Things I’m missing.

1. The first deadlines for Infinite Summer
2. Hair (so goes the thick, lustrous hair of pregnancy…down the drain…)
3. An acceptable level of blood iron
4. Uninterrupted sleep
5. Patience
6. The point of NYC Prep (not in an entertainment way, but an existential way)
7. A sunny disposition
8. Coffee
9. A serious plan for how I’m going to function as a working mother
10. Texas
11. My “blogiversary,” or whatever the hell you call it (June 26th it was, and no, let’s not dwell on who I was last year at this time)
12. The willingness to end a list on a uneven or otherwise disturbing number like 11.

It’s here.

Infinite Jest arrived in the mail today.

First impressions?

A textbook. It looks like a textbook. So that’s the approach I’m going to take to it, I think. Not in the sense that it’s a tedious requirement, but rather that it’s meant to be a more encompassing experience, inviting learning, engagement, change.

Speaking of which, what I won’t be doing is spending much time on the IJ forums.  Most of the comments there sound like the worst things my best students would say. Too much strong-willed opinion-spouting, too little open dialogue.  What’s the point of joining a book group, virtual or not, if you just plan on holding strong to the same ideas with which you started?

Also: some of the dumbest uses of the term “comparative lit.” I’ve ever seen.  I don’t even want to talk about it.  Hurts me head.

Infinitely Effed

Note: I promise not to keep up the “infinite” titles. Annoying as fuck, they are.

Either Infinite Summer is bigger than I think it is, or Borders and B&N are worse than I think they are.

It was a Kafkaesque experience, really, my search for the book. Three Barnes & Nobles and a Borders, three of which listed IJ as in stock.  Three B&Ns with empty shelves where IJ should have been.  Three helpful but mystified clerks who said that their computers listed the book as either out of stock, or in stock but missing, or out of stock but also not sold (not sure what that meant).

Why the shelf gaps?  Why the “available for in-store pick-up” listed on the website?  Why the tease?  For awhile I thought I was one step behind whoever was out there scooping up the IJs until, at the last stop, the info desk person insisted that the book was never in stock and hadn’t been sold, in fact, in weeks.  The website?  Wrong.  That’s not so hard to believe but for the shelf gaps, the taunting blank spaces where IJ should have been.

So.  All of this is to say that I still don’t have the book, and Infinite Summer starts tomorrow.  I’m behind before I’ve begun.

Forecasting “Infinite Summer”

So I mentioned below that I plan to embark on Infinite Summer in a few days.  I’m also planning to take Wizard along for the ride.  We’ve never “co-read” anything, partly because I read for work and partly because our tastes diverge quite a bit (oh, and partly because we’re not really the co-reading type, by which I mean we don’t tend to bathe in the sicksweet vomit of our love).  He’s mainly a space opera sort, though the range of what he reads outside that genre is wide (Plath, Rimbaud [really?], Coupland, etc.).  I’m more narrow-minded because of the whole exams/proposal/dissertation hole I’ve been stuck in the past few years.  This project will actually be the first time I’ve read for “fun”–not for the diss, not for conference work–in a long time.

I’ve taught post-1945 lit, and I spend my days and nights with millennial lit, and yet I’ve read little DFW beyond a few short pieces that were thrust upon me by an enthused officemate awhile back.  I know what I’m in for–the footnotes, the loopdiloopy plots, the heft and weight of 1000 pages–and yet I don’t look at DFW with the same glare I usually direct toward popular young white male authors (though to be fair, I don’t glare at Franzen or Foer either, so maybe I’m getting soft).  The fondness I have for him, I think, stems from the fact that I don’t think he’s a trickster for trickster’s sake.  That is, I don’t think the footnotes, the plot jumps, the confusion, are inserted into the story because he desperately wanted to earn his pomo cred.  Rather, I sense that he felt those things were integral to the story itself (whatever that story is–I haven’t read any of the overviews or reader guides, and I haven’t brushed up on Hamlet, either).

