Acadamnit

Aloha

2010-11-07T14:50:00.000-08:00

I have become a delinquent blogger. That means it is time for me to say farewell. Yes, it is time. It’s a lot to say goodbye to, there are my readers, my blog friends and Dr. No. All deserve a worthy send-off. I don’t know how to do it. It has been a fabulous ride. What can I say? I started Acadamnit, and like all bloggers, wondered if anyone would ever read it. Then I wondered what if people do read it but they are all weirdos? What if I am outed? How would my colleagues react? Can I really obscure my identity? Can I tell anyone that I blog? Fortunately the answers turned out to be:

Yes, people do read it. No, they are not all weirdos. Maybe a couple of weirdos, but overall some very clever people that never cease to make me laugh out loud and have led me to feel “close” in that strange blog relationship kind of way to them. Nope, I have not lost my anonymity. If someone knows who I am- I am not aware of it. Eeew, my colleagues would be PISSED. Yes, I have been able to keep my identity obscured. I have often been tempted to include more personal information…in particular, information that would identify my profession. Have I told anyone that I blog? Yes, one person. One person who is forbidden to ever follow or comment. With this exception, Dr. No and Acadamnit are my little secrets.

Thank you for reading. I will miss this. Feel free to begin preparing the festschrift, perhaps a special edition of Plow Science?

Tripping the Scale

2010-10-11T22:38:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I haven’t been blog-reading or blog-writing much lately. That’s because I’ve been focusing my efforts on blog-rithmetic. Well, that’s a lie. I don’t even know what that is and even if I did, I wouldn’t engage in recreational math anyway. I have just been busy. Busy with tangible work and busy with the mental work required to adjust to tangible work after sabbatical. The shit’s exhausting but it’s not all bad. Some folks talk about the work/life balance. Usually the conclusion of such talk is to keep them separated and maintain dedication to each. This does not work for me. I cannot separate things into “work” and “life” categories. Work is how I spend the bulk of my days, it is responsible for the tweediness of my wardrobe, it is the reason I’ve read more nonfiction than fiction, and it provides money for the booze I drink on the couch it bought. Work is why I am tan in the summer, it is responsible for the bulk of my travel and for a significant portion of the people I know. Work keeps my dog in Milkbones.

There is no separation between work and life, no balance to seek. I am just trying to make work more tolerable and, at least occasionally, fun. But damn I feel busy.

The Changing of the Reasons

2010-09-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

I have to remind myself why I ever wanted this job. I periodically need to think about that. I can always come up with a few reasons, but my reasons change― well, change in the sense that I rank my reasons differently but the reasons themselves are essentially the same. Considering that my job provides me with an endless array of work-related bullshit I need to keep a clear understanding of the positives because the goals and perks are easy to become complacent about. Sabbaticals have skyrocketed to the top of the list. Seeing my name in print remains a constant source of enjoyment and the fact that tweed is an acceptable sartorial fetish keeps these two reasons holding steady in the ranking. Various other reasons have fallen out of favor. For instance that MacAurthur Genius Grant just doesn’t seem to be forthcoming (damn you John D and Catherine T!) but the joys of a lazy boozy Sunday afternoon spent in my Professor House are still pretty good. It's easy for me to forget that as the post-sabbatical bullshit starts to accumulate.

Confession: Thetan Count Rising Edition

2010-09-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

When I was young, and I mean young in terms of my academic career- so young that I had just realized what my college major should be, I had some insanely naïve views about scholars. I knew nothing about academic life. I just knew that some person wrote my textbook, taught my classes and wrote articles that were assigned for reading. Collectively they formed a mysterious people, a tribe of scholars that I made both exotic and admirable. It seemed so cool to me that they, these names I knew, were discovering things. I imagined their names attached to those perfect scholars we see in TIAA-CREF ads but more cracked out on tweed. I was ready to undergo training, perform indoctrination rites and drink the Kool-Aid. The moment I decided to be a myrealobjologist, that I would keep that textbook, this image of scholars began to erode. Bit by bit I learned about those people whose tribe I wanted to join, and the deeper into it you get the less envious the society becomes. Did I want to come back from sabbatical and encounter this?

No. Damn. Seriously. This is not what I wanted to come back to.

Leaving the (sab)Bat Cave: Screw Technology Edition

2010-08-31T17:31:00.000-07:00

This transition from sabbatical life to real life is not so easy. I am suddenly busy, very busy, painful please get out of my office I cannot possibly solve all of your problems right now busy. I’ve lived this life before, but a year of not being busy makes you get soft. So, motherfucking god-damned shit on a stick motherfucking christ my University web system is a piece of fucking shit. (Oh, and anyone thinking what the fuck is with all that motherfucking gratuitous cursing shit just needs to fucking realize that it is not fucking easy returning to work after a sweet assed motherfucking sabbatical). Why does my university have this ridiculous web-based system controlling my access to all manner of important shit? Why is it so difficult to download a class list? When you push the download button next to the class list wouldn’t you expect some useful file to pop out? I do. Instead you get some bizarre file format with a bunch of useless info cluttering things up. I know MY name, it’s MY fucking class. Just give me THEIR names. I don’t care about all their secret numbers, or their parents, or the fact that they joined the Klingon club in motherfucking high school. And what’s with all the weird spacing? Should 30 names really require 82 fucking lines? I just want a list of names. Screw this. I’ll type it myself.

Flux Capacitor Needed

2010-08-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

Wow. This is big. This changes everything. Here I am blogging away, ice cubes clincking in the scotch glass, lounging in my casual tweeds, it all seems perfectly normal right? But and this is a big BUT, a giant ass-slap to reality kind of but, it is the year 2015 for me. Yes! I am from the future. Holy crap. Who knew?! I must be wearing future-tweed and drinking extra old scotch! Cool! I can prove it! Just look at my syllabus! Today is obviously Monday, August 24! See! My entire schedule of events (readings, exams, blah,blah, blah) are ALL based on the fact that today is Monday, August 24. That won’t be possible until 2015! Clearly I am living in the future. Thankfully the scotch is fantastic.

Leaving the (sab)Bat Cave

2010-08-19T17:31:00.000-07:00

I’ll try to keep this short…but, damn. I forgot how much shit there is to do on a daily basis when, like a normal non-sabbatical person, you actually go to work. Damn. Colleagues want you to do things. Students want you to do things. Emails flood in. Next thing you know you have a bunch of shit to review. The phone rings. You spend 20 minutes trying to figure out how to erase all your voice messages in the stupid university system without having to listen to them, any of them. I don’t want to hear any voicemail messages. I do not want to know how many there are (a years worth). I am not even willing to just put the phone down while the messages play, or even turn the volume down…there must be some way to just delete that shit instantly. I cannot figure it out. My office phone has this red light that lights up when you have messages. I hate the fucking red light. The only way to turn it off is to deal, really deal, with your voicemail. I refuse to fall victim to this evil “forced listening of my voicemail” university phone system. Screw it, I’m just going to spend the next hour searching for some electrical tape to cover up that damn light. Then I’m going home.

Syllabusted

2010-08-08T16:37:00.000-07:00

I get it. I really do. For the sake of consistency and the prevention of future headaches we are all required to insert some very specific statements regarding disabilities and academic dishonesty. Fine. I can see the utility of that. But why must I insert multiple paragraphs of ridiculously wordy, overly complex bullshit? Who writes this crap? University lawyers I assume. And why does it keep getting longer?

It’s simple. If you have some type of disability contact these people, here’s their email address, phone number, and office location. They’ll contact me and we’ll figure it out. If you cheat, and yes- you do know what that means (so don’t even try to convince me that you don’t) I will bring academic dishonesty charges against you. Here’s a link to what that entails. Simple enough. But instead, I have to say this, that, and the other thing in order to cover every possible ass you can think of. It’s making the information you are trying to convey more confusing, the specificity is making it more open to interpretation and most importantly, it is fucking up the layout of my damn syllabus.

Random Detritus

2010-08-04T13:58:00.000-07:00

The city is distributing new trash cans. I got mine today…

For what percent of households is the first thing they put in their new trash can their old trash can?

What are you supposed to do with it?

I’m not going to throw it away but I don’t need it.

And screw those stupid ass ideas about turning it into a compost bin, planter, rain water collector, or whatever the fuck else bored people come up with. It’s a fucking trash can.

…I guess I just have to be trashier.

Playbook

2010-08-02T11:23:00.000-07:00

Why is this so difficult? At times like this I am embarrassed to be an academic. Here we all are, again. We do this every year. We just need to come up with a class schedule. That’s it. We’ve done it before. But no. No. Instead of just getting this task over with everybody wants to forget a few things. Things that, considering that we all have PhDs, you’d think we could remember. So here’s a fucking list. Memorize it.

1. You cannot require students to take two specific courses and then schedule those two courses at the same fucking time. Really. It doesn’t work. We’ve been through this. Please refer to the minutes of the Class Scheduling Meetings (1985-2001, 2003-2009).

2. You cannot teach “Big Fun Intro Class We Teach to Boost Our Numbers” at 6:00 in the fucking AM. I’m pretty sure it’s not even possible to schedule a class that early. Pick a nice hangover accommodating hour of the day.

3. Stick to the fucking University schedule. You cannot start and end a class anytime you want. Have you not noticed that all classes follow a certain schedule? ALL classes?!? You cannot just declare your class to meet on Mondays and Thursdays at 4:38. That makes no sense.

4. Now is not the time to question the utility of required courses. Don’t question the graduate or undergraduate requirements. Don’t question the major or non-major requirements. Nobody fucking cares about that right now. The stupid course has to be taught so somebody needs to buck up and teach it. There will be plenty of time to discuss its lameness at other meetings. Remember back in 2002 when that class wasn’t taught and shit was all fucked up for years?

5. Get the necessary Class-Poaching Permits* prior to the meeting. Class-Poaching (aka the teaching of a class widely recognized as Dr. So-and-so’s) is permissible with required permits. Do not just try to up and steal a class from a colleague. This meeting is a big enough clusterfuck already. Let’s not add your personal differences into the mix.

*Class-Poaching Permits, depending on the season and species of class being poached, are available in the Department. Fees may vary. Minimum fee involves a simple conversation, maximum fees may include the costs of ammunition, the formation of posses, and ninja suits.

Pod People

2010-07-29T13:23:00.001-07:00

There’s a long list of things I don’t believe in. Decaffeinated coffee. Fairies. Ghosts. Gods. Edited volumes that are worth a shit. Angels. That Coke and Pepsi are equivalent. Vacuum cleaners that don’t lose suction. Reincarnation. Baggage fees. Jack & cokes. That Avatar was a good movie. The list goes on…

But I do believe that my ipod has magical powers. It does. Granted, all the music on my ipod is music I put there. I get that. But how does “random shuffle” know to pick the perfect tunes for a rainy intoxicated afternoon? How does it know that? How does it know that I need a post-writing music session? How does it know my type and degree of intoxication? How does it know the weather? I believe my ipod to be wise. Maybe I should sober up before the toaster starts talking to me. I gotta go. I have a strange and urgent need to make cinnamon toast.

Yep, I’ve Joined the Bandwagon

2010-07-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you find yourself thinking Hey, was that SCDP logo we saw in the new office in Arial font? No it wasn’t. It’s Akidenz Grotesk, totally acceptable if you are a stickler for such things. You might also be thinking Font? Who cares about that shiz. Did Don just request to be slapped around by a prostitute? Damn. Yes. Damn. Many of you however might be thinking Well I dooooo declare, what in tarnation are you talking about? Mad Men is the answer (and yes, I imagine you thinking in that folksy southern voice). I got sick of all the hype and figured there was no way the show could be worthy of all the praise it received. But then I watched it one night. I stand corrected. The show is good.

*Stole the hedcut from here.

City Council Decree

2010-07-26T10:15:00.001-07:00

You realize that your office is in Crazytown right? In fact, you are a pillar of the community. You are sort of the unofficial mayor of Crazytown and perhaps the town cryer and maybe even the town thief. Your office, the one next door, and your labs make Crazytown. Beyond your walls is the city limits where Crazytown ends and the remainder of our Department begins. You are landlocked. You serve no purpose. You have no valuable goods or services with which you can engage in trade with our Department. You have broken all diplomatic ties. You will not be annexed into our Department. We will no longer provide services. We will allow Crazytown to further devolve into lawless chaos. Your town will wither and die. We will then take possession of your land and gentrify the shit out of it.

Sleazy

2010-07-23T13:19:00.000-07:00

Fuck that. I just don’t give a shit. Why do I care about making learning “easier”? Easier? Fuck that. Look, I’m all for trying to be a decent teacher. I am willing to put some thought and effort into the task. But I have zero interest in making it fucking “easy”. Some shit just ain’t easy. It’s not easy for me and it won’t be easy for my students. That’s fucking college. So fuck you and your lame seminars about how I can make things “easier” for my students. What fucking good comes of easy?

Who runs these seminars? More pertinently, who the fuck comes up with the titles? Making Your Class Easier for Your Students. Now why the hell would I want to do that? And who the fuck needs a seminar about it? It would be easy to make my classes easy. We all know how to make our classes easy for students and ourselves. I mean think about that for a minute. Did any of you need longer than that to design the easiest motherfucking class ever? No. It’s easy. It’s also crap.

Easy is for right now- a sunny Friday afternoon. I’ll be holding a seminar on my patio titled How to Pass an Easy Afternoon Through Sunshine and Substances. Sign up now to secure your spot!

Hero Worship

2010-07-19T13:30:00.001-07:00

How many letters of recommendation have I written? Who the fuck knows. A lot. How many letters have I written for my hero? One. I just wrote it. When I’ve written such letters in the past for people considerably more “senior/accomplished” than me it’s always been in the context of me serving the role as the more “junior/newbie” letter writer. Know what I mean? I’ve always been expected to attest to their skills as a mentor/professor/leader from the perspective of a young ‘un. But this time was different. I mean, shit, this dude is my hero. I’m actually flattered to have the chance to flatter him and by “flattered” I mean “fuck yeah go me!” I’m a jerk like that. One minute I’m reminiscing about how awesome someone else is, how grateful I am to know them…and then, poof, I’m waxing philosophical about how fancy and tenured I am.

Grammnit!

2010-07-12T09:26:00.000-07:00

Making shit move around doesn’t make it better. Unless you’re juggling, in which case it’s much better to keep shit moving around. Hold on, let me explain what I’m seeing right now. Microsoft Word, in its infinite wisdom, is freaking the fuck out right now. The title has the squiggly red lines under it and the second sentence appears to be resting on Astroturf. Oh, and Astroturf keeps getting capitalized even though I don’t think plastic greenery is worthy of capitalism. I’ve grown accustom to seeing a good percentage of the words I type sitting on little red or green squiggle boats. I don’t really care. I like pissing off Word. You ever click on the “About this sentence button”? I had never bothered until now. This is what comes up for the second sentence up there.

Fragment: If the marked words are an incomplete thought, consider developing this thought into a complete sentence by adding a subject or a verb or combining this text with another sentence.

Instead of: Meteors the entire night.

Consider: We watched meteors the entire night.

Instead of: Because the teacher said to.

Consider: You have to, because the teacher said to.

What? Technically, I get it. When I write for work I can make the effort to be grammatical. But when I just want to convey the fact that the addition of swirling photos all over the fucking University homepage just makes it even MORE annoying, well, fuck I will not consider revising! Why? Because the teacher fucking said so.

NOOOOOOOOOOOO

2010-07-08T13:17:00.000-07:00

What the fuck is this nonsense? You need to register for my class but it’s full?

My class. Full.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I have to teach again. What the fuck am I teaching again? Shit. Shit. Shit.

Who Are You, What Are You Doing and Why Do You Keep Looking At Me?!?

2010-07-05T13:58:00.000-07:00

So I was stumbling around blogland drinking coffee and recuperating from eating grilled things and blowing stuff up― which, by the way, is exactly how ‘Merica wants us to celebrate its birthday. If that’s not what you did than you clearly hate ‘Merica (and by default, you must hate me, cheetohs, PBR and everything else that makes this country kickass too, in which case you can just move along). Anyhoo, I found myself over at Proflike's place. As I rooted around in the bushes looking for unexploded bottle rockets and unopened beers I found this meme. Seeing as how I can’t grill it, explode it or use it to intoxicate myself, I may as well post it. I’ve simplified it a bit, but hey, I’m curious. Don’t be shy. Just answer the damn questions…I’ll go make another pot of coffee. Cream? Sugar? Whiskey?

Tell me about you. Who are you? Do you have a background in science? If so, what draws you here as opposed to meatier, more academic fare? And if not, what brought you here and why have you stayed? Let loose with those comments.

