"The ways we think are literally mapped onto our brain, apparently" she said, playing with the half-crushed cigarette packet, "a dear friend told me that just yesterday"

"May I?"

"Sure," she said, extending the packet to him, flipping the top open "I'm trying to resist, but someone needs to before these are crushed beyond all belief".

He noticed that she used words to fill up any potential silences.

"Thanks."

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm... not who I used to be. I... I was young and stable once. Sensible and stable. Head on one's shoulders. The kind of girl people voted into class monitor positions." She exhaled the smoke inelgantly as she spoke. "I used to turn heads. And I used to have silence. I knew what I wanted. I was more self-assured. And I could get things. And people ... well, people noticed me."

She looked at him, somewhat guiltily. He showed no sign of being moved. Or of talking.

"Well, no. Not really, I don't know that that's the thing. I used to be home." she said "And then, I foolishly worried that I was  just home."

She exhaled, through the nose this time. "And now," she continued "I'm just well, another place."

He looked at her creaseless brow and puffy eyes. He watched the wind whip her unkempt ponytail around and then stubbed out his cigarette.

Bye, Bye Break. Hello Craziness.

And like that, a whole week flew by.
Although neither was nearly enough, I'm reasonably pleased with the work and chillaxing I got into the mix. (Where's my medal now?)

But here's Spring Semester Part Deux which, if I'm not super careful, will kick my ass.
So, wish me luck, folkses. I'll be around, more than you think.

Restful day, a.k.a. freaking out

So, for the first time this spring break, I took the day off. I stayed home, did next to nothing, watched TV and skimmed over some stuff that I thought I'd be reading. I also got some grading done.

But now, at the end of the day - ohmibluebellingblasters!
I've realized, quite suddenly I have a thesis to complete in the next two months. And I haven't a plan on how to do it. I don't have a thesis schedule, my prospectus is not yet done and alongside getting this done, I need to teach, do a conference and prepare for comps.
(Shallow, panicked breathing here). Awright. I'm going just a little bit bonkers thinking of this.
I hadn't planned to end my day thus, all panicky and with the crazy. But here it is.

Need. Deep. Breaths.

Day 22: Trailing. Poetry. Sleep, or the lack thereof.

First, thank you Witch and Other Witch - for helping rein in the crazy. For now, at least.

Then, A.b.'s new post also helped some - because it took me back to thinking about prioritizing - about asking "What do I want to do more than other things?" as a way of answer "Why am I doing this?" (in terms of trailing, I mean).

So, again - Thanks you folks. Y'all are the awesomest women I know.

***
In my classes, I've been trying to teach poetry.
It is traditionally one of the units that comes up against a truckload of resistance.
(Although, this semester, one of my classes is responding much better - much more openly, at least - than the other.)

How does one teach poetry?
Most of my students seem to arrive at poetry with some kind of a bias. The most commonly used adjective to describe poetry in my classes "boring", followed by "confusing", followed by undisguised, unabashed yawning.
Although I can see (and understand) the source of these reactions, I'm saddened when my students see right through this poem by Miller Williams:

Listen 014
I threw a snowball across the backyard.
My dog ran after it to bring it back.
It broke as it fell, scattering snow over snow.
She stood confused, seeing and smelling nothing.
She searched in widening circles until I called her.
She looked at me and said as clearly in silence as if she had spoken, I know it's here, I'll find it, went back to the center and started the circles again.
I called her two more times before she cameslowly, stopping once to look back.
That was this morning.
I'm sure that she's forgotten.
I've had some trouble putting it out of my mind.

So, I've decided to use the idea of "poetry as a story in action".
We shall start by talking about tone and persona in poetry.
Tomorrow, they shall hear Pete Seeger's "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy"

And I'm hoping that this will spark a connection back to "The Things They Carried".
(Ooh! I just thought of the magnificent conversation around 'Nam that we could have if the class engages.)

I've racked my brains and other than showing music videos (as an extension of poetry), can't think of anything else to get them to engage with the poems. Twitter poetry maybe? Or maybe I could sing alound in front for my classes? No, wait, I'm trying to teach, not traumatize. Teach, not traumatize. That is my noble motto.

So yeah, seriously, how would you do this? How would you introduce poetry in a class? How can you make reluctant freshman engage with the content (or form, even) of a poem?

How?

I'm listening.

