I laughed so much last night on the phone with my friend.
My laugh is boisterous. It is reckless. As a person who is still so caught up with how I might appear to others, with trying to wash myself of the stain of awkwardness that I can't seem to ever rid myself of, my laugh is the one thing I possess that honestly, purely, 100% does not care.
Someone told me that when I laugh, it looks as though I might be about to cry, and interestingly, it is sort of a thin line. I guess we laugh for some of the same reasons we cry. It's that spark of recognition, of human recognition, of truth, of absurdity, of the interchangeability of the two.
I'm just thankful for those people I can laugh with until my stomach hurts. Uproariously. Freudian dream interpretations. Domestic squabbles. Pride-hurt poets from the past. ("You were young and in love, I was old and not." Even though you don't know the context, isn't it obvious? Isn't it side-splitting?) Men thinking that fulfilling their responsibilities is bestowing a favor. Girlish fantasies of a Regency-era relationship born of correspondence. ("Dear sir, I pray my letter has reached you in good spirits.") This just a few of the things enveloped by my unfettered laugh.
No matter where I am in life, my laugh will always remind me of my inherent joie de vivre. I'm embarrassed by it, but I'm thankful for it.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Noooo! Didn't you hear me? I said "pleasant" surprises.
Ugh. My worst fear materialized today. Of course, I have to write about it without giving too many particulars.
Part of my reason for getting out of this town, as in, the town I'm in at the present, the town to which I go to visit my family, was to get away from people. This sounds cold-blooded and absolute, but if I could, I would unequivocally banish certain people from my life. I would put a real life Facebook block on them. You cannot see me, you cannot see anything that I'm doing, you cannot contact me, I cannot see or contact you either. You unexist in my life. But real life doesn't work that way.
I know I'm dramaticizing this. But it's just maddening, in a way. I'm sailing on, doing my thing, in a 100% better place, and here you come to try to get your manipulative little paws back into my lifespace. The few times that I've dared mention him, I've referred to him as Lord Henry.
This is what was shocking: Not that I saw him, but that he was the same. Exactly the same. Looked the same, smelled the same, said the same things, explained away the same kinds of things. Not one iota of him had changed. That's what unsettled me. I guess I thought that if I happened to run into him one of these days that he'd be arrogant and imperious, try to belittle me, show me that he'd moved on too. But no.
That unbelievable sameness is what I wasn't prepared for. And it hit an emotional trigger that brought me back to that same place, just for a moment. That terrible place that I never wanted to revisit ever again. That's what unsettled me.
In the end, it's fine. I think I handled myself pretty well. I am not the same.
Part of my reason for getting out of this town, as in, the town I'm in at the present, the town to which I go to visit my family, was to get away from people. This sounds cold-blooded and absolute, but if I could, I would unequivocally banish certain people from my life. I would put a real life Facebook block on them. You cannot see me, you cannot see anything that I'm doing, you cannot contact me, I cannot see or contact you either. You unexist in my life. But real life doesn't work that way.
I know I'm dramaticizing this. But it's just maddening, in a way. I'm sailing on, doing my thing, in a 100% better place, and here you come to try to get your manipulative little paws back into my lifespace. The few times that I've dared mention him, I've referred to him as Lord Henry.
This is what was shocking: Not that I saw him, but that he was the same. Exactly the same. Looked the same, smelled the same, said the same things, explained away the same kinds of things. Not one iota of him had changed. That's what unsettled me. I guess I thought that if I happened to run into him one of these days that he'd be arrogant and imperious, try to belittle me, show me that he'd moved on too. But no.
That unbelievable sameness is what I wasn't prepared for. And it hit an emotional trigger that brought me back to that same place, just for a moment. That terrible place that I never wanted to revisit ever again. That's what unsettled me.
In the end, it's fine. I think I handled myself pretty well. I am not the same.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Pleasant Surprises
I'm me, and the me I am can be quite sentimental.
I know it isn't much. I know it doesn't really mean anything, but at Christmastime, sometimes you hear from people you don't normally hear from. And it's a pleasant surprise. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to know that someone is thinking of me.
