When I was little, I used to love being called on in class to read aloud. Now, though, I've lost those skills entirely. This was realized after trying to read the report of a friend of mine who just moved to New Orleans aloud to my roommate. I stumbled over simple (and sometimes ironic) words, words like "inadequate."
I blame this on adult impatience. And, I suppose, the fact that I don't read for really extended periods anymore, like I used to. But when it comes to the impatience, I just want to get to the end of the sentence. My brain is trying to go forward, skim through sentences as I do when I'm speed-reading. The fact that my speech is slower than my reading speed is not something my mind is used to, or comfortable with, so it just tries to keep up. Which, of course, doesn't work.
On a completely separate note, the students are definitely back, bringing with them all the baggage they carry from all different parts of the U.S. and the world. Although I haven't interacted with many, I know because, as happens every fall to some extent at one point or another, I can feel myself getting sick. Joy.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
misty morning
This morning I stepped out into a very close world. Fog had set in overnight, creating a blanket clutched tight around us. Sometimes it loosened, but only very little.
I have a coworker who appreciates sunlight, and I could hear her protest already as I got into my car, but I knew it wouldn't impact me much. "It's a lovely morning," I'd reply, if she mentioned it.
And it is. The mist highlights spiderwebs built in patches at the top of the grass along the sides of the road. It masks the industrial chimneys occasionally seen pumping out steam on the horizon. It softens the arrival of about 40,000 students.
Classes start on Tuesday. I'm half thankful for the students' return, and half irritated by it. Their awkward and often lost arrival disrupts the easy flow of summer here. I admit it: I've become a townie. Then again, in the four years I've lived here, I've always felt like one. It's just that they descend like geese--loud, obnoxious, and often shitting all over the place an awful lot. When one gets detached from the flock, they make an awful racket of being lost.
I do understand all this, of course. I've been there myself. And I'm certainly generalizing--this is no one person I'm describing. It's the mass. And it's no one's fault. It's just an inconvenience, interrupting a comfortable flow and (gasp) evoking change.
I love academia. I do. Being surrounded by this many brilliant and becoming-brilliant people is invigorating. But I have to admit the return of students and introduction of a new batch can be both immensely hopeful and depressing. I see drive and spirit, and it's lovely and refreshing, but in the back of my head, the cynic in me starts making bets about how long it will take for that to be driven out of them. Somehow, I hope that students will avoid my mistakes, for example, but of course I wish that for them without being able to say what, exactly, those were.
Gosh. All this makes me sound like I'm becoming older and wiser, doesn't it?
Laugh while you can.
I have a coworker who appreciates sunlight, and I could hear her protest already as I got into my car, but I knew it wouldn't impact me much. "It's a lovely morning," I'd reply, if she mentioned it.
And it is. The mist highlights spiderwebs built in patches at the top of the grass along the sides of the road. It masks the industrial chimneys occasionally seen pumping out steam on the horizon. It softens the arrival of about 40,000 students.
Classes start on Tuesday. I'm half thankful for the students' return, and half irritated by it. Their awkward and often lost arrival disrupts the easy flow of summer here. I admit it: I've become a townie. Then again, in the four years I've lived here, I've always felt like one. It's just that they descend like geese--loud, obnoxious, and often shitting all over the place an awful lot. When one gets detached from the flock, they make an awful racket of being lost.
I do understand all this, of course. I've been there myself. And I'm certainly generalizing--this is no one person I'm describing. It's the mass. And it's no one's fault. It's just an inconvenience, interrupting a comfortable flow and (gasp) evoking change.
I love academia. I do. Being surrounded by this many brilliant and becoming-brilliant people is invigorating. But I have to admit the return of students and introduction of a new batch can be both immensely hopeful and depressing. I see drive and spirit, and it's lovely and refreshing, but in the back of my head, the cynic in me starts making bets about how long it will take for that to be driven out of them. Somehow, I hope that students will avoid my mistakes, for example, but of course I wish that for them without being able to say what, exactly, those were.
