A Familial Spotlight

See my grandparents?  They're cool.

My grandparents rock.  I mean it.  My grandparents could totally beat up other people's grandparents, but they wouldn't because they're classy like that.  They are action-adventure grandparents.  They pretty much kick all the ass.

Last weekend, I went to their pad.  One of the nice things about being here is that it's only about two and a half hours away from their mountain abode.  Grandma invited me up so that I could do school work in a new location and be fed good food, and other nice things.  Their house has a picturesque view of the mountains, and stepping inside, you might be fooled into thinking they were average grandparents, what with Grandma's crafts, and Grandpa's trains downstairs, and the homey bric-a-brac on the shelves.  You would of course, be dead wrong.  I was serious when I said they were action-adventure grandparents.

Grandma has been playing Tetris pretty much since it was invented.  That, in and of itself, is not an amazing detail.  However, she also bought a working Super Nintendo at a yard sale some years back, and consequently bought every Tetris-styled game for it she could.  Most people, upon sitting down to play games with their grandmother, might expect to win pretty hard.  After suffering a number of crushing defeats at her hands, I had to admit that Grandma was the superior player.  Sure, it's not Halo.  But how many people have ever been schooled at any video game at all by their grandmother?

It doesn't end there.  They are world travelers, and have only stepped up their game.  Oh sure, everyone goes to Europe.  There's recognizable toilets and nobody has to buy leech-proof socks to go there.  So they did that, ages back.  Russia.  China.  Turkey.  Like people on a scavenger hunt for continents, they started branching out.  Grandma, in search of the best shopping in the world and pretty things, Grandpa in search of birds.  They go to Costa Rica on a regular basis, because a little town of rain forest paradise just happens to be their sister city.  Apparently finding habitable regions too tame, they took a cruise to Antarctica to see the penguins.  They went to India with my mom and stepdad, and they don't even like Indian food, that's how hardcore they are.  They've showed me their pictures of the Sydney opera house, and movie-picturesque New Zealand.  Fairly recently, Grandpa took a trip to Borneo, which is where the leech socks came in.  They have traveled in conditions that make me cringe, and I am pretty travel-hardy.

The upshot of all this is that I admire these two immensely, and am in constant awe of their atypical grandparent behavior.  (Not to mention that Grandpa still remembers songs from when he performed in H.M.S. Pinafore in high school.  I remember, like, one line from performing in high school.)

To the rest of my family -- You guys also rock, but these two deserved a shout-out for hosting me over the weekend.

A Post to Show I'm Alive

 I have had sort of a stupid couple of weeks for a variety of reasons, and since I have no desire to blog about things that just make me sad, I've been quiet.  But I realize that people are probably wondering if I have been eaten by roving packs of philosophy majors or something, so here I am, writing a few words to prove that I am still somewhere in existence.

Folks, I admit it.  I have an addiction.  I really, really can't help myself.  Free samples in the mail.  As many as I can get.  Stuff I don't even know if I want.  If I can get it sent to me simply by virtue of an address and email, I'm there.  And I get pathetically excited about it too.  I open the mailbox and thrill to see some tiny colorful package that means someone has heard my plea for free crap.  I have a few standards, though.  I did not sign up for a year of Maxim magazine for free (though I think I might have blithely clicked through if it wasn't a two-step sign up process.  What?  Beside the point, people, I didn't and that's what counts) and I don't click on the free diaper sample links.  So I'm not totally crazy.

So despite my own dramas, I am slowly amassing a collection of free samples that I think I'll put in my office for times when I need two post-it file labels or a single dose of vitamins.

So there will be a real entry of some sort soon.  But that's what I've got for now.

PS-- I don't want to make a habit out of saying bad things about my students online as a matter of public record, but let me just say that if you have a young person in your life, please, please, please make sure they understand a few basic concepts like using commas to make a list and what the word "or" means.

