against the grain

We tried a new bread the other day, a multigrain affair, and it was a hit. So, when I went to the grocery store on Monday, I was going to get another loaf.

My wife wrote down "9 grain bread" on the grocery list. In the bread isle, they had 9 grain, 12 grain, and 15 grain. I picked up the nine, because I trust my wife...but I had suspicions.

When I got home, I checked the empty bag from our last loaf, and, indeed, it was a twelve grain. For at least the next week and a half, we are doomed to have less grains than we got used to with our old bread.

I feel slow, sluggish, and a little ripped off. I'm also curious as to which grains they omitted in order to get the final number down to nine. Were they vital grains? Did they have any dynamic physiological properties? Were they, for example, endorphin releasers?

And what about that 15 grain? Is it a better bread? Will the extra grains give me more vitality? Or is it like a fifteen year Scotch, where the higher number of grains equate to added complexity of taste and aroma?

Will other bakeries try to follow suit? Will we, as a result, suffer grain inflation? Will Wonder, in an attempt to gain lost marketshares, come out with a 20 grain bread? Aunt Millie responding with a 30 grain? Will the grain war escalate?

This raises some vital questions. How many grains, for instance, can one concievably fit into a loaf of bread? What is the maximum grain threshold? Will we put our great scientists to work on constructing an omni-grain bread? Do our enemies have more grains than us? Is there a grain gap? A grain drain?

Will this desire to increas the grains in our bread lead to other scientific advancements? Do genetically modified grains count as a different grain? What about different varieties?

Will we further our astronomical searches in order to find extraterrestrial grains? Can we fit so many grains into a bread that it would, in its infinite denseness, collapse into itself, thus ripping the time-space fabric? Would it cause our universe to collapse into a single granule of grain?

Maybe the universe that we're in now is just some prior race's multigrain bread, which itself collapsed into a singularity, which then exploded at the "big (grain) bang." It's possible we could be living on what some prior beings considered to be a mere speck of bulghar wheat.

I think that must be the truth...I feel it in every grain of my existence.

spring break part two, or, stranger in a strange land

While I fully intended to spend all of spring break either sleeping, writing, or reading (okay, also drinking), I got called back into the world of composition, somewhere I wasn't really planning on venturing. I wanted to have a whole week where I didn't think of school at all, where the thought of student writing never crossed my mind. Of course, it didn't work out that way.

The week before break, I got an e-mail from a book representative wanting to know if I was interested in attending a symposium of college composition instructors. Apparently, my boss couldn't make it, my assistant boss couldn't make it, and they somehow worked their way down to me.

It is one of the strangest elements of my life that, now that I have a full-time position, I am continually courted by book representatives. When they heard that I was on a composition textbook subcommittee, they came out of the woodwork. I have had piles of texts sent my way, I have been interviewed at length about my teaching practices, I have had reps offer to take me out to lunch on them.

College textbooks is a major business, particularly when you're getting into the realm of anthologies, which can average around $75 a book. When you throw in the fact that courses like comp are required of every single student, a company can gain a whole lot of income by convincing a department to use their text. So it's not surprising that they try to latch on to every possible lead.

It does, however, feel weird to be the beneficiary of such behavior. It fits into my fully ambiguous feelings toward my class status. On one hand, I'm very much still very low on the totem pole within this university, this department...but these reps treat me like some tyrant who can change their lives with a nod of the head.

So when they asked me to go to this symposium, I expected either a sprawling "time-share sales pitch" or a pleading "how can we make ourselves worthy of you?" day of fawning. Personally, the prospect looked as promising as a root canal...but it was a line on the vita, they were covering all expenses, and they were paying me...which is always a tempting combination, hard to resist...so I went.

The symposium was at a hotel in Livonia MI...which is, as far as I can tell, a land of strip malls, chain restaurants, and subdivisions, sort of a Edward Sissorhands setting, only outside Detroit. The only other thing I know about the area is that the area UPN channel carries these really goofy ads for some big jewelry warehouse, where every single employee gathers for the closing shot and waves in perfect unison.

The perks of the trip were, on whole, not bad. We ate at a really good chain top-end Chinese restaurant, where I had several drinks and a kickin' lamb stir-fry on them. Afterward, we went to the hotel bar, and I got several Irish whiskeys on them. I then went to my relatively nice hotel room. The free hotel breakfast was so-so, but I guess you can't win them all.

The funny thing is that when the symposium started, the book reps made it quite clear that they were not going to try to sell us anything, and they in fact didn't want us to refer to any textbook or product by name...not even if it was theirs. They were, instead, very interested in getting a "state of the art" of comp teaching from us.

So we talked about composition, the struggles we face in teaching it, our approaches, preconceptions we face, and all that. I met some really nice and interesting people, including the heads of several writing programs...so there was in fact networking.

As much as I learned about composition teachers, I realized that I am not one of them...and I do not really think like they do, for the most part. For me, the main value to the symposium was the chance to look inside their heads, see how they think, see how they view the world. I started to try to formulate how I saw these people, how they say themselves...and I realized it was a pretty big project. I'm thinking that my second big academic project might have to be a full cultural study of the world of composition instruction.

It could be a synthesis of my personal experiences/biography and the full cultural study/serious academic endeavor angle...thus, it would combine the "fun" factor of personal writing along with serious inquiry...which would make it a blast to write. It could be a good bridge between school and the mass market...which might actually give me a name in the publishing biz. Of course, it might also make me unemployable in the comp field, but it could bring me admirers from the teaching ranks.

Who knows? I might end up using a lot of space on this blog to further explore this issue. I might recycle many of these posts. I might solicit more personal stories and research tips. I will eventually find a way to use this blog for actual work instead of the avoidance of...

Now I just need to finish my first book...

post-Spring Break wrap-up 1, or, working in the coal mine

One of these days, I need to actually take a break during spring break...y'know, go to somewhere warm, drink too much, generally be hedonistic. However, when you're a "teaching" academic, any break from school is more about catching up than relaxing. While I did get caught up on sleep, I mostly worked.

The major project of spring break was to get my book revision plan done. Way back in late 2003, I submitted a sample chapter of my dissertation to a good university press, who contacted me at that year's American Studies Association conference. They liked it enough to ask for a book proposal.

So, over the next summer, I banged one out and sent it, along with the full diss manuscript, to their editors. They then asked for some changes...y'see, I wrote a proposal which addressed specifically how I would change the diss in light of them actually having read the diss. But they only read the proposal (which I can understand, being time-strapped myself)...so I had to take another stab at the proposal.

The problem was, I got side-tracked by the thrills of adjuncting. When you're teaching five classes in four disciplines at three different institutions, it's very hard to think about anything other than grading and class prep. Summer 2004, I got 1/2way through a draft. Summer 2005, I worked at the zoo. When I did have free time, it was spent mentally recuperating from the workload. I barely had/have time to stay an active thinker, let alone be a scholar...and this continues to be the case even now that I have a job...because I teach and grade so much.

(okay, I often avoid grading...mostly by writing this blog)

Every so often, I get an e-mail from the very kind, very patient editors, wondering if I'm still working on the proposal. I tell them, quite honestly, that I still care about the project and will get it knocked out as soon as I have the time, which is even the truth...but I rarely have time.

So, task one over the break was to actually get the book proposal knocked out. Reading my diss again was a very strange experience...I had to spend an awful lot of time unpacking stupidly dense language, as well as trying to get back into the same theoretical head I occupied while an ABD. It was a difficult read, and that amazed me, because I've always prided myself on not succumming to academic-speak...I guess I was fooling myself just a little.

I realized that most of my problems in the diss came from following a dissertation format. I was spelling out everything in the beginning, going through the analysis, and just dying off. There was no mystery to the writing, and my diss, as it stands, doesn't lead anywhere...which is par for the course, because you can't really treat that type of writing as an act of discovery.

The questions that the university press had mostly related to "what questions are driving this?" Instead, the diss was driven by issues rather than questions, because I couldn't write using the "and we'll work our way to the answers" format, which would've been preferable. Now that I can do that, I can actually justify the purpose/point to my project and communicate that to my reader.

Realizing all this made everything about the dissertation make sense. I know where the thing needs to go in order to be a book. I know how to get there with minimal pain. So, over spring break, I got 90% of the proposal knocked out. I've got some polish, got to add two chapter descriptions, need to make sure I'm not in academic-speak in the proposal, but it's doable. I plan to have the revision plan done by the end of this week, and I can then solicit opinions from a few friends and my kick-ass diss chair.

It has been a strange trip moving from grad student to full-time teacher, but I think I'm starting to turn it back towards "scholar"...and that feels really good.

"a has-been at a mere thirty five"

Funny enough, the subject line quote (from a Jayhawks song) has been going through my head for a large part of the day. Yes, I turn thirty five today. I'm not normally one for pontificating on such matters, and birthdays generally don't mean much, but I've been thinking about this one.

