One of my friends posted about pride, saying straight people have not been bullied for being straight. One of his friends then wrote several long comments about how critical race theory was going to lead to bullying of straight cis white men. And then there would be suicides cause we wouldn’t take it seriously.

Critical race theory is, at its most simplistic level, about bullying. About the ways in which POC have been bullied historically and about the ways in which bullying of POC has been codified into the law and our existing power structure.

It’s so telling that anytime we fight for gay rights, for women’s rights, for equal rights of any kind, privileged people think that what we want to do is to turn the tables, to reimpose a hierarchy, except with us at the top.

The problem is that their limited imagination can’t fathom a society free of sexism, racism, homophobia, classism . . .

But their nightmare of a society in which they’re oppressed is no match for our dream of one in which no one is.

I’ve just started venturing out a little bit–I’ve eaten inside a restaurant, and I’ve seen other friends who have been vaccinated.

It’s ironic that as safe as I’ve been this whole time, I had to get a Covid test after one of my friends tested positive. We still don’t know how she got it, and so far she’s fine. I’m guessing she was more vulnerable to infection than the rest of us because she got the Johnson & Johnson vaccine, which had lower protection against initial infection than the other vaccines.

My vaccine has kept me from getting infected, for example, even though we were in close contact for a few hours.

Watching so many Republicans refuse to get vaccinated, especially while countries like India and Brazil are in such danger, and while so many other people around the world don’t have access to vaccines, is infuriating. And I know it’s not just Republicans–there are conspiracy-theorists in all parties, but the Republicans were lied to by their leaders for so long that their reluctance to vaccinate has solidified into something dangerous to all of us–even knowing their leaders have been vaccinated can’t undo it.

Studies show that giving anti-vaxxers scientific information just makes the dig their heels in.

So what are we to do?

This American Life did a great episode recently, in which Republican strategist Frank Luntz (the guy who brought us manipulative political slanting like “the death tax”) worked to trump Trumpers’ concerns, using a focus group.

What he discovered has been reported elsewhere, but I highly recommend listening to the episode.

Despite all of our doubts, there was a way to reach them.

Bonus points if you can guess at which moment I screamed at an interviewee the most.

I’m exhausted. Looking back at this week, it’s not surprising. It’s the end of week 10, which means I’ve done a lot of grading and had some touching goodbyes with students I’ll miss.

I was also a scoring leader for the AWPE, which went well.

Everything was complicated by my back, which decided I wasn’t allowed to bend over for a couple of days. I’m happy with how my new stand-up came out, especially when I was hurting so much during the performance. My chiropractor was leaving town for a wedding the next day, but was willing to see me after the show, to make sure I didn’t have to wait until Monday to get fixed.

My students were all amazing; I’m so proud of them! You can watch the show here.

Dante ran AV, even though he was recovering from his surgery–I was expecting him to be able to handle more solid food by now, so my fridge is packed with stuff I have to eat by myself. Luckily, though, I always make too much of everything, so there’s plenty of brothy things. He has, though, made a list of what he’s craving, for when he can chew. Are we still watching The Simpsons all day long? Of course we are!

My union has overwhelmingly authorized its leadership to strike. We’re hoping this pushes the UC System to engage with our exceptionally reasonable demands (for example, we would like our junior lecturers to have the same job security adjuncts at California Community Colleges have). We don’t want to have to strike, but we also have gone over a year out of contract.

A wonderful friend, colleague, and mentor is retiring, and if I didn’t live so close to her, I’d be completely devastated.

There are also birthdays and virtual plays this week, and thanks to vaccines, I’ve been able to actually see and hug some of my dearest friends again.

I also had a bout of Spring Cleaning, so my living room got a deep clean and some minor redecoration. I’m absolutely awful at hanging pictures, and I have a shit ton of them, so my walls are decorative, but not stylish. I had someone hang some new movie star art–I thought my picture of Katharine Hepburn needed some friends, and to rehang some of the other pieces.

