Sunday, January 25, 2004
Scratch That
The hacking cough I've nursed since October has finally bloomed into respiratory infection. Maybe it's all those dusty books. Ah, well, at least I've got good reading material and the brain juice to remember how to enjoy it.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
A Good Stretch
I rearranged the living room this week, and shelved books that I thought would be interesting to guests. Big glossy art books, comics and humor, cookbooks, and Americana / Laura Ingalls Wilder in "my" bookshelf, and National Parks, Americana, Lewis & Clark, and the Earps in Todd's shelf. I'm reading for pleasure again.
I'm looking at other rooms, other shelves with interest now.
When we moved into this house, books got thrown up into shelves willy nilly. It made me nuts, but I was too unhappy to care. The urge to alphabetize and organize, the need to read, is back.
I'm getting better.
I'm looking at other rooms, other shelves with interest now.
When we moved into this house, books got thrown up into shelves willy nilly. It made me nuts, but I was too unhappy to care. The urge to alphabetize and organize, the need to read, is back.
I'm getting better.
Saturday, January 17, 2004
Doctor, It All Started When...
We spent 8 lousy years in Northridge, California, enduring racial epithets, vandalism and theft, all for cheap rents. I always knew we should never have left West Los Angeles. I'm convinced this depression thang started 10 years ago today, at 4:31am, when I watched my tv fly off my dresser and land on my foot while I was up reading a chemistry book. I vaguely remember I stopped talking for a week. I stopped sleeping for six months. I became afraid to leave my house, which seems silly now, because that's where I would have, um, died. My dad lost his business and has been not-quite-retired ever since, while my mom strained herself to make up the difference. I think that's when she got that annoying habit of talking to me whenever I'm near and trying to engage me in conversation no matter what the hour or what's on tv.
The one bright spot to a lousy year, I met Todd the Christmas of 1994. We got married, moved to Vegas and moved back; I went to grad school and came back; we bought two houses and sold one; I gained 80 lbs and lost 80 lbs and gained back ... well, enough. Meanwhile, Tonya Harding finished probation for her assault on Nancy Kerrigan and is focusing on a career in pro wrestling, we're in a whole new war, a whole new Michael Jackson accuser and a whole new Bush Presidency. My parents are happier, back in West Los Angeles, tooling right along. All things must pass, I said ten years ago, but I still feel 24. Does Michael Jackson still feel 35?
The one bright spot to a lousy year, I met Todd the Christmas of 1994. We got married, moved to Vegas and moved back; I went to grad school and came back; we bought two houses and sold one; I gained 80 lbs and lost 80 lbs and gained back ... well, enough. Meanwhile, Tonya Harding finished probation for her assault on Nancy Kerrigan and is focusing on a career in pro wrestling, we're in a whole new war, a whole new Michael Jackson accuser and a whole new Bush Presidency. My parents are happier, back in West Los Angeles, tooling right along. All things must pass, I said ten years ago, but I still feel 24. Does Michael Jackson still feel 35?
Friday, January 16, 2004
Where Are You, Spalding Gray?
He's one of the few people I've gone to see in person. He was at UCLA, just what I wanted him to be; razor smart, focused like a laser, but not scary or intimidating. He walked around, meeting his audience before his performance. He's talked about depression in his monologues and has attempted suicide twice. The people that should drop dead first never do. Spalding Gray, after all that searching, did you never find your Perfect Moment?
Jonathan Brandis, who played the boy-genius on "SeaQuest DSV," and the lead role in teen-y movies like "Ladybugs" and "Sidekicks," hung himself in his apartment at 27. Found by a friend, he died at Cedar-Sinai in L.A. If he hoped for a cult following in death, he unfortunately died the same day Michael Jackson was arrested and got bumped out of the newspapers, and not many people know he's dead. He was the only child of a couple in Connecticut.
Depression is a widespread disorder. Too bad the only time it gets airplay is when someone kills themselves. Celebrities who take their medication and/or have enough midichlorians tend not to make good newscopy. My list of celebrities who admit to depression include: Mike Wallace, Carrie Fisher, Rosie O'Donnell, Rosemary Clooney, Donny Osmond, Axl Rose, Johnny Depp, Ewan McGregor, Charles Schultz, Rowan Atkinson, Margot Kidder. John Mayer has a couple of songs about insomnia. Spalding Gray, where are you?
While I'm on such a cheerful post, newswires released that Olivia Goldsmith died of a reaction to anesthetic. Goldsmith wrote "The First Wives' Club" and railed against the betrayal and injustice of men leaving their women for young girls. She posed for her first jacket-flap portraits in a long blond wig, short skirt and spikes because she was annoyed at publishers who were obviously disappointed at her physical appearance. Goldsmith died being prepped for cosmetic (facelift) surgery. Oh, Olivia (not her real name), talk about a betrayal!
Jonathan Brandis, who played the boy-genius on "SeaQuest DSV," and the lead role in teen-y movies like "Ladybugs" and "Sidekicks," hung himself in his apartment at 27. Found by a friend, he died at Cedar-Sinai in L.A. If he hoped for a cult following in death, he unfortunately died the same day Michael Jackson was arrested and got bumped out of the newspapers, and not many people know he's dead. He was the only child of a couple in Connecticut.
Depression is a widespread disorder. Too bad the only time it gets airplay is when someone kills themselves. Celebrities who take their medication and/or have enough midichlorians tend not to make good newscopy. My list of celebrities who admit to depression include: Mike Wallace, Carrie Fisher, Rosie O'Donnell, Rosemary Clooney, Donny Osmond, Axl Rose, Johnny Depp, Ewan McGregor, Charles Schultz, Rowan Atkinson, Margot Kidder. John Mayer has a couple of songs about insomnia. Spalding Gray, where are you?
