Haters be Hatin' (I'll be Dat)

I offered to cover "I Question America" for the Free Press when it was performed at USM a few weeks back, primarily because I wanted more experience in the Arts and Entertainment section, partially because I knew it would be challenging, but mostly because it's my job and I wanted more hours.

It's a one-woman play written and preformed by E.P. McKnight about Civil Rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer, presented by the Multicultural Student Affairs office in honor of Black History Month.

Here's the article.

And a few days later I received this comment:

"Wow, I can't believe you would be critical of a play about the civil rights movement during black history month, let alone get away with it. "The story took a serious turn..." when it effin started. Now, I love the first amendment as much as anybody- but please stick to blogging about things you know like your relationships and punk rock. you know, shit nobody but you or your friends cares about. Thanks."
  
A policy of the Free Press is that writers can't comment on their own stories, and that's a rightful policy. But there's nothing that says I'm not allowed to respond in another medium.


Yes, I do blog about my relationships, but it's supposed to be entertaining and possibly insightful, but certainly not news. The fact that he neglected to mention that I blog just as much about my cat, my friends, and drinking, means he probably hasn't seen the blog. Which means he is also then assuming that I'm a punk rock expert.

I'm going to venture that this guy probably doesn't know a whole lot about punk rock. It's probably his rudimentary understanding of counter-culture, much like the way some people think that only the music that exists is the music on the radio. Sure, I spent enough time working at the record store to bullshit with anyone about just about any music genre. And although I've written about music from time to time, very little, if any, has been punk rock. In fact, I think the only time I even say the words 'punk' and 'rock' together is when it's preceded by 'wicked,' and I'm trying to be funny. Emphasis on trying.

He must've entered his name wrong in the comments section, because he claims his last name is Benjamin. I looked him up on Facebook anyway. In his Favorite Quotes section, he wrote, "When I walk up in the club bitches be like he ain't shit. I'll be dat- Redman." Whatever his reason for listing this as his favorite quote, his support of the term 'bitches' to refer to women disqualifies him from telling me, a woman writer, that I shouldn't criticize a play written and performed by a woman, about a woman.


There also did not appear to be anyone who fit his description at the play.  Because if he was, he probably would've understood what I was talking about when I said, "The play took a serious turn."

Let me be honest. The play wasn't very good. Some things were edited out for word-count reasons: the play began light-hearted and silly, McKnight portraying humorous versions of Hamer as a curious young girl and a twitterpated young woman, but the play became increasingly tense and serious as Hamer's story unfolded. There was also an extended cut of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech- which I thought was completely unnecessary. Hamer was actually there for the speech, which makes it a part of her life, but she was also there for many of MLK's other speeches. I think it would've been more effective to use either the last speech he gave before his untimely death, or maybe part of the speech that hasn't been replayed in every classroom across America.  

I was criticizing the play and the presentation of the story, not the story itself, "Hamer’s story is incredible, but between the unintelligible rants, the distracting names and dates, and the extended cut of “I Have a Dream,” this play came short of capturing the intensity of her story in its entirety."

Cleveland also made an insightful point: I would add that the argument that we cannot critique a play just because it is about civil rights and (presumably) written and performed by an African-American is itself a kind of racism. It reduces African Americans to representatives of their race, rather artists in their own right.

Amanda Pleau, Columnist

This is the final column that I wrote for the Free Press, but it didn't quite see the light of day. I think my editor quit, and I was caught up between Dan leaving and Paul arriving. This was also written before the Virginia Woolf letter, though I'm not sure how that could've changed things. Oh, and I would've changed that last part, because well, Cleveland might be sticking around. Unrelated note, I filed my income taxes today- let me know if you need any help (I got an A in my Personal Finance class.)

I’m twenty-six, and I’ve been living in the city my school is in for five years. My college experience wasn’t going to be that of most of my friends, who went away after high school for four years and returned with lifelong friendships and a new purpose in life. I didn’t expect to make those kinds of friendships at USM, since I basically leave after class to go home or to work. I don’t even know the names of most of my classmates. My classes have been alright, but sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions. My decision to finish school wasn’t intended to change my life, but to even the playing field on the job market after college, and I’ve never considered myself very career-driven. But this job at the Free Press has been challenging, engaging, inspiring and fun- the experience I’ve always wanted from college. I want to write for a living.