Gosh. All this makes me sound like I'm becoming older and wiser, doesn't it?
Laugh while you can.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
cities: addendum
I also meant to write briefly about how I really should be taking more advantage of the natural resources available to me in the area here, but (how appropriate) forgot.
Basically, I really enjoy trees, forests, streams, etc. But I don't see enough of them. My drive to work is the majority of my interaction, which is sad, and should be rectified. Again, though, I have to fight with the time issue.
Better to be too busy than to be bored, I suppose.
Basically, I really enjoy trees, forests, streams, etc. But I don't see enough of them. My drive to work is the majority of my interaction, which is sad, and should be rectified. Again, though, I have to fight with the time issue.
Better to be too busy than to be bored, I suppose.
Monday, August 22, 2005
cities
So on my way in to work this morning, driving with my wrists crossed, hands kind of hanging out at the top of the wheel, under a blue sky liberally studded with puffy cumulonimbus clouds with airy white tops and starting-to-look-threatening bottoms, sunlight peeking through the leaves of the thick trees I drove through, my mind dispensed this quick little notion:
It was definitely good to go, but it's certainly good to be back.
Although I'm fascinated by some of the features of American cities on a temporary basis, I don't particularly care for them in the long run, and Indianapolis is no exception. Yes, the architecture can be neat. But the traffic and trying to get around is a pain.
European cities, on the other hand, I don't think I'd have as much of a problem with. I have Copenhagen in mind, of course. But this is a longer subject for another time.
So, to summarize the trip: good (if sometimes overly complicated and drama-filled though alternately nice to re-connect and make new connections) time there, but good to be here, too.
(I just realized that the parenthetical there doesn't make that very succinct. Oh, well.)
It was definitely good to go, but it's certainly good to be back.
Although I'm fascinated by some of the features of American cities on a temporary basis, I don't particularly care for them in the long run, and Indianapolis is no exception. Yes, the architecture can be neat. But the traffic and trying to get around is a pain.
European cities, on the other hand, I don't think I'd have as much of a problem with. I have Copenhagen in mind, of course. But this is a longer subject for another time.
So, to summarize the trip: good (if sometimes overly complicated and drama-filled though alternately nice to re-connect and make new connections) time there, but good to be here, too.
(I just realized that the parenthetical there doesn't make that very succinct. Oh, well.)
Monday, August 15, 2005
small towns
So I just got back from the post office.
I just realized this actually requires some prefacing. How odd. Here goes: I've found myself involved in an online swapping community. We swap various things--mostly scents, bath and body nonsense, that sort of thing, but also going out to handmade crafty things like painted boxes (which I gave a basic whirl about a month ago) and jewelry and such. I recently learned chainmaking via chain maille techniques, and only have the very basics under my belt. But one of the fine ladies on that forum wanted a charm bracelet, and most of the work I've done in the medium was something that is usually used as a base for a charm bracelet. She actually wanted to buy, not swap, once she saw a photo of the piece. So thus I got my first $25 (although I only asked $20) for a handmade item. So I sent it out, and she got it, and she likes it. Go me. That little bout of attention-deficit was entirely beside the point.
The point to the preface is that I find myself sending out little packages all the freaking time. When it's what we consider an even swap, it only costs me the postage (fifty cents, usually), and I get to try something new. Otherwise, I usually get reimbursed the postage. This cost analysis again brought to you by my lack of focus today, which is sometimes the case for me on Mondays, given that I usually get about four hours sleep the night before.
Okay. Let's try this again. I went to the post office in a nearby town, as that post office is a lot less busy than is State College's (notoriously long lines, and at lunchtime? forget about it). This town is nestled against Mount Nittany, and has a rather lovely little strip. My point here is that it's a tiny town (whoops, digressing again). So I was at their little post office, sending out three little packages, and on my way out, noticed that someone had left their car running while they ran in.
