Monthly Archive for October, 2008

Halloween Weekend, I am Almost There.

Oh my god, y’all, I am up in my office right now and I actually have thirty minutes to myself, due to a couple of last-minute cancellations in my packed schedule of student conferences. This week has been one of those weeks wherein every single spare second of my time has been planned, plotted, and scheduled to death. I have barely been able to check on the internet every now and then, and let’s not even TALK about how behind I am on television watching, butt scratching, and whiskey swilling.

Actually, hold on a second. I have to go take a minute for myself.

Okay, I am back. If you MUST know, I had to go to the ladies’ room. It was a really special moment in there, too, as it’s the first chance I’ve had to go since I left the house this morning.

Sweet sesame cracker but I am busy lately. Part of it is that it is late in the semester and the school duties are piling up; part of it is that its job application season; and part of it is my own damned fault (as usual). See, I have canceled classes next Wednesday, because I plan on staying up late on election night and either celebrating my butt off or weeping myself dry — either way, I won’t feel like school the next day. This is all great and fine, except it means that all the student meetings and things I would normally put on the schedule for Wednesday had to be done this week, or Monday. (I don’t even want to tell you how horribly busy my Monday is going to be. Shudder.)

On the one hand: day off. On the other hand: you never get a day off without paying out the nose. This is science.

After my conferences are done today, I blazing out of here so fast there will be a trail of dust behind me. It’s not just that I’m so eager for the weekend (I AM), but I also have to run a whole bunch of errands before my Halloween party — including buy the remaining pieces of my costume! Of course I did not obtain them ahead of time, despite the fact that I have known what my costume would be for ages now. What would a holiday be without frantic last-minute planning, I ask you?

And what are you doing for Halloween?

Still Wishing for a Way to Get Paid for Watching TV

I’m on the job market again this year.  The horrible, horrible job market.  The job market whose very WEBSITE instills fear and loathing in my heart and causes my stomach to churn angrily as soon as I point my browser in its general direction.

Well, I exaggerate.  It’s not so horrible.  There are, in fact, a few jobs on the list this year whose descriptions correspond almost perfectly to my qualifications.

I’m trying not to think about how perfect they would be, though, and just quietly apply for them without setting myself up for disappointment.  It is surprisingly easy not to think about that in spite of the fact that I have to send each of them a letter boasting about how perfect we would be for each other.  While I have to write about it, that writing comes from the fakety-fake-fake LIAR part of my brain that only initiates in job application scenarios.  You know, the Tracey-Flick-like part that tells potential employers that your greatest weakness is that you just work TOO DAMNED HARD.  Only in this case, the fakeness required to sell myself as a candidate is much more involved and complex:

“I am not only the most brilliant researcher ever with the GREATEST POSSIBLE POTENTIAL to publish and bring money and fame to your university, but I am also the GREATEST POSSIBLE TEACHER who inspires my students to excellence and fosters an active intellectual and social discourse community!  Of course, I am also, like SO TOTALLY CONTRIBUTING TO YOUR DIVERSITY!  I am a woman! And I love people of color! Some of my best friends are people of color! And women! And I am totally, like, so progressive and stuff and totally not a colonialist fascist. I SWEAR.”

It is exhausting.  Of course, I make the process worse for myself at every turn.  For one thing, I hate asking people for things (as you may recall), so I delay as long as possible the process of asking my references to update their letters and then sending the inevitable forty-seven “friendly reminder” emails begging them to please for the love of dog do it already.

I also tend to make stupid mistakes, usually in the act of trying to make my life easier.  I made a file that sorted all of the job postings by the due date, so  could easily focus on the ones that would be due soon and leave the later ones aside.  Brilliant, right? Except that I had all of the November deadlines on one page and the October deadlines on another, and in spite of the fact that November first is a goddamned SATURDAY, there are still a shitload of job applications due that day.  Even though I thought I would be done when I finished sending out my materials for the October 31st deadlines, I still have, as it turns out, like eighty-seven more things to do this week.  See?  Am brilliant.

Just for the fun of it (FUN. HAHA. I LARF.), here’s a sample list of materials that one potential empolyer would like me to send by Saturday:

A letter of application
A curriculum vitæ
A two-page abstract describing my dissertation or current research
Evidence of teaching excellence (= sample course evaluations)
A 25-page writing sample
Three letters of reference
Both graduate and undergraduate transcripts

Needless to say, the cost of postage is also an issue, as we are looking at about 100 pages of shit here.