I thought thirty would be monumental, but nothing (panic, hysteria, the like) really came up. Thirty three was only notable because I could tell people I was "the age of Rolling Rock." I thought about having a 1/3rd of a century party four months after my birthday (when I hit 33 1/3rd years old), but I never got around to it.

A number of years ago, my father said that he was shooting for 70. I thought this needlessly pessimistic at the time, especially when medical science is pushing the age barrier upward. Now that I am halfway to that age myself, however, I can't help but feel a little freaked out at the thought.

What makes the "aging of Mike" all the more surreal is that I don't feel or think of age that much during my normal life. I remember talking to my old Little Caesar boss, and he told me, "Mike, I still feel like I'm in my twenties." Well, I do to...although I am much less of a moron, have more social skills (which isn't hard), and am more confident. I have no real creaks of old age, and my bones don't ache yet. I can't sleep as long as I used to, and I can't metabolize as much sugar as before, but that's about it. I still feel, mentally, like a youngster, and the only real difference is a wider body of experience to guide my actions.

I think part of my good mental age/outlook is that I'm in an occupation which requires being able to relate to those younger than myself. Granted, this does take a conscious effort. When I did pizza, I always noticed how "the kids" listened to different music than I, and at one point, I forced myself to catch up. I found out that by listening to what they did, by watching the same shows and movies, I gained a little common ground, and that made conversations easier...and this also yields positive benefits as a teacher. Plus, I had the added advantage of not being the guy who still only listens to the same stuff he did in high school.

While doing a student conference this week, though, I got the great insight that my student, although I had a trememdous amount in common with him, saw me as an "adult" as surely as he saw himself as a kid. No surprise...some of my younger students/coworkers/friends seem to want to go out of their way to make me feel old. I won't let them, however. I refuse to be defined as "old" by any young whippersnapper. But the conference suggested to me that most of what we define as "old" is defined by other people...we only get old if we play along.

What we need to do is stop using age as an excuse not to change. I only feel old when I feel stagnant. I've been specifically battling this age-stagnation combo this year by branching out...making better friends with some youngsters, listening to different new music, watching some new programs. My parents have finally got internet connected, and I couldn't be prouder...and I think it will be good for them.

Granted, I can say these things in part because I'm still in a relatively transient state. I don't own a house; drive a really beater car; am in a job that, while I like, is not a career position; and I don't have a kid...I have, in other words, avoided a lot of the markers of maturity. But I don't think that any of these things need to necessarily stop me, as long as I keep trying to change, to grow, to improve.

Change is good. Old is a state of mind that can be avoided. Life is good.

Now, I need to make plans to drink...it is, after all, my birthday!

the Mike happenings update

Next week's happenings:

Wednesday 3/1:

related birthday drinking, time and place TBA

Thursday 3/2:

Stimmels tasting: wines from weird places, cider,
and mead. Most likely drinking afterward.

Saturday 3/4:

WAR Wrestling's "March to Glory" in Lima

Sunday 3/5:

Academy Awards viewing party at The Mad Doctor's Laboratory (my place)

Yes, it's a surprisingly full social calendar for me; I'm generally used to sitting in a dark corner of our attic, curling up in the fetal position, and sucking my thumb, so this will be monumental. Let me know if you want in on the action.

beer reporting

The beer tasting last night was a success. Got two of mine and Lori's friends to go with us, and they seemed to enjoy themselves. It was also a nice break from the normal yuppie-ish crowd that the tastings seem to attract. Plus, my wife actually stayed with us instead of wandering around the store, contemplating the various varieties of mustards.

It was also nice to have another level of commentary save the standard beer snob fare. My favorite highlights: of a very nice British ale..."it kind of has an institutional scent" (on a beer I liked); of a stout..." it kind of smells like when you get home from a bar...smokey, with a hint of cigarette ash."

We then went to a local sports bar and downed a few pitchers of Labatt Blue out of plastic cups...just so we could have the baseline comparison.

Next week, they're doing a mead and cider combo or wines from weird places (such as India).

a good student quote

One of my students referred to Appleby's as "the Wal-Mart of the restaurant world.

Every so often, I just love my job.

sampling and snobbery

In Bowling Green, we have a gourmet grocery market place. On Thursdays, they have a beer and wine tasting. I'm trying really hard to make it a normal event with my friends. I really like the concept, but so far, it's mostly drawing middle-aged yuppies. We need to bring some serious drinkers there and undermine the snob potential of the whole schmeal.

Three weeks ago, they did IPAs. Me likee IPAs, and I really liked the one from the Brooklyn Brewery...so much so that I picked up a sixpack.

Two weeks ago, they did Belgian beer. I hate Belgian beer...to me, it proves why the word "Belguim" is the dirtiest word in the universe...no offense to any actual Belgians who might be reading...

Last week, they did Doppelbocks...which I just thought were gross. The only one that really did anything was the Sam Adams, and that was simply less sour than the others...some of which tasted downright vinegary. I really craved salt afterwards.

This week, they're doing Italian wines and Gold Medal beers, in honor of the Olympics. I have high hopes...and I've actually got some people tentatively agreeing to come!

I will report back.

hair today...

For whatever reason, I have noticed an increasing amount of undergraduate women with their hair pulled back into a "Pebbles" ponytail. While I can understand the desire for low maintenance, I can't really understand why someone would want a ball on the top of their hair.

Personally, I'm hoping for a comeback for the "bedhead" look...or "the claw" from my high school days.

I look like what?

My "friend" Bob (and you'll see in a minute why I put that in quote marks) came to my office to tell me that I remind him of Ted Furguson, Bud Light Daredevil...the guy who does "stunts" such as go shopping with his girlfriend or stay at work two minutes late on a Friday.

Personally, I think he's been doing student conferences too long, but I'm open to comment on this one.

For the record, I've also been told that I look like John Denver and Jay Farrar. Any others I'm missing?

10 years gone

A leaked Guns N' Roses demo is floating around online. My review: ish.

make some nnnnooooiiiizzzzeee!!!!!!

"When I grow up, I want to be a rock guitarist."

That is what I would've said if you asked me at age 15...or 18...or 21...or nowadays, for that matter. I love being a teacher, I love being a thinker/scholar (when I can find the time), but I would much rather be a guitarist any day. I'm reminded of this whenever I hear the crunch of Slobberbone, Green Day, Grand Champeen, or a slew of other bands.

This all started a long time ago. When I was in elementary school, there was a teacher who hated me. It worked, because I hated her. I refused to do any of the work or take her seriously. She reacted by sending me to the guidance counselor to be tested...to see if I needed to go into the "special" classes.

I did the IQ test and blew its doors off. The counselor suggested to my parents that (1) I enroll in the "gifted" program, and (2) I take up some kind of intellectual interest, such as learning how to play an instrument.

My dad had a violin...apparently, he was forced to learn some while a kid, and the violin belonged to his stepfather. So I learned violin. I played violin for 3 1/2 years, and technically, I got pretty good. I had a good ear (a must for an unfretted instrument) and could pick up new material pretty well. And it was a fun enough activity.

I never really got the music, however. While I could appreciate it, I couldn't really "feel" it. It showed in my playing, which was rather precise but sedate. It also showed in how little I played once we moved away from my teacher and a school system which funded music programs. Soon, the violin went into the closet.

While I never really "felt" most classical music, I grasped rock at an early age. The first real album I ever bought was AC/DC's live album If You Want Blood (You've Got It), which I bought while in fifth grade. "Let There Be Rock" clicked immediately, as did "War Pigs"...and I knew I wanted to play guitar.

I never really got the support with guitar that I did with violin. I wasn't given an instrument...rather, I had to save up money (which I did by largely skipping high school lunches) and buy my own. I chose a Chicago brand Les Paul copy, which I no longer have...my mother made me sell it when I got a better instrument. I had to buy my own accessories (strings & such). As only so much could be funded with lunch money, I eventually had to get a job.

(of course, parties and a car also played a role in my decision to find work, but that's another post)

When I started working, I got sucked in by the money. I worked a lot of hours...by my senior year, I was doing 35 hour weeks at Little Caesars. As a result, my guitar practice time went down from the pre-employment days of pretty much whenever I wasn't in school to maybe a few hours a week. Where I used to improve steadily (and rather rapidly), I moved to barely keeping from getting rusty. College cut into my playing time even more.

I also had problems getting in bands. I didn't practice enough, and whenever I would get a chance to play, it would often come after a week or two where I didn't touch my guitar...and as a result, I sucked, and everyone would just think I reeked as a player. Some friends still think I'm really mediocre because they always heard me when I was at my most out-of-practice.

When I did get auditions that I did well, the band would either be full of loonies (I will share some stories later), or the band would chug along until a key member quit, or the whole mess would disintegrate for reasons unknown. I had the worst time getting a drummer and a singer in a band at the same time. In short, I never played out, mostly because I couldn't keep a band together long enough to get a gig. This caused me to neglect the instrument even further, which kept me out of bands...it was a vicious cycle.

