New Faculty Search

On Wednesday, I met with the third candidate for the American Studies faculty position that's open. I'm really glad I got the chance to be on the student search committee. Aside from allowing me to meet the potential professors, it's made me think about what it is I appreciate about the professors I've had and how I feel about my choice of college in general.

One thing I've realized is that my professors and courses really are my favorite part about school. Yeah, the food is acceptable, and the dorms are great. But I could have found that somewhere else. Here, I have a certain structured independence, academically, that would have been difficult to find elsewhere. I remember looking for colleges and finding out that only about 200 in the country had official American Studies programs. My program here is both structured and loose, so even though there are 16 categories of requirements for the major, you can develop your own focus within them. (Oh, the beauty of an interdisciplinary major.) Contemporary Arts--it's a contract program, and I literally develop my own major, my own focus. And I can do both of these majors, still have electives, and graduate on time without driving myself insane. I wouldn't have been able to do that at any of my other potential schools.

As for professors...even though I complain a lot about several of them, I have to admit (grudgingly, in some cases) that most of them are excellent. Beyond that, there are definitely at least half a dozen professors that I've worked with individually on one project or another. These are the professors that never have a problem staying and talking a few minutes after class, or meeting me during the week regardless of whether or not it's during their office hours. They've taken an active interest in me as a student, and I feel like that's something I wouldn't necessarily get at another school.

Anyway, this third faculty candidate. One thing that I found really interesting about her was that she said she really made a point of reminding her students that history isn't just "Truth"--it's framed by someone's perspective, and therefore, it's open to interpretation. She also said that she really likes using primary sources, images, and other media to pinpoint the humanity in whatever it is that she's teaching. I got really excited about that, and I told her, I think it's really important to close the time gap and make history feel more immediate, because it's so easy to distance yourself and look only at the facts, when really, history isn't just dates and numbers and names--it's about people. History is a story. The word "story" is in the word "history", and stories are about people, they're part of being human, so dehumanizing history is taking away something vital from it.

I read a GQ article today that reminded me of that as well. Entitled simply, "The Garden," the article focused on the gravediggers at Arlington National Cemetery. These men dig thirty graves a day, five days a week, 48 weeks a year. They saw the plane go down into the Pentagon on 9/11. They've seen the Kennedys come to visit their family's graves. They've talked to people about to commit suicide and they've found a body on the Eternal Flame. And now, every day, they bury bodies that come in from around the world. Most of them voted for Obama because they're ready to see an end to the conflicts in the Middle East--because they don't want to bury any more kids. It's so interesting. It's easy for us to forget about the war. For them, all the death is a brutal reality. Telling that story from the gravediggers' point of view--it adds an extra layer of humanity to a story that could easily fall into a barrage of numbers and facts. This way, though--it means more.

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Now playing: Band of Horses - Our Swords

Too much perspective? (Even this is too long still.)

Sometimes I feel like I see everything from so many different angles that I don't know which one is the one I believe in the most. I think I have this fear of being too absolute, too extreme, too single-minded. There's something to be said for stability and more to be said for permanence and legacy, but I like transience, too. I like being able to change my mind. To me, seeing anything as absolute is a trap and it hinders growth, it stops you from being able to learn and grow. I like being flexible and I like the fluidity of being open to multiple possibilities. I often don't like having to choose one way or another when I relate to both. I prefer to evaluate case by case, and not choose a blanket answer that is intended to encompass everything.

I'm in between about a lot of things, and sometimes I worry that I don't have definite, assertive opinions or beliefs of my own. I know I do. I just also know that it's not important to me to have absolute opinions on a lot of things, and I know I feel different ways at different times in different situations. I don't like feeling chained to one concrete belief. I don't like the feeling of being trapped that accompanies that. I like feeling free. I don't like narrowness.

