i planned to spend tuesday morning with a friend at one of our favorite coffeeshops.
when i arrive i notice that i have missed a call and have a new voicemail message.
it is from the same area code as the university in california where i interviewed a couple of weeks ago.
i listen to the message. it is from the department chair. he asks me to call him back at home.
my mind is racing. why is he calling me from home?
i thought this: the chair was very kind to me during my interview. he is probably calling me, privately, to explain to me, gently, why they haven't chosen me for the position.
but then i think aloud, they can't reject me until the other woman signs her contract. and she couldn't have signed so quickly... or could she?
my friend tells me, "just call him back!"
so i do. he makes polite small talk with me. "how are you? how have you been doing?"
fine fine. i tell him that i have just come back from my sister's wedding.
"oh so you were just in california!"
"yes."
awkward pause.
"well, i'm sorry that it's taken me this long to get back to you," he says. "but i wanted to ask you if you're still interested in the position?'
"yes."
"ok. well, the faculty was very impressed by you."
"ok." (i didn't really know what to say to that. thank you?)
"so i'm going to go ahead and talk to the dean, and i'll call you back in a day or two."
"ok..."
"so i'll call you back in a couple of days to see what kind of offer we can make you."
"are you making me an offer?" i ask, tentatively.
"i have to talk to the dean," he says, quickly. "unofficially yes. but i'll call you back. in a couple of days. bye."
"bye."
a little stunned, i want to be happy, because i think that i've just been offered the job. but not really.
nevertheless, i sprint across the parking lot (i'd been talking on the phone outside) and into the coffeeshop and give my friend an enormous hug.
"i think i got the job!!!!" i say. "kind of."
i recount the conversation to her, and we decide that it would be best not to say anything to anyone until i have been given "official" news. i don't want to raise my family's hopes and then have them be disappointed.
so i wait. one day. two days. on the third day, the chair calls again. we have a remarkably similar conversation.
hello how are you? how have you been? are you still interested in the position?
then, after an eternity of talking around the subject, i ask, "just to clarify. have you chosen ME for the position?"
"yes!" he says. "we would like YOU to fill this position."
forgive the pop culture comparison, but have you all seen the movie legally blonde? during the first part of the movie, everyone ridicules reese for being blonde, not smart enough to be at harvard, etc. finally, she decides to apply herself, to prove everyone wrong. and there are these coveted legal internships. the professor is only going to choose four people. the students gather around the list of names that have been posted. the first three choices were expected.
then one of the students says, "that only leaves one for--"
and reese interjects, wide-eyed, surprised, and wildly happy, "ME!!!!"
it's an amazing moment in the film. her reaction, incredibly raw.
but that is exactly how i felt on friday when he told me they had selected me.
ME!!!
y'all. i'm going back to cali!!!
@>-->>---
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Thursday, March 02, 2006
un favor
i got this idea from cindylu.
i'm curious to know how my blog readers would describe me. even if you are not a regular commenter, please consider contributing to my johari window. it only takes a second!
thank you!
@>-->>---
i'm curious to know how my blog readers would describe me. even if you are not a regular commenter, please consider contributing to my johari window. it only takes a second!
thank you!
@>-->>---
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
lenten role modeling
it snuck up on me again this year.
but today is ash wednesday.
i let my students out of class five minutes early and cancelled my office hours so that i could make mass at noon.
one of my students approached me as i was erasing the blackboard and asked if i was going to the university catholic center. i tell her, yes, and she says, "i'll go with you."
we walk across campus together, me in my black pumps, she in her sneakers. it doesn't occur to me to be uncomfortable while we are walking. not even when we enter the sanctuary and bless ourselves with holy water. it's when we take our seats and kneel to pray that i begin to feel awkward.
this is not a separation of church and state issue for me. it's just that my practices of faith are generally very private.
i go to church every sunday by myself; my family is all in california. i've become accustomed to praying with no one watching. singing amidst people who don't really know who i am. and i've come to appreciate my religious privacy. it helps me to focus on the Mass, on my prayers.
but this afternoon, i felt extremely self-conscious praying and singing alongside my student.
i have to think, though, that this is the reason it's important for me to be a university professor. i want my students to see me teaching their university classes and to think that we are similar. we are mexican american. we are women. we are catholic. and we are professors.
so i swallowed my discomfort and participated in the Ash Wednesday celebration alongside my student.
and afterward i accepted her invitation to accompany her for a lenten lunch. ;)
@>-->>---
but today is ash wednesday.
i let my students out of class five minutes early and cancelled my office hours so that i could make mass at noon.
one of my students approached me as i was erasing the blackboard and asked if i was going to the university catholic center. i tell her, yes, and she says, "i'll go with you."
we walk across campus together, me in my black pumps, she in her sneakers. it doesn't occur to me to be uncomfortable while we are walking. not even when we enter the sanctuary and bless ourselves with holy water. it's when we take our seats and kneel to pray that i begin to feel awkward.
this is not a separation of church and state issue for me. it's just that my practices of faith are generally very private.
i go to church every sunday by myself; my family is all in california. i've become accustomed to praying with no one watching. singing amidst people who don't really know who i am. and i've come to appreciate my religious privacy. it helps me to focus on the Mass, on my prayers.
but this afternoon, i felt extremely self-conscious praying and singing alongside my student.
i have to think, though, that this is the reason it's important for me to be a university professor. i want my students to see me teaching their university classes and to think that we are similar. we are mexican american. we are women. we are catholic. and we are professors.
so i swallowed my discomfort and participated in the Ash Wednesday celebration alongside my student.
and afterward i accepted her invitation to accompany her for a lenten lunch. ;)
@>-->>---
Monday, February 27, 2006
a comedy of errors
my sister got married saturday. and not without a little bit of drama.
i woke up that morning feeling sentimental. my sister was asleep on the bed next to me, and i thought, this is the last time that i'm going to share this room with her. my reverie was quickly broken when she sat up on the bed, wide awake and began pacing the house. i sleepily followed her.
within fifteen minutes she was on the phone with the florist and having me help her haul boxes of wedding favors into her car. and then, once at the country club, up the stairs, into the reception area.
she bullies the reception site manager into re-arranging the tables, turns to me, and tells me to sketch the table layout.
my drawing skills are less than desirable, so she ends up doing it herself.
we go home, and she is trying to finalize the seating chart. she looks up at me in frustration and says, "sister, will you do this for me?"
"yeah. go." she had hair and makeup appointments after all.
trying to seat two hundred people in tables of eight, keeping in mind families, friends, and familiarities, is not as easy as it seems. but i managed. and hoped that i wouldn't alienate anyone. my dad and brother helped me alphabetize the place cards (all two hundred of which i had written by hand the night before), and then my dad took the seating arrangements to the reception site while i jumped into the shower.
the bride came back home in a frenzy, just moments before her other bridesmaids started to arrive.
i helped her into her enormous dress, and she emerged, through the layers of tule and sparkle, absolutely stunning. as if she had just stepped out of a bridal magazine.
the other bridesmaids oooh and ahhh minutes before the limo driver is scheduled to arrive. he doesn't. my sister grows increasingly agitated as we make frantic phone calls to the limo company.
the limo is supposed to pick us up, drop us off at the church, then go retrieve the groom and groomsmen, who are to serve as ushers. so if we are late, the ushers will also be late.
the limo driver finally calls. he is lost. my sister gives him directions and hangs up. we see a long white gleaming car driving slowly up the street, and try to flag him down, but he turns down the wrong street. there are four bridesmaids in the middle of the street waving, a bride on the sidewalk on the verge, and a lost limo driver.
he calls again and makes it to the house. drops us off at the church and then asks how to get to the hotel where the groom is staying. (we had given him all the pickup information prior to the wedding day, by the way). i think my sister is going to kill him, and so i tell him to call the hotel for directions.
the photographers, dressed head to toe in black suits, meet us at the church, snap some shots, and then ask us about the flowers.
there are no flowers in the church. and bouquets? do you have bouquets?
we call my mom and ask her to call the florist!!!
my sister turns to me and says, "i should be freaking out now, right? the limo driver is probably lost. there are no flowers, so the photographer doesn't want to take any pictures."
"it's ok. you're still getting married."
this seems to cheer her a bit.
the florist, our cousin, mercifully arrives bearing bouquets and boutonnieres. the photographer snaps a few pictures, and then it is time for the ceremony.
my sister, my dad, and i wait at the back of the church as the other bridesmaids walk down the aisle arm in arm with their groomsmen. soon it is my turn to walk down the aisle. she tells me to walk slowly.
when i turn around at the altar, i see the flower girl--our cousin's three-year old daughter--SPRINTING up the aisle behind me. she'd been fine at the rehearsal, but was now apparently thrown off by the hundred or so people standing in the pews. i take her hand and hold it while my sister and father walk down the aisle, arm in arm.
when my sister arrives at the aisle, she has tears in her eyes, and i think about how she was determined not to ruin her makeup. my dad puts her hand in jerry's and goes to sit by my mom. we all turn and face the priest.
the mass goes smoothly until the reading from the new testament. the priest announces, "the new testament will be read by the bride's aunt."
one moment passes. then another. then, all of a sudden, i hear my dad call my name in a loud whisper, "jennifer! jennifer!"
i turn back toward the congregation.
"she not here!" he whispers loudly.
without missing a beat, i walk up to the lectern and read from the saint paul's letter to the ephesians. in english it was fine. but then i had to read it in spanish. and biblical spanish, well... not so easy. i stumbled through all the "vosotros vais" and "os," and returned to stand next to my sister at the altar.
i thought that would be the last bit of drama until i realized that the arras that i was supposed to present to the groom (so that he could present them to my sister). right before the presentation of the lazo, i turn around in my pew to ask my mom about the arras. but she asks me about the lazo.
"you have it!" i tell her.
she is rummaging through her purse. it is moments before the two families are to present their respective lazos. she pulls a small bag out of her purse and then pulls the lazo out. she has tied it together at various points so that it would not tangle. now she is nudging my dad to help her untie the lazo! i glance back and see that the arras have fallen onto the floor, so i retrieve them when she and my dad go to the altar to place their newly-unbound lazo around my sister's and jerry's shoulders.
the rest of the mass is perfect. the groom kisses the bride. the bridal party walks down the aisle all smiles. a million pictures are snapped.
mariachis entertain guests at the reception before the bridal party makes its entrance. the reception ballroom is beautiful with its plush chairs and tables clad in white linens. white roses and white orchids and candles adorn the tables. waiters and waitresses in white shirts and black bowties round the room with wine and food.
our aunts and uncles, cousins, family friends all smiling and talking, my sister, the bride, and her new husband make their rounds around the room, meeting and greeting and thanking everyone for being there. the sun sets in brilliant swirls of pink outside the large windows on the west side of the ballroom. as the evening wears on, guests meander on to the patio to catch a glance of the city lights below.
inside there are toasts and cake, ice cream, a photo montage, first dances with father and daughter, mother and son. and then dancing. dancing until shoes come off and the guests have worn themselves out.
at the end of the evening, my parents and i along with my brother and my sister's best friend await the limousine that will whisk away the bride and groom.
we are tired. the day has been long. and it has not been perfect. but it's been happy, and, according to my sister, happily ever after.
@>-->>---
i woke up that morning feeling sentimental. my sister was asleep on the bed next to me, and i thought, this is the last time that i'm going to share this room with her. my reverie was quickly broken when she sat up on the bed, wide awake and began pacing the house. i sleepily followed her.
within fifteen minutes she was on the phone with the florist and having me help her haul boxes of wedding favors into her car. and then, once at the country club, up the stairs, into the reception area.
she bullies the reception site manager into re-arranging the tables, turns to me, and tells me to sketch the table layout.
my drawing skills are less than desirable, so she ends up doing it herself.
we go home, and she is trying to finalize the seating chart. she looks up at me in frustration and says, "sister, will you do this for me?"
"yeah. go." she had hair and makeup appointments after all.
trying to seat two hundred people in tables of eight, keeping in mind families, friends, and familiarities, is not as easy as it seems. but i managed. and hoped that i wouldn't alienate anyone. my dad and brother helped me alphabetize the place cards (all two hundred of which i had written by hand the night before), and then my dad took the seating arrangements to the reception site while i jumped into the shower.
the bride came back home in a frenzy, just moments before her other bridesmaids started to arrive.
i helped her into her enormous dress, and she emerged, through the layers of tule and sparkle, absolutely stunning. as if she had just stepped out of a bridal magazine.
the other bridesmaids oooh and ahhh minutes before the limo driver is scheduled to arrive. he doesn't. my sister grows increasingly agitated as we make frantic phone calls to the limo company.
the limo is supposed to pick us up, drop us off at the church, then go retrieve the groom and groomsmen, who are to serve as ushers. so if we are late, the ushers will also be late.
the limo driver finally calls. he is lost. my sister gives him directions and hangs up. we see a long white gleaming car driving slowly up the street, and try to flag him down, but he turns down the wrong street. there are four bridesmaids in the middle of the street waving, a bride on the sidewalk on the verge, and a lost limo driver.
he calls again and makes it to the house. drops us off at the church and then asks how to get to the hotel where the groom is staying. (we had given him all the pickup information prior to the wedding day, by the way). i think my sister is going to kill him, and so i tell him to call the hotel for directions.
the photographers, dressed head to toe in black suits, meet us at the church, snap some shots, and then ask us about the flowers.
there are no flowers in the church. and bouquets? do you have bouquets?
we call my mom and ask her to call the florist!!!
my sister turns to me and says, "i should be freaking out now, right? the limo driver is probably lost. there are no flowers, so the photographer doesn't want to take any pictures."
"it's ok. you're still getting married."
this seems to cheer her a bit.
the florist, our cousin, mercifully arrives bearing bouquets and boutonnieres. the photographer snaps a few pictures, and then it is time for the ceremony.
my sister, my dad, and i wait at the back of the church as the other bridesmaids walk down the aisle arm in arm with their groomsmen. soon it is my turn to walk down the aisle. she tells me to walk slowly.
when i turn around at the altar, i see the flower girl--our cousin's three-year old daughter--SPRINTING up the aisle behind me. she'd been fine at the rehearsal, but was now apparently thrown off by the hundred or so people standing in the pews. i take her hand and hold it while my sister and father walk down the aisle, arm in arm.
when my sister arrives at the aisle, she has tears in her eyes, and i think about how she was determined not to ruin her makeup. my dad puts her hand in jerry's and goes to sit by my mom. we all turn and face the priest.
the mass goes smoothly until the reading from the new testament. the priest announces, "the new testament will be read by the bride's aunt."
one moment passes. then another. then, all of a sudden, i hear my dad call my name in a loud whisper, "jennifer! jennifer!"
i turn back toward the congregation.
"she not here!" he whispers loudly.
without missing a beat, i walk up to the lectern and read from the saint paul's letter to the ephesians. in english it was fine. but then i had to read it in spanish. and biblical spanish, well... not so easy. i stumbled through all the "vosotros vais" and "os," and returned to stand next to my sister at the altar.
i thought that would be the last bit of drama until i realized that the arras that i was supposed to present to the groom (so that he could present them to my sister). right before the presentation of the lazo, i turn around in my pew to ask my mom about the arras. but she asks me about the lazo.
