Yesterday was medical maintenance day. I started the day at the dentist, then went on to the woman doctor. I figured that it wouldn't be the best day of my life (and for that, I'm thankful!), but at least I got it all out of the way in the same day.
The dental appointment went fine. My dentist looks a bit like Hitler, which can be off-putting until you realize that he's just a socially awkward fellow who spends his day sticking his hands in people's mouths. I mean my dentist, not Hitler. Just want to be clear, though Hitler might have been socially awkward as well. Anyway, my dentist seemed pleased that I actually took his advice and flossed regularly between appointments. I was pleased because the hygenist didn't need to drag out the sandblaster to get the tartar off my teeth.
Then, it was off to the woman doctor. This was my first visit with this woman doctor. She doesn't resemble a meglomaniac mass murderer, which is a good thing. She does have a loud voice, which complicates discreet conversations in an office with thin walls and doors.
Before I assumed the position, the nurse did the preliminary tests - urine, blood, weight, height. No surprises, except that I'm getting smaller. I've lost almost an inch. I can't afford to lose an inch. I'm choosing to believe that I just wasn't standing up straight. I can't possibly be shorter than 5 feet tall. It's just not possible.
I also learned that I have a condition that needs a follow-up appointment. It's not a common condition - because I never have common conditions. I've had black tongue before. It's a fungus that's common in the Amazon River valley. I've never been to the Amazon River valley. I contracted the fungus on a flight from Germany to New York. Go figure. I had chicken pox in my throat. I had a rash that looked like Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever while I was living in upstate NY. (It wasn't spotted fever.) Can't do anything mediocre or half-ass. Damn over-achieving!
Anyway, this new condition isn't life-threatening by any means, it's more embarassing. It's so rare that the receptionist didn't know what it was - so I had to explain it to her. For some reason, she decided that this was an invitation to tell me the intimate details of a similar surgery. I think she was trying to make me feel better but I kept wondering if it would be OK if I just reached up and gently closed the glass window separating the two of us. If she wasn't going to maintain some emotional boundaries, I felt that I'd be completely justified in creating a physical boundary.
I looked up the condition on Google when I got home. I got no hits. None. Apparently, the condition is so humiliating, no one wants to write about. I feel so much better.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Why is the blood gone?
Yesterday, as I drove on campus, I noticed that the Bloodmobile was back. I would swear that this is the third time that the Red Cross vampires have been on campus this semester. I've heard of colleges bleeding students dry, but this is really taking it up a notch.
As I neared the bus, I took note of some very strange things. First was the large inflatable red drop of blood wearing a big smile. It must have stood over six feet tall. I know that it was designed to take some of the fear out of getting jabbed in the arm, but seriously, a big smiling drop of blood is just creepy.
The giant drop of blood nearly dwarfed one of those tents without sides. Under the tent, Captain Jack Sparrow enlisted volunteers and distributed literature. You read right - Captain Jack Sparrow, complete with dreads, pirate garb, and kohl eyeliner. I almost drove off the road. I can say with certainty it was not Johnny Depp (too tall). I'm still not sure what Jack Sparrow has to do with a blood drive. Jack Sparrow is not a vampire. Wouldn't Spike from Buffy be a better recruiter? Unless Jack Sparrow is using the blood to remove a curse from ill-gotten pirate gold, I'm not sure why he was at the blood drive.
As if that wasn't bizarre enough, as I walked to my evening class, I noticed Jack Sparrow was packing up. He'd removed his jacket, shoes, and hat (picture Jack Sparrow stranded on the island with Elizabeth Swann in Pirates 1). I half-expected him to exclaim, "But why is the blood gone?!" Instead, he simply disassembled the tent and packed up his pamphlets - in Jack Sparrow regalia the entire time. Totally out of character. We all know that the real Jack Sparrow would have tricked Will Turner into cleaning up while he drank rum under the shade of a palm tree.
When he finished, Jack Sparrow climbed behind the wheel of the ginormous Bloodmobile bus (Black Pearl on wheels) and steered off campus. I think I heard exclaim as he drove out of sight, "Now, bring me that horizon."
As I neared the bus, I took note of some very strange things. First was the large inflatable red drop of blood wearing a big smile. It must have stood over six feet tall. I know that it was designed to take some of the fear out of getting jabbed in the arm, but seriously, a big smiling drop of blood is just creepy.
The giant drop of blood nearly dwarfed one of those tents without sides. Under the tent, Captain Jack Sparrow enlisted volunteers and distributed literature. You read right - Captain Jack Sparrow, complete with dreads, pirate garb, and kohl eyeliner. I almost drove off the road. I can say with certainty it was not Johnny Depp (too tall). I'm still not sure what Jack Sparrow has to do with a blood drive. Jack Sparrow is not a vampire. Wouldn't Spike from Buffy be a better recruiter? Unless Jack Sparrow is using the blood to remove a curse from ill-gotten pirate gold, I'm not sure why he was at the blood drive.