Or maybe it's that I don't like broadness? I mean, I hate it when someone asks me if I'm pro-life or pro-choice. I don't think it's that simple. I understand logically and emotionally both sides of the argument. Sure, it's ethically shady, but I also think it's wrong for a baby to be born into a world that doesn't want it, where it will only be abused and mistreated. In that way it's cruel. At the same time, I'm usually an "everything happens for a reason" kind of a gal, and messing around with a potential life isn't something I think I'd ever consider. But my life is a piece of cake. I don't have to endure extreme adversity and it's easy for me to believe in some kind of fate. It's not like I'm a fourteen-year-old rape victim who's pregnant by her attacker or something. If I were, I don't know how I'd feel. I can't say. So I generally say that I think a woman should have the right to choose, but I also think most women shouldn't choose abortion. Even that's simplifying it more than I'd like.

I can choose to see things the way I want to. I can choose to see people as a bunch of foolish, ignorant jerks who are going to lead to the demise of all humanity, or I can see them as the last pillar supporting humanity from crumbling. I can be cynical and realistic or romantic and idealistic. It's not just that I can be these things--I generally feel like I am all these things. I'm sarcastic and cynical and pessimistic by turns, but eternally hopeful and idealistic at the same time. I want to see the best in people but often, they just show their worst. Being optimistic and idealistic can translate into naivete, though--like Gatsby or The Quiet American--and I don't want that, either. I see it sometimes in others and I know I know better than to have blind faith in people; I'll just end up painfully disillusioned if I do.

I go back and forth between the two outlooks all the time. I can try to be one way or another but I don't like doing that, because that's not me. As I told someone last night, I just am what I am, and that happens to be a lot of different things at different times. I hate it when people make me feel like that's wrong, like things have to be black and white, one way or another. Like I'm wrong for seeing things so many ways and relating to them all. There's a lot that I don't understand, that I can't relate to, that I can't imagine, that I disagree with. But I love it when I meet someone who is able to explain the unimaginable to me in a way that I can understand. Without being open to other perspectives and trying to identify with others, how could you understand anything?

I also decided today that I don't like it when I feel like I have to "try" to be myself around people. I don't like pandering and I don't like compromising myself, even though intrinsically I like making people happy, and there's a lot of things I don't mind doing or just don't care about that I'm willing to compromise on, if it'll make others happy. I hate it when I realize that I'm acting in a way I don't like around certain people, because then I have to make an effort to be myself and not to let them bring out this behavior that doesn't feel like my own. It's just not that frequently that I find people that I feel comfortable being myself around. I hide a lot, even though I know I shouldn't--that's just how I am. I suppose it's because I know there's so much that's contradictory about myself that I don't let myself show that unless I feel like a person will understand that I'm not being overtly, obnoxiously hypocritical or mockingly facetious and arrogant. I suppose. I don't know.

People close to me are always telling me to speak up more, or be more assertive, and stuff like that, but I like flying below the radar. Sometimes other people will tell me I'm the kind of person that doesn't say much, but when I do say something, others listen because it'll be good. I don't think this is necessarily true. Often when I do speak up, people still talk over me or just don't listen. I'm also quiet a lot of the time, though, because I don't have anything to say about the topic at hand. If I don't have anything to say, it's probably because 1) I don't have a definitive opinion or 2) one of my biggest pet peeves is people who talk pompously about things they know nothing about. You want to talk about how Michael Phelps smoked pot? Congratulations, talk away. I don't really have anything to say about it, other than I think it's been blown way out of proportion. You want to talk about philosophy or music theory? Awesome. I'll listen, and I'll be interested. But I'm not going to tell you what I think of Plato's Republic, and I'm not going to argue you when you say Beethoven is better than Mozart, because I wouldn't have a bloody clue as to what I was talking about. I know who Plato is. I listen to Beethoven and Mozart's works. But I'm not going to pretend I am anything more than vaguely familiar with them in a very rudimentary way. I'm not going to bullshit about it. But if you want to recommend a piece to listen to and explain why you like it and what I should listen for, then fantastic.

