Bumps in the Road

Talkin' 'Bout Reconstruction

2010-01-11T13:46:00.004-05:00

As I prepare to jump into this new semester with both feet, I put together this little song about today's classes:

Talkin' 'Bout Reconstruction
(sung to the tune of "Talkin' 'Bout a Revolution," by Tracy Chapman)

Don't you know, I'm talkin' 'bout Reconstruction
Sounds like a snoozefest
Don't you know-oh-oh, I'm talkin' 'bout Reconstruction
Sounds like a snoozefest

While I'm talking about radical republicans
Cutting the South into 5 military districts
Students stare, deep blank stares,
Saying prayers, that I won't ask about the reading

Don't you know, talkin' 'bout Reconstruction
Sounds like a snoozefest
Don't you know-oh-oh, talkin' 'bout Reconstruction
Sounds like a snoozefest
Bored students gonna rise up, and drop this class
Bored students gonna rise up, and take some math

Don't you know they're gonna run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run
Don't you know they're gonna run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run

Yes, finally enrollment is starting to drop,
Talkin' 'bout Reconstruction
Yes, finally enrollment is starting to drop,
Talkin' 'bout Reconstruction, oh-oh, oh-no

(My apologies to Tracy Chapman.)

New Year, Fresh Start

2010-01-10T19:24:00.002-05:00

Yes, I know, it's been a while since I wrote anything. And yes, I know, I've probably lost all of my followers (all one of them). And finally, yes, I know that this is probably not the best use of my time. Now that I've acknowledged all of this, can I continue?

I really don't have a good excuse for the long break. Between the house purchase, move, and speeding snowball of work craziness, I just didn't have time to keep up with my writing. OK, the truth is that I didn't have the mental energy. I lost my sense of humor sometime in early November and I figured that no one wanted to read about how badly I was dog-paddling in the deep end. Day after day of "students irritated me again," or "I'm still really tired," or "delivered yet another soul-crushing lecture" - who wants to read that? (If you do, just know that you make me very sad.)

But, it's a new year - a new decade even - and that seems like a perfect time for a fresh start. OK, in the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit that I watched "Julie and Julia" this weekend. If that movie doesn't inspire you to blog or cook, or both, then you've completely missed the point. I did not miss the point and in the past 24 hours, I have both blogged and cooked. I even tried a new recipe - braised short ribs. Slow cooked ribs in a rich tomato sauce, a baked sweet potato, and buttered asparagus sounded perfect for a cold, cold, cold winter night. In the end, I have to say that the ribs let me down. Lot of fat and not as tender as I'd hoped. I'd make a joke here, but the only ones that come to mind are really not nice. I know, that's never stopped me before. Well, new year, fresh start.

So, the cooking didn't turn out so well, but hope springs eternal. I'll also share that I had an epiphany during "Julie & Julia" - I decided that there must be two kinds of people in the world: those who have a crush on Stanley Tucci, and those who will have a crush on Stanley Tucci. I'll close with this promise: Until Stanley Tucci arrives on my doorstep, I'll try to write more regularly.

Bureau-Speak on a Friday Afternoon

2009-10-10T09:19:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, I was forced to endure another yet another new faculty training session. The topic: Effective Advising. During this 90-minute session that started at 1:30 on Friday afternoon, I joined three of my fellow social science colleagues to learn more about the convoluted, overly complicated college policies designed to prepare students to be functioning members of society. OK, "learn" might be an overstatement. We were bombarded with lots of acronyms, numbers and requirements with multiple exceptions. The only thing I took away from this session is a renewed appreciation for clear and understandable explanations.

Here's my best re-creation of the workshop: "A student can use Spanish 1101 to fulfill a CPC but if he or she uses it to fulfill a CPC, he or she can't use it toward the core. He or she will have to choose another elective from Area F, but can't choose an elective if he or she needs Learning Support. He or she must pass the Learning Support classes before he or she can register for 1000-level classes in any area. He or she also needs to fulfill the Legislative Requirements by passing specific classes in Area E..." At that point, my head exploded.

As the presenter droned on about areas and levels and a bunch of other bureau-speak gobbledy-gook, I turned my attention to the other people in the room. I realized that I was the only faculty member who did not have a distinct accent. I was also the only female faculty member. There was the prof from Turkey who teaches American government, the Korean prof who teaches US criminal justice classes, and the Dane who teaches world history but yearns to teach Middle East history. I felt so, so . . . ordinary. I didn't have a cool accent, and I was an American teaching American history. Bo-ring! To entertain myself, I started speaking in a thicker southern accent and declared that I was going to start teaching South American literature classes. Only the Dane was amused.

After the session, the Dane and I walked back to our offices on the outskirts of campus. We both agreed that we were now well-equipped to lead any number of students terribly astray on their path to graduation.

Adventures in Moving, Part I

2009-10-03T14:24:00.006-04:00

It's done. I signed the papers on Wednesday and it's done. I'm a homeowner. It's a bit surreal since I'm still living in my apartment. In the great real estate fruit basket turnover, I'm waiting until the current (past?) homeowners are able to move into their next house. So, I'm a landlord. Very surreal. I'm anxious to move in, so I have to keep reminding myself that it works better for me to wait since I have a lighter teaching week in mid-October. I'll move in on October 22. I've booked the movers, I've arranged to get utilities transfered, and I'm packing boxes. Forward progress is being made.

The packing chaos reached into my home office today. Remember when it looked like this in May?

Here it is today:

Yes, all those boxes are full of books. My and my damn book compulsion. Why couldn't I collect something lighter, like feathers or bubble wrap? I trust that I'll turn a corner at some point and my work will look less like a chaotic mess and look more like a highly organized model of efficient moving. This view looks a little better - at least there's some evidence of change over time:

The bedroom is the only room that remains unscathed. It's next.

Been Inside Too Long

2009-09-29T09:41:00.004-04:00

I'm inside today, working up a lecture on the 1920s for today's class. From what I can see through my windows, it's a gorgeous day outside. Bright sunshine, no clouds, slight breeze. It's been a long summer so I naturally assumed that it was hot and humid, and that the day would be best enjoyed from inside my air-conditioned apartment.

Because I'm highly distractable this morning, I decided to check the local news rather than work on my lecture. I pulled up the newpaper's webpage and noted the temperature: 56 degrees. "Really?" I said to no one in particular, "It's only 56 degrees outside?" I decided to double-check the newpaper's facts. Keep in mind that this is the local paper that originates from the same college town where I am sitting right now. How did I check the newpaper's information? I immediately and without hesitation pulled up weather.com on my computer.

As the page loaded, I smiled as I thought about the absurdity of my situation. "I could just go outside and see what the temperature is," I said aloud. I fear that I have embraced this academic lifestyle a little too tightly, that my stranglehold is finally choking the life out of normal, rational reasoning. "Go outside? Are you out of your mind? There's no desk outside. There's some bright light that's not coming from a bulb or screen - and it burns! Strange flying creatures make sing-song noises. Worst of all, there aren't any bookshelves! There's very little tweed! It's too scary out there!"

The first step in recovery is recognizing that you have a problem. I've now made a solemn vow to move away from my computer, go outside and enjoy this beautiful day. Besides, it's Mountain Day at Mt. Holyoke College and the college has decreed that I must join my sisters in this annual celebration of the great outdoors and ice cream. We'll forget for the moment that I only climbed one mountain in the 4 years that I was actually at Mt. Holyoke. The other years, I went shopping. Hey, at least I wasn't working!

And So It Begins

2009-09-26T19:55:00.008-04:00

I'm back! It's been a crazy month, so crazy that blogging seemed completely beyond my capabilities. I've decided to carve out a few minutes this evening to catch up a bit. First, the new job: It's exhausting. I made the mistake of volunteering to teach at the auxiliary campus where all the students want to be bulldogs but don't quite have what it takes. They're junior bulldogs. Second-class bulldogs? Calfdogs? While their official status may be in question, they're attitudes more than make up for it. I have 2 late afternoon classes over there and those people are Dementers (like in Harry Potter). They're sucking my soul, man! Imagine 75 minutes of your life with people who steadfastly refuse to engage in any kind of substantive discussion. One kid told this absolutely disgusting story about killing a pregnant spider and that's what got students' attention. Gotta say that I don't have a lot of stories of historical figures killing pregnant insects. So, I'm screwed.

My other classes on the main campus are much better. Yes, there's the obligatory contingent of "just out of high school" boys who feel the need to turn the classroom into their own personal testosterone playground, but they're tolerable over the Dead Zone at the other campus. Few snips here and there and the boys fall in line. The rest of them are just cute - the overachieving non-traditional students, the young girls who lose their voices when paired with cute boys in class (or vice versa), the students who surprise themselves when they actually care about the correct interpretation of a primary source. Makes my day worthwhile.

BUT - the big news is the house. All is moving forward and barring any last minute problems, I'm scheduled to close on Wednesday. As of 4PM or so, I should be a homeowner. I'm not much for wild shows of emotion - but WOOHOOOO!! [You can't tell, but I'm flailing my arms like Kermit the Frog.] There are moments when I can't believe that I'm actually going to own a house - and stay put for more than 2-3 years. Then there are other moments when I absolutely cannot wait to move in and settle down. Been way too long in coming.

At first I put off packing, thinking it would jinx the whole thing. Then I realized how much stuff I have and how long it will take for all of it to find its way into boxes. So, I'm making progress.

I've established the staging area: flat surface, wrapping paper, bubble wrap, and boxes. Luckily, I have a job where people use lots of paper. Screw the environment, I say - I need boxes!! One of my new colleagues has appointed himself as the official "Box Monitor," collecting empty boxes on days when I'm not on campus. He's a real dear, and I don't say that about many people.

In the past week, the staging area has become increasingly crowded:

Those boxes on the right are full, as are the boxes on the left. As evidence of my efforts, I offer the following:

Note the empty shelves. [Insert oohs and ahs here]. What, not impressed? How about this?

That's an almost empty CD cabinet. The other CDs are just waiting for a half-full box to snuggle into. Forward progress, my friends.

For my friends and family who have helped me move in the past and are already feeling the pangs of moving pains in your backs, let me assure you that I'm hiring movers. Professional movers. They're here for a reason - to move my washing machine and boxes of books. God willing, these things will stay in place for a long while.

Adventures in House-Buying, Part II

2009-08-22T08:38:00.003-04:00

Finally, I'm getting around to ending the suspense. After a weekend of finagling and negotiating, I reached an agreement with the home owners and [insert drum roll] we're signing a contract later this week! I'm still in shock and awe that this is really happening.

Here's how it came together: At the end of last week, I made my offer and the home owners countered almost immediately. We weren't far apart and I wasn't far from my limit. So, I countered with my limit. The home owners countered back, reducing their contribution to the closing costs. My agent relayed their last offer and I immediately responded, "That sounds good to me. I accept!" My agent, being wiser than I, advised some caution. "Maybe you want to think about this?" she suggested. Bursting with confidence and sure that I wasn't going to change my mind, I still heeded her advice. "Maybe you're right," I said, "I'll call you in a few hours." And I went on with my day, because classes started at my new job in 48 hours.

I didn't call the agent a few hours later. Instead, I spent the next few hours transforming from a confident first-time home-buyer into a frozen-footed chicken. I kept thinking about how the deal forced me to my limit - not only to get into the house, but also to be in the house. My carefully guarded savings would be gone, which I was prepared for. What I couldn't reconcile was having to spend incoming reserves on two significant repairs. These expenses would delay my attempts to restore my savings and I don't function well without a safety net.

I also thought about how much I know about home ownership and home repairs. My conclusion: I know squat about these things. No, to be more fair, I know less than squat. I know squat-minus-100 about these things. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a pool, staring straight into the deep end. As I thought about the home purchase, paralysis set in, followed by the cold sweat and the shakes.

I called my agent the next day - the day before classes started - and told her about my anxiety. She understood and said she'd pass my concerns to the home owners. I can assure you that I wasn't playing hard-to-get or any other games. I was playing, "Yikes! I'm drowning in a sea of stress and anxiety!!" Whatever I was doing, it worked to my advantage. The home owners responded to my screaming dash away from their house with another counter offer. I read their offer in the midst of the blur of the first day of classes. I couldn't believe it. It seemed to address all of my concerns. I rubbed my eyes and read it again. Yes, it was true. Having learned my lesson from the previous weekend, I told my agent that I wanted to think about it.

The next day - still in the blur of the first week of classes, I called my agent and accepted the offer. Now, it's on to the contract and home inspections. Along the way, I'm learning all sorts of new things: the difference between 3/4 inch tab shingles vs architectural shingles, the difference between an electric heat pump and gas heat, masonry fireplace vs non-masonry fireplace, crickets and roof vents. I feel sure that this is just the tip of the iceberg. And no, I don't want to know what the rest of the iceberg looks like right now, thank you very much.

In the meantime, classes started this week. House stuff combined with the start of a new semester has kept me hanging on by my fingernails. My tenuous grasp was sorely tested on Monday when I learned that my late afternoon class meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays, not Mondays and Wednesdays. I'm not sure where communication broke down, but I've vowed to shepherd my schedule through all phases of the process to make sure that this travesty is not repeated. For the first time in my relatively short teaching career, I'm teaching every day of the week. So far, I'm not fond of this. Don't get me wrong, I'm accustomed to working for 5 days straight. Hell, I'm accustomed to working 6, even 7 days/week. It's having to put on real clothes, do hair and make-up, be at a certain place at a certain time, and interact with people for 5 straight days that's kicked my ass this week. Yeah, yeah, I know, there are plenty of you out there that have been doing this for years and I should just suck it up. I'd type my response, but I try to maintain some standards of decency in this blog. Let's just say that my response involves five fingers and they're not all pointing in the same direction.

I trust that I'll settle into this schedule. I also trust that this semester where I'm starting a new job, prepping 2 different courses, teaching every day, AND buying a house and moving won't kill me. Next semester, barring any unforeseen problems, I'll have one prep and reclaim Fridays as my "sweats day," hopefully in my new house.

Adventures in House Buying, Part I

2009-08-14T19:52:00.003-04:00

Today, I took the plunge. I made an offer on a house. My first offer on my first home. It's still sinking in, but it's certainly a high point at the end of a long, exhausting week.

My real estate agent emailed listings over the weekend and I half-heartedly looked at the pictures, sure that these houses would be as disappointing as the previous 22 houses. I focused in on this house and on Sunday afternoon, I enlisted a friend to drive out for a first-hand look. Immediately upon entering the neighborhood, I felt my spirits lift. This wasn't a cookie-cutter starter home community, nor was it a neighborhood of homes that were past their prime. Instead, it was a neighborhood where people planted gardens and took pride in their homes. All the houses were surrounded by mature trees and there wasn't any through-traffic. All good signs.

The house sits on a rise in the middle of a good-sized lot with trees. As we drove by, my friend commented, "That's really worth looking at." I agreed, hoping that the inside would live up to the curb appeal. The next day, my agent and I headed to the house. The owner is handling the sale so he was there to greet us, accompanied by the world's oldest dog. He showed us around and then offered to take the dog for a walk so we could have some privacy. The dog showed some excitement as the owner got the leash and off they went.

We looked around and I found my enthusiasm again. The house has a lot of what I'm looking for. Best of all, it is clean and well-maintained. It needs some updates, particularly in the kitchen, but there's nothing that needs to be changed immediately. I was thrilled to find out that there's no carpet. I can scrub the tile and wood floors once (maybe twice) and those folks will be out of the house. The whole house gets good light, all the rooms are big enough to give the house the feel of a much larger house, and it's all on one level, so I won't have to navigate stairs all day.

Throughout the endless orientation sessions for my new job, I continued to consider the house. On Wednesday, I received an email from a friend who successfully navigated the stormy seas of home-buying, securing the keys to her new first home. "Maybe this IS possible. If she can do it, so can I," I thought. Riding the wave of encouragement, I called in my uncle who has signed on as knowledgeable consultant and chief hand-holder. We walked through the house and he agreed that this is the best house I've considered. Over lunch, he urged me to make an offer. His stamp of approval really helped to take some of the fear out of the next step.

Late this afternoon, after the latest endless orientation session, I made an offer. We'll see what happens from here. I'm bracing myself for the unexpected because everyone says that something will happen. Hopefully we can get settle on a price and I'll really have something to celebrate on my birthday in 3 weeks. Not a bad birthday present. Not bad at all.

The More Things Change...

2009-08-10T07:28:00.006-04:00

This morning, before turning my attention to work, I'm enjoying my morning coffee and reading the local paper. In today's news, seems the much-beleagured Gov. Sanford of South Carolina used state planes for personal use, like the time he flew from Myrtle Beach to Columbia (South Carolina, not South America - important distinction where Sanford is concerned) to get a discount haircut. Guess he learned something from John Edwards's million-dollar haircut. Unfortunately for Sanford, he seems to have learned that he needs to get cheaper haircuts. Big picture, Governor, look for the big picture.

Or, this example:

"Also, on five of the last six Thanksgiving weekends, Sanford used a state plane to fly himself, his wife and their four sons from the family's plantation in Beaufort County to Columbia for the state Christmas tree lighting. The cost for those flights alone: $5,536, including $2,869 for flying the plane empty to pick them up."

OK, using the state plane for this purpose is questionable, but did anyone else get tripped up by "family's plantation"? Not "farm", not "ranch", not "country home." Plantation. Perhaps the bigger scandal is that the Governor is living in the 19th century, a time when the landed gentry could "hike the Appalachian Trail" in peace and get their hair cut wherever they darn well pleased. Yes, his behavior makes perfect sense now.

Adventures in House Hunting, Part II

2009-08-09T20:11:00.003-04:00

Since my last update, I've been on 3 house hunting adventures and seen 21 homes. If you're doing the math, 3 trips + 21 houses = burn-out. And that figure doesn't begin to include the hours I've spent on internet searches and drive-bys. Having spent all this time and energy and still coming up empty, I was beginning to feel like a huge loser, like I was doing something terribly wrong. Then, I read the following in House Buying for Dummies: "When you do it right, finding and buying a good home can be a time-consuming pain in the posterior." Validation at last.

Here's my most recent lesson: I'm not willing to settle. Yes, I have limited resources and yes, I know I'm not buying my dream home. But - this is a big investment and I deserve to have a home that I'm comfortable in. Like I said, I've seen 21 houses of all shapes and varieties. Out of the 21, I liked four, but none are quite right. Here's the Goldilocks part of this blog entry: House A was too small, House B had outrageous HOA fees, and Houses C & D were in iffy parts of town. None of them moved me to make an offer, though the small one isn't completely off the table. My agent assures me that this is normal and I'm not being overly picky, which is reassuring. She also assures me that my expectations aren't unreasonable, even in my price range. I hope she's right that my house is out there somewhere and that patience will pay off.

In the meantime, I'll continue the hit parade of bad choices:

The Cave: Early in the week, we checked out a "3 bedroom unit" in a nearby duplex community. Upon entering the unit, we noticed the master bedroom right inside the door and smack on the front of the unit. No other room had a window that looked out of the front of the building. And it was pretty darn close to the street. Major turn-off. We continued through the unit - nice new kitchen, large living room, and separate dining room. Nice sized 2nd bedroom and another full bath - all good. But where was the much anticipated 3rd bedroom? The 3rd bedroom was a small interior room without windows. It was a cave. I could just hear my greeting to my guests, "Hello, welcome to my home. This is the walk-in closet where you'll be sleeping. Oh, and don't forget these sunglasses. You're going to need them when you emerge from this cave in the morning. Sleep well!" I decided to continue the search.
Welcome to My House, If You Can Find the Door: Later in the week, we checked out a neighborhood of cluster homes on the other side of town. The agent pulled into the driveway and said, "OK, I'm confused." I looked closely at the rather narrow dark green house and realized that it didn't seem to have a front door, unless you count the garage door that dominated the front of the house. We got out of the car and stared at the garage door, trying to remember any Harry Potter incantation that might open the door. After about 30 seconds, the agent said, "Wait, there's a walk under all these pine needles. Maybe it leads to a door." We crunched our way around the house to the world's least welcoming entry way. Taking a deep breath, we plunged in. Inside was a slight improvement over outside, but the whole place reaked of undergraduates. As we beat feet out of there, I laughed and said, "I could hang out a shingle: Will trade History tutoring for yard work." My agent said, "Or you could just get a keg and call it a night."
Red and Black Flag: After a long afternoon of house searching, my agent sent a few new listings for my consideration. One was for a 3-bedroom split level in one of my target neighborhoods. Split-level isn't high on my list, in fact it's a rule-out, but since we'd seen everything else in the neighborhood, I decided to read the description. According to the selling agent, the house is a "wonderful, spacious home situated on a generous, mature corner lot." Hmm, I thought, generous and mature. I like those qualities in people, wonder how they translate in real estate - ese. I read further and found this gem: "You will find a fun and playful rec room on the lower level. Painted in a whimsical Bulldog theme and accentuated with adorable, functional, and indestructible glazed concrete floors, this room is the distinctive selling point for this wonderful in-town home." Take a moment to consider how many times you've heard something described as adorable, functional, AND indestructible. That's some floor! And, let's not overlook the "whimsical Bulldog theme." For those unfamiliar with what this means (and I can't imagine who you are), it means that the entire room is painted red and black. I know, I saw the pictures. It's a converted 2-car garage. That's a lot of red and black, even for this bulldog fan. I had to agree, that's a distinctive selling feature all right. Needless to say, I did not add this gem to the list of possibilities.
Smokey Joe's Toilet: Picture a toilet sitting in a non-descript master bathroom with non-descript linoleum. Now picture a burn mark about 3 inches in diameter about an inch from the base of the toilet. Add smaller burned specks all around the toilet. According to my agent, the seller's agent says that the house owner burned a hole in the linoleum while he was smoking a cigarette. I decided that this was not my house because no amount of hypnosis could erase that image from my brain.

So, the search continues. In the meantime, orientation for my new job is this week and classes start a week from tomorrow. Perhaps now is the time to work in syllabi that stubbornly refuse to write themselves.

Adventures in House Hunting, Part I

2009-08-02T20:12:00.004-04:00

On Friday, I went out on my first real estate adventure. My agent took me around for 4.5 hours, which is a long time to look at houses. In those 4.5 hours, I learned some important lessons, which I believe will be the tip of a very large iceberg. Here's what I've learned so far:

Lesson #1: I need more money. This point was made clear when we went to a dismal, horribly depressing community of starter-homes that are within my budget. Picture Dorothy's house tumbling from the sky and landing in colorized Oz. OK, now remove all the character from the house and send it tumbling from the sky, landing squarely on a concrete slab on newly-cleared Georgia clay that's still in black and white. Getting the picture? No trees, badly laid sod that has turned to sad little lawns, and bland little houses completely devoid of character. I'm convinced that you have to work extra hard to remove that much character from a domicile. After looking at 3 houses, I looked at my agent and said, "If this is my only choice, I'll happily rent for the rest of my life." She assured me that we weren't done for the day.
Lesson #2: College Town is an oasis in the middle of the boonies: I like living in College Town because it has all the things I like about Big City without all the things that I don't. It's relatively easy to get around, you don't have to wait hours to get into restaurants, tickets for concerts and plays are reasonably priced, and there are multiple coffee shops conveniently located around town. That's the good stuff. Here's the down side: It doesn't take long to leave the relatively safe surrounds of College Town and enter the country, where there's no Starbucks and the only restaurant is Bubba's House of Whatever Beef We Got Today. Continue driving about a mile from Bubba's on an increasingly narrow 2-lane highway and you'll be smack in the middle of the boonies. All within 15 minutes of leaving downtown College Town. In my case, this translates to a smaller radius to hunt for a house, because I don't want to live where people regularly hunt for their dinner. I ain't a big city girl, but I also ain't a country girl. I want to be able to get the ice cream home from the grocery store before it melts.
Lesson #3: You never know what you'll see on your house hunt: Let me just say that blush countertops were never a good idea. Not in the 1970s, not in the 1980s, not ever. Not in the kitchen, not in the bathrooms, not anywhere at any time. OK, got that off my chest. In another house, I learned a little too much about the current occupants. I looked at an older home - "older" meaning 1970s construction. I was drawn to it by the remodeled kitchen and great room with fabulous fireplace and large windows. Unfortunately, these rooms were connected to the rest of the house. The great room didn't have a television and I wondered if there was a den. The answer was "yes, but..." In the first bedroom, 2 chairs faced a television. The chairs were dead-ringers for Archie and Edith's chairs in "All in the Family." The TV was also vintage, a 15-inch big boxy TV sitting on a sad little stand. That was it. Nothing else in the room. I looked at the agent and said, "This is the saddest den I've ever seen." She agreed. We continued to the master bedroom. In the middle of the room was a very tall bed, which wasn't strange in and of itself, until you gazed at the relatively low ceiling and realized that the world's largest ceiling fan hung above the bed. I seriously don't think that you could sit up in bed without getting your head caught in the fan. And, as if that wasn't enough, the fan's chain was so long that it stopped about 8 inches above the foot of the bed. I said, "You could claw-toe that chain," and my agent replied, "Guess that's how they stop the fan so they can sit up without injury."
This house brings me to Lesson #4: I need to be very honest about how much time, energy, and resources I want to devote to a house. In the 1970s house, the great room and remodeled kitchen were pretty darn great. The rest of the house, including the exterior, needed a major overhaul. I can only hope that someone will fall in love with the house and give it the attention it deserves. I'm honest enough to admit that I am not that person. After looking at houses with yards, I'm rethinking my commitment there as well. Yes, I'd like some space between my neighbors and yes, I'd like to look out on green space. However, I don't like to mow. I don't like to water. I don't like to dig in dirt. I don't like to sweat. You see the problem here.
Lesson #5: A bland house doesn't have to stay bland. In our search, we found two starter homes that were remarkable because the owners made a few well-chosen changes. Both homes had tile floors in the kitchen and baths, wood floors in the main living areas, new paint on the walls, and relatively new decks on the back of the house. None of these upgrades were top-of-the-line, but made a big difference in the houses. While I wasn't thrilled with either neighborhood, I was encouraged that if I was faced with a character-free house, I could, over time, do some things to perk it up.
Lesson #6: I don't have much pioneer spirit. When the housing bubble burst in College Town, it spewed a slew of unfinished high-density developments on my side of town. These are dismal, creepy places. The streets are paved and named, some houses are finished and stand within 20 feet of each other, but they look out on a big open field full of PVC pipes and weeds that are taller than I am (no height jokes allowed). The developments look like a tornado ripped through and spared a few random houses. Builders are desparately trying to sell the finished products before starting new homes, if they can even build new homes. Sure, I could buy into this emerging development, but there's no guarantee that the finished product will adhere to the original vision, and I'll have to live in a construction zone for years. Again, if this is my choice, I'll rent.
Lesson #7: Patience. This is not my strong suit by a long shot. I'll admit that I'm feeling a bit discouraged. I thought my money would go farther. I thought I'd have better options. I thought I knew what I wanted. Friday was a series of, "OK, if you want a yard, this is what's available in your price range," followed by disappointment. "OK, if you want to be closer to town, this is what's in your price range," followed by disappointment. I'm certainly not giving in, but I am rethinking what I thought were my priorities.

