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| Karen enjoying classroom four |
Karenlindseyism
Karenlindseyism (definition): the state one finds oneself in following a semester of courses (between one and three) with the esteemed K. Lindsey: feminist; historian; author; left-winger; professor; self-described cross between a 1960s hippie and a 1950s nun. The original Karen Lindsey can be found in:
a) Boston
b) the Netherlands
c) London
d) Queens
First, visualize the founder of this order. She appears before you clad in an outer layer of purple Gore-tex (coat and Sherlock Holmes hat). Removal of the outer layer will reveal mid-calf flared culottes, shiny black tights, shinier red patent leather loafers. Round owl-framed glasses are a must, as is a pinkie ring bearing the Greek "Venus" sign; upon the beginning of class time, a red ballpoint pen on a string is placed around the neck. This pen will never, ever be used during class. If a pen is needed, she will search her bag and surrounding desk areas until one is found. The red loafers will be kicked off within the first five minutes.
But this is only a brief and physical description of the original Karen Lindsey herself. Karenlindseyism as a philosophical order is based upon several basic principles.
1) The white, male, upper- or middle-class, Christian, capitalist in Western society is keeping everyone else* down.
2) If anyone tells you otherwise, they (for "he" as a generic term for a human of either gender is unacceptable in Karenlindseyism) are suffering from false consciousness.
3) Everything in the world can be summed up by principles 1) and 2). A few possible amendments could be made here or there, but for the most part, Karenlindseyism functions in exactly this way.
4) Do not, under any circumstances, be late for class and/or skip class if it is not your requested cut day. This is not to say that it will be remembered that today is your cut day. But if its not, for gods sake, dont skip. The Karenlindseyist will find outand damn, will she be pissed.
*everyone else: males of any race other than Caucasian; females of any race, even Caucasian; people who believe in an economic system other than capitalism; people of any religion other than Christian, including atheists and agnostics; people of classes or castes other than the bourgeoisie; children; hermaphrodites.
In order to be a Karenlindseyist, you must believe in the concept of the Other, as defined by Simone DeBeauvoir in The Second Sex and as described also in the works of Sartre (anti-Semitism), Fanon (colonialism) Camus (also colonialism), and other existentialists. After a brief amount of time in lectures with Karen Lindsey, one will find Otherness everywhere and in everything. Karenlindseyism can be found in the mating of ducks, in bus schedules, in displays of fireworks. This is often from a feminist perspective, but can also be easily applied to religion, racism, capitalism and socio-economic status, and anything else that one could think of.
The true Karenlindseyist adores (equally) Tudor England, historical fiction novels, and chocolate. S(he) will chug cough syrup straight from the bottle without finding this to be even the slightest bit strange. A Karenlindseyist will read Tarot cards and must be a vegetarian.
Problems with memory? Try this handy mnemonic device for recalling peoples names, the Karenlindseyism way. First, cast the person as a character from a Shakespearean play. Its helpful if you can find a character that you imagine this person would be, were they a Shakespearean actoror, for that matter, an actor of any sort. Its also helpful to designate your person as a character with a name that might, to some people, sound similar to this persons real name. Once you have cast the person, you will be able to recall their name perfectlyfirst by remembering which play their character was in, then by remembering which character theyre supposed to be, and finally by connecting all this with the persons actual moniker. Its as simple as that.
With any luck, you are now beginning to understand the breadth, depth, and above all the underlying method to the seeming madness of Karenlindseyism. Sure, it may sound crazy to some. But those are obviously the people who have never had the pleasure of seeing Karen Lindsey herself in all her various elements. Love it or be confused by it, one can never deny the sheer power of Karenlindseyism.
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Introduction to the Netherlands
The Spring 2003 Castle Well program journeyed to Amsterdam over the weekend of January 24th - 26th. The capitol of our Castle's country, the Netherlands, Amsterdam is a city of about one million nestled around a series of canals in northern Holland. Known as "the Tolerant City," Amsterdam is commonly associated with sex and drugs. Prostitution and so-called soft drugs, such as marijuana, are legal in the Netherlands, and closely regulated by the government. The city is indeed tolerant-nearly everyone speaks English and is happy to speak it with you. In fact, I apparently have the word "AMERICAN" on my forehead, because people automatically spoke English to me wherever I went.
