"How to talk to your adult children about their weight."
"List of less alienating questions for work"
"for the smell of it: How Shoop normalized bodily smells at a crucial time in my life."
"Pitbulls, chihuahuas, and purse dogs: an analysis of dogs breeds and socioeconomic status."
"What to do when a person looks like your ex."
"Oh shit, I might be having a panic attack."
"Hot dog whack a mole."
When asked why I'm leaving, it's hard for me to resist the impulse to rage, vent, and dump on my experience at work. Why am I leaving? Why can't I tolerate things? Why do I get so emotionally involved with things I have no power over?
I discovered (via Google) I was supposed to be nice in my letter of resignation. I think I'm supposed to stay nice when talking about my place of work (mpow) for a while? indefinitely? Am I going to be allowed to talk all this shit in my exit interview? If I get one?
I feel slightly abnormal now. Why don't I fit in? Why can other people handle the workings of the organization?
I am considering attempting to write a series about my time at work. Yes, I would be processing in a semi-public kind of way. It might be gauche, it might be literally nothing. I consider this a space for my personal and yet professional writing, I have a journal and don't plan to treat this writing the same as I would for a private journal.
What does it mean to be a faculty person who is leaving their tenure track position? What does it mean to be a librarian leaving their field? Lol, I don't really know, I know I can't be the only one, but at this point I don't have other examples to follow. I'm trying to keep this to what professional practices I'm implementing and the career turns I'll go through. In other words, I have a lot of feelings about this change, but I'll keeps those out (maybe). A friend and I discussed creating an ongoing writing practice throughout the summer, I'm looking forward to this and any of my readers will get more regular posts as well. We'll likely focus on various high-level social justice issues and approach each topic from our own perspectives.
I thought about titling this essay "writing about writing again," perhaps it's unsurprising that when I'm in a writing retreat that I'm feeling a little meta about my own writing. So far, aside from being fairly productive, the main takeaway so far is related to endings. Earlier this week, while attending an online conference (CALM), I learned about the field (practice? theory?) of critical management studies. In the opening retreat discussion, folks were sharing writing practices, habits, tips, rituals, and more. During both of these instances, I'm seeing connections between learning new information and announcing/communicating my departure. My instinct is to jump to frustration, why didn't I know that other faculty struggle with writing? And if I would have known about critical management studies earlier in my career, I think I might have been involved with the larger conversation about this approach.
I'm not mad or regretting learning these things, it's a little frustrating. But I'm framing this as examples of being a life long learner. No matter what stage of my career or life, I know that I will continue to learn new things and they will shape my perspectives.
Librarians tend to be liminal folks, maybe especially academic librarians. I don't want to speak for any of the other librarian disciplines, but I have a feeling they could relate too. Our research areas are almost always interdisciplinary and by nature, we're also generalist researchers in pretty much every field.
Editor's note (Me, I'm noting this): I started writing this in January 2024, gave it an update in February and maybe March and kept putting off finishing it. Things have changed once again, but I'm publishing this as is, even if it's already slightly out of date. 5/16/24
It's been a while. I feel like I start off too many conversations this way lately. I am doing what I can to keep my balance this semester, and I am hopeful that things will be better in general this year. Sometimes it feels like I don't know where to start, so let's see if I can sketch out the things on my mind.
Palestine, it's been 4 months. How are we still here? How is the US government still enabling and paying for this genocide (1)? I really want to make sure that we (Americans? those of us that are still paying attention?) don't let this go. We cannot normalize the brutality that Israel is perpetuating and defending (2).
The state of working life. I don't know how else to describe this. Yes, it's personal, but I do think it's bigger than me (3). I keep thinking that as soon as I get my feet under me (4), I'll be better able to work with my community to make change. I also know that I'm falling prey to capitalism's weight (5). This is the goal. That working class folks will work too hard to be able to plan solidarity. I know that in many ways my ultimate goal is to leave for the woods, to hopefully build a community, but as I think about this goal, I want to make sure I'm not burying my head in the sand.
