Debbie and my insane travel adventure starts at 11am in Boston, ends at 6:30am in Lansing the next morning. In between:

Taxi

Train

Gut-busting laughter with two other writer ladies; convince train conductor Mr. Dickerson to find us a New York Times when we tell him how cute he is

Train to Newark

Airtrain to Terminal

Wildly understaffed pub-burgers, salad, and fries hit the spot

Flight delayed for totally unknown reasons-sky is a beautiful, clear blue

Sit at counter and argue/coddle/flatter Delta staff until they get us on a flight to Chicago on American; I learn the ways of the Siegel slip (rules do not apply to this woman); team up with Mary Ellen, our friend from Jersey who is also doomed in trying to get to Lansing

Go back to baggage claim to get bags

Convince grumpy American staff to give us tickets

Go through security again, this time we are marked as possible terrorists and asked to go through a special screening; we set off the special alarm and it says EXPLOSIVES in huge red letters; machine is broken; we are not terrorists

American flight is delayed

Receive call from Orbitz TLC that flight from Cincinnati to Lansing was also delayed so we could have just taken that

Fly with the violent taste of warm chocolate chip cookies wafting back from first class

Get to Chicago, see every other hotel shuttle but ours

Get to hotel, go to bed

Get up at 4:45 am, Debbie and I put on the exact same outfit (black dress, tights, black boots)

Barely make the shuttle, airport is mobbed; commence Siegel slip again

United staff spends twenty minutes trying to find us a staple for our tickets

Go through rigorous security again; this time the woman asks us if we would like a private room to be patted down; we consider it, but decide she’s not our type

Get on tiny plane; passengers are rearranged to balance out the aircraft (that tiny)

Get to Lansing and meet Kevin who drives us the hour to Mt. Pleasant

8 moving vehicles, 2 rigorous pat downs, 5 grumpy airline workers, and almost 24 hours later, we arrive

Check out this intergenerational conversation about the election that I’m having–blog style–over at Jewcy with the always gut-busting Wendy Shanker and the always brilliant Bitch Ph.D.

We’re at Central Michigan University today, talking to journalism and honors students, lunching with brilliant comparative literature, sociology, and women’s studies professors, and looking forward to a great panel tonight. Stay tuned!

Yep, I’m here. If you are too, please come by tonight: “Womengirlsladies: A Fresh Conversation Across Generations” will be on at 7:30 pm, Mount Pleasant, MI 989-774-4000. More info: Central Michigan University.

You know, I think my college roommate lived on a farm nearby, close to Lansing. I remember coming home with her one weekend and riding her family’s tractor. It was a true highlight of freshman year for this suburban/city girl. I know you don’t really ride a tractor, you drive it. But it sure felt like a ride to me.

I found it interesting that in this weekend’s NYTimes article “Postfeminism and Other Fairy Tales”, Deborah Tannen compares the Spitzergate moment with Anita Hill, and twentysomething Slate blogger Noreen Malone says that for her, an Obama supporter, the Spitzer moment trumped the tearful moment in bringing her to a slightly different point of view. “Oddly enough it’s taken Spitzergate — not Hillary’s tears, not her scolding — to make me less dismissive of the feminist ‘obligation’ to vote for a woman,” says Malone.

So much going on in these comparisons, and if I weren’t bleary eyed (or, as Courtney puts it, “feeling like a crackhead”) from the past 24 hours of planes, trains, and automobiles, I’m sure I’d have something more to say about it all. Perhaps GWP readers can help me out. What do you think of the comparison between Anita Hill and Spitzergate as rallying moments for feminism?

Just a quick one this morning–had to share this article by Alissa Quart, appearing in tomorrow’s NYTimes Magazine, called “When Girls Will Be Boys.”

And I feel like a kid in a candy store. Having never gone to journalism school, this conference I’m at is like a speed education. Will report more Monday, when I head to Michigan for WomenGirlsLadies speaking engagements.

Speaking of, if in Michigan next week, do come say hi:

Central Michigan University, Monday, March 17, 7:30 pm, Mount Pleasant, MI 989-774-4000

Eastern Michigan University, Tuesday, March 18, 7:00 pm, Ypsilanti, MI 734-487-1849

Wishing everyone a happy Friday, and a wonderful weekend!

I have to say, traveling to Kansas City this week was an eye opener. I learned many things, among them this: In Kansas, nutso Fred Phelps (head of Topeka’s Westboro Baptist Church) is still spearheading protests at the funerals of fallen soldiers across the country, saying that their deaths are “divine retribution” for U.S. tolerance of homosexuality.

Sorry Fred, we’re just not seeing the connection.

Kansas legislators are trying to pass a law that would ban protests within 150 feet of a funeral for one hour before and two hours after a service. And here I thought, with all the hoopla around Spitzer, that we had problems in NYC.

In this week’s Newsweek cover package (“Hear Her Roar: Gender, Class, and Hillary Clinton), Tina Brown reports on the euphoria at the Columbus Anthanaeum when the primary results for Ohio started coming in: “They were raising the roof along with the band to the old 1965 McCoys hit ‘Hang on Sloopy.'” A number of other women writers weigh in with their observations, punditry, and advice. Two zingers that struck me as funny:

Kathleen Deveny on being fed up with ambient sexism and friends who refer to Hillary as a scold: “[F]orgive me if I’m feeling a little shrewish myself these days. From now on, if you want to call the first woman to win a Democratic primary a bitch in front of me, you’d better be Tina Fey.”

Advice from Monica Crowley, a McCain supporter: “Clinton should…reach out to Obama’s core constituencies–black voters, the young, higher earners, and those with college degrees. Her message: ‘I forgive your fliration with the Hope Guy, but now it’s time to come home to Mommy.'”

Interesting little sidenote: the “My Turn” essay in this particular issue is by male ballet dancer”Sascha Radetsky and is called alled “Don’t Judge Me By My Tights.”

So I return from my traveling bubble to find headlines here ablaze, of course, with Eliot Spitzer (why can’t these powerful men just keep it in their pants?) and Geraldline Ferraro’s comments about Barack Obama (why oh why). Meanwhile, The Guardian reports this morning that for the first time, the four key members of the Treasury committee that is working with chancellor Alistair Darling to shape the budget are women. The article begins with a cutesy little zinger:

“After Blair’s babes, meet Darling’s darlings.”

Guess the US ain’t the only one with issues around women taking charge. You’d think they’d be used to it, with all those queens. The rest of the piece is great, but why must we start with babes and darlings, I ask. Sigh. I was really enjoying my temporary news blackout yesterday.

Yep, I’m in the Show Me State today, back in my native Midwest. I’m giving a talk tonight (“Who Framed Feminism? Popularizing Rhetorics Across Generations”) at 7pm at Pierson Auditorium at the UMKC University Center. If anywhere nearby and in the mood for feminism tonight, come out and say hi! I’m also doing a “Making It Pop: Translating Your Research for Trade” workshop from 2-4pm in the Alumni Room over there.

Loved meeting one of my hosts last night, Kathy Krause, along with faculty members Jane Greer in English and Jenny in Psychology. And Kansas City is my new favorite town. Who knew?! Well, the folks who live here certainly do.

Meanwhile, I’ve been reading up on what’s going on in the state, feministically speaking, and found this little gem, via my beloved feministing of course: “The Missouri legislature wants to reclassify mifepristone — the drug used in medical abortions — as a Schedule I controlled substance, a classification for drugs with ‘a high potential for abuse and no medicinal value.'” Oh dear. Read more over at Ms.