Like many regional comprehensive schools, NorthWoods University did a fair bit of expanding and building in the 1960s and 1970s. Our library dates from that era of expansion, so things have gotten tight. For one thing, academics and others keep publishing more and more all the time, so there are more and more books to be bought and stored. We've also gotten into some new and different technologies. Remember card catalogs? No more! Now we have computers! Computers are GREAT, no doubt, but they take up space. Our library dedicates increasing amounts of space to computer classrooms, computer labs, and study rooms with computer capability. That's all good.
Except that means we have to take space that was originally planned for books and journals and do something else with them. Journals, thankfully, we can usually access through the computers. That's good because our library can no longer afford to get most journals in print. (We pay for them through database subscription services, as do most universities.)
That leaves books. The library is trying to make room by getting rid of books. I'm disheartened somewhat by that fact, but mostly because I love books. Right now, the library is purging the PRs. In the Library of Congress Catalog System (scroll down in here to see the history), PR is British literature. PS is American literature. I spend most of my working life in PR, with forays into HQ (family, marriage, women), DA (history of Great Britain), and Z (Bibliography).
No librarian likes purging books; it's a fact that librarians like books, love books. So it's not that they're gleefully ripping books off the shelves and throwing them into an incinerator. The librarian in charge of the project has set up some rules or algorhythms. To be included on the purge list, basically--and to the best of my weak memory--a book:
1) hasn't been borrowed from the collection in ten years
2) hasn't been taken off the shelve more than twice in ten years
3) isn't on some list of books that are considered vital by academic librarians
Having selected out books based on that rubric, the librarian in charge invites people who might be interested in the issue to come look at the books (or a list) and to select out books we wish to retain.
So today I went to do my part in that sad task. There are many shelves of books that have been selected out, though a small number compared to the shelves of books on even one floor of the library. So I started through.
Most of the books were written in the 60s and 70s, so probably represent purchases made during the growth of NWU. Most are works of criticism by critics whose names I don't recognize.
But, even though I don't recognize the names, I recognize the labor that went into each of these books. Each one represents hours of careful reading and notetaking, putting together arguments, considering problems. If I'd looked at the acknowledgements sections, I bet I'd see a lot of wives thanked for typing endless manuscripts. Given the obsession with English departments for monographs, I'm guessing many of those books represented tenure books.
It's humbling to see that works that took so much effort are relatively unused. But of course, I haven't used them, either. The fact is, we don't much tend to read scholarship in my field from the 60s. We know so much more historically and approach textual questions so differently. (And yet, the bibliographic work of people like Hinman, Chambers, Bentley, these I still rely on. And Pollard and Redgrave, Wing? We all rely on them!)
I saved out Greenblatt's first book, because I think we'll find ourselves looking back on his work to learn about our own historical approaches. And I saved out TS Eliot's writing on Renaissance poetry, because I think there's no way to understand "The Wasteland" or many of Eliot's other poems without having a sense of his work with early modern literature.
There were some primary texts, too. (Roughly, primary texts are the literature we read as literature; secondary texts are generally criticism we read to learn about literature. But we also read criticism by people like Eliot as primary texts. It's a useful categorization, but it doesn't really work well at the boundaries.) I saved out Middleton's A Trick to Catch the Old One in one of those blue University of Nebraska editions. When I was in grad school, I searched up and down for those blue editions in used book stores, also for the silver Restoration series. Whoever came up with the idea to put out so many plays in those editions: thank you! I imagine during the 60s and 70s, when they were coming out, a lot of courses could be taught that couldn't easily be taught earlier.
I saved out facsimile copies of Hero and Leander and Titus Andronicus, and suggested that they be sent to the special collections area so that students who are learning about older texts have more to look at, even if only in facsimile. (And thanked the Flying Spaghetti Monster once again for EEBO!)
I saved out a collection of The Spectator and George Eliot's letters. I couldn't bear them going away, even though I don't teach that period.
I wondered, seeing the sorts of primary texts being purged, if there was a time here when those texts were actually regularly taught in English department classes. I've taught a few non-Shakespeare plays, a Marlowe seminar, and such, but not much by Dekker or Chapman. Or were they purchased in hopes that faculty and students would find and read them for further research or pleasure?
I'm totally in favor of teaching a much broader canon than was taught in the 60s and 70s, but teaching in my period is probably more limited for us than for whoever taught Shakespeare and early modern lit 40 years ago. There are probably relatively fewer of us teaching early modern lit than then, also. But in exchange, we've got great classes taught in all sorts of literatures by wonderful faculty folks. Still, there's loss in some ways.
And so I've purged. And you know, it wasn't nearly as ire-provoking as I'd expected. Most of the books can go. I felt a pang of memory when I saw Roche's Kindly Flame, one of the first books I came across when I took my very first Spenser class and was trying to do a paper on (yes, duh) Book III of The Faerie Queene. But I didn't feel the need to save it out. (Sorry, Professor Roche!) I don't see myself teaching The Faerie Queene in a big way, nor my other early modernist colleagues, though dang, it's an astoundingly good poem (and yes, you should think of the etymology of astounding as you read that, because SPENSER!).
That was pretty much the key for me: am I going to use this or want students to use it? And mostly, no, even if I teach The Faerie Queene, I don't want my students depending on Roche's work in their papers.
Still, here at home tonight, I'm looking fondly at the anthology of poetry I'll be teaching from this semester, appreciating its many pages, nice quality soft-covering, and the uncountable hours of work that went into writing and editing. More on appreciating books as objects soon!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Why?
I called today to make an appointment to get my teeth cleaned. It was on the list, along with calling to make an appointment to get my car's oil changed.
The third question asked (after name and address) was married or single?
I really don't get why a dentist needs to know if someone's married or single. I just don't get it.
Nope, this wasn't a lead in to some sort of "who's the next of kin if you die getting your teeth cleaned?" kind of thing.
In general, I don't see why the married or single question get asked in so many contexts. It seems so simplifying. Is the question really about one's legal status or relationship status?
I know married folks who don't co-habitate or much interact. I know folks who can't legally marry but consider themselves married and refer to themselves as spouses. I know folks who grew up with such screwed up examples of marriage that they didn't marry on purpose, even though they've been together forever. I know a couple who are openly a couple though each partner is legally married to someone else. (The partners are both in advanced stages of Alzheimers; the couple met while caring for their spouses. Their relationship consists in part of caring for each others' spouses and in being very good and caring to each other.)
The car guy only cares about my relationship with my car: do I change the oil in a timely manner? Rotate the tires? Those sorts of questions I understand.
The third question asked (after name and address) was married or single?
I really don't get why a dentist needs to know if someone's married or single. I just don't get it.
Nope, this wasn't a lead in to some sort of "who's the next of kin if you die getting your teeth cleaned?" kind of thing.
In general, I don't see why the married or single question get asked in so many contexts. It seems so simplifying. Is the question really about one's legal status or relationship status?
I know married folks who don't co-habitate or much interact. I know folks who can't legally marry but consider themselves married and refer to themselves as spouses. I know folks who grew up with such screwed up examples of marriage that they didn't marry on purpose, even though they've been together forever. I know a couple who are openly a couple though each partner is legally married to someone else. (The partners are both in advanced stages of Alzheimers; the couple met while caring for their spouses. Their relationship consists in part of caring for each others' spouses and in being very good and caring to each other.)
The car guy only cares about my relationship with my car: do I change the oil in a timely manner? Rotate the tires? Those sorts of questions I understand.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Incapable
I went to the office today and got a few tasks done; I wrote a letter of recommendation for a student who graduated several years ago and wants to enter a grad program.
I emailed for an appointment with the retirement counselor. I'm bad about procrastinating about some things (that would be one of them), but I did it.
Then I dealt with one of my advisees via email. This advisee has been on suspension (for grades), and is coming back to finish a full semester of work to graduate. When A was suspended, I suggested a course of action including taking a study skills course at a local community college and so forth. But the dean didn't require anything like that, so of course the student didn't do anything like that, but was re-admitted anyway.
We met last semester to plan A's curriculum so that A could graduate with an English major and A's chosen minor. Part of the plan was that A would take a course in our winter term.
But A emailed me last week, said there was a problem with one of the classes for spring term, and then asked me what to do. Unfortunately, I'm still not back on the computer as A's official advisor, so I couldn't get at the on-line files, so I asked A to forward a copy to me. Today I went over that and tried to make sense of the questions in terms of the plans we'd made. Unsurprisingly, A didn't sign up for the winter term course, and that's messed things up. Okay, resources (time and money) are limited; I understand that. So I went through the paperwork, figured out what's missing, and emailed A.
In my career so far, which started with TAing and such, I've had two students I thought were intellectually incapable of doing college work. One is A. The other was Mary. Thinking about A took me back to thinking of Mary.
I taught Mary in my former job at a private SLAC (emphasis on the S in SLAC). She was a non-trad, and I was a brand-spanking new assistant professor in my first tenure track job, teaching four classes. I was earlier Brit lit for my first year or so, and all of Brit lit my third and last year (because of a retirement). The schedule was for me to teach Shakespeare every other spring, and something else the other spring related to earlier Brit lit.
Mary was in my fall semester early Brit survey that first semester. I remember the first paper she wrote, in response to a prompt asking students to discuss the imagery of Christ in the Anglo-Saxon poem "The Dream of the Rood" (translation here; the poem is a first hand narrative of the crucifixion from the point of view of the rood/cross). It's a pretty basic assignment that asks only that one read fairly carefully; the key is that our culture tends to use Christic imagery that's either pathos-filled (the pieta and suffering/crucifixion imagery) or pastoral (the Jesus hanging out with little children or teaching imagery), while the poem's imagery is more heroic:
Then the young hero did disrobe -- that was God Almighty--,
strong and resolute; on the wretched gallows he did ascend,
bold and courageous as many observed for mankind's past he
would amend.
Tremble did I as the hero embraced me
It's really helpful for students to learn to pay close attention to the way a poem imagines Christ because Christian imagery has changed, and those changes are important and fascinating. A poem that shows Jesus disrobing, climbing onto the cross, and embracing it says something really interesting. It also challenges students to think about their experiences and previous learning. So it's a pretty good assignment, if I say so myself.