The fucking election. All of these topics are somehow tied together (capitalism, patriarchy, colonialism, etc etc). I still can't believe I don't know who to vote for. This feels wild, like a bit of a nightmare. I'm not voting for orange man, nor the genocidal war hawk (or whatever that phrase is). I've been on the side of the conversation in the past that said, we always have to vote for the one who isn't as bad. I remember very clearly that I was horrified when my uncle told me that he wasn't going to vote, or didn't. I couldn't believe having that attitude. And yet here I am. I don't feel like any of the 3rd party folks really have my attention, I think Dr. West would be my choice, but I know he has some very problematic views as well. Why do we always wait until the last minute to support third parties? I really do want to make it a goal to push for ranked choice voting in CH (6). And then the county? Then the state? It feels like such an uphill battle and I have no idea how to write/create legislation.
I keep talking about feeling like we're at a precipice, at a crossroads (almost too soft), or more likely a tipping point. I want this revolution. I want these strikes and protests. I want this change, this birth of a new America. It's so hard to imagine that capitalism has beaten us down so hard that most people will put up with almost anything, because they feel so far away from decision making. Life doesn't have to be like this. We can change things. We have to. Our species will not make it longer if we don't change. I know how hyperbolic that probably sounds. I'm trying to shift my habit of talking about the climate crisis as if it will be the end of the world. No matter what, the world and other forms of life will continue. We humans, and many many species of living things will not make it. I can't decide how much this is comforting and how much is nihilistic. Of course, it can be both.
When the days get warmer, as we head into late spring, I hope to see this blister that is our current global status burst. I'm not trying to get ahead of myself, I understand that revolutions don't just happen on their own. Recently, as I was listening to an episode of Upstream, the idea of caravan movements/groups was introduced to me. As we plan strikes and other large scale movements, we need to ensure there are supports in place for folks who may lose their jobs or at least lose pay when striking. We need childcare and probably community transportation. We need planners, fighters, craftspeople; hot headed passionate folks (probably me), cool headed strategists, evocative speakers, iconic leaders. We need to leave individualism behind. That's what got us to this point.
I'm reading too many books at once, as I usually do, three of them in particular are mixing around with each other and giving me energy. Stamped from the Beginning by Ibram X. Kendi (S. and I will get to talk about this plenty very soon), Feminism is for Everybody by bell hooks, and All About Love also by bell hooks are the 3 that are very present. (The other 2 are Redemption in Indigo by Karen Lord and The Sunlit Man by Brandon Sanderson). I read How to be an Anti-racist by Kendi a few years ago and was deeply connected to it, it left me with a lot to think about. But in a weird way, since it was the newer book, it let me have the excuse that then I didn't need to read his first book. I've read a few other bell hooks titles and All About Love is one that I've purposely avoided. Call it a little internalized misogyny, mixed with not sounding radical enough, the book never appealed to me. I'm not even through the first chapter and it's already leaving an impression. Feminism is for Everybody somehow wasn't ever on my radar, but I'm glad I'm reading it now.
This combination of books is reminding me why I believe in change. I have a lot of anger, resentment, and confusion about the state of the world, but I want to stay grounded in love (of myself, my partners, my community, every living thing). I'm not really sure what types of things I'll take away from any of these 3 books, but things that are already on my mind are holding consciousness raising groups/workshops. bell mentions them in Feminism, so I want to better understand how I could use these tools to create a space for dialogue. A lot of spaces for white women in particular were created around the 2020 BLM spring, in order for white women to hold each other accountable. I think these groups are incredibly important and I am assuming most of them stopped functioning within the first year.
