My New Car and the Start of Chaos
So, on Wednesay, my trusted, beloved, and twelve year old Ford Escort went to that great car graveyard in the sky. Apparently, some little electronic sensor broke, and I didn’t know the car was overheating. It boiled dry and the engine cracked. I had her towed, and called the following people: my dad, my uncle (the Mechanic), and my stepdad. The latter two immediately put their heads together to discuss finding me a new car, just in case something was permamnently wrong with BlackJack’s Shadow (car’s name since high school). As old as she was, my uncle (who has been a mechanic for longer than I can remember) figured that was a good possibility even before the mechanic here called to tell me. My father immediately went into mourning about how he had hoped the car would last a few more years. Uncle Charleston and Kyler (Stepdad) found me a great new car, and Kyler and my mom are buying it for me. Uncle C, having established that it would cost WAY TOO MUCH to have it towed from the state I live in to my home state, called around and found a junk yard that would take Shadow off my hands.
Now, I will be the first to admit that I am sad about Shadow; she has been a great car, and she has sentimental value, because she was my high school graduation gift from my dad. However, I understand that she is unfixable. The mechanic here told me that their shop won’t even do repairs like this to a car that old; apparently, they continue to break down over and over again. Therefore, I have accepter her fate and I am trying to move on. My father, on the other hand, is not.
He has done nothing productive except make me cry and feel guilty since Wednesday. Nothing at all. His “feeling are hurt,” because I let Kyler and Uncle Charleston handle it. Well, on Wednesday night, I mentioned that Mother had been worried about the car for several years, and he said “well, then, why doesn’t she buy you a damned car then.” So, she is, but now his feelings are hurt because he wasn’t consulted. He sys that we all, especially Mother, Kyler, and Uncle C, think he stupid. He also said that he doesn’t understand why, at 28, I didn’t tell K & C to stop so that we could ask my daddy what he thought (let’s not even worry about the contradictory logic there). At any rate, he also says that he feels bad that a car that has served so well is going to the junkyard. Apparently, if she had lasted a few more months and I had gotten a real job, he would have bought her from me, and put a new motor in. Basically, he is so sentimentally attached to her, that he would have continued to pour money into her. I mean, my God, but how lame is that. Yes, I wanted her to keep running for a few more years, but that was about not wanting a car note right out of grad school. Yes, I think it is sad that nothing else can be done with her, but facts must be faced, no car can live forever.
What makes these conversations even more “fun” is that my dad has been having them with me while he is at work. That way he can be a martyr in front of all of his colleagues and show them what bitch his ex-wife s, how awful her husband is, and how ungrateful his oldest girl is. Argh…he is also “hurt” because Angel (my sister) and I “don’t care about his opinion and think he is stupid.” This statement is relatively untrue. I do care that he has an opinion, and I only think he is stupid when he is behaving like this. I tried to point out to him that we are grown women. Angel is 22, married, and in the midst of getting her MBA. Her husband John is a year older than me; together, they have good jobs and are completely capable of making their own decisions. I am 28, and I am graduating with my doctorate. I have lived alone for 6 years; again, I am completely capable of making my decisions. he didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to tell him that I rarely ask anyone for advice, and when I do, it isn’t generallly mother. I ask Jane, Elizabeth, Kendall, or Chris.
Anyway, I’ve told him over and over that no one was trying to hurt his feelings. I want to send him this letter, but I think it might make him madder.
*****************************************************************
Dear Daddy,
I am writing this letter to remind you that I love you dearly, and to tender my apologies for hurting your feelings with regards to the car. No one, especially not me, meant to hurt you, and both Kyler and Uncle Charleston have urged me to give you their apologies. In particular, I apologize if you feel that in letting U.C. and K. handle it, I indicated that I loved or respected them more than you. That is not the case at all. I just felt that since this is what Uncle C. does for a living, his opinion would be worthwhile. I think that Kyler and Mother felt that since you bought the last vehicle, it was their turn to contribute. I do love and respect you and your opinion.
However, you should remember that Angel and I are grown now. You should be proud that you and Mother raised to young women who are confident in their abilities and their own opinions. You and Mother gave us that self-confidence. I rarely ask anyone’s opinion, because I feel that I am more than old enough to think things through and make decisions on my own. This does not mean that I don’t love you; it just means that you have done a great job making me an independent woman, not a a co-dependent ninny.
