Memo from Course Assessment

As some of you know, I (and some of you!) was lucky enough to participate in a course assessment in the past few days. Yes, it stretched out longer than expected with some of us bringing papers home to finish up. (But not until we'd self-medicated with vodka, watched some TV, slept a little, etc).
Here are some highlights from student prose that remind me of why teaching is often an (unintentionally) funny business.

• "Throughout time, students have always brought guns to school"
• "As I was in a situation where a drunken man holding a butterfly knife began to be irritated and angry"
• "all of which makes a paper sound like a symphony"
• "somewhat glib goes by many different names"
• "I would like to end here so that you may reflect"

I also learned that I should keep my big mouth shut and just nod and agree (I've learned this several times, but it hasn't taken yet!).

Also: I don't like reading student papers. Also: the smell of magic marker lingers on the papers and gives me a huge f*ing headache. I would like to convey more lessons I gleaned from this experience, but that may take some more vodka.

I will end here, so that you may reflect.

Not Funny

Am I the only person on the planet who didn't find Borat funny?
We started watching it last night. I didn't find anything about the opening village scene funny. The only funny thing in the first fifteen minutes was the chicken getting out of his suitcase on the subway. And the fact that most Americans threatened him with violence. That seemed like an insight into Ameircan culture.
But the rest of it was just stupid. "Let's make fun of retarded people! And Jews! And women!" Haven't heard that since, when, seventh grade?
I appreciate complex humor. Even simplistic humor done well. But this wasn't any of that.
So we turned it off (and returned it, promptly, to Netflix), and watched some TV. It's depressing. The success of "Borat" and the general stupidity of the evening news does not give me hope for the future of the American people.

We're Almost There....Where?

We can now see the light at the end of the tunnel. Is it an on-coming train? The happy light of the ever after?
It might, possibly, be the sun. Or maybe a funnel cloud of love and illumination. Or maybe it might just be the sneaking suspicion that all of humanity is not devoid of intelligent thought and compound-complex sentence structures. Maybe it's something like optimism.
Maybe it's an hallucinatory image of ourselves sitting in the cozy breakfast nook writing something that came out of our very own heads. Something we made up. Something strange and familiar. Something that makes us smile with its unpredictability. Something that scares us with its fierce insistence to be written.
Sigh.
Maybe it's just an idea. That would be novel.

Addictions

I'm addicted to the following things, in no particular order:

• Potato chips (specifically: salt & vinegar, thai spice)
• Chips and Salsa
• Avocados
• Thai Food
• American Idol (we will now celebrate the departure of Sanjaya. Yeah!!)
• Chocolate (dark)
• Red Wine
• Crossword puzzles/sudoku (alternately)
• Listening to music late at night on my iPod when I should be sleeping
• Procrastination
• Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookies (in season)
• Rice
• Smoothies
• TV Shows that are in danger of being cancelled or that networks just stop showing (Love Monkey, Studio 60, Men in Trees)
• All of your blogs (you know who you are!!)
• Gossip (my new fave: Jake & Reese!)
• Imagining myself in really sexy outfits when I'm wearing khakis and tennis shoes (my uniform)
• Counter-transference
• Talking about stuff I really don't know about (Judith Butler?)
• Talking about all the stuff I'm working on when I'm really not doing anything
• Rewarding myself when I feel bad by eating bad stuff (see Potato Chips)
• End of the semester pep talks from self and MB ("It's all good! It's almost over!! Good job!!")
• Imagining dancing while listening to Shakira
• Protein
• Cookies
• Hugs from Son
• Sunshine
• Days with no school
• Saying I will do things that I'm not sure I can actually do (more on this after the 27th)
• Lists

