have a thicker blanket.

Both yesterday and today the fog's been a morning greeting--this time even at home, not just campus. Yesterday it burned off beautifully, exposing sunshine and warm temperatures. Today it's too early to tell--I can't even see the field behind the office currently.

Yesterday evening as I was exiting the office, I bumped into a lady that works downstairs, with the office that does the programming for our administrative mainframe. Despite being a near-total stranger, conversation started right up--about the weather, of course, that being the easiest thing for strangers in the same geographic area to talk about. Then she brought up how beautiful the moon had been the night before. I mentioned that I hadn't been out to see it--it was full, right? (Knowing full well, as I do these days, when the moon is full--in no small part due to BPAL's release schedule. It's Chrysanthemum Moon according to their reckoning, based on Asian moons, and next month's full moon will be Kindly.) She agreed, then asked me if I was new to the building. I shook my head no and said I'd been here a year and a half (it's edging closer to two now, but I didn't point that out at the time). She kind of laughed, and said "oh, well that's new." And as we parted ways, headed for our respective cars, she waved and said "welcome to [the building]."

And our building is full of long-haulers. My grand-boss has been here for more than 20 years for certain, probably more than 25. Three people off the top of my head are about to retire in our Admissions Services and Evaluation Team. On the other hand, since I arrived in the office, we've hired a dozen people I can think of off the top of my head. I guess that makes for a relatively good balance of institutional knowledge and fresh input. These kinds of things have been increasingly coming to the forefront of my mind as we've been trying to form these committees, which should start their first meetings next week, we hope.

Unfortunately, navigating what they're going to turn out like and how they're going to operate is a lot like navigating the fog this morning--being never quite sure what might pop into view as you travel.

This morning, on the drive in, it was thick, thick, thick, until I hit one patch in the heavily wooded area I drive through, at which point it cleared up completely in this little bubble of stillness. And that was magic. A small kind of magic, certainly, but magic nonetheless: this pure, clear vision as woods pressed close, every detail perfectly visible, but the very distinct knowledge of when you have to enter the dimness again. And it hits in a wall, and then you're engulfed and straining to see clearly once more.

Welcome to the world of office politics.

Welcome to Happy Valley--have a blanket.

Today, the second day of fall classes, dawned dull and cold and spitting. I was amused on my drive in to see a professor-type in suit and bow tie standing beneath a great black umbrella at the bus stop. I was even more amused to see what for the life of me seemed like flecks of snow hitting my windshield along with the sprinkles of rain.

The wall of fog I encountered as I drove toward campus further expanded my delight. Strange, I know, but I think we've covered that about me. In the case, it was a gorgeous, deep fog. Which slowed down traffic, of course, but that's the only down side.

Forget about my view of the mountains: on the way in, I could barely see the watertower I usually pass. On the corner of the intersection the stadium's closest to, I could barely see its struts, and couldn't at all see the other side of it.

Now that I'm in my office, once I look beyond the field and accompanying field house just outside my window, there's nothing beyond. If I crane back to see Pollock Halls, the closest are kind of visible, but the ones closer to the heart of campus are just--gone. Swallowed up. The world has been shallowed, the horizon brought in closer. No sign of Mount Nittany or the range it's attached to, much less the range beyond that.

While a nasty greeting for those from warmer climes, I find this comforting--as if the valley pulled around a nestling blanket for its new residents. I doubt they'll be as appreciative, but I have to admit that I love this.

move-in, eating crow, and fanatics

Today is overcast. It has been for awhile. Students have been moving in for the past two days, and S.C. has exploded, population-wise, especially when you count all the parents either overnighting or making a weekend of it with the game and all, plus classes not starting until Tuesday.

I'm impressed every time. Things change so suddenly around here. I moved from a village that doubles in the summer to a small city that doubles whenever it's not summer. And they bring wonder to town, the students, as do their parents, oftentimes.