"you have it!" i tell her.
she is rummaging through her purse. it is moments before the two families are to present their respective lazos. she pulls a small bag out of her purse and then pulls the lazo out. she has tied it together at various points so that it would not tangle. now she is nudging my dad to help her untie the lazo! i glance back and see that the arras have fallen onto the floor, so i retrieve them when she and my dad go to the altar to place their newly-unbound lazo around my sister's and jerry's shoulders.
the rest of the mass is perfect. the groom kisses the bride. the bridal party walks down the aisle all smiles. a million pictures are snapped.
mariachis entertain guests at the reception before the bridal party makes its entrance. the reception ballroom is beautiful with its plush chairs and tables clad in white linens. white roses and white orchids and candles adorn the tables. waiters and waitresses in white shirts and black bowties round the room with wine and food.
our aunts and uncles, cousins, family friends all smiling and talking, my sister, the bride, and her new husband make their rounds around the room, meeting and greeting and thanking everyone for being there. the sun sets in brilliant swirls of pink outside the large windows on the west side of the ballroom. as the evening wears on, guests meander on to the patio to catch a glance of the city lights below.
inside there are toasts and cake, ice cream, a photo montage, first dances with father and daughter, mother and son. and then dancing. dancing until shoes come off and the guests have worn themselves out.
at the end of the evening, my parents and i along with my brother and my sister's best friend await the limousine that will whisk away the bride and groom.
we are tired. the day has been long. and it has not been perfect. but it's been happy, and, according to my sister, happily ever after.
@>-->>---
Friday, February 24, 2006
sense of place
the following is an excerpt from luis alberto urrea's in search of snow:
i read that passage en route from houston to bakersfield. a couple of hours later, i found myself looking down at the glow of lights of a night-time bakersfield as my plane prepared to touch down at meadow's field.
my mom and sister were waiting to meet me, and in no time at all we were on our way home. even in the dark i know my part of town by heart. from the airport, we drive toward silhouettes of palm trees dotting the panorama bluffs. minutes later, our view from above is orange lights of oil refineries that never sleep. bakersfield junior college to our right. the gentle wind of panorama drive through a residential area leading to our house.
and i found myself feeling like bobo, loving the palm trees and the oil refineries. the houses on panorama drive i know so well (though i don't know who lives in them!). the college i never attended. i let my gaze drink it all in because it gives me that "sense of place" during this very uncertain/unstable time of life. i am strangely soothed by these ordinary sights because bakersfield is my touchstone. and no matter where i've been or where i'll go, it will always be. home.
@>-->>---
Bobo was as happy as Mike had ever seen him... He envied Bobo his eager stare, the way he looked in every direction, obviously loving each rock, tree, glint of broken glass on the tracks. Mike didn't know what to call it. If Lily had been there, he'd have asked her, and she'd have said, Sense of place. Something fancy like that. Mike had it: it was Home.
i read that passage en route from houston to bakersfield. a couple of hours later, i found myself looking down at the glow of lights of a night-time bakersfield as my plane prepared to touch down at meadow's field.
my mom and sister were waiting to meet me, and in no time at all we were on our way home. even in the dark i know my part of town by heart. from the airport, we drive toward silhouettes of palm trees dotting the panorama bluffs. minutes later, our view from above is orange lights of oil refineries that never sleep. bakersfield junior college to our right. the gentle wind of panorama drive through a residential area leading to our house.
and i found myself feeling like bobo, loving the palm trees and the oil refineries. the houses on panorama drive i know so well (though i don't know who lives in them!). the college i never attended. i let my gaze drink it all in because it gives me that "sense of place" during this very uncertain/unstable time of life. i am strangely soothed by these ordinary sights because bakersfield is my touchstone. and no matter where i've been or where i'll go, it will always be. home.
@>-->>---
Monday, February 20, 2006
the surreal life, cont.
interview day. university in california.
it began with a pleasant breakfast with the chair of the department.
an hour later, another professor.
then shuttled to meet with students, who i love.
everyone i meet very polite. i am on show. they are on show.
at 11AM the day begins to speed downhill. and fast.
a meeting with senior professors. one question i am unable to answer. another. and then another.
i try to speak about issues about which i am only peripherally knowledgeable.
half hour later, i am defeated. jarred at my lack of preparation. feeling like more of an idiot than i've felt in a very long time.
lunch with more professors reveals tensions in the department.
i feel caught in the cross fire.
still jarred from my interview, feeling overwhelmed by what i am learning about departmental politics, i am taken to a room to prepare for my talk.
during the half hour prep before my talk, my friend, the women's studies professor, peeks her head into the room to ask how i am doing.
i have been averaging four hours of sleep a night. i am stressed. i am unsettled. utterly overwhelmed.
it is 12:40, twenty minutes before my job talk.
her face, kind and expectant.
i start to CRY.
but i can't indulge my tears. i have SEVEN more hours of interviews and meetings.
i grab napkins to clean my running mascara and do my best to pull it together.
my talk goes relatively well, but i don't feel that it matters.
questions.
more meetings.
a ride back to my hotel and a beer with a professor.
dinner with two more professors.
8PM and i thank the last two professors for accompanying me to dinner. taking the hint, they ask for the check.
i ride up the elevator to my hotel room, strip off the suit, and fall onto the bed.
exhausted, disappointed.
that was my one shot. and i tanked.
@>-->>---
it began with a pleasant breakfast with the chair of the department.
an hour later, another professor.
then shuttled to meet with students, who i love.
everyone i meet very polite. i am on show. they are on show.
at 11AM the day begins to speed downhill. and fast.
a meeting with senior professors. one question i am unable to answer. another. and then another.
i try to speak about issues about which i am only peripherally knowledgeable.
half hour later, i am defeated. jarred at my lack of preparation. feeling like more of an idiot than i've felt in a very long time.
lunch with more professors reveals tensions in the department.
i feel caught in the cross fire.
still jarred from my interview, feeling overwhelmed by what i am learning about departmental politics, i am taken to a room to prepare for my talk.
during the half hour prep before my talk, my friend, the women's studies professor, peeks her head into the room to ask how i am doing.
i have been averaging four hours of sleep a night. i am stressed. i am unsettled. utterly overwhelmed.
it is 12:40, twenty minutes before my job talk.
her face, kind and expectant.
i start to CRY.
but i can't indulge my tears. i have SEVEN more hours of interviews and meetings.
i grab napkins to clean my running mascara and do my best to pull it together.
my talk goes relatively well, but i don't feel that it matters.
questions.
more meetings.
a ride back to my hotel and a beer with a professor.
dinner with two more professors.
8PM and i thank the last two professors for accompanying me to dinner. taking the hint, they ask for the check.
i ride up the elevator to my hotel room, strip off the suit, and fall onto the bed.
exhausted, disappointed.
that was my one shot. and i tanked.
@>-->>---
Saturday, February 18, 2006
the surreal life
at the vegas airport on valentine's day. en route to california.
the stewardess has made us applaud a couple with matching "bride" and "groom" t-shirts who are heading to some elvis chapel to live happily ever after, beginning today.
i am grumpy and nervous and stressed. and i hate to fly.
i am greeted by the smell of cinnamon and butter emanating from cinabon and the sounds of clanging music and bells rising from the slot machines clustered around the airport waiting areas.
no sooner have i begun to walk toward my gate than do i cross paths with a porn star.
for the record, i do not watch porn. (i'm a good catholic girl!). but i recognize him from the vh1 show, the surreal life. he appears just as he does on screen. short, pudgy, and unkempt with his long-ish black hair, green eyes and faded PETA t-shirt. nevertheless, i am a little bit thrilled to be crossing paths with celebrity. i think to ask him for his autograph, but then think better of it. will i really want to show off my porn star autograph? probably not.
instead, i opt to call my roommate to share my star sighting. i leave a rambling message on her voicemail. "you know who i'm talking about. that guy! i think his name is jeremy something. jeremy irons?" five minutes afterward, it hits me, and i text message her--ron jeremy!
my layover will last nearly two hours, so i decide to play the slot machines. after winning two dollars, i decide to quit while i'm ahead and head to starbucks to spend my winnings on a cup of coffee.
valentine's day in southern california
it is a perfect california day. sun shining through a sky, pristinely blue. a brisk wind blowing through the fronds of thin palm trees. i am waiting curbside at the airport when a black luxury car approaches with the name of my hotel stenciled on the side. i am embarrassed to hand my suitcase with its busted zipper to the driver.
i talk nervously to the driver as we weave through the afternoon traffic. we talk about everything from austin, to my job interview, to his family, my family, music, his girlfriend, our careers. i am overwhelmed when we arrive at the hotel, an enormous spanish style complex, its old stones illuminated by soft lights as the sun sets, its palm trees strung with white lights. my driver unloads my bags and wishes me luck.
the driver has told me that the hotel complex--the rooms and the three restaurants it houses inside--is nearly booked tonight because of valentine's day. as i wheel my suitcase into the lobby, i see that he is right. there are couples dressed to the nines in the hotel lobby and in restaurant waiting areas. women carrying long-stemmed roses. i check in and traverse long hallways to my room. i notice "privacy please" signs hanging from nearly all of the doorknobs along the way.
a friend, who is a professor of women's studies at the university where i will be interviewing, picks me up and takes me to her house to have dinner with her family. i marvel at how her ten-year old daughter has grown tall and cut her hair short. they introduce me to the newest addition to their family, a baby girl who is hardly a baby any more! (my friend was just a month pregnant the last time we saw each other). we enjoy a dinner that my friend's mother has prepared, white rice with a kind of japanese beef curry.
back at the hotel, i make last minute preparations for my interview. review the history of the department, faculty profiles, rewrite the introduction to my job talk.
the chair of the department calls to make sure i've arrived safely, to inform me that he'll be picking me up for breakfast the next morning at 8AM. he will try not to be late.
to be continued...
@>-->>---
the stewardess has made us applaud a couple with matching "bride" and "groom" t-shirts who are heading to some elvis chapel to live happily ever after, beginning today.
i am grumpy and nervous and stressed. and i hate to fly.
i am greeted by the smell of cinnamon and butter emanating from cinabon and the sounds of clanging music and bells rising from the slot machines clustered around the airport waiting areas.
no sooner have i begun to walk toward my gate than do i cross paths with a porn star.
for the record, i do not watch porn. (i'm a good catholic girl!). but i recognize him from the vh1 show, the surreal life. he appears just as he does on screen. short, pudgy, and unkempt with his long-ish black hair, green eyes and faded PETA t-shirt. nevertheless, i am a little bit thrilled to be crossing paths with celebrity. i think to ask him for his autograph, but then think better of it. will i really want to show off my porn star autograph? probably not.
instead, i opt to call my roommate to share my star sighting. i leave a rambling message on her voicemail. "you know who i'm talking about. that guy! i think his name is jeremy something. jeremy irons?" five minutes afterward, it hits me, and i text message her--ron jeremy!
my layover will last nearly two hours, so i decide to play the slot machines. after winning two dollars, i decide to quit while i'm ahead and head to starbucks to spend my winnings on a cup of coffee.
valentine's day in southern california
it is a perfect california day. sun shining through a sky, pristinely blue. a brisk wind blowing through the fronds of thin palm trees. i am waiting curbside at the airport when a black luxury car approaches with the name of my hotel stenciled on the side. i am embarrassed to hand my suitcase with its busted zipper to the driver.
i talk nervously to the driver as we weave through the afternoon traffic. we talk about everything from austin, to my job interview, to his family, my family, music, his girlfriend, our careers. i am overwhelmed when we arrive at the hotel, an enormous spanish style complex, its old stones illuminated by soft lights as the sun sets, its palm trees strung with white lights. my driver unloads my bags and wishes me luck.
the driver has told me that the hotel complex--the rooms and the three restaurants it houses inside--is nearly booked tonight because of valentine's day. as i wheel my suitcase into the lobby, i see that he is right. there are couples dressed to the nines in the hotel lobby and in restaurant waiting areas. women carrying long-stemmed roses. i check in and traverse long hallways to my room. i notice "privacy please" signs hanging from nearly all of the doorknobs along the way.
a friend, who is a professor of women's studies at the university where i will be interviewing, picks me up and takes me to her house to have dinner with her family. i marvel at how her ten-year old daughter has grown tall and cut her hair short. they introduce me to the newest addition to their family, a baby girl who is hardly a baby any more! (my friend was just a month pregnant the last time we saw each other). we enjoy a dinner that my friend's mother has prepared, white rice with a kind of japanese beef curry.
back at the hotel, i make last minute preparations for my interview. review the history of the department, faculty profiles, rewrite the introduction to my job talk.
the chair of the department calls to make sure i've arrived safely, to inform me that he'll be picking me up for breakfast the next morning at 8AM. he will try not to be late.
to be continued...
@>-->>---
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
happy valentine's day
i discovered this poem during this past year and thought it beautiful. i hope that you all enjoy it, too.
i carry your heart with me
by e.e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
+++
for all of you poetry aficionados, my roommate posted another great love poem on her blog a few days ago. click here for a take on love by sandra cisneros.
@>-->>---
i carry your heart with me
by e.e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
+++
for all of you poetry aficionados, my roommate posted another great love poem on her blog a few days ago. click here for a take on love by sandra cisneros.
@>-->>---
random thoughts before my big day
rewriting this post. when i wrote it last night, i was too bleary-eyed and distracted to be very coherent.
in preparation for the job talk, i have:
* taken my suit to the cleaners. only one suit, but many tops and accessories.
* cancelled my class on wednesday. (my students were very sad.)
* researched the history of the department where i'll be interviewing.
* printed out the faculty profiles of everyone with whom i'll be meeting tomorrow.
* made sure that all of the overheads for my job talk were in order. (i know; i'm old school. i need to learn how to use powerpoint. i just feel like there is so much that can go wrong with something as high-tech as power point. the overheads are v. simple).
* done laundry. well, actually, i'm at the laundromat right now. :)
before i leave for the airport (in three hours), i have to:
* pack!
sometime between the plane ride and my first meeting tomorrow at 8AM, i have to:
* write a new introduction to my talk.
* write in my journal. i need to get my thoughts straightened out before all the madness ensues.
* sleep. this is important. i was sick for my first job talk last year, couldn't sleep at all. woke up feeling horrible, which i could hide. what i couldn't hide were my bloodshot eyes. maybe the reason i didn't get that job was because they thought i was a druggie? now i make sure to pack visene among my toiletries.
today is a day of preparation.
because tomorrow i will be en friega. every moment of my day, from eight in the morning to approximately eight at night is accounted for. breakfast, mid-morning meetings, lunch, job talk, mid-afternoon meetings, dinner. i'm scheduled to meet with about ten people wednesday.
i wonder how charming i'll manage to be with person #10...
usually, some members of the search committee take the candidate to dinner the evening before the big day, but i have no dinner scheduled. i thought that odd until i realized what today is.
i guess none of the members of the search committee want to have dinner with the job candidate on valentine's day.
go figure. ;)
@>-->>---
in preparation for the job talk, i have:
* taken my suit to the cleaners. only one suit, but many tops and accessories.
* cancelled my class on wednesday. (my students were very sad.)
* researched the history of the department where i'll be interviewing.
* printed out the faculty profiles of everyone with whom i'll be meeting tomorrow.
