26 April 2007

Do She Look Like A Girl Going to School?

A parable of my recent life, courtesy of John Waters' classic Female Trouble...



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Another term ending, ever so slowly grinding down the participants of our little Vanity Fair into dust. I am suffering through the double whammy of end-of-term depression accompanied by a nasty case of end-of-year total exhaustion. The petty rituals and fiery hoops which are no problem in October, whistling while I work, now raise my ire and trigger irritation. I feel like Divine in Female Trouble, when confronted by her parents with Good Girl flats as opposed to the Cha-Cha heels she desired: “Fuck you! Fuck you! I hate you!” I need a break clearly, else my reputation as beautiful colleague suffers much more from my long face, dark circles and bags under my eyes (bags!), and laconic resentful fleetings and floatings through the office attempting not to drown as the final, monstrous wave engulfs us.

Like the poor Jude Fine, I must have been talking on the telephone rather than doing my homework last night...

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Damn sister, this is such as scream for help! Children, can we say I-N-T-E-R-V-E-N-T-I-O-N !!!! Make sure the oso pad is clean, la vix is comin' to town to cure 'em blues away . . .

Anonymous said...

I sometimes think of heating a hoagie during faculty meetings.

Anonymous said...

I sometimes think of eating a hoagie during faculty meetings.

Oso Raro said...

Double the hoagie, double the fun, apparently. I think that particular passion play would run something like this:

"Professor Wienburger! Professor Davenport is eating a meatball sandwich, right out in class, and she's been passing nötes!"

Imagine Professor Wienburger then accusing Professor Davenport of being a "habitual liar," and you see that in fact Female Trouble is not terribly far from the reality of dysfunctional department life. Absolutely Brill!

Malinchista said...

I was at the only Southern CA college that proudly characterizes itself "of the New England type." Honestly. I was a jr. assistant trying to avoid being typecast as the rowdy feminist leftie. Joined by some wonderful colleagues, including one very dear Chicago-born, working class dude, also assistant professor. I finally figured out his humor --- at an end of the year, otherwise boring meeting, he arrived with fish wrapped in newspaper (picture oil paintings on the wall, mahogany bookshelves, a captain's table); he laid out the newspaper and proceeded to crack crab legs, spoon up the greasy potatoes in some salsa, and stink up the room. Those with their modest sandwiches and the senior colleague whose wife brought him a liquid lunch (in a thermos bottle...geez, this predated microwaves almost), nearly abandoned the meeting! Fun times...we are what we eat, or not?