I'm trying to have a slow lunch after the bustle of the rest of my day--slowly sipping my jasmine tea until it cools enough to drink, writing this old school with the tiny pad and pen that fits into my wallet--an extremely useful gift from J.

I have to say I'm awfully fond of the colleague who stopped in my door yesterday to inform me that "I'm here to eat crow." There's little in my book that's more endearing than having the cajones to admit you're wrong.

He came down earlier that day to chastise me for making the incorrect call on a deferral and to correct the letter I'd had sent out that hadn't escaped our mail room yet. I told him that I thought I knew the policy and followed it, to the point of looking it up as I was doing it, but if I was wrong, I'd correct it. He had come back to let me know I'd done it all right in the first place, and he would have to correct his own incorrect call on the matter.

And he technically outranks me in this: both in which team he's on here (Admissions Services and Evaluation Team vs. me in the Communication and Customer Service Team), rank and title, and of course years of experience. I can't deny it feels good to be right here.

Circling around campus is a plane dragging a huge banner that reads "10 week abortion," with a phone number and accompanying graphic photo, in a size too big to mention. This is the first time I've seen this, though it may have been up before. The unfortunate bit is that from afar, I'd thought it read "10 week audition" and I couldn't see the photo, and then I'd craned to figure out what the auditions were for. The other unfortunate bit is that though I certainly can guess, it's not clear if it's an ad for a clinic that provides those services, or a protest against such.

There's a commonly-repeated saying to the effect that fanatics of any stripe make the reasonable members of the group look bad. On the other hand, I would argue, there are also fanatics that make the human race look bad.

Not that this is the worst offender. But even so.

But even despite that view, and despite the overcast sky, I'll likely drive home tonight with the sunroof open, as I have pretty much every day it hasn't rained since I re-discovered the beauty of having one.

current status and an ode to my uncle

Status report:

Generally satisfied and happy, but missing people. I came home today, threw in a load of laundry, made some chicken pad thai, finished a mix CD after some arguing with my relatively ancient Frankencomputer (4 and a half years is old in computer years), talked with my WUL (Weird Uncle L, for those in the know) on the phone for the first time in far too long and now I'm arranging swaps with friends online and listening to the newly-made CD front to back, scrutinizing the transitions. And writing this, of course.

New developments on this end: I've realized I really do need to get a new computer. How fast I move on this depends on how it behaves in the near future, though. And, really, I'm kind of putting it off, since I certainly hadn't budgeted for it.

The source of some relatively major headaches at the DJ gig is suddenly absent--my most recent regular Sunday night co-worker's been fired. I didn't really realize exactly how bad it had gotten until I found myself telling my manager that the company almost lost me over him. The manager in question had gotten one email about his behavior, but until he was gone, I didn't realize just how tense he'd made me those nights.

But: crisis averted. All is well: I think the manager in question is actually going to be taking on the night with me, which I'm pretty cool with.

Talking to my uncle, though, made me start missing him. We were talking about major life shifts and developments, the significance of which is still sinking in and making me think about my own, of course, and about how little time we both have. 'S truth, as an old fling (who I still keep in loose contact with, I might add) once had a habit of saying.

I love chatting with WUL, and I miss being able to do it in person, when we're both relatively at our leisure. But these days, enough time stretches between chats with him that there are sometimes odd pauses where we try to figure out what needs to be said--what we've told each other and what we haven't, what needs to be updated or has new developments, how much time we can spare to chat, and then eventually how to sign off. This time it took a good even dozen tries, I'm certain. We'll usually start wrapping up, then get distracted with a significant detail or anecdote, and have to approach the end of the conversation from a different angle.

I also have lodged in my head his signoff tonight, which meant a lot to me. It was a sentiment I hadn't heard out of him for awhile, and I'd noted its absence. There are relatives of mine that I can basically take or leave--I care, sure, but I wouldn't fuss or make note if they weren't totally forthcoming or genuine in a telephone conversation. WUL is not one of those. He means a lot to me, and I'm not always sure he knows it.

