i : mathematic :: bill maher : funny

a tirade in the key of B (for bitter).
~ dedicated to ma soeur, femmeradicale ~



standing between me and berkeley is a quadratic equation. though kaplan promises that their GRE guidebook is going to "exceed your expectations; and so are you!" i continue to find my math quiz marks hovering around 40%. and i am bitter.

i : bitter :: paris hilton : famous.

it's as though here we were: blithely earning our humanities degrees, some of us having dropped math after grade 10, when it was no longer mandatory. some of us, like myself, having actually worked to excise all math knowledge so as to allow the sweet, fresh English knowledge to saturate our left-brains until our right-brains shriveled into atrophy. four, five, even six years we went on like this, chuckling as we thought "see, i didn't need math at all. i'm getting along just fine with out it. who's laughing now, huh? who's laughing now?!" well, they are. that is, the people who created the GRE to screw us. just when we thought our ticket into a top american phd program was as good as bought (or, if you prefer, earned), we are suddenly confronted with our old nemesis: Numbers. and worse still, his dark partner, Letters-That-Mean-Numbers. i am overwhelmed with bitterness.

and then there is my math tutor, who happens to be a fellow i once slept with. over the phone, he gladly offers his expertise, though not without reminding me that tutelage is a traditional pretext to sex. ya, sex, great, but that's not the service i require right now. i need math help, please – just math, sex later... maybe. not that i'm opposed. i even consider the proposal favourably when i remember that a story about how i pimped myself out to get into berkeley would be priceless at dinner parties.

the bitterness balloons after a call from my dad – an engineer, of course. he wants me to accompany him to an engineer's banquet tonight. If it weren't for the fact that this banquet is in his honour, and the high odds of free booze, i'd have said no. i spent much of my early life surrounded by engineers and i hate it. i will hate being around engineers even more tonight when they ask what i am "doing right now" and the awful truth of my mathematical incapacity is revealed. "what happened?" they will ask my dad. "how did the daughter of an egyptian engineer become a history major? and a socialist? and a feminist??" women faint. a baby cries. dinner will then be served, saving me momentarily before it comes out that i'm also a vegetarian – at which point my dad will have to pretend he doesn't know me and that i followed him here.

the rest of this process, on the other hand, is going smoothly. not realizing i would be ambushed by the math component of the GRE, i actually spent a great deal of time and effort on the part of phd applications i thought would matter: the application. all information is in order, writing sample pristine, proposed dissertation topic fitting neatly within two pages. all thanks to single space.

i am a big fan of single space these days. wrestling with quadratic equations would seem less daunting if not for my room-mate and his girlfriend, who insist on cramming themselves with me into a first-floor not handily separated into distinct rooms. this is the common area of our house, though apparently i missed the "couples only" sign by the stairs. i am sitting in the nucleus of a controlled explosion of papers, applications, draft proposals, GRE guidelines, and math exercises, and by this time i must look like my wrists are fused with my laptop keyboard. meanwhile, beyond the grad-student sphere of influence, the room-mate-girl-friend seem to be everywhere around me like a couple fog: having loud and inane conversations about college football and camilla scott bowles, baking cookies, watching movies, sucking face, and generally spending just about every waking moment with each other, most of which are also with me. it is a full-out space-war between my ever-expanding grad student zone and their hegemonic face-sucking/cookie-baking. the sound of their sloppy, spitty kissing is supposed to signal my quiet self-segregation to some other part of the house: they are The Couple here and i am the spinster space-invader. defiantly, i stand my ground. i go into the kitchen and make loud kitchen noises. i play slater-kinney real loud and watch loud episodes of project runway canada on youtube. i am taking a stand for single space.

my bitterness subsides when i remember that the math section of the GRE is mercifully short compared with the verbal section – a good enough excuse to drop the equations and turn to grammar. according to kaplan, 'couple' is singular [1], and must agree with the object as such. i look up from my guidebook. yes, the couple certainly is watching a movie. it is now playing with the cats. now it turns in upon itself in sticky, salivating convulsions. thanks, kaplan. my expectations are exceeded.

[1] thouth i did indeed find this mentioned in my kaplan guidebook, i was first alerted to the brilliance of 'couple is singular' by my friend kat.

return of the killer vagina

well, goodness, it is nice to be back. for anyone still checking this site, i've been on blog vacay over the last month while scrambling to finish this little master's degree thing i've been working on. i realized it was time for a break when i noticed that blogranting was keeping me up at night and my m.a. thesis felt like a side-project.

but i'm back, and this time with a shiny and expensive "m.a." behind my name to go with the equally hard-won "h.b.a." a piece of paper awaits me somewhere in the grimy back-rooms of queen's university that eventually, like its counterpart from UWO, will be hung in some outlandish gold frame my parents will give me as a graduation gift. hint though i might at an i-pod, my parents remain convinced that i'd like nothing better than more overpriced golden-gleaming home decor.