May I also point out that one of the jobs I am applying for is at an ivy league university?  What this means is that I am stressing out over the 100 pages of shit I am about to send them, and they are probably not even going to look at most of those pages, a decision they will make based on looking at one page: the page printed on Wordsmith’s letterhead. Why do I bother with applying to the snootiest of the snooty, you might be wondering.

Frankly, I am kind of wondering, too.  It’s just that there aren’t that many positions out there that are both desirable and seem to fit my field well, so I am applying for every damned one that does, whether or not I have a chance in hell of getting an interview.  Besides, I am in full-on career/financial ambition mode, and I KNOW those assholes pay well.

Luckily, this huge batch of applications will be out of my hands by the end of this week and I will be able to celebrate HEARTILY at the Halloween party I am throwing on Friday.  Oh, did I mention I am throwing a Halloween party on Friday?  I am and you are invited!  Yes, you there with the face!  I hope you can make it!  Also, do you think you can pick up a bag of ice on the way?

Case of the Saturday-Night Violence

I was on the phone earlier tonight with my associate Clarabella when I made the half-wry, half-childish exclamation, “Damnit all, I am just trying to have a Saturday night, here!”

To understand what led to this you’ll need to know that I spent most of the day in my office grading papers working old case files, and that immediately before this outburst I had discovered — by accidental touching — a hidden pile of turds left behind in my office closet by one obnoxious, stealth-pooping cat.  That’s not all, though, oh no. Get this:

I had walked to school to work and then walked back, trying to get a little exercise and possibly enjoy the now cool, Fall-like weather. (70 degrees. “Fall-like,” my ass. But I digress.)  I’d stayed in the office a bit longer than planned and wound up walking home in the dark. I live only a few blocks from campus and downtown, in an area where small houses, condos, and apartments are filled by a typical mix of residents: students, singletons, seniors, young families.  This is a town where the sidewalks are generally filled with joggers, football fans, and dog walkers. As boring and middle-American as it is, I still managed to feel creeped out on the dark streets of my neighborhood.

In the daytime, it’s all very boring and usual, but at night it seems more sinister.  Very few streetlights break up the gloom, and the sidewalks are treacherously overtaken by kudzu vines and broken glass.  The vacant house on the corner of my block used to annoy me so much when it was occupied by several frat boys and their loud, untrained pit bulls (five of them!),  but now it just sits empty behind overgrown shrubs and vines.

I minded my business and kept my eyes open and felt very silly indeed for my wariness on the walk home.  A couple of hours after I’d gotten back, though, the quiet neighborhood erupted in a huge chaotic mess.  I heard what seemed like a minor kerfluffle in the parking lot out front (just 30 or so feet from my door) and looked out the window to see a couple of guys jump the small fence and run away across the street.  Moments later, I was disturbed again, this time by the lights of a police cruiser pulling into my lot.  As I looked out the window, three more cruisers pulled up. Before long, they had a couple of young guys up against the cars being frisked while chaotic shouts rained down from the balcony above me.

“You better take care of them before I do,” someone yelled. “WORD IS BOND.”

I’ll spare you the long recount of what I saw as I peeked sneakily out between my front window blinds and instead tell you what I found out later: one of the neighbors upstairs had been in his car headed to work when about 6 guys came up to him and told him to get out.  When he didn’t, they shot up his car and ran away.  No one was hurt, but when my neighbor (the victim) told me about it, he was clearly still in shock.  He was waiting to talk to the police, perched on the stairs outside my front door.

“Are you OK,” I asked him, and he just kind of looked at me, wide eyed, and shook his head slightly.

“I’m just shocked,” he said.

While we were talking, the police were busy taping off the area with yellow caution tape.  Later the crime scene unit (consisting of one dowdy, middle aged, very un-Gil-Grissom-like man) showed up with a small digital camera to snap some pictures.  At some point I saw one cruiser leave with a man in the backseat, but I have no idea if he was one of the “perps” or not.

Clarabella and I, who both get our legal and police procedural information mainly from Law & Order, speculated that the police might want to “canvass the neighborhood” for witnesses, and might knock on my door to ask if I’d seen anything, but they didn’t.  Even if they had, I couldn’t have helped in any way.  In the dark, I’d only seen silhouettes jumping the parking lot fence — there’s no way I could identify anyone.

From what I gathered, though, it was a random, opportunistic occurrence.  My neighbor didn’t seem to know them, and I doubt they’ll be back.  Nonetheless, it was extremely disturbing.  By the time I figured out what was going on, there were already four police cruisers in the parking lot and everything felt safe enough — though still chaotic and uneasy.