I value his opinions, his thoughts and theories, his personal values, his weirdnesses, his spirituality and beliefs, and being able to talk with him about all the above. And I miss it a lot. I'm proud of him, and that seems weird coming from the younger one of the two of us, I'm sure. But: 's truth. It's why I brought him as a guest panel member to my college when I was organizing our convention there. I wanted my friends to meet him, to talk with him, to realize how brilliant he was, to gain a little bit of what I've gained over the years from him. I'm still pretty constantly amazed that he's part of my family. But happy, certainly happy.

Please excuse this evening's sappiness. I'm operating on about four hours of sleep and I miss my uncle. I just hope he knows how much.

Leaving New Orleans, part the final

The morning I flew out was strange. My flight left incredibly early, which meant I and my host got up at 4 a.m. or so to get ready to make the drive out to the airport. Instead of taking the highway, which wasn't entirely reliable due to night construction, we ghosted through neighborhood after neighborhood. Some were eerily quiet. Others, from all indications, were completely abandoned. There was mist across the road in a lot of places, especially near the park.

After I finished being unnerved, I found it a completely appropriate environment for my exit from the city. New Orleans would haunt me, much as that morning's ride did. I am amazingly thankful that I got a chance to go, and took it.

Once aloft, I could see the city below quite clearly as we were banking:

Thanks to the wonder that is the satellite view on Google Maps, I managed to precisely identify what I was seeing. Metairie Cemetery is the one arranged in an oval above the golf course. Greenwood Cemetery is across the Ponchartrain Expressway from it to the right and St. Patrick's Cemetery is just below, more across from the golf course. Note the cluster of blue tarps in the lower right (click through the picture if you can't see them well enough: you can also click "All Sizes" above the picture on that page to enlarge it).

A line of sunlight appeared over the city as we left it:


And a new day dawned for New Orleans as I left it behind.

Take that as a metaphor, if you will.

New Orleans pictures, part the seventh

But there were other signs as well. Signs that life was returning to normal.


The shops, many of them, were open again.


The tourists were returning, that Easter weekend:




And with the tourists came the street performers:




The characters that make up the heart of New Orleans were either back, or never left:




You'll still find surprises in your food:

Like the crab's claw I found in my gumbo at Coop's Place, but it was still amazing food. I miss it, and before this I never particularly cared for spicy food.

The beautiful buildings haven't gone away:




And some things never change:

This is Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, said to be the longest continuously operating bar in the America, located on a far end of Bourbon Street. It's quiet, almost entirely lit by candles, and the interior is largely unchanged.

After all this, though, I felt just about like this:

New Orleans pictures, part the sixth

Throughout, I was fascinated by the tagging. What it meant, where the different services placed them, why each was searching. But only after I returned did I look up the codes: "The top obviously represented the date of the search. The left, the unit who conducted it. The right was a code for the type of contamination found within. The bottom number told the grim tale of how many bodies were found." (I don't have the original source of that quote because it's been reposted so often.)



"When they enter a structure to search for survivors, they put a slash on the building (usually in orange spray paint) with the date to the right of it and some type of identification for the search team on the left. Then they "cross the X" on the way out of the structure, writing body counts at the bottom and other hazards to the right. (That way, if they get in trouble and never come back out, another crew can tell which building they're stuck in because the X isn't crossed.)"


And some, more practical, like this one for mail.

Also on the more practical end were those who searched for pets. A good thing in theory, it didn't work out in practice as well. Some of these folks broke into houses to find abandoned pets, and left those houses wide open to be looted.




And then there were signs of a different sort, not encoded, but plain to read. Signs like the one I contributed to Signs of Life and others, begging for an end:


And yet others carrying more hope than despair:

New Orleans pictures, part the fifth

Then there were these:


Yes, that water line would be over your head. This is from Lakeview, with a storm rolling in to the left, through a car window. Since Lakeview and several other areas that got hit hard are basically suburban cookie-cutter hells, those areas turned out like this:


Full curbs, fridges often full of rotten food, at each stop down the line.


