First Month

First purchase with first paycheck: Wurlitzer piano coming Monday.

Julio's calmed down, and continues to enjoy a small, soft world. My neighbor saw him for the first time today and told him "you MUST give me your diet."


I've been cooking, with mixed results. My first pizza was beautiful, but I think the spinach gave me samonella.


First things first -- excursion to Crown Valley winery.



Being head of household entails some unpleasant duties, like weed eating (or, more accurately, making uneven swaths of brown in the grass). Next time perhaps I'll wear long pants and forgo the grass leggings look (it was dark by the time I took a picture, so it's not really showing up). My sun glasses/safety glasses were also not working given the time of day.


Pictures of the house coming someday.

Trabajar y Jugar

It has been a long week -- my classes started all at once, and I've been teaching at least one a day. Yesterday I was on the reference desk at both 8:00 in the morning and 9:00 at night. I'm trying very hard to understand the distinction between tenured and non-tenured faculty, comp time vs. vacation time, and option A health insurance vs. option B. My main problem is convincing myself that it is important. My mental filters convert it into "blah, blah, blah, bzz, bzz, bzz." I also still find myself waiting for a grade. There are definite advantages to remembering very clearly what it was like to be a student, though. I don't have to feign sympathy with my clientèle.

But tomorrow is Friday, and all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Last weekend I went to some of the area wineries. There are about a dozen within an hour's drive, and some of them, like Crown Valley, are quite large. I like the smaller ones better because they are more hidden from the St. Louis vulgus, and one actually gets to taste and discuss the entire spectrum of wines in relative calm. Even Crown Valley had its benefits, though -- like the enormously long wine list and seven tokens for seven glasses. The roads were windy, and it was a very good thing I wasn't driving myself home (thanks, mom). Oh -- and the Ozarks are very pretty -- I think -- although that may be the wine talking.

In other words, YOU PEOPLE NOT JUST BRIANNA NEED TO COME VISIT ME SO WE CAN GET RIP-ROARING DRUNK ON WINE EXCEPT FOR ME OF COURSE BECAUSE I WILL DRIVE.

Happy Birthday Sarah!

Sarah intimidated me the first time I met her. We had been corresponding over email before college began, but when I met her she seemed so self-assured among the huddle of frightened rabbits. Nevertheless, she was the first person I knew at THC, and I was happy when we got the same kitchen shift. I soon learned that Sarah had a dry wit and mischievous sense of fun, which put me at ease. I also respected and understood her diligence and dedication to goals.


It would have been easy for us to drift apart sophomore year -- I began pursuing classical liberal arts and she government -- but Sarah is not one to let friendships go. She invited me to her house in PA sophomore year, and often gave patient ear to my moanings and groanings.

Junior year the stress in my life increased to nearly fatal levels, but I was lucky enough to have Sarah as an RA. Although we had a probable nymphomaniac in our wing, she maintained a quiet refuge of tea, chocolate, and deep philosophical conversations without being overbearing or moralistic. Ann and I would stop by her room on the way up to every meal, and we often startled others in the dining hall because of our peals of hysterical laughter.

The next year we all moved off campus. Sarah lived half an hour away from Ann and me, but we often braved the dirt road to go out to see her. To my great surprise, she once brought contraband booze to our house -- I think it was for my birthday -- which made us feel less guilty about the bottles of wine under our own beds. Although we only had a beer apiece, we shared the delicious rebellion of a Prohibition speakeasy.

Our last semester, Sarah moved to D.C. with Allis and Leeann. We drove out to see them every weekend we could. Very gracious people often make me feel nervous and indebted, but the Alexandria girls were so obviously happy to be with us that I never felt uncomfortable at their house.

Sarah still intimidates me sometimes -- as she expertly navigates the beltway in rush-hour while talking into her headset about things I don't even understand (and would be killed if I did). Someday, one of her lackeys may come knocking at my library door and demand my circulation records (which they won't get). But the fun Sarah complements the frighteningly-competent Sarah so that her friends both fear AND love her -- a Machiavellian anomaly.

Addendum: On the Parade

I was talking to one of the technical services ladies as I left work today. Evidently, they choose to have the parade on the main thoroughfare because "they've always done it that way."

This is incomprehensible to me.

I've heard there are three main kinds of cultures in the United States: traditional (south), moralistic (north-east), and individualistic (west).

