Alright people, listen up. You're about to read about a rare event. I am about to admit fault. (Oh God...I can't believe I'm doing this).
So, I'm sure you all read a previous post entitled, "words from a queer feminist," in which I semi-rant about difference in both a negative and positive light. Well, that 'article' was submitted to the school newspaper and after a little editing back and forth between myself and the editor, it was published. I have since received some twenty or so responses to that article from individuals around campus. I, being the pessimist that I am, have been awaiting and expecting the hate mail to arrive. Today, I received it. I opened the envelope and immediately knew what it was when the phrase, "I believe homosexuality is a sin..." jumped out at me from the middle of the page. I carefully put the letter and enclosed Church pamphlet back into the envelope and decided that enough was enough. This is the fourth letter of that nature that has been delivered to me anonymously here in Sewanee over the past 3 years. I spoke to a friend and she advised me to phone the police. I did so. Thirty minutes later I went to work. I sat down and decided that I would read the letter from beginning to end, just so I knew entirely what I was dealing with. I began reading.
Sam,
I read your editorial in 'The Purple' and it made me think. Although I'm a Christian, I've often said things that Christ would not have endorsed. many Christians and so called Christians often spend more time talking about what they don't believe in rather than what they do believe in, and more importantly who they believe in. I believe homosexuality is a sin but so is hate, lust, greed, and adultery. Your sin is no greater than mine. The Bible states that all have sinned. I Thess 4:3 states we should keep clean from all sexual sin. That includes heterosexual immorality as well, to include lust, which I am guilty of. So for my part, I am sorry for having judged you and people like you. It is not my job.
It may seem strange that I've inclosed a prison ministry newsletter but without Christ we are all slaves to sin and imprisoned by it. may God bless you and keep you.
-In need of a savior like everyone else
Please note the typos were kept in tact.
So, as I was reading the letter, I realized how much of an asshole I am. I jumped to conclusions and judged the anonymous reader before I even heard his/her entire argument. To the reader, thank you for your perspective and the great amount of introspection involved in your response to my thoughts. I truly appreciate it and I'm sorry for having judged you.
Now, I just need to figure out what I'm going to tell the police. :(
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
this morn
some mornings
you wake
next to a lover
or a friend
a captor
or a wind
this morn
I woke
next to a soggy
low-lying and lovely
cloud that mixes
with the trees
just outside
my window.
It looks like what Halloween's
supposed to look like
when you wake up on the morning
of that all hallows eve.
Or it appears to as you dreamed
it would the first morning
you awake at the Castle called
Hogwarts.
It is so beautiful;
I yearn to do something so that
I may
recall the occasion
I haven't a camera
I can't draw, but I could try.
I want to go play in it,
to feel that moisture on my skin
oh it's been so long.
Fog won't you come back to me
just a little more often?
you wake
next to a lover
or a friend
a captor
or a wind
this morn
I woke
next to a soggy
low-lying and lovely
cloud that mixes
with the trees
just outside
my window.
It looks like what Halloween's
supposed to look like
when you wake up on the morning
of that all hallows eve.
Or it appears to as you dreamed
it would the first morning
you awake at the Castle called
Hogwarts.
It is so beautiful;
I yearn to do something so that
I may
recall the occasion
I haven't a camera
I can't draw, but I could try.
I want to go play in it,
to feel that moisture on my skin
oh it's been so long.
Fog won't you come back to me
just a little more often?
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Letters to Sala
Side note: some of you have been bitching about not being able to post comments. I worked the problem and have fixed it. Comment away!
Last night, I went to the Tennessee Williams Theatre (across the soccer field) to see the play Letters to Sala. It was a formal dress rehearsal where outsiders were allowed to come in and watch the production. The play is about this woman named Sala would survived the Holocaust. Her daughter, Ann, recently published a book called Sala's Gift: My Mother's Holocaust Story. (http://www.salasgift.com/content/index.asp) The script was written by playwright, Beth Lincks. It was pretty much amazing.
Though the story is a sad one, it is a beautiful display of cultural ideology. Favorite line:
"There was a period of time that I didn't want to be Jewish anymore."
Pretty much. I blubbered like a baby from the balcony seats next to some woman who must have thought I was some unstable homeless adolescent with the way my emotions were pouring down my cheeks. There's this one scene where a woman is dragged to the gas chambers and is screaming bloody murder for her life.
There was this other scene where Sala curls up on the ground in the middle of the labor camp and sobs. Her lover has just been sent to a different camp and she is completley alone. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have had everything you owned and everyone you knew (family, friends and your lover) taken away from you. To have every promise ever made to you broken and to have no way access to comfort.