And, I've mentioned this a really long time ago, way back in the day: my wedding dress. Well, the lady who volunteered to make it for me has been working on it off and on for several years. She called me and said that it's almost finished. She said it will definitely be done before classes start back up in January. I'm so excited! I can't wait to try it on. Not that I'll need it anytime soon, but . . . who knows? I'm always up for a pleasant surprise.
I know it isn't much. I know it doesn't really mean anything, but at Christmastime, sometimes you hear from people you don't normally hear from. And it's a pleasant surprise. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to know that someone is thinking of me.
And, I've mentioned this a really long time ago, way back in the day: my wedding dress. Well, the lady who volunteered to make it for me has been working on it off and on for several years. She called me and said that it's almost finished. She said it will definitely be done before classes start back up in January. I'm so excited! I can't wait to try it on. Not that I'll need it anytime soon, but . . . who knows? I'm always up for a pleasant surprise.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Not My Christmas Wish List
1. Got my hurr did yesterday, so I'm looking fresh to death.
2. Sipping some English breakfast tea. Delightful.
3. Finished shopping. I guess I need to wrap stuff now. I might go out one more time to just make sure I'm done.
4. Better send off those Christmas cards and quick. It won't really matter to my European friends . . . their Christmas lasts until Jan 6.
5. Cake balls. If you haven't had a cake ball (proper name: chocolate truffle), you haven't lived. Bake a chocolate cake. Dump it out in a bowl. Mix in a can of chocolate frosting. But it in the freezer for a minute until it gets firm enough to mold. Form balls out of the mixture. Dip the balls into melted chocolate. Put sprinkles on top if you like. Stick it in the fridge and voila! Instant holiday decadence.
6. Going to a Christmas wedding tomorrow. That should be lovely. I don't know if I would want a Christmas wedding, though. I guess it takes a lot of the work out of decorations and finding matching colors, etc. I want an end of summer/beginning of fall wedding. I want a sunflower harvest wedding.
7. This is all I really want for Christmas: scarves, tights, pajamas and stuff that smells good. And maybe some gift cards on the side.
8. I've been calling all those people I've been meaning to call. It's nice to have time to do that.
9. I'm so glad I haven't had any awkward run ins while being home. It's honestly one of my worst fears. That I'll be out shopping somewhere and run into a blast from the past that I'd rather not have to interact with. I really do thank God that hasn't happened. I'm not even going to add 'yet.' lol.
10. A friend asked me about New Year's resolutions, and I told him that instead of a list of resolutions, I've begun a tradition for the last few years of just coming up with more of a singular resolution/theme. 2012 was "I will rock it." And he was like, "Yeah, I can totally see how you've accomplished that this year." Yes!
2. Sipping some English breakfast tea. Delightful.
3. Finished shopping. I guess I need to wrap stuff now. I might go out one more time to just make sure I'm done.
4. Better send off those Christmas cards and quick. It won't really matter to my European friends . . . their Christmas lasts until Jan 6.
5. Cake balls. If you haven't had a cake ball (proper name: chocolate truffle), you haven't lived. Bake a chocolate cake. Dump it out in a bowl. Mix in a can of chocolate frosting. But it in the freezer for a minute until it gets firm enough to mold. Form balls out of the mixture. Dip the balls into melted chocolate. Put sprinkles on top if you like. Stick it in the fridge and voila! Instant holiday decadence.
6. Going to a Christmas wedding tomorrow. That should be lovely. I don't know if I would want a Christmas wedding, though. I guess it takes a lot of the work out of decorations and finding matching colors, etc. I want an end of summer/beginning of fall wedding. I want a sunflower harvest wedding.
7. This is all I really want for Christmas: scarves, tights, pajamas and stuff that smells good. And maybe some gift cards on the side.
8. I've been calling all those people I've been meaning to call. It's nice to have time to do that.
9. I'm so glad I haven't had any awkward run ins while being home. It's honestly one of my worst fears. That I'll be out shopping somewhere and run into a blast from the past that I'd rather not have to interact with. I really do thank God that hasn't happened. I'm not even going to add 'yet.' lol.
