Commercials

I've been watching a lot of TV lately. It's my last week before I plunge back into academia and, ... why am I making excuses? I'm watching a lot of TV, that's all you need to know. In the past few days, I've seen some rather interesting commercials. Indulge me while I reflect on these advertising masterpieces.

First: Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut, home of the "tomato juice covered cardboard," has introduced a new pizza - one that caters to the fine connaisseur in all of us, the same fine connaisseur who still wants multiple pizzas delivered to the house for $5 or less. "The Natural" from Pizza Hut has a wholesome multi-grain crust, organic tomato sauce made from sun-ripened tomatoes, organic cheese, and natural pepperoni. I'm pretty sure they've hired happy little birds to sing a happy tune while they construct your all-natural pizza.

On the commercial, the announcer says, "Put an end to pizzas made from processed crap." Clearly, I don't recall his exact words, but it was something like that. Here's the thing: Wasn't Pizza Hut the nation's leading purveyor of processed-crap pizzas? Are they finally admitting that their past pizzas were made with more unholy ingredients than a Twinkie? Interesting to note that they haven't discontinued the processed crap pizzas. In other words, "We care about you, more than our competition. We want you to be healthy. We're now using only all-natural ingredients, unlike our competition who will continue to harden your arteries and kill you slowly with their processed crap. However, if you'd prefer the processed crap, we still have that on the menu and will be happy to deliver to your home."

Next: Listen Up. This is a magic hearing aid that solves all of your problems, including not being able to hear private conversations from across the street or across the room. That's right, with Listen Up, you can finally indulge all of your paranoid and narcissistic fantasies and listen to what everyone is saying without the incovenience of hiding in bushes or pushing a glass against the wall. I'm going to forego the obvious questions about whether this is a good idea or not, and jump to filtering. This super-magic device simultaneously allows you to hear conversations up to 100 feet away, and allows you to hear a pin-drop from across the room. So, the question is: Who in hell wants to hear every sound in a 100-foot radius echoing in their ears? Ah, insanity has many manifestations.

Next: Weight Loss Supplement. I didn't catch the name of the brand, but the supplement comes in portions that look like the individual half-and-half containers you find in hotels and restaurants. The commerical shows a talking cartoon drawing of a rather shapely woman. She's telling us all about how she tried lots of diets and none worked. At this point, her cartoon figure ballons out, so she's now the shape of a beach ball (though her legs mysteriously remain slim and shapely.) Lady Cartoon then explains that she turned to this weight loss supplement for help. All she had to do was chug down two portions before her meals and she ate 1/3 less without being hungry. Then, miraculously, she returns to her previous shapely figure.

Here's my favorite part of this ad: After she slims down again, the advertisers put a disclaimer at the bottom of the screen. It says something like, "This is a dramatization using a cartoon drawing. Real people require sensible diet and exercise to achieve these results." So, if you exercise and eat sensibly and still don't achieve these results, you're not real.

Last: Macy's. The department store that ate the competition is having an end-of-the-year cosmetics sale. I guess they think that we all look like hell after the holidays. So much for rest and relaxation to restore our bedraggled skin and hair. So much for diet and exercise in these troubled times - nope, all we need is a new coat of varnish. According to the ad, you can get any of their fine elixirs and potions on sale, just in time to head back to work. One claim in particular caught my attention. At Macy's, "Sales associates are standing by to help you erase the past." Wow. It all seems a bit "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" but I'm almost tempted to head to Macy's, find a sales associate and inquire about this new service.

Interview Fashion

On Thursday, I'll ring in the New Year by flying to the Big Apple for the Annual Historians' Hootenanny. I often call it by its other name, but that name isn't suitable for mixed company, so I won't use it here. Let's just say it begins with "cluster." I wasn't planning to gather this year, but two schools took a shine to my application materials and want to meet me face-to-face - which means I need to look presentable. No conference call in my pajamas. Rats.

After I'd sufficiently recovered from the holidays, I scoured my closet for appropriate interview attire. Last year, I bought a very serviceable black dress (I learned the concept of "serviceable" from my grandmother. I think it means "something you can wear everyday until you're buried in it." Anyway, this black dress was great - a basic sheath. It fit like a glove.

That was then - when I was stressed out about dissertations, teaching, and any number of other things. That was then - when I was working out regularly. That was then - when I wasn't eating a steady diet of pasta and chocolate. That was then - before I turned 40. This is now. Now, the perfect black dress fits like sausage casing.