And if you want to talk about the injustice of the admissions process at tier one colleges and universities, or modern American playwrights, or why TV news programs make me angry, or pretty much anything I write about on here, then just try and get me to STOP talking. But who wants to have a conversation about any of that? Hell, that's one of the main reasons I write so much on this stupid thing--who wants to ponder all this shit with me. Hahaha. Someone told me the other day that I should write a screenplay, and I asked what should I write about? They asked me in return, "Well, what do you have to say?" I said not a heck of a lot, but that was a silly untruth, and I didn't realize it until later on. I have a lot to say--I just can't always find ways to say it, let alone creative ways, or people who care to hear me. That's how it finds its way here. Which isn't exactly an awful thing. I'd hate it if I had absolutely nothing to say about anything ever.

I realized one of my problems when thinking about the "Future" is not that I don't know what I want to do--there's just way too many things that I want to do, and I can't make myself pick just one. I can't shut out everything else to specialize on one thing. I keep telling myself that I'm better off for picking one thing and learning a lot about it than knowing a shallow amount about a lot of things, but I don't feel like anything works like that. Everything's interdisciplinary, especially in the arts. Everything overlaps. There is no one single field. Even my specialized classes overlap. Everything in both my majors intersects all the time. And I know I mention this all the freakin time, but it's true. And I don't want to pick just one thing to focus on. I don't want to end up cornered into one field. Even though I sort of know in the back of my mind that that will never happen. And I don't want my voice to be any more limited than it already is. Which is quite a lot.

Meh. Too much thinking.

"Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal."

T. S. Eliot was pretty awesome. If for no other reason than for having written my favorite poem ever, and for having said that. That said, I stole this quote from a friend's profile the other day:

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversation, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don't bother concealing your thievery--celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Goddard said: 'It's not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.'"

- Jim Jarmusch

I like that. First of all, because I happen to enjoy devouring everything he mentions--including the random conversation, bridges, architecture (cathedrals!), bodies of water, and light and shadows. Light is my favorite part of photography. And I love it when I find other people who "devour" everything he mentions too. They pursue what makes them curious, what interests them, what they question. Secondly, the demand for "original" work is intimidating and doesn't so much inspire me as nurture feelings of inadequacy. Third, it reminded me of David Lynch and how he says you need clarity to create.

I was reading an article today on a New York Times Online blog called "Proof." One contributory, a novelist named Brian McDonald, wrote a post entitled "Under the Literary Influence," about how he used to be addicted to booze-addled authors: Raymond Chandler, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski, Eugene O'Neill. McDonald loved reading their works and reading about their lives. To him, there something romantic about seeing Hunter S. Thompson catching fire when downing flaming shots of Bacardi 151, that made him see "a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers … and a pint of raw ether" instead.

Now, I like a lot of these writers. I love Fitzgerald's lyricism, Chandler's tone and distinct dime-novel style, Kerouac's poetry, O'Neill's tragedy. I've read a little Bukowski, which I thought was alright, though outrageous, and I tried to get through A Farewell to Arms but I just couldn't do it. I respect that these guys wrote some great stuff, and I understand that a lot of it wouldn't exist without all the drugs and alcohol they took. At the same time, I wouldn't be able to do that myself.

I guess it's my stubborn pride (me? proud?), but I wouldn't be okay with taking responsibility for something born of a substance-induced inspiration. I think I mentioned this in my "Clarity" post too. It'd feel wrong--it wouldn't feel authentic, to me. I'm finding more and more that I'm not very adept at expressing myself in any medium. I have problems when I try talking to people, and I feel like I'm not a particularly sophisticated or notable writer. Screenwriting is showing me that it's not a great medium for me, and I'm beyond awful with poetry. I can't paint or draw and I just can't seem to grasp the technical aspects of photography. But what stuff I do write and plot and paint and photograph is mine. I can take a little pride in that it's authentic, it's real, and it belongs to me--it's my own expression, my own view, my composition. It doesn't belong to an altered state of mind--to the alcohol I drank or the drugs I took or any other crutch.