Danger

In light of the shootings at Virginia Tech, I feel it is appropriate to reopen the question of guns in the classroom, something we've been discussing in our fair state for, oh, ever. But not only that. Not only guns on campus, because, as gun rights advocates state, even if we have rules, people will break them. But guns in general.
When I was on a ferry once from England to Ireland a nice man asked me "Why do Americans love guns so much?" What could I say? I'm an American. I don't love guns. He referred to a deadly school shooting in Scotland and said that less than a month afterwards it was more difficult to get a gun in Scotland. "Why doesn't America do that?" he asked. Why indeed.
But I've gotten off track. I meant to say that, as a teacher, I don't want to be afraid that a student who got a bad grade will hunt me down. I don't want to be afraid that a student will come in and threaten me with a gun. I don't want to be afraid that the classroom will not be a place for the free and open exchange of sometimes unpopular ideas because students are afraid that a peer might not agree and bring a gun.
As a parent, I'm afraid that my son will encounter a bully with a gun, or anyone with a gun, at his school. Probably not at the school he attends now, but he can't go there forever.
Even more, as an American, I'm sick of having to turn the channel when an ad for a violent TV show or movie comes on when I'm watching TV at 7 pm with my son. I'm sick of our culture that thinks killing and violence is entertaining. I'm sick of watching PG-13 movies that treat violence as an everyday occurrence that we should not react to with outrage and horror.
Show a nipple and you get an X rating. Show hundreds of people being murdered by machine gun fire, PG-13. (I don't know this for a fact, but based on my own movie viewing, this seems to be true).
What I'm really sick of is turning on the radio and hearing that someone, any one, the number does not matter, has been killed by another lunatic with a gun. I'm tired of gun rhetoric. I don't feel like I need a gun, and I sure as hell don't think anyone should be able to buy one at their local big box retailer.
I'm sick of lines like "guns don't kill people, people kill people." Sorry. A person without a gun is just an angry person. An angry person with a gun can kill someone. I can deal with an angry student. I do it more often than I'd like. An angry student with a gun is, unfortunately, sometimes a murderer.
My thoughts are with the survivors in Virginia. My thoughts can't do a lot. How about a law?

So It Goes

Kurt Vonnegut has died.
Here is where I would say something profound and beautiful about the myriad ways in which he shaped my aesthetic and helped me to become the writer and person I am today.
Let me just say that I read Slaughterhouse Five because my father told me that I should read every book that had ever been banned. I started with Slaughterhouse Five and I became addicted to Vonnegut. So I worked my way through many Vonnegut novels. I learned from him that a book can be funny and make a bold political statement. That it can be imaginative in the largest sense of the word and can say something huge about the way we live.
I think for me this is the first time I have confronted the death of one of my literary heroes. I definitely would not be a writer today if I had never read Slaughterhouse Five. Or Cats' Cradle. Or "Welcome to the Monkey House." My favorite for a while was a sappy little story called "A Long Walk to Forever." It is sappy, but kind of sweet.
Vonnegut is dead. Long live Vonnegut!

When the Goose is Away

I know that's not the phrase, but it's apt. This weekend while Middlebrow was pursuing his Tallness Studies, I bonded with the wee one. We played Sorry (he wins every time!), read a few chapters of The Incredible Journey, played baseball in the backyard, and let Gus tug us along for a walk.
I watched a girly movie, "The Holiday," which I actually liked for many reasons.

1. Cameron Diaz: despite myself, I'm starting to actually like her; see "In Her Shoes."
2. Jude Law: dimples. No explanation needed.
3. Kate Winslet: already liked her. still like her.
4. Jack Black: not overly jokey, for once. Great!
5. Adorable sub-plots: kids, old men.
6. Amanda (Diaz) makes movie trailers for a living. Sometimes she hears movie trailers for her own life in her head. Complete with the movie trailer voice guy. These were some of my favorite surprising moments. I want someone to make a movie trailer for my life!
7. Heart: Lately I just want a movie with heart. Some emotion. Down with irony and cynicism! I want my romantic comedies to be romantic and funny with happy endings.

I also managed to drink a little too much red wine (oops!) and stay up late listening to Justin Timberlake and Shakira (and the Dixie Chicks and Cheryl Crow) on my iPod while doing (actually, messing up) Sodoku.