Curbs full of belongings, furniture, clothes; often moldy or still waterlogged, in the case of mattresses.

The "luckier" areas, where people qualified, saw trailers in each driveway.

I was heartened to see kids biking down the road here, like in any neighborhood, which is why I took this shot.

Tons of new businesses sprang up or moved to the area, and advertised on every lightpole they could get ahold of:

I'm not real fond of these businesses, though I know their services are needed. To me, a lot of these are just making their money off the disaster--demolition, mold removal, businesses that buy up old houses, you name it--and others are just plain scams.

Lest you think it was just middle-class suburbia that got hit:


And the ubiquitous blue tarps:


And fridges. No electricity = rotting food. Most people probably checked theirs after they returned, then duct taped it shut and tossed it to the curb:

New Orleans pictures, part the fourth

Here's the much briefer and segmented version of what I wanted to do earlier: post some of the New Orleans pictures with context. I'll do separate entries for these, to break it up a bit.


A former stoplight in the Marigny. As of April, a lot of stoplights were still down, turning those intersections into four-way stops, which messed with traffic something fierce.


They are, of course, making progress on that account, though.

And, on the other hand, some are operable, just a bit cock-eyed:


And then there are other signs that are just a bit off as well:

the forest for the trees

This morning, driving in to work, I noticed one of the other things I appreciate about this area of Pennsylvania. While I was driving, the odd fir trees on either side of the road turned into oaks, and I realized that I really enjoy the variability of the landscape.

There's this one type of fir that you can see from the bypass out to Bellefonte, that I swear has always struck me at first, from afar, to look like a grove of palm trees. They're amazingly tall, and bend slightly from the prevailing wind, but only have needles and branches at the very tippy-top. When I was dating the former Forestry major, I should've asked about them--but then again, I might not have remembered the answer. I've forgotten a lot of what I learned then, and I wish I'd thought to write it down. Then again, I knew that relationship would end (the person in question was moving to Philly only a few short months--in reality, more like six, but it felt short--after we started dating) so I was probably busy enjoying the presence rather than planning for the absence. In any case.

Yesterday I had the morning presentation. It went well enough--one rather insistent questioner who asked some rather off-the-wall questions, but other than that and one tangent that caused, well enough. On the way back to the office after yoga yesterday, I ran into one of the families that had been in the presentation: a family I remembered not only because the mother had a foot injury that caused her to move around in a boot, but because it was one of those odd situations we run into here surprisingly often--what we call the change-of-assignment student. The student had started at Penn State York and was soon to be switching to Penn State University Park as planned, but wanted to get a tour first. He and his family had come in late to the information session (it didn't really apply to them anyway), and the mother had asked me a few questions about housing afterwards.

When I realized they were somewhat lost, I offered to walk them back to Shields, which was where I was headed anyway. I fell into step with the student and chatted with him--about getting used to a large campus, about housing, about York, and about the weather and environment here at UP. He mentioned that the landscape on the drive up was "hard to resist," and I had to agree with him there.

He asked about winter--York's almost on the Maryland border, and gets a really minor amount of snowfall--and I told him how we get one or two bad snowfalls a year, but typically that's all. The rest of the winter's just minor flurries and subsequent slush. But then I told him about the beautiful storms--the way you can see rain falling on the mountains but not touching the valley, and the way you can watch a thunderstorm crest Mount Nittany, the dark clouds building above it before it tumbles down the other side. I don't think he got the beauty in it. But I think he will, eventually.

It was when he asked my major that I realized he didn't recognize me from the presentation. I laughed, said I had changed clothes, given the workout, and that I was in disguise. I'm still amused and mostly enjoy these kinds of mistakes, and they happen often, despite that I feel the beginnings of age creeping into the edges of my eyes and in the crease between my eyebrows. But we're all our own worst critics, of course.