That said, who knows if I’m going to get through it.  I have a lot of excuses:  the baby, the diss, the advisor I’m currently avoiding.  Oh, and there’s also the abhorrent lack of discipline that has characterized me and my work since, like, September.  Maybe if someone made me a set of bookmarks to guide me through the dissertation I’d have a chapter written by now.  Oh, and I don’t actually have a copy of the book yet because I haven’t made it to the bookstore (thanks, baby!).

So.  Here we go.  75 pages a week.  Back in the day, 75 pages a week would have meant I was rapidly failing out of school.  Back in the day, kids.  Now it’s a fair but possibly unreachable goal.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Photo Friday

Some people are very good at weekly features.  I’m not one of them.  But I am in favor of keeping this whole posting thing going, so here are some baby feet from back in April:

By the way, I’ve done two work-positive things this week:  I’ve committed to the diss. writing group at school and have decided to go ahead with Infinite Summer.  It has nothing to with the diss, but it is post-1945 lit (my area), so I’m counting it.

In which I come to you with a dilemma

I’m just on a roll here, huh?  Blame the grandparents.  They’ve been staying with us the past couple of days, allowing me to catch up on sleep.  And blogs.

So, remember how in that Random Tuesday post I was all, “Why did you guys let me join Facebook?”  Well, it strikes again.  And not in the silly ways you might expect.  (Oh, and by the way, I’m feeling really icky and ridiculous about yesterday’s post.  I know everyone googles everyone, but…blech.  I’m embarrassed.)

Today’s dilemma, brought to you by Facebook:  my friend may or may not be a white supremacist, but he is without a doubt someone who likes to dress up in Nazi uniform.

Yeah, like Prince Harry.  Except in  Luft.waffe duds.

There are many questions surrounding this.  For one, WWII re-enactors are not exactly rare.  I’ve just never seen people who enjoy re-enacting the other side.  However, I’m conscious of the fact that I’m making a distinction between “good” (American) and “evil” (German) here, even though all war is evil and all war is violent and all war kills, no matter which side you’re on.  WWII just happens to be one of those rare wars where the goal (liberating Europe from the Nazis, etc.) seems to be undeniably “good,” so the end justifies the means.  Thus, when very old men put on their Allied uniforms and head back to the beaches of Normandy, I don’t really question it.

But if very old men donned very different uniforms and went back to Warsaw, I’d probably get a little nervous.

Which must be tough, when you think about it, to be on the losing side, and not just the losing side, but the side that has come to represent a force of undeniable evil in Western culture.  I recognize that I’m dancing on the edge of the apologists here, and I’m trying to be careful.  But I’m also trying to think in terms of Bigs and Littles.  Nazi=Big=Evil, no question.  But when you think about the Littles, I’m sure there are enough Americans floating around who have a crazy Uncle Heinrich who fought on the side of evil, and while Heinrich probably thought he was fighting for the cause of good at the time, he was clearly wrong, and perhaps he has come to terms with this.  Or maybe he cherishes his armbands and iron crosses.  Who knows.  My point, though, it that the big picture in this case is pretty black and white, but the particulars are more nuanced, more complicated.

And it’s the particulars that concern me, because like I said, I’ve got this friend, this friend who likes to put on Nazi clothes.  Now what the hell am I supposed to say about that?

Again, part of the problem is that he’s on the “wrong” side.  Back in my online dating days, I met a Civil War re-enactor who would go out on the occasional weekend dressed in the Northern uniform.  And I thought that was quaint, and cute, and an interesting hobby.  Had he dressed in a Confederate uniform, I likely would have had to ask some tough questions concerning his interest in that side of the conflict.  And the main question is, when you’re on the side that history has deemed “wrong,” be that Nazi or Confederate (and again, general/particular is at work here:  there’s The South, with its slavery and racism, and then there are “s”outhern people, who are individuals, not generalized symbols of poor race relations)…the question is, if you’re on the wrong side, what exactly are you doing there?  Why do you like to imagine yourself into that set of historical particulars, on that side of the fence?

