metal spike, meet my eye

In Korean, “Emo” means “Aunt.” I went to L.A. to visit my nephew Max, the gigantic headed genius child, and his parents this weekend. Having a 23-month-old chant “Emo! Emo! Emo!” at you with glee is a little like getting hired for a position you really, really want.

And I played dirty to get the job. I bought him drums (this seems to be a running theme with the boys in my life), I bought him a globe (he’s not yet two years old but he’s freakishly smart with a memory that makes me green with envy), and I sniffed, kissed, and tickled my way into his little heart. He put up a decent fight, as toddlers tend to be suspicious and temperamental creatures, but who can resist “Emo?”

So let me introduce you to my nephew Max. His favorite shape is the hexagon, his favorite dinosaur is the triceratops, he speaks with a hint of a lisp, his voice becomes charmingly hoarse by the end of the day, and he has killer curls and a diaper butt that could turn the most crotchety of anti-kid minds.

It was kind of weird to see my cousins be such…parents…, no longer enjoying going out to shows but instead really getting into Guitar Hero on their PlayStation 2, making Max shake what his momma gave him to guitar solo hits of the 80’s. Admittedly, I got sucked into the game myself, even after getting booed off stage for my pathetic debut performance of “Iron Man.” Sorry, Black Sabbath.

Ah well, that’s L.A. for you.  At least Max loves me.

No, it’s not because I’m old school (well…I am old, I’m in some kind of school setting for most of my waking hours either as a teacher or as a student, and I haven’t bought any new music in like ten years, so wait… maybe I am old school), but I’m in my mix tape mode tonight. It’s less dangerous than my hair cutting mode, which usually spans a few days with a snip here, another snip there, finding myself at 3 in the morning, naked in the bathroom standing in a pile of freshly cut hair. Ew.

But here I am making mix tapes because my trusty little Honda only has a cassette player and I’m tired of listening to the tapes I made in high school over and over again. Ride, remember them? And The Housemartins? Yeah, good stuff, but I need a new mix of old music to keep me sane as I fight traffic everyday.

But on this particular mix tape, side A is Brian’s creation and side B is mine. Ah…cute married life. I could drown in cheese a happy woman. Is this punk rock domesticity or what?

It’s 11:00 on a Saturday night, and I am at home with a mess of articles and books scattered on our livingroom floor, trying desperately to finish my final paper for my Roman Identities class. Not that I’d normally be out painting the town white…or beige…or whatever, but it’d be nice to know that I’d be free to do so if I wanted.

Alas, I am wrestling with institutionalized violence and empire-building in the Roman world, trying to reconcile Foucault’s analysis of Bentham’s Panopticon and DeBord’s Society of the Spectacle with the Roman games. It’s not going so well. Brian has threatened to disable my access to MySpace, Gmail, and WordPress so that I stop procrastinating. Well, he can’t lock up the cats, so I have some mode of welcome distraction. At least they seem to be enjoying burying their heads underneath all of my books and chewing on the corners of my papers. My cats have a deep appreciation for academia, I tell you.

On another “I’m thinking of everything but what I should be” note, I’m starting to warm to Eltonito’s suggestion that the ladies and I should cover “Sound of Music” by Joy Division. And after Brian made me a mix cd with Unwound’s “Valentine Card” on it, I think that would be another possbility if we were ever serious about doing covers…or practicing on a regular basis. Poo.

There should be midnight yoga.

I told Brian he’s got to stop buying me laptops for Christmas.  He bought me my first machine last year, and it served me well.  Countless papers were written for grad school and endless hours were spent on the interweb on that modest, but trusty, Acer.  Then he bought me this pretty little Macbook that I’m typing on right now for this Christmas.  As much I protested that I didn’t need another computer, a pricey one at that, and especially so soon, etc., what can I say?  I’m in love.  Love.

So thank you, baby.  I love my Christmas present.  And it goes without saying, I love you.

And now back to this evening’s very disturbing Grey’s Anatomy.  Geez George, you’re making me uncomfortable.  Stop it.