10. A friend asked me about New Year's resolutions, and I told him that instead of a list of resolutions, I've begun a tradition for the last few years of just coming up with more of a singular resolution/theme. 2012 was "I will rock it." And he was like, "Yeah, I can totally see how you've accomplished that this year." Yes!
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
More Moments
What it means to be six
An adorable boy: honey-skinned, gap-toothed smile, hazel eyes, wheat-colored hair in cornrows. He runs up to me because even though I hadn't seen him in a very long while, he remembered me. Clinging to me like a koala, burying his face in my neck. "I miss you!" Moving him side to side in a bear hug. "I miss you, too!" When I put him down, a crowd of women (who are marveling at how big he's gotten) hover over him as he announces the following: "I'm six! I'm big! I can do a front flip and a back flip!"
Iceland
Pandora is a mixed bag. It thinks it knows what you like, and sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. But this time it did. Of Monsters and Men. An absolutely charming folk group from Iceland. I fell in love. And I was reminded about Iceland and my curiosity about it. It's my secret place I want to go, a place to which no one would imagine going on their honeymoon, but that I do. I imagine it as lovely and strange, darkly romantic, full of charm and haunting, rare beauty. A lonely, cold, wistful, sweetly melancholy place that would welcome you with open arms to explore it.
Post-symposium blues
A(nother) professor who lights up the nerd center of my brain. Symposium at the new rare books library. She's presenting with a collaborator, come if you're interested. At 9 a.m. on a Saturday, most of my classmates weren't. But I had to. The reasons boil down to a special concentration of uber-nerdiousness, professor worship, and knowledge that she was presenting on a topic on which I was writing my final paper. The Battle of Lepanto. The epic poem writer in Latin, the black former slave Juan Latino. I went. She didn't use a microphone so, "Let me know if you can't hear me back there, Chantell." (Another way of saying, "I noticed your presence"?) All bodies and eyes momentarily bent towards me. A fleeting feeling of wanting to disappear, but onward. Wonderful, well-done, footnote stories of research and collaborations and rooting through obscure archives and getting published by the I Tatti Renaissance Library of Harvard. Impressive. A tearful drive home because I listened to something telling me that I would never be able to do what she does.
I guess I should wear my hair up more often, but . . .
We were having a Christmas celebration Sunday night. Invite lots of people! (I invited someone and he was set to come, but a few hours before, texted his regrets.) We were wearing our choir robes that night (a rarity, a specialty), so hair up, ladies! I guess it had been a while since I took the time to curl and twist and pin my hair in an up-do, but I did that night. When I walked in, you'd think I had worn a neon green burqa because of people's looks of surprise. Your hair! It's SO nice! Wow, I didn't even recognize you at first! You look SO pretty with your hair like that! I mean, thanks, guys. Wow. I was very flattered. I guess I'll wear it up more often. But . . . I couldn't help but wonder, was my hair just looking to' up pre-up-do?
An adorable boy: honey-skinned, gap-toothed smile, hazel eyes, wheat-colored hair in cornrows. He runs up to me because even though I hadn't seen him in a very long while, he remembered me. Clinging to me like a koala, burying his face in my neck. "I miss you!" Moving him side to side in a bear hug. "I miss you, too!" When I put him down, a crowd of women (who are marveling at how big he's gotten) hover over him as he announces the following: "I'm six! I'm big! I can do a front flip and a back flip!"
Iceland
Pandora is a mixed bag. It thinks it knows what you like, and sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. But this time it did. Of Monsters and Men. An absolutely charming folk group from Iceland. I fell in love. And I was reminded about Iceland and my curiosity about it. It's my secret place I want to go, a place to which no one would imagine going on their honeymoon, but that I do. I imagine it as lovely and strange, darkly romantic, full of charm and haunting, rare beauty. A lonely, cold, wistful, sweetly melancholy place that would welcome you with open arms to explore it.
