For graduate students everywhere, the day after Thanksgiving, more than any other day in the entire year, represents the greatest possible kick in the pants - especially this year, with the holiday falling so close to the end of term. That's because Thanksgiving is sweet oblivion, the one day in the whole semester in which I turn off the part of my brain that reminds me that I have to grade 40 papers and write two twenty-page papers and start researching things for my...I'm going to stop before I hyperventilate. But that switch is flipped nearly every other day of the academic year, even whilst we sleep, so being to turn it off for just a little while is a blessing.
Thanksgiving is my new Christmas. I get excited for it in the way I used to get excited for Christmas (but no longer do, Grinch that I am). We might chalk up part of that to the aforementioned brain switch, but it mostly comes from the fact that I love a) cooking food; b) eating food; c) drinking wine with aforementioned food; and, d) eating and drinking with friends. Don't get me wrong: family is great. Lovely people. But I can't drink a whole bottle of red wine in front of them (my family, at least). And I can't tell ribald stories or watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall or play a drawing game in which I present a rendition of a drunk guy taking his dick out at a company luau (great game, by the way). I can at Thanksgiving. And that's why I love it.
But now I get kicked below the belt, in the front and the back, by several different entities. English 100 is a grading hell at this point, I need to crank out a term paper in a little over a week, and J. and I need to tend to the hundred and three little things that need to happen before we ship off to South America. And that all happens within the next three weeks.
I'm less afraid than usual, largely because there is a very nice reward at the end of all this ($2 bottles of red wine at street cafés in Valparaíso), but the fear lurks. It lurks.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Books, and Doomsday(s)
Well, thanks everybody for the book recommendations. I'm going to check out a bunch of those books, I think. (Sarah: Bolano's been haunting me for the past week. There was an article on him in Paste, a piece in the Onion's A/V Club, and just yesterday morning I saw a woman reading an article about him in The New York Times. It must be fate.) I've also been milling over a set of short stories by Hawthorne, the first book in George R.R. Martin's fantasy series, and maybe Foucault's Pendulum by Eco (which I've begun but never finished). I'm trying to balance the intellectual (since I'm skipping school for several months) with the entertaining (since this is more or less a vacation), so we'll see how this all shakes out.
But keep the book recommendations coming. Even though I'm quickly running out of packing space--actually, I'm probably already over-full--my list keeps get updated.
That being said, I have no idea how I'm going to fit everything in my 1.5 backpacks. My travel pack is only 40 liters (not that huge) and my day pack is about half that size. Packing for four seasons (since winter will be kicking in while we're in Patagonia) is turning out to be quite a challenge. My pack was perfect for summery travel in Central America and Bolivia/Peru, but I'm worried about fitting in enough clothing to cover everything from trekking in Patagonia in March to hanging on a beach in Honduras in June. Not a terrible problem to have, but my packing list probably exceeds my luggage by about 40% right now. Nuts.
That's a minor problem. The major problem is the grading and term-paper-writing bind I find myself in these days. I need to finish my students' portfolios by Wednesday morning, then immediately begin writing my term paper for my Renaissance tragedy class. And Thursday is completely shot to hell (the good kind of shot to hell) because of all the planned gluttony. And Wednesday is drinking and playing video games with Ben. But things need to happen, and fast.
I won't even go into the fact that the subletters for our place bailed last week. Bastards. So there's that, too.
Every day, I have to fight the urge to go to the medicine cabinet, swallow Jessie's entire supply of Xanax, and hope that it puts me a coma for precisely one month.
But keep the book recommendations coming. Even though I'm quickly running out of packing space--actually, I'm probably already over-full--my list keeps get updated.
That being said, I have no idea how I'm going to fit everything in my 1.5 backpacks. My travel pack is only 40 liters (not that huge) and my day pack is about half that size. Packing for four seasons (since winter will be kicking in while we're in Patagonia) is turning out to be quite a challenge. My pack was perfect for summery travel in Central America and Bolivia/Peru, but I'm worried about fitting in enough clothing to cover everything from trekking in Patagonia in March to hanging on a beach in Honduras in June. Not a terrible problem to have, but my packing list probably exceeds my luggage by about 40% right now. Nuts.
That's a minor problem. The major problem is the grading and term-paper-writing bind I find myself in these days. I need to finish my students' portfolios by Wednesday morning, then immediately begin writing my term paper for my Renaissance tragedy class. And Thursday is completely shot to hell (the good kind of shot to hell) because of all the planned gluttony. And Wednesday is drinking and playing video games with Ben. But things need to happen, and fast.