More updates as the adventure continues.

Be Ve-wy Quiet, We're Hunting Houses

2009-07-30T19:44:00.006-04:00

That's right, I'm boldly moving toward buying my first home. OK, "boldly" may be an overstatement. Trepidatiously sticking one little inconsequential toe into the water while making sure that all other body parts stay safely on shore. Yeah, that's more like it.

I don't understand people who jump right into home ownership. Hell, I don't even understand how anyone makes it to closing. It has taken me at least 3 solid weeks to just work up the nerve to call a real estate agent. Before yesterday, every time I picked up the phone, I broke out in a cold sweat and had the shakes. Picture a pimply-faced gawky teenage boy calling the most popular girl in school. Now multiply that by 100. That about says it all. Except I'm not pimply-faced, or gawky, or a teenage boy. Still, you get my point. I was nervous.

In the 3 weeks that I haven't been calling real estate agents, I've been doing a lot of research. Scientific research. First, I got myself addicted to any and all home-buying shows on HGTV. If someone's looking for a house, I'm all over it. The shows have been helpful in showing the ins and outs of the home-finding and home-buying process. It's helped to see real people buying real homes. It's helped to see them come out of the process with smiles on their faces, rather than huge dark circles under their bloodshot eyes, fingernails worn to the quick, and countless beads of sweat on their foreheads. I'm guessing that they've had some serious pharmacological intervention, and I want to make sure that it's a standard part of the closing process.

Here's where the shows haven't been so helpful: It's not helpful to see people who are my age qualifying for 3-4 times more than I'm able to afford. I've developed a real dislike for those people. It's particularly unhelpful to see younger people who are looking for a second vacation home in a different country. I've multiplied my dislike for those people. I actually enjoyed watching the episode where the guy bought a home in Honduras, followed by news of political unrest. I know that I'm probably going to hell, but I smiled at his misfortune. Poor bastard will have to live full-time in his beach house in Malibu. My heart bleeds.

In addition to HGTV, I've polled some of my house-owing friends to get their advice in this process. Some of the advice has been very helpful. For example:

If you buy a house with a basement, make sure the basement doesn't leak before you buy the house. Sound advice if I've ever heard any. Yes, the friend who passed this along learned from experience and God bless her for forging the path for the rest of us.
Buy in a neighborhood that does not appear regularly in the Police Blotter. Also good advice.
Don't buy a house with a big yard if you don't like yard work. This is a tricky one because while I have a strong aversion to lawn mowers, I also want some space between me and my neighbors. I haven't yet figured out how to negotiate a balance here, though the idea of a hunky gardner is not without appeal.
Think long-term. In other words, don't expect the house to be perfect from the moment you move in, and be ready to take your time to make it your home. Good advice. Reminds me of something a work colleague used to say: The reason God made time is so that everything doesn't happen at once. Very true.
Have an idea of what you want but don't narrow your search too much in the early stages. Sure, you want to be on one side of town. Don't completely rule out the other side of town. Walk through a wide range of houses so you can really define your likes and dislikes. I'm hoping my real estate agent agrees with this advice.
Get a copy of "Homebuying for Dummies." Here's one time where I don't mind being a dummy. This book is a gold mine. I almost understand "points." Where were these people when I was trying to understand statistics?

Friends have also offered less helpful advice. For example, "the market is down so aim for the absolutely best neighborhood in town and accept no substitutes." Yeah OK, I'll do that. Yes, it's a recession-style housing market. The problem is that I also have a recession-style income. So unless one of those fancy homeowners is willing to give their house away, I'm not going to be moving to that neighborhood anytime soon, unless I decide that walls and a roof are really overrated and I'd be just as happy with a canvas, poles, and some stakes.

Another friend advised that I should put 20% down to avoid the private mortgage insurance (PMI). This isn't necessarily "bad" advice, it's unrealistic advice. Sure, I could put 20% down - on canvas, poles, and stakes.

The advice I keep coming back to is something my grandfather told me years ago. I was buying my first car and the dealership kept pushing a car that wasn't exactly what I was looking for. My soft-spoken grandfather looked at me and said, "If you're going to pay that much money for it, you should get what you want." Absolutely.

So, tomorrow, I'm heading out on my first house-hunting adventure. I'm hoping to get through the afternoon without any episodes of screaming back to my relatively safe comfortable apartment. I'll let you know how it goes.

Letting the Chips Melt

2009-07-29T16:18:00.004-04:00

Here's my motto for the day: When life hands you buffalo chips, make cookies!

Though I would advise chocolate chips, instead of the buffalo variety.

I'll admit that although warm chocolate chip cookies are satisfying in many ways, I still long for the satisfaction of kicking the Governor squarely in a place that would have him singing soprano for a while. But, in my ongoing effort to avoid criminal charges, I'll stick to the cookies. I'll just console myself with the knowledge that if the Governor wanted one of my cookies, I would look him straight in the eye and say, "No. You can't have any warm cookies because you are a mean, mean man with a cold, cold heart." Then I and my fellow state employee friends would eat our warm cookies right in front of him. That'll learn him to pass a mandatory furlough edict.

Wish I could take a picture of the smell permeating my apartment. Even on a hot July day, you gotta love the smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

And...in case you're wondering, I licked the beaters, spoon, and the bowl.

My Bliss

2009-07-28T15:52:00.004-04:00

"Follow your bliss." How many times have we heard this overplayed Oprah pop psychology? Just do what you feel passionate about and you'll achieve everlasting harmony between your work and non-work life. In fact, you'll be so happy, you won't even realize how much you're "working." It's the modern day path to nirvana. I'll admit that I've drunk the Kool-Aid and after careful consideration, I've decided that my bliss is a frustrating tease.

It all started 8 years ago when I lapped up the Kool-Aid and decided to leave a promising career to embark on a new career as an historian. I was following my bliss, but my bliss wasn't going to make it that easy. Instead of studying at an idyllic southern university, my bliss said, "If you want me, you need to move to the northeastern post-industrial wasteland to study at the Concrete Jungle where it snows 8 months out of the year." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Six years later, I returned to the South and finished my degree. "There," I told my bliss, "I held up my part of the bargain. Now, bring on the bliss." "OK," my bliss replied, with a sly smile, "If you want me, you'll need to teach over 160 ambivalent students each semester while simultaneously looking for a full-time job. And, oh, did I mention that you won't drive 15 minutes to the major university across town? Instead, you need to commute 90 minutes one way. All of this will leave you with precious little energy to write or do research." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Three months ago, I secured the Holy Grail of academia - a full-time, permanent, tenure-track job in the Humanities. "There," I told my bliss, "Now, I have you." "Hmm," replied my bliss, "If you want me, you need to accept a relatively low salary, a heavy teaching load, and another commute." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Just as I decided that I followed my bliss to a pretty good place - my bliss scampered farther down the path earlier this week. Looking back from the bend in the road, my bliss said, "If you want me, you'll have to work just as hard but take home even less money." This time, I shook my fist at my bliss. "Why can't you just stay still? Why do you have to keep pushing me to prove my devotion? Don't you know how hard I've worked?" I cried while setting up the decorations and party favors for a real, full-on Pity Party.

After some time for reflection, I'm beginning to pull myself out of this funk. In these difficult times, I keep reminding myself that in the end, I'll still get paid to talk about and think about history all day. Reading history books isn't a hobby that I try to squeeze in around my work life. While many of my friends struggle to find secure employment, I've been lucky enough to land a job that lets me live where I want to live. I get to interact with some pretty great people - and yes, some of them are students. From this perspective, the good outweighs the bad. Maybe it's the Kool-Aid, and if so, fill up my cup again.

That said, I still think this whole forced furlough idea stinks.

Fun with Technology

2009-07-15T16:17:00.004-04:00

Today, I'd planned a full multimedia experience for my students. I had youtube pop-ups, I had iTunes on the iPod, I had a clip from a DVD, and I had 2 powerpoint presentations. Yes indeedy, it was going to be a big, big blockbuster of a day.

The first half of class went well. I got all the youtube clips set up and brought up the first powerpoint presentation (the same presentation I had to completely reconstruct when I ran into compatibility issues yesterday. Hate it when powerpoint versions just can't get along.) My riveting lecture on the origins of the Cold War went smoothly - complete with the inevitable student's question: Why did the US government get so upset about communism? I've decided this is the biggest indication of a generational divide between me and my students. Well, that and hip hop, which I really just don't get. As a child of the 80s, the threat of communism is ingrained into my DNA. But, for today's students, born after 1989, they have a hard time understanding the dichotomy between democracy/capitalism and communism - and then trying to understand why the US and USSR couldn't just get along.

(Hmm, maybe my 2 versions of powerpoint are fighting a Cold War...)

Anyway, had a good discussion about the threat of communism and moved on to Cold War society. I gave the class a break so I could eat a snack and get set up for the second half of class. Here's where class crashed against the rocky shoals of classroom technology. When I tried to insert the DVD into the computer, I discovered that some jackass decided to mash the eject button all the way into the computer, making it impossible for me to open the drive. Undeterred, I tried the DVD player in the classroom. It would run the DVD, but there was no remote to select scenes - and I didn't want to show the entire movie.

Left with no other choice, I called Tech Support. In the meantime, my diligent students filed back on time. It's the first time all semester that they've been back on time and the first time that I couldn't resume class on time. Anyone who knows anything about psychological theories of reinforcement knows that I'll never get my students back in class on time ever again.

Meanwhile, Mr. Tech Support squatted in front of the computer and jammed a very large knife into the DVD drive. Honestly, I wasn't aware that Tech Support guys were allowed to carry the equivalent of a switchblade hunting knife on campus, but OK, whatever works. I also didn't know that you could jam a machete into a computer and walk away unscathed. He explained that the "knife method" was the only way to work the drive. OR, he said, he could use a student's laptop, if someone would volunteer. The clouds parted, the angels sang, and a student brought forth his laptop. Knifewielding Tech Guy went to work.

While he fiddled with the laptop, cords, plugs, and knives, I explained homework assignments, I whistled a tune, I reviewed the previous lecture - and before I launched into an ad lib comedy routine ("Funny thing about Joseph Stalin..."), I checked in with Knife Boy. No dice. The laptop wouldn't work because the audio plug was no good, which meant no iPod music either.

Knife Boy promised to have everything fixed by Monday and left. The rest of class went better than I expected, mainly because I was still able to show the clip of Elvis and his pelvis. Thank God for Elvis! Here's hoping everything is working on Monday, because teaching late 20th century US history isn't the same without the bells and whistles.

Evergreen, Never More

2009-07-11T16:41:00.007-04:00

Remember this photo?

I snapped this shot at the height of Freak Snowstorm 2009. As the photo shows, this was big, heavy, wet snow, and these two trees are bearing the brunt of it.

Within 4 days of this picture, the snow had melted under sunny skies and temps in the 70s. The trees bounced back, shaking off the heavy snow, raising their limbs, and boasting evergreen needles while all the surrounding trees had to wait another month for their summer finery.

All seemed fine, but below the surface, something wasn't right. Over the next few weeks, the tree on the right began to show signs of stress and fatigue. After several weeks of steady decline, it looks like this:

I'm no hortoculturist, but I don't think the little tree is doing well. I like to believe that the little tree fought the good fight through 2 years of drought, but the big pile of heavy snow proved to be too much to bear. It's a sad sight, particularly poignant when set against the vibrant green of the other trees and grass that seem to be bragging about their ability to hold up under adversity.

I feel certain that the corporate management of my apartment complex has already contacted the landscaping service to remove this blight on their perfectly constructed apartment paradise. One day soon, I'll come home and all that will be left of the little tree will be a stump and some wood chips. Before this post takes an irreversible turn into Maudlinville, I'll just say that I'll miss the little tree. And that other tree is just a big show-off.

One more thing - I don't want to ever live in a place called Maudlinville.

That's Entertainment!

2009-07-10T14:49:00.003-04:00

This morning, I caught up on entertainment news. Thankfully, we seem to be moving past "all Michael Jackson, all the time." I came across two interesting bits of news on the BBC News website. In the first story, seems Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman have agreed to star together in a Broadway play about two Chicago police officers. So, it's official. From now on, only non-American actors will be hired to portray Americans. I believe we have Hugh Laurie to thank for this turn of events.

While you chew on that, consider this comment from the BBC report: Scott Mallalieu, president of Broadway ticket agency Group Sales Box Office, told Bloomberg he expected the play to sell out very quickly. "These are two very sexy men - and male theatregoers will be attracted by the fact that it's a drama about two cops," he said.

Interesting. So, women don't care about the content of the play, and men will only care if the play is about cops. Wonder if this theory applies to selling history books. For my next project, I'm going to write a book about American policemen, and get Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman to pose for the cover picture. Might even invite Hugh Laurie to join them. I'll be in a new house in no time!

And in other news, I'm not even going to try to explain this:

Hollywood actor Mel Gibson is in talks to take the lead role in a film directed by Jodie Foster. Trade magazine Variety said Foster will also co-star in The Beaver, about a depressed man who finds solace in his beaver hand-puppet.

So many jokes, so little time.

Success!

2009-07-06T16:45:00.005-04:00

Good news! I found the recipe. It was right where I left it, in the last place that I looked. The dish is called "Mushroom Wine Sauce," printed on a page devoted shallot recipes. It was so obvious that I'm not sure how I missed it in my earlier searches. I may need to turn in my researcher credentials.

Anyway, here's the sauce, bubbling away:

That's shallots, green onions, mushrooms, and garlic sauteed in butter and flour, then simmered in red wine and beef consomme. From there, it was good, rich goodness on my grilled steak. To complete the meal, I added a baked potato, marinated asparagus spears, and a green salad with dried cranberries, blue cheese, and walnuts. Topped off with a glass of red wine and it was true Sunday dinner goodness, with enough left over for a Monday holiday. Doesn't get much better than that.

OK, I have the ingredients...

2009-07-05T14:12:00.006-04:00

The other day, I sat down and planned my grocery list. I carefully planned a week of meals, hoping to avoid the every-other-day trip to the grocery store. I even found a new recipe to try - a sauce for grilled steak. I added the ingredients to my list and I was off.

Yesterday, I remembered the steak recipe and decided that I'd try it tonight. I set the steak to defrosting in the fridge and turned my attention to the sauce. Almost immediately, I realized that I was in trouble. I'd forgotten an important step in my planning process - I didn't mark the new recipe and I'd replaced the cookbook into its proper place. Bewildered, I faced my shelf of cookbooks:

Note the bookmarks. I can assure you that none of them mark a page with "mushroom steak sauce" on it. I know, I looked. At all of them. I also know that the recipe came from one of the Southern Living cookbooks. Note how many Southern Living cookbooks are on the shelf. Hell I know which one is the right one. To add final insult to injury, I think the sauce recipe was an "add-on," so not the primary recipe. In case you're counting, that's all cards stacked against me.

So, here's where things stand, I know that the recipe called for the following ingredients, because I bought these ingredients and they are not staples on my grocery list: That's red wine, beef consomme, shallots, and mushrooms. I seem to recall that the recipe called for more ingredients that I already had in my kitchen. Again, hell if I know what they were.

I tried searching for "shallots," "beef consomme," "mushrooms," and "steak" on the Southern Living website. No dice. I'm beginning to think that I made the whole thing up.

Crap.

Afternoon Delight - Moth Style

2009-07-01T20:16:00.007-04:00

I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon trying to make the Progressive Era interesting. During a particularly frustrating moment, I glanced out the window in my home office, hoping for inspiration. Here's what I saw:

As this pictures suggests, it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust after staring at a computer screen for way too long. So, I moved in for a closer look, with my camera. Here's the image, in sharper focus:

As best I can tell, these are two moths sharing a moment of intimacy. Or, it was an intimate moment until that intrusive human glanced their direction, then grabbed her camera and shoved it into their little moth faces. As I snapped several pictures, I believe that I heard them say, "Hey! Do you mind?!"

Everybody all together now, "Sky rockets in flight..."

Summer Grading

2009-06-24T20:39:00.003-04:00

I'm grading again. I do this to myself and I accept that I am responsible for my own pain. In my sick need to try to be fair, I usually offer opportunities for students to earn 8-10 grades each semester. I mix up quizzes, short papers, exams, and participation so each student has the opportunity to succeed. Some actually take advantage of the opportunity, which is gratifying. However, this means that I grade a lot.

As I wade through the latest stack of exams, I'm considering a new strategy. I think I should be able to assign a final grade at the end of the semester. To assist me with this new strategy, I'm going to look high and low for a sorting hat like in Harry Potter. Shouldn't be too hard to find something that only exists in JK Rowling's imagination. Armed with my hat, I'll have a grading ceremony at the end of the semester. Each student will come to the front of the room, take a seat, put on the hat, and after a few moments of deliberate reflection on the student's performance, the hat will announce the student's grade. Sure, this plan violates just about every principle of student confidentiality, but weren't rules made to be broken - especially if magic is involved?

Yes, this is the way things should be. Not the other way where I have to wade through open-ended short answers that conflate numerous ideas and concepts into one big maelstrom of crap.

I'm being a bit unfair. Overall, the exams & other assignments from my summer students aren't bad. I'm just tired.

Farmer's Market

2009-06-13T11:38:00.004-04:00

It's summer in the southland, which means high temperatures, high humidity, and fresh produce!! Since I'm an apartment dweller, I can't plant my own fresh produce, but I can take advantage of our local farmer's market. I've been meaning to go for about 3 weeks and haven't gotten out the door on Saturday morning. Today, I finally got myself together and made my way across town.

Several factors worked in my favor this morning. First, the immediate environmental factors: I managed to get up and caffienated relatively early. There's a bright blue sky outside and while it is humid, it's still possible to draw breath.

Next, the broader environmental factors: Since moving to College Town, I've regularly loaded up my recycling and driven it over to the recycling center. I've also become much more aware of the movement toward organic and sustainable produce. I'll admit that I'm not a total convert, but awareness is the first step.

Next, the external motivating forces: Through the magic of Facebook, I'm in touch with several college friends who regularly sing the praises of their local farmer's markets. One friend sells her wares at her local market - hat's off to you, Mary! I bet your cheeses are the best around.

In Chicago, my friends make a weekly pilgrimage to their local market. During a recent visit, I witnessed the pilgrimage prep - complete with hard-core backpack baskets, like the one pictured here. Although invited, I opted out of the pilgrimage because it came with a 5AM wake-up call. I did opt in for the scones and fresh coffee that came back in the baskets. Amy and Phil, you're an inspiration.

But - to be perfectly honest, while all of these factors helped get me out the door, another factor decisively tipped the scales. In the past week, both major grocery stores on my side of town have sold nothing but disappoinment. I've sliced into bad potatoes and bad apples - and in this case, two bad apples spoiled the entire bunch, bought and unbought. I passed on lettuce and tomatoes that had no business being for sale. Add the bag of slimy mini carrots that I had the displeasure of opening two weeks ago, and I'm done with grocery store produce. It's like they're not even trying. So, I'll take my produce dollars elsewhere.

Upon my arrival at the farmer's market, I realized that I'd made two miscalculations that I'll fix on my next trip. I arrived relatively late. As I expected, the pickin's were slim, so to speak. And - I should have learned from Amy and Phil's example and taken a carrying recepticle of some kind. Next time, I'll know to take one of the many canvas bags lying around my house. Probably won't do the backpack basket.

Even with my late arrival and even though I had to manage multiple small bags, I was not disappointed.

I picked up some buttery Yukon Gold potatoes, crisp green beans and a fresh baguette with "everything" - think long, skinny everything bagel. The greens you see are a red-leaf variety of romaine lettuce. The grower was out of regular romaine so I decided to try this variety, figuring that it had to be better than anything I'd find the grocery store.

Later today, I'll head to the grocery store to get some cheese (sorry Mary, no cheese at this farmer's market.) Can't have bread without cheese. And, later tonight, I'll have fresh green beans, simple boiled parsley potatoes, and a leafy green salad with a pork chop. Take that, grocery store produce section.

School's Not Out For Summer

2009-06-08T19:14:00.006-04:00

Today was the first day of summer semester at Big City University. I'm teaching the same survey course that I taught during the regular semester, except now, I'm teaching it all in 11 class sessions. For those of you who are keeping track, that's all of US History in 11 classes. The classes are two and a half hours long, because the 11 class sessions weren't challenging enough. Ever try to engage a group of undergraduates for two and a half hours? Did I mention that the class starts at 11AM and ends at 1:30PM? Yes, that's lunchtime, ladies and gentlemen. Yeehaw.

To get us started, I'd planned to do an introductory song-and-dance and let them go early. I've performed the song-and-dance before, so it's well-rehearsed and undergrad-approved. I got to the classroom and immediately noticed an unmistakable error message on the in-class computer. Investigating further, I learned that despite the summer temperatures outside, the computer was in "deep freeze." Apparently, "deep freeze" means that the computer doesn't do anything - not even "Reboot in 180 seconds" as the error message promises. I know. I waited. Nothing happened.

While I was staring the frozen computer, I considered just how bad life was going to be for the next hour or so if the computer didn't thaw. "Hmm," I thought, "my entire presentation is on Power Point, and there's no way in hell to do the presentation without Power Point because it involves a significant amount of student response to - oh yeah - the stuff that's on Power Point." My heart and stomach sank. "I can just go over the syllabus and send them home," I thought. Then I realized that in my effort to simultaneously save the department's meager resources a small corner of the environment, I posted my syllabus on the school's document-sharing site. No hard copies. Well, I had one, but I could hardly share it with 22 students. "Crap, crappity, crap, crap, crap. Damn me and my frugality and environmental sensibility," I thought as students continued to file in and take their seats.

I'll be honest, I considered running away. I hadn't said anything to them. They didn't know who I was. I'd just be that crazy woman who came in, messed with the computer, looked stricken, and left. But - my professionalism and desire for food and rent money won out. I called Tech Support. So, the first words my students heard this semester were: "Hello, yes, I'm in my classroom ready to teach and the computer is in deep freeze." I'm hoping it's not a metaphor for the entire semester.

Instead of launching into my rehearsed song-and-dance, I improvised. I'm very proud to say that I did not launch into, "So, who's here from out of town? I just flew in from College Town and boy, are my arms tired!" No, I blabbered on and on and on about things related to the class in no particular order. Here's hoping my students understand garbled jibberish. I figure they speak and text it, so they should understand it [insert rimshot here].

When I ran out of things to say, I asked them to introduce themselves. I asked each of them to say his or her name, where he or she was from, and one thing that interests them about history. We got off to a rousing start when 3 of the first 4 students declared that they "really didn't like history." The entire subject written off as boring and irrelevant. Great.

We continued around the room and the chorus of History Haters grew. Surprisingly, many of the HHs were girls, while many of the non-HHs were boys. I'm not sure what that's about, but I think it's interesting. I wasn't aware that history had become a "boy's subject," like math and science used to be. Anyway, of the non-HHs, one likes world history, one likes military history ("battles, generals, and war"), and one likes ancestoral history - or the history of her own family. Great. Out of a very small percentage of the class that doesn't absolutely hate history, a significant proportion like the history that I don't teach. Fantastic.

Mr. AV finally showed up and disappeared behind the desk. I continued my ad lib. I was almost out of material when he poked his head out, declaring that he had fixed the problem. Happily, he was right. By this time, we were at least 40 minutes into class and 2 students came strolling in. I guess they decided they'd only come in if there was Power Point.

One of the late arrivals is a repeater from a previous semester. He registered late that semester, had really inconsistent attendance, and eventually disappeared - which explains why he's back. It doesn't explain why he decided to come to class 40 minutes late on the first day. I'm sure that he decided to retake the class with me because he's somewhat familiar with my teaching style. The flaw in his plan is that I am also familiar with his past performance. Showing up 40 minutes late doesn't necessarily convince me that he's ready to make a bigger commitment to the class.

So, along with the contingent of HHs, the Repeater, Col. Military, Ms. Family Tree and a couple of brown-nosers, I also found this semester's Sleepy Sleeperson and Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning. Sleepy Sleeperson decided to introduce herself about 30 minutes into the class, right after introductions. She took out her bookbag, placed it on her desk, then placed her head on it and checked out. There are only 22 students in the entire class, so, yes, I could see her. I felt like saying, "Really? On the first day? Are you familiar with the concept of first impresssions? How about object permanence? As any 4 year-old will tell you, just because you can't see me doesn't mean that I can't see you." Instead, she woke up just in time for me to say, "If you are sleeping in class, you don't get credit for being here. Stay home and rest."

Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning introduced herself after class. In a throng of students, she informed me that she already knew that she'd have to miss 2 consecutive classes in the midde of the term. She wanted to know if she could turn in her assignments early. "Yes," I replied, "you'll have to turn them in early. And, by the way, it's not a good idea to miss 2 of 11 classes." "Oh," she said, "I plan to take the first exam and if I understand everything, then I'll miss class. If not, I'll come to class." To my credit, I did not say, "WTF?" Instead, I encouraged her to come to class. I look forward to reading more of her logic process throughout the semester.