Poor Mary, though, didn't do well. We got her through the course, because she was willing to revise and revise and came to endless office hours, but it wasn't easy. She was a hard worker, but by the end of it, I had a pretty good sense that Mary wasn't really capable of reading with good comprehension. It's not my ego saying that; I regularly recognize students in my classes who seem way smarter than I am. But Mary had difficulty with basic understanding. (Okay, I'm no expert, but her patterns didn't seem to fit dyslexia, and she had difficulty with spoken comprehension, too. English was her first language.)
She didn't do as well in my Shakespeare class the next semester, alas. And that was the beginning of the real difficulty. As I learned much later, Mary was an English Education major; now there are a few things English Ed majors seem to have in common, one of those is a Shakespeare class requirement (because so many high school curricula require teaching Shakespeare, I suppose), another is lots of classroom time observing and teaching. The final term for most education majors involves student teaching full time, and at that SLAC, students had to be passed by a committee to do that semester's work.
Having failed Shakespeare, Mary's curricular pathway was at an impasse. The education folks decided that they'd let Mary by this requirement if she took my early modern drama class the next year. She signed up, and class began. This time, Edward II was the problem. Mary refused to read or talk about a play that dealt with male-male eroticism or sodomy because it was against her religious beliefs. (She was willing to read and talk about plays where characters committed enough murders to flood the stage with blood. I know which commandment talks about not committing murder, but I've never heard a college student object to art representing murder. What's so different about sex?) Having failed my class and butted heads with me about sexuality and religion more than once, Mary seemed to feel I was her bane.
So Mary dropped my class; she talked to the education department folks, one of whom suggested she take Shakespeare via a correspondence course. At least she wouldn't have to take another course with me. So, I didn't run into Mary again until my last fall there.
Faculty members at small schools end up doing lots of broad service; I served on search committees for faculty members in business and accounting, for example. And in that year, I served on the committee that made decisions about student teaching appointments. We read Mary's file; her cooperating teachers found her unable to handle teaching or managing a classroom. Her gpa was at the bare minimum. And then the education department professors talked about how weak a student she was, and how she shouldn't get a degree in English Education.
It was frustrating because they'd let Mary continue on in the program until her senior year, and now they were saying she wasn't capable of doing the program. We turned her down for student teaching and advised her to change her major to English. (I don't remember, but I suspect the college would have worked it out so that she wasn't enrolled an extra semester.) But they simply hadn't wanted to be honest with her, to have the difficult conversation. Instead, at every point, they'd circumvented their own program rules; they'd worked around the Shakespeare rule and they'd ignored the worrisome reports from her cooperating teachers.
Mary petitioned, and was given a date for a meeting with the committee about student teaching. To this day, I remember with total clarity sitting in that meeting, watching Mary walk in, seeing that she saw me there, and seeing her face fall. I felt so bad that I'd become a sort of focus for the difficulty of her experience at the school and then in her English Ed major. The meeting went well, given what we were doing, but we didn't let her proceed to student teaching.
So when I think of A, I think of Mary. Like Mary, A doesn't have good comprehension, either of what she reads or of what she hears. She has difficulty putting together ideas or thinking critically.
Mary finished her degree at the SLAC after doing a summer course somewhere else, I heard. And if we work things out, and she pulls off the classes, A will get her degree.
But I still worry about them because they're really not quite up to dealing with the complexities of the world, and I worry that they'll be chewed up and spit out in ever more painful ways.
I emailed for an appointment with the retirement counselor. I'm bad about procrastinating about some things (that would be one of them), but I did it.
Then I dealt with one of my advisees via email. This advisee has been on suspension (for grades), and is coming back to finish a full semester of work to graduate. When A was suspended, I suggested a course of action including taking a study skills course at a local community college and so forth. But the dean didn't require anything like that, so of course the student didn't do anything like that, but was re-admitted anyway.
We met last semester to plan A's curriculum so that A could graduate with an English major and A's chosen minor. Part of the plan was that A would take a course in our winter term.
But A emailed me last week, said there was a problem with one of the classes for spring term, and then asked me what to do. Unfortunately, I'm still not back on the computer as A's official advisor, so I couldn't get at the on-line files, so I asked A to forward a copy to me. Today I went over that and tried to make sense of the questions in terms of the plans we'd made. Unsurprisingly, A didn't sign up for the winter term course, and that's messed things up. Okay, resources (time and money) are limited; I understand that. So I went through the paperwork, figured out what's missing, and emailed A.
In my career so far, which started with TAing and such, I've had two students I thought were intellectually incapable of doing college work. One is A. The other was Mary. Thinking about A took me back to thinking of Mary.
I taught Mary in my former job at a private SLAC (emphasis on the S in SLAC). She was a non-trad, and I was a brand-spanking new assistant professor in my first tenure track job, teaching four classes. I was earlier Brit lit for my first year or so, and all of Brit lit my third and last year (because of a retirement). The schedule was for me to teach Shakespeare every other spring, and something else the other spring related to earlier Brit lit.
Mary was in my fall semester early Brit survey that first semester. I remember the first paper she wrote, in response to a prompt asking students to discuss the imagery of Christ in the Anglo-Saxon poem "The Dream of the Rood" (translation here; the poem is a first hand narrative of the crucifixion from the point of view of the rood/cross). It's a pretty basic assignment that asks only that one read fairly carefully; the key is that our culture tends to use Christic imagery that's either pathos-filled (the pieta and suffering/crucifixion imagery) or pastoral (the Jesus hanging out with little children or teaching imagery), while the poem's imagery is more heroic:
Then the young hero did disrobe -- that was God Almighty--,
strong and resolute; on the wretched gallows he did ascend,
bold and courageous as many observed for mankind's past he
would amend.
Tremble did I as the hero embraced me
It's really helpful for students to learn to pay close attention to the way a poem imagines Christ because Christian imagery has changed, and those changes are important and fascinating. A poem that shows Jesus disrobing, climbing onto the cross, and embracing it says something really interesting. It also challenges students to think about their experiences and previous learning. So it's a pretty good assignment, if I say so myself.
Poor Mary, though, didn't do well. We got her through the course, because she was willing to revise and revise and came to endless office hours, but it wasn't easy. She was a hard worker, but by the end of it, I had a pretty good sense that Mary wasn't really capable of reading with good comprehension. It's not my ego saying that; I regularly recognize students in my classes who seem way smarter than I am. But Mary had difficulty with basic understanding. (Okay, I'm no expert, but her patterns didn't seem to fit dyslexia, and she had difficulty with spoken comprehension, too. English was her first language.)
She didn't do as well in my Shakespeare class the next semester, alas. And that was the beginning of the real difficulty. As I learned much later, Mary was an English Education major; now there are a few things English Ed majors seem to have in common, one of those is a Shakespeare class requirement (because so many high school curricula require teaching Shakespeare, I suppose), another is lots of classroom time observing and teaching. The final term for most education majors involves student teaching full time, and at that SLAC, students had to be passed by a committee to do that semester's work.
Having failed Shakespeare, Mary's curricular pathway was at an impasse. The education folks decided that they'd let Mary by this requirement if she took my early modern drama class the next year. She signed up, and class began. This time, Edward II was the problem. Mary refused to read or talk about a play that dealt with male-male eroticism or sodomy because it was against her religious beliefs. (She was willing to read and talk about plays where characters committed enough murders to flood the stage with blood. I know which commandment talks about not committing murder, but I've never heard a college student object to art representing murder. What's so different about sex?) Having failed my class and butted heads with me about sexuality and religion more than once, Mary seemed to feel I was her bane.
So Mary dropped my class; she talked to the education department folks, one of whom suggested she take Shakespeare via a correspondence course. At least she wouldn't have to take another course with me. So, I didn't run into Mary again until my last fall there.
Faculty members at small schools end up doing lots of broad service; I served on search committees for faculty members in business and accounting, for example. And in that year, I served on the committee that made decisions about student teaching appointments. We read Mary's file; her cooperating teachers found her unable to handle teaching or managing a classroom. Her gpa was at the bare minimum. And then the education department professors talked about how weak a student she was, and how she shouldn't get a degree in English Education.
It was frustrating because they'd let Mary continue on in the program until her senior year, and now they were saying she wasn't capable of doing the program. We turned her down for student teaching and advised her to change her major to English. (I don't remember, but I suspect the college would have worked it out so that she wasn't enrolled an extra semester.) But they simply hadn't wanted to be honest with her, to have the difficult conversation. Instead, at every point, they'd circumvented their own program rules; they'd worked around the Shakespeare rule and they'd ignored the worrisome reports from her cooperating teachers.
Mary petitioned, and was given a date for a meeting with the committee about student teaching. To this day, I remember with total clarity sitting in that meeting, watching Mary walk in, seeing that she saw me there, and seeing her face fall. I felt so bad that I'd become a sort of focus for the difficulty of her experience at the school and then in her English Ed major. The meeting went well, given what we were doing, but we didn't let her proceed to student teaching.
So when I think of A, I think of Mary. Like Mary, A doesn't have good comprehension, either of what she reads or of what she hears. She has difficulty putting together ideas or thinking critically.
Mary finished her degree at the SLAC after doing a summer course somewhere else, I heard. And if we work things out, and she pulls off the classes, A will get her degree.
But I still worry about them because they're really not quite up to dealing with the complexities of the world, and I worry that they'll be chewed up and spit out in ever more painful ways.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Retirement
No, not me. One of my friends is planning to retire in the next year or so, and recently went to chat with the campus retirement planning person. My friend has worked in the system for enough years to get full benefits and has a spouse who's made a good income and is well covered by another system.
I need to go meet with the retirement planning person. This is one of those uncomfortable things for me, but I need to do it, I think.
I look at my retirement planning, and it's sort of a shambles. I started late. I finished my phud in my mid-30s, and then spent a couple years putting in minimums and paying off loans. Then I put in the minimums and saved for a down payment for a house (because I'm so middle class that owning a house seems like the best idea without a second glance. Maybe it's not?).
Then I changed jobs. So, logically, unless I retire into my 70s, I'll never have enough years in the system to get full benefits.