Check Yo Self

2010-07-02T11:24:00.000-07:00

So I got beaned in the head with a baseball. Seriously. A giant bulbous growth spurted out of my head instantly. It was crazy. A huge lump just materialized in seconds. That part was kinda cool. It was like being in a sci-fi film with a giant alien baby about to pop out of my head. I’m fine and the alien baby is retreating back into my brain. I am now in the “black-eye phase” of the getting-whacked-in-the-head-recovery-process. So people who see me think I am either a volatile drunk or a battered wife. Those are the stereotypes the fine people of the hardware store were weighing as I purchased trash bags. Sure, we can all think of lots of reasons why somebody would have a black eye, but when you’re of a certain age I think Mr. Dude Who Gets Drunk And Picks Fights and Mrs. That Bastard Hit Me are the most obvious guesses. And people guess. They fucking do, I can see it on their faces. This is not paranoia on my part. Although, I did recently experience some head trauma…and the trash bags were kinda looking at me funny…it is 1985 right?

Mofo

2010-06-25T15:09:00.000-07:00

Oh it’s on! Prepare to get served. You brought it, now I’m going to bring it, and you’re going to get served! OK. I don’t competitively dance so I can’t keep this lingo up, just know that I know what you are doing and I am prepared to win this battle. You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t see the long-term implications? What the fuck mofo?

It was your choice. You started it. I could have started it but I didn’t, because I am a calculating motherfucker. But you just couldn’t wait. You couldn’t be patient and now I’m going to win. Why couldn’t you wait mofo? Are you that weak? You just couldn’t stand the length of the grass anymore? It was bugging you so bad you just had to go and mow? You just had to make that obvious mowed vs. unmowed divide in our shared strip of lawn? What the fuck? You think I didn’t notice? I have to mow the lawn now. You made it painfully obvious. You completely destroyed the unity between our yards. You took their peaceful coexistence and drew a line. A line in the grass. A divide. You made mowed and unmowed where there was once a happy expanse of grass.

You really want to play this game with me? Cause I’ll mow mofo. Oh yes, I will mow. I’m going to mow my side better! It’ll be even shorter mofo. I might even put nice diagonal strips in it! Take that! You like that? You want some more? I’m going to fertilize. And I’m going to find the optimal placement for my sprinkler; your lawn will no longer be privy to any additional water from my side. None. I could probably get my dog to start pissing over on your side too. Would you like that? Golf course greens keepers are going to be asking me for advice and I’ll probably start renting out my side of the lawn for photo shoots (so don’t pester all the hot models on my side). You brought this on yourself. All you had to do was wait a few more days. But no. So what if my other lawn neighbor is going to be pissed. You started it. Not me. You just had to be a mofo didn’t you?

Why Yes, I Speak Sunglassese!

2010-06-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

The mile-long multilingual information sheet that accompanied my new sunglasses left out one critical translation. Sure, one can read this essential information in English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, French, Russian and 6 other languages that I cannot positively identify. But you can’t understand a damn thing unless you know Sunglassese. This is a pretty serious oversight and how they could have left out the most important translation of all is beyond me. Fortunately for all of you naked eyeballers out there I Iearned Sunglassese in my youth. In my early teenage years to be exact, the time of one’s life when you blow all your cash on a pair of Raybans. I was introduced to Sunglassese by a burning need to look cool and because I was stoned enough that sunglasses became a needed accessory. You know, because stoned high-schoolers don’t AT ALL look like stoners when wearing sunglasses all the motherfucking time, what was I thinking? Oh yeah! I wasn’t! Anyhoo, I’ve translated a few key passages for you.

English: Only --------- utilizes pure Plutonite lens material, a proprietary synthetic that exceeds the optical requirements of ANSI Z87.1 standards while inherently blocking 100% of all UVA, UVB, UVC, and harmful blue light up to 400nm.

Sunglassese: Dude. These are sunglasses. If you go outside when it’s sunny shit will look better. And FYI, that’s pretty much what sunglasses are, it’s their job.

English: --------- performance eyewear also takes advantage of XYZ Optics, a breakthrough that maintains precise clarity at all angles of vision and extends the range of optical correction to the periphery of dual-spherical eyewear lenses and single-lens sports shields.

Sunglassese: Dude. You’ll be able to see all normal. It just won’t be so damn bright out. Oh, and that applies to normal sunglasses (I hope that’s what you bought) or douchebag visor /wraparound style sunglasses that only come in neon colors, or single-lens sports shields if you prefer (if you bought that shit you should return it).

English: In most cases earsocks are replaceable and are sold separately.

Sunglassese: Dude. What? Earsocks? That’s funny. I guess that rubbery thing on the part by your ear is an earsock and it can be replaced, it probably costs like a million bucks though and are you really going to track down a replacement earsock? When that part breaks you’re screwed.

Torture Reading

2010-06-19T11:48:00.000-07:00

In that last post I was doing my usual bloggity-blog babbling about the “TIAA CREF Important Notice Regarding Availability of Proxy Materials for the Participant Meeting to be held on July 20, 2010” which I found to be fascinating. I read damn near everything TIAA CREF sends me. I don’t do this with other financial shit. They keep suggesting that I should just read all the crap they send me on online. I should, but I enjoy reading it fresh out of the envelope on that weird thin crinkly “financial” paper. I do. It’s a weird thing. I derive some sick pleasure from it. I always find some interesting nugget of information in there. Or sometimes I just marvel at how baffled I am by financialese and wonder what the hell they are trying to convey to me. It also makes me fantasize about retirement. It just entertains me.

But I should not enjoy reading that whack shit. Does anyone else have some odd little reading favorite? I don’t mean trashy stuff. I mean everybody enjoys a trashy novel and/or fluffy magazine every once in awhile. I mean stuff that would generally be considered tortuous to read. Like TIAA CREF corporate updates, ingredients lists, the fine print on credit card offers, directions for assembling furniture (well, those can be pretty funny actually), fast food packaging, paint cans, you know- stuff you should not enjoy reading- stuff that 90% of people would be like “why the motherfuck would you read that on purpose?”

I just copped to my own tortuous, yet pleasurable, reading of TIAA CREF financial statements. I will also admit to reading those horrendous “book club” questions publishers sometimes put at the back of popular novels. I find them absolutely idiotic and I read them knowing they will provide no insight into the novel. What they will do is make me angry with their stupidly obvious questions. Really? That totally obvious thing was totally obviously symbolic of that other obvious thing? My word! I had no idea. Thanks “book club” for clearing that up! Honestly, I often just don’t want the book to be done yet- so I read that crap. Oh, and I like reading those ads for commemorative plates, gold coins, and back braces that show up in Parade and USA Weekend in the Sunday paper. Have you ever read those? They seem to be written for 75+ year old shut-ins with endless knickknack space and a slew of nonfunctioning body parts. I find them creepily pleasing.

Now, what about your own tortuous reading habits? For example, Arlenna (who was able to tear herself away from the latest edition of “Coffee News”) and JC confess a few here . Please share.

Write-In Candidate: Me

2010-06-17T13:04:00.000-07:00

Is anyone else just digging the “TIAA CREF Important Notice Regarding Availability of Proxy Materials for the Participant Meeting to be held on July 20, 2010” dated June 9, 2010? You know that packet thingy about the election of trustees that came in the mail? It’s pretty damn interesting. I’m not kidding. If you haven’t seen this thing then you need to go find it. Dig through the mail and find it. Keep looking! Did you look in the book catalogues? What about under that magazine? What about that mail under the coffee cup? Is it in there? Hey, that’s not coffee. Go check the box right now, or just go here.

I’ll just assume you found it. Did you read those nominee bios? See those tables of information? Their contact address? Prior work experiences? Other directorships? Who are these people? You know who I think they are? (That’s not really a question because OF COURSE I’m going to tell you) But do you know who I think they are?!? They are us. They are us, if we had chosen to use our educations and skills to make shit-tons of money instead of, you know, dedicating our lives to researching some weird shit.

Tech News

2010-06-15T20:46:00.001-07:00

Do you smell that? No. Not that. The other smell? It’s new computer smell! Mmmmm. New keyboard typing. It’s so weird but so fun. Exotic almost! Damn, and the screen is fucking huge. Huge! I CAN BLOW, SHIT, WAIT, WHY’S THAT LIGHT ON? Oh, caps lock was on. Anyway, I can blow up this page and make the letters appear as ginormous monster-sized letters. That’s cool. Do the letters look super shiny and new to you? Can you tell that this keyboard sounds and feels different? That the screen is so huge I unconsciously keep scooting my chair back as my mother’s voice screeches “move back you’re too close to the tv!”? Wow. I mean this thing is so tidy. I haven’t gunked it up with lectures, messy data files, tweed porn downloads, various writings, and monkey pictures yet. (And FYI new computer: I like to make up words, get used to it, but “gunked” is a word where I come from! Ginormous too!) Anyway, enjoy your contact high of fancy new computer smell while I play all the games new computers come with! (until I make myself delete them)

Word

2010-06-13T15:48:00.001-07:00

There is that thing, that thing we call collegiality. I cannot provide a decent definition. I mean something along the lines of “mutually supportive interaction among colleagues” would vaguely suffice- but not really. It also includes the simple ability of not being annoying, of not stinking up the department with your food smells, owning books that are worth borrowing and being willing to lend them out, and supplying me with university letterhead when I run out and am too lazy to walk downstairs and get some. We don’t have to like each other (like in the sense of real friendliness, the not in the “not like, like” definition). In fact as long as we can interact calmly, we can despise each other and still be collegial. But what do you call that other facet of work colleague relations? Their collegiality outside of work? You know? If you think about the colleagues that you never want to see socially and the ones you do, it’s because they have very different non-work collegiality scores. It’s more like collegeniality.

Collegeniality is the ability to pleasantly engage in non-work related interactions in non-work related environments. High scoring colleagues are those who you can run into at mutual friends dinner parties (RFDPs) and not cringe. You won’t regret having brought a 24-pack of PBR to RFDPs with these folks. Sometimes you run into them at the movies, and even though you got all fucked up because Get Him to the Greek seemed like it would be a shit-ton funnier with a little “help” you don’t mind because your collegenial colleague is in a similar state. You can also identify your collegenial colleagues in the drug aisle of your local grocer at 1:38AM. If you can comfortably make eye contact while dressed in some combination of sleepwear, outerwear, and long underwear selecting the most powerful narcotic-like substances you can buy without a prescription so you can spend your days with the flu alternating between sleeping and hallucinating, then you’ve met a collegenial colleague. Collegiality and collegeniality are distinct qualities that must not be confused or merged. They do not correlate.

One can be extremely collegenial even though they never show up to meetings on time or answer motherfucking obviously important emails. Likewise, one can be extremely collegial even though they insist on assaulting you with details of their obviously horrible design plans of their obviously horribly designed house every damn time you see them. I’ve created a word, collegenial, so that those of us with colleagues who don’t understand these differences can figure it out, add it to your vocabulary please.

Lawn Service

2010-06-11T17:58:00.000-07:00

Uhm, what? I have to do what? I have to do that when? How many times? For how long? Why?

Oh. Because that other person is going on sabbatical next year…and they did shit for me while I was on sabbatical…so I should just shut the fuck up and do shit for them? Yep. It’s the only reasonable response. Yep. End of blog post. Nothing to complain about here, no sirrrreeeee.

DAMNIT! SHIT. IS THAT SOME KIND OF ADVISORY COMMITTEE? FUCK. That sounds like it involves actual work, crap, and that other thing? Ugh. I’ll do it, only because I left a big stinking pile of service in the departmental lawn and somebody else cleaned it up. So it’s my turn to pick up service turds.

What I Like About Coming Home

2010-06-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

Sudoku Benders: I usually have my newspaper stopped but I often forget. I really do try and have it stopped and I really do honestly forget to stop it sometimes, but I also secretly like it when I come home to a pile of newspapers on my countertop. I guess that’s not much of a secret now, but it seems so silly. The newspapers filled with old news also contain enough puzzles to go on a Sudoku bender! For some reason Sudoku puzzles not in the newspaper just don’t satisfy me. I want newsprint. To sit down with a cup of coffee and plow through a few is the perfect “I just got home and need to relax” activity.

Home Coffee: Aaaaahhh home coffee… Coffee shop coffee is great. I like my afternoon coffee shop coffees. But morning coffee is a completely different experience. Morning coffee, the kind that is needed immediately after waking up, the kind of coffee made in your kitchen prior to even attempting any other activity, the kind that is sometimes brought in the shower with you, that is consumed naked, dressed, and in all matter of mental disrepair, is very different. It is never good away from home. It doesn’t matter what kind of coffee maker it is or what kind of coffee is used, wherever the hell you scrounge up that first cup of not-from-home-coffee it will not be good.

Plants: Everyone knows the shit you plant in the yard will not grow, make a flower, or produce any tangible signs of life until you leave. It’s Gardening 101 people.

GPS Peace: Shut the fuck up GPS! We both know I need you but I am not making a motherfucking U-turn and I am not getting on the freeway. Dude. Traffic here is outrageous and its necessary to drive like an asshole (mandatory actually). There will be no u-turns, I will cut-off the motherfucker in front of me (yeah you douchebag in the Porsche) and I will turn left when I’m damn well ready.

Top Killa

2010-05-25T19:06:00.001-07:00

What? Is BP seriously considering turning off its camera? That’s not true right? I’ve been duped by media bias right? C’mon BP! Let me guess, you turn the camera off and perform your “top kill”. Then what? The camera comes back on? To show what? A beautiful digitally enhanced scene of underwater fish love? Mermaids and shiz? Fuck you BP.

Beer Googles

2010-05-21T11:02:00.000-07:00

Due largely to my own vanity (and slightly to my ingrained reliance on data collecting) I google myself. I google my real name and profession (e.g., Real Me, realjobologist; R. Me, realjobology) and the blog me (e.g., Acadamnit kicks ass; Acadamnit tweedy love). Real Me is winning the numbers race by a landslide. Real Me and blog me are equally vain, Real Me just conceals it while blog me just revels in the damnity goodness. So there I was with my beer googles on thinking I look mighty fine, mighty fine indeed. Sobriety rudely interrupted this moment as a single email ripped those beer googles off my face. Cool Journal of Myjobology just rejected my manuscript. REJECTED. Motherfucking damnit. Yikes. Fuck. You’d think by now I could handle this news in some reasonable sanity preserving fashion. But no. I’ll just fluctuate between rage and utter dejection for the next 48 hours...and maybe engage in a little therapeutic googling (e.g., Editor of Myjobology Journal sucks ass).

Comings & Goings

2010-05-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen a Kum & Go store? The first time I saw one I cracked the fuck up. Really? Kum & Go? Do I have an unusually dirty mind or is that not a rather risqué name for a convenience store? It brings up all kinds of dirty connotations for me. But then again I’m the kind of person that can still get a good laugh out of Uranus jokes. I prefer the pronunciation “your anus” not that “yura nus” crap I remember high school science teachers using (although I still find it funny that they used “yura nus” due more so to their own embarrassment at saying “anus” rather than any commitment to scientific nomenclature). I can’t help it. Uranus is the funniest planet and Kum & Go is just a damn nasty name for a chain of convenience stores. I bring this up because I’ve been coming and going (to and from places people! for those of you with extremely dirty minds) a lot lately.

I just returned from tropical paradise. I am brown and happy. Well, that’s not entirely true. I am mostly brown, white in some important places and a little red― but happy. I have complained endlessly about my job. But you know, it enables me to have a lot of shit I really love. Tropical vacations for one. I mean I just went on vacation from sabbatical! That’s beautiful. I have no idea who came up with the “academic sabbatical” but it’s fucking brilliant and I like to think whoever that person is they’re a Uranus giggler too. Come to think of it I should probably know the history of academic sabbaticals…but I don’t and I don’t really give a fuck. That person will just remain a mysterious entity bringing happiness much happiness to the world.

Shout Outs

2010-05-02T21:11:00.000-07:00

Inside Higher Ed is now inside my head. I wanted to write “inside my higher head” but that could be interpreted a couple of different ways. Although feel free to pick one and there’s a good chance you could be correct. (award yourself 10 blog reading points!) So every once in awhile I, and many of you, get a shout out over in Inside Higher Ed land. This results in flood of people reading a particular post. It’s like Inside Higher Ed sent out invitations to your party- but didn’t tell you. That’s OK. It’s actually rather flattering . It’s like seeing your work cited. Does that not cause a minor, but very real, rush? A little thrill? I should specify that I am referring to the positive/neutral citation, not the negative “what is wrong with this motherfucker?” type of citation. But seeing my name and work like that? It never ceases to amaze me. The Inside Higher Ed shout out is similar.

Similar, but not quite the same. It has the additional component of making one feel a little party-crashed upon. It’s as if Inside Higher Ed compiled a perfectly respectable guest list, sent the invitations, the guests show up, and the party is packed and jovial. But the next morning you wake up and think “who the fuck were those people?” What just happened exactly? Whose underwear are these?

Here Nor There

2010-04-26T18:12:00.000-07:00

Brace yourselves because I have one very long ramble in me. This is one of those blog posts that will be far, far too long. Random observations will be flying, tangents are inevitable and I might even need to include footnotes. Boredom for you, my dear readers, is imminent. So you know, expect to start reading but then feel free to switch to skimming, or gouging your eyes out, or heavy drinking. But I haven’t written one of these in awhile. Why is that? I don’t really know. It finally started to get a little sunny, I put in a patio, it was 4/20, I did some work… I could provide you with many possible excuses. But none of them are really the issue. I just sorta lost interest. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like blogging. Because I do. And I like the readers of this thing- you people are interesting. Sorry to call you “you people” but I mean that kindly my intertubes peeps. I can also admit that blogging provides a unique thrill. Isn’t it exciting to get a comment? They never cease to amaze me. And I have blogs that I read regularly. Blog reading and writing just became an everyday part of my life. And then it didn’t. And how many sentences can I start with And anyway?

