March 12th, 2010

There are moments in memory where, when looking back, you see these little pushpins of moments that changed life. Sometimes they’re good moments, and sometimes they’re bad. One of the first of these pushpins in my academic life was a class I took my first quarter at the University of Washington, called Buffy as Archtype: Rethinking Human Nature in the Buffyverse.

I hadn’t wanted to take the class, truth be told. Buffy? Oh, please. (Yes, hold your laughter.) I had no interest in Buffy. Friends who were huge fans had tried to make me watch the show for years at that point, and I humoured them, and would be shown this or that favourite episode, and I would roll my eyes and continue to pass on the whole thing. Because of course, the problem with showing someone your favourite episode is their utter lack of context for why it’s your favourite; to me, it was people I didn’t know behaving senselessly. I had no background, and I really didn’t care.

But the academic adviser for CHID would not be deterred. I needed another class, and she needed a body – especially a body that did know her mythology and her Joseph Campbell. Besides, it was a CHID class, and would let me meet my fellow department-mates, and get to know people. It was sound argument, and I acquiesced. This was probably one of the two best decisions I ever made at UW.

The Buffy class did several things for me. First and most obviously, it introduced me to Buffy and the wider Whedonverse. I used Netflix to rent the series from the beginning, because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s not knowing – and watching just an episode here and there for class wasn’t doing it for me. I had to know the characters, I had to know the back story, I had to know the why’s. And what I discovered was a story of a female hero, friendship, strength, and even the value of weakness and the virtue of relying on your friends – all things I needed just then, as I was going through my divorce. Buffy kept me company at night, after work and schoolwork, and it helped me reshape my world to one where I could be that strong, too.

But the class had another major influence on me: it showed me that critical academic theory in a pop culture framework was possible. I don’t mean those light philosophy books and whatever popular TV show at the moment sort of things, but actual critical theory, Zizek-style (if you will). Perhaps even more importantly, it showed me the power of pop culture in teaching complex theories, something that has gone on to inform the basis of my own pedagogical style. It’s not coincidence or even passing brilliance on my part, that I illustrate my own lectures and courses with clips from The Daily Show, relevant movies, newscasts, and whatever else catches my eye and is appropriate. It is a direct callback to this class, which showed me the power of pop culture to form a concrete basis to then connect more tenuous academic concepts to.

In typical CHID tradition, one of the co-facilitators of the course was another CHID student, Jennifer K. Stuller. Jen was really amazing (and kind of intimidating) from the get-go. She herself was a great model of the sort of funny, warm, brilliant, strong female academic I wanted to be, an embodiment of the strong female hero that she was so fascinated with, and that formed the basis of her CHID thesis. (I would feel tongue-tied and shy around her, although if she ever noticed this, she was kind enough to not say.) It’s also formed the basis of her first book, Ink-Stained Amazons and Cinematic Warriors: Superwomen in Modern Mythology, which is available now, and something I really think everyone should buy. Moreso if you have daughters, because women need strong role models – the fictional ones Jen talks about in her book, and the ones like Jen herself.

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March 7th, 2010

When I was little, my mother would buy the peanut butter that had separated in the jar. When we got home from the store, there was always the ritual of dumping the peanut butter into a bowl, stirring everything up, and then placing it back into the jar.

I never had to do this; Mom always did. It was sticky and messy and lunch for all of us, so leaving it in the hands of an impatient child probably would have been a bad idea.

Even though I never had to do this, I always hated it. It was so pointless, I though. Why spend the time and the mess and the energy when you could just spend a little more for the stuff that was already mixed? That was faster! It was cleaner! Therefore, it must be better.

Mom would just shrug and say that this was the way her mother did it, and this was the way she did it, and maybe some day I would understand. I was a child, so of course I knew that I would never understand, and fastercleaner would always be better.

It’s nearly 4am, and these are the things that go through your head when you’re standing in a bathrobe in the kitchen, mixing a new jar of peanut butter.

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February 3rd, 2010

As my friend Maureen says, this is an excellent example of corrective messaging.

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February 2nd, 2010

I’ve been very busy the last week or so with something that we’ll just keep under wraps for the time being, which means I’ve been somewhat behind the ball on everything else. But Laurie wanted to make sure that I saw this, and now I’m sharing it with you. I’m especially fond of the snarky shot Obama got about how he actually reads the bills people put in front of him.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart Mon – Thurs 11p / 10c
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January 29th, 2010

In what will certainly be hailed as a victory for anyone sane enough to realize that you don’t go around killing people for holding a different view, Scott Roeder was found guilty of first degree murder for the death of Dr. George Tiller. (Roeder was also found guilty of two counts of aggravated assault for threatening Tiller’s church congregation members after fleeing the church lobby, the scene of the murder.)

Roeder admitted that not only was the murder premeditated, but that he had planned it for over a year, and at times had considered other options, including cutting of Dr. Tiller’s hands with a sword. For his defense, he tried to turn his trial into one against abortion, proudly stating that he had killed Dr. Tiller “to protect the children” and that if he didn’t, “the babies were going to die the next day.”

Did he feel remorse after killing a man? No, he only felt relief, because he felt that the “danger” Dr. Tiller represented to the general public justified deadly force.

Contrast that with the heart-rending, emotional stories of women who traveled to Kansas to see, and often be treated by, Dr. Tiller. Read about their heartbreak as they faced wanted children with lethal diseases, often that would cause death before birth. Read about the cruelty they faced in the hands of protesters, the fact that they had to travel from states away to get the medical care they needed, and the compassion and warmth they received at the hands of Dr. Tiller and his staff.

Read about the deliveries, and the fact that the families were allowed to hold their child, given the choice of photos, hand and foot prints, of keeping the receiving blanket. Would the baby be named? What kind of funeral would they like?

Contrast this with the actions of a man who walked into a church, a sanctuary, pressed a gun to a man’s skull, and shot him at point blank range, and tell me who the real danger was.

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