As if that wasn't bizarre enough, as I walked to my evening class, I noticed Jack Sparrow was packing up. He'd removed his jacket, shoes, and hat (picture Jack Sparrow stranded on the island with Elizabeth Swann in Pirates 1). I half-expected him to exclaim, "But why is the blood gone?!" Instead, he simply disassembled the tent and packed up his pamphlets - in Jack Sparrow regalia the entire time. Totally out of character. We all know that the real Jack Sparrow would have tricked Will Turner into cleaning up while he drank rum under the shade of a palm tree.
When he finished, Jack Sparrow climbed behind the wheel of the ginormous Bloodmobile bus (Black Pearl on wheels) and steered off campus. I think I heard exclaim as he drove out of sight, "Now, bring me that horizon."
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Acknowledgements
This weekend, with some pointers from a friend, I conquered Word and figured out how to number the pages properly. This timely assistance did not make into the acknowledgements section of my dissertation, but it should have. Since anyone and everyone who will read my dissertation (I imagine that number is approximately 5 people) will read the acknowledgements, I decided to play it straight. What follows are the real acknowledgements:
As I complete my degree, I would like to acknowledge the contributions of the many people and things that helped me to achieve this goal. First, to the pencil-headed German historian whose insensitivity and condescension lit a fire under me two years ago, I say thanks. May you read the email about my dissertation winning the Distinguished Dissertation award and choke on your overinflated ego.
Next, to the Graduate School committee that decided I was not worthy of an Excellence in Research award. Ditto.
To my former bosses, whose management style drove me screaming from my previous profession, I say thanks. Without your confidence-crushing criticism balanced with absolute ambivalence, I would have had a much more difficult time deciding to leave.
To the northeastern post-industrial wasteland, thanks for being so awful. Your consistent crappiness provided constant motivation for me to finish this degree and get the hell out.
To Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp. Thanks for staying in the news, and doing and saying ridiculous things. You'll never know how many hours of entertainment you've provided - because I refuse to try to figure it out. Let's just say that the final tally would be pretty darn embarassing.
To the ferral cat, thanks for the hours of entertainment you provided for my friends. Your incomprehensible behavior saved us all from many hours of productive studying.
To my car, my stalwart companion, thanks for enduring 5 northeastern winters with good humor and consistency. No matter how much snow, rain, ice, etc fell from the sky, you were always ready to go. OK, you did freeze the locks while I was inside one day - thus, locking me inside the car, but we got past that. You've literally shared this journey with me and I can't say enough about Japanese engineering.
To my computer and its predecessor. Thanks for continuing to work despite near-constant use. If my car was my stalwart companion, you were my rock, my foundation. In the course of this project, you and I literally crisscrossed the country together. Maybe next time, you can carry me.
To my tooth that fell out in the middle of a cotton field in Mississippi, thanks for the great story.
To Jack Daniels, thanks for the memories (or lack thereof.)
To the Goats, who consistently raise the bar on snarkiness, Bleat Out!
As I complete my degree, I would like to acknowledge the contributions of the many people and things that helped me to achieve this goal. First, to the pencil-headed German historian whose insensitivity and condescension lit a fire under me two years ago, I say thanks. May you read the email about my dissertation winning the Distinguished Dissertation award and choke on your overinflated ego.
Next, to the Graduate School committee that decided I was not worthy of an Excellence in Research award. Ditto.
To my former bosses, whose management style drove me screaming from my previous profession, I say thanks. Without your confidence-crushing criticism balanced with absolute ambivalence, I would have had a much more difficult time deciding to leave.
To the northeastern post-industrial wasteland, thanks for being so awful. Your consistent crappiness provided constant motivation for me to finish this degree and get the hell out.
To Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp. Thanks for staying in the news, and doing and saying ridiculous things. You'll never know how many hours of entertainment you've provided - because I refuse to try to figure it out. Let's just say that the final tally would be pretty darn embarassing.
To the ferral cat, thanks for the hours of entertainment you provided for my friends. Your incomprehensible behavior saved us all from many hours of productive studying.
To my car, my stalwart companion, thanks for enduring 5 northeastern winters with good humor and consistency. No matter how much snow, rain, ice, etc fell from the sky, you were always ready to go. OK, you did freeze the locks while I was inside one day - thus, locking me inside the car, but we got past that. You've literally shared this journey with me and I can't say enough about Japanese engineering.
To my computer and its predecessor. Thanks for continuing to work despite near-constant use. If my car was my stalwart companion, you were my rock, my foundation. In the course of this project, you and I literally crisscrossed the country together. Maybe next time, you can carry me.
To my tooth that fell out in the middle of a cotton field in Mississippi, thanks for the great story.
To Jack Daniels, thanks for the memories (or lack thereof.)
