Miss Kitt to Me

Another one of my data entry divas has passed. First Yma Sumac, now Eartha Kitt. When I first moved to New York, I had a series of temp jobs. While helping evil law firms beat off class action lawsuits from cancer victims, all of us night-shift coders would alternate between snarky observations about our work and (when the shift supervisors started their surveillance) listening to music over headphones. Occasionally we'd exchange CDs. I learned about Miss Kitt (and Yma Sumac) from a middle-aged gay guy who spent his days trying to become an actor.

People who know her only as Catwoman on Batman should check out some of her older videos on YouTube. Forget "Santa Baby"—try "I Want to Be Evil." Eartha had a jet-set sophistication before the jet set really existed. The Times obituary says she spoke four languages and sang in seven, but that may be underestimating it. On one album (Live at the Plaza) she sings in six—English, Spanish, French, Japanese, Turkish, and Tagalog—so perhaps there were several more. She presented herself not only as a world traveler but as an associate of world leaders, oil magnates, and the international demimonde (she was too good for the likes of mere Hollywood celebrities). She was vividly sexual but never allowed herself to be exploited—she was always firmly in control.

Granted, this was all part of her shtick, but I think she was as good as anybody at playing to a weird 1950s desire to be dominated by symbols of material goods, sexuality, and a female power that had nothing to do with domesticity (and I don't think this desire was exclusive to men). Eartha Kitt let her fans imagine a world where dissolute rich men behaved badly but misogyny was banished at her own personal request. Of course, she was the only woman allowed in this world, so she wasn't necessarily advancing the cause of women's equality. But how could you not love a song like "Monotonous," which she introduced in 1952:

T.S. Elliott writes books for me
King Farouk’s on tenterhooks for me
Sherman Billingsley even cooks for me
Monotonous, monotonous

"Monotonous" is full of period name-dropping ("Ike likes me"), so you're probably not familiar with the name Sherman Billingsley. Billingsley was the proprietor of the Stork Club, a super deluxe center of swank in Manhattan's midcentury clubland. It's even less likely that you know that the NAACP instituted a picket of the Stork Club in 1951 after Billingsley et al. refused service to Josephine Baker (you can read all about it in Martha Biondi's book To Stand and Fight). Well, that was in 1951. Anyone see the irony here? Eartha Kitt was a black woman who bragged (or yawned) that Mr. Billingsley cooked for her. No one who heard her sing "Monotonous" in 1952 would have missed the pointed reference.

Another Eartha Kitt song I love is "Angelitos Negros." (It was recorded by Roberta Flack on her first album, and more recently by Cat Power.) The lyrics are by the Venezuelan poet Andres Eloy Blanco:

Pintor nacido en mi tierra,
con el pincel extranjero,
pintor que sigues el rumbo,
de tantos pintores viejos.

Aunque la virgen sea blanca,
píntale angelitos negros,
que también se van al cielo,
todos los negritos buenos.

Pintor si pintas con amor,
¿por qué desprecias su color?,
si sabes que en el cielo,
también los quiere Dios.

Pintor de santos alcoba,
si tienes alma en el cuerpo,
por qué al pintar en tus cuadros,
te olvidaste de los negros.

I'm basing my knowledge of this song on the Spanish I learned in an intensive class that I thought I needed to take in order to get into grad school, so I'm probably way off. Spanish-speaking CQ readers are invited to correct me. But the song is addressed to a painter of Christian iconography in churches and asks why, if there are "negros" (which I translate as Diasporic peoples, knowing that Latino racial designations are really complicated) in heaven, angels must be painted white. If there's a soul in your body, the singer reproaches the artist, why do you forget to paint los negros? The political import of the song is obvious. And again, Eartha Kitt sang this at the same time as African Americans North and South were challenging the color line. (I also like the funked-up English-language version she does on Sentimental Eartha, "Paint Me Black Angels"—much more overt and angry.)

Like I said, I think Eartha Kitt took white fantasies of power and glamour and forced them to accommodate a black woman. Of course, she did this in part by exoticizing and sexualizing herself, and you might also say that giving white people an integrated fantasy allowed them to ignore a segregated reality. On the other hand, I think she was cool and savvy at a time when those qualities were almost prerequisites for survival as an adult. Her presence was calculated and exacting; I can't think of another performer, black or white, who simultaneously embodied cold war rationality and decadence. And, at all times, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Santa Delivers (and So Does My Cousin-in-Law)

CheeseQuest sends brie-covered, chèvre-crusted congratulations to my cousin and cousin-in-law on the birth of their daughter. Welcome to the world, CMK!