While I'm on such a cheerful post, newswires released that Olivia Goldsmith died of a reaction to anesthetic. Goldsmith wrote "The First Wives' Club" and railed against the betrayal and injustice of men leaving their women for young girls. She posed for her first jacket-flap portraits in a long blond wig, short skirt and spikes because she was annoyed at publishers who were obviously disappointed at her physical appearance. Goldsmith died being prepped for cosmetic (facelift) surgery. Oh, Olivia (not her real name), talk about a betrayal!
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
"Aunt Flo"
When I was in college, I had friends who counted the days and prayed like nuns until Aunt Flo came to visit. When "she" finally came, they'd have little excesses (extra desert at dinner, an extra-special fuck), to celebrate. Eew. Like, um, they couldn't use a dependable prophylactic? Old and married, regular visits from Aunt Flo aren't a big deal any more.
Aunt Flo began a visit with my friend today, but "she" wasn't expected for at least eight more months. Who knew that a visit from Aunt Flo could hurt so much, and affect so many?
My Aunt Flo is not expected for a while, but I am bleeding today. Great boiling rivers across the floor, down the stairs, through the kitchen, into the garage, out to the curb, staining the rugs and scaring the cats. It hurts so. The LAPD haven't been called?! No one gets really worried when women grieve.
Aunt Flo began a visit with my friend today, but "she" wasn't expected for at least eight more months. Who knew that a visit from Aunt Flo could hurt so much, and affect so many?
My Aunt Flo is not expected for a while, but I am bleeding today. Great boiling rivers across the floor, down the stairs, through the kitchen, into the garage, out to the curb, staining the rugs and scaring the cats. It hurts so. The LAPD haven't been called?! No one gets really worried when women grieve.
Monday, January 12, 2004
"I knew there was more to you than money"
It has been a week. I woke up this morning without graduate school hanging over my head for the seventh day since 1994. The feeling of accomplishment, or that afterglow or something like it, must be wearing off, because this morning I realized ... I realized something... Something I never thought of before...
This morning I realized I am a housewife.
And not a very good one, at that. Where to start cleaning?! With five cats, there is loose fur everywhere, so do I vacuum first? But that requires picking up all the random toys and junk first, so as to not clog the vacuum. And that requires dusting all the flat surfaces first before I have places to put the toys and junk second. (Todd reads the paper on the couch on Monday, the kitchen on Tuesday, the floor of the den on Wednesday...by Sunday it looks like we're training a puppy!) The problem with being a conservator (or being hardwired like one) is that you know too much; how there's a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and if you don't do it right there's not much point in doing it at all. All the messes in the house are fully reversible, anyway. What's a few allergens if no one comes to visit.
You know, of all the social intercourse I've ever experienced, or any conversation I ever overheard or read, I've never said or heard anybody say "Oh, I just love Anne! She's such a good housekeeper!" "I love going to visit Jennifer's house because it's hypoallergenic!"
This weekend, my father-in-law asked me to watch my mother-in-law. For money! Ouch, that kind of pity hurts. I'll always watch my mother-in-law, but for money? And where are Todd's other #$%& siblings, anyway?
There was an article in the paper about a WPA mural and a private conservation lab that's fixing it. I used to work for them. I griped about the beautifully lit photographs, how "the technicians aren't actually doing anything!"in the photographs, and how the conservators who are interviewed aren't actually doing any work but just consulting and how they're probably paying the technicians "$6.75 an hour to power-steam the spraypaint off and pick out bubblegum boogers with sticks." Todd replied "Well, that's more money than you're currently making." Ouch.
After so much grief and effort, I'm not willing to return to work with people who are unpleasant. I've got to feel like I can believe in what I'm doing, not questioning privately to myself if a given treatment will last 5 years, or 100 years as promised. I've got to be able to finally make my own decisions and be able to believe in them, I owe myself that.
Oh, no! That reminds me of yet another John Mayer song:
"Bigger Than my Body"
This is a call to the colorblind
This is an IOU
Stranded behind a horizon line
Try to be something true
Yes, I'm grounded, Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by all this pavement
Guess I'll circle while I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry
Chorus:
Someday I'll fly
Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be
Something much more
Cause I'm bigger than my body
Gives me credit for
Why is it not the time?
What is there more to learn?
I've shed this skin I've been tripping in
And I've never quite returned
Yes, I'm grounded, Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by all this pavement
Guess I'll circle while I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry
Chorus
Cause I'm bigger than my body now
Maybe I'll tangle in the power lines
And it might be over in a second's time
But I'll gladly go down in a flame
If the flame's what it takes to remember my name
To remember my name, oh
Yes, I'm grounded, Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by all this pavement
Guess I'll circle while I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry
Chorus
Cause I'm bigger than my body
Bigger than my body
Bigger than my body now
- John Mayer, "Heavier Things"
My self-esteem would be so much better if John weren't 26. And if this song weren't inspired by his having a good time at a Coldplay concert.
I did the bathrooms Sunday; I guess I'll start cleaning the living room and dining rooms next...
This morning I realized I am a housewife.
And not a very good one, at that. Where to start cleaning?! With five cats, there is loose fur everywhere, so do I vacuum first? But that requires picking up all the random toys and junk first, so as to not clog the vacuum. And that requires dusting all the flat surfaces first before I have places to put the toys and junk second. (Todd reads the paper on the couch on Monday, the kitchen on Tuesday, the floor of the den on Wednesday...by Sunday it looks like we're training a puppy!) The problem with being a conservator (or being hardwired like one) is that you know too much; how there's a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and if you don't do it right there's not much point in doing it at all. All the messes in the house are fully reversible, anyway. What's a few allergens if no one comes to visit.
You know, of all the social intercourse I've ever experienced, or any conversation I ever overheard or read, I've never said or heard anybody say "Oh, I just love Anne! She's such a good housekeeper!" "I love going to visit Jennifer's house because it's hypoallergenic!"
This weekend, my father-in-law asked me to watch my mother-in-law. For money! Ouch, that kind of pity hurts. I'll always watch my mother-in-law, but for money? And where are Todd's other #$%& siblings, anyway?
