Candy Wrappers

I like to keep chocolate in the house, because sometimes, you just need a bite of chocolate - or two, or three bites of chocolate. Lately, I've been enjoying Dove chocolate. Anyone who's eaten Dove chocolates knows that the good folks at Dove print "Promises Messages" on the inside of the foil wrappers. The messages are typically schmaltzy, warm and fuzzy kinds of reminders to enjoy the little things in life. I usually read them, scoff cynically, and crumble the wrapper in my hand.

The other day, I got two pieces of foil-wrapped candy from the dish and sat down. I unwrapped the first one, popped the candy in my mouth and smoothed out the wrapper. "Listen to your heartbeat and dance," I read. "What the hell?" I thought. Listen to my heartbeat and dance? Have they run out of Promise Messages at Dove? First of all, I don't have a stethoscope so how would I listen to my heartbeat. And second, why would I listen to my heartbeat and dance?

With that thought echoing through my head, I unwrapped the second piece of candy and smoothed out that wrapper. I'm not kidding, I'm not making this up - the message inside said, "Hey, why not?" Seems the good folks at Dove are also smartasses.

In case you're wondering, although I've stopped questionning the reasons why, I have not listened to my heartbeat and I haven't danced - but I haven't ruled it out.

More than Mufflers

As I sent yesterday's blog entry, I learned the fate of my stalwart companion. It wasn't just a muffler. It was the entire exhaust system. Salt and sand and whatever else they toss on northeastern roads had taken its toll. Everything was rusted and needed to be replaced. Four digit total cost.

I sat in shock as the breaker-of-bad-news pointed to the seemingly endless list of parts, using words like "catalytic converter...gasket...rusted bolts..." I thought that my own exhaust system would have to be replaced if he continued. I managed to stammer, "When could you have this done?" He said, "Probably not until Friday." "But I need a car," I said, weakly.

Within five minutes of breaking the news, they had me in a courtesy car, at no cost. They let me get some items out of my car, so I grabbed the iPod FM transmitter, the access card for my apartment gate, the parking permit for college, and my ice scraper. As I stood in the parking lot of the dealership, clutching these loose items, I realized that I'd been traumatized. Why did I need my ice scraper? I had no answer, except that it was something to cling to.

I like to think that my car feels bad about all of this. That it had been sick for a while but was holding on for me. With the increased demands of a twice-weekly, 2-hour commute, it just couldn't hang on any more. Hopefully, when we put this behind us, we'll be back on open road, just the two of us, heading out for new adventures.

Mufflers

Yesterday, I arrived at the local college for my classes. I thought my car sounded a little louder than usual, but decided it was just my imagination. I will fully admit that I am a total hypochondriac when it comes to my car. If I smell something strange when I'm driving, I assume it must be my car. Even if there's no way that my car could possibly produce the same smell as a chicken processing plant. And don't get me started on strange sounds.

Here's my rationale: In a life that has few constants, my car is my stalwart companion. Always ready to head out on the open road, whether it's a trip to Target or a 2-day road trip. We've reached an understanding - I take it to the car doctor every 3000 miles and it runs like a dream - most of the time.

Well, last night, I finished my classes and headed into the mist and fog. (On a side note, I've decided that I can end the drought. I just need to drive to this campus and back home.) As I turned left out of the campus, I heard a troubling clank and thud. I'd driven over an uneven place in the road and thought that perhaps it had jarred the car. I accelerated and heard the stomach-clinching roar. I hadn't run over something. Something had broken loose.

I pulled into a KFC parking lot, under a streetlight and got out. I peered under the car and sure enough, the muffler had broken loose. It was still in tact, but the front wasn't attached to the car. Instead, it seemed to be resting on the back wheel axel. So, I did what anyone would do, I called my friend in New York. Now, I knew that she couldn't see the car, and I knew that she couldn't fix the car, but I figured I'd ask for her completely uninformed opinion and get her advice. (Refer to "Loosing a Tooth in Mississippi" for another example of this strategy.)

I described the problem, and my friend assured me that it would be "fine" to drive home. I decided that I'd blame her if things went awry. I also knew that I had AAA if something happened along the way. So, I roared off into the fog and mist. I roared all the way home. My decidedly conservative teaching clothes and mild folk music created a nice contrast to the roaring engine that should have been on a teenage boy's car. I considered buying a baseball hat and wearing it sideways, getting a couple of CDs with a pulsating bass beat, and saying "yo yo yo" and "boy-eee," but decided that I was more defiant as I was.

I made it home safely and am sitting at the car doctor. Hopefully, they can cure my car's cold and I can go back to being anonymous on the road.

MLK Day

A friend of mine sent the following quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.'s 1964 Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech. I thought I'd pass it along, as it seems even more relevant today.

