tis the season

A few years back I confessed that Christmas for me hasn't truly arrived until I hear Mariah Carey sing seasonal tunes. This is conclusive proof of a deep-seated personal failing, possibly requiring professional treatment, but I can't help it. It's just not really and truly the Christmas season until I hear her "All I Want For Christmas Is You" on the radio.

(I also need to hear Springsteen "Santa Claus is Comin' To Town" so I can't be a totally lost cause musically.... I hope. Maybe?)

Last year the Mariah moment didn't happen. I took to playing the radio even when I had a headache and wanted quiet, just in case... but no go. Not once. Not even Christmas Day.

Both toner cartridges gave out this morning, so I ran out to Ye Audle Big Box Shopping Emporium and, before I knew it, before I'd thought about it, without even planning, I picked up Carey's Christmas CD and put it in the cart. It's now burned to my computer. I know, the Beethoven, Copeland and Glass tracks are contemplating a mass exodus at the moment, though they've lived alongside the Doobie Brothers for quite a while now without complaint.

I've heard the song - twice. I am happy.

will this help my resume any?

Which Star Wars Jedi/Sith are you? Yoda Dynamite in a small package, and long-lasting, like the Energizer bunny. While you are wise and calm, you are able to call on your killer instincts and be kick-ass. Some may call you a ‘sleeper’. With such great power comes some arrogance, but you are quick to return to humility and fix your mistakes. You have certainly left your mark on the world, in good and bad ways, and it was kinda sad to see you go. But no need to worry, you have gained immortality even though you can’t wield your toothpick of a lightsabre anymore.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

oh, not again

Red Sox - ye-haw!

You all know what a sports fan I am not, so the degree of my enthusiasm may be underestimated at this moment. Nonetheless, please believe that I am jubilant, delighted that a Colorado (state of losers) team lost, that the wild card team lost, and miserable that this means I must now spend months listening to my NPR anchors discuss basketball.

A while back I blogged about my reoccurent problems with collection agencies who get my number thinking it belongs to someone who owes money, should be in jail, etc. A few years ago I would get calls at 6 AM demanding that I turn over the offending person, never mind that I had never actually met them.

Well, it's on again. "Fred" must be in some serious trouble because he or she (it's one of those names that could go either way) gets lots of calls at my number. After three months, I now know the correct address for Fred, or at least the last known address. Generally I can tell the caller that no, they may have my number in their computer, but if they are looking for Fred who lives on a particular street, they have the wrong place. No, I don't know Fred and I can't help them find him/ her (would someone please tell me their gender?!) If ever I meet Fred, it won't be pretty.

I get calls from all over the country. Would that one of them came from Dog the Bounty Bunter on A & E, but no such luck.

Today's call (the third from this number this week) came from Oklahoma. I went into my usual spiel, "No, never met Fred, no clue how my phone number ended up in your database, don't know Fred, never seen Fred, can't pass along a message..." OK, this is a partial lie. You got my phone number the same way that the other twelve (I am not making this number up) people got my number: computer error. Somewhere along the line, people screwed up because, hey, we make mistakes.

No one makes mistakes in Oklahoma. I am (obviously) sheltering someone who has committed a terrible act. Exactly what sort of act (theft? murder? witchcraft? eating too many Twinkies?) I do not know... but the caller says that i do. I appreciate this optimistic vote for my psychic powers, but no. "You know Fred!!!" insisted the caller. "Yeah, that was the name of my lab partner in biology class back in the Reagan administration."

The caller has threatened to send police by on a visit. Police, I'll spare you the time: Fred ain't here. If it's Dog you decide to send, please send Leeland instead of Dwayne.

idols and idle and ideals

Thanks to Matt for asking where I've been. The last few weeks have been draining and I've not been much for chat (yes, I consider my blogging time a kind of chat!) I've concluded that I need a full time staff - masseuse, housekeeper, maid of all work and a butler to greet me at the end of each day with a glass of Merlot and the day's mail, edited of all spam and junk mail. This is probably typical mid-term stress kicking in (yes, profs get it too) and I remain deeply grateful that I have a job about which to feel stressed and tired.