I know that you love me; you don’t have to buy me a car to prove that. Please accept my apology.
Love,
Sunday
********************************************************************
Well, what do you think? (I know, I’m asking an opinion…sue me) I am tired of groveling on the phone trying to make him happy. Please help.
Keep in mind that this man has compared Kyler finding me a car with him letting my stepmom buy my wedding dress. He thinks that would hurt my mom as much as this has hurt him. Since when does car=wedding dress. I don’t want to explode and say everything I think to him, so if you could advise, I’d appreciate it.
Happy Easter! Sunday
How do I fix this? I have a really hard time disregarding other people’s feelings, even when they are irrational. This is the downside to that empathy my friends are always talking about.
Sappy, Sappy Day
So, Harry and I are 100% back together (in case you in any way missed any of the other mentions in any of the other posts.) We are happy, excited, and passionate. We are doing that annoying thing that couples do when they get together: developing copious inside jokes. No, I won’t share those jokes here; they are inside jokes. I will, however, share some other sappiness.
First, background: When Harry prays over a meal, he always thanks God for bringing such a “wonderful, beautiful woman into his life and for allowing him to spend time with her.” Now, yes, this sentiment is lovely and swee, and Harry gets an A++ in the romantic department. However, for some reason, this embarrasses me. Mostly, I think because I don’t generally think that I am as great as he seems to think I am, and I have a sneaking (and unconfirmed) suspicion that God is sitting in heaven chortling at this prayer, because He too understands that while I am not half-bad, I’m not great either.
I should also note at this point that Harry thinks I’m a little crazy. Whenever I ask him why he loves me when I am *Insert list of self-preceived flaws here*, he always tells me that he loves me because of or in spite of (which depends on the flaw) those things.
I felt bad, because he is always so romantic and sweet so I decided to start a tradition of writing and mailing him a weekly love letter. I may be one of the people who helps keep the USPS operating; after consulting with Angel and Jane, I bought lovely, feminine stationary, stamps, and a special pen. After writing a letter, I thicken my lipstick and press a kiss into the corner opposite my signature. Then, I spray it with my perfume and send it on its way. I’ve tried to time them so that they arrive on Saturdays.
This week, I decided to write him a poem, which I want to share with you, my loyal readers. This will be one of the few items from the letters that I share with you, but I hope that you enjoy it as much as he may (he hasn’t gotten it yet, and part of our deal is, I don’t want to talk about the letters, I just want him to love them as much as I love him).
Anyway, here is the poem:
“Poets Cannot Write: A Poem for Harry”
Shakespeare would compare thee
To a summer’s day.
Donne would say we by a love
So much refined.
Sidney would read love
In thy eyes.
Marlowe would ask thee to
live with me and be my love.
These poets speak, and speaking capture
Hearts and minds.
All that I write seems less refined.
For you are more than a summer’s day,
And every moment of love
Refines thee.
In more than your eyes,
I read your love—
More than your lips and heart
Define thee.
You are my love and live with me,
Though only in my heart.
It seems that poets previous
Have spoken all my words;
but for you this simple phrase,
I cannot repeat enough:
My heart is yours.
And so my love, forever flees
And I will speak apace:
I love as Shakespeare could not Write
And Donne could not
Conceive.
I love as Sidney could not Speak
And Marlowe could not
Read.
Language’s limits cannot define, cannot limit,
Cannot Rhyme, my love.
So here, simply then:
My love is yours.
So, what do you think? I know it is poorly scanned, but I never really claimed to be a poet.
May your day be sunny and brght!
Sunday
Party at Sunday’s Place_Pass the Word
WooHoo!!! Party at Sunday’s place! After months…nay, years of pure insanity, I am finally Dr. Sunday, Ph.D. in English.
Yesterday, I participated in the barbaric rite of passage known as the Doctoral Defense. No, I was not called on to wrestle alligators or lions, nor did I have to sacrifice any small animals. Heck, I didn’t even have to cut my hair. Rather, I faced the ravenous maws of my dissertation committee, and it was one of the most awful experiences of my life. After an hour and a half of questioning, I was asked to step out. I excused myself and left the room feeling like an idiot. I did not feel competent to get passed. However, they did pass me, and for a little over 24 hours now, I have been Dr. Sunday. It doesn’t feel at all real.
