So Long, Bookcase My Friend

I sold one of my bookcases today. I bought it years ago in Sacramento and it has been in four apartments and two cities. I also got a hit on my digital camera. Craigslist is great.

The buyer showed up with her boyfriend and as she looked at it in my bedroom, she seemed to be having second thoughts about whether she wanted it. I told her she did and dropped the price by $10 to make up for the two missing pegs. I would make a terrible salesperson. The three of us had a little bit of a conversation, and I found out she’s in law school, and that her boyfriend has relatives who live in Sydney.

To help seal the deal I offered her some books that were sitting in boxes in the living room. She didn’t want them at first, until her boyfriend noticed a copy of Nigger by Dick Gregory. Yeah, that’s what I thought. How about you look through the rest of them? And I watched as The Slave Trade, Assata, Juneteenth, Drylongso, Go Tell It On The Mountain, and Tar Baby flew out of the boxes one after the other. (But they left the hard-cover Norton Anthology of the complete works of Shakespeare! Who does that?)

Brooklyn Bound For Good

I walked my ass all over Brooklyn yesterday with Cornelia but we are now the proud renters of the top floor of a house on the southwest side of Prospect Park. We are just a four-minute walk from the park, and I can spit at the F train station. It’s pretty much expensive, but I’m just glad I was able to save some money.

The bad news is that I may have to stay in New York all summer in order to work. I was looking forward to a 30th birthday party, too, but sometimes ya just gotta do what ya gotta do. Anyway, we have a lot of windows; a full kitchen in which to microwave my mac and cheese; there is a sliding-glass door that leads to basically the roof of the owners’ livingroom. So we have a place to bake this summer. I’m taking the big room because Cornelia is basically a poor foreigner and so I’m paying $100 more. But it’s still about $150 cheaper than this pit I’m in now.

Yes, I now just despise it here and can’t wait for three weeks when I move out. What else? The walls are painted different colors. There’s a built-in shelf for me television, which is nice. All in all, we’re both really excited and we’re gonna make it work. It actually feels like a home, so this’ll be fun. And the best thing is I’ll have a huge-ass room in NYC. I’ll take pictures.

It’s nice because the guy had an appointment to show the place today and still negotiated with us. We — actually Cornelia — talked him into having us pay the second security deposit in September. We each basically have to pay one full month’s rent security so now we have to just pay half. It helps. So he likes us.

And he likes that we devote our time to studying and he’s not doing a credit check. So he’s actually crazy but we’ll prove in no time to be financially trustworthy young women. We looked at another place yesterday but the woman was a bit strange. Cornelia believes she was a drug addict at one point in her life. I have no basis on which to judge such things so I couldn’t concur. And the fact that it was across the street from the projects wasn’t cool, either. The neighborhood is Crown Heights. Speaking of neighborhoods, my new one is called Windsor Terrace. Fancy schmancy.

I haven’t been much into talking about school this semester. I’m not sure why. It could be that I really wasn’t too into my classes. I’m more into the fact that I decided what I have a passion for academically, which is a scary thought. I find myself engaged in conversations on a daily basis about obliterating identity categories and the hierarchy inherent in their existence. For my gender class, I’m writing a paper on the historical development of transgenderism. I’m at the end of page four right now. I’m establishing the gender binary and from there will take parts of my conference paper to set up the move away generally from a hierarchical model of gender existence. At this point, I will bring in those individuals — transgendered — who challenge the binary by failing to fall into the strict categories of “masculine” and “feminine.”

This will give me a chance to spend some more time on the gender issue, which is something I didn’t get to do in my conference paper. Speaking of which, that paper is what I’m turning in for my culture class. Of course I’ll expand on it; I’ll probably be able to use some of my research for my gender paper in it. Also, I’ll spend more time establishing what I just mentioned: the hierarchies inherent in identity categories.  Let’s see, what else?

My feminist political theory paper will be the hardest because I’ve decided, with the encouragement of the professor, to do a close reading of Butler’s Gender Trouble. She’s up there with Hegel in terms of difficulty, although I’m sure some will scoff at the comparison. She’s the butt of many criticisms for her “bad” writing, as she is notorious for her unnecessarily complex sentences and useless repetitions of the same idea. My hero. I saw Erin on Friday. Sac dwellers will be happy to know that she will be brandishing an apron once again and working full time at Cafe Bernardo’s (at least that’s what she said Friday) and living somewhere in midtown. So I encourage you to seek her out and have a fun summer.

This will most likely be her last summer in the area because she’s about to break out. I’m going to her play next Friday night. It’s opening night. And best of all, I get to go to the cast party. Once again, I will be around young actors and alcohol. I will try to be better at updating. Something strange is going on with Blogger but hopefully it will calm down soon. It’s getting crunch time with school. We have I think four weeks left. But soon, I will have completed one year of grad school. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I miss a regular paycheck. But I think this may have been a good move for me. Will I go on immediately to a doctorate — if at all. I sure as hell hope not. But there’s something in me that’s curious about the programs out there. I don’t know. I’ve got some time.