Oh, yes, and a cook would also be nice. I'll just sit in my study, mark-up bluebooks and dine well.

That's an easy ideal and would probably turn into something of an idol and make me idle.

I've read a couple of pieces by faculty (various institutions, not just mine) for whom the "interview and campus visit" process were little more than sherry, port, red wine, then enormous dinners, mimosas with breakfast, and then give you talk and teach a class. Any campus visit is partly a question of "can I stand to work with this person over the long term" and certainly putting them through such a thing would be one way to test that.

A professional lifetime of such weekends... it amazes me that any of the great books of that period were written at all. Then again, the topics tended to be more interesting (far less esoteric, I think) and relationships seem more convivial. I chat with my colleagues, but it's not the same. Has much been lost? Yes, but so has it been gained. Maybe that's the ideal.

Not that I still wouldn't like a butler/ masseuse who can cook.

educational purposes

I'm on a Cole Porter kick again. Periodically I try to learn the tune to "Night and Day." The words are simple enough, but getting all of the intonations, inflextions and whatnot correct for this piece has always been a challenge... all the moreso because I do most of my singing in the shower and in the car and neither of these locatiosn has a piano.

I'm a reasonable singer - nothing all that special, but I can hold my own in a church choir, chorus section or even when faced with my dog rolling his eyes as I search for notes. I have three different recordings of "Night and Day" on itunes. Fred Astaire's rendition has only suceeded in further confusing me, but a few more rounds with John (De-Lovely) Barrowman and I might actually get part of it right.

Meanwhile, I leave you with this career advice from Porter's "Be A Clown" -

A college education I should never propose
A Bachelor's degree won't even keep you in clothes
But millions you will win if you can spin on your nose
Be a clown!

ahoy there me hearties!

In honor of "Talk like a Pirate Day" (thanks, Dave Barry!) find out your own Pirate name. I am "Dry Bone Bronson" which seems terribly dull and mundane. I'll have to go do a bit more pillaging to make up for it.

Hmm... now, a big white whale, that's what I need...

office decor

I've been pondering office space quite a bit of late (OK, insert obligatory television show joke, I'll wait.) (Done?)

My office would be best described as sparse. I've put up a few posters. Hey, I'm a woman, I reserve the right to love Monet's water lillies. They liven things up a bit, but the office is still pretty sterile. My office-mate took a different approach. Her desk and "general area" are full of pictures of her kids, her dog, her husband, etc. It makes the place look lived in, but I'm not sure how much personal information I want to share in this fashion.

I got to thinking today about decor - one prof has an office so cluttered he can't use it. There's space for two people and not much more - and I do think that he does it on purpose, as part of his image, self-presentation, etc. Another one hung up a 1960s psychadelic bedspread on the wall, but there's not much else in there except his computer and (weather permitting) a jacket.

oh, to be a dog

Sam has somehow managed to nose around a bunch of pillows and other random items on his sofa to create a sort of nest. He's happily encased and snoring quite loudly.

He's a spoiled dog in many ways, and can occasionally be difficult and aggravating - it's the border collie genes. Sam is also a wonderful & loving companion and I do so love him.

memorable moments

As one is (hopefully) wont to do, I stopped by the bathroom before class a few days ago to take care of, er, private and personal matters. I cannot speak for men's facilities, but ladies rooms usually have a space of about 18 inches between the floor and the wall of the adjoining stall.

I happened to look around me while in said stall, and noticed that the ankle next to mine had a really pretty tattoo on it. I personally do not want a tattoo, but this was really attractive - well drawn, great colors, contrast etc. When we were both out and washing hands, I complimented the student on it.

The student, who up until then seemed fairly normal, looked at me as though I had suggested that we dangle live crawfish from our eyebrows. "I never thought a professor would like a tattoo." eeek - what have I done - and I'm obviously a professor, ohmigod, eeek, I am OLD

Today it hit me - I thought the tattoo was pretty and whatever, I will have forgotten about this in a few months. This is now part of this student's college experience and she will probably remember forever that a professor complimented her (in the bathroom, no less) on it. The student said the tattoo was new and her mother hated it. Yet here I am. I made a memory and a good one.