My crappy (but dreadfully expensive) Davis apartment will never look grown up, but at least my geeky things are displayed more artfully.

Finally, I have the happiest news! My doctor is still going to work a couple of days a week, so I don’t have to find a new GP! I’m ecstatic that Paul will still be leading the team.

I write this with The Simpsons on, as they’ve been for three days. When the boy or I are injured, this is what comforts us.

And the boy is injured. His wisdom teeth were taken out Friday morning. We had a few tough moments right after the surgery. He was nauseated and bleeding, and his body’s attempts to throw up meant a lot of blood went everywhere.

Things have settled down since, and we have a large stock of pudding, mashed potatoes, soups, and ice cream.

In other news, I’m proud of myself for diagnosing a weird car noise correctly, I watched (and loved) Ted Lasso, and I’m working as a scoring leader for this year’s AWPE.

I’ve also written a new stand-up routine, which I will premiere Tuesday night!

Last weekend, I finished grading my SCC lit class, which leaves me with just three courses for the next three weeks. And then I’ll get a whole week off before my summer courses start. (My goal, in addition to finishing my three courses successfully, is to prep my June course well enough that I can actually take that week off from work.)

The end of the SCC lit class could have gone better. One struggling student cheated on both her last paper and the final. Another, who needed an A+ on every remaining assignment to pass, skipped assignments, turned in a research paper without any research in it, and then turned in an incomplete final AFTER I’d turned in the grades.

(Did he tell me he needed another day? Of course not. That would entail communicating with me.)

My comedy students’ final is soon, so I need to write my routine, since I’m the MC.

A beloved colleague brought my attention to a temporary fix the DOE might have for people like me, who paid an incredible amount of money to the “wrong” plans. So I’m filing for that. Do they want ink signatures from UCD to prove I have worked there all this time? They do. Is the website confusing, because it says I’m not eligible since I, like everyone else, is in automatic Covid deferment, but then also have a paragraph about how I should ignore the giant warning on every singe page about that, since they’re the ones who deferred me? Yes.

I tried Jupiter Rising, but didn’t like it. Tried Invincible. Might like it. Tried Hacks with Jean Smart. Fucking loved it. Started Ted Lasso. Will binge more soon. Couldn’t quite get through Army of the Dead last night. Started and finished this season of Shrill, which is awesome. Watched Jason Alexander et al in The Sisters Rosensweig via Zoom and The ABCS of Love via the Sacramento French Film Festival.

I’m mourning Paul Mooney and Charles Grodin.

My upper division students are struggling, because I’m making them write a grown up argument (one in which the thesis is actually debatable (for reasonable people) and defendable, and one that works to inform and persuade its intended audience, and one that fully and fairly engages with counter-argument).

You’d be surprised how many draft theses are unconstitutional, EVEN AFTER I SAID IN THE VIDEO ABOUT THIS THAT THEY SHOULD NOT MAKE UNCONSTITUTIONAL ARGUMENTS.

I spent 9 straight hours giving feedback on drafts on Thursday. Then, I tried to join some high school friends for a Zoom reunion, but I felt so sick with exhaustion that I had to go lie down.

The most stressful thing this week, though, was another visit with my TMJ dentist.

I told his assistant that I wanted to talk about getting a lower night guard and/or a dental device for mild apnea (since the dentist is convinced my tongue is in the wrong place when I sleep). The dentist was dismissive of anyone who’s vouched for lower guards. (“Well, I guess your friends have made literally thousands of upper night guards like I have, right?”) But he agreed to let me have a lower one and “run [my] own little experiment.”

But, I said. If you think I need that apnea dental device, shouldn’t I get that and not use any type of guard?

We came to consensus on trying that first. I have to do a sleep study for insurance to approve it.

Then he brought up all the other things he wants to do: the frenectomy, sawing down some of the protruding bones in my mouth, braces, etc.

