A colleague of mine came into the office yesterday and told me some great news: he is taking a position at Gonzaga U. What a professional move for him--better pay, bigger city, favorable teaching contract.
For some reason, though, it was like a splash of cold water in my face. For the first time since we arrived, this place felt temporary. It's uncomfortable to think that way at all, yet it appears that I'll have to sit with this feeling for a bit before I know what to do with it.
2.28.2006
Big-time news
We got a letter yesterday informing us that W has officially graduated from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary with a Master of Arts in Christian Counseling. GPA: 3.5!
I cannot give voice to my pride; I cannot praise her enough for completing this degree--it was dearly bought, and shows just how tenacious and dedicated she can be under daunting circumstances. She had to drive from Chapel Hill to Charlotte two weekends a month for a good four years or so. While holding down a full-time job.
She should receive her diploma this summer. I think we'll get it framed.
I cannot give voice to my pride; I cannot praise her enough for completing this degree--it was dearly bought, and shows just how tenacious and dedicated she can be under daunting circumstances. She had to drive from Chapel Hill to Charlotte two weekends a month for a good four years or so. While holding down a full-time job.
She should receive her diploma this summer. I think we'll get it framed.
2.25.2006
Hark The Sound
77-65 over the Duke Blue Devils, which means an ACC championship, and a #1 national ranking.
The best basketball player at UNC just might be Ivory Latta.
Anyways, it's great to see the women get national attention, and let's face it. . . beating Duke at anything, but especially basketball, is always a good thing.
The best basketball player at UNC just might be Ivory Latta.
Anyways, it's great to see the women get national attention, and let's face it. . . beating Duke at anything, but especially basketball, is always a good thing.
2.22.2006
In which Piers realizes just how much older he is than his students
Conversation in my office today:
"So, where do I find books on Brook Farm?"
Have you looked at the library?
(we look up a few sources)
"So, can I just go, and, you know, take the book out of the library?"
(pause as I try to decide if this is a joke)
uh, yeah, just give them your card. . . you've never done research in a library, have you?
"nope"
And to think I remember a time, when I was in college, where even the Mosaic browser was a novelty. I can only imagine my parents' bemusement.
"So, where do I find books on Brook Farm?"
Have you looked at the library?
(we look up a few sources)
"So, can I just go, and, you know, take the book out of the library?"
(pause as I try to decide if this is a joke)
uh, yeah, just give them your card. . . you've never done research in a library, have you?
"nope"
And to think I remember a time, when I was in college, where even the Mosaic browser was a novelty. I can only imagine my parents' bemusement.
2.21.2006
The Last Battle
Today my seminar is going to cover the last book in Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. It's always been my least favorite of the books; when I was a kid, I was sad to see the adventures end, and couldn't understand how all those Narnian animals (and dwarves) could be so stupid. I felt horrible for King Tirian, and Jewel, and Puzzle, and all those poor animals who die there at the stable.
This time, I looked with more grown-up eyes, and I was surprised at myself--at how long I'd waited to re-read the book. I was surprised to see that I still disliked it, even as I see now how the story fits in with the mythic arc that he develops most powerfully in The Magician's Nephew. It's like they are the pillars undergirding the remainder of the books, seeing as they show the beginning and the ending of all things.
I note that the tone in this book is far from the avuncular, good-natured wit of some of the others, even The Magician's Nephew. It starts with Shift, a thoroughly unpleasant figure, and moves on with highly ceremonial figures like Tirian and Jewel, who speak like figures out of an epic romance. There is an elegaic quality that pervades the book (which is as it should be, given its subject matter), and though the ending is supposed to be positive, it verges too heavily into didacticism to be a complete success. Though again, given the obvious allegorical setup, I don't see how Lewis could have written it differently.
I thought Jill Pole came off looking, as Lucy always did, like a brick, as Edmund would say. I know people object to the description of Susan, but I don't see how that statement can overshadow the high respect and heroism that Lewis reveals in these two. All that to say, I'm still not convinced that Lewis is all that much of a misogynist, as some accuse.