I Feel Real

I was going to save this for a later post on gender-ambiguous singers, but as a holiday treat I'm going to offer this promotional video for the most awesome disco song ever, Sylvester's "You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)." Someone who did a job talk recently at Cheeseville U. talked a lot about this song and even played it from an iPod. I think the stuffed-shirt deans who came would have gotten the point of the talk a lot better if they could have seen this video.

What's the most amazing aspect of this video? I cannot even begin to pick one. All I can tell you is that I lived through most of the 1970s, and if there were gay waiters in white socks and hot pants walking around in circles somewhere in my subconscious, I didn't notice them.

Sage Wisdom

The following comments are collated from advice sessions I had with members of my committee and other faculty.

• The academic job market is in freefall. Be afraid.

• You're concerned about the job market now? That sure didn't stop you from applying to grad school, did it?

• It's not like modern U.S. jobs at second- and third-tier state universities are suddenly going to dry up.

• Your dissertation will get you a lot of interviews with search committees who are just curious about your topic and not at all interested in hiring you because they don't consider your topic serious.

• Networking is overrated. I've seen great networkers who got crappy jobs because they produced crappy dissertations because they were spending too much time hanging out in the TA lounge complaining. No, don't bother too much with networking. Now goodbye. [on the way out] Did I ever tell you the story about how I didn't get a plumb job right out of grad school because I had no interest in networking?

• Yes, the job market is awful. But you might make it. Just try to [whisper whisper whisper] or apply to postdocs, then [whisper whisper whisper] before your first book [whisper whisper whisper]. I'm going to meet with a prospective student now. Should I tell them to apply to grad school?

• The job market doesn't apply to me.

Light, Camera, Action Figure

If I weren't so special (i.e. if I weren't wasting my fellowship money for the year), I'd be grading bluebooks and laughing about the things those craaaazy undergrads write in their exams. What I am experiencing, however, is a great lull when the university basically grinds to a complete halt for finals and everyone leaves for winter break. This has affected my work, in that I just don't feel like doing it. Hence I have none of the usual gender curiosities or crabby rants to post. I'm left feeling kind of like an action figure—poised for heroism but unable to move because I'm a little piece of plastic. But here are some action-packed trivialities for those who care.

• MK and MS took me out for breakfast today. It was an unusually exciting morning. After our pancakes and bacon, we walked out to the parking lot only to witness an accident. Actually, MS and I only heard the big crunch; MK saw the whole thing. No blood or airbags, thank god, but there was quite a bit of glass and plastic on the asphalt afterward. You'd think there'd be no topping that excitement, but there was—a trip to Target, where I bought two trash cans and...

• ...a tripod! I spent some time after my return practicing opening and closing it as quickly as possible. Just like your martial arts chops, your archive-techie spy moves have to be ready to go when the time comes. After about an hour, I managed to get my time under 8 minutes. Not bad!

• Xmas came early to the CheeseQuest household. Thanks to Father Electronics, I now own a 1 TB external hard drive. Sick, huh? This thing will remember stuff for me when I have Alzheimer's. Thanks, Father Electronics!

• I finished two grant applications yesterday, for the Incomprehensible Weekly Seminar Fellowship and the Improvisational Vernal Chaos Award. I want money. That's what I want.

• My doc gave me a sun lamp on loan till May. It's so I don't get crabby while there's no light out. You only have to sit in front of it for 20 minutes, but it's so bright it's like being interrogated. I'll leave it to those of you who interact with me regularly to judge its effectiveness. The only problem is, it's so damn ugly that I hide it under my desk and sometimes forget to use it in the morning.

• Finally, I'll be joining the lovely and talented DV and J in Philly Monday night in preparation for a risky operation on Tuesday at an archive in the City of Brotherly Love. First archive I've been to where they charge you to get in. Can't wait!

Beards, Babies, Infidels, Gold Teeth, and Mannish Women

I keep meaning to help you score that poll that I had a few weeks ago about the types of people you like.

First, some background. I took the questions from what came to be known as the Terman-Miles M-F Test. It's cited in a lot of social science literature at least through the 1960s. You can find the whole thing in Lewis M. Terman and Catharine Cox Miles, Sex and Personality: Studies in Masculinity and Femininity (New York, 1936). It's one hell of a psychometric test—it goes on for 42 pages and even includes gendered inkblots. (If you see an ax, that's masculine; if you see a baby, that's feminine.) In one study I found, it was administered to male prisoners to see if it could separate the "wolfs" from the "punks." Yes, they really used that terminology.

Interpreting the entire Terman-Miles M-F Test is a complicated affair, but scoring it for an individual is not so hard. For each answer, you add a point if you pick a masculine option and take away a point if you pick a feminine option. (Hey, just like real life!) There's also a neutral category where you neither add nor subtract a point. If you wind up with a positive score, you're on the masculine side. A negative score means you're more feminine.