I said I’d like to go in stages since I have other doctors who want to do things to my body that are also extreme.

We left that conversation with him knowing nothing more about me, but with me knowing about all of his surgeries. Sigh.

He said to get the sleep study done and then we’d do a scan for the device.

When I was alone again with the assistant, who had been in the room the whole time, he tried to schedule me for a scan for a lower night guard.

“That’s not where we landed,” I explained. “We need to schedule a scan.”

“For braces?”

No.

Once I got him to realize we were trying for the apnea device, he wanted to get the device going right away.

“Don’t I have to get the sleep study first?”

“I don’t think so. They’ll want to study you with it in.”

“But the doctor said I needed the study before insurance would authorize the device.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”

He scheduled me for a scan next week, saying we can do the scan without authorization, but I don’t trust him, so I’m calling tomorrow to talk to someone who can parse conversations better.

Overall, though, it was a good week.

My son and I celebrated the end of his first year in grad school with a sushi feast.

A beloved friend got me an amazing gift:

And I am celebrating that, as of last night, it’s no longer been a year and seven months since I’ve had sex with another person.

Yay vaccines!

Charles Grodin just died, which makes me incredibly sad. I thought about writing a eulogy, but then I remembered that I wrote about him years ago, on a now-defunct movie site. Luckily, I had it backed up in my files:

Charles Grodin is a comedy god.

Either you’re now wondering who he is, finding his name vaguely familiar, or recognizing him and disagreeing with my assessment. OR, you know comedy and you know what I’m talking about.

Grodin (born Charles Grodinsky) had a few moments of outrageous comedy in his career, but what defines him is the mastery of playing the straight man. It’s harder than many think, especially when the other characters sometimes get more attention.

It might be easier to talk about straight man/not straight man using Eric Idle’s terms (1):

“There are two types of comedian . . . both deriving from the circus, which I shall call the White Face and the Red Nose. Almost all comedians fall into one or the other of these two simple archetypes. In the circus, the White Face is the controlling clown with the deathly pale masklike face who never takes a pie; the Red Nose is the subversive clown with the yellow and red makeup who takes all the pies and the pratfalls and the buckets of water and the banana skins. . . . the White Face is the controlling neurotic and the Red Nose is the rude, rough Pan. The White Face compels your respect; the Red Nose begs for it. The Red Nose smiles and winks, and wants your love; the White Face rejects it. He never smiles; he is always deadly serious.  Never more so than when doing comedy.”

If you’ve ever seen a movie with Charles Grodin, you can picture his white face, pinched perfectly as he delivers lines with perfect dry wit.

How dry was his wit? Well, the one time he hosted SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, they “themed” the show (something that happens on MUPPET SHOWS more than SNL). The “theme” was that Grodin would play himself, as an actor who hadn’t prepared and kept messing up his lines. How did this experiment in postmodern SNL go? Grodin was so convincing that the audience didn’t like him (why hadn’t he prepared? they asked themselves) and he never hosted again.

You can still see Grodin working today, but I want to explore what I consider his best period: the early 1980s.

SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES (1980). This is one of my favorite comedies of all time. Grodin plays Ira Parks, a lawyer attempting to turn politician.  He’s married to another lawyer played by Goldie Hawn. And their life is fine until her ex-husband (Chevy Chase) shows up, running from the law. It’s a pitch-perfect film, written by comedy master Neil Simon. Poor Ira has to fight for his job, his wife, and his sanity. I’d probably pick Chase’s character over Ira, but that’s because I make romantic mistakes. The only disappointing thing about this movie? You never get the recipe for Chicken Pepperoni.

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING WOMAN (1981). Grodin is Vance Kramer, married to a character played by Lily Tomlin. This movie was ahead of its time with its concern about the chemicals leaching into our bodies everyday (what makes the wife shrink) and animal testing. Tomlin is our fabulous red nose to her supportive white face husband. (They thought about doing this movie in 3D; I’m glad they didn’t).