Post-symposium blues
A(nother) professor who lights up the nerd center of my brain. Symposium at the new rare books library. She's presenting with a collaborator, come if you're interested. At 9 a.m. on a Saturday, most of my classmates weren't. But I had to. The reasons boil down to a special concentration of uber-nerdiousness, professor worship, and knowledge that she was presenting on a topic on which I was writing my final paper. The Battle of Lepanto. The epic poem writer in Latin, the black former slave Juan Latino. I went. She didn't use a microphone so, "Let me know if you can't hear me back there, Chantell." (Another way of saying, "I noticed your presence"?) All bodies and eyes momentarily bent towards me. A fleeting feeling of wanting to disappear, but onward. Wonderful, well-done, footnote stories of research and collaborations and rooting through obscure archives and getting published by the I Tatti Renaissance Library of Harvard. Impressive. A tearful drive home because I listened to something telling me that I would never be able to do what she does.
I guess I should wear my hair up more often, but . . .
We were having a Christmas celebration Sunday night. Invite lots of people! (I invited someone and he was set to come, but a few hours before, texted his regrets.) We were wearing our choir robes that night (a rarity, a specialty), so hair up, ladies! I guess it had been a while since I took the time to curl and twist and pin my hair in an up-do, but I did that night. When I walked in, you'd think I had worn a neon green burqa because of people's looks of surprise. Your hair! It's SO nice! Wow, I didn't even recognize you at first! You look SO pretty with your hair like that! I mean, thanks, guys. Wow. I was very flattered. I guess I'll wear it up more often. But . . . I couldn't help but wonder, was my hair just looking to' up pre-up-do?
Monday, December 17, 2012
Moments
Sometimes missing the bus isn't that bad
Fantastic. As soon as the bus stop is in sight, the bus pulls away. Then I have to wait another . . . oh, wait here's a city bus. That wasn't too long of an extra wait. I step on, swipe my card, and who do I see with an empty seat beside him and a smile? The handsome Brazilian. We chat, we get off a stop earlier to take a lovely walk and get some exercise. In a charming accent: "Thank you for taking a walk with me." So darn adorable. If I had caught the bus I missed, I would've missed my little Brazilian excursion. Sometimes we miss the bus we wanted to catch because there's a better bus already on the way.
Mortification in the produce section
After church, so I'm in a zebra print blouse (admittedly, a tad outside of my usual fare) a black skirt, a red belt and boots. All I want are lettuce and tomatoes to make a salad to go along with my pasta. But as soon as I round the corner, he spots me. An old Southerner whose great-grandfather probably fought in the Confederate army, reduced to a stockboy at Kroger. Old enough to be considered old, but young enough to not be senile and know better. "I like them boots" was our introduction. Me, thanking him sheepishly, just wanting a bag of pre-washed lettuce. Then, LOUDLY, "Whoo-wee! I like how you dress. Good Lord, I'm bout to fall out over here! You looking real good. Yo husband must take good care a you." Me, stuck between flattered and utterly mortified, noticing the curious stares of passersby. "Look! Look over here at this gal! Don't she look good?" People actually looking. And laughing. Can I silently sink into the floor right now? "I'm sorry, but I'm not a shy man, ma'am." Me, finally finding a voice, "But I am." A million apologies, and I finally grab my bag of lettuce and get out of there, praying that I don't run into him again before I make it to the check-out line. "Guess you better be careful bout what you wear to the grocery store next time," calls out one of the amused passersby as I was on my way to get a packet of garlic alfredo sauce mix. Can I die right now? Bam. My worst fear realized. He caught me again. "Boy, I tell you, you could be a model. Are you sure you ain't a movie star?" Then he gets just a little too close for comfort, looks me right in the eye and reassures me, "You gonna be all right, girl. You gonna be all right." And then walks away. Um, thanks? Did I appear as if I thought I wasn't going to be all right? Note to self: NEVER go to that Kroger on a Sunday afternoon ever again.
She already knew what I was going to ask
Shopping at The Gap with a Chinese friend on Black Friday. The way we became friends was quite simple, yet amusing. In Auburn, coming home from a night of studying. We crossed paths. She introduced herself with the perkiness of an 8-year-old on a sugar high. "Hi! I have been in the United States for 40 days!" she said, proudly. How can you deny friendship to someone like that? Back to The Gap. Surrounded by a gaggle of Asian kids, speaking unintelligibly (to me). I wondered if she understood them. I wonder if they're Chinese, too. All I did was look at her and she said, "They are not Chinese."