It seems difficult to believe that this semester is almost over, and I suppose the last column of the semester should be used for reflection on the last few months. I skipped the shark dissection in Marine Biology. I barely stifled my annoyance with a classmate for taking up class time to complain about other students driving from the Gorham Campus to the Portland Campus and taking up all the parking- only to find out she drives from Grant Street, which at it’s furthest ends is only a half a mile from campus. I’ll have a lot of memories from this semester. My greatest won’t be my g.p.a.’s reflection on my attendance, or that I’ve actually remembered to turn my phone off in the library every time, it’ll be that this is the semester I decided what I might like to do with my life.

I love the feeling of someone randomly approaching me and telling me that they’ve seen my column. This semester, I received my first piece of negative criticism. This is exciting because it means people other than my friends and editors are reading. Even though my critic was right, I should make an effort to complete my sentences and find time for an additional round of editing (or two), it’s alright because I’m learning. For a few weeks between jobs this November, I was actually supporting myself solely on this work-study gig, which was an extremely exciting feeling. I’d love to follow in the footsteps of Ira Glass or Dave Eggars, even though I have more in common with other female writers like Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey and Candace Bushnell, I wouldn’t be disappointed writing copy for catalogues or obituaries after graduation..

Upon further investigation, it seems like enrolling in the Media Studies program might help me combine my love of public radio, storytelling and writing goofy, self-deprecating blogs about farting on the Champs-Elysse or slapped with certain parts of the male anatomy.  Misadventures in Portland: Chronicling one girl’s quest for a major and a boyfriend. Perhaps this staggering and unexpected realization about my major will free up some mental space for me to focus on finding a boyfriend. Or maybe my column will earn me so much notoriety I’ll start receiving fan mail from cute guys in the economics or business departments. If either of these things happen, you’ll read it here.

Virginia Woolf: Apparently not a fan

I think I have permission to write about this because Dan, my editor, forwarded it to me and told me I should blog about it. 

 

This is an anonymous letter Dan received at the Free Press, with the subject line "A complaint from beyond the grave."

 

 

Dear Mr. MacLeod, 

A writer of yours has so grotesquely abused the english language that I was roused from my grave to take a stand against this most contemptible offense. On the whole, Ms. Pleau's writing severely lacks in content, purpose and technical coherence. Without proper identification of place and time her articles are unbearable to read, and utterly insulting to anybody that struggles with making meaning out of the everyday. I understand the difficulty, as I took on the daunting task of writing a book entirely composed of a single day in a woman's life. 

Let us take a look at her article dated September 13, titled "My New Intended Major: Not Sucking at Life". This reads as a diary entry more than it does a column affiliated with a university and meant to be read by others.  How the writing of last week's column makes a worthy subject for this week's column baffles my victorian mind. The point of having a column shouldn't be to smugly remind others of said column.  

Grammatically the article is a nightmare. The first sentence alone is redundant and poorly constructed. Her misuse of commas is not only enraging but obstructive to the reader. She writes vague and nondescript lists of seemingly arbitrary daily tasks, with no singular cohesive thought to tie them together. And to top it all off, the banality of the lists even lacks a hipster slash of irony. 

Even more infuriating, Ms. Pleau appears to have forgotten that the ability to pursue higher education was not always granted to women.  Her comment about "hoping for a sugar daddy" to fund her leisurely lifestyle, so she may continue "having a really good time" is degrading.  

I refuse to believe that in this university of nearly 10,000 students you can not find someone capable of writing with competence, imagination and integrity. 

By continuing to publish her dribble you are doing a disservice to both the university, and her by perpetuating the delusion that she has even the remotest ability to write. 

