Archive for January, 2009
OK, so I have been copy-editing the QEP document for our accreditation review. Quest-que-ce le QEP? That’s “Quality Enhancement Program” to the uninitiated.
What, that didn’t clear everything up for you?
The accreditation folks want to see a campuswide semi-extracurricular program that will improve campus (intellectual) life. For example, some schools do things like service learning or internships. We are starting a reading initiative, encouraging students to read stuff other than what is assigned to them in class (we would also like them to read what we’ve assigned, actually, but that’s not as impressive to SACS).
The result is a 100 page document (give or take), which was written by a committee and thus needs smoothing out. So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few nights. If it weren’t for Bruce Springsteen, I would have been face plant editor long ago. (BTW — the new album is awesome. That first song will be 20 minutes long in concert.)
I spent the last half-hour backspacing. People who were actually taught typing in a typing class on typewriters were generally taught to double-space after a period, and they continue to do it even when typing on a computer. The thing is, this was one of those typist’s tricks to imitate typesetting, and the miracles of modern technology eliminate the need for the double space after a period. Really. On a typewriter, all the slugs are the same size, which is not true in typesetting or on the computer; the computer inserts a bigger slug with the period (like the typesetter does), so you do not need to double-space. Sheesh.
I don’t know if it makes it better or worse that they were inconsistent about it.
Have I mentioned lately how much I hate APA? I hate APA. What’s with that lame-o comma in the parenthetical reference?
So many superfluities.
I’ve been wanting to fix up the bulletin board in front of my office for some time now, so of course I picked this week to get motivated on that project. I’ve been running around the building for the last few days, photographing my colleagues. I print up their pictures and staple them up to the board with a bit of scrapbook paper to help them stand out from the white background. Everybody’s office location and office hours are there, too, so it’s even informative. One colleague is on sabbatical, so I put a picture of snow-laden trees in his spot — he’s going to a writer’s workshop in Vermont, so that seemed appropriate.
Why do this now, when I have so much else to do? Well, you have it right there. This is three feet by three feet; it gets me out of my office; it’s colorful; it is difficult to completly mess up.
Sorry, it’s been a distracted week. I’ve been planning next year’s course schedule, editing an accreditation thingy, adjusting to the new earlier mornings (seriously, this is ridiculously difficult for me). Oh, yeah, and teaching.
Oh, and then there’s all those other people in my house.
I’m not one of those great long-suffering mothers, who gets a degree in biochemistry so she can save her sick child, or who teaches her child a foreign language one tedious flash card at a time, or even who nurses for years and years. I’m just not that noble a person. But who says I don’t sacrifice, in my own pitiful little way? Since school started up again, we’ve had a lot of trouble getting the Little Guy there on time. Sometimes he’s dragging his feet, sometimes I am delayed in the bathroom, whatever. Today, I got up an extra 15 minutes early, which doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the difference between 6:00 and 5:45. To my mind, 6:00 is early, but it is early in the morning. Move back before 6:00, and you’re getting up in the night. (Un)fortunately, it was a tremendous help. I was able to get mostly dressed before I even got the Little Guy out of bed, and we got to school with time to spare. Perhaps because his morning was calm and orderly, the Little Guy had a good day at school, and even enjoyed himself. (He brought a train toy to share and impressed everybody when they turned off the lights so they could see it light up). So that’s it. Now I get up at 5:45 every morning.
This wouldn’t be bad, but I tend to stay up to midnight or so. My internal clock was set in college: go to bed at midnight or so, and wake up around 8:00. Plenty of rest, haven’t slept the whole day away; a nice compromise between my night owl self and the part of me that actually gets some things done. I was able to keep it up, more or less (getting up at 7:00 is not ideal, but OK), until the Little People showed up.
Ah, well (hand to forehead, scarf fluttering), one does what one must.
So, for a few days, I’ve really been longing for sushi. I’m not one of those super cool sushi connoisseurs, but I do enjoy the occasional California roll, largely as a ginger delivery device.
So, I opened the phone book and looked for Japanese restaurants, and found one not too far off. I called in my order and drove over to Samurai, on McPherson Church Rd. The building is not v. encouraging — in fact, I would call it old and ratty. Still, there’s a big waiting area, which suggests that a lot of waiting goes on. They have the big tables in the back for the Benihana-style chef-with-big-knives cooking. It was quiet, though; the only people in the waiting area were bored waitresses reading fashion magazines in Japanese. They do seem to offer a variety of sushi, and have a nice big fishtank in front, presumably for purposes of torture.
