Critiquing Lorber.

I'm teaching Judith Lorber's book, Gender Inequality, and as the semester progresses, I'm finding that I have quite a lot of issues with this text. So, where does one go to air one's grievances? Why, to the internet, of course!

One of my problems with the book is with its approach. Lorber is a social scientist, and she seems to be heavily influenced by Gender Studies rather than Women's Studies. (Gender Studies is very often located within social science departments, notably Sociology.) Anyway, some of Lorber's definitions seem to come from somewhere I don't recognize, and I'm guessing it may be Sociology. For example, she says that the political goal of feminism is women's equality. However, as many decades of feminist battles, along with her own discussion of various trends of feminist thought, have shown us, that is a fairly white, heterosexual definition of feminism. Women of color feminisms, and lesbian feminisms, and working class feminisms, as well as transnational feminisms, have focused less on achieving equality with men and more on ending oppression, with a particular focus on women, of course, but with attention also to ending racial and other oppressions. This means that feminism has focused on things like access to health care, ending poverty, caring for the environment, etc.

Lorber also defines "transvestitism" and "transsexual" in ways that are at huge odds with these words' common usages. To Lorber, "transvestitism" is simply living as a member of the opposite gender but without having surgery, whereas being a "transsexual" means having surgery and taking hormones. To the rest of us, "transvestitism" is cross-dressing. "Transsexuality" is less about surgery - that's an outdated usage - and more about feeling certain that one's gender is at odds with one's body.

Lorber further states that "the current feminist movement is called the second wave" (3). While this may be a strong sense that many feminist scholars have, it is arguable that the second wave is fairly far down on the far side of the wave, while numerous other waves have cropped up. I'm not saying that the Second Wave is over, but rather that it is no longer the prevailing force of feminism - it is past its PEAK but not its EFFECTIVENESS, if that makes sense. I haven't yet read her section on Third Wave feminism, so for all I know, she'll locate Third Wave feminism WITHIN the Second Wave, which is ok, too, I suppose, but confusing.

I'm also a bit perturbed by her discussion of "Standpoint Feminism" and "Social Construction Feminism." First, I would argue that these are not particular kinds of feminism at all, but rather ideas/approaches within a number of different feminisms, disciplines, etc. These, too, comes from the social sciences. What irks me about her mention of "standpoint theory" in particular is that I have almost exclusively heard and seen it referred to in Women's Studies as "situated feminism" (the idea that one's position affects one's world view). I'm coming out of Women's Studies and this is a book about feminisms, so I feel that, just maybe, it should be situated more firmly in an interdisciplinary, feminist approach.

More to follow, I suspect.

Clean up that naked and go to your room.

People here are grooving on the use of "Unruh" to mean "postal" (and it makes sense, if you've ever heard her speak), and one other blog (!) has picked it up. I'm curious to see if it will get around, and if it does, if it will do for South Dakota what Dan Savage's treatment of "Santorum" did for Pennsylvania. (Others of my definitions, however, are less catchy, but I kinda knew that would happen: there is a limit to how many real, useable words one can pull out of a single political group).

But the other night a new one was born that is entirely unbesmirched by politics, and I think it's pretty cool: "to spill the naked." While this meant something entirely else in it's original context, we decided that it was a perfect way to say "TMI" without actually having to *say* TMI (because "TMI" is kind of outre).

So here's an example:

Friend starts telling you about something and forgets that there are some things that other people don't want to know (like, for example, about the weird thing she found growing on the bottom of her foot). You say incredulously, and with a hint of disgust, "Aw, man, you just spilled the naked." (The implication being, of course, that she should clean it the hell up by apologizing and STOPPING TALKING. NOW.)

It is possible that this is only hysterically funny at midnight when you've had too much coffee and have too much work standing between you and a good night's sleep. But I think it has potential.

(All right, I'll link you to Savage's definition of "Santorum," but it's a pretty strong example of spilling the naked, so be warned.)

Poogled! And other new uses for the English language.

Poogled: a cuter form of "punked." It originated about 14 years ago, when I pointed out a poodle to my sweetie, and he said, "poogle?," and I immediately played along, insisting that, yes, it was a poogle, which was, I declared, a strange breed of poodle mixed with beagle. Ever since, when we fool each other, we've been poogled.

Since everyone is making up definitions around here to suit their politics, I figured I'd offer a few of my own. I thought it might be fun to come up with a whole slew of fun vocab words at the expense of some of our worst citizens. So, here's what I've got so far. Please add more!!!

Hunt: an intentional deception. As in, "I can't believe you just pulled a Hunt on me like that!"