To the Goats, who consistently raise the bar on snarkiness, Bleat Out!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Losers and Borders
Today, I started trying to format my dissertation. Somewhere, someone needs intense therapy because these formatting guidelines could only come from someone who was bottle-fed and had a horrific toilet training experience. Page numbering is what finally did me in. Seems Mr. Anal Retentive demands that I use little Roman numerals, then Arabic numbers. Seems Bill Gates has decided to make it impossible for me to change the numbering style mid-document, which is what I need to do so that the preliminary pages in my dissertation are "i, ii, iii" and the subsequent pages are "1, 2, 3." I also need to set the i, ii, iii so that the i's don't show up until the 3rd page. Another impossible feat. I'm sure there is some answer to this puzzle. I can tell you that it is not at Borders.
I know this because I gave up on the numbering and decided to go get another book - a book that is not about how to set the page numbers in my dissertation. Between my desk copy privileges and frequent Borders coupons, I've collected quite a few books recently, all of which have properly numbered pages because publishing houses pay people to do that. They don't torture almost-PhDs with one last test to see if you're really ready to join the academy. "Oh, she was so close. If only she'd figured out the page numbering."
When I walked into Borders, I heard loudish live music. I looked over in the coffee shop area and there sat a gray-haired fellow playing the guitar and warbling. His song was about a family migrating from Mexico. I know this because the lyrics are still seared into my brain, "Across the border, there's hope. Across the border, there's hope for me and my family." Did I mention that the fellow was as anglo as hot dogs and apple pie? Oh, to be liberal in a college town, now that spring is here. I'm not sure that he ever appreciated the irony that he was singing about crossing the border while sitting in Borders. I, however, did because I love irony.
His next tune was another political ditty about "did you ever consider that they might be wrong?" Now don't get me wrong - I love a good protest song. "Blowin' in the Wind," "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?", "Feel Like I'm Fixin to Die Rag" - all great. "Did you ever consider that they might be wrong?" is kind of hard to get behind. And there wasn't much of a beat. But, I applaud his effort, even if I didn't actually applaud at Borders, because I would have been the only one clapping.
As I wandered through the store, listening to this fellow's overly-academic protest songs, I browsed through the DVDs. One caught my eye: "Loser", starring Jude Law. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the 20% off sticker was covering the "C" in the title. "Loser" became "Closer" and I was less interested. I also left behind a greatly discounted copy of "Sleepless in Seattle." Say what you want about how puffy Tom Hanks is these days, and how much Botox muppet-faced Meg Ryan has injected into her face - Sleepless in Seattle is a classic.
I walked toward the registers and overheard the cashiers discussing some author's body of work:
Girl: (Indignantly) No, her work isn't all fantasy.
Boy: (A bit sheepish) Oh, I thought it was. I don't really like fantasy.
Girl: Well, she starts off in fantasy. Like, for example, a chapter starts with the main character falling into a hole and ending up in 16th century Europe where she has to cut a dragon's head off with a sword. But after that, it's totally about reality.
Seems Jude Law was in good company. I decided not to ask her for a recommendation. I chose to use my coupon on "The Known World" by Edward P. Jones. I'll start it as soon as I finish "Memoirs of a Geisha," which I'm not really enjoying but am reading because I am a good book club member. I want to recommend that we read Jones's book next, so I'm reading Memoirs to curry favor.
I walked back out into the sunshine as guitar man continued protesting something else. I noted that his music was piped outside, and thought that might not be the best marketing strategy.
I know this because I gave up on the numbering and decided to go get another book - a book that is not about how to set the page numbers in my dissertation. Between my desk copy privileges and frequent Borders coupons, I've collected quite a few books recently, all of which have properly numbered pages because publishing houses pay people to do that. They don't torture almost-PhDs with one last test to see if you're really ready to join the academy. "Oh, she was so close. If only she'd figured out the page numbering."
When I walked into Borders, I heard loudish live music. I looked over in the coffee shop area and there sat a gray-haired fellow playing the guitar and warbling. His song was about a family migrating from Mexico. I know this because the lyrics are still seared into my brain, "Across the border, there's hope. Across the border, there's hope for me and my family." Did I mention that the fellow was as anglo as hot dogs and apple pie? Oh, to be liberal in a college town, now that spring is here. I'm not sure that he ever appreciated the irony that he was singing about crossing the border while sitting in Borders. I, however, did because I love irony.
His next tune was another political ditty about "did you ever consider that they might be wrong?" Now don't get me wrong - I love a good protest song. "Blowin' in the Wind," "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?", "Feel Like I'm Fixin to Die Rag" - all great. "Did you ever consider that they might be wrong?" is kind of hard to get behind. And there wasn't much of a beat. But, I applaud his effort, even if I didn't actually applaud at Borders, because I would have been the only one clapping.
As I wandered through the store, listening to this fellow's overly-academic protest songs, I browsed through the DVDs. One caught my eye: "Loser", starring Jude Law. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the 20% off sticker was covering the "C" in the title. "Loser" became "Closer" and I was less interested. I also left behind a greatly discounted copy of "Sleepless in Seattle." Say what you want about how puffy Tom Hanks is these days, and how much Botox muppet-faced Meg Ryan has injected into her face - Sleepless in Seattle is a classic.