Needless to say, I’m a bit shaken up, but mostly just glad nobody got hurt.  My assistant Jameson and I are on the case.  We’ll be tuning in to the local news tomorrow to see what additional facts we can ascertain, but for tonight, Jameson and I are keeping close to home, away from windows, and are making full use of our supplies of club soda, lemons, and ice.

Case Status: Pending

Let Me Tell You about My Awesome Day of Domesticity! No Wait, Really! Where Are You Going?

I certainly did not mean to leave that silly political post (the one where it’s all about me, me me me — which is differentiable from my other posts only in the political bent) at the top of the page for so long, but I have been either too busy or too tired to update for what feels like forever.

It’s the season of midterm grading and essay grading and job applications, none of which I am particularly eager to complete, but all of which are pressing, pressing, pressing the fuck down on me and my schedule with the weight of a thousand cartoon anvils. In order to ease the stress, I have been procrastinating, deflecting responsibility, and generally dilly-dallying in every way possible. This method of coping with stress has the dubious side effect, however, of actually increasing the stress and urgency I experience, so I cannot say that I would recommend it.

One procrastination technique I employed with great success this weekend involved what I like to call an Awesome Day of Domesticity. Who can work in a messy home, I ask you?  All of the neglected little corners of the house had to be tended to: not only was my bedroom being slowly buried beneath piles of laundry, but so was my living room.  Draped on every piece of furniture was a discarded sweater or jacket; beside the front door was a pile of heels (kicked off at the first opportunity) and under the couch was a pile of sneakers (have to be unlaced while sitting); stacked on the end tables I had piles and piles of mail; stacked on my night table I had at least eight novels; stacked on every horizontal surface I had approximately forty-seven empty glasses.

Any good anthropologist would be able to reconstruct my after-work activities — step one: disrobe; step two: pour a drink; step three: read a book.  Unfortunately, no one likely to enter my apartment is a detached, academic, anthropological observer who might find the mess intellectually intriguing.  Instead, at the rate I was going, the next person likely to be entering my apartment would have been the coroner come to collect my body after I finally died of sloth and slovenliness.  Let’s face it, no one wants to be the deceased person about whom all the crime-scene investigators have to ask in disbelief, “how could she live like this?”

Fine, fine, I may be exaggerating just a wee little bit, but the important message is this: the place was a mess.  It needed to be fixed with a quickness. The only problem with an Awesome Day of Domesticity like the one I was about to embark on happens when you realize you have simultaneously run out of seventeen different types of cleaning supplies.  This means you must travel far and away to the magical land of Target, which you will be allowed to leave only after amassing dozens of bags of stuff and paying them approximately $116.00.  Or, you know, exactly that much.

[Sidebar: Sweet pickle relish, but shit is expensive right now!  Damned "economy." Can't we get Krugman on this? What is that Nobel prize of his for, anyway?]

In addition to the downer of spending all of your discretionary “fun” budget on a whole bunch of distinctly non-fun items, there is the subsequent downer of arriving at home with your purchases only to realize that just buying cleaning products does not lead directly to a clean house.  You must actually use the products to clean the house.  Woe. And THEN, to add insult, you do not have any fun purchases to brag about: no new albums, book, or movies to review; no new shoes or dresses to debut. What are you going to do, bore your friends with tales of house cleaning and then boast about the awesomely fresh citrus scent left behind by your new Swiffer sweeper pads?

Hey, have I told you about my new Swiffer sweeper pads?

Why I Am Voting for Barack Obama

[This is a long, unabashed, political and sentimental post.  You have been warned.]

I am a small person.  Not physically - physically I am tall and I take up space in a room.  I tromp down the halls of my office building in my clackity heels and I talk and laugh and complain loudly.  If we’re in a room together, you’ll probably notice.

But in the grand scheme, I am small.  I don’t have a lot of power in this world.  Politically, I am not noticed.  Candidates talk a lot about the middle class and a lot about families and small businesses - none of those things apply to me. I’m not a veteran; I’m not a senior; I don’t have a special-needs child.  I don’t have a child for whom I have to save money for a college education. I’m a low-income singleton who works for a state university.  Politicians aren’t courting me.  They aren’t trying to appease their poor, single, childless, godless constituents. In this economy, they aren’t even trying to appease educators, especially not university educators.