There was an article in the paper about a WPA mural and a private conservation lab that's fixing it. I used to work for them. I griped about the beautifully lit photographs, how "the technicians aren't actually doing anything!"in the photographs, and how the conservators who are interviewed aren't actually doing any work but just consulting and how they're probably paying the technicians "$6.75 an hour to power-steam the spraypaint off and pick out bubblegum boogers with sticks." Todd replied "Well, that's more money than you're currently making." Ouch.
After so much grief and effort, I'm not willing to return to work with people who are unpleasant. I've got to feel like I can believe in what I'm doing, not questioning privately to myself if a given treatment will last 5 years, or 100 years as promised. I've got to be able to finally make my own decisions and be able to believe in them, I owe myself that.
Oh, no! That reminds me of yet another John Mayer song:
"Bigger Than my Body"
This is a call to the colorblind
This is an IOU
Stranded behind a horizon line
Try to be something true
Yes, I'm grounded, Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by all this pavement
Guess I'll circle while I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry
Chorus:
Someday I'll fly
Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be
Something much more
Cause I'm bigger than my body
Gives me credit for
Why is it not the time?
What is there more to learn?
I've shed this skin I've been tripping in
And I've never quite returned
Yes, I'm grounded, Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by all this pavement
Guess I'll circle while I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry
Chorus
Cause I'm bigger than my body now
Maybe I'll tangle in the power lines
And it might be over in a second's time
But I'll gladly go down in a flame
If the flame's what it takes to remember my name
To remember my name, oh
Yes, I'm grounded, Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by all this pavement
Guess I'll circle while I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry
Chorus
Cause I'm bigger than my body
Bigger than my body
Bigger than my body now
- John Mayer, "Heavier Things"
My self-esteem would be so much better if John weren't 26. And if this song weren't inspired by his having a good time at a Coldplay concert.
I did the bathrooms Sunday; I guess I'll start cleaning the living room and dining rooms next...
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Insider Humor
Do you know what Hawaiians call non-white mainlanders? Katonks. Katonk, singular. It's supposed to be the hollow sound mainlanders' heads make when islanders whack 'em. (My husband the Japanese-American-grew-up-Hawaiian calls me this, his beloved wife.)
Personally, I think it should be the word describing the sound Hawaiians' wallets make when leaving Las Vegas. Hmf!
Personally, I think it should be the word describing the sound Hawaiians' wallets make when leaving Las Vegas. Hmf!
Saturday, January 10, 2004
You're All Clear Kid! Now Let's Blow This Thing and Go Home.
I got home Monday night (Tuesday morning) and promptly drove Todd to the airport Wednesday night; he's giving a paper in New Orleans. No graduation dinner? No party? The lightness in my heart is all that matters. It's been fun, calling college professors and other People Who Care About Me and telling them I graduated, that's been my party. So many people were pulling for me, I had to finish, less for me but for them. Wow - Vicki, Neil, Joyce, Fran, Larry, Christy, Mickie, Laura, Jeannie, Tom, Everybody at CCHM and Suzanne, Mark, Dawna, Linda, Richard, Maggie, Jeannette, Morgaine, Nancy, Dave, Dave, Werner, Jackie, Eileen, Ed, John, Donna, Amy, Amy, Wendy, Naomi, Linnaea, Stella, Montsy, Gerry, Eric, Sarah, Sara, Sandra, Ann, June, Bob, Harry, Lisa, ... I'm sure I forgot people, but "It's not my fault." Luke Skywalker didn't have nearly as much backup.
My Dad's birthday was yesterday, he just turned 73. We're waiting for Todd to really celebrate. I visited and we split some steamed crab at home together. My Dad was happy. I was happy. My mom wasn't happy because Todd wasn't there, but she'll live.
Neil and Herb just bought a condo in Las Vegas and need someone to look after it when they're not there. Someone like...me! Perfect, for when Vicki and I start in earnest on her book! I don't have to intrude on Dave, Vicki, Suzanne, Mark, etc., etc., anymore. Neil says he's fantasizing about a 50s couch like the one at CCHM... goody, thrift store shopping with a purpose! A bonus. (A few years ago, one of the hotels dumped all their furniture to the thriftstores and I begged Todd for a complete hotel suite of furniture, a double bed, end tables, mirror and dressing table and chairs, all in pink and blue buckram and bamboo! (Todd said no.) Neil has a better sense of humor. It could still happen...)
Todd is coming home this evening and I swore to myself that the house would look somewhat neater, just to prove to him my statement that I get more done when he isn't underfoot. I hate it when After-School-Special messages come true: Lies Can Snowball On You. (My house has three bathrooms. Three bathrooms!!)
My Dad's birthday was yesterday, he just turned 73. We're waiting for Todd to really celebrate. I visited and we split some steamed crab at home together. My Dad was happy. I was happy. My mom wasn't happy because Todd wasn't there, but she'll live.
Neil and Herb just bought a condo in Las Vegas and need someone to look after it when they're not there. Someone like...me! Perfect, for when Vicki and I start in earnest on her book! I don't have to intrude on Dave, Vicki, Suzanne, Mark, etc., etc., anymore. Neil says he's fantasizing about a 50s couch like the one at CCHM... goody, thrift store shopping with a purpose! A bonus. (A few years ago, one of the hotels dumped all their furniture to the thriftstores and I begged Todd for a complete hotel suite of furniture, a double bed, end tables, mirror and dressing table and chairs, all in pink and blue buckram and bamboo! (Todd said no.) Neil has a better sense of humor. It could still happen...)
Todd is coming home this evening and I swore to myself that the house would look somewhat neater, just to prove to him my statement that I get more done when he isn't underfoot. I hate it when After-School-Special messages come true: Lies Can Snowball On You. (My house has three bathrooms. Three bathrooms!!)