This is also my attempt to counter whatever Dubya puts into public discourse today. I feel certain that he'll talk about King's leadership in ending racism (because we all know that's not a problem any more) and he'll talk about how King singlehandedly waged this epic battle without firing a gun.

I feel just as certain that Dubya will completely omit any reference to King's socialism and his belief that non-violence actually applied to international conflict as well. So, in my little way, I'm trying to balance the cosmos.

"After contemplation, I conclude that this award which I receive on behalf of that movement is profound recognition that nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral question of our time --the need for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression."

"..I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsam and jetsam in the river of life which surrounds him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daylight of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. I refuse to accept the cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militaristic stairway into the hell of thermonuclear destruction."

"I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. I believe that even amid today's mortar bursts and whining bullets, there is still hope for a brighter tomorrow."

~ Martin Luther King, Jr., Acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize, 10 December 1964

Civic Engagement - Athens Style

The other day, I was reading the Athens Banner Herald and learned that Michael Stipe of REM had been rejected for jury duty. Stipe responded to a jury summons, thus proving that even internationally known rock stars are just local citizens when it comes to the county court system. In this case, Stipe got called for the trial of a local fellow who cornered a middle-schooler in a school bathroom and tried to molest her. Fortunately, other students heard the commotion and alerted the school counselor who thwarted the attack.

In the jury interviews, Stipe said that he did not feel that he could offer impartial judgement in the case because he had had negative experiences with stalkers. He didn't say, but I'm sure was thinking, that his impartial judgement would also be negatively influenced by the fact that he's a human being and the fellow in question is just sick. Anyway, Stipe was dismissed. The paper did not say if he sang, signed autographs or posed for pictures with fans. I would guess that he did not. I'm also guessing that this may be one of the very few times that other Clarke County residents were actually glad that they responded to their jury summons.

So, here's to Michael Stipe. Good for you for demonstrating your commitment to the democratic process and standing as a good example for everyone - in contrast to other famous people who shall remain nameless (and pantyless).

In case you're wondering, the court made quick work of the case and handed down a life sentence.

Earthier and Crunchier

The other day, I received a coupon for the local organic/health food grocery store. It's across town and buried deep in a neighborhood that's not on my regular route, so I never think about the store. However, the coupon promised a free, fresh-baked apple pie. So, I found my way there.

I've been in similar stores, but hadn't been to this one. It's a scaled-down Whole Foods. I decided to wander around a bit, so it wouldn't look like I came just for the free pie (when, in fact, I had come just for the free pie). I wandered up and down the aisles, remembering that it's not a good idea to shop for food when you're hungry. Perhaps my grumbling stomach explains my positive response to everything I saw. Organic oranges? Mmmm. Blue corn chips? Mmmm. Tofu? Yum yum. "But wait," I thought, "I don't like tofu." I reflected on my mouth-watering that didn't seem to be related to nausea. Maybe I was becoming more earthy-crunchy. Maybe the twice-weekly yoga was permeating my brain, causing me to think that tofu was more than a big, soggy block of blandness.

I carried on. Before I knew it, I had an organic frozen pizza and organic bagel chips in my basket. I made my way to the bakery where I found organic sunflower whole wheat bread. And, finally, the prize - the free apple pie. I found that I wasn't turned off by the label that proudly proclaimed that my free pie was really free - "preservative free, dairy free, and trans fats free." All of this helped me feel better about eating this entire pie by myself.

I went to the frozen food section and looked at the ice cream. I glanced at my free pie, so proud of its dairy-freeness. I decided not to befoul the pie with ice cream. I paid for my incredibly random purchases (a frozen pizza, a bag of bagel chips, a bottle of white wine, a loaf of bread, and a free pie) and left. I drove away, chomping on my organic bagel chips and wishing I'd bought some organic juice. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow, I'll go buy some Birkenstocks and find a tree to hug.

The Last Day and a Half

It all started when I couldn't make chili because I'd forgotten to thaw the ground beef. OK, it probably started when I put the ground beef in the freezer. Two days ago, I planned to make chili, figuring I'd have it for dinner, and could easily reheat it when I got home from class the next night. All went according to plan, until 4:45 when I realized that I hadn't thawed the meat. So, I went to Plan B - rehash the previous night's dinner and figure something out the next day.

The next day dawned. At least, I think it did. It was really foggy all day so it's hard to tell if the sun ever made an appearance. I'd planned to write for a while, then head out to meet my aunt and uncle for lunch before heading to school. The writing went relatively well - mostly footnotes, but hey, it's words on a page.