* made sure that all of the overheads for my job talk were in order. (i know; i'm old school. i need to learn how to use powerpoint. i just feel like there is so much that can go wrong with something as high-tech as power point. the overheads are v. simple).
* done laundry. well, actually, i'm at the laundromat right now. :)
before i leave for the airport (in three hours), i have to:
* pack!
sometime between the plane ride and my first meeting tomorrow at 8AM, i have to:
* write a new introduction to my talk.
* write in my journal. i need to get my thoughts straightened out before all the madness ensues.
* sleep. this is important. i was sick for my first job talk last year, couldn't sleep at all. woke up feeling horrible, which i could hide. what i couldn't hide were my bloodshot eyes. maybe the reason i didn't get that job was because they thought i was a druggie? now i make sure to pack visene among my toiletries.
today is a day of preparation.
because tomorrow i will be en friega. every moment of my day, from eight in the morning to approximately eight at night is accounted for. breakfast, mid-morning meetings, lunch, job talk, mid-afternoon meetings, dinner. i'm scheduled to meet with about ten people wednesday.
i wonder how charming i'll manage to be with person #10...
usually, some members of the search committee take the candidate to dinner the evening before the big day, but i have no dinner scheduled. i thought that odd until i realized what today is.
i guess none of the members of the search committee want to have dinner with the job candidate on valentine's day.
go figure. ;)
@>-->>---
Thursday, February 09, 2006
las vivas de vivo's
thursday afternoon of the rejection email, my roommate, olga, comes in to find me on the phone, crying to my dad. when i get off the phone, i start my sobbing to her.
earlier in the afternoon, before the email, we agreed that we would spend the late afternoon working at a coffeeshop with another one of our girlfriends.
i'm clearly in no shape to be writing my article this afternoon.
"do you want to go get a drink?" she asks me.
"but it's only four in the afternoon."
"it's after noon!" she says.
"ok." (she was twisting my arm after all.)
olga calls for reinforcements. she rounds up two of our girlfriends and we agree to meet for drinks at vivo's, a bright restaurant/bar near our house.
"first drink's on me," olga says.
i am still puffy-eyed and sniffling when we get to vivo's. cristina and laura are already at the bar, looking sympathetic as i sit and start to whine. how hard i'd worked on that application. how much i wanted this postdoc. how upset i'd be if i knew anyone else had gotten it. i am sad and selfish and angry.
three shots of tequila and one shared plate of appetizers later, i'm feeling significantly better. we are sharing gossip, poking fun of professors, commiserating about grad school workloads, job possibilities, attempting to uncover the mysteries of the male mind.
olga suggests clementine's for a sobering cup of coffee. we sit on red couches in front of large rectangular windows, and watch the last light of the day fade. olga and laura talk about knitting projects; cristina and i talk about boys. actually, i talk; cristina gives me advice.
i look at these girls, and i love them so much for dropping everything to help nurse me back to happiness. they all have work; they are all stressed; but they are all here with me.
it's true. i have still been rejected by my postdoc. i still have no idea where i'll be or how i'll be paying my bills come july. but i realize that the afternoon has somehow become sweet.
@>-->>---
earlier in the afternoon, before the email, we agreed that we would spend the late afternoon working at a coffeeshop with another one of our girlfriends.
i'm clearly in no shape to be writing my article this afternoon.
"do you want to go get a drink?" she asks me.
"but it's only four in the afternoon."
"it's after noon!" she says.
"ok." (she was twisting my arm after all.)
olga calls for reinforcements. she rounds up two of our girlfriends and we agree to meet for drinks at vivo's, a bright restaurant/bar near our house.
"first drink's on me," olga says.
i am still puffy-eyed and sniffling when we get to vivo's. cristina and laura are already at the bar, looking sympathetic as i sit and start to whine. how hard i'd worked on that application. how much i wanted this postdoc. how upset i'd be if i knew anyone else had gotten it. i am sad and selfish and angry.
three shots of tequila and one shared plate of appetizers later, i'm feeling significantly better. we are sharing gossip, poking fun of professors, commiserating about grad school workloads, job possibilities, attempting to uncover the mysteries of the male mind.
olga suggests clementine's for a sobering cup of coffee. we sit on red couches in front of large rectangular windows, and watch the last light of the day fade. olga and laura talk about knitting projects; cristina and i talk about boys. actually, i talk; cristina gives me advice.
i look at these girls, and i love them so much for dropping everything to help nurse me back to happiness. they all have work; they are all stressed; but they are all here with me.
it's true. i have still been rejected by my postdoc. i still have no idea where i'll be or how i'll be paying my bills come july. but i realize that the afternoon has somehow become sweet.
@>-->>---
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
wanting
yesterday, i was talking to a couple of my friends about the problem of wanting something too much.
you never get that one thing you really want.
there was the dream job i blogged about a few weeks ago. there's not a job i wanted more in the world than that one. and i did not get called for an interview.
there are a few boys with whom i've had flirtacious exchanges over the fast few weeks. the one i'm not that excited about, very consistent about calling. the one that i like best, the one that i want, hasn't called in a week. of course.
and now this. i have applied for this particular postdoctoral fellowship THREE TIMES. it is my dream postdoc. a two year stint at a university of california school. if you get this postdoc, you are practically guaranteed a job in one of the UC schools afterward. i just got my THIRD rejection from them today. the same, we-had-many-qualified-applicants-but-have-limited-funding variety of letter. it's like someone breaking up with you: it's not you; you're great. it's us; we can't afford you!
i worked so hard on the application. revised and re-revised the essays. had secured the mentorship of an anthropologist at one of the UC schools whom i really respect and like. but it was all for nothing.
i have to admit that i'm a little bit devastated. i really wanted this fellowship. and i thought i had a chance. i hoped.
i don't know if it's the universe trying to teach me to be more zen-like in my attitude toward professional achievement. that it's not about getting what i want, but learning to want what i get (yes, i'm stealing that from a sheryl crow song).
so here is my pessimistic lesson of the day: want not, be disappointed not.
@>-->>---
you never get that one thing you really want.
there was the dream job i blogged about a few weeks ago. there's not a job i wanted more in the world than that one. and i did not get called for an interview.
there are a few boys with whom i've had flirtacious exchanges over the fast few weeks. the one i'm not that excited about, very consistent about calling. the one that i like best, the one that i want, hasn't called in a week. of course.
and now this. i have applied for this particular postdoctoral fellowship THREE TIMES. it is my dream postdoc. a two year stint at a university of california school. if you get this postdoc, you are practically guaranteed a job in one of the UC schools afterward. i just got my THIRD rejection from them today. the same, we-had-many-qualified-applicants-but-have-limited-funding variety of letter. it's like someone breaking up with you: it's not you; you're great. it's us; we can't afford you!
i worked so hard on the application. revised and re-revised the essays. had secured the mentorship of an anthropologist at one of the UC schools whom i really respect and like. but it was all for nothing.
i have to admit that i'm a little bit devastated. i really wanted this fellowship. and i thought i had a chance. i hoped.
i don't know if it's the universe trying to teach me to be more zen-like in my attitude toward professional achievement. that it's not about getting what i want, but learning to want what i get (yes, i'm stealing that from a sheryl crow song).
so here is my pessimistic lesson of the day: want not, be disappointed not.
@>-->>---
Saturday, February 04, 2006
friday afternoon faux pas
i call my dad friday afternoon to touch base. he answers, but says that he can't hear me. bad connection in the office. he'll go outside and call me right back.
within thirty seconds, my phone rings and i answer, "hey."
silence.
"dad?"
more silence.
thinking our connection still bad, i continue, "dad? can you hear me?" then louder, "DAD? DAD!"
all of a sudden, a male voice.
"may i please speak with jennifer ________?"
"this is she," i say, slowly, hoping that it is a telemarketer, but knowing that it is not.
"this is dr. ____________ from the department of chicano studies at (a university in california)."
i feel my stomach sink.
"oh. i'm sorry. i was talking to my dad and we got. cut off. i thought you were. him. calling back."
"that's ok," dr. X says, generously, though i feel extremely foolish.
he then asks me if i am still interested in the assistant professor position at his school, wants to know if i've already accepted a position somewhere else.
"no, i'm definitely still interested."
he tells me that i am not guaranteed the job, but that he will be in touch soon about an interview.
"thank you," i tell him.
"thank you, dear," he says.
little wonder that he didn't say, "thank you, m'ija."
i'm so mortified. here i am trying to pass myself off as a PROFESSOR and he catches me yelling for my dad.
*sigh*
@>-->>---
within thirty seconds, my phone rings and i answer, "hey."
silence.
"dad?"
more silence.
thinking our connection still bad, i continue, "dad? can you hear me?" then louder, "DAD? DAD!"
all of a sudden, a male voice.
"may i please speak with jennifer ________?"
"this is she," i say, slowly, hoping that it is a telemarketer, but knowing that it is not.
"this is dr. ____________ from the department of chicano studies at (a university in california)."
i feel my stomach sink.
"oh. i'm sorry. i was talking to my dad and we got. cut off. i thought you were. him. calling back."
"that's ok," dr. X says, generously, though i feel extremely foolish.
he then asks me if i am still interested in the assistant professor position at his school, wants to know if i've already accepted a position somewhere else.
"no, i'm definitely still interested."
he tells me that i am not guaranteed the job, but that he will be in touch soon about an interview.
"thank you," i tell him.
"thank you, dear," he says.
little wonder that he didn't say, "thank you, m'ija."
i'm so mortified. here i am trying to pass myself off as a PROFESSOR and he catches me yelling for my dad.
*sigh*
@>-->>---
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
mexico meanderings
my roommate, olga , and i made a break for it last weekend, headed down to south texas. spent saturday morning at the beach, the afternoon in matamoros.
we thought we would be brave and drive instead of walk over the border. i had never driven in mexico before and was, admittedly a little nervous. but it was fine. we paid our toll at the bridge and cruised right into town. followed the signs that pointed toward el centro and found un estacionamiento. once downtown, we wanted to spend our time walking through the grid of one way streets.
we were immediately drawn to the plaza in the middle of town, where people were setting up rows of white plastic chairs and a stage with with balloon figures, bending in the wind. wandered around park benches, tried not to stare at the couples who were were spending their mid-afternoon cuddling, and marveled over the tiles that adorned the quiosco in the middle of the park.
though our stomachs were grumbling, i asked olga if we could take a detour into the church, a pink stoned building, with a simple facade. we walked inside the dimly-lit sanctuary and blessed ourselves in front of a white statue depicting the virgin mary cradling jesus in her arms after his death. walked along the aisles, noting the gold plated decor around the altar, and took our seats in a pew facing a statue of juan diego.
neither of us had ever seen a statue of juan diego before. he was brown-skinned, with an image of la virgen de guadalupe on his tilma and a cascade of bright roses tumbling down from the image. olga thought his features more spanish than indigenous.
emerging from the dark church everything too bright outside, despite the overcast sky.
having foregone lunch, we were on a mission to find tacos. i am a taco snob. i have yet to find a place in the US where they make good tacos. they seem simple, and yet there are endless ways to not cook them well.
well. olga and i stumbled upon riko taquito in el centro and each ordered one taco de carne asada and one taco al pastor. washed them down with toronja soda in long-necked green bottles. and let me tell you, it was like happiness on a plate.
with our bellies full, we wandered among the throngs of saturday afternoon shoppers. at one point olga turns to me and says, "do you know what i love about mexico?" a million little things, i think. being able to blend in with people--not too short, not too brown. the rhythm of the afternoon. the tacos! the balloon vendors. the melody of language.
"what?" i ask her.
"the shoe stores!" she declares.
i laugh aloud and agree. there are rows and rows of adorable and affordable shoes at any given zapateria.
we ended our afternoon at a cafe, where we sat outside on a lovely patio. we treated ourselves to two cafe americanos and one shared flan while listening to american music humming through the speakers. "globalization," olga tells me, and i want to cover my ears (to avoid her comment, not the music).
we head back in the late afternoon, and miraculously find our way back to the border. no maps. just instinct. i was feeling very cavalier on the way back to the US, thinking that the border patrol would simply wave us back into the states. our border patrol agent, however, had other ideas. he asks the usual questions about our nativity and why we were in matamoros. "just for fun!" i say, flippantly.
then asks to see our IDs and runs them through the system. i'm dying to know what comes up on the screen when he runs my ID (crazy marxist academic?). he asks for us to open the trunk. i'm certain that he is impressed by my yoga mat and hand weights before he closes it and lets us pass. olga theorizes that we were victims of racial profiling (would they have stopped two blond women crossing back over?). i say it's because we're so cute! he clearly wanted us to hang out with him for a while. ;)
border troubles aside, there's nothing like an adventure with a good friend.
+++
for another perspective on this trip (and some cute pics), check out olga's blog.
@>-->>---
we thought we would be brave and drive instead of walk over the border. i had never driven in mexico before and was, admittedly a little nervous. but it was fine. we paid our toll at the bridge and cruised right into town. followed the signs that pointed toward el centro and found un estacionamiento. once downtown, we wanted to spend our time walking through the grid of one way streets.
we were immediately drawn to the plaza in the middle of town, where people were setting up rows of white plastic chairs and a stage with with balloon figures, bending in the wind. wandered around park benches, tried not to stare at the couples who were were spending their mid-afternoon cuddling, and marveled over the tiles that adorned the quiosco in the middle of the park.
though our stomachs were grumbling, i asked olga if we could take a detour into the church, a pink stoned building, with a simple facade. we walked inside the dimly-lit sanctuary and blessed ourselves in front of a white statue depicting the virgin mary cradling jesus in her arms after his death. walked along the aisles, noting the gold plated decor around the altar, and took our seats in a pew facing a statue of juan diego.
neither of us had ever seen a statue of juan diego before. he was brown-skinned, with an image of la virgen de guadalupe on his tilma and a cascade of bright roses tumbling down from the image. olga thought his features more spanish than indigenous.
emerging from the dark church everything too bright outside, despite the overcast sky.
having foregone lunch, we were on a mission to find tacos. i am a taco snob. i have yet to find a place in the US where they make good tacos. they seem simple, and yet there are endless ways to not cook them well.
well. olga and i stumbled upon riko taquito in el centro and each ordered one taco de carne asada and one taco al pastor. washed them down with toronja soda in long-necked green bottles. and let me tell you, it was like happiness on a plate.
with our bellies full, we wandered among the throngs of saturday afternoon shoppers. at one point olga turns to me and says, "do you know what i love about mexico?" a million little things, i think. being able to blend in with people--not too short, not too brown. the rhythm of the afternoon. the tacos! the balloon vendors. the melody of language.
"what?" i ask her.
"the shoe stores!" she declares.
i laugh aloud and agree. there are rows and rows of adorable and affordable shoes at any given zapateria.
we ended our afternoon at a cafe, where we sat outside on a lovely patio. we treated ourselves to two cafe americanos and one shared flan while listening to american music humming through the speakers. "globalization," olga tells me, and i want to cover my ears (to avoid her comment, not the music).
we head back in the late afternoon, and miraculously find our way back to the border. no maps. just instinct. i was feeling very cavalier on the way back to the US, thinking that the border patrol would simply wave us back into the states. our border patrol agent, however, had other ideas. he asks the usual questions about our nativity and why we were in matamoros. "just for fun!" i say, flippantly.
then asks to see our IDs and runs them through the system. i'm dying to know what comes up on the screen when he runs my ID (crazy marxist academic?). he asks for us to open the trunk. i'm certain that he is impressed by my yoga mat and hand weights before he closes it and lets us pass. olga theorizes that we were victims of racial profiling (would they have stopped two blond women crossing back over?). i say it's because we're so cute! he clearly wanted us to hang out with him for a while. ;)
border troubles aside, there's nothing like an adventure with a good friend.
