28.7.03

Grandmother:

As some of you already know, my grandmother is pretty sick. She had surgery to remove the blockages in her upper legs on Friday. The surgery itself went pretty well, but she was under anesthetic for about 6 hours and was in shock for the next day. The doctors did some tests and decided that part of her colon had died because of the blood loss from the shock. They operated again to remove part of her colon Saturday night, and Sunday she was better. She is still on a respirator, but she's breathing a mix of oxygen and regular air and she is signalling that she is in pain. She seems to recognise my father. She can't talk because of the respirator and she is on a lot of morphine.

It's sort of touch and go right now. If she recovers, they may still have to amputate her right leg because the veins in her lower legs are too small to operate on, so if they are blocked her leg will have to come off. Her left leg seems much better than the right, so she will probably be able to keep it.

Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus. Sancta Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

27.7.03

Paschal's:

Paschal's Motor Hotel and Restaurant which was bought in 1997 by HBCU Clark Atlanta University, will be destroyed. This makes me very sad. Paschal's was at the heart of the old nonviolent civil rights movement. MLK, Andy Young, John Lewis, and Ralph David Abernathy met there, the march from Selma to Montgomery was planned there, and in segregated Atlanta Paschal's was one of the only comfortable places that black leaders could even meet. It was also a place that white liberals could feel comfortable in and Paschal's helped bring in some of the white leadership on the side of civil rights. The history of Paschal's is in many ways the history of the civil rights movement in the south.

Atlanta is a city without a focus. It has a hard time luring convention visitors and tourists because there isn't one defining characteristic that makes one think of Atlanta. Not like Las Vegas, New Orleans, Orlando. Why can't Atlanta's focus be the rich history of the civil rights movement? That, to me, is the most important part of the history of Atlanta: the city's ability to integrate peacefully and to influence civil rights all over the south. Every year, some of that legacy is lost in Atlanta and some day it will be all gone. And that's a shame. I want my kids to understand as much as they can the courage and love of the civil rights marchers, to see what conditions they faced and how they overcame them.

There's some irony here. If Paschal's had been owned by a white college (say Emory for the sake of argument), the restaurant could not have been closed. Clark Atlanta is facing the cries of traitor and black sheep; can you imagine the cries of racism if Emory tried to close Paschal's?

25.7.03

Accents:

I called the movie theater yesterday to get my hours for the weekend (my last weekend working there, thank God. I'm just so tired all the time) and started thinking about accents becuase of the two people to whom I spoke.

We Americans are not supposed to be hung up on accents. Not like the Brits, who can use an accent to tell where you went to school and to the year how old yor family is (or something) or like the Irish, who can use an accent to place you to the neighborhood you were born in (and in the North, your religion). I'm not even sure what an upper-class, old money American accent should sound like. Maybe the rich Bostonian of the Kennedys? Some sort of New England accent like the Rockefellers or the Fords? New money, of course, can sound like whatever it wants. Sam Walton's Arkansas drawl or Bill Gates' flat Midwestern or anything in between. It doesn't matter.

But still we think about accents. In the south, we can tell on the phone if the caller is black or white from some timbre of the voice, even if the person is well-educated and lacks a stereotypical accent. When I call my friend Terra, her mother always tells her: "Phone's for you. Sounds like a white girl."

To make it in a lot of professions you need my accent, an upper-middle-class suburban-white-girl accent. Not as suburban as the Valley accent, much less upspeak and fewer "likes" and "you knows," but an accent that cannot be placed geographically beyond "the middle class suburbs of some medium-sized or larger city." There are certain accents that are OK to have too, though most people won't try to acquire them. A Boston accent is acceptable in Boston and barely so in other large cities, particularly along the Eastern Seaboard. A New York accent is OK in most major cities.

But we are we so careful with accents? I didn't always have a carefully neutral accent. I had some southernisms and Irishisms as a child, nothing too major, but I didn't sound like I could broadcast the evening news. When I was about 13, I realised that my accent (particularly the Southern part, would always make people think I was dumb, ill-educated, and racist. So I worked to get rid of it, listening to the news, my parents (midwesterners both), whatever I could. And I succeeded.

But I knid of regret that now. I lost something of my identity when I lost that accent. With an accent, I sounded like I belonged in a specific part of the world. Without, I belong everywhere, and nowhere.

People won't laugh at me about my accent any more. I'm not disqualified from any jobs for it. But in Atlanta, I'll always sound like a Yankee, and outside the South, when people find out where I'm from, they will always either think I'm a redneck or say in that pitying voice "Oh-- but you didn't live there very long, did you?"