Even in the face of the national and global economic crisis, I am insignificant.  I’m not a homeowner and my savings-based retirement account hasn’t been affected.  Because I’m an educator, I have the advantage of situational job security - we may not be well funded, ever, but when jobs are in crisis, people go back to school.  People need their writing and literature general-education requirements.  My job is, for the moment, safe. While I’m concerned about what’s happening economically, I’m still on the outside looking in.

That describes my position on so many campaign “talking point” issues.  Even “as a woman” (and I really hate to preface anything with that phrase), I’m on the outside. Contrary to what some might believe, politicians are not truly courting women’s votes.  It might appear that the McCain-Palin campaign is trying to attract women voters, but to any woman capable of analysis beyond the level of recognizing whether a candidate is in possession of a pair of tits, they aren’t.

When Sarah Palin talks directly to the camera, winkingly trying to appeal - directly, literally, by name - to “Joe Six-Pack,” and when Barack Obama finely tunes his campaign to appeal to white, middle-class voters in rural and suburban areas, they aren’t speaking to me.  I am the stereotypical “liberal intellectual élite” voter whom no one wants to acknowledge as a constituent. I may not live in New York or Massachusetts or California and I may not be able to afford leisure travel in Europe and fancy wine, but, ideologically, that is still me. I am pro-choice and anti-war. I value publicly funded programs in education and the arts. To me, intellect itself is a value.  I don’t know why “eloquence” is suddenly a bad thing, but if you listened to John McCain in the third presidential debate, you heard that it apparently is.

Dog help me, I know this sounds snobbish, but that’s who I am. I would feel so much more confident in my country if it were headed by a president with verbal skills nimble enough to enable him to communicate with the necessary parties.  I would very much like to have a president capable of logical, reasoned rhetorical analysis.

In the courses I teach, I don’t endorse any candidate or political point of view.  Instead, I ask that students approach every issue we discuss with an open mind.  Every argument we encounter, I ask them to analyze it both as a believer and as a doubter.  I ask them to uncover the ways writers approach and use evidence to make their points and I ask them to question the underlying assumptions that are always present.  I ask them to craft their own arguments only after careful and critical analysis.  They have been, so far, outstanding at this.  They have been open, curious, critical, and thoughtful. At times, they have also been clever, insightful, perceptive, and even eloquent.  If college freshmen can do this, I see no reason why a president shouldn’t be demanded to do likewise.

We’ve all heard that Barack Obama is such an appealing candidate because he is both physically attractive and a compelling, inspiring orator.  I’m not going to try to deny that: y’all, I would invite that guy to move into my white house and Barack my Obama in a heartbeat, if you know what I mean (and I think that you do).

But let’s face it, the dude is not a classically attractive man.  He’s gangly and his ears stick out and he says “LOOK!” a little too often.  But here’s what I think is so attractive: his ideas are hell of compelling. He inspires people to listen, and when we do, we are rewarded. He’s that person who seems more and more attractive the better you get to know him, like that sensitive and intelligent guy who’s hiding in his white tube socks at a chess club meeting.

His speech at the 2004 convention introduced us to that phenomenon, and his similarly inspiring speeches throughout the primary season and the general election campaign have solidified it.  To me, Barack Obama speaks not only to the philosophic principles that guide the way I look at government, but also to the personal, emotional side of my political self.  I agree with his plans for ending the war in Iraq responsibly (and with his voting record on that issue); I agree with his health care philosophy (and am continually infuriated with the reckless and unfair plan McCain has proposed - not to mention the way he has misrepresented it during his campagin!); I admire and will also personally benefit from his tax plan (and absolutely do not understand the way McCain seems to have wilfully misunderstood that plan in every debate).  On policy, I am both a social and economic liberal. There’s no question that I would rather see Obama’s proposals enacted than McCain’s.  The unimaginable nightmare implied by McCain’s health care plan alone is terrifying. Even trying to start to think about conceiving of McCain’s across-the-board spending freeze makes my guts churn.

More than all that, though, I am inspired by the way Obama speaks to the American people.  He doesn’t seem to be so much a “politician” as a real leader. He doesn’t embody the “blind ambition” he’s been accused of, but rather asks for us to imagine a reality in which we all take part in creating a better future.  Obama has spoken about tuition credits for public service, and has proposed that individuals use sustainable energy solutions to help us move closer to energy independence: these are just a few examples of his realistic plans that would put each of us in a position to help make change happen.

Although I am not one of the (undecided, middle class, suburban) voters being courted, Obama has nonetheless answered my concerns this election season.  His “Yes, we can” philosophy inspires me to think about the ways I can contribute to positive progress in this country.  I may still be small, but I can begin to see myself as a small part of what will surely be a big change.