+++
for another perspective on this trip (and some cute pics), check out olga's blog.
@>-->>---
Monday, January 30, 2006
a light at the end of the tunnel
today one of my students was wearing a t-shirt that read:
i'm fine. my grandma rubbed me with an egg.
somebody's grandma needs to rub me with an egg.
i've been invited for a campus visit/job talk at a university in california. in two weeks! it's not on the beach or anything glamorous, but it is a good school. and it's just a few hours from home.
they have most likely invited three or four candidates for campus visits. we will all meet the same people--professors in the department, the dean of the college, maybe some affiliated faculty. some universities will invite students to meet the job candidates. we will probably have one formal interview and one job talk. the job talk will be a 45 minute lecture on our research followed by a relatively intense question and answer period.
all other interactions during the campus visit will apparently be casual. we will be treated to dinner at a nice restaurant. we will drink wine. we will have lunch and coffee dates with university folks who need or want to meet us. and during these casual meals, between bites of a chocolate cake dessert, someone will ask the candidate about the impact of his/her research on the field of history or anthropology or whatever. and the candidate will chew slowly and answer as best as s/he can. the candidate knows that s/he is never safe from a job-interview-type of question. so s/he is prepared.
those of us who have been invited for campus visit probably have the same qualifications. assuming that the job talk is not a bomb, at the point of an invitation for a campus visit, candidates are judged on whether or not they will be a good fit for the department. being good-humored and easy-going are helpful traits in these situations.
basically i'm going to have to charm this university into hiring me. ;)
so start lighting your velitas, saying your prayers, or whatever it is you do. if you have a grandma who does the egg thing, let me know.
@>-->>---
somebody's grandma needs to rub me with an egg.
i've been invited for a campus visit/job talk at a university in california. in two weeks! it's not on the beach or anything glamorous, but it is a good school. and it's just a few hours from home.
they have most likely invited three or four candidates for campus visits. we will all meet the same people--professors in the department, the dean of the college, maybe some affiliated faculty. some universities will invite students to meet the job candidates. we will probably have one formal interview and one job talk. the job talk will be a 45 minute lecture on our research followed by a relatively intense question and answer period.
all other interactions during the campus visit will apparently be casual. we will be treated to dinner at a nice restaurant. we will drink wine. we will have lunch and coffee dates with university folks who need or want to meet us. and during these casual meals, between bites of a chocolate cake dessert, someone will ask the candidate about the impact of his/her research on the field of history or anthropology or whatever. and the candidate will chew slowly and answer as best as s/he can. the candidate knows that s/he is never safe from a job-interview-type of question. so s/he is prepared.
those of us who have been invited for campus visit probably have the same qualifications. assuming that the job talk is not a bomb, at the point of an invitation for a campus visit, candidates are judged on whether or not they will be a good fit for the department. being good-humored and easy-going are helpful traits in these situations.
basically i'm going to have to charm this university into hiring me. ;)
so start lighting your velitas, saying your prayers, or whatever it is you do. if you have a grandma who does the egg thing, let me know.
@>-->>---
Thursday, January 26, 2006
my hero(ine)
i just stole this quiz from my blogger friend, cincysundevil. below are the results of the superhero whose qualities i embody most. ;)
Your results:
You are Wonder Woman
Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test
y'all know that wonder woman--lynda carter--was latina, right? half mexican/half english. and we were just talking about latina feminists!
@>-->>---
Your results:
You are Wonder Woman
| You are a beautiful princess with great strength of character.  |
y'all know that wonder woman--lynda carter--was latina, right? half mexican/half english. and we were just talking about latina feminists!
@>-->>---
Monday, January 23, 2006
selena and a feminist dilemma
we seem to live in a post-feminist movement.
whenever i ask my undergraduates what they think about feminism, they are hesitant to respond. after some prodding, they confess that feminists have a bad reputation. as man-haters. after some discussion, they will usually concede that feminists fight for women's equal rights.
perhaps three of every class of thirty would call themselves "feminists."
but then we talk about selena.
"how many of you guys have seen the movie, selena?"
they all raise their hands and the tone of the class changes. they all have something to say. how they love the movie. how they love selena.
"would you call selena a feminist?" i ask them.
unequivocal "yes."
"why?"
because she broke through an industry where there were only men. because she did what she wanted to do, the way she wanted to do it, even if she had to cross her dad. she was strong. independent. she even had her own fashion line!
"and you all admire selena... you think she's a feminist, but you wouldn't call *yourselves* feminists?"
they sense that i've tricked them by bringing a tejana feminist into our discussion.
she's different. yes, she demonstrated strong and independent characteristics. she was incredibly driven in terms of her career. she broke through gender barriers in her field of music. she broke gender barriers within her family by going against her father's will in terms of what she would wear on stage and who she would marry.
nevertheless, the movie portrays selena as down to earth, from a working class background, and incredibly family-oriented. she fell in love and married young. at least according to the movie, she had expressed the desire for a family of her own shortly before she was killed.
my students *relate* to selena because she was family-oriented and seemingly down to earth, just like they are. but they *love* selena because she was a feminist. her strength independence, and ambition impress and inspire my students, a generation of young women, who were perhaps only ten or eleven years old when selena was killed.
and even though my students won't admit it, their ardent selena admiration makes them feminists, too.
@>-->>---
whenever i ask my undergraduates what they think about feminism, they are hesitant to respond. after some prodding, they confess that feminists have a bad reputation. as man-haters. after some discussion, they will usually concede that feminists fight for women's equal rights.
perhaps three of every class of thirty would call themselves "feminists."
but then we talk about selena.
"how many of you guys have seen the movie, selena?"
they all raise their hands and the tone of the class changes. they all have something to say. how they love the movie. how they love selena.
"would you call selena a feminist?" i ask them.
unequivocal "yes."
"why?"
because she broke through an industry where there were only men. because she did what she wanted to do, the way she wanted to do it, even if she had to cross her dad. she was strong. independent. she even had her own fashion line!
"and you all admire selena... you think she's a feminist, but you wouldn't call *yourselves* feminists?"
they sense that i've tricked them by bringing a tejana feminist into our discussion.
she's different. yes, she demonstrated strong and independent characteristics. she was incredibly driven in terms of her career. she broke through gender barriers in her field of music. she broke gender barriers within her family by going against her father's will in terms of what she would wear on stage and who she would marry.
nevertheless, the movie portrays selena as down to earth, from a working class background, and incredibly family-oriented. she fell in love and married young. at least according to the movie, she had expressed the desire for a family of her own shortly before she was killed.
my students *relate* to selena because she was family-oriented and seemingly down to earth, just like they are. but they *love* selena because she was a feminist. her strength independence, and ambition impress and inspire my students, a generation of young women, who were perhaps only ten or eleven years old when selena was killed.
and even though my students won't admit it, their ardent selena admiration makes them feminists, too.
@>-->>---
Friday, January 20, 2006
blog tag
my roommate blog tagged me with this one.
4 jobs you have had in your life
salesgirl for the Limited (i'm still recovering)
hasher (that's what they call students who worked in the dorm kitchens at Stanford)
junior high Spanish teacher
lecturer at the University of Texas
4 movies you could watch over and over
When Harry Met Sally
Selena
Amelie
Some Kind of Wonderful
4 places you have lived
Bakersfield, CA
Mountain View, CA
La Feria, Texas in the Rio Grande Valley
Santa Barbara, CA
4 TV shows you love to watch
Gilmore Girls
Sex and the City (still)
Rachael Ray's 30 Minute Meals
Grey's Anatomy
4 places you have been on vacation
Costa Rica
Mexico
Italy
Spain
4 websites you visit daily
bloglines
Yahoo Mail
Gmail
google
4 of your favorite foods
Freebird steak burritos
my mom's lasagna
Quack's salty oat cookies
fresh garlic naan
4 places you would rather be right now
California
a clean beach anywhere
the Rio Grande Valley
...but I'm happy in Austin!
@>->>---
4 jobs you have had in your life
salesgirl for the Limited (i'm still recovering)
hasher (that's what they call students who worked in the dorm kitchens at Stanford)
junior high Spanish teacher
lecturer at the University of Texas
4 movies you could watch over and over
When Harry Met Sally
Selena
Amelie
Some Kind of Wonderful
4 places you have lived
Bakersfield, CA
Mountain View, CA
La Feria, Texas in the Rio Grande Valley
Santa Barbara, CA
4 TV shows you love to watch
Gilmore Girls
Sex and the City (still)
Rachael Ray's 30 Minute Meals
Grey's Anatomy
4 places you have been on vacation
Costa Rica
Mexico
Italy
Spain
4 websites you visit daily
bloglines
Yahoo Mail
Gmail
4 of your favorite foods
Freebird steak burritos
my mom's lasagna
Quack's salty oat cookies
fresh garlic naan
4 places you would rather be right now
California
a clean beach anywhere
the Rio Grande Valley
...but I'm happy in Austin!
@>->>---
Thursday, January 19, 2006
the first day of school
i am nervous. i choose my clothes carefully. black slacks. silk shirt. uncomfortable black pumps. red lipstick.
i rush to campus to re-copy my syllabus. i've forgotten to include exam dates on the first copy.
i examine my class roster and try to gauge--by my students' class, major, gender, ethnicity--what kind of class dynamic i'll have.
walking into the classroom, i take a quick look around. many young, pleasant faces. most of them mexican american.
a couple of years ago, in one of the first classes i taught at UT, a young white woman told me that she was "surprised" on the first day of class to see a hispanic woman walk to the front of the classroom. "but the class is called 'la chicana,'" i objected. she told me that she expected that a white woman would teach it.
today i wonder if my students are surprised to see me--a chicana--approach the front of the room and begin to hand out syllabi.
the bell rings. i find myself talking too much, explaining the syllabus in more detail than necessary. i tell them that though i seem like a nice person, i am a merciless grader. they look at me with skepticism.
when i am finished fielding their questions about the course, i ask them to introduce themselves. they are from all over texas, mostly the rio grande valley and san antonio. their majors range from mexican american studies to engineering. they are freshman and seniors. many are taking the class to learn more about their culture.
it's the first day of class, and all of these students are perfect to me. i have yet to learn who will skip class, who will never read the articles for class, who will become disinterested. at this moment, they are all bright and full of potential. and so am i.
@>-->>---
i rush to campus to re-copy my syllabus. i've forgotten to include exam dates on the first copy.
i examine my class roster and try to gauge--by my students' class, major, gender, ethnicity--what kind of class dynamic i'll have.
walking into the classroom, i take a quick look around. many young, pleasant faces. most of them mexican american.
a couple of years ago, in one of the first classes i taught at UT, a young white woman told me that she was "surprised" on the first day of class to see a hispanic woman walk to the front of the classroom. "but the class is called 'la chicana,'" i objected. she told me that she expected that a white woman would teach it.
today i wonder if my students are surprised to see me--a chicana--approach the front of the room and begin to hand out syllabi.
the bell rings. i find myself talking too much, explaining the syllabus in more detail than necessary. i tell them that though i seem like a nice person, i am a merciless grader. they look at me with skepticism.
when i am finished fielding their questions about the course, i ask them to introduce themselves. they are from all over texas, mostly the rio grande valley and san antonio. their majors range from mexican american studies to engineering. they are freshman and seniors. many are taking the class to learn more about their culture.
it's the first day of class, and all of these students are perfect to me. i have yet to learn who will skip class, who will never read the articles for class, who will become disinterested. at this moment, they are all bright and full of potential. and so am i.
@>-->>---
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
on unions and the UFW
the following is my response to a debate generated by the UFW scandal as reported in the los angeles time. i thought i might as well post it on my own blog.
@>-->>---
+++
I find it problematic to say that, generally, unions, despite initial gains, do not improve the overall labor standards of workers. There is an entire body of literature within labor history that would refute that point.
I would not say that unions are inherently good and necessary. Rather, I think it important to look at different historical moments to examine and understand how unions have been useful and when they have failed. I think that history reveals various cycles of effectiveness, depending on variables such as the economy, the political environment, etc.
With regard to the UFW, it seems counterintuitive to read that Cesar Chavez, a Mexican American hero, would take an anti-immigration stance. In terms of labor organizing, however, it makes perfect sense. Farm worker unions needed leverage against a powerful agricultural industry. In the late 1930s, for example, farm worker unions were gaining strength and momentum to lobby for greater farm worker rights (higher wages, better working conditions, etc). Union efforts were undermined by the bracero program, which was introduced as an answer to the labor shortage caused by WWII in the 1940s. All of a sudden, farmers had a legal and ready supply of farm labor willing to work for less than what native-born workers were demanding. Farm workers lost their leverage; they were no longer scant in number, but could easily be replaced if they did not work for the low wages being offered them.
(I could go on about the bracero program and how many farmers did not live up to their end of the bargain in providing adequate wages, clean and affordable housing, etc, but that's another post...)
Under Cesar Chavez's leadership, it was in the UFW's best interest to have a stable work force, who knew the history of the farm labor struggle, and believed that they had the right to demand more humane working conditions. They had to be wiling to assert their rights as U.S. workers even though conditions in U.S. fields were superior to the conditions they faced in Mexico. Much of this is still the case with regard to farm labor organizing.
You cite a conservative economist who asserts that in order to improve worker productivity, they must learn English and develop particular (professional?) skills. That makes perfect sense. We have to keep in mind, though, that many farm workers are performing physically taxing labor just trying to make ends meet. Many are hesitant to go to job trainings because of their immigrant status. Many don't have transportation (as evidenced by the yearly reports of farm worker deaths as they pack themselves into the back of someone's truck on their way to work).
For many farm workers, belonging to a union is their way of standing up for themselves, and, hopefully, of bettering their work conditions.
All of this said, I do think it's a shame when unions are revealed to be corrupt.
If this post has made me sound like an unabashed union supporter, allow me to clarify that I am not. I simply object to rampant generalizations that posit unions as inherently bad and business as inherently good. It's important to recognize the various shades of grey between these two extreme categorizations. I also believe that it important to be critical of BOTH sides when necessary and to recognize that they each have moments of corruption and integrity
@>-->>---
+++
I find it problematic to say that, generally, unions, despite initial gains, do not improve the overall labor standards of workers. There is an entire body of literature within labor history that would refute that point.
I would not say that unions are inherently good and necessary. Rather, I think it important to look at different historical moments to examine and understand how unions have been useful and when they have failed. I think that history reveals various cycles of effectiveness, depending on variables such as the economy, the political environment, etc.