Of course a southern accent isn't even the worst accent one can have. A rural, true redneck accent is far worse, as is a "ghetto" black accent. But why do we care? An accent is far more a symbol of who our parents were than who we are, and in America, we're not supposed to care about that. If I have a rural accent, it's because my parents choose to raise me in the country, not because I myself made that choice. It shouldn't hurt my future if I choose to move to a city to raise my children.

Language is powerful, and in a way obiterating an accent is obliterating a language. Northerners seem to believe that if they can discredit the southern accent enough, they can discredit the southern way of life and remove everything southern about the south. The British stopped at destroying the Irish language, not the accent, but in London, how welcome do you believe an Irish accent is even now?

We're all losing our accents. TV and fast and efficient travel are seeing to that. But are we losing our regional identity too? In 100 years will America be one big Midwest?

22.7.03

I couldn't make this up:

The daughter of white suprematicist and possible future poster child for the ACLU Chester Doles is named Aryana. She has blue eyes, natch.

No electricity:

Wow, fun, I got to come home from work two hours early today because the power in our building went out. There was a storm with not much rain or damage, but 60 mph wind gusts. Go figure. It was particularly weird, because literally 100 feet from my building, the power was working fine. Not that I'm complaining.

I got to do some more reading since I was home early. The Solzhenitsin is going pretty fast, though between that and the Bulgakov, I feel like Russian lit girl right now. I'm not even a big fan of Russian literature, honestly.

Borges and infinity:

About a week ago, I finished reading most of Labyrinths, a collection of Borges pieces. I read all of the short stories and parables, but skipped the essays. It is summer, after all. I didn't really know what to expect from this book. I picked it up for a couple of dollars from Powell's a year or so ago. That being said, I absolutely loved it.

All of the stories in Ficciones are linked, one way or another, by Borges' concept of infinity. I don't remember the source of this, but I've heard that infinity itself seeme so much smaller than something that is big but finite: the human mind just can't comprehend infinity. Borges addresses this; many of his illustrations of infinity are not, in fact, infinite. The obvious example I can think of right now is the library that consists of every possible permutation of 25 letters over 400 pages. The people in the library believe that the supreme truth must be contained in one of these books, but since the collection isn't infinite, there's no reason to believe that this is the case.

Anyway, I highly recommend Ficciones. For nothing else, it's interesting to read all the different stories and try to see how they will be linked together. But read it to try to understand infinity as Borges does, as a collection of permutations of ordinary things, as a ring, as an example of perfect symmetry.

21.7.03

A bitchy post. By Kathleen. In blogger:

Complaints about my jobs:


  • When you have to create columns in a Word document, do not use the spacebar. I used to use the spacebar too, when I was six and thought the Tab key had to do with a kind of gross diet soda. Use tabs or the column command.
  • Seabiscuit is not out yet. It will not be released until this Friday, July 25. That is why there are no times listed in the newspaper.
  • On a related note, do not call the box office of a movie theater at 7 pm on a Saturday night to ask whether Seabiscuit has been released. Likewise, do not ever call and ask "So, what y'all got playin' up there?" Get a damn paper.
  • Do not do your billing before you've finished your work. It makes our life difficult and is probably unethical.
  • If you're going to use stupid Word formatting things (like tables in files that are supposed to be plain-text compatible), at least make sure that I can take them out. Do not make your files read-only.
  • There is a difference between League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and Legally Blonde. If you go into the wrong one, you should figure it out in less than 45 minutes. Really.

16.7.03

Summer, at night:

I've been walking the dog a few nights over the past few weeks. While he sniffs at everything, I think about what summer means to me. A summer night should have the crickets chirping loud enough that one can barely hear fireworks over them. The fireflies should light up every now and then, to remind you that they're there. It should smell like honeysuckle, but not too strongly. It should be about 80, and humid, but not dripping. The most perfect summer night I can think of was going to Piedmont Park with a couple of friends. We bought FO's from the Varsity, put the Braves on a small portable radio, and sat on the grass and didn't really say anything. The evening changed to night and we just listened. That was summer.

15.7.03

Renaming things, redux:

A while ago, I posted about why I think that renaming buildings and streets is a bad idea. This has currently become relevant in Atlanta, where, since the death of former Mayor Maynard Jackson, people have been talking about renaming Hartsfield Airport for him. Now, I think this is a bad idea, not so much for the reasons in the earlier post, but for at least two new reasons.

First, the impracticality. Not only will it cost the state, the city, and the airlines a fortune to change the name, but it will replace a distinctive name with an undistinctive one. If I say I want to fly to Jackson, do I mean Atlanta-Jackson International Airport, or do I mean Jackson, MS? Even though Atlanta's airport code isn't based on the name of the airport, I imagine that everything from air traffic controllers systems to luggage handling to street signs will have to be changed.

