Still on the Road in Louisiana

from Afrogeek Princess, aka Cate
I love staying here long.  I played princesses with my cousin Morgan.  I've been a sneaky rascal in Mimi's room.  And I hate the smell of crawfish.

from Mommy
In other Louisiana news, Frances got her ears pierced.  This is her before:

And this her after:

The ear piercing went off without a hitch.  No drama at all.  My mother says it's because she was completely in charge and laid down the law. She said I'm too emotional and that Frances takes her cues from me.  No one was allowed to be emotional.  We went to the store, Frances sat in the chair, the slightest inkling of a tear appeared in her eye, my mother said that we weren't having any of that, and we didn't.  So now we have piereced ears.  I totally deny the too emotional charge, by the way.

We've eaten a lot of food, but most of it is food at home, which is so specific to my childhood and so filled with nostalgia that it loses a lot in translation.  But trust me, there's a lot of food being consumed.

On the Road In Louisiana

Guest Post by AfroGeek Daughter, aka Frances

We have been traveling across the country to see our relitives. It's going to be sooooo fun in Louisiana. We are staying for two weeks. Oh I almost for got about a party we went to today. I had my first crawfish! Well I acually had three, but my dad ate my fourth one. At that same party I got my face painted to look like a dalmation with it's tounge sticking out. After that we went to my grandmather's house(we call her MeMe). Tomorrow or some other day this week I'll get my ears pirced with MeMe. On our way out of Louisiana we will go the Audubon Zoo. We have a song about that in the car. This is going to be the best trip to Louisiana ever!

                                                                                                      Sincerly

                                                                                                                              Frances McCann

A Post about Sensory Integration Dysfunction That Won't Make You Cry

 

For the three of you regularly reading this blog, you've probably not had any occasion to read anything about sensory integration dysfunction (or sensory processing disorder), so you've probably shed no tears over SID-related posts.  But out there somewhere is a parent roaming the internets looking for something, anything, about SID, hopefully something from a parent's pov, hopefully something that doesn't make you want to roll up in a ball of despair.  This post is for you.

On the latest episode of NBC's Parenthood, Adam and Kristina, parents of Max, a little boy who has Asperger's, struggle with the question of when to tell their son about Asperger's.  Though many people quibble with the show's portrayal of Asperger's (some say the child actor gets the mannerisms all wrong, some say the writers are treating Asperger's like a death sentence), what I've been enjoying is watching the parents navigate their way through all the therapies and information and advice, trying desperately to make the right decision, trying to hold on to the knowledge that, above all else, Max is a really great kid.

Cate is only four so there's a lot of stuff about sensory integration dysfunction she just won't get (like needing a lot more proprioceptive sensory input than other four year olds in order keep her nervous system modulated enough to do seemingly simple tasks like get getting dressed in the morning).  But I still think about how much to tell her, what information does she need.  Since she's already a fluent reader, I went in search of a kid's book about SID and found Why Does Izzy Cover Her Ears?: Dealing With Sensory Overload.  From the hiding under the table, to the hitting of other kids, to the feeling crazed up, to the love of being beneath a really heavy blanket--this book was all about Cate.  And her little face as she read aloud about Izzy to her sister--it was the face of recognition, of  "Wow.  That's exactly what it's like inside my body."  This book does an excellent job of narrating the experience of someone trying to navigate SID, of explaining the difference without pathologizing or exoticizing it.

If, like me, you're looking for a childern's book to share with your child or with other children about SID, I can't recommend this enough.

Re: Iron Man Parte Deux

Conseula is currently seething in a stew of her own making due to the incaluable wrongness of her take on Iron Man. (Actually, I'm not exactly sure what her position is. I'm just poking it with a stick. [Don't tell her])

At this point do I actually have to post SPOILER ALERT? If you haven't seen the movie, and if you're a person who hates to have any portion of the movie revealed before you see it, then I suggest that you leave the room.

...

Are they gone? Okay, Conseula was excited by the appearance of what seemed to be a partially constructed version of Captain America's shield. I agree. The parts are clearly if not the shield, then they are components of a shield. My problem is that what we saw on screen is clearly not in keeping with the continuity of the Marvel 616 universe (616 is the main Marvel universe in which most of the comic books are set.)