i'm not sure how i managed to move from kingston to ottawa, work full-time for an NGO (which is like working triple-time on part-time pay), then move the two halves of my life (shared sloppily between ottawa and kingston) down to toronto, then write a 60-pg MA research project before the end of september, and then actually find myself a graduate when the dust had settled... but i did. granted, i collected some grey hairs and an ulcer along the way, but those are the battle-scars of underpaid workaholics and grad students. since i don't have the the dollars to go on an actual vacay to relax away the trauma, i've been on intellectual vacay, which is almost as rewarding. you too can go on intellectual vacay, if you follow these simple guidelines:

1. if you find yourself reading something, whether it's a book, newspaper, billboard, or the nutritional information on your cereal box, stop, put the literary item down and/or look away. resume activities that do not involve reading (i highly recommend watching 'dr. phil' - it will numb your brains like novocaine).

2. do not at any time engage in any discussion that might require the use of words exceeding two syllables.

3. nap heavily, even and especially when you're not tired.

4. every time you catch yourself pondering, puzzling, questioning, critiquing, or analyzing something, stop and IMMEDIATELY divert your thoughts to bunny rabbits, ponies, cotton candy, or video-games. failing that, smoke some pot.


now that i've gotten back on the blog horse, i almost don't know where to start, there's so much to catch up on and whine about. i guess i'll begin with the obvious: the book of revelations. i've been meaning to start a book club lately, as i slowly return from intellectual vacay and venture hesitantly back into fiction. my new room-mate is reading lolita and highly recommends it. (an aside: my last few random room-mates have been awesome beyond all prediction. since moving to TO, i've shacked up with a video artist/yoga-instructor who has also influenced me to take up bikram [aka 'hot'] yoga. i sweat like a hog but she's commented on how great my energy looks after classes.) so, i'm currently switching between robertson davies's deptford trilogy, a sordid account of paedophilic romance, and some pretty gloomy predictions of the apocalypse brought on by sin and iniquity... so, um, does anyone want to join my book club?

i suppose that's a decent enough return to the blogosphere. stay tuned for some thoughts/betching about the outcome of the recent provincial elections. a preview: did anyone else notice the part when a liberal lesbian feminist beat the conservative party leader in his own riding? that was pretty kick ass.

in the meantime, here's a purdy picture i took of my summer home-town, ottawa. or as i like to call it 'the big o.'

i ride like a gentleman, but i fall like a lady

i fell off my bike today, which was neither pleasant nor dignified. however, since the options were fall of my bike OR DIE, i guess i can't complain.

for all its pretensions to being flower-powered, tree-loving, flourescent-green progressive, ottawa is a city full of shitty drivers who can't share the road. and i can only imagine what battles for a sliver of road-space will bring me to within an inch of my life when i move to toronto in the fall.

as if i needed one, i now have yet another reason to move to paris, where recently the city officially sanctioned a 20,000-strong army of bikes which, one can only hope, will commandeer the road and muscle all them peugots into suburban submission. only paris, where critical mass is an order of municipal business not to be policed but endorsed.

and now, to tend to my war-wounds... the things i do for you, earth.

taking a breather

hey anyone who's reading, i've just decided that i'm going to take a little break from this blog and/or add posts less frequently (maybe once or twice a week or something) b/c picking daily fights w/ the world is actually more mentally exhausting than you'd think (don't let the confrontational tone of the blog description fool you - i cry inside). that and i still have an MA to finish.

but i couldn't leave w/o sharing this bit of hollywood magic from sean connery's younger days. i don't know where i got this, but i imagine it was from my roomie, a connoisseur of things no-one should know about (or, conversely, things everyone should know about, but don't). you're welcome to get your jollies from this photo until i return...

~s

bring me your men-folk!

earlier today, a friend of yours and mine, and a frequent visitor to this blog, commented on the alleged 'harshness' of the ultimate frisbee post. b/c i was born w/ no capacity for patience and thus can not wait to hear what specifically he thinks is harsh, and because we lived together for a year so i can practically read his mind, i'm going to just assume that he felt the post contained a needlessly severe attack on straight men. i'll just address this right now in three easy pieces:

1. i like lots of hetero men. i have had lots of wonderful and well-loved straight male friends (like you, roomie!) and more-than-friends. nothing that will ever be written on this blog should be considered an attack on the straight male kind. in fact, there are no 'attacks' period - only calls to think for a few minutes in your day about how you are affected, for better or worse, by gender.

2. nonetheless, for reasons that exceed the time/space given to explain here, most of the people who benefit from and propagate patriarchy (now and historically) are straight men. that doesn't mean all straight men are patriarchs. and not all patriarchs are straight men either; there are plenty-o lady patriarchs, gay male patriarchs, even lesbian patriarchs. for the most part though, again, it's straight men who make patriarchy happen. a lot of women have known this for a long time and have been working to end it - and, i should add, are succeeding (you know, that little feminism thing). but i really, truly believe that there's lots of potential in straight men realizing how they've historically benefited from patriarchy, and coming to the movement, standing by friends in the movement, and just calling themselves feminists in their daily lives (or wearing "this is what a feminist looks like" t-shirts, because any man wearing one of those is damn sexy).

