In which Matthew's mom discovers a fallacy

MY MOM: Barack Obama comes to mind as I read this, my poem. Tell me if you feel the same:

fashioned against the sky
barren branches bend and sway
brown, broken leaves below
circle like scurrying squirrels
yet
amidst the flurry
a blackbird
with lacquered feathers
sits
undisturbed

ME: The calm of the poem itself (my favorite of yours), set against the last frantic oh-arrrrgh-ugh-the-liberal-media-mccain-was-framed email that got sent out to us [by my stepdad], which I read right beforehand, is a lot like the blackbird *in* the poem set against the scurrying... thanks for sending it, Ma.

MOM: Yes and of course, Barack Obama is the blackbird. (No racial pun intended.)

ME: I'm told he's half dove anyway.

MOM'S FRIEND 1: Yes, I agree with your son, the undisturbed quality is very much like Obrama. Except that I don't know if you remember: during the Reconstruction era, the black man in America was called "Jim Crow" (in a pejorative sense), and the Jim Crow laws mandated segregation in all public facilities, the beginning of "separate but equal" status for black Americans. So in that sense, the blackbird is not a good associative image for Obama. And unfortunately, that was the first association that came up for me! Thank God this campaigning will all be over in a week - and Obama will be our new president.

ME: According to Walter Everett in The Beatles as Musicians: Revolver through the Anthology (Oxford UP, 1999, quoted here via Wikipedia), Paul McCartney wrote "Blackbird" as a reaction to racial tensions escalating in America in the spring of 1968. The song is, like your poem, built upon calm, stark contrasts. And thus far, no one I know of has considered McCartney's ornithological lyrics to be racist in the least; if anything, they are quite the opposite. The connection with your poem is more recent, and more apropos.

MOM'S FRIEND 1: Meanwhile, I neglected to tell you that it is one of my favorite poems of yours, also . . . and that your son is amazingly articulate and thoughtful. I hope to meet him and his bride-to-be some day. You raised him well, and no wonder you feel as close to him as you do!

[NB: The following emails are written in free verse. No idea why.]

MOM'S FRIEND 2: thought again about
your poem
the other layer
underneath the autumn scene
the blackbird as
ominous symbolism
is that your intention?

MOM: No,no, the blackbird remains calm (undisturbed)
despite the frenzied conditions that surround him
What I like about Obama
besides his intelligence
and integrity (it seems)
is his manner
He remains calm and clear-headed
regardless of the circumstance
and I find that appealing in an individual
especially a presidential candidate
I think he will not be so quick
to push the panic button

ME: We in literary theory would point out that the poet's intention is only circumstantially connected to the text, which, once it leaves the poet's pen, has its own set of meanings that the poet cannot hope to control. At any point later, if the poet does try to exert such control, she becomes property of the text (as an "author function") rather than the other way around. And symbolism can vary based on context. I think Maggie's doing a good example of "reading against the grain" here, and it works well.

MOM: You may remember that my poem merely described a sighting in nature...
a tree, near [my high school], noted as I was returning from my walk. I wanted to be like the blackbird, someone who could remain undisturbed despite the "craziness" that surrounded him. (Uncle Jack called this "my Zen poem".) Nothing ominous about the blackbird as I saw it.

MOM'S FRIEND 2: interesting
that you see
those qualities
in Obama
I see him as
an opportunist
who fosters
any relationship
(however subversive
or corrupt)
that propels him
towards his goal
(and I am a Democrat)
and your blackbird
though calm
may be laying in wait

In which Matthew resolves

It's embarrassing that I have become this maudlin. It's very unpleasant and itchy and I think I'm developing a rash. There was a part of me that froze in 2004 after the RNC held its convention in New York to capitalize on 9/11 (while the natives coughed 9/11 up into our bathroom sinks and then tried hopelessly to get back to sleep). I think that part of me started to thaw when I was canvassing for the DNC this summer and started actually thinking about [scarequotes] hope [/scarequotes] and I will always resent Grassroots Campaigns for that. And now I've set up a political Facebook group. It's sweet, and optimistic.

Yes You Can: Obama Years' Resolutions

It's like a New Year's Resolution, but you actually do it, and it lasts for four to eight years.