Some academics may make a lot of money. I don't. I'm a bad negotiator, as I learned in a community reading group. To be totally honest, I had no clue I COULD or should negotiate really, and less clue how. When I got both of my tenure track jobs, I was desperate. I was less desperate looking for the second job, but still pretty desperate. I did better last year, actually, and got a better raise. But unless I'm willing to leave academics, I can't really expect to make lots more money, and I'd have to be willing to totally leave because it's not like IBM hires staff Shakespeare people.
I can only guess, but I think academics (other, perhaps than those in business related fields) are reticent to talk about money openly (even this little anonymous blogging makes me uncomfortable) because we're all assumed to be gentleman scholars or something. We're not supposed to be in it for the money. I don't know about other academics, but no one in my graduate department ever talked about the economic side of what we were doing, about negotiating, tax issues or anything else.
And, of course, if we academics mention money, the world basically shrugs and says to get a job where there's less supply and more demand. There's something to that logic. After all, there's no guarantees in this world that any of us gets to be paid for doing what we like. If there were, a LOT more of us would be beer tasters or something.
So unless I really do want to look for a totally different kind of job, I keep quiet about the salary thing. Only in the past year or two have I even considered that I COULD get another job. I mean, if our English majors can get good jobs in various business and industrial fields because of their critical thinking, analytical and communications skills, surely I could, too? (There's probably some age discrimination around, sure, but I actually think I could get a job that pays better; I'm NOT sure that job would make me happy, or that making more money would make me happier.)
So when I hear the advice to put a full $15,500 into my 403b to max it out yearly, I just shake my head.
Along with the general reticence about money issues is my stupidity about investment options. Yes, I have a basic general knowledge about what a mutual fund is and such. But I haven't done the math to figure out if I should continue funding a yearly Roth IRA or should instead increase my 403b investment for the year. The Roth money is post-tax, and supposed to be tax free when I take it out (unless the law gets changed). The 403b is pre-tax, but taxed when I take it out. At what tax and income level(s) does the tax thing balance out (because I'd have to figure out my probable income tax rates at retirement)? I've invested in the Roth because I perceive a potential flexibility advantage when I retire, but I don't do the math to make sure my perception is valid. And deciding which mutual fund to invest what amount in is incredibly difficult. At times, I've deluded myself into thinking I had a clue, but the market proves otherwise.
I don't think my retirement planning is a total disaster. Partly this is accidental, a result of my cocaine habit (remember Robin Williams' old joke about cocaine being God's way of saying you have too much money?). I spend money on some things (read: books!) stupidly, but I don't have some really expensive habits. (I have plenty of bad habits, but so long as they're relatively cheap, they don't hurt my retirement planning too much.)
I should learn whether it really makes sense to pay extra on my mortgage, as I do every month. Heck, is my house even a logically good investment? I also have a feeling I should rebalance the mutual fund investments I have toward a more conservative blend at this point, but other than the varying sorts of rules one reads about percentages and age, I don't know what balance I should aim for.
So three big questions:
Roth or more to 403b?
Extra on the mortgage, or more to 403b, or?
And rebalancing?
We academics need to talk to grad students and potential grad students about the opportunity costs of getting phuds in fields where there's such an overabundance of phuds and relatively few jobs.
It's the new year, and I am going to make that appointment. I have some other things I really need to do this year, too, but this one will be a start.
I need to go meet with the retirement planning person. This is one of those uncomfortable things for me, but I need to do it, I think.
I look at my retirement planning, and it's sort of a shambles. I started late. I finished my phud in my mid-30s, and then spent a couple years putting in minimums and paying off loans. Then I put in the minimums and saved for a down payment for a house (because I'm so middle class that owning a house seems like the best idea without a second glance. Maybe it's not?).
Then I changed jobs. So, logically, unless I retire into my 70s, I'll never have enough years in the system to get full benefits.
Some academics may make a lot of money. I don't. I'm a bad negotiator, as I learned in a community reading group. To be totally honest, I had no clue I COULD or should negotiate really, and less clue how. When I got both of my tenure track jobs, I was desperate. I was less desperate looking for the second job, but still pretty desperate. I did better last year, actually, and got a better raise. But unless I'm willing to leave academics, I can't really expect to make lots more money, and I'd have to be willing to totally leave because it's not like IBM hires staff Shakespeare people.
I can only guess, but I think academics (other, perhaps than those in business related fields) are reticent to talk about money openly (even this little anonymous blogging makes me uncomfortable) because we're all assumed to be gentleman scholars or something. We're not supposed to be in it for the money. I don't know about other academics, but no one in my graduate department ever talked about the economic side of what we were doing, about negotiating, tax issues or anything else.
And, of course, if we academics mention money, the world basically shrugs and says to get a job where there's less supply and more demand. There's something to that logic. After all, there's no guarantees in this world that any of us gets to be paid for doing what we like. If there were, a LOT more of us would be beer tasters or something.
So unless I really do want to look for a totally different kind of job, I keep quiet about the salary thing. Only in the past year or two have I even considered that I COULD get another job. I mean, if our English majors can get good jobs in various business and industrial fields because of their critical thinking, analytical and communications skills, surely I could, too? (There's probably some age discrimination around, sure, but I actually think I could get a job that pays better; I'm NOT sure that job would make me happy, or that making more money would make me happier.)
So when I hear the advice to put a full $15,500 into my 403b to max it out yearly, I just shake my head.
Along with the general reticence about money issues is my stupidity about investment options. Yes, I have a basic general knowledge about what a mutual fund is and such. But I haven't done the math to figure out if I should continue funding a yearly Roth IRA or should instead increase my 403b investment for the year. The Roth money is post-tax, and supposed to be tax free when I take it out (unless the law gets changed). The 403b is pre-tax, but taxed when I take it out. At what tax and income level(s) does the tax thing balance out (because I'd have to figure out my probable income tax rates at retirement)? I've invested in the Roth because I perceive a potential flexibility advantage when I retire, but I don't do the math to make sure my perception is valid. And deciding which mutual fund to invest what amount in is incredibly difficult. At times, I've deluded myself into thinking I had a clue, but the market proves otherwise.
I don't think my retirement planning is a total disaster. Partly this is accidental, a result of my cocaine habit (remember Robin Williams' old joke about cocaine being God's way of saying you have too much money?). I spend money on some things (read: books!) stupidly, but I don't have some really expensive habits. (I have plenty of bad habits, but so long as they're relatively cheap, they don't hurt my retirement planning too much.)
I should learn whether it really makes sense to pay extra on my mortgage, as I do every month. Heck, is my house even a logically good investment? I also have a feeling I should rebalance the mutual fund investments I have toward a more conservative blend at this point, but other than the varying sorts of rules one reads about percentages and age, I don't know what balance I should aim for.
So three big questions:
Roth or more to 403b?
Extra on the mortgage, or more to 403b, or?
And rebalancing?
We academics need to talk to grad students and potential grad students about the opportunity costs of getting phuds in fields where there's such an overabundance of phuds and relatively few jobs.
It's the new year, and I am going to make that appointment. I have some other things I really need to do this year, too, but this one will be a start.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
2006
A year ago this time, I was visiting the Everglades for the first time. That trip set the tone for my year in many ways. For me, it was the year of the road trip. First my trip south, the Everglades, visiting friends, seeing a part of the country I hadn't seen before. Then my trip out to my Peace Corps reunion, visiting more friends, and seeing parts of the country I hadn't before. A wonderful year of trips.
I'm planning next year's trip now, river rafting in either Washington or Idaho with a friend or three. Right now, I'm thinking of the Snake or the Wenatchee, and would be happy for suggestions! I hope this trip goes as well as the ones in 2006 did.
In many ways, 2006 has been a really good year, but it's also been a little rough in patches. I'm probably healthier than I've been since I was in college mostly because I've been exercising regularly. It's raining today, but yesterday I had a bike ride that was about perfection: the bike felt really good, the wind was behind me going out, so I felt smooth and easy. I saw a super friendly dog being walked, and stopped for some dog therapy (with permission from the walker, of course). There's not much better in life than to pet a really happy dog, and this one was wonderful. He was a yellow Lab (and I have a soft spot in my heart for yellow Labs after my last dog), about 5 months old, and totally joyful at being on a walk, being petted, just being.
I did the first 15 miles in just under an hour, and the last 5 or so at a slower time (against the wind), partly because I slowed to chat with someone who was roller-blading, mostly because I was relaxed and happy. Biking has added a lot to my year, not only in basic exercise, but in going with friends and in being outdoors enjoying the area.
I taught some good classes this past year; I think I did a really good job on my graduate class and first year writing class last semester, though the body class didn't go as well. Last spring's classes went pretty well, too, especially the Chaucer class. I've learned a lot teachingwise by doing new classes, though I have to admit I'm really looking forward to doing Shakespeare and poetry, familiar territory, this coming semester. I'll also be teaching an entry class to our major, which is writing-focused and takes the writing class slot for the semester.
I'm doing some reading this break on teaching and stuff, so I'll be blogging about that in the new year. One of the things I love about what I do is that there's always something to learn and think about. I haven't written as much this year as I'd hoped, but I'm planning to do better this year.
My family's mostly had a good year. One uncle died after a long illness, and he's sorely missed. One of my friends died after a not so long illness, and he, too, is sorely missed. But mostly the folks I care a lot about have been pretty happy, with good health. One was laid off, but found another job quickly. My Mom's happier with her living situation than in years.
Next year about this time, I expect to be preparing to go teach abroad. I feel odd scheduling my life more than a year in advance, but that's how these things have to work. It doesn't quite feel real to me, but my Mom got me a [Insert Foreign Language] for Dummies book and a set of language learning tapes, so I should start soon!
But before that, I'm going to have dinner with some friends.
Happy New Years, everyone. I hope the coming year treats you and yours well.
I'm planning next year's trip now, river rafting in either Washington or Idaho with a friend or three. Right now, I'm thinking of the Snake or the Wenatchee, and would be happy for suggestions! I hope this trip goes as well as the ones in 2006 did.
In many ways, 2006 has been a really good year, but it's also been a little rough in patches. I'm probably healthier than I've been since I was in college mostly because I've been exercising regularly. It's raining today, but yesterday I had a bike ride that was about perfection: the bike felt really good, the wind was behind me going out, so I felt smooth and easy. I saw a super friendly dog being walked, and stopped for some dog therapy (with permission from the walker, of course). There's not much better in life than to pet a really happy dog, and this one was wonderful. He was a yellow Lab (and I have a soft spot in my heart for yellow Labs after my last dog), about 5 months old, and totally joyful at being on a walk, being petted, just being.