Anyway, this is rough and ready, but I'm about to lead discussion on the book in a couple of hours, and still have a stack of papers to grade. Onward and upward!
This time, I looked with more grown-up eyes, and I was surprised at myself--at how long I'd waited to re-read the book. I was surprised to see that I still disliked it, even as I see now how the story fits in with the mythic arc that he develops most powerfully in The Magician's Nephew. It's like they are the pillars undergirding the remainder of the books, seeing as they show the beginning and the ending of all things.
I note that the tone in this book is far from the avuncular, good-natured wit of some of the others, even The Magician's Nephew. It starts with Shift, a thoroughly unpleasant figure, and moves on with highly ceremonial figures like Tirian and Jewel, who speak like figures out of an epic romance. There is an elegaic quality that pervades the book (which is as it should be, given its subject matter), and though the ending is supposed to be positive, it verges too heavily into didacticism to be a complete success. Though again, given the obvious allegorical setup, I don't see how Lewis could have written it differently.
I thought Jill Pole came off looking, as Lucy always did, like a brick, as Edmund would say. I know people object to the description of Susan, but I don't see how that statement can overshadow the high respect and heroism that Lewis reveals in these two. All that to say, I'm still not convinced that Lewis is all that much of a misogynist, as some accuse.
Anyway, this is rough and ready, but I'm about to lead discussion on the book in a couple of hours, and still have a stack of papers to grade. Onward and upward!
Agony in my Homeland
I still feel the tie so strongly -- the weekend landslide in Leyte over the weekend made me physically ill. I know that there are tragedies and disasters all over the world every week, but this one strikes so close to home. Those of my readers that are the praying type, please lift them up.
Bayang magiliw
Perlas ng Silanganan
Alab ng puso
Sa dibdib mo'y buhay
link to anthem (turn volume down lest you should get a blast of midi music)
Bayang magiliw
Perlas ng Silanganan
Alab ng puso
Sa dibdib mo'y buhay
link to anthem (turn volume down lest you should get a blast of midi music)
2.18.2006
fun with a little boy (updated)
Recent events:
He brought mommy the cat's water bowl the other day. I guess he must have thought an empty bowl needed to be filled, since it was empty when mommy got it.
Recent foods meeting with approval: salsa verde, cottage cheese, brunswick stew. Foods meeting with disapproval: french fries. Go figure.
One of his favorite toys: Mommy's tube of toothpaste. Two to three times per day, he goes into our bathroom, opens the drawer, and roots around until he finds her Colgate. Then the lid goes in his mouth.
Favorite books: Dr. Seuss' ABC, Hop on Pop, Fox in Socks . . . and Chapman's The Five Love Languages. Seriously, he goes to the shelf where mommy's books are, and every time it's that one.
Favorite anxiety-inducing activity: climbing in and out of the chairs at the kitchen table. With the wood floor underneath, of course. I'm just waiting for the busted lip.
Letters mastered: B, J, M, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, Z
UPDATE: I forgot "F"
Today I sneeze while reading him a book, and out of the blue, he says "bless you."
Mommy and Daddy are watching their mouths these days.
He brought mommy the cat's water bowl the other day. I guess he must have thought an empty bowl needed to be filled, since it was empty when mommy got it.
Recent foods meeting with approval: salsa verde, cottage cheese, brunswick stew. Foods meeting with disapproval: french fries. Go figure.
One of his favorite toys: Mommy's tube of toothpaste. Two to three times per day, he goes into our bathroom, opens the drawer, and roots around until he finds her Colgate. Then the lid goes in his mouth.
Favorite books: Dr. Seuss' ABC, Hop on Pop, Fox in Socks . . . and Chapman's The Five Love Languages. Seriously, he goes to the shelf where mommy's books are, and every time it's that one.
Favorite anxiety-inducing activity: climbing in and out of the chairs at the kitchen table. With the wood floor underneath, of course. I'm just waiting for the busted lip.
Letters mastered: B, J, M, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, Z
UPDATE: I forgot "F"
Today I sneeze while reading him a book, and out of the blue, he says "bless you."
