derrida schmerrida.

i was driving to campus the other day, and i noticed an enormous plaster armadillo on the side of the kirby road.  it’s perched upon a sign reading “the ‘dillo of texas.”  i suspect that it’s going to be a new restaurant, judging from the construction behind aforementioned faux armored animal, but i prefer to think of it solely as a photo opportunity.

the first years of the rice english PhD program have met in serious discussion, and we’ve discovered that at least two-thirds of us applied to — and were subsequently rejected by — duke university.  now, the admissions patterns of english PhD programs are subject to many a whimsical factor, including how many people decide to finally graduate already and what the dean had for breakfast.  but all of the people i’m currently in classes with are extremely intelligent, and the fact that duke saw us all as boogers hanging off the nose of academia is a little ridiculous.  it’s not so bad for me, because honestly duke wasn’t one of my dream schools.  but for the theory-minded it’s a sort of academic utopia.  so damn you, blue devils!  damn you all to… hell?

so i work for an international journal headquartered at rice called feminist economics.  it’s a good job.  i’m essentially a copyeditor, although i’m sometimes sent across campus on sundry tasks because no one else wants to sweat through a houston september.  today i was looking over the articles for our next issue, and one of them discusses the economic value of breast milk.  i haven’t read the article in its entirety, so i don’t want to make any unfair criticisms, but i have strong suspicions that the author is arguing that breast milk should be calculated into GDP and other economy-ish statistics.  now, i have no problem with the argument that much of women’s unpaid work — raising children, housework, etc. — has economic value.  but breast milk is a phenomenon that will exist whether a woman wills it to be or not.  i’m not sure i would get my feminist panties (sorry, rin) all in a bunch over the fact that women aren’t compensated for a biological function.

and as a last interesting tidbit of the evening, before i hit the sheets (and target tee-shirt sheets no less… mmmmm…):  my methodologies professor has admitted that his wedding vows were about derrida and the performative nature of “the vow.”  he had handouts for his guests so they could follow along.  now, while the final product was eventually published in harper’s magazine (very cool), his wife must be a very understanding woman to withstand wedding vows that were eventually entitled “’til derrida do us part.”

things i would rather do than read derrida and foucault:
1.  play frogger.  i love frogger.
2.  feed starving children in ethiopia, sally struthers style.
3.  train to be a hit-man and make mad money.
4.  seek out beth and truly form our much-contemplated band, “skank.”
5.  drink myself into oblivion on cheap wine.
6.  train to be a tumbler for cirque du soleil.  (btw, the clown at that link is uber-creepy)
7.  watch the latest episode of the surreal life.
8.  cut my toenails.
9.  curl up in a fetal position in the corner of my apartment.

the list could continue for many moons, grasshopper.  to bed i go.

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One thought on “derrida schmerrida.

  1. Whoa you would make the COOLEST hitman/person. Nobody would have any idea of your wrath…
    I wonder where one would go to train for such a position. Well, I’m off to Career Development Counseling class so I can check on that for you.

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