In Which I Imagine I Attend a Wizarding School

First, a blog PSA: I've learned that some of you who are reading my exploits have been unfairly silenced by the default blog setting that privileges those with specific online identities.  In seeking a more liberating environment for us all, I've turned on Name/URL and anonymous commenting.  Thanks for reading, now you can say stuff too!

The wizarding school idea keeps floating around in my head.  Partially, because blog commenter Jona poked fun at me for distinguishing the grad students here as "first years" and "second years" just like in a certain British series about wizards, and partially because so much of what we do and say in English seems to require a certain amount of magical thinking.

Consider words.  We can break them down and discuss phonemes and morphemes and usages, we can consult the OED for history, and we can pretend that it makes sense that through simple arrangement, words take on vastly different meanings.  But it isn't a science.  People write dissertations on why a particular writer's choice of arranging and choosing words makes their work last for centuries, and yet there's no formula to it, otherwise we would utilize the formula and all of us would be brilliant writers.  But you ask any editor, and that arranging of words is more than just art, too, because if one does not follow certain established forms, you have a hot literary mess at the end.

So I like to pretend that it's magic.  Then, if I just choose the right combination of words, something wonderful will happen, suddenly and with seeming spontaneity, because I have cast my spell effectively.

In fact, I think that the link may be one that's ripe for fiction, because we've all seen stories about wizarding schools, but I'm not sure we've seen a story about the equivalent of wizarding grad students teaching wizardy freshmen.  And if it's anything like our experience with freshmen so far, the resulting rains of frogs and accidental transmutation of textbooks by people who couldn't bother to show up for all their lessons would make simply grading papers seem tame.

Yes, I have an overactive imagination.  I have to do something to amuse myself during office hours.

In other news, it's fall here.  It crept up on me, because I'm used to our section of about a week and a half of real autumn that separates summer and winter, and the season happens much more gently here.  But now there's grey sky, changing leaves, and chill wind, so I think it's safe to say we're well into the season.  Which is nice, because I love fall.

I'm sorry there are no adventure tales right now.  I really need to have some more adventures.  I'm open to suggestions!

A Tale of Two Kitties

The last week was full of school.  This shouldn't be surprising, I know.  That's kind of where I am.  But it was distinctly full of school in time-consuming ways, and so I really didn't have time for adventures.  And that's always a little sad.

And that's also why this entry will be short.  I want everyone to know I'm alive and kicking, but other than existential crises over grading, there's not a whole lot to share.  Instead, let me introduce my cats (I'm not a crazy cat lady, I swear, but they are the only other living beings in the house, so they deserve some attention).

My cats are just over a year old, and therefore, they are giant brats.  They're indoor cats too, so they can't go outside to get their ya-yas out.  Instead, they do it by tearing around the house as if the devil himself is at their heels, hunting my paint brushes, and generally behaving like... well, animals.

The tabby is Buster, and the black one is Sabriel.
This is what they look like after a long hard day
of being total freaks.

Among their best achievements are such diverse acts of mayhem as spreading broken glass around the house, hiding my sink strainer, and flooding my basement.  Yeah, that's right.  Cats flooded my basement.

See, I have the old-school washer setup where the drain hose goes to a drain in the middle of the floor in the basement.  It's not hooked in there, which is a bit of a problem.  A couple weeks ago, I was doing laundry, and unknown to me, the cats had managed to unseat the basement hose from its drain enough to put a foam ball toy into the drain, a toy that was exactly the right size to block it off.  Whenever they have done something particularly heinous, they both sit side by side with their heads tilted slightly, admiring their handiwork.  I knew I was in trouble when I saw them in this pose at the top of the steps.  About half an inch of soapy water had drained out onto my basement floor.

And they were so freaking proud.

But they are furry and they purr, and so far, that's been enough to allow them to live and not be turned into fuzzy slippers.

Pictures of Nature Adventure or "Why Are Large Animals So Close To Me?"