I also discovered I make a terrible single mother because I forgot to do the Easter Bunny shopping and had to have a friend do it for me. Easter was made more fun by my mid-afternoon nap which made me late picking up Middlebrow from the airport. Luckily, in the spirit of Easter, he was forgiving.

Made the basic potatoes-lamb chops-green bean Easter dinner. All in all it was a fun weekend. Did I mention the bottle of pre-made Margaritas? No? Well, those were good too. And the first meeting of my uber-writing group. All good.

Now it's the mad dash/sprint/grading marathon to the finish line.

Alanis Morissette "My Humps"

I actually like the Blackeyed Peas version of this song (good for running), but hearing Alanis sing it makes you realize (once again) how ridiculous the lyrics are.
It's hilarious! Must watch!

Not Another Spring Sonnet

Inspired by the contest over at Prarie Home Companion, I decided to write a non-spring Spring poem. Plus I still owe Hightouchmegastore about 9 poems from September. Plus it is Poetry Month and I hear tell that several poets are doing NaPoWriMo. Not me, but someone, somewhere. So here it is. And forgive my wonky lines. It's my first poem since September!

So here’s your sonnet, without daffodils,
sentiment or rain. Lacking any reference to green,
anything floral, fecund, or new. Not full
of love or harmony or peace. Do I seem
bitter? I’m not. It’s just when the pollen
comes out, I sneeze, and then I think
of all the chores still to do, chairs to haul in,
grill to put out. My husband needs to fix the sink.
Also, my perennial failure to maintain a garden.
But too, I’m glad. For one thing, this year
I vowed to give up on a lush yard. In
winter it’s easy to do. But I’ll renege, I fear.
Because, once again, I love every growing thing.
Despite myself, in spring I love the spring.

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright

I've had that song in my head ever since I got back from Spring Break, where I visited Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright's haven in the desert. The development in Scottsdale is so insane that it almost reaches out to the site. But when he bought the land (in 1937) there was no running water, no electricity, no road. He's spinning in his grave!
But the place was gorgeous, and the structures amazing. FLW was way before his time. He would be happy now, with the developments in environmental architecture and what not. But I had a good time. My father and I went on the "Behind the Scenes" tour, which included a snack inside the dining room, and several talks by intimates of FLW. What sticks with me is that FLW said that "architecture is frozen music" (actually I think someone else said it and he was just fond of it) and that architectural fellows used to be asked to bring a musical instrument and a formal outfit. Every once in a while they had big dinners and the fellows provided all the entertainment. That was back in the day when people were well-rounded. Now we just want to be good at one thing.
I'm in a bit of architecture obsession. I'm reading Devil in the White City, which Frank Lloyd Wright appears in, however briefly. The book has a lot of architecture big wigs in it (Olmstead, Sullivan), which I didn't know. Of course it makes sense, but I wasn't aware before I started reading it. The book combines two of my major obsessions: architecture and crime.
My obsession with architecture really has to do with an essay project I'm researching, but not really working on yet. It's called First Person Spaces, and it connects to the stuff I've done before, but I want to do a more sustained project, maybe linked stories and at least one essay.
I appreciate all the comments (two) about my blog silence. I've been busy and tired. Doing what, you might ask. Who knows? So far I know I'm not allergic to wheat, corn or tomatoes. I'm not allergic to decaf coffee. I've snuck in some beer and wine. I also ate three vegan cookies at a potluck and I didn't die. So I guess I'm okay. Slated for this week: oats, yeast, and maybe butter. I'll let you know. I have two boxes of Girl Scout Cookies in the freezer that call to me incessantly. The prognosis is not good.
On the up side, I did run a few times and I'm sore! I've also done yoga. Also sore.
I love you all, my pretties.

We're Baaack!

Why is going back to school after Spring Break so hard? Is it the numerous margaritas you drank? Is the whole week of structureless fun? Is it the fact that it's dark at 6:30 in the morning? Is it the dog's ceaseless hacking?
Or is the fact that so few students show up you wonder if you are in the wrong room/school/life?

