Genesis: Biblical Reality TV

Still re-reading Genesis. Why am I just now realizing how off the chain these people were? Mind you, these are the days before reality TV, et. al.

The whole Jacob/Rachel/Leah situation was a hot mess.

I nearly died reading Gen 30:1-13. It was like a baby-making war.

Rachel: Oh, you gon' have babies? Shoot, I'll just give Jacob my handmaid and have babies. Now!

Leah: Oh, you gon' give Jacob your handmaid? Shoot, I'mma give him my handmaid, too!

And then Gen 30:14-16. A mess.

Rachel: Girl, gimme some of your (aphrodisiac) mandrakes.

Leah: You must be outside yo mind. After you done stole my man?

Rachel: Oh, you fancy, huh? Just cause you got some mandrakes. Go head and get with him tonight with your trifling self.

Leah: (to Jacob) Wassup, baby? You gotta come see me tonight, sweet thang. I got some mandrakes that are gonna drive you wild. (to Rachel) Winning!

Jacob is strangely silent in these matters.

Another one of those nights . . .

Mmm, mmm, mmm. ::shaking my head like an old black lady thinking you oughtta be ashamed a yo'self::

I must exorcise the demon of procrastination before this thing is all said and done. But in the meantime . . . I gotta keep my head up, youknaaimean? That's what coffee's for.

II Corinthians 10:5

Yet, liberal as I claim to be, still I cling to the KJV:

Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.

Listening to the message this morning, this was the scripture that impacted me the most. I hear it all the time; it's so easy for me to let the usual just glide by. But today it stuck. Because today I realized (not that I hadn't realized it before, but I realized it again, in a way that I hadn't felt before) that not obeying this scripture has been the bane of my existence.

Decisions begin with thought. If something enters your mind, if you conceive it, and if you believe it, it will eventually lead to action. But what if what you allow to enter your mind is a lie? What if what you conceive, what you imagine, is a lie? What if what you believe is a lie? Then you make decisions and take action based on lies.

Isn't that what sin is? It's making a lie-based decision.

But back to thoughts. I have a pretty vivid imagination. I'm creative. I've used my creativity to benefit myself and others in a positive way. But there is a downside to imagination. A tendency to invent and dwell on thoughts that are destructive and fearful. If it's about tearing myself or others down, if it's based in fear, then it's not of God. And that is what I must constantly reject.

One of those Saturday mornings

listening to "Car Talk" and then "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on NPR.

drinking cafe au lait (though the "cafe" is American and weak) and eating a croissant (one out of a plastic container of 6 bought from WalMart, which would scandalize your average boulanger).

totally not looking forward to trudging through this Argentine novel. It's one thing to read a novel in Spanish. It's quite another to read a boring novel in Spanish. It's just so slow . . . women sitting around giving each other glances pregnant with ambiguity, subjectively remembering the past, having cloudy conversations which does zero to advance the action of the novel . . . por favor, sácame de esta miseria.

thinking about other blah things I must contend with. (Sigh.) What, did I think this was going to be a bright train ride through fields of sunflowery enlightenment? Naw, girl. This is work. Monotony, sometimes. So get used to it, and get it together.

* * * * * * *

The picture of the sunflower in my blog's header is one of the sunflowers grown with my little toddler's class I used to teach before I moved. We would go outside to water them every Sunday with a big, bright, yellow watering can. I miss my little kids. Little adorable, bad kids, crawling under tables, dumping crayons on the floor, spilling apple juice, putting playdoh in their mouths. Getting excited about stickers and animal crackers and bubbles and pouring dry macaroni into containers.

Sometimes I wonder how I will react when I have a baby that starts crying at inopportune times. Will the sound be shrill, annoying? Will I want to do anything to quiet the baby as soon as possible? Probably. But there's a part of me that thinks when I hear my baby cry it will be beautiful, every time. Like, of course I will want to quiet him/her down and alleviate whatever it is that made them cry in the first place, but there's a part of me that thinks I will be taken by hearing it. That I will feel this overwhelming feeling of "my baby is alive" instead of "omg, please stop." But I know that's probably another one of those things that will overturn my romanticism cart with an unmerciful swipe of realism.

Realism. Back to now. Back to the boring Argentine novel. Now.

Re-reading Genesis

Sarah, Abraham's wife, must have been the number one stunner.

I mean, homegirl was old as dirt and STILL had kings and stuff trying to holla at her! I'm sitting there thinking, isn't she like 90? She must've been something else.