At the same time, that strikes me as extremely self-righteous and silly. If I feel like I would have to give credit to psychotropic substances, then wouldn't I feel like I owe credit to all sources of inspiration--everything from which I steal? "Old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversation, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows." Wouldn't my work belong to all of that, to everything that contributed to it? In that sense, I enjoy the idea that something created is the sum of everything that inspired it, and that it wouldn't be what it is without one of those parts. "J. Alfred Prufrock" wouldn't be the same without the opening from Inferno or the allusions to Lazarus, Michelangelo, or Hamlet. The Great Gatsby wouldn't be what it is were Fitzgerald not so influenced by the old Roman story of Tremalchio. Again, though, to me, interpretation and reinterpretation are creation, and to steal from all over and use those thefts to assemble something else is, in a way, creation, too.

Plus, that's just the way that I feel about it. I don't have a problem with other people writing through hazes--clearly, since I love Fitzgerald and Kerouac--it's just a personal thing. I've gotten pretty decent at not judging others by my own standards for myself--most of the time.

...

I had more to say but I'm sticking it in a separate post because this one is already absurdly long and incoherent and lacks any semblance of unity whatsoever. It's just all been on my mind and I had to get it out before I forgot. This just took over two hours. Yikes. Way past sleep time now.

Edit 2/22/09: I split it up. This was just too damn long.

"Just doing my civic duty, sir."

So last week for American Government, I read two passages. One was by a man named Robert Putnam, who proposes that there is a direct link between "social capital" and "civic engagement," and government performance. Social capital is "features of social organizations such as networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit." Basically, it's all the good stuff that comes out of actively participating in social communities, whether it's a church group, a labor union, the PTA, the League of Women Voters, bowling leagues, the Elks, Boy Scouts, or the Red Cross. Being involved with one of these groups is "civic engagement," and according to Putnam, the more "civic engagement," the higher the voter turnout, and the better the performance of the government.

The other part of Putnam's theory is that civic engagement and thus social capital has been in decline since the 1960s and '70s. Membership in organizations like those mentioned has decreased significantly, and though membership in other new organizations, like the Sierra Club or AARP, is high, membership does not require direct activity. "Their ties, in short, are to common symbols, common leaders, and perhaps common ideals, but not to one another." There is no social trust, and there is little sense of community or connectedness.

Putnam attributes this decline to changes in women's roles in the community, changes in the economy, changes in residential stability, and changes in technology and entertainment. There is less "neighborliness" among Americans, and they are less trusting in general. Women are now a substantial part of the labor force, people move around a lot, the economy has increased in scale and community-based businesses have largely been replaced by franchises and corporations, and people spend their leisure time in isolated activities. People play on computers, watch television shows and movies, play video games - all of these things are so simple to do alone. Even listening to music is now a personal activity - instead of gathering around a record player to listen to the latest single, people listen to their MP3 players and iPods.

I found this interesting because of a book I read a few years ago by two men, William Strauss and Neil Howe. They suggest that American history can be seen as a series of generations, and each generation fits one of four types. American history, then, is a repetition of cycles that consist of these four types: Idealist, Reactive, Civic, and Adaptive. Each generation of a particular type shares characteristics and traits. Each life stage of a generation is about 22 years: youth, rising adulthood, midlife, and elder life. Idealist and Civic generations are dominant, while Reactive and Adaptive generations are recessive. Each generation lives through social moments: secular crises and spiritual awakenings. Dominant generations come of age and enter rising adulthood during a social moment, exerting greater influence on the public world, while recessive generations' first social moment is as a child, influencing the private world more.

It makes a lot more sense when put in practice. The whole thing seems like it tailors history to fit the pattern, rather than history happening to fit the pattern. Example: the most recent cycle to be completed fully was the Great Power cycle: the Missionary Generation, the Lost Generation, the G.I. Generation, and the Silent Generation. They lived through the Missionary Awakening (the "3rd Great Awakening" that prompted agrarian and labor protests, muckraking journalists, and progressive and socialist movements in the early 20th century) and the Great Depression/WWII Crisis. After them came the Millennial Cycle, which we're in now.

