- fill pint glass with ice
- fill 1/3 with rye whiskey
- add a splash each of strawberry liquour and triple sec
- top off with good ginger beer (note: ginger ale, particularly the syrupy mass-market crap, is not acceptable), stir
- sip gently while watching sport and dreaming about that perfect location for a nice, sexy scar
Sunday, November 16, 2008
the sutured wound
In honor of my addled-finger state, I have invented another drink, which I call "the sutured wound":
injury, triage, treatment
I was applying pressure to the wound, hoping against hope I could staunch the flow of blood. Meanwhile, as my head started to sway inside the confines of my skull, I could hear the uneasiness and pain enter my wife's voice. Shock started to set in, and I wondered if I would make it to a safe refuge, or would I instead collapse, blood pooling around my prone, inert body?
What had in fact happened, I wondered as later I sat in the emergency room, my memories still too fuzzy to really know for sure? Somewhere, deep in the confines of my subconscious, I had visions of rage-filled students coming at me with butterfly knives, and me disarming them, protecting my fellow instructors cowering behind me but getting sliced up and mortally wounded despite my eventual victory. Or had I lacerated my torso when, upon entering my house, a bomb planted by some crazed Sara Palin groupie exploded? Had my past as a hardened criminal finally caught up with me when my old comrades Lefty, One-eye, and Chuckles jumped me, whispering in my ear that no one really ever leaves the life?
Unfortunately, none of the above. My life just doesn't have that level of drama, much to my chagrin. I would rather be able to tell people that I wounded myself breaking up a hostage situation. Somehow, cutting my pinkie while trying to core a cauliflower for a curry doesn't have the same level of excitement to it. But at least it was deep.
I could've lived without going to the ER, but when she saw the wound, my spousal unit immediately got the "I must take care of you and protect you from your own macho bs" look in her eyes, so what choice did I have? Later, when she told me she was glad we came, I told her straight out that I knew she wouldn't shut up about it if I didn't go. I could get away with saying this to her, being wounded and all. Me being in pain will lessen her physical displays of rage.
When the ER staff saw that I had a sense of humor about everything, they were quite pleased. A nurse asked me if I needed another pillow, and I said only to stifle the screams. The doc then picked up a towel and mimed strangling me. When the spousal unit said she didn't want to look at the wound as the doc sewed it up because she might get dizzy, the doc encouraged her..."go ahead...you two have good insurance, so we could always admit you if you passed out and hurt yourself...more business for us!" I figure that you have to have a pretty sick sense of humor working in an ER, but I was quite surprised to find out it's almost the same as a restaurant worker's humor. There's a paper in there, I think.
I got a tetanus shot, and the nurse was good...I hardly felt it. When the doc gave me a local anesthetic, though...shots to the pinkey really bleedin' hurt. A good rule of thumb is when the doctor tells you something will "sting," find something hard to bite down on, quick.
Strangely enough, the lady in the bed next to me also was in for some cauliflower-related incident, but I didn't get particulars. I then asked the ER doc if he thought there was some connection, and we discussed it for a while. I brought up the possibility that cauliflowers were really alien brains out to destroy humanity by inducing kitchen-related injuries, a theory I think the doc liked.
Unfortunately, even though I did get five stitches, the fact that they are on my little finger doesn't make them cool enough to brag about, in spite of their relative grossness. I tried wearing the hospital bracelet all night, but as there were no parties where I could impress people with inflated tales, it was kind of pointless. I did hang out with two friends, but they were notoriously unsympathetic.
That's the problem with cauliflower-related injuries...they just don't sound bitchen'. Story of my life, I suppose....I can't even hurt myself in novel, interesting ways.
What had in fact happened, I wondered as later I sat in the emergency room, my memories still too fuzzy to really know for sure? Somewhere, deep in the confines of my subconscious, I had visions of rage-filled students coming at me with butterfly knives, and me disarming them, protecting my fellow instructors cowering behind me but getting sliced up and mortally wounded despite my eventual victory. Or had I lacerated my torso when, upon entering my house, a bomb planted by some crazed Sara Palin groupie exploded? Had my past as a hardened criminal finally caught up with me when my old comrades Lefty, One-eye, and Chuckles jumped me, whispering in my ear that no one really ever leaves the life?
Unfortunately, none of the above. My life just doesn't have that level of drama, much to my chagrin. I would rather be able to tell people that I wounded myself breaking up a hostage situation. Somehow, cutting my pinkie while trying to core a cauliflower for a curry doesn't have the same level of excitement to it. But at least it was deep.
I could've lived without going to the ER, but when she saw the wound, my spousal unit immediately got the "I must take care of you and protect you from your own macho bs" look in her eyes, so what choice did I have? Later, when she told me she was glad we came, I told her straight out that I knew she wouldn't shut up about it if I didn't go. I could get away with saying this to her, being wounded and all. Me being in pain will lessen her physical displays of rage.
When the ER staff saw that I had a sense of humor about everything, they were quite pleased. A nurse asked me if I needed another pillow, and I said only to stifle the screams. The doc then picked up a towel and mimed strangling me. When the spousal unit said she didn't want to look at the wound as the doc sewed it up because she might get dizzy, the doc encouraged her..."go ahead...you two have good insurance, so we could always admit you if you passed out and hurt yourself...more business for us!" I figure that you have to have a pretty sick sense of humor working in an ER, but I was quite surprised to find out it's almost the same as a restaurant worker's humor. There's a paper in there, I think.
I got a tetanus shot, and the nurse was good...I hardly felt it. When the doc gave me a local anesthetic, though...shots to the pinkey really bleedin' hurt. A good rule of thumb is when the doctor tells you something will "sting," find something hard to bite down on, quick.
