Sugared Harpy

I totally get why people are fond of the term, “postmodernism.” I do. I didn’t so much obect to its invocation in the discussion on being post-gay or PoMo. Mainly, I simply got what the message was and moved on. Finding something in the Urban Dictionary, such as that, allows for a bit of technical misuse. The message made sense to me and I didn’t fuss over it. But for the most part, and especially when I see someone trying to use postmodernism as the basis for their argument, I am annoyed at its use. Why is this, you ask? Sit down and listen, minions.

I attempted, and rightly got my hand slapped, when I tried to slip this word into my thesis. Why would one do this? Simply, because it’s the lazy way out of expressing what you are really trying to say. If you wax poetic about a postmodernist view, does your audience know exactly what you are talking about? No. If you resort to using postmodernism as your evidence or methodology instead of clarifying your thoughts and process…congratulations, you the author of a junk argument.

Here are some other views on the term:
Is it Postmodernism yet? Surely someone can define Postmodernism—or at least Modernism? That way, I could remember which one is dead and which is still fighting to save alive ~ John Haber.Suppose you are an intellectual impostor with nothing to say, but with strong ambitions to succeed in academic life…
Isn’t it the whole point of [postmodern theorists'] philosophy that anything goes, there is no absolute truth, anything written has the same status as anything else, no point of view is privileged? Given their own standards of relative truth, isn’t it rather unfair to take them to task for fooling around with word-games, and playing little jokes on readers? Perhaps, but one is then left wondering why their writings are so stupefyingly boring ~ Richard Dawkins

Of or relating to art, architecture, or literature that reacts against earlier modernist principles, as by reintroducing traditional or classical elements of style or by carrying modernist styles or practices to extremes ~ Dictionary.com

Postmodernism is “post” because it is denies the existence of any ultimate principles, and it lacks the optimism of there being a scientific, philosophical, or religious truth which will explain everything for everybody – a characterisitic of the so-called “modern” mind. The paradox of the postmodern position is that, in placing all principles under the scrutiny of its skepticism, it must realize that even its own principles are not beyond questioning. As the philospher Richard Tarnas states, postmodernism “cannot on its own principles ultimately justify itself any more than can the various metaphysical overviews against which the postmodern mind has defined itself.” ~ Pbs.org

Minions, read Nietzsche, read Heideggerread, read Foucault, read Baudrillard, read Derrida, (oh please!) read Sokal, read anyone you like and analyze the more tangible nuggets of what you are trying to understand. To use this catch-all term in a way that is devoid of thought and definition, you are using a junk term and instantly screwing your own argument.

Just so you know, if you are writing something and you think it’s fabulous but it sounds like this:

Postmodern Essay Generator
(Refresh to get a new essay!)

It is junk to me and to your audience because you didn’t say shit.

After two days of fighting and many an instance of me calling him an ass to my friends for his ass behavior and him silently calling me an ass for my ass behavior, I get an email late Friday afternoon that reads:

Okay, let’s start over.

Hi, I’m Mike. Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?

To which I, now disarmed and laughing again, replied:

I totally believe. So, nice shoes. Wanna fuck?

The most fabulous thing in the world is when you switch from wearing a thong with your only pair of beige pants that fit because your cottage cheese ass actually shows through the material to wearing a smoothing pair of silky no-line panties that in the mirror at home shows no hint of the dreaded panty line only to come home from work and hear your husband say,

“Baby, you can totally see your underwear today. I mean, you can see the tops of them and the line under each cheek. Did you know that?”

Two things today:

First, the boys and I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory today. The kids loved it. They loved everything about it. Brett spent the evening in his room writing down ideas for new candies he’s going to make as an engineer/chocolatier someday. Daniel helped him brainstorm and set up business plans for him. I liked it so much that I want to make love to the minds of Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Depp is fabulously creepy and Burton’s way of bringing the story to life is perfect.

Secondly, I’ve been writing my syllabus for my first attempt at playing professor this fall. My class, Art History I, is now officially full. Oh, the expectations! I apologize now, if any of you are my students, for the red face and profuse sweating you may see on your first day of class. It will pass, I think.

Oh, but the syllabus. I feel I’m pretty laid back. Or, I FELT I was pretty laid back…that is, until I took a gander at the syllabus I had created. Holy shit do I have a lot on there. I mean, it’s not particularly strict or anything but I apparently feel the need to spell out everything.

I’ve edited it, so I hope that helps. Now I simply hope that what I hand out will be helpful information. I always hated when I didn’t know my instructor’s expectations and Art History tends to have some different requirements, what with Chicago Manual Style and all.