So, there's the summer bunch. They're not as colorful as Mark Harmon's group in "Summer School," but then I'm no Mark Harmon either. I know because I don't live on a beach and I don't have a dog.

Tough Times Everywhere

2009-05-31T15:29:00.004-04:00

As I made my way to the grocery store today, a sign caught my eye:

That's right - times are so tough that now you can take advantage of a two-for-one special here:

In these troubled economic times, the memorial garden has turned to "buy one, get one free" to try to move its merchandise. So, if you're looking for a deal on your final resting place - and want to make sure that at least one loved one will be there with you - look no further. And move fast, because it's a limited time offer.

While this selling approach ruffles my sensibilities, I applaud the garden's restraint. Think about it - in this age of product placement and advertising on steroids, there's no end to what these folks could have done. For example, you're out buying some planting soil and you see a sign, "You're planting daisies now, but one day, you'll be pushing up those flowers. Evergreen Memorial Gardens can make sure that you aren't pushing alone." Or the memorial garden could dress their newest employee in a Grim Reaper costume and have that unfortunate soul wave at potential customers as they drive by. The cemetary is on a busy thoroughfare. People are sure to take note of a waving Grim Reaper sandwiched between the liquor store and Cap'n D's.

Or, the good folks at Evergreen Memorial Gardens could adopt the upstate New York approach to selling "grave space." Let me set the scene: I'm sitting in my living room, enjoying a relaxing evening of TV and a glass of wine. The phone rings. "Hello," I say. "Good evening. I was calling to see if you would be interested in buying a funeral plot at [insert name of cemetary]," says the voice on the other end of the phone. This happened to me approximately 3 times in my 6 years in the northeastern post-industrial wasteland.

Every time, I had the same response. First, I would swear that I heard creepy organ music and wonder if the person on the other end of the line knew something that I didn't. Then, I'd start laughing. Uncontrollably. I mean, c'mon, what else are you going to do when someone cold calls you and asks if you want a burial plot? Each time, I would try to find a nice way to a) stop laughing, and b) explain that I didn't want to be in alive in the NEPIW, so I sure didn't want to spend all of eternity there. Then, I'd hang up with a new determination to get the hell out of the NEPIW. And I'd nervously peek through the peephole to make sure that the Grim Reaper was not standing on my doorstep.

Lumberjacks in Bhutan

2009-05-28T22:31:00.004-04:00

Lately, I've had the urge to travel. Unfortunately, I haven't had the money or time to travel. So, I've made up for these minor deficits by watching travelogues. Through the magic of Netflix, I'm traveling through the Himalaya region with Michael Palin. (As far as I know, he does not have any Alaska relatives. I'm guessing this because he hasn't shot and killed any animals on his journey. And he's not making nasaly claims about being able to see Russia.) In his younger days, Palin was a member of the Monty Python troop - the greatest group of entertainers ever assembled. I'm on the last of the 6-part series and so far, it's been a bit slow. I didn't expect Palin to do Monty Python sketches across the mountains, but I expected some dry wit now and then. Instead, it's a lot of very edited interviews and very edited commentary. The scenery is spectacular, though.

Anyway, in this last installment, Palin is traveling through Bhutan, a tiny country with few roads that borders India and China. On his walk through the country, his guide took him to an old guy's house in the mountains. The old fellow wrote one of Bhutan's best known songs. At their urging, the guy sang his song. It was a bit difficult to follow since I don't speak Bhutanese.

When the old guy finished, Palin said, "That was very good." He chuckled nervously and continued, "I could sing a song about a lumberjack." The guide, who understood English, and the old guy who didn't, encouraged Palin to sing. Noticably uncomfortable, Palin said, "Oh no, it's rather a silly song." But then...with more encouragement, in the middle of nowhere Bhutan, he started to sing, "I work all day, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavat'ry..." He made it to the chorus, then forgot the words. I actually squealed and clapped while sitting on my couch. Made this series totally worth my time.

Here's Palin in his younger days:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zey8567bcg

I am such a dork.

Minivans

2009-05-28T15:11:00.003-04:00

Lately, my head has been full of cotton. No, not stuffy sinus problems. Sleepy, tired, lethargic brain problems. I've pushed myself to get some work done, but it's slow going. My brain is no fool. It knows that I'm "on break." It steadfastly refuses to engage in anything that remotely smacks of work. After fighting the good fight, and losing the good fight all morning, I gave up and went shopping for my nephew's birthday present.

I ended up at the Red Dot Boutique. Miracle of miracles, I wasn't there with all of humanity and actually found a parking space that was less than a 10-minute walk from the front door. Reveling in my good fortune, I made my way to the door. As I walked through the parking lot, I glanced over and saw a woman buckling into her minivan. I didn't pay anymore attention to her or her freak of automotive nature until I noticed that the van was getting closer - and it wasn't because I was moving toward it.

I did what anyone would do with a green behemoth bearing down on them. OK, to be honest, I did what no one else would do in this situation. I emitted a muffled squeal and jumped about 3 inches forward. I looked to my left and noticed that the van was still reversing straight toward me. Not only had I had failed to stop the van, I also failed to get out of its path. In fact, I was even further into the path. Cat-like? Decidedly not. My inaudible squeal and half step forward could not have been less effective. Doing nothing would have rendered a better result. Falling down would have been more effective. At least then, I'd be lower than the vehicle and could potentially miss the tires. Instead, I remained smack in the path of the dreaded minivan.

I kept thinking, "I'm sure she sees me. Surely she sees me." All evidence pointed to the fact that she didn't see me - or that the driver is a homicidal minivan-driving maniac who enjoys running down small-ish pedestrians in big box store parking lots. Whatever the truth, the van kept bearing down on me, no brake lights in sight. Let's quickly review my options - Did I bang on back of the van? No. Did I yell to get the driver's attention? No. Did I step backwards to get out of the way? No. What did I do? Well, I did a little skippity skip jump until I'd cleared the van's back bumper. Catlike? Decidedly not. Cool? Decidedly not. Awkward and ridiculous? Absolutely.

Once I was out of harm's way, I glared at the van. Not at the driver. The van. Again, very effective strategy. I really showed that van who was boss. I'm sure that van won't be backing into people anytime soon.

Once again, I am reminded that minivans are the source of all evil. And once again, I am reminded that I am useless in an emergency. I did manage to find my nephew's birthday present though. I hope he appreciates that I risked my life so that he could have some new clothes. Something tells me that he'd appreciate it more if I'd risked my life for Thomas. Clothes, meh. Trains - now there's a reason to throw yourself in back of a moving minivan.

Neighbors

2009-05-27T14:43:00.003-04:00

I've lived in apartments for the better part of 20 years now. I've never felt settled enough to buy a house, and never felt financially able to take on a mortgage and upkeep. So, I've lived in a dizzying array of apartments.

Apartments have their advantages. If something breaks, I call the leasing office or landlord and they fix it at no cost to me. The landscaping always looks great and I don't have to lift a finger or break a sweat. In upstate New York, I didn't have to shovel snow. In Georgia, apartments come with central air conditioning, and most have swimming pools and exercise rooms.

Apartments also come with distinct disadvantages. Your rent can increase from year to year. There's not much space for entertaining or guests. I'm pretty sure I'm getting shafted on my water bill. And, neighbors come and go on a regular basis. This has to be the worst part of apartment living. Since I moved into my current apartment, I've had 3 different neighbors in the downstairs apartment. Each time one moves out, I pray for one thing: Lord, please send me a quiet neighbor.

Twice, my wish was granted. While my previous 2 neighbors had small children, I only heard them on rare occasions. It was bliss, and now it's over. I have a new-ish downstairs neighbor. He's a young fellow who moved in about 2 months ago. I've only seen him once or twice, both times in uniform. Seems he's assigned to the sailors' school in this landlocked college town.

I don't know much about him, and in the absence of real information, I'm constructing my own narrative from few visible clues. First, he has a hammock on his balcony. It's one of those hammocks on a stand. The hammock and stand barely fit on the balcony, so one end of the contraption is in the storage closet. The hammock seems to suggest that he enjoys lying outside, possibly in the sun. However, he never opens the blinds to his apartment, which suggests that he's a vampire. A vampire who dresses in sailor suits and likes to lie on a partially enclosed hammock.

Last week, the hammock vampire sailor found the volume on his television. I'm not sure what he's doing down there, but from my vantage point, it sounds like thunder. Intermittent, loud thunder. Annoying, irritating, distracting thunder. I'm guessing it's some kind of video game. Three to four hours every evening. Ugh.

All apartment dwellers know that there is a chain of responses to such disturbances. So far, I've used the "jump up and down" approach. So far, Sailor Vampire Boy is either a) blatantly ignoring my passive-aggressive message, or b) unfamiliar with the universal sign for "STFU" and is wondering why his upstairs neighbor is using the floor as a trampoline. So, today, I moved on to Step 2: Polite note on his door and discussion with leasing office staff. We'll see what happens. If nothing changes, I'll move on to Step 3: Sicking the leasing office staff on him. Here's hoping he doesn't turn into a bat and bite my neck. At least I can feel safe in my apartment because everyone knows that a vampire can't enter your home unless they are invited.

iTunes Random Play

2009-05-19T19:45:00.005-04:00

Lately, I've taken to setting my iTunes library on random play and letting it go. I have about 3 days of music on my computer, so some songs get lost. Ironically, the shuffle brings them back into focus.

Right now, Nada Surf's "From Now On" got the call. I'd never heard of the band until I was driving home from a full day of teaching. From what I remember, it had been a long, tiring day in front of tired, unenergetic, sleepy students. I was whipped. Fortunately, I'd had the good sense to update my iPod before I left home. That morning, I'd downloaded an "All Music Considered" podcast. It was a live recording of Nada Surf in concert at a small club in California. Proved to be the perfect upbeat drive time music that allowed me to put the day behind me. I was never able to replicate that magic with "All Music Considered" podcasts and eventually stopped downloading them. On long drives home at night, I still thank them for Nada Surf.

Now, it's Better than Ezra's "This Time of Year." Got to be one of the greatest acoustic guitar introductions in all of music. I bought the CD years ago, for "Good," of course. I brought it home to my first single apartment, popped into the CD player and hit play. I sang along with the "Good" and "In the Blood," and sat back and listened to the unfamiliar songs. Just as I'd decided that I was undecided about my purchase, the first chords of "The Time of Year" rang out, and I was sold. Perfect song to remind you to"go on, let it be" and that we can all experience a "Friday afternoon" anytime we want to.

Now, "Fall on Me" by REM. College days, senior year, wondering if that Dartmouth boy would ever call me, wondering what the hell Michael Stipe is saying, wondering if I was ever going to finish my undergraduate thesis, wondering how long the bar across the street would keep $1 appetizers and beer for happy hour . . . all in that order. Then wondering where in hell was Athens, GA and how soon could I get there?

Up next, "Sweetest Goodbye" by Maroon 5. Since I don't listen to commercial radio, I discovered Maroon 5 through "Love Actually." I watch that movie every New Years Eve. If memory serves, this song plays when British Colin tells his equally British friend that he (Colin) is going to America because although Colin can't get laid in Britian, American girls will think that he's hot. We Americans laughed in the theater, but we watched as Colin arrived in Milwaukee and was immediately swept up by 3 American girls who thought he was hot simply because he had a British accent. We all knew that the scene was truer than any of us wanted to admit. Guess we didn't have the last laugh, after all.

Next, "With or Without You," U2 at their best. Always makes me think of someone I once knew who idolized Bono. Also reminds me of the drive from college to home - I-95 to I-287 across the Tappan Zee Bridge, to the Garden State Parkway and the New Jersey Turnpike, back to I-95 across the Delaware Memorial Bridge and home, singing along with Bono all the way.

Now, "Sunday Girl" by Blondie. I bought this song on iTunes about 2 years ago. If I heard it in the early 1980s when it was new, I don't remember it. When I bought it, I think I was aiming to buy "Heart of Glass," and got sidetracked. "Sunday Girl" is so catchy and upbeat, what's not to like? And, you can actually sing along with it, instead of muttering and humming along like we all do with "Heart of Glass."

Up next, a bit of country, Mary-Chapin Carpenter's "We're All Right." I'm a huge Mary-Chapin Carpenter fan. Time was, I'd buy her CDs after hearing part of one song. I'll admit that I'm not there anymore. "Time Sex Love" wasn't one of my favorites and made me a bit gun-shy. She got me back with "The Calling." Something about her music always hits me at the right time in my life with something that I want to, or need to, hear. "It's not too late to believe that fate has been keeping us from harm. No road maps, no lightposts, no North Star, no lifeboats, no miracle coming in sight. No voices to guide us, no angels beside us, no Shaman, no mystical light - but we're all right!" We're all right, all on our own.

And, finally, "Take Me For Longing" - Alison Krauss and Union Station. This was the first time I'd heard Alison Krauss, on a compilation CD of country music, blaring from my car stereo on a research trip in the Mississippi Delta. Blown away! "Don't choose me because I am faithful. Don't choose me because I am kind. If your heart settles on me, I'm for the taking. Take me for longing, or leave me behind." Amen. No settling for anything short of true passion. Choose a dog because he's faithful. Keep your friends because they are kind. Choose me because of something entirely different, and I'll be all of those other things. Amen, Alison.

OK, one more - "The Twist" by Chubby Checker. I bought this song as a possible accompaniment to my 1950s powerpoint slide show for my undergraduate history classes. I ended up using Bill Haley's "Rock Around the Clock." But, I still smile when "The Twist" pops up on random play. Makes me glad that my desk chair swivels.

Office Update

2009-05-11T15:50:00.010-04:00

Regular readers will recall a blog entry from last month about my home office. I lamented that I had turned my office over to the neverending stream of clutter and disarray that comes with the end of a semester. I vowed to stem the tide of clutter and reclaim my space. This weekend, I set my entire iTunes library on random play and got to work. Nothing like listening to Frank Sinatra smoothly transition to Blink 182 and back to the Shirelles. The random holiday tunes were always a nice surprise.

I'm happy to report that after 2 days of solid effort, I struck floor . . . and table top, desk top, and couch. And so, without further ado - the before and after transformation:

First, the "under the table" mess that was my dissertation and teaching files, complete with overflow files and huge stack of trash:

And now:Note the absence of overflow files on the floor. The file cabinet and file boxes are sporting a new filing system that might actually be functional. Especially note the missing huge stack of trash. It only took 18 months, but I kicked that pile to the curb - or to the recycling bin. I also cleaned out a file box. Not sure what felt better - throwing out the many, many, many chapter drafts of my dissertation or throwing out all those job rejection letters. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it felt great to throw out rejections. I actually said out loud, "You kicked me to the curb? I'm kicking YOU to the curb!"

Next, the table over the file boxes:

And now: Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is a table surface. Amazing.

Working my way around the room, I faced my de facto file system:

Now: There it is, in all of its horrendously upholstered glory. (Almost makes me want to put all the crap back on it.)

Last but certainly not least - the centerpiece of the office: My desk. (Trust me, things got much more out of hand after I took this picture):

Now - drumroll please . . .

I've added a recycling bin under the desk. Between that new addition and the shredder in the corner, I'm hoping to stay ahead of the clutter for the summer. Wish me luck!

More Favorite Things - Strawberries

2009-05-10T16:41:00.005-04:00

I love this time of year. The semester is over, and I feel like I've been released from prison. I have time. Time to catch up on reading, time to catch up with family and friends, and time to cook good food. AND - it's strawberry season! About 2 weeks ago, I made my way through the produce section of the grocery store. As I looked over the fresh corn on the cob, my nose picked up a new scent. I turned my head and there they were - strawberries! Not those sorry little excuses for strawberries that the store carries through the winter. No, these were red, plump, and not covered in bruises.

I abandoned the corn and made a beeline for the strawberries. I wanted spread my arms and scoop all of the little plastic containers into my cart, but I decided not to be stingy. Instead, I carefully made my selection, using the skills my grandmother taught me. Turn the plastic container over to check out the strawberries hiding on the bottom, smell the container, and finally, when you've made your selection, check out 3-4 more just to make sure you've got the best of the bunch. I might not be stingy, but I am competitive.

With my strawberries secured in my cart, I backtracked to the dairy section to get a necessary accoutrement. Barely able to contain my excitement, I made my way home. After dinner, I gleefully enjoyed one of my very favorite treats - sliced strawberries covered in vanilla yogurt.

A friend has promised to go strawberry picking with me. If I thought these store-bought strawberries were good, I may end up in orbit when I get my hands on some fresh berries.

Church Sign

2009-05-07T21:02:00.003-04:00

The other day, I drove by a church sign that announced the following:

There's no recession in heaven.

I'll admit that I'm not sure what the message is. Clearly they're announcing that things are better in heaven than on earth. I'm pretty sure that's not news to anyone. I mean, seriously, why call it "heaven" if things are the same, or worse, than on earth? And let's be honest, don't we all want to believe that the Almighty has figured out how to avoid economic collapse?

Are the church folks pointing out a bright side? Kind of a strange way to do it, since in order to enjoy this particular bright side, you have to find a way to heaven. There's only one way that I know of to get there. Maybe they're encouraging us to create heaven on earth. OK, that's a message that I can get behind. Or maybe they're just taunting us, "You know, while you're struggling to pay your bills on earth, there's no recession in heaven. Nah, nah, nah, nah."

Maybe I shouldn't try to read into it. Maybe they're offering comfort, however misguided that attempt might be.

More Favorite Things - Blue Books

2009-05-03T09:17:00.006-04:00

Yes, that's a stack of blue books. Graded blue books. Those are, by far, bar none, my favorite kind of blue books. I took this picture this past Friday, when this batch was freshly graded. Since then, I've added a second stack of graded blue books. Two stacks finished, with only two more to go. And one of the remaining stacks will be my small class - a mere third of the others.

I especially love graded blue books at this time of year. I love them because I don't have to make any comments on the exams. Students never return for their final blue books, so I can blaze through them quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in my own shorthand just in case the student raises questions about his or her grade. I don't have to go through each one, writing comments that barely 1/10 of them will ever read. OK, I don't know if they read my comments or not. I do know that many of them continue to make the same mistakes - so either they're not reading or my comments are wholly unhelpful.

I should mention that a number of students did improve over the course of the semester. Their final essays were substantially better than when we started the semester and some even began to master the art of historical context and historical significance. Best of all, many figured out how to study without a Study Guide. These students were amply rewarded. [When I do a series on my "least favorite things," Study Guides will be at the top of the list.]

I also love blue books at this time of year because I know that I won't see anymore from these students. This is it. The end of the line. That light at the tunnel is shining brighter everyday. Yeah, I know that I'm supposed to feel pain in my heart as each of the little darlins leave. But, here's the truth of the matter: It's been a really, really long semester. Big City University decided that we didn't need any time off for the holidays, so we were back at work on January 5. I know, all you public school teachers are thinking, "Yeah, so?" Well, we pampered, coddled college profs are accustomed to a longer break, usually well into January. We spend the time revising our syllabi, reading ahead for our classes, planning interesting interactive activities for our students, writing an article or two, revising our dissertations for publication -all this when we're not watching movies, shopping, reading trashy fiction, and playing on the internet.

This is what Big City University took away and I'm feeling the painful consequences. I've been exhausted all semester, which translated into a bad attitude toward my students, particularly those in my first class of the day. Yes, they contributed to my negativity, but I can usually find some redeeming quality in a class. Some glimmer of hope that overrides all the jackassity in the room. Not in this class. And, with only 15 minutes between classes, I carried my frustration into my second class. It took about half of the semester for me to realize that I just needed to get through my first class, shake it off, and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. I think that a longer January break would have helped us all.

So, once I get the last blue books graded later this week, I can settle into a month-long break before heading into summer school. I've already got several projects lined up for the break, like coming up with the syllabus for my summer class, but I'm also going to enjoy the time off.

Favorite Things

2009-05-01T17:14:00.003-04:00

I've decided to attempt a series of blog entries, where I document and explain some of my favorite things. We'll see how far I get with this. (Those of you who followed my attempt at a "Photo a Day" blog are laughing right now.)

To get started:

I'm not a big snacker. I eat 3 times a day and usually don't eat in between. But, some days, I indulge in a late afternoon snack. I only do this on days when I finish my "to do" list by late afternoon. In other words, this is a rare occurence. I array a selection of cheese and crackers on a plate, open a bottle of wine, and sit back and relax, usually with a good book. On this particular afternoon, I had my favorite Townhouse Bistro wheat crackers, accompanied by 2 of my favorite cheeses: goat cheese and sharp cheddar. I went with a nice Pinot Grigio because it was warm outside and I wasn't really in the mood for red. The only thing missing was a bunch of grapes.

Honestly, I could live on bread and cheese alone. And pasta. Which might explain why none of my clothes fit anymore. I've met very few cheeses that I didn't like. Parmesan, brie, goat, cheddar, provolone, swiss, gruyere, ricotta, cream, Monterey Jack, colby, romano . . . all good. I'm not a huge fan of Asiago cheese. I tried it in a recipe once and it tasted like a wet washrag. Maybe I didn't cook it right. Either way, I haven't been brave enough to try again. I've not tried Limberger cheese, but its reputation, and smell, precedes it. And head & toe cheeses aren't really cheeses so I don't need to discuss them at all.

Likewise, I've met very few breads that I didn't like. As a child, I only ate white bread, as is programmed in small children's DNA. Nowadays, I firmly believe that white bread is the work of the devil. Who wants to eat bread that has no taste and becomes a soggy mess as soon as you put it in your mouth? Blech. No, give me a good hearty wheat or sourdough anyday. I'm not a fan of rye bread. Something about the smell and taste just don't do it for me. But, oh - cinnamon loaf bread! Nothing better in this world! Don't even get me started on bread-like products like doughnuts, bagels, biscuits, rolls . . . bread is perfection.

As for the flower in the photo, it's from a friend in Massachusetts. She's a college friend who likes to march to the beat of a slightly different drummer. She's not really far from center, but she's got this one "thing." Instead of sending birthday cards, she sends homemade Valentine's Day cards. Every year, it's a different design, cut from fancy printed paper.

I have to admit that I'd completely forgotten about the Valentine's Day card, so I didn't really miss it this year. Until, I received a box from my Massachusetts friend a few days ago. I opened the box and there, nestled inside, was this beautiful handmade flower. The card, cut from fancy printed paper, read, "Happy Valentine's Day!" It took a full 30 minutes before I realized that it wasn't February.

Even so, the flower brightened my day, and continues to brighten my kitchen. I figure my friend thought she was becoming too predictable, so instead of sending Valentine's Day packages in February, she'll start sending them at completely random times of year - just to keep the rest of us guessing.

Limbo No More

2009-04-28T20:56:00.004-04:00

Seems I have at least one loyal reader - so I will end her suspense. Yes, I got the job. I did many versions of the happy dance yesterday. Many versions included flailing arms like Kermit the Frog. Oh yes, I waved my hands in the air. I waved them like I just didn't care. It looked a lot like:

I have to admit that it's taken a while for this to sink in. Starting in August, I'll have a permanent job doing something that I really enjoy. OK, yes, students can be frustrating, infuriating, maddening, and tragic. But, on most days, on balance, it's a pretty good life. I get paid (not enough) to do something that I really like to do and that I think I'm pretty good at - if you can believe my students' evaluations.

By some miracle, I managed to quit a perfectly good, but unsatisfying career, embarked on a new adventure that turned out to be a LOT of work, and ended up right where I want to be. If I didn't believe in divine forces before, I sure do now. So, Susan Boyle, you live your dream, and if you don't mind, I'll live mine, without You Tube.

Best of all, this new job means I can live right where I want to be. As I watch friends take jobs far away from family and community, I know that I am very lucky. As I watch friends take jobs in the armpits of various states, I know that I am very, very lucky. Speaking as a former army brat and longtime gypsy, I can't believe that I don't have to pack up and move. Not next month, not next year, not ever. I can stay put. I can put down roots. I can make a life here. I might go nuts and buy a house (gasp). I don't have to try to find a new doctor, dentist, or hairdresser. I don't have to find boxes. It's about damn time.

I know that there will be days when this new job will be challenging and stressful. When I quit my old job, I said, "Every job comes with crap. You just have to decide which crap you're willing to deal with." I'm a regular Confucius, I know. From what I can tell, this academic job comes with less crap than most. I'm willingly giving up the big research university salary for easier tenure requirements and quality of life. I've reached a point in my life where I don't want to work all the damn time, and I don't want to bounce around from school to school so I can slave and sweat my way up the academic ladder. Nope, I'm happy teaching basic history courses at a small state college where the faculty aren't trying to cut each other's throats (at least they didn't try to during the interview, which is more than I can say for the faculty at my graduate school.)

I can only hope that my graduate school friends and current colleagues in visiting positions find permanent jobs right where they want to be. That will be a very happy day.

Limbo

2009-04-24T16:49:00.003-04:00

No, this isn't a blog entry about shimmying under a pole. Instead, it's a blog entry about misery. I don't function well in limbo. Not well at all. Here's the back story: Last week, I did my first campus visit - the second round of hazing for academic positions. The interview was for a full-time teaching position at the state school where I adjuncted last spring. It was a full and exhausting day, made easier by the fact that I already knew someone on the search committee, everyone else was very nice and personable, and I'd managed to put together a cute outfit. I got through my teaching demonstration without falling down, insulting a student, or losing my voice (all major accomplishments, considering the state I was in - and I don't mean Georgia). I got positive feedback from the search committee and felt good as I drove away.

Two days later, I completed the grand tour by visiting the satellite campus close to my house. The fellow who I knew best showed me around and the interviews seemed to go well. As we parted ways, the fellow said, "You should be hearing soon, one way or the other."