Upon our arrival in Amsterdam on Friday morning, we were lectured once about our academic programs for the weekend, once about the rules of our hostel, and once about the unique brand of Amsterdam safety we might want to employ. We were told, "I really dont recommend that you get a prostitute. But if you must hire one, make sure that you get a real one from a window in the red-light district. Those are the ones that are tested for venereal diseases every week. Don't settle for a prostitute from the street; you might get AIDS or herpes." We were also informed about drugs and legalized marijuana. Its not that the Dutch are all druggies; its just that they make a clear distinction between "soft" and "hard" drugs, and don't mind you doing the soft ones. I am an Emersonian, but I'm not a smoker of anything, even tobacco. I wondered if, as a non-pot smoker, I would even be able to determine where the famed "coffee shops" were.
On Friday afternoon we went to the Rijks Museum, which houses the world's largest collection of 13th-19th century Dutch masterpieces. We saw some pretty amazing artwork, including the prize piece of the museum, Rembrandt's Night Watch. Saturday morning we hit the Van Gogh Museum, which is of course home to the world's largest collection of Van Gogh paintings. It also holds related works from that time period, which is around the 1890s, and Van Gogh's own collection of Japanese artworks. I learned that in Dutch, the name "Van Gogh" is pronounced "Van Hacking-cough." It's roughly the noise one would make when trying to dislodge phlegm from the back of one's throat. I didnt even get to the contemporary art museum or the Anne Frank House.
The other highlight, for me, was seeing the beautiful architecture. Amsterdam looks rather like certain parts of Boston, only older and European. The commercial districts look rather like Downtown Crossing, and the rest looks like Charles Street would look if it had a canal in it. The buildings are tall, skinny, and all lean in one or multiple directions. Its completely and utterly beautiful. The sense of history that one gets from simply walking around Amsterdam is amazing.
There is, however, one huge difference between Amsterdam and Boston. In Amsterdam, the cars don't stop for pedestrians. Neither do the trams, which share streets with the cars. But at least trams and cars stay in the street, even if a majority of the roads are one-way and you can't tell which way the traffic is going. Amsterdam is a bicyclist's town, and bicycles are everywhere. People cycle in the bike lanes, they cycle in the traffic lanes, they cycle on the tram tracks, and they cycle on the sidewalks. They don't stop for you, the hapless and non-Dutch-speaking tourist. Luckily, the bicycles all have warning bells, which are rung constantly; this at least prevented me from being completely flattened.
Amsterdam is a city of more than sex and drugs. It really is. But my God, do sex and drugs exist. I quickly realized that had I wanted to find a coffee shop, I would have had no trouble doing so. Every other block boasted a storefront window with a neon sign proclaiming "COFFEE SHOP." Many sported tapestries of Bob Marley.
As for sex, anyone who thinks that the Washington Monument is phallic should see the monument in Amsterdam's center, Dam Square. I'm not one to be obsessed with sex, but this was incredible. I then realized that the iron posts placed in sidewalks in (failed) attempts to keep them cleared of bicycles were tiny replicas of the Dam Square monument. Thus, I saw phallic symbols everywhere.
But if you're going to talk about sex in Amsterdam, then of course the red-light district has to be mentioned. This is the area of the city in which prostitution is legal. So of course I had to pay it a visit on my first night there. The red-light district is, well, surreal. Prostitutes pose in windows lined with red neon. They wear thong underwear and fur-edged bras and spiked heels. They actively attempt to solicit you as you pass their windows, even if you are obviously a female American college student. We passed sex shops, sex shows, sex museums, and a fountain that went WAY beyond phallic. That is to say, there actually was a four-foot high penis fountain. It ejaculated water which then ran over two rotating cement testicles. We were fascinated. I noticed that at least half the people in the red-light district seemed to be American tourists. Oddly enough, the place feels completely safe to walk in, even at night. Probably because prostitution is legal, and therefore the police are everywhere to make sure nothing too weird happens.
After the red-light district, there were bars to hit. I eventually even went into a coffee shop. When someone passed me a joint, I did in fact take half a hit just so I could say "I went to Amsterdam and smoked pot!" Well, sort of-I dont actually know how to smoke anything. And although I am twenty years old, I apparently still dont even look eighteen, because I was carded at more than one location.
That was my Friday evening. On Saturday night, exhausted from walking so much (and from not sleeping on Friday night, due to reasons described above), I decided to see a movie. They're all shown in English with Dutch subtitles. Unfortunately the only thing I could get a ticket to was 8 Mile. The theater was filled with teenage boys, who were throwing a strange object back and forth between the theater's rows. It was only when the flying object nearly hit me in the head that I realized what it was-an extraordinarily accurate beanbag reproduction of a woman's breast, complete with erect rubber nipple. I suppose teenage boys are the same everywhere. But Amsterdam is not the same as any other city I've ever been to, and I can't wait until I have the chance to go back.
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