OK, so hopefully you remember what you liked. (Those who missed the excitement of the poll can still play along now.)

Men with beards: +1 if you like them; -1 if you dislike them; +1 if you neither like nor dislike them.

Babies: -1 if you like them; +1 if you dislike them; +1 if you neither like nor dislike them.

Infidels: +1 if you like them; +1 if you dislike them; -1 if you neither like nor dislike them.

People with gold teeth: 0 if you like them; +1 if you dislike them; -1 if you neither like nor dislike them.

Mannish women: -1 if you like them; +1 if you dislike them; -1 if you neither like nor dislike them.

(Isn't this just like Seventeen? Someone should write an article on the advent of personality tests in teen magazines!)

So what's your score? CQ got +1. (Beards: neither like nor dislike; babies: neither like nor dislike; infidels: like; gold teeth: neither like nor dislike; mannish women: like.)

Roosters and Hens, or Wow, That Hat Sure Subverts Some Gender Identity!

My friend KRM sent me a link that didn't seem to work, but I think she wanted me to see this piece of sheet music. Seems to be from 1926 or so. Thanks, KRM! It appears to be all over the interweb, but I thought the rest of you might enjoy seeing it. Here are the lyrics:

Masculine women, feminine men,
Which is the rooster, which is the hen?
It's hard to tell 'em apart today! And, say!

Sister is busy learning to shave,
Brother just got a permanent wave,
It's hard to tell 'em apart today! Hey, hey!

Girls were girls and boys were boys when I was a tot,
Now we don't know who's who, even what's what!

Knickers and trousers, baggy and wide,
Nobody knows who's walking inside,
Those masculine women and feminine men!

YouTube also has this (rather boring) video of a player piano reel playing the song.

For those who keep track of my whereabouts, I'm subverting gender identity from a glass box in midtown Manhattan. A couple nights ago was the lighting of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, and I had a rather scary encounter with a police barricade and a swarm of tourists when, with no coat on, I stepped out for a cup of coffee around 6 p.m. Luckily (I suppose), I got back into the building. I had to work way, way into the night, so I never had to face the remnants of the Britney-hunting mob. There were lots of cops still around, though.

It's been a long week. Thanks to KRM and EDB for letting me crash on their couches.

UPDATE, 6 Dec.: KRM sent me the real link. Go to Out History's Wiki and click on the Masculine Women, Feminine Men postcard exhibit.

The Mystery of Mitzi

Found this in a New York City newspaper from 1920. I can't figure out who Mitzi was. (It's not Mitzi Gaynor—she wasn't born till the 1930s.) There's a script for Lady Billy at the New York Public Library, so I may check that out. You've heard the plot a million times before: countess disguised as boy comes to America. According to the New York Times, "there are alarms and excursions, escape and discovery, and final haven in the arms of the stalwart lover." Sidney Greenstreet was also in the cast. There's some sheet music from Lady Billy offered on eBay. The Times called Mitzi an "accomplished young person," which makes me think she might have been a juvenile actress. I'm not sure whether it's worth it to try to look for interviews or articles in the papers that are blurbed in the ad. Girls-dressed-as-boys roles were pretty common and could be the subject of a dissertation in themselves (actually, I'm sure they are). So for now, Mitzi will remain a mystery girl.

Sensitive Cowpokes Need Not Apply

Illustration from "The Feeling of Inferiority" in the magazine Hygeia, March 1926. I know you need to squint to read the caption—I'm still working out how to get the exposure right.

The Camera Craze

OK, second crabby post in a day, forgive me.

I know a lot of you out there love you some digital cameras for archival work. Snap, snap, snap, and you can copy an entire book if you feel like it. For free! (Not that you'd ever break copyright restrictions.)

Me, I feel frustrated and overwhelmed by digital photography in archives. There are practical difficulties, like the books that won't lie flat (which can cut off inside margins), and trying to hold your hand steady, even when you have a camera that has that steady-hand correction thing (which mine does). I've also been trying to work with extra-large magazine formats, and when you manage to fit those big pages in your viewfinder you wind up with a resolution that's not all that readable.

But more to the point, are you downloading, saving, naming, and printing all your files? This is what mystifies me about taking pictures. What's the purpose in taking all those photos if you don't have a good system of organizing them? How can you organize them without going through and naming all of them? Do you really read them on your computer screen, or do you have to print them out (like I do)? That costs lots in ink cartridges, and when you print them out they look like crap. And why can't I figure out how to make a sweet multi-page PDF that I only have to name once?

Oh, and if you've managed to solve these issues or they don't make a difference to you, I have one thing to say: don't do a project where you're working with documents on kids. Lots of archives will not let you make photocopies, much less do the ol' snap-snap with your Canon PowerShot.

So, digital photography: OK, not great. I hope that I can be proved wrong.