I expected to hear this week. It's now 4:55PM on Friday, so I'm thinking that they're not going to call today. The "one way or the other" continues to ring in my ears and I've just about convinced myself that I somehow, someway, did or said something stupid and lost my chance at this job. I'm hoping the delay is related to some snag in the bureaucratic administrative process. I'm hoping the delay is not related to the fact that they are too chicken-sh** to call or email, so they're sending a snail mail letter to tell me that they found someone better. That would send me right over the edge.

All is not lost. If this doesn't work out, chances are very good that I can return for another year at Big City University. But, man, to be in a permanent position that allows me to stay put right where I want to be...

I don't do well in limbo. Even when I have lots of papers and quizzes to keep me company. I can manage about 5 minutes of not thinking about whether they've emailed, or whether the phone will ring. I can manage about 3 minutes without raging self-doubt and second-guessing. I can manage about 2 minutes without wanting to throw my phone through the wall.

Maybe Monday...

More Signs of Spring

2009-04-18T19:51:00.011-04:00

It's still Spring in the southland. We've had beautiful weather for the past few days - no humidity, temps in the 70s, bright blue skies. Perfect. We'll all remember these days when it's as hot as the surface of the sun in August.

Over the past few days, I've also taken note of another sign of Spring, namely the outrageous amount of clutter and disarray in my home office. Because I live 75 miles from my campus office, I do most of my work from home. The campus office is where I hang out between classes. As a result, the normal amount of crap that is in your office is in my house. Fortunately, it is largely confined to one room - the largest bedroom in the apartment.

However, I know that the end of the semester approacheth because I can no longer see any flat surface in my home office. Allow me to present the evidence:

This is my desk. Note the stacks of books and papers that haven't found a home, and probably never will. Note that they are blocking access to the file cabinet. In other words, none of that stuff is in the file cabinet because I can't open the drawer. And, I have a problem with "out of sight, out of mind." Once something goes into a cabinet or on a shelf, it ceases to exist. Most people develop object permanence around age 3. Not me, apparently.

Also, note the stacks of papers on the corner of the desk. In case you're wondering, I don't have any idea what's in that stack. I simply pile more stuff on top of it when I'm working and hope that the stack doesn't become top heavy. Someday, I'll sort through that stack. Someday.

Moving on...

This is my dissertation. Well, it's part of the dissertation. If you look closely at the right side of the other file cabinet with blocked drawers, you can see the last 2 file boxes. When I was writing the dissertation, I kept all of my files in these boxes for easy transport. And, the boxes are transparent and when I open the lid, I can see all the files. No need for object permanence. The boxes are organized by archival collection and by region.

Note the files in the front of the file box. Those are the overflow files. They should have a home. They don't - because I ran out of room in the boxes and never bought another box. So, there they sit, like red-tabbed step-children while all the other files nestle in their army-green hanging folders. (By the way, there are 3 more file boxes in the closet - but since they are behind a door, I don't ever think about them.)

Note also the HUGE stack of paper in front of the file cabinet - the mound that's blocking access to the drawers. It's my "recycling/shredding" pile. It's been right there for well over a year. It is the remnant of my last attempt at organization. It is refuse, garbage, trash, crap. I intended to shred it or recycle it. Intentions are fantastic, and maddening all at the same time. The pile hasn't grown, it just sits there, gathering more dust and blocking access to the file cabinet. (In case you're wondering, I have no idea what's in that cabinet. I feel sure that I thought it was important at one time.) I always promise myself that one day, I'll work my way through that damn pile. I'll shred the papers with students' names on them and take the rest to the recycling bin. Then, I sigh, turn my back to the pile, and before I know it, another day has passed. I really need to do something about that pile of paper.

But, wait, we're not done. Here's a shot of the top of the table over the file boxes:

Yeah, I don't have much to say about this. It is as it appears - a table covered in crap piled on top of more crap. I think there's a grand total of 3 packages of paper under all of that crap. Really should do something about that.

I know what you're thinking: Why don't you buy more file cabinets? Well, because I have a perfectly good filing system. I pile crap on the table, on my desk, and on the floor, and when those spaces are maxed out, I pile crap on the sofa:

The good news is that the crap hides some of the hideous upholstery on this couch. No, I did NOT choose this pattern. I did choose to use it for de facto filing. Really should do something about all of that crap.

And, this isn't all the crap. No, here's the day-to-day crap that hasn't made the trip down the hall:

Recently, my friend posted an entry in her blog about spring cleaning in her home office. She is also a writer and does not have an office outside of the home. She described her cleaning process and gave an accounting of the trash that left her house. I don't remember the precise figures, but the accounting included trash bags, recycling bins, and file folders. What struck me was her utter joy at rediscovering the surfaces in her office.

So, with that inspiration, I've made a promise to myself. When this semester officially ends, I will get some control over the crap. I might even buy a new file cabinet. And, I will figure out how to remember what's in the cabinets.

Ides of Spring

2009-04-16T17:25:00.004-04:00

I want to be clear from the beginning of this post: I am not writing in response to a certain comment by a certain demanding someone. I am writing because I finally felt inspired again. I do not produce on demand. (Though it is nice to know that someone is paying attention.)

Today, I'm reflecting on the coming of spring. There are many signs in the southland that spring is here. Trees with full green leaves, increasingly green grass, azaleas and dogwoods in full bloom, warmer temperatures, and shorter sleeves. And, let's not forget the pollen haze that turns everything a pale shade of yellow and took my voice away for approximately one week.

But, my favorite sign of spring has to be the annual unveiling of my chicken-white winter feet. Hidden from the world for the entire winter, my feet emerge, ready to shed socks and enjoy open-toed shoes. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I dressed up my toes. They're ready for their close-up, Mr. DeMille. Who knows, I may go hog-wild and treat myself to a pedicure.

Since applying this spring decoration, I've worn sandals twice. Both times, my little piggies squealed with delight. My feet basked in the sunlight, ready to shed the whiter shade of winter pale for a slightly darker shade of summer pale.

As I wear my flip-flops, I realize that my winter feet have softened. In this early spring, I'm actually enjoying the minor discomfort between the little piggy that went to market and the little piggy who stayed home. Such a welcome change from dowdy winter shoes and socks.

Book Without End

2009-04-06T19:29:00.008-04:00

Lately, I've been reading Ken Follett's "World Without End." When I say "lately," I mean that I started the book in January. It's 1014 pages long and I'm reading at a slow pace - less than 10 pages/day right before I go to sleep. This is my normal pace with fiction, although I usually hit a point about 3/4 of the way through a book where I can't stop reading, so I push on through to the end, often staying up way past my bedtime. I'm on page 777 and still haven't hit that point with this book. I've taken to calling the book, "Book Without End."

I'm pretty disappointed by this turn of events. I was really looking forward to reading the book. I'd read "Pillars of the Earth" years ago and enjoyed it. At least I think I enjoyed it. I don't remember many of the details of the story - something about building a cathedral in Middle Ages England. Anyway, I had high hopes for the sequal.

Unfortunately, it hasn't lived up to my hopes. I knew I was in trouble when I started not caring about any of the characters after about 200 pages. There are a lot of characters and you'd think that I could find some reason to care about at least one of them. Nope. Don't care. They all seem so formulaic - the "good" characters do "bad" things but their "bad" deeds don't hold a candle to the "BAD" things that the "BAD" characters do.

For example, one guy's a raping, murdering, dog-killing monster who is completely devoid of any redeeming qualities and everyone knows it, but yet, no one rams him through with a sword. Meanwhile, the monster's brother is continuing a long-time love affair with his childhood sweetheart who is now (inconveniently) a nun. Not just any nun, she's the Head Nun. It's the only way that she, as a woman living in the Middle Ages, can use her natural intellect. She has an answer for everything. Economic crisis? She dyes wool and the crisis is solved. Plague? She wears a linen mask and survives. I think I'm supposed to feel sympathy for her situation, but I don't. I think she's a know-it-all smartass.

But, I have carried on. I have dutifully lugged this brick back and forth during my weekly commute to the Big City, substantially adding to the weight of my suitcase. I have endured the weight of this tome on my stomach as I've read chapter after dull chapter. I toted it back and forth to doctor's appointments, car maintenance appointments, and other "waiting" occasions. Despite my best efforts, I'm now on page 777 and I still don't care about any of these people. I actually want bad things to happen to the good characters just to make things interesting. Even the arrival of the plague didn't make any difference because the same dull characters survived.

So, it is with great relief that I am giving myself permission to stop reading this book. I'm open to book suggestions. For fiction, I like a book with substance but isn't gut-wrenching (no Jodi Picoult, please). And, I'd like a book that doesn't weigh 50 pounds. Something interesting with interesting characters. Something that will hold my interest but yet still allow me to fall asleep. Let the suggesting begin . . .

In the meantime, I'm turning my attention to Drew Gilpin Faust's "Republic of Suffering" about death and dying during the Civil War. Uplifting? No. Interesting? Absolutely.

Weekend Movie Round-Up

2009-03-29T12:02:00.005-04:00

This semester, I've settled into a routine where I return from the Big City late on Wednesday night. I'm useless through much of Thursday, often slipping into a 2-hour coma on Thursday afternoons. Friday through Sunday, I work, alternating between grading, prepping for the next week, and keeping up with the 43,000 other things I'm supposed to be up to speed on. And, then, Monday rolls around and we start all over again.

I've worked my Netflix viewing around this schedule. I queue up a movie and the next installment of whatever TV series I'm working through. When I get home on Wednesday night, there are the two red envelopes, ready to keep me entertained through the weekend. On Mondays, I send the movies back and the whole process starts all over again. So far, so good.

Based on this weekend's viewing, I'm going to make some changes in my queue. Somehow, without much planning on my part, I've put myself through an emotional wringer this weekend. All the rain didn't necessarily help to lighten my mood - and my Netflix choices delivered the knock-out punch.

It all started when I decided to watch "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas."

Yes, I knew it was about the Holocaust, and no, I wasn't expecting a pick-me-up, happy ending. I mean, seriously, just look at the poster. But, I certainly wasn't expecting the actual ending to this film. The last 10 minutes had me tied up in knots literally. I was tied into a pretzel in the corner of my couch. I seriously considered fast-forwarding to the end of the film. Even that strategy wouldn't have spared me. I won't say anymore, except to say that it will be a long time before I can wear my own striped pajamas again.

So, after that emotionally gut-wrenching experience, I turned to the other red envelope for some relief. I've been working my way through the second season of the BBC series, MI-5.

The episodes are intense, particularly as the series winds towards a season finale. I should have remembered this. Again, I won't spoil the ending for anyone, but holy crap! A shooting and a drowning in the last 10 minutes?? Is that really necessary?

After careful consideration, I've reorganized my Netflix queue. Here's hoping next weekend will bring happy endings and sunshine.

Spring Showers

2009-03-28T16:14:00.012-04:00

About ten days ago, the sun was shining and it was warm. I took stock of my spring wardrobe and decided that I was missing two crucial pieces of spring equipment. First, I needed a trench coat. No, I'm not planning a new career in flashing unsuspecting passers-by (passer-bys? passer-bies?). Instead, I've learned that the downtown area of Big City is a giant wind-tunnel. On rainy days, this means that an umbrella is completely useless. Even Rihanna's magic um-ber-el-la-a-a-a-a couldn't keep you dry on rainy days downtown.

So, I took myself shopping - and met with some success. I returned home with a classic trench, updated for today's spring shopper. OK, yes, I had my choice of the newest spring colors, including ice blue, mint green, Peptobismol pink, and some cheerful prints. I considered those choices, but none could out-shout my mother's voice in my head: "You'll get a lot more use out of khaki, won't you?" Bowing to internal pressure, I chose the classic khaki trench, hoping against hope that I wouldn't look too much like Inspector Gadget.

Now, I was all set - though I'll admit that I hoped I wouldn't need my new trench and umbrella. I don't like rainy days, especially when I'm downtown and especially when I have to teach. Rain makes my hair do strange and wonderous things - and not in a good way. And, the addition of an um-ber-el-la-a-a-a-a exponentially complicates the delicate balancing act I perform, looking more like a pack mule than a professor as I shuffle between classes.

But - as luck would have it, the gods knew that I got a new trench and voila - Rain! Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. Rain for the past 5 days. For those unfamiliar with the concept, here's a picture. Wet ground, gray skies, mud, etc. I understand there's flooding in the nearby surrounds. My apartment sits high upon a hill, on the 3rd floor, so I'm safe from rising waters. All I need to do is close my windows and doors and I can no longer hear the cries of my wet and soggy neighbors. Today, we've been treated to the cacophony of thunder and streaks of lightening (in the opposite order, of course.)

While I recognize that we need the rain, and while I recognize that I may have contributed to the rain when I bought a raincoat, and if it's not going to start raining men, I'd humbly like to ask for a chance to enjoy my other spring purchase:

I'm also looking forward to clear skies, when we can all enjoy the newly green landscape.

Anyone Notice I Was Gone?

2009-03-19T07:11:00.003-04:00

Forgive me, Blogger, it's been 11 days since my last post. I don't really have an excuse, but I could recycle some recent ones from my students. Let's see: I had to be in court. Or, I was really sick with (choose one of the following: conjunctivitis, anaphylactic shock, stomach flu). Or my wife's car broke down - oh wait, I don't have a wife, so that one won't work. How about: my aunt died and I had to go to the funeral across the country. Or, I was in a car accident and hurt both of my arms so I'm unable to carry anything heavy, like a textbook. No, I'm not making any of those up.

None explain my break from my blog. Truth is, I haven't felt particularly inspired to write lately. I've been buried in writing lectures and grading quizzes and exams. Much as I try, I can't seem to find much motivation this semester, and it shows in my students' performance. I'm teaching the same course I taught last semester, using most of the same lectures. I'll admit that some of my lectures were rather uninspired last semester, but some of them actually generated questions and discussion. Some even drew a chuckle or two. Not this semester. I can't quite put a finger on the problem. Maybe I was more enthusiastic about the material when it was new and fresh last semester. Maybe I had more engaged and interested students. Maybe I wasn't as tired at the beginning of the semester. Maybe I'd gotten over my annoyance with studentery and started the semester with more positive feelings about teaching and students. I don't know. Maybe it's a combination of all of those things. All I know is that my afternoon classes aren't much fun this semester.

There have been some good days - days when I feel like I'm on my game and the students participate in a meaningful discussion. I like those days. On those days, I actually hum a little tune and feel some pep in my step as I cross the park to get my 4:15 coffee fix. Those days, I feel like I know what I'm doing and that my students might have actually learned something. Those are good days.

Then, there are the bad days - days when nothing seems to work. The lecture is rather dry and lifeless and I don't have any energy to pep it up. Only a few students did the reading, so discussion goes nowhere. Only a few students can recall anything we've talked about in previous classes, so discussion turns into a muddled mess of confusing, shot-in-the-dark answers to straightforward questions. Students who have checked out capture my attention and I spend the entire class frustrated with, distracted by, and pissed off at sleepers, texters, and internet surfers. These are the days when I wonder why I left my previous profession. These are the days when I drag myself across the park, yearning for the end of my day. These are the days when my feet really, really hurt.

Usually, in any given semester, I'll have one dud class. One class that just never comes together, never gels, never gets a personality, never shows any signs of life. Usually, this one class is counterbalanced with at least one good class. This semester, I feel like all of my afternoon classes are duds. One good day doesn't guarantee success again. Instead, I have to start from scratch everyday - building rapport, establishing good will, encouraging participation, convincing them that the lecture is actually worth listening to. Again, I'm sure I bear some of the responsibility for this exhausting dynamic, but turning it around requires energy, from me and the students. We're both running low at the moment.

I also keep reminding myself that it's often difficult to gauge student "enjoyment" or "engagement." Students who I believe are bored out of their minds and have mentally checked out might, in fact, be enjoying the class. I also remind myself that amidst the sleepers, texters, and surfers, there are students who are engaged, who are listening, who are paying attention. Then, I remind myself that there are 10 more classes until the end of the semester. All of this, and the As and Bs on exams raises my flagging spirit.

Spring Break Re-Cap

2009-03-08T14:35:00.003-04:00

I've been on Spring Break this past week. Well, to be accurate, it's been 9 days since my last lecture. If anyone ever needed a break, it was me. I was tired - damn tired -when I closed up shop last Wednesday evening. But, before I let myself come to a full stop, I made a list of the things I still needed to accomplish during my break. The list was as follows:

1) Finish book review for h-net
2) Plan summer class
3) Write lectures for returning week
4) Get car washed
5) Get new pants hemmed
6) Grade quizzes

Here's the way the week played out:
Thursday: Recorded attendance and participation for previous week, started thinking about summer class, slipped into 3-hour coma all afternoon.

Friday: Considered taking pants to alterations place - and didn't. Rained all day. Instead, spent the day on some activity that seemed very important at the time, but which I cannot remember right now. I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with the list.

Saturday: Watched "Atonement," did laundry, attended GymDogs meet with Athens friend, then out to dinner with friend and her boyfriend. Nothing crossed off the list.

Sunday: Finished book for book review. Watched the snow. Took pictures of the snow. Emailed friends about the snow. Called friends about the snow. Watched the lights flicker on and off. Remembered that I don't own a flashlight and wondered how much light I'd get from my Yankee candles. Ate dinner at 5PM to make sure that I got a warm dinner. Still nothing crossed off the list.

Monday: Listened to the snow melt. Started book review - first words on paper in months so I had to spend some time remembering how to write. After the ice on the road thawed, made it out to buy a flashlight and batteries. Noticed that the digital camera batteries were running low. Made sure to add camera batteries to shopping list, noting the size to make sure I got the right kind. Came home with wrong size batteries.

Tuesday: Finished book review and put it in the cooler to germinate. Continued to listen to the snow melt.

Wednesday: Started conceptualizing summer class. Got sidetracked by job announcement for full-time position at Adjunct Central College. Prepared materials and dropped in the mail. Not on the original list, but a worthwhile activity nonetheless. Still no camera batteries. Watched "Lost" in real time, rather than catching up the next day.

Thursday: Continued conceptualizing summer class. Still no book list, but developed a plan and framework. Visited College Town Library to look at potential books - and remember how to read. Couldn't find parking on first attempt, so took car to the salon. Car is now white again, for the first time in months. Made progress on the course plan and set it aside - needs to germinate some more. Still stubborn snow on the ground.

Friday: Started writing lecture for Monday and graded one class of quizzes. Visited hairdresser, figured if the car can look better, so can I. Wore sandals without socks - 5 days after 7 inches of snow. Received mail ordered clothes - learned I am smaller than "Small" and that elastic waistbands are NOT a good idea. Cleaned kitchen and bathroom floors, cleaned bathroom. Watched "The Other Boleyn Girl."

Saturday: All snow is gone, but clean-up continues around town. Picked up tax return from accountant, dropped off pants at alterations place, took recycling to center. Returned mail ordered clothes to local store. Considered new strategy to get suitable work clothes, still working on plan. Finished lecture for Monday after dragging feet most of day and graded another class of quizzes. Vacuumed and did 4 loads of laundry. Still no camera batteries. Still undecided about book list for summer class. Watched "Then She Found Me."

Sunday: Finished visuals for Monday lecture, uploaded Monday class materials, grocery shopped - and finally got correct size camera batteries. Revised and uploaded book review. Noticed some green sprigs poking through the yellow winter grass. Considered plan for Wednesday class, but haven't started the lecture.

All in all, I managed to complete some of my initial projects while still finding time to enjoy my break. In all, I've watched 3 movies from start to finish and slept at least 9 hours each night. I think I'm ready to go back to work - I just don't want to.

Snow in the South

2009-03-02T15:56:00.007-05:00

As I settle in to write this entry, I'm listening to the sound of thaw. After all, today is another day. Quite a change from yesterday's all-day snowstorm. For those keeping track, we amassed over 5 inches of the cold, wet stuff. And, yes, I did lose power - for about 15 minutes. Long enough to realize that I don't own a flashlight, but not long enough for me to decide to call it an evening, at 8PM.

Today, there's a bright sunny sky, temperatures are a balmy 50 degrees, and everywhere, the sound of melting snow echoes across the landscape. Feeling a bit restless, I took a trip out and about. I started by brushing off my car, using the NEPIW snow brush/ice scraper combo that I thought I'd never, ever need ever again. Imagine my feelings of superiority when I saw my coatless neighbors brushing heavy wet snow off their cars using their bare hands. (Insert scoffing noise here)

After brushing off the car, I headed out. "Wait 'til it melts" is clearly the official snow removal policy for my home county, and all surrounds. I made it to Home Depot, where I planned to solve my flashlight problem. Slushy snow covered the parking lot and the sidewalk into the store. I spotted a broom leaning against the wall as I entered the store. That was the only piece of "snow removal" equipment that I saw. I guess I never thought about it, but I would have assumed that Home Depot would sell snow shovels - even in Georgia. Guess not. Or maybe none of the employees have completed the "snow shovel" training module and are therefore unable to use that particular piece of equipment.

As I checked out, I noticed that the fellow in front of me was buying a bench. You know, the kind that you put in your yard, so you can sit and enjoy the cool breezes of early spring. I watched as he manhandled the bench out to his pick-up truck. I thought, "Ah, the resilience of southerners. Here's a fellow who wants a bench - and even though it makes absolutely no sense for him to risk life and limb to get to the store and then manhandle the bench across a slush-covered parking lot today, by God, he's going to get his bench!" I bet he's sitting in his yard right now, defying any dripping melting snow to fall on him.

Then, I went to the grocery store. I needed balsamic vinegar for a spinach dish I plan to make tonight. Yes, I risked life and limb for balsamic vinegar. So? While I was in the store, I heard the theme from "Chariots of Fire" come on Muzak. I was so tempted to start running in slow motion through the store. So tempted. In the end, I restrained myself.

Reminded me that a few weeks ago, I visited the earthy-crunchy grocery store on the other side of town. I found that I was totally distracted by "Bohemian Rhapsody" playing on their in-store speakers. You try buying sweet-hot Chinese mustard while listening to "Mama . . . just killed a man . . . put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger now he's dead." And, yes, I thought about doing the Wayne and Garth head-bob at the appropriate moment.

And, so, I conclude with some of the other sights from the day:

A fine effort by some very ambitious snow sculptors.

Two trees that fought the good fight.

Snow and early spring just don't mix.

Snowing

2009-03-01T15:58:00.008-05:00

It's snowing today. It started as rain, changed over to ice, and moved on to big, heavy wet snow around noon. At first, it looked like this:

(That's my car, by the way, serving as the dutiful comparison point. Such a good sport, my car. I'm pretty sure that it's saying, "What the hell? I thought you said there wouldn't be any more of this nonsense after we left the NEPIW! Where's my garage??")

After an hour or so, it looked like this:

The car is even more unhappy. If you look closely, I believe you can see an obscene gesture or two.

Anyway, it kept snowing, and snowing, and snowing. Now, at 4:45PM, it looks like this:

The car's obscene gestures are now hidden in the blanket of snow. I think I can still hear a muffled, and chattery expletive or two.

The snow is kind of pretty:

Any other Sunday and this weather event would have meant a guaranteed day off as the college town and Big City shut down until the big thaw. Instead, the snow arrived on the weekend that starts Spring Break. In other words, a weekend when I don't have to teach on Monday. My mother, a former schoolteacher, used to call this kind of ill-timed snowstorm, "a waste of perfectly good snow." I have a whole new appreciation for her sentiment.

The power just flickered in my apartment. Not feeling good about the snow anymore.

That's the Breaks

2009-02-27T19:31:00.003-05:00

I have a cold sore. It's reached the healing stage, which means it's a bright red spot on my upper lip. It's impossible to miss. I imagine that the astonauts in the Mir Space Station are charting its progress. "Da, it's shrinking, finally." I hate cold sores. I hate them for many reasons. First, it's impossible to hide a cold sore. My friends suggested that I teach in a burka. I actually considered it. I also considered a beekeeper's helmut. Finally, I decided that my students might just stay awake if they were distracted by the second lip sprouting under my nose. Second, cold sores make laughing painful. Contrary to my prickly exterior, I like to laugh. I don't like re-opening a wound every time I laugh. Pisses me off.

And finally, no matter what you do, no matter what you try, a cold sore never quickly goes away. No, it has to cycle through all of the really uncomfortable stages before it finally sings its swan song and disappears. My friend gave me some high-powered, prescription medicine and it seems to be working, but not fast enough. At least I'm on Spring Break this week, so I don't have to hide in the shadows, warning people to "stay away, I'm hideous!" Hopefully, this affliction will be gone by the time I face my students in 8 days.

Eight glorious days. One day more than a week. Yesterday was my first official day of Break and I spent the entire afternoon on the couch, in a coma. A three-hour coma. It was heaven. Then, I slept 9 hours last night. Today, I've actually felt the stress leaving my bones. I have work I need to to over break, but it's not immediately necessary for my current classes. I plan to eat good food, drink good wine, eat good ice cream, and work at a reasonable pace. And, I plan to watch movies. I know this break will be over way too soon, but I'm trying not to think about that. Eight days. Eight whole days.

Strange Sights

2009-02-20T16:56:00.005-05:00

As I've made my way in the world recently, I've seen some strange things that I think deserve special recognition. Here they are, in no particular order:

Didn't Just Marry a Mechanic: Picture a car decorated for a wedding, with all the usual accoutrements (shaving cream on the windows exclaiming, "Just Married," streamers hanging from the antenna and bumpers, etc.) Picture the same car broken down on the shoulder in suburban Atlanta. I'm guessing this was not their honeymoon destination. I surmised this when I observed that the car was not "a-rockin'" - though I did not go "a-knockin'" to confirm my suspicion.
Mr. Hand Delivers Pizza: Followed a car adorned with a license tag announcing that the driver was an Educator. Glanced at the roof of the car and spotted a Papa Johns roof sign. Cuts out Spicoli's middle man.
Second Coming, First Class: Picture if you will, a 2-foot-tall plastic kneeling Jesus, like you'd see in a church yard display. Now, picture that same kneeling Jesus impaled on someone's mailbox post. I'm thinking that won't make the mail run faster.
Speaking of Jesus...: Saw a young man with long brown hair and full facial hair driving a BMW at the grocery store today. The miracle business must be pretty good in these bad economic times. I noted that he was not able to part the late afternoon traffic.
License Plate Soul Mate: Followed a fellow driving an SUV today. His license plate read: AGH! I'm pretty sure he's my soul mate.