Nerddom at its awkwardest
I decide to write my final paper on this art housey Argentine movie. Not a whole lot of scholarly criticism about it, but I put my searching skills to work and rustled up an article written about it in 2011! A rush of nerd juice to the head. I spotted my professor in the hall and asked her if she was familiar with it. Sure, I'll scan a copy of it for you right away. Got my teacher's pet on, scanned the article, sent it to her, she posted it on eLC. I didn't actually read it. I scanned through it, though. It was enough that it was recent and about the movie, right? Wrong. In class the next day. Professor: "Did any of you read the article I posted?" Student: "Yes, and you were cited in it, weren't you?" (Me in my head: Wait, she was? Flips to bibliography. Bam.) Professor: "Yes, honestly, I was a little embarrassed about it because the article writer criticized me for not blah, blah, blah." (Me in my head: Oh, snap. And I recommended it! Awkwarrrd!) I might as well have said, "Hey, Dr. Such and Such, wanna read this article that lambastes your work? I'll scan it for you right now!" Note to self: READ articles in their entirety and check that bibliography right quick before that nerd rush to the head incites you to share it prematurely. Geez.
Fantastic. As soon as the bus stop is in sight, the bus pulls away. Then I have to wait another . . . oh, wait here's a city bus. That wasn't too long of an extra wait. I step on, swipe my card, and who do I see with an empty seat beside him and a smile? The handsome Brazilian. We chat, we get off a stop earlier to take a lovely walk and get some exercise. In a charming accent: "Thank you for taking a walk with me." So darn adorable. If I had caught the bus I missed, I would've missed my little Brazilian excursion. Sometimes we miss the bus we wanted to catch because there's a better bus already on the way.
Mortification in the produce section
After church, so I'm in a zebra print blouse (admittedly, a tad outside of my usual fare) a black skirt, a red belt and boots. All I want are lettuce and tomatoes to make a salad to go along with my pasta. But as soon as I round the corner, he spots me. An old Southerner whose great-grandfather probably fought in the Confederate army, reduced to a stockboy at Kroger. Old enough to be considered old, but young enough to not be senile and know better. "I like them boots" was our introduction. Me, thanking him sheepishly, just wanting a bag of pre-washed lettuce. Then, LOUDLY, "Whoo-wee! I like how you dress. Good Lord, I'm bout to fall out over here! You looking real good. Yo husband must take good care a you." Me, stuck between flattered and utterly mortified, noticing the curious stares of passersby. "Look! Look over here at this gal! Don't she look good?" People actually looking. And laughing. Can I silently sink into the floor right now? "I'm sorry, but I'm not a shy man, ma'am." Me, finally finding a voice, "But I am." A million apologies, and I finally grab my bag of lettuce and get out of there, praying that I don't run into him again before I make it to the check-out line. "Guess you better be careful bout what you wear to the grocery store next time," calls out one of the amused passersby as I was on my way to get a packet of garlic alfredo sauce mix. Can I die right now? Bam. My worst fear realized. He caught me again. "Boy, I tell you, you could be a model. Are you sure you ain't a movie star?" Then he gets just a little too close for comfort, looks me right in the eye and reassures me, "You gonna be all right, girl. You gonna be all right." And then walks away. Um, thanks? Did I appear as if I thought I wasn't going to be all right? Note to self: NEVER go to that Kroger on a Sunday afternoon ever again.
She already knew what I was going to ask
Shopping at The Gap with a Chinese friend on Black Friday. The way we became friends was quite simple, yet amusing. In Auburn, coming home from a night of studying. We crossed paths. She introduced herself with the perkiness of an 8-year-old on a sugar high. "Hi! I have been in the United States for 40 days!" she said, proudly. How can you deny friendship to someone like that? Back to The Gap. Surrounded by a gaggle of Asian kids, speaking unintelligibly (to me). I wondered if she understood them. I wonder if they're Chinese, too. All I did was look at her and she said, "They are not Chinese."
