been born and raised in the West and then lived for a short time on the West Coast, for four years down South, and now in the Northeast. Each has its own flavor and issues, and at least right now, I don’t know that I could choose one over the other to spend the rest of my life. Would you know? Where would you go, if you could?

Just got done reading this piece (thanks to Bookslut for the link) by an undergrad lit major at my alma mater — Columbia Spectator - Real Life and the Life of the Lit Major — who concluded that it was OK with him if most people didn’t read the books he liked because that kept those books important, special, “academic,” “literary” — as opposed to “popular” or “for the masses” (quotes indicate the words that are his). I have another word for him:

Elitist.

What if I told him that many who read Dostoevsky are homeless and not graduate comparative literature students? Would that shoot a hole in his theory that “In fact, given the increasing divide between “popular fiction” and “literary fiction,” quality really doesn’t translate to popularity. I think it would be hard to claim that Harry Potter, for example, is a masterpiece of world literature. That doesn’t mean it’s “bad,” of course. It does, however, translate into a divide between what scholars of literature focus on and what a Barnes and Noble browser picks up.”

Hmmmm. What about the fact that Oprah had thousands, perhaps millions reading Anna Karenina? Or that many of us with doctorates (even from your fine institution, sir) browse at Barnes and Noble? I think we need to be careful with these quick distinctions between scholars of literature and everyone else; some of the deepest readers I have ever met have engaged with texts from positions in the world far outside academic circles — homeless, marginally employed, no college degree, no high school one either.

The best thing about literature is that it doesn’t belong to anyone. It isn’t necessarily academic and it *doesn’t* take a college degree to interpret or read. The kind of mind frame you write about only keeps potential fans of Tolstoy or O’Connor farther away from these stories because someone, somewhere told them, “These books are hard” and that translated into “These books are too hard for you.” You know what? That’s crap.

You ask two key questions as toss-off asides in the middle of your column: “What makes reading necessary to life? Is it relevant at all?” I am spending my career answering these questions, but as far as literature is concerned, I can tell you that you don’t need that degree to read it. You only need your heart and your mind.

Sorry to burst your bubble, my friend.

*the color yellow

*my blue mug from Chinatown with the fish on it

*watching Spenser and Naima play in the sunshine and then stretch out, bellies up, and fall asleep

*two days without a migraine — thank God this happened over Spring Break

*St. Pat’s today. Even though I didn’t get to go out to my aunt’s, I’m going to try and make a bit of holiday here and cook my first corned beef and cabbage

*podcasts and itunes — soothing music and my cave/home where everything is set just right to keep me warm and relaxed and happy

In wandering the blogosphere, I found this linked at Rebecca Blood’s  spot, one man’s list of the 50 books that he’s read that have helped him want to save the world. It’s an interesting list and gave me some new titles to look for and made me think of a new item to add here — every so often, I’ll be posting three or five books you should absolutely read. I won’t link them to Amazon, just ’cause there are lots of other places you might consider purchasing them — including your neighborhood used bookstore, or Alibris but here are today’s picks:

(in no particular order) –

Anna Karenina. Everyone should read one of the Russians, my preference happens to be for Tolstoy over Dostoyevsky. It’s a good book to read either to convince yourself that cheating is OK or never to do it, ’cause he tells both parts convincingly. Leo is one of the few men who really knew how to write a woman, from the inside out.

In Cold Blood. Damn, this book gives me the chills and it’s not nearly as bloody as most of the television I watch. Maybe it’s because Capote just knows well how to set the scene, and his writing is just as homey and packs the kind of punch as the people he writes about: simple, direct, brutal at times. I know the Kansas/Colorado border well, and after the first time I read it, I couldn’t cross over the line without getting the shudders.

Prep. It’s not going to end up how you think it will, but Lee Fiora is a girl you won’t get out of your head soon. It is one of those bestsellers so many people are carrying around these days — it’s a sweet and easy read with a tart underbelly that makes you walk away thinking about class and money. You dive into this book and forget to look up at times, not unlike good writing by Shreve or Lamott or many others. Sittenfeld brings preppie teenagers to palpable life and you’ll know what to look for in the girls working at J. Crew next time you go.

Just got back from seeing Syriana. Why wasn’t this the Best Picture? Hell, the acting is excellent — Clooney is stellar, but he’s not the only one and literally *everyone* is in it; the writing is tight and much better than several of the other candidates; the message is as clear as it is complex: Everything is connected and the United States fights on the side of oil, not good. End. Period.

Interestingly, you can download the screenplay as a PDF, making it not only readily available, but marking the first time I know of that a screenplay has been made open access like this — obviously a story the authors want to get out there. In fact, the site is one of the best I’ve seen, with a podcast interview of the primary screenwriter, links to activist websites to decrease dependence on oil and shift environmental priorities — embedded within these links are links and information about the people behind the movie, including links to their blogs — giving us faces and names and not just “Here’s something you can click on once” but “Here’s something I care so much about I write nearly every day about it and you can check it out at blah blah blah.” Do you see what I’m saying here? This isn’t a movie about random, far distant people in Syria. It’s about how often I push the thermostat up to 70, and whether or not I vote for people who give lip service to ethical ideals in terms of balancing profits against human rights.

Yes, I *am* that idealistic but what’s more is that perhaps these kind of changes *can* happen. Clooney got recognition for his work; Syriana is linked, through Participant Productions, to Good Night and Good Luck as well as North Country. We’ve seen the rise of documentary films (maybe even WalMart will change its benefits and employee overtime practices? Hell, anything’s possible) and “issue” films. Entertainment is still entertaining and I loved 40-Year-Old Virgin as much as anyone, but this could be powerful.

Check out the Syriana website. Or, along the same lines, visit Adbusters. Just go lurk about a bit. Say you did it ’cause I dared you to.

Ahhh, the week of the semester without classes, during which I hole up and try to get as much of my research work done as possible. I loved my friend Gloria’s email response message, which told me that she was on a reading and writing retreat this week. That’s a good way to put it — some time to sit with ideas and let them percolate in ways that they just can’t when I am teaching three classes and juggling everything else. Am going out to my aunt’s on Long Island and hiding out — my cell doesn’t work out there and I can easily moderate my access to all other technologies and, instead, spend more time walking the beach with Charley, her enormous black Standard Poodle with the spider-legs.

Necessary motion.

I used to be better at mornings. I really did — I had to, as a middle school teacher. Hell, I was up at 4 so I could work out before I went to school *and* I coached after school. I was a beast in those days. Now I think of sleep as a serious hobby. End of dissertation program blues? Hmmmmm.

It’s the beginning of Spring Break, which is actually a time to write papers, prepare for conferences and get my act together. I can’t remember the last time I went somewhere on break to take a break and not work harder, but that’s ok. This intensive focus on my own work is good and needed, and this time I need to spend some time on the emotional things I don’t usually think about. The things I sleep on instead of deal with. *grin*

Can’t we all use a little emotional spring cleaning? Some time to sit down with our emotions and take stock of where we are and how we feel and why?