Strangely enough, the lady in the bed next to me also was in for some cauliflower-related incident, but I didn't get particulars. I then asked the ER doc if he thought there was some connection, and we discussed it for a while. I brought up the possibility that cauliflowers were really alien brains out to destroy humanity by inducing kitchen-related injuries, a theory I think the doc liked.
Unfortunately, even though I did get five stitches, the fact that they are on my little finger doesn't make them cool enough to brag about, in spite of their relative grossness. I tried wearing the hospital bracelet all night, but as there were no parties where I could impress people with inflated tales, it was kind of pointless. I did hang out with two friends, but they were notoriously unsympathetic.
That's the problem with cauliflower-related injuries...they just don't sound bitchen'. Story of my life, I suppose....I can't even hurt myself in novel, interesting ways.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Sunday, November 02, 2008
a smartass thought about writing
If I was one of those "gee, see how clever I am" academics, I would point out how Reagan is very close to the word regain, and I would tie that all into the nostalgia tendencies. I would then bring up the etymology of regain, twist something in that to make myself clever, and then throw in some dense theory written either in French or in some East European (but that I will leave in the original language, sans translation) to show that the desire for nostalgia and nationalistic resurgence was built into the linguistic infrastructure which inevitably let to Ronald Reagan becoming president. I would, incidentally, have a smug look on my face while I wrote the above section.
Luckily for the reading public, I am not that kind of academic or writer. But I wonder...if I was that much of a poet/gearhead, would I have an easier time finding a tenure-track job?
Luckily for the reading public, I am not that kind of academic or writer. But I wonder...if I was that much of a poet/gearhead, would I have an easier time finding a tenure-track job?
multitasking
The major benefit of grad school is, I think, the ability to multitask. When I was a grad student taking classes, I had to:
How did I do it? What makes this all the more fascinating is that I had a fairly active and regular social life, as did all my friends (each of whom were balancing similar workloads). But then, I was on fire. I could do thousands of things. The world was my oyster.
Today, I've had to take care of some students. When I finish with them, I find myself having to adjust back to writing. I go in the bathroom to shave, and I have to run back to the computer to type something important. I finish shaving, come back to type again, and have to run back to plug in the razor to charge...because I know otherwise I'll forget it. I have to then clear blocks where I can write, because when I actively work on my own stuff, I can't really do much else.
Sometimes, I find myself wishing I had half the mental faculties and multitasking ability I had in grad school. But then again, it did take me several years to get the dissertation done, so maybe I'm just being nostalgic.
Now, what did I have to do next?
- plan for the next class I was teaching
- grade papers
- stay in touch with my department and professors
- keep up on department news and politics
- take 4 classes, each of which involved
- at reading one reading apiece
- usually at least two papers
- weekly discussions
- a zillion different theoretical constructs/approaches
- at reading one reading apiece
- keep my house in workable order and cleanliness
- keep my then-date now-spousal unit appeased
How did I do it? What makes this all the more fascinating is that I had a fairly active and regular social life, as did all my friends (each of whom were balancing similar workloads). But then, I was on fire. I could do thousands of things. The world was my oyster.
Today, I've had to take care of some students. When I finish with them, I find myself having to adjust back to writing. I go in the bathroom to shave, and I have to run back to the computer to type something important. I finish shaving, come back to type again, and have to run back to plug in the razor to charge...because I know otherwise I'll forget it. I have to then clear blocks where I can write, because when I actively work on my own stuff, I can't really do much else.
Sometimes, I find myself wishing I had half the mental faculties and multitasking ability I had in grad school. But then again, it did take me several years to get the dissertation done, so maybe I'm just being nostalgic.
Now, what did I have to do next?
a brief programming note
I am experimenting with doing this blog over at Wordpress. Blogger has lots of advantages, but there is no way I know to back up your blog. At Wordpress, you can do that. So, please feel free to check out the new experiment at http://themikedubose.wordpress.com/. It might change, as I get ideas/try to avoid real work. Also, feel free to leave suggestions/pass judgments in the comments to this post.
events are conspiring against me
At the beginning of the week, I was looking forward to a long Wed.-Thurs.-Fri.-Sat.-Sun. stretch of writing. I planned to do a lot of work on the (now overdue again) book manuscript, get that damned theory chapter that's been bugging me out of the way, bust out pages like nobody's business. So what happened?
Wednesday, I had a doctor's appointment. When I gave myself runner's knee over the summer, the doctor gave me a knee brace. Said brace did stop the knee, but it also made me walk just differently enough to tweak my old heel spur in the other foot...and it just would not die down. Now, I have a nifty new night splint I get to wear. It's awkward. It takes 5 minutes to attach. I now have to limp/stumble if I have to go to the restroom at night. Plus, I have to get used to sleeping a completely different way. Wee.
Afterward, the spousal unit and I went to vote. That killed over an hour, but I really like the idea of early voting. I hope it causes more people to get out there and vote. The whole time I was at the office, though, I kept whispering to myself, "don't screw it up, America, don't screw it up." These two events, of course, led to me getting nothing done.
Thursday came, and I realize I had essay proposals to review. My students are picking a specific example of someone/thing that goes against normative gender roles and analyzing it. Needless to say, a large part of the assignment is figuring out what they can write about. So far, they want to write big important issue papers. One student wants to write about (paraphrase here) how guys see other guys. So my responses to them took all day, in between bouts of grading.
Friday, was that a day for writing? Of course not. While going to bed the night before, the spousal unit found some water patches in the hallway. This was kind of mysterious, as there were no leaks on the ceiling. They were still there the next morning, so I called maintenance. Our cool maintenance guy looked them over, realized they were next to a vent in our supply/utility closet, and checked out our water heater. Prognosis? It was "about to explode." So maintenance spent all day tearing out the old water heater and installing a new one. I of course couldn't actually write with all this going on, so I got my grading caught up, dealt with "why am I failing" student e-mails (as the result of the aforementioned grading), and ran to a produce stand to get some orchard-fresh apples.