Because, when you think about it, maybe Uncle Heinrich, the 18-year-old from Frankfurt, joined the army because that was the thing to do.  Or maybe he joined because he was glad to get his hands on some Jews.  Maybe he turned his head when the slaughter began.  Maybe he had his hand on the gas.  But either way, he probably did not know at the time what the uniform he wore would come to mean.  We, on the other hand, by grace of history and the removal of time, do.

To my maybe-Nazi friend:  what does it mean when you put on the uniform?  Does it mean an interest in history?  Does it mean glorification?  Does it mean white power?  What does it mean?  And further, what questions should I ask of the “right” side?  Because if he were in an American uniform, I’d assume it meant pride, glorification, remembrance.  And would I think twice?  No.  Should I?  Probably.

And also:  do you defriend a Nazi re-enactor?  We went to school together several years ago, and we still meet up from time to time.  So we’re not “Facebook Friends,” we’re actual friends.  I just never knew this about him.  But we’re not close enough that I would feel comfortable asking the above questions without coming off like I was attacking him and his “hobby.”

Oh, and in case this isn’t complicated enough:  my extended family includes Holocaust survivors.  Not that this position should make this problem more “important” to me or whatever, but it does make me want to think it through very carefully.  It also goes without saying that certain members of my family, were they to see my friends list (and they wouldn’t because they’re OLD, but I’m all about the hypothetical today anyway), would see this man, and see his uniform, and…yeah.  You can imagine.

So.  What say you, Internet?

It’s gettin’ frivolous up in here.

Not that it ever wasn’t frivolous in the sense that I’m not writing for money, or providing serious cultural commentary, or giving advice, or whatever.  Maybe the frivolous refers more to my state of mind.  I’ve been doing some internet stalking again. (You can read about previous adventures in stalking here and here.)

I KNOW.  Here’s to not growing up, right?  It’s not like I spent the last three days on a bender or flashed someone for beads or something, but shouldn’t I be past this stage?  Shouldn’t having a baby and being near thirty and having, oh, I don’t know, a dissertation that REALLY needs my attention, my every spare not-with-the-baby minute, stop me from googling this dude I used to date and a woman Wizard used to date?

Probably.  Yet it has not.

So if you read those links above, you’ll get some backstory on my favorite subjects of stalkery:  Wizard’s and my most recent exes (”recent” being defined as the people we last dated before dating/marrying each other).    I haven’t been bothering with his ex much.  I did discover via a blog that she and her current partner, the one I thought she would break up with, went on a lovely little trip around the ocean, and she ate a lot and gained five pounds, which pleases me to no end because I outweigh her (and not in a “she’s a size 8 I’m a size 10″ way, I mean we are both obese according to those damned doctor’s office charts, which I don’t trust because MUSCLE, it’s muscle, I swear, but who am I kidding, I haven’t been muscular since 1998).  Anyway, I’m petty, and I suppose I have some “body issues,” and if she were nice and I liked her it would be a different story, but she isn’t and I don’t, so.

Yeah.  I haven’t sunken as low as I’m headed yet, though.  Stick with me. (By the way, it’s amazing how much more petty and disgusting one’s attitudes and actions appear when one takes the time to write them out.  Ugh.)

Right, so the real point of this post is the “checking on” I just did of MY ex, who deserves a little name, does he not?  Maybe not, actually, since I hope I don’t take to speaking of him often.  But for the sake of ease we’ll call him Hornby, as he is pretty damned close to a Nick Hornby character (interpret that as you will, but I take it to mean self-centered, “sensitive,” “everything I do wrong is the fault of a woman, and anyway I said I was sorry!” asshole).

When last I left the story of him that I assembled for myself from various and sundry places (read: Myspace), Hornby had re-broken up with the woman he broke up with to date me and was in a new relationship, a big relationship, a “they moved in together? I can’t believe it!” relationship.  But whatever, good for him I guess, he’s growing up, et cetera and so on.  I don’t pine for him or “what we had together.”  GAG.  It wasn’t a particularly good relationship, and I only regret the loss of it because he was a musician and had a shitload of cds that he would copy and give to me, and like the country song says, I don’t miss the dude, I miss the R.E.M. back catalog.