There are times when this impracticality might be outweighed by the benefits of changing the name. For example, renaming Saddam Hussein International Airport is probably a good idea, no matter how you feel about the war. But here I don't see that. Hartsfield was a political realist, and hardly free from racism, but he was a progressive politican who did some good things for the black population of Atlanta. He met with black leaders, something unheard of until them, and his response to learning that blacks would be able to vote was "well, then, I'd better make sure they vote for me." Maybe not the best motives, but the outcome was OK.

And above all, the airport was Hartsfield's baby, not Jackson's. Hartsfield brought the airport to Atlanta, fighting off Birmingham for new federal ATC systems and actually building the first terminal building. Jackson only built the new terminal. Hartsfield changed the airport from a shed with a dirt runway to an international airport, Jackson changed the airport from an international airport to an international airport with a new terminal.

Let the man who "dragged Atlanta kicking and screaming into the twentieth century" have his monument. He deserves it.

Stadia:

[From a conversation with my mother about the stadium in Baltimore]

Mom: I think it was called Baltimore Memorial Stadium or something.
Kathleen: I don't think it was Baltimore Memorial Stadium.
M: No, I think that's it.
K: But Baltimore's not dead. It can't be a memorial.
M: Are you trying to tell me Lord Baltimore is alive?

Confidential to the reader who found my site googling for Fred Savage shirtless: Eww.

12.7.03

Kitsch:

Did anyone reading this take the U of C class on kitsch? I don't understand Kundera's description of kitsch in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. If you do get this, please email me.

9.7.03

When you are old:

"How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty, with love, false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face."

-WBY

The funny part is that the first time I heard this quote, it was used on a TV show as an argument against internet dating. Can a "pilgrim soul" not come across in email? Why not? I can think of several people I've never met who know my soul better than my managers at the movie theater or my coworkers in the office.

I'm not sure I believe internet dating is a good idea right now. It's still too dangerous and you have to realise how much people will lie. But if everyone could be thoroughly vetted so that their profile was entirely true and there was minimal danger of stalking (there's danger of stalking with real world relationships, too. Remeber string-in-hair boy?), why not?

7.7.03

Working:

I started my first day at the HMO today. The job is really pretty good. It's about 8 minutes from my house, and since I get an hour for lunch, I can come home and eat (and save money). It's a casual workplace, and my boss said jeans are OK. The people seem nice. What I'm doing is basically taking reports from claims managers in South Carolina and reformatting them (in Word) so they "look pretty." The job seems sort of dumb to me; why couldn't they just create a template for the files and send it out to all the claims managers? The template really wouldn't take longer than two days for me to write, and I imagine someone who really knows Word could do it in an afternoon. I also copy the files and move them to wherever they're supposed to go. The most annoying part of the job so far has been the claims managers who use tables for some of the columns. I don't absolutely hate tables in Word (though I've never had them come up looking all that great), but taking them off is a bitch, particularly since the tabs often come out really weird. At least I have a lot of experience making Word stop screwing up my papers, so I'm pretty competent. And if I get really bored, I can think about the $11 an hour I'm making and think that the boredom's worth it.

Oddly enough, I got two calls about possible jobs today. I have to call them back tomorrow and see what they have to say. Not because I'm looking, but because I might want something after this ends. If not, it seems polite, at least.

5.7.03

People:

Gee, I meet the most charming people at my job. Last night was a case in point.

There was the ten-year-old girl with the T-shirt with a graphic that read "How to steal a boyfriend." That's appropriate.

There was the 18-year-old women who wanted to take her ten-year-old cousin to see Terminator 3. When neither I nor the other cashier would sell her the ticket, she claimed that she was the boy's guardian. Then she told me this was bullshit and asked to see a manager. Darrell told her no, so she came back for a refund for the tickets she had bought and told me to tell my manager that he coiuld shove the tickets up his ass. Beautiful.

There was the couple with expired student IDs who after buying the tickets remembered that they had one of those frequent viewers' cards. When I said I couldn't do anything about it since I'd already paid for the tickets, they got mad and demanded to see a manager. You know, because it doesn't say that the card must be presented at the time of purchase anywhere on the card. Oh wait. Except on the back, right below where it should be signed. Well, we can't expect everyone to look at the back. That would take way too long.

I know there are nice people. I even meet them at this job. The people behind the last two people mentioned were very nice about how long it took and even said something about "sorry they were assholes" to me. I just tend to remember the assholes.

3.7.03

Employed:

Yayy! I got a real job, finally. I am working for an HMO (yes, I know I'm going to hell, but at least I'll make $11 an hour on the way), and I start on Monday. I work 8:30 - 5:30 (which is apparently flexible, so I can probably still workin in the movie theater on Fridays and weekends at least) M-F.

