Something Shiny! » Musings

A different world

emily — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 03:31:05 +0000

At lunch yesterday, John and I were seated next to a table of two late-twenty-something/early-thirty-something women. While we talked about our workdays so far, so did they. And, at both of our tables, talk soon turned to how late in the year it is, holiday plans, and so on. (Look, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but they were talking pretty loud.) As they talked about holiday plans for skiing and snowboarding, and as one of them mused aloud that she would buy a particular Porsche (“because it fits my golf clubs”), I couldn’t help but marvel at the differences in our lives. Not better or worse, just different.

Last meals and final requests

emily — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 23:35:13 +0000

Recently, I read that the state of Texas has ended the practice of allowing death row prisoners to request a last meal. In the main, I understand this. The rational part of my brain grasps the idea that honoring an elaborate last meal request, only to have it go uneaten, is a waste of money. And in these tough financial times, yadda yadda yadda. But another part of me- the defiant part, perhaps- wonders whether it isn’t a little petty. It’s like the state is saying, ‘we’re going to execute you [which may or may not fall under the heading of 'cruel and unusual punishment'], but in the interest of saving a little cash, no, you cannot have what you like for your last meal.’

On business and dirty laundry

emily — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 19:14:46 +0000

Growing up, my parents emphasized the idea of minding your own business. Don’t go sticking your nose in other people’s business and (as a corollary) don’t go airing your dirty laundry in public. And I don’t mind saying that all this Weiner hubbub has gotten me thinking about what’s really our business and what’s not. If (and that might be a big if) the facts are as they stand today, has he done anything wrong as a politician? (Being recklessly stupid and also a womanizer and also a schmuck, arguably, have nothing to do with his, erm, position.) I can’t disagree with the fact that his wife has reason to be pissed. Heck, if it were me, I’d be packed and moved already. But is it anybody else’s business? In other words, if he didn’t do anything illegal, what does it matter? If you hold to the idea that politicians should be held to a higher moral standard, sure, you want to send him packing. But should politicians be held to such a standard and, if so, why? To what extent does a politician’s personal life have to do with their day job?

Bits of random and fluff

emily — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 19:10:42 +0000

I got so in the habit of not being able to post while I was finishing my dissertation (and then wringing my hands after turning it in) that I completely got out of the habit of posting at all, even now. Now that I’ve got so much free time on my hands that I sit around wondering which bonbon to eat next (no, not really). And then the guilt set in, about having this space and not using it, which was worsened by my own brain shooting down every bloggable idea that I came up with. “That’s not interesting,” the voice would hiss, “why would anybody bother to read that?” And so Inability quickly turned into Inaction, which set in and didn’t leave, like a houseguest who’s overstayed their welcome. But! I’ve really missed this space and am trying to get back into the habit of blogging, bad ideas be damned. Without further ado:

I saw a photo in a catalog recently that showed a bookcase filled with books whose spines were not facing out, so that you couldn’t read their titles. They were facing the wrong way, is what I’m saying, and it irked me because nobody would actually display their books that way. (Much the way catalogs often display things in completely the opposite way from which people actually use them, a subject on which I could write an epic entry, but for which I’ll just direct you to the ever-hilarious Catalog Living). I was so perturbed by the image that I thrust the catalog under John’s nose, only to have him say “…what?”. When I pointed out that the books were facing the wrong way, he… he didn’t see it. He conceded that maybe the spines on a couple of them were facing the back of the bookshelf, but he steadfastly maintained that most of them were facing out. Whatever. Harumph. Marriage, eh?

Offensive

emily — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 03:26:14 +0000

The last two Mondays in a row, I’ve had students crying in my office. Different students, I might add. Yesterday’s visit really baffled me, though. As the young woman tried to compose herself, I handed her a tissue and encouraged her to take her time and breathe. She then told me that she was offended by my comments on her paper. I take that kind of comment very seriously. Rather than asking her to elaborate, which I should have done, I instead assured her that I had certainly not intended to offend her in any way. After she stopped crying and left my office, I reviewed my comments on her last paper. Nothing stood out: beyond fixing sentence structure and punctuation, there were notes in the margins like ‘cite your sources,’ ‘proof your work,’ and ‘relate this back to your thesis.’ At the end, I’d written a lengthy paragraph suggesting ways in which she could improve the paper. I was, and am, completely flummoxed. Unless she doesn’t know the meaning of the word “offended,” and instead meant to say that I had hurt her feelings, she seems to have taken offense to fairly inert suggestions. Either way, it’s baffling. Is this really what we’ve come to? Are students so used to being coddled that they can’t handle constructive criticism? At eighteen, nineteen, twenty years old, isn’t it time to take off the kid gloves?