More as circumstances require.

Valentines

2009-02-14T20:48:00.006-05:00

As a long-time single person, Valentine's Day is always hard. Yes, I know it's a fake Hallmark holiday, like Office Assistants' Day or Grandparents' Day. Still, constant commercials pedaling diamond heart pendants delivered by real-live teddy bears tend to put me in a sour mood.

This year, after spending much of the day in a funk, I've decided to turn a corner and embrace the spirit of the day. I don't usually tend toward sentimentalism, but I'm going to make an exception. On this day, here are 10 things that I believe about love:

I believe that teddy bears holding red hearts can express love, but I think the real expression of love comes in everyday kindness and forgiveness.
I believe in love at first sight.
I believe that love takes patience and understanding, and the willingness to be a companion and friend.
I believe that broken hearts never fully heal.
I believe in soul mates. To me, they are the luckiest people in the world.
I believe that finding love has more to do with timing than anything else.
I believe that peace cannot exist without love.
I believe that falling in love is a genuine act of bravery.
I believe that a child's love can melt even the coldest hearts.
I believe in the love of family and friends.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Aliens

2009-02-13T22:44:00.004-05:00

Fair warning - this blog entry contains spoilers for "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." I figure I'm one of the last people on the planet to see the movie, so I don't feel bad spoiling it for those who haven't seen it. In fact, I'd argue that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas spoiled it for those of us who have seen it.

So - it's Indiana Jones's last hoorah (let's hope). He's kidnapped by Russians, not Nazis, and taken to a military warehouse to help the aforementioned Russians locate a box. Nope, not the ark of the covenant. We've already seen that movie. No, these Russians are looking for something else. Something that landed in Roswell, New Mexico. Yep, these Russians came all the way to the United States to steal an alien. That's the first 10 minutes of the movie. I should have stopped there.

Aliens. Twenty years after the last Indiana Jones movie and this is what Spielberg and Lucas cooked up. Aliens. Seriously. Aliens. I can't seem to get over it.

But, the extended-skulled crystal-headed aliens with big bug eyes aren't the whole story. Turns out these aliens created an ancient civilization in Peru. At one point in the movie, Indiana Jones interprets cave drawings and determines that ancient peoples learned irrigation techniques and architecture from - wait for it - aliens. As a historian, I'm offended. As a moviegoer, I'm speechless.

Aliens.

I kept watching. I thought, "OK, the story is really, really unbelievably stupid, but maybe the stunts will save the movie." I was wrong. I understand that these movies require a certain suspension of reality, and I understand that I'm not good at that. But, c'mon - if Indiana Jones was at ground zero for a nuclear blast, then bounced to hell and back in a refridgerator, he'd be dead. He wouldn't get out of the fridge because fridges didn't have safety latches in the 1950s. So, he'd suffocate, but only after he broke every bone in his body. He'd be dead.

A few more observations - People don't learn to swing on vines by watching monkeys. Men who get hit in the crotch repeatedly do not continue fighting with swords. Based on my observations, they fall on the ground and squeal like little girls. Not in this movie. Nope. Shia Lebeouf (Shia The Beef, en francais) apparently remembered to wear his jeans with the iron crotch - just in case he got in a sword fight with Cate Blanchett. And speaking of Ms. Blanchett ...

What the hell is Cate Blanchett doing in this movie?? And why is she wearing a black wig? And why, in the name of all that is holy, does she talk with such an outrrraggeous accent? She played a Russian in "The Man Who Cried" - and I think Johnny Depp cried because her accent was so bad. And, why . . . why would a special agent in the 1950s Russian military carry a sword? Cate Blanchett didn't carry a sword in Lord of the Rings, and everyone had a sword in that movie. Ugh. I'm so disappointed.

I watched the DVD Extras to give Spielberg and Lucas a chance to explain themselves. Speilberg turned into rubber and blamed the glue - in this case Lucas and Harrison Ford. Seems the aliens were Lucas's idea. And Lucas was careful to say that his aliens aren't extraterrestrial. They're interdimensional. Whatever, George. You're extra- and inter-delusional. It will be a very cold day in Georgia before I watch a Speilberg or Lucas movie made after 1995.

Aliens. Seriously.

Bikes and Coffee

2009-02-08T17:38:00.003-05:00

Today, I worked with the windows open, finally recording final grades on three of four classes of blue books. At 4PM, I realized that I'd been inside all day - inside on a beautiful spring-like day. I stood up, stretched, and put on my shoes. I did not grab my coat or even a jacket. No need. It's early spring - just like General Lee prognosticated. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I was going out.

I decided to drive and see where I ended up. I took my camera along, in case I saw anything worthy of my picture-a-day blog. After a weekend of seemingly endless grading, it felt great to have the sunroof open, music blaring, and no particular destination in mind. (My apologies to readers who are still experiencing winter - which is any temperature below 55 degrees.)

I ended up in Five Points and decided to stop the car to photograph all the Dawgs. I counted 5 in a 3-block area. A veritable Dawg bonanza! As I made my way from the first to the second, I noticed a father and son on bikes approaching me from behind. I didn't pay much attention, and I think I was walking in a straight line. I say this because as I passed a parked Toyota, I heard a crash and felt something hit the back of my leg. I did what anyone would do - I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ducked my head and raised my arms to cover my head. Yes, I'm sure I looked really foolish, but not more foolish than the kid on his bike.

I looked to my left there he was - kid and his bike on the front of the Toyota. Interestingly, he was still sitting on the bike. He simply steered into the car and came to a stop leaning against the front end of the car. To my credit, I didn't laugh or ask if I could take his picture because he seemed a bit shaken up. His father came right over and apologized to me. "No, no, I think it was my fault," I said, "I think I moved into his path." "No," he assured me, "he's just learning. He wasn't watching where he was going." At this point, the kid, who had peeled himself off the car by now, interjected, "Yes, I was watching where I was going." The embarassment, coupled with his father's betrayal, proved to be too much and he started to cry.

Once again, I tried to take the blame, but the father insisted that his kid - his crying kid - was to blame. I decided to move away and started to walk down the sidewalk, then realized that I was setting the kid up for another round of failure. "You all go ahead," I said. The kid, now snotty from the crying, looked at his dad and sniffled. The dad helped him back on the bike and off they went, kid wobbling and weaving down the sidewalk. I continued to photograph Dawgs.

Then, I headed to Starbucks. I needed coffee for me and coffee for Big City friends. I chose my 2 pounds of coffee and approached the counter. "Get a free tall drink when you buy 2 pounds of coffee" the sign announced. "I get a free tall drink?" I asked, just to make sure that I wasn't hallucinating. "Yes, any tall drink," said the happy barista. "Tall hazelnut latte," I said, still not believing my good fortune. Surely, someone who knocks small children and their bikes into parked cars doesn't deserve a free tall hazelnut latte. But, within minutes, I had my drink and my 2 pounds of coffee - and renewed faith that our God is a forgiving God.

Life Sucks, and It's Great!

2009-02-07T17:42:00.003-05:00

Yes, that's my vacuum cleaner. Why am I posting a blog entry about this mundane, everyday appliance? Well, I'll tell you. My vacuum cleaner has not sucked in a long time. I'd run it over the carpet and it stubborly refused to pick anything up. Dirt openly mocked my vacuum cleaner. I could hear its jeers over the sound of the suckless motor. Little strings would yell, "Ha! I'm still here!" as I took swipe after pointless swipe over and over and over. Finally, I'd bend, pick up the string, and throw it away - over and over and over and over. I'm embarassed to admit how long this has been going on. Let's just say that I considered calling Mike Rowe to come over and film an episode of "Dirty Jobs."

Today was a beautiful sunny day, Day 3 of grading blue books. I'd arranged the exams in stacks on the floor, organized by class. As I looked at the remaining stacks to grade, I also took note of the noticeable debris on my carpet. "That's it!" I cried, "I've had it with all this crap all over my floor! I'm going to take care of this right now!" (Savvy readers will note that my concern about this months-old problem reached a fever pitch as I looked at blue books to grade. Still, I'm sure that my concern was not at all related to grading avoidance behavior. Nope. Not at all.)

I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and was out the door to the repair shop. I was pretty sure that the problem would be easy to fix. I was convinced that if I had one of them handy men around the house, he'd have it diagonosed and fixed in no time. Well, OK, it would take some time, once I factor in the inevitable long-winded explanation about the problem - including how I caused the problem by simply using the vacuum cleaner for its intended purpose, then the 4-5 trips to the hardware store to get the correct belt or hose, then finally - the inevitable break to watch whatever sporting event is on.

I bypassed all of this by exercising my right as a single woman to spend my perfectly good money to pay someone to fix my vacuum. I was right - it was an easy fix. Took all of 30 seconds for the repairman to determine the diagnosis. The vacuum needed a new belt and filter. The kindly repairman restored my faith in all repairmen by not making me feel like a complete moron loser. He simply charged me for the repair and held the door open for me as I left.

I loaded the vacuum in the trunk and started the car. I actually felt my pulse quicken. I was going to go home and clean my carpets! I'm embarrassed to admit how excited I was. When I got home, I parked the car, carried the vacuum up the 3 flights of stairs and immediately plugged it in. It roared to life - light shining, ready to make up for all those months of incompetence, ready to show that dirt a thing or two about sucking. As I steered the vacuum around the room, it sang. OK, not literally, but it did hum. And it sucked. Man, did it suck.

Soon, all the carpets were clean. Even the carpet under the dining room table. Even the carpet under my dresser. Clean, clean, clean. I did something I never do - I walked barefoot through my apartment, just to feel the clean carpet between my toes. I'd include a picture of the vacuum's accomplishment, but it's just too gross. I can't believe that I lived so long with that level of grossness. I was so inspired that I moved on to the bathroom and cleaned it, too. I'm pretty sure there's medication to help with the unnatural euphoria that I feel.

Got the laundry done, too. Tomorrow, I think I'll dust. Oh, and I made it through the penultimate class of blue books, in case you're wondering.

Southern Groundhog Rules!!

2009-02-02T18:38:00.004-05:00

Let it be known far and wide that General Lee did not see his shadow this morning. Early spring is right around the corner.

(I understand that there's some imposter groundhog in Pennsylvania who claims to be THE groundhog. Phil, I think is his name. I think we all know that he's not THE groundhog. He claims that he saw his shadow this morning. I think we all know that he was drunk. Don't believe Phil. He's a bit whacked in the head.)

Don't know about you, but I'm putting away the winter coat and gloves. General Lee says early spring - so early spring it is!

Grading Meltdown

2009-02-01T15:20:00.005-05:00

I've hit a wall. A big brick wall. I've been grading for 3 days straight and I have many more papers before I sleep. I keep telling myself to keep going. There is an end to this grading nightmare and I'll never find it if I stop. I've even tried bribing myself with peanut butter cups(living on the edge with the recent salmonella scare). Nothing is working. I'm going to give into my lesser instincts and whine like a baby. Waaaa, waaaaaa, waaaaaaa.

My students have just about convinced me that our founding fathers were a bunch of whiny, spoiled babies. Don't believe me? You read 100+ flag-waving papers about how we really stuck it to Great Britain. After reading the evidence over and over and over again, I'm starting to see Britain's side of things. I mean, c'mon, they were just trying to collect taxes that were rightfully theirs. And those stingy colonists, who'd lived it up for quite a while, certainly had an inflated sense of entitlement.

Here's my new interpretation of the colonists' point of view: "Oh no, see, we don't have to pay taxes because we don't have any representatives in Parliament. See, we're the only people who can represent us because we're soooo unique and special, except that we're just like all the other British subjects. Confused? Must be your problem because I am making perfect sense. What's that? You're sending troops? And they're going to live in my house? Oh no you di'n't! We're declaring independence from your ass! Oh snap!"

I'm pretty sure that's what Thomas Jefferson wanted to say. See how committee wordsmithing can really ruin a perfectly good declaration? I'm considering defecting to England. The accent is much cooler and Orlando Bloom lives there. And there aren't any papers to grade. Good enough reasons for me.

Must grade more papers.

On Top of Spaghetti...

2009-01-25T16:19:00.008-05:00

Continuing what is becoming a regular feature, here's my big cooking extravaganza for the week. This week: Spaghetti and meatballs. I make the meatballs from scratch, and doctor some spaghetti sauce from a jar. I've made my own sauce before, but something's got to give when making meatballs from scratch.

[Fair warning before I continue: This topic is fraught with the possibility for double entrendre. Feel free to snicker like Beavis and/or Butthead at will.]

I started with a mixture of ground turkey and mild Italian sausage. As I removed the sausage from its casings, I remembered that this is not a recipe for the neat-niks among us. Let's just say that the sausage needs coaxing. It seems to respond best to firm pressure, starting at one end ... that's all I'm going to say about that.

Next, I dumped breadcrumbs, eggs, garlic, parmesan cheese, Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper into the mixing bowl. I looked at the gooey mess and knew that I needed to push up my sleeves and dig in. But, I wasn't ready to get that messy. Optimistically, I grabbed my spoon. I knew it wouldn't work and sure enough, it didn't. Oh, it stirred fine, but it didn't mix. Sighing loudly, I pushed up my sleeves and dove in with both hands. Within seconds, I had an evenly mixed batch of meatball goodness. I'd show you a picture, but the goodness doesn't digitally transfer. The goodness looks more like something that someone has already enjoyed once and no one wants to see that.

So, moving on. Using my gooey hands, I reached in and broke off a piece of goodness. Carefully rolling it between my palms, I shaped it into a rather sticky ball, like a ping pong ball. A ping pong ball that won't bounce because it's made of meat. There wasn't time to admire my handiwork because there was much more meat to handle. After more dipping, rolling, and shaping, I ended up with this:

And ... repeat. Made another pan just like this one. If you're counting, that's 30 meatballs. That's a lot of balls. Since I don't want to eat meatballs at every meal for the next 3 weeks, 20 of the little fellows headed to the freezer. They'll come in handy on a long workday when I'm too tired to think about food.

While the balls rested, I moved onto the sauce. Like I said, it's doctored jar sauce.

Mix all of this together and let it boil. (Not all of the wine, obviously. Must save some for the actual meal.)

After simmering for 10 minutes, I dropped the first balls in. They disappeared to the bottom and started cooking. Ten minutes later, they came out and the next batch went in. Another ten minutes and it was all balls in. Dropped the pasta in the boiling water and put the bread in the toaster oven. Ten more minutes and we had spaghetti and meatballs, with a side of garlic bread.

Everyone now: "On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese. I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed..."

Why I love the South

2009-01-23T15:09:00.006-05:00

I know what you're thinking: What am I looking at? Here's a better picture:

That, my friends, is an open sunroof. Open on January 23rd. Open because it is near 70 degrees outside and with bright sunny skies. Open because it's not snowing, or sleeting, or slushing, or precipitating any other kind of winterness. Open a mere 3 days after it was 30 degrees at noon.

People used to wonder why I wanted to move south. I believe this blog entry, with pictures, answers that question better than I ever could.

Looking Backward and Forward

2009-01-20T17:19:00.007-05:00

On my way to Big City University this afternoon, I decided to detour and visit an historic site with particular relevance. I stopped off at the Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial. Seemed like the right thing to do.

There was a time in my not-so-distant past that I spent lots of time at the King Center. When I was researching for my dissertation, I ate my lunch at the reflecting pool, trying to thaw out from the overly-enthusiastic air conditioning in the archive. Didn't matter how many times I saw it, the memorial always moved me, as did the visitors. I haven't been to the memorial since my last research trip but I easily found my way back. I was heartened to see that the crowds and media hoopla had died down since yesterday's festivities. I'm all for celebrating Dr. King's life, but today, I just wanted a few moments of quiet reflection and to snap a couple of pictures.

I got the car parked in a near-empty parking lot and exited into what can only be described as the coldest day the South has ever seen. Holy crap! I decided that I'd save the quiet reflection for the car. Braving the cold, I walked the block or so to the memorial. I quickly realized that I was not the only person who had this idea. Loudspeakers from two different sources competed to see who could present the most meaningful message on this historic day.

I turned the corner into the courtyard in front of the new Ebenezer Baptist Church and saw the source of the noise. Someone, I'm assuming the National Park Service, had set up a jumbotron screen to show clips from Dr. King's most memorable speeches and marches. I thought this was a nice idea, giving people a sense of history. Would have been better inside where it was warm - but, a nice idea just the same. I noted that no one, and I mean no one, was watching the screen.

The rest of the noise was coming from a stage in the center of Auburn Avenue. I'm trying not to be an old fart, but there's no way that I'll ever be hip enough to appreciate the sentiments expressed by the singer on the stage. Let's just say that it provided a startling contrast to the jumbotron. As I rushed across the street to snap my pictures, I noted that a crowd had gathered in front of the stage. A crowd of approximately 10 very cold people.

The singer finished as I reached the gravesite and let out an enthusiastic, "OBAMA!" that lit up Sweet Auburn. I snapped my pictures, took a moment for quiet reflection, and got my cold little rear end headed back toward the car. As I crossed the street again, a new group of singers took the stage. Three young women began gyrating in what can only be described as "the seizure dance" and began singing. Again, I'm not nearly hip enough to understand what they were saying, but it sounded like, "Jiggle, girls! Jiggle, girls!" "Oh dear," I said, from my old fart vantage point across the street. Here, literally in between a jumbotron showing Dr. King describing his dream and his final resting place, were three young women urging all the females in a 4-block radius to "jiggle." Perhaps they were concerned about frostbite, and figured that people would stay warmer if they moved - or "jiggled."

I got back to the car, face frozen, and fingers tingling. I considered "jiggling" but decided to make my way downtown instead. I suppose I'm thankful that I live in a country where we can all decide if we want to jiggle or not. Perhaps that is the true meaning of Dr. King's dream.

[I'd include pictures from my visit, but I forgot the cord that connects the camera to the computer back at home. Look for pictures in the coming days.]

All About the Jeffersons

2009-01-19T12:19:00.011-05:00

Last night, I satisfied my cooking urge by making white chicken fricassee. I found the recipe in my Southern Living cookbook, though the cookbook cites Thomas Jefferson's Cook Book as the original source. According to the write-up, the recipe uses "practically the same ingredient list as the original recipe." I figured that if it was good enough for Tom, it was good enough for me. Besides, fricassee is so much fun to say.

I started by dusting the bone-in chicken breasts with a mixture of salt, pepper, paprika, and nutmeg. Then, I browned the breasts in hot oil (insert sizzling sound here).

Step 2: Roux. I removed the chicken and added flour to the oil. Careful to whisk constantly, I waited until the mixture turned light brown (not shown in this picture). I've burned roux before, so I am familiar with disappointment, unhappiness, and the lingering bad smell. Luck was with me last night as I avoided this mistake.

Next, add a mixture of wine and water. If I make this again, I might try chicken broth instead of water. Tom might have liked a less rich sauce, but I think it might be interesting to see what happens with more flavor in the sauce. Anyway, added the liquid and whisked until it boiled and thickened.

Once I achieved boilage, I put the chicken back in the pot, covered it, and waited 50 minutes. I suspected that I'd chosen a winning dish as good smells filled the house. It also had all the earmarks of comfort food - perfect for a chilly evening.

Fast forward 50 minutes: I removed the chicken again. I knew it would be good when the meat practically fell off of the bone as I took out each piece. Then, like those cooks of yore, I strained the sauce (except they probably didn't have a plastic strainer. Otherwise, it was very authentic).
I returned the now empty pot to the stove and melted some butter. Using my handy dandy chopper, I made quick work of an onion and added it to the pot. More sizzling and stirring and voila - sauteed tender onion. Poured the sauce back into the pot, added some mushrooms, fresh sage, fresh parsley, and chicken. Oh - and a cup of half-and-half. Normally, I reserve half-and-half for coffee only, but I made an exception in this case. Man, was it worth it!

Thick rich sauce over tender, well-seasoned chicken. No wonder Tom liked this recipe. As instucted, I boiled some rice and served up my masterpiece, with a green salad on the side. I decided to treat myself with one of my favorite green salads - Bibb lettuce, spinach, fresh orange, walnuts, purple onion, and homemade sweet and sour dressing. Yum! (Clearly, this picture does not do justice to the chicken. Trust me, it looked much more appetizing than a bas-relief representation of Greenland.)

Overall, I enjoyed my dinner from the annals of Thomas Jefferson's kitchen. I might even try some of the other recipes, though I think I'll pass on Carthusian. According to the cookbook, the dish consists of "blanched cabbage leaves ... filled with boiled carrots and pigs' tongues." Oink.

This close to being outraged

2009-01-18T15:02:00.005-05:00

I'm on an antibiotic. I'm not going to say why because I believe that boundaries are our friends, and I know where this kind of conversation can lead and I don't want to hear about your medical problems. It's not that I don't care, it's just that ... who am I trying to fool? I don't care. The only reason I bring up my problem is to rant. Earlier in the week, my doctor prescribed a course of treatment: 3 pills for 3 days. Simple enough. So, I took the prescription to the pharmacy and learned that my insurance company would only pay for 2 pills at a time. Sure, that makes sense. I mean, paper-pushing penny-pinchers clearly have a MUCH better idea about what I need than MY DOCTOR. I took my 2 pills and came home.

Yesterday, I called in my "refill." I've just returned from the pharmacy. Seems the insurance company won't pay for me to take 3 pills in one week, no matter what MY DOCTOR (you know, the guy with the medical degree) thinks is an appropriate course of treatment. I tried to explain to the pharmacist that we've already tried it the insurance company's way and it didn't work. She was sympathetic but in the end, I lost the battle. In my frustration, I said, "You know, if this was Viagra, the insurance company would give me as much as I wanted anytime I wanted it." She nodded sympathetically, leaned toward me and muttered, "Yeah, we all know who makes these laws." Horny frustrated old men, that's who.

I took my outrage to Starbucks to refill my coffee supply. Good thing the insurance company isn't standing between me and my caffiene. Heads would roll and cities would burn, I tell you! As I waited for my beverage, I glanced around. Everywhere I looked, students had their noses buried in textbooks - on a holiday weekend. Warmed this cynical professor's heart. None of them were studying history and none of them were my students, but at least I'm not ready to throttle anyone anymore.

Now I remember why I wanted to do this

2009-01-17T17:08:00.003-05:00

Today, it's cold outside. OK, it's not below zero or anything, but it is below 40 and that's cold in my book. Didn't stop a few jackasses from donning their shorts and flip-flops and wandering around campus. I wonder if their mommies will write them a note when they're sick with pnuemonia next week. (Crap - when did I turn 80?!)

I headed across town to the university to do something that I haven't done in a year - research on my own work. Lately, as the pressures of teaching have taken over my life, I've been feeling disconnected from my work. I do remember being excited about my research at some point in the not-so-distant past. I have vague memories of enjoying the process of piecing the puzzle together to create a narrative. I seem to recall an almost "high" feeling on particularly good days. Yes, I also remember the utter and complete agony of writer's block and the devestating realization that I will, once again, have to restart this chapter. But, I'm choosing to be Pollyanna and focus on the positive.

So, today, I packed up the laptop and headed to the library. It was great! A perfect afternoon. The books I wanted were in a special reading room, far from the undergrad crowd. And, there really wasn't an undergrad crowd because it's a holiday weekend. A couple of students trickled in and out, but mostly, I had the place to myself. I set up and got to work. Almost immediately, I remembered why I wanted to pursue this largely thankless career.

I'm not really sure what I'm looking for at this point. I have a vague outline of a narrative that didn't really fit into my dissertation. It has all the earmarks of a compelling story: interesting historical actors, deep-rooted tension, rich local context. I'm sure there's a story there. So, I'm digging without a clear direction or purpose. Just digging. It's great! I feel like an academic glutton. I'm not on a research trip where I have to try to make the most of my travel money. This resource is right across town. Ready and waiting for me anytime I can get over there. Now, if I could just get rid of all of my pesky students at Big City University...

I spent the afternoon with a few books about focus of my initial investigation. All colorful histories by equally colorful writers. I also found a pictorial history of the county and had much fun looking at pictures of people I didn't know and would probably never meet. There's something about the rural south, particularly Georgia, that connects with me. Mind you, I don't want to live in rural Georgia, but the people, places, and history fascinate me.

While I was researching my target county, I allowed myself to get sidetracked and took a look at a book about the county where my mother's family lives. I think I squeaked when I found a reference to my great-great-grandfather. I also found references to freedpeople living in the county before the Civil War. "What's that story?" I wondered. Made a note to check it out later.

Tomorrow, I may head back to look at local newspapers. Microfilm isn't my friend, but in this case, I may make an exception. I am, without a doubt and without apology, a geek.

Having an Apartment Complex

2009-01-09T18:13:00.007-05:00

Today, I received the monthly newsletter from my leasing office. I live in a corporate-owned apartment complex, so much of the newsletter is generic filler. This month, my corporate slumlords passed on a recipe for Microwave White Chicken Chili, offered advice on reducing credit card debt, and reminded me that January 28 is "National Write to Congress Day." All useful information. The column about snow is less useful, particularly since it was 60 some-odd degrees today.

The monthly newsletter usually finds itself on the fast track to the recycling bin. Today, as I prepared to be environmentally responsible, two colored sheets drifted to the floor. I picked them up and read two very important announcements from the bitter, humorless leasing agents.

This month, the Little Leasing Dictators (LLDs) alerted us to "damage to the main gate during the holiday break." I should back up a bit and explain that the apartment complex prides itself on perceived exclusivity. Yes, we have a gate, and yes, you need a special card to gain entry into the enclave. But, there's no fence. Just to review: Gate? Yes. Fence? No. In case you're wondering, I do pay extra for this service.

