andrea (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mumblebee) wrote,@ 2006-04-13 14:50:00 |
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And to give you some evidence that I do some work here, here's most of an email I sent to family and friends following the mid-March, mid-term Fulbright conference. I've cut out the particularly catty parts and left in detailed descriptions of my clothing. If you're interested in reading my actual paper, let me know and I'll send it to you.
The three-day, 9 a.m. to 7 p.m., marathon mid-term Fulbright conference ended yesterday. All of the 25 or so grantees of different types (recent graduates, people writing their dissertations, professors) presented their work thus far. Thing was so long! I feel like I survived something, and so at noon today I was in bed with my computer, recovering from the conference and from last night's celebrations.
I felt nervous and clammy about the conf from the beginning. We had all been told, basically, that this is the one of the only things we are accountable for all year, so don't mess it up. The conference was at La Tour Hassan Hotel. I walk past it all the time and had no idea of the hidden fanciness within. Dang. The swankiness and formality added to the tension. Everyone was all gussied up professional style. My Day One fashion jam involved brown pants and a black button up shirt. Many important people and local elites were there, including prominent academics, NGO leaders, and representatives from the Embassy. We were taped for one of the national TV channels too. I had an urgent feeling, engaged, on-edge, and like I could fight someone! There was a large diversity of talk topics and styles, from
an English teacher discussing village life, to the most boring paper in the world on something very specific in 15th century Moroccan history, to a report on the women's health implications of the changes to the Moroccan family code, to a half-creative half-analytical
multimedia talk on urban planning in the Fes medina. The discussants' responses to Fulbrighter work varied in style too. (The experts we had each invited to talk about our work each had 15 minutes to present, after our 20) Some, like a charming/arrogant writer I've interviewed and hung out with, just chatted, half about the Fulbrighter's project and half about the topics at hand more generally. Other discussants had their own PowerPoint presentations. Most were in English but a few preferred to speak in French. A lot of
PowerPoint was used, for better and for worse. I got the cards of several academics who have something to do with women's writing. Good contacts. Tasty, extravagant buffet lunches all three days and dinner the last night. At the end I stumbled sleepily to Laura and Alex's
and ate a dinner they made. Finished my talk, stayed up too late.
On the morning of my talk, Day Two, my outfit and my blow-dried hair looked better than ever before! I wore "the best pants I have ever owned," blue denim-ish trousers from the Spanish store Zara, and a white, fitted, button-up shirt with faint pale blue shimmery stripes. So far so good. The day dragged, though most talks were good. An hour before mine, I declared myself "KARATE READY." One of the professors came over and told me in a fatherly way to "have fun up there." It washed over me, and for a second I was elated, giddy, gleeful to give my talk. I thought of all the people who had wished me well, from my parents to my Fulbright pals to my cleaning lady to the guy at the cybercafe who printed my paper. I looked around and saw Moroccan friends from our Moroccan American Student Association (MASA) who had come to hear me. My Arabic teachers, Raja and Bouazza, and their daughter Naziha were there too. My discussant, professor and novelist Touria Ouleheri, had arrived and she sat in the back revising her notes. And! Right before I started a good 10 people walked in! Including two prominent linguists, which made me a little nervous. Though they were probably there to see Touria anyway. I was mostly confident about my talk, but concerned about its delivery and curious to see what Touria would say about it.
It went well! Though I know I faintly trembled the whole time and squirmed in my chair, reliable reports said that I was poised and slow-speaking. That remains one of the mysteries of the universe—that you can feel terrified when public speaking but look and sound fine. I noticed as it went along that more friends from MASA had arrived. My talk was concise, as it was the last one on Day Two and that seemed wise. I was a tiny bit embarrassed that I stumbled through a quote in French, and I later called it "the worst French in the world," though people assured me it was definitely not. Touria praised my work, called me "Mademoiselle Andrea S_____" several times (gave her comments in French), said she was very happy to meet me, and talked about the status of Moroccan women's writing and its reception more generally. Several people asked questions and had comments at the end. I faltered a bit, deferred more than one to Touria, translated a question she hadn't heard, but felt comfortable. Success and relief! Went out for din at the restaurant of the Goethe Institute, a chic, always crowded pizza, salad, pasta affair, with Touria, adults, Adriana and Morgan. I often didn't quite know what I was supposed to do with Touria. Keep her company and chat? Let her mingle with her fellow Moroccan elites? Though I like her a lot, thankfully, she did a lot of the latter and I could chill with my friends.
Day Three: still tired. Had to come up with one more nice outfit. It was "the best pants I have ever owned," brown boat neck shirt and pale sea foam green V-neck cardigan, plus those little black heels with yellow detail. (How's that for detail!) Most of the Fulbrighters my
age had their talks this day. I was impressed with my friends' work, particularly Laura's and Kristen's. I felt like, "That's my girl!" At lunch I ate what seemed like the tasty kind of cheese that's in Indian food. Not true! I reached for another piece and the political
historian who had been exiled in Senegal for 12 years (!!) said, "You know that's brain, right?" I paled. The conference dragged on and on, I took a stroll with two friends, bought gummies and lounged on the couches in the courtyard, then attended the closing dinner. Us
kids were all eager to leave and start the evening. We were too sleepy to go dancing so we had a noisy party at Kristen and Adriana's apartment in the medina. Mazian! (Good)
Today I lounged for a while, made myself a scrambled egg and onion, fried potato, coffee and juice brunch, showered, and strolled downtown to have sodas with Kristen at a garden cafe before she caught a train. I got there and found three other friends and sat with them. We
chilled, exchanged conference gossip, the three left, Kristen and I chatted, then strolled to the train station, each with a hand on the handle of her rolly suitcase. Everything was sunny and windy.
