Church of the Granny Bike

homage to christmas past.

2011-12-14T12:07:00.001-05:00

I’m dreaming of a #dingleballChristmas

Just like the ones we’ve had before

With the craft beers flowin’

And siblings plottin’

To ride their bikes out to the bars

I’m dreaming of a #dingleballChristmas

Just like the ones we’ve had before

With the Christmas movies playin'

And I keep waitin’

For Sarah to make her yummy scones

I’m dreaming of a #dingleballChristmas

Just like the ones we’ve had before

Where the fire’s cozy

And the cousins nosy

I love it when they randomly stop by

I’m dreaming of a #dingleballChristmas

Just like the ones we’ve had before

With the nieces dancing

And the mutt a’snugglin

There really is no place like home

I’m dreaming of a #dingleballChristmas

With every tweet I try to write

May your days be silly and light

And may all your dingleballs delight

the anxious life.

2011-11-19T14:21:00.001-05:00

image via Friends of Type

The past couple of months have been an unexpected journey. At the beginning of the school year, I went to the doctor with a series of complaints that, as it turns out, fit a particular medical profile commonly manifest in graduate students. I had to be told by my doctor that, unmanaged, my anxiety was hurting my body.

I've lived with anxiety for a long time. It's taken a lot of different forms over the years. I've dealt with it in a variety of ways. Pared down my schedule. Made incredibly detailed lists. Took months off from work. Learned to embrace being a flake. Slogged through periods of sleeplessness with the hope that it wouldn't be a permanent state. Took up reading literature before bed. Exercised. Online shopped. Kept a journal. I was surprised when my doctor intervened because I had developed so many strategies for living in this state of high strung euphoria-- with its attendant crashes-- that I had forgotten it was something I was actually living with.

I had managed to avoid medication for a long time. Every doctor or therapist that I had encountered had spoken of medication as something to be avoided at all costs. I am grateful that when the prescription was finally thrust into my hand with the promise that I didn't have to keep living like this that I had the courage to accept it. I have spent enough time reading dooce.com over the years to know that there is hope, truly, when we accept treatment. Heather Armstrong's work has touched my life in a deep and important way-- we need to write these narratives so that the stigma of medication can be replaced with people getting what they need when they need it.

My anxiety has not gone away. There are moments when it strong arms its way into my rich and beautiful life without permission. There are instances when it robs me of my peace and tranquility and capacity to work. It takes me to low places.

But it is not my whole life.

There is something sacred that comes from the naming of this pain and my struggle against it. I have put off this post for a long time because it felt so intense and daunting, sharing a part of my soul that I am in the habit of hiding. I am reminded of this passage from bell hooks about the promise of healing that that comes from naming:

"Holding my hands, standing body to body, she allowed me to share emphatically the warmth of that healing. She wanted me to bear witness, to hear again both the naming of her pain and the power that emerged when she felt the hurt go away."
-bell hooks, Teaching to Transgress

I live with anxiety, and it is making me powerful.

feed the balance of the people.

2011-10-30T11:34:00.000-04:00

I was teaching Voices of Protest this week, and like my students, I was startled by the familiarity of speeches delivered 75 years ago.

‎"How many men ever went to a barbecue and would let one man take off the table what's intended for 9/10th of the people to eat? The only way to be able to feed the balance of the people is to make that man come back and bring back some of that grub that he ain't got no business with!" - Huey Long

This infographic is worth meditating on as well.

romance.

2011-10-25T12:51:00.002-04:00

I seem be having one of those "cry during Hallmark commercials" kind of weeks. I am sure this will culminate in a very messy viewing of either The Notebook, Steel Magnolias, or Beaches.

Which is why I want to share these two great moments I had reading the internet lately. I don't usually think about romance because I am such a pragmatist, and maybe a little emotionally closed off, and most obviously, singggllle, but this stuff is making me verklempt.

From my beloved Sunday Routine:

"The evening, after a movie, is a short evening because the next day is a school day, so we try to go to bed not too late. I like to go to bed 10, 10:30. My wife likes to go much later to bed, so we have to compromise. If she has to do some work, I wait for her, reading or doing e-mails. We don’t like to go to bed separately, so that one of us already sleeps and the other comes later. It’s not beautiful."

From xkcd:

I need a minute. TAWK AMONGST YOURSELVES.

blog interrupted.

2011-10-18T22:36:00.000-04:00

I'm not so good about updating my blog these days.

I'm working two jobs, one of which involves a two hour commute each way.

I'm reading a lot about prisons.

I knew you'd understand.

never confuse substance with symbolism.

2011-08-26T12:53:00.000-04:00

I don't agree with the notion of King as the singular representative of the civil rights movement any more than I agree with the notion of West as the singular (and self-appointed) representative of all black or poor people everwhere, but this I can get on board with. Memorials should not be equated with absolution, pretending public memory, or the delusion of a complete and successful civil rights movement:

"King’s response to our crisis can be put in one word: revolution. A revolution in our priorities, a re-evaluation of our values, a reinvigoration of our public life and a fundamental transformation of our way of thinking and living that promotes a transfer of power from oligarchs and plutocrats to everyday people and ordinary citizens.

In concrete terms, this means support for progressive politicians..., extensive community and media organizing; civil disobedience; and life and death confrontations with the powers that be. Like King, we need to put on our cemetery clothes and be coffin-ready for the next great democratic battle."

-Cornel West

inside-out.

2011-08-22T12:39:00.000-04:00

I spent the last week at a national training institute for a prison education exchange program called Inside-Out. It is difficult to sum up my time with that group and what I learned, but there was a moment that was illustrative of where our hearts were after learning a great deal about how to facilitate courses in a prison setting.

Saturday we made our second trip to the prison. We went on Wednesday. It was an intense day-- there is nothing like waiting for two hours because the prison is on lockdown. Nothing like realizing that you are beyond the walls-- walls that our government built to keep these people in, to keep people like me out. Nothing like seeing the desperate hunger for knowledge and the many ways that knowledge liberates. Nothing like coming to know changed hearts that want change in the world. We met lifers and men who had three or six years left on their sentences. Men who give their 40 cents to 2 dollar an hour wages to scholarship programs for the children of other incarcerated men. Men who will be forever be defined by the worst thing they ever did. Men who came into the prison as children and will probably die there.

So when we had made our way along the winding country roads to the prison, our hearts were heavy. We had learned a lot in our training and we were coming to the prison to learn yet more from the men who were training us inside. When our car turned the corner, the first thing I noticed was the fog. The prison silhouette loomed large. And then I looked a little closer- and I saw people dancing.

In one of the cars, some women had fallen asleep on the drive out. The other women in the car turned up the music really loud to wake them up. The doors flew open and they began to dance. With each car in the caravan rolling in, people spilled out and joined this parking lot soiree. I did too.

our cheesy, unlikely anthem

The rules that govern prison parking lots are restrictive- you are told where to park, no pictures or videos, you come in as few cars as possible. You can't have maps laying out when you go in. As we danced, I could see a guard stepping out of the tower to watch, backlit by sun and fog. A truck with a correctional officer in it circled the parking lot. It dawned on me that this was very, very subversive. It was the most radical thing I had ever been a part of.

But in spite of the surveillance, and maybe because of it, we danced for the whole song. We danced because we know we are free. We danced because we needed strength to go into that milieu to do our best work. We danced because the kind of people that want to teach in prison are the kind of people who dance in parking lots. We danced because we believe we can make walls come down.

We were grateful that we didn't get in trouble for our dance party. Our program is fragile and we know that. The guards were genuinely amused and we haven't heard of any blowback.

We went into the prison that day knowing that we had just experienced something that had defined us as a group, something that we would return to as we spread out to fill our different missions across the United States and Canada. What we do is sobering and hard work, and I came away with a greater appreciation that my heart and my spirit will always need to be in the right place for me to do the work effectively. We had a beautiful day in the prison as we communed with intelligent people who believe in the power of our program. It was hard to say goodbye because it is hard knowing that human beings are kept in cells. It is hard knowing, really knowing, that you are free and others are not.

We did not dance when we left.

summer reading list.

2011-08-13T13:18:00.000-04:00

Last summer my extra-curricular reading list was relatively straight forward: I read Updike's Rabbit tetrology, an experience that was beautiful and worthwhile and easy to get sentimental over in contrast to my vigorous schedule of watching The Wire and trying to crack the scholarship on moderate Republicans, which I thought I wanted to do m dissertation on (oh how things change!). This year, following the disaster of my comps and the trauma of such gluttonous and deliberate reading, I just started loving on books again and let my list emerge organically.

Here's what it became:
Bossypants by Tina Fey
The first book I read this summer, I think the weekend when I should have been preparing for my oral exams. It was anti-climactic but a nice way to transition from crazy town into summer sloth.

Ten Little Indians by Sherman Alexie
This was actually for work. I knew I wanted to discuss Alexie in my Race and Ethnicity class because he is from Washington. Also short stories are my favorite type of literature. These stories were amazingly satisfying. I think this was the only piece of literature that I started and finished while I was in Washington, which is a little bit disconcerting considering how long I was there.

Portnoy's Complaint by Philip Roth
Pulled this one off my roommate's shelf. I seem to remember my brother reading it in college. This is geeky, but it was made more interesting to me by both the introduction to Jewish culture that has characterized my 2 years and Philly and reading Canuto's The Ungovernable City last summer, because who doesn't love John Lindsay.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
An interesting compliment to the identity issues of the Roth book. I cried at the end, the sadness of the main character was just so deep. A quick and worthy read selected because I had really enjoyed Ten Little Indians and this book won the National Book Award.

Wifey by Judy Blume
I read this book after reading Rich Juzwiak's post "You should read Wifey". The writing is hilarious and Blume's story invoked for me, a female narrated Updike story of suburban discontent. This book was funnier after reading Portnoy's Complaint because now my summer reading list has this weird comic New Jersey thread running through it.

I Don't Care About Your Band by Julie Klausner
Thanks again to my roommate, I now diligently listen to Julie Klausner's How Was Your Week podcast. I love Klausner's sense of humor, but I was kind of terrified that I would hate this book, as dating memoirs or commentaries sometimes promote really, really fucked up ideas about relationships that I always take more seriously than those that emerge from mid-century male writers or things that I say at happy hour after a couple of beers (double standard!). But Klausner dances gracefully through the minefield of possible terrible things that could be said, and the book winds up being this really wonderful gift from a cool older sister who is all about being real and takes the ridiculous of one's 20s in stride. I'm rambling here, but of all the books I've read this summer, I will probably buy a few copies of this book to give as gifts because I think it is wonderful and I want to be like Julie Klausner when I grow up. As a memoir, it is much better than Bossypants.

In progress:
Operation Shylock: A Confession by Philip Roth
I have been slowly, slowly inching through this one. It's postmodern! It takes a lot of focus. I have read several other books since I started it. Another one from my roommate's shelf.

Fear of Flying by Erica Jong
As I mentioned in my post yesterday, this is a classic that I was kind of embarrassed about neglecting. I felt like I had to read it after reading Wifey and I am really glad I did. Again, with Portnoy and Wifey, it's as much about Northeastern Jewish culture as it is about sex and relationships and inner life. It is a magnificent primary source from the 1970s. Taking into account everything I've read this summer, Isadora Wing might be my favorite character so far.

What are you reading this summer?

really raring to go.

2011-08-12T17:36:00.001-04:00

Today is delicious. The weather in Philly is absolutely perfect- sunny, 84 degrees. gentle breezes, no humidity. Earlier I found myself power-grading and reading in Rittenhouse Square, drunk on sunshine and iced coffee. It made me happy to realize that at 26 I am still doing the thing I prized most during the summers of my youth-- reading outside. To be able to do that in the middle of a Friday afternoon is bliss. It is exactly what I want my life to be.

I'm reading Erica Jong's classic Fear of Flying (because why haven't I read it already?). There are so many poignant and pithy passages, but this one sums up how I feel today:

"...I'm really happy with my work for the moment and I don't want any more fulfillment just now. It took me years to learn to sit at my desk for more than two minutes at a time, to put up with the solitude and the terror of failure, and the godawful silence and the white paper. And now that I can take it... now that I can finally do it... I'm really raring to go. I don't want anything to interfere right now. Jesus Christ! It took me so long to get to this point."

Jesus Christ! It took me so long to get to this point.

the last poets.

2011-08-09T20:28:00.000-04:00

In spite of my best efforts to stay focused while I read this book about hip-hop, I can't help myself. Totally waylaid by The Last Poets.

Up through the years we've continued this fight
our liberty to attain
And though we have faced insurmountable odds
yet the will to resist remains

What is freedom? related to what?

working from home.

2011-08-08T20:59:00.000-04:00

How to Work From Home from dooce on Vimeo.