With regard to the UFW, it seems counterintuitive to read that Cesar Chavez, a Mexican American hero, would take an anti-immigration stance. In terms of labor organizing, however, it makes perfect sense. Farm worker unions needed leverage against a powerful agricultural industry. In the late 1930s, for example, farm worker unions were gaining strength and momentum to lobby for greater farm worker rights (higher wages, better working conditions, etc). Union efforts were undermined by the bracero program, which was introduced as an answer to the labor shortage caused by WWII in the 1940s. All of a sudden, farmers had a legal and ready supply of farm labor willing to work for less than what native-born workers were demanding. Farm workers lost their leverage; they were no longer scant in number, but could easily be replaced if they did not work for the low wages being offered them.
(I could go on about the bracero program and how many farmers did not live up to their end of the bargain in providing adequate wages, clean and affordable housing, etc, but that's another post...)
Under Cesar Chavez's leadership, it was in the UFW's best interest to have a stable work force, who knew the history of the farm labor struggle, and believed that they had the right to demand more humane working conditions. They had to be wiling to assert their rights as U.S. workers even though conditions in U.S. fields were superior to the conditions they faced in Mexico. Much of this is still the case with regard to farm labor organizing.
You cite a conservative economist who asserts that in order to improve worker productivity, they must learn English and develop particular (professional?) skills. That makes perfect sense. We have to keep in mind, though, that many farm workers are performing physically taxing labor just trying to make ends meet. Many are hesitant to go to job trainings because of their immigrant status. Many don't have transportation (as evidenced by the yearly reports of farm worker deaths as they pack themselves into the back of someone's truck on their way to work).
For many farm workers, belonging to a union is their way of standing up for themselves, and, hopefully, of bettering their work conditions.
All of this said, I do think it's a shame when unions are revealed to be corrupt.
If this post has made me sound like an unabashed union supporter, allow me to clarify that I am not. I simply object to rampant generalizations that posit unions as inherently bad and business as inherently good. It's important to recognize the various shades of grey between these two extreme categorizations. I also believe that it important to be critical of BOTH sides when necessary and to recognize that they each have moments of corruption and integrity
Monday, January 16, 2006
UFW
interesting debate about UFW corruption going on at gustavo's site.
i just posted a rant/response.
i absolutely believe it important to be able to be critical of our political institutions, but this one guy's comment put me over the edge. there's corruption in the UFW so let's dismiss all their past accomplishments on behalf of farmworkers? it just doesn't seem right.
@>-->>---
i just posted a rant/response.
i absolutely believe it important to be able to be critical of our political institutions, but this one guy's comment put me over the edge. there's corruption in the UFW so let's dismiss all their past accomplishments on behalf of farmworkers? it just doesn't seem right.
@>-->>---
Sunday, January 15, 2006
feeling sorry for myself
i got an email from a good friend the other day. he has an upcoming job interview at a university in california and wanted to ask for my advice.
as i read the email, i felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. i also applied for this position. the fact that the department contacted him for an interview means that they *didn't* contact me.
my friend, l, described this feeling best: you are truly happy for the person's good fortune but also feel like you might choke on your own jealousy. it was one of those moments.
this university is in california, just a two and a half hour drive from bakersfield. it is one of the most beautiful campuses in california, on the beach. it is a research university with an extremely vibrant and active chicano/a student community. and the faculty in the department is amazing. it is, in short, my dream job.
honestly, i would prefer that my good friend get this job over any one else. my dream might as well belong to someone i like, right?
@>-->>---
as i read the email, i felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. i also applied for this position. the fact that the department contacted him for an interview means that they *didn't* contact me.
my friend, l, described this feeling best: you are truly happy for the person's good fortune but also feel like you might choke on your own jealousy. it was one of those moments.
this university is in california, just a two and a half hour drive from bakersfield. it is one of the most beautiful campuses in california, on the beach. it is a research university with an extremely vibrant and active chicano/a student community. and the faculty in the department is amazing. it is, in short, my dream job.
honestly, i would prefer that my good friend get this job over any one else. my dream might as well belong to someone i like, right?
@>-->>---
Sunday, January 08, 2006
blinking
my parents threw me a party yesterday. while i did plenty of celebrating while in austin, i had yet to celebrate with my extended family. the majority of my aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, etc. are in bakersfield, so the family celebration needed to be here.
my dad comes from a family of nine children; my mother from a family of eight. as you can imagine, i have numerous first cousins. my dad's side of the family had a stronger showing yesterday, which was really nice. with everyone getting older, it seems rare that we are all in one place any more. many of my cousins are now married with families of their own, and moving to bigger houses in different parts of town.
it doesn't seem that long ago that we would see each other all the time. we would see some of our cousins during sunday visits to our grandparents house, but the bigger showings were for birthdays, christmas, thanksgiving, easter, mother's day, and other celebrations. there were tons of us, and we would be running around every sqare inch of my grandparents' house and yard.
they lived a green house on fargo street, on a lot where an abandoned and dilapidated wood-framed house also sat. we marveled when our parents told us that when they were young, all nine of the kids plus our grandparents lived in that tiny wood-framed house. was that true? i hated to step foot in that house; i felt like the floor would collapse under me. and the mice. the boys told me that there were mice.
i remember two metal poles in the backyard to suspend laundry lines. one of those poles was SAFE for a game of tag or hide and go seek. i could hold on to one of those poles and spin around and around until i was dizzy and my hand smelled like metal.
and the outhouse. it looked like a tall wooden crate, painted the same color as the house. it was pitch black on the inside with a dark hole that led to the center of the earth for all i knew. we would dare each other to step in and close the door while one of us would count.
on one side of the house, a tall tree from which we sting pin~atas for birthday parties. the big kids swinging hard, and the brave ones crawling quickly on the grass to snatch fallen candies even while someone was still wielding a baseball bat.
we used to be those sweaty, rambunctious, teasing, daring kids.
but now we are the grownups. we are the ladies in the kitchen making food; the grownups in the living talking about work; the ones scolding children for running in the house! getting too close to the pool! not eating everything on their plates! being mean to their sister!
it's funny. how in the blink of an eye, you can find yourself on the other side.
@>-->>---
my dad comes from a family of nine children; my mother from a family of eight. as you can imagine, i have numerous first cousins. my dad's side of the family had a stronger showing yesterday, which was really nice. with everyone getting older, it seems rare that we are all in one place any more. many of my cousins are now married with families of their own, and moving to bigger houses in different parts of town.
it doesn't seem that long ago that we would see each other all the time. we would see some of our cousins during sunday visits to our grandparents house, but the bigger showings were for birthdays, christmas, thanksgiving, easter, mother's day, and other celebrations. there were tons of us, and we would be running around every sqare inch of my grandparents' house and yard.
they lived a green house on fargo street, on a lot where an abandoned and dilapidated wood-framed house also sat. we marveled when our parents told us that when they were young, all nine of the kids plus our grandparents lived in that tiny wood-framed house. was that true? i hated to step foot in that house; i felt like the floor would collapse under me. and the mice. the boys told me that there were mice.
i remember two metal poles in the backyard to suspend laundry lines. one of those poles was SAFE for a game of tag or hide and go seek. i could hold on to one of those poles and spin around and around until i was dizzy and my hand smelled like metal.
and the outhouse. it looked like a tall wooden crate, painted the same color as the house. it was pitch black on the inside with a dark hole that led to the center of the earth for all i knew. we would dare each other to step in and close the door while one of us would count.
on one side of the house, a tall tree from which we sting pin~atas for birthday parties. the big kids swinging hard, and the brave ones crawling quickly on the grass to snatch fallen candies even while someone was still wielding a baseball bat.
we used to be those sweaty, rambunctious, teasing, daring kids.
but now we are the grownups. we are the ladies in the kitchen making food; the grownups in the living talking about work; the ones scolding children for running in the house! getting too close to the pool! not eating everything on their plates! being mean to their sister!
it's funny. how in the blink of an eye, you can find yourself on the other side.
@>-->>---
Thursday, January 05, 2006
sweet victory
my dad sent me this picture from the dallas morning news. never thought i would see it in california!
@>-->>---
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
haciendome tejana
my family has divided loyalties.
my mother was born in south texas; i was born and raised in california.
a little over six years ago i moved to texas for graduate school, and i'll be honest: i hated it. i hated the texas flags every where; i hated that eight out of every ten business establishments contained the word "texas" or its derivative, "tex" in it; the big trucks; their crazy drivers; the bumper stickers (e.g., God Bless Texas; I wasn't born in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could; Remember the Alamo). the endless texas emblems.
as far as i was concerned, texans suffered a strange kind of nationalism. sure, they were american. but first and foremost, they were TEXANS.
my mother was insulted by my disdain. as far as she was concerned, because she was a tejana, i was half. i told her no. i was from california. she persisted. i came from her and she had lived and breathed texas for years of her life. i had la tierra tejana in my blood. like it or not. ugh.
then something happened. i can't say exactly when or how. but i started to kind of like the texas flags here and there. the badass big trucks. and i had to admit that the barbecue in texas was the best i'd ever had. i started to enjoy certain texas emblems. they're unique, and they give me a sense of place.
and even though texas is, by and large, a red state, austin a liberal bubble. and i'm happy there.
so. even though i am in california for the holidays, i was rooting for my longhorns during this evening's rose bowl. though they were the underdog, they played their lonestar hearts out. and now we--the texans--are national champs. :)
@>-->>---
Monday, January 02, 2006
wild winter weather
any weather followers out there, know that california has been pummelled by storms lately. the valley has also received its share of rain. some valley bloggers don't appreciate it; i love it.
in bakersfield, it has been raining and raining and raining. when the clouds finally cleared early this afternoon, an stunning view of the mountains emerged. this is a picture of the mountains to the east of bakersfield.
the southernmost mountains--the ones that separate us from greater los angeles--loom larger and more green, especially under grey clouds and strains of winter sunlight. it's breathtaking. kind of makes me wish it would rain every day.
@>-->>---
in bakersfield, it has been raining and raining and raining. when the clouds finally cleared early this afternoon, an stunning view of the mountains emerged. this is a picture of the mountains to the east of bakersfield.
the southernmost mountains--the ones that separate us from greater los angeles--loom larger and more green, especially under grey clouds and strains of winter sunlight. it's breathtaking. kind of makes me wish it would rain every day.
@>-->>---
Sunday, January 01, 2006
looking forward
i asked my parents if they had any new year resolutions, and they both responded in fatalistic fashion: to stay alive another year. they're not that old! i wonder, at what point do we start thinking more about our mortality than new things to come in the new year?
i still look forward to the new and unknown. this is part of the charm of my financially unstable, semi-nomadic lifestyle. :) the following is what i anticipate in 2006:
1. my sister's wedding. at the end of february, my little sister will finally tie the knot. for the past two years, it's been jerryjerryjerry. i'm hoping that marrying him will cure her of that! actually, he seems like a great guy, and i'm sure that they will have good life together.
2. job interviews this winter? God please let some universities somewhere (preferably in california) call me for interviews/job talks.
3. spring break in new york. i want this trip to be a graduation gift to myself. i've never been to new york! my roommate, however, lived there for several years before moving to austin, and a couple of my good friends live there now. so, if i can pinch enough pennies over the next few months, i want a spring trip to the city. i want to see the statue of liberty, hit some museums, run in central park, get dressed up and visit a swanky bar, drink coffee somewhere in the village, and whatever else i can afford.
4. leave austin in the summer. this will break my heart. but if and when i do get a job, i'll have to leave. i'm not going to think about that just yet.
5. laura's wedding in august. hooray! laura is a fellow grad student and one of las girlfriends. the wedding will be in albuquerque. i first went to albuquerque with my best friend from california; we were driving from austin to bakersfield, where i'd be spending the summer. we stopped in albuquerque to visit laura. she gave us the tour of the old town and would not let us leave until we went to the pornographic candy store. quite an experience. (no, laura, i'll never let you forget; it's my favorite albuquerque memory!). can't wait for the wedding. ;)
6. move to ???? i'm going to move somewhere this year. i hope that it'll be somewhere in california, so that i can be closer to my family, but there are no guarantees. the academic job market is brutal; if they call you, you will go. i could very well be blogging from the middle of a corn field next year. you'll still read, right?
these are all the things that i can anticipate in 2006. but it's all the things that i can't anticipate that make the year interesting. i'll keep you posted.
@>-->>---
i still look forward to the new and unknown. this is part of the charm of my financially unstable, semi-nomadic lifestyle. :) the following is what i anticipate in 2006:
1. my sister's wedding. at the end of february, my little sister will finally tie the knot. for the past two years, it's been jerryjerryjerry. i'm hoping that marrying him will cure her of that! actually, he seems like a great guy, and i'm sure that they will have good life together.
2. job interviews this winter? God please let some universities somewhere (preferably in california) call me for interviews/job talks.
3. spring break in new york. i want this trip to be a graduation gift to myself. i've never been to new york! my roommate, however, lived there for several years before moving to austin, and a couple of my good friends live there now. so, if i can pinch enough pennies over the next few months, i want a spring trip to the city. i want to see the statue of liberty, hit some museums, run in central park, get dressed up and visit a swanky bar, drink coffee somewhere in the village, and whatever else i can afford.
4. leave austin in the summer. this will break my heart. but if and when i do get a job, i'll have to leave. i'm not going to think about that just yet.
5. laura's wedding in august. hooray! laura is a fellow grad student and one of las girlfriends. the wedding will be in albuquerque. i first went to albuquerque with my best friend from california; we were driving from austin to bakersfield, where i'd be spending the summer. we stopped in albuquerque to visit laura. she gave us the tour of the old town and would not let us leave until we went to the pornographic candy store. quite an experience. (no, laura, i'll never let you forget; it's my favorite albuquerque memory!). can't wait for the wedding. ;)
6. move to ???? i'm going to move somewhere this year. i hope that it'll be somewhere in california, so that i can be closer to my family, but there are no guarantees. the academic job market is brutal; if they call you, you will go. i could very well be blogging from the middle of a corn field next year. you'll still read, right?
these are all the things that i can anticipate in 2006. but it's all the things that i can't anticipate that make the year interesting. i'll keep you posted.
@>-->>---
Thursday, December 29, 2005
aftermath
one of the luxuries that i grant myself when coming home is to spend a leisurely morning reading the bakersfield californian.
of course, there has been ample news coverage of the mall shooting death earlier this week. a front page story today revealed that sixteen of the thirty-two murders in town this year have been gang related. the mayor frustrated with all of the gang violence, not wanting to have to attend another of of these funerals. she wants to adopt a zero tolerance policy. she announced a community meeting for concerned citizens on saturday morning.
the letters to the editor of late have, of course, been about the mall shooting earlier this week. there have been some particularly disturbing letters, one woman in particular wrote that if the boy who was killed was a gang member, he deserved what he got. one less gang member for the rest of the community to worry about.
more common (and mild) opions reflected were from people who asserted that they would no longer be frequenting the mall.
i was telling my parents this afternoon that i think it's sad that nobody in the community wants to take responsibility for this incident. the gang members can kill each other off? is anyone the least bit curious why these kids are joining gangs in the first place? or the conditions under which they live? or what has led them to this point in their young lives?
why is it so easy to dehumanize gang members?
and then people who will "solve" the problem by ceasing their mall excursions. as long as they don't have to see the problem, as long as the violence does not personally affect them, it can continue.
i don't know what the solution to the problem is. i don't know if there is a solution. but i do think that a good first step would be to see that we can't ignore these kids. we can't wish them away. like it or not, they are part of our community.