My interest just waned. I just did other stuff. I got thoroughly emerged into the luxury of sabbatical. I’m not going to say that it’s just been one big party. It hasn’t. I’ve done some work, enough to keep up my end of the sabbatical bargain. But you know, I haven’t been this free of obligations since I was probably 14. I’ve just been doing the things I always wished I had more time to do. Blogging, enjoyable as it is, just got a bit lost in the shuffle. It’s like that jar of fancy olives you buy that ends pushed into the back of your fridge where it sits forgotten about until one day you grope around back there in your fridges nether regions. And you realize holy shit I have yummy olives! So you pop a few in your mouth and check the liquor stash for martini fixings. So I’m back. I’m emerging from a blog reading and writing hiatus, cocktail shaker in hand.

Huh? What just happened there? Did I just compare blogging to forgotten pickled products in fridge nether regions? Yes sirrreee I did. What the fuck? I also just realized that my absence in blog world has been noticed. Shit. What can I say? What was I trying to say? I can’t really explain it. I was just laying low. No, I know! I just ran out for some ice! YES. Ice. See, look in the freezer. I got that ice. Enjoy! Fuck. What am I doing? I don’t know. I’m at THAT stage of sabbatical. Granted, indecision is a luxury. But…crap. I have lots of…lots of, well, chapters. I need a few more though. But fuck. A tropical island awaits me.

My brain has had two preoccupations lately. One is a panicky sense of needing to finish something- reminiscent of the final stages of dissertation writing. The other is absolute excitement at the prospect of sunny beaches and cold beer. You’d think I could work this situation to my advantage. Not a lot of mental gymnastics involved in committing myself to working and then celebrating in the ocean. But, ugh. I just want to skip ahead to the fun part. Damn.

A-B-C-Baby You and Me

2010-03-24T21:42:00.000-07:00

You are so right. That is Jermaine. It’s so very not relevant. So back-up singer to a more important issue. So just along for the ride like. So not the main event. You know, it’s Jermaine. I’m thrilled you want to waste my time with your Jermaine issues. Why bother with the reason we are ALL here when we can revel in more Jermaine topics? What the fuck is with these people? Focus on the fucking fundamentals not the damn Jermaine.

Homo sabbaticus

2010-03-16T17:22:00.000-07:00

SShhhhhhhhh! Having spent the last six years living amongst the departmental pack we finally have the animal isolated. We’ve doused ourselves in professor musk and if we stay quiet we can creep into its cave habitat and get close enough for a shot. Once tranquilized we’ll affix the tracking equipment and monitoring devices, don’t worry, the small 20 lb helmet and 65 lb battery pack won’t impede the animals movement in any way. Quick! SSSHHHHHHH. quick! fire the dart before it attacks! The animal is now stirring. Still groggy from the tranquilizer let’s turn on the equipment and listen in on its thoughts:

Write it. Just do it. It’s not so hard.

Yes it is. I’m tired of this stuff.

You can do this. You’ve been doing it for years now. Just do it.

That was almost convincing, but then you sounded like a Nike ad.

Fair enough. But you have been doing this for awhile now. Hey! Remember those black canvas Vans you used to have? Those were great. You should get some more.

A classic shoe really. Good times. Stop distracting me. You’re supposed to be helping me work. You know writing that thing?

Sorry, yeah. You should write that up. You’ve done all the other work. You just need to sit down and crank the mother out.

Ooh funky! P-Funky. like turn the mother out? Give Up the Funk. That’s another classic.

Can you stop making inane pop cultural references and just listen to what I’m saying? Stay focused. Work. Remember that? You need to write that thing about all that stuff? Sound familiar? Or are you just going to keep babbling about random things? Although, you have a point, I have P-Funk blasting on my side of things now too. Good tune.

Really? Cause I just switched to the JB’s…still funky though.

Anyway, look, we need to stop all this nonsense and just get writing. And FYI you need stop consuming scotcholate, stop watching so much tv, and don’t ever give me that decaf shit again.

Hey! That was a freaky accident. I did not purposefully make decaf coffee and it hurt me too you know!

Pass me a peanut-butter cup.

It just seems boring. I think it could be really good though. I’ve been working on this stuff for a long time. But, ugh, and don’t go imposing all your rigid crap on me. Don’t impose a schedule and daily page limits on me. I hate that. It’s so cumbersome. You’re such a tight ass.

That’s cause it works! You’ll do it. You can’t stand missing a deadline. Or at least you think you can’t stand it because you’ve never actually missed one. Have you? See. You’re a punctual motherfucker. Admit it.

Yeah maybe. Join me for a drink?

You idiot, just give me the drink. I’ll grant you 48 hours and after that if I don’t see some real progress you’re going on lockdown. I mean scheduled working hours with daily page limits.

Fuck. 48 hours? When would it start? Can we agree on 48 hours starting tomorrow morning?

Yeah. I’m too full of scotcholate to start right now anyway.

OK cool. Is it time for Lost yet?

Confession: Household Edition

2010-03-12T14:38:00.000-08:00

I have a professor house. You know what I mean by professor house? I am sure you do, most of you are probably living in one too. It’s more of an interior aesthetic than an architectural style. It’s an eclectic style with lots of variations, but you know it when you see it. The furniture choices, the art, and the fridge magnets all contribute but it’s the books that always give it away. It’s the books that weren’t deemed worthy of placement in your office. The graduate school castoffs, the duplicates and the “currently being read” books that reliably identify a professor house. But even when lacking books you can just tell. I can tell when I see one and I can tell that I’m living in one. My concerns with all the stereotypical trappings of professordom stem from the fact that I never expected to be a professor. I don’t mean that I just breezed through grad school and fell into a job, oh whoops! I’m a professor! No. But I just didn’t realize how defining this job can be. When I look at houses for sale I see it. I know if my house was for sale people would think professor house or at least “university people” live here. There are worse stereotypes, I shouldn’t complain…my house could be known as the too many scotch bottles in the recycling bin house…but that might be subsumed by the professor house designation…there’s no escaping it. I go back and forth with my professorness.

I wish I could say I’ve avoided the stereotypes, but I look around, and here I am, in my professor house. It’s so damn comfortable. These things bug me.

Remember The Regal Beagle

2010-03-10T17:49:00.000-08:00

That is both a question and a command. That cozy lounge where the Three’s Company folks hung out, remember? It was where Jack, Janet, and a revolving troop of idiotic blond Chrissy’s went to have a drink, Jack’s friend (whoever the hell he was) would often be there and the Ropers maybe too? Sorry, my memory of the Regal Beagle is a little hazy. I was pretty young when Three’s Company was on. I remember only that every episode seemed the same. As a kid, each show went like this: “important thing” must happen, misunderstanding occurs, hijinks threatening the outcome of "important thing” ensues, Janet must be made to prove her worth in some way in an attempt to overcome her “not the pretty” one role, Chrissy won’t fuck Jack (which even as a kid I was sick and tired of the whole gay/not gay Jack joke thread), everything works out and you go to the Regal Beagle for a cocktail. I don’t think I’ve seen the show since I was a little sarcastic wee one― so that impression of the show is all I have to work with. But I liked the Regal Beagle. As a kid it struck me as soooooo grown-up. The kind of place I never went to because it was for grown-ups …where even if I did get to go, I’d have to drink some stupidly named soda-with-a-cherry-drink in the corner.

Now that I’m grown up, where oh where is my damn Regal Beagle? Can’t I go out for a drink without running into some student? I thought the Regal Beagle was supposed to be relaxed and boozy. Not a place where one has to hear “Hey I was in your class!” or drunken graduate student research fantasies* Anyway, I want the Regal Beagle!

*there is a place for those, we expect to hear them every time we invite you to a party- it’s OK we expect it. Carry on.

Lost And Found

2010-03-05T21:26:00.000-08:00

Wow! Thanks њѲѣфдά*! I do want some Japanese porn! њѲѣфдά was thoughtful enough to leave me a comment with a link to porn. I feel so lucky. Surely, њѲѣфдά doesn’t leave porn links for just any old blogger. It’s a RELIEF actually. I’ve been blogging for well over a year now. It has amazed me that none of you, my smart educated reader peeps, ever thought to send me Japanese porn links. Really! What’s up with that? Clearly this blog is just a plea for links to Asian porn and term-paper writing websites. Until њѲѣфдά came along I was beginning to wonder if anyone was ever going to notice my true agenda. It’s so obvious! It’s just been one long endless plea for naked Asian chicks. Geez. Do you see it now? Do you blog-readers in your fancy professor pants? Do you blog-readers with your all grammatically correct thoughtful prose? (Yeah, I’m a little jealous). How about you stoned students? Well? My new best blog bud њѲѣфдά got it. Damn straight they did. Now, if I could only find links to a website that will give me a great car loan (regardless of my credit history), enable me turn a picture of myself into a cartoon (a personal dream), add all kinds of blinky bouncy things to my blog (so classy), and finish my coursework online for the Associates Degree in "Assistant to the Physicians’ Assistants’ Office Clerk Cause This Ain’t A Real Medical Degree” degree that I’ve been working on I’d be all set!

* Sorry њѲѣфдά but that's the best approximation of your name I can come up, it translates to Assface no?

Withdrawal

2010-03-02T08:15:00.000-08:00

I’ve spent the last 24 hours deep in thought. As the Olympics have come to an end, it was time for me to reflect, to ponder the greatness, and get back to ignoring hockey. What have I learned in the last two weeks? Where have I been? What does it all mean? Why don’t I have any booze left? It’s a lot to think about. It’s like houseguests just left. After two weeks of being in my home the Olympics have finally departed. They’ve left me only with soiled Norwegian pants in the hamper and my thoughts of them. Oh, and visions of sugarplums AND giant inflatable beavers. Is there some type of Olympic methadone I can take?

This Could Earn Me A Pulitzer

2010-02-27T11:26:00.000-08:00

So if you’re in a four-man bobsled team, and you’re not the driver or the brakeman, your job is to run, push, and jump into the ice jalopy. That’s it. Run and push, sit. The running and pushing lasts all of two seconds, the sitting slightly longer. Since I once helped push-start a car, I consider myself something of an expert on these matters. I even engaged in a little bobsled training last night while watching the Olympics. You can too. Just stand on the side of your couch and practice hopping over the armrest onto the seat real fast. I did this multiple times while exclaiming “Look! I’m a bobsledder!” In addition to honing your bobsledding skills it provides loads of entertainment for your fellow Olympic-watchers (especially the 20th time you do it). Last night we saw a few bobsled teams flipped over on the dreaded 50-50 Curve (or as the announcers call it: THE 50-50 CURVEAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!).

The flipped over teams went barreling down the track on their heads. Fortunately, no one appeared injured. This speaks to the importance of helmets. Cruising down the ice chute on their heads these teams were able to maintain some pretty impressive speeds and finish the race without noticeable head trauma. Way to go helmet designers right? Well, I believe there is a larger message to be learned from this. No one is talking about it publicly yet, but the whispers in the bobsled community are growing louder. Dramatic innovations in bobsledding helmets are being created in top secret bobsledding labs all around the world. There might even be such a facility in your own community, tucked away and out of sight. Perhaps deep underground, accessible only by password via your local bowling alley or donut shop proprietor, there could even be a top secret bobsledding lab right next door to your own home! What are they up to? Well, here’s the scoop: Helmets are being manufactured with running blades. In the event of a flip over bobsledders will be able to cruise down not just on their heads, but on running blades attached to their helmets. When all four bobsledders align their heads they will essentially create a complete sled blade enabling them to continue their run smoothly in the event of a flip over. Obviously three blades on each helmet are required, a little unwieldy, but certain to provide the biggest innovation in bobsledding since the development of sledsuit butt-webbing.

You haven’t heard about this through NBC because they are in collusion with the bobsledders. As an Olympic investigative reporter I’m tracking this story for you. If you have any tips please report them to me. Do not trust any other news organizations! Perhaps you have seen suspicious bobsled activity in your neighborhood (like odd tracks in the snow that might lead to a secret bobsled lab) or suspicious lycra suit fragments? Report all information regarding secret bobsledding activity directly to me.

Cause It Was Ladies Night!

2010-02-26T12:04:00.000-08:00

And the feelings right, la, la, la, la, la! I don’t know anymore lyrics to that song, but feel free to sing quietly to yourself if you do. Every Winter Olympics we are collectively cajoled into giving a shit about Ladies Figure Skating and every year I watch like the obedient ‘Merican citizen that I am. This ritualized behavior results in me, every four years, thinking: a) what the fuck was that? b) are my triple-clutz jokes still funny? and, c) who names their child Richard Button? I am still left pondering these issues, but let’s review the final six skaters. Oh, but due to the occasional, yet overrated, need for sobriety I watched the skating sans chemical enhancement. Which means I was: a) bored, b)unable to remember any of the skaters names and, c) compelled to think of things in the form of lettered lists. So here was the lineup:

Red with tights that didn’t match her skin color girl (USA): Not good. Not good at all. Sorry, I feel a twinge of guilt (see what sobriety does to me?!?) trashing some teenager, but this girl needs to focus her efforts elsewhere because figure skating is not her strength. She was painfully NOT graceful on the ice and I couldn’t help but wonder if she had some crazy Mormon underwear on under her skating outfit. You know how some Mormon women have that pale, larval, grossly wholesome look going on? She had that in spades. Not good. (yeah, I said it)

Green Cleopatra Robot (Japan): With the right choreography this girl could be a contender. What is the right choreography you ask? The robot dance. You know what I mean, who among has never engaged in a little robot dance? That herky-jerky suite of movements that never ceases to be funny while drinking could really be her dance genre. On an additional choreography note, if you are going to dress up like Cleopatra you HAVE to “walk like an Egyptian” during your footwork sequences. Everyone knows that. Automatic 15 point deduction, sorry Robo-skater.

Blue Graceful (Korea): She rocked! I Kim Yu Na, she rocked it. Gold medal.

Pippy Long-Sleeves (Japan): This lady was good too. Very graceful. Silver medal.

Turquoise (Canada): She gets a free pass. Her mom died. Bronze medal.

Red & Black (USA): She has potential but had the unfortunate position of skating after Blue Graceful and Pippy Long-Sleeves got the crowd all fired up and Turquoise got everybody all misty-eyed. It was like being scheduled to give your conference presentation following the biggest crank in your field who gave a paper trashing the previous paper, which was delivered by the biggest most famous person in your field. What the fuck are you supposed to do?

Todeigh At The Olympics

2010-02-24T21:26:00.000-08:00

I’m still watching. I figure getting completely burnt out on sports I never watch is all part of the Olympic experience. What happened tonight? Well, some Swedish dude won a gold in x-country. Mary Carillo went sled-dogging. There was skiing, the visibility sucked. Lindsey Vonn crashed, Mancuso had to stop her run, she skied over to a crashed Vonn, it was weird. Then they made Mancuso re-run, she did, landed in 18th place, and then she cried while Vonn took off to get her hand x-rayed. The second run was canceled due to shit weather. Which, if you were watching this in primetime like me, suddenly explained why the night’s lineup seemed so lame- you take away the skiing and you’re left with more speedskating, some bobsleigh (that makes it sound more interesting) and some free style skiing aerials (fuck that sport needs a better name).

Speed skating offered the usual parade of ping-pong ball hats and 80s sunglasses but the Womens Relay was an impressive throwdown by South Korea. They beat China. Well, they beat them until the ref’s disqualified South Korea at which point they lost big time. The call was complete bullshit and the 10 minute monologue entitled “Who Paid This Ref?” that I yelled at the tv did not reverse this verdict. China won gold, Canada the silver, and the ‘Merican team won bronze (even though we were soooooo far behind we got lapped). Korea won damnit. With all the authority vested in me as an Olympic commentator, I award Korea the gold medal (if China refuses to give it up, Plushenko should give Korea his platinum). Moving on, bobsleigh was weigh boring. I saw the “too tall Jones” the “snowboard in space” and the “mom gets credit for the happy meal” commercials for the hundredth time. But the Olympic crowds are get rowdier (I suspect most of the bobsleigh crowd is weighsted) and the announcers are all running on fumes. It’s enough to keep me interested.

Swiffer Sweeper Why Aren’t You Sponsoring The Curling Team?

2010-02-23T17:27:00.000-08:00

Some things just go together. Much like The Captain and Tennille, me and scotch, Joanie and Chachi, Swiffer Sweeper and curling are an obvious match. They just go together. It’s plain as day. Their union requires no explanation. What’s needed here, and I mean literally right here, is some brilliant and seamless segue into what doesn’t go together. Readers, you need to insert this brilliance yourself. Go ahead, take a minute and think up some text that could be inserted here that would change the course of this paragraph. Many of you are writers so just work your magic. I’m tapped out. Interspersed with my Olympic viewing marathon I am also watching the various shenanigans going on in my Department. I watch both safely ensconced in my saBATtical cave and today I feel the need to rant about one of my colleagues. So gone on now, take this little shred of Olympic coverage I’ve tossed out and work it into a train of thought about things that should never, ever, ever go together. Ready?