I was kind of amused watching this video from Dooce about how to work from home. I have a friend who claims that "working from home" is the best euphemism for masturbation ever invented. While I can neither confirm or deny this claim, anybody that does self-initiated work and makes their own schedule can appreciate the meaning of what he said: it's hard the resist the pull of doing other things. Take for example, my day today:

10:30am: Reluctantly get out of bed. My neighbor's dogs barked all night. For real. The whole entire night. It was unsurprising to me that when I finally fell asleep, I had really violent dreams. I am unhappy to be awake.

10:35am-11:30am: Call SPCA on neighbors. Spend too long cooking breakfast (scrambled eggs with a bacon and tomato sandwich) and reading the internet.

11:30am: Realize this has been going on too long.

Noon: Finally shower. Commence deep conditioning of hair. Resume reading of internet. Respond to student emails cheerfully; send angry emails to everyone else. I was still mad about being awake.

1:05pm: Realize that I never actually rinsed my hair out and that the shower cap is starting to steam. Rinse.

1:10pm: Attempt laundry. This endeavor meant washing my shocking pink shorts for the first time, which meant that I turned a number of my whites pink. This day is stupid.

1:30pm: Sit down with a book. Read at five minute intervals so I can get up to check for a response to my angry email. Watch Chloe' videos with my roommate.

Eat. Dance. Eat.

3:30pm: Realizing that not enough has been accomplished, decide to go to the coffee shop to work. Swap out enormous working from home shirt for coffee shop-appropriate shirt and make cut-off shorts three inches shorter, because what am I, Mormon? Also, it turns out wearing fat clothes from four years ago is way warmer than regular clothes. Eat a popsicle because I am still angry about being awake.

4:00pm-5:30pm: Read at coffee shop. Most productive period of the day until I realized that I could redeem the whole day entirely by going to the taco truck.

5:45pm: Taunt roommate with prospect of taco truck as he's leaving for swim practice.

6:15pm: Bike repairs lite.

6:45pm- 8:30pm: Actually leave for taco truck. Back to school shopping at Target. More popsicles.

So I recognize that this day was only possible because it's summer, my students have a shit-ton of work to turn in that I'm going to have to grade this week but not now, and because I didn't technically have something that had to be done (Spanish study remains on the calendar). But think of what I could have accomplished if I HAD SET A SCHEDULE.

well timed perspective.

2011-08-04T16:26:00.000-04:00

The geniuses at FoT are at it again.

integrity.

2011-07-24T00:36:00.004-04:00

When I was in the Young Women's program, my favorite value was integrity. Looking back on my time in YW, I probably liked integrity best because it was so straight forward: do what you know is right. It went hand in hand with my other favorite pair of values, choice and accountability. When confronted with a choice that has consequences, do the right thing. Make choices you can live with, choices that are true to who you are. Mormons don't have a corner on these values, but they are really good at teaching them.

When confronted with a question of integrity-- amidst the troubled rush of doing the right thing-- the song "I Walk By Faith" popped into my head as I rode my bike home. For the last couple of weeks, I've been singing the line "by doing what I know is right, I show integrity" like a mantra. It helped me get my self esteem back when I was being hard on myself about getting into a situation where I had to confront my integrity in such an intense way.

Oslo has been on my mind. I have cherished the hours I spent at Vigeland Sculpture Park in 2005- there is a connectedness and solidity in the way he portrays relationships that I still find poignant and worth aspiring to.

I've been reading Parker Palmer's The Courage To Teach. It's on the reading list for a program I will be going to training for next month. Just the act of participation in the program is, for me, an expression of integrity-- I want to put my values about social justice into action as an educator. Given my recent meditations on integrity, I was moved by Palmer's discussion of the value. He writes:

"...Identity is a moving intersection of the inner and outer forces that make me who I am, converging in the irreducible mystery of being human.
By integrity I mean whatever wholeness I am able to find within that nexus as its vectors form and re-form the pattern of my life. Integrity requires that I discern what is integral to my selfhood, what fits and what does not-- and that I choose life-giving ways of relating to the forces that converge within me: Do I welcome them or fear them, embrace them or reject them, move with them or against them? By choosing integrity, I become more whole, but wholeness does not mean perfection. It means becoming more real by acknowledging the whole of who I am." (13)

Palmer enriches my definition in several ways. Just as my identity is constantly changing, so too is my sense of what is right for me and my life. Integrity means living in a state of consciousness that leads to authenticity.

Palmer later adds:

"Gandhi called his life 'experiments with truth,' and experimenting in the complex field of forces that bear on our lives is how we learn more about our integrity. We learn experimentally that we thrive on some connections and not with others, that we enhance our integrity by choosing relationships that give us life and violate it by assenting to those that do not.
Experimentation is risky. We rarely know in advance what will give us life and what will sap life away. But if we want to deepen our understanding of our own integrity, experiment we must-- and then be willing to make choices as we view the experimental results." (16)

This spoke to my heart. My integrity will not be perfect all the time because there is a certain degree to which I have to test the waters-- it sometimes takes time to get a sense of what the right course is. I think it's notable that Palmer is not talking about integrity as a way to achieve happiness, but as a means of gaining the perspective and the power to be a conscious and aware teacher, to achieve fulfillment in ones vocation. What's life-giving is so much bigger than fleeting happiness or satisfaction; it is to discern what is vital-- both in what is essential and what will give my life the kind of momentum and energy that I want it to have.

on remaining a member of a church in which you are no longer active.

2011-07-20T20:57:00.002-04:00

When I bailed on Mormonism nearly four years ago (I practically have a college degree in being inactive), it was after a number of years of frustration and resentment. Suddenly and strangely liberated-- and by this, meaning that I no longer felt inclined to keep a certain balance on my savings account, should I need to finance a wedding on the fly-- I bought a Dutch bicycle and I started this blog. Leaving the church, getting the Old Dutch Treat, and this silly little blogchurch were all part of that funny, disorienting moment in my life.

new bike owner. the ride home was 100% terrifying.

The thing about my membership in the Church-- the LDS Church-- is that I'm kind of unwilling to give it up. Sure, I don't acknowledge priesthood authority as a force that governs my life, and we all know I have done my fair share of things that would probably disqualify me from membership-- but the fact of the matter is, even though I don't go and I don't intend to go back, my membership, ensured through my baptism, means a lot to me. I still regard Mormons as my tribe-- adopted, to be sure-- and I just don't feel the inclination to resign my membership, in spite of everything. It's like keeping your married name after a divorce-- you can't deny that you made that choice, and it changed you in powerful ways (that's mixing metaphors, because this whole post is a metaphor, but whatever). I still identify as Mormon-- albiet a lapsed one- because Christian, atheist, agnostic- those labels just don't seem to fit. It's who I am, I can't shake it.

Ok, this post isn't actually about my relationship to the Church. It's about my relationship to my Dutch bike. I bought it with the intention of coasting down hills at the U, to feel the wind on my face-- and I did. The bike was not a burden. I had a large living room to store it in, and even when it didn't shift right or it blew over in the wind- I was just so into it. The bike was the symbol of the freedom I felt, and I might have spent a lot of my rides thinking, "Look at me! Don't you see how free I am? ACKNOWLEDGE MY FREEDOM."

my first fall in Philly.

So what went wrong? You will recall that I moved into a second floor apartment with a very narrow staircase. And even though the ODT carried me through a very exciting transition my life-- from West to East, car-owner to full-time city cyclist-- I still had to drag that heavy-ass bike up the stairs every night. It felt good to ride, but it's a lot of bike. I was covered in bruises from our battles. And the more I rode it, the more I had to maintain it. Have you ever taken the wheel off of a Dutch bicycle? No? GOOD. What I'm saying is, I could never find a shop that didn't bitch about my bike when I brought it in, so the bike and I were forced to duke it out and this tended to make for weeks of the ODT sitting around half dismantled.

the "aggressively hauling shit" phase. note that I had, by that time, gone to war with my skirt guards.

When I moved last year, getting a place with first floor access was a big deal for me. But then, you know, we have had a world of trouble with our pesky storm door. And the bike is still huge and hard to take care of. The headlight, which hadn't worked in over a year, started popping off and kickstand lost its functionality. Things were getting ramshackle. And then I started my exams. Being exhausted and hauling thirty books a trip up and down the hill-- because my commute doubled and now included a hill-- it just stopped working. I resented the bike, I didn't enjoy riding it (except on the downhills) and when the chain popped off when I was running late for school last Spring, I didn't bother to fix it. I told myself I'd take the train to school and ride the Dahon in the neighborhood and fix the bike when there weren't so many other demands on my energies. I had worked really hard to make the bike work, and it just wasn't happening.

oh, the weight. by then, my Basil basket had disintegrated too.

Fast forward, two months later--I finally finished fixing the bike today (it probably needs an adjustment at some hater bike shop).

And then I went to the shop to pick up the bike I bought in Tacoma. The tiny, light bike that won't be a bother when I'm late for school. The bike that will be much easier to lock up. The bike that shops won't mind working on. The bike I can actually take out on long rides. The bike that actually fits my leg length. The Bike. The Guez.

I'm not selling the Old Dutch, but I think it's time to put it in the basement. Maybe not forever-- I will probably want those fenders in the winter-- but for now, there's just no sense in keeping it out. Is this a rejection of the Cycle Chic, slow bicycle ethos that got me into cycling? It feels like it, a little bit. Riding in a skirt isn't my first priority these days, and slow only fits my life some of the time. But putting the Old Dutch to pasture doesn't mean getting rid of it-- like my church membership, it remains a powerful symbol of choices I made and things I wanted for my life. It will be there when I want it.

I like to think that I can cast off the weight of the symbol of being free and just be free. So I'll keep worshipping at the Church of the Granny Bike, just not on it.

First thing out of the shop, I took my bike for a zip along the river to my favorite spot. Note that Big Brother cable tied my old tires on for shipping, and that the seat is the perfect height because BB made a note when he packed it! He is too wonderful.

great moments in tacoma cycling, part iv.

2011-07-15T22:17:00.001-04:00

A roundup of some of my favorite bikey photos from my trip to Tacoma earlier in the summer. They represent a broad swath of unphoto-ed bike memories and bike friends and family in lovely Tacoma.

Bicycle dinner date with my beloved and generous hosts.

My new bike- The Guez- piled high with eats from my favorite teriyaki place. We will be reunited next week and I can. not. wait!!

Only a small portion of the megabikepile that my posse of Tacoma Mob Riders leaves outside of bars. Of all of the things I do when I go home, riding with that crowd always leaves me with the greatest sense that Tacoma is a magical place for bike riding (so what if I sound like Prester John!).

This one's not from Tacoma, but our ill-fated effort to ride bikes in Tulsa was still notable and memorable. Our greatest consolation was that we later found bike people, which is of course the next best thing to riding bikes.

DIY mayonnaise.

2011-07-10T13:48:00.001-04:00

Last night I was wandering around the grocery store, trying to figure out what to eat. It's too hot to eat, but a girl can't subsist on a diet of beverages and frozen treats (iced coffee and mini ice cream sandwich for breakfast, Yuengling Lager and Otter Pops for dinner...).

So I got the makings of my standard macaroni salad, because it's cheap to make and cold and, with some chicken added, sticks to your bones while still functioning as light summer fare. So I got home and prepped all the ingredients and went to dress it and... I had no mayonnaise.

Enter The Essential New York Times Cook Book. From 1981, a lighter, creamier mayonnaise. A mayonnaise that's got that certain something. A mayonnaise that doesn't require uncomfortable discussion about spoilage and expiration dates. A mayonnaise that makes exactly enough for dressing a pound of macaroni. This is A mayonnaise that changes lives. It took less than 5 minutes to make in my Kitchen Aid.

Mayonnaise

1 large egg yolk

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard or other imported mustard

1 teaspoon cider vinegar or fresh lemon juice

1 cup peanut, vegetable, or olive oil

Place the yolk in a bowl and add salt and pepper to taste, the mustard, and vinegar. Beat vigourously for a second or two with whisk attachment. Start adding the oil gradually, beating continuously with the whisk (I did this on 10). Continue beating and adding the oil until all of it is used.

Makes about 1 cup

Macaroni Salad

1 lb macaroni

3-5 stalks celery, chopped

1-2 bell peppers

salt and pepper

the homemade mayonnaise you just made

generous quantities of celery salt

poached chicken, shredded and salted

living in america.

2011-07-04T11:52:00.000-04:00

In honor of the holiday, some Fourth of July tunes:

Tomorrow I start teaching my first, very own class. For lecture, I'm providing the students with an overview of race and ethnicity in America. It's a little strange to be cataloguing four hundred years of injustice and conflict on a day that we supposedly celebrate our nation's independence and the magic of democracy. I mean, America is great, but the costs, the costs.