First came the Boomers (1943-1960). They were rising adults during the Boom Awakening, 1967-1980. Woodstock, Kent State, Vietnam, Age of Aquarius, Earth Day - radical cultural change going on here. Lots of self-interest here. There's a funny bit in this movie, I Could Never Be Your Woman, in which Mother Nature rants about how humans were grateful to be at the top of the food chain until the Baby Boomers, who "thought they could just breeze through life doing whatever the hell they wanted" - the men didn't go to war when they were supposed to, the women didn't have kids when they were supposed to, they became materialistic and didn't care about the environment at all. Hehe. So anyway, after them is the 13ers, 1961-1981, who grew up seeing the adults screw up the country (Vietnam, Iran, all that). They're The Breakfast Club and the Brat Pack in general - adults are against them and life doesn't hold much for them. Pessimistic and realistic by turns. Adults call them disappointing; 13ers themselves say they are what they have to be to get by.

Then, 1982 to about 2000 or so are the Millennials - us. We're predicted to be a Civic generation that comes of age during what is still an unknown crisis and is in elderhood during the next spiritual awakening. The book I have was written in '91. It predicts that 1991-2003 sees more regulation, "public intrusions into what others will consider matters of personal and business privacy," anti-drug and pro-environment lobbying, more pro-life movements, disdain for political party allegiances, increased materialism and attention to style and advertising, clean-cut and overprotected kids, and revitalized civic organizations for youth. 2004-2025 sees failure of Social Security and economic and social hardship. Depending on if the secular crisis turns out well or not, the Millennials could produce strong leaders and a greater sense of unity and solidarity than any other generation in recent history. If the crisis comes too early or unfolds poorly, then the Millennials will be a crippled generation, unable to do what the Idealist Boomers set for them. So say Howe and Strauss.

The whole theory really stretches the whole generation cycle deal to work. One cycle actually doesn't have an adaptive generation, which they explain away somehow, I forget exactly how. But if they're right, then our generation now is a civic, and we're going to reverse the trend of low civic engagement.

The other article I read for American Government is by Scott Keeter, who says that the youngest cohort of voters is currently showing signs of being more politically active and aware, much like their Boomer parents were in the '60s and '70s. Keeter calls us the "DotNets," though, and says we are active in community work and attempt to make our voices heard - we're not hesitant in expressing ourselves. If the voting trend continues in the direction it was headed from last election, there should be a higher turnout of 18-29 year-olds: in 2004, the percentage of voter turnout for that cohort increased 9 percentage points.

I know that that was a really roundabout way of making my point, but I wonder if Keeter's research shows that Howe and Strauss's theory is correct in this case. And if it is, what's our secular crisis going to be? Or, did it come early with 9/11 and the Iraq War and now the economic crisis and everything else that we're screwing up?

Something else that they said: the Boomers will be most influential and productive in their later years. They won't relinquish control early. Bush is a Boomer. But, Obama just misses being a Boomer by one year: he was born in 1961. And if McCain is elected...he'll be the first of the Silent Generation to be president. The G.I.'s produced 7 Presidents. The Silents, 0. The Boomers, just 1 so far. Obama would mean a 13er in office 12 years before the 13ers are projected to take over the White House.

Sarah Palin is a 13er too.

Somehow, I feel like no matter who's elected, things are not going to turn out well. Just a feeling.

I spent way too much time writing this instead of doing homework. Rawr.

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Now playing: Counting Crows f. Sheryl Crow - American Girls

Hypermasculinity and the American Male.

This is a long, twisted way of getting to my point, but it made sense in my head.