So, as my father and mother both said, Congratulations…now, find a JOB!
Update on “Prayerful Consideration” Grades
Evelyn has been down graded to an F, based on the following email. I received it this morning, and, while I semi-appreciate the thought, I also want to say really…you think this is going to make me feel better…really?
E’s email: (*Disclaimer: Put aside, for the moment, the questionable rhetoric of the email.)
EXTRA-ADDED DISCUSSION QUESTIONS BASED ON
NICOLE JOHNSON’S “KEEPING A PRINCES HEART”
1) Do you think your childhood dreams for your life were shaped by fairy tales? If so, which tales had particular influence on you and why?
2) What are some practical ways we can mature through life’s difficulties without becoming too jaded or too idealistic? What role does faith play?
3) Nicole says there are three elements to all fairy tales: recognition [to be known], adoration [to be loved], and consolation [to have a glorious ending], reflecting the “deepest longings of a woman’s heart.” How do these three elements connect with or play a role in your deepest desires?
4) Why is hope a necessary ingredient to many enjoyable qualities of life, such as wonder, nobility, imagination, and beauty?
5) In what ways can fairy tales sharpen our ability to see the unseen kingdom?
6) Why is humility a key characteristic in the invisible kingdom?
Yes, I think it is very sweet that Evelyn–my church mentor, who it should be noted has only sons–thinks of me as a Princess. And yes, as my mentor, she is supposed to be helping continue my spiritual growth. Had this email arrived next week, I may have found it helpful and enlightening. With me, it is almost always about the timing. When I am angry and upset, you should really just leave me be to stew over it until I come (usually within a couple of days) to the logical conclusions you may have wanted to offer. Anything before I cool off will just upset me a little bit more. Right now, I look at this email and think: spiritual growth? I’m really not feelin’ it right this second. Can’t I mourn the passing of the possibility before I grow from it? Not: O Joy! O Bliss! Thank God for another opportunity for spiritual growth. Maybe that makes me a bad Christian, but if so, God will probably forgive me anyway. I do try, just not right this second.
Also, I think there may be a hidden message in the email about my “humility.” Not sure yet, not gonna stress about it now. The worst thing about it is this: I know that Evelyn means well. She is a lovely woman, and clearly, has my best interests at heart. She is just trying to keep me on an even keel as I fight the academic fight. So, I have to email her back and THANK her for these irritating questions.
Such piffle!!!
“Prayerful Consideration,” A.K. A. Bullshit
So… I intended to return to this blog when my dissertation was completely done, and I was in a better mood. I wanted to tell you all about my deligthful, sensitive, and romantic boyfriend, Harry. Harry who with romantic gestures regularly makes my girl friends a little ill. I wanted to tell you how excited I was that my friend Jane got back into gradschool. And how my sister and her hubby are buying a house. The fact that I figured out that I could rent the Dresden Files Season 1 from NetFlix. Lots of good stuff there. Happy stuff really.
However, unless you are an idiot, you’ve probably realized already that this post is NOT going to be all sweetness and light. No, sadly, this post will be a rant. You have now been warned. Proceed forward with caution or remain here. Leave this blog and have yourself forever written down as a coward.
Still with me, huh? You really are a brave soul, aren’t you? Well, forward then. So, as you may remember from previous blogs, I’m finishing my doctorate this year and am on the academic job market. This market is the equivalent of Hell on Earth with NO redeeming qualities. It is the most ridiculously complicated pile of eternal idiocy ever, and my chunk of the profession has actively made it worse.
The worst blow to my ego yet arrived yesterday in an innocuous white envelope. It was an enevelope from a wee private Christian university in a very large, Red state. I had a very successful phone interview with them in November. At least, I thought it was successful. The chair with whom I spoke closed the interview by telling me to “look at your calendar and pick a weekend in January or February when you’d be able to spend three days for an interview. We will decide something and let you know by early January.” Fine, I looked and I waited. and I waited. Then, I waited some more. About mid-January, I started to get a little antsy. Mind you, this school was one that everyone who knows me was excited about. Everyone, including Dr. Chiron, my fav prof ever, kept saying what a good fit it was for me and how perfect it was for me. My dad got so excited that he kept planning my life there. He also asked me ad nauseum if I had heard from them.
