1. The RC Academics page specifically says that you must satisfy the math requirement "by
passing one of the following" (emphasis mine). So any passing grade should be good, and if not, I'll give 'em hell.
2. Tomorrow: last takeout nuggets
ever. I'm getting really sad. I'm going to miss so much of this place. You don't know what you got till it's gone! (And this bout of nostalgia was precipitated by nuggets. How pathetic am I?)
3. Speaking of how pathetic I am, I'm watching
Gilmore Girls and they're in a hospital, and I'm like, "They borrowed the
ER set for this scene!" Why? Because I recognized the
staircase More specifically, I recognized
the staircase railing. And even though TWoP made no mention of it, I was sure because, first of all, the linoleum floor tiles are very distinctive, and second of all, I recognized the set layout as the characters walked around. Also? I can tell you exactly which props and decorations they moved to disguise the fact that it's the
ER set. But hey, at least if I'm pathetic, I'm consistent. Food and TV: the loves of my life.
4. I was thinking last night that so many of our most beloved and mythologized female writers were crazy or killed themselves: Plath, Sexton, Woolf, Dickinson. Maybe it's just a function of canonical male writers outnumbering canonical female writers, but it seems like male writers aren't all tragically depressed, and if they are, they're not known primarily for it. I mean, Robert Lowell was in and out of institutions all his life, but nobody ever goes, "Oh, Robert Lowell, he was bipolar." But talk about Sylvia Plath and it's like, "Oh, the one who offed herself in an oven." Prior to taking a class that included her, this was the extent of my knowledge of Anne Sexton: "She was in a mental institution." How was that passed along to me independent of her work and her life? Why did I have to know about that before I could know about her work? And why was it the opposite with Lowell, or Fitzgerald, or any number of disturbed male writers? And it's not just that the women get remembered as depressed and tragic, but they're expected to be that way too. At least men have this macho, Kerouac-and-Hemingway, riding-the-world-for-all-it's-worth, fuck-it-all image to choose if they don't want to be doing the Lowell thing. But women are supposed to be sensitive and fragile and self-effacing and tragic, if they're going to write. There's no such thing as a woman riding the world for all it's worth. Even those who seem like they do, on the surface, like Parker or Jong--there's this little whispered acknowledgement that no matter how brazen they seem,
really they're just not right in the head. It's so unfair, and it's so dick that so many female writers continue buying into it.
5. So, yeah, I hate that female writers are always depressed. I also hate that lesbian writers are always depressed. I hate that lesbians in general are always depressed, and also that so many of them had terrible mothers. Be a little more Freudian, will you? This really isn't helping our cause.
6. Finally, I hate when someone I hate is attractive. Not
attractive attractive, but just...there's something about them that is specific and good and makes it impossible to hate them completely, because I can't exactly grasp it or name it but I know it means that maybe they were once better than this, or that they are better than this under everything else. But I don't know. I tend to mythologize people and attempt complex characterizations, and maybe people don't deserve that. Maybe people are just jerks. And speaking of jerks, Pixie and I were on a bus with TLM today, and we were having this great bitchy conversation about The Gay Canadian, and he totally stared at us as he got off the bus, and we think he looked like crap. Fantastic!
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