I Got a Little Cooked but I'm Okay
"Disrespectful." I called my advisor Bruno Saturday 1/3/04 evening to ask when to meet him on Monday January 5. I emphasized that I knew the schedule and I was giving The Talk at 10am, but was someone going to meet me? Also, as I would be catching a plane shortly afterwards, would it be disrespectful to CHANGE into traveling clothes AFTER MY TALK while the Committee deliberated (45-60 min)? "I'll be in the building at 8:00. Come find me. What sort of clothes would you be wearing?" I responded that travel clothes I would be wearing long pants and a sweater, nothing with metal, like zippers or hooks. "That would probably be all right," he said dubiously.
The morning of The Talk, he met me (at 8:30!), looked me up and down in my little black dress and said "You look lovely! I do not know why you were worried about your dress." He never listens. That morning, I marched up to my director, in front of him, and asked "Debbie, I'm going to be catching a flight after, may I change into travel clothes while you deliberate? Will that be disrespectful?" (She said that would be fine.) I dunno if that irked him, but I figured I deserved a firm answer at that late date.
"I Can't Win." The Room was prepared for me, except there was no podium. Oh, God, no!!! Horrors of horrors! I reassured all there that it would be ok. "I'm not fussy." "Caroline, as a conservator, there are times you should be fussy." A ruckus is made for me and a podium is brought in. Hooray. I'm walking the fine line between enthusiastic and big pain in the ass. I can't win.
I gave my talk, answered some questions, and got excused. The committee deliberated. I gratefully changed into my travel clothes and got called back in.
"Just Barely" I "just barely" met my requirements for my portfolio (thesis). They then proceeded to tell me what I should have done differently or better, four quibbles, to have received an "outstanding." Gee, if the difference between an "outstanding" and a "just barely" is four pointers, four differences of opinion, I gather there is no middle-ground, no solid "pass." No wonder most conservators are wildly neurotic and charge too little for their services. Now, some comments, particularly from my science professor Jan, who came out of retirement just for my presentation, were very valuable, and I took a lot of notes. Other comments, such as "don't assume your reader knows what you're talking about and define everything." are annoying. If you don't know what 'Egyptian cartonnage' is, or ' the cantle' and 'tapadero' on a saddle is, well, good readers should know what a dictionary is.
"We encourage you to have Dr. Cassman (Vicki) read your portfolio." She read my portfolio, with a fine tooth comb. I decided not to tell them that because that would just cause embarrassment and trouble. Vicki and I had a good laugh over the whole thing.
"Overstatement." I lied. I lied and said Vicki and I were working on her book together. I lied and said I was 'consulting' with the Clark County Museum, answering questions for them when they came up. I do do those things; just not as actively as they might imagine, and not for money. Mark, Suzanne, please call me and ask me a question soon. Anything! Vicki asked me to work on a side-bar for her book (last week!) just because we both realized that they were not going to be happy unless I was actually doing something in conservation. Realize that conservation is a tiny field, and if I actually had applied to jobs, I would have to disclose my 'conditional pass' status. I'm not ashamed of my performance, but other people would take great joy passing such information around. Laying low, in my opinion, was my way of staying in conservation. Vicki says she's grateful for my help; I'm grateful for the work. I owe her so damn much, anything I can do to get her tenure at UNLV, I'll do it.
"Inappropriate Humor." I can only watch "my so-called humor" for so long. They ask a lot of questions about Las Vegas and working with Vicki. I say that "I can drive to Vegas in three hours, so I can respond to any emergencies. And I'm not even the fastest driver on the road." And sometimes, I'm in Vegas with Todd..."My husband is Hawaiian, he's gotta play nickel slots once in a while, so when I'm in town, I let the Director or the Registrar know I'm available to work." Later, I get told that my ethnic humor is inappropriate, that I could be offending "Hawaiians" or "gamblers." (Those of you in Nevada, have you known either to be easily offended?!) It occurs to me later that they think Todd is native Hawaiian. No, Todd is Japanese American, like me, but he's Hawaiian...like I'm Californian... Hawaii is a U.S. STATE. Oh, never mind. I didn't want people on the Committee who already have low opinions of me, thinking I gamble. Silly me!
Seven white professors told me to my yellow face that my ethnic humor is offensive. Gee, if you're that easily offended (in a world after 9/11, blood for oil, Arnold Schwarzenegger) you're either not paying attention or you live in Delaware. Wait, did I say that before?
One of the professors brought up that out of 7000 applicants to University of Delaware, 4000 of them are Asian American, and that I should watch my humor. I'm offensive, and my humor might hold me back professionally. If such a change in demographic is true, I've decided now, they should really be taking notes on me. Me! (By the way, towel-head jokes are offensive. 9/11 jokes are offensive. Gay-bashing jokes, date rape jokes, assault jokes, religion jokes, those are offensive. I don't tell them. Michael Jackson jokes are offensive, but very very funny, so I don't tell them in public. Telling an insider not to tell insider jokes, that's not only offensive, but very hurtful.) Not many Asian Americans are willing to share ''insider humor," and if I'm held back professionally for "insider humor," I'm held back for professionally being Asian American, and that's something I've already known about and made my peace with. Basically, I got told to be even less Japanese American than I am already. I have several Native American friends, one of whom quotes the movie Smoke Signals liberally. If she were in the Program, would they tell her to stop saying "Do you know what's sadder than Indians on TV? Indians watching Indians on TV." Would they dare? I don't make jokes about ethnicities I am not an authority on. I never claimed to be White. I am a victim of my own over-assimilation. (As the Americans say in old Japanese war movies, "They don't feel pain like we do, and They breed like rabbits." Oh, wait, that was inappropriate, wasn't it. And slightly out of left field. Oh, well.)
"Stupid Questions." "Do you feel like a conservator?" It took work not to mouth off here. I responded that, no, after a 30 minute talk and changing clothes, I don't feel like a conservator. "Has anybody read the book The House in Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros? (Of course not) It's a great book, short chapters so good bed time reading. It's told from the P.O.V of a seven year old. On her 8th birthday, she gets insulted and she thinks she should stand up for herself because she's 8 now. But she can't. She realizes then that she's not going to feel 8 until she's almost 9. And she's not going to feel 9 until she's almost 10. I think I won't feel like a conservator until I'm back doing work." I finish.