Wow.

heroes

I learned today that Richard Jewel had died. You remember him - he's the one who found the bomb at the Olympics, saved lives and then spent months defending himself from accusations that he had planted it. The FBI confiscated his mother's Tupperware and (??) Disney movies in their search for evidence against him, before realizing that the bomber was Eric Rudolph.

Jewell was forty-four.

Utah & Utah

I'm strangely heart-broken about the lost miners in Utah. I believe in miracles, but by now I am sure thay they are dead - I only hope that it happened right away, quickly, without pain and not three days ago. I want to do something, but have settled for prayers and hopes -

Then I found out that thousands (literally) of miners die in China each year. With all that we have learned about mine safety in the last century, is this the best that we can do?

Then there's the collapse of the stock market, which affects me only in as far as my hope that interest rates will drop and my student loan payments shrink.

Anyway, I was wallowing in self-pity, melacholy and whatnot, so I picked up the textbook for this fall's class. It's been two years, so naturally there's a new edition. Unusually, actual significant changes have been made. This necessitates actual careful reading - American History has not changed, but the book has. The book's collective authors have added lots (wonderful) about the Mormons. Somehow reading about people who lost everything not once but several times, then walked with wheelbarrows from Illinois to Utah -

my life is mindbogglingly safe, protected and boring. This is actually a good thing.

the waiting game

I have come to the conclusion that the nation and the world are simply waiting for G.W. Bush's term to end. Teh latest corruption stories (firearms stolen and sold to others rather than given to Iraqi police - unless the police stole and sold them, who knows) have attracted attention from only the far left-wing. Newsweek ran an article about it but their pieces on college admissons will attract far more attention.

Much as it pains me, I think that most of the world has simply given up - they support the troops and wish them well, but there's a feeling that once GWB is out of office, somehow all of this will get better.

I do not share this view, but I do begin to share the sense that this is a waiting game, that we must simply outlast the president's term before we can do anything about his legacy.

Meanwhile, I can be glad that I have no 401(k) as it probably would have tanked by now.

Yours in cynicism,
lemming

mystery house

Naturally I've had "You Can Leave Your Hat On" stuck in my head since Thursday, coupled with an incredible desire to giggle.

Sam and I follow the same route nearly every day for our walks. Periodically I will notice something about one of the houses or other buildings and (human curiosity, I suppose) I start to come up with possible explanations. One house had an enormous trash binin teh back yard for months - the kind that are the size of a garbage truck. "Ah, remodeling," I thought. Then a port-o-potty appeared and stayed, which to me suggests a lack of running water.

The grass stayed neatly mowed and the bushes trimmed. Maybe I've just seen too many episodes of Flip This House in which the whole project gets completed in two weeks or less, but this wasn't what I expected.

The bin and the outhouse were gone as of yesterday, but there's no For Sale sign - perhaps I need a new theory.

adventures in music

I am not, as Dave Barry would say, making this up -

Scientists at the Berlin Zoo have been experiementing with mood music to encourage the sharks to, well, fornicate more frequently. (As long as these sharks stay inside their tanks inside Berlin, I have no problem with this experiment.)

Appaerntly one of the songs which sharks find most conducive to procreation is Joe Cocker's "You Can Leave Your Hat On" immortalized in the soundtrack to 9 1/2 Weeks.

The Indianapolis Zoo has a new shark petting tank. I am deeply tempted to bring in a boom box... though I would not dream of turning it on while petting them. Perhaps I should donate some ipods?

downsides to post-modeern technology

It’s happened again.

This is the third time.

Someone gave out my phone number as theirs, and now I get their calls.

The first time, it went on for years – women would refuse to believe that I was keeping their man from them and subject me to all sorts of interrogations. Mothers looking for their daughters would burst into tears (this happened three times) when they realized that the “nice boy” had lied to them. Only when the “nice boy’s” boss called looking for him did the calls stop. “Oh, I’ve been getting his calls for years – usually teenage girls.” Oh to have been a fly on the wall when he and the boss did finally connect.