@>-->>--
of course, there has been ample news coverage of the mall shooting death earlier this week. a front page story today revealed that sixteen of the thirty-two murders in town this year have been gang related. the mayor frustrated with all of the gang violence, not wanting to have to attend another of of these funerals. she wants to adopt a zero tolerance policy. she announced a community meeting for concerned citizens on saturday morning.
the letters to the editor of late have, of course, been about the mall shooting earlier this week. there have been some particularly disturbing letters, one woman in particular wrote that if the boy who was killed was a gang member, he deserved what he got. one less gang member for the rest of the community to worry about.
more common (and mild) opions reflected were from people who asserted that they would no longer be frequenting the mall.
i was telling my parents this afternoon that i think it's sad that nobody in the community wants to take responsibility for this incident. the gang members can kill each other off? is anyone the least bit curious why these kids are joining gangs in the first place? or the conditions under which they live? or what has led them to this point in their young lives?
why is it so easy to dehumanize gang members?
and then people who will "solve" the problem by ceasing their mall excursions. as long as they don't have to see the problem, as long as the violence does not personally affect them, it can continue.
i don't know what the solution to the problem is. i don't know if there is a solution. but i do think that a good first step would be to see that we can't ignore these kids. we can't wish them away. like it or not, they are part of our community.
@>-->>--
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
mall shooting
the following is an excerpt from an article that appeared in the bakersfield californian tooday.
people outside of the central valley don't actually think "gang-related shooting" when they think "bakersfield." they are more likely to think: "farmers," "republicans," "oil," "buck owens," etc. to a certain extent, even those of us who live here (or who are from here) think those same stereotypical things about bakersfield. unless, of course, we live in a part of town that is marked by gang activity.
the reason that the violence "shocked" us (as the title of the article would indicate) is because it occurred in the mall--a public space where people from several neighorhoods, some gang-infested, some not, converge. all of a sudden, the violence that had previously been confined to particular neighborhoods has become visible, even palpable, to those of us who usually have the luxury of ignoring it.
interestingly enough, the mall was crowded again today. my mom and i went to run errands earlier this afternoon and found the parking lots full, the customer service lines long. nobody that i saw seemed skittish, though i have to confess that i did feel ... unsettled.
@>-->>---
Shooting shocks mall
19-year-old dies after being shot in chest; suspects at large
By GRETCHEN WENNER and SARAH RUBY, Californian staff writers
e-mail: gwenner@bakersfield.com, sruby@bakersfield.com
Posted: Tuesday December 27th, 2005, 11:35 PM
Gunfire killed a 19-year-old Bakersfield man inside Valley Plaza mall Tuesday evening, creating chaos as shoppers ran for exits and fights broke out, police and witnesses said.
Bakersfield police say a bullet fired around 6:21 p.m. hit a man in the chest, killing him. An aunt at the scene identified the victim as D'Andre Marzette. Police confirmed the information but spelled the first name Deondre.
The shooting occurred after two groups of men bumped into each other in front of Champs Sports, said police Detective Mary DeGeare.
Police were looking for the suspected shooter and a second man Tuesday night. Several people were detained, including one with a non-functioning gun.
The incident may be gang-related, police said. Some of the detainees told officers they had gang ties, DeGeare said. She said the two groups involved in the confrontation knew each other.
Mall surveillance cameras caught the shooting on tape.
...
The Ming Avenue mall was crowded with post-Christmas shoppers, witnesses said.
"The place was packed," said Randy Martin, 38, who was browsing in The Finish Line when he heard a loud pop. It sounded like glass breaking or something falling, he said.
"The next thing I know, it's like a stampede," Martin said.
People were screaming, yelling and running through the mall.
Store workers and mall guards started shutting and locking gates in stores, he said.
Martin, whose wife, Kim, was shopping at the Gap, jumped through the gate before it closed.
The chaotic exodus lasted about 15 or 20 minutes, he said.
"It was kind of freaky," Martin said of the scene. "Any character you can imagine -- they were running by."
Mall security had used a special code to initiate the quick lockdown, DeGeare said. "It was fortunate no one else was hurt" as people raced to get out, she said.
people outside of the central valley don't actually think "gang-related shooting" when they think "bakersfield." they are more likely to think: "farmers," "republicans," "oil," "buck owens," etc. to a certain extent, even those of us who live here (or who are from here) think those same stereotypical things about bakersfield. unless, of course, we live in a part of town that is marked by gang activity.
the reason that the violence "shocked" us (as the title of the article would indicate) is because it occurred in the mall--a public space where people from several neighorhoods, some gang-infested, some not, converge. all of a sudden, the violence that had previously been confined to particular neighborhoods has become visible, even palpable, to those of us who usually have the luxury of ignoring it.
interestingly enough, the mall was crowded again today. my mom and i went to run errands earlier this afternoon and found the parking lots full, the customer service lines long. nobody that i saw seemed skittish, though i have to confess that i did feel ... unsettled.
@>-->>---
Saturday, December 24, 2005
tamalada
every year we get together--my mom her closest sister, my cousin and her family, me, and sometimes my sister--to make tamales. and every year my mom swears it will be the last time.making tamales is labor intensive. cooking the meat; shredding the meat; de-seeding the chiles and then soaking them to make salsa; adding just enough salt/chile/baking powder/crisco(yes, we're health conscious! ;) to the masa; amasando bien; soaking and cleaning the hojas. when we finish all of the above, then we can begin the arduous process of assembling the tamales. spreading the masa on an hoja, adding meat, and wrapping each tamal. the tamales need to be placed carefully in a deep pot and steam-cooked for an hour to an hour and a half.
yesterday we made tamales from twenty five pounds of masa. and we were tired. my hands stung from peeling chiles. we all complained of aching backs. our fingers like prunes from handling so many wet hojas.
why, then, do we continue to make tamales year after year?
it's a tradition. making tamales is an important part of mexican culture. it's a traditional food of which we partake during christmas. anthropologists appreciate that aspect of culture. ;)
but on a more personal level, it's also something that my mom and her sisters did with their mom. i like the idea of carrying the tradition to another generation. making tamales gives us a reason to get together, to spend time with one another. to catch up on our lives. to gossip about other family members! to remember old stories.
a tamalada definitely revolves around food and its preparation. it also revolves around family, and strengthening the bonds that already connect us to each other.
@>-->>---
Thursday, December 22, 2005
home sweet home
i flew in to bakersfield on a gorgeous monday afternoon. the sky a tender blue dusted by bright white cirrus clouds. the strong outline of the mountains, some already snow-capped.a winter trip is always much nicer than a summer visit here. bakersfield summers are oppressively hot; this past july/august while i was here, the temperature dipped below one hundred degrees only once. and the pollution stings and obscures the horizon in a brown haze.
but the past few days have been perfect. clear and temperate, beautiful.
and then let me brag about a being in a smaller town. the traffic is next to nothing; the stores are not claustrophically crowded; and you can still get a good cup of coffee. :)
part of my contentment here, i'm sure, stems from the fact that for the first time in a long time, i can just relax. sleep late. spend a leisurely morning with my mom, reading the paper and drinking coffee. shop. bake. cook. it's great.
great to be home!
@>-->>---
Monday, December 19, 2005
xmas crossing austin
after my last post, a veritable austin lovefest, i got burned!
sunday night, my last night in town before heading to california for the holiday. i had plans with a couple of friends to go see the trail of lights at zilker park. it's an annual austin holiday event. and in my four and a half years here, i'd never been.
the picture that you see of the tree of lights against the austin skyline is about as close as we got.
we decided that it would be worth it to drive to the park rather than take the shuttle.
well, we drove down barton springs road, admiring all the lighted businesses and fans walking along the street. we got in to zilker park and then we were detoured right out. no problem, we'd go back out on barton springs and head west to mopac. stopped at a red on barton springs, we noticed a herd of bicyclists heading to the trail of lights. it was amazing! men, women, children. many decked out in christmas apparel. some bikes adorned with battery operated christmas lights. how cute! how austin!
thirty minutes later, as the crowd of bicyclists continued to pedal by our stationary cars, it was no longer cute. no longer charming. we were agitated. when we were finally able to head west and get on mopac, we were promptly halted at the trail of lights exit. we waited, trapped in a trail of cars, for a long time. after we exited, the traffic did not cease to be nightmarish.
we gave up. got back on mopac. and as we were driving by the parking area, we saw a lighted construction sign that said, "lot full. use shuttle."
oh well. christmas is in bakersfield anyway.
@>-->>---
Friday, December 16, 2005
i heart austin
a couple of years ago, my friend faedah would write and tell me that she had never loved a city the way she loved damascus. she was on a fulbright in syria conducting fieldwork about the old city. i thought she meant the people or the lifestyle. but she insisted it was the city. she wanted to throw her arms around the walls. she loved it.
i thought, how strange to love a city with such ardor.
but tonight, driving north along congress avenue, i let my eyes linger on the city before me--the illuminated outline of downtown buildings, the white christmas lights in the shapes of instruments, the reflection of light on the colorado river, the soft glow of the capital. and i felt a surge of... appreciation. attachment. affection. love.
i was trying to explain this to my mom the other day. we'd driven up to kerbey lane restaurant for brunch before her departure flight to california. she crinkled her nose at the restaurant, and said, "no estará cucharachenta?"
"mother!" i replied as we got out of the car, having no other witty comebacks.
kerbey lane is an austin staple. the original restaurant (there are now a couple of other locations) is an old, wood-framed house, brightly painted inside and out with hardwood floors and locally-produced art adorning its walls. it's extremely popular for its pancakes, which are served 24 hours a day. people literally line up on weekends, often waiting an hour or more, to be seated for brunch.
once inside, she says, "i guess it's pretty clean from the inside."
i think that she is annoyed with me because i've been taking her and the rest of my family to strange restaurants all weekend. what's wrong with chili's and denny's?
i try to explain to her. a few years ago, when i drove into laredo for a shakira concert, i was disappointed that the parts of town we drove through looked just like any city, any where. there were starbucks, chilis, sonics... any number of chain stores. but during that brief trip, i didn't see anything that helped me to see laredo's character, what made it unique as a city.
austin is teeming with character.
i tell her, this is what austin is about. the old houses converted into funky shops and restaurants. the work of local artists--for better or worse--displayed in restaurants and coffeeshops. the hipster service industry with their shaggy haircuts and multiple tatoos. the multiple music venues. (every austin girl has to have a crush on at least one musician during her time here. my crush is davÃd garza.) the outdoor festivals and festivities-- ACLand South by Southwest are the most well-known, but there are several throughout the year.
i love this city. its originality. its quirkiness.
i could also write forever about the people who have made this place magic for me, but i'll leave that for another post. for now, i'll just say that, if i could, i would throw my arms around this city, in ardent love.
@>-->>---
i thought, how strange to love a city with such ardor.
but tonight, driving north along congress avenue, i let my eyes linger on the city before me--the illuminated outline of downtown buildings, the white christmas lights in the shapes of instruments, the reflection of light on the colorado river, the soft glow of the capital. and i felt a surge of... appreciation. attachment. affection. love.i was trying to explain this to my mom the other day. we'd driven up to kerbey lane restaurant for brunch before her departure flight to california. she crinkled her nose at the restaurant, and said, "no estará cucharachenta?"
"mother!" i replied as we got out of the car, having no other witty comebacks.
kerbey lane is an austin staple. the original restaurant (there are now a couple of other locations) is an old, wood-framed house, brightly painted inside and out with hardwood floors and locally-produced art adorning its walls. it's extremely popular for its pancakes, which are served 24 hours a day. people literally line up on weekends, often waiting an hour or more, to be seated for brunch.
once inside, she says, "i guess it's pretty clean from the inside."
i think that she is annoyed with me because i've been taking her and the rest of my family to strange restaurants all weekend. what's wrong with chili's and denny's?
i try to explain to her. a few years ago, when i drove into laredo for a shakira concert, i was disappointed that the parts of town we drove through looked just like any city, any where. there were starbucks, chilis, sonics... any number of chain stores. but during that brief trip, i didn't see anything that helped me to see laredo's character, what made it unique as a city.
austin is teeming with character.
i tell her, this is what austin is about. the old houses converted into funky shops and restaurants. the work of local artists--for better or worse--displayed in restaurants and coffeeshops. the hipster service industry with their shaggy haircuts and multiple tatoos. the multiple music venues. (every austin girl has to have a crush on at least one musician during her time here. my crush is davÃd garza.) the outdoor festivals and festivities-- ACLand South by Southwest are the most well-known, but there are several throughout the year.
i love this city. its originality. its quirkiness.
i could also write forever about the people who have made this place magic for me, but i'll leave that for another post. for now, i'll just say that, if i could, i would throw my arms around this city, in ardent love.
@>-->>---
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
ritual
as an anthropologist, i'm a big fan of ritual.
a lot of people i know have not participated in their graduation ceremonies. but after six and a half years in this program, i was not about to miss my graduation ceremony. i needed it. i needed the ritual to help me understand that i'm finished. to put on the gown and funny hat. to be hooded.
here is a picture my dad took of my hooding.
note the dimly lit stage. all of the elders, similarly dressed in their robes and tams, looking on as the dean hoods me.
i am one of them now.
i feel like i've joined a secret society. or a cult.
either way, i've crossed to the other side. :)
@>-->>---
a lot of people i know have not participated in their graduation ceremonies. but after six and a half years in this program, i was not about to miss my graduation ceremony. i needed it. i needed the ritual to help me understand that i'm finished. to put on the gown and funny hat. to be hooded.
here is a picture my dad took of my hooding.
note the dimly lit stage. all of the elders, similarly dressed in their robes and tams, looking on as the dean hoods me.
i am one of them now.
i feel like i've joined a secret society. or a cult.
either way, i've crossed to the other side. :)
@>-->>---
Sunday, December 11, 2005
graduation
i am standing in the wings, chatting nervously to the graduates around me. when did you defend? what department? are you on the job market.
small talk that cannot come to fruition because in minutes we will be crossing the stage. we will be hooded. we will receive diplomas (well, fake diplomas for the day).
i wear the traditional doctoral garb. a black, flowing graduation robe with black velvet paneling. a velvet "tam," which looks like a cross between a french beret and a chef's hat. my blue, orange and white hood is draped across my right arm. i clutch my name card (with the phonetic pronunciation of my last name) in my left hand.
a woman scurries by to make sure that our hoods are folded and draped appropriately. another woman briskly walks by the line, emphasizing that our name cards need to be in our LEFT hands.
the line moves along. i am on deck. when it is my turn, a woman gently pushes me forward. i give my name card to one person, then hand my hood to a white-haired man with bloodshot eyes. he, in turn, hands it to someone else. i hear my name, am relieved when the emcee pronounces my last name correctly. i move in front of the the assistant dean of the college of liberal arts--who happens to be one of my committee members, a friend--and face the stage. i feel my entire body exhale as the dean places the hood around my neck.
a series of hand shakes. the dean. the vice-provost. the guy handing out fake diplomas. my last hand shake actually pulls me off stage, and i am ushered into the wings again. a hug from a familar face. i am ushered into pictures. stand here. turn this way. behind this texas background. behind that plain one. i am ushered back into the auditorium and hugged by the woman who processed my paperwork the day before.
i see my family--dad, mom, sister, brother. friends from california who have flown in for the occasion. friends from texas who've become like family. they are waving. smiling. taking pictures. i walk to my seat, grinning like an idiot, in my jaunty tam and billowing graduation frock. and it's just one of those moments. one of those perfect moments when everything seems full and right.