FANBOY ALERT!

Okay, those of you who know, know that there have been several incarnations of the shield: at least two kite-shaped ones, like this example from Captain America No. 1.

However, the one suggested in the movie is the round, convex one that most people are familiar with. According to Marvel lore etched into the brains of fanboys (and girls) the world over, Cap's round shield was created accidentally in the 1940s by Dr. Myron MacClain out of a vibranium/adamantium alloy.

This shield was presented to Cap by FDR as a replacement for the last of the kite models that was destroyed in battle.

That being said, the shield in the movie does not match the 616 universe's description of Cap's shield. In the first place, there is a problem of the shield's construction. According to canon, Cap's shield was molded in one solid piece, with the star, stripes, and blue field subsequently painted on. The Iron Man 2 shield is not solid, but seems to be made of several components.

A second problem has to do the Iron Man 2 shield's origin. If the movie's Cap actually fought in World War II, did he have the circular shield, or didn't he? If he did have it in the 1940s, then what was Howard Stark doing with an unfinished copy of it? If Tony Stark is close in age to Robert Downey, Jr's 44, then his father would probably be in his sixties or early seventies, which would have made him a child during the war. The government is not in the habit of giving contracts to children, even exceptionally bright ones. This is all to say that I don't believe that the shield the movie shows is Captain America's shield.

So, while I doubt that the shield in the movie is Cap's, there is no doubting the shield's evidence. How do I explain its existence? It's possible, that in keeping with canon, both Cap and his shield are lost in the North Sea in 1944. The shield that we see in the movie could have been an attempt by Howard Stark to duplicate Dr. MacClain's results. However, this raises an difficult question, without a Captain America, why build a Captain America shield? If Stark could produce an unbreakable metal, couldn't he have made countless other objects that would have been more useful than a shield?

It is possible that the Marvel movie universe differs in some ways from universe 616. The movie Cap of the 1940s may never have wielded the round shield, or any shield at all. It's even possible the either S.H.I.E.L.D. or the US government might have been in the process of producing another Captain America while Howard Stark was alive.

In any case, for the record I'll state that the movie shield is not Captain America's shield. We'll have to wait for the movie to for any further explanation.

Until next time, Face Front True Believers, and Excelsior!

Random Quote from Brain Child*

Catherine Newman's article in the latest issue of Brain Child is about evolution (I think...I haven't actually finished it yet).  I love Catherine Newman.  Her essay, "Why I Will Not Marry" teaches remarkably well in freshman comp (mostly because it freaks them out so much).  Her recipes from family.com have delightful descriptions like "Feeds 4 (as long as one of those four people is a child who won't eat itl)"**.  And her essays include delightful paragraphs such as this defintion of "reproductive success":

"...the term 'reproductive success' has nothing to do with foreplay, Tantric ecstasy, or simultaneous climaxing.  It's about whether particular traits help a particular organism live long enough to produce offspring.  Your husband could do you from behind while you were bent over to sort the Tupperware drawer.  And if you got pregnant and passed along your organizational skills to your offspring?  Evolutionary Bingo! Reproductive success."***

* This was supposed to be a review of Iron Man 2, but Brian and I are having a disagreement about what the review should say.  Stay tuned.

** Brian has suggested this is not really as funny as it is in my head.

*** Brian is similarly unamused by this.  I think he's grumpy because he's wrong about Iron Man 2.

It's Not All Bad

So some of you are concerned that I seem really sad and/or miserable and/or on the verge of throwing myself in front of a bus.  No need for alarm.  While things certainly could be significantly better, I can easily name a number of people whose lives are signficantly worse.  So, you see, the universe balanaces itself it out.

Things that help:

1) Cate never ceases to amuse and amaze with her wit and charm.  Overheard recently from Cate--in response to me insisting that maybe tights in 90 degree weather is not the best idea, "Mommy, stop it.  You are parenting all over me."  And upon receiving a Goosebumps book in a kids meal at Popeyes (home of her new favorite meal, red beans and rice), "Oh no.  Oh no.  This is levels of inappropriate."  And in the car, two days after swimming in the pool, "There's something lucky about adults.  Their feet can reach the bottom of the pool everywhere.  I wish I could do that."