***
And on a final note: Trauma.
I can't sleep well anymore. Between my own little crazy and waiting to hear from grad schools, my brain has turned into a sheet of bubble-wrap, being very slowly and deliberately, yet irregularly popped every few minutes.

How is it possible that five of seven schools have sent out some mailers to folks, but not one of these schools has contacted me (with *some*, any news)?
Sighs.
Waiting is the hardest part.
***

On a different note (F sharp, this time) - we're almost through 28 days!
6 days to go, actually. Whee?

Day 21: I'm one of *those* ethnicities. I'm also Harry Houdini.

This post is brought to you by Futurama: Season 6, specifically this episode written by another idiot who thinks stereotypes = humor oh, I meant Patric M. Verrone. 

I've taken to watching Futurama Season 6 - an addiction I developed thanks to Daisy (who no longer blogs).
The show used to be interesting for its take on, among other things, Othering. Take captain Turanga Leela for instance - female, cyclops and one of the mutant sewer people. There's a good message there, right?

Wrong, apparently.
Because its forward-thinking take on othering has less depth than, oh, let's see, the threads on a car tire that's been used for twenty years.

I'm talking of course, of Futurama's "eyePhone" episode.
It started out fairly well - taking jabs at consumerism, internet phenomena and social networking.
See this clip:

Funny, right?

Except, not really.
This episode more than once, singles out desi communities in the roughest of stereotypes.

Watch closer.
You're one of those ethnicities that knows about technology, right?
Um, this is not really the compliment that it sounds like.
I'm that ethnicity Patric Verrone. And I'm A LITERATURE GEEK. I'm by no means a Technology Geek.

What? I'm over-reacting you say?
No, I'm not.
This line of comedy is problematic for two reasons.
First, it perpetuates a stereotype, and not even a funny one at that. Second, it sets the tone for conversations in real life.
(I wish more producers of television shows really understood how true this is.)
Like yesterday.
My very white, very bald, more-or-less friendly neighbor caught me trudging home from school and asked if I or my husband could help him fix his internet router.
When I explained that we'd gotten help with our own from the internet service provider, he said (well-meaningly, of course): "Oh, I'll ask the other Indian guys here then."

This is also problematic because I don't want my identity to be reduced to one aspect of one thing that some people, who are sometimes desi can do, and do well. This is like my associating every white person with George Bush, or *ahem* Michael Jackson.
It is incorrect. And stupid. Not funny, stupid.

II
Now, look at this apparently self-depreciating commentary on the first world taking responsibility for ewaste.

This bit is terribly written. It focuses less on the commentary and more on the general "shock-value" of Third World poverty. If that's not a barely veiled reference to Slumdog-Millionaire*, I don't know what is.

This is a reaction I expect out of my freshman (who, incidentally have called Bharati Mukherjee that weird Indian Chick with a weird name). But coming from a popular television show, ugh! This is juvenile.

(As an aside a.b., this is the other reason that I think Ted Women is a positive influence. People need to see the non-hyped images of women, indeed of people, doing real work in the real (third) world.)

III

And..... my final bugaboo with the show is this little dialog: 

Leela (speaking of a two-faced goat that eats at one end and vomits at the other) : What do you feed him?

Bender: What comes out one end we feed to the other. Also, Indian food.

Such scathing wit! Oh look everyone, it's Noel Coward.

No, no. Don't get me wrong.

There's no reason everyone should like Indian food. 

Indian food can be an invasion on the senses and can be, um, reeky.

But really, this is disappointing. 

For a show that used to have a decent take on othering, this sucks. 

----

Really, Patric Verrone seems to have used this episode as an outlet for some really personal issues. 

Why didn't anyone tell me that's what good comedy was about?

Oh wait, because it isn't.

I've skimmed through a few sites and while several people have mentioned the censorship of the last scene in the episode, nobody seems to talk about these incredibly insulting racial slurs in the episode.
I'm shocked.
And disappointed.
And, oh yeah Fucking Tired of Being Treated As A Generic Stereotype.

*This is a complete post in itself. Among other things, I've been asked if India is really like that. I've taken to saying yes, we all swim in shit and have to leave the country so we can get a bar of soap. 

Day 20: Sunday Cloudy Sunday.

Zilch, nada. Zippity-do-dah! I did absolutely nothing today.

But, I have been thinking about being a woman, and rape and the choice to control whether or not I can have children - see A.B.'s post here and here, and Simbly Bored's here. The discussion is engaging. And I agree with both of them. Anyone saying there's no need for feminism is thinking with the scum 'neath their uncut nails.

