Thursday, June 9, 2011

The Audience Has Two (or More) Faces



I'm inclined to think that Barbra Streisand has all but destroyed any expectations I have for myself as a future educator.  In cultural studies, we talk a lot about knowing our audiences and writing/speaking to them.  As Michael Pryke explains in "Situated Audiences," audiences aren't just there for the reading of our pieces, to take them or leave them and interpret them however they want (163).  The act of writing does not happen within a culture-less bubble, but is impacted a great deal by the various cultural forces that surround the writer.  Spivak suggests that audiences themselves be thought of as "co-investigators," allowing us to consider how our works may be interpreted outside of our own bubbles (qtd. Pryke 180).

This quarter in the IAS Graduate Research Colloquium, I thought a lot about audience and particularly my role as a member of these researchers' audiences.  As a response to the first reading, Dan Goldhaber's "Is It Just a Bad Class?: Assessing the Stability of Measured Teacher Performance," I could only really note that I was not a part of Dan's intended audience.  The piece utilized a great deal of primary and secondary data analysis techniques, which, while potentially useful for my future work, have little to do with the language and aesthetics studies of my current research.

Perhaps as a result of seeing how patients' words became quantified via the McGill Pain Questionnaire in my research on pain mapping, I am extremely leery of using numeric values as stand-ins for the rainbow highlighter-based coding version of grounded theory developed in my current program.  Recently, it occurred to me how my research, which challenges the position of power wielded by the physician in doctor-patient relationships, might easily irk any doctor who came across it, in much the same manner in which I became instantly uncomfortable with Dan's work.  Even in terms of the Streisand piece there is an audience member, in this case the male lead, Jeff Bridges, who misunderstands the lecture, in this case because he has left too early.

It may be impossible to truly account for the various levels of interest and familiarity various readers/listeners bring to my work.  Yet, another professor, Jin-Kyu Jung, offered a partial solution to the widespread/diverse audience problem through the effective manner in which he spoke to a spectrum of peoples in both his written piece, "Computer Aided Qualitative GIS," and lecture on the same topic.  In particular, Jin-Kyu used his visuals quite adeptly, so that his powerpoint was not merely a crutch reiterating the same points being spoken or something to keep the eyes from him as a nervous speaker, but a tool that truly complementing his talk.  At various points, definitions appeared on the screen for those of us less familiar with GIS, and, when maps appeared on the screen, he explained them himself, rather than depending on a caption.  Yet through the questions of more GIS-proficient audience members, it became obvious that Jin-Kyu is not only very familiar with the material on which he spoke, but an expert on its various nuances and vocabularies.

Perhaps in the middle of these two paths is the talk given by Gwen Ottinger on communities surrounding oil refineries.  A lot of the science in this talk was beyond my understanding, yet the methods were extremely familiar to me, particularly the "kitchen table talks" defined by Ottinger as "loose, off-the-record histories[...] strategic stories better consider larger ramifications in the case that such a story were made public" (3).  Now, similar to Dan's talk, I felt much that I was not the targeted audience, though, in this case, I knew a fair amount Gwen's topic.  In particular, I am well informed about the possibilities of "kitchen table talks"/"dinner table conversations"/"coffee table chats" and one important reason why these words are often chosen: they allow one to slip around having to file an IRB.  I'm pretty sure that Gwen had to go through this process anyway and perhaps she speaks more at length about this topic at another point in her book, but it felt odd that she brought up this language without speaking to the way sneaky grad students use it.  Or at least that's how I felt, being a sneaky grad student.

In the end though, all of these talks demonstrated that the professors had some familiarity with their audiences.  The published pieces were, after all, not written explicitly for the colloquium, while the talks were aimed at interdisciplinary arts and sciences graduate students.  These were not required sessions, and thus the professors knew we all had some "extracurricular" interest in learning for learning's sake (and/or impressing our capstone advisors).  We were there to learn, not to get regaled with amusing nuggets as the 300+ students in Streisand's fictional class appeared to be.  And learn we did, which, in my opinion, makes these successful talks.

Of course, some people, like the professor below, may not be so lucky.






Works Cited

Goldhaber, Dan. "Managing the Teacher Workforce in Austere Times: The Implications of Teacher Layoffs." IAS Graduate Research Colloquium. University of Washington Bothell. Bothell, 5 Apr. 2011. Lecture.

