Memory: Adventures in Stats Class
Well, again I woke up today feeling like someone had stuffed lead into my limbs. I was dreaming something strange but awoke in the usual start at my cellphone alarm. I slide out of bed, still in dreamland and knock on my little brother's door. Sadly, it's time to get up.
I decided to dress myself in a fluffy vest thing that is so very 70s. It's not something that I would wear on any given day, but it was cold outside and I was feeling adventurous. As I put on my Cleopatra makeup, I realize that I have misplaced my mascara.
Bummer.
I trot down the stairs and straight into the kitchen hoping for its usual dark and cool embrace in the grey morning light. Instead I find myself in the headlights of the kitchen bulbs and straight into a serious disscussion between mother and father about marital satisfaction. I decide to switch it to ignore mode and focus on the mission of obtaining delicious dark coffee. A liquid sure to clear the morning fog from the windshield of my mind. My brother screws around as usual and makes me late. Again.
I'll have to crack the whip tommorrow.
I walk in with the late train of people into Statistics. The rodent-esque Mr. M is off talking to his favorite boys. I'm sure Mr. M doens't appreciate that but he hardly ever starts class just when it begins. More like halfway through. I take a seat behind Sarah and I try to focus on the teacher's lecture but soon I drift off and snap myself back only to realize that I lost about five minutes of the lecture while off in dreamland.
Damnit, girl, focus!
Then Mr. M goes off on a tangent about weathermen. Time for lame stand up comedy from the Mouseman himself.
"Well, that's the best job in the world! You get paid a lot of money even if you are wrong about the weather! It's the only job that allows you to be wrong about things." he said and he laughs.
"Of course, you don't even have to be qualified to be a weatherman, I know you've all seen those morning shows with the weatherwomen... They obviously weren't the best credentialed meterologists in thier class... if you know what I mean." he said, and there is a knowing chuckle from the boys.
"How do you know they aren't credentialed, Mr. M?" I say as Gloria Steinem seems to have possessed my body in that very instance.
I don't really listen to the response, because I'm sick and tired of him playing to the boys club in this math class.
"Have you checked thier credentials ... do you know? Or are you just saying that?" I continued.
"Well, by the way they dress, I think it's pretty obvious that they weren't hired for thier credentials..." he said.
"That's just television though!" I say, but for some reason I don't have a better answer for that. The paradox of being a woman in the workplace. And as Mr. M continued his lecture, I was thinking furiously on the relationship between a woman and her body. It's such a double edged sword, used like a weapon to seduce men into subtle submission. But the weapon is also used to keep a woman down. You can't dress sexy or you're a slut or trying to use men. But if you dress frumpy, you're a prude and not worth any attention. Women are so fashion concious because we have to walk such a razor's edge between sex and seriousness.
"Are the three Ms in the class getting it?" Mr. M asked. I try to be a smartass.
"Yeah, just call us M squared."
"You mean cubed." Mr. M replies with a self-satisfied smirk. My peers eyes watch me.
"Yeah." With perfect deadpan. As the eyes turn away I shoot a deadly evil eye at my teacher.
Oh, you win this round, mouseman. But in the end, sweet victory will be mine.
(circa Jan 31, 07)
I decided to dress myself in a fluffy vest thing that is so very 70s. It's not something that I would wear on any given day, but it was cold outside and I was feeling adventurous. As I put on my Cleopatra makeup, I realize that I have misplaced my mascara.
Bummer.
I trot down the stairs and straight into the kitchen hoping for its usual dark and cool embrace in the grey morning light. Instead I find myself in the headlights of the kitchen bulbs and straight into a serious disscussion between mother and father about marital satisfaction. I decide to switch it to ignore mode and focus on the mission of obtaining delicious dark coffee. A liquid sure to clear the morning fog from the windshield of my mind. My brother screws around as usual and makes me late. Again.
I'll have to crack the whip tommorrow.
I walk in with the late train of people into Statistics. The rodent-esque Mr. M is off talking to his favorite boys. I'm sure Mr. M doens't appreciate that but he hardly ever starts class just when it begins. More like halfway through. I take a seat behind Sarah and I try to focus on the teacher's lecture but soon I drift off and snap myself back only to realize that I lost about five minutes of the lecture while off in dreamland.
Damnit, girl, focus!
Then Mr. M goes off on a tangent about weathermen. Time for lame stand up comedy from the Mouseman himself.
"Well, that's the best job in the world! You get paid a lot of money even if you are wrong about the weather! It's the only job that allows you to be wrong about things." he said and he laughs.
"Of course, you don't even have to be qualified to be a weatherman, I know you've all seen those morning shows with the weatherwomen... They obviously weren't the best credentialed meterologists in thier class... if you know what I mean." he said, and there is a knowing chuckle from the boys.
"How do you know they aren't credentialed, Mr. M?" I say as Gloria Steinem seems to have possessed my body in that very instance.
I don't really listen to the response, because I'm sick and tired of him playing to the boys club in this math class.
"Have you checked thier credentials ... do you know? Or are you just saying that?" I continued.
"Well, by the way they dress, I think it's pretty obvious that they weren't hired for thier credentials..." he said.
"That's just television though!" I say, but for some reason I don't have a better answer for that. The paradox of being a woman in the workplace. And as Mr. M continued his lecture, I was thinking furiously on the relationship between a woman and her body. It's such a double edged sword, used like a weapon to seduce men into subtle submission. But the weapon is also used to keep a woman down. You can't dress sexy or you're a slut or trying to use men. But if you dress frumpy, you're a prude and not worth any attention. Women are so fashion concious because we have to walk such a razor's edge between sex and seriousness.
"Are the three Ms in the class getting it?" Mr. M asked. I try to be a smartass.
"Yeah, just call us M squared."
"You mean cubed." Mr. M replies with a self-satisfied smirk. My peers eyes watch me.
"Yeah." With perfect deadpan. As the eyes turn away I shoot a deadly evil eye at my teacher.
Oh, you win this round, mouseman. But in the end, sweet victory will be mine.
(circa Jan 31, 07)
posted by Marissa @ 11:47 AM
1 comments