That night, we had the Halloween party. I went as a Mad Scientist. Spousal Unit went as a witch, but a friend asked her "are you some Renaissance Fair person?" A good time was had (and I'll post photos of costumes and our carved pumpkin later). Of course, this meant a late night, so I slept in way too late on Saturday. Spousal unit was on the desktop from the time we woke up until 6, and I just can't do any serious writing on my laptop, as much as I love it.
No real work done so far today. Part of this comes from dealing with students, but there's also the case of I've been away from it for about a week now, and I need to re-immerse myself, saturation, the dunk tank method. Of course, it's almost lunch time...and I still have to write to my publisher-to-be and explain why I'm not done...and there's more student contact to come...and my computer's version of Doom is calling me...
Wednesday, I had a doctor's appointment. When I gave myself runner's knee over the summer, the doctor gave me a knee brace. Said brace did stop the knee, but it also made me walk just differently enough to tweak my old heel spur in the other foot...and it just would not die down. Now, I have a nifty new night splint I get to wear. It's awkward. It takes 5 minutes to attach. I now have to limp/stumble if I have to go to the restroom at night. Plus, I have to get used to sleeping a completely different way. Wee.
Afterward, the spousal unit and I went to vote. That killed over an hour, but I really like the idea of early voting. I hope it causes more people to get out there and vote. The whole time I was at the office, though, I kept whispering to myself, "don't screw it up, America, don't screw it up." These two events, of course, led to me getting nothing done.
Thursday came, and I realize I had essay proposals to review. My students are picking a specific example of someone/thing that goes against normative gender roles and analyzing it. Needless to say, a large part of the assignment is figuring out what they can write about. So far, they want to write big important issue papers. One student wants to write about (paraphrase here) how guys see other guys. So my responses to them took all day, in between bouts of grading.
Friday, was that a day for writing? Of course not. While going to bed the night before, the spousal unit found some water patches in the hallway. This was kind of mysterious, as there were no leaks on the ceiling. They were still there the next morning, so I called maintenance. Our cool maintenance guy looked them over, realized they were next to a vent in our supply/utility closet, and checked out our water heater. Prognosis? It was "about to explode." So maintenance spent all day tearing out the old water heater and installing a new one. I of course couldn't actually write with all this going on, so I got my grading caught up, dealt with "why am I failing" student e-mails (as the result of the aforementioned grading), and ran to a produce stand to get some orchard-fresh apples.
That night, we had the Halloween party. I went as a Mad Scientist. Spousal Unit went as a witch, but a friend asked her "are you some Renaissance Fair person?" A good time was had (and I'll post photos of costumes and our carved pumpkin later). Of course, this meant a late night, so I slept in way too late on Saturday. Spousal unit was on the desktop from the time we woke up until 6, and I just can't do any serious writing on my laptop, as much as I love it.
No real work done so far today. Part of this comes from dealing with students, but there's also the case of I've been away from it for about a week now, and I need to re-immerse myself, saturation, the dunk tank method. Of course, it's almost lunch time...and I still have to write to my publisher-to-be and explain why I'm not done...and there's more student contact to come...and my computer's version of Doom is calling me...
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
deadline reminder
I'm trying to reach people through as many different ways as possible, so consider this to be a warning...and not your last one.
The Popular Culture Association's 2009 conference is in New Orleans from Wednesday, April 8, through Saturday, April 11. The deadline for submissions is November 30. On their website, they have a complete list of areas, each with its own address or call for papers.
While this conference is used by some academics as simply a vacation spot (and, hint-hint, it is in New Orleans, a great place for a vacation), there are still good panels and papers (including mine). So everyone I know should go.
Plus, it's New Orleans. Jazz clubs. Awesome food. Drinking on the streets. Voodoo stores. How could this not be fun?
Please go. I want to get everyone I know there, so we can act like a street gang and take over the place.
The Popular Culture Association's 2009 conference is in New Orleans from Wednesday, April 8, through Saturday, April 11. The deadline for submissions is November 30. On their website, they have a complete list of areas, each with its own address or call for papers.
While this conference is used by some academics as simply a vacation spot (and, hint-hint, it is in New Orleans, a great place for a vacation), there are still good panels and papers (including mine). So everyone I know should go.
Plus, it's New Orleans. Jazz clubs. Awesome food. Drinking on the streets. Voodoo stores. How could this not be fun?
Please go. I want to get everyone I know there, so we can act like a street gang and take over the place.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
little known facts about me
It's a secret that I've been hiding for ages, and it's finally time to come clean. My soul can't take the deception any longer. Yes, I, themikedubose, have physical deformities. To wit:
Okay, so maybe it's not enough to let me join a circus...but have pity anyway. And quit looking at me!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- I have a mysterious spot on my left leg where, in a perfect circle, no hair whatsoever will grow. This is puzzling, because I'm quite hirsute otherwise. My parents know of no birth defects, forceps gouging, or massive burns. My theory? Alien abduction.
- When it is cold outside, my pinkies are significantly more chilled than the rest of my hand. Maybe this is a sign my hands will still turn into hooves or something.
- I get hot entirely too quickly. When I told my doctor this, he thought about it, and then diagnosed me: I have heat intolerance. Oooooh.
Okay, so maybe it's not enough to let me join a circus...but have pity anyway. And quit looking at me!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Star Trek and deadlines
One of the best things about Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn, other than the very awesome Kirk scream, is its applicability to real life.
Bear with me here.
