His girlfriend raced onto the stage. She's the one with guts, she's the one I want in classes, thought Dani. The girlfriend held his head, and his eyes fluttered.
"You can't tell my father that, he would KILL me!" said Ken.
"Are you going to behave, then?" asked Dani, standing over him.
"Anyone else have a problem, here?" Dani asked, as she whirled to stride the stage. The classroom was quiet, and then a voice rang out.
"You got the problem, BITCH!" called out one jock in the front row. He didn't look to be out to play; he was angry.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Lecture One
Lecture One, she thought. The worst part of the job, ever. By now, having given Lecture One a half-dozen times at three universities, the style of her presentation had begun to coalesce out of its own merit.
UCLA - it was ugly, and a disaster. She joined in as a lecturer, and was given a small starter grant from friends in the Industry to lecture on The Blue Movie in America. The film school gave her little more than a smirk and a classroom, and her presence on campus was widely ignored as a stunt. Professor Paris Hilton, they called her; and they called her many more things. Under her strident protest, enrollment was opened to all undergraduates, and the course had over five hundred students jammed into a lecture hall.
Her original goal for Lecture One was to offer a summary of the coursework, and her expectations of performance. The audience - it really was an audience - treated it like it was a fraternity party. Catcalls of "take it off!" and "nice boobs!" rained down from the crowd. Dani had dressed conservative and dowdy even, a cable-knit sweater over a long dress. Some of the students dressed for a Hallowe'en Hookers' Ball - always the ones sitting with boyfriends, she noticed. When the class began, she noticed with some shock that she was being completely ignored by the crowd - it was waiting for ShowTime.
A catcall from the front brought her up short. A Japanamerican Frat Boy mouthed off for her to "take it off, ho'!" She glared at him. He was sitting with - clearly a girlfriend - in a tight leather corset.
"You. Here, now, Goddamit!" ordering him to the stage. He shuffled up with a smirk. She warned the girlfriend to sit tight. He looked a little apprehensive when she turned back. "Coward," Dani. thought.
"Name?" she snapped when he finished his stageward mosey. "Ken Yamaguchi, what's it to you?" he sneered at her. "You got your phone? I'm calling your parents!" she said, and the audience howled at her impertient idea.
Dani spoke quickly, in quite decent Japanese - "I'm going to tell them - Mr. Yamaguchi, this is Professor Rosenbaum. Your son has been expelled from my university class because of his disrespect to the professor. He has embarrassed your name."
Ken stared blankly - he clearly spoke no Japanese. His girlfriend was transfixed. SHE knew what was siad. Here eyes were the size of anime-girl saucers, with her little hands over her mouth like mousie-paws. Wearing that corset, SNAP! a picture for her porn-movie memory album.
Ken looked worried, and his complexion turned a bit curdled-milk, watching his girlfriend's expression of clear horror. "What?" he pantomimed at the girl. "What she say?"
She pulled the classroom microphone off, and repeated her proposed 'phone call to him. His face turned the color of smoky milk, and he dropped like a lead puppet.
The room turned immediately silent, and the fiesta mood drained away like candy from a piñata.
UCLA - it was ugly, and a disaster. She joined in as a lecturer, and was given a small starter grant from friends in the Industry to lecture on The Blue Movie in America. The film school gave her little more than a smirk and a classroom, and her presence on campus was widely ignored as a stunt. Professor Paris Hilton, they called her; and they called her many more things. Under her strident protest, enrollment was opened to all undergraduates, and the course had over five hundred students jammed into a lecture hall.
Her original goal for Lecture One was to offer a summary of the coursework, and her expectations of performance. The audience - it really was an audience - treated it like it was a fraternity party. Catcalls of "take it off!" and "nice boobs!" rained down from the crowd. Dani had dressed conservative and dowdy even, a cable-knit sweater over a long dress. Some of the students dressed for a Hallowe'en Hookers' Ball - always the ones sitting with boyfriends, she noticed. When the class began, she noticed with some shock that she was being completely ignored by the crowd - it was waiting for ShowTime.
A catcall from the front brought her up short. A Japanamerican Frat Boy mouthed off for her to "take it off, ho'!" She glared at him. He was sitting with - clearly a girlfriend - in a tight leather corset.
"You. Here, now, Goddamit!" ordering him to the stage. He shuffled up with a smirk. She warned the girlfriend to sit tight. He looked a little apprehensive when she turned back. "Coward," Dani. thought.