So in my intro to international studies course a while back, we spent a week or two on studying gender roles in various cultures. We saw a video on it that was actually quite good. The first part showed these women in the back country of Albania called "sworn virgins," who take an oath to abandon all feminine practices and are then allowed to adopt the male's societal responsibilities and such. The practice has mostly died out, but there are still a few in the countryside, in the more traditional parts of Albania. It mostly occurs in families where, for example, there are two parents who are sick or unable to work or care for themselves, and no sons, just one or more daughters. It wasn't uncommon for one of these daughters to become a sworn virgin in order to care for the farm or take a job to support her parents and herself. But, she wasn't allowed to do this unless she became a sworn virgin, which also means she could never marry or have children.

The second part of the video showed an American man going to Thailand or some other southeast Asian country for a sex-change operation. He was completely changed into a woman. The only thing that changed, though, was the equipment - he had already altered his voice and appearance with hormones, and he dressed like a woman too. I believe he referred to himself as a "transgender."

The third part showed this caste of women in India, the "Untouchables," "pariahs." They're pretty much social outcasts. There is something with gender roles in that too, but I can't remember what at the moment.

In America, what do we have? Hypermasculinity. I read an article for 20th Century American Foreign Policy called "Techno-Muscularity and the Boy Eternal," in which the writer proposes that the failure of the Vietnam War prompted the veterans who returned to be condemned as losers, in part because of the lack of support for them from women and from their fathers who protested the war. This was the first generation of men to go to war and return without the luster of victory, but instead with the shadow of doubt, protest, and anger chasing them. Consequently, the writer of this article, says men in Hollywood films of the '80s were frequently "techno-muscular" symbols, like Arnold Schwarzenegger - adult male characters that either acted like children or acted like a child's idea of what it meant to be a man.

Now, 20 years later, it feels like - to me at least - that our society and culture have moved one step further to hypermasculinity. Google the term, and the definitions that result both call it "a psychological term for the exaggeration of male stereotypical behavior, such as an emphasis on strength, aggression, body hair, odor and virility." Somehow, we've started putting an unbelievable amount of importance in these qualities that are more superficial than they are anything else. I understand the desire in men to achieve a certain degree of masculinity - well, as far as I can possibly understand it, I guess - but in the grand scheme of things, isn't it irrelevant? It would be less frustrating, except countless images in American culture emphasize the appeal of hypermasculinity in today's male. It's become a tool of marketers and salespeople, and it's one of the many things I hate in mass media.

"What is most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine."
- Susan Sontag

The true value of a man - of any person, really - is not in these characteristics so much as it is in their character and actions. I randomly just remembered a part in Little Men, a follow-up to Little Women, in which the father of one of the boys dies. His nephew, after his funeral, proclaims that their other two uncles are the wisest and jolliest of the three, but Uncle John was the best. After that, one of the uncles talks for a while about why he was such a great man. (This is long, so skip it if you want.)

"Let me tell you a little about John Brooke, and you will see why men honor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than rich or famous. He simply did his duty in all things, and did it so cheerfully, so faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and happy through poverty and loneliness and years of hard work. He was a good son, and gave up his own plans to stay and live with his mother while she needed him. He was a good friend, and taught Laurie much beside his Greek and Latin, did it unconsciously, perhaps, by showing him an example of an upright man. He was a faithful servant, and made himself so valuable to those who employed him that they will find it hard to fill his place. He was a good husband and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, that Laurie and I learned much of him, and only knew how well he loved his family, when we discovered all he had done for them, unsuspected and unassisted."

Mr. Bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in the moonlight until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice: "As he lay dying, I said to him, `Have no care for Meg and the little ones; I will see that they never want.` Then he smiled and pressed my hand, and answered, in his cheerful way, `No need of that; I have cared for them.` And so he had, for when we looked among his papers, all was in order, not a debt remained; and safely put away was enough to keep Meg comfortable and independent. Then we knew why he had lived so plainly, denied himself so many pleasures, except that of charity, and worked so hard that I fear he shortened his good life. He never asked help for himself, though often for others, but bore his own burden and worked out his own task bravely and quietly. No one can say a word of complaint against him, so just and generous and kind was he; and now, when he is gone, all find so much to love and praise and honor, that I am proud to have been his friend, and would rather leave my children the legacy he leaves his than the largest fortune ever made. Yes! Simple, generous goodness is the best capital to found the business of this life upon. It lasts when fame and money fail, and is the only riches we can take out of this world with us. Remember that, my boys; and if you want to earn respect and confidence and love follow in the footsteps of John Brooke."