The Genesis Device (all such sci-fi devices are unique, destructive, and therefor must be capitalized) is about to go off. The Enterprise's warp core is not working. Someone's giving the countdown of doom. Kirk keeps asking for distance from the explosion and time until detonation. If they can't travel fast enough, they are all dead...and with the warp core down, they will certainly be obliterated in the explosion.
Kirk looks worried. But it is not him with whom I identify. Sulu is at the helm, and in a resigned voice, asks no one in particular: "We're not going to make it, are we?"
Star Trek is infamous for putting the ship in mortal peril. They always seem to escape. Sulu knows this. Yet his voice gives away a hint of awareness that their luck might have finally just run out.
It is now October 22. I am supposed to have the book done by the end of the month. And boy, is this thing fighting me. I am having to go do mortal combat with the damn thing every day. I've cut my football back to almost nothing. I've eliminated most of my television viewing...and for that matter, culture enjoyment of all sorts. But the book is working against me at every turn.
Nine days. I know how Sulu felt.
Of course, they did make it, so maybe I will. But they had Spock, who was willing to sacrifice himself in order to save the crew. The good of the many sometimes outweighs the good of the few.
Where's my Spock? Who will take my classes, the dilithium crystals of my life, and fix them so I can heroically escape death by missed deadline?
Bear with me here.
The Genesis Device (all such sci-fi devices are unique, destructive, and therefor must be capitalized) is about to go off. The Enterprise's warp core is not working. Someone's giving the countdown of doom. Kirk keeps asking for distance from the explosion and time until detonation. If they can't travel fast enough, they are all dead...and with the warp core down, they will certainly be obliterated in the explosion.
Kirk looks worried. But it is not him with whom I identify. Sulu is at the helm, and in a resigned voice, asks no one in particular: "We're not going to make it, are we?"
Star Trek is infamous for putting the ship in mortal peril. They always seem to escape. Sulu knows this. Yet his voice gives away a hint of awareness that their luck might have finally just run out.
It is now October 22. I am supposed to have the book done by the end of the month. And boy, is this thing fighting me. I am having to go do mortal combat with the damn thing every day. I've cut my football back to almost nothing. I've eliminated most of my television viewing...and for that matter, culture enjoyment of all sorts. But the book is working against me at every turn.
Nine days. I know how Sulu felt.
Of course, they did make it, so maybe I will. But they had Spock, who was willing to sacrifice himself in order to save the crew. The good of the many sometimes outweighs the good of the few.
Where's my Spock? Who will take my classes, the dilithium crystals of my life, and fix them so I can heroically escape death by missed deadline?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Zappa Plays Zappa
A brief time out/work avoidance moment to tell you about our experience at Zappa Plays Zappa last night.
I'm a big Frank Zappa fan. I got into him while he was still alive but (unfortunately) after he had stopped touring. I'm a biggest fan of the One Size Fits All era, but I have several timeframes represented. Even so, I feel inadequate...I've only got about twenty of his seventy or so albums.
When I found out that Zappa's son Dweezil had put together a touring Zappa tribute band, I was intrigued. Dweezil always had the technical skills, but he was much more manic than his father, and I wondered if he would have the discipline to pull this off. However, every time I checked their tour dates, they seemed to be focusing on festival shows, and they seemed to never be around where I live, so it was all a moot point...until last night.
Zappa Plays Zappa came into Ann Arbor last night, and I managed to snag two 4th row seats...the joys of working at home. First, it was nice to be so close, I felt like the luckiest little girl in the world! Second, it was one of those shows where the spousal unit and I were lowering the average age...pretty much the exact opposite of what happened when thmarn and I went to see My Chemical Romance. Third, I love knowing that there's no opening act for me to groan my way through.
The band was utterly amazing...almost three hours of music. We got a lot of the classics: "Peaches," "Zombie Woof," "I Am The Slime," a couple songs off Joe's Garage, a dance contest, a smokin' "Cosmic Debris" that featured solos from everyone including the awesome Ray White, and a version of (get this) "Billy the Mountain"...it must've went on for a half hour, weird and funny as all hell.
Dweezil smokes. Having to sit and learn all of Frank's music was really good for him...he's more fluid than I've ever seen him, both faster and with more emotion. He's starting to look a lot like Frank, and he sure as hell can channel his father's playing. More importantly, he was sporting the "how lucky am I?" grin through most of the evening.
I'll never get to see Frank, but this evening made me a little less sad of that fact.
ps: With a crowd that old and a set list that long, people were constantly getting up to hit a bathroom. If Dweezil was more of a commercial slut, he should've had the whole deal sponsored by FloMax.
I'm a big Frank Zappa fan. I got into him while he was still alive but (unfortunately) after he had stopped touring. I'm a biggest fan of the One Size Fits All era, but I have several timeframes represented. Even so, I feel inadequate...I've only got about twenty of his seventy or so albums.
When I found out that Zappa's son Dweezil had put together a touring Zappa tribute band, I was intrigued. Dweezil always had the technical skills, but he was much more manic than his father, and I wondered if he would have the discipline to pull this off. However, every time I checked their tour dates, they seemed to be focusing on festival shows, and they seemed to never be around where I live, so it was all a moot point...until last night.
Zappa Plays Zappa came into Ann Arbor last night, and I managed to snag two 4th row seats...the joys of working at home. First, it was nice to be so close, I felt like the luckiest little girl in the world! Second, it was one of those shows where the spousal unit and I were lowering the average age...pretty much the exact opposite of what happened when thmarn and I went to see My Chemical Romance. Third, I love knowing that there's no opening act for me to groan my way through.