(1) Latest Senate bill as of 2/20/24 - not passed Congress yet https://apnews.com/article/ukraine-aid-congress-senate-china-d7b4846de76a1dfe5d2207b7eb6eeead
(2) More than 29,000 Palestinians killed by Israel since 10/7/23 https://apnews.com/article/israel-hamas-war-news-02-19-2024-81c2d362340b611a98e4b929b4b5d0a4
(3)I'm not Gen Z, but I agree https://www.vox.com/the-highlight/22977663/gen-z-antiwork-capitalism
(4)This is about pay/wages. We are tied to our jobs almost no matter what https://www.brookings.edu/articles/capitalism-is-failing-people-want-a-job-with-a-decent-wage-why-is-that-so-hard/
(5)The more you know https://www.linkedin.com/posts/dellazduncan_when-wage-slavery-was-first-enforced-on-people-activity-7067457843125256192-Eb3v?utm_source=share&utm_medium=member_desktop
(6)Did I miss my chance to push this discussion more? https://www.clevelandheights.gov/DocumentCenter/View/17611/Charter-Review-Commission-Agenda-February-12-2024?bidId=
I'm not really sure where to start. It's been a while? I've been busy? I think I've done all of that before. So instead, I think I'll try to jump in and I hope you can follow along.
There are many decisions I made as a young adult that put me on this trajectory. There are many decisions I made even technically as an adult adult that put me right here right now. And yet, here I am, Interim Co-Director of the Library and newly appointed Director of Gender Studies and I have these very surreal moments questioning how I got here and who thought I could be trusted to be in charge. I think these feelings are by no means unique to me, I'm pretty sure I've read almost those exact words from a 40-something before. But I'm still curious about whether this is something that everyone has experienced throughout the history of humans (in bureaucracies?) or if this is something particular to Gen Xers and Millennials, and even those Gen Z folks that are put in charge of organizations already.
I've never considered myself ambitious, and like many others, I've often said that I don't want to be in charge. I don't want to be at the top, making all of the decisions, being more "professional" than I prefer to be. However, here I am.
I've been clawing and grabbing for any type of recognition I can get for the library for years. It's yet another well known issue in Higher Ed that librarians generally are unknowns, we are somehow literal blind spots to upper administration. Do we only shelve books? Maybe we need to meet our shushing quota for the week? Definitely we must be very very old fashioned.
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| Photo by Ed Robertson on Unsplash. | Maybe you thought that searching the word "librarian" would bring up mostly pictures of librarians? You may be surprised that it's actually mostly pictures of old books. Because that's all we are/do - hang out with old books. |
Of course, those of us doing the work in academic libraries know that we are doing a ton. Some of us more visibly engaged than others who work behind the scenes. This invisibility only hurts us. Keeps us in this category of meek, quiet, old, traditional, and probably unnecessary since everything can be found on Google. Then, sometimes the stars align and my colleague and I are put in charge.
I don't think they were ready. My co-director, MC and I manage to blend our skills, experiences, and personalities so seamlessly together that I don't know if there's ever been a stronger team. I am often the passionate and outspoken one - I'm colorful, loud, mostly unafraid to ask the questions that need to be asked. MC tends toward a muted palette of greys, black, and calming neutrals. She is more reserved, rarely saying more than exactly what needs to be said; she kind of skims under the radar and I love it when she does speak up because I know that people are listening. I think we're able to play good cop/bad cop without ever planning to. And lately, maybe we've been spending too much time together, we are switching roles without any needed conversation.
I've struggled with my anger, frustration, and need for acknowledgement while in this career. I don't understand why we keep doing the same damn things over and over. It hurts to realize that even friends that I'm the closest with think of me as a glorified research assistant.
But I'm trying something new and different this week. Hopefully the bandwidth and newness don't wear off and reveal my naiveté and my attempt to organize, strategize, and do more. I want to throw my whole self into the work that I love. Because I love it and want campus to understand that even though we aren't a money-making department, we are a force to be reckoned with and probably some metaphorical vital human body part or system (are we the backbone? the nervous system? maybe even the digestive system?). I get it that we all think we're important, so that limelight is a tiny space to bring everyone in to shine.
We've reached another rough patch of the year. Believe it or not, academic libraries do get busy in the summer. But it's not the way it is busy during the school year, this is when we do projects that we can't do when students are here.
