burning like matchsticks in the face of the darkness|
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Friday, September 3rd, 2004
Not having opted for CD-burning capabilities when i got my computer has been my biggest regret re: it, so i finally broke down and ordered one today with the help of my brother. Am v. excited.
Went through all the boxes of stuff i have in my room this morning. [Edit: that’s all the boxes i brought back from school, not all the boxes that have been sitting in my room since i went away to college.] I had mostly already sorted out what was staying and what was coming back with me, but this was the final sort. 5 copy paper boxes staying here, 5 coming back to school with me. Not bad. Current Mood: accomplished
|reading Angela Carter
Read the Angela Carter essay collection Shaking a Leg
(left out the Home and Away section, largely due to time constraints). Am so much less inclined to marry her
now. Le sigh.
I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s such a leftie, though “if the concept of an ‘intellectual right’ be not a contradiction in terms” (“Hal Ashby: Being There
”; New Society, 1980) is rather too much. And i can’t fault her for writing about nuclear weapons in the early 80s and being so wrong about how the next 20 years would turn out. (And yes of course, people whose politics are not my own might well argue she wasn’t as off as i’m reading her as.)
Which is being wholly unfair to Shorter, whose ill temper I find wholly sympathetic. ‘In recent times, we have heard so much about “wise women” of yore and their special kind of knowledge that represented centuries of practical experience etcetera. In fact, traditional lore existed for normal deliveries and was useless when anything went wrong.’
Well, yes, I know that. My mother told me that. My mother who died early from a heart condition aggravated by a protracted labour, a labour which, even a few years later, would have been speedily cut short by he kind of medical intervention some of Shorter’s feminist sources despise. But his ongoing squabble with those silly sisters who, for ideological reasons, wish to deny the intractable nature of the past gets in the way.
He is tilting at windmills, at a particular brand of college-bred stupidity that flourishes on the north American continent, which regards the past as a Technicolor version of the present and twentieth-century medicine in its entirety as a system for producing ill-health.
-“Edward Shorter: A History of Women’s Bodies” (New Society , 1983)
Oh, Angela, how i wish you had been right about that. And though i am very much a vegetarian who wants to be vegan, i read The New Vegetarians
, 1976) and i too am troubled by the whole “commune with nature” idea.
Some of her recipes would certainly ease the plight of the long-term unemployed in advanced, industrialised countries because, even here, the ingredients cost so little. Then again, Honey from a Weed is a very expensive book. Such are the ironies of romantic austerity.
-“Patience Gray: Honey from a Weed (London Review of Books, 1987)
She has some beautiful snark about the glorification of poverty by people who are choosing
poverty. Though i’m rather indifferent to a lot of the essays, sometimes i still quite like her. And sometimes i very much don’t.
Allie, i thought of you:
Bad Taste is the key to the emerging seventies’ style. I think. In a changing world, amidst a bewildering welter of variables. at least you know where you are when you can evoke offence. It’s been a funny old decade, the seventies, and, of course, it’s not over yet. But, as its seventh segment shambles towards Christmas like some not altogether rough – indeed, in parts, vinyl sleek – yet certainly beastly beast, the mood of it all begins, with hindsight, to shape up.
-“Year of the Punk” (New Society, 1977)
|"It was a last minute invitation..."
Said my farewells at the library this afternoon. Got lots of hugs.
Aw, Ginny e-mailed my mom:
I intended to mention that I was impressed with Elizabeth's letter to the editor in yesterday's Bulletin, but by the time I quit it slipped my mind. I still remember the first one she wrote on the same subject quite some time ago.
I was looking for this week’s copy at the library today, but it seems to have vanished. Le sigh.
The dry-cleaning bill was not as obscene as i had thought it might be. This is of the good.Michael Moore is a Big Fat Stupid White Man
is not the best book i have ever read, but i recommend “Searching for Truth in Bowling for Columbine
” (one of the chapters therein). I managed to learn even more things i didn’t know about that "documentary," and there were interesting tidbits in some of the other sections, including:
Moore was born and raised in Davison, Michigan, and attended Davison High School. While Davison is near Flint, proximity doesn’t translate to similarity between the two towns. Davison is the wealthy, white “bedroom town” of the area, largely inhabited by management, not labor. Davison’s median household income is one and a half times that of Flint’s, and its median income is one and a half times that of Flint’s. Davison’s 2000 unemployment rate was a minuscule 4.6 percent, a third that of Flint’s, and its poverty rate was half the national average. Davison is also lily-white to a staggering degree: African-Americans make up only one-half of one percent of its population.
Sitting at the family computer [located in the center of the house] tonight burning CDs i had that desperate feeling i often get of “OMG i can’t wait to be back in a room with a door on a computer with all my stuff on it always connected to the Internet surrounded by all my stuff” (i am also expecting to be bored senseless tomorrow since i’ve read all my library books). I started packing my clothes and then realized there was nowhere really to put the bags of clothes and it barely takes any time to put them all in bags (which is what “packing clothes” is) so that’s gonna wait until Saturday night.
Leaving around 10am Sunday morning. Will be in my Smith room and accessible by about 2pm.