I walked toward the registers and overheard the cashiers discussing some author's body of work:
Girl: (Indignantly) No, her work isn't all fantasy.
Boy: (A bit sheepish) Oh, I thought it was. I don't really like fantasy.
Girl: Well, she starts off in fantasy. Like, for example, a chapter starts with the main character falling into a hole and ending up in 16th century Europe where she has to cut a dragon's head off with a sword. But after that, it's totally about reality.
Seems Jude Law was in good company. I decided not to ask her for a recommendation. I chose to use my coupon on "The Known World" by Edward P. Jones. I'll start it as soon as I finish "Memoirs of a Geisha," which I'm not really enjoying but am reading because I am a good book club member. I want to recommend that we read Jones's book next, so I'm reading Memoirs to curry favor.
I walked back out into the sunshine as guitar man continued protesting something else. I noted that his music was piped outside, and thought that might not be the best marketing strategy.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Raining and Pouring
When it rains, it pours. In my life, this means that every electronic or mechanical object that I own is having problems. OK, I exaggerate. My computer is not having problems. And I don't want it to. I'm sorry, Computer. I didn't mean to imply that there was something wrong with you. Please don't be angry.
OK, back to what is problematic. My car makes a pinging sound when I turn it off. It sounds like it's cooling off. It started making this sound when I got it back from the body shop. Yes, that was nearly 2 months ago and yes, it's due for regularly scheduled maintenance. Past due. Every time I think of taking it in, I have flashbacks to "it will cost $1500 to replace the entire exhaust system." My thinking has been that since the car hasn't blown up, the pinging can't be all that bad. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. My new thinking is that I'll take the car to the mechanic on Monday.
Meanwhile, my dryer continues to bang. I'm thinking of remaking Ricky Martin's song: "It bangs, it bangs, ooh baby when it's full, it's full. It an annoying sound that makes me really crazy, why they can't fix it is a mystery." The dryer is still under warranty, but I'm not sure that I want to put up with "my friend" again. I'm considering calling Lowe's and inquiring about the process to get a new dryer. For example, how many times do I need to endure ineffectual repairs before they finally just accept that this is a lemon and bring me a new dryer? Personally, I'd like to cut to the chase and get a new dryer now.
And, finally, the TV continues to worsen. Now, it's fuzzy for up to an hour after I turn it on. It's fuzzy for so long that I forget that it's fuzzy - then when it clears up, I'm really surprised. It's like Amazing Grace, "I once was fuzzy, but now I'm clear. Was blind, but now I see." I've never been blind so I don't know for sure. FYI eyes - that wasn't a hint.
Oh, and my toilet flusher handle no longer pops back up on its own. I have to wait until the toilet has refilled, then manually lift the handle or the water just keeps running. Yes, I can call the leasing office and yes, they'd come fix it. At this point, it's one more thing that I don't want to deal with. It works, just not exactly like it's supposed to. Story of my life these days.
OK, back to what is problematic. My car makes a pinging sound when I turn it off. It sounds like it's cooling off. It started making this sound when I got it back from the body shop. Yes, that was nearly 2 months ago and yes, it's due for regularly scheduled maintenance. Past due. Every time I think of taking it in, I have flashbacks to "it will cost $1500 to replace the entire exhaust system." My thinking has been that since the car hasn't blown up, the pinging can't be all that bad. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. My new thinking is that I'll take the car to the mechanic on Monday.
Meanwhile, my dryer continues to bang. I'm thinking of remaking Ricky Martin's song: "It bangs, it bangs, ooh baby when it's full, it's full. It an annoying sound that makes me really crazy, why they can't fix it is a mystery." The dryer is still under warranty, but I'm not sure that I want to put up with "my friend" again. I'm considering calling Lowe's and inquiring about the process to get a new dryer. For example, how many times do I need to endure ineffectual repairs before they finally just accept that this is a lemon and bring me a new dryer? Personally, I'd like to cut to the chase and get a new dryer now.
And, finally, the TV continues to worsen. Now, it's fuzzy for up to an hour after I turn it on. It's fuzzy for so long that I forget that it's fuzzy - then when it clears up, I'm really surprised. It's like Amazing Grace, "I once was fuzzy, but now I'm clear. Was blind, but now I see." I've never been blind so I don't know for sure. FYI eyes - that wasn't a hint.
Oh, and my toilet flusher handle no longer pops back up on its own. I have to wait until the toilet has refilled, then manually lift the handle or the water just keeps running. Yes, I can call the leasing office and yes, they'd come fix it. At this point, it's one more thing that I don't want to deal with. It works, just not exactly like it's supposed to. Story of my life these days.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Single, again
Earlier this week, I received an unexpected email. It was from a nice gentleman who took me out for dinner and a drink in September. After the encounter, he expressed some interest in seeing me again. It was more than the usual, "I''ll call you," which means, "I'm never going to call you." I wasn't born yesterday. It's been a while, but I still understand dating code. No, this was definite interest. This included, "Are you busy next weekend?" Definite interest.
