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10.22.00, 10:16 a.m.

reading (critically): Profit and Pleasure: Sexual Identities in Late Capitalism , Rosemary Hennessey

I got back a few days ago from the American Studies Association annual conference with a notebook full of stories and notes. During my paper I gesticulated wildly and paused to give graphic descriptions of the Real Doll (synthetic, "life-like" sex partner), which I really do think everyone appreciated. (Lisa: "I've never heard the word 'boobs' used at an academic conference before, but there really wasn't any other word for it, was there?") I was later approached by members of two different search committees, wondering if I'd be interested in applying for a position, and I let them know that I haven't even taken my exams yet. I felt like the gangly, grin-addled adolescent invited to prove five years worth of piano lessons at a "grown-up" party -- Ron told me I kept pushing my hair up and back while talking, a nervous tic, a punk rock mussing.

On a thread on the Punk Planet forums, someone named me as one of their favorite columnists, but asked, "Why do you think she's hypersensitive about race?" What I don't quite grasp is how I can be a person's "favorite" and yet not have my, er, project understood--? I thought about answering, but decided against it. The easy answer --the one that would save me a lot of work-- would be, "Well, I'm getting my PhD. in ethnic studies." The answer I'd otherwise give would be an interrogation of "hypersensitive" as a dismissive gesture that psychologizes the problem of "race" (or gender or sexuality) to myself as an individual, forestalling a critical recognition of racial hegemony in America. But I'm not in the mood.