The play is a simple one. Most of the dialogue is from the letters that Sala received and wrote during her 5 1/2 year labor camp stay. I recommend everyone in Sewanee go see the play. I'm also planning to order the book. Also, Sala, the real one-in person, will be here tomorrow!
Also, I really want to plan a trip to Whitwell, TN (between Sewanee and Chattanooga on I-24) to visit the school featured in the documentary Paperclips. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0380615/) If you're intersted in going. Let me know!
Good night to you all.
Last night, I went to the Tennessee Williams Theatre (across the soccer field) to see the play Letters to Sala. It was a formal dress rehearsal where outsiders were allowed to come in and watch the production. The play is about this woman named Sala would survived the Holocaust. Her daughter, Ann, recently published a book called Sala's Gift: My Mother's Holocaust Story. (http://www.salasgift.com/content/index.asp) The script was written by playwright, Beth Lincks. It was pretty much amazing.
Though the story is a sad one, it is a beautiful display of cultural ideology. Favorite line:
"There was a period of time that I didn't want to be Jewish anymore."
Pretty much. I blubbered like a baby from the balcony seats next to some woman who must have thought I was some unstable homeless adolescent with the way my emotions were pouring down my cheeks. There's this one scene where a woman is dragged to the gas chambers and is screaming bloody murder for her life.
There was this other scene where Sala curls up on the ground in the middle of the labor camp and sobs. Her lover has just been sent to a different camp and she is completley alone. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have had everything you owned and everyone you knew (family, friends and your lover) taken away from you. To have every promise ever made to you broken and to have no way access to comfort.
The play is a simple one. Most of the dialogue is from the letters that Sala received and wrote during her 5 1/2 year labor camp stay. I recommend everyone in Sewanee go see the play. I'm also planning to order the book. Also, Sala, the real one-in person, will be here tomorrow!
Also, I really want to plan a trip to Whitwell, TN (between Sewanee and Chattanooga on I-24) to visit the school featured in the documentary Paperclips. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0380615/) If you're intersted in going. Let me know!
Good night to you all.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
I'm stuck.
So, I've been listening to St. Cecelia's Symphony Orchestra a lot lately, the Bach CD. It's incredibly comforting to be walking through central campus and have various random assortments of notes stream through my consciousness. In one way it comforts me in this time of trial and tribulation that is the end of a college semester, and in another it induces desire for a re-connection with a lot of different types of experiences and people.
Nostalgic thoughts:
1. The Chamber Orchestra in which I used to play.
2. That moment you feel the entire orchestra is in sync and everything being produced from the instruments can only be described as beautiful.
3. The first time you heard something so lovely, saw something so breath-taking and the way it made you feel.
4. Freedom of emotion.
5. My friend Heidi Baldwin and the way she played the cello: AMAZING!
6. Tragedies: films, plays and the like.
I could go on and on.
Nostalgic thoughts:
1. The Chamber Orchestra in which I used to play.
2. That moment you feel the entire orchestra is in sync and everything being produced from the instruments can only be described as beautiful.
3. The first time you heard something so lovely, saw something so breath-taking and the way it made you feel.
4. Freedom of emotion.
5. My friend Heidi Baldwin and the way she played the cello: AMAZING!
6. Tragedies: films, plays and the like.
I could go on and on.
Laundry night
If the vending machines in my dorm sold cheesy grits, I would be the happiest lady alive. Unfortunately, they don't so on my way to the creepy basement in my dorm to do laundry I was forced to select the next best thing. And that is Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream. P.S. I like cheese.
It is Tuesday night, that means it's laundry night. Why? because there's no one else doing laundry on Tuesday nights at 2:15 in the morning. Also, because all my clothes smell like frat from the weekend.
Tonight I wrote an internship proposal on impoverished communities. Then I watched two hours of Law and Order. After that I went to the 420 suite (shout outz) where I played silent rounds of Scrabulous on facebook and bitched about my life briefly. (Thanks Ashley).
Updates/Thoughts while I wait on my laundry:
What's currently written on my hand? a babysitting gig, a reminder about a receipt, another reminder about money that I owe someone (surprise...I know), a reminder about community service hours, and a coffee date with a professor. All that on one hand, and a lot of this stuff has been written on there since this morning. I know...I'm impressed too. (Yes, I have been washing my hands after I use the restroom...sick people).
What I miss about being in a relationship: someone to give you back scratches and put lotion on the parts you can't reach.