Anyway, at some point during the holidays, someone got really annoyed with the gate and rammed it. Rammed it hard enough to break the little motor and leave half of the gate hanging at a terribly depressing angle. I'm not sure when it happened. All I know is that there is a little piece of crime-scene tape still dangling from the privacy-not-security gate.

So, the LLDs want us all to know that "the damage was so severe, that we are having to have extensive repairs done. This may take a little bit of time." They "apologize for the inconvenience" and ask for our patience. Yeah, I'm torn up about being able to drive on to the property without having to stop and press my magic card to the metal plate.

In other apartment news, "There is a serious problem with pet owners being irresponsible!" Serious enough to warrant an exclamation point! Apparently, the LLDs "are seeing more and more pet waste left on the grounds" and they ain't happy. Not happy at all. In this full-page reminder, they inform pet-owners and non-pet-owners alike that "cleaning up after your pet is easy and REQUIRED." (Emphasis in original). They're not taking any more crap from you, or your little dog.

I can just imagine the discussion at the monthly leasing office staff meeting:
Groundskeeper #1: Man, I saw 4 huge mounds of pet waste today.
Groundskeeper #2 (no pun intended): Oh yeah, well, I saw 6 mounds, and one was still warm.
Brown-nosing LLD intern: Gosh, what can we do to address this problem of critical importance?
Head LLD: I know! I'm going to fire off one of my flyers on bright orange paper with BOLD CAPITAL LETTERS and exclamation points!! That's sure to fix this problem!
Brown-nosing LLD intern: You're so smart. I can't wait until I can send out orange flyers with exclamation points!
Slacker LLD intern: I can't believe we're spending all this time talking about dog crap.

So, the Head LLD went to her computer and composed the flyer. Not content to merely remind pet owners that cleaning up is REQUIRED, she added the following: "Pet owners - We have seen the culprits that are not cleaning up after their dogs. We are watching to see if you CLEAN UP your act."

Good to see my rent money going to good use. Apparently, I'm paying people to watch dogs relieve themselves. I wonder if everyone on staff is required to perform this duty (or "doody"), or if one fellow literally got the shit end of the stick. Wonder if they've designated one of their golf carts for the Poopy Patrol. The groundskeeper drives around all day in the now-brown cart, waiting for pet owners to bring their dogs outside. Then, he screeches to a stop, disembarks, and watches. I believe the dog might be thinking, "Dude, I don't need an audience." What's next? The groundskeepers start sending samples to the College Town Crime Lab for definitive identification?

Wonder if the groundskeepers get into arguments about particular evidence:
Groundskeeper #1: "Oh yeah, that's from the golden retriever in Apt A."
Groundskeeper #2: "Dude, you're crazy. That's not from a golden retriever. That's from that schnauzer in Apt B."
Groundskeeper #1: "Schnauzer, my Aunt Fannie. The only way that came from a schauzer is if that schnauzer was a golden retriever."
[If they have these conversations, I might recommend that they seek other employment.]

The flyer concludes: REMEMBER: IF YOU DO NOT CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR PET, YOU WILL LOOSE THE PRIVILEGE OF HAVING A PET AT [name withheld to protect the innocent] APARTMENTS."

I certainly wouldn't want to "loose" the privilege of having a pet. Wouldn't want poor Fido to be evicted.

Finally caught up with me

2009-01-08T17:55:00.003-05:00

Today, I awoke in my own bed, having survived the first week of classes. This is shaping up to be a semester of ups and downs. I'm particularly pleased that none of my classes are full. I don't care why students are avoiding my classes. The end result is less work for me - and I'm not complaining about that. Another plus is that I'm teaching the same class as last semester, so most of the prep is done. This semester, I'm intentionally working on incorporating more in-class assignments. This is a much easier task than starting from scratch.

A major downside is my schedule. I start at noon, have three classes back to back to back, then I cool my heels for 3 hours. Three whole hours. Just think of all the things you can do in three hours. You could watch "Saving Private Ryan." You could cook and eat a pot roast. You could enjoy a gala charity event. In the context of my daily existence, I could drive from Big City University to my house in College Town and turn around and drive back.

Instead of doing any of these things, I cool my heels for 3 hours. This extended break is late enough in the day, not to mention at the end of three consecutive classes, that my brain doesn't work anymore. So, if you're going to suggest that I use that time to get real academic work done, save your breath. I'm good for the first 90 minutes, then I can actually feel my brain shutting down. I'm mentally closed for business around the time that all of my colleagues pack it in for the day. I can literally feel a curtain coming down in my head. The little lights in my brain go out, one by one, each one calling out, "OK, that's it for today. See you tomorrow." This is not good, particularly since I have one more group of students to entertain.

This week, I've tried two strategies to try to stop the curtain. Neither were successful. On Monday, I tried to complete administrative tasks (code for: catching up on email and other internet happenings.) I had dinner at about 6PM, thinking that the food would perk me up. Nope. Leftover beef stew just made me all warm and cozy. Curtain continued to come down. Luckily, Monday was an easy night. I reviewed the syllabus and called it a night.

Wednesday, I tried something new. I got coffee after my late afternoon class. I enjoyed a caffiene high for about 90 minutes. Then, the curtain came. Not only was I mentally and physically tired, but I was also in caffiene freefall. Crap. Again, dinner didn't have the desired effect and I struggled through the class. It took every ounce of mental energy to concentrate on what I was saying. I'm not convinced that I was coherent. Next idea: Coffee injection 30 minutes before class. If that doesn't work, I'm bringing a pillow and blanket and settling in for a long winter's nap.

One bright spot in all of this is that the Evening Edition students seem to be good students. Enough of them read the assignment so we had a good discussion. I think that the only way we'll get through the semester is if I ask a lot of questions and they keep participating. We'll just hold hands, take a deep breath, and muddle through together.

So, today, I woke up at home. I felt sluggish most of the morning and by early afternoon, I decided to settle in with my reading-for-fun book. Three hours later, I woke up. I'm no genius, but I think this means that I was tired.

First Days are Never Easy

2009-01-05T17:52:00.004-05:00

The new semester is officially underway and what an introduction I've had. I made every effort to avoid the "first day scramble" but it happened anyway. I left the house 15 minutes later than I'd planned. I struggled down the 3 flights of stairs with suitcase, bag of trash, school bag and purse. Got to the car and realized that I'd forgotten the lunch and dinner that I'd painstakingly prepared. Back up the stairs to retrieve the food. Back to the car. Realized I forgot my hair accoutrements. Back up the stairs to retrieve the implements that keep me from looking bedraggled (all evidence to the contrary). Back to the car. Finally decided I had everything I needed and drove out of the apartment complex and turned west, remembering to throw away the trash before I left.

I got into downtown without incident, then all hell broke loose. I didn't print my notes, syllabus, or class rosters at home yesterday because my printer ran out of ink and I simply didn't want to buy more. I figured I could print at Big City University. Nope. Seems my computer and the printer had some sort of falling out over the holidays and now they're not speaking to each other. To further complicate matters, the internet also went down. Yes, the entire BCU internet system stopped working. By this point, I was a cursing machine.

The internet came back about 15 minutes before my first class. I rushed to print my class rosters from a colleague's computer and we rushed off to class......where the computer was cold from non-use. So, I had to wait for it to warm up - which took forever. Then, I couldn't find the remote for the overhead projector. I called the IT help desk and launched into a spontaneous stand-up routine. "So, anyone from out of town," I asked my students. I was about to say, "Funny thing happened on the way to the classroom..." when the IT guy arrived.

There we were in front of the whole class. I explained that I couldn't find the remote and he pulled up a window on the computer and clicked on a button. "We don't have remotes in these classrooms anymore, and we haven't had them for a while now," he said, condescendingly. Fighting the urge to slap him and call him any number of obscene names, I said, "There were remotes in these classrooms last semester." "In this building?" he interrogated. "Yes," I responded, fully aware that I was in front of my students and therefore could not rip the man's head off. He explained something else in his "oh, poor little stupid woman who can't work a computer" tone, and then he left.

OK, in all fairness, he'd probably had a bad morning. I'm sure I wasn't the only one cursing IT's name this morning. But still. My students were relatively forgiving and we stumbled through to the end of the class. My next classes went better. Now, I'm "enjoying" my 3 hour break before my last class of the day. In case you're wondering, 3 hours is a long time.

Elevator Entertainment

2009-01-01T20:25:00.005-05:00

Today, I made my way to the Big Apple. I successfully navigated through the airport, negotiated ground transportation, and arrived at my hotel. It's significantly colder here. Like half as warm. Literally. It was supposed to be 55 degrees at home today. Here - 27 degrees. That was last night's low in the southland. I haven't been this cold since I left the NEPIW (northeastern post-industrial wasteland). I wore my hat today, as my hair will attest.

But, since I'm not 80, I'll talk about something other than the weather. I checked into the hotel and got in the elevator, alone. The doors closed and I heard voices. These weren't the regular voices I hear in my head (oh, admit it, you hear voices, too.) No, these voices were different, strangely familiar but strangely out-of-place.

I looked above the elevator doors and there was a TV screen. You're probably expecting me to say that the screen advertised hotel amenities, announced upcoming meetings, or broadcast the ubiquitious CNN headlines. Well, you'd be wrong on all counts. Instead, this hotel decided on a Popeye cartoon. That's right - Popeye the Spinach-Eating Sailor Man.

I believe that my mouth actually dropped open. I was speechless and completely baffled. It was as if I'd entered an elevator to the parallel universe where endlessly-looped Popeye cartoons made sense. Because I'm not from this parallel universe, the situation defied all logic. Why have a TV in the elevator? Why show cartoons? Why Popeye? Why....?

I've been in the elevator several times since this initial trip to Popeye-Land, and every time, there are Popeye and Bluto. I think it's the same cartoon. Something about Popeye fighting with Bluto and eating spinach. I know that narrows it down for you.

Much to my chagrin and disappointment, I've been humming, "I'm Popeye the Sailor Man" for hours now.

Commercials

2008-12-31T09:50:00.003-05:00

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

2008-12-29T20:12:00.008-05:00

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

2008-12-26T22:21:00.002-05:00

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

2008-12-21T08:51:00.004-05:00

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

2008-12-19T13:46:00.008-05:00

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

2008-12-16T20:00:00.002-05:00

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

2008-12-12T19:50:00.002-05:00

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

2008-12-06T20:23:00.003-05:00

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

2008-12-04T09:40:00.003-05:00

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.

Grading papers

2008-11-23T20:48:00.003-05:00

I'm grading papers. I should be looking forward to a nice holiday break. Instead, I'm grading papers. I have no one to blame but myself. Me and my stupid committment to good writing. When will I learn? Students, for the most part, don't care about writing. They only care if they get laid and drunk, preferably at the same time. Why do I torture myself by making them write? Maybe if I made them write about getting laid and drunk...no, even then, their papers would stink.

That's really not fair. Many of my students seemed to take this assignment seriously. They had to choose an autobiographical narrative written by someone reflecting on the 1960s - 1970s. Then, they had to relate one or two main issues in the book to the longer history that we have discussed in class. In other words, I wanted them to demonstrate that they learned something this semester. Show me that you can trace change over time. Show me that you can use specific examples and not talk in complete vaguery. Show me that you cite a source!!

And, some of them did well. Only a few have managed to state an argument in their introduction, but who needs an argument? Who doesn't want to wait until the conclusion to learn the main point of the entire essay? It's like a nice surprise. Sometimes, I play a little game. I try to guess what their argument is as I'm reading, then I see if I'm right when I get to the conclusion. Sometimes I am, and sometimes I'm not. Well, I am right, but the student heads off on a new tangent in the conclusion and doesn't articulate the obvious argument. Oh, the frivolity.

What really wears me out are the plagiarists. These students piss me off. Not a mild irritation, we're talking white-hot rage. Without fail, they're the little jackasses who have been working my last nerve all semester. I hate, hate, hate, hate having to waste my time tracking down the original source of their masterpiece, printing it out, then marking both copies to show the extent of plagiarism.

Then, I have to take time out of my day to meet with the student to explain why he or she won't be receiving any credit for the assignment, and why they can't have a "do over." I hate that I'll have to sit and listen as they explain that they just didn't know that they couldn't "copy and paste" directly from an online source and turn it in with their name on it. I hate that I'll have to show them that I clearly forbid such behavior on my syllabus. Most of all, I hate that I'll spend 20 times more time with these slackers than I will spend with the students who did the assignment correctly.

They can't say I didn't warn them. I told them on the first day of class (and printed on my syllabus) that I am a professional researcher. That's what historians do - we research. When you start using the Britsh spelling of words and citing sources written in German, I know something is up. When you stop speaking in jibberish and start making sense only to return to jibberish, I know something is up. If you can find it on Google, so can I.

My only joy will come when I tell one hapless jackass that he can't possibly pass the course now. That he will have to repeat this course that he so clearly enjoyed. That he will not be welcome in any of my classes next semester. Then, I can kick him out of class for the rest of the semester. OK, it's only 3 more classes, but I won't have to look at his sourpuss and that makes me very happy.

I refuse to give up on teaching writing skills. I refuse. I do. Really. (sob, sob)

Mad Men

2008-11-22T12:14:00.002-05:00

I've developed a new addiction in recent weeks. It's called, "Mad Men." I know that I am late to this party, but better late than never. I'm watching last season in Netflix. With two more episodes to go, I'm hooked.

I know I'm hooked because I have random flashes of Mad Men during otherwise un-Mad Men related activities. The other day, while I was driving home, I thought about how creepy Pete Campbell is. He really upsets me. He's such a snake. Yeah, yeah, I know that I'm supposed to feel sorry for him because his father doesn't love him and he only got married because his wife had money and he thought he had to get married. Well, I don't feel sorry for him. I would be very happy if he fell down the elevator shaft at Sterling Cooper, a la Rosalind Shays on LA Law.

Mad Men has made me fall in love with John Slattery all over again. I loved him in "Ed." I even loved him when he wanted Carrie Bradshaw to pee on him in "Sex and the City." How many actors can you say that about? In Mad Men, he's a real letch - having an affair with the office manager, hitting on employee's wives, getting schnokered at lunch. But he's so charming and endearing, unlike Pete Campbell who is just a sniveling, conniving snake. Something tells me John Slattery's character is not going to survive next season and I'll miss him terribly.

Still trying to figure out if Peggy is pregnant. Don't tell me!! Have to say that I loved the scenes where she tries to explain why women will love the "Rejuvenator."

Also loved the scene where Betty Draper takes a rifle and shoots the neighbor's doves out of the sky, all while smoking a cigarette and wearing a housecoat. Fabulous!

But here's what I really like about this show: Each of the characters is flawed and multi-dimensional. I also love that writers explore 1960s society without beating the viewer over the head with it. Rampant sexism, the malaise of college-educated housewives, the Nixon-Kennedy election, work ethics - all woven into great stories. I particularly enjoy the references to salaries and the cost of consumer goods. "He already makes $35,000/year!" "I'd like a $5/week raise. I currently make $35/week." I'm considering showing episodes of the show in Women's History classes, or classes on the 1960s. It's that good.

Barbecue is NOT a verb

2008-11-16T21:09:00.013-05:00

I'm having a very relaxing weekend. I don't have anything to grade and I cancelled my class on Tuesday. The little darlins have a paper due on Thursday and I figured I could use a break before I have to grade their masterpieces. As a result, I'm kicking back and taking it easy this weekend. I've done some thinking about next semester, finished a book, and burned through 2 Netflix movies. Today, I moved on to one of my favorite activities: cooking something that takes a really, really long time. Barbecue from scratch.

I shopped for the ingredients yesterday. Boston butt was on sale at the P-store - a sign from God that it was bbq time. I chose this one, a nice 5.5 pound butt. I also picked up some buns, chips, pork and beans, and cole slaw. As I checked out, the cashier said, "Looks like you're going to barbecue." I didn't correct her, but everyone knows that "barbecue" is not a verb.

Making bbq is a 4-hour process. I started at 3:15PM. I took the butt out of the package and put it in a pot with water to cover. I added sliced onions, bay leaves, and whole cloves. Then, I turned on the heat and waited for the boil. Once I achieved boil, I put on the lid, and let it go for three hours. It smelled amazing! Spicy cloves and bay leaves permeated the house. I turned my attention to my syllabus for next semester and waited.

At 5:45, it was time for the beans. Yes, anyone who knows me knows that I believe that beans are the work of the devil. But, you can't have bbq without baked beans. So, I emptied the can of pork and beans and gathered the necessary ingredients.

Enough of this stuff and you can't taste the beans anymore. The cinnamon is the secret ingredient. Ssshh.

After adding the right amount of each of these wonderful transformative taste sensations, I popped the beans in the oven and turned my attention to the sauce. Can't have bbq without sauce. Without sauce, it's just shredded butt and no one wants that.

I like this sauce. It's spicy but not so hot that you want to die. It's got onion, ketchup, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, water, brown sugar, chili powder, pepper, and salt. You know it's good when there's twice as much pepper as salt. It simmers for 30 minutes and gets good and thick.

With the sauce bubbling away, I turned to the meat. Armed with two forks, I opened the pot and said, "I'm goin' shred your ass!" I do like to crack myself up while I cook. Then, I set to work. I have to admit that this is the part that I'm not so fond of. Shredding an entire Boston butt with two forks is hard work. After about 20 minutes of shredding, I had reduced the butt to this:

Back into the pot with the shredded meat, add some sauce and simmer for 20 minutes. Finally, at 7:15PM, I sat down to this:
I went with the open face option, with extra sauce. And, yes, those are potato chips. Can't have bbq without chips. In case you're wondering, it was really, really good.

Real Reality TV

2008-11-15T10:11:00.005-05:00

For the past month or so, I've spent the middle of the week with Big City friends. The commute from College Town to Big City got to be too much on my weary body and soul. So, I take advantage of my friends' hospitality, paying for my keep in food and good humor.

I've discovered a whole new world at their house. They watch TV shows that I didn't even know existed. For instance, did you know that there's a show where marginally talented hosts discuss the latest tech gadgets and internet videos? The key to this show seems to be the size of the female hosts' breasts. The other key ingredient is the type of videos that they choose to highlight. In one video, a woman inserted a rocket into her backside and her "friends" lit the fuse. The video ended with her squealing as the flame reached her bare backside. I know what you're thinking, "Why would anyone do this?" I think the more important questions are: Why would someone film it? Why would someone post it? Not to mention, Why would someone show it on TV? And finally, Why would someone watch it? All good questions. I'm choosing to avoid the answers because I'm pretty sure that the only explanation is that we're all going to hell.

I also learned that there's a TV show where 2 grown men go around and destroy whatever they can find. They call themselves "Human Wrecking Balls." The show is all about watching these two fellows tear apart houses, boats, airplanes, etc. - all with their bare hands. Oh, and they can use whatever they tear up as projectiles to continue their total destruction. They have an engineer on hand to help them understand the construction, and subsequent destruction, of specific parts of the house, boats, airplanes, etc. I think the engineer is supposed to lend an air of education to the show. They also have an attractive female doctor on hand to tend to their injuries. I believe my mouth actually fell open while watching the promo for this show.

I have developed a true affection for "Dirty Jobs" on the Discovery Channel. Mike Rowe rocks. The show often makes my skin crawl, but in a good way. Who knew that someone got paid to crawl inside a ship boiler and clean it out? Or who knew that someone makes money by rowing out into a lake and collecting leaches? Actually, the collection wasn't the bad part of that show, it was the frying and eating leaches that turned my stomach. Gotta say that I would love to get paid to research potential dirty jobs for Mike, then watch as he cleans out sewers or crawls under mobile homes with a crazy guy whose shoulder pops out of socket. Overall, this show makes me feel so much better about my job.

In addition to these shows, I've watched a fair amount of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style and What Not to Wear (or "What Not to Watch," according to my uncle). Here's my problem with these shows: They take a woman who has questionable fashion sense, take away all of her crappy clothes, then give her thousands of dollars to replace her wardrobe with more stylish clothes. "More stylish" as defined by Stacy and Clinton, and Tim Gunn. By watching these shows, we're all supposed to learn important lessons and be better shoppers and better dressed.

This works great if someone gives you thousands of dollars. My problem is that I don't have thousands of dollars, so I end up buying scattered pieces on sale, hoping that they'll magically form outfits in my closet. They don't. My wardrobe consists of maybe 3 good outfits and lots of other tops and bottoms that don't really go together. And I won't even talk about the stuff that doesn't fit anymore. Damn aging and gravity.

So, in this age where anything and everything makes its way onto TV, I'd like to propose a new show. I'd like for Tim Gunn and Clinton Kelly to come to my house and sort through my closet to find the stuff that I should keep. (I'm not all that fond of Stacy London or Tim's sidekick so they're not invited.) Then, I'd like for Tim and Clinton to use my current disposable income to put a wardrobe together. Good luck! They can show me how to look cute even when I have to wear dowdy shoes. They can show me how to look put together at 4PM when I'm starting my final class of the day. Then, they can give me thousands of dollars.

Toaster & Toast

2008-11-10T07:59:00.009-05:00

I had a bit of excitement Saturday night. No, not that kind of excitement, though it was hot. I decided to make a big pot of spaghetti sauce. Spaghetti sauce is an all-day project because the sauce simmers for 3 hours. But, man, is it good. So, while I watched the Dawgs try their best to lose to the Wildcats, I made sauce.

Finally, as darkness descended, the sauce was ready. I boiled some pasta, made a salad, and put some frozen garlic bread in my toaster oven. I just cleaned the toaster oven because I was having smoke problems - the crumbs would smoke and set off the smoke alarm in my apartment, forcing me to throw open the sliding glass door. Then, I would grab the closest piece of newspaper, dish towel, or hot pad and start waving it wildly toward the smoke detector, like I'm trying to signal a ship at sea. The dialogue that accompanies this scenario usually sounds someting like, "Stop beeping, you stupid thing!"

So, anyway, I cleaned out the toaster oven. I put the bread in and knew, just knew, that the smoke alarm would not go off this time. I turned my attention back to the game. I paid little attention to the warning at the bottom of the toaster oven door. You can't read it in the picture, but it says, "In the event of food flare-up, keep door closed and unplug power cord."

I'm not sure what drew my attention back to the kitchen. I think I heard a little popping sound. When I got to the toaster oven, flames were shooting from the heating element. I knew that I'd seen Pirates of the Caribbean too many times, because my initial response was, "Not good," a la Jack Sparrow when the incredibly offensive characatures of indigenous people tried to roast him.

Then, I opened the door. Now, I know why the warning says, "Keep door closed." The flames got bigger. I had a flashback to "Backdraft," and remembered that oxygen feeds fires. Instead of closing the door, I again turned to Jack Sparrow for inspiration and started to puff at the fire, thinking I'd huff and I'd puff, and I'd blow the flames out. Let's just say that I didn't. I didn't burn my eyebrows off, so it wasn't a complete disaster. All the while, I think I was saying something like, "Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap."

Then, like a bolt of lightening from the great beyond, I thought, "In the event of food flare-up, keep door closed and unplug power cord." I closed the door and unplugged the device. The flames died down and went out. In their wake, they left a nice black mark on the heating element of the toaster oven and on my toast. And a really bad smell in my apartment.

But - the smoke detector never went off. Apparently, it only detects smoke, not open flame. I feel so much safer. I'm already planning to buy a new toaster oven.

Change

2008-11-07T15:00:00.010-05:00

Today is Friday, or "Hangover Day" as I have come to call it. No, I don't go on a bender every Thursday -though that's certainly an interesting idea. Instead, Friday is the day when I put the long week of teaching behind me and don't put any demands on myself. So far, I've recorded attendance and participation for the week, walked aimlessly through the Red Dot Boutique, and treated myself to lunch at Panera Bread. Now, I'm waiting on the dryer repairman.

I'm also contemplating making a change in my apartment. When I moved into this apartment, I changed the look of my bedroom. Gone were the pastels and daisies of my old duvet cover. In with the red and white. I like the bold color against the pine dresser, bed, and nightstands.

Of course, changing one thing led to any number of problems. I had to change the curtains. Out with the pastel green, in with the khaki. I have yet to replace the pastel green blanket that went with the old bedding. I figure that no one will see the blanket so I don't need to be in a hurry to change it. And, the last time I priced blankets, they were much more than I wanted to spend. Besides, I live in Georgia. I don't need no stinkin' blanket.

The trickle-down effect from the new duvet cover spread into the adjoining bathroom. I've ignored the discordant decorating schemes, but with all the talk about change, I just can't take it anymore. I'll be the first to admit that my bathroom decorating is uninspired. Whatever inspiration there was related to the old bedroom. Case in point:

The green rug worked great with the pastel theme from the bedroom (which is on the other side of the door. You can't tell from this picture, but the shower curtain has a fern pattern on it, also worked great with the pastel theme. Even the basket worked.

Now, not so much. (On a side note: I never imagined that I'd post a picture of my toilet on my blog. I really have run out of things to write about.)

Another view:

This is taken while standing in the doorway shown in the other picture. Yes, my bathroom has two doors. Kind of like the mirror has two faces, but totally different. The two doors only cause problems when guests come to visit. In other words, the two doors never cause a problem. With the two doors, the bathroom becomes a short-cut between the office and the bedroom, and who wouldn't want that?

Anyway, as you can see, decor is sad and depressing. I promise that the colors are more vibrant than this picture shows, but they're still pastel.

So, I'm looking for change. I'd like to extend the warmer tones from the bedroom into the bathroom. I don't think I want to do red necessarily, because then it all feels too "matchy matchy." I saw some really nice chocolate brown towels at Bed Bath and Beyond, so that may be a place to start. My plan is to figure out what I want and get it on my Christmas list and wait to see what Santa brings. Can I change? Yes I can!

(Note that I figured out how to make my camera talk to my computer. It's a good day.)