3. (this one's more general, not related to the 'harshness' comment) it irritates me to no end that i can't critique misogyny/sexism in the world w/o being accused of hating on straight men. there may be anger sometimes, or a piqued sense of "WTF?", but there's no hate here (see point 1). some things just have to be said, that's all.
i know it's problematic to 'compare oppressions', but this is an educational example, not a 'what's worse' comparison: people of racial minorities who critique racism (or islamophobia, or anti-semetism, etc.) are sometimes accused of racism themselves - often wrongly, because that's the exact system they're opposing. similarly, it's irritating (as well as a sign that so much has yet to be done) that the people who critique gender should be accused of a sort of 'gender-based hatred' because they call out certain heterosexual penis-bearing members of society for maintaining a system that's disproportionately good to heterosexual penis-bearing members of society. little do they know (though we are trying to get the word out) that the end of said system will be good for all members of society, of all genders and sexualities. for serious.

so, all you fellows out there, be you jock, nerd, stud, queer, straight, or all/none of the above: consider this your siren call. come to feminism... cooome to usss...

~s

ps/ these were three easy - and short - pieces on this subject, and there's room for so much good discussion on this, here or elsewhere.

what a fun, sexy time for you!

i'm in kingstonia for the next few days, and w/o net access... but i'll leave you w/ this very important clip featuring some salient cultural criticism. i ask that you watch it with care and compassion.

but who will be the banana in my cup?

i was warned before moving to ottawa that this city has a cultural obsession with ultimate frisbee. "it's not a matter whether you play ultimate," a friend told me, "it's how many teams you're on." she wasn't lying: ottawa is home not only to the world's largest bureaucracy, but also the world's largest ultimate frisbee league (of which i am now a part). i joined an ultimate team late in the season, thinking it would give me a chance to chase after a flying piece of plastic like a mad fool with other people chasing after a flying piece of plastic like mad fools, and somewhere in the process work up some endorphins, then go for beer. during my first game here, i learned that it's not that simple (nothing ever is). if you ever thought our national sport was hockey, think again: you're in ultimate country now, kid.

which must explain why my friend jared was so indignant the other day when talking about a recent experience during a post-game beer w/ his team. the server at the pub, noticing a pack of sweaty men drinking beer, was naturally curious about what could have gotten this pack of men so sweaty and thirsty. they explained that they'd just finished a game of ultimate, to which she replied, "oh, we were just talking about what's more gay: ultimate or rollerblading." and w/ that went her tip.

so there you have it, ultimate frisbee has finally gone the way of pansy-picking and rollerblading: to gayville.

i couldn't tell whether jared was more pissed that ultimate had been deemed "gay" in some beer-can-crushing, national-anthem-belching corner of the world, or that in that same corner, among others, "gay" was still a viable insult. i think some of the latter, but more of the former: maybe one depends on the other anyway.

when the people who decide what's "gay" gather in the lofty halls of heteropatriarchy, they seldom apply the pejorative to things gay men are actually known to do (or dumber straight men might swear off blow-jobs and rear-entry, and, um... cher and bathhouses). more often, anything "gay" or "queer" or whatever is just another way of saying feminized, pussified, wimpy, unmanly. you know, classic binaric masculine/feminine = good/bad = 'real' sport/'pussy' sport stuff...

so, what could possibly be 'unmanly' about ultimate? that the primary piece of equipment isn't a ball? no balls = gay? well, there goes hockey. that it's a non-contact sport? no wait, that would also pussify baseball and basketball. or is it not physically demanding enough? i'm in good shape, and based on the way i stagger off the field like a wounded animal after a game, i can assure you that's not the case. also, that would really gay-up golf. (another reason that's not a good test: ballet is one of the most difficult and demanding things you can do to your body - and notoriously pussified.)

by the way, it doesn't matter whether the gays actually play ultimate or not. lots of gay men play all kinds of sports - some out of the closet, some not, and some who would rather keep you guessing. and don't get me started on the lesbos.

how about this? according to the - as i've learned - extensive list of 'official' ultimate frisbee rules, there are two kinds of teams: women's only or co-ed. so, whenever 'official' ultimate is going on anywhere in the world, people with vaginas are playing. and any sport that a team consisting of half or all women can play must be gay (and all that that implies).

and if that's the case, i should take the opportunity here and now to congratulate ottawa on being, officially, the gayest place on earth.

on the other hand, since i believe in devil's advocacy: a common defensive strategy in ultimate is called the "cup" in which three players form, as it were, a cup around an offensive player on the opposite team. for reasons that have not been explained to me, the player in the central position in the cup is called the 'banana.' which means that at some point, someone on the field is going to have to yell "i'll be the banana in the cup!".... which is actually just really gay.