Now, I need a new interview outfit. I had a couple of options already in my closet. There was the ultra-boring wool pants, black jacket, blue blouse ensemble. No, my legs aren't that short. After some consideration, I decided that even on my most enthusiastic, bubbly days, I still wouldn't be able to cheer up this outfit. I would be, "That girl in the Confederate uniform," when the interviewers returned home and reflected on their interviews. I'm proud to be southern, but I didn't want to be THAT southern. So, back to the closet.

I found my brown knit dress. It's cute and fits well, successfully camouflaging my new "curves" and cleverly stretching to make room for things that don't fit in the sheath anymore. It's much more attractive on me than it appears on this hanger. So, I settled on the dress. Now, I just needed shoes and a jacket. How hard could that be?

Determined to meet with success, my friend and I mounted our trusty steeds and headed into the shopping wilderness. A jacket and a pair of boots were our quarry. We crawled through the underbrush, leaving no stone unturned. We looked in several forests, but other small-footed and petite hunters had already been through, taking the best trophies and leaving little behind. Undaunted, we pushed on.

Finally, we spotted our quarry, cleverly concealing itself among much cheaper items on the sales rack. Before long, I had my jacket. It's more of a sweater/jacket, but it was on sale and it would match the dress. We tagged it, bagged it, and moved on. The boots proved to be more elusive, but at last, we met with success. Leather boots, dark brown, low heel, on sale - perfect. Tagged 'em, bagged 'em, brought 'em home. Decided to let the purchases ride in the vehicle, rather than tying them to the outside.

When I got home, I put the entire ensemble together. The dress and sweater/jacket looked a bit "Maria Von Trapp" in "The Sound of Music," but don't care. I'd rather be Maria than Johnny Reb. I tried the boots, and alas, they didn't work. They were too casual, too bulky, just wrong. Rats.

So, I went to my local mall and bought a different pair of brown boots. They're not ideal, but they're an improvement and they were cheaper.

I'll return the other boots and call it quits. For a brief moment this afternoon, I thought about buying an interview suit. Then I thought, "It's not like I'm applying for a job in high finance. If I can achieve 'frumpy chic,' I should be OK. At least I'll look better than all those youngsters in their ill-fitting, conservative, boring, dull suits. They'll all look like they robbed their parents' closets and I'll look somewhat stylish." That's my story and I'm sticking to it - unless I get really stressed out about this and go shopping for a suit.

12 Unaccomplishments

For the holidays this year, I decided to mix things up with my annual holiday letter. Usually, people use the holiday letter to list all of their family's accomplishments, markers of progress, and current interests and hobbies. When you're single, you have to rely on your own accomplishments. The letter takes on a totally different tone when every sentence starts with "and then I . . ." followed by some stellar achievement. Because seriously, who's going to list their failures? Their shortcomings? Their disappointments?

Well, I gave that idea some thought and decided that listing my accomplishments seemed too self-aggrandizing. Besides, it was an embarrassingly short list. 1.) Finished Ph.D. 2) Got job that's one step away from adjunct poverty (like abject poverty, but with more work). And 3.) Turned 40 (I'm not really sure this was an accomplishment since I didn't have anything to do with it.) So, instead of listing all of my accomplishments in my holiday letter, I decided to list 12 things that I did not do this year. Here's my list:

1) I did not ask for, nor did I accept a government bailout.

2) I did not swim the English Channel.

3) I did not win American Idol.

4) I did not try to sell a US Senate seat for personal gain.

5) I did not construct a car out of a block of cheese.

6) I did not read the phone book from cover to cover.

7) I did not give birth to twins in the south of France.

8) I did not break any Olympic records.

9) I did not see any snow.

10) I did not change my home address.

11) I did not seek, nor did I accept, my party’s nomination for President of the United States.

12) I did not put my left hand in, I did not put my left hand out, I did not do the Hokey-Pokey and I did not turn myself about.

Who knows, maybe next year, I can move one of these items to my "accomplishments list. My money's on the cheese car.

Coming to a Full Stop

Before the semester ended, I dreamed of a day when I could sit on the couch and watch TV all day. I thought the day would never come. Then, the semester ended and I kept right on working, like some sorry marathon runner who didn't know she'd passed the finish line. This past week, I started to revise my syllabus. Now that I have some idea of what I'm doing in this class, I changed books and reading assignments to better match what I'm actually doing. Earlier this week, I came to the conclusion that I'm simply not getting paid enough to kill myself, so I'm also simplifying assignments.

Yesterday, I woke up, came into the office with my coffee and surveyed the incomplete syllabus. I had my frequent and recurring thought: "I really don't want to work on this today. I wish I could just sit on the couch and watch TV all day." Like a bolt of lightening, I realized that I could sit on the couch and watch TV all day! I threw the work car into park and abandoned it right there in the middle of the road. I picked up my coffee, and headed down the highway to my couch, never looking back.

