Compliments on the Edge
One of my students said the strangest thing to me tonight (I should probably mention that I'm not only a graduate student in Religious Studies but also a math teacher at an academic support center as well). As I was walking into the center this afternoon, this little girl who can't be more than 10 told me I looked like a girl. I immediately took it as a compliment, and I went on with the satisfaction that I was succeeding in my mission to quietly confuse the kids and gently push the boundaries of masculine and feminine.
I honestly don't think I looked any more feminine tonight than I do on any other day of the week. It's not as if I had walked in wearing heels, make-up and a dress. I was wearing a nice pair of gray plain-front pin-striped wool trousers with a gray quarter-zip mock turtleneck sweater over a white oxford with cute pair of clunky pilgrim shoes. I wore my hair as I usually do: stylishly tousled, or tjuzed, if you will. If stylish means feminine to this little girl, then I'm guilty, and happily so.
Speaking of compliments, I got my first piece of fan mail over the weekend. I was ridiculously excited to receive the praise, which is bizarre since I honestly started The Brink of Disaster for no one's edification but my own. But it was still rather cool to think that complete strangers were reading and appreciating my analysis and commentary on my world. I tell ya, though, external validation can be a fickle and mysterious master. Much to my chagrin, my electronic correspondent turned out to be a 17-year old high school senior somewhere in Texas. It' wasn't his praise that chagrined me, so much as my response embarrased me. How sad is it that I should get so excited by the slightest bit of positive feedback? I don't know why it would surprise me that a queer sensibility should play in Texas, though. I mean, Texas is perpetrating one of the strangest whammies ever on the White House these days. Anywho, you can read what he had to say about me and The Brink of Disaster here, as Fresh Meat (and don't think that didn't raise my eyebrows).
I honestly don't think I looked any more feminine tonight than I do on any other day of the week. It's not as if I had walked in wearing heels, make-up and a dress. I was wearing a nice pair of gray plain-front pin-striped wool trousers with a gray quarter-zip mock turtleneck sweater over a white oxford with cute pair of clunky pilgrim shoes. I wore my hair as I usually do: stylishly tousled, or tjuzed, if you will. If stylish means feminine to this little girl, then I'm guilty, and happily so.
Speaking of compliments, I got my first piece of fan mail over the weekend. I was ridiculously excited to receive the praise, which is bizarre since I honestly started The Brink of Disaster for no one's edification but my own. But it was still rather cool to think that complete strangers were reading and appreciating my analysis and commentary on my world. I tell ya, though, external validation can be a fickle and mysterious master. Much to my chagrin, my electronic correspondent turned out to be a 17-year old high school senior somewhere in Texas. It' wasn't his praise that chagrined me, so much as my response embarrased me. How sad is it that I should get so excited by the slightest bit of positive feedback? I don't know why it would surprise me that a queer sensibility should play in Texas, though. I mean, Texas is perpetrating one of the strangest whammies ever on the White House these days. Anywho, you can read what he had to say about me and The Brink of Disaster here, as Fresh Meat (and don't think that didn't raise my eyebrows).
posted by Master of Disaster @ 12/08/2003 10:11:00 PM
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