Unfortunately, I was booked up for the following 2 weekends, which makes me sound really "in demand" but I was visiting married friends then entertaining my 5 year-old nieces for the weekend. No hot dates with Orlando Bloom or the like (ha ha, as if there is anyone like Orlando Bloom). In hopes of reminding the nice gentleman that I was still interested, I sent what I thought was a witty email on my way out of town. On the plane to Chicago, I realized that read in the wrong light, my email could possibly be interpreted as a threat. Fine line between wit and threat these days. When I didn't hear from him, I figured that he thought I was actually going to hunt him down if my trip to Chicago did not go smoothly.
Fast forward six months to this past Monday. I received an email response to my September message. That's right, an actual reply to my original message six months later. Two entire seasons. Long enough for me to write the remaining 2 chapters and defend my dissertation. Long enough for me to teach an entire semester of early US history. Long enough for me to apply for and interview for what seems like countless jobs. OK, truth be told - even if this fellow had called in January, I wouldn't have had time to go out. But still - 6 months.
Without going into the gory details, let's just say that it's been 6 dry months. So, I emailed back, said I was moderately stressed out about graduating without a full-time job, but if he wanted to go out, sure I was game. This was on Tuesday. It's now Friday. I haven't heard anything.
I've heard of taking things slow, but this is really pushing the limit. There are days when I wonder why I'm still single. Today is not one of them. I've decided to start wearing make-up again, even visited the Clinique counter at my local department store today. Maybe that will improve my fortunes. If not, well, there's always red wine and Netflix.
Unfortunately, I was booked up for the following 2 weekends, which makes me sound really "in demand" but I was visiting married friends then entertaining my 5 year-old nieces for the weekend. No hot dates with Orlando Bloom or the like (ha ha, as if there is anyone like Orlando Bloom). In hopes of reminding the nice gentleman that I was still interested, I sent what I thought was a witty email on my way out of town. On the plane to Chicago, I realized that read in the wrong light, my email could possibly be interpreted as a threat. Fine line between wit and threat these days. When I didn't hear from him, I figured that he thought I was actually going to hunt him down if my trip to Chicago did not go smoothly.
Fast forward six months to this past Monday. I received an email response to my September message. That's right, an actual reply to my original message six months later. Two entire seasons. Long enough for me to write the remaining 2 chapters and defend my dissertation. Long enough for me to teach an entire semester of early US history. Long enough for me to apply for and interview for what seems like countless jobs. OK, truth be told - even if this fellow had called in January, I wouldn't have had time to go out. But still - 6 months.
Without going into the gory details, let's just say that it's been 6 dry months. So, I emailed back, said I was moderately stressed out about graduating without a full-time job, but if he wanted to go out, sure I was game. This was on Tuesday. It's now Friday. I haven't heard anything.
I've heard of taking things slow, but this is really pushing the limit. There are days when I wonder why I'm still single. Today is not one of them. I've decided to start wearing make-up again, even visited the Clinique counter at my local department store today. Maybe that will improve my fortunes. If not, well, there's always red wine and Netflix.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Spring Shopping
Temperatures have surpassed the 70 degree mark, everything is covered in yellow dust, and I turned on the air conditioning when the temperature in my apartment hit 80 yesterday. Spring has officially arrived in the southland. To celebrate, I decided to go shopping. I've just returned and I have nothing good to report.
The pattern this spring is big and bold. Sorry - BIG AND BOLD! The bigger, the better. BIG bright flowers, BIG abstract prints, BIG tie-dye washes. BIG! And BOLD! Here's the thing - I know very few women who want to wear BIG BOLD PATTERNS. I know even fewer women who should wear BIG BOLD PATTERNS. I didn't see anything that I wanted to own, and I don't think it's a result of my generally conservative clothing taste. As a smallish person, I get completely lost in these clothes. Literally. Can't see me at all. I look like I was swallowed by a huge bouquet of really ugly flowers, or Jackson Pollock came back just to wrap me in one of his canvasses.
To make matters worse, clothing designers have completely forgotten how to construct a waistband. You know, that strip of fabric that used to define your waist. Maybe you'll know what I'm talking about if I mention that it's now used to define the line right below your breasts. That's not where my waist is, and that's not a part of my body that I'm in a hurry to draw attention to. "Hey, look, isn't the line right under my breasts really attractive?" I know that it's supposed to enhance my bust. Doesn't work for me. Instead, I just look pregnant as the fabric blossoms out from my bustline, never touching skin again. I must admit that clothing designers have accomplished the impossible - they've taken my size 2 frame and made me look fat. Thanks. Can I have a belt now?