Big Pile o' Rocks

The precarious-looking jumble of rocks seen here is Vedauwoo (say vee-da-voo), which is a stomping grounds I remember vividly from childhood. People climb those rocks, all the way to the top, and while a crippling fear of heights prevents me from doing that ever, I love bouldering. So today, I brought some of my school reading and decided to make a trip of it. The angle is deceiving; that rock formation stretches way way back, so even though it looks from here like that's all there is, there's even more precarious rocks further on. It's a little sad, since the bark beetles have clearly been doing a number on the surrounding area recently, and a little nostalgic too, because there are spots that I'm certain I remember hiking as a child, and so the whole thing is that sort of old/new mix, where my childhood mental images and the reality now get superimposed on each other.

I wanted a good spot to read, and that would mean finding a place out of the wind. Down in the aspens, it wasn't happening, so I decided to go up some of the rocks. This proved that I am out of shape, especially for the altitude, and that my previous squirrel-like scrambling abilities have lessened. Also, it proved that I am a moron when it comes to shoe choice (the sneakers that don't lace down tightly are a dumbass move, kids), and that I should really recognize the scrubby little raspberry bushes before I sit in them. Despite all this, I got myself up to a point out of the wind and with a little shade, and I read for a while. Okay, not near as long as I should have. But the reading in nature is often less comfy than idyllic descriptions of it would have you believe.

Then I got down, which for me always involves a little bit of very attractive scooting down on my rear, a little bit of gauging places I can sort of fling myself so that I don't slip, and the notion that for a klutz, this is maybe not the best solo activity. Then, because I had a taste for it again and in spite of myself, I went off to find a heap of rocks I could really get up on top of. So my heap wasn't that impressive, but in the interests of not killing myself, it was a good start. I can still find all the handholds and footholds, but my strength is... not so good. Things that would have been easy once upon a time required extra labor, or finding a new way entirely. But I got to the top of my rock heap, stood exultant at the highest point, and then... saw something moving through the trees. At first I thought it was a cow. Not an unreasonable assumption, given the territory. It was big, had dark fur, but it was way too thin for a cow. So it must be a horse. Odd, I thought, but I've seen horses wandering around all sorts of places.

This is class-action lurking.

But something wasn't quite right. It was behind the trees and I couldn't get a good look. My brain, scrambling to identify, jumped to deer (not the right color) or elk (also not the right color) or alien creature (okay, see, this is the problem with my brain). Then I got a glimpse of that particular hunchy backed look that defines the silhouette of the only creature that fit the bill.

It was a freaking moose.

It was a female, so there had been no antlers to clue me in earlier, and we had never seen moose there ever in all the years we lived here before. But there it was. And it was big. A big old wild animal right there. Normally, I would take a photo if I could and back respectfully away. But when I started my little climb, I had set my book bag down at the base of my rock heap. On the

side where the moose was standing awfully close. I waited. Moose and I watched one another. I was getting hot up there in the sun. Moose wasn't moving. So I decided to get down. I crept down back the other way, and I was making my way carefully around towards my bag, when I heard this funny little plaintive noise somewhere behind me. I turned, and there's a slightly smaller moose emerging from the trees. "Oh boy, a mama moose with a young one to protect, and here I am about to be right between them!" was what went through my head, and so I hunkered down by my rocks some more and just waited. At least the young moose was moving.

Oh crap, it sees me.

I went around the other side. I crept forward and got my bag as the adolescent joined its mother. Then, they started moving off, and I made my way back around to get away from the wild animals. Then I heard that funny little noise again. Yup. Another smaller moose. All three came from different directions, too. Holy crap, I thought. They had me surrounded and I didn't even know it. I could have been the victim of a moose stealth attack. Okay, probably not, but still.

So... I guess what I'm saying is that wild animals are unnerving, especially when they creep up on you in places where you didn't ever expect to see those particular wild animals.