Unruh: unstable mental health. similar to "postal." As in, "I was standing in line behind her and she went all Unruh, so I got the hell out of there!"

ChantalKrebs (said fast, like one word): last year. As in, "I was going to buy one, but then I decided that it was too ChantalKrebs." [Note: She owns a shoe store. You know I had to go after her sense of style, right?]

And let's not forget that in South Dakota, "terminating a pregnancy" means "taking a birth control pill." "Banning abortion" means "not banning abortion." "No exceptions" means "some exceptions." And "that makes Baby Jesus cry" means "I have conversations with my houseplants."

(I know, I know. I'm getting out of hand. I just couldn't help that last one. I mean, I know for a fact that Jesus is a grown man.)

Your turn!! Post 'em if you got 'em!

More on the Hot Pepper Thing

Since my post from yesterday, two of my colleagues have mentioned that they checked themselves out on Ratemyprofessors.com - and they have hot peppers. To which I say, thanks a lot, people. Just rub it in, why don't you.

But the best part is that a student (not mine) who reads my blog emailed to tell me that he tried to give me a hot pepper, but it wouldn't show up. (I checked - his comment was there, but the pepper was not). So apparently there is a conspiracy to prevent me from getting any hot peppers.

You have no idea what this means. Hot peppers are...how to put this. Apologies in advance to anyone reading this who is older than me - I hope you know that this is entirely about me and not at all about you. It's not that I see you as old. It's that I see me as getting older. It's one of those entirely self-referential things in relation to which the rest of the world might as well not exist for all the attention you are paying to it.

There is a weird transition you make in your thirties. Thirties are still young (if you're in college right now and reading this, it won't seem that way, but trust me, it's true). There are things about the twenties that flat-out suck. For example, being in your early to mid-twenties can be a professional liability. People take advantage of your youth and you have to fight for professional respect and recognition. I remember wincing every time I heard "like" or "you know" come out of my mouth because I felt so terribly inarticulate and immature (I still say "like" and "you know" all the time, but now I try not to hang out in circles where that's seen as inarticulate and immature).

Also, being in your twenties, if you're doing the whole party/club scene, can get old fast. You feel caught between college and something more settled, and everyone's sort of looking to settle down but not necessarily admitting it, until you reach your late twenties, by which point you might start to freak out a little if you aren't meeting datable people. (If you live in South Dakota, this freak-out period will probably happen by about age 23, because most people are on their first divorce by age 28).

For me, turning 30 was gloriously freeing - I got to be finished with my twenties, which I had labelled as a fairly destructive and unhappy time (even though I got married and started grad school). And then I had a baby and finished my Ph.D., so hey, this thirties decade was looking all right! Talk about accomplishments!

In your thirties, you start to feel like you have accomplishments. If you have a real job and haven't disappeared into graduate school, you might actually be making a decent salary. Even in grad school, you might have published an article or taught a class or done something you can put on your c.v. And you're still part of the hip marketing cohort - the 18-34 range. According to What Not To Wear, you can wear a mini-skirt until you're 35 (and by the way, I'm still wearing mini-skirts and will continue to do so until further notice, thank you very much). It is entirely acceptable in the rest of the country to go out and do fun things in your thirties (and it's even a little bit acceptable here).

But then I looked up and all of a sudden 37 was staring me in the face. I don't know what it is about 37 that is so terrifying. 36 was fine. I had no quarrel with 36. 36 is easily "mid-thirties." And 36 is a nice, round, sexy number. But 37 - holy shit, I felt like I literally had one foot in the grave. Pass me the metamucil. And while I will still say "mid-thirties," or even "late twenties" (because, really, thirties are the "new" twenties) in public, I will tell you privately, just between you and me, that 37 is really "late thirties." There. I've said it. I'm in my late thirties. And that means that 40 - and my forties, at the end of which is a big FIVE O - is just around the corner.

And so I dealt with my advancing age the way anyone would - I headed to the gym, shed a lot of pounds, and started hitting the clubs. And that did make a big difference in my self-esteem, as did getting hit on by men and women who could be my...nephews and neices.

Now, back to the hot pepper. The hot pepper represents a certain youthfulness, a hipness, not just a hotness but also a coolness. On some campuses (though, thankfully, not on mine, because that would just be too humiliating) hot pepper gettage is actually very competitive. To the point where professors actually do give themselves hot peppers and not just joke about it, like I did (I am not quite desparate enough yet to give myself a hot pepper. And apparently, if I did, it wouldn't show up anyway.). In short: it matters to us, people. We need those hot peppers!