So.  I no longer know what’s going on in his love life because his girlfriend has made her page private, and what, do I seem like the mature sort who would call him up and invite him over to meet the baby?  Good god no.  Come on.  Look at me.  I’d sooner make progress on the dissertation than make mature interpersonal decisions.

What’s more important to me right now is what I’ve learned about his work life, and what I’ve learned is that he has a JOB.  A respectable job.  A TEACHING JOB.

What the fuck, internet?

A simple google of his name revealed that he is now teaching at a college.  He has actually attained one of his life goals.  In addition to making a strong enough, lasting enough commitment to a woman that he moved in with her, he has also gotten on a “grown up” career path.

Son of a bitch.

I should probably be happy for him.  But this is me we’re talking about, not A Lady.  And you know, he’s kind of a dick.  No, that’s not true.  He’s a dick.  He has treated women, me included, pretty shittily in the past.  And while this shouldn’t doom him to career failure his entire life, and while I do applaud him for getting grown, as it were…I don’t have to be happy for him if I don’t want to be.  Right?

But I probably shouldn’t entertain a pathetic and petty revenge move either, right?

Okay, here’s where I get gross.  Grosser than stalking.

I looked him up on one of those professor ratings sites.  And he was there.  And I read his reviews.  And they were good.  The way he dresses was critiqued, but other than that, he was deemed enthusiastic, kind, helpful, etc.  You know, like he’s a real person with a real commitment to a real job.

But internet, he’s a dick!  Really!  I know things about him!  Things his students don’t know!  And I know that he’s grading the women on a breast-size curve!  And I’m sure he does all his lecture research on Wikipedia!  And there’s no doubt he entertains notions of taking one of his students back to his apartment for wine and a threesome!  Because that’s the kind of person he is!  He could not possibly have become a better person and learned from his mistakes over the course of the three years since last we spoke, right?  Because god knows I haven’t, and god knows I judge all people by the strides I’ve made, and if I’m the same jerk I was three years ago, then so is he.

And you know I’m the same jerk because I immediately drafted a review in which I mocked his clothing and his methods and his aspirations of being a “real professor.”

I did.

But.

I didn’t post it.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because I fear karma.  For some reason I don’t have any reviews on those sites, but you know the minute I pressed “submit” I would have gotten a bunch of zeros for clarity and reviews that mocked my bubble butt and cursed my four-page syllabus.

So, I’m not as gross as I could be, but I’m getting pretty damn close.  You are welcome to reassure me that my behavior is justified and that being a mom doesn’t mean I have to give up my bad habits.

Random Tuesday: “Back So Soon?” Edition

Remember the time I resigned my very important work here only to return in like a week, meaning that this post comes sooner than the posts that were posted before I stopped officially posting?

Yeah.  That was dumb.

So I’m back today because The Un-Mom makes it easy on me, as usual, by eliminating the need for coherence.

Also, my god but people are pissing me off, and I’m home all day with a 10-pound person who doesn’t like it when I complain, so that’s what you’re for, Internet.  You’re for listening to me when that very self-centered and needs-oriented “baby” just can’t be bothered.

Why did you let me join Facebook?  Huh?  Why didn’t you warn me?  Because now I have to watch people post how much work they’re getting done on their dissertations, whereas yesterday I was supremely proud of myself for taking a shower. (Answer to the shower problem: wait til baby falls asleep, put him on bathroom floor, put in contacts to allow for the obsessive checking-on of baby [ridiculous fear #34404:  maybe the tub will leak and he'll drown even though his changing pad would most likely act as a flotation device], shower quickly, praise baby for being awesome at sleeping for 15 minutes straight.)

I’m also really mad at other internet entities (I don’t get out much, you see), including this new dad dude who took his six-week-old to TWO movies.  Meanwhile, Wizard and I missed an opportunity to see Up and Star Trek at the DRIVE-IN because we were just too damned tired to do the actually driving.

Did I mention Wizard started a new job after spending approximately 10 years as a graduate student?  That is, did I mention my husband picked the ABSOLUTE WORST TIME IN TEN YEARS to go from having NO schedule to working a 9 to 6?  Uh huh.  Yeah.