Between attempting to juggle projects and now the additional work of being the interim co-director of the library, I've struggled to stay interested and involved with my writing projects. I'm feeling very much at capacity. However, the various projects I have (and now some new ideas!) are bumping around in the back of my head and I'm considering how they'll fit in the format of a blog post, with such a heavy emphasis on my opinion/experience integrated with research.
So, today, I'm thinking a little more about what this writing will be about. How will it fit in with my "professional" writing - about libraries, what about my personal journaling? Or is it some type of an effort to bring together a bit of everything - to work through my experiences in life and add in the research I've done related to gender studies. I feel a need to write about some of the bigotry I see in contemporary pop culture, and of course I see that all through the lens of my experience and interests.
I realize that many of the non-fiction writing I read is in this vein. Anne Helen Peterson, Rebecca Solnit, and Roxane Gay; contemporary writers thinking about how our lived experiences are intersecting with the outside world. I'm not claiming this is anything new, but I'm finding it interesting to realize how much this has influenced my perspective on content.
While I've been writing this and navigating a few supervisory type conversations, I've been thinking about libraries and racism. And how they're built for white people. This came up in a conversation about the Writing Center and making it more accessible for BIPOC folks. This stigma of accessing services is of course familiar and aligned with the research for libraries too. And that makes me wonder whether our architects have looked at newly constructed libraries at HBCUs, and I wonder if I can find any examples. I also want to make sure that we're doing better/our best to reach out to the cultural orgs directly. I feel a little bad that even the Provost was like, have Amy do it (instead of the project coordinator who is a woman of color - I believe she identifies as Black). And of course, this makes me consider a future paper with the Director of the Writing Center about all of this.
I've also been thinking about the movie CODA and my identity as a CODA. It's rather unfortunate, ableist, and privileged to think that many people hailed CODA as a movie about/for the Deaf community. I still haven't went back to see how Deaf folks felt about it. I can't even remember whether my parents saw it. But now that it was brought back to my attention, I think it also needs to be addressed. Yes, it was incredibly good to see representation of one of my lesser identities on the big screen, handled fairly well. And I think the Deaf actors/characters were portrayed well (I would need to re-watch to see if there was anything problematic I can spot). But in the end, it's rather wild to think that this movie that is ostensibly about hearing people, but happens to include Deaf people, is celebrated as a "Deaf movie." Of course, I'm going to mostly chalk this up to people being completely clueless about what CODA means, but it's not that hard to do a quick search about a phrase/acronym like that.
It's always funny to me how much writing will pull out thoughts and new ideas. I'm never surprised by this, but I still fight it tooth and nail!
I am feeling very stuck. A lot has happened in the world and in my personal life over the last week. Each week feels like more heavy things to deal with. Many of us are still dealing with the repercussions of the pandemic as well as new and different experiences for our work and educational spaces, supporting our families and friends, and/or reeling from traumatic government-level decisions - from war in Ukraine to the dismantling of bodily autonomy, human rights, and voting rights.
While working on researching for my next essay, I am feeling distracted and scatterbrained more than usual. In my writing accountability group, I was challenged to use this space and try to write about this example of writer's block and mental capacity. Unsurprisingly, this felt like the right move, to take some space here to consider my writing processes and at the same time work through my feelings.
I'm struggling to start each paragraph, not because I have nothing more to say, but because I have too many things and can't get them all out at once. Most of the writing I do outside of this space is fairly rigorous and academic. I take a lot of time with planning, researching, editing, and rewriting. On the other hand, this blog space is often closer to a brain dump and I enjoy both ways that I approach writing.
I'm involved with two book discussion groups right now on campus. In one, we're reading Linguistic Justice by Dr. April Baker-Bell. The other group is reading The Trees by Percival Everett. Each discussion is organized and mostly comprised of a slightly different group of people, Linguistic Justice is predominantly faculty and we're considering how we can teach better and differently and staff council organized the reading of The Trees. The Trees is confrontational, challenging, and a bit spooky. It takes place in modern America and deals with race, class, and history through the telling of a complex (and possibly supernatural) murder mystery. In each discussion, I've needed to attempt to limit the references I'm making about the other book, only because while there is some overlap, each discussion has slightly different attendees. I'm getting so much fulfillment about these conversations because it's giving me space to process the synthesis and connections I'm making between books, teaching, work, life, and more.
