kaleidescopeeyes88's Xanga

And so it begins again...

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 06:29:01 GMT

I've sent in all of my job applications. 25 positions, which isn't very many. I haven't checked the job listings in a while, so there may be more I could apply to. And post-docs, too. I'd like to get my number to at least 35. I suppose I could if I lowered my standards some more and applied to composition jobs with a 4-4 teaching load in the middle of nowhere. But if I'm not going to lower my standards when it comes to the men I date, there's no reason why I should when it comes to jobs I'm applying to.

Today I got my first response from a school asking for more materials. So at least I know I'm still in the running for ONE of these positions. Here's hoping for continued good news.

The Last Year of My Twenties

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 19:25:51 GMT

Every year on my birthday, I always do an unhealthy tally of things that I didn't have to deal with the year before. When I was 25, I got my first gray hair. At 26, my alcohol tolerance plummeted. At 27, that one gray hair decided to multiply to a point where I have too many to count. At 28, those fine lines at the corners of my eyes started showing up. In anticipation of my 29th birthday, my right shoulder has decided to start hurting inexplicably. I swear, if my boobs start sagging next year, I'm done.

But on the other hand, birthdays are also great for tallying all the strengths that I couldn't have claimed the year before. In this last year, I was able to give love another chance after having had my heart torn to shreds. I was able to bounce back even after that new chance proved to be disappointing as well. I went through my first stab at the academic job market and didn't let it destroy me. I taught my first upper division class, as well as my first lecture class of 200 students. I submitted an article for publication. I discovered that I'm a very effective public speaker. I discovered that I'm quite talented at political organizing. I had the joy of witnessing friends get married, start jobs, and start families. I witnessed my baby brother become a grown-up (almost). I learned to appreciate my parents in a way I never have before.

So yes, year 29, bring it on.

Testament to My Teaching Abilities

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 05:29:13 GMT

So one of the many annoying documents I have to prepare for applying to tenure track positions is something that serves as "evidence of teaching ability." I think this means that they want to see a sampling of my teaching evaluations.

I'm resisting the urge to include the two evals that said, in response to the question of whether or not the student had any additional comments or suggestions for the class, "You're cute," and "I like you ♥."

This Is IT

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 07:59:54 GMT

I watched This Is It last week on the day that it opened. (Yes, I had gotten tickets in advance, thanks to my roommate. Yes, I went dressed in my best military-inspired jacket. Yes, I took pictures in front of the standee at the theater.) I had been afraid that the movie was going to be an exploitative attempt to deify Michael Jackson, but it turned out to be a pitch-perfect, incredibly focused documentary on Michael Jackson as a craftsman. And I use the word "craft" instead of "talent," because I want to draw attention to the fact that while Jackson's talent certainly seemed otherworldly, his body of work in both dance and music clearly represent a man who understood that art is exceedingly technical. It's about figuring out patterns, putting together bits and pieces to make a coherent whole, and paying meticulous attention to detail. Everything is strategic, and nothing is accidental.

Take, for example, his song, "Man in the Mirror," which might be my favorite. Pop music doesn't often get much credit for being great art, and I think that's unfair. When you break this song down into all of its parts, it is clearly a carefully crafted piece of work. Jackson and songwriters Siedah Garrett and Glen Ballard (this is one of the very few hits that Jackson didn't write himself) knew exactly how to create the effect they were going for.

We start the first verse with the vocal, sung over a simple tap on beats 2 and 4. This evokes the image of a single person with nothing to accompany him but the snap of his own fingers. At about :18, the backing vocal comes in, offering us an additional layer and harmonizing with the main vocal on "It's gonna feel real good, gonna make a difference." But then the backing vocal lifts and it's just the main vocal on, "gonna make it right." At about :28 the drum and bass drum come in. The bass drum is on beats 1 and 2, and the drum is a rim-shot that comes on beat 4. So all the beats are now filled in, and we get a sort of forward-driving momentum, but we still have room to build.

At :48, the synthesized strings come in, and along with the sustained notes accented by the back-up vocals, the song escalates to the first chorus on 1:06. At this point the cowbell comes in along with the rim-shot on beats 2 and 4, the typical pop song backbeat. The bass also comes in and does a slight escalating chromatic scale on "No message could have been any clearer." The bass then drops to a low note on 1:21 to set the stage for the song's main message: "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change." The drums come in full with a full snare to emphasize the word "change."

