Sunday, April 26, 2009

bell hooks, or, why am I inside writing when its 80 degrees in Ohio?

Why don’t I like bell hooks? For me, it’s more difficult to explain why one would like her. In some circles, not liking bell hooks is like being down on chocolate and puppies. There is sort of a sucking in of the breath, a wide-eyed stare. “But don’t you find her….transformative? Doesn’t she speak…the TRUTH?” No. I don’t think she does. And when she aligns herself with Paolo Friere, who I find much more accessible, I feel a strain of annoyance. These two are not from the same planet, let alone the same philosophy.
In homage to David Letterman, I will now state the top 10 reasons bell hooks does not impress.

1. Anybody who is that obsessed with the world bourgeois needs to just go have a beer. Seriously. When she talks on p. 178 about silence and obedience in the classroom being a bourgeois value, I wince. I don’t see how creating a classroom which has space for everyone to have an equal chance to participate in a mature, respectful, sensitive way is bourgeois. It necessarily means that when one person is talking, other people are not talking. This also means that we speak to each other like adults, without yelling, being emotional, without anger. hooks criticizes this practice mercilessly. Does this mean that in her class, people get to talk over her? Not listen to her? If she stops to ask them to wait their turn, is she sinking into the bourgeois? How can learning take place in public chaos?

2. She makes sweeping generalizations about class, race and culture with no attempt to quantify them. “From grade school on, we are all encouraged to cross the threshold of the classroom believing we are entering a democratic space . . . “ Really? Are we? Because I have to say, when I entered Sr. Catherine’s sixth grade room at my grade school, there was no mistaking who ran the show. It wasn’t me or any of the other uniformed kids fumbling our way through being eleven while sitting in a tyrant’s classroom. There was no democracy. I don’t know who “all” these people are that hooks knows who enjoyed that kind of thinking, the kind that makes a kid feel important and participatory in the education process, but that wasn’t my experience. And because she writes in narrative, she of course doesn’t bother to cite much of anything as far as other people’s work. I might as well be reading her diary.

3. She defends bad classroom behavior with “those of us from working-class backgrounds may feel that discussion is deeper and richer if it arouses intense responses” (187). Since the classroom is really a microcosm of the larger world, I guess hooks feels the same way about more public encounters as well. Those kids kicking the bleepity bleep out of each other in the playground? Well, they’re just having a deeper, richer discussion about who looked at whose girlfriend or who wore the wrong color to school today. Intense doesn’t have to be aggressive, ugly, threatening, violent. I have been in classes with people who subscribed to hooks’ ideas about “deeper and richer” discussions. These are the people that hold the belief that if they merely talk loudly enough, they win. Unfortunately for them, they’re often saying nothing, just making empty shouting.

4. Her discussion about the benefits of segregated schools for black children—that in segregated schools, black children are encouraged to learn, whereas in desegregated schools, they are encouraged to obey—was probably true in hooks’ personal context as a Southern child. However, she puts forth a very dangerous subtext here, which is that only black teachers can and should teach black children and only in all-black schools, regardless of what our Constitution frames out for us. I’ve met people who believe that and believe it with fervor, anger and open hostility. A certain high school in Cleveland is full of those people. They are doing more damage socially, intellectually and spiritually to their students than they can possibly imagine.

5. “I see many students from ‘undesirable’ class backgrounds become unable to complete their studies because the contradictions between the behavior necessary to ‘make it’ in the academy and those that allowed them to be comfortable at home, with their families and friends, are just too great.” (182). Really? This is her explanation for underperformance by SES students? Not, “they came in with poor study habits and low reading performance because their parents didn’t model for them” or “they lived in a poorly resourced district, so we have to plan ways to creatively and appropriately fill their gaps” or even the highly controversial “they continue to live in neighborhoods where their friends and often own families demonize success.” Here’s the thing. I want kids in risky living and economic situations to school their way to success. I know that they often require a lot of academic and social supports to do so, and I believe it is the university’s job to provide those supports, free of charge. But let’s call it what it is. The university cannot tolerate kids coming to class late, unprepared, wanting 100% accommodation while putting forth 0% effort. That is not support. That’s codependence. If that’s how they “feel comfortable” at home, doing whatever it is they want to do whenever they want to do it, and not adhering to rules and requirements, fine. But don’t complain that they are not hirable and not university material and that it’s everybody else’s fault. In that case, you got what you paid for.

6. Stop, stop, stop using the catchphrase “academy.” It’s irritating and by the time I get through six or seven pages of reading I’m just rolling my eyes.