2) Brain Child Magazine--I'm not really a fan of mommy blogs and I have learned recently that special needs blogs and newsgroups just make me more anxious than I already am.  But I love Brain Child ("the magazine for mothers who think").  I love that many of the experiences of parenting I encounter there (a mother whose kid's special needs are so vast and all-consuming that she wishes she never had him, parents who advocate spanking, parents who feel guilty about not taking their kids camping) are nothing like mine.  I love that the magazine is not about me while still managing to be exactly about me at the same time.  Does that make any sense?  It's smart and well-written, often times funny, and just as often hreatbreaking.  I love it.

3) Guitar Hero World Tour and Trombone Shorty--I got this game and this cd for Mother's Day and they have brought me no end of joy for the last week.  Sure, Guitar Hero is really bad for my carpal tunnel and Trombone Shorty's "supafunkrock" makes Brian and I homesick, but still, a good time is being had by all.

But She's So Smart, and so Special

Yes, there has been a long long silence here and I could provide a long detailed explanation of the financial and personal and professional crises that have resulted in my absence here (some of them still on-going), but that would just depress everyone. 

So, moving right along (to a rant of sorts--how unsurprising)...

Our youngest daughter is being treated for sensory processing dysfunction, which is not to be confused with sensory processing disorder, a lifelong condition.  She has particular kinds of developmental delays that may "correct" themselves as her nervous system develops, and occupational therapy is being employed to give her some strategies to deal with the delays until then.

This sounds perfectly reasonable to me (clearly, since we trek to and pay for OT every week), but I have been amazed, and annoyed, at how unreasonable this sounds to other people.  Admittedly, other people don't live with Cate.  They aren't up with her at 3 in the morning because she can't sleep until she's read all the books in the room or she's weeping because she's listened to Springsteen's version of "We Shall Overcome" five times in a row and it's made her sad.  Other people don't have to deal with the anxiety caused when we park the car in a different spot or we insist she wear weather appropriate clothes.  Or the fear we have that she will leave the house in the middle of the night or walk off at soccer because she's trying to get to a place where she feels less "crazed" up.  When other people see Cate, they see a happy, healthy, smart goofy kid who is slightly "out of sync."  All kids have their quirks.  We all feel "crazed up" some times, they say.

Well, yeah, but also no, not at all.  What would be nice is a little faith that I'm not making these things up, that I'm not overprotective and paranoid, that I know my kid better than other people.  It would be nice if people stopped insisting "but she's so smart, I'm sure she'll be fine," and started celebrating the fact that there's a professional out in the world who has been able to figure out that Cate feels less "crazed up" when she literally gets to hang up side down or get a big bear hug or fall down from something.  It would be nice for people to acknowledge that being able to read at 2 and add at four doesn't guarantee life success, especially if you're terrified of the PBS logo or the computer screen suddenly turning blue when it comes on.

Other people tell me Cate is special.  They mean, "yeah she's a little weird, leave her alone."  My reply is this:  She is special, more special than other people can even comprehend.  And it would be a shame to let some of the things that make her special limit all the things she might be and accomplish in the world.

When Are We Going To Start Telling White Girls to Date Outside Their Race?

Laurel, Md.: Isn't it funny that almost all of biracial children are beautiful? It's almost like God is trying to tell us something.


Karyn Folan: I agree 100%!

_______________________

Let me just start by saying that I've been married forever, so I don't have a dog in this fight.  No, let me take that back.  I am the parent of two one-day-to-be black women, so I actually do think about these things.

The Washington Post featured yet another article suggesting that black women have sad and sorry lives that can be made better if we just find ourselves a good white man. Karyn Folan, author of new book about interracial dating (by which she clearly means black women dating white men) offers all sorts of advice and insight from her research in response to reader questions, including the exchange above.  Her responses to questions reminds me a lot of the kind of conversations in interracial romance groups (as I continue my research into contemporary AA romance).  The notion very much seems to be that somehow readers of IR romance are more progressive and open-minded and just plain smarter than readers of AA romance.  Folan seems to think the same thing.  Because she's gone and gotten herself a white husband, she somehow has figured out something the rest of haven't. 