I've never considered myself a writer, I often mention that it's like pulling teeth for me. Except in journaling situations like this. I'm a reader, through and through. In my academic writing, I'm happy to gather information, read, annotate, and begin the necessary synthesis, but when it comes to writing, I balk. I wonder if a part of that is feeling too restricted. The voice of academic writing is comfortable and familiar for me to read (generally), but it's not how I write. When I write, I want feelings and emotions, action, and personality. Of course, as I'm wrapping this up, I want to pull some of these feelings together to tie them to BOTH of the books referenced above. In Linguistic Justice and The Trees, there is overt and subtle commentary on the supposed neutrality of academic writing. In Linguistic Justice, this is about policing language as an aspect of racism. In The Trees, it's similar, but also adds a layer of Black folks struggling for recognition and validation. My immediate reaction to these ideas was to consider how patriarchy exerts itself as the language of logic - women (women's language, feminized language, and the other) all write with emotion. In my efforts to pull down hierarchy, this dichotomy of logic over emotion is a personal battle to me.
My writing peers also pointed out some of the differences in style, tone, and subject matter for the writing projects I described to them. I'm hoping to be able to use the play of emotion, opinion, anecdotes and research and data to best make my thoughts clear. In a place with fewer hierarchies, we wouldn't need to choose between logic and emotion. We could use both together to express our ideas without needing to hold back. I am looking forward to leaning into these challenges.
What does it mean when a blog has gone silent for 12 years and suddenly comes back to life? It probably means an academic is trying to work through some writing and projects. I'm trying my hardest to not hide the older posts - I just finished grad school for the first time and trying to use writing to parse through all of the new things I was learning about.
I'm hoping to use this space for a few projects, the main one will most likely be cultural commentary - specifically through the lens of intersectional feminism with a strong anti-racist leaning. I'm all over the place with my interests currently. I'll probably cover topics like pop culture, politics, environmental racism and climate change, and maybe some reviews or reflections of books I'm currently reading. I don't know where this will go or if I'll be able to maintain it, but here we go!
Given how conscious (not to say obsessive) everyone has become about the source of their food — who these days can’t wax poetic about compost? — it also confers instant legitimacy. Rather than embodying the limits of one movement, femivores expand those of another: feeding their families clean, flavorful food; reducing their carbon footprints; producing sustainably instead of consuming rampantly. What could be more vital, more gratifying, more morally defensible?
homo sapiens doesn't seem able to cut himself off at the supply end. he's one of the few species that doesn't limit reproduction in the face of dwindling resources. in other words-and up to a point, of course- the less we eat, the more we fuck.
how do you account for that? said jimmy.
imagination, said crake. men can imagine their own deaths, they can see them coming, and the mere thought of impending death acts like an aphrodisiac. a dog or a rabbit doesn't behave like that. take birds- in a lean season they cut down on the eggs, or they won't mate at all. they put their energy into staying alive themselves until times get better. but human beings hope they can stick their souls into someone else, some new version of themselves, and live forever.
as a species we're doomed by hope, then?
you could call it hope. that, or desperation.
but we're doomed without hope, as well, said jimmy.
only as individuals, said crake cheerfully.
Her Mark 2010
Woman Made Gallery is proud to present Her Mark 2010, a publication with art and poetry by 48 women. Juror Maria Elena Buszek made the art selections, and Maureen Seaton juried the poetry entries. Designed by Karin Kuzniar and edited by Marty Bash, Her Mark 2010 includes a layout with color reproductions, poetry, and weekly calendar pages with holidays and moon cycles.
In addition to the publication, WMG hosts an exhibition featuring most of the Her Mark 2010 artworks. The Artist Reception is on July 31st from 6 to 9 p.m. The Release Party and Reading is on August 2 from 2 to 4 p.m. Her Mark 2010 copies are available at the Artist Reception and Release Party or may be ordered for $15 per copy plus shipping. Please contact WMG by phone, 312-738-0400, or by email, gallery@womanmade.org.