Number of dollars in my bank account: 6
Number of cigarettes in my last pack: 10
Number of papers left in the semester: 1
Number of exams left in the semester: 3
Number of comps left to write: 6
Number of comps left to edit: 2
Days 'til I go home: 15, how the hell I'm gonna get there is beyond me. I bought two gallons of gas yesterday and I have the aforementioned 6 dollars which will only buy two more. That's like 100 miles worth of driving if I park my car now and don't drive it again 'til I leave for Atlanta. P.S. Home is 150 miles away and I don't own anything short enough to give me any sort of hitch-hiking advantage. Maybe I should buy that book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, only something tells me that that piece of literature has nothing to do with actual hitch-hiking. C'est la vie.
It is Tuesday night, that means it's laundry night. Why? because there's no one else doing laundry on Tuesday nights at 2:15 in the morning. Also, because all my clothes smell like frat from the weekend.
Tonight I wrote an internship proposal on impoverished communities. Then I watched two hours of Law and Order. After that I went to the 420 suite (shout outz) where I played silent rounds of Scrabulous on facebook and bitched about my life briefly. (Thanks Ashley).
Updates/Thoughts while I wait on my laundry:
What's currently written on my hand? a babysitting gig, a reminder about a receipt, another reminder about money that I owe someone (surprise...I know), a reminder about community service hours, and a coffee date with a professor. All that on one hand, and a lot of this stuff has been written on there since this morning. I know...I'm impressed too. (Yes, I have been washing my hands after I use the restroom...sick people).
What I miss about being in a relationship: someone to give you back scratches and put lotion on the parts you can't reach.
Number of dollars in my bank account: 6
Number of cigarettes in my last pack: 10
Number of papers left in the semester: 1
Number of exams left in the semester: 3
Number of comps left to write: 6
Number of comps left to edit: 2
Days 'til I go home: 15, how the hell I'm gonna get there is beyond me. I bought two gallons of gas yesterday and I have the aforementioned 6 dollars which will only buy two more. That's like 100 miles worth of driving if I park my car now and don't drive it again 'til I leave for Atlanta. P.S. Home is 150 miles away and I don't own anything short enough to give me any sort of hitch-hiking advantage. Maybe I should buy that book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, only something tells me that that piece of literature has nothing to do with actual hitch-hiking. C'est la vie.
Monday, December 3, 2007
words from a queer feminist
So, I published this article to the school newspaper and am anxiously awaiting the hate mail. :)
As a neutrally-gendered, queer and feminist female student, my experience here in Sewanee has been an interesting one. We all know Sewanee to be an extremely unique place full of a homogenous group of people. I spent the majority of my time here trying to not fit into those categories of same-ness; the white, male, and heterosexually privileged. I pushed the boundaries of gender when I shaved my head freshman year. I pursued knowledge of feminist and queer theory when I organized and implemented two conferences last semester on various political and social topics. I was alienated and alienated myself when I dated an amazing woman outside of Sewanee, for two and a half years. It is now, on the eve of my last semester here in Sewanee, that I have begun to ponder who it is that I am in relation to this place. In light of my differences, would I have had the opportunities and experiences that I have had if I weren’t a Sewanee student and therefore, given access to Sewanee homogeneity and its privileges?
In Sewanee, everyone is constantly engaged in the pursuit of knowledge. I cannot tell you how many times I have discussed the effects of conservative religious influence on human rights in America at a party. But, here in Sewanee, we know that knowledge comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes truth is in plain sight and other times it remains well hidden. For a while, I was bitter because all I saw were textbook definitions of human inequality. I became angry with Sewanee. I desired exposure to real culture and to real members of what I perceived to be my type of people. I perceived these people and communities to reside outside of the Sewanee bubble. What I did not realize was that I was wasting my years of academic privilege by becoming angry when I interacted with people who were homophobic or anti-feminist. What I have realized more recently is that I have been living in a community that I wish every social activist could experience. If every pro-choice activist had to sit and argue points with a privileged, religiously conservative, political science major from the Sewanee student population, they’d be better off for it. It is through difference and interaction with those differences that one grows. I know I probably did not evoke change in many people here in Sewanee, but at least I have received the opportunity to test my beliefs and attempted to pursue truth within myself. I suppose that is the goal of a student community; to test out and strengthen our own beliefs as well as those around us.
To my friends, both professors and students, who have listened to me rant and rave, cry and scream about discrimination and violation of human rights: thank you for your compassion. To those individuals who have called me a dyke or a faggot or a Femi-Nazi: thank you for your difference. To all those out there who are social activists: keep on fighting the good fight.
