something stinks here, and it ain't the zombie

I just don't get the fanfare for The Walking Dead. Okay, zombies, I am predisposed to like this show-nay, even love it!-and I...okay, don't is too mild a word.

Really don't. There.

The gender-roles thing is hard for me to deal with. I won't lie. The first dialog of the first season premiere set that tone unfortunately accurately. And this season...oy. I stopped watching halfway through the premiere, after the men decide that Andrea cannot have a gun because it makes them uncomfortable. She might, you know, kill herself or someething. Because she seems so suicidal, fighting off walkers with a screwdriver. My students persuaded me to try the shoow up again, halfway through the season.* It gets better, they said. It did, a little, for Andrea. But! Then there was the crap about Lori's pregnancy...her angst about abortion could have been a great storyline, but the "abortion pill" shit spouted by another woman was just silly. As is the All About Me crap with the guys---Darrel's a dick to Carol because he feels bad that her daughter died (what?) and Glen has to have some alone time because his love for Maggie is the reason he froze under fire (double what? Seriously? The hell?) I can't excuse that shit just because there's a hot dude with bare arms walking around. It's a little ironic that Sons of Anarchy--one of the most overtly masculine/male themes out there--deals with women, violence against them, sexism, with far more grace and nuance. Or maybe not, since Kurt whatisname wrote the show around his wife's character.

It isn't just the women, either. Everyone's characterization turns on stereotype. Development, not so much. More like a shift from one stereotype to another...shift, like the grinding of gears because the plot development clutch isn't all the way in. When there is a complex motivational opportunity--like Shane, Rick, and Lori--the writers go to the simplest, one-note solution. Jealousy outweighs friendship. Violence ensues. It really is all about the relationship among men, or, if you're a woman, the relationship with them. But yes. Rick is changing. Haven't seen a nice guy go badass/asshole before. Nope. Never. Wait. Yes, yes I have. 28 Days Later. Farscape. Sarah Connor Chronicles. Hell, Jax in Sons is always negotiating the facets of his character. Maybe if Rick had facets, he could do that too!

The cinematography is as manipulative. Cuts and angles designed to keep the viewer from seeing things--okay, a fine technique!--but then we are asked to believe that the characters, too, share that limited vision. Which is, presumably, how dozens of walkers can march up a road and get within a few yards before anyone sees them. Or how someone with a pair of dudes in collars and chains can magically appear behind Andrea, when Andrea's been looking around specifically for pursuit. One magic ninja in a hoodiee, I might buy. A magic ninja in a hoodie with two gimps on chains, not so much.

I will probably watch it next season anyway. I feel kinda obligated, given my course theme. I can always hope for improvement. Or a sense of humor. In that, it's as bad as BSG.

*To be fair: I'd've loved the show at their age, too, and forgiven its flaws assuming I even noticed. I don't rag on it in front of them, although I do hack on individual characters. We all think Carl needs a beatdown.

through the eye

I got official word today that I passed the merit review for continuing lecturer (aka, "the eye of the needle"). This means I have what passes for job security among adjuncts: the same percentage appointment next year, no need to reapply for my job for the next 3 years, one year's notice if they want to cut my appointment or lay me off. Don't tell me unions aren't a good thing.

But economics aside--and never very far aside, as we look at living on the economy next year, which promises to double our rent the moment we step off campus--this is a good thing. A cool thing. I know I am a good teacher. I did not really imagine I wouldn't get through the eye. A friend on the committee told me that the departmental consensus for my file was unanimous. And the letter I got says some very nice things from people who I respect professionally about *me* as a professional.

Whoa. I think I have a career now. Like, I'm really a teacher. Of course that is not a shiny, respectable profession these days,* but since when do I care about respectable? It's punk to be a teacher. Go me.

But seriously. It's really awesome to know that my work is valued and valuable by other educators.

And! Cherry on the sundae! I was the only student in my yoga class this afternoon. A little scary, being all alone with the instructor. But cool, too, because we worked on the scary arm balances that I am nowhere near able to do but need to practice anyway. And tripod headstand! Not that I got all the way into it, but halfway counts.

I am gonna hurt like hell tomorrow, which is the last day of the quarter, which means my awesome classes turn in their final projects and we watch all the videos in class and it's a party. Then final grades and finally, finally, I get to start ME3. Like, maybe Friday.

Life is good.



* I am trying not to wax furious and political. At least, in this post. I am storing up a lot of fury on the war on women front, though, and that will blow eventually.

fretting

Lordy. Pooka is having a bad day. He got lost under the dining room table on the way to breakfast. Got turned around, ended up in the back of the apartment, knew there was food happening, and had a little bit of a meltdown. Most days, he keeps cool and figures out what happened for himself. Today, not so much. We got him into the kitchen with nudging, but I had to physically drag him across the floor to his dish. He kept spinning into the cabinets and going the wrong way and freaking out when he felt carpet instead of linoleum under his feet. When I touched him, he started purring--that omg, scared! purr--but he wouldn't stop trying to turn around and go the wrong way. Sometimes he calms down when you get both hands on him (never pick him up. Never never.) Not this time. He was too worked up. He calmed right down the minute he found his dish, though. Food, the constant in his universe.

I have a sinking feeling, you know? He's had mild feline dementia symptoms for a year, but going stone blind in January kinda accelerated it.

Nous is going back to see his parents in the last week of March for two days. Alone. We have no one to watch the cat. The best neighbor in the world moved 2 years ago. She could have done it; Pooka loved her. But I am afraid to leave him alone for days on end. The girls, sure, no problem. Four months ago, Pooka, too, would have been fine. But not now. And he would not do well, boarding at the vet's. No. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Louhi would be fine with boarding, but she's the only one. 

It's funny, how radically different their personalities are, these three black cats who live in our house.

Part of me says--stupid, to run your life according to feline needs. The in-laws are elderly, too. And they are people. But this damn cat and I have been together for 16 years. If I had a reliable cat-sitter, if The Rat lived nearby, I wouldn't worry. But I can't just leave him alone, even for 2 nights.

I am a little afraid he might not make it the whole month.

I am more than a little afraid of June. We got our housing extension through the 30th. But after that, the building is slated for demolition, and we're moving. Somewhere. Probably not far, probably just across the street, but that won't matter to him. A new floorplan is a new floorplan. I don't even know how he'll cope with that. Or if he can cope with that. And the upheaval around here as we pack up... that will set the girls off, too. I don't think there's enough Feliway in Southern California.