Listen up Professor Deadwood, you and Department Head DO NOT go together! You haven’t done a damn thing since I’ve been here, that’s almost seven fucking years. To be honest, I don’t even care. If you want to be non-productive, fine. But, just fucking embrace your role as deadwood. We’ve all given up on you completing any research, teaching a decent class, or even serving some general “senior colleague” advice-giving role. We all put up with your notorious lack of organizational skills, your inappropriate comments, and the general dislike we all feel toward you. We do this because many, many years ago you did some things. Nothing fantastic mind you, but enough that we can all see a little bit of ourselves in your younger self. Your accomplishments are just enough for us to try and maintain a degree of collegial respect until you retire. So what has gotten into you? All of a sudden you want to be department head? No fucking way. You are stirring up all kinds of drama. Why are you inventing problems, pretending to “know” things, spreading rumors? You and Department Head are a frightening mix. Nobody will support you. Your “strategy” for gaining our support is NOT working. Part of me fears that you have dementia and need some help and part of me wants to kick your elderly ass.

Team America!

2010-02-22T12:16:00.000-08:00

Fuck Yeah! As stated beautifully by Naptime Writing in the comments of my last post:

“Do not forget...DO NOT forget...that your patriotic duties include getting all jacked up for the medal tallies, in which the accident of one's birthplace is deemed the most important category against which we compare success. If your country, wherein you pay taxes with the athletes who appear in those tallies, has more medals than another, you are clearly, as a citizen, a world-class athlete.”

Damn straight! Suck it Canadian hockey fans! Go USA! These colors don’t run! Or curl, or bobsled, or men’s luge, but let’s not get picky. U-S-A! U-S-A! Hey world: Guess who’s winning the medal count? ‘Merica! And you know what you can’t make ‘Merica without? ME! Otherwise you’d just be left with ‘Rica, which could imply Costa Rica I guess, but do you see any ‘Rican athletes kicking ass on the slopes? No sirreee. In fact it’s as clear as the beautiful aquamarine ocean waters that I would very much like to be swimming in that tropical countries suck at the Winter Olympics. Ha! Unbelievable. You lazy beach dwellers just aren’t badass enough to compete with ‘Merica! Learn to ski damnit. And guess what higher latitude countries: We are crushing you too! Just because your entire population is the size of only one of our awesome states is no excuse. Pull yourselves up by your lederhosen! But thanks for showing up athletes-from-loser-countries! The more attractive among you can enjoy fornicating with our athletes. (But please keep in mind that any children resulting from such unions should be educated in your country, not mine. Oh, and any required medical care is best dealt with in your country too.)

Fortitude

2010-02-21T09:28:00.001-08:00

I’ve made it a week. One week’s worth of Olympics. Can I keep it up? Am I strong enough? Have I trained hard enough? Am I ready to push into week two? Can I keep my momentum? Have I doped enough? Has my curling hat arrived yet? These are the questions I must ask myself. It all comes down to one thing: Do I have it in me?

I’m in the best television viewing shape of my life. I’m ready for this. I just have to get through the bobsledding (or bobsleigh if you prefer). It’s my toughest leg of the Olympics. It’s a fucking soap box derby on ice. What does one say about that? I’m trying to do my patriotic duty. (I consider my patriotic duties to entail voting, paying my taxes, showing up for jury duty, and watching the Olympics) Bobsledding will not break me! But what the fuck? It’s not a sport. Those sleds look ridiculous. There must be more efficient designs; I simply do not accept that the modified bat-mobile is the best option. And why bother with the unitards? Do you really need a skin tight suit to ride in those ice jalopies? There is the two-man and the four-man bobsled, can I suggest an additional race? I call it the “clown-man” wherein you cram as many untitarded people as possible into the sled, earning points for both speed and comic impact as the athletes de-sled (or de-sleigh if you prefer). Oh, there’s curling on. Yes!

Norwegian Wood

2010-02-20T09:43:00.000-08:00

The Olympic village should be turning into a big pile of sex about now. Before the Olympics started, I read a few things about the atmosphere in the Olympic village. Here’s an example. As far as I can tell, as soon as an athlete finishes competing, they start fucking their fellow athletes. So as more events are completed, more and more athletes join the party side of the village. I imagine that for once in their lives they can relax— relax in an atmosphere filled with equally hard-bodied ultra athletic superhumans like themselves. I’m sure there’s a few goody-two-shoe athletes wholesomely reading the bible (Hmmmm. Training 20 hours a day or Jesus. I wonder which one is responsible?). But most athletes must feel like they just entered the best dating scene of their lives. A village full of people in peak condition who have been depriving themselves of all good kinds of fun for four damn years. Then poof! You’re done! P-A-R-T-Y. This is a rather interesting atmosphere. So very Olympian. Have fun athletes!

Make The Call. Make The Call Now!

2010-02-19T12:03:00.000-08:00

The Olympics have inspired me to pursue my own dream. Not the dream where I’m in the movie Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (where in addition to badass martial art skills I have all kinds of great sex), not the dream where I discover that I’ve forgotten to attend a class for the entire semester and magically appear at the final exam completely unprepared, and not the dream where the MacArthur Genius Grant folks show up at my door with a giant Publishers Clearinghouse style check. Not those dreams. This dream:

I’ve tacked this up at my local ice-skating rink. I can’t wait for destiny to call!

NBC Skating Fail?

2010-02-17T12:43:00.000-08:00

I guess we have to talk about men’s figure skating. I watched the “short” programs last night and I am somewhat at a loss for words. I could discuss the ridiculous costumes (e.g., Skeletor, and those horrendous “overalls”), make a few Dick Button jokes (a la hey baby what do you push for a good time?), or tackle the mysterious judging protocols. But you know, I am left troubled, two things really bothered me. First up, Yevgeny Plushenko. NBC aired on of those “athlete bio” thingies. Apparently Plushenko is a figure skating badass— he’s won all kinds of titles and has dominated the sport. The bio however made me think the motherfucking Cold War was still going on. NBC presented him as some Russian thug determined to crush the American spirit. The dude’s an ice-skater, a competitive ice-skater, must we turn him into some evil Ruski for wanting to win?

Second, Johnny Weir. I thought the announcers completely ignored him. Look, I don’t know jack shit about figure skating, but as a semi-conscious human I’ve inevitably picked up on the fact that he had some tv show, made some comments about his living conditions in the Olympic village, is considered “outrageous” etc. I don’t know what’s up with all that (feel free to fill me in if I’m missing some pertinent information here) but I thought the dude skated well. Usually the broadcasters lavish all kinds of attention on the American athletes, but they completely ignored Weir last night. When he first stepped onto the ice, knowing only that he has garnered considerable off-ice publicity, I thought he might suck. That he might be a lousy skater and the broadcasters were intentionally withholding additional publicity. But the dude did good! Why no in depth analysis? Why no extensive discussion of ALL the American figure skaters? I felt like he was snubbed. Why? I am left with the impression that because he is honest about who he is (a gay male figure skater who likes his crazy costumes, uhm, is that really so unusual?) the stalwarts of American figure skating dissed him. Am I missing something? Did he not skate well? Is there more to this story? Am I off my rocker?

Hit & Flop

2010-02-16T15:52:00.000-08:00

I am digging the curling. I watched a little curling during the last Olympics, but I didn’t pay much attention. It was something of a mystery to me when I first started watching. What’s an end? What are the symbols displayed on the screen? What’s the strategy? Fucking fascinating. On top of all that, these athletes seem like the bowlers of the Olympics. They are the “athletes” that don’t seem so “athletic”, the ones who really do eat at McDonalds, and are the only ones eating the chocolate pudding in the Village cafeteria. The commentary is sooooooo serious. They compared curling to chess. Yeah. What? I’m not really seeing that comparison, but I’ll keep watching.

MORE COWBELL!

2010-02-15T19:58:00.000-08:00

Speed skating. I’ve been told a thousand times now (thanks NBC Olympic coverage) that it’s HUGE in the Netherlands. But you know where it’s NOT Huge? Here. Right here. Speed skating, much like trampoline jumping, ski jumping, and about 80% of all Olympic sports are sports I never watch. But right here, right now, I am getting a little bored with speed skating. It’s far too early for me to burn out on a sport. How many events are there? It is kinda interesting. They go really fast, it’s rather graceful when they are really cruising, it’s obviously difficult, there’s some interesting strategy going on with the passes, and they crash sometimes. These are all good reasons to enjoy speed skating, but I am rapidly losing interest.

Moguls. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Juuuuuuuuuuump. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch, Ouch. Juuuuuuuuuuump. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

A thousand years ago…this blog would have DRAGONS! Fucking retarded. Yeah, I said retarded. Have you seen these stupid Olympic programming segments made by Dreamworks to promote some stupid dragon movie? Yes? Then you get what I’m saying. No? Trust me, it’s retarded.

Snowboard cross. This is pretty damn fun to watch! On a random note, I once signed up for half-day individual snowboard lesson. I showed up at the appointed place and discovered that my instructor was a student in one of my classes. Fortunately he was enjoying my class and I tried hard to be a good student. It was a good time, but it was weird. (That’s the kind of random factoid Bob Costas won’t provide you ladies and gentleman! )

I better get back to my Olympic viewing. Which goes better with pairs figure skating; scotch or grain alcohol?

Olympic Coverage Update

2010-02-14T14:33:00.000-08:00

Does anyone else think that athletes in the biathlon should wear assassin outfits? They could wear tight little ski unitards designed to look like movie assassins. Seeing them ski and shoot just reminds me of James Bond/Jason Bourne style shoot ‘em up craziness. And did the announcer say the biathlon course was sprayed with urea? Go ahead, let your mind run with that little nugget for a minute, let the “golden moment” jokes flow.

Do the mogul skiers pick the music that plays during their run? If so, way to go Michelle Roark! Eye of the Tiger is a fine choice.

Why aren’t we seeing all the medal ceremonies?

Canada could you just win a damn gold medal already! (UPDATE: YEAHHHH. They did it.)

Bienvenue

2010-02-13T08:34:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my 2010 Winter Olympics Sports Spectacular! Let’s forget for a moment the flaccid torch column disaster and move onto happier moments. Like when those three columns got enormous erections that carried the fire of the Olympic loins to an explosive fireball finish! That was awesome! Except for that one torch column, you know, the one that couldn’t get it up? Geez that was embarrassing. Performance anxiety I guess. I’m sure it’s never happened to that column before, just an off night. As a person who doesn’t give a flying fuck about the majority of these sports and who has a hard time buying the “Olympic athlete backstory saga designed to make you care about them*” tone of Olympic coverage, I still feel compelled to watch.

So, what IMPORTANT Olympic coverage can I offer you? Well, I watched the entire opening ceremony last night- that’s dedicated journalism people! There was a horrible duet by Nelly Furtado and some dude that was bad, real bad— and some old dude gave a really boring speech that seemed to be guilt-tripping athletes into being on their best behavior, oh and there was the erectile dysfunction incident I mentioned earlier. I’ll be honest; it felt like work at times. But damnit I’m watching the Olympics! Bring on the flags! The weird outfits! The judging controversies! The specially designed and crafted medals!

The opening ceremony had some cool parts. The beginning was focused on Native peoples who had some kickass costumes. I was digging it. Then I don’t remember what happened (we’ll just call these commercial breaks) but then all the teams came marching out in the classic Olympics alphabetical procession. The parade-wear this year was pretty boring (Ethiopia looked good, Germany looked insane). They were welcomed by a line of dancing wholesome people wearing my down comforter and my long underwear top. Which is pretty weird- like the costume designer just scooped the shit off my bedroom floor and sewed it together. Hmmm. Then we moved into the opening ceremony performance round. Some cool whale images, some annoying fiddling, a dude flies around the prairie for too long, a bad duet, um. commercial break Oh, they repeated a quote by the president of Brazil. Lula was quoted by Reuters saying Rio didn’t win the "Olympics so gringos can come here to win our medals.”

You don’t hear smack talk like that about the Olympics very often. KD Lang rocked the house, more people hung from cables, and then, some other stuff? commercial break Then we got to the formalities portion of the show. There was a minute of silence for the luger Nodar Kumaritashvili **. Oaths were read, speeches were made, some song was sung. We then proceeded to the torch-lighting (the ultimate Olympic opening ceremony moment). Four Canadian athletic VIPs stood around waiting while the torch column refused to rise (Gretsky looked like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack). But it all worked out, the torch was lit! Then we found out that the Olympic torch has to be widely visible, so even though they just lit a torch, the torch was inside a building and hence, didn’t count. So off we went with Gretsky to light another torch! But this one counts! Well, that’s pretty much all I remember. It was a good show overall. Oh yeah, and some slam poet read a poem . Hey, I didn’t love the poem but major props to Canada for including that! Good work Canada! Anyone else watch?

*The “Olympic athlete backstory saga designed to make you care about them” has two primary varieties. The first is the “triumphant comeback/redemption” version, wherein an athlete’s backstory must involve serious injury, and/or death of a loved one, and/or childhood hardship (e.g., poverty, parental divorce, illness), and/or retirement from the sport. The second primary variety is the “hot chick” which requires only that an athlete be hot, female, and willing to sex it up for the cameras. All “hot chick” athletes will get enormous television coverage (even if they kinda suck and have no chance of winning). Minor “Olympic athlete backstory saga designed to make you care about them” types include anyone whose major competition is a known asshole and can appear as the more “righteous” option and anyone from a tropical island that has dreadlocks and no fucking chance of coming in anywhere but last place (most successful when the athlete also looks like a stoner).

**Ugh. Horrible, horrible accident. Will they cancel the luge events? That track can’t be safe. I heard a commentator suggesting that less experienced lugers were the only ones at risk, essentially saying that the really good lugers could “handle it”. That’s NOT cool. You should not have a track that people can go flying off of and landing on metal and concrete. If you hold the event and don’t change the track, I don’t want to watch. I’ll watch skiers bite it, skaters falling on their asses, and hockey fights. I realize that at this level of competition serious injury is always a possibility. But this luge track seems sketchy.

Re: Fauxmatting Guidelines

2010-02-07T14:15:00.000-08:00

Well golly Mr. Fake journal editor! I’m so flattered you want me to write an article for you! As you so kindly mentioned in your email, I AM up to all fucking kinds of FASCINATING NEW research! Which would you prefer, my ramblings on late-night scotch and chocolate consumption (now known as “scotcholate”) or my stream of consciousness 5.8 million word piece on how fucking tired I am of cold ass weather? Both accurately reflect the FASCINATING NEW research I’ve been up to! I’ll get them in the mail ASAP so you can send them off to your fake reviewers and I can add these fine articles to my fake vita. This is just fabulous really. I wanted to spend my sabbatical exploring some “new areas” so to speak (Ha! I probably said that in my sabbatical request! Total BS) and your publication of my FASCINATING NEW research will really help out my career! Fantastic. Oh, one quick question: how many finger paintings can I include with each manuscript?

Let's Not

2010-01-29T20:57:00.000-08:00

You may be thinking “hey, where the fuck have you been?” Damn. That’s not very polite. Why not open with a cheery “how the fuck have you been?” Good is the answer, but then, very angry became the answer. What am I so mad at? Lettuce. That’s right, salad, the crunchy addition to a sandwich, seafood underlayment, wrapper of spicy chicken concoctions, that staple of produce, plain old fucking lettuce. As angry at lettuce as I am, I believe I must ask myself “why is lettuce so mad at me?” Why lettuce? Why did you make me vomit my entire fucking midsection out? In a hotel bathroom, sink (and tub now that I think about it) of all places? Why lettuce? Why do you hate me? Why?

That apple fritter you forced out of my mouth was TASTY (as it went down, not so much in reverse). But even if you hate me, have some respect for other foods! That fritter was your colleague, show some damn collegiality lettuce! Sure, that fritter worked in the Bakery and you work in Produce, but you both work in the Outer Grocery Regions. That should unite you. But you had to get all uppity didn’t you lettuce? Well, on behalf of that tasty fritter: Fuck you lettuce.

Hibernation

2009-12-31T14:34:00.000-08:00

It’s time for me to take a blogging hiatus, time to crawl into the deepest recesses of the sabbatical cave. Perhaps my skin will turn white, my body larval, a thick coating of slime will develop, and my eyes will become useless. Wait. That would be disgusting. Perhaps I will see only shadows and come to believe that these shadowy projections are real. Well, that would just be cliché. I think I have a pretty firm grip on the whole shadow creation business. Maybe I could discover some rare mineral that through endless montages of “science” and physical conditioning would result in me transforming into some type of superhero. Also unlikely, I hate working out and such things always seem to require one to wear goggles— which look uncomfortable. I could befriend some sabbatical cave creatures. You know, become some Dr. Doolittle type but I think that would piss off my dog.