Thank God. I was so bored at home and I'm only getting 25 hours right now up at UA.

2.7.03

Reading:

Well, I'm bored out of my skull, so I've been doing some reading. Here are some mini-reviews.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix: Well, what can I say? It was very readable, and I liked that Rowling managed to give her characters shades of grey. One of the problems I often have with children's books is that none of the characters are at all morally ambiguous. The hero is entirely good and the villain entirely bad. This isn't true in the Harry Potter books. Both Snape and (now) Harry's father are injected with some good qualities and some bad ones. I also thought that Rowling's inclusion of a villain who didn't fit the prototypical mold was interesting. Though I'm not sure I bought some of the character development (what the hell did Dumbledore think he was doing?), I liked the book.

Strangers and Brothers: This is the first novel in a novel-sequence by C.P. Snow. It's about a group of friends who get involved in some sketchy business dealings and are eventually tried for fraud. It also has interesting shades of moral ambiguity, because I was never sure whether or not they were innocent of the charges brought against them. The book has some problems (the narrator is a non-entity, the way I understand George is inconsistent with his later actions-- I suppose that may be my problem, not the book's), but to me the biggest problem was that it didn't inspire me to read the other six (or however many) books in the sequence. It was mildly interesting, but at times more of a chore to read than anything else.

The First Man in Rome: Subash has told me to read this at least three times, and I finally did. It's really about Marius and his ascent from provincial nobody (well, it starts after he became praetor, but before he had any hope of becoming consul) to become the first man in Rome. It wasn't particularly well-written and I had quibbles with some of the scholarship, particularly the depiction of the relationship between Sulla and Marius and the character of Livia Drusa, but it's about an interesting time and it was a pretty good read. Marius (and even Sulla) are essentially sympathetic characters, and the novel stops before the civil war when Marius' army marches on Rome. I don't see how to reconcile what Marius did in this time with his earlier actions and his portrayal in the book, and I guess the author couldn't either. Either the depiction of Marius as someone not really out for his own power at the expense of Rome is entirely false, or Marius goes senile after the events of the book and allows himelf to be convinced to march on the city. I don't know. But leaving that part out makes the book a whole lot less complicated and probably not as good.

The Wild Sheep Chase: I stopped bitching about not having read any Murakami and finally read a damn book. It was seriously weird. The plot is difficult to explain, but it involves an ad executive who goes out in search of a sheep which can enter the souls of people and control them. Or something. I don't think I quite understood what it meant to be "sheeped." I'm giving myself away for a city girl here, but I find the word sheep very funny and the concept of an omnipotent sheep even funnier. Maybe I was supposed to? Anyway, the book was beautifully written (the translation was very lyrical, though I can of course say nothing as to its accuracy), but it might have been a bit too weird for me to really like it. I couldn't really buy the premise, so the whole book read like a really complicated hypothetical from debate rather than a story. I'm glad I read it, but I can't honestly say that is was very moving. It felt like an intellectual exercise.

21, redux:

I ended up going down to Moe's (a late night pizza place in Atlanta) with my sister last night. She bought me an Amstel Light. And I had to ask the guy (it's the one with the spiky hair, Dave I think? Does anyone know him?) to card me. Goddamn it. And I smoked a cigarette. It somehow seemed right. Moe's is entirely non-smoking now even though it feels like a bar, which is kind of dumb, but it really is too small inside for a proper non-smoking section.

It was good to get a chance to talk to Jenny. She's doing pretty well, but her roommate is moving out soon (she's going to join a convent) and she wants to be able to afford to live alone. So she's working on refinancing and getting more hours at work and all that so she can afford it. She's in a fair amount of debt which isn't really helping.

1.7.03

Dogs and early mornings:

OK, so it wasn't technically very early, but Smoky woke me up about 10:00 this morning when he came upstairs and barked at my door. He was apparently hungry. Because, you know, doing nothing all night is hungry work. As is doing nothing all day.

He wasn't going to shut up until I got out of bed, so I got up, let him out and fed him, and tried to go back to sleep. But it was too late. I was irretrievably awake. I tried for half an hour or so, lay curled up on my side and wished I could sleep, but I couldn't.

I haven't been able to sleep well for about the past week anyway. I almost fell asleep at work twice. But when I go home and go to bed, it's like there's a wall between me and sleep, and I can't get through. I'm supposed to be catching up on my sleep this summer. Why isn't it working?

21:

Well, here it is. I'm 21. I don't have any wonderful plans either. I think my brother might take me out, and someone brought over a bottle of wine this morning. God, I wish I were in Chicago. I really hate it here.