Macondo

As y'all know, I've been reading One Hundred Years of Solitude for this week's class, and I have to say, this book is so well written and intriguing that it does not disappoint.  Even if you haven't read Garcia Marquez, most literary nerds like myself know Macondo as the fictional setting of this epic novel much in the same way that folks who may not have read Faulkner still know about yoknapatawpha county.

One thing that I found out in class today that I had no idea of beforehand is that the oil well associated with the Deepwater Horizon oil rig that exploded and unleashed at least 4.9 MILLION barrels of oil into the Gulf of Mexico last summer is named the Macondo well.  Without giving away the amazing ending to Garcia Marquez's novel, I will say that it is an ill-fated name that begs devastation, and I just have to wonder who decided on this name.  Was it some well-read engineer being cheeky?  It turns out that my guess is pretty close.  A BP employee won the right to name the well as a result of winning a United Way fundraiser.

This brief news segment highlights a major issue about naming and points to the power that people who get to name things are able to exercise.  References to a white rock star are problematic for the community from where the name Crazy Horse originated because it is a spiritual name.  In our world today it doesn't feel so much as though words have lost their meaning, but that we have lost respect for words when there is such an unforeseeable clash of culture between a pop culture reference attached to an oil well and an entire Indian community.  Words do mean something, and when we act like everything is ironic and/or lacking in meaning, it not only exerts a neocolonial lack of awareness, it also sets us on a slippery slope toward bankrupting meaning from all areas of our lives.  

I'm intrigued at the intersection of the spiritual and the coincidental in the Macondo scenario.  Regardless, it is strange and has got me thinking.  In fact, it highlighted for me that I have no idea what has been going on with the clean up and quest for justice amidst the long-term destruction even though this happened only 20 miles from my hometown and is seriously affecting my home community.  I learned today that the trial started at the beginning of this month and now, I'm opening my last Abita in the fridge and reading up here if you'd like to join me: http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2012/02/201222672657745221.html

That Feeling of the First Time...

Unbelievably, I'm reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude for the first time ever.  This book has been assigned for me to read in at least 2-3 classes before now, but I've always started the book and not ever really made it past what appears to be page 50 or so since that was the only part I remembered as I started reading it again last week.  I can't believe I chose to be a slacker on such an amazing book, although in my defense, the Spanish vocabulary list tucked in the back from 10 -- yes, 10 -- years ago when it was first assigned during a study abroad class in Seville, Spain explains why I didn't make it very far.  The vocabulary is dense and even more difficult if you've been learning Castellano since  even the most common words, like jars, is perplexing as the term I knew as "jarros" in Spain becomes "frascos" in the book's Latin American Spanish.  

In many ways, I'm happy that I haven't read the book until now because I am able to savor every page right now in a way that wasn't possible in years past.  This book is an amazing narrative of time, family, history, nationality, and even gender.  More than all of these themes, though, it is persistent meditation on solitude and loneliness.  

Taking literature on as a career has loads of benefits, but there is also a major risk that taking it on as a career means that reading becomes a work project with a goal toward interpretation and if one isn't always on guard against influencing the text in such a goal-oriented way, the very meaning that makes the work of literature incredible is sucked out of the process of reading.

I'm thinking a lot about this book because it is also rare to have a 500 page text to read in the semester.  Texts like One Hundred Years of Solitude, Middlemarch, or In Search of Lost Time are relegated to comprehensive exams and PhD qualifying exams rather than approached in the confines of a semester because there often isn't enough time or freedom within the constraints of a semester to bring these books to bear in the classroom in a meaningful way.  Lucky for me, the professor of my final class in the master's program is ambitious and willing  to assign this text and assume that everyone will complete the reading.  Although it would be crass for me to suggest that I can't possibly understand how someone could start this book and not finish it...now that I'm past page 50 and a more avid reader than I was as an undergraduate, I wouldn't dare put this book down before finishing it to the very end.

I'm savoring every moment of it.

Running Full Circle

It seems as though I like the idea of running more than I like running itself.  It has to be what keeps me getting out there and trying because while I'm running I must admit that it makes me feel alternately awesome and terrible. I definitely feel great afterward, which is what keeps me at it, but in the midst of it, I basically feel like I have two concrete blocks for feet.