It is probably all of the above. For a minute I thought we only had four weeks left. No. Not true. We have six weeks left. How can that be?

I will post some Spring Break pictures later. They will include Frank Lloyd Wright buildings, children who don't care at a baseball game (only 99 degrees!), and my mom's backyard.

I did do a lot of crossword puzzles, read one book (The Last American Man), watched Idol (I don't even want to talk about it!), saw one movie (Dreamgirls, two thumbs up!), and, as previously mentioned, drank more than one margarita. And I'm doing okay on my bracket. My alma mater is still in it (Go Ducks!!).

Why I Loved AWP: a list

1. Intellectual Stimulation: In my day to day life I often forget that I did love graduate school and why. I was surrounded by people who were reading and thinking, and most importantly, talking about what they were reading and thinking about. I was one of those people. I used to read more and think a lot. In my regular life, I am most preoccupied with what is for dinner, how I am going to get to work out, and feeling guilty about not writing. Being at AWP reminded me of the best parts of graduate school. Talking and thinking. And drinking of course.
2. Friends: In my day to day life, I see Middlebrow and Son. If I'm lucky, I see one of my colleagues. Maybe once a month I see someone else or do something social. Maybe. AWP is like my whole life packed into one weekend. I got to hang out with Hightouchmegastore, I got to see lots of friends from graduate school, I got to see a friend from Chicago, I got to see friends from my town that I never see in town. Why do I never see my friends in town? Well. I'm glad I got to see all of these people and more at AWP.
3. Rock Star Writers: I got to see writers who are, in my mind, rock stars. These include: Michael Martone, David Kirby, Walter Moseley, David Shields. (I feel like I should list some women, but I didn't really see any. Who would qualify in this respect? Maybe Brenda Hillman. Anne Carson, definitely.)
4. Being Not-Me: I got to pretend I was someone other than the boring, normal person I am. I wore red pumps (but only in the hotel where I wouldn't have to walk too much). I hugged a person I'd never met before (okay, I might have been a little drunk). I accidently networked. I pretended I was a mover and a shaker. I was, for a few brief days, a mover and a shaker.
5. Free Drinks (self-explanatory)
6. Readings: mostly good.
7. Accidental encounters with beloved people: mostly Peter Covino. But also Terrible Mother. And David Hamilton. And friends from grad school. And Janet Holmes and Alvin Greenburg.
8. Seeing nice publishers who remember my essay (Ninth Letter).
9. Seeing Ralph Berry from FC2, and maybe reminding him of how great I am (accidently).
10. The Book Fair: By the last day, I can't stand it, but in general it's where you run into the people you want to see but can't find and where you find all kinds of things you can't live without and must buy. High Touch was better on this score, buying all kinds of small press cool things. I tried to restrain myself and bought only 4 books. I consider it a small victory.