In the interest of being upbeat (block parties! fireworks! pie!), let us remember that the promises of section 1 of the 14th Amendment to the Constitution are real, even if they are unfulfilled:

"All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws."

---

And because I'm a cheeseball, the finer interpretation of the official song of Summer 2011:

all my children.

2011-06-24T02:58:00.001-04:00

A circumstance I often find myself in is that of accounting for the major decisions of my adult life, or, more specifically, justifying why I don't have kids. This is most often to people who have kids, and to people who don't have kids and are also relieved not to have them yet, or ever. Because people who have kids (and zero contact with my career trajectory and higher education in general) haven't always held my achievements (which I am very vain about, in spite of their modesty) in equal esteem (and because baby showers and weddings present a particular kind of torment), I present them in terms they can understand:

My first child is 7 years old. Its name is Associates Degree. Boy did I do a lot of growing up with that first baby.

My second child is 5 years old. Its name is Bachelors Degree. I really came to know who I was with that with that one, though I was still just a child myself. Like my first child, my second child was an easy baby.

Because I am pro-choice, my third pregnancy, A Demoralizing Job in Corporate America, was hastily aborted four years ago.

My third child is 2 years old. Its name is Masters Degree. I thought that one would kill me-- it had all kinds of complications. The doctor who helped me birth it seemed like a real jerk. In the end it came out fine, but let's be real, you can't expect that much from middle children and I totally get why some people choose just to have one child or none at all.

I'm pregnant with my fourth child. I'm hoping it's a PhD, but I'm not far enough along to find out yet. Like most people with four children, I will probably end up totally broke. I wish people would stop asking me when my due date is.

summing up my time in tacoma.

2011-06-13T01:40:00.000-04:00

Movies in my favorite bar = animated gif with my bestie. <3

church of the semi-custom touring bike.

2011-06-01T01:06:00.000-04:00

A month or so ago, my brother's neighbor let him know that she had a bike she was looking to offload. She had bought the bike new, but couldn't ride it any more because she has started to shrink. The bike is now too big for her.

At about the same time, I went to war with the Old Dutch Treat. Riding it uphill when late for school and saddled with twenty books was not much of a treat. When my brother mentioned that he had dibbsed his neighbor's bike for me to test ride, I was game. I was ready. I wanted the bike as soon as I heard about it.

Coming home to Washington to buy a bike might seem obtuse, but the bike had a couple of things going for it. I've got a short inseam, and it's an unusually small bike and it's in fantastic shape. (Girl moment: It is also a sweet indigo color and has stars on it!!) It saved me a lot of leg work as far as bike shopping goes. The bike is living in my brother's garage, so he's helping me shine it up. So far BB has put on new brake levers, new handlebar tape (cork!), and swapped out the seat. New Philly-ready tires are on the way. And perhaps most enjoyably, I have a month to ride it around Tacoma with the nicest folks in deliciously mild weather.

1998 Rodriguez Stellar

comps mini-journal, the poetry of oral exams.

2011-05-12T15:04:00.000-04:00

11

humble one(gifted with

illimitable joy)
bird sings love's every truth

beyond all since and why

asking no favor but

(while down come blundering
proud hugenesses of hate

sometimes called world)to sing

Yesterday as I waited to start my oral exams, I cracked open the complete volume of e.e. cummings on my desk for a bit of peace and perspective. I came across this poem. It was resonant in the moment-- humility after months of overconfident preparation-- what a concept!

Yet during my exams-- a messy and unpleasant event in which yours truly, ever capable, totally choked-- I thought about what it means to be 'humble one bird.' As I waited for my committee to reveal my fate, I felt a raw yearning- it hit me, how badly I really want to do this. I sat for close to forty minutes as my heart was laid low, 'asking no favor but to sing.'

You can imagined my relief that I passed my exams.
But that moment of encountering poetry deepened my gratitude.

I watched these trees behind my house get cut down yesterday morning before I left for my exams. It made me sad that they were getting cut down when they had just come into bloom. The lot is nearly cleared and the house is nearly erased.

comps mini-journal, day 14.

2011-05-05T23:05:00.000-04:00

So today I got up and was kind of like this:

Then I worked for four hours, went to school, met with a student, and worked for three more hours when I got home.

And then I was done with my comps.

Ok, not totally-- my plan is to print them out and do a typo edit during the final tomorrow (what else do I do for 2 hours?!) But finishing tonight was perfect-- a friend let me know that he had roasted a chicken and wanted to share, and I was like, "just let me finish my comps!"

I respond well to food incentives.

somebody needs her hair did...

but isn't the Temple Owl just the cutest mascot ever? so proud!

I feel... good. There is a little or a lot of letting go with this kind of assignment-- I mean, there's just not time to make massive changes. It's a little or a lot anti-climactic, as I felt much of the process was. And when I try to formulate a defense for what I wrote, it's just like well, uh, I had to work with the questions. So whatever. There's a lot of so whatevering going on right now. But in a good way, right? I mean, two weeks, 36 pages, and 95 footnotes later, the exam period is basically over!

comps mini-journal, day 13.

2011-05-04T22:03:00.000-04:00

The awesome thing about this process is how my capacity for sleep seems to be expanding. And how it takes me forever to really wake up. This brain is feelin' tired.

Today I rocked the no makeup look. It adds authenticity to the persona of frazzled comps taker that I am trying to perfect. Today I finished an essay- all it needs is a title and an intro quote (or for me to delete the note about inserting an intro quote). The big US field came in at 12 pages with 40 footnotes. As a sign of how little writing I've done this semester-- I forgot what a time suck footnotes are. I spent half my day cleaning up the essay and making the footnotes tidy, and boy are they beautiful! Imagine the satisfaction you get from totally cleaning your house. That's how looking at these bad boys makes me feel.

my precious

My workspace inspires no such feelings. I've tried to stay on top of the books and the detritus, but like a busy toddler, I get a lot of pleasure from taking the books off the shelf and putting them on the floor.

Needless to say, I have a lot of housekeeping to do this weekend. When my exams are turned in.

This is not entirely accurate, as I will probably turn my exams in around 7 am on Friday. Or maybe around 10:30, after I give the final for my TA class. I am starting to plan on an all nighter. The formatting stuff has taken so long on the 2 American essays that I am not entirely sure how my day of Latin Americaness will go. There's slightly fewer footnotes, but that essay is a complete wreck. So I'm soldiering on. Will finish the dissertation field essay before bed tonight so I can hunker down and work the shit out of that essay tomorrow.

Compsjams with Polly Scattergood:

I can't wait to be done.

(this is for you, Kara :) )

comps mini-journal, day 12.

2011-05-03T21:28:00.002-04:00

Is it over yet? I'm tired. Editing is a slog. Still have a less than half of today's essay to finish and then one more essay to do tomorrow. Much refining to do on Thursday. Seeing my advisor at a BBQ today kind of terrified me, but hey, that's why people drink beer at BBQs, right?

I'm getting whiny. When I talk to people about my comps, this is their reaction:

I am exhausted. It's hard sustaining interest in these essays every day when I am not sure they say what I want them to say about my mastery of the texts. I'm getting to the point where I think about alternate ways I could have answered the questions. That can be useful, not for the moment (far too late to make changes) but as I think about the defense, it helps me to account for the choices I made.

It occurred to me tonight that this is largely an editorial process. There's only so much you can say in 10-12 pages, and everything that is in the essays is a result of choices I've made. I hate the exercise but it is making me think differently about the choices I make as a writer. Creating a narrative is a very deliberate undertaking.

I have been eating ice cream every day for at least a week-- the best roommate ever was nice enough to pick me up some at The Sev last night. My work the last few days has been powered by the delicious beans roasted at Tacoma's Valhalla Coffee Co. I am SO glad I splurged and ordered some of my homebrew! It's the little things that keep me hanging on.

comps mini-journal, day 11.

2011-05-02T23:47:00.001-04:00

Was off to a slow start today-- thanks, whiskey. Now it's 11:30 and I am still working, something I have not done the whole 11 days. Editing is going fine, if fine means rearranging all my paragraphs and all of the sentences in those paragraphs, and generally just trying to figure out what on earth I was trying to do when I spewed everything out onto the page.

I'm definitely starting to feel the time crunch. There is no getting off schedule at this point, so it may be a late night.

marginalia that won't rotate

distraction.
http://www.melissaclark.net/blog/2011/04/maple-shortbread.html

justice.

2011-05-02T02:04:00.000-04:00

I remember on September 11, 2001, when my mom, an Air Force reservist, was called to base to wait to see if she would have to go to war somewhere.

I remember what it was like to know my uncle and brother's brother-in-law were close to the action during and after the invasion of Iraq.

I remember what it was like to live with someone as he spiraled into despair and addiction as he dealt with what he experienced there.

I remember what it's been like, over the past nine years to have another uncle, a cousin, and a stepfather stationed in the Middle East.

I remember that my mother, every single day, has served domestically and overseas to support those who have been involved in the War and their families.

I remember what it was like to have numerous friends filter in and out of my ward between tours to Afghanistan and Iraq. I remember how it changed them.

I remember what my family and so many people I know have sacrificed, all of the terror and worry we felt, all of the distance. I remember of all of the other military families across the country. I remember that it's only a fraction of what people who have lost have felt.

And I don't feel any remorse. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, and maybe things won't change. It doesn't change the past and it doesn't bring back the dead.
But just for a moment, for me, for my family, for my country:
I am relieved.

comps mini-journal, day 10.

2011-05-01T22:23:00.000-04:00

Day 10! I have three rough drafts, and boy are they rough! They look like mad libs puzzles-- insert detail here, date there, foooottttnnooootttes, and commands reminding me to inject the argument. Those bits are frighteningly highlighted in a number of colors, thanks to GoogleDocs, so I don't forget to delete them. The whole thing is a disaster, all 31 pages are a GD mess. I mean look:

I FOOTNOTED MY SELF-CRITIQUE.

I, too, am a mess. At the age of 26, I can say earnestly and without hyperbole that I am in the midst of the worst breakout I have ever had. So powerful that it has come on in spite of birth control, in spite of diligent facewashing, in spite of fancy face scrubbers, in spite of witch hazel pads. I chose for you the most whited out picture I took because I am, quite literally, horrified, and am plotting out how I can finish this damned process without leaving my house for the next four days while my skin clears up.

And I look tired! Not from lack of sleep. Probably from all of the stress eating! Ice cream every day! Coffee, gallons of it! Kit-kat! Dark chocolate Reeses cups! Lager! You get the idea. Bad life choices make this process so much easier! And probably aren't helping this whole skin problem.

I'm also realizing how much I'm aging. It occurred to me this week that I have permanent wrinkles under my eyes that will not be going away. There's this omnipresent crease on my forehead. And the white hair I found last week! I know I was aging before I started comps, but somehow comps makes it worse. It makes it real.

Ok, so this is the pit of despair. I get it. Rock bottom! The weekend is over and I've got 4 days left. The plan is, as I said in the beginning, to spend next week revising. Tomorrow, dissertation field. Tuesday, big US field. Wednesday, Latin America. Thursday, everything. Since I'm giving a final on Friday at 8am (joy!), I will probably just turn in the essays before I go to bed on Thursday night/Friday morning. This is the home stretch, and it is awfully homely.

I am recognizing, at last, why the oral defense is scary: you have to account, to four brilliant people, for this dreck you've produced.

And everything is italicized because it's just so damn dramatic!

---

This isn't stopping me from life's simple pleasures.

Yesterday I pickled fennel with orange, a recipe from The Joy of Pickling:

And today I finally combined my new Saltwater sandals with my new favorite nail polish, Essie "Meet Me at Sunset," a very orangey red that is the great lobster color that's everywhere this year. This has got to be at least my tenth pair of Saltwaters- I've been wearing them since I was a baby, religiously since I was 14 and traipsed all over Europe in them. My brown and navy pairs were getting pretty raggedy, so I opted for gold because I can't resist metallic shoes. Saltwaters are nicely made, leather, and super durable- I replace mine about every 5 years. Which for 41 bucks (remember when they were $20?) is a pretty good deal. And this year they have been deemed so fashionable that Madewell is carrying them- but Madewell is not fancy enough for gold. And as we say at my house:

GIRL, YOU FANCY.

comps mini-journal, day 9.

2011-04-30T19:19:00.000-04:00

drink and write? who, me?

Today I hunkered down to write. Started with 725 words, ended with 1544. This Latin America essay is an ass kicker, there is just so much reviewing I have to do to answer the question. At school I got bored with it and had to make myself a Jack and Pepsi with my desk whiskey. And I had to listen to James Taylor and Jim Croce and sing along. I mean, how else could I write about Cardenas and Calles and all the boys? This is the creative process at work, people. Romantic!