I was just reminded of that. Really, though, this is just stemming from my frustration with the way society impresses the false idea upon its boys that they need to be absurdly masculine in order to be "men," to the point that it affects who they really are.

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Now playing: John Mayer - Clarity

Another quick note.

1. Yeah, I know I said I'd do a regular post soon but I've been a waste of life lately. Too much work. I'm not even flipping out yet so I need to find another way to motivate myself because I am probably so screwed with all this stuff. Argh.

2. On the bright side, I had housing today and we got a room in the building we wanted so woot.

3. I can't believe it's nearly May already. April flew by unbelievably fast. This whole year flew by unbelievably fast. August feels like it was just yesterday. I'm in a much better place now than I was then, though. Fingers crossed that this summer won't be miserable.

4. Presently skimming/reading a book called Michael Jordan and the New Global Capitalism. It's pretty interesting. Its discussion on the way globalization is leading to the Americanization of other cultures reminds me of something my Social Issues professor said about how one reason Americans in Iraq are so unwelcome is because of their lack of understanding of Iraqi culture and Islamic traditions and such. I suppose this is one of the reasons so many Americans are okay with globalization's cultural impacts: I don't think we really understand other cultures, even if we say we tolerate or appreciate or embrace them. We're so wrapped up in ourselves. I mean, I can't really comment on the economics of globalization...I'm utterly clueless. The interaction of people and cultures is what interests me.

5. I really need to get down to work. Jeebus. All I want to do is sleep though. Rawr.

Today's Short List.

1. I know I've said this before, but I really love how interdisciplinary my classes here are. Today in 20th Century American Foreign Politics, we talked about globalization, and how American rose to become an economic hyper-power in the '80s and '90s. That part was okay, but then it led to a discussion of the cultural implications of globalization and the arguments for/critiques against it, and we watched a movie all about Naomi Klein's claims against it. Which led to a discussion about the dominance of American media and the reach and extent of its influences and authoritarian nature. I actually participated for once (I never do, not in that class at least) just because it was so relevant to stuff we've discussed in pretty much half the classes I've had here. Tech & Culture, Social Issues, Media Lit, International Studies, American Studies, Immigration to America, even Lit & Film. I like when that happens. It makes learning more fun. : D

Wow, I am such a nerd. Hehehe.

2. I'm not big on concerts, but for some reason, I'm going to 3 this summer... I'm excited for them. Ingrid Michaelson in June, John Mayer/Colbie Caillat in July, and Counting Crows/Maroon 5 in August. Woot.

3. I'm so behind on Big Brother and I'm a bit upset about it...largely in part because I know Kim hasn't had anyone to talk to about it. I can't believe I was one of those people who stopped watching a reality show when my favorite person got kicked off. Okay, there is SO much wrong with that statement. It wasn't entirely because of that, though. Once I was about to start watching again, I got overwhelmed with work and didn't really have to the time to catch up properly. And it ends on Sunday! / :

4. I'm absurdly glad Grey's is back, and can't wait for Private Practice next fall. (Guilty pleasures much?) I'm also really glad Addison's coming back for an episode of Grey's next week, and I hope she gives Mer/Der a piece of her mind. : D

5. TOO MUCH READING FOR VENICE. AHHHH. I got the syllabus the other day and it's insane. Rather more work than I expected. More writing than I thought, too. I hope my "must do your best" mechanism doesn't kick in and make me work my ass off while I'm there when I should be just enjoying the experience...oh well. Still can't wait to get the heck outta here.

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Now playing: Anna Nalick - Satellite

The Russian Spirit

If there's one thing I love about my courses here, it's how interdisciplinary they are. Half the stuff I learn in one class ends up being relevant in another one. It gets redundant and frustrating some times, but overall, it makes it more interesting.