Thoughtfully, 

Virgina Woolf

 

Alright. First I should aknowledge that Virginia Woolf isn't completely wrong, and I'm deeply regretful for offending a literary icon. I don't know what I'm doing, really, and I write like I talk. Really. I'm not an English major, I'm not a writing major, or a literature or classics major. I've never read a Shakespeare play, but I once heard an episode of RadioLab that talked about him a lot. I'm a student and I'm learning (that's the whole point, right?) Writing a column on deadline every week is a lot different than writing this blog; it's so much more difficult. The Free Press does a great job, but they don't micro-manage, so don't blame them, if, my, commas, are, out of place,,. 

 

But wait! USM offers a class called Writing Opinion: Editorials and Columns. So far, I've received As or Bs on all of the papers I've submitted for grades in the classes I've taken at USM. Virginia, don't give up on me just yet!

 

"She writes vague and nondescript lists of seemingly arbitrary daily tasks, with no singular cohesive thought to tie them together. And to top it all off, the banality of the lists even lacks a hipster slash of irony. "

This might need to be the new Misadventures in Portland tagline...  but I can't help but wonder: Virginia Woolf has been dead since 1941, so how would she know what a hipster is?

"How the writing of last week's column makes a worthy subject for this week's column baffles my victorian mind. The point of having a column shouldn't be to smugly remind others of said column."

Why not? I have a column and you don't. I have almost 2,000 view a month on my blog and regularly receive compliments from complete strangers on how awesome it is (I am.) I'm contributing a celebrity guest playlist at an event at Space and I'm the celebrity! It's all self-motivated. There's no money, no reward, no grade for this, I get to do it because I love it and you guys seem to dig it, too.

How about this? "Even more infuriating, Ms. Pleau appears to have forgotten that the ability to pursue higher education was not always granted to women.  Her comment about "hoping for a sugar daddy" to fund her leisurely lifestyle, so she may continue "having a really good time" is degrading." 

Every time I make a comment about something like this, it seems to get a lot of heat. So this is what I really mean: There are really women who are like this. There are actual women who marry rich old guys for financial security. I don't want to judge them, because they were probably more popular in high school than I was and probably have more expensive clothing. It's said with the sarcastic roll of an eye, and it's not meant to be degrading to the integrity of women. It's this thing that's been around since the 1500s called sarcasm. The quote from the column was actually this: "Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a sugar daddy and endure terrible wrinkly old guy bunny rabbit sex so I can see the world at my leisure," and I was touching on the hopelessness of the job market in the paragraph before that. It seems odd that my intentions were misconceived by such a forward-thinking, influential, lyrical writer as Virgina. But, then again, she was actually married, so who is she to judge.  

My lifestyle seems leisurely, because that's how I choose to portray it. There are plenty of deep seeded issues dating all the way back to my childhood, as well as current problems that range from finances, drinking-related decision making issues, roommates, and my right eyeball not working properly, that I could also write about that would make my life sound anything but leisurely. I've always worked at least 30 hours a week while taking classes full time.

I don't want to disrespect the legacy of Virginia Woolf. But if she was going to rise from the grave to say anything, it would probably be about how much she regrets taking her own life, burning in hell (just kidding, I hear there's beer there), and missing out on innovative depression treatments and subsequently being able to experience all of the beauty in the world. Her husband remarried a woman name Trekkie. Maybe she'd have something to say about the choice of Nicole Kidman's portrayal of Virginia in the Hours. If Virginia was still alive, she would also be able to comment on all of this stuff: "Recently, studies of Virginia Woolf have focused on feminist and lesbian themes in her work, such as in the 1997 collection of critical essays, Virginia Woolf: Lesbian Readings, edited by Eileen Barrett and Patricia Cramer. Controversially, Louise A. DeSalvo reads most of Woolf's life and career through the lens of the incestuous sexual abuse Woolf suffered as a young woman in her 1989 book Virginia Woolf: The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse on her Life and Work." Which isn't to say that those theories are incorrect or do not have merit, but over time, Virginia herself might've further explored these aspects of her life in her own writing.

 

Next time someone writes a letter to the editor about how much my column sucks, I hope it's Tucker Max. His tagline is, "My name is Tucker Max, and I'm an asshole." 

 

Also, Virginia Woolf, maybe kind of hot?