I am hoping to finish a draft of that essay tomorrow. Since I don't have anything planned for tonight other than making some orange scented fennel pickle, I think I'll probably do some tinkering with the US essays. As I drink Jack and Pepsi made with home whiskey. I am so glad that I only have 5 days left!

I look permanently tired.

The lipcolor is Revlon Just Bitten Lipstain in Flame- not orangey at all as the packaging appears- but rather hot pink- fun! I think stains are the best way to do the bold lip for Spring... I just can't do all the reapplying that lipstick demands. Perfect for days when you're wearing head to toe gray. Not that I do that.

comps mini-journal, day 8.

2011-04-30T00:48:00.001-04:00

This is the face of somebody who marveled briefly, jealously, at a royal wedding dress.

This is the face of somebody who taught two excellent sections today to engaged learners.

This is the face of somebody who went to Starbucks twice, respectively, with lovely people.

This is the face of somebody who had a wax-paper cup of wine before she had anything to eat today.

This is the face of somebody who commented on a paper about Indian feminism.

This is the face of somebody who almost ran over a crowd of tourists while on her red Dutch bike as she wore all black making a left turn (and later found out the tour guide was in her program).

This is the face of somebody who went to the doctor and channelled her great-grandmother, who answered questions tersely as she rocked on her heels.

This is the face of somebody who listened to Marvin Gaye with her eyes closed on the couch.

This is the face of somebody who went to drinks at Oscar's and bought impromptu presents at CVS, and then had another drink in the warm abode of friends.

This is the face of somebody who did not work on her comps today.

comps mini-journal, day 7.

2011-04-28T21:52:00.000-04:00

So here's a story:
I couldn't find any of my tote bags. As I have 234 books checked out from the library, I have 4 that move between office, library, and house.
I also couldn't find a particular overdue book. I tore my house apart, I looked all over my office bookshelf and book piles. No dice, so I figured it wasn't properly checked back in at the library, which has happened before. Cue terse emails between self and library staff.
Today I had a revelation. The tote bags were in my office.
You see, last Friday I took all of the non-relevant books off my office book shelf with the intent to return them. I then got to work, and forgot about them. All week, as I have looked on my shelf for that damn book, I have been so impressed at how relevant all of my books are to my essays.
So today, I found 100 odd books-- in 4 tote bags- in the corner of my office. HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT, folks.

That's where I'm at today.

I got a late start because of Thursday brunch, and then threw a fit at the coffee shop because I really had no idea what the Mexican Revolution was about. I spent four hours at school relearning it. I didn't intend to do any reading during the comps period, but the writing was becoming too painful (I have a paragraph that looks like a Mad Libs puzzle). As it turns out, I can't just sit down and expect to just write like I've done with my US essays. So I wrote one page today (of my big field) and I can now distinguish between Villa, Carranza, and Zapata. I mean, hey, I have a week to go, and I've got about 22 pages.

Here's where the magic was happening tonight. My office workspace is far tidier than my home workspace.

in my natural habitat

The last picture is to show my new favorite necklace. I got it at Yellow Owl Workshop. It goes with everything and I get compliments every time I wear it. It adds visual interest to my extensive collection of boring cotton separates. Seriously, if you need a gift that someone will love (or for yourself), these necklaces are it!

comps mini-journal, day 6.

2011-04-27T19:54:00.001-04:00

Day 6 was a vast improvement over Day 5. Let us count the ways!

I started working on my outside field essay today. It's in Latin America with an emphasis on Mexico. I was starting from pretty close to scratch on that list, so the reading was a lot more difficult because I had no idea what was going on, much less which conversations the books were joining. Latin American history is animated by a different set of questions than U.S., and I've had to get a grip on those in a pretty short amount of time. I'm not really sure how well that's worked; I am terrified that I will be totally stumped during the oral exams. It's a lot harder for to talk my way out of henequin production and oligharchy than compared to... well, anything US related. Except for battles. I might actually know more about henequin than battles.

So this is all to say: the progress is a lot slower. I have to be a little more careful because I'm not certain about the facts. I wrote two pages today and was so proud of myself, like beyond proud. That's not enough, so there's work to do tonight-for real work, not the un-work of watching the RuPaul's Drag Race finale, which is how Day 5 ended.

what, you don't watch the best show on television / internet streaming?!

RuPaul's Drag Race - RuPaul - Logo: Fierce TV

I don't mind. I have been driving myself crazy in the evenings lately because I'm too spent from writing to read or clean but totally terrible at just hanging around.

Today was also magnificent because I found out that I get to be a teaching assistant again next year! I am beyond thrilled about keeping my job- no small feat in today's volatile higher education economy. This means I will have plenty of time to conceive my project, finesse my dissertation prospectus, and get myself ready to apply for some serious grant money next year. It is such a gift to be in a department where I am appreciated. Especially when I think back on the agonizing decision about where to go to grad school-- this is a really beautiful situation.

My best "I don't have to live in a tent in my brother's backyard" face.

This song has been in my head all afternoon. It's totally perfect for this warm sunny spring weather we've been having.

Oh fine, just one more:

comps mini-journal, day 5.

2011-04-26T19:23:00.000-04:00

Day 5: attack of the angst!

I got mad today. I was sitting down to work when I found out that I had to go to campus to sign a form ASAP. Tuesdays have become kind of sacred this semester because they'e been the one day I'm consistently off campus. This incursion into the holiness of Tuesday agitated me-- I went all the way up to Temple and came all the way back and was just. not. feeling it. I didn't even enjoy the bike ride on ~~my big heavy stupid bike~~ the Old Dutch Treat. I went to the coffee shop to try and find some peace and focus, but couldn't muster it. I did some bad writing- 4 pages of it- and then I hit the wall.

I'm pretty sure I made this face at every single person who came into the coffee shop:

Sorry bout that South Philly.

The problem with this exercise is that it lasts two weeks. That's awesome because I might produce something more coherent than if I had a day or a week, as is common for most other programs, but it also sucks because it feels like comps will never end. And that leads to me feeling like this is a dumb use of my two weeks and this doesn't show that I know anything and twitchtwitchtwitch etc.

I am really feeling this song.

Ok, so feeling like that isn't really sustainable.

I mean this was me yesterday:

And this was me today:

And this is where I need to be:

So I came home and ate some soup and watched Easy A (so good!) and learned how to smile again and now, now I am going to try to finish this essay because 8.5 pages is good, but finished will feel so much better. Perspective! I am having it!

comps mini-journal, day 4.

2011-04-25T19:34:00.000-04:00

I'm in a groove. It's a write 4 pages a day groove. I kind of like it. It puts me a touch behind schedule, but well, I can only focus for so long / ramble on for so many pages / connect so many dots etc. I mena, the real reality is that I can only drink so many iced coffees before I get too hopped up to work. There are a lot of factors here.

Comps isn't really changing my appearance. I should have a head of white hair by now, or look more tired, or something. It's like 80 degrees in our house, so I'm just warm and kinda annoyed, ya know?

Today I wrote about the 19th century, which was kind of refreshing. For my big field (19th and 20th century) I decided to only write about topics that I'm really interested in. I have a better grip on some conversations than others, and as one of my committee members told me, you have to write about what you know (as a result, his essay will be about 2 pages long). The crazy thing about ten pages is that I have no space to really say anything. So my discursive footnotes keep getting longer and I'm just like, whatever.

comps mini-journal, day 3.

2011-04-24T20:57:00.001-04:00

Day 3. Seeing this on my dashboard kind of creeps me out.

This is me looking out the window, wanting to be outside because it was 84 degrees. Not conducive to writing.

Also, hot rollers. Where would I be without hair tutorials? One of my favorite ways to kill 10 minutes / take a study break.

I started work a little late because I had to make donuts (forthcoming post). Today was slower going- I wrote around 3 pages this afternoon and things came screeching to a halt. I think because it's Sunday, and also because I ate nothing but donuts, and also because my laptop cord is at school which meant I was trapped working at home (I am not going to Temple on Easter Sunday, even if I'm not really observing Easter. Not going to Temple is my observance). More or less got through page 9 today (hello, discursive footnotes!) which is not a draft, as I hoped, but it's pretty good I think. I'm going to table the dissertation field essay for a couple of days so I can come back to the argument with fresh eyes and wrap it up in a cohesive manner.

This is how I feel when I think about writing about welfare policy. All of my welfare books are at school, and I don't want to be there right now. And the welfare scholarship is well, complex. Embarrassingly, this is what I think about when the word "welfare" comes to mind:

Putting on my game face tomorrow, I promise.

For now: finishing The Hunt for Red October. More interesting now that I know so much about the Cold War!

comps mini-journal, day 2.

2011-04-23T16:37:00.000-04:00

It took me a couple hours to fall asleep last night, so it looks like that is going to be the problem during this whole process. Slept a little later than planned and high-tailed it to the coffee shop so I could get a jump on things. Starting earlier = finishing earlier. Working at the coffee shop = uninterrupted work.

I pulled out 5 pages in 4 hours. It felt great to write about things I've been thinking about for months. I'm doing my laptop work in Google Docs so I can move between computers easily. I am will run my master draft out of Word since I prefer using my big screen for formatting. I'm fussing around with it and am having an oh shit moment-- I totally spaced and worked in 11 point (you can see more on my teensy netbook screen). So that means I wrote 6 pages. Um, oops?

My goal is to write 5 pages a day. That would mean having 3 operative drafts by next Sunday, meaning I can sleep all day and start revising that Monday. I like to spew out the rough stuff and then really tear it apart. One of the biggest payoffs during this process is that I have been in grad school for four years and I know how I work best.

So yah, I look a little spazzy and frizzy, but I'm feeling kind of smug. I know I'm starting with the easiest stuff first- best to get it out of the way in case the hard stuff takes longer- but I feel good. Time to fix my bicycle chain and clean myself up for a Passover Seder. Lamb and wine are pretty much the perfect hard work payoff!

comps mini-journal, day 1.

2011-04-22T17:47:00.001-04:00

This is how I felt this morning. I got maybe 5 hours of sleep last night-- I was strung out on the anxiety that had been alluding me during 2 1/2 months of absolutely confident preparation. I wanted to wake up and find my questions in my mailbox. I tried not thinking about it... I tried riding my bike to school (my dirty chain came off before I left my street)... I tried to stay cool on the train... I worked through scenarios where our secretary (the question-Santa) was sick and couldn't send the questions... I worked through the scenario where my department decided I couldn't take my comps because I haven't taken the language exam yet... I was a little / a lot wound-up.

My questions were in my email box as soon as I got off the train.

They are exactly what I expected.

It is so hard to teach when you desperately want to be working! I made it better by giving myself the treat of teaching Paris is Burning.

REALNESS.

I was relieved to come home and work alone in my silent house. I am working out of this excellent Ritter Sport graph notebook that my mom sent me in an antique trunk.

I have 2 strong outlines for my US essays that I feel good about and a working outline for my outside field that I will bulk up as I go. This is not so bad. I think I feel good because I have had so many well wishes from family and friends- they are the best! I feel sustained!

Now off to meet my roommate for drinks because otherwise...

my face will stay stuck like this.

dispatches from comps, part 5: comps mini-journal.

2011-04-22T14:55:00.000-04:00

My comps questions have dropped! I have 2 weeks to complete three 10-12 page essays across three fields of history- Latin America, 19th and 20th century US, and post-war politics and federalism. Big Brother has suggested that I keep a mini-journal of my comps experience, and what better place for it than my neglected blog? Comps liveblogging, how very digital humanities of me! Or to be passe, how very vintage LiveJournal of me! I will try to post every day until May 6, at which point I will collapse into a heap, or maybe even disappear like the Mystics in The Dark Crystal. (spaced out-podling-sucked of vital essence is more likely)

I like to think that this will give me perspective on the whole ordeal. This is not the most harrowing two weeks of my academic career, or even a major right of passage in my struggle to become a professional historian, but rather, just some funny story I'm telling the internet about my daily life- like #30daysofbiking, only important! #14daysofwriting! Let's do this!

dispatches from comps, part 4.

2011-04-08T16:18:00.000-04:00

“Of course I’m not supposed to admit that there is triannual torrential sobbing in my office. ... But I have friends who stay home with their kids and they also have a triannual sob, so I think we should call it even.”

-Tina Fey

I am so reading Bossypants when I'm done with comps.

Also:

dispatches from comps, part 3.

2011-04-07T17:53:00.002-04:00

"The important point is that the median voter, or the middle classes if one prefers, needs to be convinced to accept or tolerate income dispartities. Unless the median voter is actually persuaded to tolerate income inequality, the failure of officials to implement legal democratic commands exposes a democratic regime to charges of hypocrisy or corruption. And I would call that a problem of legitimacy."