(I'm going to do one for myself anyway, so I figured I'd spread the idea around. It's a way of doing homage to what may really be a whole new chapter for all of us.)

It's your trade-off with fate, with God, with the Spirit of America, with whomever you please -- if Barack Obama wins the election on November 4, you will use that extra burst of hope/confidence in humanity to do something you've always wanted, or to change something about your life that you've always wanted to change, and you'll keep that promise for as long as Obama is in office.

AS SOON AS YOU CAN THINK OF YOUR OBAMA YEARS' RESOLUTION, POST IT ON THE WALL BELOW TO MAKE IT OFFICIAL! ...and then keep us updated about your progress after we win in November. I've posted my resolution already. And spread the word. Maybe Fate will put the right guy in office just to hold us to our promises.

Mine is to take my play-script ideas off the back burner and work on them for at least an hour on every morning that Barack Obama is in office. And if I finish them all, and he's still president... then I start on the novel.

Over a few days, the group has collected forty-three members and added thirteen resolutions to mine. The openings have strengthened from "If Barack wins" to "When Barack wins." Some have added resolution bonuses if Prop 8 fails. , Some are really intense; some are from people I've never met: to do more volunteer work and be more involved in my immediate community... [to] also continue my pathetic attempt to learn how to garden and grow my own food in my new back yard; to get my apartment complex to recycle and keep them from flooding their lawns every night (even when its raining, my god!) and I will hang out with my estranged father and my t.v. dinner grandparents... maybe I'll even tell my dad that I'm a vegetarian (going on 2 years); to devote at least one day per month to performing a Community Service; to keep my house clean all the time, and will do this by not overscheduling myself. I will not allow more than 5 days a month to have a schedule so busy that I have no time or energy left to pick up after myself; to take freelance work only if it has a socially important message, is artistically challenging, or has cultural significance. No more work on lame, Disney-esque children's shows, or comic palaver for adults just to make a buck. This will make me feel more fulfilled and give me more time to spend with friends, family and neighbors; to begin talking with people in my family that I don't get along with and currently ignore. I'll start every conversation with the phrase, "Let's start with what we agree on...."; to attempt to quit smoking; to get myself into better shape, manage my time and money more effectively, engage in my community, maintain at least one creative outlet, and strengthen ties with my family and friends every day he is in office; to sincerely compliment one person a day; to lose at least 20 pounds in the next year if Barack Obama is elected. I'll make that 30 if Prop Eight fails; to complete my 200+ hours yoga teacher training so that I will be healthier and more at peace every day that Barack Obama is in office; to drink the recommended eight daily glasses of water and watch VH1 celebreality every day Barack Obama is in office (that one was my little sister); to read through my copy of Diana Hacker's *Rules for Writer; Sixth Edition* so as to improve my writing skills for ever day that Barack Obama is in office (that one was a former student of mine).

Needless to say, if you're reading this and you haven't already, go make a resolution.

In which Matthew is braised

ME: Yo, Matt here actually
What's up, man?
Can I pass on a msg?
(A is in the kitchen baking, I'm cleaning)

HE: i just wanted to hear how slow foods went.

ME: Ah -- very good. Jessica seemed really pleased.

HE: gooooood. was ara happy?

ME: She was. 'Cept that we couldn't get it together to get it taped

HE: sorry...i know you're busy. i'll catch up with you guys when i get back to town.

ME: You should. We'd love to have you over. I'll make dinner. Ha, I found a newspaper clipping in the office and it's from when Madonna's brother wrote his exposé book

HE: these are riveting pieces of news matthew. :)

ME: He writes: I gave up my fucking life to make you the evil queen you are today... 15 years listening to your bitching egotistical rantings, mediocre talent, and a lack of taste that would stun the ages.
I thought that was funny so I ripped it out

HE: that's actually staggeringly incredible. fuck yeah to all of that. i kind of dont care at all about madonna or what she signifies. and im glad that someone has a really personal spin on how ridiculous she is as an icon.

ME: I find her inspiring, in a backwards way. Mind over matter: if you want something bad enough, and if you're insane enough, it just becomes true. Also, most of her music is catchy and fun and I like it.