The strings from the first verse, which had offered an airy sound by hovering above the vocal, drop a couple octaves in the second. This anchors the vocal, and gives the verse a more grounded feel and a fuller sound. The lyrics replicate this effect as well-- The song begins with Jackson singing about putting on his coat, feeling the wind, and watching kids playing with bottle tops. By the second verse, he's come to full realization of his "selfish love," and is working toward a new way of being. The chorus comes in again, this time with the choir offering a little "who?" in the background. The chorus repeats one more time, with more voices from the choir added.

Then, at the end of the third chorus, at 2:52, the song's most powerful part happens. Jackson sings, "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself then make that--" There's a slight pause, and then at the exact moment he sings "change," the song modulates up a tone, from (I think) G Major to A. The key change builds the energy of the song even more, getting us excited about the chorus being repeated yet again. The gospel choir comes in full on the word "CHANGE," further emphasizing the idea of transformation. To have the key change occur on the word "change" is just plain brilliant. To have it occur in the middle of a phrase rather than at the start of a new one is totally crafty. This moment is genius. It raises the hairs on the back of my neck every time I hear it.

The song then pushes on with a lushness. A lot of flourishes, like "oohs" and "oh yeahs." We get a full choir with lots of voices. Jackson's vocal gets increasingly improvisational, and the choir is largely still doing backup with the exception of a single female voice, as if it is the audience who is supposed to be supplying the bulk of the melody. (And indeed, we do sing along!) The multitude of voices combined with the opportunity for audience participation is entirely appropriate for a song about human empathy. This climactic ending could have worked just fine for a feel-good song. But we're not done yet. Bit by bit the song peels off its built-up layers, going back to the feel that it established in the beginning. There's a slight piano run right after the "na na na nas" (the only time the piano appears in the song, I think), ushering in a new phase in the song. The choir retreats to a hushed hum at 3:48. The drums also disappear temporarily, leaving us with the finger snaps. Jackson repeats over and over again, "Make that change," "You gotta stand up," "Look at yourself." While the lush chorus had been great for clapping and singing along, here our attention gets completely drawn to Jackson's words. This song doesn't let us go off the hook by making us feel good. It wants us to think about the idea of change. The very end of the song features Jackson almost whispering, "Make that change." Beautiful.

For me, that was the saddest part about watching This Is It-- I could see just how awesome the man was as an artist, how phenomenal that tour would have been, and realized that it took him dying for me to really appreciate having grown up with him in my cultural consciousness. While I certainly grew up listening to Michael Jackson's music, it's only now that I'm revisiting his songs and studying them. And each time I do, I feel like I discover something about them that I hadn't noticed before. It's a fantastic experience. And definitely a testament to his craft.

PUTTIN' ON THE RIIITTZ!!!

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 21:49:01 GMT

I fucking love this movie:

Happy Halloween!

Just sayin'

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:31:47 GMT

Some people's lack of sensitivity is mind-boggling to me.

As a rule, if your friend of gajillion years says to you, "My dog just died and I'm at my wit's end trying to hold it together and get all my shit done during this crucial time in my life," your response should not be: "Let me proceed to tell you all about the frivolous things I observed on the vacation I just took."

R.I.P. Toby, silly dog, 1998-2009.

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 15:39:14 GMT

He's probably chasing squirrels in the sky.

Sad News

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 07:28:04 GMT

My parents called me today to say that they took our dog, Toby, to the vet. Right away I knew this wasn't going to be good, because my parents, who hardly ever go to the doctor to fix their own ailing bodies, don't really believe in the veterinarian. But Toby, who's 11 (already past the average life expectancy for a dog of his breed, which we think is part Boxer or Pitbull), has been lacking energy and appetite lately, which could just be sign of his age. But all of a sudden he took a turn for the worse. His skin started breaking out in lesions. He started whining in discomfort.