As soon as my butt hit the cushions, I found a Dirty Jobs marathon on Discovery. Perfect. I settled in, after starting the week's laundry so I wouldn't feel like a total slug. I watched Mike Rowe do any number of unmentionable things for hours. Then, I watched the last 90 minutes of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Love, love, love that movie.

I made it out to get groceries and returned home to make chicken and dumplings. I didn't care that it was over 70 degrees outside, on a lazy day, I want comfort food. The TV pickings were pretty slim in the late afternoon, and I considered reading a book, but that sounded like too much work. So, I watched 2 MASH re-runs (holiday episodes, including my favorite where they focus on Father Mulcahey).

After dinner, I watched, "You Can't Take It With You." Cute movie. Lots of recognizable stars. It was a bit jarring to see Jimmy Stewart getting along with Lionel Barrymore, since we all know how nasty Mr. Potter is to George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life." And, having recently watched Mr. Smith, it was a bit strange to see Jimmy Stewart having a civil conversation with Edward Arnold. But, how could anyone not love Jean Arthur? Ah, the old studio system.

Not sure how I'll spend today. Full stop feels pretty darn good.

Christmas Madness

I've been so immersed in my work that I haven't paid much attention to the calendar. Earlier this week, I realized that December 25 is next week. How did this happen? Luckily, I'd done some shopping here and there, but the 8-ball was still significantly obscuring my line of vision. Yesterday, I finished my holiday cards and put them in the mail. Yes, I still send holiday cards. I realize it's a dying tradition, but I've already established that I am a dinosaur, so there you go.

While I'd made some holiday progress, I hadn't shopped for my nieces or nephew. I hadn't even really thought about what to get. Gasp. Horrors. How did it ever get so late? Yesterday evening, I headed out with a local friend to finally address this significant problem. As we cruised through the aisles at the Red Dot Boutique, I realized that I'd made a serious miscalculation. All the holiday locusts had already swooped in and taken all the good stuff. All they left behing were a few scantily-clad Barbies and a bunch of Star Wars figures.

I was about to give up when we turned the corner and there before us was Thomas the Tank Engine. My hopes lifted as I imagined my nephew's squeal of glee, "Thomas!" I chose a new accoutrement for his train set. It has bells. OK, I'm not really allowed to buy gifts that make noise (reference aforementioned Hokey Pokey Elmo and Chicken Dance Elmo Christmas). Hopefully, my brother and sister-in-law will let my nephew keep the bell-ringing signal thingee. If not, well, I think we know who the scrooges are.

With Thomas safely tucked away in the cart, we moved on. I was determined that my nieces would not get anything Barbie from me. Determined. Instead, I decided to go educational this year. Books. Both girls are reading now and their PhD aunt would encourage their intellectual curiosity. So, this is what they were getting:

They'd learn all about Fancy Nancy and Amelia Bedelia. They'd get so excited about reading that they would compose analytical essays where they compared Fancy Nancy and Amelia Bedelia, using direct evidence and proper citations to support their original and insightful arguments. In other words, they'd outshine my college students. They'd also create original artwork with their sticker books, producing new and heretofore unimagined interpretations of Cinderella and the other Disney Princesses. Yes, they were well on their way to academic geekdom and I was holding the door open for them.

Then, I made one last trip to the mall. There, amidst a bunch of other red and black trinkets and clothes - there was Barbie. And it wasn't just Barbie, it was Barbie dressed in a red and black cheerleading outfit. Books would never do now, not when one item embodied everything the girls hold dear - Barbie and UGA. I checked the price. Just under my budgeted amount. Hope sprung anew . . . until the sales clerk told me that she had only one doll. "One doll?" I said, "One doll will never do." Sensing my distress, she told me about another store in town where they might just have more than one Holy Grail.

The search was on. Sure, it's graduation day and sure, the main drag and every side street is crammed full of graduates and family members and holiday shoppers. Did I care? No. I had Barbies to find. I drove straight into the eye of the storm.

I stopped in one store and they were out of Barbies. Crap, I thought, what if there's only one Barbie left in town? One Barbie will never do. But, then I remembered that I'm in the Mecca of college-related crap. There were plenty more stores to try. I headed back down the street and parked in front of the next college crap store.

