This is the only video floating around so far of the protest staged by students (and other attendees, it looks like) at Washington University’s commencement ceremony. The protest was over WU’s decision to award Phyllis Schlafly an honorary doctorate.
Schlafly, if you didn’t know, has made a career of traveling the country…and lecturing on why women shouldn’t have careers, because domestic life is the greatest aspiration that a woman can have and, quite appallingly, insists that there is no such thing as rape between a married couple.
During the portion of the ceremony honoring Schlafly, the students silently stood up…and turned their backs on her. And really, I can’t think of a more fitting tribute to the woman.
People will say many things about her surrounding this event. As offended as I am by some of her beliefs, probably the worst thing you can accuse her of is being a ballsy old broad. So, Dr. Phyllis, from one ballsy old broad to another: fuck you, very much, sweetie.
Now, all I have to do is tend to Big Work Thing on Saturday and I can relax! Well, I’ll probably also spend a good portion of my days hoping that that paper wasn’t a TOTAL piece of shit, but yeah.
DONE. With this semester. I still have two more years of edumacation but let’s not dwell on that.
On a wildly unrelated note, has anyone seen Scoop? I’ve caught it twice on cable and I kind of adore it. Am I the only person on the planet who still loves Woody Allen? And Woody Allen + Scarlett Johansson is amazing. I love how she talks with her hands so ridiculously much in both Scoop and Match Point.
I swear I have never taken this long to write a paper in my whole goddamned life. Word limit is 1500. I’m striving for 1200. Currently at 933 (that’s including my name and crap because fuck all). I’ve been writing this piece of shit since Friday.
I have a big work thing on Saturday, then after that it’s party central.
The baby’s tee-ball team is having their pictures taken on Saturday. I am going to purchase one of those huge buttons and put it on my purse. And get a mom bob.
Anyway, the Rick Wilhite thing on Saturday was pretty fun. There was a decent turn-out, but there was a mass exodus around 1 a.m. or so. Very strange.
Rick Wilhite and his aura played many good records, including “Numbers” by Kraftwerk as a special treat.
Jwan’s ear! Jwan encouraged me to wear high heels more often but dude, I was practically in tears by the end of the night. Ballet made my feet all wide and thick. They are not dainty enough for girly shoes.
Frank showed up! He was in town for a friend’s wedding! I really need to get my teeth cleaned!
The event was all multimedia n’at. This painting was created on-site and I kind of want it for my dining room. There was also a sneak peek at Paul Dang’s movie Still City. Paul’s been working on the movie for awhile and I hope he’s able to release it soon because it looks pretty awesome. I love the title, too. It’s a play on words. People from this area tend to pronounce “steel” as “still” (ie, Stillers instead of Steelers). Imagery-wise it’s also pretty great. The three rivers flow through us constantly, but Pittsburgh is still, right in the middle of it. And Pittsburgh, for better or worse, never goes anywhere. Take that however you want. It just contains this weird mixture of people who are creative and loyal and cynical and interesting and just all around kind of weird.
I’ll just say this one thing, and it’s something that I wrote last year for Mother’s Day:
Besides, you know, the infinite wonder and awe that I get to experience just by being the baby’s mother, one of my most favorite things about motherhood is calling my fellow mothers, “Mama.” Even though the baby doesn’t refer to me by that moniker, I still think it is one of the best terms for “mother” ever created. No matter what our differences may be, being able to turn to one another and say, “I feel for you, mama,” or “Good job, mama,” or “Don’t fret, mama,” and especially, “Happy Mothers Day, mama,” and “I think you’re awesome, mama,” is one of the best feelings in the world.
I once saw a young woman on TV, about 18, getting ready to give birth to her second baby. She said, “I don’t think of myself as a teen mother or a young mother. Aren’t we all just mothers?”
And she’s right.
We are all mamas. And we are all in this together.
Despite my rather radical beliefs, I’m very conservative about some things. For example, when I cook, I MUST have a recipe and I will not deviate from that recipe unless there’s a very good reason, ie, I’m out of an ingredient or I’m drunk. Similarly, my clothes are my clothes and I will not alter them to suit whatever kooky mood I’m in. I may have once made a pair of jean shorts by cutting up an old pair of jeans, but that’s about it.
Last year, when we went to Detroit, I got a nice, very old-school-looking t-shirt from the roller skating rink we went to. The only problem with it was that the shirt itself was poorly made and the neck came up around my throat. This made the shoulder seams bunch up oddly. All of these things combined made me gag when I wore it.
But today I went a little crazy and actually took a pair of scissors to the shirt.
Please also note my hair. I spent a good 35 minutes with the flat iron. I’m wearing the shirt and the hair to AVA tonight, where Rick Wilhite of fair Detroit will be playing records. Not sure what I’m going to wear on the bottom. Maybe I’ll just stick with these boxer shorts I’m currently rocking.
Somewhat related, the baby and I made a video greeting for Tracey today for her birthday, but I didn’t send it to her. When I got a look at myself, my face, I was stunned. I look so…tired. And old. And swollen. And worn out. This past year aged me so much. I’m freaking out somewhat. Sure, I can definitely do things like eat better and do yoga and get more sleep and stress less now that the semester is almost totally over. But I feel like maybe I wasted the last year of my “youth” spreading myself too thin. What if I’m just “old” now?
The baby’s tee ball practice was called today since it was all rainy and muddy. I was only slightly annoyed that I woke up at 7:30 for nothing because I drank about 3 gallons of coffee. Taking advantage of my vibrating state, I started cleaning the kitchen and the bathrooms. Inspired (!), the husband started cleaning, as well.
Since we’re so busy during the school year and since we’re also just generally lazy, cleaning isn’t really a priority around here, so things were a little dodgy to say the least.
I was motivated enough to address the clogged drain in the upstairs bathroom sink. I had been merciless with Drano in recent weeks, muttering a quick apology to the environment before pouring bottles and bottles of the pale yellow sludge down the drain. But after a few hours of mild improvement, the drain would revert to its slow-running state, making the bowl of the sink a constant, pasty reminder of all of the times that we brushed our teeth.
I tried some green, hippie trick for clogs that involve pouring 1/2 cup of salt down the drain and rinsing it with boiling water. That didn’t help, either. So I found a dusty old rubber glove and started tugging at the drain plug. When I finally got it loose, I found myself gawking in horror at the substance that coated the stem of the plug. It was dark grey, and slimy, and decorated with a few hairs of various lengths. I felt myself beginning to panic, so I grabbed a paper towel and just started wiping the badness into the garbage can. I then mustered up the courage to shine a flashlight into the drain.
I feel it is my duty to inform you that the gate to hell is located in my drain.
I did some more of the salt and boiling water and moved on with my life, satisfied but very, very queasy.
I watered our pathetic little Madagascar dragon plant and decided to put it on the front porch to give it some fresh air and sun. It was only when I opened the front door did I remember that I was wearing only underpants and a Barry White tshirt.
I can’t imagine why our neighbors don’t talk to me.