Goldhaber, Dan, and Michael Hansen. "Is it Just a Bad Class?: Assessing the Stability of Measured Teacher Performance." CEDR 2010-3: 1-58. Print.

Jung, Jin-Kyu. "Computer-aided Qualitative GIS: A Software-level Integration of Qualitative Research and GIS." Qualitative GIS: A Mixed Methods Approach. Eds. Meghan S. Cope and Sarah Elwood. London: Sage, 2009. 115-136. Print.

---. "Qualitative Geovisualization for Community Planning: Masten District Neighborhood Plan in Buffalo, NY." IAS Graduate Research Colloquium. University of Washington Bothell. Bothell, 7 June 2011. Lecture.

Melzack, Ronald. “The McGill Pain Questionnaire: Major properties and scoring methods.” Pain 1.3 (Sept. 1975): 277-299. Print.

The Mirror Has Two Faces. Dir. Barbra Streisand. Tristar, 1996. Film.

Ottinger, Gwen. "The Biopolitics of the Fenceline." IAS Graduate Research Colloquium. University of Washington Bothell. Bothell, 3 May 2011. Lecture.

---. "Dangerous Stories." Refining Expertise: How Responsible Engineers Solve Environmental Justice Challenges. Unpublished. 1-52. Print.

Pryke, Michael. "Situated Audiences." Using Social Theory: Thinking Through Research. Eds. Michael Pryke et al. London: Sage, 2003. 163-180. Print.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Happy Song

Happy happy song to me! 一半女生(Half the Girls) by Twins.



Well, to tell you the truth, I don't have much to say about it.  I don't think an English translation is available online anywhere yet.  The only part in English is "Bye bye love, bye bye happiness" which draws one straight away to a particular English language song (cough!).  Anyway, from what I can gleam of auto-translate features on Google, the lyrics really are sad and about lost love.

But the tune is just so cheerful!  And look at that video (so cuuute!)-- they sure SEEM happy.  Maybe they are like, "bye, love but at least I still got my sister and that's what really matters."  I like to think that anyway ^__^

I came across the CD this was on back in high school when they still didn't have more than twenty albums in the East Asian music section of the public library.  That's how it's classified FYI, even though a lot of the artists were from South Asia.  I've got a lot of songs on my computer still from those days, though this was by far the sweetest.  They are so durned cute!

And I can sing in Mandarin (apparently their first Mandarin album-- previously mostly Cantonese with a few English albums thrown in) when I listen to this... because I randomly memorized it.  Don't know what I'm saying, but still!  I want to harass Mandarin-speaking friends to know what they are saying!!!!!

So cuute!

Monday, May 16, 2011

Least Favorite Song

I'm not even gonna post the video because I don't want to make ya'll witness to the crap that it Sheryl Crow's "Soak Up the Sun." I was going to be all deep and post some song that I associate with something awful or a sad time or at least something important, but instead, all I could think what Sheryl Crow singing the most pointless lyrics ever composed along with a boring ass melody. Seriously. Girlfriend needs to learn notes beyond an octave.

Having just learned via Wikipedia that I often mix her up with Shania Twain, who at least has the benefit of her good looks, I am even more startled by this woman's success. I know I know, I am very mean. Seriously though, she also did that crap remake of "The First Cut is the Deepest." Oh, wow, she ALSO did "Every Day is a Winding Road". I hate that song too.

Anyway, I'm sure she's a lovely person, she just needs to stop singing.

But more importantly, why was "Soak Up the Sun" singled out, apart from its boring, pointless, pathetic lyrics? Well, my friend, not only have I had to listen to it on the radio at least once a week for the past ten years, but I had to PLAY the damn thing. That's right. It was one of the songs we played and routine'd to in marching band. Thank the Lord I escaped high school the next year.

Oh, but that isn't the worst of it. Guess what song it accompanied in the routine- what amazing, glorious, timeless piece? That's right- Thriller.

Okay okay, no song that great really deserves to be turned into a marching band tune, but it actually turned out okay. Plus, I think we did Oye Como Va with it, and that song is forever and always amazing.