I got back to my car unmolested by any other forms of nature, and I called it a win.

In Which There is Beer

I am in a classroom full of second-year graduate students that I do not have to be in, but I chose to spend my evening this way. I must be nuts. The reason I'm on my computer instead of doing good student things is that I'm waiting for the second part of the class where they talk about using online tools for academics, which I figure it's good to get a head start on. What makes the whole experience even weirder is that the two professors here (both named Susan) are women I have known since I was a baby. I remember being told a story where one of the Susans had us over to her house, and I was very small. She offered me something sweet, because that's how you generally please children, cookies or something, and after listening to the options, I politely asked if she had any rice cakes. I was that weird a child.

Anyway, so I'm sitting here, and and listening to them, and it's just this weird marriage of present and past that makes for a sort of surreal experience.

I got to dress up in a kilt with stockings and flash and a sporan over the weekend, and I watched jousting and bagpipers and I had a meat pie. This is one of the many reasons my action-adventure grandparents rock. They live in a place with a rad Scottish/Irish Festival and they felt it was important that I come, so they paid for my tickets. Yeah, they are that awesome.

Unfortunately, that means that what I should have been doing over the weekend (commenting on student papers) has been a frantic slog over the past few days as I also do first-draft conferences with all those students. Yesterday, the first nerve-wracking set of conferences happened, and then a class, and then a mentor meeting. In the bar. With a migraine setting in. So I decided to have beer.

Some of you may not realize what a momentous occasion this is. I have not, as a rule, enjoyed beer. I have actively avoided it, and though I kept trying sips of other people's drinks, nothing ever clicked. Yesterday, it clicked. I tried the seasonal Sam Adams, the Octoberfest, and some primally-oriented part of my brain went "Yes!" and so I got a pint and had it and it was exactly the right thing at that point. My Monday was much improved at that point, at any rate.

Fighting With the Kitchen

I always wonder when I will learn not to make certain stupid moves when something in my forebrain is trying desperately to tell my hindbrain that I'm about to make a stupid move. It started because my landlord uncle was coming to town to deal with the washer/dryer repairman, and to bring his new dog to enjoy the prairie. I was trying to clean up. In doing so, I put away a colander. This shouldn't have been an issue. But that's where the stupid moves come in.

The colander had been in that little drawer that's on the bottom of the stove. My family, in helping me unpack, had put some various pots and pans in there, and so when I was cleaning, I put the colander back. Obviously, they put it there the first time, I should put it back, right? I felt a funny little pressure as I pushed the drawer back in. I checked to see if I was bumping something, and I wasn't, so despite the part of my brain that was going "You know that will get stuck," some overbearing piece of me was also saying "It was in there before, of course it will go in there again." So I pushed the drawer shut. Then, with the smaller voice still nagging me that it was a mistake, I opened the drawer again. About three inches. And that's as far as it would go, because whaddaya know, the colander was stuck. Turns out that the lip on the colander and the lip on the underside of the stove were deeply incompatible. I wrestled with it, screamed a little, bruised myself, and lost the fight. Everything was stuck tight.

So that's how I greeted my uncle, with my cleaning part done, with me bruised and defeated, and an oven drawer that opened three inches.

Luckily, Uncle David is a superhero, and although we had to buy extra tools to wage war on the thing, we finally got it all unwedged.

There followed other herculean tasks of household necessity, and while I am intensely grateful for the help, it sort of highlights how utterly useless I can be. Not to be put off, though, I have other projects to work on and look forward to, and hopefully the smart part of my brain will be in charge for some of those.

The rest of life is sort of routine at the moment. I teach my class and hope I'm doing it right, I do my own classwork until I find myself reading the same paragraph over and over and absorbing none of it, at which point I watch 30 Rock, and I am hoping to find some things to do out of the house, because it gets lonely here. And cold. I think something in my house sucks the heat away and puts it somewhere else.