But the thing is, she's not special.  Nor are IR readers.  Snagging a white man doesn't make you smarter than the rest of us.  It just means you snagged a white man.  And counseling interracial dating for black women does nothing to address the systemic problems that lead to discrepancies in the education and economic status of black men and black women, nor does it do anything to address the fact that being single and 30 doesn't make black women special.  Not every "problem" that black people have is a pathology.  Not every problem is an actual problem.

Also

Courtesy of Postbourgie

Dear World

I appreciate that you are excited about black people.  It is February after all.  I also appreciate that you want to include me in your excitement.  It is part of my job as the director of an African American Studies program.

But could you see fit to spread some of that enthusiasm to other parts of the year?  Trying to learn everything you can about black people in 28 days is a tall order, an impossible one even.  Plus, I'm exhausted.

So let's make a deal.  Save some of that enthusiasm for March or April or October even.  And I promise to help you out.

Sincerely
(An incredibly tired) Conseula

Chris Rock Makes Up For the Misogyny of "Good Hair"

During an appearance of Jay Leno, Chris Rock expresses dismay over people's defense of Roman Polanski, reminding us that he raped a 13 year old girl and calling rape "barbaric."  His good sense here makes Good Hair that much more disappointing.

Girl Zines: Making Media, Doing Feminism (or, Why Alison is Awesome)

I was supposed to be a part of the blog tour for Alison's latest book, Girl Zines: Making Media, Doing Feminism.  In fact, my post was due *weeks* ago. But swine flu and end of the semester craziness has slowed me down considerably.  But in this case, I think that's a good thing.  I've gotten to read the amazing reviews the book has been getting and have gotten to hear what other bloggers and zinesters have to say about the book.  All of these people have been talking about what they take from the book as feminists, as zinesters, as people interested in girl culture.  I'd like to talk about what I take from the book as an academic, as a person who makes her living talking and writing about contemporary culture.

For those unfamilar with zines or are familiar with zines and can't fathom why someone would write a whole book about them, here's a snippet from NYU Press's blurb about the book:

With names like The East Village Inky, Mend My Dress, Dear Stepdad, and I’m So Fucking Beautiful, zines created by girls and women over the past two decades make feminism’s third wave visible. These messy, photocopied do-it-yourself documents cover every imaginable subject matter and are loaded with handwriting, collage art, stickers, and glitter. Though they all reflect the personal style of the creators, they are also sites for constructing narratives, identities, and communities.

Full disclosure: Alison and I are in a writing group together and I got to read Girl Zines as it was coming together.  What I find exciting in this book and in Alison as a scholar is her refusal to look at these quirky, personal, often silly, and just as often brilliant and heartbreaking creations, as either resisting patriarchal capitalism or complicit in female oppression.  She early on threw out the resistant/complicit binary, reading this framework as limited and as limiting our ability to really engage the work these zines do in female communities.  Their very existence, the sheer number of zines and zinesters and the fact that girls will very often make their own zines as soon as they discover their existence, is enough to make them worth our attention.  What do we make of these "messy, photocopied do-it-yourself documents" and the girls who make them?  Alison's response is to talk to these girls, read their work, and take them seriously.  It seems such a simple answer, but it's not a position academics often take, especially when we're talking the cultural work of girls and women.

They Call Me Back Door Santa

Even though I could listen to Christmas music every single day of the year (I will never tire of the E Street Band's version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" or the Temptations' "Silent Night".  I also cry every single time I see It's A Wonderful Life.  I should be embarassed by these facts, but I'm really not.), Brian insists that Christmas music may only be played from the day after Thanksgiving until the day after Christmas.  It's sore point in out marriage, but we'll probably survive. 

Now that the girls are 9 and 4, I'm having to be extra careful about the music we play.  Very little of Erykah Badu or Outkast is child-safe, for instance.  But you would think that during this month when I'm allowed to listen to as much Christmas music as I want, I'd be safe.  How can you go wrong with songs about Santa and reindeer and angels and Jesus?

Enter once of my very favorite Christmas songs, Clarence Carter's brilliant "Back Door Santa" (the clip is the Black Crowes' version, but still pretty decent).  While Brian's favorite Christmas song, Charles Brown's "Please Come Home for Christmas," is crazy depressing, "Back Door Santa" is *dirty.*  Here are some choice lyrics:

I ain't like old Saint Nick
He don't come but once year
I ain't like old Saint Nick
He don't come but once a year
I come running with my presents
Every time you call me dear

I can't listen to that with the girls in the car.  Can you imagine Cate, who loves music and picks up lyrics and melody amazingly fast, singing that at her preschool?  I will have to content myself with Donny Hathaway.