The Edge

I read a Judith Butler essay tonight called Contingent Foundations: Feminism and the Question of ‘Postmodernism’. And I understood it! Unfortunately, I can’t go into what she said, because I feel as though the foundation upon which my understanding rests will falter under the pressure and cause everything to topple.

So I’m just going to let it be. It’s for my political theory class on Tuesday so I’ll find out soon enough if I really did get it. In case you don’t know anything about Judith Butler, just take my word for it that she is virtually impossible to understand unless you’re one of these academics I encounter every once in a while who claim to have a deep understanding of her language. And who just puke into one another’s mouths until the theories they’re stroking are rendered completely useless because any semblance of authenticity has been removed as a result of too much regurgitaion.

Ma bell

Sarah and I went to the bell hooks book signing tonight in Chelsea. She had the idea that we should get there early, and we thought we did. Technically we hadn’t. The chairs were full and there were people standing in the back already. These people failed to realize that there were four seats right smack dab in the front. So I got to sit front and center. It was enjoyable. I took with me a copy of Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics, because it’s my favorite book of hers. And upon telling her this, I discovered that it is also her favorite. That was nice of her to say.

Before the book signing, Sarah and I got some pizza and then hit this place called the Tomato Bar and Restaurant. She likened it to an Eastern European bar/restaurant in the 1970s. I took her word for it, as I’ve never been to Eastern Europe, let alone in the 70s. It was a nice place. The ambiance was pleasant. Shortly after we arrived there, she whipped out my paper and went through it. She made only a few marks on it (a “yes” or two), which she said is good. The exceptional marks came in my “blacks examining whiteness” section, so that was good to see. I have a little organization issue she said “but overall, it was a very good paper.” That’s a relief. It’s kind of hard to sit there and go through that process, but I needed it. It’s the kind of boost that will help as I start the semester on Monday.  Speaking of the semester, my classes are all finalized. I think.

Here are the classes (be happy that “Modernity and Its Discontents” is not among them…I am):  Spanish I Texts and Interpretations (Sociological methods course) The Sociology of the Fundamentals of Culture Gender, Politics, and History (Because I didn’t get enough history last semester).  I’m excited about them all. I heard that Orville Lee (Texts and Interpretations prof.) is heavy into theory so be prepared. I know I’m not. Judith Butler gave me problems over the break so this should be interesting. Actually, I could have done it; I think I was just burnt. I needed a break. The culture class seems interesting. It’s a requirement for sociology. However, I’m starting to consider remaining in Liberal Studies. I really want the experience of writing a thesis. Masochism. I’m giving myself until the end of the semester to decide. I picked up the syllabus for the gender class. I’m going to learn a lot.

I got the latest issue of Time Out New York tonight and found out that August Wilson will be discussing the revival of Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, which is on Broadway right now and stars Whoopi Goldberg and Charles Dutton (remember the show Roc?). And it costs $50. I’m going to see about getting a student rush price. It’s also in previews right now, so I may have a chance. Anyway, Wilson is going to discuss the revival and sign stuff. I’m bringing my copy of Fences just in case you wanted to know. The weather.

It’s currently -3 (wind chill). I discovered a problem when you’re walking in these temperatures and it’s windy like it was tonight. First of all, why I’m out at 10 p.m. in these temps is beyond me. I was sitting in Starbucks with my skull cap on, gloves and my scarf. My feet were cold and my fingers were cold (the gloves cost $3). It’s time to go buy some winter wear. I’m going to fork out the dough for sweet mittens, a cool hat with ear flaps, and something to cover the bottom half of my face because when I got home, I discovered that there was blood on my lips. Not cool at all. My lips are important to me. Enough is enough. And I’m going to layer. It just takes so long. So for the problem. It has to do with breathing. Walking south down Broadway from the train, I was met with gusts upwards of 20 mph. Cold gusts, of course. Now, when my mouth is open, the wind hits the back of my throat, which inhibits the free flow of air. The resultant loss of breath is annoying and so I close my mouth to avoid this. This doesn’t help, really, because what then happens is the air is forced through my nose. The frozen nose hairs in turn aid in the burning sensation that results from the flow of air up into my head. To relieve this pain, I open my mouth, thus beginning the cycle all over again. Once I’m dressed for it, I’ll be fine. At least I’m not wearing shorts.

A Welcome Emerson

“To be great is to be misunderstood.” I think I have finally read something in my Modernity class that I can relate to. This quote is by Ralph Waldo Emerson and it’s from his essay called Self-Reliance. Let me give you another one. And bear with me because it’s a bit longer but it’s really fitting for me right now and, well, I plan on taking it to heart:

“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.”