I'm starting to realize

how serious this is. Whereas before, the focus was more on learning, taking in all the info, marveling at how interesting it all is, how this intersects with that, how this relates to that, sitting back in awe and observing how a great web of knowledge is being formed before my very eyes, now the focus is on producing. It's great that you're a lover of learning and whatnot, but now it's time for you to step up to the plate and make your own serious, meticulous, well-articulated contribution to the web.

I have to figure out how to make that jump. I have to nail down how to manage my time efficiently. I have to learn how to quiet the anxiety that rises up when what I'm learning becomes far outdistanced by what I'm finding out I haven't learned yet. The more you know, the more you know what you don't know. It's a fascinating and frustrating paradox.

A lot of it is in my head. The way I perceive myself. In a program full of native speakers who have what seems to be a better foundation in the traditions and history and context behind the literature I say I'm interested in it's easy to feel like a lightweight. Like someone who is tolerated and smiled at and even encouraged because of the obvious passion and interest and commentary I bring to the table during discussion, because I'm willing to put myself out there, but who lacks gravitas.

I have to learn how to channel the excitement I feel at the prospect of the developing Afro-Latin studies niche within the overarching Black Diaspora studies field, when all my synapses are lighting up when I can see how afrocubanismo and The Harlem Renaissance were two sides of the same transnational coin, into serious, weighty production.

Right now I feel like an academic butterfly, flitting from one interesting discovery to the next, my attention arrested by the outstanding, amusing, personally related things in the matters at hand. But that's not how dissertations get written. Enthusiasm only gets you so far.

I don't want to say I'm doubting myself. It's much too early in the game for any reasonable justifications for self-critique. But as one who is still obsessed with the big picture, with the destination, with viewing the overwhelmingness (which isn't a word) of what I've undertaken as a massive whole, I'm trying to condition myself to break it down. To enjoy the journey.

My New Favorite T-Shirt

On the subway

I dug the man digging on me

But the dude was hung up

In a mass of confusion

As to who I was

He thought he was trying to see

But you see, but you see

Me knowing me

Black proud and determined to be free . . .

This fills me with glee . . .

revealing a bit of undisclosed info at JUST the right time.

I want this positive me to last.

I've been on a pretty even keel since I've jumped into this new, still-not-quite-sure-of-how-it's-going-to-pan-out life. Like, I can't remember the last time I've had a true "hopeless" moment. I've had a few unsure moments trying to figure out what church I was going to go to and some other little things here and there (e.g. crying because I missed a guitar lesson, lol) but I haven't had an out and out, I am so emotionally broken trying to climb out of an abysmal abyss of abject despair moment. I'm so through with that stuff. I cannot tell you how glad I am that those dark days are over.

I'm starting to feel like the me I knew I always was. The me that is content with my little apartment and cups of tea and sunflower decorations. The me who always sits up front. The me who wants to learn new things and signs up for Global Friends and laughs at everything and wants to be passionate about whatever it is that I end up doing and wears flowers in my hair. The me who can't live without God's presence and finally wants to serve Him for myself and no one else.

I know my positive streak is probably going to be dealt a few negative blows. C'est la vie, really. But I feel so hopeful.

La liste du jour

1. Got up earlier than desired to finish reading for Afro-Hispanic.

2. Had a lovely lunch with my Caribbean grad school mentor. Lav heir acceint!

3. Brought a classmate double majoring in French and International Studies to la table francaise.

4. Trotted up to the museum for the inception of the Hispanic Heritage Month film festival. Viva la raza! Documentary Precious Knowledge is a must see. The Arizona school board and state legislature need to go saddown.

5. Shined up that paper proposal, and sent that baby off. Panel: "The Woman's Voice in the Americas in the 19th and Beginning of the 20th Century." Okay, how bout I write about Gertrudis Gomez de Avellaneda's linking of race and gender in her 19th century antislavery novel Sab? Awwww, whatchu say now?

6. Strummed some awesome sounding chords. Can't wait to bring my guitar out to get my hippie on sitting cross-legged in an open field!

Little Brother

Slim Jim, light-skinned string bean. He's a Reese's peanut butter cocoa puff coconut head. Banana smile boy. He laughs so hard his laugh is silent. His shoulders shake and tears stream down. He was a thumb sucker. So fat I called him nugget. Arms and legs with rolls like the Michelin man. He was a snaggletoothed kid. Teeth knocked out too soon from fallen toddles. A sensitive kid. He accidentally killed a lizard and cried.

He's a man now, though he doesn't look it. In my head, he's eternally 16. But he went off to basic training today and he won't be back for a while. He'll be fine. It'll be good for him. Give him some direction. But he will always be little brother.

Lizzie and Starbuck

For Madison

"Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away."