I won't even go into the fact that the subletters for our place bailed last week. Bastards. So there's that, too.
Every day, I have to fight the urge to go to the medicine cabinet, swallow Jessie's entire supply of Xanax, and hope that it puts me a coma for precisely one month.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Solicitations
Jessie and I are gearing up for our massive six-month trip to the far reaches of South America. And I'm figuring out what I'm going to cram into my 1.5 backpacks that will keep me warm, well-dressed, and entertained for that time.
So, I'm soliciting book suggestions from all y'all. Here are the stipulations:
(1) It needs to be on the longer side (a couple hundred pages is ideal)
(2) It needs to be printed in paperback (hardcover takes up too much space)
(3) It should be at least mildly entertaining
(4) I prefer fiction but will read just about anything
So far, I'm already bringing Murakami's Hard-Boiled Wonderland and probably a translation of Don Quixote, but that's as far as I made it. I think Jessie might be packing The Brothers Karamazov and some Gogol, but I can't say for sure.
Tell me what to read. Do it.
So, I'm soliciting book suggestions from all y'all. Here are the stipulations:
(1) It needs to be on the longer side (a couple hundred pages is ideal)
(2) It needs to be printed in paperback (hardcover takes up too much space)
(3) It should be at least mildly entertaining
(4) I prefer fiction but will read just about anything
So far, I'm already bringing Murakami's Hard-Boiled Wonderland and probably a translation of Don Quixote, but that's as far as I made it. I think Jessie might be packing The Brothers Karamazov and some Gogol, but I can't say for sure.
Tell me what to read. Do it.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Birthday, Birfday, Barfday
It was my birthday this past weekend. And it was pretty outstanding. In a weird echo of my 21st birthday, JR and I and some of friends went out to a hibachi restaurant and got stupidly full. Lucky for me, AK got waaay too much sushi, so I poached some of that--and stuffed myself with hibachi food to boot.
After dinner, we went bowling at what might be one of the best bowling alleys I've seen. Though it was a bit pricey--especially compared to the cheap, cheap college nights back at the bowling alley in DE--the place was almost empty (for a Friday night) and had a pretty decent bar. I was pretty pleased with my bowling skillz but the high point was coming up with the most apt nickname for KJ ever: Sarcastasaurus. That's a keeper.
And then we went to the Ring. Which was the perfect cap to the evening. Not only did I get to eat some of my favorite food for dinner and get stupidly drunk but--here's the kicker--I got to partake of two of my favorite propelling-shit-at-other-shit games (bowling and pool).
Oh, and I got schwasted. Like, drunker than I've been in years. The kind of slow, cumulative drunk that happens when I liberally pepper in a variety of shots with some methodical consumption of beer and mixed drinks. Somehow, BB and JR decided that I should drink one of every "major liquor" to fill out my celebration. That was not limited to: tequila, whiskey, Jagermeister, rum, vodka, liqueur (in the form of a Dirty Girl Scout with MW), and, last but not least, Goldschlager. BB set that last one in front of me at about 1:30 a.m. and I just knocked it back. Oops.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I woke up with possibly the worst hangover I've ever had. Like, hands-down. The kind of hangover where I only got out of bed in order to refill my water glass and linger about the bathroom wondering if the trigger was going to get pulled (it didn't). I managed to watch most of the content on adultswim.com and then about ten episodes of Arrested Development. I pulled myself together around 5:30 and managed to eke out a relatively short evening at Gretchen's fancy-pants party. (I did, in fact, wear my fancy pants.) Otherwise, Saturday was just Bad News Bear (as JR has me saying these days).
JR made a delicious, delicious cake on Sunday, which included a central layer comprised of crushed-up Mint Oreos and vanilla frosting.
I also have to throw out that RT got me a print of, quite possibly, one of the best MTTS cartoons ever made--this guy:
Alright. It's Friday. I need to go pretend to do some work.
After dinner, we went bowling at what might be one of the best bowling alleys I've seen. Though it was a bit pricey--especially compared to the cheap, cheap college nights back at the bowling alley in DE--the place was almost empty (for a Friday night) and had a pretty decent bar. I was pretty pleased with my bowling skillz but the high point was coming up with the most apt nickname for KJ ever: Sarcastasaurus. That's a keeper.