The band was utterly amazing...almost three hours of music. We got a lot of the classics: "Peaches," "Zombie Woof," "I Am The Slime," a couple songs off Joe's Garage, a dance contest, a smokin' "Cosmic Debris" that featured solos from everyone including the awesome Ray White, and a version of (get this) "Billy the Mountain"...it must've went on for a half hour, weird and funny as all hell.
Dweezil smokes. Having to sit and learn all of Frank's music was really good for him...he's more fluid than I've ever seen him, both faster and with more emotion. He's starting to look a lot like Frank, and he sure as hell can channel his father's playing. More importantly, he was sporting the "how lucky am I?" grin through most of the evening.
I'll never get to see Frank, but this evening made me a little less sad of that fact.
ps: With a crowd that old and a set list that long, people were constantly getting up to hit a bathroom. If Dweezil was more of a commercial slut, he should've had the whole deal sponsored by FloMax.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
another beverage
I call this one the "Writing Depression":
- Fill a pint glass up with ice
- fill 1/4 with vodka
- 1/4 wild strawberry liquor
- splash of triple sec
- top off with club soda (preferably Big K brand)
- sip while watching football, trying to figure out how to fix your manuscript problems, become self-deluded that you'll actually finish the book in 11 days.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
so, how's it going?
I have just finished stitching together a draft of the completely new chapter of my book. It has 100% of the structure/organization, 85% of the sources (and I know where to find the others), and 70% of the actual language. I should be able to get it more or less complete by the end of the week, if all goes well.
Then I just have to stitch it together with the rest, stitch in the conclusion and expand it, and reword the entire thing. And I have 17 days to do it. Piece of cake!
I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to anyone whom I might've insulted, ignored, or generally treated in a questionable manner during this process. I think I've been handling the stress and workload pretty well, but one thing I learned in the dissertation is that perspective and judgment are the first things to go.
Kind of like in a whiskey drunk.
Then I just have to stitch it together with the rest, stitch in the conclusion and expand it, and reword the entire thing. And I have 17 days to do it. Piece of cake!
I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to anyone whom I might've insulted, ignored, or generally treated in a questionable manner during this process. I think I've been handling the stress and workload pretty well, but one thing I learned in the dissertation is that perspective and judgment are the first things to go.
Kind of like in a whiskey drunk.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
lazing on a sunday afternoon
Somewhere in Matt Groening's book School is Hell, there's a piece about graduate school, where someone is in the doorway of a graduate student, asking them if they wanna come to a picnic. The student, without looking up from his book, replies with "Sounds great! I'll be there in four or five years.
I spent until 10pm yesterday at my computer busting out job applications. I worked until 9 most nights last week. Today, I'm sitting at the computer again, going over some criticism. It's warm, and in order to battle the heat from the cpu, I've got the window open.
Across the street is one of those mega-apartment complexes for undergrads. If you look through the trees, you can see the "kids" playing volleyball. I assume there's also beer involved.
I remember spending weekend days at a friend's house, drinking beer, playing volleyball in the front yard. Now, I'm thinking of that experience while I watch some other lucky teen punks play volleyball in the sun. In between bouts of bitterness and loathing, I write about really horrible literary criticism.
One would hope this eventually evens out.
I spent until 10pm yesterday at my computer busting out job applications. I worked until 9 most nights last week. Today, I'm sitting at the computer again, going over some criticism. It's warm, and in order to battle the heat from the cpu, I've got the window open.
Across the street is one of those mega-apartment complexes for undergrads. If you look through the trees, you can see the "kids" playing volleyball. I assume there's also beer involved.
I remember spending weekend days at a friend's house, drinking beer, playing volleyball in the front yard. Now, I'm thinking of that experience while I watch some other lucky teen punks play volleyball in the sun. In between bouts of bitterness and loathing, I write about really horrible literary criticism.
One would hope this eventually evens out.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
blogging activity
Yes, I haven't been around much...been working...but I have not abandoned this. Later this week, I have to type up an entry I handwrote while at the Detroit airport. Then I get to tell you about my new car (pimpmobile). I still have to give the results of my MySpace and Facebook experiment. And there are, of course, more horror stories from work.
However, if you haven't noticed, there is a summary of my Twitter feed on the right. I started Twittering a while back...the short space fits my current workload. If you Twitter, please let me know so I can follow you.
Also, I have a blog chronicling thoughts, ideas, and rants-in-progress about my book and other scholarship. You might've heard me mention it before, but it was previously invite-only. I'm changing that. I'm also moving the academic blog to another site which allows backups (which, inexplicably, Blogger does not). So if you have any interest in seeing what I've been up to in terms of scholarship...or in telling me how I'm wrong...please check out Thought Emporium, my new home for scholarship.
Now, I'm going back to work so I can get this damn book done, move onto a tenure track job, buy a house, start homebrewing beer again, have kids who will take care of me when I get (more) old and decrepit, and spend more time admiring my awesome spousal unit.
However, if you haven't noticed, there is a summary of my Twitter feed on the right. I started Twittering a while back...the short space fits my current workload. If you Twitter, please let me know so I can follow you.
Also, I have a blog chronicling thoughts, ideas, and rants-in-progress about my book and other scholarship. You might've heard me mention it before, but it was previously invite-only. I'm changing that. I'm also moving the academic blog to another site which allows backups (which, inexplicably, Blogger does not). So if you have any interest in seeing what I've been up to in terms of scholarship...or in telling me how I'm wrong...please check out Thought Emporium, my new home for scholarship.
Now, I'm going back to work so I can get this damn book done, move onto a tenure track job, buy a house, start homebrewing beer again, have kids who will take care of me when I get (more) old and decrepit, and spend more time admiring my awesome spousal unit.