Nerddom at its awkwardest
I decide to write my final paper on this art housey Argentine movie. Not a whole lot of scholarly criticism about it, but I put my searching skills to work and rustled up an article written about it in 2011! A rush of nerd juice to the head. I spotted my professor in the hall and asked her if she was familiar with it. Sure, I'll scan a copy of it for you right away. Got my teacher's pet on, scanned the article, sent it to her, she posted it on eLC. I didn't actually read it. I scanned through it, though. It was enough that it was recent and about the movie, right? Wrong. In class the next day. Professor: "Did any of you read the article I posted?" Student: "Yes, and you were cited in it, weren't you?" (Me in my head: Wait, she was? Flips to bibliography. Bam.) Professor: "Yes, honestly, I was a little embarrassed about it because the article writer criticized me for not blah, blah, blah." (Me in my head: Oh, snap. And I recommended it! Awkwarrrd!) I might as well have said, "Hey, Dr. Such and Such, wanna read this article that lambastes your work? I'll scan it for you right now!" Note to self: READ articles in their entirety and check that bibliography right quick before that nerd rush to the head incites you to share it prematurely. Geez.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Filing and Freaking Out
So, my end of the semester tidy-up duties are at hand. I had papers and articles strewn about my apartment like a scatterbrained mad scientist. So I'm in OCD mode, labeling file folders, organizing everything and putting it away for future reference.
I'm heading back to my hometown (?) tomorrow. We're having a little Christmas banquet tomorrow, and I thought it would be fun to whip out my old bridesmaid's dress to wear and get all dolled up. Except . . . (record scratch) . . . it doesn't fit anymore!
AARRRGH!
I feel like having a temper tantrum. Like reverting to a 3-year-old, falling out and proceeding to scream and flail about because mommy told me I couldn't have another cookie.
Bridesmaid's dress, get your skinny butt over here right now! Who told you not to fit me anymore? Answer me! I asked you, WHO TOLD YOU NOT TO FIT ME ANYMORE? Did you ask me? I don't think so. No ma'am, you did NOT get permission not to fit me anymore. What was that you said? Oh, that I could still barely get the zipper up? I don't call that fitting, you skinny, shimmering, pool blue rag. Yeah, it might fit if I held my breath all night, but I don't want to pass out, and I would actually like to eat at the Christmas banquet without cutting off the circulation in the lower half of my body. I fit into you just fine three years ago, and just when I want to wear you again you decide to shrink. Bridesmaid's dress, you ain't about that life! You don't want this! Girl, I will cut you. I will snatch off your wig. I will yank out your weave, snap off your press-on nails, call up your baby daddy and tell him to Western Union that child support check to ME! See, you ain't ready for me! Nawl.
I can't even look at that bridesmaid's dress without wanting to fight the air. This. Is. Not. Allowed. To. Happen.
I'm heading back to my hometown (?) tomorrow. We're having a little Christmas banquet tomorrow, and I thought it would be fun to whip out my old bridesmaid's dress to wear and get all dolled up. Except . . . (record scratch) . . . it doesn't fit anymore!
AARRRGH!
I feel like having a temper tantrum. Like reverting to a 3-year-old, falling out and proceeding to scream and flail about because mommy told me I couldn't have another cookie.
Bridesmaid's dress, get your skinny butt over here right now! Who told you not to fit me anymore? Answer me! I asked you, WHO TOLD YOU NOT TO FIT ME ANYMORE? Did you ask me? I don't think so. No ma'am, you did NOT get permission not to fit me anymore. What was that you said? Oh, that I could still barely get the zipper up? I don't call that fitting, you skinny, shimmering, pool blue rag. Yeah, it might fit if I held my breath all night, but I don't want to pass out, and I would actually like to eat at the Christmas banquet without cutting off the circulation in the lower half of my body. I fit into you just fine three years ago, and just when I want to wear you again you decide to shrink. Bridesmaid's dress, you ain't about that life! You don't want this! Girl, I will cut you. I will snatch off your wig. I will yank out your weave, snap off your press-on nails, call up your baby daddy and tell him to Western Union that child support check to ME! See, you ain't ready for me! Nawl.