Mommy and Daddy are watching their mouths these days.
2 for 2
Second weekend in a row we've had snow. That means we've had enough to cover the grass. This time, the difference has been that it's very cold--down in the 25-degree range--all day. This has been that dry, powdery stuff that's great for sledding. Not that we did any, but the novelty of the three-inch snowdrifts in the front flowerbed is cool for a southern boy.
Don't know about services tomorrow morning. They tend to cancel services on snowy weekends so that the elderly folks don't feel obligated to get out and drive.
Don't know about services tomorrow morning. They tend to cancel services on snowy weekends so that the elderly folks don't feel obligated to get out and drive.
2.16.2006
In which Piers wonders what crime he's being punished for
Act One:
2:10 pm. I'm in a conference with a student. A woman who appears to be in her sixties or so walks into my office.
"Are you DC?" she asks. DC is my office mate, a fellow english professor. I tell her that no, I'm not.
"Where is he?"
Well, he's normally not here until 3:00.
"3:00. Hmmmm. Who are you, his grad assistant?"
No ma'am, I'm a professor.
"A professor? You're awfully young."
Well, not that young, I'm 32.
"You don't look 32. Where did you get your degree?"
UNC.
"What was your thesis?"
Not that you care, but sixteenth century rhetorical theory, specifically the definitions of decorum used in various literary genres in the English Renaissance, as embodied in Thomas Nashe, Ben Jonson, and George Herbert. sixteenth century rhetoric.
"Ah. Well, I'll just wait here for him." She makes no move to leave the room.
Okaaaaay, in that case I'll take my student down the hall and we'll sit at the table in the lounge.
"Oh, am I interrupting something? I can wait out here. Three o' clock, huh?" She meanders down the hall.
Act Two:
2:20 pm. I have told her she could wait just across the hall. She waits about 5 minutes, then goes to find CB, an english professor whose office is next door. He is called in to confirm what I've already told her: D is not here, I don't know where he is, and he is habitually not here until 3:00, when his CLEARLY POSTED office hours say that he'll be here. I don't know why she needs C to tell her that. Maybe he looks older than I do. Once C has told me to tell D that the lady is looking for him, he escapes--er, departs. I return to work, but now she's loitering in the hall right outside my office door, humming tunelessly to herself, and complaining that she might get a parking ticket. I resist the urge to suggest that she go somewhere else until 3:00, then come back when she knows he'll be present.
Act Three:
2:45 pm. I go down the hall to return an item to the department office. She has cornered one of the student workers, and is complaining about how she has to sit around and waste her time because (evidently) no one is helping her get in touch with DC, or rather he forgot their appointment, or something. Student worker looks scared but nods politely. I wonder if she has also had all of her credentials checked. Upon my return to my office, I sit down only to hear a familiar tuneless humming coming from the hallway just outside my office door. I bend toward my book, hoping that she does not ask to see my high school transcripts. About this time, someone upstairs starts beating a hip-hop tattoo through the floor and into my head.
Yes, it was that kind of day.
2:10 pm. I'm in a conference with a student. A woman who appears to be in her sixties or so walks into my office.
"Are you DC?" she asks. DC is my office mate, a fellow english professor. I tell her that no, I'm not.
"Where is he?"
Well, he's normally not here until 3:00.
"3:00. Hmmmm. Who are you, his grad assistant?"
No ma'am, I'm a professor.
"A professor? You're awfully young."
Well, not that young, I'm 32.
"You don't look 32. Where did you get your degree?"
UNC.
"What was your thesis?"
Not that you care, but sixteenth century rhetorical theory, specifically the definitions of decorum used in various literary genres in the English Renaissance, as embodied in Thomas Nashe, Ben Jonson, and George Herbert. sixteenth century rhetoric.
"Ah. Well, I'll just wait here for him." She makes no move to leave the room.
Okaaaaay, in that case I'll take my student down the hall and we'll sit at the table in the lounge.