Then I realized that as soon as I stopped living with my dad, I had taken for granted that I'd never again live in a town where it's safe to do that. And I don't now. But it's neat to know that it exists, and so close by. I wouldn't do it there, but that's probably because I know how small towns work, and I'm not part of that small town. It's not that I think the people there wouldn't look out for me like they would their fellow residents, but that they don't know me well enough to get in touch with me if they needed to, or know whether or not I'd welcome the help.
Given that I moved from my dad's village to Beloit for college, which has really shady areas that are not safe--South Beloit being even worse--the switch to becoming more paranoid when it came to my car's security was a natural one. A good friend there had his car broken into while parked in the same lot I parked in all the time. That's not to say that Beloit's horrible, especially in the area around the college, but--well, stuff happens.
And stuff happens here in State College, too. Nothing I can think of has hit so close to home here, though. And S.C. has been rated the best small city in terms of crime. That study even states: "In particular, the burglary and auto theft rates are among the nation's lowest." But now that my concern for my vehicle was raised in college, I can't really go back. I have a friend who has a very low concern when it comes to security. I see that friend leave things unlocked all the time, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Heck, I even lock my computer when I leave my desk at work.
The moral of the story? I'm perhaps overly paranoid. But we knew that. On the other hand, it's probably better to be on the safe side. But in either case, it's nice to live near places where people aren't as concerned. It makes me feel better. (and on another non-focused moment note: I also adore that my commute takes all of fifteen minutes, tops.)
I just realized this actually requires some prefacing. How odd. Here goes: I've found myself involved in an online swapping community. We swap various things--mostly scents, bath and body nonsense, that sort of thing, but also going out to handmade crafty things like painted boxes (which I gave a basic whirl about a month ago) and jewelry and such. I recently learned chainmaking via chain maille techniques, and only have the very basics under my belt. But one of the fine ladies on that forum wanted a charm bracelet, and most of the work I've done in the medium was something that is usually used as a base for a charm bracelet. She actually wanted to buy, not swap, once she saw a photo of the piece. So thus I got my first $25 (although I only asked $20) for a handmade item. So I sent it out, and she got it, and she likes it. Go me. That little bout of attention-deficit was entirely beside the point.
The point to the preface is that I find myself sending out little packages all the freaking time. When it's what we consider an even swap, it only costs me the postage (fifty cents, usually), and I get to try something new. Otherwise, I usually get reimbursed the postage. This cost analysis again brought to you by my lack of focus today, which is sometimes the case for me on Mondays, given that I usually get about four hours sleep the night before.
Okay. Let's try this again. I went to the post office in a nearby town, as that post office is a lot less busy than is State College's (notoriously long lines, and at lunchtime? forget about it). This town is nestled against Mount Nittany, and has a rather lovely little strip. My point here is that it's a tiny town (whoops, digressing again). So I was at their little post office, sending out three little packages, and on my way out, noticed that someone had left their car running while they ran in.
Then I realized that as soon as I stopped living with my dad, I had taken for granted that I'd never again live in a town where it's safe to do that. And I don't now. But it's neat to know that it exists, and so close by. I wouldn't do it there, but that's probably because I know how small towns work, and I'm not part of that small town. It's not that I think the people there wouldn't look out for me like they would their fellow residents, but that they don't know me well enough to get in touch with me if they needed to, or know whether or not I'd welcome the help.
Given that I moved from my dad's village to Beloit for college, which has really shady areas that are not safe--South Beloit being even worse--the switch to becoming more paranoid when it came to my car's security was a natural one. A good friend there had his car broken into while parked in the same lot I parked in all the time. That's not to say that Beloit's horrible, especially in the area around the college, but--well, stuff happens.
And stuff happens here in State College, too. Nothing I can think of has hit so close to home here, though. And S.C. has been rated the best small city in terms of crime. That study even states: "In particular, the burglary and auto theft rates are among the nation's lowest." But now that my concern for my vehicle was raised in college, I can't really go back. I have a friend who has a very low concern when it comes to security. I see that friend leave things unlocked all the time, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Heck, I even lock my computer when I leave my desk at work.