-John Ferejohn, "Is Inequality a Threat to Democracy?", The Unsustainable American State

I have been chewing on this quote for days. That is the problem with The Unsustainable American State, by far my favorite book to have read during comps. I haven't finished it yet; the essays take me days to digest and do so many things to my interpretive schema that I have read the book in very measured doses over the course of several solo bar trips on nights when I decide I really want to treat myself. It ties together so many of the threads of scholarship that I've consumed over the past two months and offers a model of critical scholarship that must be considered by policy-makers and institution-builders. The insights in the book require meditation.

We can take nothing our government does for granted. Nothing about it is fixed; even the Constitution includes provisions for amendment. It has only the power we gie it. So we must ask:
Who convinced us that pronounced income inequality is essential to democracy? And why are they still in government? Why do the laws protecting them still stand?

More from Ferejohn:
"In modern society, income is produced by a complex combination of private and public actions, and inequalities are to some extent unintended consequences of billions of separate actions.... So, from the standpoint of regime legitimacy, it is an open question whether the relatively less regulated liberal world would undermine democracy any more than a regulated, and arguable more democratic, alternative."

food for thought.

why i'm doing #30daysofbiking.

2011-04-01T14:57:00.000-04:00

Woohoo! April is here! This promises to be one of the more stressful months of grad school thus far. On April 22nd I will begin a two week written exam, producing three ten-page essays showcasing the knowledge I've attained after four (four!) years of graduate school and working ~400 books this semester. On top of this, I'm finishing up my last class, guiding students through the last 35 years of the 20th century, and trying to plan my first dissertation research trip.

This month is not especially conducive to exercise, or grocery shopping, or really, leaving my house unless I have to. Which is exactly why I'm doing #30daysofbiking. I have to make time for myself. I eat better when I bicycle grocery shop regularly. I prepare for class and meetings more thoroughly when I can't count on a subway ride for extra review time. I keep a clearer head when I bicycle commute every day. I need to ride my bike every day this month.

#30daysofbiking! Work-life balance! Let's do this!

the imprisonment of a race.

2011-03-28T20:31:00.000-04:00

Last Friday I trekked out to Princeton for the Center for African American Studies' conference "The Imprisonment of a Race." The conference was the brainchild of an undergraduate student in molecular biology. Originally from Inglewood, California, he was troubled by the fact that more young black men go to prison than to college. He wanted to raise awareness about the issue, so he went to CAAS. He expected maybe a professor and some kids in chairs in a classroom. What he got, however, was to help plan a conference that brought together some of the finest scholars writing about race and incarceration today. It was the kind of event that made me feel grateful to live where I do; it's a gift to have access to the resources of the Ivies.

It was a major event for me. It wasn't just that it was a networking event, or that there was some really interesting research I hadn't heard about yet-- though both of those things were big draws. It was the power of sitting in a room with several hundred people having a consciousness-raising experience. The research was provocative-- I learned about, for instance, how children are policed and conditioned to punative punisment in schools and neighborhoods, how census counting of inmates in prisons rather than their neighborhoods of origin means less money for already poor communities (reproducing the circumstances of poverty that spawn most crime), and how it costs the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania twice as much to incarcerate a prisoner than to pay the tuition of a student at Penn State. I heard the voice of Mumia Abu-Jamal, a political prisoner on death row-- that he joined our conference by phone, with the periodic interuptions of a recording us telling us that the phone could be being recorded, added a potent sense of urgency to the day's proceedings. I heard research I am familiar with-- how prison riots and internal resistance show that "the carceral state is, in fact, fragile," and how during the Progressive era whites were treated for poverty, blacks were neglected because of their assumed criminal pathology, and these events laid the foundations for mass incarceration. I heard all of the familiar statistics about incarceration in America- how of 2 million people incarcerated today, half are African-American, how 5 million people in this country are disenfranchised because they committed felonies. Everyone agrees that there are evil people who should be locked up, but that locking up for non-violent crimes and racist policing have occurred on such a grand scale of inequality that it they have become less effective, and indeed, manifestations of the fundamentally undemocratic nature of American governance and a need for a continued human rights struggle.

I heard over and over again:
Prisons destroy the spirit.
Prisons do not correct behaviors.
Prisons undermine family life.
Prisons produce fractured citizenship that encourages recidivism.
Prisons are the only policy Democrats and Republicans seem to be able to agree on.
Prisons-- in all their dehumanizing, demonizing, unjust incarnations-- are evidence of our society in it most realized form (Foucault).

The word "suffering" must have been said a hundred times.

There were moments when I felt close to tears. I feel that way when I read about prisons, too-- a sense of despair that these institutions are so entrenched that they seem beyond reform.

It was a blessing, then, to round out the day with a conversation between public intellectual Cornel West and Michelle Alexander, author of The New Jim Crow. West offered me hope-- he reminded me that I have the power, in our my own life, to infuse my work with a spiritual motivation. He spoke plainly, truthfully: Justice is love practiced in public. Michelle Alexander reminded me that for everything I'd heard, I have a responsibility to bring awareness to the issues surrounding incarceration and inequality. I can change the words I use- I don't have to use the term "felon" to describe the formerly-incarcerated because I can use my language to show others than I believe in forgiving those who have done their time. I can work for reform and rule shifting but I can also work for a revolutionary transformation of culture. There is hope in that.

My favorite quote came from Khalilah Brown-Dean, and I think I might have to embroider it to hang over my desk as I write my dissertation:

"My research is my advocacy."

dispatches from comps, part 2.

2011-03-10T17:44:00.000-05:00

"If we renounce a conspiracy of silence that simplifies popular culture, expunging its internal hierarchies, complexities, or disagreements, we must also break the silences that help us reproduce the simplicity of politics more generally. Politics is not, except in an official version, about the triumph of one class, idea, great man, nation, world region, or socioeconomic system. As a struggle over power, politics has always been about coalition and conflict along many lines of hierarchy; it has always involved the transformative power of discourse and confrontation.

Politics is also about hegemony, as process and outcome. In the making of nation-states, the discursive, intellectual, military, and political struggles of Latin American peoples, rural and otherwise, were central to defining both success and failure. Only by excavating the archaeological layers of these struggles, embedded in successful and unsuccessful hegemonic outcomes, can we understand present-day institutions and conflicts.

As was the case with Xochiapulco's bones, excavation is always a two-part process. First you dig, and then you struggle to identify what you found. We will never all agree on what the bones are, or why their identity matters. But historians can and must continue to dig and to place what we find in relation to present-day concerns, issues, and debates. In so doing, our labor in articulating past and present remakes both, endlessly."

-Florencia Mallon, Peasant and Nation: The Making of Postcolonial Mexico and Peru, 1995.

I love Mallon's thoughtful and elegant prose. It gives her the power to be boldly provocative in a way that seems natural and seamless. She's so persuasive in her application of subaltern studies as a means of tempering the teleological tendancy of institutional scholarship. I know struggle with teleology, as do, I think, many scholars in the New Institutionalism: how do we understand institutions and policy without their power seeming inevitable or unchallenged, permanent even? Mallon's argument appeals to the social justice mission I see as intrinsic to my own work. I love her sense of hope and power- historians can change things.

I love what happens when I put the historian into that equation-
"In doing so, our labor in articulating past and present remakes us, endlessly."

A slightly different use of history than Hartz. I love how everything always fits together.

rediscovering the strokes.

2011-03-08T21:58:00.001-05:00

Every once and a while I come across things that I missed out on because I was Mormon. I say "because I was Mormon" but I really mean "because I had what I felt was a really good excuse to be uptight and obnoxious."

Anyways, my high school boyfriend liked The Strokes. We spent a lot of time driving around in his Mom's black Pontiac Grand Prix listening to The Strokes really loud. It bugged the shit out of me. The distortion, at such a high volume, provoked comments like "I can't feel The Spirit with this music so loud." I was very good at feeling The Spirit while making out or watching rated R movies, but god, that rock and roll!

I know. Seriously. More than Mormonism, it was an early response to what would become a presumably lifelong problem of dating guys who lord their superior musical taste over me in this form of really annoying auditory patriarchy that makes me want to do irresponsible things like listen to Celine Dion.

So last night I was listening to The Strokes' new single with a friend (like that past boyfriend, another musically inclined, blonde haired, blue eyed guy- types, much?) and it hit me that in my Mormonness, in my resistance to my boyfriend's taste, I had missed out on something. And yep, it turns out that The Strokes are pretty good. Especially in relation to so much of the indie stuff that's out today-- they've got body, they've sincere, they've got buoyancy, and in light of a lot of the crap we were listening to at the turn of the century, they've proven pretty durable.

This time around, I am the one turning the music up.

the joy of pickling.

2011-03-05T17:09:00.001-05:00

Back in early January, my best friend and I supped at The Foundry in Somerville, Mass. It was one of those divine meals that you dream about months later. Pickle-lovers from way back (her dad makes the most divine dills!), we just had to have the farmstand pickles. Oh, how we devoured them.

Not too long ago, I was at Devil's Den with my roommate. I was going on and on about how much I love their housemade pickles- I had been at Devil's Den the day before, also raving about them- and he was gracious enough to ask the waiter for my very own dish of them. What a moment- my own little dish!

Sensing a theme- pickles, in 2011, were bringing me an awful lot of food joy- I took on making my own pickles.

I started with reliable Deb's bread and butter pickles and her cider vinegar pickled carrots. The night I made the bread and butters, I served them with Brooklyn Bowl Fried Chicken. Four friends, sitting around the table, eating a whole jar of divine pickles-- does it get much better than that? The pickled carrots were milder, sweeter, and grew on me over time.

Next I tried Mark Bittman's dill pickles from my beloved Essential New York Times Cookbook. It took four or five days for the salt brine to go from salty to perfectly pickley. The dill is subtle, overpowered by intense buttery garlic flavor (so what if I didn't half the garlic when I halved the recipe!). They are concentrated little flavor bombs, packing powerful savory punch. The cucumbers stayed refreshingly crisp.

Needless to say, I am totally converted to home pickling. I've been doing about a pound of vegetables at a time, keeping the batches manageable and allowing us to rotate through them quickly since I haven't taken on any complex canning techniques. Pickling is the perfect break from studying. I can ready a batch in about twenty minutes. For the cost of a jar of grocery store pickles- squishy, soft, boring grocery store pickles- I can make three or four jars of homemade pickles. They would be the perfect

So is it surprising that I am eagerly awaiting the shipment of a book called The Joy of Pickling? Hardly.

dispatches from comps, part 1.

2011-03-04T21:26:00.004-05:00

Since I'm busybusybusy studying for my comprehensive exams, I thought I'd share with you some choice snippets along the way.

"The liberal society analyst is destined in two ways to be a less pleasing scholar than the Progressive: he finds national weaknesses and he can offer no absolute assurance on the basis of the past that they will be remedied. He tends to criticize and then shrug his shoulders, which is no way to become popular, especially in an age like our own. But even if there were not an integrity to criticism which ought to be kept inviolate at any cost, this mood is not without constructive virtue. It reminds us of a significant fact: that instead of recapturing our past, we have got to transcend it. As for a child who is leaving adolescence, there is no going home again for America."

-Louis Hartz, The Liberal Tradition in America (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1955), 32.

I wondered how this quote could be read for our own times, when it seems like everyone's a hopeless cynical critic of our national state of affairs (perhaps I must rethink my understanding of the 1950s). It is useful to remember that American history should be used not as an aspiration, that there is no "return to normalcy," that the solutions of the past are not always the best fit for the present. What a strange and critical task for historians and citizens alike, to love the past but not idealize it; to learn the lesson of Lot's wife and look forward at the crucial moments. Simpler times, they never were. Should we think less of what needs reforming and think more of what can be formed? Can inventiveness replace restoration? Can we transcend our past?

2 snaps up animated gif roundup.

2011-02-26T16:05:00.000-05:00

a Church of the Granny Bike homage to the greatest "In Living Color" sketch of all time:

jobs.

2011-02-16T18:58:00.002-05:00

Last Sunday night I was at the office doing work. Feeling a little bitter, I was like, "Ugh! If I was somebody's Mormon wife, I wouldn't have to be here right now!"

I know, right? Where does this shit come from?