@>-->>---
small talk that cannot come to fruition because in minutes we will be crossing the stage. we will be hooded. we will receive diplomas (well, fake diplomas for the day).
i wear the traditional doctoral garb. a black, flowing graduation robe with black velvet paneling. a velvet "tam," which looks like a cross between a french beret and a chef's hat. my blue, orange and white hood is draped across my right arm. i clutch my name card (with the phonetic pronunciation of my last name) in my left hand.
a woman scurries by to make sure that our hoods are folded and draped appropriately. another woman briskly walks by the line, emphasizing that our name cards need to be in our LEFT hands.
the line moves along. i am on deck. when it is my turn, a woman gently pushes me forward. i give my name card to one person, then hand my hood to a white-haired man with bloodshot eyes. he, in turn, hands it to someone else. i hear my name, am relieved when the emcee pronounces my last name correctly. i move in front of the the assistant dean of the college of liberal arts--who happens to be one of my committee members, a friend--and face the stage. i feel my entire body exhale as the dean places the hood around my neck.
a series of hand shakes. the dean. the vice-provost. the guy handing out fake diplomas. my last hand shake actually pulls me off stage, and i am ushered into the wings again. a hug from a familar face. i am ushered into pictures. stand here. turn this way. behind this texas background. behind that plain one. i am ushered back into the auditorium and hugged by the woman who processed my paperwork the day before.
i see my family--dad, mom, sister, brother. friends from california who have flown in for the occasion. friends from texas who've become like family. they are waving. smiling. taking pictures. i walk to my seat, grinning like an idiot, in my jaunty tam and billowing graduation frock. and it's just one of those moments. one of those perfect moments when everything seems full and right.
@>-->>---
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
wrapping things up
don't judge.
but i'm not *quite* done with my dissertation.
i did successfully defend my dissertation. i obtained signatures from all of my committee members who were present at the defense.
but they asked me to write four more pages.
that was a month ago. i thought i had lots of time.
but i still haven't done it.
and then there's the small matter of paperwork. copyright trainings. electronic submissions. fees. and then, of course, chasing down people to get my last signatures.
it's all due friday.
but my family and friends are coming in for my graduation tomorrow!!!
exciting!
and stressful.
the next couple of days should be interesting...
@>-->>---
but i'm not *quite* done with my dissertation.
i did successfully defend my dissertation. i obtained signatures from all of my committee members who were present at the defense.
but they asked me to write four more pages.
that was a month ago. i thought i had lots of time.
but i still haven't done it.
and then there's the small matter of paperwork. copyright trainings. electronic submissions. fees. and then, of course, chasing down people to get my last signatures.
it's all due friday.
but my family and friends are coming in for my graduation tomorrow!!!
exciting!
and stressful.
the next couple of days should be interesting...
@>-->>---
Sunday, December 04, 2005
memorials and such
just back from the anthropology meetings in washington d.c.
it was a busy week! i had my out-of-state job talk, then two interviews in d.c. it's been an interesting and instructive experience. i hope that it all amounts to something by the end of the school year.
rather than regale you with job horror stories, let me share some fun pics of d.c.!
saturday morning, before interview number two, my friend faedah and i went on a power walk around the national mall. i wanted to see all the memorials and monuments, and because she used to live in d.c., faedah was the perfect tour guide!
we visited the more well-known memorials, most notably the jefferson and lincoln memorials. however, i'd never had the chance to see the franklin delano roosevelt memorial. unlike the other two presidential memorials which represent the men as larger than life, this memorial represented roosevelt's life and the major events that occurred during his presidency. the path along the granite walls of the memorial represents the different stages of the president's life and presidency, including his election, the depression, the war, and finally his death. there are beautiful waterfalls along the walk. i thought it was really nice, because it not only honored the president, it honored that whole period of american history.
in addition to those memorials in the national mall, we also stopped to visit memorials for the korean and vietnam wars, as well as the new world war two memorial. it was very beautiful, almost majestic. faedah remarked that she preferred the simplicity of the vietnam memorial. the plain black granite and the emphasis on the names of the soldiers. nothing really symbolic, but more importantly, no one anonymous. i think it's important to remember that there are real people, young people with families who die--continue to die--tragically in senseless wars.
@>-->>---
it was a busy week! i had my out-of-state job talk, then two interviews in d.c. it's been an interesting and instructive experience. i hope that it all amounts to something by the end of the school year.
rather than regale you with job horror stories, let me share some fun pics of d.c.!
saturday morning, before interview number two, my friend faedah and i went on a power walk around the national mall. i wanted to see all the memorials and monuments, and because she used to live in d.c., faedah was the perfect tour guide! 
we visited the more well-known memorials, most notably the jefferson and lincoln memorials. however, i'd never had the chance to see the franklin delano roosevelt memorial. unlike the other two presidential memorials which represent the men as larger than life, this memorial represented roosevelt's life and the major events that occurred during his presidency. the path along the granite walls of the memorial represents the different stages of the president's life and presidency, including his election, the depression, the war, and finally his death. there are beautiful waterfalls along the walk. i thought it was really nice, because it not only honored the president, it honored that whole period of american history.
in addition to those memorials in the national mall, we also stopped to visit memorials for the korean and vietnam wars, as well as the new world war two memorial. it was very beautiful, almost majestic. faedah remarked that she preferred the simplicity of the vietnam memorial. the plain black granite and the emphasis on the names of the soldiers. nothing really symbolic, but more importantly, no one anonymous. i think it's important to remember that there are real people, young people with families who die--continue to die--tragically in senseless wars.@>-->>---
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
autumn and beyond
some places have autumn.nearly every day i pass two red-leafed trees that grow in the front of an elementary school near my house. we don't get much of a fall here in austin. the leaves don't often turn gently to yellows, oranges, and reds. most of the time, the leaves seem to be scorched off the trees, fall brittle and brown to the ground. but every so often there is a beatiful yellow or red-leafed tree.
earlier this week, i visited a university in a state where there is, apparently, autumn. i have to admit that i was taken by the trees and red brick buildings.
i mentioned in an earlier post how unsettling it is to be on the job market, but this was a good visit. it was nice to get to know another university in another state. to meet other young scholars who are smart and seem to genuinely enjoy their work. and then to imagine my opportunities in a new environment. and while it was a little stressful to present the best--smartest, most personable--version of myself to the faculty at this school, it was a neat experience to see that they were also putting their best foot (feet?) forward for me! and let's face it. the wining and dining is nice, too. :)
anyway, that's part one of the week. tomorrow i'm off to D.C. for the annual anthropology meetings. i have a couple more interviews there. wish me luck!
@>-->>---
Friday, November 25, 2005
thanksgiving
top five things for which i am thankful:
5. austin. i love this town. nestled in the hill country. eighty degrees at the end of november. today was gorgeous. the leaves turning, heavy clouds crawling across the sky, sunny and blue. and the town is funky and fun. lots of students and/or hipsters. great shopping, great coffee. and we are in the bluest county in texas. :)
4. job possibilities. stressful, yes. but after two years of a whole lot of nothing, that anyone even wants to interview me is something for which to be thankful.
3. a finished dissertation. after two years of drudgery it feels amazing to be done! it feels great. i'm going to disneyland.
2. friends. i have great friends all over california and texas. i'm especially lucky to have an amazing group of girlfriends in austin. there is a critical mass of us who have all been here for ... well, i won't say how many years. but several years. we've been through a lot together. lots of stress and frustration, but also a lot of laughter and celebration, too. and wine! lots of red wine. :)
1. family. despite the fact that i was not able to spend thanksgiving with my family this year, i'm grateful that they have been there for me, especially through all of the graduate school madness. they've given me lots of encouragement and lots of compassion. and in two weeks, they'll all be here for my graduation. that's definitely something for which to be thankful.
@>-->>---
5. austin. i love this town. nestled in the hill country. eighty degrees at the end of november. today was gorgeous. the leaves turning, heavy clouds crawling across the sky, sunny and blue. and the town is funky and fun. lots of students and/or hipsters. great shopping, great coffee. and we are in the bluest county in texas. :)
4. job possibilities. stressful, yes. but after two years of a whole lot of nothing, that anyone even wants to interview me is something for which to be thankful.
3. a finished dissertation. after two years of drudgery it feels amazing to be done! it feels great. i'm going to disneyland.
2. friends. i have great friends all over california and texas. i'm especially lucky to have an amazing group of girlfriends in austin. there is a critical mass of us who have all been here for ... well, i won't say how many years. but several years. we've been through a lot together. lots of stress and frustration, but also a lot of laughter and celebration, too. and wine! lots of red wine. :)
1. family. despite the fact that i was not able to spend thanksgiving with my family this year, i'm grateful that they have been there for me, especially through all of the graduate school madness. they've given me lots of encouragement and lots of compassion. and in two weeks, they'll all be here for my graduation. that's definitely something for which to be thankful.
@>-->>---
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
you can take the girl outta bakersfield, but you can't...
i have one campus visit and two job interviews scheduled for next week.
i have to confess that i'm a little bit shocked. it's hard for me to believe that they want to interview me.
growing up in bakersfield , everyone thought that i was a crazy liberal because i self-identified as a--gasp!--democrat. i thought that i was smart and progressive. i couldn't wait to go away to college.
then i got to stanford. i was one of the most conservative people around. i remember my roommates taking pleasure in scandalizing me, the small town girl in the suite. it was true. i was small town. there were so many things that i had never been exposed to before. so many different kinds of people, cultures, divergent politics, different value systems. i realized later that a lot of the difference between me and the people i met at stanford was that they had money (not that i ever thought that i didn't!). but these people had been exposed to much more than i had. they'd traveled, gone to out-of-state prep schools. their worldviews were much more broad than mine were.
i eventually found my niche at stanford. not among the trustfund babies or the young millionaires, as you can imagine. rather, i found community among other chicanos and asian americans. (i'll leave the class and race analysis for that scenario for a later date).
what does all of this have to do with my job hunt?
just this: i'm nervous because i'm at the point where i feel smart and progressive. and there are big universities calling. and i'm starting to feel like that small town girl all over again.
@>-->>---
i have to confess that i'm a little bit shocked. it's hard for me to believe that they want to interview me.
growing up in bakersfield , everyone thought that i was a crazy liberal because i self-identified as a--gasp!--democrat. i thought that i was smart and progressive. i couldn't wait to go away to college.
then i got to stanford. i was one of the most conservative people around. i remember my roommates taking pleasure in scandalizing me, the small town girl in the suite. it was true. i was small town. there were so many things that i had never been exposed to before. so many different kinds of people, cultures, divergent politics, different value systems. i realized later that a lot of the difference between me and the people i met at stanford was that they had money (not that i ever thought that i didn't!). but these people had been exposed to much more than i had. they'd traveled, gone to out-of-state prep schools. their worldviews were much more broad than mine were.
i eventually found my niche at stanford. not among the trustfund babies or the young millionaires, as you can imagine. rather, i found community among other chicanos and asian americans. (i'll leave the class and race analysis for that scenario for a later date).
what does all of this have to do with my job hunt?
just this: i'm nervous because i'm at the point where i feel smart and progressive. and there are big universities calling. and i'm starting to feel like that small town girl all over again.
@>-->>---
Saturday, November 19, 2005
how to be a chicana role model
my very sweet friend, virginia, asked me the other day, "aren't you proud of yourself?" (referring to the ph.d.)
i thought about it and decided that i was happy, but not "proud of myself."
she told me, "you should be proud of yourself!"
then i had this nice moment yesterday.
i volunteered to speak to a group of students who were visiting UT from texas a & m kingsville . i spoke, along with a couple of other graduate students, about my experiences in graduate school; the idea was to demystify the process of applying and getting through a master's or ph.d. degree program.
i walked into the room and noticed that most of the visiting group was mexican american, and most were young women.
the UT organizer of the panel and one of the deans of the graduate school (whose office we were meeting in) were murmuring about me. then the dean asked me, in a whisper, "did you just defend your dissertation?"
"yes."
both she and the UT organizer congratulated me and introduced me to the group as "doctor n--." all of a sudden, i was grateful that i had dressed semi-professionally for the occasion.
it was a very surreal moment to be standing in front of all of these undergraduate mexican american women in this context. i could feel them looking at me. i could tell that they were thinking, "she's a doctor?"
when it was my turn to speak, i told them about my research in south texas, asking them, "are any of you from the valley?" several hands went up. one of the young women was excited to learn that i had done my research in her hometown. i told her how i loved it there.
and then a funny thing happened. i started to feel proud of myself. i was happy to have done my research in south texas, home to some of these young women. and i was happy to be a mexican american woman, like them. maybe i'm being over-optimistic, but i hope that they thought, if she can get her ph.d., so can i. she's just like me after all (just older!). i kind of started to feel like a ... role model.
here's to being a chicana role model.
@>-->>---
i thought about it and decided that i was happy, but not "proud of myself."
she told me, "you should be proud of yourself!"
then i had this nice moment yesterday.
i volunteered to speak to a group of students who were visiting UT from texas a & m kingsville . i spoke, along with a couple of other graduate students, about my experiences in graduate school; the idea was to demystify the process of applying and getting through a master's or ph.d. degree program.
i walked into the room and noticed that most of the visiting group was mexican american, and most were young women.
the UT organizer of the panel and one of the deans of the graduate school (whose office we were meeting in) were murmuring about me. then the dean asked me, in a whisper, "did you just defend your dissertation?"
"yes."
both she and the UT organizer congratulated me and introduced me to the group as "doctor n--." all of a sudden, i was grateful that i had dressed semi-professionally for the occasion.
it was a very surreal moment to be standing in front of all of these undergraduate mexican american women in this context. i could feel them looking at me. i could tell that they were thinking, "she's a doctor?"
when it was my turn to speak, i told them about my research in south texas, asking them, "are any of you from the valley?" several hands went up. one of the young women was excited to learn that i had done my research in her hometown. i told her how i loved it there.
and then a funny thing happened. i started to feel proud of myself. i was happy to have done my research in south texas, home to some of these young women. and i was happy to be a mexican american woman, like them. maybe i'm being over-optimistic, but i hope that they thought, if she can get her ph.d., so can i. she's just like me after all (just older!). i kind of started to feel like a ... role model.
here's to being a chicana role model.
@>-->>---
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
perfect
the academic job market.
i've already complained about it here .
how stressful it is to assemble the job packets.
each one a little different.
coming to terms with the fact that there is not a perfect job for you.
rather, you need to try to be perfect for the job.
at this point, the process has become mechanized.
printing writing samples. copying the CV on special paper.
printing and copying coverletters on university letterhead.
dear search committee: i'm writing to express interest in the position of assistant professor in the X department at X university. i feel that i would be an excellent candidate blah blah blah.
cut paste print copy stamp mail
i write these letters and assemble these job dossiers almost without thinking.
the more difficult thing now is trying to wrap my mind around the idea that next fall i could be in new jersey. or upstate new york. or oklahoma. iowa. d.c. indiana. illinois. california. anywhere.
or no where. i guess i could get nothing and stay in austin. which actually wouldn't be so bad.
but just to think of the anywhere. it scares me.