I first got serious about running in 2005 when I decided to train for a marathon even though I had never run more than about 2 miles.  I trained for six months and ran the whole thing at about a 13 minute pace, which meant I finished it in something like 6 hours.  That was the first race I had ever run, and I started entering races to keep up with running because it was a good way to have a goal that forced me to train.  I've always entered races with the goal of finishing rather than having a particular time/pace goal in mind.  Yet, the longer I've been running, the more I feel compelled to run faster.

The fastest race I ever ran was the Cherry Blossom 10-miler in 2010 when I ran an average of 9:58, just under a 10-minute mile.  Now, I'm training for this year's Cherry Blossom 10-miler, and I can feel the effects of my stressful life through my physical limitations.  I'm doing okay in training, but I can't seem to go faster than about a 12 minute mile.  And most days, I've been trying to fit in runs by running home from work with my stuff in a backpack, and I just can't get into a rhythm with the backpack.  The combination of stress, lack of time for regular hardcore exercise and weight training, and sheer exhaustion make it difficult to muster the energy for improving.  BUT, as a friend and fellow runner has told me often, running is one of the only sports where just putting on your shoes and getting out there means you will get better and better, even if it happens slowly.  I guess my endurance to complete 8 miles today, even if I was really slow, proves that point.

I was just reflecting on how I seem to be nearly at the same pace I was when I first started running regularly 7 years ago.  It seems strange that I haven't become someone who just loves to run and must get out there everyday to feel good since I hear of some people getting through the stress of grad school through more exercise rather than less (although honestly, none of these people are student in my grad program, so it sounds more like a myth than reality to me!).  But hey, I'm still getting out there right?

Are any of YOU people who exercise more under stress?  If so, I'm curious how you find the energy for it...?

Return to Sender

I began to hit fever pitch with my outrage at all things bureaucratic a few months ago when I got into a passive aggressive fight with the person who delivers my mail because every day -- EVERY DAY -- I kept receiving this same letter from Comcast addressed to "neighbor" offering me loads of different cable channels. I do not own a television, and I was getting increasingly annoyed at the fact that I can't seem to stop getting this letter. I just find it intolerably irritating. Because of this mail, I have to then create a recycle pile --- that gets filled up within a week -- purely full of unwanted mail, which just seems ridiculous to me.

Anyway, after receiving this letter for over a year, I finally wrote on the envelope: "Return to sender. I don't own a TV." I put it in the mailbox. The next day, the letter with my note reappeared in my mailbox. So, this time, I hung it from an opening on the top of the inside so that when the mail person opened my mailbox, s/he would see the letter and not forget to return to sender. It did not get mailed out. Instead, the mail person left me a note on top of the envelope indicating that this cannot be returned to sender for some reason or another. This seems outrageous to me. I have to receive this pesky letter every day when I get home from work and yet, Comcast is exempt from receiving junk mail...their own junk mail included?!

When I was a kid, I loved the mail so much that I used to write letters to myself and seal them in an envelope and address them to myself. I would hold on to them for a few weeks so that I would forget what I had written. Then, I would tag along to the post office with my parents and mail it to myself. I was always so excited to get my own letters! I mean, obviously, I preferred getting letters from other people, but that usually only happened around birthday time.  So, I had to take matters into my own hands if I wanted to get mail.  I also used to sort out the family's mail when it arrived and organize it by person (usually simply mom or dad, but I still enjoyed this). The days of my past when I used to write letters to myself and wait for weeks to mail them are over.

I have now grown to hate the mail. In fact, despise it. My mail for the last few months has consisted of a daily assortment of: tons of rejection letters from most schools that I applied to, one acceptance package from Claremont Graduate University, a couple of nice cards, insurance medical notices from my bike accident, and of course, the weekly grocery paper and the comcast "neighbor" letters. Last night, I lost it. I got home to a package from the IRS regarding my 2010 taxes, which indicated that they were taking away my education tax credit...luckily, I'm finding out that they can't take it away, so I'll get it fixed, but still...  And a photo ticket in the mail.

Elvis knew my pain and wrote a song about it...at least I'm not getting returned love letters!

Inspiration Thursday!