There's not much I would change about my life-- in regards to being someone's Mormon wife, I dodged a couple of bullets, and really, I mean obviously it wasn't the career for me. But it did get me thinking about the paths not taken, and what I might do if I wasn't currently locked into a career path. A sampling:

Jobs I had but didn't keep:
consignment shopgirl
gourmet takeout prep cook
architecture firm receptionist
Special Collections inprocessor

Jobs I applied for but didn't get:
teacher of disadvantaged children
a lot of shitty entry-level jobs
voting registration clerk
somebody's Mormon wife

Jobs I turned down:
TA at another university

Jobs I thought about doing:
high school teacher
special-ed teacher
Air Force
baker
nurse
dermatologist
religious studies scholar

Jobs I now think about doing:
baker
graphic designer
interior designer
John Updike scholar (as if I could ever defect to English!!)
public historian in a federal government agency
whatever it is that Annie in Annie Hall does

What I fantasize about doing:
award-winning tenure-track professor at a smallish private school in the Northwest

What I will probably end up doing:
impoverished roving adjunct professor
unemployed, living in a tent in my brother's backyard

I don't know why I think about these things- I suppose it's because I really love being a grad student but it is by no means a permanent gig (thank god). It hits me hard sometimes, like today when I was chuckling with a couple of guys about Brazilian history (those silly Portuguese!) and it's like, "Yes, lucky me, surrounded by such smart and curious people!" Or when I realize, as I am blathering to undergraduates about poop and the technological wondrousness of modern sewer systems and the governments that built them, that I know a damn lot about things. The present is indeed a gift.

sunday routine.

2011-02-06T14:27:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things about Sunday is the articles each week in the NYT series Sunday Routine. They ask an interesting person what they do on Sundays. I think I find this so fascinating because for six or seven years my Mormon Sundays were an miserly and unrestful mix of obligations- meetings, worship, and dropping in on family. I was shocked at how much more "me" time I had when I left Mormonism. I thought I would take a stab at my own Sunday Routine- and I'd love to know yours as well.

Melanie, 26, is a graduate student pursuing a PhD in American history. A resident of South Philly, she has lived in Philadelphia for seventeen months.

COFFEE, INTERNET I like to wake up naturally on the weekends since I don't often have plans- usually around 9:30 or 11. I drink coffee and catch up on my favorite Sunday internet features- Postsecret, Sunday Routine, occasionally the weddings section. I stay up on blogs and the Fashion and Politics sections during the week, so I like to have Sunday treats to look forward too. I like to keep it ultra casual- t-shirts, sweatshirts, and raggedy jeans I would never wear out during the week.

WHAT'S FOR BREAKFAST In recent months I've been captivated by pancakes, so sometimes I'll make those for my roommate and I. Otherwise it's cereal or toast. In the summer I go out to brunch more often. Today I was lucky, I went with girlfriends to Local 44 in West Philly. We had their signature beer-mosas and I had a breakfast BLT with the most good quality bacon I've ever seen on a sandwich anywhere, ever.

TAKING IT EASY Some Sundays I like to take care of business- maybe laundry or a trip on the bike to Target. After brunch today, a friend and I hit up Metropolitan Bakery and walked through still snowy Rittenhouse Square, one of my favorite Philly spots. Like any day, I have to work, but not too soon. I picked up a fruit and oat bar to enjoy while I'm reading later.

GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS Sometime in the mid-afternoon I get down to work. Today I have to go up to school to get some books out of my office. I left them there on purpose because the forecast was calling for sun and I really, really need to get a bike ride in after all this snow. But again- nothing too quick. I'm going to drink some more coffee before I make my way out of the house. I think I might stop by H&M on the way to school-- I am getting an itch for Spring fashion. Like everyone here, winter has worn me out.

ACTUALLY WORKING I'm studying for my comprehensive exams this semester, so I'm trying to put away five books a day. It's insane- I usually get through three books and feel fine, but the extra two is a stretch. Working through the lists is really satisfying, even though I just started really reading last Wednesday. I have class tomorrow as well, so there's reading for that. There are no days off between now and May.

KEEPING IT REAL Sundays are a nice time to relax and prepare for the week. And there's always time for a cocktail in the evening when it's time to wind down. Watching a movie- we've been into Almodovar's tragedies lately- and chipping away at an embroidery project is a nice way to wrap up the day.

in praise of hibernation.

2011-02-03T12:41:00.001-05:00

I was inspired by these thoughts in a recent post by Miss Sarah:

"In these winter months my attitude towards transportation is much more defensive than it is offensive. The application of some perspective on moderation suits me very well, and since I don't particularly prefer driving, I only do it when I must. One can embark on the quest for sustainable transportation practice in a variety of ways. I like consciousness and choice. And sometimes I choose not to go out at all as a way to save a car trip.

Instead, we have fun in our neighbourhood doing hibernation-like things instead of battling the roads. Watching movies. Having brunch. Walking the dog on a sunny afternoon. Spending time building mega blocks towers with Dexter. Ordinary stuff that we should be careful not to take for granted."

The last month has probably been the least bikey of the seventeen I have lived in Philly. Between my trips to Boston and Salt Lake, weather, and illness, I have had a handful of bicycle commutes into school and only a few opportunities for bike errands. Although the lack of exercise (with its attendant mental health benefits) has been rough, I am fortunate on a number of fronts:

-I live in a neighborhood with a number of amenities in walking distance, including great bars, a grocery store, a liquor store, and a number of friends (and not to mention, all of Center City).

-I live several blocks away from a subway line that takes me directly to school and work. While it's not my favorite way to travel, I appreciate being warm and dry. I have biked a lot less this winter because I live on a direct public transportation route, but I have also been a lot happier not showing up on campus completely soaked and miserable.

-I have a roommate. Living with someone does much to temper cabin fever. We've gone on walking excursions in the snow (the hamburgers / Apple Store / liquor cabinet restock adventure was a favorite). We've enjoyed plenty of cocktails at home watching foreign films, RuPaul Drag Race, and 30 Rock. Cooking projects abounded. And perhaps best of all-- he went out for groceries when a cold completely knocked me down. A good roommate is far more useful than a car!

So let me just add an amen to Miss Sarah- hibernation in the winter is the way to go, whether underground or at home. Location is key-- living in an urban neighborhood is a critical component in maintaining a sustainable, car-free lifestyle year round. Bikes are a part of it-- a key part of it during most times of the year- but it's nice that when weather makes biking inconvenient, dangerous, or impossible to have a number of ways of getting around and living a comfortable life.

weeks of hibernation meant a momentous and hoarder-like trip Trader Joe's. Putting those Walds to work!

best visual summation of my cycling philosophy ever.

2011-01-26T17:25:00.000-05:00

via Liz Meyer. Buy here.

escapism.

2011-01-20T20:38:00.000-05:00

I feel like yelling this week.

I don't usually yell; I'm more of a roll my eyes and bear it kind of a person. But this week... ugh. I would like to yell.

So it is nice when I close all of my projects and distractions and connections and see this on my desktop.

And it reminds me of this

and this

and then I start again and I don't want to yell quite so much.

I haven't yelled yet.

loss of momentum.

2011-01-13T13:58:00.000-05:00

My life follows the rhythms of the academic calendar. When semesters end I can usually carry the energy I feel for a solid week, shot out of a cannon into the air of no constraints. I devour a prodigious number of books and concoct great plans for my free time. Then, with travel or weather or the passage of time, I settle into a relaxed life of steady beer and media consumption interspersed with cooking projects and the occasional working of an academic book to appease my guilt. Then depression sets in-- the vacation is nearly over! I have not accomplished what I set out to do!-- indeed, a stack of books acquired for the break has been neglected entirely. A frenzy of activity follows as I try to redeem myself, and then school starts. For a few weeks I verge on and dabble in anxiety attacks as I put in twelve and fifteen hour days, forget to eat, and log countless bike miles commuting needlessly to the office or library on days off. And then I settle into the blissful hum of steady productivity for the next ten weeks, taking luxurious days off to go to Target and clean my house and host parties, and then I am dumped out at another vacation with the resolve not to waste it.

I appreciate that with my comprehensive exams, dissertation, and teaching my own classes, these rhythms stand to be disrupted as I transition from student and course-taker to researcher and teacher. Thank god. There's only so much filing left to do do, and I've got all these books left to read, and I keep scheduling meetings to give myself the illusion of productivity.

"a fusion of bread pudding, grilled cheese, and souffle'."

2011-01-11T20:30:00.003-05:00

I haven't felt the urge to blog in weeks, but I have encountered a recipe too decadent and tempting not to share.

This past Christmas, Big Brother and Big Sister gave me a most amazing gift: The Essential New York Times Cookbook. Written by Amanda Hesser, author of the Grey Lady's beloved "Recipe Redux" column, It appeals to my many sensibilities. For the historian, it is brimming with timelines and each chapter is chronologically organized. For the writer, Hesser highlights changes in the ingredients, method, and fashion of American cuisine with engaging commentary and first-person anecdotes, such as my favorite quip, "With Humboldt Fog and Garratxa cheese now at our fingertips, it's hard to remember why we were all once so smitten with Brie." (285) For the foodie, there is a nice blend of recipes to challenge and conquer with those that magnify the importance of simplicity and quality (for Carmelized Bacon: "Go to a butcher and spend as much money as you have on very good bacon" (93)). There are recipes from the finest American chefs, from the Times' adored minimalist Mark Bittman to the revered Alice Waters (with tons of vintage food columnists and notables in between). And there is a delicious, but not overwhelming, bit of pretense. This is not just a cookbook full of recipes; it is a cookbook to be read.

My family graciously tolerated my reading of the cookbook out loud. One result of this exercise was my encounter with the recipe for Soupe A' L'Oignon Gratine'e (120). Christmas was weeks ago, and indeed, I have been waiting, waiting, WAITING to get home for long enough to make this recipe. After reading Hesser's commentary that it was "almost too strange and too delicious to describe: imagine a fusion of bread pudding, grilled cheese, and souffle'" I couldn't not make this dish.

The project consumed my afternoon-- at Hesser's recommendation that "it's worth tracking down Emmental cheese and a decent baguette" and to serve with red wine, I took to the Reading Terminal Market. I spent quite a while grating cheese and spilling tears over chopped onions. I tempered the time commitment with cookies from Termini Brothers Bakery. I have no regrets.

Soupe A' L'Oignon Gratine'e
adapted from The Essential New York Times Cookbook

1 baguette, cut into 1/2 inch slices (25-30) (I got mine at Le Bus, it was divine)
9 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
9 oz Emmental cheese, finely grated (I used 12 because it's who I am) (about 2 1/4 cups) (I got my French Emmental cheese from Downtown Cheese)
8 medium yellow onions, thinly slices (about 12 cups)
1 tbsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
1 cup tomato puree (I bought the fresh pack brand Cento from New Jersey- so yummy that it can be eaten with a spoon right out of the can) (not that I did that)
6 cups water

1. Toast the baguette slices and let them cool. Spread a generous layer of butter on each slice (you will need about 5 tablespoons), then lay the slices close together on a baking sheet and top with all but 1/2 cup of the cheese.

2. Melt the remaining butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onions, season with salt to taste, and saute', stirring occasionally, until very soft and golden, about 15 minutes. Revolve from the heat. (don't be a spaz like me and add the tablespoon of salt in this step- oops. I have a notoriously high salt tolerance and it was almost a little much)

3. Arrange a layer of bread slices butter side up (about 1/3 of them) in a 5 quart casserole (I wish I had buttered our Le Creuset-ish pan first). Spread one-third of the onions on top, followed by one-third of the tomato puree. Repeat for 3 more layers. Sprinkle with the remaining 1/2 cup cheese. (To prevent boiling over, the casserole must not be more than two-thirds full) (I squished mine down a bit)

4. Bring the water to a boil in a medium saucepan and add 1 tablespoon salt. Very slowly por the salted water into the casserole, near the edge, so that the liquid rises just to the top layer of cheese without covering it. (Depending on the size of your casserole, you may need more or less water) (I used around 4.5 cups and wished for a little more liquid when I ate it).

5. Put the casserole on the stove, bring to a simmer ON LOW HEAT and simmer uncovered for 30 minutes (I for some reason kicked up the jam to medium-high heat and burned the bottom. Fortunately it didn't matter too much for me- I was lucky that the bread bottoms were very darkly carmelized but not smoky burnt when I realized my mistake).

6. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Transfer the pot to the oven and bake uncovered for about 1 hour. 'The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake, and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onions' (Ali-Bab). Serve each person some of the baked crust and some of the inside, which should de thick but not completley without liquid.

It's ugly but I promise it's totally good.

And don't forget to serve it with wine.

great moments in tacoma cycling, part 3.

2010-12-18T18:17:00.002-05:00

An efficient way to move three adults and three kids to and from the kindergarten singing program.

a radical turn.

2010-12-11T01:48:00.000-05:00

When I was in Utah, I got involved with protest culture. Utah's is distinctive; participatory democracy goes a long way in the state and many groups have successfully found ways to build awareness about their causes. It was exciting to find opportunities to express my beliefs in the public sphere, particularly as I became more aware of my own politics and values after leaving the Church.