"Oh, am I interrupting something? I can wait out here. Three o' clock, huh?" She meanders down the hall.
Act Two:
2:20 pm. I have told her she could wait just across the hall. She waits about 5 minutes, then goes to find CB, an english professor whose office is next door. He is called in to confirm what I've already told her: D is not here, I don't know where he is, and he is habitually not here until 3:00, when his CLEARLY POSTED office hours say that he'll be here. I don't know why she needs C to tell her that. Maybe he looks older than I do. Once C has told me to tell D that the lady is looking for him, he escapes--er, departs. I return to work, but now she's loitering in the hall right outside my office door, humming tunelessly to herself, and complaining that she might get a parking ticket. I resist the urge to suggest that she go somewhere else until 3:00, then come back when she knows he'll be present.
Act Three:
2:45 pm. I go down the hall to return an item to the department office. She has cornered one of the student workers, and is complaining about how she has to sit around and waste her time because (evidently) no one is helping her get in touch with DC, or rather he forgot their appointment, or something. Student worker looks scared but nods politely. I wonder if she has also had all of her credentials checked. Upon my return to my office, I sit down only to hear a familiar tuneless humming coming from the hallway just outside my office door. I bend toward my book, hoping that she does not ask to see my high school transcripts. About this time, someone upstairs starts beating a hip-hop tattoo through the floor and into my head.
Yes, it was that kind of day.
2.14.2006
Ghoulish
So a colleague from another department comes striding into my office (I share this present space with a fellow english professor while our true offices are being renovated), talking about the incident with the vice president and the hunting and all that. What a gift to the comedians and the Lettermans, eh?
But as he is fulminating in his shrillish voice, he lets this slip (this is a paraphrase): And so the guy he shot has had a heart attack? Wouldn't it be great if he died, then he [the VP, I think] wouldn't be able to get away with it?
I nearly demanded that he leave. I don't care whether or not people particularly like, respect, voted for, or admire any members of the present administration or any other administration. That's their business. But to express a wish that the victim of this hunting accident would die so that the VP would "get his"--
That's ghoulish, and I don't understand it, and I don't want to understand it.
But as he is fulminating in his shrillish voice, he lets this slip (this is a paraphrase): And so the guy he shot has had a heart attack? Wouldn't it be great if he died, then he [the VP, I think] wouldn't be able to get away with it?
I nearly demanded that he leave. I don't care whether or not people particularly like, respect, voted for, or admire any members of the present administration or any other administration. That's their business. But to express a wish that the victim of this hunting accident would die so that the VP would "get his"--
That's ghoulish, and I don't understand it, and I don't want to understand it.
2.12.2006
Pondering
One of the things that kept me from starting a blog in the first place--I've been reading some blogs for over four years now, so it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the form--was my suspicion that it would be much ado about nothing. What's the value of baring one's soul on the internet, anyway? Who'd care to read it?
. . .
You'll note how that objection eventually gave way. Still, I'm faced with another dilemma, and it relates to something the pastor said in church today. He pointed out that there is so much in our lives that beats us down, constantly. We all live under the pressure of a world that will crush what we cherish in ourselves and others. We all need building up; we all need someone or someones to help us bear up under that weight.
Which brings me to the question of what I should do in this space. Sure, I've basically been experimenting with the form, but in order to do it long-term, I'm going to have to do more than just say "I'm reading this book" or "I don't like the cold." But I don't particularly want to spend my time talking about "I think such-and-such is stoopid" or "can you believe what those dirty so-and-sos are doing this time" because the last thing we need is another person telling us what's wrong with ourselves, or with our country, or with academia, or baptists, or anything else. It's not like my position as english professor at a small regional state institution provides me any expertise to speak on such things.
Piers Penniless is a persona that Thomas Nashe used in one of his satirical works, and I once thought it would be fun to point out absurdity and hypocrisy in my profession. But. 1) Shooting fish in a barrel is no fun, and 2)I don't have tenure. Plus, who wants to read yet more caustic satire? I'm not even that funny.