I walked in and the sales clerk, sensing my desparation, asked, "Can I help you find something?" "Do you have UGA cheerleader Barbies?" I asked. "Yes," she replied. I can't spell my response, I think it sounded something like, "squeak." Pushing my luck, I asked, "Do you have two?" "Yes," she replied. The clouds parted, the angels sang, and I and the 2 Barbies headed home.

There will be plenty of time for reading. This Christmas, it's continued brainwashing. Go Dawgs!

Finished, For Now

It is finished. I put the last grade on the last blue book, calculated the last final grade, and electronically submitted my little darlins well-earned marks for the semester. Now, after a semester that seemed like it would never end, I find myself wondering where the time went. I'm in a reflective mood, so I thought I'd share some lessons that I'll take forward:

• No extra credit: I offered extra credit against my better judgement. Lesson learned, there's a reason why it's called "better judgement." As I suspected, it made more work for me than for my students. It also artificially inflated grades that had no business being inflated. Solution: I plan to channel Faye Dunaway in "Mommie Dearest" and declare, "No more extra credit - EVER!" I might even wave a wire hanger.
• More specific guidelines for papers: Students are crafty devils. They can't read a 2-page document or write a 2-page paper, but they're more than happy to spend their time researching a topic that we've covered in class - reading way more than the original assignment required. I'm convinced that students have formed a mass conspiracy to convince professors not to assign papers. That's right - students who can't organize a sentence have organized themselves into a mass social movement devoted to ridding the academy of all expectations about written expression. Solution: I will insist that they cite only course materials in their papers. I will deduct points if they don't. And, I will turn them into the Honor Squad when they call on their good friends at Wikipedia to make up for the fact that they slept through my riveting lecture on Indian Removal.
• Texting: Social networking is great. While I find most of my students to be on the dull side, I'm glad that they have people in their lives who want to respond to their witty and insightful OMGs and LOLs. I'm not so fond of it when they're OMG-ing while I'm TEACHING. Solution: Three strikes and you're out. It's good enough for baseball, it's good enough for me. Take out your cell phone and start texting your friends? Thank you, your cell phone is mine for the remainder of the class. What's that, you're doing it again? Fine, take your little phone and the rest of your belongings and get out for the rest of the class. WTF - again? Fine, I wanted to learn the university's "instructor withdrawal" policy. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. See ya, bye. Same goes for you, Sleepy Sleeperson.
• Smaller chunks: This is a tough one. On the one hand, I learned that I don't like to grade all the time. On the other hand, students don't learn simply because I say, "Write a paper." Solution: More in-class assignments where they have to at least attempt to learn a skill. More grading for me, which hopefully will result in better work in the long run. If not, I'm switching to one cumulative final. That's right - your entire grade is decided on the last day of class. See how they like them apples.

I'm sure that I've learned a lot more, but I'm tired and I think I'll spend the rest of the evening on the couch with a pint of Chocolate Peanut Butter Haagen Dazs. Lesson learned: Reward thyself.

Sugar High

The semester is over and the grading has begun. I'm learning so many interesting things from my students. Overall, I see their exams as a big game of telephone. You know, the game where you sit in a circle with your friends. One friend whispers a message to another and you "pass" the message around the circle, each friend taking a turn whispering to the person next to them. At the end of the circle, the last friend announces your message, which often bears no resemblance to your original message. That's the way my exams work. I know what I said, but what my students repeat back bears little or no resemblance to my original message. I'd post some of their responses, but that would be totally unprofessional. Instead, I'll chuckle to myself.

Anyway, I took a break from grading to get my hair cut and to get some groceries for dinner. I settled on steak, potato, salad, and red wine. I also needed some bread and chips. So, that's what I put on the conveyor belt in the check-out line. As I reviewed the trashy magazines to see who's doing who and who's getting screwed (often the same story), I took note of the fellow who queued up behind me.

He was an older fellow (in this case, "older" meaning, "older than me."). I mention this because I think it's important to point out that he was not a 6 year-old. He unloaded his cart onto the conveyor and when he was done, there were 2 bags of big marshmallows, 6 cans of vanilla frosting, 2 boxes of generic rice krispies, 2 boxes of generic butter sticks, and 2 bags of Hershey's miniature candy. That's it.

I was going to say something like, "Wow, that's a really healthy diet," but I stopped myself. I figured that he was going to bake something meant for a crowd, but who knows, maybe he was going to head home and whip up a big batch of frosting and rice krispies. Then, he'd settle in front of his TV to watch Friday Night Smackdown and make snowmen out of the marshmallows, stacking 3 together on popsicle sticks. He'd melt the chocolate and dip the snowmen, making what could only look like poop on a stick (I know because I saw a similar item in a gift shop in the NEPIW). I didn't want to think about what he had planned for the butter.