Yes, I know, this is the good time, the time when the baby sleeps all day.  When he starts running around, THAT’S when I’ll be tired.  But holy shit people, I’ve given birth to a child who doesn’t enjoy sleeping!  I have to rub his head and pat his back and convince him that sleep is goooood.  Soooo gooood.  That said, he’s been sleeping for about an hour now, but on his stomach as per his preference, which means that I can’t sleep because I have to make sure he’s okay.  Please tell me it’s okay to let him sleep on his belly so long as I’m awake.  He’s on his back at night, I swear.

I worry.  All.The.Time.  I thought I was good at worrying before, but holy crap, now it’s my full-time job.  It probably takes up more time than the actual caring-for of the infant.  Like last night, when I googled “baby hasn’t peed in 3 hours.”  Note: baby promptly peed about 20 minutes later.

Is there anything to talk about that ISN’T the baby?  Yes, there’s the diss.  I don’t even remember what it’s about.  But it occurred to me yesterday (while peeing, come to think of it), that dissertations are stupid, and Ph.D.s are stupid.  So I might as well pump something out no matter how bad or drivel-ly it turns out to be, seeing as it will be just another pile of crap to add to the millions of pages of crap produced by grad students in literature every year.  That is, it doesn’t matter anyway, so I might as well finish the job.

That is, I’ve kinda lost my drive.

But the good news is that I started eating these Praeventia fiber biscuits that look like they come from Ikea Foods and as such seem like they would taste like dust, but no, oh no, they taste like real chocolate cookies.  So, you know, I’m thankful for the little things.  And lest it seem otherwise, the baby is absolutely awesome and hilarious and the best roommate ever, even though he can’t cook and won’t clean up after himself and refuses to help with the bills.

It was bound to happen eventually.

Hi.

I’m going on hiatus.

Not that the so-infrequent-as-not-to-even-qualify-as-sporadic posting didn’t already prove to be a hiatus of sorts.  It’s just that I’m making it official.

A few parting-for-now thoughts:

1.  Wow, was I naive about the whole having kids thing.  I had no idea, no earthly clue, how hard it is to take care of an infant all day, every day.  How the hell do people do it?  When you go out to Costco and you see a person with a kid, that person went through this thing that I’m going through right now.  How?  How do humans pull it off?  My god, how to teenagers pull it off?  My sibling, who teaches as a CC, told me during one of my many pre-baby “how’m I gonna do this???” freakouts, that he’s seen people with drug-alcohol-abuse-money-prison problems make a reasonably decent go at parenting; hence it was to be assumed that I, lacking most of those problems, would be able to do it too.

Ass-u-me.

2.  Mommy bloggers, where do you find the time?  That is not a disguised judgment (as in “you must be a bad momma!”).  It’s a plea for you to share your secrets.  How do you type with one finger when you can’t, absolutely can’t put the baby down for fear of ear-bursting screaming?

3.  The dissertation?  It will get done.  It has to.  I have to do this.  But how I’m going to do it I don’t know.

So.  I’ll see you on Twitter?

xo,
P.

I had the baby, and other things.

Okay, so, long story short:  had the baby on his due date because apparently my body likes to keep to a schedule.  No epidural, third-degree tearing, but only twelve hours of labor.  So far he’s had jaundice and some kind of maybe cold/maybe reflux/maybe stuffiness thing.  He’s fabulous.  However, I feel like a shite mother sometimes.  Suppose that goes with the territory.

In other news, remember how I said my MIL intimidates me?  She still does, partly because she’s the only one who can get the baby to eat (yes, that’s right breastfeeding FAIL on top of the rest of it) 3 ounces at a time.  Goddammit.

She also watches courtroom programs all day because they teach her that “America is not New York City.”

Oh, and I joined Facebook because when I’m up at 3 in the morning I have nothing better to do.  Except the dissertation, but screw that.

OH, and I had a job interview exactly 9 days after I gave birth.  They wanted me on-site but were willing to make an exception because of the whole maternity angle.  I might have been coherent.  Don’t remember.  I’m supposed to hear something this week.

So, you know.  Been busy.  How are you?