Token feminist

It would appear that the MAs have developed a reputation for being the disgruntled, overanalytical students who suck out the fun. In particular, I have become the resident feminist. This week, we read the longest running plays of the 1930s - Tobacco Road and Life With Father. Possibly the two most offensive things I have read in a while. Nearly broke the spine of one script, and spent hours wanting to punch Father in the kidneys. Tobacco Road is so singularly grotesque, disgusting with no one redeemable about the characters. But it gave me a chance to look up some more fun diseases like Pellagra. Life With Father just made me hissing angry at this patriarchical, control-freak jerk. So when someone tried to say that he was just misunderstood, my hand shot up so fast it made people across the room laugh. There was hissing and spitting and white-knuckle gripping of the chair as I fought the temptation to spew hate and gender theory. I can only hope what I consider a firmly anchored feminist consciousness mixed with either sleep-deprivation or a caffeine buzz, comes off as endearingly amusing or even thought-provoking instead of bat-shit crazy. Although I hear that bat-shit crazy looks good on me, maybe less so when it flies out of my mouth unhindered by things like social appropriateness or volume control. I must look like some Tourette's patient covered in cookie crumbs as I twitch and mutter a$$@.

Oh well. I am pretty unafraid to express myself. I love hearing what the playwrights have to say, and it's fun to be in class with some of the actors who provide a totally different response. I'm just visceral and uncensored. This may require a permanently sharpied public apology on my forehead.

Adding to the fun - I was having one of those mornings. Nothing like staring in front of the closet wondering what goes with khaki. And then when I go to put on my new khakis, I realise that I had my shoes on. Crap. I managed to look impressively adult for being so out-of-it.