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the sheltering sky

in 1949 paul bowles wrote a novel about morocco that grips you in the beginning, sputters out quickly, and ends tragically. i can't help but think of it as the north african version of d.h. lawrence's the plumed serpent. the plot is remarkably similar. american travelers equally repelled and fascinated by remote, exotic locale. female character gets involved with native men and submits to hypermasculine power. et cetera.

he walked through the streets... why do i feel this way about them? guilt at being well fed and healthy among them? but suffering is equally divided among all men; each has the same amount to undergo... emotionally he felt that this last idea was untrue, but at the moment it was a necessary belief: it is not always easy to support the stares of hungry people. thinking that way he could walk on through the streets. it was as if either he or they did not exist. both suppositions were possible. the spanish maid at the hotel had said to him that noon: "la vida es pena." "of course," he had replied, feeling false even as he spoke, asking himself if any american can truthfully accept a definition of life which makes it synonymous with suffering.

no impact FAIL

just when i was beginning to think this whole thing was too easy (of course most of my food is local! of course i recycle more than i throw away!), yesterday turned into one of those days. and i broke every single rule of no impact week.

1. i completely forgot to bring my re-usable coffee mug. bought coffee and later, a water bottle (!).
2. yes, i drove to school. and i will probably drive again tomorrow. i have a MWF parking permit and it doubles my commute time to ride the shuttle (i do ride it on days that start with T though).
   
3. major lunch disaster (spilled a burrito all over my white shirt) resulted in two more violations. first, i tossed all the napkins i'd used to wipe up straight into the cafeteria garbage. then, i rushed off to the bookstore to buy a $10 UCSD logo tee. yeah, classy, i know. but i had to teach section after lunch and wanted to look decent... if not professional, clean.

today is turning into a fail too. i was supposed to "go off the grid"... heh. i did get to school on a bus powered by biodiesel, so that counts for something, right?

no impact week: day ONE

my one week "carbon cleanse" started today. yeah, it's a gimmicky environmental movement thing, but it's not going to be as easy as i thought -- especially on friday, when i am supposed to replace my 30-minute hot shower with a "sponge bath". ick! (**dear friends who have served in the peace corps, forgive my only-in-america sins).

i signed up for no impact week without really knowing what it was. i thought it was just a commitment to not buy anything for week (except food, and even that is supposed to be non-packaged). seemed like a great money-saving idea for a pathetic grad student swimming in credit card debt. i found out about it because i was searching grist.org for an article about a woman who gave up corn products for a week (the article is actually here). umbra, the stalwart eco-advice columnist, was promoting no impact week, and heck, i had to click on it.

so here i am.
day one was all about stockpiling your garbage (i decided there was no need to stockpile my recycling: a water bottle and some sheets of paper). at the end of the day i only had two items in my garbage bag: a used lint-removal sheet and an empty bag from those delicious snap pea crisps. success? well, i had already cheated, and in a really embarrassing way. i did not stockpile my feminine hygiene-related trash. i'm not going to apologize for this. end of story.

i also failed in the consumption department. after biking to the farmer's market to buy ethical eggs, i stumbled upon a booth full of art by this artist (spenser little) i have been trying to track down for months. i "bought" a relatively expensive piece as a gift for k.'s birthday. i say "bought" because i made him pay for it, with full promise that i would pay him back next week (not so much because of N.I. week as because i didn't bring my wallet).

if you want to participate, you can sign up here.

move over, sunscreen song

another special transcript FOUND (via bklynjenny). this is from one of our commencement speakers (the other was boring old hillary clinton) -- may 14, 2005.

Women of the class of 2005, as you no longer have to sign up for
Physics, French, or Field Hockey, I offer this charge to you,

Sign up for FRIENDSHIP, for it is women who have seen to our survival on this planet.

Sign up for FAMILY both born and created, lost and found, dysfunctional and crucial.

Sign up for FAITH TO WORK MIRACLES, for FLYING IN THE FACE OF TRADITION, for FESTIVE OCCASIONS and FAVORITE FOODS.

Sign up for HARD WORK AND FREE TIME and FREE THOUGHT and FREE WILL. For FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION and EXPLORATION AND ECSTASY.

Sign up for A HAND MADE LIFE, for HOLDING HANDS, young and old.

Sign up for CHALLENGES MET, RESPONSIBILITIES HONORED and HERITAGE PASSED ALONG.

Sign up for UNEXPECTED TRIUMPHS, MYSTERIES EXPLAINED, BIRTHS AND DEATHS, MUSIC IN THE MORNINGS, and AFTERNOONS WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS AT ALL.

Sign up for LONG CONVERSATIONS WITH PEOPLE WHO LISTEN, and LONG WALKS LISTENING TO SILENCE.

Sign up for PEACE IN OUR WORLD and COMPASSION IN OUR HEARTS.

Sign up for WOMEN PRESIDENTS and the PRESENCE OF WOMEN IN THE WORLD.

New Graduates of Agnes Scott, I wish you Godspeed and good fortune in your new course of study, YOUR NEW LIFE. May you love what it has in store for you, every golden day of it starting now.

--marsha norman, asc class of 1969

twitter lexicography

him: ooooh, good idea
i am starting a trending topic with it
me: no no no
vetoed!
him: sorry i cannot untweet what has been twat
how about twat as the past tense of tweet? pretty good right?
me: oh yes
i was just about to tweet your twat
him: that sounds painful

even cowgirls get the blues

all of my favorite authors are (or were) dirty old men. sots. swillers of liquid wisdom. so why does robbins' sloppy lesbo-pastoralism surprise me? maybe because this is the same guy who writes elsewhere about goddess religions and sexually powerful female characters. i assumed he was one of the more "evolved" (this word is so perfect -- i always think of the mom in running with scissors using it to describe her new boyfriend) writers of the 70's. now the trope is "attractive women will have fantasy sex with each other if given the opportunity"... bleh. i wanted to stop reading after the first sex scene, but somehow i made it all the way past the love letter from jelly to sissy (what is this, x-rated jane austen?). think i'll call it quits on page 180. this is not to say that the book is not otherwise good, just that i want to kick robbins in his babymaker (yeah, i said it).

here is a rather innocent passage from p.49:

the author isn't altogether certain that there is any such thing as exaggeration. our brains permit us to utilize such a wee fraction of their resources that, in a sense, everything we experience is a reduction. we employ drugs, yogic techniques and poetics--and a thousand more clumsy methods--in an effort just to bring things back up to normal.