Which then brings me to a post of which I've been thinking - a response (of sorts) to A.b.'s post about TED Women from some time ago. She makes a strong case for more women speaking out in the TED (Regular).

I'm not opposed to that line of reasoning. At all.
This whole segregation of women into our own neat little box is all very well, but is also awesomely demeaning. [It is, after all, this very line of reasoning that brought us this gem of a publication last May (cue: sarcastic cough) - yes, an SF anthology of *Greats*. yes, in the in the twenty first century. yes, yes with only One female author. Whoodle!] Separating TED(Regular) from TED Women has the same implications.

That said, however, I've been toying with the idea that in some ways I'm for the idea of TED (Women).
For the same reasons that I'm for the idea that we still need feminists*.
There has to be some way to even the score, to make up for all the "Before we were Giants" and the "you deserved to be raped, because you were doing a man's job" and everything else. And a forum that seeks to showcase the contributions of women just might be one step in the right direction.
(Yes, the same reasoning that spurs reservations and reserved parking spots for the physically disabled.)

This line of reasoning, however, falls apart in the case of Tony Porter's video  because, as a.b. points out, he preaches to the choir. (No, seriously. Why are there only women in his audience?)

But, I've been watching a couple of the other videos and I'm beginning to believe that they're headed in the right direction. As a platform to foreground the spectacular work women do in a large variety of fields, we need TED Women. Because even today, it is natural for even supposedly well-read editors to be gender-blind (which basically means they don't even notice that they don't read enough women). This is not gender-neutrality, it is gender-bias of the most insidious kind.


*This is Feminism 101: But it annoys me no end to have to explain the idea that feminist is not against men.
All you folks, "I'm pro equality, but I'm not a feminist." Really?

Day 14: The Civil War in Historical Fiction

The American Civil War, I mean.
Admittedly, I haven't read that much historical fiction about the war (infact, my historical fic repetoire is somewhat, uh...starving, shall we say?)

But I'm now trying to make sense of fiction about the American Civil war - not only as a battle about states rights, but perhaps more importantly as a contentious moment to which a unified American identity must be reconciled.

That's as far as I've thought this through, for now. But I'm working on it - so drop me a line if you have any bright ideas!

Day 13: No mo' sno'. Homework. And the pain that is "Gone with the wind"

I strongly dislike Gone With The Wind - there, I've said it.
At best, I've read forty pages of the novel before having to throw it down and go do something fun, like give myself a lobotomy. (No. I'm usually fine with historical fiction, thanks for asking. )

I'm very pained (to borrow a phrase from my past) by the Scarlett O'Hara -  arrogance holds no charm for me. I don't believe it ever has. But she's a story for a different day.

Today, we're talking about the other O'Hara, Rhett Butler. And we're talking about him (and the film) in the context of the Civil War in American literature. Now, everyone knows that Rhett Butler is the epitome of roguish charm, women are supposed to love him despite himself etc. etc. Along those lines, a colleague / classmate commented today on how Ashely Wilkes in the film is effeminate and on how the film hints that he is gay.

And although, I agree with the idea that Wilkes is positioned as the non-Rhett-Butler, I find it terribly difficult to read him as a homosexual character.

In terms of gender performativity, Rhett Butler is interestingly positioned as simultaneously hypermasculine and the Julia Kristeva’s Other, demanding expulsion, or in this case defined as “who/what-not-to-be” within the context of the narrative. He is portrayed as opportunistic, rougish, practical (read: un-chivalrous) – everything that a good gentleman would not want to be.

By contrast, within the context of a glorified antebellum South, Ashley seems to emerge as an idealized embodiment of a land-owning Southerner. Portrayed as a less-knavish counterpart to Rhett Butler, Ashley is set up – despite his self-doubt, proclamations of cowardice and almost effeminate mildness of manner – as an ideal, if misguided gentleman. He becomes the honorable, good-boy figure: effeminate, maybe; full of foolish bravado, certainly, but a definition of patriotism in the face of “the enemy”.

And because of this definition of the character as a proper man, I hesitate to read him as gay, even in the face of Rhett Butler’s hypermasculinity. Because once we do, then Ashley ceases to be a counterpoint to Rhett Butler – because sexual orientation is such a huge part of definitions of gender, generally and masculinity, more specifically. Further, since the film seems to work on a framework of nostalgia for the (better ways of the) Old South, reading Ashley as potentially gay, significantly weakens that framework and work against the argument of the text.