"We are concerned that you are still a technician, doing technician's work." Most conservation work is technician's work, I responded. "Treatments can be done by a trained monkey, if you've got a good trained monkey. It's the decisions that matter! (Heads nod, that's good!) I've been making decisions. In my talk, Joyce said I should give the credit to my supervisors. ... Day to day conservation is boring. My psychiatrist says that the patient that thinks he's Napoleon comes once-in-a-career, and most of the time, it's garden variety neuroses and anxiety and depression(people tense here, is it my sense of humor or the psychiatry?). And so it is with conservation, silver polishing, mannequin dressing, loan examinations. I read a lot of political biographies, and I don't remember which President said it, but you're not going to be remembered for how smart or stupid you are, but how smart or stupid the people you surround yourself with are. One of my strengths is knowing when I'm out of my league and knowing when to ask for help. I have a lot of good friends I know I can depend on. Mistakes happen when you think you know it all, isn't that true?" Heads nod.
"Stupid Questions, II" "How is Todd doing?" Vicki and I decided long ago that I would keep my chit chat as impersonal as possible. So when Bruno asked, I bragged about Todd's two newly published articles. And just to make it sound like Caroline's not being stilted, I mentioned that I was annoyed with Todd because he brought home another cat. Which brought the total up to five. "Ah," my Advisor said in a fatherly way, "That is Todd's way of saying you must have children." "Oh," I responded, sweetly. "I think that's Todd's way of asking for a swift kick in the teeth." Bruno made mention of the conversation during the Defense, so I brought up the little story, finishing with someone wanting a swift kick in the teeth. Bruno brightened; I think he thinks recounting chatting on the phone makes us sound like we're very close. Many of the women faculty members darkened visibly upon my recounting the story, as I think, as they do, that it is VERY inappropriate to discuss my childbearing in any setting. I daresay I got my advisor into trouble. I got a nice warm feeling as I left the room. Did I get it because I graduated? Or for other reasons? Um...I can't recall.
Anecdotes have been edited for time and content. So what I've told you is true, from a certain point of view.
The morning of The Talk, he met me (at 8:30!), looked me up and down in my little black dress and said "You look lovely! I do not know why you were worried about your dress." He never listens. That morning, I marched up to my director, in front of him, and asked "Debbie, I'm going to be catching a flight after, may I change into travel clothes while you deliberate? Will that be disrespectful?" (She said that would be fine.) I dunno if that irked him, but I figured I deserved a firm answer at that late date.
"I Can't Win." The Room was prepared for me, except there was no podium. Oh, God, no!!! Horrors of horrors! I reassured all there that it would be ok. "I'm not fussy." "Caroline, as a conservator, there are times you should be fussy." A ruckus is made for me and a podium is brought in. Hooray. I'm walking the fine line between enthusiastic and big pain in the ass. I can't win.
I gave my talk, answered some questions, and got excused. The committee deliberated. I gratefully changed into my travel clothes and got called back in.
"Just Barely" I "just barely" met my requirements for my portfolio (thesis). They then proceeded to tell me what I should have done differently or better, four quibbles, to have received an "outstanding." Gee, if the difference between an "outstanding" and a "just barely" is four pointers, four differences of opinion, I gather there is no middle-ground, no solid "pass." No wonder most conservators are wildly neurotic and charge too little for their services. Now, some comments, particularly from my science professor Jan, who came out of retirement just for my presentation, were very valuable, and I took a lot of notes. Other comments, such as "don't assume your reader knows what you're talking about and define everything." are annoying. If you don't know what 'Egyptian cartonnage' is, or ' the cantle' and 'tapadero' on a saddle is, well, good readers should know what a dictionary is.
"We encourage you to have Dr. Cassman (Vicki) read your portfolio." She read my portfolio, with a fine tooth comb. I decided not to tell them that because that would just cause embarrassment and trouble. Vicki and I had a good laugh over the whole thing.
"Overstatement." I lied. I lied and said Vicki and I were working on her book together. I lied and said I was 'consulting' with the Clark County Museum, answering questions for them when they came up. I do do those things; just not as actively as they might imagine, and not for money. Mark, Suzanne, please call me and ask me a question soon. Anything! Vicki asked me to work on a side-bar for her book (last week!) just because we both realized that they were not going to be happy unless I was actually doing something in conservation. Realize that conservation is a tiny field, and if I actually had applied to jobs, I would have to disclose my 'conditional pass' status. I'm not ashamed of my performance, but other people would take great joy passing such information around. Laying low, in my opinion, was my way of staying in conservation. Vicki says she's grateful for my help; I'm grateful for the work. I owe her so damn much, anything I can do to get her tenure at UNLV, I'll do it.
"Inappropriate Humor." I can only watch "my so-called humor" for so long. They ask a lot of questions about Las Vegas and working with Vicki. I say that "I can drive to Vegas in three hours, so I can respond to any emergencies. And I'm not even the fastest driver on the road." And sometimes, I'm in Vegas with Todd..."My husband is Hawaiian, he's gotta play nickel slots once in a while, so when I'm in town, I let the Director or the Registrar know I'm available to work." Later, I get told that my ethnic humor is inappropriate, that I could be offending "Hawaiians" or "gamblers." (Those of you in Nevada, have you known either to be easily offended?!) It occurs to me later that they think Todd is native Hawaiian. No, Todd is Japanese American, like me, but he's Hawaiian...like I'm Californian... Hawaii is a U.S. STATE. Oh, never mind. I didn't want people on the Committee who already have low opinions of me, thinking I gamble. Silly me!
Seven white professors told me to my yellow face that my ethnic humor is offensive. Gee, if you're that easily offended (in a world after 9/11, blood for oil, Arnold Schwarzenegger) you're either not paying attention or you live in Delaware. Wait, did I say that before?
