oh, sigmund, how i doubted you. i chased away countless hours in suffocated coffee houses so dim you would swear they were lit by televisions. i sat on a stage wearing a corset ironically and barking out bad feminist poetry like the world's weakest drill seargeant. i was convinced that the crowd couldn't hear my genius because they were too busy staring at my tits and, hey, wasn't that the point of the poem-- to expose the charlatans who used faux empathy as spanish fly? i broiled with rage at your theory that all women, old crone to nubile nymphet all the way down to downy-limbed toddler, existed in either celebratory embrace or else delusional self-denial of the need...the need to have a penis, not in, but on. "impossible!", i trumpeted (never wheedled, of course) for my life has never been about lack.
...apparently, how wrong i was. poor, poor sigmund. now, i'm not one of those sanctimonious bike-riders...at least not sanctimonious because i ride my bike to work, but i cannot tell whether i'm more offended by the people who don't move over at all and nearly
clip
my
handlebars
and
sendmespinningintoaditchohgodohgodohgod!
or...
the folks who swing a huge berth around and make me feel like a giant, two-wheeled monstrosity. either way, 90% of the time when a driver offends me, it is an SUV. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT of the time, the SUV driver is a woman. i don't know if they are not aware of their vehicles' dimensions or what, but i do know that i am wary of how often a grumble to myself, "probably a chick driving that thing!" this afternoon, for example, i was passed by three (!!!!) chevy suburbans in a row, driven by three different soccer moms, and one of the chevys had one of those "happy family" stick people appliques on the back window.
seriously, you'd have thought it was a parade.
ugh.
the point? if we talk about men driving those gigantic machines as compensation for a "shortcoming", perhaps sigmund was right, and all women really want is some form of a penis...even in a modernized form. would but that i could return to the halcyon days of the coffee shop and the microphone that reeked of false anger and other people's spit, i would pen a poem called, "SUV's don't make you a feminist".
god, when did i become such a misogynist?
today's word of the day is syncanthus.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
everything she loved went down the dragon track; she had fear of trains...
"why don't you tell them the story about how your brother took up so much space in utero that the doctors couldn't find your heartbeat and assumed you would be stillborn?" that advice, i decided not to take when beginning this blog...no...wait...i guess i inadvertently DID take it.
damn.
forced under the terrible, pretense-inducing glare of introspection again, this time by the final assignment to clear my teaching credential. hmmph. the end of the school year is approaching, bringing with it a less satisfying sigh of relief. this is because the year wasn't NEARLY as stressful as last year, so i guess i should be grateful for that. tagging along for the ride is a mild anxiety about my assignment for next year. i virtually fell in love with the process of teaching the freshmen this year. they are old enough to get excited about challenging philosophical and literary issues. they are old enough to reason with. they are old enough to appreciate the emotional impact of really good writing (despite the fact that school board relentlessly chooses the same easily-digested pabulum year after year). they are old enough to be...earnest.
...they are still young enough to scare.
the woman who teaches the honors students here has been *cough* asked to "step aside". my department chair jokes that, "it is because (i) want her job", and jokes that he told her so. true enough. i relish the opportunity to take everything that is good about teaching freshmen and compound it with a slightly higher ability and/or sense of intrinsic motivation. all year i have been using grammar as the light to which i hold the kids to see where they need mending. the random succeses i have had with the freshmen has made me look forward to next year...even if the former teacher, "is, like, TOTALLY gunning to destroy (me)."
bring it. i'll slap you with a beautifully placed appositive phrase. go ahead. dangle that participle. meet me at high noon, and don't forget to bring a body bag...
damn.
forced under the terrible, pretense-inducing glare of introspection again, this time by the final assignment to clear my teaching credential. hmmph. the end of the school year is approaching, bringing with it a less satisfying sigh of relief. this is because the year wasn't NEARLY as stressful as last year, so i guess i should be grateful for that. tagging along for the ride is a mild anxiety about my assignment for next year. i virtually fell in love with the process of teaching the freshmen this year. they are old enough to get excited about challenging philosophical and literary issues. they are old enough to reason with. they are old enough to appreciate the emotional impact of really good writing (despite the fact that school board relentlessly chooses the same easily-digested pabulum year after year). they are old enough to be...earnest.
...they are still young enough to scare.
the woman who teaches the honors students here has been *cough* asked to "step aside". my department chair jokes that, "it is because (i) want her job", and jokes that he told her so. true enough. i relish the opportunity to take everything that is good about teaching freshmen and compound it with a slightly higher ability and/or sense of intrinsic motivation. all year i have been using grammar as the light to which i hold the kids to see where they need mending. the random succeses i have had with the freshmen has made me look forward to next year...even if the former teacher, "is, like, TOTALLY gunning to destroy (me)."
bring it. i'll slap you with a beautifully placed appositive phrase. go ahead. dangle that participle. meet me at high noon, and don't forget to bring a body bag...
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