Home from AWP

I made it home, exhausted, and perhaps a little worse for wear. I was a bit ill when I left for Atlanta, and the fun, excitement, not to mention the rain, probably did me no good. But what the hell! It was fun!
The highlight of the trip, as it always is, was the dinner with Utah friends, some of whom do not live in Utah anymore, and one of whom never did, save the week of Writers at Work. We cabbed from the Hilton to Fuego, where we enjoyed Sangria, $1 tapas and regular sized/priced tapas (~$6). The food was great. Hard to say what was best, but the mussells were good, as was the pork tenderloin with sweet potato mash. And the tuna. And the grilled asparagus. And the wine. Very good. All of it.
Then we decided to walk the two miles back to the hotel, and we got to see a bit of Atlanta. We stopped on the way at a wine bar Felicia had seen earlier that day, Eno. We sat at the bar and shared a bottle of wine. It was a fun outing, including having a kind stranger pull Felicia's pump out of a grate on Peachtree Street. Good stuff.
We returned to the hotel, surfed the receptions, where we had our share of free beverages, then went to the Michael Martone & John Barth reading. I didn't talk to either of them, but it was a good reading.
Other high points: Meeting David Kirby at the bookfair and telling him I used his poem in my theory class. The real high point of that was when he thanked us "for our adjectives" and told Hightouchmegastore as we were parting, "Email me!"
Attending the FC2 reception, which turned into a tribute to Ralph Berry, who is stepping down as publisher. I met Lance Olsen and talked to him for awhile. I also got to chat briefly with Michael Martone, and thanked him for sending me his book, Seeing Eye.
I ran into numerous other people, known and unknown. I saw David Hamilton, who may be the sweetest person ever. I got to see former professors and current friends.
The best panel I attended was on structure and included a handout of "The Things They Carried" by Samantha Chang. Michael Martone did an amazing collage essay on "In the Heart of the Heart of the Country." The whole panel was really brilliant, and will be helpful to me, I think, in my writing and my teaching.
I also got to see Steve Fellner and bought his book, Blind Date with Cavafy . It's so amazing, sweet and funny and sad, and I'm so happy he found a publisher. It gives me a little hope. It's a great book, and he deserves to get more attention for his writing.
Regrets: because of my illness I did not get to run in Atlanta. I also didn't get to use the pool, because it was a little too cold. Also, I only got to see Terrible Mother once. I think my lack of a cell phone is really hurting my social life. It may be time to get a cell phone.
And then Middlebrow got a dog while I was gone. For more info on that, see his blog. For pics of the trip, etc., you can click on my Flickr badge.
I'm glad to be home.

Oscar Redux & AWP Preview

Well, I did pretty well this year. 14 of my picks were correct!
I am most proud of choosing Alan Arkin for Supporting Actor, and "Babel" for original score.
I also like that "Little Miss Sunshine" won for best original screenplay. His was probably my favorite acceptance speech. I liked that when he was kid he had actually taken a 600 mile road trip with his family in a VW van with a broken clutch. 600 miles?!? No big surprises other than Arkin. I guess Melissa Ethridge was a surprise, but I can't say I had strong feelings about that category.

In other news, Hightouchmegastore and I depart on Wednesday for parts Southern (and warm, I'm hoping for warm!). In Atlanta we will hob-nob, no doubt, with great writers and those who possess great wit and charm. I'm speaking, of course, of none other than Otterbutt and Terrible Mother. We may see some other people too, who knows, but those are the important ones. Because of my stupid diet (do I seem testy?), I won't get to drink, but I look forward to enjoying their company while eating copious amounts of allowed food (which are those?) and pointing out famous writers.
No one is reading this year that I would want to stalk, but maybe I'll stand in line to give John Barth some kind of testimonial about how "Lost in the Funhouse" changed my life. It did! I swear!

I hope we get to see a movie on the plane. Yeah! Movie!
See you on the flip side. And by flip side I mean later.

Oscars!

It wouldn't be right if I didn't post my picks for tomorrow's Oscars. I have to say that this year I think I have been the least involved of any year, except for maybe the year Son was born! But, I did manage to see one of the Best Picture nominees, so I feel entitled to pick at will. And so......

Best Picture: Little Miss Sunshine (I love a underdog!)
Director: Martin Scorsese (A make-up Oscar. He deserves one, maybe not for this film....)
Actor: Forest Whitaker!!!! (I heart him!)
Actress: Helen Mirren (the Queen of our hearts!)
Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin (maybe a long shot, but he was so funny!)
Supporting Actress: Jennifer Hudson (I'm a sucker for a good story)
Adapted Screenplay: Little Children (I wasn't crazy about the novel, but it was a novel!)
Original Screenplay: Little Miss Sunshine (great dialogue!)
Animated Feature: Happy Feet (penguins win!)
Art Direction: Pan's Labyrinth (I haven't seen it, but I've heard)
Documentary Feature: Iraq in Fragments (a political win)
Foreign-Language: The Lives of Others (I've read reviews)
Art Direction: Pan's Labyrinth
Cinematography: The Prestige (because it's the only other one I've seen)
Costume Design: Dreamgirls
Editing: Babel (because it needed some? the cuts from scene to scene?)
Makeup: Pan's Labyrinth
Score: Babel (why not?)
Song: Um, something from Dreamgirls? The odds are good (3 out of 5?) I'll choose "Listen"
Animated Short: The Danish Poet (because it has Poet in the title)
Live action Short: Binta and the Great Idea (I liked the picture)
Documentary Short: Recycled Life (I don't know, I like the title)
Sound Editing: Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest (like I have any idea)
Sound Mixing: Dreamgirls (because it has music?)
Visual Effects: Superman Returns (because I've seen it)