Friday, September 12, 2008
seven years gone
I wasn't going to do a post-9/11 post, but someone on a mailing list wrote something that shook me to the core, and I just had to work out some thoughts (albeit a day late). An expansion of my reply:
My experience pales to most people, but I do remember the utter disorientation that everyone at school seemed to exhibit...everyone was walking around like a zombie. I was sitting in my office doing some grading, and one of my colleagues kept wandering the hallways, listening to a portable radio. When I finally asked him what the hell he was doing, I didn't believe his response at first.
I went down to my department's conference room, where there was a tv set up. A number of people had gathered to watch the coverage...by that time, the second tower had already fallen...but no one was really saying anything. I stayed for an hour or so, and then went to my only class of the day. The teacher there had the tv on, and likewise, everyone was just staring, silent. I stayed for about 30 minutes before heading home. I didn't break out my cd player for the walk as I normally would...somehow, I just really needed to hear some quiet.
I got home and watched coverage for a few hours before my mind snapped, and I just couldn't take it anymore. However, nothing else was on. Even Food Network has suspended their coverage, which I understand, but it was a shame...I really needed a diversion at that point.
That night, the spousal unit and an old roomate and I went to BW3s for wing night. We were sitting on the deck, right across the street from a gas station, and it seemed that every 15 minutes, someone from the gas station would come out and raise the prices on the sign. Afterward, we went to Howards (the ultimate BG bar), and we got to see the President-appointee's "I've finally finished reading kid stories and am now ready to pretend to be a leader" speech to the nation, where he begged us, the nation, to show unity by going (wait for it) shopping.
It's a shame those are my two most vivid memories of that day. But it was obvious by them that something in the world (and particularly in the US) had changed for the worse. I was never one of those "capitalism is evil" types, but I became much more cynical about government and authority after trying to juxtapose the gas gouging and the presidential pleas to shop. I still think that 9/11 is the day that W became unglued, and our country and the world has suffered the wrath of a government becoming more egotistical, more evil, and less empathetic ever since.
On the plus side, the actual people of the country drew together in a way that gave me hope. Locally, our Muslim community started to pre-emptively reach out to the area and become more open. The population showed the enormous courage, unity, charity, and grace that those in power so clearly showed they lack.
(Actually, come to think of it, the Katrina aftermath was pretty much the same thing.)
I want to be hopeful here. I want to believe that the people of this country will work not only for their own best interests but for the best interests of us all, even when the government is clearly wrong. However, many good people still actively support a very bad government, one that's making us all look bad and get our souls messy. Please, America, we have a chance to finally do right by each other. Do the right thing.
My experience pales to most people, but I do remember the utter disorientation that everyone at school seemed to exhibit...everyone was walking around like a zombie. I was sitting in my office doing some grading, and one of my colleagues kept wandering the hallways, listening to a portable radio. When I finally asked him what the hell he was doing, I didn't believe his response at first.
I went down to my department's conference room, where there was a tv set up. A number of people had gathered to watch the coverage...by that time, the second tower had already fallen...but no one was really saying anything. I stayed for an hour or so, and then went to my only class of the day. The teacher there had the tv on, and likewise, everyone was just staring, silent. I stayed for about 30 minutes before heading home. I didn't break out my cd player for the walk as I normally would...somehow, I just really needed to hear some quiet.
I got home and watched coverage for a few hours before my mind snapped, and I just couldn't take it anymore. However, nothing else was on. Even Food Network has suspended their coverage, which I understand, but it was a shame...I really needed a diversion at that point.
That night, the spousal unit and an old roomate and I went to BW3s for wing night. We were sitting on the deck, right across the street from a gas station, and it seemed that every 15 minutes, someone from the gas station would come out and raise the prices on the sign. Afterward, we went to Howards (the ultimate BG bar), and we got to see the President-appointee's "I've finally finished reading kid stories and am now ready to pretend to be a leader" speech to the nation, where he begged us, the nation, to show unity by going (wait for it) shopping.
It's a shame those are my two most vivid memories of that day. But it was obvious by them that something in the world (and particularly in the US) had changed for the worse. I was never one of those "capitalism is evil" types, but I became much more cynical about government and authority after trying to juxtapose the gas gouging and the presidential pleas to shop. I still think that 9/11 is the day that W became unglued, and our country and the world has suffered the wrath of a government becoming more egotistical, more evil, and less empathetic ever since.
On the plus side, the actual people of the country drew together in a way that gave me hope. Locally, our Muslim community started to pre-emptively reach out to the area and become more open. The population showed the enormous courage, unity, charity, and grace that those in power so clearly showed they lack.
(Actually, come to think of it, the Katrina aftermath was pretty much the same thing.)
I want to be hopeful here. I want to believe that the people of this country will work not only for their own best interests but for the best interests of us all, even when the government is clearly wrong. However, many good people still actively support a very bad government, one that's making us all look bad and get our souls messy. Please, America, we have a chance to finally do right by each other. Do the right thing.
Monday, September 08, 2008
two completely unrelated thoughts
These have nothing to do with each other:
- My friend Andy, who does political rage better than I, has a good post entitled Dear America: WTF? An Open Letter. If you have heard and even stopped to consider any of the McCain/GOP rhetoric, please read this.
- You will notice my Twitter feed to your right. As I get busier, I'm more prone to micro-blog. Please use Twitter...I'm finding it fun, and I wanna follow more friends.
Friday, August 29, 2008
anxiety and the book
A while back, I started on another blog, one designed to help me get back into the swing of writing my book...or, if you prefer, converting my dissertation into a book manuscript. I read a lot of theory, figuring I needed to reflex my brain muscles, become as intellectually nimble as when I was a grad student and being nimble was my only real job. The blog became home to my thinking, my rants, my tangents discovered while diving into theory. I put up somewhere around 25-30 pages of material, and much of it still will find a way into my scholarship somehow.