More food.

I got here with the intention of saying something else entirely, but since it has escaped me, here's another recipe.

This one is an easy to fix summer starter - thank you, Walmart recipe card.

For a two-person serving, You'll need:
2 Cucumbers
Some feta Cheese
Some Hummus (I used leftovers from a take out meal. The store bought Sabra hummus is perfect! But if you're looking for a recipe, try this one . Elsewhere I've read that Tahini cannot be substituted but can be omitted.)

Slice the Cucumbers into little discs (you know, latitudinally).
Set them out on a plate.
Spread some hummus on them and sprinkle the feta cheese on top.

Notes: The recipe card calls for decorating the slices with a red chili pepper, but I didn't have any on hand, and wonder of all wonders, it worked just fine.

Fun Food. Fun.

The thing that I hate the most about this 90% humidity, 100% heat weather is the sudden lack of vision everytime I get into and out of a temperature controlled environment.

Just sayin'.

Fortunately, for me (and you, by extension), is the wondabulousness (okay, that puktastic portmanteau, is never going to make the cool circles) of summer food.

Over the last couple of weeks of this glorious summer, I've visited the Bentonville Farmer's Market. On Saturday morning, no less. None of the wimpy mid-week market for me, no siree! I wake up early to go to the Saturday market.

(Fine, fine. You got me. I went because a dear friend had dropped in and our other plans for the morning were shot to high hell. )

The market itself is pure delight. I've fallen in love all over again with the historic town square.

Fresh produce, colourful scarves, art, Live Music (sometimes), fresh baked goods, fresh meat, delicate jewelery, belts - yup, we've got a diverse market. There was even a breakfast cart serving crêpes. (Umhmm!)

Anyway, thus it was, that I discovered Zucchini. R and I had found our lunch.

We got home and had to dig around a bit for a non-kofta recipe.

We found this recipe for Zucchini Pancakes and since I rarely ever have everything a recipe calls for, here's our variation.

Before you start cooking, brew a pot of Coffee.

Then, gather:

2 Zucchini

2 eggs (*Don't eat eggs? See notes.)

1/2 cup of wheat flour

1/4 cup of onions

1 and 1/2 Tbsp Olive Oil

1 and 1/2 tbsp Parmesan Cheese (again, see notes)

2 tsp baking powder

(Indian) Red Chilli Powder

Salt (to taste)

Oregano (to taste)

Preheat your oven to 350 F.

Grate the Zucchini into a bowl.

Add the onion.

Add a fourth of the cheese and a little salt. Add the Red Chilli Powder.

Add the eggs, flour and oil, mixing (or lightly beating) the ingredients together.

As you mix, blend in the rest of the cheese.

Grease a baking tray and spoon the batter onto it.

Sprinkle Oregano onto the spooned pancakes.

Bake for about 10-12 minutes.

And while you wait for the Tada! moment, sip the coffee and read these notes on the recipe:

* If you're not going to add the egg, you might choose to add in a fourth of a boiled and mashed-up raw banana. If you don't have that at hand, try a small boiled and mashed potato. And if that's not possible, don't fret. Use a little water and proportion the flour to give it the consistency that you'd like. The recipe works fine without egg.

* Speaking of consistency, you might choose to thicken the batter (cut down or omit the egg, for instance) into little cutlets instead of pancakes. If you do, you may need to bake them longer.

Don't forget to check at the 10 minute mark, anyway.

* For variations on a theme, use spring onions instead of yellow or white onions. Use shallots. Change the cheese and use mozzarella instead of Parmesan, or if the fancy so strikes you, use both. Throw in grated carrots. Add some peas to the mix, while you're at it.

Phew! Finally I assure you that writing this post takes much longer than just making the yummies.

P.S. Just before posting, I found this link that looks awesomely similar to our variation.

Go on, take a look then.

And until the next post, take care.

I pirouette between anger, frustration and an eerie calm every time this happens.

"This" being that coldness and rudeness that borders on racism.

I'm brown.

I teach. I learn. I live.

I earn. I pay for my coffee.

I also wear horse blinders and brush off these borderline cases of racist behaviour from the white man, because every good Indian - heck, every good foreigner, knows that she does not need the extra baggage.

And every sensible foreigner knows that not all white people are like that.