I just hope I do a respectful job of teaching my students HUMANKIND’S ENTIRE HISTORY OF ART FROM THE NEOLITHIC TO 5 MINUTES AGO.

So, all you teaching mavens out there…don’t laugh too hard at me. Have a drink with me instead and I promise to listen to every nugget of wisdom you care to dispense.

Mike started his own blog. I quasi pushed him into it since I made him a blog that he didn’t like, so he got up and made his own *excceeelllllent*.

Now I can see into his mind, man.

Click HERE for Mike2.

I found this site a little while ago and have poured all over it. Scarleteen is a response to the failing so-called sex education in schools. They believe in facts, not pushing abstainence nor saying go ahead and do it all day long. As a teen mom with a teen mom sister and teen mom friends, this is important to me. I feel teens are generally given a glossed over, simplistic version of sexuality which only serves to confuse or misinform them.

At Scarleteen, the authors are realists who are fully invested in teenagers as people. They also realize that:

“While many teens may not be having vaginal intercourse, they are often instead engaging in a myriad of other sexual practices, including petting, oral sex and even anal sex, and a recent study of those who have taken abstinence pledges has shown that those pledgers have identical rates of STDs and STIs as well as sexual activity, to those who have not pledged to abstain.”

Their language is not demeaning and they provide information for “ALL aspects of positive sexuality, including birth control, safe sex and sexually transmitted diseases, masturbation and self-pleasuring, anatomy, diverse sexual orientation and identification, sexual and romantic relationship and communication tools, and care and compassion in sexual technique and practice.”

Simply put, Scarleteen rocks.

Click HERE to see Scarleteen.

This is today’s Public Service Announcement.

For all of you who are now or plan to become pregnant someday, with the intention of giving birth to a human child, I implore you to please read through this website.

Baby’s Named a Bad, Bad Thing

Having procreated with a man who thought our children were Norse gods at best and playground fodder at worst, I understand the push of a delirious spouse who thinks Thor is a fabulous name. Please, do not succumb to this pressure. In addition, do not listen to your inner voice that says you should name your sweet little precious daughter, Kaylee Madicyn, or your beautiful baby boy, Jasper Rain.

The low of every child’s academic career is middle school. If your child is named with two apostrophe’s and three y’s and her name is pronounced, Sue, she will find out just how many unwrapped tampons fit in her locker. If your child’s name sounds just right in Middle Earth, he will eat pea gravel more than once. And don’t forget, you are not all of Irish descent. No, you are not.

Remembering that my child will go to middle school with this name is my Anti-Crazy.

Today I was walking to my car from the office at the great historic home, wearing a skirt and sandals, looking intensely at the copper fittings on the building across the road that had bled a green patina down the limestone, when I pondered:

Is one supposed to walk with one’s bare thighs mushed together in a semi-stationary postition, attempt to allow them to rub past the other only to cause chafing, or change one’s gait to an odd crab walk in order to maneuver around the fat of the thighs?

Comments and suggestions are welcome.

No, this is not a post about my inability to walk up stairs without sucking wind.

I have recently discovered how physically inept I am for my job.

I am allergic to books. The longer they sit on a shelf in the library or the older they are, the worse my loud sneezing and sinus clogging joy.

I get sleepy, really sleepy, when I read. Especially when I read German.

I get distracted easily. All those college students who enter the library? I’ve noticed them and the unbelievably short skirts they are wearing. Someone using the copier? Why yes, and they made 13 copies.

The mold and dust in my office at the fabulous old historic home is probably enough to slowly kill me. It makes me wheeze and sneeze so much that I’m taking 2 Benadryl every 3 1/2 hours. Refer back to section about being sleepy. 1 Benadryl is my usual dose, 2 knocks me out cold.

I’m incredibly clumsy. Seriously. My Mom would call me “Grace” as I bumped another shoulder into a door jamb. Please, let me hold the priceless object!

Basically, I’m a sleeping, sneezing, drugged, ADD-ridden clutz.

I should so be doing art history.

P.S.
Oh, and I get shaky and dry-mouthed when speaking in front of groups of people. I have 34 students signed up for my fall semester Art History I class.

He picked that guy?

Curious who he is? He’s no Sandra Day O’Connor.

“As deputy solicitor general under the first President Bush, he argued to the Supreme Court that ‘Roe was wrongly decided and should be overruled (Naral).”

I’m outraged on behalf of your uterus and mine.