HE: im not sold...but i always love your theories...because you do. okay im going to bed now. im excited to come to berks and eat you.
with you.
i mean with you.
gross. braised matt.

ME: it's how I'm usually served.

pop riddle 8

D - Dígame sobre "la fabricante de la miel
E - eleven." No es
S - "saber menos" -- ¡es "feroz" ahora!
T - (¿¡Tu no sabe sobre ella?! ...a la
I - izquierda, a la izquierda.) Ella es una
N - niña del -DESTINO-.
O - ¿o, quién es ella?

ask anna, vol. 1

SHE: Welcome to IKEA. I'm Anna, IKEA USA's Automated Online Assistant. You can ask me about IKEA and our products and our services. How can I help you today?

ME: Hey Anna.

SHE: That's me! How can I help you?

ME: I've been feeling kind of down lately.

SHE: Sorry to hear that, perhaps some shopping in IKEA would cheer you up.

ME: Yeah, I'll need new furniture when my fiancee kicks me out. Ugh. I'm just worried lately that I'm not mature enough to get married. I make next to no money, I have the emotional stability of a two-year-old... I don't know.

SHE: As I am only an advanced computer program, I cannot answer more than one sentence at a time. Please simplify and repeat the most important question within your previous input, and I will try to reply as accurately as possible. I am opening a page now which you can use if you wish to contact Customer Services. Thank you very much!

ME: Oh, sorry -- I forgot again!

SHE: Of course. Thank you.

ME: Okay -- how do I grow up in time for my wedding?

SHE: There's nothing I can really say to that. I would be more than happy to talk about IKEA though.

ME: You're very polite.

SHE: Thank you. It always pays to be polite to customers, no matter what business you're in.

ME: I'd better go -- keep smiling, Anna.

SHE: That's me! How can I help you?

ME: No, I have to go. See you next time.

SHE: Bye, then! It was very nice talking to you!

In which Matthew makes two little dents

I have now done two things which make me feel a smidgeon less powerless in these final days of great American historical import. In true schlemihl form, I backed accidentally into both of them.

1. This past summer, I was in debt and I had to go abroad for research, so I couldn't take a teaching appointment, or any moderately steady job. I only showed up at the door of the Grassroots Campaigns Berkeley office because I would have starved otherwise. It is only good timing, strange luck, and the second prettiest smile in the party (Joe's is prettier) which allowed me to earn the Most Money Raised Door-to-Door for the Democrats in a Single Night (in Berkeley, no less!) -- a record which still stands, I believe. I raised over $2000 for the DNC that week, and since we really vote with our dollar in this country, I'm glad I got the chance to do so.

2. Just got an IM this morning: "just wanted to let you know that I actually took your idea of making little 'i voted' buttons on Facebook and it is happening! So, way to go - great idea! Look for the buttons on election day ;)" My old friend from middle school (she sang then, too) works in Business Development for Facebook, and is currently leading the charge on their political/election '08 strategy. She was polling around for ideas some weeks ago, and I suggested the FB equivalent of those "I Voted!" stickers they give you -- the unstickered are thus shamed and pressured into finding the time to get to the booths. Good, old-fashioned electronic peer pressure may do the trick in getting lazy Americans (myself included) to actually pull the lever this year, and I'm proud to have helped.

aphorism 6

Slow Food is just a circle jerk of olive-oil aficionados.

[Raj Patel, author of Stuffed and Starved: The Hidden Battle for the World Food System, at the CounterPULSE Autumn Vegetarian Feast. This past weekend, Ara choreographed a piece to entertain the diner-donors there. There were five dancers, including Ara and Micha, with cameos by Lauri and me. We took the first course of early girl tomatoes and fed them to each other, then wove through the space and fed them to the diners directly, then had them feed us and feed each other. Lauri and I stayed on at center stage with four-foot-long wooden spoons and fed every course to each other as it came. The soup was difficult; the kale was more difficult; the salad was next to impossible, but it was all delicious.]

In which Matthew kills you softly

Sometimes I'll cut and paste the same chat between windows to save time. Especially when I'm procrastinating. You know you do it too.