In a recent discussion, a friend and I concluded that borderline racial slurs and sexual advances are probably the hardest things to fight off in this day and age, because they are so hard to prove. How, for instance, could one prove a "bad vibe" from the guy I bought my coffee from this morning, without being accused of paranoia or over-sensitivity? How can one prove that the "accidental" brush of that stranger on the bus was anything but?

Even as I write this, I can hear my mother say, poni le - anni alaga seriousga teesukuntay pani jaragadu. And so I let it go. Because, as mom says, if one starts to seriously dwell on these things, we're not going to get any work done.

And every brown-skinned girl in a white bread world wants to get their work done and get out of it, right?

In my classes, twice this week, I've had students ask "Why?"

I love the freedom of this system - the opportunity to question even your teacher's judgement. It is certainly better than gagging as a teacher of English Literature misquotes Shakespeare (Okay, that was probably a little harsh, but, in my defence, I was 19 and didn't know any better.)

But that's a story for another day.

This one is about the specific question, "Why?"

What's that you said? Isn't that the point of the damn thing, an education? To help one think, question, probe?

Sure it is.

But Twice this week, I've been asked: "Why do I have to read this?"

And twice this week I've said - because a University education is supposed to broaden your mind. It is supposed to help you be analytical. This class is supposed to help you write better. And to write better, don't you have to think better?

I'm glad that my students are thinking about the connections.

And I'm disappointed that the connections are not more obvious.

Fayetteville as in Fate

Since I've moved here, I've grown increasingly interested in how an immigrant, or people of immigrant descent, specifically anyone of non-Caucasian descent define their identity in America.

Some of these definitions make me cringe, some make me cock my head to one side and think, some are closer to my heart than others, but all of them, are interesting. And of course, this is not the most eloquent post I've ever written. But ignore me... go on and read / listen to Dr. Mohja Kahf's "Fayetteville as in Fate"

(*edit: Thank you, NH for introducing me to the poem. )

Many years later...

Aight. So I haven't written in a while. Of course I have several excuses. And all of them are super-valid.

For those of you who have been wondering, I've grown older, weirder and more in the past few months. I'm no longer funny. I no longer maintain the Bentonville blog. I'm still full of self-doubt.
I have tons of work to do, papers to submit, papers to evaluate and I'm at that point where I'm about ready for the semester to end.

And smack in the middle of all of that I still. want. to. do. everything else.
More, in a bit then.

My New Project

the sibling pointed out to me today that this is turning into an Arkansas Updates Blog - :) ... it sure is... so here's what I'm now working on: a blog about life in Bentonhalli:
http://bentonvillear.wordpress.com/

The blog is still a work in progress and there's tons more to come but bookmark it y'all and keep a look out for the grand-opening

Such a Busy Sunday

A friend of mine from the theater group introduced me to Tom Redwine's podcast:
http://www.tomredwine.net/

I'm running out now, but I've heard the latest podcast and I love it.
Do check it out.

This conversation is So! Tedious!

Tonight's show was a riot. A smaller audience than the last couple of shows - but a great deal of laughter. More significantly for me though, I was most at-ease today. Ah well.

More soon.
Until then, stay safe y'all.

Someone please send me my work permit already.

Theater season is drawing to a close - for me, I mean. For the rest of the town, a new season starts and there's a whole bunch of exciting plays and auditions to look forward to.
[Note: If you are in the Bentonville / Rogers, AR area - I fully recommend RLT : Go watch some of the plays - they're one of the "fun" things you can do in this little town. ]

So now, I'm dreading the moment where this play thing ends and I have to get back to my real (read home-body) life. Just the thought of it is frustrating.
Which is why, again, I hope to get my work permit soon - then I can channel all irritation and anxiety towards griping about a job hunt. Ha ha.

Ideally, both a job and an admission with aid at the university.
But one at a time will work too.

I live, I learn - mostly I learn that life is weirder than we think, has more wrinkles than amamma's skin today and hides little secrets very well.
And that sometimes, unexpectedly, my questions are answered.
Also that answers can provoke a mix of discomfort and curiosity.
And that sometimes, some questions are better left unanswered.

On an entirely different note:
Come watch Rumors by Neil Simon at the Rogers Little Theater - playing for three weekends from April 17th
More details at: http://www.rogerslittletheater.org

Its a hilarious play, with a damn neat cast - try not to miss it, will ya?

Aight, so I have a quick (ecstatic) note before I disappear for a while again - I'm playing a (small) part in Rumors by Neil Simon, directed by Charlie Riedmueller at the Rogers Little Theater.

If you are in town don't miss us