Ahhh. Still though, I hated marching band and I hated that song, and it was a stupid ass piece to play in the middle of winter when we were all freezing off our unmentionables. And I still have to hear that crap song all the time because, apparently, I'm the one person who really hates it. Yuck.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

30 Day Song Challenge

Well, I've been doing a pretty crap job at blog updating for both this and the other one, so I'm gonna try a theme for a bit here and see if that helps at all.  Talking about songs can often resurface buried memories, and certainly more than a few come to mind right off the back for some of the themes listed.  Anyway, it's a Facebook thing-- finding a song to match the theme for thirty days.

Here is the list of themes:
day 01 - your favorite song
day 02 - your least favorite song
day 03 - a song that makes you happy
day 04 - a song that makes you sad
day 05 - a song that reminds you of someone
day 06 - a song that reminds you of somewhere
day 07 - a song that reminds you of a certain event
day 08 - a song that you know all the words to
day 09 - a song that you can dance to
day 10 - a song that makes you fall asleep
day 11 - a song from your favorite band
day 12 - a song from a band you hate
day 13 - a song that is a guilty pleasure
day 14 - a song that no one would expect you to love
day 15 - a song that describes you
day 16 - a song that you used to love but now hate
day 17 - a song that you hear often on the radio
day 18 - a song that you wish you heard on the radio
day 19 - a song from your favorite album
day 20 - a song that you listen to when you’re angry
day 21 - a song that you listen to when you’re happy
day 22 - a song that you listen to when you’re sad
day 23 - a song that you want to play at your wedding
day 24 - a song that you want to play at your funeral
day 25 - a song that makes you laugh
day 26 - a song that you can play on an instrument
day 27 - a song that you wish you could play
day 28 - a song that makes you feel guilty
day 29 - a song from your childhood
day 30 - your favorite song at this time last year

Without further ado, song one: my favorite song.  That would be 粉雪 by レミオロメン -- Konayuki (Powder Snow)by Remioromen.




Anyway, that is my favorite song. I actually haven't listened to it in a while, which is weird. Sometimes it just makes me really sad, I guess. The lyrics are quite beautiful, though difficult to translate while maintaining the lovely rhythm. It's from a Japanese drama, which must be super cheerful, as it is called "One Liter of Tears." I've never seen the drama it's from, and I actually have no idea when/where I cam across this song, though it was one of my favorites even before coming to Japan.

One of the best parts about living in Tokyo was how pervasive this song was. Seriously. I heard if everywhere. Folks had it as their cell phone ring tones. I'd hear it on commercials. I even overheard people listening to it on their iPods while on the train. When I told my friend K my favorite song, she knew what it was :) It was nice to have that sense of connection, even if I did feel a little less cool in my obscurity.

I'll have to check out the lyrics again. I just know it comes across as very romantic in Japanese. The idea of there being something so far beyond science and even the possible. In a crowd of thousands, he sees her instantly. I'm guessing "power snow" refers to her skin, although the model in the video obviously does not have snow white skin. She is pretty darn tanned. So I like to think it is the mood that fills the world when it has been enveloped in powdered snow and the way sound is consumed and everything slows down.

Who knows though? Even the vagueness makes the song beautiful.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Poem Experiment

We randomly pointed at words in books and had to use them in a poem-- I got "culture," "mistakenly," and "Hell."  Oh, this was at the PacRim Conference :|

Some guy once told me, “We,
We’ve got a culture of pain.”
mistakenly figuring
we know
who “we” is
any more than we know
some heavens bend sideways
and some hells just float there
all atheistically greying in the clouds
of an otherwise halfway decent day

Saturday, April 9, 2011

You will know me

You will know me by the way I walk
Like I don't know
where the hell I'm going
to but maybe want to get there
quick as a rock swung
out from a slingshot
arcing up'ndown as I move

And you'll know me more by that look
right there on my face
not askin' what you're staring
at but tellin' you "keep walking,
keep walking, jackass"
while I clutch my keys one
by one by one by one between
my fingers like brass knuckles

You will know me by my spit
trickling down my chin 'til
I wipe it away on my sleeve
I'll spit again at your feet
mucus/saliva mixed with blood
a few teeth fresh from fighting
a few chiclets chewed up good
formed into a tiny bubble

But, baby, I won't know you from no one
so I've been acting this game out all day
maybe all my life even as I
tough it all out like you're meant to
turning my vulnerabilities into sin

You'll know me, that's for sure
so when you see me, just let me know
stomp my toes beneath your heel
give a little wave-smile
and say, "don't I know you from
somewhere?  Yeah, class of '82."
It'll make no sense
'cause that's the way we are

Letter One

I started off a writing chain with this piece.  Didn't have much time for editing :|  but here's hoping it turned out okay!