An interesting question

emily — Sat, 04 Dec 2010 05:19:58 +0000

My students had to write their final papers about the cost of a good life and many of them chose to write about fighting for social justice and social change. Of these students, many argued that Dr. King was assassinated because of his beliefs: that the cost of a good life for King was his untimely death. Put simply, they argue that Dr. King believed in integration and James Earl Ray did not, therefore Ray murdered King because of King’s beliefs. And I find that a really interesting argument. I noted in their drafts that their causality was debatable, and I posed this question: Was King killed because of his beliefs? or was he killed by a racist because of the color of his skin? Invariably, they left the argument in their papers (an interesting question itself, no?).

Time marches on

emily — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 03:51:25 +0000

Lately, I’ve become incredibly aware of the passage of time. Everyone, it seems, is getting older. (I know, right? Stand aside while I explain theoretical physics next.) Obviously, I was already aware that we’re all getting older. But I’ve never been so aware of it as recently. John got a new pair of glasses earlier this month and, since it’s finally the right prescription, he’s actually been wearing them. We were sitting on the couch the other night and I turned to look at him and really noticed that he was wearing glasses. And it hit me like a brick: holy crap– John has gotten older! Our oldest cat, Edgar, has been with us for twelve years. He’s always been a rough-and-tumble kind of guy, a real tomcat. And, boy, does he have the battle scars to prove it. But lately I’ve really noticed him slowing down. He’s not up at the crack of dawn anymore, demanding attention or food. In fact, most mornings he’s still fast asleep when I settle down to work in my office. It’s so funny the way we mark time differently, depending on our own age. When we’re little, we can’t wait to grow up. Time seems to pass s o s l o w l y. But as we age, it seems, time zips by at top speed and we can barely catch our breath before another day, week, month, year races past. Maybe that’s why I’ve been wondering what happened to the last six months. It all went by so quickly, but I find that I’d like to have a pause button so that I can slow things down a bit more and enjoy the time before it slips away.

Burning the candle at both ends

emily — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 03:30:29 +0000

What is it about this point in the semester, anyway? It seems like every November, without fail, I’m swamped beyond measure. Everything on my desk right now seems to be marked URGENT. There are dissertation revisions to make, job applications to finish, a lecture to write, and more. And, oh right, students clamoring for attention because whatdoIneedtodotogetanA? IreallyneedtogetanA. They’ve all just discovered that the semester is fast drawing to a close and that their grades might actually matter. The fact that they’ve whiled the semester with nary a second thought about their grades… but, I digress. I’m burning the candle at both ends, these days, and I can’t really see the end in sight. Every year, I turn the calendar to November and suddenly the clocks seem to tick faster, the days seem to zoom by quicker, and I get increasingly frustrated at my inability to do ten things at once. This, too, shall pass, right? It always does. In the meantime, though, I’ll be here, burning the candle at both ends.

Like a box of chocolates

emily — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 21:33:49 +0000

I’ve written before, countless times, about the vagaries of the job market in my field and of the ramifications they may (or may not) have on my (our) future. And I’ve written, too, about how I might go about creating the life I want and in a place where I want to be. On Friday, after I presented my paper at the Southern, I eagerly leaned over to the commenter and asked her about her life. She is an independent scholar who writes and teaches in her home state. How did she make that decision, I asked, how did she go about creating her life? She took a deep breath and answered. It wasn’t a surprising answer, but it helped to hear it from someone who knew. It wasn’t easy, she said. She and her husband knew that they wanted to be in a particular geographic location. And so they made that choice, bam, the first step. And it closed a lot of doors. But she didn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret it. It has meant making sacrifices, as all choices do. Sometimes she teaches. Sometimes she writes. Sometimes she tries to juggle both. But it’s the life she wants. And in an industry in which, I’d wager, many people are living a life they don’t want, that’s admirable.

Life, gift wrapped

emily — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 16:09:38 +0000

While digging around to try and find age-appropriate birthday wrapping paper recently, I came to the conclusion that I can look at my wrapping paper bin the way others can look at tree rings to determine the tree’s age and other things. In my wrapping paper bin, I see quite a bit of wedding paper that hasn’t been used in awhile. All of it dates from a flurry of years when we were constantly going to weddings, as various friends began pairing off. Then, out of nowhere (or so it seemed), people started having babies, and so I started buying baby-themed wrapping paper. Now, those babies are getting older, and their wrapping paper has morphed into little-kid-themed paper. (Presumably when they get even older, I can forgo the wrapping paper and just hand them a wad of cash or a jigger of bourbon.) Eventually, I suppose, those same babies will start to pair off and get married, and I can use my wedding wrapping paper again. Sunrise, sunset.