So, I guess I'll be using the blog to do a couple of things:
a. Tell folks about general news & events around here.
b. Find time to post pictures of and observations about our town--things I find interesting about West Tennessee in general.
c. Join conversations with the Buzzard and Hambone (and others, too) about vocation, work, home.
d. Share things I've been researching and teaching.
I don't know how interesting it will be to me or to anyone else, but at least blogs are flexible. Feel free to respond, if you've got any wonderful ideas.
. . .
You'll note how that objection eventually gave way. Still, I'm faced with another dilemma, and it relates to something the pastor said in church today. He pointed out that there is so much in our lives that beats us down, constantly. We all live under the pressure of a world that will crush what we cherish in ourselves and others. We all need building up; we all need someone or someones to help us bear up under that weight.
Which brings me to the question of what I should do in this space. Sure, I've basically been experimenting with the form, but in order to do it long-term, I'm going to have to do more than just say "I'm reading this book" or "I don't like the cold." But I don't particularly want to spend my time talking about "I think such-and-such is stoopid" or "can you believe what those dirty so-and-sos are doing this time" because the last thing we need is another person telling us what's wrong with ourselves, or with our country, or with academia, or baptists, or anything else. It's not like my position as english professor at a small regional state institution provides me any expertise to speak on such things.
Piers Penniless is a persona that Thomas Nashe used in one of his satirical works, and I once thought it would be fun to point out absurdity and hypocrisy in my profession. But. 1) Shooting fish in a barrel is no fun, and 2)I don't have tenure. Plus, who wants to read yet more caustic satire? I'm not even that funny.
So, I guess I'll be using the blog to do a couple of things:
a. Tell folks about general news & events around here.
b. Find time to post pictures of and observations about our town--things I find interesting about West Tennessee in general.
c. Join conversations with the Buzzard and Hambone (and others, too) about vocation, work, home.
d. Share things I've been researching and teaching.
I don't know how interesting it will be to me or to anyone else, but at least blogs are flexible. Feel free to respond, if you've got any wonderful ideas.
Snowy weekend
We got a little snow on Friday, which was useful in at least one respect; we learned that we've been having nighttime prowlers around the house:
2.09.2006
Ugh. It's February.
And I've hit the wall. Wes and I have been pleased with the way things have turned out here in NW Tennessee; we both enjoy our respective jobs (motherhood, professorhood), we're slowly making our way into relationships with other families in town (Weslee more quickly than me, big surprise), and we look forward to the weather getting warm so we can start working on the house and yard.
And yet. I've been coming to work all week with basically nothing in my brain. I complete my tasks for the day, leave some things for tomorrow, go home and fight falling asleep until around 10:00. A good friend who is farther along in his academic career (and at a larger, more prestigious institution) warned me that the first year as assistant professor is a rough go, and honestly I felt like I beat the odds last term. For some reason, the hammer fell this week. I'm gritting my teeth more, irritable at work and at home, easily distracted, and withdrawn.
I know, I know. Some of you are saying, "So, that's different from normal how?"
Anyway, do I love my job? Yes. Am I getting the sense that spring semesters are not often my friends? Yes to that as well. I figure that this is one of those times where a little endurance is what's called for.
On the other hand, yesterday's sunrise was certainly impressive. Please excuse the ugly light pole--I dashed outside in the freezing cold (those of you in Chicago stop laughing) to get the shot from the back yard. The picture doesn't do it justice, but this is about as good as it's going to get:
And yet. I've been coming to work all week with basically nothing in my brain. I complete my tasks for the day, leave some things for tomorrow, go home and fight falling asleep until around 10:00. A good friend who is farther along in his academic career (and at a larger, more prestigious institution) warned me that the first year as assistant professor is a rough go, and honestly I felt like I beat the odds last term. For some reason, the hammer fell this week. I'm gritting my teeth more, irritable at work and at home, easily distracted, and withdrawn.
I know, I know. Some of you are saying, "So, that's different from normal how?"
Anyway, do I love my job? Yes. Am I getting the sense that spring semesters are not often my friends? Yes to that as well. I figure that this is one of those times where a little endurance is what's called for.