Cornel West's Recipe for a Lasting Relationship

A colleague forwarded to me a scathing review of Cornel West's most recent book, a memoir called Brother West.  The review contained this choice paragraph from the book:

“The basic problem with my love relationships with women is that my standards are so high -- and they apply equally to both of us. I seek full-blast mutual intensity, fully fledged mutual acceptance, full-blown mutual flourishing, and fully felt peace and joy with each other. This requires a level of physical attraction, personal adoration, and moral admiration that is hard to find. And it shares a depth of trust and openness for a genuine soul-sharing with a mutual respect for a calling to each other and to others. Does such a woman exist for me? Only God knows and I eagerly await this divine unfolding. Like Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship in Emily Bronte’s remarkable novel Wuthering Heights or Franz Schubert’s tempestuous piano Sonata No. 21 in B flat (D.960) I will not let life or death stand in the way of this sublime and funky love that I crave!”

It's hard to believe he's been divorced four times, isn't it?

Some Musings on My Romance Research*

Through a combination of Amazon used book orders and paperbookswap.com transactions, I have been treated to a new romance novel in the mail every other day or so for the last couple of weeks.

Checking the mail has quickly become the highlight of my day.  How can you not enjoy opening an envelope and have that cover greet you?

Get Your Sexy On is from Kensington's Aphrodisia line and features on its back cover, like all books in that line, this notice:

WARNING!

This is a REALLY HOT book. (Sexually Explicit)

For me that warning screams "pick me up! pick me up!" but for others, it's a genuine warning.  Angela over at Save Black Romance posted today about her frustration that black sexuality is presented as sweet rather hot in Kimani Press books.  In the comments there is some discussion about whether this is a response to what black female readers want--sweet romance, perhaps, counters the stereotype of black people as oversexed--and whether this is a bad thing.  I do know that this Kensington warning would be enough to keep my mother away from this book.

Interesting also is the fact that this book is an interracial romance--black woman, white man--a very popular subgenre of the subgenre that is African American romance fiction.  But it's really hard to tell from that picture, isn't it?  And the synopsis on the back cover doesn't give anything away either.

TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT...

The men crowd in and howl for more when Sin's on stage - she knows just how to work it, wrapping her lithe body around the pole to dan*ce down and dirty. But Sin doesn't see them, lost in a world of her own...until sexy private investigator 'Mac' Garret McAllister steps into the club.

...WHAT YOU REALLY REALLY WANT

In one night of erotic passion, the man turns her world upside down. Mac pays homage to her beautiful body with delicious, carnal ferocity. When the sun comes up, she cuts out. She can't let him get too close to her heart...But two years later, they reunite. Still on fire for her, Mac is ready to do whatever it takes to ensure his woman stays right where she belongs - in his arms and his bed. Forever this time.

Who are they trying to trick into reading this book?  Black women who only want black heroes?  Or white women who only want to read about white heroines?

*Please note:  I am sick.  I have a 101 fever.  I have been unable to sleep all day, so I've been romance novels.  It's research you see.  :)  It's possible the above post is a fever-induced ramble.  If so, I apologize.

Movie Review: Chris Rock's "Good Hair"

I saw Chris Rock's documentary Good Hair the other night.  It's been getting a lot of press, so I knew what to expect.  I wasn't surprised by the lack of complexity--Chris Rock isn't a particularly subtle comedian.  I wasn't surprised that, despite the lack of complexity, it was still a really entertaining movie.  The thing that did surprise me, though, was the film's deep, deep misogyny.

I think Rock is sincere when he says he's worried about his black daughters' self-esteem and is trying to understand how they learn that "good hair" is something other than what grows out of their head.  I believe him when he says this movie comes out of love of his daughters.  That's why the conclusion the movie comes to--that black women are vain, high-maintenance, income-draining creatures who must be tolerated, at best, or avoided, at worst--is so surprising.  Chris Rock doesn't seem to come to the conclusion (despite the film's concluding voice-over) that he has to surround his kids with more images of beautiful "natural" hair*, or that he should declare a weave-free zone on his set, or that black women's conception of beauty is way more complicated than can be gleaned from a weekend at the Bonner Bros. hair expo, or that there's nothing at all wrong with relaxing or weaving or braiding your hair.  No, Rock seems to conclude that his daughters will eventually, inevitably, become crazed black women addicted to the "creamy crack," looking for men to subsidize their $1000 weave habit. 