Yesterday, a day shy of me emailing the Chair about the status of the search, I got the fatal email. Here it is, an almost direct quote:
Dear Ms. Sunday Sunshine,
After prayerful considertation, the Department of Fluff and Nonsense has selected someone for the position of Assistant Professor of Fluff and has closed the search.
Thank you for your interest in the Department of Fluff and Nonsense and in Small Christian U.
Cordially,
Department Chair
Two sentences. Two fucking sentences. I think that the “prayerful consideration” is supposed to make me feel better, but shockingly enough, it doesn’t. It’s like they are absolving themselves of having set me up for disappointment. The phrase “prayerful consideration” or any version thereof is not a Christian get out of jail free card. It just shows that you are too cowardly to say, “yeah, we thought about it, and you’re not for us. We reject you.” It comes off as “We’re not really rejecting you; God told us to reject you. Blame Him.” Pissants!
I don’t think I’d be as angry with them if the Chair hadn’t told me to look at dates for a visit. That really got my hopes up. Looking at their department’s faculty list, they are notorious for hiring people with previous affliation to the SCU. If they had an internal hire, why did they pretend to be so interested in me.
Further compounding my anger is some people’s reaction to my news. Let’s start by noting that when a dream is crushed the most appropriate response is some version of these three sentences:
- They are idiots.
- You are wonderful.
- I love you.
Logic and reason should not be the first place you go in an attempt to make someone feel better. Let’s award points now:
An A ++ goes to:
- Elizabeth–Hugged, gave tissues to, and said all the right things.
- Jane–Verbally bashed ‘em, said all the right things
- Harry–Brought flowers and participated in a ritual burning of the letter as well as not going to “logic” to make me stop crying.
An A goes to–
- Angel–said good things but was more interested in herself
- Kendall–ditto
- My dad–who apologized for getting me so excited about the job to begin with.
- My stepmom–cautiously sympathetic and agreed that “prayerfull consideration” is not soothing.
B–
- Granddaddy–who just said that he knew I would eventually get a job.
- Evelyn–who said she knew God had a plan for me and she would continue to pray that it was revealed (Both get graded down because these responses are too much like logic).
F–
- My mother– whose response was “Well, honey, you haven’t really been a real professor yet. They probably just want someone with more experience.” Let’s just say a HUGE argument ensued.
You’d think that my MOTHER who gave birth to me and raised me for 28 years would know me well enough to know that logic like that is only going to upset me more.
Other versions of Logic. include my chair’s comment that it was because I hadn’t finished yet. Really…’cause in August you said that wasn’t a problem, buddy. Now that I’m not getting jobs it has suddenly become one.
The whole thing just hacks me off. But for now, I’ve got to go back to not being a real professor. ‘Cause, y’all know, grading papers, making lesson plans, and creating a badass quiz…that’s not being a real professor. Such bullshit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Though, after prayerful consideration, my paycheck certainly reflects my status as a play professor.)
***Disclaimer–Having written this while made, I doubt my punctuation is all that. Since I spent my day revising my dissertation, I am not revising this. Deal with it.
Romance Is In the Air
I know, I know. The title of this post is incredibly cliched, but it may just be the right one. Harry and I may be very close to being unofficially back together. We are definitely seeing each other. On Saturday night, he gave me my birthday presents, and they were sweet, thoughtful, and caring. He even took the time to write me a really nice card. I am–as I’m sure you know from other poses–on the academic job market, and it is pure hell. It’s the circle that was so frightening that even Dante by passed it. So, Harry knowing how freaked out I am, searched online for a picture that includes a saying about possibilities. This picture itself has lots of symbolic meaning to my life right now. It is a framed print of the Golden Gate Bridge, and in the top corner, it says “Possibilities–Truly Remarkable Accomplishments Are within Each of Us.” I know that doesn’t sound thoughtful or romantic off the top, but if you know that the MAJOR conference for my field will be held in San Fran this year, and that I am depending on job interviews there to show what I will be doing this time next year, you know that he really listened when I said how much what riding on this trip. Because he knows that I analyze everything, he told me he knew that I would look at it, and always remember how remarkable he thinks I am. (Angel said, “Gag me with a spoon” when I told her that). Then there was the card. Here it is in italics with commentary in regular bold:
********************************************************************
Hey Princess (His actual, non-sarcastic, non-demeaning nickname for me)
May your possibilities at CONFERENCE NAME in San Francisco be endless. May you find the opportunity that you have been working so hard for all these years. I have complete confidence in your talents and abilities, and my thoughts and prayers will be with you.