Here's a vague article about the conf:
http://www.moroccotimes.com/paper/artic
love you, miss you, thank you,
Andrea
The three-day, 9 a.m. to 7 p.m., marathon mid-term Fulbright conference ended yesterday. All of the 25 or so grantees of different types (recent graduates, people writing their dissertations, professors) presented their work thus far. Thing was so long! I feel like I survived something, and so at noon today I was in bed with my computer, recovering from the conference and from last night's celebrations.
I felt nervous and clammy about the conf from the beginning. We had all been told, basically, that this is the one of the only things we are accountable for all year, so don't mess it up. The conference was at La Tour Hassan Hotel. I walk past it all the time and had no idea of the hidden fanciness within. Dang. The swankiness and formality added to the tension. Everyone was all gussied up professional style. My Day One fashion jam involved brown pants and a black button up shirt. Many important people and local elites were there, including prominent academics, NGO leaders, and representatives from the Embassy. We were taped for one of the national TV channels too. I had an urgent feeling, engaged, on-edge, and like I could fight someone! There was a large diversity of talk topics and styles, from
an English teacher discussing village life, to the most boring paper in the world on something very specific in 15th century Moroccan history, to a report on the women's health implications of the changes to the Moroccan family code, to a half-creative half-analytical
multimedia talk on urban planning in the Fes medina. The discussants' responses to Fulbrighter work varied in style too. (The experts we had each invited to talk about our work each had 15 minutes to present, after our 20) Some, like a charming/arrogant writer I've interviewed and hung out with, just chatted, half about the Fulbrighter's project and half about the topics at hand more generally. Other discussants had their own PowerPoint presentations. Most were in English but a few preferred to speak in French. A lot of
PowerPoint was used, for better and for worse. I got the cards of several academics who have something to do with women's writing. Good contacts. Tasty, extravagant buffet lunches all three days and dinner the last night. At the end I stumbled sleepily to Laura and Alex's
and ate a dinner they made. Finished my talk, stayed up too late.
On the morning of my talk, Day Two, my outfit and my blow-dried hair looked better than ever before! I wore "the best pants I have ever owned," blue denim-ish trousers from the Spanish store Zara, and a white, fitted, button-up shirt with faint pale blue shimmery stripes. So far so good. The day dragged, though most talks were good. An hour before mine, I declared myself "KARATE READY." One of the professors came over and told me in a fatherly way to "have fun up there." It washed over me, and for a second I was elated, giddy, gleeful to give my talk. I thought of all the people who had wished me well, from my parents to my Fulbright pals to my cleaning lady to the guy at the cybercafe who printed my paper. I looked around and saw Moroccan friends from our Moroccan American Student Association (MASA) who had come to hear me. My Arabic teachers, Raja and Bouazza, and their daughter Naziha were there too. My discussant, professor and novelist Touria Ouleheri, had arrived and she sat in the back revising her notes. And! Right before I started a good 10 people walked in! Including two prominent linguists, which made me a little nervous. Though they were probably there to see Touria anyway. I was mostly confident about my talk, but concerned about its delivery and curious to see what Touria would say about it.
It went well! Though I know I faintly trembled the whole time and squirmed in my chair, reliable reports said that I was poised and slow-speaking. That remains one of the mysteries of the universe—that you can feel terrified when public speaking but look and sound fine. I noticed as it went along that more friends from MASA had arrived. My talk was concise, as it was the last one on Day Two and that seemed wise. I was a tiny bit embarrassed that I stumbled through a quote in French, and I later called it "the worst French in the world," though people assured me it was definitely not. Touria praised my work, called me "Mademoiselle Andrea S_____" several times (gave her comments in French), said she was very happy to meet me, and talked about the status of Moroccan women's writing and its reception more generally. Several people asked questions and had comments at the end. I faltered a bit, deferred more than one to Touria, translated a question she hadn't heard, but felt comfortable. Success and relief! Went out for din at the restaurant of the Goethe Institute, a chic, always crowded pizza, salad, pasta affair, with Touria, adults, Adriana and Morgan. I often didn't quite know what I was supposed to do with Touria. Keep her company and chat? Let her mingle with her fellow Moroccan elites? Though I like her a lot, thankfully, she did a lot of the latter and I could chill with my friends.
Day Three: still tired. Had to come up with one more nice outfit. It was "the best pants I have ever owned," brown boat neck shirt and pale sea foam green V-neck cardigan, plus those little black heels with yellow detail. (How's that for detail!) Most of the Fulbrighters my
age had their talks this day. I was impressed with my friends' work, particularly Laura's and Kristen's. I felt like, "That's my girl!" At lunch I ate what seemed like the tasty kind of cheese that's in Indian food. Not true! I reached for another piece and the political
historian who had been exiled in Senegal for 12 years (!!) said, "You know that's brain, right?" I paled. The conference dragged on and on, I took a stroll with two friends, bought gummies and lounged on the couches in the courtyard, then attended the closing dinner. Us
kids were all eager to leave and start the evening. We were too sleepy to go dancing so we had a noisy party at Kristen and Adriana's apartment in the medina. Mazian! (Good)
Today I lounged for a while, made myself a scrambled egg and onion, fried potato, coffee and juice brunch, showered, and strolled downtown to have sodas with Kristen at a garden cafe before she caught a train. I got there and found three other friends and sat with them. We
chilled, exchanged conference gossip, the three left, Kristen and I chatted, then strolled to the train station, each with a hand on the handle of her rolly suitcase. Everything was sunny and windy.
Here's a vague article about the conf:
http://www.moroccotimes.com/paper/artic
love you, miss you, thank you,
Andrea
