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March 4, 2009

this could be the hormones speaking

I've pretty much had enough of my friends using twitter, faceplant, etc to sell me stuff. Sure, their book/job/CD/whatever is great, but just _ask_ me - don't spam me.

I've also had enough of period pain. Thumbs down from the kids in DH.

I do like my new cycling gloves - reduced callouses, hopefully.

I'm not sure I want to DJ any more. This could be the hormones speaking, but I feel like my DJing is sucking more the greater the distance from my last dance. Specialist appointment next week to ask about zero improvement. Not sure whether I'm ready for another course of anti-inflamatories, but I am ready for a reduction in pain. I'm not hardcore enough.

I'm not as hardcore a cyclist as I like to think. But I suck less than I did before I moved to Sydney.

I'm getting irrationally cranky about people who drive cars. Just get over it, ok? You need to walk or ride a bike or catch a bus. Leave the freakin' thing at home. If it's just you traveling, you know you're in the wrong. I have decided to use the guilt stick, and also a bit of lefty preaching. Though I'd rather the term lecturing. I'm also really sick of motherfucker motorists who feel that they need to beep me/cyclists if we're actually in front of them. You wouldn't beep a car, would you dumbarse? So quit beeping us. Or we'll stop and give you a serious talking to. Using the Quiet Voice, which will make you sob with guilt.

Have I mentioned the frustration with the not-healing foot? This sucks arse. WHEN the fuck will it get better? I've had enough being tough. It's been three months without dancing or walking, and I'm READY to get back in the game. I'm not sure whether this makes me want to cry or scream with rage. I'm hormonally super-charged right now, so it could be a combination (this is what hormones do for me - they give me the ability to emote in all parts of the emotional spectrum. At once.)

I'm nursing a quiet case of the shits RE some sort of subliminal/passive aggressive comment from a bastard the other day. If it were a straight-out snark, I'd totally PWN them with the power of MENSES! But it was kind of backhanded passive aggressive, and that's my vulnerability. I have no clue about dealing with that shit - I'm a shouter not a Quiet Voice person.

I wish my emusic account would tick over. But I can't bear only have 50 songs a month. It's ridiculously too few. But we can't afford any more. I think I'll buy a bunch of month's worth of upgrades with my first teaching pay, though. That first pay is kind of like my approach to not eating shit food this pre-menstrual week: I can eat a cake today because I won't eat any next week. I will spend this 'eat this, fucker!' credit today, because I will use tomorrow's credit as well as today's today. That's some spankin' logic, right there.


Have I mentioned the irrational fury? The Squeeze has upped his responses from 'calmly ignoring' to 'stern limits'. It takes a lot to push him even a step away from 'calm and kind' and 'sooth with gentleness'. So a refusal to be bossed/shouted at is a normal person's explosion. I am trying to be... actually, I'm not. I'm indulging in some horrible behaviour. It's kind of nice. But probably best I cool it when cycling - it's hard to justify foot-stamping, red-faced temper tantrums when you're on a bike and the object of your rage is a car.

Newtown is twenty minutes ride from our house. We rode there last night on a 'baby ride' after work. Finally, I find the point at which The Squeeze and I are equally matched in speed and stamina: he needs to have ridden twenty kilometres already that day. He is currently riding one hundred kilometres a week. He is dropping down through the pants' sizes like crazy - belts aren't really helping any more. He is also sleeping like a log and eating his body weight in... everything. Whatever he can get his hands on. This carb-low diet isn't really that good for him, I don't think; he could do with a bit more carb action when he's getting this much exercise.

Teaching begins next week. There's talk of the students posting blog posts about each reading each week. I'm going to raise a few issues with this: I can tell you right now, I'm not reading 100 student's worth of blog posts every week. Actually, I'm happy to, if I'm paid the equivalent of another tutorial per week. Perhaps more. However long it takes me to read-and-think my way through that many blog posts. Also: blog? I am nursing some scepticism about no-holds-barred web2.0 teaching. Sure, that technology, she's freakin' great, but she's also no substitute for a badass tutor and some serious in-person, interpersonal small group talking. It makes me furious (well, what doesn't today?) that there's this slow, inexorable creep towards giant tutorials/no-tutorials and masses of online work. Teaching face to face is tiring, but it's a damn site more interesting and stimulating than reading my way through zillions of undergrad blog posts. I mean, fuck, I'm reading faceplant for that - I don't need it in my work life as well!
So I will be raising that this week at the first (and only) meeting for the (five hundred) teaching staff on this monster first year subject. I think part of my reluctance can be placed at the door (or should that be foot?) of the fact that this is the first time I've taught with a male course coordinator... hell, a man in about five years. I'm not sure I can be bothered. If he's not reconstructed, I hope some of the Sistahs will put in the hard yards; I really can't be bothered with another one of these 'I love web2.0' turtleneck wearing, 'globalism rocks!' blokes if he's not packin' the right politics.
It's not that I don't like men ....

.... ahahaah fuck. I'm not even going to write that ridiculous bullshit sentence. Of course I hate men! Sheesh. I just know we're going to have to wade through the whole 'feminism is over' and 'I'm not a feminist, but...' first year rubbish this semester as well. Sigh.

My teaching goal this semester: talk less (as per usual). And be less intimidating. I'm not sure how it is that I manage to be intimidating. I'm not very tall. I don't wear hardcore Tshirts. I don't have any peircings. I like chick flicks and I'm not afraid to say it. I always get mistaken for a student in the first tutorial. Exactly how is it that I end up frightening them? I promise, I'm not teaching like I've written this post; I'm actually quite nice.


Maybe students should just harden up.

Maybe packing a period will make me a badass DJ.

Maybe I should watch another episode of Supernatural. It'll make me feel better.

Also, right now, I'm so freaking OVER having to bite my tongue and be tactful when I'm talking to people who drive their cars everywhere, people who spout bullshit sexist crap. I'm also SO OVER chicks into burlesque who justify it as 'art' or 'empowering women' or 'asserting women's sexuality'. Just like stripping, you're getting your tits (or whatever) out for people to look at. It might be possible to convince yourself that you're empowered, but you're not convincing me that those men in your audience packing wood are recognising the awesome and righteous majesty of The Goddess. As a (far more sensible) burlesque dancer I know said the other day: "They're watching for one thing. So I give it to them." There's nothing shy or deluded there: she's making a buck. But I'm really not having any more patience for the coy, 'it's creative!' line. I'll buy pole dancing as athletics, I'll buy badass dancing as cardio vascular empowerment. But jiggling your spangle-encrusted nipples at a crowd in a skanky nightclub is not fuckin' right-on or a beautiful expression of womanhood. It's just plain skanky.

god, I need to remember to take a breath when I'm typing.

Posted by dogpossum on March 4, 2009 4:21 PM in the category bikes and djing and domesticity and lindy hop & other dances and teaching

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