Hugs and Kisses,
Harry
********************************************************************
Sweet, huh? Given that he has had to see me cry and listen to me moan about all of this, it is nice that he went out of his way to make me feel better. In addition to these mood boosting gifts, he also gave me a brand new travel alarm clock with all sorts of groovy features so that I wouldn’t worry about oversleeping at the conference. Clearly, he also listened when I talked about how I don’t like using my cell phone as an alarm clock, and I don’t sleep well because I am always afraid that I am going to sleep through its alarm.
That’s the thing about Harry; he’s sweet, kind, intelligent, and thoughtful. He appreciates me “just as I am”–to quote Bridget Jones. He tells me I’m beautiful and wonderful on a regular basis. He has ambitions; he’s about to leave for pharmacy school. Oh, and did I mention, that this is a guy who actually seems to have learned from his mistakes?
The first time we dated, back in the day, we both made mistakes. His was being too clingy, too needy; he pushed things too fast emotionally–busting out the “I love you” after two weeks. Needless to say, this freaked your’s truly out. It also annoyed. My mistake was that I didn’t tell him how much he was hacking me off with this behavior until the night I dumped him. Never good.
He insisted that we remain friends, and, while it was awkward at first, it started to work within the 2nd year. He’s been great–at least within the last six months or so–about letting me be the one who dictates what we do and when we do it. He respects my schedule and my needs. He doesn’t push me. And he celebrates my triumphs, comforts me when I upset, and points it out to me when I might be over-reacting. He is not pushy about anything; just sweet.
I can hear you all thinking, My God, Sunday, we get it. He’s great, but, girl, he has flaws like anyone else. And he does, he’s not perfect. He wants me to watch football; he’s a little bit more Churchy than I am; he’s not a guy I would want to have as a manager, and he doesn’t read very much at all. But frankly, right this moment, none of those things see like deal breakers. He fits most of my major requirements for a guy: a) he’s a Christian, b) he respects me; c) he makes me laugh, d) he’s intelligent, and e) he wants to be partners.
Okay, you say, again Sunday we get it. SO what IS the problem?
The problem is this: WIthin the next six months, I am going to move somewhere for what may (God willing) be the last job I will ever hold. Within the next six months, he is going to move somewhere for pharmacy school. For at minimum four years, the closest we could be together would be about 4 hours apart, and there is only a very distant chance that the scenario in which that is an option will come to pass. So? What to do?
Some people have weighed in:
Angel (post-12/08/09)- You are looking for reasons not to enjoy being with him now, or in the future, because you don’t trust your own judgment when it comes to men. If it is easy to be with him now, don’t stress about it.Those are the relationships you should want to be in, for as long as they last. Let it be.
Jane (pre-gifts)–He’s just useful; a woman has needs; use him and let him go. If you don’t want to rip his clothes off any time you look at him, he’s not really the one for you. Therefore, don’t worry about liking him romantically or not.Let it be.
Odd… the same advice, but from very different reasons and expectations. I think Angel may be more right than Jane, because I do think that I like him very much now, and, if I would let myself, I think I could be in love with him.
Well, I am not going to resolve this in one post. I just wanted to garner opinion on the subject.
As always, your thoughts are appreciated.
Sunday signing off now 
The Job Search
So, today, a well meaning friend of mine, Annabelle Richardson, sent me a link to a wiki site for the academic job search in my area. It’s how she kept up with jobs where the search was canceled last year. Fine. That sounds nice and all, but the wiki is so much more. It’s also the place where desperate, bitter, and cynical job searchers track every move of every job they’ve applied for, with listings for the jobs that have canceled, sent out acknowledgments for receipt, asked for follow up materials, and set up various forms of interviews. What I learned was: other people have heard from lots of the places I applied and I haven’t; only one search was canceled –which I already knew about from a different service.
Now, I just feel panicked. More panicked than I was…as long as I could tell myself that the different schools where taking their time, that they hadn’t contacted anybody yet, then I didn’t doubt I’d get interviews. Now, I can’t sleep and my heart hurts in that heavy, despondent, self doubting way.