Believe it or not, I CAN get on my moral high horse about some things . . . can't think of any examples right now, but it happens. Oh! Right. Medical marijuana. Don't think human suffering is nice, so am outraged by laws against. But I mainly relate to the individualistic strand -- hence owning my own weedeater, supporting Ron Paul, hating unions, etc. Dead set against traditionalism. Weird for a historian, I know. I guess I just don't glorify the past, and I don't like to see it idolized. Hence I don't own a table, and prefer to eat standing or sitting on the floor. Somehow or other I feel like I'm dealing a blow to traditional values at every meal.

I mean, some traditions are fun and harmless -- like trick-or-treating. But let's not cause traffic jams about them!

Parades, Meth Labs, and Gender Identity

Today, on my way home from work, I was sent on a detour because of a parade. Traffic was bad through the detour, and I was hungry, so I stopped and bought a Little Caesar's (cheese) pizza to tide me over. As I sat in the car glutonizing, I began to reflect: Why did they decide to have the parade on the main stretch of road that linked the primary businesses of the community with the primary residential areas? Why did they do this during rush hour? Why couldn't they have had the parade on the fair grounds? What is the primary purpose of roads? How did I manage to get lost? Which direction am I going?

I often seem to be confused. Example: The other day I saw a teenage boy sniffing shampoos at the store and immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was running a meth lab. Upon further reflection, I determined that shampoo is not an ingredient in meth (it's cough syrup, right?), and since he was bothering to smell it, he may just have been simply buying it . . . to wash his hair.

But evidently redneckery IS a real danger here. One doesn't walk off the trail into the woods, I am told, or one is likely to either get shot by a deer hunter or come upon a meth lab. While I was sitting in a waiting room the other day, I heard one office assistant tell another that her husband was in the hospital because a copperhead bit him in the garage. I keep my electric weedeater (which I bought, assembled, and operated yesterday all by myself) in the garage. Now I'm afraid to go get it.

Further questions: Am I now culturally male since I have my own weedeater? Does my fear of snakes negate this? Have you ever seriously considered the concept of male concubinage?

Do Women Read More Than Men?

NPR reports on an AP survey, which indicates that American women read little on average, but American men read less, particularly fiction.

I can believe the part about Americans (have you noticed how many times the "person on the street" will admit that the Da Vinci Code is the last book s/he's read?), but I don't see this gap among my friends. My brother reads nearly as much as I do, and probably a higher percentage of what he reads is fiction. I'm the history/philosophy reader. On Facebook, my guy-friends are not i-reading at a noticeably slower rate than the girls. Most men I know have read much more deeply in sci-fi and fantasy than I have. In my experience, literature degrees are fairly evenly divided between the sexes. It would be interesting to see statistics for that.

Of course, I'm not really friends with people who don't read. And while I'm accepting of sci-fi/fantasy-reading men (Geeks Are Hot), I'm less likely to be friends with women who read popular romance novels or religious fiction (Boo Establishment Thinkers). I also wonder if older men tend not to read fiction as much (unless they are literature professors like Dr. H). Maybe it's the American male's fear of being thought queer -- evidenced by their reluctance to wear pants that actually fit them or admit that they don't really like sports. This sort of machismo is declining as the last generations of absolutist patriarchs die off in the U.S. (Woohoo Women's Suffrage).

But are women really to be commended for reading bodice-rippers? We need to do a new, weighted survey based on complexity and uniqueness of what is being read. I suspect men wouldn't come out badly.

And THAT is my once-in-a-decade defense of men.

(p.s. -- I did notice the noun-verb disagreement in paragraph 6 of the article).

I'm a Broken Buckle in the Bible Belt; A Left Foot in the Heartland

It's hard to describe differences because there are so many surface similarities. We've got Subway and BP and Aldi, thank heavens.

But there are differences. Statistically, this part of Missouri is more married, MUCH less educated (69.3% of A2 citizens have a bachelor's or higher vs. 29.3% here), and slightly whiter and poorer than my part of Michigan. Unofficially, people also appear to be more patriotic, more enthusiastic about eating pig, and less enthusiastic about sprouted bread and veggie burgers.

Sure, it's hard not to wish occasionally that I were somewhere a little more single-feminist-vegetarian-snob-friendly, like New York, but realistically I think I'm better off here. Traffic, pollution, and close neighbors do not appeal to me. I've got a house where there is NO noise at night (apart from my own damn cat), an easy 20 minute drive to work, a free parking space at work, a state park nearby, and access to an academic library. The students are mostly smart and eager and, heh, if I can help them learn a thing or two about library catalogs and Google, I guess I've got a mission in life.