On the other hand, yesterday's sunrise was certainly impressive. Please excuse the ugly light pole--I dashed outside in the freezing cold (those of you in Chicago stop laughing) to get the shot from the back yard. The picture doesn't do it justice, but this is about as good as it's going to get:
2.07.2006
Student Writing of the Year
I'm not sure I'll find another sentence to beat the following, found just last night in a paper on More's Utopia:
"When another island or nation gets a wild hair in their a** to come and take the island, the Utopians hire mercenaries to come in and take care of their dirty work."
"When another island or nation gets a wild hair in their a** to come and take the island, the Utopians hire mercenaries to come in and take care of their dirty work."
2.06.2006
Congratulations . . .
. . . to my good friend MB, who returned last night from a faculty job interview in Ohio. May her fortunes be as bright as her smile!
2.05.2006
Super Bowl Commercial
Okay, so it's the first quarter, and I just saw the Diet Pepsi commercial. I'm fine with the drink; it helped me complete my dissertation. But how unfortunate is the name of the website they flash at the end of the commercial?
brownandbubbly.com
Buzzard? Moody? Anyone else see what I see, or have I been changing too many diapers recently?
brownandbubbly.com
Buzzard? Moody? Anyone else see what I see, or have I been changing too many diapers recently?
2.04.2006
Japanese Monsters
Just discovered. Those of you, like the Buzzard, who are interested in all things nihon-go will want to take a look.
This Weekend's Reading
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader has always had an exalted status as one of my favorites. It will be interesting to see what I think now that I'm reading it with a class.Many thanks to my dad, whose reading to me when I was a squirmy little boy led to my lifelong acquaintance with Narnia, Middle Earth, Watership Down, and those other interior landscapes that still shape so much of who I am.
Still working on The Knight of the Woeful Countenance, not to mention revisiting Machiavelli again.
2.02.2006
Fund-Raising, West Tennessee Style
From an email I received on the campus list this morning (warning: scatalogical material ahead):
The team is also selling tickets to our Cow Pie drop set for March 25th. For those of you who don't know what this is...let me clarify. We are selling tickets with a number on them, your number is then placed within a fenced area along with a cow. If the cow poops on or closest to your number, you can win up to 500.00 buckaroos! All the soccer players have tickets, so hit them up for one! (or two)
I've told some folks about this trend. I'm hoping I can find a member of the soccer team. I gotta get me one of them tickets!
I have to wonder, though: is this dirty money?
The team is also selling tickets to our Cow Pie drop set for March 25th. For those of you who don't know what this is...let me clarify. We are selling tickets with a number on them, your number is then placed within a fenced area along with a cow. If the cow poops on or closest to your number, you can win up to 500.00 buckaroos! All the soccer players have tickets, so hit them up for one! (or two)
I've told some folks about this trend. I'm hoping I can find a member of the soccer team. I gotta get me one of them tickets!
I have to wonder, though: is this dirty money?
2.01.2006
Mystifying myself 1
I dithered and dithered today over making a phone call. I was irritated at having to make it, but I was even more irritated at myself for putting it off and generally making a big deal out of a simple business transaction (in this case, reserving a room at a conference hotel in Sarasota FL). What is it that bothers me so much? Why do I have a hard time even calling my very best friends, people whose absence in my life I keenly feel almost every day?
Self-indulgent, this--but I do wonder what motivates a behavior that I should have grown out of by now. I still try to avoid making even the most basic of phone calls. In the case of my friends, I have an inkling that it's related to wanting to avoid the pain of conversations that have to be as awkwardly constrained as long distance phone calls usually are. As for calling for pizza, your guess is as good as mine.
Self-indulgent, this--but I do wonder what motivates a behavior that I should have grown out of by now. I still try to avoid making even the most basic of phone calls. In the case of my friends, I have an inkling that it's related to wanting to avoid the pain of conversations that have to be as awkwardly constrained as long distance phone calls usually are. As for calling for pizza, your guess is as good as mine.
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