And to think that somewhere out there are students wanting to bestow upon us these virtual icons of vitality - and that some computer glitch is taking that away...

I will not go back and check Ratemyprofessors.com every day or so to see if the hot pepper ever shows up. Because that way lies madness.

Thought for the Day

It is a bad idea to look up one's own name on RateMyProfessor.com. It just is. Don't do it. First I was upset because someone trashed me. Then I was somewhat mollified because someone else said something nice about me. Then someone gave me a pretty high ranking, but it seems that it is mostly because this person feels I am an easy grader (my poor, poor students this semester, who will now be getting harsher grades). (I'm KIDDING.)

Mostly, I'm annoyed that no one has given me a hot pepper. People far less hot than I am have gotten hot peppers. What gives, people?! I am tempted to sign on and give myself my own damn hot pepper. Jeez.

Email and Student-Faculty Communication

Apparently, student-professor email communication is a big deal, according to The NY Times.

I love email, and I especially love it as a way to communicate with my students. I don't mind when they call me at home, but email is usually more convenient for all of us, especially when one of us - and it is often me, believe it or not - thinks of something important at 1am.

Generally, my experience has been that students are very respectful in their emails to me. Even some of those who call me by my first name in class will address me as "Professor" or "Dr." in their emails. And while they will, as mentioned in the article, frequently attach drafts of their papers and ask for my comments a day or two before the final paper is due, it is often at my invitation and with the understanding that my comments at that point will be cursory.

In fact, as someone who often does not have the time and who is generally too distracted to respond thoughtfully in my email communiques, I feel a bit hypocritical complaining about the quality of my students' emails. And further, as a recent graduate from studenthood, myself, I can tell you that some of my professors to this day often do not acknowledge my emails to them. I chalk this up to their busy schedules, and I don't take it personally - well, mostly, I don't. But over the last 10 years of grad school and teaching, I would say that my email exchanges with my professors have been far more problematic than those with my students.

The worst thing that my students have done via email is to not know quite how to approach me, and so they are sometimes overly informal ("Yo, Teach!") or formal but insecure ("Would you by any chance have the time to meet with me? If not, I totally understand."). Neither of these bother me (though I hope, for their sakes, that they figure out a more respectful or less self-deprecating way, respectively, to talk with their instructors). Or sometimes they don't respond at all (which is one of my pet peeves, but more on that later). Sometimes they will email me a paper instead of giving me a hard copy, and while I confess that I get easily confused by having a stack of hard copies and a few electronic ones, so far, it has been nothing that I haven't been able to figure out eventually. Sometimes they will make demands that I feel are inappropriate, particularly when it comes to grades and why they got them and whether or not they think they should have a different one. But I can't really blame them for this, as we put so much emphasis on grades and then often don't adquately explain how the grading process works.

The worst thing that professors do is to completely ignore emails from their students, and I have been guilty of this, myself (not intentionally!). Sometimes it's just a matter of forgetting, and sometimes it's easier to address the issue in person (for example, when one will see the student in class in a matter of minutes). I'm not talking about those instances. I'm thinking of more hardcore cases. These are the same professors who don't bother to show up for office hours, who don't return phone calls, who see students entirely in terms of how much time they are taking up that the professor could be using for something else, and who basically communicate disrespect to their students. I firmly believe that students should not be made to feel that their time is worth less, or that they themselves are worth less, than the professor. Routinely not responding to a student's email is just shitty, plain and simple.

But I do have a couple of email expectations, whether I'm communicating with a student, an employer, or an old friend:

I expect that, if I ask a question, or for specific information, it will be answered/provided and not ignored in the response. I hate when I ask a question only to get a response on a totally 'nother topic. I'm happy for the new discussion, but I wouldn't have asked my question if I didn't want an answer.

If I write a thoughtful message, I expect a thoughtful reply, or at least some acknowledgement that my correspondent is not holding up his or her end of the conversation for whatever reason ("I'm sorry I can't write more - I'm insanely busy at work"). (But I don't always measure up to this expectation, myself.)

If I send a message that deserves/requires an answer, I expect an answer, eventually. Or even just a "thanks" for the link I sent - just some small acknowledgement that I exist. Because the thing about email is that it can feel an awful lot like you are sending your thoughts out into the void: you don't always know if your message got through, you can never be sure that you haven't inadvertently offended someone, and you always wonder if you sound as inarticulate and unsophisticated to others as you do to yourself. (It's a little like blogging in that respect!)

Academics, particularly, have our own rules about email. For example:

Always suck up to famous academics, particularly those in your field.