One More Week :-(

Today, in a frantic effort to see what I can of upper Michigan, I drove to Wilderness State Park, which is just to the left of the "tip of the mitt" -- on Lake Michigan (geographically challenged readers: see map).

I was surprised: one side of the bay was sandy in places and the water clear -- almost like an ocean. There were sand bars meters out into the ocean that were only a couple inches deep.


The other side was rockier, and there were many seagulls. Supposedly the endangered Piping Plover inhabits the area, but of course I didn't see any.


Besides seagulls, I saw a crayfish (?).

On the way back I stopped in Cheboygan to see the matinee showing of Stardust, which was fun, if simplistic like all fairy tales. Speaking of stars, a meteor shower is supposed to peak tonight. There's no moon, and I can see the milky way here on normal days. Anyway, while I was walking in the residential area killing time until the movie, I came across this deserted Carnagie Library. They always make me a little bit sad.


Bonus: here's a picture from Petoskey (see map again).

The Empire Strikes Back?

Russian planes flying near Guam on Wednesday were heralded as harbingers of a new Cold War. But I wonder if that's not wishful thinking. Wouldn't we all rather have another 40-year stand-off with a known enemy than face, say, China? The C.W. made for great spy novels and space ships, and at least we didn't have to deal, as in the current situation, with religious rhetoric (at least not on the Russians' part) or curtailed civil rights (except for the wee McCarthy episode in the 50s). I'm all for it, unless it accelerates the whole 80s trend in fashion and shoulder pads come back. I'm NOT wearing shoulder pads no matter what the state of global diplomacy. Although, shoulder pads were really in vogue during glasnost and all that -- during the waning years. Maybe I should be more concerned about the poodle skirt . . . Now THAT is a scary thought.

Sad :-(

Chinese river dolphin feared extinct. First extinction of large vertebrate in over 50 years. Anyone who isn't sad that a dolphin species goes extinct is a HORRIBLE PERSON, and I hope you have BAD DREAMS in which Flipper grabs your ankle and drowns you.

PersonalDNA

Yes, yes, yes, I should be doing other things. But it is hot and I have an ear infection and I can't really make myself get up.

It's STILL hot!

Whine. And tomorrow is forecast to be yet hotter. WHIIINE whinewhinewhine.

They are having volleyball play-offs today. I say "they" because I am not on a team, and today I am especially glad. I swam again at noon, and got more sunburnt. I'm still reading food blogs. I honestly had no interest in cooking and saw it as a great inconvenience until I was somewhere without a kitchen. And THAT is a deep insight into my personality, actually.

I called Ann tonight, and we talked about how we used to giggle in, and usually AT, chapel, and about our landlady with the cotton in her ears, and the bottles of wine we kept under our bed, and how we didn't have any heat in our house all winter.

Drat the Heat!

It's warm here -- not warm compared to other places, but warm for Pellston, and it's making me ill. I spent two hours in the lake this afternoon, which was wonderfully cooling at the time, but not so nice now with the resultant sunburn. Indeed, I am very attached to the lake. I spend a great deal of time sitting in my hammock and looking at it when I should be reading. I'm reading Anna Karenina, which has very short chapters, and so makes me feel accomplished even though I've only read a couple pages. So I read a "chapter," set the book down, and stare listlessly at the lake for awhile. While staring listlessly is generally to be discouraged, staring at a lake is somehow more wholesome than staring at a parking lot. I had to buy dryer sheets today. They keep mice away, and I heard a mouse in my wall for the first time last night. It is quite loud for a small creature.

Hungry, hungry in my tummy.

At the beginning of the summer, I was elated about not cooking. I'm still not complaining . . . much. Some days are good -- like pizza day, or quiche and soup day, or curried chickpeas over rice day. Others leave my tummy growling, like when the vegetarian option contains eggplant, which is slimy and disgusting.

I have found myself reading recipes and lusting after certain foods like

lasagna

falafel

tabouli

but most of all...

dense, chewy, multi-grain BREAD, preferably with a big hunk of cheese.

I may have to betake myself to Petoskey on Sunday to go food-hunting. There IS a good middle-eastern restaurant halfway there called "Mim's." I like the name, too. It reminds me of the wicked witch who has a magic competition with Merlin in the Disney version of The Sword in the Stone.