As a neutrally-gendered, queer and feminist female student, my experience here in Sewanee has been an interesting one. We all know Sewanee to be an extremely unique place full of a homogenous group of people. I spent the majority of my time here trying to not fit into those categories of same-ness; the white, male, and heterosexually privileged. I pushed the boundaries of gender when I shaved my head freshman year. I pursued knowledge of feminist and queer theory when I organized and implemented two conferences last semester on various political and social topics. I was alienated and alienated myself when I dated an amazing woman outside of Sewanee, for two and a half years. It is now, on the eve of my last semester here in Sewanee, that I have begun to ponder who it is that I am in relation to this place. In light of my differences, would I have had the opportunities and experiences that I have had if I weren’t a Sewanee student and therefore, given access to Sewanee homogeneity and its privileges?
In Sewanee, everyone is constantly engaged in the pursuit of knowledge. I cannot tell you how many times I have discussed the effects of conservative religious influence on human rights in America at a party. But, here in Sewanee, we know that knowledge comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes truth is in plain sight and other times it remains well hidden. For a while, I was bitter because all I saw were textbook definitions of human inequality. I became angry with Sewanee. I desired exposure to real culture and to real members of what I perceived to be my type of people. I perceived these people and communities to reside outside of the Sewanee bubble. What I did not realize was that I was wasting my years of academic privilege by becoming angry when I interacted with people who were homophobic or anti-feminist. What I have realized more recently is that I have been living in a community that I wish every social activist could experience. If every pro-choice activist had to sit and argue points with a privileged, religiously conservative, political science major from the Sewanee student population, they’d be better off for it. It is through difference and interaction with those differences that one grows. I know I probably did not evoke change in many people here in Sewanee, but at least I have received the opportunity to test my beliefs and attempted to pursue truth within myself. I suppose that is the goal of a student community; to test out and strengthen our own beliefs as well as those around us.
To my friends, both professors and students, who have listened to me rant and rave, cry and scream about discrimination and violation of human rights: thank you for your compassion. To those individuals who have called me a dyke or a faggot or a Femi-Nazi: thank you for your difference. To all those out there who are social activists: keep on fighting the good fight.
This Town of Mine
I have never lived in a town to which I felt personally connected. I grew up in a small town in South Carolina. Seneca was just large enough that I did not know everyone and just small enough that I was constantly bored. Then we moved to a new town in Georgia. Cumming is cramped, congested and kind of a 'wannabe' trendy area. It irritates me and again, I know next to no one.
This weekend I came to realize that this town where I go to school, though it is a college town, is a town that I have come to love and to feel connected. Community is a big deal here. Everyone knows everyone else. Professors invite you over dinner and you run into your advisor's five year old child as you leave your 8 AM class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That child knows your name. I realize I'm starting to sound like the theme song to Cheers but seriously, it is a beautiful realization.
Saturday I submitted an article to the school newspaper. It was all about community and the discontents of communities. It was lovely to write and ponder the innerworkings of a community of people of varoius ages and social understandings. When Sunday came along, though I had a lot of work to do, I could not find it in myself to feel anxious or upset about anything.
Sunday night, five minutes after posting a birthday wish to a friend of mine, I ran into him at the library where I was able to actually give him a birthday hug and wishes (only in Sewanee).
This morning, I went to my favorite coffee shop, where all my friends work. My friend, Tim, let me smell the coffee beans so I could pick out which kind of coffee I wanted (I know that wouldn't happen at a Starbucks in downtown Atlanta). Everyone knows everyone, everyone helps everyone, and everyone enables everyone else's learning experiences. I'm glad to call Sewanee my home. It saddens me that I will have to leave this place in less than six months. But for now, I will enjoy it. Thanks Sewanee, you're the best. :)
This weekend I came to realize that this town where I go to school, though it is a college town, is a town that I have come to love and to feel connected. Community is a big deal here. Everyone knows everyone else. Professors invite you over dinner and you run into your advisor's five year old child as you leave your 8 AM class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That child knows your name. I realize I'm starting to sound like the theme song to Cheers but seriously, it is a beautiful realization.
Saturday I submitted an article to the school newspaper. It was all about community and the discontents of communities. It was lovely to write and ponder the innerworkings of a community of people of varoius ages and social understandings. When Sunday came along, though I had a lot of work to do, I could not find it in myself to feel anxious or upset about anything.
Sunday night, five minutes after posting a birthday wish to a friend of mine, I ran into him at the library where I was able to actually give him a birthday hug and wishes (only in Sewanee).
This morning, I went to my favorite coffee shop, where all my friends work. My friend, Tim, let me smell the coffee beans so I could pick out which kind of coffee I wanted (I know that wouldn't happen at a Starbucks in downtown Atlanta). Everyone knows everyone, everyone helps everyone, and everyone enables everyone else's learning experiences. I'm glad to call Sewanee my home. It saddens me that I will have to leave this place in less than six months. But for now, I will enjoy it. Thanks Sewanee, you're the best. :)
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