Never write the way you would actually talk. For example, instead of saying, "I loved your book - I really related to the experiences you write about," say "I confess I was moved by how well your book described my own experiences." No, there's nothing wrong with writing this way; it's nice writing. But it puts a lot of pressure on us to be articulate all the time, and no one wants that pressure, believe me.

Don't hesitate to take someone down publically when they make a dumbass comment, even if you could easily write to them privately and communicate your critique. This is a standard academic rule, and one that is both entertaining and terrifying for bystanders (because, hey, it's fun to watch, but you could be next).

I see that I am moving into an analysis of academic social interaction, here, so I'd like to open this up for discussion. All you lurkers: what has been your worst/best interaction in academia, and/or across the lines of student/professor? Leave a comment. I'm curious to see.

Transplant - Learning the Language

I grew up in upstate New York, and after a couple of years in Connecticut, spent the rest of my time before South Dakota in Buffalo, NY. Buffalo was actually a great place to live – people usually think of it as a place with a lot of snow and little else, but those of us who spent more than a couple of years there learned that it was, as someone told me when I first moved there, “one of the best-kept secrets in the country.” If you’re looking for a busy and varied arts community, you will find it in Buffalo, home to any number of active arts organizations. I think it’s no accident that Ani diFranco, the Goo Goo Dolls, and 10,000 Maniacs all live(d) in or near Buffalo.

Anyway, after living in NY State for so long, I qualify to myself as well as the rest of the country as a “New Yorker.” This is different from the kind of New Yorker that someone who actually lives in New York City is. Generally, if you say to anyone in CT, NJ, or NY State that you are a New Yorker, they will assume that you mean that you actually live in “the city.” But once you leave the state and the “tri-state region,” “New Yorker” takes on a different meaning. People outside of the New York area don’t really care about the distinction between actually living in “the city” and living in the state. (People who live in NY City don’t really care about the distinction between living any number of places outside of “the city” – if you don’t live in New York, you might as well live in Washington State, for all they care, but don’t expect them to understand or appreciate the pleasures and unique qualities of Buffalo (and certainly not Sioux Falls).

Being a New Yorker means, first, that I greet each day with a healthy dose of cynicism. When I first moved out here, I was suspicious of all the friendliness that I encountered on a regular basis. It seemed too good to be true. And indeed, it was – I have since been told, on numerous occasions, that no matter how friendly South Dakotans might be to your face, they are definitely talking behind your back. Still, there is a cheerfulness, a quickness to smile and to exchange pleasantries, that you won’t find with such regularity in New York. In the face of such cheerful, warm “good mornings” from co-workers, I find it difficult to sustain my cynical outlook. In fact, after living here for several years, I have found that I, too, have adopted the cheerful outlook on life that so distressed me when I first arrived. While I am still suspicious, I now save my suspicion for institutional plots and conspiracies rather than the nice woman standing next to me in line at the grocery store.

But cynicism is only part of being a New Yorker. New Yorkers speak a different language from that found in the Midwest. Frankly, New Yorkers bitch. When we greet each other, we don’t say cheerful things. Instead, we begin sentences with, “Can you believe it?! Wait till you hear what this jerk did on the highway this morning,” or “I am so pissed about...” or “Don’t you hate...” Shortly after I first moved to Sioux Falls, I went into work and a co-worker very genuinely (and naively) asked me how I was that morning. I responded, “Oh, God! Can you believe this weather?! And then the bus was late, so I had to stand in the rain for 10 minutes. AND I am so depressed after looking at the headlines this morning. How are you?” My co-worker looked shaken, and very sorry she had asked. Clearly, this was not the expected South Dakotan response to the question.

But perhaps the most important point about language is that New Yorkers curse. My friends from back east and I pepper our language with various swear words, mostly notably the trinity of all-purpose curses: fuck, shit, and damn. We also say “hell” quite often. I have found, however, that since moving to Sioux Falls, my language has been cleaned up considerably, at least in public (and especially in the University of Sioux Falls library). Case in point: back home, when surprised by distressing news, one might say something along the lines of, “Holy fucking Christ!” Here, a response of, “Gosh!” is more likely.

But now that I've been here for a while, I'm noticing that the New Yorker in me is making herself heard more frequently. I'm no longer the same New Yorker I was; I can control my tongue and my temper most of the time without even thinking about it. But more and more, I'm finding that while I like the general cheerfulness in others and in myself, I also really like the occasional bursts of discontentment, ire, and just general bitchiness.

I'm a New York feminist in exile...and a South Dakota bitch.