The humanity of black women, the humanity of Rock's daughters, is completely absent from this film.  That's disappointing.

*And what is "natural"?  I have two girls with very different hair textures, black cousins with straight hair, soft wavy hair, red hair, as well as coarse and kinky hair.  I have an uncle who used to wash his fine, curly hair with laundry detergent to achieve the "natural" look..  "Natural" doesn't always mean Angela Davis.

Boys Worry About These Things Too

Today a male student asked me just how many outside-of-work hours I spend grading papers.  He looked really concerned.  The question seemed to come out of the blue.  I probably did look miserable and exhausted as I graded a pile of essays while students took mid-terms, but still, it was an unexpected question. 

As it turns out, the student wasn't asking about me at all.  He's about to graduate and is engaged to a girl who is currently student teaching.  Apparently, she is prepping and grading all the time.  What he really wanted to know was is it possible to do the kind of work I do and still have time for all the other stuff in life, like spouses and kids and non-work related fun.

I told him what I usually tell students, usually female students, when this question comes up--balancing a career I love and family I adore is really hard work.  It takes a lot of deliberate planning to make sure all the demands on my time are being met, more or less, adequately, but, at the end of the day, it's a good life.  A hectic, often disorganized life, but I good one.  I stress that I have in Brian a partner equally committed to our family, someone who takes a great deal of pleasure in being a husband and father, and someone who is incredibly supportive of me and my work.  The work/life balance is a lot easier when all the adults in the relationship are equally dedicated to the balancing act.

It's a conversation I have regularly with students, but it was the first time I've had it with a male student.  He seemed to be at the beginning of the process of thinking through these issues, but it nonetheless made me happy to think his fiancee wouldn't have to think about these questions on her own.

Teaching Comics--Man of Steel by John Byrne

I'll say upfront that my pairing of Dark Knight Returns with Man of Steel may not have been the wisest choice.  If I had it to do over again (and I probably will), I'd teach Marvel's Civil War instead, or just forego surperheroes all together because they are really hard to do in a class when you're also trying to look at all of the other groovy things that happen in comics.  We could easily spend 15 weeks the appeal of superheroes in our society, on the difference between DC and Marvel heroes, on the difference between decidely good guys like Spider-man and not at all good guys (yet still heroic) guys like Deadpool, on whether the X-Men are metaphors for race or sexuality, on whether Wolverine's claws could slice through Superman's skin. Instead we spent only two and half weeks on superheroes and the rest of the time we'll look at memoirs and non-fiction narratives/journalism and race.  That meant choosing superhero books that were representative, but could also stand alone.

All that said, I also chose Man of Steel, precisely because it stands in sharp contrast to DKR and because it is a direct result of the same impulse that gives us DKR--namely, a desire of DC's part to re-boot marquee characters.  I thought the contrast would make for interesting class discussion.  I was wrong.  So so wrong.

The students, collectively, almost unanimously, *hated* Man of Steel.  They hated its lack of irony, they hated the unambiguous line drawn between good guys and bad guys, they hated Clark Kent's/Superman's old-fashioned manners and way of being in the world.  It was a disaster.  Where Bruce Wayne was adored for being so wracked with guilt and grief about his parents' deaths that he is driven to a psychopathic vendetta across the city, causing himself great physical and pyschological damage, Clark Kent was mocked for doing the right thing simply because it was right and he could.  He was simply too unbelievable for my students. 

Afrogeek Kids Book Recs

Every time I think about possible regular features for this blog, "Book Updates" always makes the short list.  I imagine regular posts about what I'm reading, with witty commentary that shows off well my really expensive literary education.

Alas, I spend most of my time reading for class (which means skimming books I've read dozens of times before or reading student writing), reading for work (right now, lots of, mostly, random articles and essays on romance novels), or reading to children (we're making our way through the Lemony Snicket books, which I am finding deeply disturbing).