I moved to Ohio to do my doctoral school, and changing my environment was the biggest marker for me that drove home the fact I would never actually be a professional musician. Strangely enough, my playing got better (particularly on the acoustic) after I gave up on my dream to play professionally, which I still don't understand.

But over the last few years, I've been neglecting the guitar again. My adjuncting period kept me way too occupied to play on any normal basis. My wife, wonderful though she is, doesn't really care for my singing voice, and mindless noodling, plunking, and practice drives her batty...so I tend not to play much around her.

I have several friends who are both musicians and academics, but I can't seem to get them to play with me either. There was one or two times where I started playing with some friends, and we got a makeshift band together. We got about 15 songs down, including a really hip country version of "Shout at the Devil". I was elated, felt unbelievable, and I wanted it to continue. The singer got busy, and we couldn't schedule any more practices...and then he moved. The bass player we were trying to recruit wouldn't commit. The drummer, while still friendly to me, quit calling me and inviting me over, for reasons I've never fathomed. I have other friends who are musicians, but I've only been able to arrange one jam session...everyone claims they are too busy.

Meanwhile, my guitars sit either in their stands or in their cases. When I do actually play, I mostly use my acoustic, because I can accompany myself on vocals...plus the strings last longer...if I break out the Les Paul or Tele, I only get a few touches on the instrument before the strings die.

I've been neglecting my music again, and I don't like it...but picking up a guitar mostly just reminds me that creating music remains a solitary activity, and that's depressing...so I'm slipping back into the role of being a guy who still thinks of himself as a guitar player but no longer plays.

The times I've managed to have normal jam partners were among the happiest of my life. There's something about creating art, and doing that with other people...it's indescribable. I hope my friends who are either in bands or have been in bands in the past appreciate their connection to music. They have created art, performed it for a hungry public, and have felt the gratification of instant feedback to their artistry. People have clapped, tapped their feet, sang along, made some appreciative noise.

I have never experienced such things and probably never will. While I will always think of myself as a musician, I realize that actually being a musician will only ever be a fantasy...which is somehow unbelievably sad. It also makes me feel hollow inside, somewhat.

I think I'll make the effort to take the guitars to the shop, get them tuned up, and make an effort to play again...if only for myself, so I can be a musician again, at least a little.

it's us against the world...literally

The Guardian had an article on the US military's announced plans for future conflict strategy. You should all read this, because it's truly enlightening. Some relevant/scary quotes:

• US commanders envisage a war unlimited in time and space against global Islamist extremism. "The struggle ... may well be fought in dozens of other countries simultaneously and for many years to come," the report says.
  
• The Pentagon does not pinpoint the countries it sees as future areas of operations but they will stretch beyond the Middle East to the Horn of Africa, north Africa, central and south-east Asia and the northern Caucasus
  
• To wage the long war, the report urges Congress to grant the Pentagon and its agencies expanded permanent legal authority of the kind used in Iraq

This of course means:

1. To qoute Kafka (who keeps coming up in my life): "The best you can hope for is infinite postponement."
   
2. We're fighting everywhere except for Antarctica...and those penguins better watch out.
   
3. Law? What law?
   

Am I alone in not having heard any of this from the US press?

I need to set up my computer to play Darth Vader's theme whenever I look at news sites.

another stupid observation

The hosts of exercise videos seem to think that people are morons who can't count on our own. They also won't shut up. This probably makes them very annoying in real life. Imagine them at a bar? "And, drink, two, three, four...it feels good to drink, yes? C'mon, work out those biceps. This is power drinking...feel that burn. Now, I want you to go get our special workout bar munches and chew. C'mon, chew! Let's get four more...and three...and two...."

seating, Kafka, academics, and class...a treatise

Life never fails to suprise. Just when I think that there's no real order, rhyme, or reason, something happens that makes it clear there is an ultimate plan...unfortunately, that plan is hopelessly twisted and deranged.

When I got my full time position, I was happy for many reasons. One thing that I really was looking forward to was having my own office...a place where I can work (or, more accurately, avoid work) in privacy, that reflected my own sense of style...albeit in a more professional, sophisticated setting than normal.

I struggled to get the office the way I wanted. Me and one of the department secretaries hunted the hallway for furniture, and I found a nice blonde wood table. I got the walls painted, abandoning the typical institutional off-white for a color which a colleague says "looks like a McShamrock shake exploded"...but I think it works. After lots of hassle with physical facilities and carpentry I got proper shelving installled. The office is nicely decorated with 8x10 blowups of cool, artsy photos.

My chair, however, sucks. I've been using an office/waiting room chair, which can be comfortable for unfortunately only minutes on end. It is also way too short, completely unadjustable, and whenever I get caught in grading binges (you can tell when I'm in one by looking at the blog, because the posts get more depressive and rant-like), I begin to feel the telltale twinges of backaches and carpal tunnel.

So I started negotiations with the powers that be. After bugging our deptartment secretaries and my union rep, I went to my chair, who gave me money for a new chair...if that makes sense.

So I went to purchasing, and their cheapest chair started at over $400...which means they must be dealing with the same contractors as the defense department; unfortunately, it took about ten e-mails and a missed appointment to find this out. I went to OfficeMax, but they didn't have anything over $170...and why go cheap if someone else is footing the bill? Purchasing refered me to an office supply store...and this is where it moves from Kafka "the best you can hope for is infinite postponement"-esque to weird in a class-based "the working classes must rebel" kind of way.

The office furniture supply people were falling over themselves to take care of me. They've called four times since last Thursday. They've negotiated a fair price and have faxed a spec sheet. In their mind, I am fully a "player"...and I'm not sure if that's just because I have a company credit card or if it's because I have a business card, a title, and all that, but it's clear I'm a person of importance to them.

Maybe this is a sign that as an academic, I immediately have a certain class standing in the eyes of the outside world...possibly so...but the reality of my situation is that I really don't have that much status or importance within my world. College teachers are assumed to be a priviledged class by many, but this is usually by people who (a) assume that class=status and (b) that don't really know about the complexities of class within the academic world.

When I was teaching sociology as an adjunct, I used the internal class structure of university employees to demonstrate how class as a construct--class being related to the nature of work in this sense--operates in the world at large. Most students, it seemed, had very little idea that part-timers were basically the grunt-work laboring slobs of the academic world...more packmules than anything else. They normally thought that as teachers don't work an assembly line (which is often debatable) or physically make stuff, they must be middle class.

But within academic professionals, there is a very real class (work structure) system in operation, if we see "teaching=work." As you rise in title, you do less "teaching=work" and thus rise in class. Deans rarely if ever teach, therefore, they are much higher on the class ladder than the standard prof. Tenure track teach less and do more research (leisure work) than do Lecturers (who bust out classes and thus are assembly line workers), so tenure=middle class.

Of course, no one actually says this, and I've never really heard anyone consciously downgrade the academic underclass. Class consciousness in academics is usually unconscious on the part of those at the top end of the class scale. As someone who spent two years in adjunct hell, I certainly don't mean "packmule" as a derrogatory term, because it adequately describes how I felt while teaching five classes in four disciplines at three institutions, all in one semester.

Elsewhere, Jen asked if I was suggesting that Adjuncts have become an academic underclass...and this is spot-on. Really, outsiders to the academy wonder why us academics are always all about politics, and after really thinking about class within academic employment, I have to wonder why there aren't more politically active thinkers here...at least in terms of worker's rights.

When I got into academics, I did so because in part I wanted to avoid the petty political garbage that seemed to dominate every other job I've ever had. I understand that you will always have to deal with the powers that be, so politics are always there, but when I was at Little Caesars, I always hated people who would kiss up to the supervisor to get better shifts...which was all too common. I hated having to tell bosses what they wanted to hear in order to get ahead. Granted, for the most part, I had good superiors, but every so often, I ran into a manager who ran a pizza place because it gave him a setting in which to unleash his inner tyrant.

Academics was supposed to be a place where ideas, thinking, and merit overcame all that. But while I've had pretty good bosses and colleagues in academia and have experienced none of that kind of office politic, I realize a little more each day I work here that this place, rather than being a refuge from politics, often can act as a microcosm of politics.

I'm at the lower end of the scale, so I notice this a bit more. Those who are in positions of priviledge in the academy never really talk about these matters as real-life situations...at least, I never heard any such talk when I was getting my degree. My ideals are being disillusioned, which would be no big deal...happens to everyone...but this disillusionment always hits hardest when I've been grading for hours.

In the past, I've mentioned that "I got into this field because it was supposed to be a place where I could feel unbound by the real world and its requirements...." What I wanted was to somehow be in a situation where politics and games didn't exist. Unfortunately, I am in a situation that instead reminds me daily that I am that much more of a victim to these politics and games than ever, where my very position may limit my mobility and maximize the amount of class-based games I have to play.

I know that I have working class roots. I want to maintain those working class roots. I don't want to become an oblivious professor who doesn't realize that he's holding a position of priviledge. However, I want to do this while attaining that position of power, of privilege, where I can do that leisure work of research (which isn't really leisure at all) which makes me feel that I'm trying to balance to irreconcilable extremes.