"Name?" she snapped when he finished his stageward mosey. "Ken Yamaguchi, what's it to you?" he sneered at her. "You got your phone? I'm calling your parents!" she said, and the audience howled at her impertient idea.
Dani spoke quickly, in quite decent Japanese - "I'm going to tell them - Mr. Yamaguchi, this is Professor Rosenbaum. Your son has been expelled from my university class because of his disrespect to the professor. He has embarrassed your name."
Ken stared blankly - he clearly spoke no Japanese. His girlfriend was transfixed. SHE knew what was siad. Here eyes were the size of anime-girl saucers, with her little hands over her mouth like mousie-paws. Wearing that corset, SNAP! a picture for her porn-movie memory album.
Ken looked worried, and his complexion turned a bit curdled-milk, watching his girlfriend's expression of clear horror. "What?" he pantomimed at the girl. "What she say?"
She pulled the classroom microphone off, and repeated her proposed 'phone call to him. His face turned the color of smoky milk, and he dropped like a lead puppet.
The room turned immediately silent, and the fiesta mood drained away like candy from a piñata.
Continued
She was close, recalled Dani, the closest one ever to it, to me, whatever that THAT is. She kicked through the leaves, reminiscing. Two years ago, it was.
She had long since toned down the flashy outrageousness that swirled around her at UCLA, the rock-star energy, the million-plus dollar unrestricted grant which bought her the undying hatred of all her faculty colleagues; there were the one who insisted that she had f*cked and blown her way to stardom.
It was a concession to honesty, not to outrageousness, that she left the word "whore" on her resume, as it was true and consistent with her meteoric rise as a porn star, a porn director, and now, a professor of the film industry, the blue and the not-blue.
She was secretly hurt every time she tried to take a step and was scoffed at. Imagine a porn-star having directorial ambitions; or a porn director, a claim to the real film industry? Especially in the rootless, classless whirlwind that was LA - the Industry, where genuineness and hard work were mere wall-hangings. Can you fake sincerity? Can you look like you are qualified? That's the sleazy stuff, in the 'legit world as much as the porn. At least porn is honest - f*cking is f*cking, and the challenge is to make Something New out of this billion-year-old pastime.
She wore a long grey dress today and flats; no accessories or adornment; and she was Professor Rosenbaum to any and all when she was teaching. The atmosphere she created in her classes was one of earnestness and respect; no nonsense. A natural Jesuit for a Jew, it was said, and she took it as a compliment.
She had brought her grant from UCLA to USC, and then to LMU. Her management of the grant was solitary and impeccable. No luxuries or frills; no base and self-serving 'perks.' Her office was nicely furnished, in dark oak and leather, a bit masculine but definitely solid, like a Victorian drawing-room.
At her massive and imposing desk, at her left shoulder, invariably hung a locked wooden box, a meter high and a half-meter wide, of soot-darkened wood. It first appeared over her desk at USC; and now, had come up the hill to LMU. The Chorus of the Rude and Ignorant supposed it to contain sex-toys, or whips, or anything the empty greedy mind can put in a box.
It was never opened in public. Dani would not answer to anyone what it contained. It was not a topic for discussion.
She had long since toned down the flashy outrageousness that swirled around her at UCLA, the rock-star energy, the million-plus dollar unrestricted grant which bought her the undying hatred of all her faculty colleagues; there were the one who insisted that she had f*cked and blown her way to stardom.
It was a concession to honesty, not to outrageousness, that she left the word "whore" on her resume, as it was true and consistent with her meteoric rise as a porn star, a porn director, and now, a professor of the film industry, the blue and the not-blue.
She was secretly hurt every time she tried to take a step and was scoffed at. Imagine a porn-star having directorial ambitions; or a porn director, a claim to the real film industry? Especially in the rootless, classless whirlwind that was LA - the Industry, where genuineness and hard work were mere wall-hangings. Can you fake sincerity? Can you look like you are qualified? That's the sleazy stuff, in the 'legit world as much as the porn. At least porn is honest - f*cking is f*cking, and the challenge is to make Something New out of this billion-year-old pastime.
She wore a long grey dress today and flats; no accessories or adornment; and she was Professor Rosenbaum to any and all when she was teaching. The atmosphere she created in her classes was one of earnestness and respect; no nonsense. A natural Jesuit for a Jew, it was said, and she took it as a compliment.
She had brought her grant from UCLA to USC, and then to LMU. Her management of the grant was solitary and impeccable. No luxuries or frills; no base and self-serving 'perks.' Her office was nicely furnished, in dark oak and leather, a bit masculine but definitely solid, like a Victorian drawing-room.