7. She acts as if heterogeneity in a classroom is somehow a newfangled idea that she is unwilling to trust, sort of like my 74-year old mother with a new TV remote. “If we can trust the demographics, we must assume that the academy (eye roll) will be full of students from diverse classes, and that more of our students than ever will be from poor and working class backgrounds.” Well, yes. That is probably true, even if hooks distrusts the data because it was probably analyzed by some white guy in a polo shirt in some university office somewhere (I know that guy at CSU, his name is David Crumb, and yes, he is polo shirted every day). Every classroom is inherently heterogeneous, even if every kid sitting in every seat is black or if every kid is white. Teachers who overlook that are missing a big part of the picture. hooks acts like she invented this idea. Hmm.

8. “The scholarly field of writing on critical pedagogy and/or feminist pedagogy continues to be primarily a discourse engaged by white women and men.” (9) Again, no citations for this statement, no references. Who knows if this allegation is actually true. The subtext of course is that we should be dismissive of whatever is going on in critical pedagogy right now because it is still being represented by the oppressive class. I’m just glad somebody is still talking about feminism and I don’t care what they look like.

9. “My pedagogical practices have emerged from the mutually illuminating interplay of anticolonial, critical, and feminist pedagogies.” (10). I don’t know what this means. I think she’s just blowing smoke here.

10. “Teaching is a performative act . . . our work is not meant to be a spectacle.” This is true. I am not here for anyone’s entertainment. Teaching is all business for me, although it is immensely enjoyable and I often feel the buzz that actors must get when they know they are working the crowd. This is about the only thing in the hooks readings that doesn’t finagle my spine a little. Why can’t she be more like this and less like that?

That’s my last paper for this class. It’s 80 degrees, my children are outside playing, and I am tired from 15 weeks of serious, productive work. If we had read hooks earlier in the semester, this paper probably would have looked very different….but, knowing me, probably not.

Monday, April 20, 2009

West Side Wonderland, or, Why Does This Place Even Get a Zip Code?








So my old friend from HN, Jeanette Fiedler Habyl Botsch, had a thing at her place on Sunday and I went. We hadn't talked in about 15 years but that's what happens in the world of Facebook....people find each other. Jeanette and I were tight for three years. She let me drive her car, we were in band together (yes, even band camp), sleepovers, you name it. Lots of stories there. Well, on the way to her place on the 1-4-8 in West Park I took the long way and drove down Lorain Ave. I stopped at Fridrich's to see how much a senior bike would cost me ($400) (in full disclosure, I was also tight with Keith Fridrich of the aforementioned, but he lives in Vegas now), the Kmart at 150th to buy garbage bags, in Jeanette's house, where I met that unusual animal, and finally to her door, where she looked as good as ever. Not a wrinkle.
The west side, at least off Lorain, is terrible. Terrible. Rarely have I seen places as run down and decrepit, and people, I lived in Camden NJ for two years. Jeanette is on 148th temporarily until she buys her ex-husbnd out of his share of their 3000 sq. ft. hosue in North Ridgeville. It's a good thing. I don't like the idea of having to go into Lorain County to see her, but my Lord. If I don't see that area of the city again in my life, I don't think I will suffer much.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Cleaning Again, or, That's going to be some garage sale

I read an article by Erin Rooney Doland, editor of www.unclutterer.com. In it, she noted ten things that will help you get rid of your stuff. The trick is changing the way you think about your stuff.

Here's where it gets complicated for me.

I was raised by a Depression baby who was raised by a immigrant who is the world's leading authority on what she calls "frugality." I call it hoarding. My grandmother has her size 2 dress from her second wedding in 1953 (as well as the matching size 4.5 shoes), every cookbook the Pillsbury Bake Off published, every weird thing anyone ever gave her...you name it, she has it. My mother is also a keeper; her tag line every time I try to get rid of something is, "But you used to be so interested in [Irish history, Strawberry Shortcake dolls, Elvis]." Or worse, she will cluck her tongue and say, "Didn't [Grandma, Auntie, some old boyfriend's mother who got it at a garage sale] give that to you?" And back it goes to its home, where it remains, dust collecting and sad, waiting for an owner who will love it.

Not anymore.

Stuff I don't like is going away. Stuff that irritates me. Stuff that is worn, ugly, dirty, dated, impossible to coordinate, stuff that was given to me by dead people and people I don't like (often the same genre).....stuff I don't need, stuff that doesn't speak to my soul, stuff I will never again use professionally (lots of books fall into this category....I've held an M.A. in English for 13 years now, and I highly doubt that I will ever write the kind if literary criticism I did during that time in my life....so why hold onto 24 volumes on James Joyce? Just so people can peruse my bookcases and see them? Even I'm not that vain).

I am having a garage sale on June 13. I am going to bill it "The Best Damn Garage Sale You Will Attend This Year, and If You Miss It, You Will Be Sorry." I am selling it all....books, toys, the kids' cribs (hopefully I can unload them on Craig's List first), baskets, old ugly dishes, decor I hate...I am not fooling around. I can break the cycle of stuff insanity now. My kids deserve it.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Survived, or, Gentlemen, Start Your Coffeepots

So it's been 39 days without coffee or ice cream. Upshot: lost 12 pounds, cleaned out my caffeine-addled liver, didn't have to pee 14 times before 10 am. Downside: even I admit I was cranky for a few days, but it didn't affect me physiologically in other ways--no shakes, which many people said I would have. I didn't crave other caffeineated items--I didn't start swigging Coke, for example. I pretty much switched to decaf hot tea in the morning and water the rest of the day and I was good.