THE GREAT MUPPET CAPER (1981). Faithful readers will know that I love anything Muppet, so how could I go wrong with Grodin playing Nicky Holliday? His red nose partner here is Frank Oz (as Miss Piggy) and a whole host of muppets. Holliday falls immediately in love with Miss Piggy, but we know her heart is always reserved for Kermit. Sad when the white white can’t even get the pig:

THE LONELY GUY (1984). Many argue that this is Grodin’s finest film and he is wonderful opposite Steve Martin. The screenplay is by Neil Simon. Martin plays a guy who learns how to be lonely (single) from Warren (Grodin) when he’s dumped. Martin is able to parlay his knowledge into a successful book and eventually romance, though his teacher is not so lucky. This movie shows Grodin hosting a party with celebrities—well, with life-sized cut outs of celebrities. Never has so much energy gone into loneliness. His life is summed up here: “I remember after I saw ROCKY, I ran out in the park jogging, shadow boxing. Some guy came up to me and punched me right in the face.”

THE WOMAN IN RED (1984). This film was directed by Gene Wilder, who was also the star. It’s basically a treatise on the inevitable attraction you will feel to other people, even after you’ve promised your fidelity to another for life. It’s fun to watch Wilder chase Kelly Le Brock, though you’re never quite sure why she lets him. Grodin is the buddy (aptly named Buddy) and is hilarious.

Playing the white face to Chase, Hawn, Muppets, Martin, and Wilder’s red noses is something to admire. I also have a soft spot for Grodin in HEART AND SOULS (1993), where he plays a ghost with unfinished business that only Robert Downey Jr.’s character can fix. 

Next time you’re watching comedy, appreciate the white faces. And go watch some Grodin. He deserves it.

(1) This definition comes from Eric Idle’s sci-fi comic piece, THE ROAD TO MARS: A POST-MODEM NOVEL. One of the characters, a robot named Carlton, who happens to be a “Bowie” model, writes his dissertation on 20^th Century comedy. If you like Idle, sci fi, and comedy, check out the novel.

I’m still not feeling safe enough to go to a museum, which is awful, because I love them. Even the bad ones. (Sometimes especially the bad ones.)

And it’s International Museums Day!

To celebrate, I’m going to Springfield, USA, which features over 20 museums, including the Civil War Prison and Museum of Sideburns, Fort Sensible, and the Museum of Generational Wealth.

Yesterday was “May the Fourth Be With You Day,” which meant I had to choose which of my five Star Wars shirts to wear. We watched the new Simpsons/Star Wars short, and I ended my day with a Star Wars-themed stand-up show on RushTix, hosted by Brian Posehn.

He was talking about his toys, which made me think about all the ones I had as a kid, which made me remember a time when I bought my son a few.

Christmas was coming, and I found myself in the bargain bin at Toys R Us, in an attempt to provide a good holiday on a single-mom budget. The year before, Star Wars toys had been big, which meant they were relegated to the bin this year. I bought several ships for us to put together.

Christmas was spent with my extended family.

On Christmas night, my son and I were on the floor next to my grandfather’s chair, attaching wings, figuring out which stickers went where.

My grandfather said, “You’re being a good mom.”

I was surprised for a few reasons. First, my grandfather was a man of few words; praise was rare.

Second, putting toys together didn’t seem like anything special to me. It wasn’t staying up with him all night when he got sick, making his favorite dinner even though I would have to stay up even later to finish my paper, not murdering him when he wouldn’t let me even go to the bathroom by myself, no matter how much I begged . . .

Still, I treasure this rare moment of acknowledgment. I hope it gave my grandfather some pleasure to watch the little girl he raised play with his great-grandson.

I didn’t write a wrap up last week, because I was down. I’m not great this week, but I’m not actively depressed anymore. It actually took me a while to realize I that I was–why do I keep staring off into space? Why does my face and body crumple the second I end a zoom call with a student? Why do I just want to sleep?

