Uncategorized
now browsing by category
Breathing
Just a quick note to say I am still alive. The dissertation is taking up all my time. ALL MY TIME. The good part is that hopefully I’ll be done with it this year. The bad part is I have had no time to write about the things that really interest me.
Faking it until you can’t
You might not believe it, or maybe I’m much easier to read than I think, but I’m an introvert.
Really. It’s true. I’ll perform till the cows come home, but at the end of it all I need somewhere quiet. I need to sit.
At work, I haven’t been able to sit for about a week and a half. You can probably imagine how crazy that made me. Until today. Today I got to spend a whole 6 hours in my office, checking things off my list, and getting my life in order.
Life is seriously 50,0000 times more manageable.
Oh, and the DH got a job! Haven’t said anything because it wasn’t all smooth sailing, and I didn’t want to jinx it. Now that he’s worked two full shifts, I feel a little more confident.
Considering the red wine involved in this evening. I should probably leave it at this short update.
Other Anniversaries
For some unknown reason the DH and I were sitting on the couch doing other things while we watched football. Football. To say we never watch football is probably an understatement. The DH only watches when his home team plays, and hardly ever even then because his home team is terrible. They must have been playing though, because there was definitely football on the television.
The DH could have been drawing, or pouring over his book of 501 German verbs. If I remember correctly he was obsessed with German at that moment; and, all the man needs to learn a language is a 501 verbs book and a dictionary. I distinctly remember that I was working on another job letter. I’d just put the final touches on everything, and hit “send” for my online application. At least I assume I hit send, because I did eventually get a rejection letter from that school.
The memory isn’t all that clear because it was about then that my phone rang. When I saw that it was Dr. Phoenix I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I remembered sitting at the high butcher block table in her kitchen while Dr. Phoenix explained to me why she hated the phone. “Calling someone just seems rude. You never know what their doing, and you might be interrupting them. I prefer email because then they can respond to you on their own time.” An unexpected call from Dr. Phoenix on a Sunday. It was never going to be ‘good news.’
The shock and confusion of hearing someone else respond to my tentative “Hello?” must have registered on my face because the DH immediately muted the television. Nimue told me in a shaky voice, “Dr. Phoenix and Fender are okay.”
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“It’s the Spawn. He’s dead.”
To this day I don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. I remember asking if I needed to come over, and what I could do. As if there was something anyone could do.
Others who were closer to Dr. Phoenix were already at her house, and others who knew Spawn better would be grieving more, would need support as well. For that night, and days to come, I did the only thing I could do – I cried.
Spawn and I rarely came into contact. In fact, it seemed impossible to me that the rosy cheeked, precocious child I met when I began my graduate work was the young man who had to bend over to hug me the last time I saw him. He had the most amazing smile. As little as I knew him, he was always kind and generous to me.
Nothing in my life, not even learning to walk again, has been as hard as seeing Dr. Phoenix’s pain – as wanting desperately to bring her peace, and knowing no one can.
All I can do is remember. Remember the child who made me laugh. The family that made me want my own. The first house I encountered that felt so much like a home that being there made it easier to breathe.
There is a a picture. Dr. Phoenix and Spawn, very young – maybe 3, in the last of the sun on a windy beach, with a dark gray sky in the background. They are laughing, smiling, and he is reaching toward someone out of the shot. It is the most perfect moment of joy. It is what I choose to remember.
Links
I wanted to post today, but once I got here it seemed like every idea dried up. Here are a couple of posts I’ve read lately that have stuck with me.
Here’s a post by Hugo Schwyzer everyone should read.
- Someday I’ll have a response, but I haven’t untangled it all yet.
Bitch Flicks is doing their top 10 of 2011, so there are lots of great posts up, but here is one I think is particularly important.
- The world in which my niece will grow up is so hard.
Disappointment – Rizzoli & Isles
As an incentive to keep myself from giving up on my dissertation today I promised myself that if I wrote 1000 dissertation words, I’d reward myself by writing a review of TNT’s Rizzoli & Isles. All the books say never to reward yourself by taking a day off writing, they don’t say anything about rewarding yourself by more writing. Yes, it does sound a little sick when I say it out loud.
As a fan of Tess Gerritsen’s books, when I learned TNT was giving Gerritsen’s central characters a show of their own, I was excited, and set my dvr accordingly. Then, I set about waiting to see who had been cast in the titular roles. Don’t ask, it never really occurs to me that I could, you know, use the internet to find out stuff like that in advance. It was obvious from the first commercials I saw that whatever TNT’s Rizzoli & Isles was going to be, it wasn’t going to be too much like the books. For about 7 books I’d imagined Rizzoli, as she is described, with a mop of unruly dark curls, and as good looking, but in a unconventional way; Dr. Isles was, as she is often described, the queen of the dead, a little goth, with red lipstick and straight black hair cut in a bob with straight bangs – which is, as it turns out, how Ms. Gerritsen looks (well, not exactly goth, but you get the idea). While there was never any doubt in my mind these women would be beautiful in their own ways, um … Angie Harmon and Sasha Anderson were not exactly the faces that lept into my mind as I read these books.
To paraphrase Mr. Gump, casting is as casting does. It was silly to have any hopes that these women might be cast differently. This is a review of the show not the books, so this is the last comparison I will make between the two. One of the most compelling aspects of these characters as written are their insecurities, and Jane Rizzoli’s insecurities are tied to her place in a male profession, and what she sees as her inability to meet feminine standards of beauty; it is impossible to make those insecurities play when the woman playing Rizzoli is Angie Harmon.
Like I said, although I’d initially hoped for something a little different, this review isn’t about comparing the television show to the books. The characters, stories, and tone of each is distinct enough that a real comparison is impossible. The books are detective fiction, pure and simple. The television show walks the genre lines between serious police procedural and comedy. It is almost as if the producers really wanted an hour long comedy, and knew stretching a sit com that long would grow tedious, so they decided to incorporate a police procedural to bump up the story. I’ve never seen an episode, so I could be wrong, but Rizzoli & Isles makes me think it is like a female Nash Bridges.
It might surprise you, but the light nature of the show is not really what bothers me. A lot of police procedurals err in the opposite way, taking themselves too seriously. What bothers me about Rizzoli & Isles is that the light tone is achieved at the expense of the title characters. At every turn the show undermines the power of two strong women working together, and becoming friends by making every second conversation between the two about getting, or having, a relationship, every third conversation about the case – as if their jobs are an afterthought, and the remaining conversations about clothes and shoes. There has to be some sort of heterosexual romance for at least one of the women in nearly every episode because the writers are working overtime to ensure that it is clear Rizzoli & Isles are not lesbians. (Well, except for those episodes where they pretend to be lesbians – you know, for laughs.) As a viewer it is impossible to take either Rizzoli or Isles seriously because at every turn we are reminded that Rizzoli can’t get a man because she is not feminine enough, and that despite looking like a fashion plate Isles can’t function socially because she is just too smart.
I keep watching, hoping, for that moment when instead of going for the obvious – undermining women stereotype or joke, the writers will surprise me.
Missed Opportunities
Nearly everyone I know is going to a conference this week. I’m pouting because I don’t get to go with them.
The conference only happens every two years, and this year it is at my undergraduate alma mater. I’ve known for a while that I wouldn’t be able to go, because it is a small, but crazy expensive conference. Today, however, the conference organizer emailed me to find out if I could step in to chair my panel.
I’ve never chaired a panel, and I would have loved the opportunity. Now, there is one more thing I’m missing out on. Today, I felt a little like the “Nobody likes us” guys from Kids in the Hall.







D5 Creation