One of the professors brought up that out of 7000 applicants to University of Delaware, 4000 of them are Asian American, and that I should watch my humor. I'm offensive, and my humor might hold me back professionally. If such a change in demographic is true, I've decided now, they should really be taking notes on me. Me! (By the way, towel-head jokes are offensive. 9/11 jokes are offensive. Gay-bashing jokes, date rape jokes, assault jokes, religion jokes, those are offensive. I don't tell them. Michael Jackson jokes are offensive, but very very funny, so I don't tell them in public. Telling an insider not to tell insider jokes, that's not only offensive, but very hurtful.) Not many Asian Americans are willing to share ''insider humor," and if I'm held back professionally for "insider humor," I'm held back for professionally being Asian American, and that's something I've already known about and made my peace with. Basically, I got told to be even less Japanese American than I am already. I have several Native American friends, one of whom quotes the movie Smoke Signals liberally. If she were in the Program, would they tell her to stop saying "Do you know what's sadder than Indians on TV? Indians watching Indians on TV." Would they dare? I don't make jokes about ethnicities I am not an authority on. I never claimed to be White. I am a victim of my own over-assimilation. (As the Americans say in old Japanese war movies, "They don't feel pain like we do, and They breed like rabbits." Oh, wait, that was inappropriate, wasn't it. And slightly out of left field. Oh, well.)
"Stupid Questions." "Do you feel like a conservator?" It took work not to mouth off here. I responded that, no, after a 30 minute talk and changing clothes, I don't feel like a conservator. "Has anybody read the book The House in Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros? (Of course not) It's a great book, short chapters so good bed time reading. It's told from the P.O.V of a seven year old. On her 8th birthday, she gets insulted and she thinks she should stand up for herself because she's 8 now. But she can't. She realizes then that she's not going to feel 8 until she's almost 9. And she's not going to feel 9 until she's almost 10. I think I won't feel like a conservator until I'm back doing work." I finish.
"We are concerned that you are still a technician, doing technician's work." Most conservation work is technician's work, I responded. "Treatments can be done by a trained monkey, if you've got a good trained monkey. It's the decisions that matter! (Heads nod, that's good!) I've been making decisions. In my talk, Joyce said I should give the credit to my supervisors. ... Day to day conservation is boring. My psychiatrist says that the patient that thinks he's Napoleon comes once-in-a-career, and most of the time, it's garden variety neuroses and anxiety and depression(people tense here, is it my sense of humor or the psychiatry?). And so it is with conservation, silver polishing, mannequin dressing, loan examinations. I read a lot of political biographies, and I don't remember which President said it, but you're not going to be remembered for how smart or stupid you are, but how smart or stupid the people you surround yourself with are. One of my strengths is knowing when I'm out of my league and knowing when to ask for help. I have a lot of good friends I know I can depend on. Mistakes happen when you think you know it all, isn't that true?" Heads nod.
"Stupid Questions, II" "How is Todd doing?" Vicki and I decided long ago that I would keep my chit chat as impersonal as possible. So when Bruno asked, I bragged about Todd's two newly published articles. And just to make it sound like Caroline's not being stilted, I mentioned that I was annoyed with Todd because he brought home another cat. Which brought the total up to five. "Ah," my Advisor said in a fatherly way, "That is Todd's way of saying you must have children." "Oh," I responded, sweetly. "I think that's Todd's way of asking for a swift kick in the teeth." Bruno made mention of the conversation during the Defense, so I brought up the little story, finishing with someone wanting a swift kick in the teeth. Bruno brightened; I think he thinks recounting chatting on the phone makes us sound like we're very close. Many of the women faculty members darkened visibly upon my recounting the story, as I think, as they do, that it is VERY inappropriate to discuss my childbearing in any setting. I daresay I got my advisor into trouble. I got a nice warm feeling as I left the room. Did I get it because I graduated? Or for other reasons? Um...I can't recall.
Anecdotes have been edited for time and content. So what I've told you is true, from a certain point of view.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Healing
Came home to find Jessie with both eyes back to normal, running around without any tripping or balance issues, eating like normal and full o' ginger. I thought it was just a good hour or two, but it's been 48 hours, and she's chasing mousies and string and pushing her way into laps (and sitting there until my thighs fell asleep) as she used to do. She's still deaf, but her ears are full of wax again; I'm starting to think it's an ear infection the vet hasn't caught and maybe reversible. (Maybe it's time for a second opinion vet.)
Four friends that I hadn't heard from called me Monday. They must have felt the psychic weight move off my shoulders and felt the need to check up on me.
I got a job offer today. It would involve moving to Minnesota, and I couldn't possibly take it, but it's an offer nonetheless. I'm back in the conservation game, though. I made networking calls today and they were well received!
I remembered today that my friend Laura, (with whom I stayed with in Delaware, and whom some may describe as benign) was Sorted into Slytherin House when she went to the Harry Potter website. I've visited the site, run by Warner Brothers, and promptly got sorted into Gryffindor House. As a result, I thought everybody got sorted into Gryffindor House. I know Laura was annoyed by this (she thought for sure she was Hufflepuff House material) but I was pleased for two reasons - there is indeed more to her that meets the eye (don't cross her WPEACs, I mean it), and not everbody gets into Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat never lies. Don't know what I'm talking about? Read a book.
I found my self-esteem in a paper bag at the bottom of a box of tools and books. It was crushed under a lot of weight, but I've missed it and it's nice to have it back.
Is it my imagination, or are the clouds thinning and the sun breaking through after a long gloom?
Four friends that I hadn't heard from called me Monday. They must have felt the psychic weight move off my shoulders and felt the need to check up on me.
I got a job offer today. It would involve moving to Minnesota, and I couldn't possibly take it, but it's an offer nonetheless. I'm back in the conservation game, though. I made networking calls today and they were well received!
I remembered today that my friend Laura, (with whom I stayed with in Delaware, and whom some may describe as benign) was Sorted into Slytherin House when she went to the Harry Potter website. I've visited the site, run by Warner Brothers, and promptly got sorted into Gryffindor House. As a result, I thought everybody got sorted into Gryffindor House. I know Laura was annoyed by this (she thought for sure she was Hufflepuff House material) but I was pleased for two reasons - there is indeed more to her that meets the eye (don't cross her WPEACs, I mean it), and not everbody gets into Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat never lies. Don't know what I'm talking about? Read a book.