— James 4:14

This is what I know. This morning, at the church I've just decided to attend, a red-haired girl sat in front of me. Her hair was a deep, coppery red. I caught flashes of her electric blue nails as she periodically inspected them. Tonight, at the same church, it was announced that this 15-year-old girl was dead. A four-wheeler accident.

I didn't know her. But she was sitting right in front of me this morning, and between the time I left morning service, went to WalMart, and came back for service tonight, she had passed away.

We are never ready to face the fact of our mortality. We will never be able to grasp that in an instant, we can cease to exist in this world. I prayed for her family with the rest of the congregation tonight. But a detached phrase kept ringing in my mind and bringing fresh tears to the surface: She was sitting right in front of me.

Today was a ridiculously gorgeous day.

Omg, I walked outside today and wanted to live it forever.

Remember that sternly-worded letter to D7? I'm so over D7. I put it in it's place a long time ago. Now I've moved on to full, rich, melodic sounding chords. I've almost got "Mighty to Save" under my thumb. LOVE that song. Call me Chan Dylan. Chantos Santana. I just gotta get a smooth way to change chords down. It's so funny how a little thing is bugging you like mad and when you get through it, you can't believe you used to be so worried about it.

I want to be outside frolicking in the sunshine, but instead I'm shackled to my laptop, translating an introduction to an account of a former Cuban slave for my faculty mentor. Esteban Montejo (the former slave, not my faculty mentor, lol), if you wanna get hip to the Afro-Hispanic identity tip.

I try not to look back, but sometimes it's good to do so to see how far you've come. What sticks out to me are mornings. Those moments of quiet lucidity after you first wake up. I used to dread mornings . . . once I got going it got a little better, but those morning moments, when I was faced with the prospect of another day, used to be so painful. Those moments when you realize you will always have to deal with yourself. I'd say those mornings started post-Auburn graduation, intensified post-France, and peaked during those days of the job that brought me to my knees.

Now, it's totally not that things have gotten easier. Rather, that my tasks, per se, have gotten easier. PhD is no joke . . . I'm just waiting for the hammer to fall during midterms. But now I wake up knowing I'm where I'm supposed to be right now. It's so reassuring. On bright days, I wake up bathed in sunshine. It filters in through my blinds and washes over me. The uncertainty still throws me off sometimes, but now I feel more secure within it. I thank God for my new mornings. I really do.

Best Comeback Ever

"My existence is celebrating the deliciousness of being me."

Take that, world-weary cynics bent on destabilizing the confidence level of PhD neophytes with your stifling, hegemonic discourse. Yo' dominant ideology ain't the stuff. This chick's got agency, youknaaimsayin?

Now, I shall weather another late-nighter (I don't believe in all-nighters) writing the second paper of my PhD career. We goin for the gold this time. Let's get it.

Today was the first chilly day.

Overcast. I wore a scarf. It is September, after all.

Today was the day I got back the first paper I've written in my PhD career. B+. Not terrible, but not great, either. I've got to step it up. This is a different ball game, honey. You've got to step it up.

Brother Says

Telling my brother about a church friend who happens to be Jewish, and he says, "What? He's Pentecostal and Jewish? Oh, you know he's going to Heaven."

You know those office signs

that say "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part"?

I wish I had a t-shirt that said "Ignorance on your part does not constitute a history lesson on my part."

LOL! #crackingmyselfup

Lemme tell you what dis gul did.

Maaan, dis gul. Tuesday dis gul went outside to catch dat bus, youknaaimsayin? On the way she saw some orange thing on her windshield and she was like whaaaaat? $40 fine for parking in the wrong area? Naw. Naaaaaaw. Dis gul ain't pay $180 for a parking pass to be gettin no fine, youknaaimsayin? She park right near her apartment, real talk. Den dat gul saw she had got a pass for lot S20. She be parked in S19. Hmm. Now you tell me, do that make any kinda sense? How she was posed to know dat? She requested S20 cuz on dat map it correspond to Building B, yo. Lemme tell you what dis gul did. She call up Parking Services. Parking services talkin bout some you can file an appeal online and you can transfer your parking pass. Hmm. She got online and wrote an appeal, youknaaimsayin? She put in for a transfer to S19. She ain't gonna be walkin crazy from one end of the apartment complex to the other.

Dis gul check her email today, yo. Ol gul got this letter from Parking Services:

"The appeals committee has reviewed your appeal of the below listed citation and has decided to uphold your appeal. Student Appeals has determined that either a violation did not occur or that your violation was unavoidable. The citation has been voided and you are not responsible for the fine. Please come to the parking services office to exchange your permit for a S19 permit. Thank you."

You know das right. Dis gul wasn't finna pay no $40. Shoooot.