I did the first 15 miles in just under an hour, and the last 5 or so at a slower time (against the wind), partly because I slowed to chat with someone who was roller-blading, mostly because I was relaxed and happy. Biking has added a lot to my year, not only in basic exercise, but in going with friends and in being outdoors enjoying the area.
I taught some good classes this past year; I think I did a really good job on my graduate class and first year writing class last semester, though the body class didn't go as well. Last spring's classes went pretty well, too, especially the Chaucer class. I've learned a lot teachingwise by doing new classes, though I have to admit I'm really looking forward to doing Shakespeare and poetry, familiar territory, this coming semester. I'll also be teaching an entry class to our major, which is writing-focused and takes the writing class slot for the semester.
I'm doing some reading this break on teaching and stuff, so I'll be blogging about that in the new year. One of the things I love about what I do is that there's always something to learn and think about. I haven't written as much this year as I'd hoped, but I'm planning to do better this year.
My family's mostly had a good year. One uncle died after a long illness, and he's sorely missed. One of my friends died after a not so long illness, and he, too, is sorely missed. But mostly the folks I care a lot about have been pretty happy, with good health. One was laid off, but found another job quickly. My Mom's happier with her living situation than in years.
Next year about this time, I expect to be preparing to go teach abroad. I feel odd scheduling my life more than a year in advance, but that's how these things have to work. It doesn't quite feel real to me, but my Mom got me a [Insert Foreign Language] for Dummies book and a set of language learning tapes, so I should start soon!
But before that, I'm going to have dinner with some friends.
Happy New Years, everyone. I hope the coming year treats you and yours well.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Late Night Musings
Over the past couple days I've noticed on the TV news and elsewhere a LOT of information about dealing with hangovers and New Years. I don't remember the focus on dealing with hangovers in past years, but maybe I just didn't notice?
The big focus seems misplaced. Who are they talking to? Don't most people learn to drink a couple big glasses of water before turning in, some juice and more water when waking to pee in the night, and a couple aspirin along the way? This is news?
When I was a teen and thought staying up late was cool, my folks were of the opinion that New Year's Eve was amateur hour, when a lot of people would be drinking and driving who weren't used to it, and so the roads were more dangerous. (Apparently the theory was that people who regularly drink a lot are better drunk drivers? I try to stay off the road for the half hour on either side of bar closing time wherever I am. Call me careful or something. Just call.) I'm such an amateur that I have the capacity of whatever it is that has no capacity. My amateur status is further signaled by the fact that I wake up to pee in the night and don't just sleep through making a mess. Sometimes there are benefits to being an amateur.
Speaking of being on the road: My last bike ride ended with me having a muddy, wet stripe up my backside, although I didn't really notice the nastiness until I got off the bike and my rear end was suddenly really cold. (I keep pretty warm so long as I'm working at peddling and stuff, but once I stop, I'm grateful for the heated car seats. Great invention that!)
My bike was muddier than I was, so I spent some time Friday cleaning it up, lubricating it with some special teflon stuff a friend suggested I get. My friend is way into his chain. That sounds more exciting than it is. He cleans it obsessively. I got the gunked mud off mine and pretty much called it good enough.
As wet and cold as my ride the other day was, I'm glad I made my 700 miles then, because it's gotten way colder and nastier since.
I'm hoping that it's nice on New Year's morning, though, because I think a nice ride would be a great way to ring in the new year.
I've gotten the calendar part of my Shakespeare class worked out for spring. Looking back over my old syllabus for the poetry class, I realized that I haven't taught it for four years! Too long! I'm getting all excited to teach poetry again.
The big focus seems misplaced. Who are they talking to? Don't most people learn to drink a couple big glasses of water before turning in, some juice and more water when waking to pee in the night, and a couple aspirin along the way? This is news?
When I was a teen and thought staying up late was cool, my folks were of the opinion that New Year's Eve was amateur hour, when a lot of people would be drinking and driving who weren't used to it, and so the roads were more dangerous. (Apparently the theory was that people who regularly drink a lot are better drunk drivers? I try to stay off the road for the half hour on either side of bar closing time wherever I am. Call me careful or something. Just call.) I'm such an amateur that I have the capacity of whatever it is that has no capacity. My amateur status is further signaled by the fact that I wake up to pee in the night and don't just sleep through making a mess. Sometimes there are benefits to being an amateur.
Speaking of being on the road: My last bike ride ended with me having a muddy, wet stripe up my backside, although I didn't really notice the nastiness until I got off the bike and my rear end was suddenly really cold. (I keep pretty warm so long as I'm working at peddling and stuff, but once I stop, I'm grateful for the heated car seats. Great invention that!)
My bike was muddier than I was, so I spent some time Friday cleaning it up, lubricating it with some special teflon stuff a friend suggested I get. My friend is way into his chain. That sounds more exciting than it is. He cleans it obsessively. I got the gunked mud off mine and pretty much called it good enough.
As wet and cold as my ride the other day was, I'm glad I made my 700 miles then, because it's gotten way colder and nastier since.
I'm hoping that it's nice on New Year's morning, though, because I think a nice ride would be a great way to ring in the new year.
I've gotten the calendar part of my Shakespeare class worked out for spring. Looking back over my old syllabus for the poetry class, I realized that I haven't taught it for four years! Too long! I'm getting all excited to teach poetry again.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Musicals Meme
Artemis did it, and got it from FatDoctor; nope, it's not some kind of odd infection, but a meme about musicals. I'm not quite sure of the rules, but I sure hope it's not about what musicals I've seen in the past year or so, because I haven't.
When I was a kid, I played a band instrument or two. My Dad had long played violin for local community orchestras, and since violins are always in short supply at high schools, or at least they were at my high school, my Dad and several other adult string players usually played in musicals at my high school. And conversely, we high school kids played in adult community musicals. My dad played in the pit orchestra for my high school graduation, partly so that both of my grandmothers could come, and partly for the opportunity to stand on a chair to take a picture as I walked across the stage.
Playing in pit orchestras together gave my Dad and me a chance to develop our relationship in a different way, as somewhat equals working towards a goal. It also meant he met and knew most of the young men I dated in high school, and thus my high school dating was probably a lot less stressful for everyone than it might have been.
So I have a soft spot in my heart for staged musicals. They remind me of my Dad and of the crushes I had on young men in orchestra or on stage, of trying to play up to the standards of the adults. I wasn't a very good musician, but playing in bands and orchestras made my high school years tolerable, sometimes even enjoyable.
Here then, are my all time favorite musicals, mostly because I've played in them and have good memories associated with them. [Edit: And just in case you need some academic affirmation, you can look at DA Miller's work on the Broadway musical. Because it's all about academic affirmation!]
1. How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying. Oh, what a crush I had on one of the actors. Okay, two of the actors. I was a pathetic teenager, totally pathetic. Neither of the young men knew I existed.
2. Iolanthe. I didn't play in the orchestra, but my friend C was directing and invited me to participate, which I did by making smoke and explosions. I was in college, but C was a grown up who hung out in the athletic group I was in and we just got along great. Strictly speaking, this is probably a light opera rather than a musical, but what the heck! Just thinking about it reminds me of great times, learning, accepting, growing. I helped paint the stage one evening, working with a guy who was pretty flaming, and one of the first openly gay men I got to know. He was flicking paint across the stage to give the pebbled effect, and laughingly told me that painting the stage is "all in the wrist." I was so lucky to get to know those adults and be part of their community.
3. Guys and Dolls. Could there be a more sexist musical (yes, and it's called My Fair Lady), but dang, good, fun music!
4. The Music Man. Again, great music, fun to play. Our show involved the whole of the high school marching band coming down the aisles at the end.
5. Gypsy. I wonder if the local high school here could even get away with this one? It all seemed very sophisticated. Hah!
6. West Side Story. Some of the most difficult musical music I played; it was like Bernstein didn't trust anyone to swing by themselves, so wrote in all the syncopation or something. But dang, there are some great songs. And I still cry at the end.
7. Top Hat. Okay, so it's a movie and not a stage musical. But Fred Astaire! Ginger Rogers! And one of my all time favorite character actors, Edward Everett Horton. If the old Thin Man movies were musicals, I'd have fit one of them in here, too!
There are my seven. If you love (or hate) musicals, consider yourself tagged!
When I was a kid, I played a band instrument or two. My Dad had long played violin for local community orchestras, and since violins are always in short supply at high schools, or at least they were at my high school, my Dad and several other adult string players usually played in musicals at my high school. And conversely, we high school kids played in adult community musicals. My dad played in the pit orchestra for my high school graduation, partly so that both of my grandmothers could come, and partly for the opportunity to stand on a chair to take a picture as I walked across the stage.
Playing in pit orchestras together gave my Dad and me a chance to develop our relationship in a different way, as somewhat equals working towards a goal. It also meant he met and knew most of the young men I dated in high school, and thus my high school dating was probably a lot less stressful for everyone than it might have been.
So I have a soft spot in my heart for staged musicals. They remind me of my Dad and of the crushes I had on young men in orchestra or on stage, of trying to play up to the standards of the adults. I wasn't a very good musician, but playing in bands and orchestras made my high school years tolerable, sometimes even enjoyable.
Here then, are my all time favorite musicals, mostly because I've played in them and have good memories associated with them. [Edit: And just in case you need some academic affirmation, you can look at DA Miller's work on the Broadway musical. Because it's all about academic affirmation!]
1. How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying. Oh, what a crush I had on one of the actors. Okay, two of the actors. I was a pathetic teenager, totally pathetic. Neither of the young men knew I existed.
2. Iolanthe. I didn't play in the orchestra, but my friend C was directing and invited me to participate, which I did by making smoke and explosions. I was in college, but C was a grown up who hung out in the athletic group I was in and we just got along great. Strictly speaking, this is probably a light opera rather than a musical, but what the heck! Just thinking about it reminds me of great times, learning, accepting, growing. I helped paint the stage one evening, working with a guy who was pretty flaming, and one of the first openly gay men I got to know. He was flicking paint across the stage to give the pebbled effect, and laughingly told me that painting the stage is "all in the wrist." I was so lucky to get to know those adults and be part of their community.
