b l o g o s

whirling the mla wind

I've enjoyed this year's mla, mostly because John got us a hotel room over near Independence Park and off the path of beating. The walks to and fro are doable and yet enough to emphasize the distance, and the restaurants in this neighborhood are good and plenty.

As always, too, the fun happens in the times between stuff (though I actually found the stuff itself fun this year). And aside from prearranged dinner with Z and N and drinks with Flavia--I still can't believe we got yelled at for taking up bar space because I was drinking my vodka too slowly!--everything else happened in an extended game of MLA pinball. On Thursday, I bounced in to Jenny in the women's room, and then Friday, it was Collin (praise be to his new cell phone), and then back to John for some lunch slices followed by a foot-resting lobby recharge with Spencer. Went to the Penn State reception with Matt, a colleague who has been away in Ithaca this year. There I was thrilled to catch up with Jeff, one of my dearest, most highlarious grad school friends, to run into Jenny again, this time with Rice and another happy surprise: DDD.

And this morning I have time for a loooong, good workout in what has to be the nicest hotel fitness center I can recall (and I have worked out in a number of these). Then Z is going to pop by for a quick lunch and give me a ride to the airport. Whatta guy.

mla warmup

Is it just me, or does Justin Timberlake playing Michael Bolton bear an uncanny resemblance to Michael Bérubé?

For full effect, check out the video. (tip: Michael appears at 2:50)

Xmas driving

A few years ago I made the happy discovery of what it's like to make a long solo drive on Christmas day. At first it sounds sad, or even--to the melodramatic--tragic. But it's really, really not bad, as long solo drives go. There are, for starters, about 90% fewer trucks on the highway, and even if it rains the whole day--which it did--you aren't constantly engulfed by the powerwash that is the highway spray. I can count on two hands the number of trucks I passed. Gas stations are all open, and as long as you remember to bring a cooler, and as long as you charged the cell phone and ipod and your dad doesn't trash your half-eaten, carefully saved bags of salty snacks from the trip down along with all the aluminum cans you were going to recycle when you got back, you'll have plenty of yummy fun stuff for driving. And plus, if you are staying where there are kids, as I was, you can be assured of a nice, stretchy morning, beginning with thumps, giggles, and whisper-shouts "I'll wake her up!" "No I'll do it!"

While I am accustomed to waking up before 6:30, I'm not, I realized, accustomed to being videotaped only 4 minutes later.

But! All of this leaves plenty of time for setting up the wireless router for the niece's new laptop; failing to help the nephew open that pain-in-the-ass thief-proof (because human-proof) hard plastic gadget packaging; hopping around on the outdoor trampoline--I can still, 20 years later, do the seated twister!--; making a batch of mini-biscuits for the annual fambily brunch; performing a last minute sweep-save when the nephew feeds Jada a mini-cream puff; making digital, dancing elves out of the entire family, and keeping Tillie from chasing the nephew's remote-control motorcycle to downtown Knoxville (most easily achieved by having the nephew direct said motorcycle back to the house). And there's still time to load the sacked whippets in the car and make the eight hour return trek to Urbana--closer to seven if you're driving on Christmas day.   

things to love about tennessee

pressies for smart kids

If memory serves, I was the only kid in my kindergarten who could read. This meant at least two things: 1) that I would have to get up at our school's Christmas event, cross the stage covered with vomit-stained orange carpet, and read a passage from the bible (this was the South, remember, and apparently after school hours, church and state were permitted to mingle), and 2) that when our teachers bought us presents that year--who knows why they bought us all presents? teachers in my county didn't get paid that much--they took special care to buy all the other kids dolls and cool posters and lunch boxes, and they bought me a book. When I ripped off the paper, my little face fell. I mean, I was happy that I could read, but I didn't want to do it on Christmas. I was bummed, that is, until a classmate offered to trade her sweet smelling thumb-sucking dolly for my book, exclaiming that the book I'd been given was scratch and sniff.

Scratch and sniff was a whole other ball game, and so I politely refused the trade. It was a sesame street scratch and sniff, and I still remember being the most drawn to (because repelled by) the vile, fishy smell of Oscar the Grouch who lived in the trash. I scratched him until his body faded and peeled. Grover, the goofy purple guy, made my nails smell of grapes.

The whole reason I thought of this little anecdote is that this week I thought it'd be nice to buy a little present for the person who is going to watch our dogs over break. That person also happens to be my exam-writing advisee. I don't want to get her hopes up too much so I'll say it here: I doubt if anyone will want to trade, especially since it will only smell like ink and pulp, and even though it's cute and red, it's still half Latin. Maybe I'll buy some wine to go with.

to the person who arrived at blogos by googling "RSA confrence 2007":

It might be helpful to know that there is no RSA conference in 2007. RSA is biennial, and the conference is on an even-year cycle. But! RSA hosts an Institute during odd numbered years. The institute features seminar and workshop formats, and you can find details here.

Sincerely,

RSA's membership officer, earning her keep since 2005

happy, merry, etc.

plogging

That's my best word for 'paper logging,' though I realize if I followed the formula set down by blogging, it would be rlogging. So plogging it is.

Since what was pretty much a wasted Saturday, I've been working fairly diligently reading and commenting on my graduate students' seminar papers, many of which, thankfully, came in early. And since I rarely track how long it takes to read and comment on a seminar paper, I decided to make use of the stopwatch I bought for 400s. Always in search of a coping mechanism that both gets the work done and prevents it from taking over my life (however temporarily), my approach this time is to 'match' the time I spend on each paper with another activity for the same amount of time before moving on to another paper. This works a little like some of the lifehacks over at 43 folders that Collin, Jenny, and Donna have been known to blog about. In fact, I time the grading with my stopwatch, but then count it back down with the little cook's timer I ordered in response to one of the lifehacks.

Anyway, it turns out that with no email and no bathroom break, nothing but eyes on screen, thumb on mouse pad, wearing out MS word's 'insert comment' function, I can finish a 25 page seminar paper in just over an hour. 19 pagers have gone from 35 to 45 minutes, pending readability. This is roughly the same amount of time in which I can do something with the laundry, check email, take a bathroom break, and a few other tasks like taking out the trash or walking the dogs or eating. IOW: I can do a lot in the time it takes to grade one seminar paper.

The most comments I've given so far are 82 for a 21 pager. Least: 22 for a 19-pager.

So far it's working out quite well, and I will be done with the grading and return the commented papers (all with end comments too) by the 5pm deadline tomorrow, no sweat.

T-minus

My grad seminar papers are due by email in less than 45 minutes, and four are still missing.

Hmm.

[Update]: 20 minutes past deadline, and still missing three papers. Email working fine. This has officially never happened to me (I have had late papers, but only when it has been previously arranged). Maybe they forgot and turned in hard copies?? WTF?

best local politics Tshirt idea. Ev0r.

courtesy of Cris Mayo.