problematic man pays me a visit

Problematic Man: ho there, little girl! how are you today?

me: not so great, problematic man. i’ve had a hard afternoon.

Problematic Man: really? were you made to feel like a hysterical second-wave feminist in your film class? were you alienated by misogynistic student theater? and were you subsequently frustrated by the insidious classism of the O.C.?

me: yes and yes! and yes, Problematic Man! it all began …

scene one

video production workshop, where the two groups — one being mine and the other composed of four, white, broad-shouldered sophomore boys — show segments of our group projects. my group’s presentation went fine. then the broad-shouldered boy group showed theirs, a collection of genres: an art film, a cartoon, a sitcom. and THEN …

[the four females in class suddenly sit up, gape at screen. film finishes.]

broad-shouldered boys: so, what did you think?

one female: why, uh, did you choose to put porn in your film?

broad-shouldered boys: what, do you hate porn?

another female: no, but what’s the point? it’s not as innocuous as your other genres. some people are offended by porn, you know.

b-s boys: really? they are?

problematic man: wow! they are unaware of any social ramifications or controversy of pornography! indeed, they are amazing. what happened next?

third female: and while we’re on the subject, why is the only african-american in your movie the aggressive, sexualized black male in the porn?

b-s boys: is he? uh. we didn’t think about that.

fourth female: you know, that’s a stereotype.

b-s boys: [silence]

fourth female: a harmful stereotype. STEREOTYPE.

b-s boys: but that wasn’t our intention.

females: still, you have a responsibility to consider the images you’re presenting.

b-s boys: [silence]

females: you have to think about how the film will be perceived.

b-s boys: [silence]

females: STEREOTYPE!

b-s boys: … so, you hate porn?

scene two

my good friend’s production of sarah kane’s Phedre’s Love.

phedre: strophe, my daughter, i’m in love with my step-son, your step-brother, even though he is cyncial, egotistical, nihilistic, unhygienic & unkind!

strophe: mother, stop! can’t you control yourself?

phedre: no! i’m a woman!

phedre: oh hippolytus, i love you, even though you’re my step-son, cyncial, egotistical, nihilistic, unhygienic & unkind!

hippolytus: go away. i hate you. fuck someone else.

phedre: no, i must have you! because i am an irrational woman, governed by my emotions! please, let me fellate you. i will not enjoy it and you will transmit to me your various venereal diseases, and i am your step-mother, but i do not care because i love you!

strophe: hippolytus, my mother killed herself because she is an irrational woman governed by her emotions and she loves you too much.

hippolytus: i told her that you and i are fucking. and that you fucked my father, theseus, her husband. i told her these things because i am cynical, egotistical, nihilistic, unhygienic and unkind!

strophe: you monster! yet i love you anyway, because i am a woman! let us have sex, though you will transmit to me your various veneral diseases!

theseus: here i am, back home again! what transpired in my absence?

hippolytus: i am accused of raping and murdering your wife, my step-mother.

theseus: oh no! i will kiss you, and then kill you, but not before i rape and kill my daughter strophe, for no conceivable reason! then i will kill myself!

scene three

the o.c., an excellent show that sadly trafficks in stereotypes

the o.c.: domestic violence only happens in chino!

problematic man: a troubling afternoon indeed, little girl. are you feeling any better today?

me: yes, problematic man. and this weeked i’m going to march for women’s lives: that will make me feel even better.

problematic man: then i’ve done my job!

me: but you haven’t done anything — can’t you talk to those b-s boys? or my friend the director? …. problematic man? problematic man? where’d you go?

the same four notes

i have been happy every day since the sun came out. how primitive of me.

in an attempt to take charge of my life, i went to the bookstore and shelled out for:

mounting squares to hang up posters & make my room less skeletally bleak. yes, this is way overdue.

a new (disposable) fountain pen

three folders

and a free-standing file folder organization type system.

i bought it all, returned to my room, and snapped my fingers. nothing mary poppinsish happened, or sword in the stoneish for that matter, but i figure i’ll keep trying every day til my honors exams are over. it’ll take persistence and dedication, i know. i’m willing to put in the effort, at least until my snapping fingers get tired.

both of the papers i need to revise for friday have been dealt with — which is to say, i changed the date at the top to 4/25/04. and the paper i need to write for friday has been written. by thursday afternoon, twill all be done and handed in, right in time for me to disappear from swarthmore for the subsequent few days. score.

a happy list

my SKIN is happy because it is tinged tan from the hours i spent outside in the summerliketime.

my TUMMY is happy because this morning i had brunch. real brunch.

my LEGS are happy because i wore a skirt without tights.

my HAIR is happy because sunshine makes it ruddy.

my SOUL is happy because i read names today for holocaust remembrance day.

my HEART is happy because ben is here, and because he cleaned my refrigerator for me. i’d been afraid to go near it since he informed me, months ago, that some mold had grown. naturally, since i ignored the problem, some spores had become an evergreen forest, but ben fought the forest-fire with fire. afterwards he asked, “does it meet your standards? if you want me to scrub harder, i’ll scrub harder.”

attorney general … of fashion!

the front page of the washington post today critiques janet reno’s turn before the 9-11 commission. no wait, just kidding. they critique her CLOTHES.