Let’s pause and consider the meaning of this quote. Reading stuff like this is inspiring. Of course, I will have to look for discrepancies in his arguments, and I will find them, but for the most part, I truly believe Emerson was dead on. There’s a lot of bullshit in this world and people espouse a lot of bullshit. And yet, we wade through it, sometimes without proper footwear. I’m done. The other reading for next Tuesday is Emerson’s The Over-Soul and Circles.

We also have to read Nietzsche’s Schopenhauer as Educator. Next week’s topic is “Exploring the Modern Self.” It should be an interesting discussion. I read a few pages of Nietzsche and it’s very similar to Emerson. Conformity is a bad thing I guess. By doing so, we surrender the potential of our selves and follow “pseudo-men.” I’m still trying to get through the Venezuelan slave book. I just don’t like reading history. I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of it. I really am. But the names and dates. I just get lost.

Now, my bedtime reading is A History of the Modern World. It’s wonderful. I suggest purchasing it if you have the similarly limited knowledge of history that I have. But don’t buy the new edition unless you’ve got the $60 to spend. Half.com is where you’ll want to go. There are two editions: To 1815 and Since 1815. I wonder what happened in 1815. I’m only at the French Revolution. I’ve also begun my chapters on race and ethnicity. This is a fascinating topic.

The most significant thing I’ve learned is how screwed up I am because of society. Who knew it had so much power in determining race and ethnicity? I didn’t. And I’m not just talking about “you’re black” “you’re white” “you’re Latino,” etc. I’m talking about people coming up to me and with absolute certainty in their voice telling me that I could be Latina. Oh could I now? Well thanks for the two cents. It’s gonna make me sleep a lot easier.

The people swoop in, they regurgitate trite drivel, and then they leave. “What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the other people think.” I’m sorry. I slipped back into Transcendentalism. I realize that I could potentially be a sociologist’s wet dream. This is why I’m considering (really only considering at this point) to direct my studies sociologically. New School University in all its leftist liberalism offers a doctorate in it and I can’t imagine going back to work in a year and a half. It’s a long way off still and I still need to do some more thinking about it, but there is so much that I am interested in that can be examined more closely in the sociological setting.

So we’ll see. An interesting thing happened tonight. I went to a place called Fuelray with some friends to celebrate the end of Hegel hell. (The Web site is very minimalist right now, which you just found out if you clicked on the link I provided. It’s not my fault.) I was with Marcella, Lorena, Renata, Brenda, and Helen. Lorena, Renata, and Helen are in my Modernity discussion group and the other two are in the class. Countries of origin are of significant note here: Marcella (Mexico); Lorena (Puerto Rico); Renata (Colombia); Brenda (Venezuela — maybe she can help clear up some of that history I need to know for Tuesday); and Helen (Australia). I love it that I am a national minority.

Ok, so there was this red-headed guy sitting at a table and I noticed him looking over at us. Staring. Now I have nothing against red-heads (I love you, John) but this guy was an absolute freak and I’m not quite sure what the color of his hair had to do with it. It happened something like this: He came over to us saying he had an ashtray to return. Whatever, freak.

Marcella got up to go to the bathroom and he came and sat down with us. He said he heard what we were talking about (race and stuff. What else?) And he handed us tickets to a talk called “Undiagnosing Gender” next week at NYU (grrrrr). Judith Butler is the main draw. Fine. That was nice of him. We’re all going. So then, Renata got up to go the bathroom. (I think there might be a lesson in this.) When she came back, she spoke to Lorena and Marcella in Spanish as she is wont to do. Responding to the blank look on my face, she then told me that our red-headed freakboy cornered her and said he wanted Brenda. I was thinking of putting my arm around her to thwart his advances but to no avail. He’d been staring at her all evening and if we were together, she wouldn’t be on the other end of the couch.

So by this time, Helen has left to escape the smoke, which was everywhere. A vacancy is now available on the couch. He packed up his stuff and came over and sat down. And stared at her. He was totally harmless and it was mostly amusing but give me a break. We were talking about toasted pancakes, which I eat in rotation every morning with toasted waffles and French toast. And he started talking about things that start out uninteresting will never gain interest. We were talking about pancakes!

I watched him from time to time and he’d unzip and zip his sweatshirt (all the while staring at Brenda) and then put his hands on his fluffy hair like he was now sexy boy. Needless to say, we soon left and freakboy had to go home sans Brenda. I think I have set a record with the length of this entry. Apparently, sleep is no object. I still have a little Web searching to do tonight. I think I’m going to write my slavery paper (20-30 pages) on literacy during slavery in the 19th century: the threat to the masters and the hope for the slaves.

I guess I’ll have to wait and see what world-renowned slavery guy has to say about it. I’m meeting next week with Sarah my Race teacher on my white privilege topic. My goal is to have an outline and bibliography ready for her to (dis)approve so I can get going on it. I’m a little scared to start but the fact that I’ve got exactly eight weeks left leaves me no choice. Jump right in. I’m finished now. Time to sleep.