A more likely scenario is that I will just crawl in and see what happens. Like all hibernating things I imagine I will emerge just as my fat stores are running out or because the right buttons have been pushed. Until then, wear your tweeds with pride and get trashed tonight.

The Review Reaction Typology

2009-12-30T17:34:00.000-08:00

Type 1
Name: The Finger

Tone: Evil bullshit

Causes: jealousy, chemical imbalances, narcissism, sadism, lack of a life, pettiness, and/or aggravated bowels

Thought to self after reading: “Fucking Motherfucker. What the fuck? Fuck you!”

Preferred beverage after reading: Scotch

Response to editor: “…while I feel The Finger introduced a productive issue for future research, the manuscript is not intended to delve into the ridiculous issue The Finger is so pathetically obsessed with and I will not be adding 5 paragraphs of useless material simply to satisfy their

raging need to belittle me.”

Type 2

Name: The Prick

Tone: Arrogance

Causes: insanely brilliant cognitive powers, arrogance, Autism and related disorders, MacAuthur Genius Grants

Thought to self after reading: “Ouch. That kinda hurt. Really? Crap. I like your work.”

Preferred beverage after reading: Hot tea followed by martinis

Response to editor: “…in response to The Pricks comment regarding the data presented in Table 2, please note that the sample has been increased by over 100 cases that took 5,000 hours to collect.”

Type 3

Name: The Handshake

Tone: Thoughtful

Causes: sanity, responsible use of substances, ability to think logically

Thoughts to self after reading: “Cool. I could do that.”

Preferred beverage after reading: Fancy latte (by which I mean in a nice cup with swirly designs in the foam made by someone who gives a shit)

Response to editor: “…as suggested by The Handshake I compared my results to those of Dr. So-and-So and compiled our findings on page 8 and also completely rewrote the conclusions to be much cooler sounding.”

Type 4

Name: The Stroke

Tone: Ass-kissy

Causes: insecurity, wonderment at awesome font choices in manuscript figures

Thoughts to self after reading: “Whatever.”

Preferred beverage after reading: four PBR’s (in a can)

Response to editor: “…as pointed out by The Stroke a full citation was missing for one of my references, it has since been added.”

Type 5

Name: The Sweep

Tone: I forget to review this so, uh yeah, it looks fine

Causes: poor organization skills, forgetfulness, extreme health problems, stupidity, reviewer is part of the enormous pile of dead weight housed in my/your department, laziness, abuse of substances

Thoughts to self after reading: “What the? OK.”

Preferred beverage after reading: whatever is handy, probably cold coffee

Response to editor: “I agree with The Sweep, it’s all good.”

Baby Got Back(story)

2009-12-27T16:29:00.000-08:00

It’s always entertaining to see how folks end up here in Acadamnit land. For many, a few wrong internet turns leads them here. Arriving in an unfamiliar and threatening neighborhood they quickly roll up the windows, lock the doors, and high tail it out of here. A small few see an intriguing new neighborhood populated by familiar tweeds, bad 80’s sitcom references, good bookstores, and loads of coffee shops. A very small handful of people however appear to be searching for some very specific information, they arrive here in Acadamnit land with directions from Google in their quest for the exact location of mysterious and strange information. I imagine they are extremely disappointed upon arrival. But I also like to imagine why they felt the need to Google such things, so let’s provide a few recently dismayed Google searchers with a back story…(their search phrase is in bold).

giving head in a car
Hmmmmm. Is it different than the boat blow jobs? Horse drawn buggy suck-offs? Ox pulled wagon fellatio? Mule drawn plow mouth fucks? Do traffic signals apply? Would it be illegal to give head in a car while driving through a school zone? Shit. What about seatbelts? They are going to have to come off. Well, maybe if the seat was pushed all the way back… Maybe we should just pull over and fuck. Perhaps if I just use this internet machine for a few minutes no one will know. It’s tough being horny and Amish.

users are losers so don't use drugs mcgruff
Fucking McGruff. Does he want to arrest himself? He’s got to face facts. All he does anymore is sleep, eat, lick his own balls, and shit in the yard. Seriously, he needs to lay off the drugs. Perhaps there is a group of concerned citizens rallying together to get him the help he needs. I better check.

what would happen if i photocopy my tits?
Let’s see here…under what conditions would I want to photocopy my tits and have concerns about the consequences? This is a tough fucking question. Photocopying your tits, ass, or any body part that qualifies as “your junk” is not a behavior I would associate with serious Google inducing concern. I mean, it’s like drinking tequila shots, giving blow jobs in cars and skinny dipping. Activities one should not stop to think about, things you certainly shouldn’t ponder long enough to make your way to a computer and Google (and, under some very dire situation I cannot even imagine, if Googling occurs you should be way too fucked up to type and/or spell coreectly). You either photocopy your tits, down the shot, or drop trou, OR YOU DON’T. It’s a split second decision; some things do not and should not require Google.

nudity in dr. no
That Dr. No is one sexy blogger. I wonder if there’s any nudie pics around? Perhaps a little skin? A little tweed in all the unimportant places? Oooh, I bet Dr. No has great, uhm, sexual organs. That those body parts are, uh, really, uh, large? Huh. Would those nudie pics involve upper or lower body parts? Which parts are exposed by that tweed jacket? Wait. How long is that jacket? Would it be buttoned? Damn. Whatever it is, it’s damn sexy.

ATTN: People On Planes

2009-12-18T13:51:00.000-08:00

I realize that food is a distraction. Any distraction on long flights, any distraction that does not involve listening to the crappy pop music blaring from the earphones of the miscreant next to you or the overwhelmingly tired stressed out person smells we all start emitting after a few hours, is a welcome distraction. Oh, but the strange bumps and pressures applied to your spine from the person behind you is also not a welcomed distraction. Sorry, the ever encroaching seat back in front you, the one that appears to recline a solid inch further than any other airline seat in the entire universe of airplane seats is also a most unwelcome distraction. But food can be a welcomed distraction simply because it breaks the monotony.

But people please. STOP eating and drinking every motherfucking comestible put in front of you. It is disgusting. Why would you ever want to eat all of that? Just look at it, marvel at its utter disgustingness, nibble at the more tolerable items, and move on. There is no need to eat every last crumb, no need to lick those last carboardy bits of muffin off the microwaveable muffin coffin it lives in, no need to put your finger in the yogurt carton, no need to scrape out the remnants of the pasta from its microwaveable “serving” dish, and there is certainly no reason to even bother trying to drink that shitty coffee from that shitty coffee “mug”.

Who are you people? And more importantly, why are you always sitting around me? From what little I know about you, you are NOT starving, you are not escaping from a war torn, drought/poverty stricken place…you are just a regular ol’ person traveling for business or pleasure. I see no signs of you having some bizarre incessant hunger producing disease, you do not appear to be stoned, I see no reason why you would lack the means to acquire some actual food at our destination. Please, enjoy the distraction of the airplane “food time ritual” but be content to examine the packaging, do a little investigative tasting, but don’t act like this is some tasty meal. Your endless eating, scraping, licking and dispersed wrapper detritus is pissing me off. Fuck. I bet that’s your coat up there all hanging out of the overhead bin too. How do you not notice that? Your coat is completely fucked. Are you just going to leave it like that? I mean it looks like the sleeve is smooshed into the latch. You must be too busy eating and sucking down diet Sprites to notice.

I’m Home! Sort of…

2009-12-13T14:29:00.000-08:00

My circadian rhythm and appetite are still somewhere else, but my body and about 70% of my brain are home. I had a good trip to Farawayzistan. A few things I missed/are still missing:

Eating: Why does jetlag render me unable to eat? Chewing food reminds me of communion. In my childhood experiences (a practice I have long since abandoned) one of two things occurs always with communion wafers: 1) You chew and chew yet they prove resistant to saliva and mastication, becoming smaller and smaller pieces of cardboard in your mouth that must be swallowed as an one large uncomfortable body of Christ lump; 2) They instantly stick themselves to the roof of your mouth, forcing you to spend the rest of mass attempting to pry the body of Christ off the roof of your mouth with your tongue.

English: That foreign language I learned in 6th grade really wasn’t very helpful. The only thing I really remembered was “Where is the library?” I never felt compelled to inquire about the location of a library. And come to think of it, even if I had wanted to know where a library was, I wouldn’t have understood the directions unless it required only right and left turns at obvious landmarks such as banks, fountains, bridges, butcher shops, bakeries, police stations, and hotels.

Credit Cards: Carrying around large sums of cash because credit cards are not accepted anywhere? Not so good. It makes it rather difficult not to appear as a rich American asshole.

*Now what the hell happened to my house? At least you left me some cheetos this time…but I’m not sure how I feel about the redecorating. What exactly was the thought behind all the purple feathers?

Farawayzistan: The place where I am going

2009-11-27T11:30:00.000-08:00

I’ll be far away for a while. All the usual going away criteria apply, so please water the plants, make fun of fonts, discuss deep philosophical issues amongst yourselves, drink my booze, and pick up any packages that arrive. Note: any packages marked NOT PORN are definitely not pornography. Take care of my tweeds and see you in a few weeks.

My Lab Ain’t Like That

2009-11-24T10:24:00.000-08:00

I understand that real Sudafed can be used to make meth. I don’t want any meth. I don’t want to make any meth. I just want the feeling that my brain is drowning in phlegm to stop. Can meth do that? I don’t really know, nor do I wish to find out. So I drag my ass to the pharmacy and say that I want some Sudafed. I have to provide identification and sign my name to some quasi-official looking registry. All of this, I assume, is to establish that I want some Sudafed for non-meth making purposes. So why, after going through these hoops, does the pharmacist grab a STACK a motherfucking STACK of Sudafed boxes for me. How much Sudafed do you think your average non-meth making person needs? Why on earth would I possibly want THAT MUCH Sudafed unless I WAS making meth? The pharmacist looked at me like I was crazy when I only wanted one box! Granted, my watery eyes schlubby clothes and dripping nose might resemble a “meth makeover” but I still have all of my teeth. What else are you willing to sell me friendly pharmacist? Let me just sort through my STACK of prescriptions and see what I can find...

All I Saw Was A Tweedy Flash, Officer…

2009-11-22T16:52:00.000-08:00

A few of your recent posts reminded me of something. You brought back to me the vivid memory of my typical “non-sabbatical” state of mind during this point in the semester. It is a feeling of gloom brought on by endless grading, too many demands on my time, crappy weather, and impending deadlines. Any excitement about the start of the semester has long since passed and there are too many obstacles ahead for any glimmer of excitement emanating from the end of the semester to shine through. I experience a brief “gloom phase” every single semester. Knowing that helps a bit, but it still feels like crap.

Being on sabbatical means I don’t have to experience it this year, but I am aware that gloom season would be right now for me and I think it’s right now for some of you. It makes me fantasize about a superhero (I picture a tweed cape) that could somehow fly around and relieve all of you stuck in gloom phase of your burdens. But what would that superhero do? I know when I’m feeling this way I know I need to relax. I need a break from grading papers, working on lectures, freaking out about some manuscript I haven’t touched in weeks, and the endless barrage of email. But an overwhelming sense of obligation keeps me from doing this. I’ve decided the only solution is for this superhero to provide valid excuses for imposed relaxation. The kind of excuse you can pass along to your students, Main Office Assistant, TA, GA, and/or colleagues without any trace of guilt and will force you to stop frantically working. This superhero is going to have to break some eggs.

What would our “gloom phase” superhero do? Bad things. Deliciously bad things. Our superhero would pull fire alarms before your class, release non-toxic but smelly substances throughout your building, and cause minor flooding. So sorry, class and office hours are canceled. University email systems are going have to go down in dramatic fashion. So sorry, I didn’t receive those whiny messages about how you have no time to study but do have the time to offer me nonsense extra credit work. Perhaps a minor fire needs to break out. So sorry, who knew the wiring on the Scantron machine was so bad? Jury duty might be required. So sorry, but I must attend to my civic duty. Crazy weather, vandalism, and all manner of suspicious activity might occur, leaving only a trace of tweed fibers in its wake. Shit just needs to go down.

The List: A Readers Guide, Part III, The Need For Pants

2009-11-17T16:07:00.000-08:00

Well into the afternoon hours I found myself still not wearing pants. Before you get all excited, please know that I was wearing a robe. Perhaps it was a sexy robe. Go ahead, let yourself get carried away with that thought. Picture the fireplace, the wine, me and my silky robe lounging on the bearskin rug. Got it? Now look a little closer. You will see instead that in the middle of the damn day I found myself still not dressed, still sipping coffee, still not showered, still not toothbrushed, and still mindlessly staring at dripping icicles out the window while I sat on the couch. It was nice, all very sabbaticalish. But shit, I need to put some pants on! I’m cool with lazy days around the house, but sometimes you just have to get dressed and put a little effort into the day.

OK. Now I am ready to pour you that glass of wine and discuss a few additional Pulitzer items. So go ahead and put me back on that bearskin rug because I’m clean now and no longer have bad coffee breath. Isn’t that better? Yes, yes it is. Where was I? Oh yes, books. There remain a few Pulitzers worthy of mention simply because they stand out in some way. There are many books on the list that I have largely forgotten. They were forgettable. I know that because I look at them now on my shelf and all I can remember about them amounts to a rough sketch of the plot and main character(s). Actually, I‘m not even sure if the plural “characters” even applies. Then there are the books that stand out, not so much for being particularly good or bad, but for just being memorable. Here’s some.

Grab a cocktail…
The Stories of John Cheever (John Cheever): There are a few short story collections on the list. I’d say this one is the best (but they are all uneven). EVERYONE in this book is having, making, offering, or recovering from a drink. I’m not sure it is possible to get through these stories without being compelled to visit your liquor cabinet, fridge, flask, local keg party, or distillery. One story, “The Swimmer” really stuck with me. (Side Note: I was reading something completely unrelated to this book and someone mentioned this particular story. At first I congratulated myself on being so well read, but then I realized that the author mentioned it as if everyone knows this story. So I guess it’s either famous or the author who mentioned it is an erudite jerk.)

I liked it until…
Foreign Affairs (Alison Lurie): I was loving this book. For my fellow academics out there perhaps you have read this one? It’s right up our alley, professors on leave doing research, talk of tenure, and the relationships between colleagues, all that stuff we can relate to. It’s a good book, in fact the first few chapters are fantastic. But then the plot takes a turn for the worst and characters start reacting to the situation in ways that just seem wrong. It pissed me off.

Too much of a good thing…
Andersonville (MacKinlay Cantor): OK, this is one of those books that cuts back and forth between multiple characters. The book is loooong and the problem is half of the characters don’t really need to be there. I got bored with them. You find yourself reading about Civil-War-person-so-and-so wishing their part of the story would hurry the fuck up so you can get back to Intersting-Civil-War-Person.

The year the prize committee was stoned…
1981, A Confederacy of Dunces (John Kennedy Toole): This is a good book, no doubt about it. I would suggest you seek a little glaucoma treatment before reading it and just go with the flow. It requires a certain frame of mind.

I want to watch CSPAN now…
Advise and Consent (Allen Drury): This book is addictive. The writing is a little clunky in places and it’s pretty pulpy. The entire book centers on the nomination of a new Secretary of State and all the political shenanigans that ensue. It made me want to watch CSPAN. Which I did and I enjoyed it. A special prize should be awarded for inspiring anyone to willingly watch CSPAN. So, good job Alan Drury.

Can I have the cheetos now?

The List: A Readers Guide, Part II, Cue “One Shining Moment”

2009-11-14T12:16:00.000-08:00

I guess there are clubs and groups you can join of people who are also reading the list. I had no idea they existed until recently and it seems a little late to join one now. Hi, my name is Dr. No and I’d liked to join your Pulitzer reading discussion group! I already read them all. Seems like a pretty assholey move. Akin to saying Hi, my name is Dr. No and I’m a cheetoaholic, but I’ve already recovered so don’t mind me and my orange flavor- dust encrusted fingers. So indulge me while I continue my wholly unqualified review of the Pulitzer list. Today we’ll explore the books I loved. I don’t really have all that much to say about these books, they just stuck with me. These were the books that I had to continue digesting long after they were finished, I had to let a little time pass before starting a new book. You know? That kind of good.

Top Pick…
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (Michael Chabon): Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant. Had anyone asked me “Hey, would you be into a book where the world of comic books plays a central role?” my answer would have been “No.” Comic books just aren’t on my radar. Oh but this book is good. Brilliant. I should note that this book sparked my whole Pulitzer quest. So we can all blame Michael Chabon for making me read A Fable.

Most Photogenic…
Middlesex (Jeffrey Eugenides): You just can’t forget it. This book is disturbing. I don’t mean disturbing in a gross or unseemly way. It is disturbing in the way that on rare occasions in life someone you don’t know particularly well shares something so deeply personal with you that you have no idea what to do with it. It’s usually not the content of what they told you that is really so disturbing. And after the fact, you know they probably shared this “secret nugget” with you exactly because you are not particularly close. But in that moment of hearing some completely unexpected words you are disturbed. This book somehow takes that very particular sense of disturbed and captures it. For that, I gotta award high props.

