Etc.

Honey has had her driving privileges pulled again. See her blog for more details. She's going today to have her EEG done again. I gave her a scarf to wear. We had scarf night last night and I draped all the scarves I could find over my head. In ways that scarves aren't supposed to go. My mother likes to give me scarves. It makes her feel as if I may one day become the daughter she wanted. I don't wear them. I put them in a drawer with my socks.

I made my mother very happy when I had along talk with her about various ablutions for the skin. I think she showed me every skin product she had ever purchased. And my mother (like her daughter) is a consumer.

Honey, in fact, pointed out that I should tell my therapist about my tendency to buy things. My therapist suggested that I buy two workbooks some time ago. I promptly bought them. I can't bring myself to "work" them. Last time we talked about it, my therapist said I should just read them, that I didn't have to have pen or pencil in hand. Follow through can be a weakness for me. But, boy, do I know how to use and abuse Amazon.

Anyway, back to driving... Driving in L.A. isn't fun generally. It's a built in excuse for lateness. "Traffic" followed by a head shake will get you out of most lateness problems. Still, I want to stop driving so much. I'd love to commute by bike, but I'm a person who sweats. Southern women aren't supposed to sweat. They're supposed to "glow." I sweat. So riding a bike to work might be unpleasant in the global warmed SoCal summer.

Speaking of global warming, I heard a piece on NPR yesterday about the rising CO2 levels causing poison ivy to grow more and become more toxic. Tomorrow it's supposed to by in the 90s and I have to wear my academic regalia for commencement.

Treecup wore anti-perspirant on her face when we got our PhDs.

When I had my prom, my mother handed me a bottle of baby powder and told me to "use it." When I asked her where to put it, she wouldn't answer. The answer tomorrow may be all over. Nobody look under my robe, ok?

Why I am not a good academic

See, here's the thing...

I understand post-structuralism and can quote Foulcault if you need me to.

But I'd rather talk and think about Lost and theories surrounding it.

Because academics is pretty tedious actually. Though I do like my field. I did get asked to help on an academic telecourse/tv show today, which should be really cool.

I still wonder what I wonder when I went off to college, though. How will people know I'm supposed to be sorta smart?

When I was in elementary and middle school I was in something called "enrichment" because my IQ was high. My high school leveled people by "smart" and I was in all the honors classes. I could get into how racist that system was. Suffice it to say that the school system I attended waited until the last possible day they could (by court order) to integrate. And since integration the school system's African-American population had remained stable while the white population plummeted. I was in level 1. Guess how many white people were in level 1 in my graduating class? Guess how many African-American students were in level 4? Answer to both questions: all.

When I went off to college--my "safety" school, natch, I worried that my professors wouldn't know I was smart. I didn't worry a lot, maybe because it was my safety school, but I did worry. My D in German my first semester didn't help me feel any better, either.

Still, I loved college and did well. Though some of the "well" was finesse. My debate in Victorian England, for example. I had blown the class off a lot. An acquaintance of mine (Roz), who was very shy, was in the class and had done a ton of research for the debate. She handed me her note cards and I blew the other team away. And the other team was led by the captain of the debate team (Matt). And I had the tougher argument. I was to argue, using only Victorian sources, for women's suffrage. Roz had found lots of good stuff from John Stuart Mill and I railed at Matt like I was Emmeline Pankhurst herself. The professor, who I liked despite my avoidance of the class, was really impressed with me. I gave full credit to Roz and got an undeserved A- in the class.

I did that kind of thing all the time. Once I discussed Eugene Genovese's Roll Jordan Roll with authority even though it was on the table in front of me still in shrink wrap.

I got more serious in graduate school, though my dissertation lacks, um, well let's just say it lacks.

And I won't even go into the fact that the department I taught in for six years is not in my field. And that aforementioned telecourse is in that field, not mine.
My friend and colleague who asked me to do it admitted that we may be the blind leading the blind. I don't mind bumping into walls really.

Here's the good news: if I can move my interim to permanent in my current job...
none of this matters

Because NO ONE on my campus knows more than me about the minutiae I know to do my job and follow all the rules. And I know that I know more than they do about the minutiae. So there.

Plus, here's the other good news:

Lost is on tonight

Oh, and also, I love commencement. Commencement is next week. I get to wear my regalia and my puffy hat. Last year the platform party agreed that I had the best hat.



Sometimes having a good hat can be almost enough.

In, done, gone

I turned my application in for the job I currently have. Interim. Like life isn't just one interim after another. Anyway, it's done, gone, turned in. Honey helped with it yesterday. Honey is a copy editor. I gave her my c.v. (curriculum vita--an academic resume) and my cover letter. She found SO many errors in my c.v. that I got upset. I'd been showing the thing around for years. She tried to reassure me that the errors were small enough that only copy editors would notice. Covered with red, the pages, covered.

She had fewer corrections to the cover letter, which seemed good. She laughed out loud at the letter where I said something like, "I hope to speak with you soon about this position." Are cover letters ever funny on purpose?

Anyway, I turned it in. The Dean's secretary, who is wacky, asked me if she had to send me a letter of acknowledgement. I said yes and she asked if she could scribble all over the acknowledgement. I told her that would be fine.

The Dean wants the search done by the end of June.

Some quick sporky job numbers:

Number of years I've worked at this IHE: 8
Number of years service credit (at most) I'll get toward tenure: 2
Number of years before between when I got my PhD and when my brother will get his: 7 and counting
Number of tenure track jobs between us: 1 (that would be his)
Number of days before I find out: 39 minimum



To paraphrase Michael Stipe:

That's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight, losing my...

I'll just be over here. Waiting.