Either I'm very weird, or the world is very weird, and I've been very oblivious to this weirdness...maybe Kafka is still the model by which I need to live. Maybe I've been monumentally naive, but I kind of doubt I was the only one still laboring under the impression that I was in an intellectual meritocracy. I wonder if I would've still gone into academics if I would've known I might get locked into a class position due to circumstances beyond my control.

I probably would've persisted in my academic dreams, though, as all other jobs suck. I'm not going back to killing rats with a nail on a broomhandle.

a holiday observation

When I was single, I thought about marketing black armbands for sale on Valentine's Day.

yet another observation

Out of all the bands that the "kids" like, My Chemical Romance is the best.

another observation

Although I've taught for years, no one has ever brought me an apple. If they did, I'd probably suspect poisoning.

brief observation

It is incredibly satisfying to hit someone repeatedly over the head
with a cookie sheet.

incommunicado and woozy

In case you're wondering, I'm suffering from a cold. I feel dizzy, lightheaded, and I am unable to concentrate on anything. I know people pay good money for drugs that make them feel just like this, but I'm not really digging it.

updates!

Just got into my office to find out that they "updated" my computer. Jeez, thanks. In the process, they lost all my bookmarks (they assumed I used IE and copied those over my Firefox bookmarks), all my backgrounds, all my Word settings (new version...yay), a few different programs. Now, instead of doing all the work I need to do, I get to correct everything they screwed up while updating my computer.

I think I'm going to leave a note on my computer telling them not to touch it without asking me first. I am very bitter now.

I feel like a Rick Springfield album

So a good friend recommended a book called This Fine Place So Far From Home that I've been reading when I get a chance. It's a collection of essays from academics from working class backgrounds, and this should really be required reading for anyone moving into upper level higher education. Plus, it's very cool! You've gotta love any academic book where the opening essay is entitled "Stupid Rich Bastards."

I'm really enjoying the read, but it's making me think not-so-uplifting thoughts about my current job, the state of my career, and the general state of university teaching as a profession. So I'm torn about how much I should really keep reading.

Here's the deal: I really am happy to be a full-time faculty. I like my department, I like the people with whom I work...and as anyone who was reading this blog last year can tell you (see my post on trying to become a security guard), I am much more at peace than when I was part-timing. I'm definitely not knocking my job security...I don't know how I survived without it. My students, for the most part, generally really try and are open to new thoughts. But this book is, in part, making me really question why I'm here.

Rather than rant primarily about my own class background (which I'm sure is a factor somewhat), I need to tell you how I've started to become hyper-aware of my class status within the University structure.

When I got my Lectureship, I noticed that the wonderful office staff seemed to know me a bit better than they did when I was adjuncting. I've noticed since then that I now know many more faculty than before, when I knew the person who hired me and my office mate. I talk to fellow lecturers in the halls. I have friends on the staff. This is definitely a step up from where I was.

It seems, however, that I've only moved from the academic underclass to the worker-bee class. I've started to notice that I really only know two tenure-track faculty, both of which are my bosses. The profs seem to hang with the other profs, while us non-tenures tend to hang together.

And who can blame us? One night last fall, when I was leaving my office after another marathon grading bout, I walked past the prof offices, and I noticed that they only taught two courses--that's 6 credit hours--while I was teaching 16 credit hours. I drifted off into deep thought, trying to focus on the glorious accomplishments I could make if I only taught two courses (in my major, even) rather than the load I carry...I felt this was better than getting violent and angry with the profs, especially since they all do seem like nice people.

I could publish. I could not only do my book revision but also do my book. I could keep up on new theory and trends. Hell, I could even start my own journal.

Really, the professors seem (from my perspective) to lead a life of luxury, of envy. I wonder how they got there. How many of the tenure-tracks in this department worked up from the non-tenure (or, even worse, the part-time) ranks? How did they do it? Everyone tells me that publication is the key to getting a job, but how does one publish while teaching 18 credit hours at three institutions? Can you even do it if you're not from a "name" program?

All I seem to do is grade and plan, plan and grade. It's worse when papers are due, but when one teaches comp classes, papers are always due.

I thought about this last night while driving home after a 12 hour grading/teaching marathon. The saddest thing about it all is that while I love teaching, I love interacting with students and helping them learn, this really isn't the main reason why I got into this career. I started grad school because I loved learning, I loved reading, I loved creating thought. And as much as I seem to procrastinate in the drafting process, I love writing...I love the sense of being involved in a big project that might make a difference to someone. It makes me feel smart...which makes me feel worthwhile and quiets the voices in my head accusing me of being a loser...or a fraud.

I am not as good of a teacher when I don't get to think. But the only time I get to read now is when I'm waiting for someone who's late to an appointment. Since I don't get a chance to read, I get very little chance to explore new ideas. I'm not a creator of knowledge anymore, and I don't really know when I will get time to get back into the game save summer break...and if the past few summers is any indication, I will then have to fight sheer semester exaustion.

In short, I feel like a working stiff. I didn't get into academics to be a working stiff. I got into this field because it was supposed to be a place where I could feel unbound by the real world and its requirements...it was supposed to be a place where I could freely think and create.

Yes, I know I'm expressing class envy, but I'm beginning to wonder how anyone is supposed to grab that mobility from academic working class into the realm where thinking is as much a part of your job as teaching. As is, there's a little part of me that says: if I wanted to feel like I was just busting out product, I could've stayed at Little Caesars. I have to be careful I never treat my students as if they were product, and I have to really fight against feeling like a working class dog. It wouldn't be doing any good to my students, and it definitely would scar me if I started believing that.

The thing is, I wonder how many of the Lecturers and Adjuncts here feel exactly the same way...it's not a healthy feeling to think yourself opressed...it has the potential to be a self-fulfilling prophesy. I know that higher education increasingly relies on non-tenure teachers, and that this is probably never going to change...but is it possible to get that upper-class academic gig if you're in the lower ranks? Does the current system allow any class mobility? Or are we stuck here?

I've been considering limiting myself to "happy" culture until things improve. However, this ranting is the only real thinking I seem to get done anymore. Can I use it to my advantage, as motivation? Or will it use me?

Is it better to think dank thoughts than to not think at all?

dress to impress

The continuing saga of my fashion sense:

Earlier today, my friend, UT cohort, and next-office neighbor Bob told me that he's seem me dress professionally entirely too much. He was actually complaining somewhat. But then again, he's only seen one season of Mike Fashion.

The strange thing is that I've only been wearing Dickies work pants and collared shirts. It's not exactly what I'd call formal (aren't Dickies sort of punky? Or at least working class), but I suppose it's a step away from the Hawaiian shirts. So I guess I have been stepping up.

This new-found respectability (at least in terms of appearance) has, however, yielded positive benefits. All of my classes are under their course limit, and students are dropping as we speak...which is only a good thing in that it (a) limits my grading and (b) maybe gets people out of the class who might think I'm a pushover because I dress weird. And most of the students will actually call me "Doctor" now, where last semester, with the Hawaiians, they wouldn't.

I don't quite know if I'm doing the professional thing consciously or not. It's still quite an adjustment being a full-time faculty as opposed to a lowly adjunct. I have book representatives wanting to talk to me. Other faculty know who I am. Someone told me that they felt good knowing I was on the committee to choose a new Comp I textbook...this respectability is just plain strange. After all, how did I ever grow to inspire confidence?

It's getting to be a strange world, indeed.

voyages future

Thanks to the tireless work of Jen, a normal commenter here, I will be attending the Culture Studies Association 4th annual meeting in Washington, DC, this year. The panel looks good...that is, assuming I actually get around to writing my paper, which, with the semester's workload and oft-delayed book revision plan on my docket, isn't exactly a slam-dunk...but I will soldier on.

Anyway, I just finished booking my hotel room at a Radisson outside of DC. It should be very cool.

First off, I booked via Hotels.com and saved about $100 dollars off the top rate.

Second, we can get to either DC itself or the conference via the DC subway system, which of course means we don't have to drive at all. Mass transit rocks.

Third, the rooms all have the Sleep Number beds...but the hotel room also has a video game console listed as an amenity...included! As if I needed another reason to be lazy.

Fourth, they have what looks like a nice bar on premises.

I really wanted to get a room at the Watergate, but
boy, are they pricey. Instead, we're just going to go to their bar and toast Richard Nixon's bones.

If all goes well, I'm also going to get a trip to Oakland for the American Studies Association meeting. Our panel proposal looks good, so we'll see. I want desperately to go to Alcatraz and drink whiskey from a flask...and do the same thing in Golden Gate Park.

Travel is one of the best things about being an academic.

teaching through violence

This semester, I teach two sections of Professional and Technical Writing. It is the first time I've ever taught this subject, and as I have no real formal training in the field or experience with the subject matter, it has been a source of strife for me. I feel more in danger of being called a fraud because of this class than I have with any other course I've taught, so I always have to watch out for some good approach to the material.

