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Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
Nov. 25th, 2008 01:51 pmIt's raining and I have a headache, and I also have a tummy ache. :-( It's good to share.
It will soon be time for me to buckle down (it is already, really) and start studying for my Theory exam. The date has been set. January 26th. I'm experiencing a host of feelings, not least of which are dread, anticipation, excitement, and fear (maybe a little loathing too). I'm going deep. Marx. Foucault. Piven and Cloward. We'll see what else comes up, and how it all goes down. I did a lot of theory reading as an undergrad, and I thought we would have more at my PhD program. But I'm sad to say there was a dearth of quality theory discussion in my cousework. So I'm cheating and relying on a syllabus from my friend's class at his NYU program to guide me instead. Oh, I completed my undergrad at NYU.
In other news, I have watched my past dance by me in kalaidoscope these past few weeks. On Saturday I picked up some things my friend Kathy donated to the shelter. She and her husband and two kids are moving to Wellington, NZ. I've known her for 20 years. And though we don't talk every day, there are few people in my life who have witnessed and been witnessed to so much change, growth, commonalities, friends come and go, fashions come and go, marriages come and go, relationships come and go, just everything come and go. We cried so much when we said goodbye that I soaked the leg of her baby's footie pajamas (she was holding her baby while we hugged).
Her husband made a funny comment to get us to stop crying. It immediately reminded me of something my grandfather would have said when we were little to get us to stop crying.
Afterwards I went to dinner with a friend and her friend who helped us move the stuff with his truck. The waiter was a refugee from the new defunct Florent restaurant. We wound up reminiscing about clubbing in the 90s. I used to go to the Clit Club and Jackie 60's. He was the after hours waiter ready to serve and entertain (and be entertained) when the dancing had stopped for the night. I hardly go out anymore (mostly by choice), and I don't know where the "scene" is anymore (mostly there isn't one), and I realized I hardly have any queer friends anymore (and of that I'm not sure why).
Yesterday I went to dinner with my friend D; it was his 41st birthday. We wound up, as always, talking about everything under the sun. But at one point it turned back to his mother and his coming out when he was younger, and how things have never been the same with his family since. We talked about shades of coming out, and I talked about my students in my LGBT class, suddenly I was reliving my 20s in a whole other way remembering my queer friends at Rutgers and the crazy things we used to get up to.
And then today I received an email with a bunch of scanned photos from back then. I felt joy and sadness, even with my headache and tummy ache still raging.
So as usual, I require distraction during times of intense studying. Last time it was the new season of Doctor Who. Now I have a crush on two people I've met recently. One of them is in the public eye. Both of them are off limits. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Oh, and D gave me a book for my bedtime reading. I, Elizabeth: A Novel by Rosalind Miles. Has anyone on my flist read it?
It will soon be time for me to buckle down (it is already, really) and start studying for my Theory exam. The date has been set. January 26th. I'm experiencing a host of feelings, not least of which are dread, anticipation, excitement, and fear (maybe a little loathing too). I'm going deep. Marx. Foucault. Piven and Cloward. We'll see what else comes up, and how it all goes down. I did a lot of theory reading as an undergrad, and I thought we would have more at my PhD program. But I'm sad to say there was a dearth of quality theory discussion in my cousework. So I'm cheating and relying on a syllabus from my friend's class at his NYU program to guide me instead. Oh, I completed my undergrad at NYU.
In other news, I have watched my past dance by me in kalaidoscope these past few weeks. On Saturday I picked up some things my friend Kathy donated to the shelter. She and her husband and two kids are moving to Wellington, NZ. I've known her for 20 years. And though we don't talk every day, there are few people in my life who have witnessed and been witnessed to so much change, growth, commonalities, friends come and go, fashions come and go, marriages come and go, relationships come and go, just everything come and go. We cried so much when we said goodbye that I soaked the leg of her baby's footie pajamas (she was holding her baby while we hugged).
Her husband made a funny comment to get us to stop crying. It immediately reminded me of something my grandfather would have said when we were little to get us to stop crying.
Afterwards I went to dinner with a friend and her friend who helped us move the stuff with his truck. The waiter was a refugee from the new defunct Florent restaurant. We wound up reminiscing about clubbing in the 90s. I used to go to the Clit Club and Jackie 60's. He was the after hours waiter ready to serve and entertain (and be entertained) when the dancing had stopped for the night. I hardly go out anymore (mostly by choice), and I don't know where the "scene" is anymore (mostly there isn't one), and I realized I hardly have any queer friends anymore (and of that I'm not sure why).
Yesterday I went to dinner with my friend D; it was his 41st birthday. We wound up, as always, talking about everything under the sun. But at one point it turned back to his mother and his coming out when he was younger, and how things have never been the same with his family since. We talked about shades of coming out, and I talked about my students in my LGBT class, suddenly I was reliving my 20s in a whole other way remembering my queer friends at Rutgers and the crazy things we used to get up to.
And then today I received an email with a bunch of scanned photos from back then. I felt joy and sadness, even with my headache and tummy ache still raging.
So as usual, I require distraction during times of intense studying. Last time it was the new season of Doctor Who. Now I have a crush on two people I've met recently. One of them is in the public eye. Both of them are off limits. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Oh, and D gave me a book for my bedtime reading. I, Elizabeth: A Novel by Rosalind Miles. Has anyone on my flist read it?