The moral of the story? I'm perhaps overly paranoid. But we knew that. On the other hand, it's probably better to be on the safe side. But in either case, it's nice to live near places where people aren't as concerned. It makes me feel better. (and on another non-focused moment note: I also adore that my commute takes all of fifteen minutes, tops.)
Monday, August 08, 2005
a useful metaphor
Tonight I rediscovered the secret to my practice of yoga:
Work, but don't push.
I think that may become a metaphor for lots of other pieces of my life.
(and man, does every piece of my body feel better due its rediscovery.)
Work, but don't push.
I think that may become a metaphor for lots of other pieces of my life.
(and man, does every piece of my body feel better due its rediscovery.)
degrees of success.
So last night, at the club, an old student of mine came up to the booth to chat--a student who hadn't been in the area for months, at least. Some two months ago, I'd halfheartedly tried to track him down online, mostly due to being reminded of him by making renewed contact with two other old students of mine, who graduated (or were about to graduate) from the same department. (For my own reference: AB, ES, and LB)
Turns out this particular student has been in New York since he graduated, working as a production assistant on two relatively popular Hollywood news-related shows. Frankly, I envied him just a tad upon hearing this. And, for that matter, felt more than a little humbled. It's a great leveling experience, this after-graduation thing--especially considering my (grad) degree is in something that most people find relatively useless. I can't tell you how many "And what are you going to do with that?"s I had to endure, usually followed with: "Teach?"
Since work today was relatively intense--two prospective student presentations, one right before lunch, one right after--I commiserated with J at some point, who asked if I'd been looking elsewhere. It caught me off guard. Such hadn't even occurred to me. Hadn't even entered my mind.
I like my job. Sure, there are a few things that I don't love about it, but overall, I'm happy with what I'm doing. I could start a list of what I like, but I'm not sure that would serve much of a purpose. The major drawbacks? The pace, perhaps, and the amount of things I have to do that aren't really related to what projects I'd ideally be working on, but that's really all when it comes to day-to-day tasks.
It's strange, I suppose. I didn't realize I gave off the impression that I don't like it. Perhaps the method by which I blow off steam/stress makes my close friends think so.
Upon leaving, one of the women in my office suite told me (only because a conversation was going on about it) that she's pregnant. I gave a cautious "That's a good thing?" She assured me that it was, kind of backhandedly complimented how discreet I was, and the conversation continued. Upon learning this, one of the women involved in the conversation had immediately offered to help her shop. The other immediately helped by providing suggestions and advice from her own experience. I said little to nothing. The latter woman finally said something to the effect of "I'll stop pestering you about it," and let her head to her car. The news-worthy one and I walked out to the parking lot together. I said that I wouldn't pester her about it. She replied: "You're always reserved and considerate. I would never expect you to be anything less than that."
If those are the primary characteristics I'm known for, I'm having mixed feelings about it. I guess, though, that it's work, and those are certainly two better things to be known for there. It doesn't make me sound like very much fun, though. But I do much prefer to be conscientious about those sorts of matters--to be sure of where others stand before I open my mouth about it.
I wonder--if my coworkers knew my stance on children, would they be as prone to discussing them/their plans for them in front of me? It does happen a lot. Which, further, makes me wonder if I shouldn't make my stance known more obviously.
Turns out this particular student has been in New York since he graduated, working as a production assistant on two relatively popular Hollywood news-related shows. Frankly, I envied him just a tad upon hearing this. And, for that matter, felt more than a little humbled. It's a great leveling experience, this after-graduation thing--especially considering my (grad) degree is in something that most people find relatively useless. I can't tell you how many "And what are you going to do with that?"s I had to endure, usually followed with: "Teach?"
Since work today was relatively intense--two prospective student presentations, one right before lunch, one right after--I commiserated with J at some point, who asked if I'd been looking elsewhere. It caught me off guard. Such hadn't even occurred to me. Hadn't even entered my mind.