Of course, this means that I'm always particularly looking for something to use to illustrate the boring yet necessary book. While I was preparing for this Thursday's class, I remembered an article I read this weekend on the National Archives's display of an American invasion plan for Canada (and while I couldn't find that article online, I did find this).

As these classes are gearing up to write a set of technical instructions, we are already discussing how to proceed in planning a big task. So, in class, we did the preliminary planning of an invasion of Canada. One of my students in my 8am class surprised me by really having a great idea of what you'd need to know to pull this kind of mission off...hmmm, maybe he's thinking of this a little too much. Also, this begs the question...if a sophmore computer science major can fully grasp the complexities of invading another country, why can't everyone? Hint, hint. Anyway....

It is one of the interesting realities of modern government and warfare that we probably have invasion plans for every country, except maybe for the Order of Malta, who, no offense, we could probably take. It would be almost worth becoming president to read how the Pentagon plans to take out Litchenstein.

So there is actual precedence for such an invasion plan...just to reassure some of my Canadian friends. As I told my class, it isn't anything personal against Canada. Some of my best friends are Canadian. They generally have better beer and chocolate than us. Plus, Toronto is too cool to bombard.

But whenever you can involve some violence and bloodshed into a lesson plan, it really makes the examples more vibrant. Yes, folks, warfare can be a viable pedagogical tool.

victory!

Yesterday, right when I was counting down days to the strike, we got word that union and university negotiators had reached a tentative agreement on health care (details courtesy of the Toledo Blade) and as a result, our strike had been called off. While the settlement isn't a perfect solution, it is much better than any other offer that's been on the table to this point.

When I read the news, I was so giddy I couldn't work. So I took Lori out to Uraku, Bowling Green's very fine sushi place. We ordered and ate entirely too much, and then the chef threw in a free spicy tempura shrimp roll that was too good not to polish off right then and there...it was seriously orgasmic...which pushed us past the "eating" stage and into the "gorging" stage.

Afterwards, we went to Howard's, which is my favorite bar in the world. We hung out with three of our favorite BG people (Erik, Marnie, and Jamie), and I drank entirely too much.

Gluttony feels better when it's victorious, self-righteous gluttony. The only problem is that now, I'm gonna have to grade papers instead of picket.

road rage

It was raining this morning, and I was angry. And I'm writing this because I can't decide if either (1) I'm turning into a crotchedy old man or (2) the world is arranged and run by blithering morons.

Can someone please tell me why new roads seem to be paved with black material? In the dark, in the rain, the entire road turns into a mirror. I can never see the lines, have no clue what lane I am in, and am always afraid I'm going to run into a semi. Is all highway construction designed to make me crash? Do these people have it in for me? Is it the world that's crazy, or is it me?

I fear that the "Am I stupid, or does the world suck?" bit might become a recurring thread of conversation...if so, douse me in Scotch and stand back.

void and emotion

My wife went to visit her parents this weekend. And although she was only gone one day, I noticed that I was a profoundly different person without her around.

The whole day, it felt like I was in an emotional void. I didn't feel sad, I didn't feel lonely...I just didn't feel much of anything. I watched television listlessly. I worked on class lesson plans in a trance. I stared at the walls. I absently played stupid video games. I felt bored, and everything seemed slightly, vaguely pointless. Events occupied my time, but that's all they did. I knew, as I went through my day, that I would not be able to either remember a single thing I was currently doing, and I knew that nothing of significance was happening, could happen, would ever happen.

When I heard her car door close, it felt as if someone had turned a light on in my head. The world blossomed from sepia tones to technicolor. The sight of my wife walking up to the door turned on my emotions. Suddenly, everything was fun and interesting again. The world was a place to see, feel, and experience, not just somewhere to inhabit. Things made sense. Life was good.

Having Lori around is the difference between wondering why I should get out of bed and wholeheartedly wishing I could spend the next few hours looking at her sleep, waiting for her to awaken just so I could hold her tight and feel her breath on my chest. Just feeling her body heat next to me, as we went to bed, made me feel good about the world, made me hopeful, made me dream happy dreams.

I know I'm not doing this justice, and I wish I could truly say how much having her with me means...because I suspect that it's the most important thing in the world...

the good and the truly frightening...

On the plus side, we got a new fridge yesterday. Our old one was falling apart, and the first replacement we got didn't seal properly. The brand new fridge that they installed yesterday truly rocks. We've moved up from rusy metal shelves to clear, clean plastic, and from a truly puny 16 cubic feet to over 18. There's a really cool door shelf for the milk and such, sizeable crisper drawers, and a cheese drawer! We had to keep our dairy in a tupperware before, which, for some reason, always felt like we were slumming. We also don't have to deal with the wasteful built-in egg shelf.

On the nerve-grating, fear-of-God side: my union has set a strike date (see this Toledo Blade article for full details). I've been paying credit card minimums for a while so I can save up an emergency fund, so I will financially survive...but this is truly scary. If the sides were even getting somewhat closer in their terms, that would be something, but it doesn't seem to be working out that way. I will, most likely, be sans-income for a while. Fun.

Somehow, the new fridge doesn't quite make up for it.

one last question before I go away

I actually tried listening to the radio a few days ago, and it was enlightening. If the Toledo market is anywhere near representative, apparently radio will not play anything that's not at least 25 years old...at one point, the most current song was "No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn."

When in the hell did this happen? While there was classic rock on the radio when I was going to school, you could still actually hear new stuff. Now, I mostly still hear stuff from the seventies...that's thirty five years old!?!?! When I graduated high school, they weren't playing 1950s tunes.

Is it just me? Am I going nutso?

experimental teaching

When I teach, I like to try little experiments on the classes...see how much my behavior in the class influences their views and their work. Today's the first day of a new semester, so I've been giving thought to what experiments I'm trying this time around.

For the longest time, I asked the students to call me "Mike"...which they all felt free to do except for the BGSU football players, who insisted on calling me "sir"...apparently, they're really good at discipline over there. Last semester, I decided to have them call me "Dr. DuBose," so I could see if the name thing made any difference. They did call me Mr. DuBose, but for whatever reason, they resisted adding the "Dr."...not sure why. Otherwise, I noted no real difference in their behavior.

A few semesters back, I decided to only refer to my then-girlfriend as "my partner" and stay as gender-neutral as possible. The main result was that, combined with my Hawaiian shirts, it made my students think I was gay...I think that one of them might've even asked me if I was a homosexual.

For this semester, I'm thinking about going as professional as I can, for as long as I can...dressing nicely, professional tone and language in class, all that...and then mysteriously switching into full-bore Mike mode, just to see how they react.

If anyone else has ideas for student experiments, however, I'm more than happy to listen.

a season of change?

Every so often, I start to feel like I need to make subtle adjustments with my life. Sometimes I feel like I need to make catastrophic changes. Sometimes I feel like I might actually stick to the planned change. I've never been one for resolutions, but every so often, something clicks, and I realize that I'm going to do things different. I hope this is one of those occasions.

When I quit smoking, there was no magic occurrence, no flash in the head that inspired me...I just woke up one morning, realized I was no longer enjoying the habit, felt like it was time to quit...and it was.

So I got all gung-ho and bought the patches, threw away my smokes and lighter...and then, in the patch directions, they recommended that I switch brands of cigarettes daily, so my body wouldn't be jonesing for a particular cigarette...so I had to fish my smokes out of the trash and continue smoking for two weeks when I really didn't want to. I ran the gamut of brands: Pall Mall, Merits, Dorals, you name it.

Then, the day came. I trashed all my lighters again, put on the patch, and drove to my new job as a graduate assistant...it was my first day. Unfortunately, a very heavy rainfall shut down all but two of Jacksonville's bridges, and the normally 40 minute drive to campus took me 2 1/2 hours...my first time not smoking. How I didn't pull the car over and light an entire pack at once due to stress, I'll never know.

For a good six months, I wanted to rip cigarettes out of people's mouths, pick up butts off the street, but somehow I persevered...I don't know how. In many ways, I'm a very weak, impulsive man, but I had just had enough of smoking...the time was right.

Today, I have the idea that I really need to get healthy. The college lifestyle isn't the most invigorating, physically, but I've let myself slip. I drink more than I probably should, get less exercise than I need, and succumb to junk food more than I need to. I'm not making any promises...yes, I will still go to bars and eat pizza on occasion...but I'm thinking it's the time to get healthy.

Maybe by publically confessing, I will actually stick to the plan...but I'm hoping that, rather than being a wistful idea, that something has clicked inside, that I'm as ready for the change as I was ready to quit smoking. Stay tuned for details.

a statement that could've only come from my wife

We had to buy a new vacuum cleaner the other day. I assembled it before heading out for the evening. When I got home a few hours later, I noticed that Lori had already used it. When I asked her how it worked, she said "It's wonderful...it's like it massages the floor."

Have I mentioned how lucky I am?

put on the hats and dance

So I return to my hangover-induced internet exile to find over 35 spams amongst my e-mail accounts. Why didn't these idiots feel bad instead of I, a humble blogger?