The girls, however, are reading up a storm lately.  Frances, our nine-year old 4th grader, is reading NERDS.  Here's the Amazon description:

Combining all the excitement of international espionage and all the awkwardness of elementary school, NERDS, featuring a group of unpopular students who run a spy network from inside their school, hits the mark. With the help of cutting-edge science, their nerdy qualities are enhanced and transformed into incredible abilities! They battle the Hyena, a former junior beauty pageant contestant turned assassin, and an array of James Bond–style villains, each with an evil plan more diabolical and more ridiculous than the last.

The hysterical giggles from her room go on well past bedtime when's she reading this book.

Cate, our three-year old pre-schooler, in the last month has started reading independently.  Her favorite thing to read lately, besides anything with My Little Pony on it, is Once Upon a Time, The End (Asleep in 60 Seconds).  It's Amazon description:

Here's a fresh approach to fractured fairy tales: take one small child's insatiable demand for "just one more story" and add a sleepy parent's wish to get the bedtime ritual over with as quickly as possible. The result is this collection of eight condensed folktales. For example, Goldilocks and the Bears begins, "There were some bears;/It doesn't really matter how many./There was a bunch./Let's get to the point" and ends, "When the bears came back,/They found her asleep./She woke up, screamed, and ran home/So she could sleep in her own bed./Just like you."  The sometimes sly, sometimes outrageous, sometimes simply silly humor will go over the heads of most preschoolers, but it's right on target for their older siblings (and tired parents, of course)

That last part isn't true of our pre-schooler.  Cate seems to take great delight in the father's insistence that his kid go to sleep.  She's also really enjoying Thelonious Monster's Ski-High Fly Pie.

The tune for I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly is likely to echo in children's minds as they listen to the words of Thelonius Monster's Sky-High Fly Pie, in which an earnest monster chef intends to swallow hundreds and thousands of succulent flies. After obtaining some helpful hints from a spider via e-mail, Thelonius creates a sticky crust, gathers flies, attaches them to the crust, and invites eleventeen ravenous monsters for dessert. The resulting creation is a thing of beauty: the flies hum, they sparkle, they play orchestral music. And, alas, they fly away. Thelonius has forgotten to bake the pie, and off it goes.

The picture of the flies flying off with a gooey pie stuck to all their little feet apparently never fails to be funny.
One day soon I'll get to finish Sag Harbor, or Asterios Polyp, or Devil in the White City.  But not today.

Remembering Dr. Pat

Dr. Patricia Rickels was the director of the Honors Program at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette (where I was an undergraduate). She wore mumuus to work everyday because she came to the conclusion sometime in the 1970s that deciding what to wear every day got in the way of more important decisions. She was the much-rumored inspiration for Myrna Minkoff, the windmill-tilting, Negro-loving minx in John Kennedy Toole's Confederacy of Dunces (much rumored among the faculty at UL who knew Toole from LSU and UL). She befriended and worked on behalf of black people in the South at a time when nice white women never dreamed of such things--Dr. Pat thought being a nice white woman was wildly overrated.

Almost all of my good memories of UL are Dr. Pat related. She co-taught my favorite class, an honors seminar called Culture of Man. The library was our textbook and the course content was whatever caught our fancy. We went to plays and festivals, on road trips to Houston and New Orleans, all of free of charge, all made possible through some generous donation Dr. Pat bullied someone into giving. (I suspect she funded a lot of our class activities herself). I spent many an afternoon in the honors program offices, eating the endless free popcorn and hanging Mardi Gras beads on Baloo, the real, life-sized stuffed bear that, inexplicably, lived in those offices.

Dr. Pat was my advisor, as she was for all honors students who were English majors. She invented a minor for me (interdisciplinary humanities) because I couldn't decide between French and philosophy and history. She convinced me to stay in college an extra semester so that I could finish the requirements for an honors baccalaureate degree. "You would be the first black woman to to do it," she would say to me *every single time* she saw me, for months. "Somebody has to be the first. Why shouldn't it be you?"

She died peacefully in her home last week, having retired after 50 years of service at UL. She was a shameless flirt, an unapologetic liberal, an inspirational teacher, and a friend. Brian and I will miss her very much.