I found my self-esteem in a paper bag at the bottom of a box of tools and books. It was crushed under a lot of weight, but I've missed it and it's nice to have it back.
Is it my imagination, or are the clouds thinning and the sun breaking through after a long gloom?
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Leaving Grad School
I am still digesting The Meeting I had with The Committee. I apparently offended a lot of faculty with my humor and impertinent questions. Gee, if you're that easily offended, you're either not paying attention or you live in Delaware.
No Such Thing
"Welcome to the real world", she said to me
Condescendingly
Take a seat
Take your life
Plot it out in black and white
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve
They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above
So the good boys and girls take the so called right track
Faded white hats
Grabbing credits
Maybe transfers
They read all the books but they can't find the answers
And all of our parents
They're getting older
I wonder if they've wished for anything better
While in their memories
Tiny tragedies
They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you got to rise above
I am invincible
As long as I'm alive
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above
I just can't wait til my 10 year reunion
I'm gonna bust down the double doors
And when I stand on these tables before you
You will know what all this time was for
John Mayer, "Room for Squares"
Any song about running around and screaming is always good by me, I say. But The Meeting I'm trying to digest (and the mental indigestion is killing me, by the way) just gave this song a whole 'nother level of meaning for me.
No Such Thing
"Welcome to the real world", she said to me
Condescendingly
Take a seat
Take your life
Plot it out in black and white
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve
They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above
So the good boys and girls take the so called right track
Faded white hats
Grabbing credits
Maybe transfers
They read all the books but they can't find the answers
And all of our parents
They're getting older
I wonder if they've wished for anything better
While in their memories
Tiny tragedies
They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you got to rise above
I am invincible
As long as I'm alive
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above
I just can't wait til my 10 year reunion
I'm gonna bust down the double doors
And when I stand on these tables before you
You will know what all this time was for
John Mayer, "Room for Squares"
Any song about running around and screaming is always good by me, I say. But The Meeting I'm trying to digest (and the mental indigestion is killing me, by the way) just gave this song a whole 'nother level of meaning for me.
Monday, January 05, 2004
Great Shot, Kid! That was One in a Million (FYI)
On January 5, at 10:00am EST, I gave my final talk. After answering a bunch of questions from The Committee, the words "you passed all requirements" were uttered at approximately 11:30am EST.
A blow by blow of The Meeting is forthcoming, but I've got a plane to catch.
A blow by blow of The Meeting is forthcoming, but I've got a plane to catch.
Friday, January 02, 2004
Going in Full Throttle...Just Like Beggar's Canyon Back Home.
Nothing like an intense start to the New Year. I traveled back to University of Delaware on New Year's Eve on a redeye. I will be re-presenting my conservation talk and redefending my portfolio (thesis, whatever) on January 5. There were 25 people on the fight to Phoenix, and 18 people on the flight to Philadelphia, and I got a whole row all to myself. If you wiggle just right, you can stretch out across all three seats and still keep your seatbelt fastened. I must have slept some, because I don't remember the inflight movie.
Thankfully, I'm staying at my friend Laura's house. Laura is a grownup who works at Winterthur as a librarian; I met her in the second semester of my second year, when I asked to work with the collection she works in as an elective. Laura is very smart; I know this because she only has two cats, Dill and Tansy. I always wish I met her earlier in my tenure here. After 15 months of neverending work, nonstop criticism, bad diet, little sun and almost no pleasant social interaction, I had turned into a troll. (I am getting over being a troll; I still have warts on my chin, extraordinarily hairy toes, and green skin beneath my arms, but I am getting better.) Laura, by the power of pleasant conversation alone, might have been able to keep this ungodly disorder away.
Laura is not someone my friends would have picked for me would be close to, I bet. Laura's house has lace curtains. Laura reads Austen. She also reads Alcott, Ingalls, and Tolkien, among others. Laura collects sheep (Sheep magnets, sheep toys, sheep notepads... I'm glad she doesn't do cows. I hate cows.) In her living room, there is a wooden doll bed with china-headed dolls sitting on top. I suppose if this were anybody else, I would find it precious, but Laura isn't prissy. She doesn't watch a lot of TV, but she likes Law & Order, and Law & Order SVU, which I find too gritty. (She likes Ice-T, which I think says a lot.) Having divorced, she lives alone, which means she would be quite a scandalous Austen heroine. Her shelves are cluttered with books and junk, but in a nice way, and they are there for a reason. Even the very girlish things have an intellectual quality to them, like the framed embroidery samplers on some walls; ABCs and 123s are boring, maybe, until you realize that the handwork was done 120 years ago by a girl of 10. Other things, you realize, were inexpensive antiques picked up on a trip or a present from a beloved friend. I don't want her possessions, but unlike other people I know (like my inlaws' collection of Thomas Kinkade, bleargh!) , at least I can understand and admire why she has them. (I bought a bo'sun's whistle, just because I kept seeing them in maritime movies, and Sound of Music, and Star Trek funerals; Laura would understand that.)
I must present the facade that I am deeply shallow. Yes, I can certainly give you the details on the Michael Jackson coverage thus far. I think I've seen every Simpsons episode, and their dialog has invaded my speech as slang. I do need my pop culture. I do base my life on Star Wars. I also admit that I'm not a terribly nice person, as I've mentioned earlier. But I've found that I can't talk to many people about my favorite books, though. Laura is a rare creature. The Jo of Little Women, Laura of the Little Houses, and Anne of Green Gables that have quietly resided within me, a part of me since childhood, responds to her. I would describe her as "belonging to the race that knows Joseph" and not many people would know of what I refer to. Trust me, that's a high compliment, in Four Winds Harbor, which is near Avonlea. (Where is that? Go read a book.)