Well, check back Monday for my numbers. One year I won a free pass for a movie, and Middlebrow and I saw "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" for free. Yeah! But I haven't entered anything this year.
Did I mention I love award shows?

On "American Idol"

Like most people, I am addicted to “American Idol.” And, like most people, I like to think I’m smarter than the rest of those idiots who watch “American Idol.” Unlike them, I have not watched every season of "American Idol," I do not vote on "American Idol," and, I am not obsessed with being on "American Idol." It’s because I can’t sing. I don’t even sing in the shower. Sometimes, when I’m alone in my 2001 Saturn SL, I crank up the factory installed FM radio and sing along with Rick Springfield doing “Jesse’s Girl.” I also like to sing along to the Talking Heads and Death Cab for Cutie, but in no way do I think this qualifies me to even stand in line to try out for "American Idol." I am not one of those non-singers who thinks that just because I agree with Simon, somehow I can sing. Nor am I one of those non-singers who tries out just so I can be on the humiliating worst-of outtakes and then claim, to anyone who will listen, “I was on ‘American Idol.’”
I would like to say that my ability to recognize my lack of talent in the singing department somehow makes me above it all, that unlike other Americans I don’t think I will somehow have my 15 seconds of fame, but it’s not true. My 15 seconds will come, eventually, when I receive a long-deserved literary prize for the novel I’m currently not-writing. Then all those people who didn’t get my artistic vision, who didn’t like the rhyming poems about penguins that I wrote in grade school, or the people who didn't get me in graduate school, who said things like "I don't like the main character. Why is she so angry?", all those people will be sorry, and will claim to have known me when, and when I’m walking around town in a long black evening gown and tiara, carrying my prize in my arms as if it were a newborn baby, I will snub them by turning away when they wave. Or perhaps I will condescend to give them a little smile that conveys, “Not now, little people, I’m busy.”
I know. I can’t claim to be smarter, or that I’m not prey to the little movie we all have in our heads, you know the one, the one where you look so amazing even you are a little in love with you, and the confetti falls from the rafters and everyone is clapping, and you see yourself with that “Who? Me?” look on your face, like you just can’t believe it, it’s finally happened, finally, everyone sees what a genius, what an amazing person you were all along, and finally you’re going to get an oversized check for a million dollars. The truth is, we all have that little movie in our heads. Maybe it’s part of human evolution. Where cave men would draw paintings of themselves killing a giant mammoth, we make movies in our heads where we finally get what we think we deserve. It keeps us alive. Maybe these narracisstic little movies help us get up in the morning, even if we never change out of our pajamas.
Maybe that’s why 52 million of us love American Idol. Because while we’re watching 24 singers compete for one title, we believe that our little success fantasies could come true. It’s the American Dream, small town nobody becomes big time superstar and starts dating Justin Timberlake and/or Brittney Spears. It could happen. Or at least we need to believe it can. And isn’t that why TV is so popular? We need to believe that someone’s life is better than ours. Or we need to believe that we are better, more talented, smarter than someone else. I know I am. I'm better than all those other idiots out there who are thinking the exact same thing.