We had a quiet New Years Eve...me and the spousal unit hung out with four good friends, played the last Trivial Pursuit of 2005 untill we got tired of thinking. The big ball dropping took place to the Regis broadcast, where the hosts were, hilariously enough, horribly out of time with the loud chants of the crowd. We then went to charades and strong liquor...the former because we wanted to see each other act out dirty clues, the latter because we all had mysteriously high tolerances to beer for whatever reason. The wife and I were the first to leave, at an early 4am...it was a nice stumble home.

Apparently, I was the only one who got a real hangover as a result of my binge, which would've made me feel like less of a man if I wasn't too busy lying prone in front of the television. The traditional Black-eyed Peas, Rice, and Greens for dinner for luck, another day of just hanging with Lori, and now I have 5 days to get all the work I was supposed to get done over the entire break.

You would think that one of these days, I would learn...but actually, to not ever learn from my experiences is my only resolution.

they finally notice something!

It took a paid advertisement to get the Toledo Blade to notice, but the local paper finally printed an article on the labor woes which have me in a panic...I do wish, however, that they would've gotten some of the very real sense of uncertainty and panic that I feel at the University of Toledo across.

end of year/bloggaversary thoughts

So I had thoughts of doing some grandiose "State of the Blog/State of the Mike" post which would sum up the whirlwind changes I've encountered over the past year, everything from the rent-a-cop interviews to crazy adjuncting to full time employment for the first time ever...but on second thoughts, screw it.

Whenever I reflect, I tend to get a little morose, and I definitely don't need any more of that in my life. Let's face it...although my situation has definitely changed for the better in many ways (employment!), there are many ways where things are just as uncertain now as they were last year (once again, employment). So why would I want to spend a day thinking up an entry which sums all this up? Although there are a whole lot of positives, I would inevitably dwell on the negatives, because that's just the kind of weirdo I am.

So, briefly, I've become better friends with some people, started to regain connections with a few people with whom I've lost, and have all intentions of regaining contact with those with whom I've been lax...no matter whose fault. Instead of being a pretender in four different uncertain jobs, I'm only a pretender in one uncertain job...which is some improvement, I guess. While I might not have gotten a whole lot of scholarly work done, I at least now have an agenda and concievably time to do some of it. And I stay married to the most wonderful person on earth. So, overall, it's a lot better than it could be, and I remain fairly happy.

I do know that I gotta move on a few things, but if all goes to plan, 2006 should be okay...or at least a move forward, which is all one could hope for...

festive films

For a number of years, the cable network TNT used to play the original Star Wars trilogy every Christmas day. In our house, it became a little bit of a competition to see how much Lucas one could stand. Myself, I usually gave out about an hour into Return of the Jedi...of course, my nicotine addiction at the time probably did as much to make me give up as did the overbearing weight of the three movies. One year, my father actually made it through all three films...I was torn between being proud of him and being jealous and a little peeved at my own inadequacy.

My Christmas memories are, as a result of this tradition, triggered as much by sci-fi as they are anything else. I never had much appreciation for the average Christmas special on television, and a few years working at various Little Caesars located in shopping centers that played carols from November 1 to January 10 made me utterly despise Christmas music...no, it was light sabres, rather than any of the traditional Christmas trappings, that rung in the holidays for me.

Unfortunately, when Lucas released the "special editions" of the original trilogy, TNT quit playing Jedi...then, soon after, they quit playing any of the movies. A small, geeky part of me died a little, and I have been searching for another weird holiday tradition to call my own.

For a few years now, Spike TV has been playing James Bond movies during the holiday season...they call it "The 008 Days of 007." I like the Bond films...if you watch them in sequence, you get a pretty good timeline of:

1. the cheese of special effects
   
2. the evolution of ethnic stereotypes
   
3. the increasing fantasy of female body imagery
   
4. the age and deterioration of the various principle characters...Miss
   Moneypenny, for example, becomes very matronly during the later Moore
   Bonds
   
5. how sexism does (or doesn't?) change
   

...amonst other things.

Of course, the James Bond villian is and has been a stereotype for quite a while. They never live up to expectations...Dr. No was much more frightening when they didn't show him, and you have to wonder how Communism lasted as long as it did with all the idiots working in SMERSH/KGB. Yet James Bond villians never caught on, even the James Bond villians who were not in Bond films...Buffy the Vampire Slayer even had three characters who aspired to be Bond villians...and who, hilariously enough, would debate which Bond was the best.

Like most people, I gravitate towards Connery's Bond...none of the others really strike me as having the "badass" quotient. Would anyone really be afraid that Roger Moore would take them in a fight? And none of them were very smart or tactical...it seems like an unsuspecting yet smug Bond always gets himself bonked on the head by the one bad guy who snuck up on him.

I suppose, however, that critiquing the lack of intelligence in Bond films is a little like using logic to study wrestling narratives...it ain't about that. Which is why, if I were asked to name my favorite film of all these, Moonraker would be my answer...it doesn't even pretend to be logical. Six undetectable space shuttles, a plan to kill all humans and repopulate with "perfect specimens," Jaws finding love, and more silliness...it's all so beautiful.

The women--or, as they're called in popular terms, the "Bond Girls"--are also funny. Some are skeletal (especially in the one set in Bombay), some are scary (Grace Jones, anyone?), and even the ones that supposedly have college degrees (the A View to A Kill one...who went on to That 70s Show) still talk and act like pinheads. They also follow a set pattern in terms of order of appearance and fate...the quick fling at the beginning who never comes back, the good one who gets killed, the one who turns evil, and finally, the good one who goes on to have climactic sex with James at the film's climax.

I'm not sure if it's really an appropriate film series for Christmas, though. Do the Bond films have any Christmas references (as does Die Hard, which is more festive as a result)? Yes, there is good versus evil, but do Bond's quirks, sinful as they are, ameliorate his goodness?

The one thing the Bond films do have going for them, however, is that they are stupidly addicting enough to make one not do any of the multitude of work assignments one might have hanging over one's head...and for that, if nothing else, you gotta love them...or is this opinion just my severe procrastination coming to light? I wonder...

nightly entertainment

So my darling wife and me went to the movies last night to see The Ringer. Several points of interest there:

1. The "chef" at the theater's Szbarro's (or however you spell it) got to wear the really goofy, puffy chef's hat...I guess it was intended to allow him to lord his position over the popcorn flunkies. Anyway, before this, I never really thought about the hierarchical order of concessionaires before.
   
2. Who really goes to the movie theaters for hot dogs, pizza, and smoothies?
   
3. Why can't theaters pop fresh popcorn? It ain't hard.
   
4. There were three people working our line at concessions, but two of them couldn't work register. One of them, when the others were off getting various food items, was stuck with nothing to do, so he did a goofy dance. It was nice of this schmuck to make light of the fact that we're waiting and he was totally useless to us.
   
5. The Ringer is marketed a little bit as a gross-out movie, and that type of humor apparently attracts the kids.
   
6. Why do teens like to sit right next to the screen and adults like to sit a mile away?
   
7. The previews were all pretty much for movies with a main selling point of making fun of the overweight. Included in these was Alyson Hanigan in a truly dreadful-looking film which was to date films what Scary Movie was to horror films...at least that's how it was being marketed. She's a much better actor than that, so I'm only assuming she must have a drug problem or something to accept a role so far below her talent level.
   
8. The actual film itself was fine. The plot was predictable, of the "you could see that coming a mile away" variety, but the acting was quite good. They used a large cast of mentally challenged actors, many of which were very funny.
   
9. One of the coolest things about the movie was how self-aware the mentally challenged characters were...they were under no illusions as to how people saw them and how they could use that information to their benefit. The characters were well-rounded, never characatures...and Hollywood rarely does that for anyone. To do that for a whole group of people who otherwise wouldn't even be used in our media was quite extraordinary.
   
10. Ultimately, The Ringer was more sensitive and enlightened than it had any right to be...and I wonder how many of the teens, undoubtedly drawn to the theater for a "retards are funny" film, felt like they were bait and switch victims. Using the trappings of car crash culture to educate? Maybe it's a viable approach.
    

Afterward, I went drinking with a friend, which went the way such things tend to go.... We eventually ended up at a local bar which has a drag night...which is as much (a) a straight meat market and (b) a place for enlightened straights as it is a gay hangout. We saw many wonderous things, including a very scrawny woman shaking an ass that she did not have for two obviously gay guys, who nonetheless participated in dirty dance grinding...which is relatively puzzling. We did stay for the second show, which mainly raised the questions (a) where else can you see transexuals wearing whipped cream? and (b) why are so many drag queens black? These are somewhat important questions that deserve some study and serious answers...although that research is not going to come from me, as my life is weird enough as it is.

year end blog review I--quotes

While preparing for the first annual "State of the Blog" address, I reread every entry. These are a few of my favorite quotes from the year:

"rather than being wined and dined by senior faculty from around the world, I'm sitting here in Bowling Green, staring out my window, looking at the snow-covered shrubbery, and contemplating a trip outside to look for child-assembled snowmen to knock down and beat up."

