Note: My apologies for the last minute entry. You can see why here. Somewhere between Wilde and Derrida I realized that language was something I was thrust into. It filled the world around me and gave form to everything. As I grew and became a reader, language created a temporal gateway between myself, the writer and the world they created. Its nuances and inconsistencies—as exemplified by the apex of all word-play, the pun—gave me hours of delight. Language can bend, turn back on itself and surprise. Yet, like the air, it is invisible and, like the air, its contamination or elimination would be deadly. Rushdie’s master manipulation in the short story “The Courter” is frustrating. Whenever I come upon a writer[…]

How timely this week’s reading is. I’m not referring to the unprec/sidented executive order banning the entrance of people from seven countries into the United States, but that bastion of nationalism, the prime example of “us” versus “them”, the microcosm of competition and hate that signifies America’s willingness to come together and hate someone else, in harmony: the Superbowl. We foster our nationalism early. Between pee-wee league matches, high school rivalries and post-Christmas bowl games, we indoctrinate our children into futile feuding at a young age. Eagles fans are Eagles fans because their fathers were Eagles fans–certainly not out of nostalgia for some past greatness. We create small societies around “our team” and remind ourselves that at least we’re not[…]

Defining my subject position seems…infinite. I can easily say female and white – the two broadest categories; add in cisgender and heterosexual – for the less interesting bits. Class? Well…when? I’ve gone from lower-middle to upper-middle to middle-as-you-can-get-middle and back again. All of those levels have their own nooks and crannies, if you will, and each has constructed my subject position at each time. I am more interested in where this positional classification actually ends (probably at the quantum level, but there position is only in potential). I am also an atheist, overweight, a smoker, peanut-hater (non-allergic), lover of 1970s R&B, Moon-landing defender, possible Highlander, cat owner, book reader, and confessor that at this point in the list it becomes increasingly less[…]

I was transcribing this for my notes, and I was trying to pick out a quote to share, and I couldn’t settle on just one. So, here it is, in its entirety.   “Mr. Gollancz has asked me to write a preface to this collection of my fantastic stories. They are put in chronological order, but let me say here right at the beginning of the book, that for anyone who does not as yet know anything of my work it will probably be more agreeable to begin with The Invisible Man or The War of the Worlds. The Time Machine is a little bit stiff about the fourth dimension and The Island of Dr. Moreau rather painful. “These tales[…]

I really, really want to start working/reading on my thesis, but I promised myself that I would not do any school-related reading until after Christmas. While the fifteen or so library books are glaring at me from above my laptop screen, I decided to at least keep one damn promise to myself. One Week in the Library is what I would describe as a meta-metaphysical narrative. Pulling in references from various stories (and fairy tales, tangential to my thesis, but totally accidental) it delves into the nature of stories almost as living things, things with wants, desires, imperatives…even agendas. Prince fills the volume with lots of references to well known stories, some inspiring an entire day, others just small images[…]

I put the blame of this election squarely on the shoulders of Stephen Colbert. Metaphorically, not literally. However, the inevitability expressed in “Death, Taxes and Hillary” transmuted from a commentary on the outcome of the Democratic primary to an assurance of the outcome of the general election. Only Death is inevitable. President-elect Trump proved the other two wrong. And we didn’t actually discover that half of the population felt comfortable electing a man who used racist, sexist, xenophobic rhetoric to attain the most powerful office in the free world. It was only a quarter of the population—a minority—but they were active enough to get their man in. Half of the population didn’t vote. Was it because the outcome was inevitable?[…]

When I began my adventure in my “major project” for Contemporary Indigenous Rhetoric I was at a bit of a loss. If my very first post is any indication, I like having clear demarcations in my life and this class and its work treading closely to the “territory” that I had determined was my mother’s. To her credit, she has remained comfortably distant when it comes to this class, though I can sense her wanted to discuss some of my reading with me. I lent her the Moonshot graphic novel to sate her for the time being. Mother issues aside, my first thought for my project would be a film blog, looking critically at indigenous film and hopefully, highlighting work that flies so[…]

After hearing the story of three Japanese fisherman who washed up on the shores of Northwest Washington, their subsequent round-the-world adventure–via England and China–in the hopes of returning to their homeland, Ranald MacDonald decided to partake in an adventure of his own. Part Chinook and part Scottish, the young man set out from New York on a whaling ship, eventually ending up–by his own design–adrift near Japan’s northern island Hokkaido, determined to visit the isolationist nation on his own. He was 24 years old. “The other crew members were reluctant to let him go, and some even wept as he took off. Like most sailors at the time, they were well aware that unauthorized foreigners who set foot on Japanese soil— even[…]

Not long after my live tweeting of Dances With Wolves, a friend of mine from Montreal sent me a link to an interesting exhibition. Red Horse: Drawings from the Battle of Little Big Horn was on display this past January at Stanford University. For the first time in 40 years, many of the Minneconjou Lakota Sioux’s drawings were collected and displayed together. The collection represents an eyewitness account of the battle and its aftermath, captured in pencil and pen in ledger books. (The entire series can be found online at the Smithsonian). Red Horse’s drawings, commissioned by Army doctor Charles E. McChesney in 1881, methodically recall the events of the battle, with the blood spurting from casualties on both sides, and the Lakota eventually leading away[…]

Earlier in the semester we watched an episode of “Blackstone,” an original Canadian series airing on the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network (APTN). The show held the same tension and drama as most American network series, yet with one glaring difference: the setting was a Canadian reserve, what we call a reservation here in the states. We found it refreshing to be exposed to this narrative and many of us continued to watch the series as it is streaming online. Yet, I found two things troubling: 1) it was difficult for me to watch the show critically out of fear of diminishing its representative importance, and 2) that we found it refreshing at all because the stories of Native Americans are[…]