The vet said that it's likely cancer. They're doing tests to figure out exactly what kind, but the prognosis is grim. Even if we were to put Toby through the drugs and chemo or whatever, he'll likely not recover due to his age. They may make his health worse. If the treatments miraculously work, he likely won't have much longer to live anyway. This means that we don't really have much of a choice but to put him to sleep. That might be the most humane thing to do, even if it feels like inhumanely giving up.

I'm surprised at how deeply sad I am about this. Toby was never really my dog. My parents adopted him when I went to college so that my brother, who was ten years old at the time, could distract himself from missing me. We fondly joked that Toby was my replacement. I never had to take any responsibility for him, so I never felt that he was mine. Most of the time, too, I thought he was a pain in the ass, which is really more the fault of our family than anything about him. My parents, who aren't pet people, never anticipated just how high maintenance a dog can be, so they never knew how to train him out of bad habits, like chewing on the couch cushions or attacking other dogs. So he's spent most of his time alone in our backyard. I have always felt guilty about the fact that he's been somewhat neglected, but I hope that, for the most part, he's been a content dog. He seems happiest when he's outside chasing squirrels and birds. When he was younger he would sometimes catch a bird in mid-flight. He's a natural hunter. And he has no concept of his own limitations. He has no problems stirring up trouble in the face of two dogs twice his size. A daredevil, he would occasionally manage to escape our backyard, cross four lanes of traffic, and never get hit by a car. He's also funny. It always cracks us up when, while we're all trying to eat, Toby would start masturbating under the kitchen table. My dad would always say to him, "Toby, you eunuch, stop torturing yourself with impossible dreams."

I guess what I'm realizing is that I'm really going to miss him. The feeling of loss is palpable, and I've been crying on and off all day. I haven't talked to my brother yet-- I told him we should talk, but he hasn't returned my call. I imagine this must be hitting him pretty hard, too, because he was the one who picked the runt of the litter, named him, and brought him home. I really wish that James could fly home now so that we can deal with this together.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to operate right now. I'm trying to carry on like business as usual, mostly because I can't afford to take any breaks right now. But getting work done was really hard today. A part of me feels silly for feeling so sad about losing a dog I never lived with. I mean, I don't think I felt this sad about the death of my grandfather, so I sort of feel like an asshole. I don't know, either, if I want to be there when they put Toby to sleep. A part of me wants to be there for him. A part of me doesn't think that I could handle it. I guess I don't know what I should do because Toby is the first pet that's been in the family for this long. Hamsters and rabbits don't quite wiggle their way into your heart as a dog does. This just really sucks.

Getting Ready for Halloween

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:05:46 GMT

I love Halloween. Always have. As a kid I loved playing dress-up and spent most of my free time in some imaginary world inside my head anyway, so Halloween was the holiday that allowed me to do all that without feeling like a weirdo. But there were always limitations to what costume I could don on my favorite holiday when my choice had to be mom approved. I have a memory of throwing a tantrum in the first grade because my parents insisted that I wear a turtleneck under my fairy costume. (I didn't think the turtleneck went with the whole look.) The same thing happened when I dressed up as Cleopatra when I was ten. My mom made me a pretty fantastic Princess Jasmine costume when I was twelve, but again, she made sure that the top fully covered my midriff. I vowed that once I grew up, I would dress up as I damn well pleased.

One would think that as an adult I would do what most women seem to do, which is wear a slutty costume. But I've never had much interest in being slutty nurse, slutty maid, slutty school girl, or whatever. I figure no one really needs a holiday to be slutty. When I was in college and frequenting clubs and frat parties, the day to be slutty was Thursday. And now, I like to save my slutty gear for more private occasions. (Ahem.)

So instead the costumes that have appealed to me as an adult have been getups that I wish I could have worn when I was a kid. They always involve some form of nostalgia, and oftentimes are associated with a cartoon. They're also always mostly handmade-- In high school, I started making my own costumes for the Renaissance Faire, which then led to making other costumes (flapper, swing dancer). A few years ago, I made a Tinkerbell costume by embellishing a clearance Charlotte Reuse dress (I think the dress was, like, $4) and painting a set of fairy wings. Two years ago, I accomplished my ultimate childhood dream: Snow White. (As a kid, I liked her the best out of all the Disney princesses because she was short, pale, and had black hair, like me!) I made this costume entirely from scratch, without the use of a pattern. I think it will be my favorite costume of all time.