"sooner or later we may see CSI: Wood County, OH. Coming up on this episode, the gang of super sexy forensic experts in low cut tops examine the crime scene for clues on who tipped the cow, Bessie."

"the ability to teach Intro to Ethnic Studies doesn't help convince an employer that I can ring up the newest Nu-Metal cd or pour an icee."

"Now, forgive me if this offends or makes me look more like a pig than I actually am, but I found the whole experience of watching women's curling to be terribly...erotic. There were some mighty attractive curlers there (even the ones whose hair was straight, HA HA HA HA HA...sorry)...I think either the Ontario or the Manitoba team had the most babes. And then they started to play, and they started to yell... "Woah!!!!".... "Harderrrr!!!!!!!".... "Yeasssss!!!!!!".... "Curl!!!!!!!!!" Tell me, it's not a stretch to get turned on by this, is it?"

"I have seen people without dissertations get jobs. I have seen people apply to only a handful of places and get jobs. I have seen a few people with diminished social graces and limited classroom skills get tenure. I have seen the black wombat of Satan on the horizon, fangs glistening with ichor, bearing down for one last bite..."

"the female (hot in a redneck housewife kind of way) asked me if she could clean her glasses on my shirt. How do you respond to this kind of question? I couldn't tell if she had no social grace or if she was coming on to me."

"Is dressing formally really that far behind? Will I quit drinking too much? How about getting mad at the young whippersnappers across the street who make noise to all hours of the night? Will I start complaining about how today's music doesn't have melody like it did in my age? Who can indeed understand these kids today? Somebody give me a comic, quick!"

"Having a big head isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, it attracts the chicks...my wife was telling me the other day that the sheer size of my melon was what first set her heart all aflutter...but you face other difficulties. Guys, driven to sheer envy by the inadequacy of their own skulls, used to beat me up on an hourly basis, and my head provided a big target."

"Wal-Mart is very close to what I expect Hell to resemble. As you get closer to Christmas shopping season and the Wal-Mart crowd increases, you move down to a more perilous circle of hell...you see, Dante was wrong in the details. We did run into one of those plastic animatronic mounted deer heads that sang Elvis' "Suspicious Minds," and that was the highlight of our visit."

Stay tuned for the actual year end address, which hopefully will be the last of the ego-building grandstanding I'll do for a while...

programming note

Sometime yesterday, I realized that I missed the one year anniversary of this blog...bummer. So, in between making a tomato sauce and cleaning house, I plan to spend a little time assembling the "state of the blog" address today.

I am also going to make an effort to keep posting over the break, unlike many of my loser friends who are using the excuse of being in other states or on the interstate...weenies.

upon further review...

Had to go to the grocery store yesterday to get last minute food, and I came to this inevitable conclusion...I really friggin' hate people.

I swear, there's something about groceries which makes everybody oblivious idiots. No one was looking where they were going. Everybody was moving at .071393 miles per hour. Shoppers spending three minutes (no exaggeration) trying to decide what variety of frozen fruit they were gonna buy. People shopping as a family experience, which would not be a problem, but they were walking four abreast. Mothers sending their four year old to pick out the proper variety of non-diary creamer, and then yelling directions from the end of the isle.

And of course, in light of all the frustrations, I forgot a few key ingredients and had to go to another store upon unloading the swag from store one...from now on, I'm giving serious thought to shopping at 3am, just to avoid the morons.

the whole pomo thingie

Remember when we were talking about the whole postmodern thingie? Well, Brian has once again posted something that makes me feel like an idiot...so go check out his take on postmodernism and religion and start a lively discussion.

help me plan

As I'm actually finished with my grading, I'm putting together my syllabus for next semester, and I'm trying (as I always do when I do these things) to focus all the course material to put my students on the right track....that is, assuming any of them read my syllabi and related course material to begin with

To this end, I am assembling two lists:

1. topics I never want to see (such as papers on abortion, the death penalty, and so forth)
   
2. phrases I never want to read (including "due to the fact that" and "according to Webster's Dictionary,")

and I would love y'all's suggestions. I will eventually post my final lists.

C'mon, everyone, do my work for me!

brief moments of lesser pain

After two marathon sessions of grading, where I stayed on campus untill 7:30 and just slogged endlessly through papers, I finished most of my obligations for Fall semester (I did three classes yesterday. Note to Meredith: HA!). Save a few stragglers, not to mention actually entering the grades into the U's system, I am done. And, not to take anything away from the generally nice group of students I had this year, it feels good. I stayed home and slept in today. Note to any BGers reading this: I am ready to drink, so call me.

The bitter part of this is that, with the impending labor situation, I am not really sure when I will actually start back up again...so each day when I leave campus, I have been taking a load of books home with me...assembling an office in exile, so to speak.

I now have a break where I have to plan two courses, one of which I've never taught and for which I still don't have a textbook. Thanks to Jen's hard work (you go, girl), I now have to write a paper for the Cultural Studies Association in DC this year. I've been reconsidering my exit from the job marked. I have a lead on a publication I need to pursue. I have a book proposal to revise, which has been sitting around too long. And Mr. Thunder and I still have an upcoming intellectual excursion into the Toledo nightlife underworld. So I need to be sure this holiday season is not a time of screwing around.

But I can now sleep. I am free from deadlines, at least for a while. I can not wear pants for days at a time. All in all, things are okay.

vocab help

What words would one use to describe the feeling you get when you find out the cookie you just bit into, which you thought was chocolate chip, was really oatmeal raisin? Suggestions, please!

aaannnddd.....inaction!

The grading marathon commences...pray for mojo.

vinyl memories

A friend of mine burned some of my lps over to cd last week, so I've been able to listen to some great songs I haven't heard in a long, long time...tuesday, on the way to campus, I was listening to Black Sabbath's Technical Ecstacy ("Dirty Women" is one of their best songs). What I was not prepared for was how crappy records can sound. Yes, the records had a few skips in them, but the level of hiss and noise was tremendous.

I still miss lps, but it's mostly for the cover art. I have become, it seems, a total cd-head. Now, if they could only get better packaging for the suckers...

okay, there's one good thing about Wal-Mart

To be perfectly fair to Wal-Mart, I do enjoy the fact that whenever I enter that store, I'm instantly one of the most attractive people in the place...a unique feeling, for sure.

mondays aren't just the first day of the week

So I drove to campus yesterday, ready for a fun day of students going over drafts, still panicking from the approaching (and possibly catastrophic) labor strife and difficulties and wondering when someone would give me some information and maybe a textbook for the Scientific Report Writing class I'm teaching next fall. I decide to stop and get some gas at the 7-11 by campus. What could possibly go wrong?

First off, I've been listening to Two Cow Garage, so I have "Smell of Blood" stuck in my head, which is good. I'm able to fill up my tank for under $30, which is also good. Then I go to start up my car, and....nothing, save errant clicking.

I try two or three times, in the vain hope that the automotive gods (who is the patron saint of Oldsmobiles anyway?) will be kind, but no dice. Then I have to push the car away from the pumps and into a parking space...which would be easy if I drove a nice compact, but no, it's a late eighties Delta 88, and I have to push uphill...so I'm out of breath, sore, and feeling very much like a weenie loser...more so than usual.

I then powerwalk to class (only 3 minutes late) and sit through draft days and then, at my office, through a few hours of conferences. I call AAA and go back to my car, wait an hour and a half, and the guy comes to give me a jumpstart...only he can't start the car. Rather, the battery starts smoking. He tells me the battery must be dead. He was an observant guy. He can, however, sell me a new battery for $95...but that is installed. I politely decline.

I call my wonderful wife, and she agrees to bring me my tools after she gets off work, so I can buy and replace a new battery that night. So I return to my office to warm up, drink some tea, and play some poker (I play online at UltimateBet in case anyone wants to join me). I lose tremendously...every time I get trips, someone else flops a straight. Thank the heavens I'm still in the free games.

My lovely wife arrives...I'm very glad to see her...and then she realizes that she forgot my tools. She does have some in the car, though, so we go to (shudder) Wal-Mart to get a new battery...yes, I know they're evil incarnate, but they do sell cheap car batteries, and right now, my finances outweigh my ethics.

At Wal-Mart, we encounter people walking on the wrong side of the isle, elderly in those electric carts directly in front of us who suddenly and mysteriously shift into reverse, parents who push their kids in front of our cart, idiots who don't look where they're going, and other travesties of man and corporation. Wal-Mart is very close to what I expect Hell to resemble. As you get closer to Christmas shopping season and the Wal-Mart crowd increases, you move down to a more perilous circle of hell...you see, Dante was wrong in the details. We did run into one of those plastic animatronic mounted deer heads that sang Elvis' "Suspicious Minds," and that was the highlight of our visit.