Slow & Steady Wins the Race Award…
Angle of Repose (Wallace Stegner): It just quietly unfolds. I wasn’t even aware of how much I enjoyed this book until it was over. The story and writing just accumulate in your brain and when the book ends you just think: Well, that was something, something really lovely happened there.

Individual Medley Gold Champion…
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Junot Diaz): This book has a little bit of everything held together by a unique writing style that is simultaneously funny, insightful, and genuine. Shit, that sounds lame doesn’t it? It’s just weirdly good, one of the most unique books on the list. It’s the crazy jello salad your Aunt Edna makes with everything but the kitchen sink tossed into it but it somehow tastes pretty damn good.

All American Player…
Guard of Honor (James Gould Cozzens): This book requires some effort. I’d say for the first 50 pages I was bored and a little confused. Too many characters, too many military titles being thrown around, too many terms that made perfect sense in 1949 (the year it won) that I needed to see used multiple times before I had any idea what the fuck they meant, too much everything. But then it gets really good. Captivatingly good. These characters have personalities, realistically nuanced personalities. I’d like to have them all over for dinner. Technically the book is about military life and race relations, but as indicated by the title it’s really about honor.

The List: A Readers Guide, Part I, Journey To Suckitude

2009-11-12T14:16:00.000-08:00

So I read the Pulitzer list for fiction. This task took me five years. Why so long? Because I have a job. Oh, and don’t say I didn’t warn you, but these books have very few pictures, zero pop-ups, and not one came with a little mirror that you can use to make half a picture whole. Remember those? So, lacking such typical hallmarks of fine literature, the task took me a while. By popular demand I will begin by discussing an elite category of books called “who the fuck voted this prize worthy?” or WTFVTPW? Sure, I should probably start with the good books. I mean how many Pulitzer prize winning works of fiction have I authored? (Three is the answer) Where do I get off passing judgment? (My crotch area is the answer) Anyhoo, we can break down WTFVTPW? into various subcategories, so without further ado let us begin.

The book that almost broke me…
A Fable (William Faulkner): Ugh. I’ve already expressed my supreme dislike for this book, you can read it here. But let’s kick a dead horse some MORE. I couldn’t tolerate more than a few pages at a time of this pontificating crap. Nice title dude. Really? It’s a fable? If it weren’t for the title I would have sworn I was reading the newspaper! The last time I hated a book this much was when I had to read that stupid seagull book in high school.

The year the prize committee was on crack…
1986. Lonesome Dove (Larry McMurtry): This is just a trashy soap opera. Endless drama set amidst horses, cattle, booze, guns, and all the stereotypical “western” crap you can think of. I know 1986 was a bad year. Case in point: The Golden Girls won an Emmy, that stupid band A-Ha won like a jillion Grammy awards, and the Voyager 2 space probe made its first contact with Uranus— and none of us, including our anuses has ever been the same. The book is enjoyable I guess. But a Pulitzer? C’mon! (and yes I made an Uranus joke)

I’m sorry, but, no…
Beloved (Toni Morrison): This is one of those books I feel like you are supposed to like and admitting you didn’t like it makes you an asshole. But I think it has already been established that I am an asshole, so I’ll just came right out and say this book does not deserve a Pulitzer. There are passages that are great, but you know some nachos are great too but that doesn’t mean you want to eat the burnt cheeseless chips that makeup the vast majority of your nacho platter.
The Shipping News (Annie Proulx): Whaaaaat? No.

Well, I’ll leave it at that for now. Rest assured many of the books were fantastic and it was a pleasure to read them. I'll post some book love soon.

The List

2009-11-10T10:39:00.000-08:00

I will now attempt to get all Martha Stewart on your ass and convince you of a “good thing.” You will not be required to spend 10 hours folding hand-crafted paper, collecting pinecones, making hand lettered labels on acid-free paper, nor must you raise any fancy chickens. Of course you should already be doing those things. Don’t you love your friends and family? Where’s your holiday spirit? I mean otherwise your holiday decorations and gifts will be so lame. I’ve already started mining the silver I’ll need to make tinsel and the corn field I planted for popcorn balls is coming along nicely.

So put down your pinking shears and pour yourself a cup of homemade hot cocoa and listen to my little story. If you need to make a run to your cocoa farm, I’ll wait. I have always enjoyed reading. But somewhere in college I got obsessed with my own future profession and concentrated my efforts on nonfiction. This happens. There are some good nonfiction writers, but the bread and butter of my field (and I assume countless other professions) is boring. Boring as shit. You read for information, read for references, read to see how you are cited, read for data. It can be interesting in its own way. You learn to read boring shit, learn to write boring shit, and most importantly you learn to like it. At some point I developed an overwhelming desire to read good writing. Just good writing, just words. I had no idea where to start. Sure, there were a few authors I knew I liked- but what about all of the writing I didn’t know if I liked. How do you find it?

I imagine there are many solutions to this dilemma. My solution presented itself when I read a book I thought I’d hate. I decided I wouldn’t like it based only on the jacket art and description. I read it anyway because someone had given me a copy, I was bored, and there it was. I loved it and realized it had won a Pulitzer Prize which made me wonder if all Pulitzer winners were that good. So I decided to read the Pulitzer list thinking I may not actually like all of the books but that it would at least provide a decent sample of fiction writing. I just finished the list (from 1948-2009). I did not enjoy them all, but it was a good thing. You might like it too.

Unmentionables

2009-11-04T17:26:00.000-08:00

I see you washed your hands, grabbed a fork, and are now extracting an olive. You seem rather germ conscious. I can respect that. But should I mention that I’ve had my fingers all up in that jar? That I just swish my fingers around in there, seize an olive, pop it in my mouth and go directly back in for more? That this has happened on numerous occasions? No. I don’t think I’ll bring that up. The vodka will kill my cooties right? Or have my cooties built up a resistance to vodka?

Oh, OK, sorry. Sorry doggie but I’m not supposed to give you people food. Here’s some scratches instead. Shit. The way you were conning me out of those last few bites earlier made it seem like you had done this before, lots of times. You worked me like a pro. Did I read you wrong? You don’t have some gastrointestinal problem do you? Those bites they didn’t see me give you earlier aren’t going to cause any problems are they? Answer with your eyes. OK. Got it. Let’s just keep those nibbles between you and me eh? No need to act like I’m your new best friend. Just keep it cool doggie. Keep it cool.

Just right on the corner? Yes, I think I might know the house, maybe, but the area is only vaguely familiar to me. It’s not like I’ve walked right by your house a hundred times or anything. There is no reason to assume that I consider your house the “crazy house” or anything, or that I am baffled by your yard and can’t for the life of me figure out what the hell all that crap is on your porch. Nope. It’s not like that at all. I’m just going to nod and smile.

Next Time Call A Cab

2009-11-02T10:23:00.000-08:00

Elaborate, or think of it as “e” (the letter and drug that you should have administered to the audience) “labor” (we did, through 78 minutes) “ate” (a giant slice of random tangent pie with moderately amusing anecdote sauce, as in what you had for lunch). I don’t know how to explain it. You gave a talk. I went to listen. You spent forever elaborating on the boring parts and skimping on the good stuff. You seem well-spoken, well-read, and very experienced on the subject matter. You are pleasant to listen to. I somehow like you, but you just kept going on and on about the trivial parts. You skipped past some mighty interesting slides. I saw graphs! A diagram of some sort! Pretty pictures in some fancy lab! But you just kept right on driving. Driving like a nervous granny right past the exit to Interestingville and Relevancy Avenue. I thought for sure you would get off at Important Implication Town, but no. You just kept right on going. We ended up driving 5mph on a one-way road lost somewhere in the Useless Elaboration District. So, thanks for the ride I guess. I really did want to get somewhere today, I did come out of the cave for you after all… oh well.

Decafitated

2009-10-29T18:26:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent the last 48 hours with a headache. Not a migraine, just an annoying headache. I tried all the usual things…am I hydrated? Check. Enough sleep? Check. Have I eaten? Check. Have I eaten something more nutritious than the Reeses Peanut Butter Cups I purchased because I finally realized it’s almost Halloween? Check. Have I eaten half the Peanut Butter Cups? Check. Have I also started on the Peanut M&M’s? No. But not a bad idea.

After two days of a persistent headache I found myself in a supremely lousy mood. Usually a couple of Advil and some coffee does the trick. I tried it yesterday, but nada. I decided to try again. Motherfuck. As I stood in the kitchen sipping coffee I notice a small green oval on the bag of grounds. What is that? I look more closely. DECAF! No shit my life has sucked for two days! I’m surprised my head hasn’t exploded. That little green oval bearing such shiteous news is 13x5mm. Millimeters people. 13x5 millimeters. Yes, I measured it before throwing that useless brown dirt in the trash. NO WHERE else on the bag does it announce this critically important tidbit of information. Caffeine addict? Check.

As Your Host Of Most Post…

2009-10-25T10:55:00.000-07:00

…I have to answer my own questions (see the previous post). This is when I start wishing I had posted all those entries about my volunteer work with one-legged unemployed drug-addicted midgets (I mean Little People! Damnit!), my work towards world peace through macramé, the efforts I have dedicated to loosening public nudity laws, and my well known advocacy for underprivileged pot dealers. Instead, I somehow seem to have accumulated a body of posts where I insult, rant, curse, and just generally snark my way through daily life. But so it goes. As ridiculous as my subject matter may be I do find it satisfying and greatly enjoy this little cyber-academic department we have formed through blogging . Yeah, soooooo. Here we go:

Most Liked Post? (by you)
I am quite fond of this one. The concept of a Plow Science journal reminds me of everything that is inconsequential and just downright stupid in my field. The obsessing over minutia, the arguing over this and that, all the minor annoyances that creep into my brain I now recognize as “Plow Science” issues. Plus I enjoyed making the accompanying image. It seemed so obvious to me, like, oh The International Journal of Plow Science would look like just like this. (Followed by, why the fuck is the cover of a fictitious journal clear as day in my head? That can’t be good.)

Most Liked Post? (based on readers comments or hits)
Based on hits, my post about the horrors of scrapbooking wins followed closely by this one. I had no idea my little pool party analogy would strike such a cord and I was surprised by the response. Based on comments (and coming in 3rd place based on number of hits) is this one. I can’t say that post does much for me, but I think it has wide appeal to anyone that has spent some time teaching.

Most Memorable Post?
Hands down it was this one. It’s my I got tenure post. The post itself is not remarkable in any way, but I was thrilled. My very first post was written during the height of tenure insanity and the whole tenure process was a regular source of blog inspiration. It was a huge relief to get it over with and shortly thereafter I went on a fabulous vacation.

Most Indicative of Your Blog Identity Post?
This is a tough one…perhaps this one?

Most Humorous Post?
This is one is even tougher. Who came up with these questions?

Most Regrettable Post?
Well, I don’t regret the whole “what gender am I” post. It was fascinating for me to observe the speculation. At times however the degree of anonymity I have tried to maintain becomes troublesome, a minor identity crisis of sorts. In my real life only one person knows that I blog and as Acadamnit has become a component of my life it sometimes feels like a pretty big secret to be keeping from those close to me. On the other hand, as Dr. No I am also keeping a slew of secrets regarding my identity from a community of people I also have a relationship with. Every once in a while this situation bothers me, most of the time it doesn’t, but this post and associated comments represent the confusion.

Most Misunderstood Post?
No doubt I have pissed off a lot of people with my posts and I’m surprised I don’t receive more angry comments, but I don’t have an obvious winner in this category. (Did you read the beginning of this post? How do I get away with this crap?)

Most Satisfying to Write Post?
This strange little ditty. I’m not sure why. But I just enjoyed it. Non-scholarly writing just wasn’t something I did very often before this blog and this post was just a fun little experiment. I would also consider this post satisfying in that it was the most personal. One of the very few occasions I felt myself jettisoning a little emotional chunk of myself into the blogosphere. Oh, and I always enjoy a good font rage.

Most Likely To Never Be Posted Post?
I’ve accumulated quite a few of these. All of them are shelved for disclosing information too indicative of my profession, my location, and me. I also have a post about Montana, but then I had a few visitors from Montana so I shelved it. So, From the Forgotten Posts File:

ATTN: State of Montana
Hello “Big Sky” people! Welcome. I am very happy to meet you. You are welcome to stop by anytime. We met once, it was a while ago. You probably don’t remember but let’s catch up. I am just trying to be neighborly. Go ahead, drop on by. Need a cup of sugar? I got one for ya. Need to borrow a lawn mower, sure- go ahead, borrow mine. Can I collect your mail while you’re out of town? I may as well shovel your sidewalk while I’m at it. Your yard looks great by the way. I really like what you’ve done with the, ugh, sagebrush. No, no don’t leave. I am really not as creepy as I seem. I don’t mean to come on so strong. I just want you to visit me. That’s all. Just a friendly, neighborly, “drop-in to say hello” kind of thing. Alright, I’ll be straight with you (you are a no nonsense kind of state after all), I have had a visitor from EVERY state in the Union. But you Montana? You stopped by once for about 2 seconds— more of a drive by than a visit. It is driving me crazy…why do you shun me Montana? I like you. I have spent time within your borders (spent time, I did not “do time” if that helps). The entire state is lovely really. So lovely that your residents appear to prefer ranching, hiking, skiing, bitterroot flower gazing, hunting, rodeoing, fishing, and/or actually working instead of Acadamnit blog reading. It’s you and me Montana.

Most Important Post?
I try to steer clear of important issues. I was seriously considering ending this blog (actually, I had pretty much decided it was time to kill Acadamnit). So this post was important in the sense that I decided I would just keep going and see what happened. It was important for me to say that and important to me that you readers were willing to go along.

Most *Adjective of Your Choice* (Inebriated When Written) Post?
Whoa. Definitely this one. I love this post though. I still find it hilarious.

Most Post

2009-10-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

As many of my blogging colleagues reach various milestones (e.g., one year blogging anniversary, 300th post, etc.) it has me thinking. Thinking generally makes my head hurt. But, on rare occasions when sobriety takes hold, I like to give it a try. Better yet, I like to pass the onerous task of thinking off to others. I’ve been thinking about my blog, my favorite posts, my least favorite, my most read, etc… So if you don’t mind, please put on your thinking caps and think about the following questions. It would be fun to read all of your answers. (and yes, I’m working on my answers too)

Add a big ol’ WHY to each of these questions. Feel free to answer only the ones you want and to make your own “most” categories.

Most Liked Post? (by you)
Most Liked Post? (based on readers comments or hits)
Most Memorable Post?
Most Indicative of Your Blog Identity Post?
Most Humorous Post?
Most Regrettable Post?
Most Misunderstood Post?
Most Satisfying to Write Post?
Most Likely To Never Be Posted Post?
Most Important Post?
Most *Adjective of Your Choice* Post?

Attachment Disorder

2009-10-22T14:11:00.000-07:00

Why? The manuscript is done, everything is in the correct file format, and the letter to the editor is composed. All that is left is to push the damn button. Attach. Just attach the file. Push the button. Puuuuusssh it. But I always pause. What if? What if this manuscript is terrible? What if it’s the worst thing I’ve ever written? The worst thing ever written? Fuck it. Push the damn button.

Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge

2009-10-20T15:52:00.000-07:00

Hey newish colleague. Ssssshhhhhh. Over here. I want to tell you something. The honeymoon is over. We’ve protected you from random service duties for as long as we could but some things are inevitable. The secret administrative agents who relentlessly seek out faculty cannot be stopped. They are lurking with their blackberries and clipboards, collecting contact information, waiting. Always waiting. When the moment is right they will pounce. They will ask you to be on various committees and to attend various functions. Sorry. Choose wisely. Here’s a few tips: The more money they spend on the invitation the better the food. If you haven’t seen the invitation, any event in which fancy alumni, politicians, and/or members of the Board of Trustees will be in attendance will have free booze and better food. Notice I did not say good food, but better food and booze. If you have to attend graduation, go to the mid-academic year ones. The big one at the end of the school year is fucking chaos. Do not attend any meeting being held at the library. Those conference rooms always smell mildly of piss, the chairs are uncomfortable, and the coffee shop makes terrible coffee. But a meeting in that ancient old building where the President’s office is located is worth going to. The chairs are plush, the tables are big old wooden affairs and the view of campus is great. Scholarship committee? Definite no.

Perhaps you are thinking “Hey, shouldn’t I base these decisions on the merits of each function and committee? On my willingness and ability to contribute to these functions and committees?” No. Don’t worry about that. They are all the same. You just need to say yes to a few things, just a few. But they are coming for you newish colleague. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Welcome To The Professordome

2009-10-16T15:06:00.000-07:00

Please select the answer that best corresponds to your response to the following situations.