So what am I going to be this year? I often recycle costumes, but this year I felt the need to make a new one. I had thought at first of doing something sexy, since I never have before. I was thinking Betty Boop in black and white. I had bought some fake eyelashes, white face makeup and black lipstick to begin the look. But I still needed a good black strapless dress. I couldn't find one for cheap and didn't have time to make one from scratch. So eventually I sort of gave up on it. Maybe I'll do it next year.

And then, one night while I was taking some stupid nostalgic quiz on Facebook, it occurred to me what I really wanted to be:

A Care Bear.

And not slutty Care Bear, though I can also imagine how that's possible. The Care Bear of my favorite childhood cartoons, which I would rent any time my dad would take me to the local video store before Blockbuster and Hollywood Video came to town. It was called The Warehouse and rentals were 49 cents. (Wow, is the cent sign a special symbol? I just noticed it's not on my keyboard.) Dad and I would get a video and then go to Thrifty for ice cream, which was 35 cents a scoop. He would get coconut pineapple and I would get mint chip. Or vice versa. God, I feel old.

But I wasn't going to be a lone Care Bear. I had find at least one friend who will be a Care Bear with me. My friend W was game.

Figuring this was going to be an easy costume to put together, I set out to buy a set of sweats. I figured all I needed to do was attach some ears to the hoodie, sew a piece of white fabric to the tummy and puff paint the appropriate heart, rainbow, or whatever. I had not decided on which Care Bear I was going to be, figuring it would be a matter of what color sweats I could find. But jesus, I had no idea that people don't sell plain matching sweats of the Fruit of the Loom or Hanes variety. Anywhere. You would think that stores like Sports Authority would, given that sweats are used for freaking exercise, but no. I went to crafts stores, fabric stores, even places like Walgreens. Finally, I decided to go to Walmart, which would have been my first choice had there been one closer to my house. Sure enough, they carry Hanes sweatshirts and sweatpants, and they're super cheap: $5 a piece.

Oh, but there's a rub. In the women's section, practically every freaking piece that was on the shelf was a size medium, large, or extra large, and it looked like a size small would have been too big anyway. So while I would find a green sweatshirt in a size small (which would make me Good Luck Bear), I couldn't find a matching pair of pants that fit. This was very frustrating.

Then it occurred to me to check the little girls' section. W and I are both 5 foot 1 and small framed, so we could probably fit in a girls' size large. I went over there, and indeed, the girls' sweats fit better than the women's sweats anyway. And they came in the appropriate colors! Some had some kind of graphic on the front, but since I was going to be covering the tummy anyway, it didn't matter. Mission accomplished!

Now, I should say that during this entire time my mother was accompanying me and driving me everywhere. I'm not sure why. She said that she knew I would get lost and not find the right places, but I think she was having fun in her own right. In fact, before going to Walmart I had started to call the whole thing a bust, but she was the one who insisted on driving our asses over there. Not only that, but she ended up coming up with ideas for the costume, too! My original plan was to buy hooded sweatshirts, but when it became apparent that those were nowhere to be found, my mother was the one who found the beanies that matched the pink and purple sweats. $1 each! (She also said that she would know how to make a hat for our costumes, which would have been amazing to watch.) Not only that, but it was my mother who found mittens to match the whole outfit. And these mittens, being from the girls' section as well, have hearts on them. Perfection.

So I went home and started sewing and painting. Sure enough, my mom gave me pointers on the best technique for attaching the ears to the beanie and the tail to the pants. The entire time, of course, she's making fun of me. "You're turning 29 years old! When are you going to grow up??" I have a feeling, though, that she's glad to see that I haven't yet. I threatened to make her a set, too. Maybe one in blue so that she could be Grumpy Bear. (Hee hee.) But she declined. When I asked her if there was anything she ever wanted to be as a kid, she said a cop. My mom's funny.

Anyway, W and I are totally excited about our costumes. I'm going to be Love a Lot Bear and she's going to be Share Bear. We're going to be the biggest dorks at the party we're attending.

I love Halloween.

STRIKE!

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 18:14:41 GMT

A call has been made: http://www.ucstrike.com/

Sign and pass along!