Sian

Reason #432 Why I Love My Major

Okay.  So, the Classics have their moments.  Today, we went over Catullus #15.  So, naturally that led into a serious and scholarly discussion of shoving radishes and fish up people's asses.  This is why I love my major.  This is why I will probably never actually change majors, no matter how many times I threaten to become an Anthropologist, instead.  (Sorry, Alohalani...  you've been away so long, I feel the need to goad you into an appearance.)  So, following the lines Quem attractis pedibus patente porta percurrent raphanisque mugilesque, we had a very deep and meaningful conversation about the historical and cultural significance of inserting radishes and fish into men's rectums.   And the selection process for said radishes.  (Slightly more sweeping and detailed than the selection process for Miss America.)  And the scale patterns of the fish generally used in these practices.  Evidentally, due to their scale pattern, the mullet is much more easily inserted than it is removed.  (These were not Crisco parties, afterall.)

This is, of course, a time-tested punishment for adultery, with roots going back to the ancient Greeks.

And yes, I know that a discussion about penile incitricision among African aboriginal peoples could be just as stimulating...  But it's still not quite as funny.  And half the class is invariably bent over double at the mere thought of that one, so there just isn't as much audience partici....

pation.

If something "doesn't lend itself to discussion in English," by the way, that would be a euphemism for  "obscene."  So, yes, you were warned.

posted by: SianNorah at 21:30 | link | comments
quest for graduate school, things which dont lend themselve

Life is a little bit back to normal, now. 

Bought the jump drive of my dreams, and I'm hoping that I can make enough progress on the novel that I don't feel like I'm standing still, anymore.

I think that's the worst part of all this re-writing.  I just feel like I'm not doing anything, and I'm not getting any closer to the end, and I wind up dwelling on all the horrible little things I need to get out of the draft before I can move on.

And of course, I have so many layers of corrections on my printout that it's getting confusing.

What I really need is a big, strong man to type and file for me.  But then, I said that, already.

Sense of discipline and a stable work ethic?  Nah...  I think the man sounds like more fun.  But, it might work out.  We'll call that Plan B. 

So, I'm revising, and then moving the peices into a new file called "Draft 2"  "Draft 2" is now 12 pages long.  Good for me.  Then, eventually, I wind up printing that out, and revising it.  Sorta circular, but I think it might work.

posted by: SianNorah at 18:23 | link | comments (1)

C'est ennui... Je prendes... (and no, I can't spell in French, either.)

I don't know what it is about today, whether it's the rain, the icy-cold breath of winter, once again blowing down on me after a couple of days of near tolerable weather, or just the mess at work, but I'm beginning to feel exactly the way the sky looks--grey. 

During the last week, I have been laid off, re-hired temporarily, rehired, and given benefits.  Yeah.  From the bookstore job.  To the Bookstore Job.  From the Bookstore Job.  It seems there were some communication issues between the store management and the regional office.  Ooops.  My head is still spinning, and of course, I'm a little disenchanted by the whole thing.   So, with a smile and a forcefully zen attitude, I remind myself that this manager may be slightly more transitory than other managers.  Not that I have the time or energy to search for a new job, right now, anyway.   Sometimes, things just happen that make me wonder why the hell I don't settle down and teach school.

Needless to say, no schedule for next week is yet forthcoming, and this makes it very difficult to plan much of anything.  What I really need is a night off, out playing with friends.

But fucked if all my friends aren't married and raising children, right now.  Maybe in another eighteen to twenty-one years?  Okay, so that's not really true.  My psycho-therapist friend (who, by the way, has obligingly diagnosed my manager with an "obvious dissociative disorder") is playing house with her boyfriend.  No kids.  Evidentally, she's bored out of her mind, too, because she's planning my class load for next semester with her ex-buddhist monk mentor as the central motivation for choosing classes.

And I'm running out of attention span for the novel.  I'm not sure whether I just need to get up and walk away from it for a few weeks, or if I'm just plain sick of it, but I just can't seem to focus.  Maybe it's the fact that while I was working on Nanowrimo, it just seemed to go so fast, and now, I'm just sorta slumping.

I haven't written the ending, yet.  Two hundred fifty odd pages, and it just sorta hangs there, at the end.  No real conclusion, no real finale.  Which isn't to say that I don't know how it ends.  I do.  The lone ranger kisses his horse and rides out into the sunset.

Spent a little bit of time shopping for computers on the internet, and for some unknown reason, that was just depressing as hell.  You would think that the fact that I'm now employed, and securely so, would make shopping for computers a joy.  You'd be wrong. 

No, really, the thing thats getting to me is the fact that so much crap happened with that job that I can't even enjoy the fact that I now have the assorted benefits that I wanted, and a decent schedule.  I feel like a lump of bread dough that 's just been dropped onto the floor.  Plop.  Now what?

 

posted by: SianNorah at 23:29 | link | comments

Not for weak stomachs

I just finished a conversation in which two things were discussed.  First, we talked about the most recent supreme court nomination, and whether he is likely to overturn Roe.  I think everyone--whether they voted for, or against Bush--knew the deals that were being made a couple years back.  Yes.  Roe is going to be overturned.  So, ladies, let me pass on a valuable peice of information, just in case you ever need it.  Canada is north, and it'll do in a pinch.  And those nifty birth control pills?  They double as morning after pills, if you're desperate and living in a theocracy.

And, on a related topic, we discussed Andrea Yates, who has been given a new trial.  (This is something I missed.  The other person brought it up.)   Andrea drowned a bunch of her kids in the bathtub a few years ago. 

Now, personally, I have no problem with retroactive abortion until the child reaches the age of 18, but the real question is what impact one will have on the other.  Is there a correlation between the availability of abortion and the likelyhood of holding your kid's face underwater?