Like last year. So much of the stuff my crazy liberal Social Issues professor brought up was explored (more rationally and less extremely) in my Intro to International Studies the next semester. Some random topics from my Intro to American Studies class came back in my Immigration to America class, and things from there are coming back in my 20th Century American Foreign Policy class now. As are bits about Russian culture from my Literature and Film class. And in that class, stories from my freshman seminar last year (though we didn't do much of anything there) are being used again, and we're also watching a film that relates to my Technology and Culture in America class. And stuff I learned from the Smiths comes back in everything.

Anyway, in Literature and Film the other day, we watched this Russian film called The Barber of Siberia. It was fantastic, mostly. There was one specific part about the ending that I hated, but other than that, it was great. Compelling plot, good acting, sufficient cinematography and technical stuff. 3 hours long, but you don't even notice. It's the story of this American woman, Jane, who goes to Russia in 1885 to help her father, an inventor who's created a machine called "The Barber of Siberia" that will chop down trees at an amazing rate. He needs the Tsar's help to get the funding to complete it, and Jane is to help him get a meeting with the Tsar by going through one of the generals, Radlov, who happens to be the head of the military academy in Moscow. While there, one of the young cadets, Tolstoy (no relation to the writer) falls in love with her. Most of the movie is about the destructive nature of his love for and relationship with Jane, highlighting the cultural differences between the American woman and all the Russians she meets. It balances comedy, drama, and romance, with a bit of tragedy thrown in. It's really great. Definitely see it if you can ever get your hands on a copy; it's kind of hard to find it with English subtitles, apparently.

We talked about it in class today. I mentioned how the film rather subtly comments upon the cultural differences all throughout the film. At one point, the week before Lent begins, Jane is at a carnival celebrating; at the week's end, it will be a day of forgiveness - everyone, full of good will, shall beg everyone else's pardon. She notes how extreme the Russians are: at the carnival, she witnesses a giant fistfight, where dozens of men are beating each other up, knowing that at the end of the week they will all forgive each other. She says how they can't do anything in a small way: it's always one extreme or another; all or nothing. Though she observes this in retrospect, (spoiler alert! haha) it's her lack of understanding just how much this notion pervades the Russian spirit that leads to her downfall - as well as everyone else's.

A lot of the other people in class hated her for ruining other people's lives - for not giving up her business transaction. I didn't like her for it, but I understood why she did it - or, I suppose, the writer had her do it. My Russian professor said the same thing - that she understands her, and therefore doesn't hate her. We also talked, though, about how Jane is intended to be a symbol of Western culture, and a criticism of it, too. I found it really interesting that everyone hated the person that symbolized the American state of mind, and everyone loved the young, naive Russian cadet.

When I noted Jane's observation of the Russian tendency to go to extremes, Professor Ivushkina told us that this is very true, that that's how things in her country are. She pointed out, every time there's a revolution, their government is completely eradicated and they start over from scratch - they can't do anything partially, or half-heartedly. This idea is also common throughout Russian literature, she told us.

She also said, but not condescendingly, that there's no way that we can fully understand the Russian spirit - that passion, the intensity that drives them, or the camaraderie that is still incredibly important to them in a way that has gone out of vogue in America. There, still, friends put everyone else before themselves; and they're just very warm people in general. My other professor, who visited Russia for the first time in 25 years last summer, told us how she experienced this first hand - she would meet people on the streets, and start talking to them, and after only a few minutes, they would be asking her what she's passionate about, what is important to her, and other questions that people here rarely ask those close to them, let alone people they've just met. Here, she said, people will ask you what you do - not what you love, what's important to you.

Not everyone there is like that, of course, but it was still interesting. It's a shame people here aren't more like that. At least, in that they talk about that stuff. I think I'd go crazy if everyone I knew always went to extremes like the people in that movie did. In a way, though, it was beautiful. In a way, it was right.

I'll get to my other point later.