Then I had a semester of classes for which to prepare. (damn, it might be proper grammar, but that sentence looks funky) Then I had much welcome and enjoyed house guests. I've made a few stabs at getting back into research mode after they left, but there are a few things that have made me rethink my approach.
First, a colleague here at UT who is a creative writer started revising his MFA book..."redlining," he calls it. Then one of my old roommates just published his book (which is both highly entertaining and gorgeously designed), and I'm insanely jealous. These things brought me to some kind of epiphany.
I think what I've realized is that, by submitting myself to a theory overload, I've been trying to put myself through a "DIY" version of doctoral school...and I don't really think I actually need that at this point of my career. I need to remember that the book itself, as the early draft stands now, has more than enough theory in it and behind it. And while I will be revamping the theory section (moving it around, refocusing, all that), it is not going to be a "gearhead" tome.
There's not a lot on the eighties as a decade, and out of what is out there, none of it is really current. My book will not be one of many. It will be an invitation back into the subject, a good reminder of why this decade should be studied, and as such, it has to be approachable. I have to keep it if not informal in tone, then at least accessible. There will be plenty of time to write the heavy theory follow-up article version of the theory chapter...no real need to do it now.
When I was working on the dissertation itself, I had one particular moment of clarity (there were others, but this is the one that's relevant). I was sitting in the library, having just worked my way through a stack of material on Reaganomics and SDI, and I looked at the pile of sociology books on my table. Suddenly, I realized that what I was trying to do was not write my project but become an expert on everything in the world.
This was unnecessary. It was not really helpful. It contributed to and exacerbated a lack of focus (whether real or perceived). On top of all this, I wasn't sure if the need to know everything in the world was either a desire to be the ultimate authority (and thus a signifier of a heavy work ethic) or of a desire to avoid actually finishing the damn project (and thus a signifier of either laziness or fear of the post-grad world).
In my attempt at total theory immersion, I realize I was doing the exact same thing over again.
So I've made a conscious decision. I've decided that, on a general scale, I'm smart enough to do this as-is. I will still do research and reading, but I'm not going to teach myself anything from scratch.
Second, I've decided that I have to have faith in the bones of the project as it currently exists. I might've been trying to start from scratch, to do the dissertation as I'd do it if I were just now becoming ABD. I need to have faith that all I really need to do is refocus and revise what I've done. While much of the language may change, what I have right now is, I need to remember, a worthwhile project that deserves to see the light of day, and sooner is better than later.
I'm moving on to writing. Screw this misplaced desire for total mastery of all knowledge. I'm not that kind of guy, I'm not that kind of academic, I'm not a theoretical gearhead. Time to start acting and writing like the kind of academic I am.
(note to my readers: If you are a theoretical gearhead, please don't be offended by anything I say here. I understand your scholarship. I need to see a lot of your kind of stuff. Deep in my heart, I wish I was you. But I am not. If I have a potential niche as an academic/scholar, it's essentially my ability to apply neat, unusual, skewed perspectives on subjects that manages to provide some kind of neat insight. This is just about playing to my strengths.)
Then I had a semester of classes for which to prepare. (damn, it might be proper grammar, but that sentence looks funky) Then I had much welcome and enjoyed house guests. I've made a few stabs at getting back into research mode after they left, but there are a few things that have made me rethink my approach.
First, a colleague here at UT who is a creative writer started revising his MFA book..."redlining," he calls it. Then one of my old roommates just published his book (which is both highly entertaining and gorgeously designed), and I'm insanely jealous. These things brought me to some kind of epiphany.
I think what I've realized is that, by submitting myself to a theory overload, I've been trying to put myself through a "DIY" version of doctoral school...and I don't really think I actually need that at this point of my career. I need to remember that the book itself, as the early draft stands now, has more than enough theory in it and behind it. And while I will be revamping the theory section (moving it around, refocusing, all that), it is not going to be a "gearhead" tome.
There's not a lot on the eighties as a decade, and out of what is out there, none of it is really current. My book will not be one of many. It will be an invitation back into the subject, a good reminder of why this decade should be studied, and as such, it has to be approachable. I have to keep it if not informal in tone, then at least accessible. There will be plenty of time to write the heavy theory follow-up article version of the theory chapter...no real need to do it now.
When I was working on the dissertation itself, I had one particular moment of clarity (there were others, but this is the one that's relevant). I was sitting in the library, having just worked my way through a stack of material on Reaganomics and SDI, and I looked at the pile of sociology books on my table. Suddenly, I realized that what I was trying to do was not write my project but become an expert on everything in the world.
This was unnecessary. It was not really helpful. It contributed to and exacerbated a lack of focus (whether real or perceived). On top of all this, I wasn't sure if the need to know everything in the world was either a desire to be the ultimate authority (and thus a signifier of a heavy work ethic) or of a desire to avoid actually finishing the damn project (and thus a signifier of either laziness or fear of the post-grad world).
In my attempt at total theory immersion, I realize I was doing the exact same thing over again.
So I've made a conscious decision. I've decided that, on a general scale, I'm smart enough to do this as-is. I will still do research and reading, but I'm not going to teach myself anything from scratch.
Second, I've decided that I have to have faith in the bones of the project as it currently exists. I might've been trying to start from scratch, to do the dissertation as I'd do it if I were just now becoming ABD. I need to have faith that all I really need to do is refocus and revise what I've done. While much of the language may change, what I have right now is, I need to remember, a worthwhile project that deserves to see the light of day, and sooner is better than later.
I'm moving on to writing. Screw this misplaced desire for total mastery of all knowledge. I'm not that kind of guy, I'm not that kind of academic, I'm not a theoretical gearhead. Time to start acting and writing like the kind of academic I am.