There's certainly no shortage of mothers who kill their babies.  Intentionally or unintentionally.  And, of course, I'm not talking about the idea of abortion.  I'm talking about drowning your five-year-old, or leaving your newborn face-down outside in January (that one's local.)  Or in a public restroom's trash can.  Just type "infanticide" into google.  The punishments for these women aren't anything like they would be, if they did the same thing to a stranger, or an adult relative.

We are living in a time when there is so much disposable income that it is possible to raise every child.  Even the poorest people in our society are able to sign up for WIC and foodstamps and raise even the most horribly deformed and retarded children.  However, the investment in time, and lost opportunity can still be incredibly high, and not every child becomes a doctor or lawyer and supports its parents in their old age.  Some children need care for the rest of their lives.  Some children interrupt their parent's education, or their lifestyles.  And some parents wish to raise children who have a better chance.  But we are living in a decadent time, and we can afford to raise that child with the fetal alcohol syndrome or the irreparable heart defect for as many years as nature and medical science can provide.

So, the bottom question that came up, between Samuel Alito and Andrea Yates is whether  it's a part of human nature to be able to kill your child.

It is interesting that Andrea Yates was charged in only 3/5ths of the "murders" she committed.  She was charged in the deaths of the oldest two, and in the death of the only girl.  The 2 and 3 year olds were ignored.

Why?  They certainly weren't any less dead than their older brothers.

The insinuation, of course, seems to be that they were less alive.

There's a very good possibilty that all of human civilization is firmly rooted in the first moment a woman decided to kill an infant because she had to finish harvest and didn't have time for that nonsense.

And I can't be the only person in the whole world who watched Sophie's Choice.  There's certainly something to be said for being able to kill one child to save others.  Did anyone ever really doubt that she would make the choice?

Andrea Yates will probably get her insanity plea afterall.  Not, of course, because she is insane, but society wants to believe she is.  Society wants to distance itself from the thing she did.  Society does not want to admit that drowning five children could not only be sane, but advantageous.

Society would like to sit down at the table and feed its kids macaroni and cheese and not say, "I, too, am capable."  We like to believe in the permanance of children.  That the perfect, Gerber-baby angel child in front of us is one of a kind and irreplaceable.  That nothing could ever happen to us and our families that would make killing our children the preferable option.

But Abortion, Infanticide, Murder...  all of these are parts of human nature.  To say, "I could never have an abortion, drown my baby, shoot my neighbor" is a way of saying "I have never been in a position where it would be sufficiently advantageous."  You could.  You would.  If the neighbor had the medicine your child needed to survive, you would kill for it.  If you were young, and poor, and fifteen, you most certainly could have an abortion, or leave your child in the trash bin.  If you and your five children were starving, in a gulag or just a famine, you would most certainly carve up the baby like a rack of lamb.

It's just human nature.

Which isn't of course to say that we shouldn't do everything in our power to avoid this.  After all, I close my front door to keep the deer from wandering in, too.

So, we've given up the right to abortion.  We have, you know.  Roe is over.

Roe is over, and now, teenage girls will have to salvage their lives in whatever way they can.

So, does it matter?  Does it really matter all that much whether Andrea Yates had her kid currettaged out of her body, or if she held his head under water until he stopped bubbling?

And do you think we can get used to it?  Do you think we can say, with the same detatchment, "She went to Canada" and "She smothered her four year old with a pillow?"

posted by: SianNorah at 18:31 | link | comments

Catullus

You really have to appreciate any class that begins with the phrase "feel free to use the phrase fuck in the mouth."  No, I'm not kidding.  This semester, I will be taking a class on Roman Erotic poetry.  So, the first day in class was spent on various forms of the verb to fuck as presented in the poetry.  We came up with five major ones. 

This is, of course, absolutely necessary, because if you look these words up in the latin dictionary, they will give you the definition in Attic Greek.  If you look those up in the Greek dictionary, it will give you the definition in Classical Latin.  Suffice it to say that they are transitive verb forms, specific to the orrifice in question.

posted by: SianNorah at 18:18 | link | comments

What's going on, now.

So, back in college for the winter semester.  I guess it's a good place to be.  I wish I had checked my grades earlier, because then, it would have sunk in that I only wound up with a B in the last Latin class by now.  I guess I must've really blown the final exam...  then again, I am registered, which I might not have otherwise been.  Catullus this semester.  Yay for Roman Erotic verse!  In any event, I'll try to focus on what I'm doing this semester.  Might work.  You never know.

Actually, come to think of it, I did miss a couple of classes.  That could be my B, too.

Given the lecture on the importance of attendance that I breezed over, that could be it...

Oh, well.

I skipped on my birthday, and damn it, I'm glad I skipped, so let's move on.

But, in any event, I'll be back on campus on a fairly regular basis, which means that I can update this thing.

My novel...  Well, I bought notecards.  Lots and lots of notecards, to help organize the plotting on the thing, and spread them out across a library table that we have in our livingroom.  Then I started rearranging them.  I felt like a six-year-old cheating at memory, but I think it may be coherant, at some point in the future.

As I recall, there were 126 notecards, just with the manuscript itself, and maybe a dozen more from bits that I've written in the meantime.

One of the great benefits to taking a dead language is that the class never really fills up.  (So, yes.  I registered for the class I'm taking in two hours about twenty minutes ago.)  It's the procrastinator's paradise.

Bought my book for class, and a notebook, and a mechanical pencil.  The total was about $24.  So,  warm fuzzy for new professorin.

And now, I'm working on not revising the novel.  Well, at least putting it off for a while.  I have about a month and a half of notes to change and rearrange.

I need to get married.  Someone who can type, and spell, and who has endless patience for the mundane and tedious.

Know anyone?

posted by: SianNorah at 17:36 | link | comments

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