Her jacket hung loosely and the skirt was long — reaching to the mid-calf as always — and without any fetching details. Her lapels were two uninterrupted plains, free of American flags or any other conspicuous announcements of patriotism. Notice the neckline of the jacket — open, unadorned, practically crying out for a scarf, a strand of pearls, some tasteful Redbook kind of accessory. Albright would have tucked something in there, just to finish off the ensemble and give it a little polish. Not Reno. All of that nothingness speaks of refusal. She will not pretty things up with a few beads.

On her jacket, there were no seams to emphasize her waistline or bosom. There was nothing to remind the viewer that there was a body — a person — hidden underneath that gold-buttoned cloaking device.

“a body — a person”? wow. that hadn’t been made explicit to me in a long time. and honestly, so reno has no time for “fetching details.” so she doesn’t care whether you can make out “her waistline or bosom.” what is this, 1955? is it really that noteworthy anymore?

even though the author pays reno’s “refusal” some necessary respect, the fact that the wp would print a fashion column on the front page makes me spit.

me & mrs. o’leary’s cow

the qsa (queer straight alliance) flame war has suddenly stopped. for over 24 hours, innocent freshmen and irate seniors overflowed everyone’s inboxes. actually not all the blame can be laid on freshmen: if the senior who was the first to respond my initial email hadn’t done so, he wouldn’t have touched off the blaze.

maybe that makes me mrs. o’leary and him the cow.

the amazing things is that it was my initial email, the first i ever sent to the list, my poor little email that started this great big war. ben says i shouldn’t be naive about this, that in sending the short message about dan savage’s latest (and, in my opinion, patently offensive & unfunny) column, i should have known what would likely happen.

in my own defense, i did not. the vehemence of disagreement astounded me and i lay low throughout the war, happy to let others explain how his column was “some phobic shit.” now an uneasy silence falls across our inboxes. a gloomy peace this morning with it brings/ the sun for sorrow will not show its head. (except it was gorgeous when i woke up and so bright my first thought was, Did i sleep with my lamp on again?) the war has had its climax but not yet its denouement. perhaps we will be treated to none except a gradual slide of this event into the forgotten past.

but never was there a tale of more wow

than this of me & mrs. o.l.’s cow

two articles, both alike in dignity

in fair charleston where we lay our scene …

read this article about charleston, va.

then read this one.

same city? uh huh.

same newspaper? yup.

same day? you betcha.

so is charleston the best city in the country despite the racial profiling? or were the black men getting their mouths swabbed just too busy to vote?

it’s a trend!

semi- almost- kindof- looksgood- success! what strange half-luck i have. today i heard from The Company. i made their 2nd cut and NOW i have to go up to new york and 1) fill out an application; 2) take a grammar/proofreading test; and 3) take a typing test.

having worked in as many offices as i have, if i manage to fuck up any one of those three things, i will classify myself a moron and go into hiding. ben suggests i should find books on proofreading. perhaps i should, but honestly: proofreading? i proofread for fun. i proofread in my spare time. i once found a typo on a plaque in that big fancy art museum in new york. you know, what’s it called.

the point is, i may be in, just like i may be in the NYU program for which i sent in my swiftly-but-not-hastily written essay this morning.

semi- congratulate me!

for a change, a nice surprise

in my evil, dastardly mailbox this morning, i found a thin envelope from nyu. “bastards,” i thought. “you’re rejecting me twice!” as it turns out, that’s not exactly the case. with my permission, they’re going to consider me for an inter-disciplinary program. i’ve never heard of it, but who am i to turn down anything? maybe they’d let me research new york city history and write more movies about it, which would be supercool.

maybe even more supercool than just writing poetry. well, we’ll see.

i’m all jazzed up cuz i’m getting drawn into the ASSassins game happening on campus. wisely i decided not to play again — never to play again, in fact, after it nearly ruined my fall semester junior year. although i made it to the top five and accumulated hilarious stories involving sprained wrists and insidiously-motivated trips to new york city, losing crushed my fragile spirit. over the course of my lengthy recovery period, i realized that i can’t take games like these with the right combination of “To The Death!” spirit & cunning with hipster insouciance (& cunning). plus i can’t run fast enough.

but it’s still fun watching other people get paranoid, and plan, and get frantic, and pull themselves together to plan some more. and grab each others asses.

self-pity will ruin society as we know it

this video is amazing. i feel like i should watch it several times over with a pen in hand. unfortunately i don’t have that kind of time. it’s chock-full of nuts though, that’s for sure. (thus, kosher for passover!)

despite the rain, despite not being able to eat bagels,

despite the fact that my film group is filming tomorrow and we haven’t prepped quite as much as i’d like,

despite the fact that there’s only one episode of the apprentice left,

despite ben’s absence and my future being as uncertain as ever,

despite the fact that the bulk of my reading for class tomorrow is in the one book i didn’t buy and which isn’t in the library,

i think i’m okay. but. it’s been a long semester.

on the subject of cinema:

i had my interview with The Company. it went … fine, actually. i have no more specific sense of it than that. & i’ll hear — “one way or the other” — in a couple weeks.

columbia hates me. moving on.

i saw eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. oh. ohhhhhhh. as soon as it was over i wanted to see it again. until i see it again, i’m not sure i’ll be able to articulate why i liked it so much except that i so approved of the moral.

columbia hates me. no really. i got my rejection this morning. however, at least now i’ve heard and i don’t have to spend the next month or so waiting & hopingagainsthope.

i’m supposed to be reading film theory about third world cinema. can’t bring myself — too tired. imperialism bad! giving oppressed people a voice good!

no wonder columbia hates me.