Now, on to the cropped sweater/jacket trend. Call it what you like, but the "tent draped on my shoulders" look just doesn't work. Again, I look pregnant. I want to look sleek and chic, not like a trapezoid. And what's with all the BIG buttons? As if the proportion and color of the jacket weren't enough to draw attention to myself, I've got buttons big enough to pick up satellite TV. And, can I please have full-length sleeves? A 3/4 length sleeve is as useful as a sleeveless turtleneck.
My most disappointing moments came when I realized that I looked better from behind than from the front. This happened twice. That's when I gave up.
But not before I tried to find shoes. I've become very intolerant of uncomfortable shoes. This means that I'm now shopping in the "uncute shoes" sections of shoe stores and I don't care. However, I have a business meeting coming up in a few weeks and I need business shoes. Business shoes that can take me through an airport and back and forth from the hotel. I'm looking for the impossible. Still, I search on. Today, I tried on a pair of wedge-heel sandals. They were cute enough, but I discovered that I have very slippery feet. Like kids sledding down a hill, my feet kept sliding down the heel until my toes were hanging over the end of the shoe. Apparently, I need closed toes shoes, to insure that I don't slide right out the front of my sandals.
So, to sum up, I'm too small for Spring fashions and my feet are too slippery. Happy Spring!
The pattern this spring is big and bold. Sorry - BIG AND BOLD! The bigger, the better. BIG bright flowers, BIG abstract prints, BIG tie-dye washes. BIG! And BOLD! Here's the thing - I know very few women who want to wear BIG BOLD PATTERNS. I know even fewer women who should wear BIG BOLD PATTERNS. I didn't see anything that I wanted to own, and I don't think it's a result of my generally conservative clothing taste. As a smallish person, I get completely lost in these clothes. Literally. Can't see me at all. I look like I was swallowed by a huge bouquet of really ugly flowers, or Jackson Pollock came back just to wrap me in one of his canvasses.
To make matters worse, clothing designers have completely forgotten how to construct a waistband. You know, that strip of fabric that used to define your waist. Maybe you'll know what I'm talking about if I mention that it's now used to define the line right below your breasts. That's not where my waist is, and that's not a part of my body that I'm in a hurry to draw attention to. "Hey, look, isn't the line right under my breasts really attractive?" I know that it's supposed to enhance my bust. Doesn't work for me. Instead, I just look pregnant as the fabric blossoms out from my bustline, never touching skin again. I must admit that clothing designers have accomplished the impossible - they've taken my size 2 frame and made me look fat. Thanks. Can I have a belt now?
Now, on to the cropped sweater/jacket trend. Call it what you like, but the "tent draped on my shoulders" look just doesn't work. Again, I look pregnant. I want to look sleek and chic, not like a trapezoid. And what's with all the BIG buttons? As if the proportion and color of the jacket weren't enough to draw attention to myself, I've got buttons big enough to pick up satellite TV. And, can I please have full-length sleeves? A 3/4 length sleeve is as useful as a sleeveless turtleneck.
My most disappointing moments came when I realized that I looked better from behind than from the front. This happened twice. That's when I gave up.
But not before I tried to find shoes. I've become very intolerant of uncomfortable shoes. This means that I'm now shopping in the "uncute shoes" sections of shoe stores and I don't care. However, I have a business meeting coming up in a few weeks and I need business shoes. Business shoes that can take me through an airport and back and forth from the hotel. I'm looking for the impossible. Still, I search on. Today, I tried on a pair of wedge-heel sandals. They were cute enough, but I discovered that I have very slippery feet. Like kids sledding down a hill, my feet kept sliding down the heel until my toes were hanging over the end of the shoe. Apparently, I need closed toes shoes, to insure that I don't slide right out the front of my sandals.
So, to sum up, I'm too small for Spring fashions and my feet are too slippery. Happy Spring!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
NBC Nightly Snooze
Tonight, as I made pot roast for dinner, I half listened to the NBC Nightly News. The broadcast started with a report about American Airlines and their planes that aren't up to code. I thought, "Well, at least I'm flying Delta through the summer." Brian Williams ended the report with, "Delta claims their planes are up to code." Smug little bastard, planting seeds of doubt about something over which I have no control. (OK, I know that I have very little control over anything, but I really don't have any control over ties on fuel lines on airplanes. Personally, I find it terribly troubling to learn that airplanes are held together with the same ties that I use to close my trash bags.)
There was a report from San Francisco: Reporter standing in crowd, reporting that there was no Olympic Torch. San Fran officials saw London, they saw France, and they crapped in their underpants. So, instead of letting the torch relay wind up and down the famous San Fran hills, they cut the route short and took the torch to an undisclosed location - where I assume Dick Cheney is standing watch.