(note to my readers: If you are a theoretical gearhead, please don't be offended by anything I say here. I understand your scholarship. I need to see a lot of your kind of stuff. Deep in my heart, I wish I was you. But I am not. If I have a potential niche as an academic/scholar, it's essentially my ability to apply neat, unusual, skewed perspectives on subjects that manages to provide some kind of neat insight. This is just about playing to my strengths.)
Thursday, August 28, 2008
death of nerdy?
Someone I know is playing D&D tonight. And now I'm starting to feel sadness that I'm not playing with them. Suddenly, I am not in with nerd/geek culture anymore. This is the weirdest mood I've been in for ages.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
the evaporation of summer
The end of freedom is definitely in the air, and that's something you particularly notice while living in a college town. The traffic on the roads has visibly picked up, you can hear the gentle strains of the mating call of the wild frat boy whenever you step outside, and there's a general sense of anticipation mixed with healthy amounts of fear and drudgery.
Yes, fall semester starts on Monday.
It's always a time of contrasts for me. There are ample opportunities to meet new people, and even though I'm no longer really a part of my doctoral program, I've already started to get to know some of their fascinating new members. Even amongst the established BG veterans, there are increasing levels of contacts and camaraderie...perhaps we're all finally starting to get over losing new friends to jobs and other programs, and we just crave connection. Socially, I feel really good, which is frankly amazing, considering the scores of friends who have left this town, moving onto "elsewhere" and a new chapter in their lives. Most falls, I feel their absence, but the possibility of new connections is, right now, my strongest social sensation.
There is also a new semester of challenges on the horizon. Monday, I walk into my classrooms for the first time. For many of my students, I am the first university teacher they will have, the "welcome to college" sign in their lives, and this is indeed a heady feeling. There is so much to teach them, so many preconceptions to eliminate, so many new intellectual discoveries to facilitate. While I know by experience that not all will make it, I am looking forward to seeing how much most of them will grow.
And I did get a lot accomplished this summer. I've had an unprecedented level of scholarly production...2 reviews, 2 articles, and a start on the book. I've got to travel...the brief sojourn to New York truly being a highlight experience. I've got to see departed friends return for visits. I hosted two wonderfully fun parties, and each yielded unique memories.
There are downsides, though. My health has ground to a bit of a halt. I started off the break by swearing to get out, be active, and I committed to a morning walk and an afternoon bike. Then my knee started to give out. The knee brace helped with that, but then, of course, a heel spur in the other foot that hadn't bothered me in years decided to flare up and just will not heal (perhaps exacerbated by my need to shift my weight to that leg). Now I've been forced back to immobility, and when I do go out, I get to repeatedly answer the admittedly good question of how someone who never runs can possibly get runner's knee while simultaneously trying to decide which method of limping will be the most effective.
And although I did more writing in a summer than ever before, I still didn't come close to finishing my research agenda. My book, although I wanted to have it to the press by the end of summer, has miles of work remaining. Instead of polishing a rewritten manuscript, I have a plan, a bunch of notes, and some stream of consciousness rants that still await incorporation. Now I am facing a heavy writing load and deadline on top of teaching 16 credit hours.
It's a time marked with possibilities and impossibilities, the mixture of the rush of hope with the fear of failure, positives and negatives. After all these years in the academic life, you think I would've gotten used to this feeling by now.
Yes, fall semester starts on Monday.
It's always a time of contrasts for me. There are ample opportunities to meet new people, and even though I'm no longer really a part of my doctoral program, I've already started to get to know some of their fascinating new members. Even amongst the established BG veterans, there are increasing levels of contacts and camaraderie...perhaps we're all finally starting to get over losing new friends to jobs and other programs, and we just crave connection. Socially, I feel really good, which is frankly amazing, considering the scores of friends who have left this town, moving onto "elsewhere" and a new chapter in their lives. Most falls, I feel their absence, but the possibility of new connections is, right now, my strongest social sensation.
There is also a new semester of challenges on the horizon. Monday, I walk into my classrooms for the first time. For many of my students, I am the first university teacher they will have, the "welcome to college" sign in their lives, and this is indeed a heady feeling. There is so much to teach them, so many preconceptions to eliminate, so many new intellectual discoveries to facilitate. While I know by experience that not all will make it, I am looking forward to seeing how much most of them will grow.
And I did get a lot accomplished this summer. I've had an unprecedented level of scholarly production...2 reviews, 2 articles, and a start on the book. I've got to travel...the brief sojourn to New York truly being a highlight experience. I've got to see departed friends return for visits. I hosted two wonderfully fun parties, and each yielded unique memories.
There are downsides, though. My health has ground to a bit of a halt. I started off the break by swearing to get out, be active, and I committed to a morning walk and an afternoon bike. Then my knee started to give out. The knee brace helped with that, but then, of course, a heel spur in the other foot that hadn't bothered me in years decided to flare up and just will not heal (perhaps exacerbated by my need to shift my weight to that leg). Now I've been forced back to immobility, and when I do go out, I get to repeatedly answer the admittedly good question of how someone who never runs can possibly get runner's knee while simultaneously trying to decide which method of limping will be the most effective.
And although I did more writing in a summer than ever before, I still didn't come close to finishing my research agenda. My book, although I wanted to have it to the press by the end of summer, has miles of work remaining. Instead of polishing a rewritten manuscript, I have a plan, a bunch of notes, and some stream of consciousness rants that still await incorporation. Now I am facing a heavy writing load and deadline on top of teaching 16 credit hours.
It's a time marked with possibilities and impossibilities, the mixture of the rush of hope with the fear of failure, positives and negatives. After all these years in the academic life, you think I would've gotten used to this feeling by now.
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