I like my job. Sure, there are a few things that I don't love about it, but overall, I'm happy with what I'm doing. I could start a list of what I like, but I'm not sure that would serve much of a purpose. The major drawbacks? The pace, perhaps, and the amount of things I have to do that aren't really related to what projects I'd ideally be working on, but that's really all when it comes to day-to-day tasks.
It's strange, I suppose. I didn't realize I gave off the impression that I don't like it. Perhaps the method by which I blow off steam/stress makes my close friends think so.
Upon leaving, one of the women in my office suite told me (only because a conversation was going on about it) that she's pregnant. I gave a cautious "That's a good thing?" She assured me that it was, kind of backhandedly complimented how discreet I was, and the conversation continued. Upon learning this, one of the women involved in the conversation had immediately offered to help her shop. The other immediately helped by providing suggestions and advice from her own experience. I said little to nothing. The latter woman finally said something to the effect of "I'll stop pestering you about it," and let her head to her car. The news-worthy one and I walked out to the parking lot together. I said that I wouldn't pester her about it. She replied: "You're always reserved and considerate. I would never expect you to be anything less than that."
If those are the primary characteristics I'm known for, I'm having mixed feelings about it. I guess, though, that it's work, and those are certainly two better things to be known for there. It doesn't make me sound like very much fun, though. But I do much prefer to be conscientious about those sorts of matters--to be sure of where others stand before I open my mouth about it.
I wonder--if my coworkers knew my stance on children, would they be as prone to discussing them/their plans for them in front of me? It does happen a lot. Which, further, makes me wonder if I shouldn't make my stance known more obviously.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
-erries (credit to L for that useful twisting of the English language)
Just for reference: I love berry season.
This week alone, I've had raspberries (both the usual pink and the unusual golden), blueberries, strawberries, and cherries. I'd forgotten how much I like blueberries--I don't think I've had them in years. Berries have become meals for me lately, although I often add a side of steamed veggies--broccoli or cauliflower, usually. I recently discovered how easy it is to steam veggies in the microwave. And boy, am I glad I did.
This week, I also finally returned to my old yoga instructor for once-a-week classes, having lost track of her during some of my more intense time here. C, the sweetheart that she is, didn't even recognize me when I showed up. It doesn't help that last she saw me, I had chin-length red hair and wore contacts. She said that it made her wonder if she would recognize her own children if they cut and dyed their hair. I found that extremely flattering, in an extremely weird fashion. But boy--whatever flexibility yoga had afforded me at one time, it's definitely gone now. I'm hoping it's just a matter of time for it to return, though.
Most of today I spent typing up recommendations to K, who's going on a trip to Denmark soon, with possible thoughts of living there in the future. I'd forgotten that I had so much to say on the subject--that email (now sent) got incredibly long. I may reprint sections of it here. When I have time. Which, in my case, often ends up to be never.
This week alone, I've had raspberries (both the usual pink and the unusual golden), blueberries, strawberries, and cherries. I'd forgotten how much I like blueberries--I don't think I've had them in years. Berries have become meals for me lately, although I often add a side of steamed veggies--broccoli or cauliflower, usually. I recently discovered how easy it is to steam veggies in the microwave. And boy, am I glad I did.
This week, I also finally returned to my old yoga instructor for once-a-week classes, having lost track of her during some of my more intense time here. C, the sweetheart that she is, didn't even recognize me when I showed up. It doesn't help that last she saw me, I had chin-length red hair and wore contacts. She said that it made her wonder if she would recognize her own children if they cut and dyed their hair. I found that extremely flattering, in an extremely weird fashion. But boy--whatever flexibility yoga had afforded me at one time, it's definitely gone now. I'm hoping it's just a matter of time for it to return, though.
Most of today I spent typing up recommendations to K, who's going on a trip to Denmark soon, with possible thoughts of living there in the future. I'd forgotten that I had so much to say on the subject--that email (now sent) got incredibly long. I may reprint sections of it here. When I have time. Which, in my case, often ends up to be never.
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