Anyway, in the last month I’ve been getting another round from a fresh source – three messages on my answering machine, including one left at 6 AM, plus plenty of collect calls. This woman owes someone money, and the people calling refuse to believe that I don’t know her.

It’s all quite annoying, but is also a very strong message: I will never, ever, EVER default on any sort of loan, even if it means a lifetime of Ramen noodles. Oh, yes, and cheap beer.

I was born in a smalltown...

I am in a galaxy far, far away, aka visiting my hometown. Much has changed since my last trip - the nicest restaurant in town (40 years and goingh strong) has closed. The place that always had great New Year's stuff is now Mexican and closed on weekends. The local swiming hole has been closed for years.

I am most touched by the changes - the Victorian mansion I always fantasized about fixing up is now a parking lot. The reataurant which housed fast food, pizza and subs is no more - but so many places still stand and are beautiful.

Yours in reverie...

A Harry Potter thought

With all of the hoopla, there does seem to be an interesting under-currrent. A handful of us have been on the Harry Potter bandwagon from the beginning. I showed up at my local bookstore to purchase #2 and #3 the morning that each went on sale, that's how far back I go. There are others ike me - we don't seem to mind that others love the books, but there does seem to be a vein of "welcome, but some of us have been here longer than you and don't you forget it."

An English prof from IUPUI was interviewed this morning on NPR, and expressed her doubts that these books would endure. With Ellen Glasgow still on my mind, I understand her thoughts, but I think she's dead wrong. Glasgow isn't the sort of book one reads to children or revisits in a childhood reverie. Rowling is. Oh, sure, she may not be the be-all and end-all in twenty years (forty, sixty) but neither is she the next Glasgow.

Counting the hours -

Harry Potter, the last

Midnight - MIDNIGHT - tomorrow.

I am beyond excited.

Lady Bird Johnson

Much has been said about LBJ in the days since her death. All of it seems to be positive, and I would hardly deny it of her. Certainly she made a difficult role her own, and following in Jackie Kennedy's shoes is not a position I think most of us would want.

Certainly Lady Bird Johnson did well in the role. The kind of controversy attracted by the actions of Nancy Reagan and Hillary Clinton did not attach to her. At the same time, I'm quite intrigued that not one of the blogs, articles or radio pieces I've stumbled across has mentioned LBJ's infidelities, or her patience in that area. Hillary Clinton could solve every problem in the Middle East and fix our national heath crisis, but her obituary will still mention Monica Lewinsky. Nancy Reagan's will mention astrology.

I'm not complaining or griping, just intrigued. Maybe it's the residual from the 1960s, pre-Watergate forgiveness factor, kicking in one last time.

for Harriet

When we were young and we were poor, Harriet bought me drinks, so I feel that I owe her. Heck, I'm still poor, but I still do feel that I owe her to the best of my ability to repay when not writing large checks for my student loan debts. Thus when she punts a meme my way, I feel obligated to respond - but this is a toughie.

The basic theme seems to be six things that no one know about you - I am a dull person, but let's see what I can do here.

1) For an in-class presentation I once set a piece of paper on fire. Yes, I did manage to wrangle an A without setting off the fire alarm.

2) I have never eaten a brussels sprout and do not feel that this is a element lacking in my life.

3) Neither have I ever eaten cottage cheese.

4) This blog was named in part after Pilgrim's Progress and a cartoon in The New Yorker with (what else) lemmings in it. Since then, TNY has run quite a few lemming cartoons and I compulsively save them all. I know absolutely nothing else about lemmings.

5) I believe that I live with a ghost. I've only seen him once, but he moves and drops things, opens doors and generally reminds me that he's here. I'm not afraid of him, but I do believe that he's here, keeping an eye on things.

6) Um.... it's red.

Sam is still acting oddly. The tests all came back fine, but as soon as he finished taking the pills, Sam went back to acting oddly. I wish that I could actually talk to him, have ten minutes of conversation, and find out just what's going on. Thanks to all who asked.