Did I learn anything spiritually? I have to admit, no.

Do I feel like I'm a better person? Again, no.

Do I feel like I wasted my time? No. It was a good test of mettle, anyway. Labor was way, way harder.

Would I do it again? Lent is like taxes...every year you have to deal with it.

Plan for the morning? that coffee is going on at 7 am, rain or shine. Stop by and have a cup with me.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Poor Angie, or, Suck it Up, Girl

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,511470,00.htmlFor eight years, I had to live in George Bush's America. And it sucked. This guy and his BFF Dick "I'm smarter than you because I say I am" Cheney ignored any damn part of the Constitution they wanted, including that wee bit about the powers of the Executive Branch, the First Amendment and the Fourth Amendment, and giggled about it like schoolgirls on the back of a field trip bus. They violated the Geneva Convention, told the Red Cross to shove it because they dared to state that the US was committing torture, and gave the Saudis, Wall Street, and anybody else who could make them money a wink and a smile and let them go about their business. And what happened if you said anything that could be remotely construed as criticism of their policies? You were un-American. You were against freedom. You weren't a patriot. You didn't honor the sacrifices of the men and women who serve in the military. You didn't honor 9/11. People I know, right now, believed and continue to believe this crap because George Bush sold them a culture of fear. And I had to listen to this dumbass stutter, strut and mispronounce "nuclear" for the better part of my thirties. And get re-elected. Unreal.

So now there's a guy in the White House who actually thinks that the Constitution is a good idea, that torture is a crime, that real freedom and patriotism means you're allowed to disagree with your government and they won't punish you for it, like tapping your phone, or looking at your mail, because after all, we're better than Stalin or the Gang of Four. But according to Texan and card-carrying GOP babe Angie Harmon, having Obama in the White House means she can't disagree with the President or else the media will call her a racist.

People still fear being called a racist, I suppose. It's a knee-jerk thing that nobody likes to talk about. However, is it worse to be called a racist by a tabloid media that makes up news and publishes "stories" that everyone knows is bullcrap, or is it worse to be called un-American and anti-patriotic by your own President, the same guy who seems to think that the FBI is his secret police and that, like Richard Nixon, whatever he does is legal because he and his lawyer say it is?

I think I know.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Brown, or, This is Terrible

It was time today to bring out my summer things from the back of the closet and put a lot of heavy winter clothes away. I dumped out everything from my drawers and did a big clothing sort on the floor. Slowly, a disturbing pattern began to emerge. Everything that was ugly, worn out, misshapen, pilled, faded or otherwise wholly unwearable unless you're changing the oil in the car was brown. Light brown, dark brown, olive green brown, off brown, dirty tea cup brown. This means that I have been wearing this brown clothing all winter to the point of exhaustion, and it is so disheveled that I can no longer stand the sight of it. I used to have all cute clothes. This is not the example I need to be setting. In walks Emma.

"What is this?" she asks, swirling her tiny pointer finger at the mess on the floor. "Who did this?"

"I made this mess," I said. "These are Mommy's clothes."

She stared. First at the clothes, then at me. She made a face.

"I don't like this," she remarked, still swirling. "I don't like this at all." She paused. "This is a big ugly mess."

"Yes, Emma. It is."

More staring.

"Put this in the trash." And with that, she walked off in search of her twin.

When the two year old knows that your clothes are ugly, it's time to move on. I bought a pink lipstick today, wore a red tank top under my standard black t-shirt, and felt better immediately.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Ho Ho Cake, or, It's Not So Bad Not Eating Ice Cream

So my Lenten deal of no coffee and no ice cream is going ok. Coffee is still very hard, especially in the mornings, and decaf tea just doesn't give me the kind of kick I'm usually looking for. The girls have taken to playing "coffee" with their little wooden coffee maker and I am the first one they come looking for when they have just poured a fresh "cuppa cuppa." How sweet.

I'm not really missing ice cream, however. I have somehow turned my off-ice-cream 40 days into an exploration of other desserts that are equally nice, if not more so. Case in point: cream puffs from Presti's and this giant Ho Ho cake at Grobles'. Presti's cream puffs might as well be heaven sent, and this Ho Ho cake is so decadent, so rich.

I don't feel bad about the caloric intake of these items, because they are few and far between. I'm not going to Presti's on even a weekly basis, much to my own and the girls' chagrin. And the Ho Ho cake was a nice treat. Nice, indeed. I could have wrestled Bill for the last of it tonight, but Lent is, after all, about restraint.