Good Day

2008-11-05T13:37:00.002-05:00

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that I tend toward pessimism. So, in an effort to reset the universal balance of my life, I offer the following:

Today is a good day. The sun is shining and I don't need a jacket in this first week in November. The leaves have started to change colors. I wrote a lecture for yesterday's classes, then decided to review instead. My students confirmed that some of them, more than a few, are actually getting it. So, instead of spending my Wednesday struggling through mid-week exhaustion to put a lecture together, I'm relatively relaxed. My hair looks pretty good today.

And . . . change is on the horizon. Tomorrow, I'm lecturing on the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Sometimes, life just works out. I can't help but think about an August afternoon before I was born, when a preacher from Georgia stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and delivered one of the best-known speeches in our history. I can't say it better than he did, and I won't even try.

"With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true."

-----Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "I Have a Dream," March on Washington, August 28, 1963

Today is a good day.

Scavenging for groceries

2008-10-31T17:21:00.005-04:00

I'm having one of those days. The kind of day where I drink my normal daily allotment of coffee in the morning, and then feel like I haven't had any coffee at all for the rest of the day. I think this means that I'm tired.

I managed to get some work done this afternoon, finally completing a long-overdue, lingering consulting project that had been weighing me down like a ton of bricks. I'm not sure that it's my best work, but it's done. I put the invoice in the mail today so with any luck, I'll be able to finally pay off my new computer by Christmas.

I finished the project at about 4PM and decided to address another pressing problem: No food in the house. More importantly, no half-and-half in the house. I put together a grocery list and headed to the K grocery store. I've been shopping at the P store, but today, I had some dry cleaning to drop off and the dry cleaner is near the K store, so I went to the K store.

I stopped shopping at the K store when they rearranged all the food. I'm sure some highly paid consultant (present company excluded) thought that rearranging the food was a good idea. I'm sure they conducted many focus groups to decide where to put the food. I'm also sure that they only involved mentally handicapped, logically-impaired gerbils in these focus groups. Since I'm not a mentally handicapped, logically-impaired gerbil, I can't find a damn thing in this store.

Take today for example. I made it through the produce and meat just fine. Then, I turned my cart to the food aisles. I only needed a few things. I passed up the aisle with the buy-in-bulk specials because I'm only one person, I don't need bulk. I made it halfway through my list and realized that I needed rice. I went back down the pasta aisle. No rice. I went to the "ethnic food" aisle -where you can find salsa and chow mein in a can. No rice. Almost giving up, I turned down the bulk food aisle again. There, in the middle of "30 cans of beans for 10 cents" was the rice. I'm sure this made perfect sense to the mentally handicapped gerbils in the focus group. Next time, I'll ask myself, "WWMHLIGD?" (What would mentally handicapped, logically-impaired gerbils do?)

In total, I ended up going through the frozen food section 3 times, saw the pasta 4 times and passed the cheese twice. In the process, I almost mowed down a fellow in a wheelchair. I finally made it to the check-out line. The bag girl asked if I was having a good day. I considered responding, "Why? What have you heard?"

I walked out of the store and headed into the parking lot with great confidence. I knew just where I'd parked. Or not. Overshot it by an entire aisle. Finally, I found my car, loaded up the groceries and came home. Next week, I'm going back to the P store - and I'm drinking more coffee.

But, for now, I'm all set for a rockin' good Halloween. I have popcorn, candy, and . . .

What more could a girl want?

Distracted?

2008-10-28T18:17:00.002-04:00

No, I'm not distracted these days. Just because I tried to pour coffee beans into the dishwasher yesterday doesn't mean anything. Nor does the fact that I've left the house twice with my fly open in the past week. At least I caught the problem in the car this morning. Earlier in the week, I made it all the way to my hair appointment before I realized that my zipper was not secured. Thankfully, it was cold enough for a jacket so no one knew of my faux pas.

I really don't know why I'm being so flighty. I'm not any more stressed than usual, I don't think. Maybe I've just reached a saturation point and my brain can't handle small details like coffee beans don't belong in the dishwasher. Anyway, I'll be sure to keep you posted.

Georgia Voter

2008-10-25T15:29:00.005-04:00

That's right, I'm a Georgia Voter. Got my very own sticker to prove it. This year, the great state of Georgia is opening the flood gates early and letting any jackass (or elephant) vote early. Works out great for me because I have to be at Big City University all day on Tuesday, a location that is most definitely out of my voting precinct.

So, I performed my civic duty yesterday. I went downtown and got all prettified at the salon, then headed to the county Board of Elections. OK, I didn't get prettified just to vote, just coincidence. And, you never know who you'll meet in line to vote. As soon as my hairdresser put the finishing touches on my hair, I ventured out into the cold misty afternoon. "Maybe everyone is staying inside," I thought as I walked toward the Board of Elections.

I turned the corner and realized that everyone was not staying inside. Instead, they were clogging the sidewalk outside the Board of Elections. So, I turned around and walked to my car - where the meter had already expired. I didn't have any change to feed the meter, having used my last quarter on the first hour. Undaunted and filled with civic and national pride, I moved my car to the parking garage and joined the line.

I was really impressed with the number of people who were willing to stand in the cold and mist to cast their ballots. I waited about 45 minutes. I shivered a bit. I thought about what the mist and humidity was doing to my coif, and hoped my hairdresser wouldn't see me turning his hard work into a big frizzy mess. I thought that I really should have worn more comfortable shoes. Oh, and I thought about this historic election and how lucky I am to live in a democracy. No, really, I did.

Scanning the crowd on the sidewalk, I noticed a great diversity among the voters. Black, white, young, old, tall, short, obviously insane... OK, it was just one guy. He had on flannel holiday pajama bottoms with Tweety Bird calling for "Holiday Tweets for everyone." He carried a pink cordoroy purse with fur trim and wore a red velvet coat. As I made my way through the maze inside the teeny tiny office, he clutched his papers and moved from one line to the next, clearly confused and out of his element. I took a few more steps up the Geek Ladder as I thought about the 1908 Georgia voting law that required all voters to be sane. The same law required literacy tests and "good character." I thought about that as I took note of all of the African American voters in line with me. I also recognized a number of the pictures in the Board of Elections. "Oh, that's the 1912 woman suffrage parade in Washington DC," I thought. I stopped short of giving an impromptu lecture on the history of voting. I like to think that my fellow voters felt short-changed.

I finally worked my way to the voting machines. Carefully, I made my selection on the touch screen, double-checking to make sure I didn't pull a "2000 Florida" and choose the wrong candidate by mistake. I registered my vote and pulled out the little yellow card. I exchanged the card for my "Georgia Voter" sticker and walked out into the afternoon mist, leaving Tweety Pants sitting in the corner, looking very bewildered.

As I drove out of downtown, I passed a procession of strangely clad people, advertising a local version of the Gong Show at a local bar. I didn't recognize everyone in the procession, but I did recognize Jesus and Pac-Man. And an alien. I considered introducing these folks to Tweety Pants, but decided to carry on about my business, making a mental note to always carry my digital camera because you never know when you'll need it.

Great, Now Shut Up

2008-10-22T09:46:00.002-04:00

Last week, I went to my mid-afternoon class and went through the now familiar routine. Walk in, put my belongings under the desk, rummage through my purse for the flash drive, put flash drive in computer, wait for computer to recognize flash drive while getting my notes out, etc, etc. About the time that the computer indicated that all systems were go, I heard singing outside my classroom. Yes, singing.

My 6th floor classroom faces the relatively small concrete courtyard in the center of the Big City University campus. The courtyard is surrounded by multi-story buildings and has a dry fountain in the center - one of the many casualities of the drought. There are a few sad trees that try to green up the place, but overall, the buildings and dry fountain give the courtyard the feel of a prison exercise yard. Whenever I look down into the well from my classroom, I half expect to see Morgan Freeman and Tim Robbins talking about hope. Instead, I see students milling about, trying to act like this concrete jungle isn't horribly depressing.

Apparently, one of them has discovered that the courtyard offers great acoustics. While I set up for my class, I heard, "Cupid, draw back your bow, and let your arrow flow..." Clear as a bell, a beautiful Sam Cook voice filtered into my classroom - 6 stories up. I thought, "That kid's got some pipes." My boring, dull students told me that the courtyard singer had been at it all afternoon. They weren't impressed, but then nothing impresses this group. I could walk in and set myself on fire and they'd just yawn and tell me how some other teacher set himself on fire earlier in the day and they were so over it.

The singer wrapped up his set and moved on just as I started class. I didn't give it any more thought, except at those random moments when I caught myself humming, "Cupid, draw back your bow, and let your arrow flow..."

Flash forward to yesterday: I was lecturing away in my late afternoon class, trying desparately to explain the stock market crash of 1929. I am not an economist and I don't want to be. I had a loose grasp on the basics of the crash and had successfully explained what I knew in 3 classes. Now, it was the 4th class and I just wanted to get done. As I walked through my explanation of "buying on margin," there he was again, the courtyard singer. "Day-o! Day-ay-ay-o! Daylight come and me want to go home." "Bastard!" I thought, but miraculously, did not say out loud.

My students also heard the song stylings emanating from the exercise yard and became highly distracted. I'm sure it was the singer, because what student wouldn't want to spend their afternoon talking about buying on margin and economic depression? Seriously. As the singer continued to insist that he wanted to go home, I said, "Yes, we all want to go home. Now, shut up!" My students laughed and we were back on track. Well, I had their attention again. My brain had shut down for the day. I was on auto pilot. Hoover - FDR - New Deal - blah, blah, blah.

I'm thinking of giving the courtyard singer a list of relevant songs for my class and have him provide background music for my lectures. Let's see - next up: World War II. Maybe he could do a rendition of "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," or "Over There." When we talk about the women's movement of the 1970s, I'm sure he won't mind belting out, "I am woman, hear me roar." All from the prison exercise yard with the great acoustics.

History Writer

2008-10-17T12:28:00.003-04:00

As my new work colleagues talk about sending out article manuscripts for review and obtaining book contracts, I remain mired in grading, writing lectures, and fielding student requests and complaints. On my way home yesterday, my trusty iPod shuffled to "Paperback Writer" by the Beatles. Got me thinking about courting publishers. I think I'll send this rendition with my propectus to potential publishers.

History Writer
(sung to the tune of "Paperback Writer" by the Beatles)

History writer (history writer)
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took six years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a program to help people read,
And I need a job, so I want to be a History writer,
History writer

It's the southern story of excluding blacks
From voting and reading and all of that
The teachers try to help people read,
I've written it up and I want to be a History writer,
History writer

History Writer (History Writer)

It's two hundred pages, give or take a few,
I'd have written more but I blew a fuse
I can make it longer if you like the style
Or I'll change the whole thing, I'll even wash your car
History writer, History writer

If you really like it, you can have the rights
And I'll cook dinner for you every night
All I ask is that I get tenure, I need to eat
So I want to be a History writer
History writer

History writer, history writer
History writer, history writer

Angered the Wrong Universal Force

2008-10-15T13:02:00.003-04:00

Apparently, I've angered some very vindictive universal force. I'm not sure when it happened or how, and I'm not sure how to undo it, but I hope this force smiles on me soon. Allow me to recap the past few weeks:

1) Lost my flash drive with all of my computer files on it.
2) Computer froze and slipped into a coma, cutting off access to my files.
3) Got in traffic jam, had to cancel first class, ran a very confusing and disorganized second class with wrong version of lecture
4) Confronted a very sluggish classroom computer, tried to run class, finally aborted class, cancelled the rest of the day and went home
5) Student risked life and limb to turn on classroom projector when remote failed to work
6) CD with sound files of oral histories wouldn't rip onto my computer, complicating what should have been an entertaining lecture
7) DVD wouldn't play in my office computer
8) Couldn't watch TV at friends' house because couldn't figure out satellite TV and Tivo
9) Blew fuse at friends' house while warming food in the microwave
10) Almost lost friends' dog when I opened the garage door instead of turning on the light

And finally . . . the best of all: I returned from lunch today, unlocked my office door, and the entire door handle came off in my hand. At that point, I just started laughing. What else could I do? A colleague told me "not to fly off the handle." I took some consolation that perhaps I did have a firm handle on things, all evidence to the contrary.

Death Takes No Holiday

2008-10-13T13:43:00.002-04:00

We're 8 weeks into the semester and I have to say that I'm becoming increasingly concerned about the death rate among my students' friends and relatives. So far, my students have lost 3 siblings, 3 close friends, and a father. In addition, at least 5 of my students have diseases that require regular medical attention and make it impossible for them to come to class. One mother was hospitalized but is on the road to recovery. One student who started the semester on crutches is just limping now, so maybe she's healing.

The second exam is next week. Here's hoping my students' friends and relatives survive. Here's hoping my infirmed students can leave their sick beds, dragging an IV and oxygen tank with them if necessary.

Finally, here's hoping this isn't a sign of a larger curse that affects people who spend time with my students. I think I'll get my cough checked out, just to be on the safe side.

Weekend Update

2008-10-12T23:17:00.004-04:00

It's late on Sunday and I'm looking at the back end of another weekend shot to hell. I spent much of the weekend preparing for lectures next week and grading papers. I hate grading. I really hate grading piles of garbage. I know that I'm supposed to offer helpful comments and find at least one good thing in each paper, but when over half of the papers are repetitive, redundant, repetitive summaries of crap, it's hard to be nice. For some, I was reduced to something that sounded a lot like: "Dear Student X: In your paper, you managed to spell your name correctly. Congratulations. It's too bad that you misspelled my name and Fredrick Douglas (the subject of your paper). Better luck next time." I'll just say one thing: Frederick Douglass's name has 2 Es and 2 Ss.

My lecture is incomplete. I want to use clips of oral history interviews and have run into technical difficulties. The CD is a companion to a book about African Americans' memories of Jim Crow segregation. When I did this lecture 4 years ago, I popped the library's copy of the CD into my computer and presto! It loaded straight into Media Player. From there, I could embed individual sound files into my Power Point presentation and really looked like a real techno-badass teacher.

Fast forward 4 years to a new computer, new operating system, and new CD. I put the CD into my computer and I can't load it onto my hard drive. I can play the CD and I can create a playlist in Media Player, but I can't put the individual files onto my hard drive, which means I can't easily embed them into my Power Point presentation. I don't know if this is a copyright issue, a Vista issue, or just God's wrath raining down on me. Grrrr. Very frustrating. Now, instead of looking like a techno-badass professor, I'll look like a techno-idiot, trying to construct a coherent lecture while juggling at least 2 different pieces of equipment. I'm not giving up, even after a major techno meltdown last Thursday.

Late this evening, I checked my email from the northeastern post-industrial wasteland. Second on the list was: "Job Offer: Secret Shopper." I like to shop, I thought. I don't like to grade, but grading salespeople might actually be fun. Just so I don't have to read any papers about Fredrick Douglas waiting on people.

Politics Georgia-Style

2008-10-10T14:10:00.005-04:00

According to my trusty calendar, it's time for the Georgia State Fair, when folks from far and wide bring their oversized livestock and produce to the center of the state for a reminder of how simple life used to be. According to georgiastatefair.org, the fair is in Macon. Last time I checked, the state fairgrounds were in Perry, about 20 minutes south of Macon.

My only visit to the fairgrounds was for my last job in Georgia. In an effort to equalize travel for everyone, we had a statewide meeting in Perry, as close to the center of the state as you can get. The meeting was in a room that overlooked one of the indoor arenas. The first day wasn't bad. The second day, we learned that the room was not soundproof. Our meeting was interrupted by a loudspeaker announcing the beginning of some sort of horse competition. The rest of our meeting was punctuated by "So, let's hear it for..." followed by applause. We soon learned the room wasn't smell-proof either. We didn't have any more meetings at the fairgrounds.

According to my local paper, Georgia's candidates for US Senate were treated to a similar reception during their debate at the fair last night. The paper reports that "a rowdy crowd of 300 cheered, jeered, and often drowned out the candidates." Sitting Senator Saxby Chambliss apparently had a huge "Kick Me" sign on, as the other candidates criticized his support of the recent bail-out package. Their attacks were supported by "backers, most of them bused in from Atlanta." Leave it to the damn eco-conscious Atlanta carpetbaggers to ruin a perfectly good rural folk hootenanny.

But Chambliss wasn't without supporters. Scattered throughout the crowd, people who apparently drove their own cars to the fair "waved 'Saxby' signs and offered up sustained 'boos'" when another candidate mentioned Barack Obama. One woman even "hollered, 'Bomb Obama!'" That's classy, real classy. I'm guessing the woman is very familiar with "being bombed."

While the debate crowd grew more and more partisan and less and less dignified, "outside the cavernous arena, fairgoers munched on funnel cake and pork butt on a stick." Now I consider myself a good Georgian, but hell if I know what "pork butt . . . on a steeek" is. Unfortunately, the fair's website doesn't explain it either. After further research (which was a really good use of my time), I learned that pork butt on a stick is a member of the barbecue family, like a shiskabob of pork butt. I just know that there has never been a day when I've thought, "I'd sure like a pig's ass on a stick right about now. And a side of funnel cake. That would really hit the spot." I also know that if I ever form a band, I'm calling it, "Pork Butt on a Stick."

If you ask me, sounds like there was a lot of ass-chewing both inside and outside the "cavernous arena." Almost makes me wish I'd been in Perry last night, and I assure you that I've never made that statement before.

Straight to Hell, Do Not Pass Go

2008-10-06T14:32:00.002-04:00

These are troubled times. The US and overseas economies are hanging on by their collective fingernails, the Presidential election is sliding into a morass of name-calling and back-stabbing, and Orlando Bloom is still galavanting around saving orphans and not making any new movies. Troubled times, I say.

But, the worst sign of all, a true omen of the impending apocalypse, a "bend over and kiss your ass good-bye" harbinger if there ever was one:

This movie was #1 in the US box office last weekend. Ouch, I'm in actual physical pain. Seriously. Real. Physical. Pain. We can't afford a tank of gas, but we can afford tickets to watch talking dogs? Really? I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone, but those dogs can't really talk. What's next? A full-length feature film starring the Aflac duck? At least that would be entertaining because that duck can really talk. Seriously.

Image from: http://3disneyboys.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/beverly_hills_chihuahua.jpg

Back in Business

2008-10-04T08:46:00.002-04:00

Greetings from my new home computer! I'd include a picture, but I'm still working out the interface between my computer and my camera. I trust they'll be good friends before long. Although the camera and computer are still negotiating the terms of their relationship, I successfully managed to load MS Office, iTunes, printer drivers, and virus protection yesterday. For most people on the planet, these are relatively easy procedures. With my extensive history of killing computers softly with software, I'm always amazed when things go smoothly.

So far so good with the new stalwart companion. I'm adjusting to Vista and stiffer keys. The base is also "thicker" than my old computer so I'm pretty sure I'm at grave risk for a crippling case of carpel tunnel. I'm also adjusting to a squattier screen, forcing me to scoll up and down a lot more. The new computer has a built-in remote-looking thing next to the keyboard so I can easily watch movies. As if I need more encouragement to procrastinate.

I think my computer and I will be good friends. I notice that I'm not deafened by fan noise nor am I forced to wear asbestos gloves to avoid burning my fingers. All improvements in my book. And the sound system is better, probably because it's not competing with a loud fan. By "fan," I mean a whirring sound, not someone standing next to my desk yelling, "Go computer! Woohoo!" That would be really annoying.

So, after a week that left me feeling disorganized and completely off my game, I feel my life coming back on track. My errant flash drive came home mid-week and things really started to improve. I've decided that I can't ever lose that flash drive again.

Trash as a Metaphor

2008-09-29T15:24:00.003-04:00

Today, I drove into work. Yes, I know it's Monday and I usually work at home on Mondays. Over the weekend, my computer froze up and slipped into a coma. Since this was the second meltdown in 4 months, I put a DNR order in place. I tried not to freak out, knowing that I'd lost my back-up last week. I took the machine to Best Buy where the Geek Squad recovered my data. My former stalwart companion is now in pieces, its brain in a plastic ziploc bag, and its data on both a DVD and flash drive.

I've ordered a new computer that should arrive by the end of the week. In the meantime, I'm forced to work in my office. It's been a long time since I've worked in an office. A really long time. Like 10 years. It's a strange experience. There are other people around and I can't work in my pajamas all day. There aren't any windows in my office and I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic. I'm not sure I like this. Anyway, I'm working through my lecture and trying to get ready for tomorrow.

I'm also spending the week with Big City friends, so I don't have to do a daily commute. When I left this morning, I hoped that I had everything I'd need to live and work away from home for 4 days. I remembered my students' exams, I remembered my books, I remembered the oh-so-important flash drive, and I remembered to take the trash out. After making 3-4 trips up and down the stairs, I got in the car and headed out.

About 15 minutes down the road, I remembered the trash that was still in my trunk. "Crap," I thought, "How perfect is this? I have lots of trash and I can't get rid of it. I just keep hauling it around, stinking up my life." I'm not sure I've ever managed a more perfect metaphor. I also appreciated the irony of my trash riding in the trunk with my students' exams. I wondered who was winning the stench war in my trunk.

Rather than worrying about computers, being away from home, or any number of other things, I decided to worry about the trash. When I arrived at the parking deck, I noted that there were trash cans with flip lids on each floor, right next to the elevators. While others pulled into the first space they could find, I drove straight to the upper floor. I parked right next to the trash can, popped the trunk, popped the top of the trash can, and secreted my bag of trash into the trash can. Problem solved. I'm hoping that this concrete act translates into metaphor and my luck changes soon.

Train Wreck

2008-09-26T08:28:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was one of those days. It was the kind of day that makes you wonder why you ever got out of bed. As far as I can tell, it all started the night before. After driving to and from the Big City to give a make-up exam, I returned home and got a late start on my lecture. For 5 hours, I struggled to pull the material together. I needed to cover antebellum reform and the Mexican-American War. After 5 hours, I decided to jetison the war. There's always the next class.

Turning my attention to antebellum reform, I stubbornly decided to revise my rather dry take on the anti-slavery movement. I decided to talk about African American abolitionists, and not just Frederick Douglass. Trouble is that I didn't have all the material I needed at my fingertips. At 10:30PM, I was still looking for the "perfect quote." I called a friend and babbled incoherently about being disorganized and unprepared. She advised me to call in "overwhelmed." I decided to keep trying to make my lecture work. By 11:30, I decided that life was too short. Exhausted and completely frazzled, I put the mess together as best I could and went to bed, not at all convinced that I was actually going to make it to work the next day.

At 6AM, I got up, determined to face the beast and get through the day. I went over my lecture, made some last minute changes, printed my copy of the powerpoint slides, and headed for the shower. Miracle of miracles, my hair actually looked halfway decent. I foolishly thought my luck was changing.

Before I left, I remembered that I needed to save my lecture to my jump drive. I dug though my purse - no jump drive. I emptied my purse - no jump drive. I repeated the procedure with my bookbag. No jump drive. Fortunately, everything on the drive is on my computer so I didn't "lose" any data. Fortunately, I have a back-up jump drive. I quickly saved my lecture and was out the door, hoping that my lost jump drive was in my last classroom of the day.

All was going relatively well. During the first 45 minutes of my 90-minute commute, I talked through some rough parts of my lecture, ironing out the transitions and explanations. I turned on to the interstate, drove about 5 miles and stopped. Stopped for a long time. Stopped long enough to discover that Big City radio stations have completely given up on traffic reports, especially for post rush hour wrecks on this "lesser" interstate. I sat long enough to discover that I was too exhausted to try to figure out an alternate route into town, and to discover that my cell phone was running out of juice and I didn't have the phone number for Big City University. I tried Information, asked for Big City University by name, and was connected to a phone that just rang and rang and rang. I pictured a lone phone in a soundproof room, sign on the door reads, "Gag phone for Information."

Increasingly exasperated as the minutes ticked by, I called a friend who found the real number for BCU. I successfully passed on the message and cancelled my first class. Then, as always happens, the clouds parted, the angels sang, and we were traveling at normal speeds again. I considered turning around and going home. I really did. In the end, I decided to persevere. Why deny the gods their opportunity to screw up the rest of my day? I arrived at BCU about 10 minutes before my class would have started. But, the die was cast and I was in no mental shape to lecture. I headed to my office to try to regroup. Nothing like feeling totally defeated at 10:50AM.

At the appointed time, I went to my second class which is in the same room as the first. Very reliable students were noticeably absent. I think they saw the cancellation sign on the door and assumed their class was cancelled as well. I decided to go forward when about 2/3 of them showed up.

I put in my jump drive, turned on the projector and launched into my lecture. About 3 slides in, I discovered that the lecture on the screen didn't match the lecture in my notes. Apparently, I'd saved an earlier version of the lecture to the jump drive. I tried to smooth over the problem, and realized that I'd just have to confess to the students that I was disorganized. I tried to make a joke of it: "Usually, it's you all who are surprised by the slides on the screen. Today, it's me. Let's see what's next..."

After class, I quickly got the slides in order and headed to my next class. As far as I can remember, it went smoothly. I don't think there were any major malfunctions in that class. Feeling a bit more confident, I headed to my last class. Got in the room, got my stuff out, and started searching for my lost jump drive. It was nowhere to be found. Fighting panic, I got out my purse to retrieve the back-up. It was also missing. I dug around furiously and it wasn't there. So, back up 2 flights of stairs to my other classroom where I found the damn thing still sticking out of the computer. Mark my words, from now on, I'm emailing my lecture notes to myself. No more jump drives - ever!!

The last class seemed to go smoothly. I made it through my lecture on antebellum reform, including some discussion about the temperance movement. After a long day, I made my way home. In one of my better ironic moments, I cracked open a bottle of red wine and toasted the temperance movement. I then proceeded to get drunk enough to forget the day. At 11:15PM, I headed to bed and passed out.

Today, I'm going to pick up the pieces, finish grading exams, and try to find enough gas to fill up my car.

Getting Dumber

2008-09-24T07:56:00.002-04:00

The other day, I read Leonard Pitts's editorial in the local paper. I like Pitts. I can see where others might disagree with his views, but I like his reasoned approach to relevant topics. If nothing else, he makes me think, which isn't such a bad thing.