3. Guys and Dolls. Could there be a more sexist musical (yes, and it's called My Fair Lady), but dang, good, fun music!
4. The Music Man. Again, great music, fun to play. Our show involved the whole of the high school marching band coming down the aisles at the end.
5. Gypsy. I wonder if the local high school here could even get away with this one? It all seemed very sophisticated. Hah!
6. West Side Story. Some of the most difficult musical music I played; it was like Bernstein didn't trust anyone to swing by themselves, so wrote in all the syncopation or something. But dang, there are some great songs. And I still cry at the end.
7. Top Hat. Okay, so it's a movie and not a stage musical. But Fred Astaire! Ginger Rogers! And one of my all time favorite character actors, Edward Everett Horton. If the old Thin Man movies were musicals, I'd have fit one of them in here, too!
There are my seven. If you love (or hate) musicals, consider yourself tagged!
Switch
I switched to the new blogger today. Here's hoping it works!
So far, most things look about the same, but there's a labels section. That looks fun!
So far, most things look about the same, but there's a labels section. That looks fun!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Another Version of the Midwest
I listened to Michael Perry's Population: 485 while I drove recently. Perry writes about living in New Auburn, Wisconsin, and volunteering for the volunteer fire department, which not only fights fires, but does lots of first response and rescue work.
Perry's midwest is very different from mine. First, he's from New Auburn, so going to live there after years away was going home, going back to a place where he had history. He talks about that history at one point in terms of familiarity with the geography. That resounded strongly with me; I remember driving across country the first time, and being overwhelmed by the size of the sky in the midwest. The sky goes on forever here, and feels very low to the ground, especially when the clouds are heavy and stormlike. My geographical sense depends on knowing which way mountains run, and where the ocean is. When I lived in Latin America, I could pretty much tell which way was which by where the mountain range was. Here, I'm constantly lost. Where I lived in grad school, I could only get oriented if I could imagine where the water was because you couldn't always see hills for the polution. But you could usually see the air. Ugh. I don't miss seeing the air.
Second, Perry's midwest is small town, while mine is small city. The sub-title of the book is "Meeting your neighbors one siren at a time." I get the feeling listening, though, that most of the neighbors we meet in the book are the dozen or so other firefighters and EMTs, not only the ones in New Auburn, but the ones Perry worked with during his training and early experiences. Despite the small population Perry talks about, I don't get the sense that he knows folks in the small town the way I imagine small towns. But I've never really lived in a really small town, so he's more likely to have it right than I am.
As I drove, though, I kept thinking about what would happen if I got in an accident, which small town volunteer fire department would get called out to clean up whatever mess I left on the pavement. It's weirdly comforting to think that all across the US (and probably elsewhere), there are volunteers (and paid folks, too) who come together to help their neighbors and strangers. The rural midwest feels especially stark and lonely in the winter, even without much snow.
Every so often, Perry comes up with a really good image, a really good word usage. For example, he talked about a woman whose face was jerked by years of smoking into looking aged. Wow, "jerked" is totally evocative for me, there. I know what he means, I can imagine and visualize the way the face looks, dried and tired.
All in all, then, a good book, well worth listening to, though not as informative about small town midwestern living as I'd hoped. There were moments, though, when I felt that I really understood what Perry was getting at by volunteering and how that helped him connect with the community in a fuller way. It made me want to be a volunteer firefighter in a small town for a few minutes; I romanticized and fantasized, and then realized that my small city has numerous fire stations with lots of pros. And there's no way I'm moving out of my home to move into a small town to try to fit in. That thinking made me think about the ways I do and don't fit here.
It's the end of the year, and time for introspection, I suppose, so that's where I went.
Last evening, I went to visit with a friend's family, to meet her son, another rpcv, and his family. Meeting her mother made me feel right at home somehow, like there's a connection. And there were four generations in that house. Four. I played silliness with one of the kids, which I'm fairly good at. Once a little kid is willing to try the lap, I'm good for an hour or so of entertainment, usually.
We got into a rhythm last evening. We'd do the lap game, then the kid would go do something else, and a few minutes later, come back to the lap game again. It was nice, fun to make him giggle and be silly.
Today I went out and made the final miles to the 700 miles since August on the bike computer. When I woke up this morning, the news said we were expecting freezing rain, but it didn't come, and still hasn't come, and I had a nice ride.
So when I think about fitting, I guess I'm okay. I'm probably as okay here as I would be where I grew up in the suburbs. I always wanted to grow up either in the city like some of my cousins who seemed so sophisticated and savvy or in the country so that I'd get that experience. Instead, I grew up in the almost Disneyesque safety of the suburbs.
I don't know what to call the small city experience; it's neither THE city, nor country, nor suburbs of a big city. We have lots of shared stories in this country about growing up in big cities or in rural areas or small towns. But I don't know what stories we really have about small cities, although lots of people live in them, grow up in them, grow old in them. I don't know the story we're supposed to be living here, so I'm just muddling through.
Perry's midwest is very different from mine. First, he's from New Auburn, so going to live there after years away was going home, going back to a place where he had history. He talks about that history at one point in terms of familiarity with the geography. That resounded strongly with me; I remember driving across country the first time, and being overwhelmed by the size of the sky in the midwest. The sky goes on forever here, and feels very low to the ground, especially when the clouds are heavy and stormlike. My geographical sense depends on knowing which way mountains run, and where the ocean is. When I lived in Latin America, I could pretty much tell which way was which by where the mountain range was. Here, I'm constantly lost. Where I lived in grad school, I could only get oriented if I could imagine where the water was because you couldn't always see hills for the polution. But you could usually see the air. Ugh. I don't miss seeing the air.
Second, Perry's midwest is small town, while mine is small city. The sub-title of the book is "Meeting your neighbors one siren at a time." I get the feeling listening, though, that most of the neighbors we meet in the book are the dozen or so other firefighters and EMTs, not only the ones in New Auburn, but the ones Perry worked with during his training and early experiences. Despite the small population Perry talks about, I don't get the sense that he knows folks in the small town the way I imagine small towns. But I've never really lived in a really small town, so he's more likely to have it right than I am.
As I drove, though, I kept thinking about what would happen if I got in an accident, which small town volunteer fire department would get called out to clean up whatever mess I left on the pavement. It's weirdly comforting to think that all across the US (and probably elsewhere), there are volunteers (and paid folks, too) who come together to help their neighbors and strangers. The rural midwest feels especially stark and lonely in the winter, even without much snow.
Every so often, Perry comes up with a really good image, a really good word usage. For example, he talked about a woman whose face was jerked by years of smoking into looking aged. Wow, "jerked" is totally evocative for me, there. I know what he means, I can imagine and visualize the way the face looks, dried and tired.
All in all, then, a good book, well worth listening to, though not as informative about small town midwestern living as I'd hoped. There were moments, though, when I felt that I really understood what Perry was getting at by volunteering and how that helped him connect with the community in a fuller way. It made me want to be a volunteer firefighter in a small town for a few minutes; I romanticized and fantasized, and then realized that my small city has numerous fire stations with lots of pros. And there's no way I'm moving out of my home to move into a small town to try to fit in. That thinking made me think about the ways I do and don't fit here.
It's the end of the year, and time for introspection, I suppose, so that's where I went.
Last evening, I went to visit with a friend's family, to meet her son, another rpcv, and his family. Meeting her mother made me feel right at home somehow, like there's a connection. And there were four generations in that house. Four. I played silliness with one of the kids, which I'm fairly good at. Once a little kid is willing to try the lap, I'm good for an hour or so of entertainment, usually.
We got into a rhythm last evening. We'd do the lap game, then the kid would go do something else, and a few minutes later, come back to the lap game again. It was nice, fun to make him giggle and be silly.
Today I went out and made the final miles to the 700 miles since August on the bike computer. When I woke up this morning, the news said we were expecting freezing rain, but it didn't come, and still hasn't come, and I had a nice ride.
So when I think about fitting, I guess I'm okay. I'm probably as okay here as I would be where I grew up in the suburbs. I always wanted to grow up either in the city like some of my cousins who seemed so sophisticated and savvy or in the country so that I'd get that experience. Instead, I grew up in the almost Disneyesque safety of the suburbs.
I don't know what to call the small city experience; it's neither THE city, nor country, nor suburbs of a big city. We have lots of shared stories in this country about growing up in big cities or in rural areas or small towns. But I don't know what stories we really have about small cities, although lots of people live in them, grow up in them, grow old in them. I don't know the story we're supposed to be living here, so I'm just muddling through.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Running off to join the circus
Not really. But I am going to visit my sibling's family, complete with the most amazing in-law and their two kids.
From the moment I get there, til the moment I leave, I'll become and remain a total sappy aunt. Auntie Bardiac. Make of it what you will.
The kids are at perfect ages. They still want to play tickle-bug, even the older one. And I can make them squirm and giggle from across the room by making my tickle-bug buzzing sound and wriggling my index finger in their direction. I fear that won't last much longer, but for now, I'm as delighted as they are.
They still jump eagerly on my lap to play at the "why can't you sit properly" game, which involves me pretending to be all serious about the kid sitting properly while all the time doing silliness that makes them fall in one direction or another (and catching them before any bones are broken and such). It's harder all the time to make the "fall" meaningful, since their legs almost reach the ground from my lap. But we manage, especially since a little buzzing sound distracts them and sets them to squirming.
I think parents get tired of silly games, so the kids value me for them, perhaps. Or maybe because pushing swings is still a bit of a treat for me even now? If I spoil them, it's by letting them go with silliness a bit more. I can live with that.
But they're also old enough to play less boring games, to ride bikes a bit, and to converse with.
I eagerly participate in deluding them about Santa Claus. Last year, I wrote a longish note about how good the cookies were or something, in my most readable hand, which they were sure not to recognize.
It makes no logical sense, sort of like much of modern American life at the beginning of the 21st century, but there it is. I play my part with pleasure here, at least.
As I'm off to enjoy the holiday. Here's wishing you happiness, health, and much tickle-bug and other play as the year comes to an end.
I'm off to be sappy Auntie Bardiac for a bit.