And then we went to the Ring. Which was the perfect cap to the evening. Not only did I get to eat some of my favorite food for dinner and get stupidly drunk but--here's the kicker--I got to partake of two of my favorite propelling-shit-at-other-shit games (bowling and pool).
Oh, and I got schwasted. Like, drunker than I've been in years. The kind of slow, cumulative drunk that happens when I liberally pepper in a variety of shots with some methodical consumption of beer and mixed drinks. Somehow, BB and JR decided that I should drink one of every "major liquor" to fill out my celebration. That was not limited to: tequila, whiskey, Jagermeister, rum, vodka, liqueur (in the form of a Dirty Girl Scout with MW), and, last but not least, Goldschlager. BB set that last one in front of me at about 1:30 a.m. and I just knocked it back. Oops.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I woke up with possibly the worst hangover I've ever had. Like, hands-down. The kind of hangover where I only got out of bed in order to refill my water glass and linger about the bathroom wondering if the trigger was going to get pulled (it didn't). I managed to watch most of the content on adultswim.com and then about ten episodes of Arrested Development. I pulled myself together around 5:30 and managed to eke out a relatively short evening at Gretchen's fancy-pants party. (I did, in fact, wear my fancy pants.) Otherwise, Saturday was just Bad News Bear (as JR has me saying these days).
JR made a delicious, delicious cake on Sunday, which included a central layer comprised of crushed-up Mint Oreos and vanilla frosting.
I also have to throw out that RT got me a print of, quite possibly, one of the best MTTS cartoons ever made--this guy:
Alright. It's Friday. I need to go pretend to do some work.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Reflections On My Career Choice
I'm aborting the whole summer-summary thing I had going in the last post. Just too effing daunting, especially for my fragile mental state right now.
Why fragile? Because I'm grading again. And grading amps me up in a way that I can't really describe. I'm usually OK once I get going with it, but there are frequent periods of hyperventilation before I begin and much gnashing of the teeth as I read the first few students essays. Part of this can probably be chalked up to the fact that I'm still very unconvinced of my authority to evaluate anybody's work. And part of this can also be attributed to the fact that, despite having graded close to 300 student papers in the past year--thank you intro-level teaching assignments--I'm still slow as hell in my grading.
That last bit is mostly because I type up comments for all my students' papers. Like, right now, I'm typing close to a page of single-spaced comments for a two-page assignment. The conscious part of my brain screams, "No no no no stop spending so long you douchenozzle," but unfortunately for me, I grade with my hindbrain. And so I end up writing more than the students submitted to begin with. And that's just plain fucked up.
I set my timer and everything, but I just can't stop myself. It's infuriating. I got a good response from a few of my students last semester, but by and large I think my comments go largely unappreciated. So that's my personal goal for the semester: trimming down my grading time. Significantly.
I'm also freaking out right now because James just left this morning, and all the work that Mr. Fun-Pants-O'Leary made me forget about in a drunken haze is now hurtling towards me with the force of those tiny particles being swung around the Large Hadron Collider. And, similar to that contraption, there's a chance a black hole might spontaneously appear and suck me into oblivion. God, that would be fucking sweet.
Why fragile? Because I'm grading again. And grading amps me up in a way that I can't really describe. I'm usually OK once I get going with it, but there are frequent periods of hyperventilation before I begin and much gnashing of the teeth as I read the first few students essays. Part of this can probably be chalked up to the fact that I'm still very unconvinced of my authority to evaluate anybody's work. And part of this can also be attributed to the fact that, despite having graded close to 300 student papers in the past year--thank you intro-level teaching assignments--I'm still slow as hell in my grading.
That last bit is mostly because I type up comments for all my students' papers. Like, right now, I'm typing close to a page of single-spaced comments for a two-page assignment. The conscious part of my brain screams, "No no no no stop spending so long you douchenozzle," but unfortunately for me, I grade with my hindbrain. And so I end up writing more than the students submitted to begin with. And that's just plain fucked up.
I set my timer and everything, but I just can't stop myself. It's infuriating. I got a good response from a few of my students last semester, but by and large I think my comments go largely unappreciated. So that's my personal goal for the semester: trimming down my grading time. Significantly.
I'm also freaking out right now because James just left this morning, and all the work that Mr. Fun-Pants-O'Leary made me forget about in a drunken haze is now hurtling towards me with the force of those tiny particles being swung around the Large Hadron Collider. And, similar to that contraption, there's a chance a black hole might spontaneously appear and suck me into oblivion. God, that would be fucking sweet.
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