@>-->>---
i've already complained about it here .
how stressful it is to assemble the job packets.
each one a little different.
coming to terms with the fact that there is not a perfect job for you.
rather, you need to try to be perfect for the job.
at this point, the process has become mechanized.
printing writing samples. copying the CV on special paper.
printing and copying coverletters on university letterhead.
dear search committee: i'm writing to express interest in the position of assistant professor in the X department at X university. i feel that i would be an excellent candidate blah blah blah.
cut paste print copy stamp mail
i write these letters and assemble these job dossiers almost without thinking.
the more difficult thing now is trying to wrap my mind around the idea that next fall i could be in new jersey. or upstate new york. or oklahoma. iowa. d.c. indiana. illinois. california. anywhere.
or no where. i guess i could get nothing and stay in austin. which actually wouldn't be so bad.
but just to think of the anywhere. it scares me.
@>-->>---
Sunday, November 13, 2005
beto driving
the best thing to do when you have a mild case of the blues is to put on your dancing shoes. :) actually, i put on a pair of borrowed black cowboy boots.
friday night, my roommate and i went to see/hear/dance to one of our favorite local bands, maneja beto. these pics are courtesy of the maneja beto website. notice what the percussionist's t-shirt says.
the event was a fundraiser to help support indigenous radio stations in southern mexico, which drew quite a crowd. i saw people there from the anthropology department who i hadn't seen in ages (i tend to avoid the anthro department), folks from mexican american studies, and other people that i've met here and there. i even shared the dance floor with two of my students--one current and one former.
i have to confess that it was a little unnerving to dance in front of one of my current students. but everyone who knows me knows that i am a cumbia fiend. i love to dance cumbia. and maneja beto has such a great sound.
so i said a pleasant hello to my student and proceeded to cumbia the night away.
@>-->>---
friday night, my roommate and i went to see/hear/dance to one of our favorite local bands, maneja beto. these pics are courtesy of the maneja beto website. notice what the percussionist's t-shirt says.
the event was a fundraiser to help support indigenous radio stations in southern mexico, which drew quite a crowd. i saw people there from the anthropology department who i hadn't seen in ages (i tend to avoid the anthro department), folks from mexican american studies, and other people that i've met here and there. i even shared the dance floor with two of my students--one current and one former.
i have to confess that it was a little unnerving to dance in front of one of my current students. but everyone who knows me knows that i am a cumbia fiend. i love to dance cumbia. and maneja beto has such a great sound.
so i said a pleasant hello to my student and proceeded to cumbia the night away.
@>-->>---
Friday, November 11, 2005
drudgery
what would it take to make me happy?
over the past week, several people have asked me variations of, "do you feel this incredible weight lifted off your shoulders now that the dissertation defense is over?" to which i've answered in a very eeyore kind of way, "not really."
i know! i should be dancing in the streets! i was happy when i turned in the diss at the end of september. remember? but i'm now in the thick of fall semester.
i'm teaching, which is great most of the time. i love to teach, especially my class this semester. but it does take a lot of preparation. this past week i had a gajillion exams and papers to grade. ok, maybe there were just thirty-one. but for those of you who have never experienced the joy of grading, it ofen feels like your life is bleeding slowly out of you.
then there is the not insignificant matter of job and fellowship applications. i've got the basic letters and job materials down, but the postdoctoral essays are something else entirely. i've been fortunate to have professors give me feedback about my research plans, so that i can revise! revise! revise! but sometimes you just want to say, ok. enough with the feedback. can't you love me the way that i am?
and finally, the small fact that the guy i thought was my soulmate emailed me last week to announce that he is getting married. this was the day of my defense, by the way. yeah, that was fun. so that also puts a damper on my otherwise always chipper (ha!) mood. :)
but really. i'm done with my dissertation. i generally really do enjoy my work teaching. and i have one foot out of the graduate school door. what would it take to make me happy?
@>-->>---
over the past week, several people have asked me variations of, "do you feel this incredible weight lifted off your shoulders now that the dissertation defense is over?" to which i've answered in a very eeyore kind of way, "not really."
i know! i should be dancing in the streets! i was happy when i turned in the diss at the end of september. remember? but i'm now in the thick of fall semester.
i'm teaching, which is great most of the time. i love to teach, especially my class this semester. but it does take a lot of preparation. this past week i had a gajillion exams and papers to grade. ok, maybe there were just thirty-one. but for those of you who have never experienced the joy of grading, it ofen feels like your life is bleeding slowly out of you.
then there is the not insignificant matter of job and fellowship applications. i've got the basic letters and job materials down, but the postdoctoral essays are something else entirely. i've been fortunate to have professors give me feedback about my research plans, so that i can revise! revise! revise! but sometimes you just want to say, ok. enough with the feedback. can't you love me the way that i am?
and finally, the small fact that the guy i thought was my soulmate emailed me last week to announce that he is getting married. this was the day of my defense, by the way. yeah, that was fun. so that also puts a damper on my otherwise always chipper (ha!) mood. :)
but really. i'm done with my dissertation. i generally really do enjoy my work teaching. and i have one foot out of the graduate school door. what would it take to make me happy?
@>-->>---
Sunday, November 06, 2005
using my powers for good
friday night at the chevron.
it is the night of my birthday party, and i need to buy ice.
i have dressed in a silky pink shirt with spaghetti straps, grey pants, and black heels. i've taken pains with my makeup, trying to a achieve a smoky-eyed look. but i am 30. and i am dissatisfied with my outfit; i do not feel as put together as i would like. if only i had the right accessories. and the smoky eyes? i feel like shadows make my eyes look tired.
i grab a five pound bag of ice from outside and walk into the tiny chevron, where there is a long line of people, mostly younger mexican men. it looks as if many have just gotten off work and stopped at the chevron for beer. some with singles; others with six-packs; still others with more substantial boxes of beer.
i am conspicuously overdressed. i am also one of two women in the store. the other is older, in lounge clothes, disshelved white hair, and noticeable whiskers sprouting from her chin.
needless to say, i am the belle of the ball. the guys in front of me are casting glances. i think that one of them even mumbles something to me about the long line. and even though i don't feel as "put together" as i would like, i'm beginning to realize that it's all about context.
i'm the most beautiful girl at the chevron off I-35 on friday night.
i approach the cashier, and he charges me $2.05 for my bag of ice. i hand him my twenty dollar bill. as he begins to count out my ninety-five cents in change, i look up at him through my lashes and say, "you're not really going to give me ninety-five cents, are you?'' he looks at me with an "aw shucks" expression on his face, and hands me a dollar.
"thank you."
it's a small victory. but when you're thirty, sometimes you need to prove that you can be queen of chevron on friday night.
@>-->>---
it is the night of my birthday party, and i need to buy ice.
i have dressed in a silky pink shirt with spaghetti straps, grey pants, and black heels. i've taken pains with my makeup, trying to a achieve a smoky-eyed look. but i am 30. and i am dissatisfied with my outfit; i do not feel as put together as i would like. if only i had the right accessories. and the smoky eyes? i feel like shadows make my eyes look tired.
i grab a five pound bag of ice from outside and walk into the tiny chevron, where there is a long line of people, mostly younger mexican men. it looks as if many have just gotten off work and stopped at the chevron for beer. some with singles; others with six-packs; still others with more substantial boxes of beer.
i am conspicuously overdressed. i am also one of two women in the store. the other is older, in lounge clothes, disshelved white hair, and noticeable whiskers sprouting from her chin.
needless to say, i am the belle of the ball. the guys in front of me are casting glances. i think that one of them even mumbles something to me about the long line. and even though i don't feel as "put together" as i would like, i'm beginning to realize that it's all about context.
i'm the most beautiful girl at the chevron off I-35 on friday night.
i approach the cashier, and he charges me $2.05 for my bag of ice. i hand him my twenty dollar bill. as he begins to count out my ninety-five cents in change, i look up at him through my lashes and say, "you're not really going to give me ninety-five cents, are you?'' he looks at me with an "aw shucks" expression on his face, and hands me a dollar.
"thank you."
it's a small victory. but when you're thirty, sometimes you need to prove that you can be queen of chevron on friday night.
@>-->>---
Friday, November 04, 2005
treintan~era
it's become a ritual of mine to go for a pedicure on my birthday. i decided to do it a day early this year, and headed to "funny nails" at the dobie mall.
i sit in the massaging chair while my feet are submerged into bubbling warm water. heaven.
mai, my pedicurist, works wonders on my poor feet, which have really taken a beating since i've been running.
i tell mai that i am pampering myself because my birthday is tomorrow.
congratulations, she says.
and then i did something that i shouldn't have.
i asked her. how old do you think i'm going to be?
she studies my face for a moment. 36?
yikes!
30, i tell her. mai clearly does not know the convention of guessing someone to be much younger than you actually think they are.
or maybe she does!
i'm sorry! she says, embarrassed.
it's ok, i assure her.
how old do you think i am? she asks.
26. i guess down.
oh no, she says. i'm old. 34. i thought you were older than me!
yes, well. you look very young, i tell her. and she does. like many of the vietnamese women working at funny nails, her skin is flawless, akin to fine porcelain.
36?! hmph. so much for my youthful glow!
@>-->>---
i sit in the massaging chair while my feet are submerged into bubbling warm water. heaven.
mai, my pedicurist, works wonders on my poor feet, which have really taken a beating since i've been running.
i tell mai that i am pampering myself because my birthday is tomorrow.
congratulations, she says.
and then i did something that i shouldn't have.
i asked her. how old do you think i'm going to be?
she studies my face for a moment. 36?
yikes!
30, i tell her. mai clearly does not know the convention of guessing someone to be much younger than you actually think they are.
or maybe she does!
i'm sorry! she says, embarrassed.
it's ok, i assure her.
how old do you think i am? she asks.
26. i guess down.
oh no, she says. i'm old. 34. i thought you were older than me!
yes, well. you look very young, i tell her. and she does. like many of the vietnamese women working at funny nails, her skin is flawless, akin to fine porcelain.
36?! hmph. so much for my youthful glow!
@>-->>---
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
defending
today i wore a blue button down shirt and black pants, black heels. full makeup. thought that if i looked professional, i might feel more authoritative.
i write my dissertation spiel (the presentation i'm supposed to give to my audience before the question period) in the two hours before the defense is scheduled to occur. but i get to campus with plenty of time to print and make copies of my signature sheets and walk over to the building.
i am the first one there. the conference room has one long table with several chairs as well as seats and a sofa along the walls of the room. i position myself at the head of the table.
people begin to file in slowly. my closest friends take their seats at the opposite end of the table, expecting that my profs will be sitting on either side of me. my committee member, dr. l arrives, then dr. m, then dr. f. more friends and colleagues. one of my committee members has emailed to tell me that she will be unable to attend, so we are only waiting on one other professor.
fifteen minutes pass. dr. l calls the missing prof on his cell phone. dr. m goes downstairs to check to see if he is in the wrong room. my friend, veronica, runs (in her very cute shoes) to the history department to see if she can track him down. no luck and no luck. but sometime during this period, a deliveryman appears with a vase of long-stemmed pink roses for me. from las girlfriends sitting at the end of the table.
dr. l begins making phone calls to the tower. we're trying to have a dissertation defense, but are one professor short of a quorum. what can we do? he disappears downstairs and reappears with the anthropology graduatue advisor, a professor i know by name and sight but have never spoken with.
though he doesn't know me and doesn't know anything about my project, because he is the anthropology graduate advisor, he can sit in for a missing professor during a dissertation defense.
the committee evicts everyone from the room to plan to their line of questioning. i am in the hallway thinking, are you kidding? this cannot possibly count. only three people in there have read my dissertation. someone someday is going to call me on this. my ph.d. won't really count because i didn't have a real defense!
one of my friends overhears one of my professors tell the graduate advisor that this is just a "formality" because my dissertation is pretty solid.
i am relieved, but still upset.
we are invited back into the room. i give my spiel and they start to ask me questions. the questions aren't bad. some of them are challenging, but it does seem to be more of a conversation than an oral exam. after the first hour, the graduate adviser has to leave, and, minutes later, my missing committee member appears telling me that he has a good excuse. he has come armed with his questions. more questions. more questions. i'm tired. it seems that everyone is tired. shifting in their seats and muffling sighs and yawns.
the question period ends and they kick everyone out of the room. i am invited back in after some minutes.
"congratulations," my advisor tells me. you passed. they have some minor revisions. four more pages of a conclusion.
everyone is signing forms.
congratulations, dr. n (that's me!).
@>-->>---
i write my dissertation spiel (the presentation i'm supposed to give to my audience before the question period) in the two hours before the defense is scheduled to occur. but i get to campus with plenty of time to print and make copies of my signature sheets and walk over to the building.
i am the first one there. the conference room has one long table with several chairs as well as seats and a sofa along the walls of the room. i position myself at the head of the table.
people begin to file in slowly. my closest friends take their seats at the opposite end of the table, expecting that my profs will be sitting on either side of me. my committee member, dr. l arrives, then dr. m, then dr. f. more friends and colleagues. one of my committee members has emailed to tell me that she will be unable to attend, so we are only waiting on one other professor.
fifteen minutes pass. dr. l calls the missing prof on his cell phone. dr. m goes downstairs to check to see if he is in the wrong room. my friend, veronica, runs (in her very cute shoes) to the history department to see if she can track him down. no luck and no luck. but sometime during this period, a deliveryman appears with a vase of long-stemmed pink roses for me. from las girlfriends sitting at the end of the table.
dr. l begins making phone calls to the tower. we're trying to have a dissertation defense, but are one professor short of a quorum. what can we do? he disappears downstairs and reappears with the anthropology graduatue advisor, a professor i know by name and sight but have never spoken with.
though he doesn't know me and doesn't know anything about my project, because he is the anthropology graduate advisor, he can sit in for a missing professor during a dissertation defense.
the committee evicts everyone from the room to plan to their line of questioning. i am in the hallway thinking, are you kidding? this cannot possibly count. only three people in there have read my dissertation. someone someday is going to call me on this. my ph.d. won't really count because i didn't have a real defense!
one of my friends overhears one of my professors tell the graduate advisor that this is just a "formality" because my dissertation is pretty solid.
i am relieved, but still upset.
we are invited back into the room. i give my spiel and they start to ask me questions. the questions aren't bad. some of them are challenging, but it does seem to be more of a conversation than an oral exam. after the first hour, the graduate adviser has to leave, and, minutes later, my missing committee member appears telling me that he has a good excuse. he has come armed with his questions. more questions. more questions. i'm tired. it seems that everyone is tired. shifting in their seats and muffling sighs and yawns.
the question period ends and they kick everyone out of the room. i am invited back in after some minutes.
"congratulations," my advisor tells me. you passed. they have some minor revisions. four more pages of a conclusion.everyone is signing forms.
congratulations, dr. n (that's me!).
@>-->>---
defense
i'll fill in some of the gaps of the weekend later, but i wanted to share that today is my DISSERTATION DEFENSE. one o'clock, central standard time. any prayers, lit candles, wishes of luck, and/or any other positive vibes you can send would be greatly appreciated.
yikes!
@>-->>---
yikes!
@>-->>---
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