From the moment I get there, til the moment I leave, I'll become and remain a total sappy aunt. Auntie Bardiac. Make of it what you will.
The kids are at perfect ages. They still want to play tickle-bug, even the older one. And I can make them squirm and giggle from across the room by making my tickle-bug buzzing sound and wriggling my index finger in their direction. I fear that won't last much longer, but for now, I'm as delighted as they are.
They still jump eagerly on my lap to play at the "why can't you sit properly" game, which involves me pretending to be all serious about the kid sitting properly while all the time doing silliness that makes them fall in one direction or another (and catching them before any bones are broken and such). It's harder all the time to make the "fall" meaningful, since their legs almost reach the ground from my lap. But we manage, especially since a little buzzing sound distracts them and sets them to squirming.
I think parents get tired of silly games, so the kids value me for them, perhaps. Or maybe because pushing swings is still a bit of a treat for me even now? If I spoil them, it's by letting them go with silliness a bit more. I can live with that.
But they're also old enough to play less boring games, to ride bikes a bit, and to converse with.
I eagerly participate in deluding them about Santa Claus. Last year, I wrote a longish note about how good the cookies were or something, in my most readable hand, which they were sure not to recognize.
It makes no logical sense, sort of like much of modern American life at the beginning of the 21st century, but there it is. I play my part with pleasure here, at least.
As I'm off to enjoy the holiday. Here's wishing you happiness, health, and much tickle-bug and other play as the year comes to an end.
I'm off to be sappy Auntie Bardiac for a bit.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Sometimes a Weird Notion
I went to the store this evening before the alcohol cut off time. I'd run out of my "medicinal supply" (you know, cold prevention!) a couple weeks ago, and after all the grading, I felt some desire, let's say, for extra relaxation.
So there I was, Jim and I, standing in line behind a teenage girl dressed in clothes specific to a religious sect (which, I think, would not approve of my pal Jim) and a man I took for her father buying a couple containers of yogurt. Behind me, a woman with more grey than I by say 20 years had her single large container of oats, complete with the smiling Quaker guy face on the packaging.
If I'd have had more than one thing, I'd have let her go first. But then, I couldn't resist.
I looked at her, then at Jim, and said, "You know, if we got together, we'd have the weirdest party ever."
The woman had the BEST laugh, full and joyous. And then she said, "We'd have a good breakfast after, anyways." And we all cracked up again, including the woman checking us out, who had to card me (no, alas, I don't look underage).
So there I was, Jim and I, standing in line behind a teenage girl dressed in clothes specific to a religious sect (which, I think, would not approve of my pal Jim) and a man I took for her father buying a couple containers of yogurt. Behind me, a woman with more grey than I by say 20 years had her single large container of oats, complete with the smiling Quaker guy face on the packaging.
If I'd have had more than one thing, I'd have let her go first. But then, I couldn't resist.
I looked at her, then at Jim, and said, "You know, if we got together, we'd have the weirdest party ever."
The woman had the BEST laugh, full and joyous. And then she said, "We'd have a good breakfast after, anyways." And we all cracked up again, including the woman checking us out, who had to card me (no, alas, I don't look underage).
Silliness with Titles
I couldn't resist after I saw this at Pharyngula:
That's right, it's Imperial Majesty Bardiac to you, internets!
 | My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Imperial Majesty Bardiac the Sentient of Herring-le-hole Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title |
That's right, it's Imperial Majesty Bardiac to you, internets!
Subsidized
I live in subsidized housing. What's that, you're thinking? You've got a phud and a job and stuff, what do you mean?
I'm talking about middle class housing subsidies, being able to take mortgage and property tax payments off my income tax.
I'm especially aware of this today because I went to pay my property tax this morning. The local property tax office closed at noon today, so I went before that so I can go out of town and not worry about coming back in a specific time or day and such. I'd like to whine about the tax office closing early today, but I just don't have the energy. I'm so far behind on grading that I'm thinking of going out to get more chocolate covered raisins. But I bet the people who got the afternoon off really appreciate the time, and I don't grudge them that.
I'm not thrilled with the middle class housing subsidy, but I take advantage of it because it amounts to a lot of money in my budget. All said, I'm guessing it sort of evens out with my overall income tax burden. I pay taxes, the government lets me take off, and so forth. I probably pay a little to let others off, or maybe someone else pays to let me off. And we all pay the IRS workers to figure the calculations out.
The policy benefits people who make enough money to buy a home and afford a mortgage.
And because most middle class folks know about it, we take on mortgages that might be bigger than we should, running up our debt, building our equity at the expense of the community. But we're also as a nation running ourselves further into debt. I know folks who've been living in the same house for nearly 20 years, who keep re-financing, and so who've never managed to actually build much equity (though, given where they live, when they sell, they'll probably make solid capital gains).
So I wonder if we're not doing ourselves a disservice nationally by encouraging middle class people to take on higher debt?
Would we actually do better to get rid of the middle class housing subsidy? I'm guessing it would be better for some folks, worse for others. And I'm guessing the people it's best for are the ones who having higher mortgages and property taxes.
I'm talking about middle class housing subsidies, being able to take mortgage and property tax payments off my income tax.
I'm especially aware of this today because I went to pay my property tax this morning. The local property tax office closed at noon today, so I went before that so I can go out of town and not worry about coming back in a specific time or day and such. I'd like to whine about the tax office closing early today, but I just don't have the energy. I'm so far behind on grading that I'm thinking of going out to get more chocolate covered raisins. But I bet the people who got the afternoon off really appreciate the time, and I don't grudge them that.
I'm not thrilled with the middle class housing subsidy, but I take advantage of it because it amounts to a lot of money in my budget. All said, I'm guessing it sort of evens out with my overall income tax burden. I pay taxes, the government lets me take off, and so forth. I probably pay a little to let others off, or maybe someone else pays to let me off. And we all pay the IRS workers to figure the calculations out.
The policy benefits people who make enough money to buy a home and afford a mortgage.
And because most middle class folks know about it, we take on mortgages that might be bigger than we should, running up our debt, building our equity at the expense of the community. But we're also as a nation running ourselves further into debt. I know folks who've been living in the same house for nearly 20 years, who keep re-financing, and so who've never managed to actually build much equity (though, given where they live, when they sell, they'll probably make solid capital gains).
So I wonder if we're not doing ourselves a disservice nationally by encouraging middle class people to take on higher debt?
Would we actually do better to get rid of the middle class housing subsidy? I'm guessing it would be better for some folks, worse for others. And I'm guessing the people it's best for are the ones who having higher mortgages and property taxes.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Retrospectives on the Body Class - Orlan
During the final week of my body and lit class, we talked about Orlan, a French performance artist whose work includes body modification and plastic surgery.
To be honest, Orlan's work strikes me as both incredibly interesting, and weird as all get out. The hybridity stuff, for example. What does it mean that a white (well, she looks white) woman from a country (France) that was involved in colonialism is making herself into hybridized figures of Native American and African peoples? Is it a hyper-aware critique of colonialism? Further acts of appropriation? What does it mean to "adopt" momentarily and for the making of art, a small part of the practices of another people? (Hybridizing with robots seems less troubling to me. But then, as someone who's a cyborg, I find it discomfiting to see that appropriated, too. Cyborgness wasn't fun to get, and isn't fun to have, but I depend on it. Does Orlan making it art seem too easy?)
Given the nature of her work, I think it's a critique, but even within the critique, there's slippage, it seems to me.
I guess it gets to my discomfort with what it means to encounter other cultures. I'm uncomfortable with some aspects of tourism, the practices of going to "see" other cultures on display, especially when the seeing of those cultures on display involves people having to dress up in a way that isn't practiced really? But then, I feel a bit strange when I go see "pioneer" museums or whatever with white folks dressed up as pretend pioneers. It's a job, right? But still, the theatricality pretending to be the "real" (yes, I went all Lacan on you, sorry), when the "real" really isn't accessible in that way.
I want the "real" but can't get at the real, really. Authentic experience is always changed by my presence, inserted into spaces real and metaphorical. (Angsty, me? Why do you ask?)
To be honest, Orlan's work strikes me as both incredibly interesting, and weird as all get out. The hybridity stuff, for example. What does it mean that a white (well, she looks white) woman from a country (France) that was involved in colonialism is making herself into hybridized figures of Native American and African peoples? Is it a hyper-aware critique of colonialism? Further acts of appropriation? What does it mean to "adopt" momentarily and for the making of art, a small part of the practices of another people? (Hybridizing with robots seems less troubling to me. But then, as someone who's a cyborg, I find it discomfiting to see that appropriated, too. Cyborgness wasn't fun to get, and isn't fun to have, but I depend on it. Does Orlan making it art seem too easy?)
Given the nature of her work, I think it's a critique, but even within the critique, there's slippage, it seems to me.
I guess it gets to my discomfort with what it means to encounter other cultures. I'm uncomfortable with some aspects of tourism, the practices of going to "see" other cultures on display, especially when the seeing of those cultures on display involves people having to dress up in a way that isn't practiced really? But then, I feel a bit strange when I go see "pioneer" museums or whatever with white folks dressed up as pretend pioneers. It's a job, right? But still, the theatricality pretending to be the "real" (yes, I went all Lacan on you, sorry), when the "real" really isn't accessible in that way.
I want the "real" but can't get at the real, really. Authentic experience is always changed by my presence, inserted into spaces real and metaphorical. (Angsty, me? Why do you ask?)
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The Results are IN!
Believe it or not, despite procrastinating and bike riding, I've managed to grade my first year writing students' research papers!
There are two really good ways to organize this sort of paper; one is the traditional "here's the thesis, and then I argue for it" and the other is the almost as traditional "I have a question, explore it, and end with a thesis point."
The best papers were of the latter sort. In the very best, the student asked a question about a fairly complex contemporary question. As this student has been working, s/he's tended towards one answer. In reading the final essay, s/he came down on the other side, explaining in a footnote that s/he'd had an epiphany and realized that s/he'd become convinced by the evidence that s/he should support the other side. How cool is that? My student actually learned something from his/her research, and continued learning through the writing process. I think there's not much more I can hope for as a teacher.