I introduced Todd to her last year via e-mail. Todd was reading Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix first before me, and I wouldn't allow him to talk about it to me. (I thought his head would explode.) I encouraged him to email "my friend Laura." Dubious at first, (Actually, he thought it was an order or a request and he was furious that I would ask him for yet another favor that period!), "what am I supposed to say, 'Hi, I'm Todd, Caroline said to email you?!'" ("Yes,"I said) he found her emails engaging and they wrote back and forth and back and forth until they had exhausted all avenues of Potterical discussion. (Grumpily, he admitted they were having a grand time and grudgingly, sheepishly, he apologized for being at first so angry. Sigh, I meant well.) Todd called me today and asked sternly if I had brought Laura a nice hostess gift. Good ole Todd! Of course I did; but I'm glad he would be concerned enough to ask.
Anyway, I'll be imposed on her for days. I hope she cares for me as I do for her. I hope I 'm not a huge pain in the ass. (Oh, that's another thing, I really must watch my language around her some. Great reader or no, I'm still from L.A.) Back in that dreadful school environment, I've found myself freaked out and stressed out, even reverting back to my grad school diet of yogurt and popcorn... Our conversations are so soothing, Harry Potterica, Little Women, Frances Hodgeson Burnett... (She gave up her great big bed for me! In my current flipped-out state, her antique four-poster bed, which is so tall you climb into it using wooden steps, with its aged hand-pieced quilts and woven blankets, is a treat and a comfort. I'm going to check for a pea tonight.) I'm so grateful to be here. (I wish I could get her cats to remember they liked me once.)
I've got my first meetings tomorrow (a Saturday!). Counting down the hours to freedom or doom...
Thankfully, I'm staying at my friend Laura's house. Laura is a grownup who works at Winterthur as a librarian; I met her in the second semester of my second year, when I asked to work with the collection she works in as an elective. Laura is very smart; I know this because she only has two cats, Dill and Tansy. I always wish I met her earlier in my tenure here. After 15 months of neverending work, nonstop criticism, bad diet, little sun and almost no pleasant social interaction, I had turned into a troll. (I am getting over being a troll; I still have warts on my chin, extraordinarily hairy toes, and green skin beneath my arms, but I am getting better.) Laura, by the power of pleasant conversation alone, might have been able to keep this ungodly disorder away.
Laura is not someone my friends would have picked for me would be close to, I bet. Laura's house has lace curtains. Laura reads Austen. She also reads Alcott, Ingalls, and Tolkien, among others. Laura collects sheep (Sheep magnets, sheep toys, sheep notepads... I'm glad she doesn't do cows. I hate cows.) In her living room, there is a wooden doll bed with china-headed dolls sitting on top. I suppose if this were anybody else, I would find it precious, but Laura isn't prissy. She doesn't watch a lot of TV, but she likes Law & Order, and Law & Order SVU, which I find too gritty. (She likes Ice-T, which I think says a lot.) Having divorced, she lives alone, which means she would be quite a scandalous Austen heroine. Her shelves are cluttered with books and junk, but in a nice way, and they are there for a reason. Even the very girlish things have an intellectual quality to them, like the framed embroidery samplers on some walls; ABCs and 123s are boring, maybe, until you realize that the handwork was done 120 years ago by a girl of 10. Other things, you realize, were inexpensive antiques picked up on a trip or a present from a beloved friend. I don't want her possessions, but unlike other people I know (like my inlaws' collection of Thomas Kinkade, bleargh!) , at least I can understand and admire why she has them. (I bought a bo'sun's whistle, just because I kept seeing them in maritime movies, and Sound of Music, and Star Trek funerals; Laura would understand that.)
I must present the facade that I am deeply shallow. Yes, I can certainly give you the details on the Michael Jackson coverage thus far. I think I've seen every Simpsons episode, and their dialog has invaded my speech as slang. I do need my pop culture. I do base my life on Star Wars. I also admit that I'm not a terribly nice person, as I've mentioned earlier. But I've found that I can't talk to many people about my favorite books, though. Laura is a rare creature. The Jo of Little Women, Laura of the Little Houses, and Anne of Green Gables that have quietly resided within me, a part of me since childhood, responds to her. I would describe her as "belonging to the race that knows Joseph" and not many people would know of what I refer to. Trust me, that's a high compliment, in Four Winds Harbor, which is near Avonlea. (Where is that? Go read a book.)
I introduced Todd to her last year via e-mail. Todd was reading Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix first before me, and I wouldn't allow him to talk about it to me. (I thought his head would explode.) I encouraged him to email "my friend Laura." Dubious at first, (Actually, he thought it was an order or a request and he was furious that I would ask him for yet another favor that period!), "what am I supposed to say, 'Hi, I'm Todd, Caroline said to email you?!'" ("Yes,"I said) he found her emails engaging and they wrote back and forth and back and forth until they had exhausted all avenues of Potterical discussion. (Grumpily, he admitted they were having a grand time and grudgingly, sheepishly, he apologized for being at first so angry. Sigh, I meant well.) Todd called me today and asked sternly if I had brought Laura a nice hostess gift. Good ole Todd! Of course I did; but I'm glad he would be concerned enough to ask.
Anyway, I'll be imposed on her for days. I hope she cares for me as I do for her. I hope I 'm not a huge pain in the ass. (Oh, that's another thing, I really must watch my language around her some. Great reader or no, I'm still from L.A.) Back in that dreadful school environment, I've found myself freaked out and stressed out, even reverting back to my grad school diet of yogurt and popcorn... Our conversations are so soothing, Harry Potterica, Little Women, Frances Hodgeson Burnett... (She gave up her great big bed for me! In my current flipped-out state, her antique four-poster bed, which is so tall you climb into it using wooden steps, with its aged hand-pieced quilts and woven blankets, is a treat and a comfort. I'm going to check for a pea tonight.) I'm so grateful to be here. (I wish I could get her cats to remember they liked me once.)
I've got my first meetings tomorrow (a Saturday!). Counting down the hours to freedom or doom...