I can't even look at that bridesmaid's dress without wanting to fight the air. This. Is. Not. Allowed. To. Happen.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
So, I'm back. And I'm done. Almost.
Sigh. The hard part is over. Finally got my final papers cranked out. You want to know what they were about? Aw, how sweet of you to ask!
1. A Spanish detective novel called Fácil de matar. Easy to Kill. Oooh. In this genre, the detective is usually a man, in this one it's a woman. In Spanish detective fiction, the setting is usually Barcelona, in this one it's Beirut. How do these differences affect the expectations of the reader? How do these characteristics (and others) reflect postmodernity?
2. A 1970s Argentine novel called La condesa sangrienta (The Bloody Countess) and a 2002 Argentine film called Tan de repente (Suddenly). I proposed that talking about power in masculine terms is insufficient and generalizes the dynamics of power and that we need to talk about power in ways that aren't codified by gender. These works, in which women exercise power over other women, give examples of power dynamics that are outside of the language of male domination.
3. An epic poem in Latin called the Austrias carmen written in 1573 by a former black slave who lived in Granada named Juan Latino. The poem celebrates the European victory in the battle of Lepanto and the exploits of the war's hero, John of Austria, the illegitimate son of Charles V. After finally being recognized, John was continually denied noble status by his older half-brother, king Philip II. I proposed that part of the reason Latino chose John for his epic's hero was because he identified with him due to their shared marginalized status--Latino as a black former slave in Spain, John as an illegitimate son. I focused on the ways that Latino praises John, in his language that compares him with his father, suggesting nobility, and in his comparisons of John with Caesar Augustus, borrowing imagery from the Aeneid.
My last hurdle is a project that I should have been working on all semester for my major professor, but that I must finish up by Friday. Not nearly as intense of writing three papers, so I'll be able to pull it off. When I brought all of my books back to the library, I think got a tiny taste of how Jesus Christ felt carrying the cross.
Anyway, there's lots I want to write about, and I have a nice stretch of time ahead of me where I can give my brain a break. I'll probably start with reflections of amusing moments that have kind of stuck with me during my blog break. Until then, back to finishing up this project!
1. A Spanish detective novel called Fácil de matar. Easy to Kill. Oooh. In this genre, the detective is usually a man, in this one it's a woman. In Spanish detective fiction, the setting is usually Barcelona, in this one it's Beirut. How do these differences affect the expectations of the reader? How do these characteristics (and others) reflect postmodernity?
2. A 1970s Argentine novel called La condesa sangrienta (The Bloody Countess) and a 2002 Argentine film called Tan de repente (Suddenly). I proposed that talking about power in masculine terms is insufficient and generalizes the dynamics of power and that we need to talk about power in ways that aren't codified by gender. These works, in which women exercise power over other women, give examples of power dynamics that are outside of the language of male domination.
3. An epic poem in Latin called the Austrias carmen written in 1573 by a former black slave who lived in Granada named Juan Latino. The poem celebrates the European victory in the battle of Lepanto and the exploits of the war's hero, John of Austria, the illegitimate son of Charles V. After finally being recognized, John was continually denied noble status by his older half-brother, king Philip II. I proposed that part of the reason Latino chose John for his epic's hero was because he identified with him due to their shared marginalized status--Latino as a black former slave in Spain, John as an illegitimate son. I focused on the ways that Latino praises John, in his language that compares him with his father, suggesting nobility, and in his comparisons of John with Caesar Augustus, borrowing imagery from the Aeneid.
My last hurdle is a project that I should have been working on all semester for my major professor, but that I must finish up by Friday. Not nearly as intense of writing three papers, so I'll be able to pull it off. When I brought all of my books back to the library, I think got a tiny taste of how Jesus Christ felt carrying the cross.
Anyway, there's lots I want to write about, and I have a nice stretch of time ahead of me where I can give my brain a break. I'll probably start with reflections of amusing moments that have kind of stuck with me during my blog break. Until then, back to finishing up this project!
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