In this week's editorial, Pitts focused on recent reports from Wasilla, Alaska, claiming that former mayor Sarah Palin once asked the local librarian to remove certain books from the library shelves. Pitts used this report as a springboard to comment on "anti-intellectualism" in the United States. He forcefully argued that whether one agrees with a book or not, it's important to read. He concludes with:

"We are becoming the stupid giant of the planet Earth: richer than Midas, mightier than Thor, dumber than rocks. Which makes us a danger to the planet - and to ourselves. This country cannot continue to prosper and embrace stupidity. The two are fundamentally incompatible." (Leonard Pitts, Athens - Banner Herald, September 22, 2008)

I have to say that I'm on Pitts's side in this debate, though I think the "big stupid giant of planet Earth" may spring forth from different origins. Instead of being born from a complex argument against intellectualism (which seems contradictory), I think the giant is the result of just plain laziness. After grading 170 undergraduate exams, I'm appalled at some of my students' performance. I realize that I'm teaching a required course that isn't at the top of my students' lists, and I realize that not everyone likes history, but that doesn't excuse some of the absolute crap answers that litter the pages of these exams. Some of my students have yet to buy the books for class, much less READ the books for class.

Last week, I explained their paper assignment. It's a 4-5 page paper that requires that they read an entire 250-page book. That's right, the entire book. Gasp. I've given them a 2-month heads-up on this assignment. In other words, they have 2 months to read 250 pages. I feel sure that some will find an online review and/or summary and try to forego the actual reading part of this assignment. Or some will just make shit up from the title, hoping that I won't notice. Something like: "My paper is on Lakota Woman. It's about a woman who is a Lakota Indian. She had superpowers. She could fly and shoot fire from her fingertips. She was a real badass."

Others will read the first 20 pages of the book and try to write their papers. I don't think my students will refuse to read the book because they have formulated a complex critique of intellectualism in this country. I think they're just lazy. Either way, they're contributing to Pitts's "stupid giant of planet Earth."

But, I also know that some will actually read the book. Yesterday, one student actually had the library copy of the book, and had a bookmark to mark her place. The paper isn't due for 2 months and she'd started the book. I almost cried. In another class, I have a perpetual texter. I've called his attention to it, told him to put his phone away, and he persists. One day, when I was lecturing at a snail's pace, he pulled out _The Things They Carried_ by Tim O'Brien and started to read. I didn't say a word. I was so happy that he was reading a real live book.

So, here's to Leonard Pitts for having the guts to remind us that reading isn't obsolete or dead. I will continue, in my little way, to be David to the stupid giant of planet Earth.

Saturday in Late September

2008-09-20T14:25:00.010-04:00

It's a beautiful early fall day here in the southland. Check out the blue sky:

I can't take a picture of the low humidity and comfortable temperatures, but trust me, it's a beautiful day. What am I doing on such a gorgeous day? Nice of you to ask. I'm staring at these:

Yep, that's approximately 170 blue book exams. The damn grading fairies have gone on strike, so it looks like I'll have to grade all these exams all by myself. Just looking at them (even in this picture) makes me nauseous and gives me a headache. I've been feeling woozy, headachy, and run down for about a week now and really wish it would go away. I thought it was stress, but now I'm wondering if there I've caught some sort of nasty bug. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that I can't seem to find enough hours in the day to my work and I'm not sleeping or eating very well. Nah, can't be any of those things.

Despite not feeling well, I dragged myself to the grocery store, figuring the only way to solve the eating problem was to, well, eat. I decided I'd make one of my favorite pasta dishes for dinner. It's really tasty and I think I could use a feeling of accomplishment right about now. Things started to look up when I checked out at the store and got this for free:

Almost made up for the staggering nausea. I'm seriously thinking that I need to spend the rest of the day lying here:

Eating these:

And reading this:

Exam Fall-Out

2008-09-19T09:04:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, I returned to the classroom for the first time since my students took their exam. Some students were in good spirits and seemed to be relieved to have the exam behind them. These students were in the minority. More of my students fell into one of three categories:

1) Surly McPissed: These students were noticably irritated about something. I can't say for sure if I was the source of their irritation, but they were less than cordial. One of my good students was positively seething in the front row, slamming her computer shut at the end of class and bolting from the room. Others chose to express their displeasure by whispering to their neighbors and scowling. One group of boys were particularly irritated when I neglected to say that they didn't need to copy down a bunch of population figures I'd posted in my powerpoint lecture. One slammed down his pen and looked completely exasperated. I felt like saying, "Dude, I'm saving you some work here. If you'd like, I can make you memorize the population of the top 10 US cities in 1820. Would that make you happier?" Instead of doing this, I called on him, by name. I never underestimate the power of learning students' names. He muttered a half-right answer and paid attention for the rest of class. Message: You can be pissed at me, but don't disrupt the entire class. And I know who you are - and all of your little friends, too.

2) Mr. or Ms. Damage Control: While Surly McPissed shut down for the day, I had other students who positively came to life. Students who'd never said anything in class before contributed wholeheartedly to discussion. And they weren't just blowing smoke. The regular contributors kept swiveling around to see who was stealing their thunder. The New Talkers were joined by a legion of students who are now much more invested in taking good notes in class. I'm slowing to a snail's pace in lecture, but I'm willing to trade pace for attention any day.

3) Absent McMissing: In 3 out of 4 classes, I noticed regular attendees who were noticeably absent. Again, I know the world doesn't revolve around me and my class, but I can't help but think that their absence was related to the exam. Maybe they decided to give themselves the day off. Maybe they couldn't face the class again. Maybe they're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and are under the care of medical professionals. Who knows? I checked my class rosters and none of them has dropped the class. I guess I'll wait until next week and see if they decide to materialize.

I figure that I'll get students re-acclimated to the class just in time to give the exams back, thus touching off a whole new round of responses.

Teaching

2008-09-16T07:07:00.003-04:00

I've been doing a lot of thinking about teaching lately. I've also been doing a lot of being exhausted and generally not feeling well. Perhaps that contributed to my general malaise about teaching.

After grading the first round of papers from my four classes of up to 46 students, I've discovered that my students have a wide range of abilities. For the assignment, they had to take a short primary document written in 1777 and answer 3 questions. The answers to the first 2 questions were in the book. They had to think about the 3rd question. So, this assignment let me evaluate if they'd read, if they understood what they read, and if they could take one step beyond the book to analyze what they read.

I learned that some of my students can write beautifully, presenting a thoughtful and organized set of ideas that not only summarize the material, but offers an interpretation. Others can summarize well but are reluctant to analyze, because analysis requires going beyond what's in the text to offer an informed opinion. Much easier and safer to repeat what's in the book. And, finally, there are the ones who just plain missed the boat. They either completely misinterpreted the document or their writing is so convoluted that it's difficult to know what they're trying to convey.

My job would be a lot easier if students grouped into these categories in each of my classes. In other words, all of the good writers would be in one class, and so on. I know I'm not the first person to say this, but it's challenging to figure out an approach that meets the needs of all students in the room. If I teach to the "A" students, I lose the "C's" and "D's". If I keep the "C's" engaged, they might become "B's", but then I've lost the "A's".

My sense is that I've been lecturing too fast for about a third of my students. Last week, I slowed down in one class and found myself going so slowly that I lost my place several times. The pace also encouraged students to try to write down every word I said, which made things even slower. I lost quite a few "A's" along the way. One fellow even took out a book and started reading, and I didn't blame him.

At that point, I became very discouraged. Here I was, in a college classroom at a major research university, and my students had no idea how to take notes from a lecture. I wondered how many of my students in my other classes required a lecture at that pace. That thought snowballed into, "Holy crap. We're 5 weeks into the semester and it's possible that about half of my students haven't understood a damn thing I've said or done."

I was even more discouraged when a good student approached me after my last lecture. She said, "I don't think you realize how much material you just covered." Again, I thought, "I have to teach all of US History in one semester. If you think that my 45-minute narrowly-focused lectures cover too much material, we're in deep trouble."

I know that I'll have some students who just won't try because they just don't care. There's not much I can do about them. But, I also know that I'll have some students who decided that they hated history in high school. They decided that they'd hate this class before they ever walked in the room. My goal is to try to change their opinions. But, to change their minds, they need to be willing to engage in historical questions, not simply memorization. They need to be willing to work and think, not simply wait for the next spoonful of information. They need to be willing to read. I'm not kidding when I say that more than a few of my students haven't even tried to get the books for this class and seem surprised that I'm actually going to hold them accountable for the assignments in the books.

While I continue to try to work this out, I'm checking out job announcements for permanent positions. I sense that a large part of my frustration is directly related to the fact that I'm only teaching captive audiences - students who are forced to take this very broad survey course and could care less about history. Again, we're 5 weeks in and I'm very tired.

Test Anxiety

2008-09-14T06:35:00.004-04:00

I'm not having the time of my life this weekend. I have stacks of student papers to grade, I need to figure out my lecture for next week, I have a badly neglected consulting project to work on, and my students have their first exam on Tuesday. I'd planned for this to be a much better weekend. I only have to prepare one lecture instead of two, the exam was finished last week, and I could use the rest. But, instead, I'm anxious about their exam.

I went through this same agony last semester. I suppose I take an exam as a sign of how well I'm teaching, and I don't want to fail. Last semester, I gave my students a study guide that included a list of key terms (people, places, events) and a list of possible essay questions. I learned that my students drove themselves crazy memorizing details about the key terms, completely ignoring historical significance and connections between the terms. In other words, they missed the point.

This semester, I'm trying a different approach. I've posed key questions at the beginning of my lectures and identified specific review questions in the textbook. I've instructed students to study those questions. I've also advised them to learn the material as if they're learning a story, a story about change over time. I've instructed them to fit significant people, places, and events into these stories and into their questions. I didn't provide a list of key terms. I had them do an exercise in class to demonstrate what I meant.

My confidence in this approach sagged when even my good students asked if they needed to know specific people, places, and events. I'm now convinced that they are constructing stories that sound like: First, there were Native Americans. Then, Europeans came. Eventually, they set up colonies that declared independence from Great Britain. They wrote a constitution and pushed Indians west. The end.

Alternatively, because I've basically said to study everything, my best students are driving themselves crazy trying to learn every single little detail about everything in lecture and in the reading. I've told them that I don't aim to trick them and that if they've been in class, taken good notes, and kept up with the reading, they should do fine on the exam. Because it's the first exam, my good students don't trust me or themselves.

Here's the thing: I'm still trying to figure out how to help students study without telling them what's on the exam. I could tell my good students to just study their class notes and they'll be fine - because they've taken good notes. But, the vast majority of my students simply copy my powerpoint slides, even though I've told them that they need to write down more than what's in front of them. When I do powerpoint, I list important terms (people, events, places), but I don't fill in details on the slide. That's what I do in lecture. So, if all you do is copy the slides, you have a list but nothing else. Too many of my students haven't figured this out, or don't care. I put up a slide and they all start writing furiously, not listening to a damn thing that I'm saying and treating me like a distraction. Then, once they're done copying the slide, they sit and daydream until I change the slide when like Pavolv's dog, they start copying again.

I'll be the first to admit that I've lectured too quickly for 3 of my 4 classes and I plan to slow down. I also plan to blatantly emphasize important points. I'm going to stop short of saying, "You need to write this down." I'm also going to fight the urge to give them a list of key terms. The good students will figure out what's on the exam.

In the meantime, I just have to try to buttress my own confidence that some of my students will pass this first exam. Then, on Thursday, I'll have to manage the post-test reaction. I predict sullen faces and a new wave of anxiety in lecture as students try to write down every single word that I say, forgetting that they have a textbook if they miss something in lecture. Maybe one day, I'll get used to this.

Crow for my Birthday

2008-09-08T16:09:00.006-04:00

This morning, I couldn't seem to shake off the residual sleepy feeling from a not-so-restful night's sleep and I had some inexplicable aches. I also knew that I had an entire lecture to write because procrastination got the better of me. Actually, it wasn't procrastination. It was my futile search for something interesting to talk about. After much searching, I knew I'd have to write a rather dry lecture about the Constitutional Convention. In other words, I was not a ray of sunshine when I rolled out of bed on this, my 40th birthday.

After about three hours of work, I donned my yoga clothes and headed to the gym. Before this semester started, I made a promise to myself that no matter how crazy life got, I was going to stick to my gym routine. My favorite yoga instructor cancelled her class last Monday so I was looking forward to this morning's class.

We started with some stretching poses that we usually do later in the class, so that threw me off initally. I could just hear my muscles saying, "Umm, don't you want to warm up a bit before downward facing dog?" My shoulders were most vocal. This instructor is very fond of downward facing dog. She thinks it's restful. During a particularly vigorous class, I agree with her. At the beginning of class, I'm not so fond of my downward facing dog. It's more of a downward facing tired mutt. Anyway, we continued on and my muscles stopped complaining. By the 3rd or 4th dog, my shoulders were actually relaxing and enjoying themselves.

As I twisted myself into various positions, I thought, "To hell with being 40. A year ago, I couldn't do half of these things. A year ago, I was in pain every time I left this class. Now, I can easily keep up and I actually feel good when I leave." As I rested my forehead on my shins in a forward bend, I glanced around and took note of all the people who looked younger than me who were groaning and grimacing as they struggled to reach beyond their knees. Yes, I know, yoga is not a competition. I don't care. I kicked ass, decidedly younger ass.

About 45 minutes into the class, the instructor had us sit in a squat, then put our hands on the floor and raise our hips into the air. I knew where she was going with this. She was getting us ready to go into crow pose. Basically, it's a headstand tripod with your head off the floor. She did this in the very first class that I attended and I failed miserably. I can do a headstand tripod without any problem. I couldn't imagine being able to balance my entire body on my upper arms and hands without my head on the floor. I also couldn't imagine why anyone would want to do that.

Over the past year, I've tried to do a crow many times. I can get one foot off the floor, but can't get the balance right to get the other foot off the floor. I know that I need to lean forward, but I feel like I'll topple forward and smash my face on the floor. This is not something that I want to experience. I also find that I don't enjoy the sensation of my bony knees digging into my flabby upper arms.

Today, I was determined. I got into crow prep with my knees on my upper arms and my head off the floor. I inched my feet together and got one foot off the floor. Then, I heard a voice from above. OK, not above, from the front of the room. The instructor said, "Lengthen and flatten your back." That was all I needed. I did as instructed, leaned forward, lifted my foot, and I was up, perfectly balanced on my hands - for all of 15 seconds. But it was 15 glorious seconds! My knees didn't bother my arms as much because, much to my surprise, I have some muscle tone in my upper arms. Who knew?

As I continued on with the class, I thought about my friend who went rock climbing for her 40th birthday. I respected her determination to try something challenging and overcome her fear. I knew that I wasn't going to go rock climbing, but I did overcome my fear of smashing my face into the floor. And if that's not celebrating turning 40, I don't know what is.

(Images from:http://z.about.com/d/yoga/1/0/r/bigdowndog.jpg and http://z.about.com/d/yoga/1/0/J/crow.jpg Maybe for my next trick, I'll figure out how to take pictures of myself in these poses.)

Good-bye, 39!

2008-09-07T15:20:00.003-04:00

Today is my last day to be 39. As of 2AM, or there-bouts, I'll turn 40. How am I spending my last day on this side of the hill? I'm trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do in my classes for the next week. Today's topic: The Constitution & Early Republic. That's 1787 to approximately 1828. My problem isn't too much information, it's too little that I find interesting. Articles of Confederation, blah, blah, blah ... rise of political parties ... blah, blah, blah, federalists vs anti-federalists, blah, blah, blah. Major snoozefest. I'm planning to focus on the 3/5 Compromise and gradual emancipation. When in doubt, stop talking about dead boring white guys.

The first few weeks of the semester have been draining and exhausting. I'm reworking lectures from last semester and had the audacity to hold students accountable for the reading assignments. As of last week (Week 3 of a 16-week semester), about a quarter of them still didn't have the required books for my class. Many whined that "the bookstore didn't have the book." One student claimed that he had looked in every bookstore imaginable. So, I imagined all the possible places for a bookstore. Imagine a bookstore in the sky, he looked there. Imagine a bookstore underground, he looked there. Imagine a bookstore up his ass, he looked there.

After conducting my own investigation in the real bookstore, I discovered that the campus bookstore at Big City University does, in fact, suck. They only ordered enough books for half of my students, and seemed to think that I was unreasonable to expect otherwise. My students could also get their books from 2 other nearby bookstores, but those stores also ran out of books. My students could also get the books online, but very few of them seem to know that you can use the internet to buy more than iTunes and porn.

So, what did my students do? Did they ask their classmates if they could borrow their books? No. Most of them in this predicament threw up their hands and figured that they just couldn't do the assigned reading and paper assignment because they didn't have their own personal copy of the book. Many of them assumed that I'd accept their paper when and if their personal copy of the book ever materialized. No, I said. I explained that they needed to bring me documentation that they had tried to get the book before the paper due date, and I would accept their paper at the next class. Not when their book arrived, at the next class. So far, I'm not impressed with my students' problem-solving abilities.

I explained that the class didn't stop and wait for them. Without access to the book, they were 3 weeks behind in the reading. At that point, some of them turned white and looked like their bowels had just turned to water. Others shrugged ambivalently. I'm no psychic, but I predict that they won't be my best students.

Tomorrow, I get to explain that I'm not going to prepare a study guide that lays out exactly what they need to study for the exam. I've tried the study guide approach before and found that it only encourages students to study history as a set of random names, events, and places that have absolutely no relationship to each other. Even I'd hate history if I had to memorize a bunch of random stuff. So, instead, I'm drawing their attention to the assigned reading in the textbook and my lectures. Reading and lectures that they should have been keeping up with. Reading that I'm sure none of them has even started.

I know what you're asking - aren't these people in college? And, what does any of this have to do with your birthday? Well, I'm giving myself a birthday present. I'm heading off the avalanche of student test anxiety by cancelling class on Thursday. I'll explain to the little darlins that I'm sure that they haven't been keeping up with the reading so I'm giving them extra time to study. When the next exam rolls around, they'll know that they need to keep up or they get what they deserve.

Yes, they're in college, and yes, they should expect to keep up with the reading. Yes, I should just plow ahead and tell them to shut up. Thing is, I don't want to spend my birthday week dealing with a bunch of hostile whiners. This is so much more about me than it is about them. Happy birthday to me!

Busy Women

2008-08-31T19:10:00.008-04:00

During my trip to Savannah last month, I picked up a free publication that looked intriguing. It was "The Little Black Book for Every Busy Woman" (emphasis in original). Truth be told, it was my first night in the city and I'd ventured to a neighborhood brew pub for dinner. As I finished my meal, a thunderstorm rolled into town, so I decided to belly up to the bar and wait out the storm. Looking around for something to keep me occupied, I picked up the "Little Black Book." So, when I say the publication was "intriguing," I mean that in the "stranded by the weather, in a bar alone with nothing else to read" sense.

The Little Black Book is a free 33-page pamphlet with suggestions for Arts & Leisure, Business & Finance, Dining & Entertainment, Education & Organizations, Hair & Skin Care, Health, Home Essentials, Weddings, and a Calendar of Events. Apparently, if you are a busy woman, you are busy in many, many different ways. Not only does the pamphlet highlight local events, it also spotlights local businesses who are kind enough to pay for advertising (thus explaining how this little gem can be free.)

So, what's in the Little Black Book? Well, under Arts and Leisure, there's an ad for Savannah Together, where they'll help the busy woman find the man or woman of her dreams. They have an 80% success rate. Tellingly, they do not divulge the total number. Ever notice that? Maybe they've only helped 8 people. Yes, in the immortal words of Air Supply, that's "8 less lonely people in the world," but still it's only 8. And if you're really busy, do you really have time for their personalized and confidential screening?

Also in Arts & Leisure: The 5th Annual Cruise for Critters. That's right, seems the busy woman is never too busy to go on a 3-hour sightseeing cruise. Wonder if they have time to be stranded on a deserted island with "Gilligan, the Skipper too. The Millionaire, and his wife, The movie star, the professor and MaryAnn." Although the cruise raises money for the local Pet Rescue, one should note that pets are not allowed on the cruise. How rude.

If a pet-free pet cruise isn't for you, there's WaterHorse photography, specializing in equine photography. Because the busy woman apparently has lots of money. And she's never too busy to own and keep a horse, and then pay a professional photographer to take pictures of her friend, Flicka.

In Business & Finance, there's the predictable ads for investment services. One asks, "Wouldn't it be nice to have your investments aligned with your values?" Um, no. I don't need to invest any more money in Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom paraphrenalia.

Moving ahead, the only service advertised under Health is "Breast Imaging." No, not Breast Imagining, that's in the busy man's guide. No, this service detects breast cancer. I'm all for detecting and treating breast cancer, but don't busy women have other health concerns? Seriously. There are 4 listings under "Weddings," and only one under "Health." If this is what busy is, I don't want any part of it.

After all the spotlighted businesses, we really get to the good part. The Busy Woman of the Year 2008 Award. This year's winner runs a local child advocacy center, went to Ground Zero after the attacks on 9/11, raised 2 children, married twice, and became a foster parent. As the recipient of the Busy Woman of the Year Award, she wins a fashionable handbag, a new haircut, a trip to a spa, a one-night stay in one of the city's mid-range hotels, and some fake eyelashes and a fragrant candle. No, I'm not making up those last two items. Good for her! Way to go!

I have to say that there are some contests that I'd like to win. Don't get me wrong, I stay busy. But I don't want to be known as the "busiest woman of the year," and I certainly don't want to compete to be the busiest woman of the year. Biggest Slack-Ass of the Year - now there's a contest I can get behind (so to speak), especially if the winner gets to have dinner with Johnny Depp and/or Orlando Bloom. Fake eyelashes and fragrant candles are poor, poor substitutes.

The last few pages of the pamphlet are calendar pages, where the busy woman can note "anniversaries, birthdays, special events and me time." Apparently, when you're really busy, you have to schedule "me time." Lord, don't ever let me be that busy.

If you're not already busy enough, the calendar comes with some dates already filled out with charity events and networking opportunities, so you can either feel like you're not already busy enough, or you can feel really guilty because you're not going to the "Pink Tea Celebrate Life Breast Cancer Awareness Event."

The calendar also includes lesser-known "holidays." While I'm not particularly interested in celebrating "Cheer Up the Lonely Day," I could work a celebration of "Chocolate Day" into my busy schedule. Likewise, I'm happy to find time for "Lazy Day" and "National Ice Cream Sandwich Day." "Global Forgiveness Day" and "National Trail Mix Day" - not so much.

I thought about celebrating "Fight Procrastination Day" this Friday, but I think I'll put it off.

One Person's Bias...

2008-08-30T14:52:00.003-04:00

The other day, the local paper headlined an article about a survey at the local university. According to the paper, the university contracted with the American Council of Trustees and Alumni to conduct a survey of intellectual diversity in classrooms. ACTA is a "nonpartisan organization that agitates for intellectual diversity in the classroom." ACTA sent a web-based survey to 14,820 students last spring. 1220 bothered to respond.

What did they want to know? Well, they wanted to find out if "professors have sometimes inappropriately presented their political or religious views in class," or if students felt that they "personally had a class where they felt they had to agree with the professor's views to get a good grade." According to the results, approximately 25% of the respondents felt like they had to agree with a professor to get a good grade. Only 13% felt like their professors inappropriately presented their own views in class.

According to the paper, the university asked ACTA to conduct the survey "in part [in] response to persistent fears among Republican lawmakers that college professors are aggressively pushing their liberal views on students, trying to reach impressionable young adults and change their minds." Apparently, these lawmakers believe that I and my peers have a lot more power and influence than we actually have. Brainwashing young adults would require that the young adults pay attention and listen. Tall order in today's classrooms.

Getting past the obvious problems with methodology (opt-in web survey, poor response rate, those with a problem more likely to respond), I feel the need to get a few things off my chest. Here's the thing: I personally guard against presenting my own views in class. I'm pretty sure that my students can guess which side of the fence I'm on, but in class, I try to take the Daily Show approach and pick on everyone equally. I keep my political bumper stickers in my home office. I try to encourage class discussion where students respect each other's opinions, even if they disagree. And, I try to give assignments where students are free to formulate an argument of their choosing. Their grade depends on their ability to support that argument with relevant and credible evidence.

After reading this article, I'm pretty sure that I'd be accused of liberal bias in the classroom. Because, the thing is, if you're looking for bias, you'll find it. For some, the very mention of African American history, women's history, Native American history, and the history of other minority groups smacks of liberalism. To suggest that dead white guys weren't geniouses who came up with brilliant reforms out of thin air can be seen as blasphemy. In my classes, I don't discount the accomplishments of important generals, politicians, and statesmen, but I also try to present a more complicated picture where those fellows exist in a larger world. Is this unacceptable liberal bias? Perhaps to some.

Most of all, I want students to think. Not to think like me, but to engage with questions of race, gender, ethnicity, and class. I also try to show that even within those categories, there's a continuum that runs from liberal to conservative - and that those definitions change over time.

One last point about the student who feels punished for disagreeing with their professor. I will freely admit that there are some cases where professors fail students who don't agree with them. We had a notorious case in the northeastern post-industrial wasteland. But, there's another side to this issue. Sometimes, in my experience, students don't know what they think and they're not necessarily willing to take the time to figure it out. So, they simply agree with me because they think that's what I want. Would these students say that they felt pressured to agree with me? I don't know. I would hope not.

OK, one more point. Some things are not conservative or liberal, they're just plain wrong. For example, if a student argues that European imperialism was a 100% positive experience for native peoples in Africa, North America, and South America, well, I'm going to challenge that position, even if the student presents evidence. I don't think the student's position is either conservative or liberal, it's just ignorant, simplistic, and offensive. However, the student could perceive that my insistence on a more complex analysis is too liberal.

So, I guess my final point is that without finding out more about the respondents' experience, this survey doesn't say much. But, maybe I'm just biased.