So my assessment of the restaurant is really based on the one dish, but I must say that the California rolls were very pretty and quite good, and came with plenty of ginger.
Miss Baby tends to be more of a Daddy’s girl than a Mommy’s girl — she’s just set her sights on him. But tonight, after her bath, she came to me and took me by the hand. She wanted to dance. No music, except whatever is in her head, and my singing (she loves it when I make up songs with her name in them). We danced for a while, then we got the Little Guy to join us, which pleased her greatly. After he sat down, she stretched out a hand to my DH, and we went on like that. She wound up (gently) on the floor, and I laid down beside her. My DH threw a blanket over us both, and she smiled sweetly at me under the blanket with her. Then we began her favorite game: “Night-night/ good morning!” I probably don’t have to explain it.
It was my DH’s turn to read to her at bedtime. He “read” one book to her, and then she picked up another, saying, “Me read you!” We weren’t sure if she was addressing her book, or addressing my DH and omitting the preposition. Either way, it was super cute.
Back up to Saturday.
My DH went golfing, so I took the Little People to Target. Miss Baby counted the buildings as we drove past (she can get up to 14, thank you very much). We all love Target (I will admit to Walmart issues), and the Little Guy was pleased to eat lunch there (me, not so much). Miss Baby guzzled her milk and “hot” (leave the dog out of this), as did her brother. We went home; she napped. The Little Guy returned to his current obsession: A Walther’s model train catalogue. He sits on the couch and leafs through the catalogue, then looks around the room, imagining the great granddaddy of all layouts. He does this for hours. Meanwhile, I was cleaning my desk. No, really, I was. I came across a map of North Carolina that included the major rail lines, and brought it to him. We highlighted all the rail lines, and wrote down their names so we could look them up on the computer and see what their engines looked like. There are a whole lot of rail lines in North Carolina, I can tell you that. It was the same kind of enthusiastic research one sees in grad students.
Seriously, we did this for hours, and he was nowhere near finished when we stopped. It was time for dinner, though (yes, Daddy had returned and the baby awakened in the meanwhile).
So, yesterday the Little Guy was super good. He was an excellent big brother when I took the two kids to Target, and when Miss Baby woke up cranky from her nap. At one point in the morning, he went out into the backyard with her and ran in circles, so she could trail behind, squealing. To stress the connection between being a nice kid and having a nice time, I took him to the movies today.
At breakfast, I told him we could see Hotel for Dogs or Bolt. He thought about it: “A lot of the girls at my school who like Hannah Montana like Bolt, and at McDonald’s the Hotel for Dogs toy is for everybody. So Hotel for Dogs is probably more of an everybody movie.” Eventually, though, he decided he wanted to see Bolt, which may have been a decision calculated to impress those very girls. It is in 3-D at out local theatre, which he enjoyed, and which was rather wearing on my eyes, what with the two pairs of glasses and all.
He had heard about the movie from his friends, so at the beginning, when we see the dog rescuing the girl from dramatic peril, he leans over to reassure me, “This isn’t real.” That’s exactly the kind of thing that reassures him. He was enjoying the movie just fine, until we came to the train sequence. He moved up to the edge of his seat at that point — “It’s a CSX! It’s realistic!” — and stayed there until the end.
It’s a pleasant film — the relationships among the dog, cat, and hamster are nice. There’s an extravagantly over-the-top TV director, reminiscent of the Ed Harris role in The Truman Show, voiced by James Lipton. When I looked at Lipton’s IMDB page, I discovered that he composed the theme music to Thundercats. Mind you, I never watched Thundercats, and have no idea what the theme music is like, but somehow I still find that very amusing.
Filed under: mediaPosted: January / 23 / 2009
If you want to blow off work while feeling like you are engaged with the larger world, try the Inaguration Speech Generator.
Filed under: literaturePosted: January / 22 / 2009
I’m also reading The Life and Adventures of Joaquin Murrietta, the Celebrated California Bandit, by John Rollin Ridge. It’s an action-packed revenge story that mythologizes the marginal man, written by a marginal man who lived for revenge (mostly). It’s also probably the first novel written by a Native American.
I’m presenting on it at an upcoming conference. I’ve been trying to decide what to do with it. I was thinking of comparing it to Helen Hunt Jackson’s Ramona, but she’s not a Southern writer. But they compare well — they’re both about marginal characters, early California novels, and so on.
I could go autobiographical, but that’s so easy and obvious and boring. Right now, I’m thinking that I will go all Borderlands on it. We’ll see what happens when I finish it.