The Benefit of Low Expectations

My favorite thing about seeing movies at the Dollar Theater (which actually costs $1.50, but nevermind about that, that doesn't have the same ring as Dollar Theater, who would call it the Dollar-Fifty Theater?) is that my expectations are so low, I am often pleasantly surprised when the movie is better than average, good even.
Take tonight's selection, "Stranger Than Fiction." Going in, I knew it starred Will Ferrell (whom I love, and will always love if for no other reason than the Cheerleader Skit on SNL), Emma Thompson (who doesn't love Emma Thompson? If you don't, I don't want to know. She said something once in an interview about having a "big-shouldered" admiration for something or someone, I forget, but I still think she was talking about me), Maggie Gyllenhal (besides having the world's most attractive brother AND husband (is that fair?), she's an amazing actress), Dustin Hoffman (as a college professor! who is also a lifeguard! and reads Sue Grafton while he's lifeguarding!), and wait, I haven't even gotten to the best part, Queen Latifah!!! (as the writer's assistant. Is that fair? I'm sure I could write a great novel if I had Queen Latifah to bring me coffee and arrange notecards in my sparsley furnished apartment).
My expectations for this film were low. How low? Well, I had heard almost nothing about it (buzz=0), and it seemed like it had hit the dollar theater pretty quickly, so I was prepared for it to be funny in parts, charming in parts, and to have some flaw, major or minor, that would make me like it a little less.
Well, of course I was pleasantly surprised. The only flaw, that I could see, were the several scenes where the mic was lowered too far. But being the great post-modernist that I am, I wondered, briefly, if I was supposed to see the mic. Like the director reminding me, "hello! you're watching a movie!" Unfortunately, I think it was just a mistake. But, as I said, that was the only flaw.
The great strengths of this film, aside from the amazing cast, were the intelligent script, the clever but not too clever camera work, and soundtrack.
Plus, Dustin Hoffman, as charming, caffeine-swilling, self-involved college professor, gets to say, quoting from a line that is the Will Ferrell character's life, "Little did he know? Little did he know? I wrote a paper on 'Little did he know.' I taught a whole seminar on 'Little did he know.'" Perhaps the reason this film did not do better is because only graduate students and college teachers will think that is funny.
But count me pleasantly surprised. I highly recommend this film. And, actually, the dollar theater is still the dollar theater before five.
So that's the benefit of low expectations.
(Unfortunately, my expectations were not so low for the Ginger dairy-free, gluten-free, egg-free cookie I took as my "snack." Let's just say I was not pleasantly surprised. But I did eat the whole thing.)

Happy VD!

Inspired by Dean Dad's Valentine's Day post (well, maybe more by some of the comments, though the post itself was very sweet), I've decided to tell you a heartwaming story about how Middlebrow and I got together (exactly 10 years ago!).
First let me say that we went on three dates before we even kissed. On date three, we talked about couples we admired, people who seemed to have genuine partnerships and equality. We talked about how we didn't want to be like our parents (his still married, mine divorced and married to new partners), mostly because we didn't like the imbalance we observed. Among the people we admired were professors in the department where we were both graduate students. One couple we liked for their choices: one car, they took turns cooking and caring for their children, and they both were (are) successful in their respective fields. That, we said, was how we wanted to be. Let me remind you, we hadn't even kissed yet!
Maybe a week or so after we actually kissed, it was Valentine's Day. We agreed that we were against it, Middlebrow mostly because of his employment at a grocery store where, on February 14th, he saw man after man come through his line with a card and a bunch of flowers. Original. So though we don't celebrate this holiday (that is, after all, just another way for companies to get you to buy their products), I'm always reminded that we "got together," as the euphemism goes, right around this time.
It's mind boggling to think that we started dating 10 years ago. (Just for the record, we got engaged after we dated for four months, though I lied and told my parents it had been six months and we got married after we had been engaged for a year). We got engaged after we had the "what are we doing next year?" talk in the kitchen of my apartment. I said something like "I'm not living with someone ever again unless I'm married." We had already decided we wanted to go to graduate school. The next day we were grading papers in a cafe and Middlebrow looked at me and said, "What happened last night? Did we decide to get married?"
But looking back, we have done most of what we talked about on that third date. We finished graduate school, sharing the childcare the whole time. We both have jobs, and we still split the childcare (though I have to say that, lately, Middlebrow has done more than I have). We both cook and do laundry (though, of course, I think I do more of both); Middlebrow does all the man things like killing spiders and plunging toilets and fixing bathrooms.
But, all in all, we have a very equal arrangement. We both like to sit around and read. We like to drink wine and watch movies. Is this not, I ask you, the basis of all good relationships?
And just a note in response to some of those comments over at Dean Dad: some women want to stay home with their kids. I know many women who do and are perfectly content. I'm just not one of those people. But I'm glad I could make the choice I did, and I'm glad I found a person who wanted to make those same choices. This, to me, is one of the great rewards of feminism: we get to invent what we want home, marriage, and family to mean to us. Not that we judge women who make choices we would not make. But that support exists for women to make a variety of choices, and that we support and facilitate each other's choices. (I recognize not all women are free to choose. And we work to change that. But some women are free to choose. And we support that.)
On that note: Happy Valentine's Day!!