While showering you read that your shampoo claims to make your hair 97% shinier…
A). Wash your hair twice to make it 194% shinier. (1 point)
B). What? Is that based on some median hair shine value? And how exactly is hair shininess measured? 97% percent shinier? That’s a pretty significant increase in hair shininess no? How big a difference can there be between the dullest hair and the shiniest? I’d like to see some data. I guess you could measure how reflective it is… Wait. What was I doing? Have I even washed my hair yet? (4 points)
C). Cool. My hair looks like shit. (2 points)

Your friend seeks your advice regarding a strange odor emanating from their lab…
A). Maybe poochie just needs a bath? (1 point)
B). Have you checked the sediment trap? (4 points)

TIAA-CREF is…
A). That company that donates to NPR. (2 points)
B). The Teachers Insurance and Annuity Association - College Retirement Equities Fund. (4 points)
C). Those people with the annoying commercials? (1 point)

I still look forward to…
A). Christmas morning (1 point)
B). Weekends (2 points)
C). Motherfucking SPRING BREAK! Hell yeah! I mean, I just want to catch up on some work. (4 points)

When I google myself I am most interested in the results listed under…
A). Google Scholar (4 points)
B). Google Books (3 points)
C). Google Blogs (2 points)
D). Google Images (1 point)

I have socialized with people from my workplace and the following has happened…
A). Someone started quoting Beowulf. (4 points)
B). Someone got really drunk. (0 points, that question implies that YOU were at the party after all)
C). Cocktail napkins were used to graph the relationship between variables. (3 points)

Please sum the point totals that correspond to each of your answers.

20+ points = WELCOME TO THE PROFESSORDOME! The scotch bar is located along the back wall, the tweed and satchel check is to your right, and one of those stressed out looking graduate student would be happy to park your car.

9-19 points = I’m sorry your name is not on the list. Perhaps if someone inside is a co-author or can otherwise vouch for you…I’ll need a reprint of course for verification. Look, there is nothing I can do. Please join the line forming outside and perhaps we can accommodate you later. You’re just a little too hip to be square.

0-8 points = OMG! My professor is over there! Quick, don’t look and keep walking!

Self Fulfilling Professory

2009-10-10T21:37:00.000-07:00

I have a brown leather briefcase thing, it’s really more like a satchel. I rarely use it. Why? Because I like tweed jackets. What’s the connection you ask? Well, once clad in tweed the addition of a brown leather satchel instantly makes me conscious of becoming a walking stereotype. I mean really, I may as well add a pipe to the look. A bottle of scotch in the lower desk drawer, some chalk dust on my hands, crazy eyebrows, glasses in my pocket, an office reminiscent of a natural history museum…damn. It’s bad enough I like tweed. Shit.

It shouldn’t matter. I AM a professor. I mean if anyone is going to be wearing tweed and carrying a leather satchel it may as well be me (or you) right? But there I find myself. Clad in tweed staring at a perfectly useful bag gathering dust in my closet. Why this combo of tweed and leather connotes the ultimate “Professor Uniform” to me I do not know. Well, sure I do- the media. Sorry, stupid question. But why do I find it so impossible to put on this particular uniform? I must conform to countless stereotypes in countless ways but the leather satchel packed with books slung over a tweedy shoulder? I just can’t do it. I am totally happy to be associated with tweed, but you add that one little detail and in my mind there I am in my Professor Uniform. It just doesn’t fit right, or maybe it fits too well, it’s confining, it’s comfortable, it’s sexy, it’s comfortable in a ratty t-shirt that should never be worn in public kind of way, it’s accomplished, or is it prideful? It represents both a goal and a warning. It should really just go live in the extra closet with the rest of my luggage.

It’s Not That Hard

2009-10-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

Seriously NSF? You are giving me unmodified Microsoft Excel charts? Is that all you got? My students know better. If you are wondering (as I imagine you frequently are) what the fuck I’m talking about, NSF recently sent out their summary report on the merit review process for 2008. Proflike has a nice review of the important stuff here. But let’s talk charts and graphs for a moment. How familiar is the bullshit “2-D Column” chart below?

If you are thinking “looks fine, what’s the problem?” then you don’t work with numbers very much. That’s cool, I find them frustrating but necessary. If you instantly notice, well, notice isn’t the right verb because those stupid blue and purple bars are so ingrained in your head that it’s more like an instantaneous subconscious recognition, that NSF is presenting unmodified Excel charts in their report then you are familiar with quantified data. You’ve made thousands of such things (and have probably long since abandoned Excel), but you know how utterly lame it is to present such a figure. The colors, the stupid symbols for “Line Charts”, the inappropriate scale it always picks, the gridlines…fuck. You have to take that shit and customize it! Failure to do so is lazy and/or naïve, it is the equivalent of sticking some unmodified SPSS statistical summary into your paper as a Table or starting a paper with the dictionary definition of your topic. The Oxford Dictionary defines “grant” as the: blah, blah, blah. The horror! Seriously NSF? You can’t do any better?

Is there a qualitative data equivalent? Shakespeare quotes, images of “The Thinker” or something?

Busted

2009-10-05T10:13:00.000-07:00

I was camping. It was raining. But who wants to be crammed into a tent? So, I stood under a tree. The campfire was nearby and I had one of those board-of-tourism-like scenes in front of me. Mountains, trees, a lake, the whole camping scene kit-n-kaboodle. I thought to myself, cool, it stopped raining…No dumbass. You’re sitting under a tree. You went there with the specific purpose of NOT getting rained on. You not getting rained on does not mean it’s not raining.

That really happened. I’ll blame it on the campfire smoke *cough*. But, and listen closely, Dr. Gabriel, just because your research stealing ways finally caught up to you last semester does not mean the shitshtorm is over. Stop before we all get hosed.

100 Blogging Posts On The Wall, 100 Blogging Posts…

2009-10-01T09:26:00.000-07:00

I dedicate this post to you my dear readers, who I will collectively call Annieopiadamngood-bearcoghopefulambivalentgentlemancliovellum-beargravitaslikejc(enough)substance. On second thought, that’s a rather lousy nickname so I’ll just refer to you as “readers” (but you know who you are). The Acadamnit centennial, is it a milestone? A shining moment in blog history? Is anyone preparing a commemorative book/special journal edition/conference symposium celebrating this momentous occasion? Probably not. All it means is that this post is boiling on the Celsius scale, it’s 10 degrees south of due east, we’re damn close to the molecular weight of calcium carbonate, and for those of you consulting your handy dandy periodic tables- welcome to Fermium (yeah we’re radioactive)!

My first post was written during the height of my T&P experience…now I am safely ensconced in the sabBATical cave. What can I say? The SabBATical cave rocks. I had been griping about getting old earlier, but you know, it has its benefits. My life in many ways resembles summer break in high school. I work a few hours and fuck off a lot. I’ve hung out, traveled, gotten trashed in the middle of the day, slept till noon, been to movies, saw my favorite band play, read my ass off, cooked good food, got dressed up, went camping, went to a demolition derby (no shit), and watched some good tv. Fucking high school! But, and this is a profound difference, I a). have some money; and b). am not as stupid as I was in high school. It’s a good combo, high school lifestyle with a grown-up brain. I dig it. When does anyone get a year to just hang? To enjoy all the stuff they normally don’t have time for? …but now I have a year, my own house, no curfew, an ID, and some understanding of how the world works. Oh, and you don’t have to worry about cops anymore (or anyone puking).

Hell To The No

2009-09-28T10:39:00.000-07:00

So Ink (via Naptime Writing) had a post recently about books you’re supposed to like but don’t. Thank you! I have wanted to rant about a book I read recently but it seemed like such a random post that I shelved the idea. But hey, now I have an “in” so let’s release some book hatred:

It assaulted me with language. I fucking hated it. It made me want to communicate in short sentences for days. Hi. Beer. Great. Yes. Food. OK. Bye. Sorry. No officer. It was one of those books where you have to read 3 pages just to get to the part where someone finishes the damn sentence they started thousands of words ago. I know, I know! You want to know the book. I’ll tell you, BUT keep the following in mind. If the book I am about to name is, like, your favorite book or something you need to do the following: prepare a brief argument to justify your position regarding the novels redeeming qualities (but first quell your anger) and then rethink your position and just agree with me that it sucks. Here we go, A Fable by William Faulkner. Goddamned it sucked. Ooooh, I said GODdamned, could that be a biblical reference? Could you shove the bible in my face any harder Faulkner? Oh sorry Faulkner, you probably don’t understand what I’m saying. Would it help if I wrote “I” followed by 3 pages of uselessly wordy elaboration “get” followed by 3 pages of even more uselessly wordy elaboration “it” already? Sorry A Fable but you are now relegated to the no-mans-land region of my bookcases where you can sit unnoticed and unloved right next to The Shipping News. Have fun with that.

John D. & Catherine T.

2009-09-25T13:48:00.000-07:00

What gives? Yet again you have failed to award me a Genius Grant. You seem to favor the type of genius that creates tangible evidence of their scientific and artistic prowess. I have to cry foul! How prejudice of you! What about us geniuses that perform our amazing acts of disease curing and culture changing in a purely imaginary realm? (and no, an imaginary $500,000 won’t do). Just because my geniosity (see! I can make up words, we geniuses do that) has resulted in no tangible manifestations does not mean you should overlook me.

How kick-ass must it be to win one of those things? Can you imagine? …oh nothing much new with me, you know, just been hanging out and winning a MacArthur Genius Grant. …oh that? It’s just a little something I picked up with my MacArthur Genius Grant check. …oh hi there Tenure & Promotion committee, well, let’s see, I did win a MacArthur Genius Grant, does that count? Damn.

Burn! Baby Burn!

2009-09-22T20:58:00.000-07:00

I just took my entire Faculty Retreat packet and burned it in my fireplace.

What Is This Meeting About Exactly?

2009-09-22T12:14:00.000-07:00

There is an old saying that goes “Only Users Lose Drugs.” It might have been “Only Losers Use Drugs” but Officer McGruff or whoever the hell tried to teach us that in high school was a lousy teacher. (Remember the fake joints they passed around? They were sooooo fake. Obviously if they were real we would have stolen them …which speaks volumes for the quality of anti-drug education I was forced to sit through as a kid…but I digress.) You see, with a little wordplay a stupid little saying becomes funny. Not hilarious funny, but mildly amusing. But when you say “let’s have a committee meeting” I hear “let’s have a commit me meeting.” Not what I want to hear. Not funny.

Commit? As in force me from my lair to attend a gathering of people at a predetermined time and place? To rise from bed early? Or, commit as in check me into the nearest “facility”? Which could happen because I don’t go anywhere near campus until very late at night (and in a ninja suit) and you want your little meeting during prime time don’t you? The sheer volume of work related crap I would have to encounter in order to attend your meeting could certainly cause mental instability. I am willing to attend (for the sake of assuaging the guilt I would feel for abandoning you) but I am not traipsing past the main office, walking by the graduate student offices, or going anywhere near my office. I can attend your meeting but I will be entering the building via the loading dock and by accessing the back staircase I can make my way to the basement storage room or the roof. These are your meeting location options. Please plan accordingly.

Would You Like To Lick Coffee Off A Slotted Spoon?

2009-09-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

Would you? My coffee maker seems to think you would. Or, if you prefer, I can offer you some coffee soaked chopsticks. Perhaps a spatula is more your style, or some tongs. I call the ice-cream scoop!

Fucking coffee maker. After many months of dutiful service my coffee maker has decided to expand its horizons, to try new things, to explore its creative side so to speak. Apparently making coffee IN THE POT is no longer enough. Today my coffee maker decided to gurgle its water and grounds all over the countertop, dribbling them down into the utensil drawer below and all over the floor. Interesting approach coffee maker, I had no idea you had such creative intentions. If I had my wits about me (by which I mean if I had enough caffeine in my system to function like a human) I would say something about how it’s good to try new things…about how sometimes it makes a big mess but it’s worth a try. About how why the hell can’t I try that, what’s the worst that could happen? It would be all cheesily supportive of pursuing new things. But, fuck it. I’m too busy licking coffee off of this garlic press for that.

You Rang?

2009-09-09T08:55:00.000-07:00

Oooh look at me! I’ve been lured out of my sabBATical cave by a font crisis. Yes, crisis.

A brief aside: First, yes, I can have an aside after only 3 sentences (more like 2 sentences but whatever). Second, my beloved laptop is ill, very ill. So dire is its health that I had to leave it with an IT dude. He is probably watching porn, playing video games, or chatting with his weirdo role-playing community RIGHT NOW on MY laptop. I on the other hand am stuck on an unfamiliar computer. It feels like wearing rented bowling shoes without socks. Necessary, but icky. For all the moments when proper equipment is necessary, a font rant is undoubtedly one of them. One must have their fonts handy, and one MUST have their previous rants handy because fontrific posts require a little digital maneuvering for uploading to Blogger. Blogger doesn’t provide enough fonts to meet my fonting needs, and if you don’t make your text the right size? Well, that really pisses Blogger off. And yet the special fontphone rang in my sabBATical cave. It was AnnieEm on the line. So duty calls and I must forge on.

If you haven’t heard, Ikea changed their font. That’s interesting. Seriously. Let’s take a look at the switch.

The switch is from Futura to Verdana. Ikea, like most corporations, tweaked standard Futura and Verdana but it’s essentially the same fonts as on your computer (YOUR computer not MY computer- my computer is either stuck in computer ICU or is being forced to display klingon porn). Why has Ikea done this? Again, let’s examine.

Cash is the answer. Verdana is cheap and Microsoft invented, it was designed to be read on a computer screen. Futura is elegant and makes your cheap chair feel a little spiffier. Damnit Ikea! Why? I am, or was, comfortably ensconced in my sabBATical cave. It’s not like you changed fonts to something cooler… I am not anti-font change but you went for something sterile and common. It would be like, crap, like what would that be like? Like if on a box of Frosted Flakes Tony said “They’re Great!” in motherfucking Times New Roman. Everyone knows tigers don’t talk that way (except highly educated snooty tigers and Tony don’t run like that). It would just be wrong. It doesn’t evoke the right sentiment. Chairs, frosted flakes, prescription drugs, strange hair doodads that make tumors appear in your “rocked” pony, it’s all the same. We WILL be bombarded with logos and packaging. At the very least I expect a little creative effort. Switching to Verdana is just sad. There is a petition to protest this change.

Blah(g)

2009-08-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

It’s time to diagnose the problem. The folk remedies I have tried are not working. Usually a drink, an annoying email, a fresh can of spray-paint to huff, or a trip to the grocery store provides a natural stimulus. What is the fucking deal? I will now subject myself to some free flowing (visit your analyst style) blog-writing introspection. I will lie back on this divan. You can take one of those leather wingbacks. Let us begin.

Our first question comes from Candid Engineer: When you feel the urge, do you run to the computer right away, or do you let it brew for a couple of hours? I, myself, don't fight it.

Well, neither. I get the urge to blog. I have no idea what I’ll write about but I usually sit down with a cup of coffee with the intent to write something, and then it just happens. Or sometimes I like to put on my smoking jacket, don a foil helmet, take my pants off and…oh wait, that’s getting off track. No. I don’t want to discuss that. Never mind. No really, I was just kidding. Uh, so in response to your question, it’s sort of a general urge to write a post but not an urge to write anything specific. Except when Thor…oh fuck. Next question?

Blogged Pipes

2009-08-13T21:09:00.000-07:00

Strangely, I seem to having nothing to say. This has never happened before. I am sure it will pass. But I have some sort of cloggage in my blog writing pipes. A bloggage we’ll call it. Hhm. I guess I just have to wait it out. So uh yeah, I’ll just go look for that plunger…it’s around here somewhere.

I’ll Just Be Over Here

2009-08-06T15:38:00.000-07:00

I just realized that I would normally be thinking about syllabi right now. It’s Syllabi season, that season of the year falling nicely between Summer and Fucking Hell Is It Winter Break Yet Season? season. The time when you realize that yes, you have taught this course before. But last time it was MWF, and now its T/R; and it was a different semester and the holidays were different; oh, and last time you decided that grading those assignments was horrendous and that you should do it different next time; and that damnit you should work in some new stuff since last time you taught it. It’s that season. I don’t have to do that? For reals? Granted, Syllabi season has its charms. All seasons do. But I don’t mind skipping it this year. I feel for you my readers. I do. I imagine you all engaging in the classic Syllabi season rituals as you prepare to entrench yourselves into another semester. I can’t say I miss it, it’s pretty nice to still be in Summer. But I am over here tipping my hat to you. I am sending you goodwill in the manner most appropriate for the season: a great new review article that could be a perfect start (or ending) for your graduate seminar, my bank of exam questions from when I used that textbook, a PBS film I bought that you could totally blow off two days of class watching without feeling too guilty about, and hey I don’t plan on being on campus much and you’re teaching over in megabuilding right? Cause I have a punch card from the coffee shop in the basement of megabuilding and it only needs one more punch for a free drink, so you may as well have it. Good luck.

Shit Rainbows Followers Look For A Pot Gold Underwear

2009-08-04T09:02:00.000-07:00

What? Do you have a problem with that title? What does it mean you ask? Fuck if I know. What does that mean? Why would someone Google that? Under what circumstances is that something worth googling? I suspect the answer could be very funny, or very, very strange— probably both. Please person who googled that, do it again! Come back here and explain yourself! Did your previous Acadamnit experience leave you wanting more information about pot of gold underwear for your rainbow shits? What did you eat to make yourself shit rainbows? Can I have some? C’mon share! Are you a leprechaun? I don’t know any leprechauns, you could be my first! (If you’re a unicorn, fuck off. I’ve known your type before and you are all insufferable jackasses, you can just shit rainbows all over yourselves for all I care). Pot of gold underwear? That would be really uncomfortable, it’s summer after all and I don’t think gold vessels would look very good under shorts. Look, just come back and explain yourself. Please? Pretty please with fairies vomiting butterflies on top?