I have been really inspired today and so grateful for such a day!  I had an amazing, extended lunch with one of my besties and spent much of the day working through what I think are strong ideas for part two of my thesis, which is due tomorrow.  


Then, I got home and heard a news segment featuring Wendell Pierce -- who I've enjoyed on The Wire and Treme -- because he is opening much needed grocery stores in and around New Orleans that will sell fresh produce and wholesome foods!  What a creative thing to do to give back to the community in a tangible way that meets an immediate and persistent need.  They are even offering a shuttle for people who spend more than $50, which is both good business and good neighborliness.  I also love the fact that the issues that his shows have raised are provoking him to action.  As the article mentions in its conclusion, art and reality are melding in a very nice way.  


Sadly, as far as I can tell, his endeavor is getting more press from national media outlets than from NOLA.com, but c'est la vie.  Please read and enjoy...and he made me hungry for the Bon Ton and their amazing turtle soup!
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/07/dining/wendell-pierce-to-open-a-grocery-store-in-new-orleans.html?pagewanted=all

The Bechdel Test

Today I learned about The Bechdel Test. You know what it is, even if you don't know the name.  It's the test for movies: 1) it has to have at least two women in it, who (2) who talk to each other, about (3) something besides a man. Of course I knew about this test and I knew the three questions, but the point is that when an article I was reading referred to the Bechdel Test, I had no idea what it was referring to.  Google quickly showed me the test, and in that moment I realized that I have been using it and referring to it for years without knowing the name of the test...or that it even had a name.  And this experience felt much like what it feels like as I am writing my thesis right now.

I'm in this weird moment in my academic career where I know a bunch of critical theory, but it is all sort of floating around like flotsam and jetsam in my brain.  As readers of this blog know, I am really interested in questions of subjectivity, citizenship, affect, and emotions.  I think about this stuff a lot and I read a ton of texts on these subjects.  Yet, I don't necessarily know how to name these theories or perspectives.  I read something about abstract personhood and I'll nod my head and make a note and begin thinking about these concepts...and then, someone will talk about this theory by name, and I have no idea that it is the same thing because "theory" is bigger than these singular authors.  And in academia, I'm learning that it is too prosaic to start your book by saying something like "I'm a post-structuralist, and thus, I believe in x, y, z."  We readers are supposed to be well-versed enough in theory if we are reading said text to figure out what tradition the author is coming from, I guess. It's troubling for me right now.  The good news is that this is exactly what 6-7 years in a PhD program is meant to sort out for me!

But in the meantime, I find it increasingly frustrating that I don't just have a list of theories and an index that I can go to and search "abstract personhood" and identify three ways of looking at that question and the top five authorities on this question.  And this also means that my poor thesis readers are having a hard time following me because they keep trying to position me within a theoretical tradition and I keep doing this kind of unintentional bait and hook where I'm talking about one thing...like shame, for example...and then, I quickly stop drop and roll onto the next thing, like prosthetic emotions.  And um, well, let's just say that right now I'm realizing that this shipwreck (i.e. my thesis) needs a rescue mission.  

To blog or not to blog, that is the question

A number of very frustrating, very interesting, and very exciting things have been happening to me. I've been thinking a lot about all of them and would like to share them here, but am reluctant because I am not sure who reads this thing. Obviously there are tons of resources out there that share protocol on appropriate topics for blogging, so its not that I'm looking for someone else to tell me the risks I'm taking when I share something. I am in a place now where I have to really consider what is okay for me personally to put out there and work out on in public through this blog.

I do not have my name on here, and I have not shared this site with anyone I work with, for example. But the question is, how easy is it to find out who I am if you know a few things about me? After all, in May, someone who I did not want contacting me --and expressly told this person that I didn't want to be in communication with him--was able to find me somehow! I looked up my blog profile from a different computer and it didn't have any unique identifiers. I don't mind sharing this information anonymously, but I don't want to share certain things if random people can find out who I am....

As I consider this question in terms of my personal comfort level, one thing I will say is that I was recently accepted into a PhD program in Literature, and I am super psyched about it. I have a lot to be thinking about in terms of decisions, but it is a great feeling to be on the winning side of a decision that is completely out of my control.