I took a class called "Urban Crime" this semester. It was poorly titled; its focus extended well beyond the urban and I learned very little about crime. In fact, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what constitutes a real crime and what crimes are constructed by society for sake of maintaining order and reducing risk to the middle-class. That I came to conclude there is such a distinction is evidence, perhaps, that the crime part wasn't necessarily a misnomer.

The emphasis of the course was on incarceration. There are over 2 million people presently incarcerated in the United States right now; over 7 million people have been incarcerated. Up until very recently, historians have done little to explore incarceration and the punitive process in the United States. I read the works of sociologists, legal scholars, historians. I found their arguments very persuasive.

The penal system in America is, amongst developed nations, one of the most punitive in the world. Our systems of lawmaking, policing, prosecution, sentencing, and warehousing prisoners rest on racialized assumptions. The poor and the non-white are disproportionately punished. Politicians use crimefighting for political currency. A culture of fear has been built up, granting government carte blanche to prevent risk. The humanity of criminals and their potential to reform is, in many states, off the table. While there are those who do deserve to be in prison, it is taken for granted that every person in prison deserves to be there. The impact of incarceration on communities, partners, children, families is not a part of how we, as a nation, think about crime.

I point this out-- and give you this summary of what I took from fifteen books and probably as many articles-- because I recognize that I have developed this habit of blowing up my Twitter feed when a story pertaining to criminality or incarceration hits me a certain way. There are things I never noticed that are now everywhere. I am at the beginning of an activist moment. I will stake my career on it; I believe the system is that unjust. So bear with me this raised consciousness.

If you can get your hands on this month's Journal of American History, make sure you seek out this article. If not, check out the JAH Podcast. It will give you some insight into the import of this emerging field of study and the scholars influencing my thinking.

we wondered if martha came up with the recipe in prison.

2010-12-02T14:38:00.000-05:00

I interrupt this blog's regularly scheduled programming of Heavy Stuff and Bike Concerns to talk to you about an issue of great importance, an issue that touches us all.

I am here to talk to you today about pancake recipes.

Every semester brings with it different cravings. There was the semester I lived on ice cream, and who can forget last fall, when all I ate was arugula? It occurred to me recently that this semester has been a pancake semester. Unknowingly, I've been trying to make the perfect pancake, and I think I've actually done it.

Effort 1- Sour Cream Pancakes
these are good, but they are mostly sour cream. I have nothing against eating straight sour cream, but you don't really need all the effort of pancakes to do that.

Effort 2- Traditional Pancakes
these are what you make when you have a very limited range of ingredients on hand. dense. much too dense. you don't eat these pancakes- they eat you. put some jam on it as you head out into the mean streets, so heavy it would double as a weapon.

Effort 3- Buttermilk Pancakes
these are IT. post-Thanksgiving we had a lot of leftover buttermilk (thank you, ranch mashed potatoes). lacey and light, they are so perfect and dreamy. comfort food to the max, best drenched in warm Pennsylvania maple syrup.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming. Up next: further embracing of life's magic and mysteries, Wald rear basket installation, and probably a youtube video. Maybe in reverse order.

my eyes are opened, and in this life i shall have joy.

2010-11-30T23:21:00.000-05:00

an unexpected moment on an unexpected trip in my unexpected life

This morning I read sad news from an acquaintance. She wrote of a great life change with the kind of grace and dignity you might expect from her, but at such a time in her life it still caught me off guard. I carried her in my heart all day. Her news brought back lots of heartaching memories and induced the kind of empathy that kept tears near the surface at every moment.

One of the things I loved about Mormonism was the predictability. There was a plan for everything- the Plan of Salvation when you die, food storage when you go broke, a million committee meetings with a million agendas, a plan for your life with marriage and kids and how to respond to temptation. Amidst the dislocations of my teenage and college years I found those plans so comforting.

And then I lived.

I left the garden. The path I am wasn't the first path I would have chosen. There are days when I do not feel up to the challenge, that the struggles seem too immense. So much agency, so much new, so much I never thought I would have to face. But then I have these moments that I encounter something so totally unexpected, something so indescribably beautiful that only the right here, right now could have revealed. The eyes of my eyes were opened. I am surprised, but my joy is full. It took a lot of pain. It took a lot of reconfiguring-- of my priorities, my goals, my family. But it was so worth it. What I have does not look a thing like what I would have planned.

It is better.

Peace be with you.

what is the matter with pennsylvania?

2010-11-28T18:57:00.001-05:00

Nothing like a little indulgent historical writing for you. I love that in 1935 you could publish an incredulous essay on your state's mediocre national political contributions. Russ uses the phrase "What is the matter with Pennsylvania?" so many times that it merits a bumper sticker.

"Pennsylvania has become used to pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for others, by throwing its huge electoral vote for the Presidential candidate from some other state. Like a good-natured muzhik, it does all the work and gets none of the credit. One second-rate President, one Vice-President who is often not even mentioned in our history books, two or three well-known Congressmen, not one Chief Justice, a fair showing in several cabinet positions and a good record in one or two others, a string of political bosses whose only reputation comes from machine politics and corruption, an imperviousness to reform, and until recently, a total lack of pride (perhaps justified) in the state's contributions to history? In fine, a century and a half of utter futility. What price glory!"

William A. Russ Jr, "What is the matter with Pennsylvania?" Pennsylvania History 2, No. 1 (January, 1935), pp. 17-35. Accessed on JStor today.

For more on Pennsylvania political culture, check out this episode of This American Life from October 2008.

the top ten things i've learned this year.

2010-11-14T16:08:00.001-05:00

My sister-in-law has lots of good ideas, and blogging is one of them. In honor of her recent foray into the world of internet freewrites, I am copying her idea to meditate on the top ten things I've learned this year, though after writing them out it seems like, for a most part, a list of stuff I'm still learning.

10. How to change a flat. I resisted bicycle maintenance for a long time.

9. I eat a million times better when I avoid grocery stores. After a summer of farmer's markets and a fall of shopping at Reading Terminal, I feel so much better. Quality produce makes such a huge difference.

8. Blush. Voila, cheekbones! Voila, I don't look so tired and pasty and hungover! It's a makeup miracle.

7. The neighborhood I live in has significant implications for the life I lead. I am glad that I live close to friends, lovely bars, and good public transportation. Although it means a slightly longer commute (which is good for staying fit and having a little longer to decompress), my quality of life has improved greatly. Put succinctly: god, what a good time I'm having in South Philly!

6. I need beautiful language. The book of e.e. cummings always on my desk at work and the prose of Updike always next to my bed have eased my mind.

5. Something about men and agency and what I want from my life and having a voice. I can't say exactly what I've learned about those things, but the tension between them is finally coming into view and has brought with it some needed clarity as I consider what I want and expect from relationships, who I want to be in those relationships, and who I want to be with in relationships.

4. I don't think America is really being governed in a way that is constitutional. My readings for graduate school have made me aware of this, but haven't presented any clear solutions- but I'm pretty sure a solution would involve an immense collective rethinking of federalism, a reduction of the powers of the court and policing systems at all levels, and an intensive expansion of the number of positions in legislative bodies... or something.

3. There is a small way to reconcile my work with how far from home it takes me. It's called doing research on where I'm from. I can't wait for that brilliant idea to pay off next summer.

2. The present is all we have. We can value and learn from the past, and we can anticipate our futures, but now- now is it.

1. Reciprocity. As my nieces get older, I'm finding that they love me as much as I love them. I don't know why this shocked me, to suddenly feel aware of who I am in their lives. Their generosity of spirit is disarming. It's not just that they fill my life with a big love- it's that they teach me to expect nothing less than a big love.

the demise of my basil basket.

2010-11-04T13:36:00.001-04:00

On Halloween, I made my way to Target for the makings of a holiday fete. I tossed my Basil basket on the ODT and off I went. When I arrived at the cherished big box retailer, I was bummed to find that one of the welds on the arms had weakened.

Fortunately, I was able to make it home with my precariously balanced 5lb bag of sugar, multiple 2 liters, and gobs of candy and hair product. This is just the kind of thing that would happen when I'm carrying a load like this, I thought.

But the reality is, I have been hauling loads like this several times a week for the past year as I've done my grocery shopping and commuting. The year before that it was daily loads of books. The demands I have made on this basket have not been insignificant. I mean, the day before it broke I hauled a pumpkin in it, and the day before that I filled it to overflowing with objects from a thrifting excursion. While I think I may be able, in the short term, to jimmy it back together with some super glue and industrial tape or something, but I'm taking the demise of my basket as a cue that I need to reevaluate my cargo hauling strategies.

I've been thinking about that for a while. I tend to hoard library books at home because the thought of one bulky trip to campus with them all is so unappealing. Recently I bought and subsequently got in a fight with a plastic drawer unit that I attempted to anchor to my rear rack (it came apart- I had no idea those were so modular!). There are limits to what I can haul even with the basket- macaroni and cheeses work better than enormous packages or Ikea hauls.

So, what to do? In a fantasy universe (one where I have a garage and more extra cash), I'd maybe opt for an Xtracycle setup like Big Brother's. But realistically, I see two good options. One is to get another basket or pannier. I really like the concept of Public's rear bike basket, as I prefer rear loads, but I've been spoiled by the mesh on the Basil Bern. There are of course a number of options around the web if I wanted to go in that direction.

The other option, and the one that I think might be most practical in the car-free long run, would be to get a trailer. I've been loving on trailers since I saw Jeff's bicycle ice cream trailer last summer. Kent's review of the Burley Travoy only heightened the appeal-- I love that the Travoy is Dahon compatible (like my defunct basket!) and that it folds up for storage. It is quite expensive though. Yet coming across the Bike Trailer Blog today further enhanced my trailer awareness. Philly's Craigslist trailer postings unfortunately tend towards the suburbs- outside my car-free access area- but certainly there must be a cost effective way to move in the trailer direction.

For now, I'm limited to my rack and my unfortunate little pannier (its hooks aren't quite big enough for the ODT's meaty rack).

What are your thoughts on upping the cargo capacity of my bikes?

bike-o-ween.

2010-11-04T12:53:00.000-04:00

a jolly start to fall riding, I'd say.

an election day blessing.

2010-11-02T08:54:00.001-04:00

"Government requires make believe. Make believe that the king is divine, make believe that he can do no wrong or make believe that the voice of the people is the voice of God. Make believe that the people have a voice or make believe that the representatives of the people are the people. Make believe that governors are the servants of the people. Make believe that all men are equal or make believe that they are not.

The political world of make-believe mingles with the real world in strange ways, for the make-believe world may often mold the real one. In order to be viable, in order to serve its purpose, whatever the purpose may be, a fiction must bear some resemblance to fact. If it strays too far from fact, the willing suspension of disbelief collapses. And conversely it may collapse if facts stray too far from the fiction."

-Edmund Morgan, Inventing the People, quoted in Larry Kramer's The People Themselves, 34

May your highest ideals be joined by your deepest pragmatism on this Election Day. May you see through all the fictions to find the facts. Please vote- your voice needs to be heard to make this whole democracy thing work!

three years with the Old Dutch [Treat] and review: schwalbe marathon plus tires.

2010-10-23T14:51:00.000-04:00

The Old Dutch and I are celebrating our three year anniversary around this time of the year. As a bike owner, I've gone from a terrified first year grad student to a seasoned fourth year with a dissertation topic and comps committee. I've gone from a casual campus rider to an aggressive daily city commuter. I have even started to tackle the art of bicycle maintenance.

I have mixed feelings about the Old Dutch at this point. Don't get me wrong- I love it and have no intent to ever get rid of it. The rigor of my longer commute-- now around ten miles a day-- leaves me longing for a lighter bike. With a lock and loads of books, hauling 50+ pounds of bike up and down the hill leaves me pretty exhausted. As someone with anxiety issues who otherwise has difficulty falling asleep at night, this is not necessarily a bad thing. But it is a thing. Additionally, that some of my components have not held up very nicely (skirt hards, chain guard, headlight, I am looking at you) leaves me a little sad. Bike shops hate working on this bike. Hauling it up narrow stairs for a year took its toll, on me and the bike.

Still, I love my rolling bike church. Putting new tires on it has renewed this love. Philly's streets demand a substantial tire-- there is too much broken glass and pothole-ery for anything less. The Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires have increased the smoothness of my ride-- I now merrily bounce over bumps. The tires have great traction. The Schwalbe Marathon Plus are the urban assault tires that my bike has needed. I am happy to say that I even installed them myself (though my roommate checked my work). I feel confident that these tires will serve me well during the miserly winter bike commute.

I love the clear caps on the Schwalbe tubes.

Last year's bike-a-versary here.

it's ok if you cook the sandwich in bacon grease.

