So much stuff to do! Blaaaaaarg.

In the space between now and December 10 I have: 2 presentations, one 12-15 page paper, one 4-6 page paper…  and some other stuff that’s a little more long-term but I should probably be thinking about now.

Oh, and all the books I need for my 12-15 page paper have not come in yet.  AWESOME.

it feels wierd to not have hair on my face now.

… I’m kind of wishing i hadn’t shaved off my beard.

Also!  test results were negative.  I’m still getting sick when I eat products containing gluten, so there’s Something Else Up.  Don’t really know what to do.

Reading my lit theory for tomorrow, I’m finding myself facing two things.  One, I am feeling rather alienated by the texts we’re reading.  The first one, in particular, labeled “Borderlands / La Frontera”, begins with a three paragraph extract in Spanish.  This has the immediate effect of distancing me from the writing, of informing me that I do not have the ability to understand this text, on a very objective level.  The actual content of the text is similar.  There is Spanish littered throughout, some of which I can puzzle out, and some of which I can’t.  Nowhere is a translation provided.  I have no doubt this is a deliberate move, it’s just one I don’t like.

Two, as a white, 3rd generation immigrant (on one side) and significantly more distant-generation immigrant on another, am I allowed to have an ethnic identity?  Am I – can I be anything but “American”?  what seperates me from a Sansei other than the country of origin for me?  Can I refer to myself as a “Canadian-American,” or perhaps a “French-Canadian-American”?

Obviously, Whites who are Irish in descent can be Irish-Americans.  But in a sense, this is because they, too, were “othered,” given a sort of metaphorical blackness.  The Irish were savages in the eyes of the english, little better than the Africans they enslaved and transported to their colonies.  when the Irish came to America, this perception stayed much the same (the iconic “no Irish or Dogs” sign, or perhaps the “no irish need apply” classified ads, springs to mind).  They were less than White, barely human.

Is the racial adjective something availible only to those marginalized, dehumanized, and transformed into the metaphorical Other that seems to be the driving preoccupation of literary theory?  Is it a symbol of this marginalization?  Or is it possible for someone on the other side to become more than just an American?

I’m not saying I want to, and I really don’t.  Being “just” American is something I have always been comfortable with.

But If I wanted to, could I?

I… er… am running out of room in my 2000-word essay.

This has never happened before.

…Interesting.

You know, when an essay is eight pages long, I honestly think we’re past the point where the thesis statement needs to be the last sentence in the first paragraph.  In fact, I too a chance, and didn’t introduce my thesis until about halfway through the essay – and of course, both my peer reviewers freaked out, and the first thing they wrote on my drafts was “where is your thesis!?!!!?!!!?!!?!!?!!”

Admittedly, they didn’t use so many question marks and exclamation points.

Still.  come on, people.  The point of being an english major is not slavish adherence to an essay style no one in the real world uses anyways.

Thank god we’re nearing the end of the flood of video games I must have.  Now we’re just moving into the realm of things I’d like to have.

In fact, Last Remnant is the only thing I can think of off the top of my head that I want to buy.  Well, Left 4 Dead, too, but Left 4 Dead is also a game I’m not going to buy until after Christmas, when I’ll have time to play it.

Gears of War 2 is a game worth purchasing, provided that you have

a) a friend to play it with, whether split-screen or co-op

or

b) a girlfriend who is, bizarrely, totally in to playing video games, and is not at all turned off by the thought of an alien monster exploding into a shower of blood, guts, and meaty bits all over the screen, and thinks it is, quote, “totally awesome” when you head-shot a grub and the body continues to stand upright for a couple seconds, before collapsing. She should be good enough to play through the game, ideally, on Hardcore mode – which is, I think, the sweet spot for a game like this, where it actively punishes you for not adhering to the game mechanics but does not do so in a manner so brutal that you feel inclined to throw the controller to the floor, and declare that “this shit is fucking stupid.”

The game is ridiculous. Without spoiling too much, there is a part where you are eaten by a giant worm, and then you fight your way through the worm’s bowels to cut its several hearts out of their resting places with your chainsaw-equipped gun. Later you do somewhat the same thing with a giant fish, only this time you are only in the thing’s mouth. as a rule of thumb, any time your characters have to make reference to the completely fucking ridiculous way you defeated an enemy and do so seriously, as if this is a sensible proposition, my suspension of disbelief is gone.

Ridiculous or not, overly maudlin or not, the game is fun. That’s the most important part, anyways – I have certain other amusements to occupy me if I’m looking for a deep story with real characters. These amusements are called, collectively, Fallout 3, and in them I am a Saint, striding the landscape, alien blaster at my side, plasma rifle on my back, wearing a suit of piston-driven armor stolen liberated from the all-encompassing forces of the Enclave, for the sole purpose of destroying them utterly, to ensure the freedom of all who dare eke out a living in the capitol wasteland.

That shit is ridiculous, but it is ridiculous in a way a game should be.

I came, I saw, they stabbed me with a needle.

Results sometime in the next two weeks.