So we got my battery and got out of there. While I was putting the battery into the trunk, I checked Lori's tool box...and all the tools I'd need had mysteriously been removed. So I go back into Wal-Mart to look for one of those all in one tool thingies...the really handy guys reading this will know what I'm talking about...and they don't have any. So I pick up a plastic tube of 5 tools for the home for $5 dollars and what ends up being the worst beef jerky product I've ever tasted.

We drive back to the car, and needless to say, the cheap tools are useless. I can't get anything to budge, and I'm getting weary and frustrated, so I break down and call AAA back for a tow to a Bowling Green service station. The whole time, I have the Drive-By Truckers song "Outfit" stuck in my head, particularly the line "don't ever say your car is broke." I feel like a loser, out of touch, like less of a man. I can't even change the stupid battery in my car. I'm going to have to turn in all my macho clothing and forget the secret "real man" handshake.

Lori runs to McDonalds, and we are just finishing our value meals when the tow truck guy pulls up. He's nice, but he looks a little too much like a psychotic Amway salesman I know. He informs me that he could just tow my car to his shop, because his mechanic is still there, and they could install the new battery there. The only thing is, if AAA asks, I have to tell them that they took it to BG. I agree, but somewhere deep inside me, the "watch out for scam-o-la" light clicks on.

We get to his shop. There's a whole bunch of used cars littering the lot, and not once but several times, various people working there try to sell me a used Crown Victoria. Every single person there is smoking Marlboros, even when working on my car. One gentleman complains about the cold, and another responds: "If you think you're cold now, just wait untill I piss on your let and it freezes." While they're installing the battery, someone else tries to sell me another Oldsmobile.

They get the battery in, and...it's dead. The car won't turn over. After speculating that I might need a new starter or alternator ("which we can put in for you tomorrow"), they jump the car, and it turns out that the brand-new Wal-Mart battery was dead on the shelf. They let the car run, test the battery, test the alternator, and try four times to convince me that I need to let them perform a tune-up ("you can drop off the car on your way to work tomorrow").

I ask them how much for their trouble, and they tell me $30...only $5 less than the battery cost me. I tell them I've got $20 cash or we'll have to go to credit card. Luckily, they don't have a machine, so I'm off the hook for the cheaper price. I have a feeling that I've inspired them to upgrade their technology to better fleece stranded motorists...they realize they can get more for their services if they take plastic. They then give me two sets of directions home, one hideously complex, one very far out of the way.

Yes, I eventually get home, and the car does work now. I didn't get to hit the grocery store, put up my window insulation, get a much-needed hair cut, cook my famous jambalaya, or do anything remotely fun. Instead, I stared blankly at the television for a while, thanked my wife a few times for being so nice and not abandoning me, and then went to bed, where I dreamed I was street-racing Santa Claus, and I disconnected his sleigh from his reindeer, causing Santa to tumble from the sky...

My car made it to work just fine this morning...so things are looking up, but I do realize it's still early.

kick me, I'm postmodern

The Vancouver Rape Relief and Women's Shelter has published a very wierd article which claims in part:

The "postmodern" supposition that sex is nothing more than a "constructed social identity" threatens the very concept of "woman" while leaving intact the oppression of women. Little wonder that the sophistry of "deconstruction" - primarily developed and promulgated by white men such as Michael Foucault - has found such favor in our sexist society. But whenever off our backs publishes a two-page paean to "deconstruction" which cites Colin Powell and Jerry Springer as its only "authorities" ("Identity Politics and Progress", off our backs, April 1998) it is time for a reality check in a world in which women are routinely discriminated against and murdered because they are women. "Deconstruction" may very well eliminate the perception of such injustice by mutilating the bodies beyond all recognition but the injustice itself will continue unabated.

Now, I want to come out and state, for the sake of the record, that I am not disagreeing with the ultimate goals of this organization. Hell, I've never even heard of the organization before following the link the other day. And yes, for the record, the opression of women and violence against them is horrible, icky, and nasty, so my goals are basically aligned with theirs.

Now, my point: this group's observation quoted above shows a complete lack of thought or attempts to understand postmodernism. It is unnuanced, stereotypical, and knee-jerk reactionary. In other words, they are looking for a scapegoat to distract from their own lack of intellectual engagement.

When I was in a grad theory class, the major beef that some of the students seemed to have with postmodernism (other than the fact that many of its proponents could not write anything comprehendable) was that by deconstructing the essential existence of categories, it was saying that there were no categories at all. Furthermore, by deconstructing these categories, postmodern (they argued) rendered political action impossible. The only possible recourse, then, was to ditch this way of thinking and stick with our modernist politics, thank you very much.

This reminds me of the die-hard Christians who seem to think that Atheism is nothing more than a license to act sinful...that if one doesn't believe in God, then one just does whatever they please regardless of the harm to others. This view also reminds me of those who see anarchists as a bunch of people who think we should throw away the government, rule ourselves, live for ourselves, and to hell with everyone else.

For some reason, we mock the simplistic view that one has to be evangelical Christian to have morals, and we mock the view that one has to believe fully either in our government or in chaos. These are simplistic readings which show a lack of critical engagement, we (rightfully) say.

Why, then, is it okay to kick postmodernism using the same mindset?

Now, I am not the most fervent postmodernist out there, but it does make some good points. And while I am quite capable of slinging around the theory to support my argument, this ain't that kind of blog. But we cannot simply say "postmodernism says this," because the amount of things postmodernism does say is huge...because there are multiple varieties of postmodernism (the avant-garde engagement of Jameson, the weird literary formalism of Hassan, the "everything is illusory" world of Baudrillard). But what most people mean when they use the term "postmodernism" is really just a stereotype of people playing a meaningless intellectual game. What I would like to do is suggest that we have to look at these things with an open mind towards the true complexities of intellectual existence before we dismiss them with stereotypes.

Something I go over with my freshmen is the "social construction of reality" does indeed say that the categories under which we operate are constructed socially. What it means to be "a woman" or "a black" or "a working-class" is contextual, constructed, often entirely so. However, that your identity as a Jew or Latino is socially constructed is relatively unimportant if you are being beaten up with an axe-handle as the result of that identity. The students, being relatively reasoning individuals, get this.

Just because something is socially constructed and thus not really real does not mean that construction is not very real in terms of effects. You can deny the reality of an image, still be upset by and work to overcome its consequences, and be entirely logically and morally consistent. Postmodernism is more than capable of sustaining political action because (unless you are reading something written by an idiot or are yourself unbendingly literal) it does not say that since large elements of our lives are constructed, we should treat everything like a dream.

Furthermore, if you deny postmodernism, you are also denying the denial (if you follow me) of manichean logic and "essential" truths...because these are the things against which any good postmodernist should rally...they are the "shared feature" of most varieties of postmodernism (if such a thing can be said to exist).

To my mind, the question is less "how can you be postmodernist and politically active" than it is "how can you not be a political postmodernist?"

Elsewhere, I have railed against the annoying tendency of pro-choice activists to fall into a "you are either entirely with us or you are entirely against us" intellectual binary (this was, incidentally, in response to my being told that I wasn't allowed to have an opinion on abortion unless I could gestate a fetus). This binary, I argued, plays into the "women are reproduction machines" argument which is part of the system that has been oppressing women in the first place. It, unfortunately, is a mindset similar to that of many postmodern-hating lefties out there.

And yes, it's not a suprise that there are varieties of feminist thought out there that buy into the construction of gender roles as essential and natural (which seems to be an undercurrent in the Center's article)...but it's still kind of stupifying that people can call themselves political activists when, rather than wanting to change the system, they really just want to bend it to their purposes. This isn't activism, it's opportunism.

Short term change is a matter of getting ahead. Long term change is a matter of fundamentally altering the system. To do the latter, you have to question the thoughts, ideas, and assumptions at the basis of that system. This is what postmodernism does, if you let it by fully exploring it and considering the consequences.

conference 06?

I just got word that I have been turned down for one of my conferences for next year. While I am bummed that I won't be going to Vancouver, my bank account is slightly less precarious as the result of this rejection. Now I just have to hope that my other conference gets accepted. Jen, who do we bribe?

The thing that's kind of weird about this one is the paper I was planning to present (not written right now, of course) has a lot of potential...which means I'm probably going to have to actually write it, which means lots of work even though I don't have a home for it yet. For someone who's having trouble scheduling all the writing tasks I already need to accomplish as it is, this is slightly annoying.

I once read a sci-fi story about a human mutant strain that, for the people born with it, eliminated the need to sleep (sound familiar to anyone? I can't remember when/where I saw this). Those born with this mutation were generally very smart, could get twice as much done as everyone else...so naturally, the rest of society hated them and ostracised them. Personally, I wish I could not have to sleep...I could actually get caught up! I could get to all that scholarship which is sitting in my brain's "to do" file...which means that when I hit the job market again, I would actually have improved my chances.

Does anyone know how I can avoid sleep and get caught up..other than coffee, which is nice, but it would send me to the restroom too often if taken in significant quantities?