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I was so excited over Clay Burell’s post about me today. I actually picked up the phone to share it with someone in the real world, but no answer. I’ll tell her later. But still! I love being called a bitch, a hellcat… a vamp. Wow. This is all it takes to be a hellcat? Because there is so much more where that came from.
TAYLOR, wearing Lara Croft thigh straps with guns attached: Yeah, baby. I’ll fuck you up.
But really, I thought I was supposed to be nice. You know, out here among the nice teachers. (Insert image of Miss Landers.)
Wait — a hellcat would never say that.
Would she?
More later on my identity crisis as a teacher blogger. This is about my identity crisis as a woman writer.
It’s hard to ignore the irony of my friend starting shit with Angry Black Bitch about whether or not she is really black — then Clay Burrell questioning whether or not I’m really a female.
The question seems odd to me. Like the question of whether or not Angry Black Bitch is black. It never crossed my mind, reading her blog, to even wonder about her race. It makes me wonder why someone would ask that question. And I can’t escape the suspicion that Clay would ask that because of preconcieved notions about the nature of male and female.
But I’m not angry about it. I do the same thing. My entire post, “Man Talk, Families, Togetherness, and Writing it all Down,” is laced top-to-bottom with similar preconceptions about men. Big deal. I think the worst thing we can do is pick apart one another’s words without listening.
This reminds me of my very favorite episode of “Leave it to Beaver.” Beaver makes friends at school with a little boy from South America named Chuy. When Chuy’s mother drops him off to play, the moms stand there stammering over the language barrier, but the children just run upstairs to play. June is surprised.
June says, “Beaver, do you understand what he says?
Beaver’s words are sweet, “No, I just understand what he means.”
I guess I said all that to say, “Thanks, Clay, for the props. I’m really a female. But it really doesn’t matter. Think of me however you like.”
Or, as Slim Shady would say, “I am whatever you say I am.”
I'm Taylor. This is my classroom. There used to be a "real" teacher behind this blog, but she nagged me all the time about not saying this and not saying that. ~all she ever did was type anyway, since my fingers are stuck together~ So I've taken over.
Yes, I'm an imitation Barbie knock-off doll. What of it? Barbie's got nothing on me! Let me take you to school.
Divine One,
I see the logic there, but try this angle: I’m an English teacher.
I was really just fantasizing about the possibilities inherent in persona, anonymity, language, and gender – about playfulness, really.
In other words, I was being playful.
Check out the Yes Men for the backstory, if you haven’t already. I linked to them on my own post.
And as for the rest of my motives, without psychologizing “in wand’ring mazes lost,” to quote my homey Milton, they mostly consisted of a) wanting to send some well-deserved readers your way, and b) have a little fun (damn, that play instinct again: call me homo ludens). I seriously hadn’t done any analysis of your tone, style, or anything else. I’m too willfully superficial for that.
Please don’t put me in the doghouse. I’m on my knees
I really should be typing reports but Clay’s stuck his inquisitive nose in good and proper so I just have to pipe up. The question of who someone really is on the web when they choose a writer’s nom-de-blume is always subject to speculation and theory. And the why is also intriguing. We all hide something – you may be masking your actual name but it allows you freedoms that I, using my real name and image, have to curtail. I have to be careful posting about in school incidents that could be deemed negative because it would be pretty easy to work out the people in the spotlight. I don’t want to be so open in sharing my warts and all practice for fear of giving ammunition to any parents who query my competence as an educator.
BTW, when I first started reading Artichoke, it took me ages to realise that my preconceptions about this intriguing Kiwi blogger’s gender were wrong. And Artichoke is convinced there are edubloggers who’ve crossed paths with her who still believe she’s a male!
Well, I’d have to agree that it’s the English teacher in me…no, the teacher…no, the person.
I admire names…real ones.
I can’t help it.
I believe (and I will believe, b/c like everyone in else in the big, turkey-filled world) that I don’t care about anyone’s color (sorry, Senator McCarthy) but people will choose to focus on what they choose to focus on.
And b/c I care: what is the irony with what I’ve done (although what I intended and what resulted surely are now quite different)?
I can’t hide from my teacherly self…it’s my curse/stupidity/badge of meaningless honor, whathaveyou.
Happy Turkey Day!
And yet again, I posted about the flip-flops and I see that it’s not there!
This is all so interesting – not sure if it’s a tempest in a teapot, or no tempest at all, since you, Taylor, seemed to take the play overall as a good sport in your post.
But the reactions, and the afterthoughts, are, again, interesting. Lots of psychology and “rhetorical triangle” stuff to think about.
For example, the “persona,” in choosing a playful game of hide-and-seek by choosing anonymity, invites (arguably) the same sort of playfulness, by that choice, from his/her audience. So if it comes as something uncomfortable for the author, when that happens, that’s interesting. I’m not evaluating or judging here – just noticing the interesting dynamics, psychologically.
Then there’s the psychology of blogging when you use your real identity. This has made me think of that too. Because I blog with my own name, my photo, and a fairly self-revealing style, I’ve been unconsciously assuming that readers “know” me. But that’s a flawed assumption because there’s no telling how many readers actually follow my blog regularly. So when I assume that my readers, since they “know” me, will take yet one more playful post in the spirit it was meant (and again, no intention here to imply that you didn’t, Taylor, since that doesn’t seem to be the case), I’m open to my own discomfiting discovery that some might take it otherwise.
It’s all funny.
Unlike Ken, I, as a writer and reader, love the possibilities inherent in a “nom-de-keyboard.” It goes back to Nietzsche, Foucault, even Derrida (when I could stomach him), and the whole “masks” meme they loved so much.
It seems to me there is a freedom in anonymity, in writing behind a mask, that allows for the expression of ideas far more dangerous and (buzzword alert) “disruptive” than is possible when we attach our name.
And that also allows for surreal forms of play with gender, age, and other markers that again, set my imagination on fire.
One should be careful, if they choose anonymity, that their identity is airtight, though. I discovered last week or so that a simple “whois” inquiry reveals everything about the site and URL owner, down to address and phone number. This is preventable, but only if you know to do it.
Anyway, thanks for the ride. Fun so far. Happy thanksgiving.
Great comments! Thanks for contributing! (And for reminding me to double check my whois registration.)
Excellent write up, took me quite a few searches to find something like this, thanks
The Male Edge