Minivan Ice-Cream Man

2009-08-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

Since when does the ice-cream man drive around in a damn minivan? (try to say that really fast 5 times…hard huh?) I heard the telltale music clinking its way up my street. I felt the five dollar bill in my pocket. Ice-cream truck. Ice-cream man. White boxy ice-cream van. An ice-cream sandwich! And then I watched a battered blue minivan drive by, ice-cream man music provided by CD. Fuck Me. A shitty ice-cream sticker stuck to the door, clever money making strategy for sure. But I want the ice-cream man of yore.

CC: MeMeIgnoreIgnoreUU

2009-07-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

You can cc me on that shit all you want, I’m not falling for it. Most of the cc’s seem like a courtesy, sort of a we know you are on sabbatical and just wanted to keep you informed. But those recent ones? You are damn near begging me to step in with needed information (information that is available to ALL of you I might add if you would just pay attention). I am not going to do it. No. Why can’t anyone else keep track of this shit? It’s not difficult people. CC me on that shit all you want. You will get NO response.

Dear Book,

2009-07-27T16:26:00.001-07:00

Fucking hell. My house is a wreck. Wrap it up author! You keep sucking me in with crazy fantastic writing. I’ve been subsisting on coffee and nutter-butters for days now. You are completely interfering with my life Book! I thought I would hate you, I tried to read you once before. Your opening salvo of introducing way too many characters at once in a setting I normally find boring is why you sat neglected for so long. I started again. I was skeptical of you Book. Now look at me. I’m a mess. You are not a casual sex type book. We are in a damn relationship now! We need to end this. I love you, but we can’t go on like this forever.

Project Report 3A: Strolling Policy

2009-07-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

Please pause for a moment while I mount my high horse, step onto this soapbox, identify who declared me boss, and placed this crown on my head. OK, that’s better. It’s much more comfortable up here, the view and accessories are topnotch. Now that I am situated I have a few things to say:

People of the Blogspot, stop starting blogs about scrapbooking. Stop it. Just give it a rest. I understand that a little memento curation may be in order. I get that. Go ahead and organize your photographs your trinkets, your ticket stubs and such. That day, event, or whatnot may have been memorable. Do it for yourself, your kids, your grandpa, or whomever. But I would estimate that 27% of all the blogs I ran into while strolling through the blogosphere (by pushing “next blog” a billion times) were about scrapbooks. A solid 85% of those scrapbooking blogs are suck-ass-awful. Just cheesy crap that looks so “mass produced scrapbook cliché” that apparently entire families have never experienced a single moment that could not be characterized by a sticker assortment. What the hell is this shit? Stop blogging about it. I find it depressing. It really, and I mean really, looks like you are just forcing personal “moments” to happen. Like you dragged you grandpa to the rodeo just so you could take his picture with a cowboy hat on and buy some cowboy themed decals. That is not cool. Grandpa was half asleep and did not enjoy stepping in animal shit.

That leaves the remaining 15% of scrapbooking blogs. Some of you are in a language I don’t understand (and cannot even identify), some of you seem rather genuine in your pursuits, and some have the benefit of artistic talent. You may continue. But, People of the Blogspot, our avenues and scenic byways are cluttered with terrible scrapbooking blogs. Our streets cannot be strolled safely, assaulted by glitter, ribbons, and damn near anything that can be glued to piece of busily patterned paper, danger lurks around every corner. I think that People with Blogs about Sports Teams (especially you foreign language ones) and People with Blogs about Your Wedding Photography Business should unite and patrol your neck of the Blogspot woods for feral scrapbookers (Photogs: you capture their picture; Sports Team People: you rally your fans and do not let your favorite team and sport be reduced to a patterned picture border template). Fashion Blogs and Cooking Blogs, collectively you must patrol our commercial centers. Use your skills to keep our markets free from cheap counterfeit scrapbook “memories” and the aesthetic shit-pile of glue and paper. Family Bloggers, do not let these people infiltrate you! They want in. They want to invite your kid over, but make sure Susie wears pink (it will look better in the pictures) and they want you to buy their crap (so YOU TOO can have family memories just LIKE THEIRS!).

There is a role for all of us. We must unite. People of the Blogspot, and that means you Blogs with Terrible Financial Advice, Blogs of Artists (who should be outraged at the schmuckiness of it all), and Blogs about Various Things in Nature, we need to unite and form a citizens patrol. I know, it sounds all anti-democratic, it sounds like censorship. We can’t be total assholes about this. Blogs about Particular Professions (even the illegal ones), Blogs about Politics, and Blogs about Angst (the fake kind you have as a youngster that only bad poetry and copious amounts of black clothes can fix): stop hiding in your pigeonholes and join us! We must all resist the bad scrapbookers glittery charm.

We must politely allow bad scrapbooking to enter the ranks of Alf, Members Only jackets, and that weird machine that shook your ass and thigh fat for no apparent purpose (did anyone really believe that would do anything? You know that “exercise machine” that probably ran on steam or something and consisted of a vibrating belt?)…anyway, we need to let bad scrapbooking become a distant and funny in its craptacularness thing of the past. Do not be swayed by the scent of their glue (ask the Blogs about Huffing, you can do better) or their fancy cutting implements, we need to protect our streets. Think of the future bloggers whose dreams were dashed by the viewing of a single St. Patricks Day themed photo frame idea (with INSTRUCTIONS! For only $9.95!). Think of the tourists strolling through our lands and their disappointment at seeing the same beribboned bullshit over and over again. Shit, I live here and I can’t even go for a pleasant evening stroll. Damnit!

Yes, I am an elitist bastard. (dismounting now)

Ye Olde Blogge Poste

2009-07-16T09:05:00.000-07:00

Let’s play a game shall we? The game will be called How I Know I’m Old. I thought this game existed already. I thought I knew how old I was. I know about time. I understand, in a practical sense, how time passes and its effects. I am aware of my age. I know my birthday. I don’t remember all my birthdays that well…especially the really early ones and the ones that have occurred since I became aware of celebratory birthday substances. Nonetheless, I know my age. But I have only recently begun to realize that I am old. Old. I saw vacation pictures. Not childhood vacation pictures— those just make me feel like a grownup, not old per se, but I saw old adulthood vacation pictures. Shit. I look young. Fuck. I am fucking oooooold. This has me looking for other signs that I am old. Why? Did you read my previous post? I don’t want to be that person. I need to stay on top of this me getting old thing. I do not want to have some ridiculous mid-life crisis. Well…does a sport car always come with it? Can I just have the car part of the typical mid-life crisis?

Fuck. Sometimes new fangled computer things come up that I don’t know how to use. Typical old person occurrence. (Shit, I also used the term “new fangled”. How old person is that?) I never get mistaken for a grad student anymore. I rarely get carded. My dog is old. I look like a baby in those vacation pictures. What else is showing my age? Let’s play.

Books
I have some books that were new and fancy when I was a student. I spent a fortune on them. Now second editions and third editions are out on some. Crap.

Drinks
Well, I still love cheap beer. That’s good. But, I’ve fallen prey of enjoying old people drinks. Hard simple drinks that tasted like lighter fluid when I was young, like scotch. Damn, a scotch sounds good.

Glasses
I went to pour myself a drink and realized I have old people glasses. Young people have a hodge podge of assorted beverage containers. I have like sets of glasses, some for this, some for that…old people drinking vessels. You know, like goatskins and goblets. (Sorry my scotch bottle has some kind of vague old timey dude on it)

I think I better stop now. This could get depressing. At least I’ve read the books now, right? I can order a drink with authority, I quality I find very respectable…and if you wanted a drink I probably have the right glass to put it in (as long as you don’t want a scotch, I drank it all). Crap. But you know those old vacation pictures? They were real pictures, not digital. That’s’ old. Damn.

Do You Need A Tissue?

2009-07-13T09:02:00.000-07:00

Dude. Stop mid-life-crisising all over me. Your sticky need for validation is getting disgusting. The car, the drinks, the name dropping…it’s all a bit too blatant. Try to embrace your crisis in a way that does not assault my senses with overly colorful shirts and weak attempts to act as if your “inner cool guy” just happens to be emerging. That inner cool guy you keep spewing out is really a jerk. I fully support your right to have an identity crisis, but tone it the fuck down. Do you really intend to transform into a cliché? Am I supposed to believe that your true calling is a c.1980s style “arrogant asshole with a cool car” dude? That guy always gets screwed at the end of the movie. Please edit your mid-life crisis to conform to the “nerd embraces his nerdiness resulting in acceptance” genre. It suits you better. If you can’t do that, start carrying some baby wipes around with you because you are making us all feel slimy.

Oh It’s Good, Very Good

2009-07-09T15:09:00.000-07:00

Ever wondered if it would be OK to just ignore work shit? I mean work shit, not fun parts of your job, but the annoying bureaucratic paperworky parts. It’s fucking A awesome. What was that meeting? You need everyone to fill out what form? Huh? What? I can’t hear you. Sorry! I’m deleting, not opening, and ignoring shit right and left. It’s like a beautiful slo-mo shot of me dodging obligations. It is in many ways, the end of an era…or maybe an error. But either way, it’s nice. I can actually remember why I liked my job. I get to think about weird shit that I find entertaining, measure things, hypothesize and do all that good science stuff. I wasn’t sure when the whole sabbatical idea would really kick in. It is slowly sinking in nicely. This was worth working for.

Immanuel Font

2009-07-01T09:22:00.000-07:00

Suck It Trebek

2009-06-28T15:15:00.000-07:00

Jeopardy Categories I Suck At vs. Categories I Could Kill On

(answer I would write for the Final Jeopardy round)

1. Opera Singers************Ape or Singer?
(Kathleen Battle)***************(Singer)

2. Geography**************Google Earth
(Red Sea)*******************(16°43'58.02"S 179°45'5.35"W)

3. German Folk Songs*****German Folk Bongs
(no fucking idea)*************(the Bob Marley Commemorative)

4. Crossword Clues “B”****Sudoku Clues “8”
(bolo tie)***********************(8!)

5. Poets*******************Potent Potables

(Rilke)*************************(Gin)

6. Odds and Ends*********Ends with Odd

(James Polk)*****************(Mary Todd)

7. Naval Battles***********Naval Types

(Guadalcanal)****************(Innie)

8. Anagrams**************A Grams An____?

(if tuck)******************* *(ounce, 0.035th of)

9. Rhyme Time********(**Mime Rhyme

(deck Trebek)***************(Marcel fell)

10. The Bible*************The Bibliography

(Jacob? Esau?)***************(PNAS)

I Got Nothing

2009-06-21T16:11:00.000-07:00

Typity, type, type. Pause. Typity, backspace, delete. Check email. Oh I know, typity, typity, ta-type type. No. Wait, yes. Backspace, fuck it. Save. Coffee. Typity, type. Maybe I should do some laundry. Maybe I just feel compelled to do laundry because I can’t stand staring at this not done paper. Fuck this not done paper. Maybe I could just eke out a few more sentences. Typity, typity, typity, ta-type, type type. Hmm. Backspace. Delete. Fuck. If I could just finish this paragraph, I could…what? What is going to happen if I finish the paragraph? Nothing. Wait. What if something fantastic were to happen? Perhaps the phone will ring…Why yes! I would love to join the National Academy! Not gonna happen. Typity, type. They’ll never call if I don’t finish this damn not done paper. Concentrate Damnit. Type, type, type, type, type. Didn’t so and so just publish a paper on this? I should read it. Right now. Whatever journal, I’m not paying 20 bucks for that just cause it’s new. I’ll check their personal website. Wow. That’s a really hideous picture. Oh, I didn’t know you went to that school. Is my picture that bad? I better check. Fuck, my webpage would look better with this fucking not done paper on it. Whatever, no more internet until this paragraph is done.

Does it still count as done if you write it and then delete it. No, no it doesn’t. Type. Type. Typity. Backspace. Delete. Capslock. TYPE. WHAT? Why do I always hit that? Stupid. Typity, type. That’s a paragraph, a kinda crappy one, more like a paracraph. Whatever. I should stop now. But maybe I could force out a little more. No. Yes. Fuck. Why did I ever agree to write this? Vanity, that’s why. That’s lame of me. I hate this not done paper. Fucking writer’s block. Save. Close. Whatever.

Coniferous Rage

2009-06-19T14:13:00.000-07:00

Oh hi there Enormous Tree In My Yard, don’t mind me. I’m just standing here. This giant beaker I’m holding with tongs? Don’t worry about it. It’s just an imaginary container of hydrochloric acid. The giant arm length gloves I’m wearing are imaginary too (safety first!). I wouldn’t really dump this toxic shit on your roots. But if you don’t mind, I’ll just continue imagining that I would…that I am…that I did. Sorry Enormous Tree in My Yard, you are lovely really. But you are spewing little sticky things all over the place. It was OK when they were all over the yard. By the time they spread to the driveway thoughts of a severe pruning with a dull and rusty blade crept to mind. Then they started sticking to the bottom of my shoes. Perhaps you would enjoy a quick dip in the wood chipper? Then my dog showed up looking like some Muppet version of a conifer. Perhaps you would like to get intimate with my chainsaw? Your little sticky growth spawn is now all over my house. Stuck to the couch, in my bed, in my shower, clogging up my dryer lint screen, just generally taunting my every effort at cleanliness…I suspect you are trying to suffocate me. Don’t think you can hide behind your christmasy good looks, your snow draped appearance of months past means nothing to me. I know you’re up to some no good growth spurt but I’m going to continue my imaginary logging competition training (that’s right, look how fast my giant buck saw is slicing you!) until you quit dropping those fucking sticky ass tree shits.

The Jingle of a Dog’s Collar Would Be Fine

2009-06-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

C’mon Park Service. Do you really want my dog stuck in the car? She would like to see some geothermal points of interest too. And she wants to go for a walk, a real walk, not one where the car remains in sight. C’mon, she’s a good girl! What could my dog do that is worst than anything a human could do? (And don’t answer “dog doo” like you are being all clever or something, she doesn’t use toilet paper, the shit will be gone in no time) You really want my dog to just not see any of the cool stuff and hang out in my car? That shit is wrong.

(P.S. Smokey the Bear, you’re an embarrassment to the world of Ursids. Take the fucking pants off. I know some Park Service design team couldn’t decide how to portray your genitals…but you’re a fucking bear, step up to the plate and act like one by showing some junk.)

Criminal Intent

2009-06-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

After being compared to a petty criminal, it got me thinking about all the crimes I would like to commit. If ever land myself in jail, it is likely due to one of the following:

Larceny: I found an odd item stashed away in a summer rental house…I really wanted to steal it. It was puuurty and worth some cash. I wish I had. Did I mention how very purty it was? And how it appeared to be wholly unappreciated? That it would have fit in my luggage? I didn’t take it, stupid ethics.

Looting: Hell yes. I have never experienced a riot. However, if I found myself in a large-scale urban riot I will be heading directly to the nearest lighting store and I am smashing the light fixtures into bits. I love the idea of breaking all that glass.

Drugs: A nice little garden would be good. You know, for making rope and such.

Mischief: There is this big red knob…it’s in the stairwell of my building. Every time I walk by it, it screams “turn me, turn me all the way and run!” Oooh I want to turn it.

White Collar: What exactly is keeping me from selling cheap vegetables purchased at Safeway at the local Farmer’s Market for twice the price? All I have to do is remove some stickers, sprinkle a little dirt on top and stick them in some kind of pastoral looking holder (e.g. bushel basket, old milk crate, apple box, etc…). Oh yeah, the ethics thing again.

Kidnapping: Look Isaac Brock, it’s not my fault I have no idea how to reach you. If I could call, email, or text you, I would. But you know, you haven’t given me that option. So if you are ever anywhere near my car, you are getting in and coming home with me. We’re just going to hang out (geez, I’m not a rapist). I’ll make you dinner and blast your music and you just have to hang out for a few hours. That’s all. It won’t even seem like kidnapping…no need to call the cops or anything. Just relax. Can I interest you in a drink?

Defamation: I fucking hate that asshole on ESPN who always holds a highlighter in his hand that matches his fucking tie. Terrible.

Disrupting the Peace: No. Pepsi is not alright. I want a COKE. Why would I order a COKE if I wanted a Pepsi? I am just going to sit here and loudly complain until the international stalemate between Coke and Pepsi is resolved and both become universal restaurant options. Go to Camp David if need be, I want a fucking Coke.

Anyone else? I’m not sure about blog meme etiquette (i.e. does it exist? Can I just make one up?), but it’s rather fun to think about, so if any of you harbor secret criminal intentions consider yourself tagged with the “Crime Spree” meme. (It probably already exists in some form or another, but this one requires herkies and/or fist bumps for proper completion.)