Happiness? Location? Money?

Middlebrow and I have been having our annual go-round about whether we can just choose to be happy, if where we live is more important than our salaries, and if we need more money. Oh yeah, and how our house is too small. We always agree on that.
Right now at our CC we are having the annual discussion about how we are woefully underpaid. It's stunning, however, to see exactly how underpaid we are, compared to CCs in other parts of the country. I could be making about $30,000 more a year if I lived in, say, California. Aye, as they say, there's the rub. We don't want to live in California. We do, however, want to make $30,000 more a year. I know, housing would cost more. But that much more per year?
In my mind, it's all about long-term benefits, meaning retirement, and earnings over the course of my career.
Of course, I have to remind myself that we love Son's school, and that, having lived here for almost nine years, we have an actual community, something we both value highly. But, are we allowing ourselves to be exploited?
Obviously I didn't go into teaching for the money. But it's apalling how little we are being paid for the same work (in some cases more work!) than teachers in other parts of the country!
So how do we decide what's more important? Lately I've been leaning towards being happy. But with the new information I've been receiving, I feel like maybe I'm selling myself short. I know the legislature in our fair state is not going to wake up and raise our salaries (at least not in my lifetime). I do love where we live, though I don't always love the politics or the liquor laws. I love our proximity to outdoor recreation. Did I mention that our house is too small?
Today I looked at job listings in other states. It looks like I could start for at least $10,000 more almost anywhere else.
Tell me, what's a girl to do?

Travels in Gastro-Intestinal Health

I realize the title to this post does not bode well. Those of you who know me know that I like to complain that my stomach hurts. Well, I finally went to see a Naturopath. I found out many things, including that our state has one of the most rigorous processes for certifying NDs. Also, my insurance covers it. Yeah!
So. I went in armed with my paper work and my suspicions about what I am allergic to, maybe. My guesses: dairy, wheat, soy. So, my plan is to do an elimination diet and then reintroduce foods, one every two days.
What, you might ask, does one possibly eat when one is not eating anything? It turns out mostly fruits and vegetable (but not corn, and no citrus). Also, I need to eliminate rice because I eat so much of it. But, surprisingly, lamb and pears are two of the most hypoallergenic foods. So I can eat lamb and pears! I can also eat chicken and fish. And potatoes. Yeah potatoes!! I'm also eliminating nuts and seeds. Then after you start to feel better (how long is that?), you reintroduce the food. You have to eat a lot of the food for one day. The part that describes drinking a big glass of milk makes me want to throw up. So I think I'll skip that one, but I may test cottage cheese, etc.
Meanwhile, I'm taking lots of supplements, many of which are supposed to help my stomach and some of which are just for general health. And one to help me sleep. I'll let you know how that goes.
All this to say that if I seem irritable and fatigued, you'll know why. Come Monday, I'll be subsisting on vegetables and fowl. But I might be sleeping more, so it could even out.
And yes, this means no wine. No wine? Somehow I'll muddle through.