Admit it - right now, you're picturing a 50-ish fellow slathered in butter, eating spoonfuls of frosting and rice krispies, and dipping marshmallows in chocolate - all while watching professional wrestling. No need to thank me.

Reminded me of the time that I ordered a pizza and decided to stop by the grocery store on my way to pick it up. I got a 6-pack of beer and a pint of Ben and Jerry's. As I stood in the check-out line, the woman behind me looked at my purchases and said, "Well, you've certainly had a worse day than I've had." I said, "You said it, sister!"

Dog Days in the News

Today, I enjoyed the calm before the finals grading storm. At lunchtime, I sat down with the remains of my baked potato soup (yum!!) and read the local paper. Not the quick breeze through that I've been reduced to lately, but a leisurely perusal of all the news local and otherwise. Ahhh.

Lots of animals in the news today. The Blotter reporter caught up with two stellar canines in the local police department. Seems the other night, police pulled over a fellow driving without taillights. As they discussed the lack of lights in the fellow's tail section, one police officer smelled the unmistakable "odor of burned marijuana." Ganja. Wacky weed.

So, "while the officer wrote a citation for the broken lights" the fellow said to the other officer, "Sure, your drug-sniffing dog can smell my car." Word to the wise: If you've been smoking marijuana in your car, you may not be the best judge of whether a drug-sniffing dog should smell your car. As you'd expect, the dog found 15 bags of Mary Jane in the fellow's car, and the fellow was taken to jail. If I had to guess, I'd say that the fellow probably said, "Dude" more than once.

In a separate but related story, police stopped a young woman because she was driving with an obscured tag. The officer "asked if he could search the car when he smelled burned marijuana." Another word to the wise: Don't smoke marijuana in your car. The police in this college town are very familiar with the smell and will notice if it is wafting from your vehicle. Dog or no dog.

So, "the officer brought his drug-sniffing dog to the car, and dog confirmed that marijuana was likely inside." Here's the question: How could the dog confirm that the weed was "likely" inside? Did the dog say, "Well, I can't say with complete certainty, but based on my initial findings, I believe there's a strong likelihood that this car is toting the ganja." Or maybe the officer said, "Well, boy, are there drugs?" And the dog just shrugged. Either way, the young lady joined the previous fellow in jail.

Let this be a lesson to you: If you come to this college town, make sure that your car is in good working order, particularly if you plan to haul some drugs around. Alternately, carry around some fresh meat, just to throw off the drug-sniffing dogs and police officers.

In other dog and cat news, seems a local vet rescue operation is looking for someone with a horse trailer and some extra time. The vet rescue had access to a horse trailer but the owner doesn't want to help them anymore. Why? Maybe it has something to do with why the vet rescue wants the trailer. Seems they want to transport 60 dogs and 24 cats to Stamford, Connecticut for "an SPCA-sponsored adopt-a-thon."

Gotta say that if I had a horse trailer, I'd really have to think about loaning it out to transport 84 dogs and cats to New England. I assume the animals will be contained somehow, but who knows? Maybe they'll be roaming free in the horse trailer. It will be the end of the world as we know it - dogs and cats sleeping together. Woe be unto the person who has to clean out the trailer when it finally returns to the Peach State.

The vet rescue claims to have "a vehicle and experienced drivers" to make the trip. Really? If you've experienced transporting 84 dogs and cats to New England, why in God's name would you ever do it again?

One last point: Are we really so sorry in this state that we have to transport our stray animals to New England in a horse trailer so that they can find good homes? Seriously.

Last Day

Today is my last teaching day for the semester at Big City University. Next week is finals week, which means I get to sit on my tucus (also spelled: tuchus) while my students ponder the ins and outs of the development and evolution of the social welfare state in the United States in the twentieth century. I learned so many new and interesting tidbits from their papers, I feel certain that their exams will be equally enlightening.

On tap for today: New World Order. I plan to destroy the Berlin Wall and free Kuwait in about 30 minutes, including video accoutrements. If I've learned nothing else this semester, I've learned to boil down very complex issues into a steaming mass of marginally meaningful information. Basically, I spent all of graduate school learning how to make a short story long and complicated, and I've spent this semester unlearning all of those lessons. Turns out, everything can be explained on one powerpoint slide. WWII? Hitler - Pearl Harbor - D-Day - Iwo Jima - The End. Ta-da! (No, I'm not proud of this newfound skill.)

In 12 short hours, I'll be home on my couch in my pajamas, catching up on Top Chef and enjoying a large, well-deserved cocktail. But, before I can do that - must get through today.