As I've talked about before, students sometimes write about familial problems. One of my students wrote an essay that's bitterly angry about a parent's addictive problem and the parent's unwillingness to change. It was painful to read, though not badly written. The only comfort I can honestly give the student is that s/he has moved away from the problem, except s/he'll be going back to it at break and probably over summer. Sadness.
On the other hand, a student who researched a behavior and found it was dangerous decided that s/he'll continue with it. Pleasure 1, Logic 0.
I become really aware of the stupid grammatical things that irritate me out of all reason. Today, it's using "amount" when "number" makes logical sense. As in, the amount of dollars rather than the number of dollars. It's stupid that I obsess, but it's cropping up repeatedly.
Some students wrote about where they might choose to live after college. I actually wrote on one, "but you'd have to live in _____!" You can fill in the blank with a medium sized US city you think I'd run from. I've actually been to the city in question several times. It was probably inappropriate to write that, but I did. Maybe I should go back and erase? I always write paper comments in pencil, so I can judiciously reword if I need to.
I'm once again stunned, though I shouldn't be, at some of the attitudes my students have. I have several female students who seem to think that it's bad for women to work outside the home, though they plan to do so. When they talk about the not working outside the home thing, I want to ask them if they think I should starve to death because I don't have a husband to support me. I think, though, that they don't "see" me, in a way, and certainly haven't thought things through about the working world.
There are two really good ways to organize this sort of paper; one is the traditional "here's the thesis, and then I argue for it" and the other is the almost as traditional "I have a question, explore it, and end with a thesis point."
The best papers were of the latter sort. In the very best, the student asked a question about a fairly complex contemporary question. As this student has been working, s/he's tended towards one answer. In reading the final essay, s/he came down on the other side, explaining in a footnote that s/he'd had an epiphany and realized that s/he'd become convinced by the evidence that s/he should support the other side. How cool is that? My student actually learned something from his/her research, and continued learning through the writing process. I think there's not much more I can hope for as a teacher.
As I've talked about before, students sometimes write about familial problems. One of my students wrote an essay that's bitterly angry about a parent's addictive problem and the parent's unwillingness to change. It was painful to read, though not badly written. The only comfort I can honestly give the student is that s/he has moved away from the problem, except s/he'll be going back to it at break and probably over summer. Sadness.
On the other hand, a student who researched a behavior and found it was dangerous decided that s/he'll continue with it. Pleasure 1, Logic 0.
I become really aware of the stupid grammatical things that irritate me out of all reason. Today, it's using "amount" when "number" makes logical sense. As in, the amount of dollars rather than the number of dollars. It's stupid that I obsess, but it's cropping up repeatedly.
Some students wrote about where they might choose to live after college. I actually wrote on one, "but you'd have to live in _____!" You can fill in the blank with a medium sized US city you think I'd run from. I've actually been to the city in question several times. It was probably inappropriate to write that, but I did. Maybe I should go back and erase? I always write paper comments in pencil, so I can judiciously reword if I need to.
I'm once again stunned, though I shouldn't be, at some of the attitudes my students have. I have several female students who seem to think that it's bad for women to work outside the home, though they plan to do so. When they talk about the not working outside the home thing, I want to ask them if they think I should starve to death because I don't have a husband to support me. I think, though, that they don't "see" me, in a way, and certainly haven't thought things through about the working world.
Dinner at Bardiac's
When I was a graduate student, some professors made a practice of inviting the students in their graduate seminars for dinner at their home at the end of the term. Often we sat around, discussing what we'd read during the seminar, talking about books, poems, the state of the world. Usually it felt great because we'd turned in our papers but the prof hadn't had time to look at them, so I didn't feel too anxious about the grade thing. I remember one prof talking about how he wanted us to feel like junior colleagues rather than students. (And he tended to treat us as junior colleagues whom he was mentoring, especially his TAs and research assistants, much to my benefit.)
Since I've come to NorthWoods University, I've invited students in my graduate seminars to my home for dinner at the end of the term. Even in our MA program, I want my students to feel like junior colleagues to the extent I can contribute to that.
I feel awkward as a host for any sort of gathering, but that's life. For these gatherings, I get some pretty good take out food, plenty of soft drinks (yes, you can tell I'm not from the midwest), and we go from there. Usually some students bring some cookies or whatever, which adds to the mix.
Tonight was the night. It felt odd at first. But after a while, we sat around and chatted, and it was fun and relaxing. The food's mostly all gone, and people seemed full enough, so that went okay.
Still, every time, I wonder if I should continue. I think the students like it, like seeing that professors are human beings with homes and lives and rooms full of books. I know I did when I was a student. And yet I seem to be the only professor who does anything like this here, and that feels a little strange. I think some of my more senior colleagues think I'm soft because of it. Or maybe they disapprove for some other reason?
Since I've come to NorthWoods University, I've invited students in my graduate seminars to my home for dinner at the end of the term. Even in our MA program, I want my students to feel like junior colleagues to the extent I can contribute to that.
I feel awkward as a host for any sort of gathering, but that's life. For these gatherings, I get some pretty good take out food, plenty of soft drinks (yes, you can tell I'm not from the midwest), and we go from there. Usually some students bring some cookies or whatever, which adds to the mix.
Tonight was the night. It felt odd at first. But after a while, we sat around and chatted, and it was fun and relaxing. The food's mostly all gone, and people seemed full enough, so that went okay.
Still, every time, I wonder if I should continue. I think the students like it, like seeing that professors are human beings with homes and lives and rooms full of books. I know I did when I was a student. And yet I seem to be the only professor who does anything like this here, and that feels a little strange. I think some of my more senior colleagues think I'm soft because of it. Or maybe they disapprove for some other reason?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Morning After
No, not the morning after a wild, dissolute night out on the town.
Nor the morning after an orgy. (Though yay for Plan B being legal and otc and stuff!)
Alas. But, dream on. I'll be here when you get back.
I'm talking about the morning after returning my writing class final research essays.
I've had several appointments with students who want to talk about their papers. You can guess that they don't want to thank me for my incredible generosity, for all the wonderful help I gave them, and for my insightful comments. Nope, they really want to talk about their grades.
Grading is painful for most of us. No one wants to turn in work and get it back with an F or even a C minus. I've had students cry over a B+ (but not today). No one wants to read a really horrible paper, either. It's demoralizing to try to communicate well about choosing and using sources, setting up arguments, contextualizing evidence and then read a paper that cites Wikipedia or Google to justify a controversial point. (I know; I use Wikipedia here to set up links for definitions on occasion. Pot meet kettle. But, if anyone thinks what I write here is a peer reviewed academic piece that actually counts for anything professionally, please step forward and write the Dean a letter saying so!)
So morning after meetings and conferences are vitally important and difficult. (But, in the grand scheme of difficulty, probably a 2 on a scale of 1-100. Let's be real here; my students, so far as I know, aren't packing guns to shoot me with if I say something slightly wrong.)
I know the student's coming because s/he is unhappy about the grade. But I don't know the source of unhappiness, or how to resolve it in a useful way until we start talking.
Sometimes students really do want to understand how they could organize the paper better, or want reassurance that they're not stupid for getting an F or that I don't dislike them. Under stress, students (and the rest of us) do sub-par work; it doesn't mean they/we are bad or stupid. But at the same time, it doesn't mean we get do-overs or endless revision opportunities.
Sometimes they need to just let go and the paper for my class is the straw that breaks the metaphor into tiny little atomic pieces of big bang unhappiness. I actually feel that I can be useful to students at that point, that I can help them refocus on their remaining work.
Sometimes students want me to explain "how many points [they] lost" for doing (or not doing) something. I don't give points on essays, I explain. Each essay starts as an F. Hand in a blank piece of paper, and it gets an F. Papers work up from there.
Sometimes students want to argue that a specific sentence isn't "confusing" or whatever, so I have to explain what I think is the source of my confusion. Often it's some sort of definition. I had one of those today; the student used a term from some sort of social studies field, and I found it confusing. So, right there in the meeting, I asked her what it meant. She didn't quite know how to define it, and quickly recognized the source of my confusion. [There should be a rule of writing: if you can't define a word or term, don't use it; if you need to define it for your reader, take the time to define it. That simple rule would prevent galaxies of readerly misery (at all levels! Kristeva, I'm looking at you!).]
If I do my job well, the student leaves feeling that they've gained something, even though they usually haven't gained a change of grade (unless I couldn't add correctly on an exam). I hope they feel that my grading is fair and just, and that they know how to do something better the next time they write an essay. I also hope they leave feeling some little human connection, that I care about them and wish them well (because I do).
ps. It's also the morning after a nearly sleepless night. Why do I stress so much about little things that usually go pretty darned well?
Nor the morning after an orgy. (Though yay for Plan B being legal and otc and stuff!)
Alas. But, dream on. I'll be here when you get back.
I'm talking about the morning after returning my writing class final research essays.
I've had several appointments with students who want to talk about their papers. You can guess that they don't want to thank me for my incredible generosity, for all the wonderful help I gave them, and for my insightful comments. Nope, they really want to talk about their grades.
Grading is painful for most of us. No one wants to turn in work and get it back with an F or even a C minus. I've had students cry over a B+ (but not today). No one wants to read a really horrible paper, either. It's demoralizing to try to communicate well about choosing and using sources, setting up arguments, contextualizing evidence and then read a paper that cites Wikipedia or Google to justify a controversial point. (I know; I use Wikipedia here to set up links for definitions on occasion. Pot meet kettle. But, if anyone thinks what I write here is a peer reviewed academic piece that actually counts for anything professionally, please step forward and write the Dean a letter saying so!)
So morning after meetings and conferences are vitally important and difficult. (But, in the grand scheme of difficulty, probably a 2 on a scale of 1-100. Let's be real here; my students, so far as I know, aren't packing guns to shoot me with if I say something slightly wrong.)
I know the student's coming because s/he is unhappy about the grade. But I don't know the source of unhappiness, or how to resolve it in a useful way until we start talking.
Sometimes students really do want to understand how they could organize the paper better, or want reassurance that they're not stupid for getting an F or that I don't dislike them. Under stress, students (and the rest of us) do sub-par work; it doesn't mean they/we are bad or stupid. But at the same time, it doesn't mean we get do-overs or endless revision opportunities.