The lunch date was a drop point for the Christmas sausage that my mother sent to her brother. I was the mule. No, I did not use tried and true drug smuggling techniques to transport the sausage. Instead, I put it in a cooler on ice. I consider it a minor miracle that I remembered the sausage at all. I had to drive over an hour to meet them at 1:00. I figured I'd leave at 11:45. So, I got in the shower at 10:00 and was out the door at 10:45. About halfway there, I thought, "I should check the time to make sure I'm not late." It was then that I realized that I was on track to arrive at noon, not 1:00. "Crap," I thought. I arrived right on time, if we'd agreed to meet at noon.

So, I went to the loudest Starbucks in the world and reviewed my lecture notes. I made my way to the restaurant and waited. And waited. Then, I got my lunch and waited some more. At 1:45, I decided they weren't coming. I thought, "Well, it's their sausage" - which, honestly, is the first time I've ever had that particular thought. I called and they'd forgotten. We planned to meet for dinner. I told them that if they didn't show up, I and their sausage were heading home (again, the first time I'd ever uttered that sentence.)

I went to school, arriving early to resolve some technical issues. I'd promised to post powerpoint slides for my students, and I did. I spent 3 hours figuring out how to post them on the university's file sharing system that I can access from my home computer. Turns out, none of the students use that file sharing system. Instead, they use the file sharing system that only works on campus - the campus that is over an hour from my house. Nothing is ever easy, I thought.

So, none of my students had the lecture notes. Probably just as well because it was by far, bar none the dullest, most boring lecture ever. Turns out, if you pull your lecture from boring textbooks, you end up with a boring lecture. I put more than one student to sleep. Some of them perked up when I injected some discussion, but overall, it was dismal. Almost as dismal as the pea-soup fog outside. I had 45 minutes between classes - not long enough to rework the lesson so I just had to sit in utter agony, waiting for the opportunity to be boring and dull again.

I'd planned to go to my office in between classes. The office was locked and I don't know the combination to get in. My shoes really hurt my feet by this point and my hair was doing increasingly strange and wondrous things in the overwhelming humidity.

I trudged back to the office, called a friend who assured me that the lecture couldn't have been that bad, and waited for time to pass. The next class went much the same as the first, except that students asked questions that I couldn't answer. Always a good way to start the semester. I'm choosing to see this as a test of my ability to sling bs. By the end of the semester, I plan to achieve full monkey status. At the end of class, one of the students asked if I was going to post my lecture notes, as well as the powerpoint slides. Before I could stop myself, I said, "What do you want from me?" Seriously. If I post all of that material, why would I bother coming to class?

After lecture, with horribly aching feet and frizzy hair, I met my aunt, uncle, and cousins for dinner. It was good to see them, but I just wanted to go home. We finished, I gave them the sausage, and I headed home in the fog. I walked in the door, took off my shoes, and sat like a zombie on the couch.

Today, I'm making chili. I'm sure this will reverse my fortunes and get me back on the right track.

First Day as Under-Paid Adjunct

Here's my horoscope from yesterday:
You have wanted to play a much more active role in an involvement you have had little to say about - the time to speak up is now. You will be given an opportunity to exercise your will and show your stuff.

Seemed quite appropriate for my first day as a part-time instructor at a nearby commuter college. The day went fine, much smoother than I expected. I exercised some will, but stopped short of showing my stuff. I successfully got a new ID with an equally bad picture, figured out how to check email and learned about a very time consuming assessment that I have to force my students to do, and found my office that I share with up to 10 other part-time instructors.

Very few surprises in class. Since it was the first day, I decided to review the syllabus and let my students go. They didn't protest. I asked each student to share his or her favorite historical figure. Turns out, a lot of my southern students are Abraham Lincoln fans. My, my, how times change. One shared that he thinks Vladimir Lenin is the bomb. I had to squelch his enthusiasm when I explained that we wouldn't discuss Lenin (Vladimir or John) in this early US History class. Now, I'm trying to figure out if there's a way to work in something about Communism. Maybe I could convince them that Abraham Lincoln was a Communist.

By the end of the 2 sections, I hadn't identified my favorite student, but I think I've identified my least favorite. She approached me after class and seemed to take my reading assignments as a personal affront. As she explained, she's taking a professional exam in 4 months and just won't have a lot of time to do reading for my class, and could she do well in the class if she didn't do any reading? I said, "No." I almost said, "Look, sister, I'm finishing and defending my dissertation this semester, and I have to write and deliver lectures, find a more permanent job, and do all the reading for this class, so don't tell me how little time you have to read."

She left in a huff, after asking if she could take an exam to exempt out of the course. I said she'd have to talk to the department chair or the registrar. I'm still not sure what she expected me to say. "Oh, those reading assignments are just for show. I don't really expect you to do any of them. And, just skip all the writing assignments and discussion that come straight from the reading. I'll go ahead and give you an A on those, since you have so much work to do."

I feel certain that this experience will provide many new blogging opportunities.