Luckily, my depression didn’t lie to me–it didn’t tell me that I didn’t deserve to be happy or that no one cared about me or that I would feel depressed forever.

Instead, it told me that my pain was going to keep getting worse.

And that’s probably true.

We’re dealing with a lot at my house. Anubis keeps getting blocked, even though we’re holding him down and cleaning his urethra, which is every bit as awful as it sounds. He’s been to the vet every week for the past month; Dante is literally there with him now as I type this.

Dante’s also had two flat tires in the past three weeks and will have oral surgery next week. And it’s heavy exam time for his Masters program.

I’m dealing with a couple of really difficult students, and that takes up more mental space than it should. My massage therapist is encouraging me to do a meditation throughout the day to clear the pressure of making all students happy all the time.

But what’s really causing problems right now is my physical health.

My TMJ dentist made me a night guard a couple of months ago. I had told him that I stopped wearing the one I got almost twenty years ago, because it made me grind more, and thus caused more pain. I told him my TMJ physical therapist a lower one would work better for me.

He told me he knew best and made a top one.

And I grind more.

And I wake up in pain more.

I met with him a couple of weeks ago, and we didn’t really talk about the guard because we had to go over the most intensive scans I’ve ever seen–down to the blood vessels. Apparently, not only do I have TMJ problems and arthritis and neck problems, which I knew already, but my airflow is constricted and my mouth didn’t form properly when I was a child and my tongue is in the wrong place. And apparently my tongue being in the wrong place maybe means I can’t breathe at night, and that would explain why I’m overweight and hypertensive (I would love to blame it completely on my tongue, and not on my stupid back making it hard to walk and my job being so sedentary and the food I cook being so good). And surely I’ve noticed these deformities, like how my upper lip is too thin, right?

I had not noticed that.

So he wants to cut my frenum and the tissue that connects my upper lip to my gums and put braces on me.

And I worked very hard not to cry, because having braces when I was a kid is when my daily headaches started, and moving my bones and teeth will hurt, and I have fibromyalgia, which means I will feel that hurt more than normal people, because my body is oversensitive and whiny.

And I think he said something about the braces closing the gap between my front teeth, but I don’t actually want that, because I’ve got this whole multiple-husbands, lusty wife of Bath thing going on.

And then, as I was working through this information and the depression that came with it, I started to bleed again, heavily.

Regular readers will remember that for several months last year, I had unexplained, constant heavy menstrual bleeding, which resulted in agonizing tests like a uterine scraping. We ended up fighting this by adding a second form of birth control–so now I’m on two different kinds, both of which are supposed to keep me from having periods all together.

It’s day 14 of this particular period, and it’s awful. I have some blood tests to do Wednesday.

I’ve been talking to some of my team members about what the TMJ doc wants to do, and their reaction reassures me that I’m not insane. They were all trained that lower night guards were best, and they have reservations about moving things in my skull around. My chiropractor stressed that this was a lot to add to all of the other body problems I’m working with right now and how if these procedures didn’t work–or made things worse–there would be no way to undo them.

I emailed the TMJ doc’s medical assistant a week ago with questions. If my tongue is in the wrong place, where is it supposed to be? Do I need a frenum cut to get it there? Can we try a lower guard? etc.

She hasn’t written back.

Today I head into Sacramento, to UCD’s genetics people, for a physical exam, to see if Ehlers-Danlos syndrome is likely.

I’m all cramped up because I walked for thirty whole minutes outside.

It’s just a lot.

And it’s been a lot for a long time, and usually I can handle that. And I don’t have unrealistic expectations. I’m a chronic pain patient. My goal is to manage, to keep going, not to erase what is unerasable.

But the dentist just threw me for a loop. I thought I knew what was wrong, and I did.

I just wasn’t prepared to learn my whole upper body was completely wrong and that it has been since the beginning of me.

And now I can’t stop thinking about my tongue.