ME: Wait, stop distracting me from my dissertation proposal.
HE: sorry! taking garbage out and cleaning up after a weekend in westchester
ME: w00t Westchester
ME: Whoa, when I say it like that it really makes me want to pronounce the zeroes
HE: you know, i've come to like that place more and more with time
ME: Oh fuck, I have now learned that I am not the only person in the Scandinavian Department this late, and so I should not be playing the Fugees this loudly on the office computer
HE: that's got to be the first time those words have ever appeared in that order...

ME: Write my prospectus for me?
ME: I'll pay you in song
SHE: mmm... i'm not sure you'd be happy with the results
ME: Oh fuck, I have now learned that I am not the only person in the Scandinavian Department this late, and so I should not be playing the Fugees this loudly on the office computer
SHE: the second premise does not follow from the first.

I should probably get back to work.

Yes, I'm still in the Scandinavian Department. I need to get my laptop back.

In which Matthew waits up

It's 2:14am. All my class prep is prepared -- through Wednesday. Everything's all set for me to throw myself into polishing the prospectus draft. I've eaten a spinach salad, steak, corn on the cob, half a jar of cornichons, half a big thing of hummus, a quarter bag of blue tortilla chips, meds. I've even cleaned the house a little. I've prepped my course description for next semester. I've watched so much of the late-night no-bleeps Sommore: The Queen Stands Alone comedy special that the jokes are cycling back on themselves. The endless "I'm a PC" ads have given way to male enhancement and girls gone wild. And since 1:15am I've called Ara eight times and texted her twice. I know her show runs late, but she should have been out of the stage door at 11:30 at the latest, and she's got work early tomorrow, and she doesn't really like the show that much, so even if she went out drinking -- she should have called. Color me the worried housewife. Now I've called nine times. I'm assuming she'll stumble in at half past three with someone else's lipstick on her lapel, smelling of Johnnie Walker, and I'll turn to the camera and sing a torch song.

Update, 2:20am: She just walked in. No lipstick (well, no lapel), but definitely smelling of booze. Also, if I see this Brooke Shields Volkswagen ad one more time, everyone dies.

aphorism 5

"Bruges and I are the same," he said. "We worship the most beautiful thing in the world: what has been."

[Brigitta in Die Tote Stadt at the SF Opera last night. Very good stuff. Thanks to Tony for heavily discounted tickets on amazing seats, and two tours through the caverns of the opera house; thanks also to the harried usher who, rushing, sat us in row M instead of row W.]

In which Matthew gets a pair of new eyes

On the bus between Errand 38 and Errand 39 yesterday, on the phone with Emily: "My teaching, it's draining me. By mid-semester I usually have everyone at least engaged with the class material. But now what I have to work with is half pre-med and half pre-business students who signed up to fill a requirement, just like any other requirement, without even looking at the discussion topic or thinking about why it's required, and we're supposed to be having deep discussions of Old Norse and Old English sagas in order to foster critical thinking and inquiry... I just don't get it. I have presented critical thinking -- a basic skill essential to human culture, and essential for the development of mind and soul -- I have demonstrated critical thinking, explained it, modeled it, drawn it, diagrammed it, led it, anecdotally thought through it, metaphorically explored it, begged for it, provided for every learning style thrice over, but the majority of the students simply refuse to conceive of any task that requires them to innovate, to think outside the box, to present something new and just tell it to me, one human to another. This is such important stuff, but I'm pulling teeth here. It's never been this hard before. I'm lost. I know some things come more naturally to some people than to others, but this --"

I arrived at the contact lens place, Site for Sore Eyes (yes), and found that my prescription had expired. Enter the on-site optometrist. Reticent, hunched, plaid; if he ever looked at me directly it was with intimidation. He just wanted to do his thing and do it the same way he did it yesterday, the same way he'd been taught it. In every way, physically, vocally, sartorially, he was the time-lapse version of many of my current pre-med students. But he had heard me say I was in a rush, and as borderline-autistic as his demeanor was, he was good. Snap, snap, snap. Read the lowest line of letters; is One stronger or Two; now do it without your contacts. "You're still using the Acuvue 2?" he asked. I wasn't sure, uh, I was using, uh. "You're using the ones you bought from us last year?" Yes. "Those are two-week disposable contacts?" Yes. "Have you been removing them every two weeks?" Um. "Okay. What I'm going to do for you here is prescribe a one-month disposable contact, but that does not mean that you should then remove them every two months. You already have a lot of deposits on your contacts, and it's dangerously drying out your eyes." This wasn't the first time I had been told this, I know, I could really damage my sight, but. "Are you going to remove these on time, though?" Yes. Probably. Yes. Yes. I'll try. "There's no real drawback in using the one-month version, they were made because people just couldn't keep up and dispose of their contacts on schedule. I never understood why. I never understood why. But it is really important that you take these out on time, okay?"