Visual Artists who have their work in Her Mark 2010: Grazyna Adamska-Jarecka, Adriana Baltazar, Barbara Ciurej and Lindsay Lochman, Crisanta de Guzman, Kathleen Elliot, Rebecca Rose Greene, Judithe Hernández, Anjani Khanna, Margaret LeJeune, Aliza Lelah, Suyeon Na, Bonnie Peterson, Shari Pettis, Tara Polansky, Melissa Shook, Alice Simpson, Sylvia Steen, Verna Todd, Kate True, Iris Vazquez, Amy Wainwright, Angilee Wilkerson, Beatrice Wolert, and Elizabeth Wuerffel.
Poets included in Her Mark 2010: Beverly Boyd, Rosemary Ann Davis, Kelley Evans, Veer-Tess Frost, Jane Ellen Glasser, Ona Gritz, H.K. Hummel, Kiki Vera Johnson, Laurie Junkins, Elizabeth Kerlikowske, Anna Leahy, Christine McKee, Coco Owen, Maureen Piggins, JC Reilly, Susan Richardson, cin salach, Mary Kolada Scott, Sheri Sorvillo, Judith Terzi, Judith Valente, Gale Renee Walden, Rachel Jamison Webster, and Andrena Zawinski.
Exhibition Dates: July 31 - August 27, 2009
Release Party: August 2, 2009 - 2-4 p.m.
Woman Made Gallery, 685 N. Milwaukee Ave., Chicago, IL 60642
I am glad we created 5 million or more new jobs here in the United States in the fields of energy efficiency and renewable generation.
I am glad we created a culture that relies less on foreign oil, so that our children can live secure lives, knowing that the energy rug can't be pulled out from under them.
I am glad we have found a way to save people and industry billions upon billions of dollars by making the use of energy more efficient.
I am glad the millions of children who suffer from asthma can now breathe easier thanks to the fact that we aren't pumping the air full of toxins from our exhaust pipes and smokestacks.
I am glad that, by no longer burning oil and coal into our air, we've put an end to acid rain and the devastation of our aquatic life.
I am glad that we created good, reliable, fun-to-use public transportation system so that families no longer have to raid their budgets to pay for cars and gas.
I am glad we've stopped building suburbs, which make people unhappy and [thanks to the happy suburbanites who wrote in] are designed for cars not people, and instead build villages where people can have strong community bonds that help make life fulfilling.
I am glad we now have fuel-efficient automobiles.
I am glad that we've learned as a culture to get off the work-more-to-spend-more treadmill which gobbles up resources and leaves us unfulfilled and instead turned to a way of live full of meaning and purpose.
I am glad we developed local, fresh food systems that care not just about filling bellies but what we put in those bellies.
I am glad that we have rejected the philosophies of survival of the fittest and competition for resources as driving philosophies and have instead embraced a philosophy of compassion and justice.
I am glad that we have understood that a sustainable society cannot work without supporting all of its people and that we looked for and found ways to improve the lives of everyone.
I'm glad that we've come to see people rather than things as our most valuable resource and that, in embracing the respectful and loving principles of not wasting, we have learned not to waste youth in prisons but instead to get them help for their drug addictions and alcoholism.
I am glad that, in realizing our resources are limited, we have come to use them to do what is important and to help each other rather than compete with each other.
I am glad that we have come to see education as the ultimate in sustainable industries.
I am glad that we have developed distributed, renewable energy technologies that allow kids in all parts of the world to have electric light so they can learn how to read.
The list goes on and on, but in short, I am glad that we have embraced the opportunities presented by the crisis of climate change in order to improve our society in ways we should have done anyway.
And now, to turn the question back on those who say that either there is no climate change or that it is not a serious problem:
What would they feel if we did nothing about climate change and they turned out to be wrong?
What would they feel if we buried our heads in the sand, ignored the problem, and then irreversibly damaged the planetary habitat that we depend upon for our health, happiness and security?