At her massive and imposing desk, at her left shoulder, invariably hung a locked wooden box, a meter high and a half-meter wide, of soot-darkened wood. It first appeared over her desk at USC; and now, had come up the hill to LMU. The Chorus of the Rude and Ignorant supposed it to contain sex-toys, or whips, or anything the empty greedy mind can put in a box.
It was never opened in public. Dani would not answer to anyone what it contained. It was not a topic for discussion.
Continued...
Dani was self-assured and confident, balanced and extroverted, and luxuriated in her fullness as a mature expressive woman; all of which fell away like a mask as she blinked owlishly at Dr. O'Leary, Sr. Brigid by name. Dani looked down at her shoes and fidgeted like a second-grader. She looked up and whispered, "Do you think I would be OK here, like, to work?"
"Oh dear," thought Bridgid, "we have a special one here, a Lämmchen. Pasce agnos, wherever they may be, what a surprise!"
Bridgid whispered back in a low voice, as though to a small child, "We would like to have you here. Will you come?"
Dani whispered back with a look of awe on her face, "I would like that. Yes."
Bridgid added, "I did not think you would be so shy."
Dani leaned back, still looking down, and blushed.
Bridgid let out a small, gentle laugh, warm and pure like a copper bell. She said, "It's okay. Thank you for trusting me. I wish to see you do well. You are a remarkable lady."
Dani gathered back into her old confident self, and rang out proudly, "Yes. Yes, I would like very much to join your faculty. Let's make it happen."
"Fine, then." Said Dr. Bridgit O'Leary, "As Dean of the Humanities here, I have the privilege and authority to welcome you to our university. Let's meet again tomorrow with some other faculty for the specifics." Then, very quietly - "I am always here for you, to speak again, any time."
They rose and exhanged pleasantries, as Dani suppressed well the urge to race from the room. Smooth, balanced, very graceful, they said their last good-byes, all good protocol; the door closed.
"Dr. O'Leary can make a whore blush in an interview. One more secret that I can never tell." the dean mused.
"Oh dear," thought Bridgid, "we have a special one here, a Lämmchen. Pasce agnos, wherever they may be, what a surprise!"
Bridgid whispered back in a low voice, as though to a small child, "We would like to have you here. Will you come?"
Dani whispered back with a look of awe on her face, "I would like that. Yes."
Bridgid added, "I did not think you would be so shy."
Dani leaned back, still looking down, and blushed.
Bridgid let out a small, gentle laugh, warm and pure like a copper bell. She said, "It's okay. Thank you for trusting me. I wish to see you do well. You are a remarkable lady."
Dani gathered back into her old confident self, and rang out proudly, "Yes. Yes, I would like very much to join your faculty. Let's make it happen."
"Fine, then." Said Dr. Bridgit O'Leary, "As Dean of the Humanities here, I have the privilege and authority to welcome you to our university. Let's meet again tomorrow with some other faculty for the specifics." Then, very quietly - "I am always here for you, to speak again, any time."
They rose and exhanged pleasantries, as Dani suppressed well the urge to race from the room. Smooth, balanced, very graceful, they said their last good-byes, all good protocol; the door closed.
"Dr. O'Leary can make a whore blush in an interview. One more secret that I can never tell." the dean mused.
Part of a Story
Dani Rosenbaum kicked slowly through the brown leaves of fall. September's heat still had not broken over LA, but the marine layer curled up the bluffs from Marina del Rey.
She had become old, by the measure of years in Los Angeles; nearing forty. A character actress, now, in the Industry; nearly a Before Digital Gal.
The winds had swirled her about the City of Our Lady. Many were destroyed, desecrated by rape and pill. She was old enough to guess that her survival was not merely her making, nor fate.
"C'est quelque chose qui disparaît lorsque décrite." A strange quest, a Mission Statement; read by the blind, uncomprehending. Sister Bridgid was the first living breathing human being to read it, to answer it back intelligently. Not a haughty droplet of French to tease the natives, or intellectualish or mean or small; a concept that made her mind soar.
"Quod aliquid, quae evanescit, quando nominatur." Bridgid offered "You are a very serious woman. You would be greatly welcomed here."
At last, a thought reflected not echoed, a mind, a living mind.
"You have...read my resumé?" fearing the inevitable crush of rejection that had bruised her countless times.
"Of course. We teach media here, and strive for humanism, innovation and diversity. Is that not your passion?"
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