Beneath his degrees and certificates, he shooed me towards the front desk, where they filled the prescription. He didn't mean to talk down to me -- actually, judging by his tone, he barely realized I was there -- but I did come off as a bit of a schmuck. Beneath it all was the complaint -- even the simplest instruction, just to do it on schedule, as you had been taught to do it, as you had done it before, the majority of people the optometrist came across just couldn't get this most basic skill down. Even though we endanger our sight when we fail to just pay attention.

In which Matthew toils and troubles

Ara tells me I project my self-criticism onto others, or something, but I know she's really criticizing me when she says it; all I really know is when I walked into class today and didn't have my students' graded papers printed out, I know I felt the quiet hate bubbling up. It's too humid in this building for me to get away with being such a fuck-up. I'll finish them now and email them out, I guess.

Granted, the delay was partially caused by my water bottle never closing right, and so inevitably soaking the hinge-end of my new laptop in diluted herbal tea.

aphorism 4

Don't let quiet people fool you; they actually have nothing to say. Still waters run shallow.

[With a pal this afternoon, whose colleague had refused to openly evaluate her work.]

In which Matthew loses a nuclear ray of hope

In my post for September 27, I wrote:

In the midst of all this financial panic, a ridiculous election, and all of it, it occurred to me this morning that all participants in last night's debate pronounced the word nuclear correctly and consistently.

She could have at least left me that.

And after all of her training, too. How very Eliza Doolittle.

...

aphorism 3

Total aside: I rarely censor myself as I assume that no one is listening so I have absolute latitude to say anything always.

[Deven Green, on her Brenda Dickson parody homepage, after reporting on the real Brenda's reaction to her work.]

Tonight Randy and I tailgated the veep debate with bratwurst and beer; our sardonic political commentary devolved surprisingly quickly into "every time she says 'maverick' you have to finish your beer," and thence into discussions of whether and how we'd finagle a Sarah Palin-Maureen Dowd threeway. For a far better rant than I can manage in my current state, I defer to Cronquist.

In which Matthew eats well

Scenes from a dinner/planning meeting for the Slow Food Autumn Feast, a food/performance benefit which turns out to not be affiliated with Slow Food (?!) but is still a good thing:

ME: Ara will build her choreography around the first course. That's the tomato amuse bouche, right?
HIPSTER CHEF Yes.
ME: I think we can work with that. Will the amuse bouche be, um, pre-cut? It'll be easier for us if it's already in bite-sized pieces.
HIPSTER CHEF: We're not going to just drop it on the plate, don't worry. We'll do something with it.
ME:We won't have to cut the amuse bouche ahead of time, then? For sure?
HIPSTER CHEF: Yes.
ME: Perfect. So when the amuse bouche is -- okay, I'm gonna come clean here and say that the only reason I even know what that means is because I saw that episode of Top Chef.

HIPSTER CHEF: Have you aggressively marketed this event yet?
HEAD PLANNER: Well.. it tends to sell out pretty quickly...
HIPSTER CHEF: I do have many connections, you know. I run underground restaurants and things. And I'm active on websites, you know, like FoodNet and FoodieBlog and FlavorPill.
HEAD PLANNER: Flavor... pill? Is that a food site?
HIPSTER CHEF: Oh. No. It's essentially a cultural -- it collects different events for different --
COOL GIRL: It's a site that tells hipsters where hipster things are happening.
HIPSTER CHEF: Yeah... yeah.
HEAD PLANNER: But would hipsters be able to spend fifty to a hundred dollars a plate?
[everyone shifts awkwardly]
COOL GIRL: Frankly, some of them probably would.
ME: Yeah, or their parents.