Later in the broadcast, the "Science Editor" reported on some problem with bottled water. Something about a chemical that's not supposed to be in our bodies, but is - because of bottled water. But wait, don't get too upset because they're not sure. At the end of the report, Brian asked the Science Guy, "What should people do?" The Science Guy, who I'm assuming has a degree in journalism as well as medicine, said, "Well, since there's not really enough information, we can't really advise anyone to do anything." Thanks. Why are you on TV talking about it, whatever it is? Which genius decided that this was newsworthy?
I thought the same thing as I watched their In Depth report focused on Wal-Mart executives behaving badly. "In Depth" meaning, "We're going to spend 30 more seconds of air time on this story." Seems Wal-Mart had a verbal agreement with this production company to film their meetings, because really, who doesn't want to relive a business meeting over and over and over again?
Wal-Mart management then decided to uninvite these people to their meetings. So, now, the embittered production company is selling the videos to the highest bidder - a small group that includes CNBC. I'd like to think that CNBC didn't know what they were buying, that somehow these jilted production people oversold the product. Because surely, with all of their money, CNBC didn't knowlingly buy a video of Wal-Mart executives in drag, doing some stupid skit at some stupid Annual Meeting. Surely, CNBC thought they were getting something that would bring down the corporate giant - some irrefutable evidence that they are the source of all evil in the known universe. Something like Wal-Mart executives worshipping Satan around a pentagram.
Instead, it's just middle-aged guys in drag, flouncing about in an ill-conceived strategy to build morale. I guess they thought that if their non-unionized, underpaid workers saw upper management acting silly in Wal-Mart dresses, the workers would stop crying for health insurance. We'll never know. The jist of the news report was: Production company people are mad. Production company people are selling this video. CNBC was dumb enough to buy it.
I'm still not sure why it was news. Surely, somewhere, something more important happened today.
There was a report from San Francisco: Reporter standing in crowd, reporting that there was no Olympic Torch. San Fran officials saw London, they saw France, and they crapped in their underpants. So, instead of letting the torch relay wind up and down the famous San Fran hills, they cut the route short and took the torch to an undisclosed location - where I assume Dick Cheney is standing watch.
Later in the broadcast, the "Science Editor" reported on some problem with bottled water. Something about a chemical that's not supposed to be in our bodies, but is - because of bottled water. But wait, don't get too upset because they're not sure. At the end of the report, Brian asked the Science Guy, "What should people do?" The Science Guy, who I'm assuming has a degree in journalism as well as medicine, said, "Well, since there's not really enough information, we can't really advise anyone to do anything." Thanks. Why are you on TV talking about it, whatever it is? Which genius decided that this was newsworthy?
I thought the same thing as I watched their In Depth report focused on Wal-Mart executives behaving badly. "In Depth" meaning, "We're going to spend 30 more seconds of air time on this story." Seems Wal-Mart had a verbal agreement with this production company to film their meetings, because really, who doesn't want to relive a business meeting over and over and over again?
Wal-Mart management then decided to uninvite these people to their meetings. So, now, the embittered production company is selling the videos to the highest bidder - a small group that includes CNBC. I'd like to think that CNBC didn't know what they were buying, that somehow these jilted production people oversold the product. Because surely, with all of their money, CNBC didn't knowlingly buy a video of Wal-Mart executives in drag, doing some stupid skit at some stupid Annual Meeting. Surely, CNBC thought they were getting something that would bring down the corporate giant - some irrefutable evidence that they are the source of all evil in the known universe. Something like Wal-Mart executives worshipping Satan around a pentagram.
Instead, it's just middle-aged guys in drag, flouncing about in an ill-conceived strategy to build morale. I guess they thought that if their non-unionized, underpaid workers saw upper management acting silly in Wal-Mart dresses, the workers would stop crying for health insurance. We'll never know. The jist of the news report was: Production company people are mad. Production company people are selling this video. CNBC was dumb enough to buy it.
I'm still not sure why it was news. Surely, somewhere, something more important happened today.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Random Reflections
Sometimes, things happen and it's not really enough to be an entire blog entry, so these things collect until they reach critical mass. They reached critical mass today.
1) Has anyone else noticed that Hewlett Packard wraps their postage-paid recycling envelopes in plastic? They even print "Thank you for being environmentally responsible" on the envelope - then encase it in plastic wrap. Can anyone explain this to me, because it just doesn't seem to make much sense.
2) Today, in class, I lectured on the compromises of the 1850s leading up to the Civil War. When I got to the revised fugitive slave law, my one and only black student got up and left the room. I managed to NOT make an inappropriate comment. I did have a rather long pause, trying to figure out if there was an appropriate comment. Deciding that there wasn't, I carried on.
3) The other day, I passed two women in the hallway outside of my office. One said, "I just think Judy needs to be more assertive." The other didn't say anything but must have made a face, because the first one said, "Oh, don't you think so?" I guess she's only good at identifying insecurity in others, but she's not sure.
More as circumstances dictate.