Every academic I know well has what another friend of mine calls “Academic Imposter Syndrome.” Basically, a feeling that you are not really as smart as everyone thinks you are and that at any minute someone is going to call you on it. This feeling exists as a tiny part of the brain that never really goes away, no matter what success you have. I have met tenured profs that suffer from it. I feel like these search committees have looked at materials that I thought represented the best academic me that existed and saw right through them.
I know I should have faith in God and His plan for me, but it is so hard not to doubt myself. I don’t know what I am going to do if I graduate this spring without a job. How do I tell my parents that I owe around 80 grand in student loans, 15 grand in credit card debt, and have NO prospects? How will I feed myself and my cat? How will I pay my bills? The economy is crashing down around us, and I have set the ball rolling to finish a degree that will over-qualify me for just about everything.
I don’t feel very well. That’s really all I had to say, but I had to say it. I’m going to try to sleep now, and not worry. I owe my chair a dissertation chapter or two on Monday, so I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.
As always, I appreciate any thoughts or comments that you might have.
Elections and The End of the World: How I Made My Momma Cry.
So…it’s 10:30 election night; I voted this afternoon in my battleground state for Obama. Part of me, the part that wants to live all the Christian precepts I was raised by:
- Thou shalt not judge.
- Love thy neighbor as thyself
- Be a nice, good person
That part is the part that made the decision. I see the flaws on both sides of the line, but it McCain-Palin ticket seemed to judgmental, vague, and scary. I wasn’t pleased when I realized that they were saying that my education makes me “anti-American.” I love and appreciate America–really, where else could I *itch on a blog. Also, they are for things I am against. While I would never personally get an abortion or a gay marriage (see a Willow post on how I’m not gay), I will not presume to judge people who do…Jesus died to save my sins, not to make me God. Who you sleep with is between you and God, and, to me, doesn’t define who you are as a person. Further, just because abortion is not a decision that I would make, and it is a decision that I personally find abhorrent when there are so many other options, I don’t know what is in any one else’s mind, as my friend Angel says “I don’t crawl around up there and know what you are thinking.” Again, the final decision is not mine to make. I think that we see part of the problem with the right and the left in this election, Americans want someone to tell them what to do, what’s right, what’s wrong, in areas where all we have are shades of gray. God didn’t come out and say these things you may not do, a lot of our beliefs are interpretations of revisions and translations of the Bible. However, he did give a few directives (see above). Those, in addition to the Big 10, should guide you through most situations. However, I believe with all my “liberal elitest” well-educated heart, that when God gave us reason and free wheel, he expected us to be able to look at gray area situations, apply what we know, and make a loving, logical decision. Obviously, a lot of people wouldn’t agree with me, and I don’t mind that, it is one of the beauties of America. (and the question of decision making is one I will leave for another time.)
Moving right along to our title feature, I made my mother cry for the first time last night with something other than tears of joy or pride mixed with the sorrow that her baby girl is growing up. I finally disappointed my mother; she loves me still, I think, but when I mentioned that the election was upon us and at last she could stop worrying, she started sobbing and told me that she couldn’t talk about the election and that she’d been physically ill for two days with worry. Trust me, she wasn’t exaggerating; my momma worries about everything, and with a very nervous tummy, she spends a lot of time on the porcelain throne. Having always been the “good daughter” as well as one who has a guilt complex to rival the Empire State Building, I immediately felt that the vote I was going to cast was a betrayal of my mother and my family. Even now that I’ve cast it, I feel awful for my contribution to something that is going to hurt and stress my momma out.
Besides her residual Southern racism and her fear of Muslims and Democrats, my mother is also worried that O is somehow tied to the Christian end of the world scenario. This bothers me on a lot of levels, and there is one I would like to discuss, but I will post on that tomorrow.
For now, how do I deal with the guilt of following my conscience? Musing for another day
Football…
So, anyone who knows me can tell you one consistent thing about me: I HATE football. All my friends can give you the riff: “Football is boring and barbaric, and college football in particular is going to ruin our country, and I think it is sad that people hang their happiness on the outcome of a GAME!!!” Most of them can also tell you that really, I don’t care if anyone else watches as long as I don’t have too.
The other thing that everyone knows is that (after managing to avoid football during high school and college), I have ended up at a huge State U with a kickbum nationally ranked football team. URGH….