Sometimes they need to just let go and the paper for my class is the straw that breaks the metaphor into tiny little atomic pieces of big bang unhappiness. I actually feel that I can be useful to students at that point, that I can help them refocus on their remaining work.
Sometimes students want me to explain "how many points [they] lost" for doing (or not doing) something. I don't give points on essays, I explain. Each essay starts as an F. Hand in a blank piece of paper, and it gets an F. Papers work up from there.
Sometimes students want to argue that a specific sentence isn't "confusing" or whatever, so I have to explain what I think is the source of my confusion. Often it's some sort of definition. I had one of those today; the student used a term from some sort of social studies field, and I found it confusing. So, right there in the meeting, I asked her what it meant. She didn't quite know how to define it, and quickly recognized the source of my confusion. [There should be a rule of writing: if you can't define a word or term, don't use it; if you need to define it for your reader, take the time to define it. That simple rule would prevent galaxies of readerly misery (at all levels! Kristeva, I'm looking at you!).]
If I do my job well, the student leaves feeling that they've gained something, even though they usually haven't gained a change of grade (unless I couldn't add correctly on an exam). I hope they feel that my grading is fair and just, and that they know how to do something better the next time they write an essay. I also hope they leave feeling some little human connection, that I care about them and wish them well (because I do).
ps. It's also the morning after a nearly sleepless night. Why do I stress so much about little things that usually go pretty darned well?
Sunday, December 17, 2006
New BlogHome for G Bitch
G Bitch has left the old blogger building and moved to new digs!
Here's the new URL: http://g-bitch.com/
If you haven't read G Bitch before, take a look. She calls herself a "mad Black woman" who "rants about New Orleans, insomnia, teaching, various -isms and anything else involving a bitch, a spot or the letter g."
I find it fascinating to learn about New Orleans post-Katrina from someone who's also in academics, and who talks about the difficulties in specific and concrete ways.
And yes, I remembered to update my sidebar. Are there other updates I need to make?
Here's the new URL: http://g-bitch.com/
If you haven't read G Bitch before, take a look. She calls herself a "mad Black woman" who "rants about New Orleans, insomnia, teaching, various -isms and anything else involving a bitch, a spot or the letter g."
I find it fascinating to learn about New Orleans post-Katrina from someone who's also in academics, and who talks about the difficulties in specific and concrete ways.
And yes, I remembered to update my sidebar. Are there other updates I need to make?
Racing against the Weather
I'm trying to exercise regularly, and since I'd rather do that outdoors than in, there's that weather thing to consider.
My goal of the moment is to put 700 miles on the bike computer before the end of the year. I pass the 650 mark yesterday, so I'm pretty close. That's the goal, and then for next year, to double the total miles for the year (since I got the bike computer put on in August, that's not wildly unrealistic).
But, I'm also lazy as all get out, which means I use whatever excuse is handy to support my laziness.
The weather's a big one right now. It's cold, maybe not arctic cold, but for me, cold. I have on right now, high tech (well, REI said so) long underwear, biking tights, a T-shirt. I'll add a windbreaker before I brave the outdoors, and full gloves. It's a matter of balancing the "way too cold to bear" and the "too hot when I'm going well" problems. This outfit seems to work well as long as I'm going fairly full out; when I slow down, though, I get cold quickly.
I can go fairly full out for 15-20 miles now because I've been lazy and haven't been biking much. That and the white stuff that comes out of the sky sometimes, and the rain. I'm a fair weather biker. I'm not high tech or tough or whatever enough to want to bike when it's really nasty.
Just as an aside, when you see those people in bright colored, high-tech biking gear, muscles rippling? That's not me, just so you know.
Last weekend, I went out rather later than I'd intended, and went further before I turned back, and so I was still on the trail for 20 minutes after the sun had fallen behind the landscape bumps that count for hills in the midwest. The temperature dropped a bit, and riding that last bit was colder than it had been before. It was still light out, and I was pretty near the trail head, but I felt stupid anyways. How embarrassing would it be to get a flat and have to walk back in the early dusk? And how fast would I get cold enough to be really miserable?
So weather and my middle-aged carefulness make good excuses.
I also use classes, office hours, meetings, and the like as excuses. And laziness. There's no way I'm getting up at 5am to go out in sub-freezing weather for an hour so that I can rush home, shower, and make it to campus in time to get parking near my building. (I know! If I went late, then I could pretend that walking across campus counts as exercise! But I hate walking across campus and pretending that's exercise!) The sun going down early these days means that I can't really ride after the office stuff is done for the day as I did in early fall.
When I looked at the weather report yesterday, I saw that we were supposed to have snow flurries today, so I decided to "be good"* and go out for a ride. Usually, I ride out and back on a nice bike trail, so I pretty much have to decide how far I'm going to go by the halfway point of the distance. Yesterday, I thought about turning back at the 7 and 1/2 mile point, which would have made my ride about 15 miles, but I thought, weirdly, that I'd feel "defeated" if I only went 15 miles. Why is that? When I started biking a bit, just over a year ago now, I was proud when I'd gone about 8 miles.
*And what's with my "being good" thing? I'm not a six year old, really, but deep down, I'm a six year old on some level, still. And I'm telling the internet, "look, I was good!"
It's supposedly above freezing now, and I'm wrapped up and ready to ride. It's me against the weather for the final 45 miles. Fifteen miles or 20 today. My legs are a little tired from yesterday, but I want to go today because it may snow or something tomorrow. And then, of course, if I don't go today, I would have to start grading now.
Riding even in sub-freezing weather sounds more appealing than grading. Excuse #1 loses to Procrastination!
My goal of the moment is to put 700 miles on the bike computer before the end of the year. I pass the 650 mark yesterday, so I'm pretty close. That's the goal, and then for next year, to double the total miles for the year (since I got the bike computer put on in August, that's not wildly unrealistic).
But, I'm also lazy as all get out, which means I use whatever excuse is handy to support my laziness.
The weather's a big one right now. It's cold, maybe not arctic cold, but for me, cold. I have on right now, high tech (well, REI said so) long underwear, biking tights, a T-shirt. I'll add a windbreaker before I brave the outdoors, and full gloves. It's a matter of balancing the "way too cold to bear" and the "too hot when I'm going well" problems. This outfit seems to work well as long as I'm going fairly full out; when I slow down, though, I get cold quickly.
I can go fairly full out for 15-20 miles now because I've been lazy and haven't been biking much. That and the white stuff that comes out of the sky sometimes, and the rain. I'm a fair weather biker. I'm not high tech or tough or whatever enough to want to bike when it's really nasty.
Just as an aside, when you see those people in bright colored, high-tech biking gear, muscles rippling? That's not me, just so you know.
Last weekend, I went out rather later than I'd intended, and went further before I turned back, and so I was still on the trail for 20 minutes after the sun had fallen behind the landscape bumps that count for hills in the midwest. The temperature dropped a bit, and riding that last bit was colder than it had been before. It was still light out, and I was pretty near the trail head, but I felt stupid anyways. How embarrassing would it be to get a flat and have to walk back in the early dusk? And how fast would I get cold enough to be really miserable?
So weather and my middle-aged carefulness make good excuses.
I also use classes, office hours, meetings, and the like as excuses. And laziness. There's no way I'm getting up at 5am to go out in sub-freezing weather for an hour so that I can rush home, shower, and make it to campus in time to get parking near my building. (I know! If I went late, then I could pretend that walking across campus counts as exercise! But I hate walking across campus and pretending that's exercise!) The sun going down early these days means that I can't really ride after the office stuff is done for the day as I did in early fall.
When I looked at the weather report yesterday, I saw that we were supposed to have snow flurries today, so I decided to "be good"* and go out for a ride. Usually, I ride out and back on a nice bike trail, so I pretty much have to decide how far I'm going to go by the halfway point of the distance. Yesterday, I thought about turning back at the 7 and 1/2 mile point, which would have made my ride about 15 miles, but I thought, weirdly, that I'd feel "defeated" if I only went 15 miles. Why is that? When I started biking a bit, just over a year ago now, I was proud when I'd gone about 8 miles.
*And what's with my "being good" thing? I'm not a six year old, really, but deep down, I'm a six year old on some level, still. And I'm telling the internet, "look, I was good!"
It's supposedly above freezing now, and I'm wrapped up and ready to ride. It's me against the weather for the final 45 miles. Fifteen miles or 20 today. My legs are a little tired from yesterday, but I want to go today because it may snow or something tomorrow. And then, of course, if I don't go today, I would have to start grading now.
Riding even in sub-freezing weather sounds more appealing than grading. Excuse #1 loses to Procrastination!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Pass the Question
I've been trying to explain to a couple Christians I know why I, an athiest, am cranky, but it's hard to explain. If I'd grown up a non-Christian, I might be able to feel neutral, but I grew up in a Christian denomination, so my non-Christianity isn't "natural" but at least partly a reaction to my early experiences.
Here's a question for the blogosphere: When I was a kid, the denomination I was in didn't ordain women or allow women to serve at the altar. Women (and girls) were responsible for cleaning up, though, for polishing metal and wood stuffs, for dusting, for washing linens. This service, I was told was an honor, a privilege. (It was the 60s. Yeah, I'm old.)
At this point, that denomination now ordains women and allows women to serve at the altar. But still, at the parish where I grew up, all the cleaning is done by women (and girls). So women now do men's work, but only after and in addition to doing all the women's work.
So, those of you in the blogosphere who know parishes in denominations where women are ordained and serve at the altar, do men participate in the cleaning activities, or are those still considered women's work?
Whatever the parish's practice, why that practice?
Here's a question for the blogosphere: When I was a kid, the denomination I was in didn't ordain women or allow women to serve at the altar. Women (and girls) were responsible for cleaning up, though, for polishing metal and wood stuffs, for dusting, for washing linens. This service, I was told was an honor, a privilege. (It was the 60s. Yeah, I'm old.)
At this point, that denomination now ordains women and allows women to serve at the altar. But still, at the parish where I grew up, all the cleaning is done by women (and girls). So women now do men's work, but only after and in addition to doing all the women's work.
So, those of you in the blogosphere who know parishes in denominations where women are ordained and serve at the altar, do men participate in the cleaning activities, or are those still considered women's work?
Whatever the parish's practice, why that practice?
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