Muy señor mío,

My voice is screaming torture sounds out through my fingers in wild cursivesque letters, transcribing class quote unquote notes. I crack my knuckles again to keep my inner space in check, prevent the noises from entering the auditory world in a more profound way beyond the click click click. The shifting up and down and sideways in my seat, the rough hand-squeezing of my neck, the sensuous rolling of my shoulders, the sitting up straight and slowly coming back to a slouch are all signs that the psyche is ever-so-slowly slouching, crawling toward a secular Bedlam.

Elaine Scarry tells us that what is so impossible for the person in agony to ignore is identical to that which is so impossible for her companions to notice: the reality of her suffering is perceived by her, alone in a private universe. In my brain, that irksome muscle that is the center of this pain with its nociceptively-attuned cerebral cortex, I can tell myself that this suffering is useful for sustaining me in the now. I do this using electrical signals or chemicals, or whatever it is the neuroscientists now clutch to as Truth. It will be outdated by the next sentence. But then, there’s no point in becoming a creature of the present if all that truly exists is of the scientific and quantitatively recorded in a database, analog world.

Of course, you would teach us your science as though it could do no harm. As though Blumenbach never severed humanity into five parts like a ruined, fingerless hand. Gey never took and did experiments on a terminally ill Black woman’s cells without her consent or knowledge, sharing what remained of her life for all the world to toy with. And Descartes never sliced a living animal open to see its parts moving in agony, proclaiming, “It has no espirit—it cannot hurt.”

You talk to us as though we don’t know there were ever such things as A-Bombs, or H-Bombs, catapults, guillotines, electric chairs, AK-47s, nooses, ballistas, canons, gunpowder, warships, bayonets, tanks, knives, boomerangs, slingshots, howitzers, katanas, submarines, battleships, EMPS, shivs, iron maidens, brass knuckles, sniper rifles, lobotomies, tomahawks, machetes, spears or javelins or IEDs. In your simplified psychology of the world, we circle pictures of ☺ or ☹ to show our mood, and Kitty Genovese, Patty Hearst, Kinsey or, come to think of it, John Money and Silas Weir Mitchell are all forgotten. The physician, not the actor.

In the motherland, when someone dies, all the mirrors in the house are covered in cloth. They say the soul of the deceased wanders after leaving the body behind, and can become trapped in mirrors on the way to the next world. My first girlfriend was an astrologist who did our charts weekly to see how long our love would last. I read runes and did tarot readings. We thought, one day we’d open a psychic practice. Who can say which of us first knew the romance was slowly winding to an end?

“Poppycock!” you say, “Superstitious nonsense.” But we know better. I watch the ghosts sit among the desks and chairs. Sometimes the politely ask why we read about the British Light Brigade but never las soldaderas. Sometimes they give voice to my screams heard only by the third ear you also have no use for and the eyes you claim are a mutated form of the color blue. La Llorona weeps for this, the thinking that brought about the end of her children.

The fantasmas lean over my shoulder and whisper radical discontentment into my head, dialoguing with me telepathically and clairvoyantly in whispers, screams, sign, gesture, and spit. Kitty wonders aloud how the violence against her could so have been transformed as to be remembered only through the context of the people around her, her name given to the group of secondary murderers who were her neighbors.

“We’ve all been there, baby,” someone says, and I think it must be true. After all, we still are here, aren’t we?

My physicians have told me that stress increases the pain of my condition, such that too much can leave me bedridden for days like a Charlotte Perkins Gilman story. And this ache is continuously growing as I sit in your unhumbled presence. So, when I eventually and quite self-assuredly daydream myself away from this place where the word “imposter” is written 10,000 times in invisible ink, try not to take it personally.

It is simply an “old world” form of self-medication against those who know all except how to even brush their fingers against revelation.

Cordialmente,

Mandy