Anyway, the point is I spent last night at a MAJOR football game between my MAJOR school and another MAJOR school (from my home state). THis is a game that 90 % of the people I know would have killed (or at least sold a kidney) to be at. Why you ask was I there?
Because, 2 years ago when Harry and i had just started dating, I may have implied that the only game I would ever want to go to was this one. Flash forward 2 years and one break up later, and Harry and I are doing…something…it involves kissing, going out, and NOT talking about the future as if we are going to be together. We don’t even talk about the kissing. Anyway, as you may have already figured out from earlier posts, I am trying to finish my degree this year, so this will probably be the last year I am here for football season (thank God in His heaven and all the little angels). Even if I didn’t finish, Harry is going off to pharmacy school. So he decided to spend 120 dollars on two tickets so that we can go, and, as my mother says, when someone is nice enough to spend that kind of dough on you, you go and you smile. He wouldn’t even let me chip in for them. He is always that nice; its a little disconcerting.
Anyway, while I appreciated the atmosphere, I have to confess that I was bored by the end of the game. I just don’t get the attraction. I can see enjoying the energizing atmosphere, and I can see going maybe once a year, but I still don’t understand why people do it every weekend, or why the cuss the refs and make the outcome the end all be all of their happiness. I did tell Harry that I had a really good time, even though I didn’t get what was going on, and to a certain extent, I did. Like I said, I see why people like to go to games (the combination of “camaraderie”–rooting for the same team–and rivalry–against and Other). I don’t think I’d want to watch it on TV though, or hang my hopes on it.
That’s all I had for now, but if anyone wants to join the long, long list of people who have tried to explain the appeal to me. My other question:
What kind of guy spends that kind of money to do something sweet, kisses you, and never puts any kind of pressure on you? My current answer: a guy who learned his lesson the last time. Your thoughts, as always, appreciated.
Bunnies on Buffy
So, Jane was in last weekend, which helped restructure my outlook on life in a good way. Hanging with her always makes me feel better, or at least less like the world as I know it is going to end ASAP. Anyway, I startled her on Saturday night. We were on our way to a fabulous fondue restaurant to drown our sorrows in cheese and chocolate, and to celebrate various fun events with the same.
Jane brought up Anya’s fear of bunnies in the Buffyverse, and from somewhere deep inside my brain, I threw out a riff on how Anya’s oddball fear of bunnies represents her true fear, that of not fitting. While bunny references are found throughout the BV post-Anya’s entrance in The Wish, the major episode that seems to explain it for viewers is the one where they take us back to show us Anya’s beginnings as Aud, bunny raiser and village oddity. She becomes the vengeance demon Anyanka and then the human Anya, but it is only as the former that she seems to feel that she fits in and is comfortable. After she becomes human again, not even Zander’s love is enough to make her feel “adequate” in the human world. Besides her repeated fear of bunnies, Anya’s major complaint is that people find her “odd. disconcerting.” When the Council comes to visit during Checkpoint, Anya’s attempt to fit in becomes even more ridiculous when she claims to be “Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins” born on the 4th of July in Indiana. She desperately wants to fit in, while maintaining her own nature. Her bunny phobia is played off Willow’s much more “normal” spider phobia. The only time we see an Anya who is at peace with herself and who seems comfortable in her surroundings are in flashbacks to major curses, like the one where she hangs out with Hallie during a 1905 Russian revolution that is the result one of her curses. However, Anya’s return to demonhood after her relationship with Zander ends does not signify a return to that state. In her time among the Scoobies, Anya has become “too human” to be a good vengeance demon. She has, basically, gone soft. I think her continuing fear of bunnies represents her alienation from all her possible peer groups and friends.
Anyway, so that was the basic riff that I did off the top of my head. Jane tells me that this is the only forum that I should share my thoughts, because Other people might be disturbed that I put that much thought into Buffy, but hey, when you combine an Advanced Degree in Useless Knowledge with an Advanced Degree in Critical Analysis of Everything, you get the Critical Analysis of Useless Knowledge. I figure most of the people who know me well would at least nod tolerantly; after all, they are used to my random riffs.
On a side note, I am almost through with the first draft of my dissertation. Thank God!!!!!
I am starting a new page where I will try to list every book I have ever read, with something like a rating system. I just want to see how many books (academic and not) that I have read. Check it out if you like.
That’s all for now, folks!