1) Has anyone else noticed that Hewlett Packard wraps their postage-paid recycling envelopes in plastic? They even print "Thank you for being environmentally responsible" on the envelope - then encase it in plastic wrap. Can anyone explain this to me, because it just doesn't seem to make much sense.
2) Today, in class, I lectured on the compromises of the 1850s leading up to the Civil War. When I got to the revised fugitive slave law, my one and only black student got up and left the room. I managed to NOT make an inappropriate comment. I did have a rather long pause, trying to figure out if there was an appropriate comment. Deciding that there wasn't, I carried on.
3) The other day, I passed two women in the hallway outside of my office. One said, "I just think Judy needs to be more assertive." The other didn't say anything but must have made a face, because the first one said, "Oh, don't you think so?" I guess she's only good at identifying insecurity in others, but she's not sure.
More as circumstances dictate.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Get thee behind me, Defense!
Dissertation written - check.
Dissertation defended - check, check.
Graduating without a full-time job - check, check, check.
Last Friday, on a cold rainy morning in the northeastern post-industrial wasteland, I defended my dissertation. Judy Collins was nowhere to be seen. The defense went well. My committee members pointed out improvements, but I don't have to make any major revisions. Apparently, I have issues with commas. I, use, them, too, much. I decided not to kick the committee member who pointed this out. I also decided not to point out that his facial hair looks foolish.
And, so another chapter closes. On the way home yesterday, I changed planes in the Motor City. As I walked down the concourse, I stopped to get a bagel. On the register, I read the following sign: "If we fail to give you a receipt, your next meal is free." I thought, "If you fail to give me a receipt, how will you know if I've ever been here before?" I was tempted to test my theory when I got to the cashier. When she told me the total for my purchase, I almost said, "But you didn't give me a receipt the last time, so this is free."
I decided that only an academic dork would figure this out, and although I've just earned admission into the academy, I don't want to become one of those people. Not yet.
Dissertation defended - check, check.
Graduating without a full-time job - check, check, check.
Last Friday, on a cold rainy morning in the northeastern post-industrial wasteland, I defended my dissertation. Judy Collins was nowhere to be seen. The defense went well. My committee members pointed out improvements, but I don't have to make any major revisions. Apparently, I have issues with commas. I, use, them, too, much. I decided not to kick the committee member who pointed this out. I also decided not to point out that his facial hair looks foolish.
And, so another chapter closes. On the way home yesterday, I changed planes in the Motor City. As I walked down the concourse, I stopped to get a bagel. On the register, I read the following sign: "If we fail to give you a receipt, your next meal is free." I thought, "If you fail to give me a receipt, how will you know if I've ever been here before?" I was tempted to test my theory when I got to the cashier. When she told me the total for my purchase, I almost said, "But you didn't give me a receipt the last time, so this is free."
I decided that only an academic dork would figure this out, and although I've just earned admission into the academy, I don't want to become one of those people. Not yet.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Defending Judy Collins
Tomorrow, I'm returning to the northeastern post-industrial wasteland to defend my dissertation on Friday (4-4-08, nice symmetry). So far, I've received positive feedback from my committee members, so I'm not too anxious about the defense.
Or I didn't think that I was. Last night, I had this dream. The department decided to hold my defense in a lecture hall b/c so many people showed up. I was freaking out. My advisor was late and when she did arrive, she introduced me to her friend, folksinger Judy Collins, who was standing next to her. My advisor said that for my defense, she decided that I should play the piano and sing some Judy Collins songs, while Collins judged my performance.
I tried to tell my advisor that I didn't play the piano and I didn't know the words to any Judy Collins songs, but my advisor just brushed me off with, "You'll be fabulous." I woke up as I was taking a seat at the piano.
I understand defense stress, but I have no idea where Judy Collins came from. Since my dream, I've been humming "The Circle Game," thinking it was a Judy Collins song. We sang it in high school chorus, and I still know the words. No telling what's been kicked out of my brain to make room for the lyrics to "The Circle Game."
Turns out, it's a Joni Mitchell song. Now I'm thinking that I'm just screwed.
Or I didn't think that I was. Last night, I had this dream. The department decided to hold my defense in a lecture hall b/c so many people showed up. I was freaking out. My advisor was late and when she did arrive, she introduced me to her friend, folksinger Judy Collins, who was standing next to her. My advisor said that for my defense, she decided that I should play the piano and sing some Judy Collins songs, while Collins judged my performance.
I tried to tell my advisor that I didn't play the piano and I didn't know the words to any Judy Collins songs, but my advisor just brushed me off with, "You'll be fabulous." I woke up as I was taking a seat at the piano.
I understand defense stress, but I have no idea where Judy Collins came from. Since my dream, I've been humming "The Circle Game," thinking it was a Judy Collins song. We sang it in high school chorus, and I still know the words. No telling what's been kicked out of my brain to make room for the lyrics to "The Circle Game."
Turns out, it's a Joni Mitchell song. Now I'm thinking that I'm just screwed.
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