September 5, 2001, 12:04 a.m.
Don't worry. (Not that you were.) I'll be updating soon, I'm simply
reorganizing and reprioritizing. Meanwhile J. tells me that I'm
mentioned in the latest Utne Reader. That makes two mentions in
national forums in the last two weeks, and for the last two weeks I
haven't much felt like "talking" at all.
August 27, 2001, 10:34 p.m.
Ghost World opens with a slow pan
across buildings and into apartment windows where an Asian
immigrant woman leans out her window, smoking a cigarette, or a white
family sits on the battered couch while a boy toddler, ignored, beats at
a stuffed animal with a plastic bat. Each condensed vignette suggests a
separate domestic universe, all organized around the blue glow and
endless chatter of the television set (the only omnipresent prop, which
is not seen directly until the camera arrives in Enid's room)
but in subtly different ways. As English tutorial, perhaps, or reliable
companion to the awkward and lonely, the television activates a whole
range of social relations in the private spaces of the home. I like
that. Even if television is a household fixture, it doesn't also mean
that its function is necessarily fixed.
9:45 p.m.
I put off a grant award this semester so I could be a reader for a
women's studies class taught by the very fabulous Inderpal Grewal.
After last year's nightmare, I feel fairly desperate to be in an
undergraduate teaching environment that will provide a solid pedagogical
example, in everything from course design to lecture style.
_________________________
The defining event I witnessed at the California State
Fair in Sacramento, an event that I will never forget: a pregnant
cow peeing. And peeing. And peeing. Yikes.