2010-10-23T14:21:00.000-04:00

I was inspired recently by this post on Big Girls, Small Kitchen about grilled cheese and mushroom melts. I have been playing around with variations on the theme this week. I brought in elements from a favorite salad at Prohibition Bar-- namely frisee, which goes lovely with mushrooms, and of course, bacon. This is a fall sandwich of no regrets. You're burning off extra calories just by staying warm, so I promise there's no harm.

Cook bacon.

Take come of your bacon grease and saute' mushrooms in it, with a bit of garlic.

Place sliced havarti on wheat bread, and pile all elements together.

Cook sandwich in bacon grease.

Top sandwich with frisee.

Eat with fork and knife.

up with joy.

2010-10-11T10:02:00.001-04:00

from the Queen's garden at Sandringham Castle

I recently added a complete volume of e.e. cummings poems to my desk. When I need a moment of tranquility I crack it open. Here's a piece of this morning's study. I like it because it reminds me of a toast. We could all use a toast on Monday morning.

here's to opening and upward

here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to
a disappearing poet of always,snow
and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up
with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

are we here for a reason?

2010-10-03T21:04:00.001-04:00

When my school friends here in Philly met me last year, they got the impression that I was something of a patriot. We were in a class discussing an article that critiqued the Korean War Memorial and I, new blonde person from Utah, seemingly out of the blue gave a forceful defense of the monument based on my grandfather's love of the monument as a veteran of that conflict. It was an awkward moment in a conversation amongst the ivory tower bourgeois. As they got to know me, they got to know me as a member of my family-- a military family. From birth, it seems, I have been reared to see the primacy of sacrifice for country. That trip to see the travelling Vietnam Veteran's Memorial come through Tulsa, the POW-MIA sticker on the Jeep, the flagpole dominating our front yard, home, and street-- it's in my cells.

So I got teary over this article about the lady Marines serving with combat units in Afghanistan. Their sacrifice requires them to take extra steps so that they avoid official combat designation. Their sacrifice requires them to do something that isn't acknowledged by their employer- something our country pretends not to practice is their daily reality. Congress and DoD's continued denial of the sacrifices these women are making as combat troops is an effort to pretend that out-moded traditional gender norms surrounding war are still in place. Pretending that these women, now full protectors of our country, are doing something less is shameful. Their sacrifice is real, and policy cannot diminish it.

I am proud of these women, and I am proud of the leaders that trust them and train them as Marines, not women, to be so close to the action. Of the official line, I think the sentence that concludes the article is especially poignant:

"In the end, she said, “They’re going to remember what we did.”

individual portions.

2010-10-02T20:03:00.001-04:00

I love cooking for myself.

It's not that I don't mind cooking for others. I belong to a group of food-loving foodies who celebrate food, and we cook for each other often, celebrating the strengths of that potato salad and reveling in the fact that one pound of butter really went into that pound cake. Hauling side dishes on the back of my bike brings me great joy. Talking with people about food is a daily occurrence. So much of my food life is social.

But cooking for myself, that I really love. In an empty house, with the tunes turned up. Nobody will know the excesses of butter and salt. With my mind clear I futz with the temperature, add a little more flour. In the calm of my head I make important decisions about how I will unthaw the spinach. My family and friends are all around me, in gifted butter dishes and mixers and rubber spatulas. Individual portions fill me with intense and quiet satisfaction. In solitude I worship at the feet of proteins, fats, and carbs.

My therapist recently labelled this kind of activity "deliberate self care." I know that this kind of recreation is important for my well-being. I know that the times and seasons of my life may someday make this pursuit a rare event. But for now, in the moment, beyond all the present meaning and possibilities of the future, I delight in cooking for one.

i'm still here.

2010-09-22T19:40:00.001-04:00

At the end of last month, I found myself with a doubled commute. My new job and school year began. Overnight, I acquired an office, a demanding schedule, and sixty people whom I call "my students." The transition was rough. I quickly came in contact with my own limitations as a student and teacher, as well as the limited number of possible North / South routes through Center City. 4.7 each miles, these days.

But now that I've found my legs and the heat has abated, I'm back to a point of reflection on my rides. I've started worshipping at that bike church I used to attend. Relaxed by now-familiar routes and the timing of the traffic signals (I always get to rest at Spring Garden), I can breath deeply and work through the daily puzzles of my life, putting them together in my mind to find clarity.

One such problem that's emerged lately was what to make of a particular recent outcome, a termination of sorts. I had strategized, when it happened, to "remain selfless, cold, and composed." When I found myself failing at this, in, you know, a mature internalized way, I asked myself, rolling along, what to make of it. And then it hits me, powerfully, so hard that I forgot traffic and potholes and the city's glittery pervasive coating of broken glass.

This doesn't make a difference in my long-term happiness.

Sure, I was a little sad in the moment. But it was temporary, fleeting. So many of the things that I've mourned in fall's past didn't have a lasting impact on my long-term happiness. Things that hurt-- well, they did hurt-- but they didn't constrain my ability to be happy. I pushed forward, plowed through, and ran over these miseries and seized happiness. I built myself a life.

It came in a flood, these beautiful flutters of memory of the moments that have made a difference in my long-term happiness-- the moment I put my application in the mail for my Masters, the rush of buying a big red bike, the series of mouse clicks that have purchased plane tickets for home and adventure. Taking a job at a restaurant where I learned to cook, making a drive to Park City to find that I really did want to come to Philly. These memories washed away the problems, and suddenly, I found myself twenty-six years old, settled, on my way to a job I really love, where I get to use my talents, where being who I am fills the qualifications.

And then I felt my hands grip my brakes, heard the clackity hymnody of the folding bike's noisy chain, and stopped at the stop light, satisfied. And, lucky me, I still had three and a half more miles to go.

great moments in tacoma cycling, part 2.

2010-08-21T14:45:00.002-04:00

Last night around 11:30pm my cousin- today, a blushing bride- called with a crisis: she had forgotten to get flowers for the church. No problem! Big Brother lives close to the Proctor Farmers Market and has equipped his long-staying houseguest with a bike. This haul may be one of my favorite ever.

You can see the flower stand where I picked up the flowers in the front on the left!

great moments in tacoma cycling, part 1.

2010-08-13T11:31:00.000-04:00

A chance encounter with Jeff of Jeff's Ice Cream. Don't you wish your town had a bicycle ice cream vendor?

a dispatch from the summer of 2010.

2010-08-03T19:29:00.002-04:00

It's been a while since I blogged. I think the whole internet slows down during the summer, and personally, I think it's fantastic. I haven't been posting because I've been playing pretty hard. Playing too hard to finish LGRAB's summer games... or to even ride my bikes. Playing too hard to do the reading and language study I should be getting to... or to even get to the library. Playing too hard to clean my floors or paint that bookshelf.... or to even buy groceries.

It's been delightful.

My body bears the telltale signs of a summer well-spent-- a range of ever changing tan lines, a tummy that's a little soft after a good many beers, and a headful of hair that's getting white blonde. My friendships feel strong and ready for the assault of another year of graduate school-- my fourth. After going all over-- to Delaware, South Jersey, The Shore, New York, Boston and Cambridge-- I am eager to fly home tomorrow to continue the summery process of replenishing my spirit. This summer has taken on an unexpected richness, a kind of abundance that would seem inconceivable if you saw how low my bank balance is or knew how hot it got in the house we moved out of or about any other number of dramas. But still, life is sweet, and there is nothing more to do, I suppose, than finish with my favorite poem, because it seems to capture all the joy of living that I'm so high on right now. It's funny how life gets to be so good when you aren't finishing all the items on the to-do list, or, even better, when you forget the to-do list existed at all.

wishing you a merry summer from Philly!

i thank You God for most this amazing

day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth

day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any-lifted from the no

of all nothing-human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
- e.e. cummings

Don't forget: It's not too late to help the children and win a bag o' swag at Tacoma Bike Ranch!!

win a yuengling lager hat, help the children.

2010-07-18T19:49:00.002-04:00

My Big Brother got me into bikes. He sent me the link to Copenhagen Cycle Chic, has done his fair share of in-person and over the phone maintenance on my bikes, and every month we report our miles to each other. Bikes: they are what we do.

I'm pretty proud of BB-- not only is he a strong advocate for cycling in our hometown of Tacoma, Washington, but he set some pretty big goals for himself this summer to bike for charity. So far he's completed the Puyallup Valley Wheels to Meals ride (75 miles in one day!) and the Seattle Livestrong challenge (100 miles in one day!). He's now coming upon the last leg of his quest for velo-powered do-goodery-- the Courage Classic. 3 mountain passes in 3 days. 174 miles. Why? FOR THE CHILDREN. Or, as BB put it:

The Courage Classic Bicycle Tour is a fundraising ride that benefits the Rotary Endowment for the Intervention and Prevention of Child Abuse and Neglect. This endowment is the largest single source of funding for the Child Abuse Intervention Department at Mary Bridge Children's Hospitalin Tacoma. For the third consecutive year, I will be riding my tiny bicycle over three large mountain passes in an effort to raise money for this cause and to Stop the Cycle of Abuse.

BB knows that by a lot of small contributions, great things can be done FOR THE CHILDREN.

What does this mean for you?

If you donate just 5 bucks FOR THE CHILDREN (just the cost of a decent beer!!) you get entered in a drawing to win this fat / phat swag package:

Which includes also this sweet Tacoma Rainiers jersey:

and a handmade Rainier Beer hat:

BUT WAIT.

If you donate more than $5, you get entered in the drawing for every $5 you donate. And if you-- the winner-- are from the mid-Atlantic (holla!), BB has made a special offer-- he will replace the Rainier hat with a custom made YUENGLING LAGER HAT. As you may recall, only ballers get to wear them:

So what are you waiting for? Click here to win-- and to donate to a great cycling event that does a lot for a community in need. Do it FOR THE CHILDREN.

Raffle ends August 9th at 4pm Pacific time. Don't wait! Rules and raffle info are available here.

great melanies in popular culture.

2010-07-17T15:59:00.001-04:00

It's funny-- I've been thinking about this post for a couple of days, and then a very successful filmmaker friend of mine emails me today to tell me he's naming a character after me in a script he's writing-- not because the character and I are all that much alike, but because the name sounds right. Let us review some of the great Melanies of popular culture, real and fictional, who often bear little resemblance to the name's meaning-- "dark."

Melanie Hamilton, Gone With the Wind, 1939
Good... pure...... helpless...self-abnegating... one of literature's biggest doormats, really. Miss Mellie serves as a foil to the evil Scarlet. I can't think of any good quotes for her because she is totally spineless.

Melanie, Rabbit is Rich, 1981
I've been working my way through Updike's Rabbit tetraology this summer. Updike is far and away my favorite author, so you can imagine my pleasure at finding a character called Melanie in the series' third book. Melanie comes home with Rabbit's son Nelson from college at Kent State. A Californian unfamiliar with small-town Pennsylvania, she throws the family for a loop with her happy embrace of 70s trends-- she gets the whole Angstrom family eating wheat germ and studies various yogis in between rides on her 12 speed Fuji bicycle, her curly red hair flying in the wind.

My favorite quote about Melanie occurs as the family discusses her impending arrival--

"We don't know the girl is a slut," Harry apologizes. "All we know is her name is Melanie instead of Susan."

"Melanie" by Wierd Al Yankovic, 1988

Well, he's stalking her... so that's not creepy at all. But you can't help but like the song.

(true confession: I once went to a Weird Al concert with my filmmaker friend. Everything comes full circle!)

UPDATE: Photo evidence of Weird Al singing to me:

Melanie Griffeth, film actress

I haven't really seen anything she was in other than Now and Then but Antonio Banderas wasn't such a bad catch in the 1990s.

Melanie Chisholm and Melanie Brown, members of Spice Girls, mid-90s
Not one but two Spice Girls were named Melanie. Sporty Spice and Scary Spice never really appealed to my middle-school sensibilities (I was Team Baby Spice all the way, as my blonde loyalty knows no bounds). Nonetheless, a good excuse to post a Spice Girls video on my blog.

Melanie Ralston, Jackie Brown, 1997

Nobody talks about this Tarantino flick very much, but Bridget Fonda's beachy surfer-stoner Melanie is endearing. As is Samuel L. Jackson's line:

"You can always trust Melanie to be Melanie."

Melanie Smooter, Sweet Home Alabama, 2002

I like this Melanie. I mean, what's not to like? A sassy fashion designer with tons of gumption played by turn-of-the-century star Reese Witherspoon. Sure, she's kind of a liar, but she comes around, right? And she can't help but keep snagging good looking guys. Unfortunately, this movie coined the term "Melanie taco," a practice I've been in the middle of on more than one occasion (by guys; guys would never admit to watching this movie).

Ok, that was all of the Melanies I could muster. Did I forget any?