And now you see how the minor things--the incidentals--distract me from the grandeur and beauty of this place. Maybe I'll ask L. if he wants to go hiking this weekend. Then again, with my luck (after checking the forecast), we'll get caught in one of those beautiful rainstorms I was just raving about. 40-60% chance, depending on which day? Yeah, probably would. Then again, I don't mind a little damp every once in awhile, and I don't think L. does either. It's been a long time since I've been out to the Shingletown Gap trails. Maybe we'll try to hit it up anyway.

by way of update

I suppose I should do a proper catch-up post, too. On the quick end: the old friends in town were good, the con was good, the old friends that I got to see at the con are good, work is surprisingly good (if busy since I was out), and I'm pretty darn good myself. Better than good, actually, if busy. As per normal.

I got home from the con sore and tired, but went to yoga on Monday night as planned, and afterwards felt some ridiculous percentage better. At work on Tuesday, I had been invited to the Directors' Planning meeting. Kind of exciting in itself, but even more exciting was the charge I was given: to co-chair a small committee to care for essentially our entire public web presence. During the discussion, it sure sounded like that committee would shape our next redesign and future web projects, and man, do I look forward to that.

Now people are handing me suggestions right and left, often what they see on other sites and think is neat. I love it. But following the pack? Screw that. Lead or perish. Do or die. And all that rot. We've been given a license to create change, and I intend to use it.

We'll be over here, making great things happen. Hope you don't mind the jackhammering in the meantime.

extended warranties

I have to say that I'm very, very glad that I got the extended warranty on my car. Why? Because there's virtually nothing like driving home after a long day's work on a beautiful day with the music up and the windows and sunroof down. And I wouldn't be able to do that last bit if I hadn't sprung for the extended.

Last time I took my car in, complaining of--among other things--a stuck sunroof, they quoted me a $900 bill to fix it. I should've known, after my last car also had expensive sunroof problems (which I did not fix, by the by, rather just learning to deal with the occasional leak than close it up entirely) that the sunroof would be the first large-bill item. Thankfully when I bought the car, though I didn't have the sunroof in mind, I made the foolish decision to go all the way with the warranty.

And it was worth every penny, if only for tonight.

Now I'm sitting here typing this while the scent of the andouille sausages I just made myself fills the air, and I managed to do them just right for me--enough so they split and go just a little crispy--and there's a kind of beauty. Strange, sure, but mine.

And to think that if I hadn't visited New Orleans, I may never have discovered these.

the photo book

Quick note due to extreme busy-ness: the editors of Signs of Life were kind enough to expose some of their process. If this order holds, my shot is either in the first ten or last ten of the book.

Either way, I kind of find that a good sign. Hell, it's a good sign that it's in there at all.

Gotta run. Old friends are in town, and I leave for the con Thursday morning.

busy busy

Work's up at one of its two highest ramped-up points. Right now, we're in the middle of Spend a Summer Day's five day-long events. There was one last Wednesday, one yesterday, and there'll be one Monday, Wednesday, Friday of next week. They're exilarating but exhausting, usually. I'm going to be interested to see how I handle my usual sleep-deprived Monday under those circumstances.

Then right after this, virtually, will be my trip to Indiana to the convention that pulls together most of my friends from college. We'll have folks coming in from Seattle, New York, and Chicago, at the very least, this time around.

So, in brief: sorry I haven't been around more often, but it's for good reason. Doing well other than being busy-busy.

grasshoppers and hawks and more hawks, oh my!

I was planning an entry in my head on the way to work on Friday. It was going to be about the almost-translucent tiny grasshopper that was clinging to my window as I drove to work, and probably making it into a metaphor about hanging on as your schedule goes crazy. The grasshopper then decided, at one stoplight, to crawl to my roof. S/he did make it all the way to campus: I even took a picture upon arrival.



But as I walked into work, I got thoroughly distracted. People were looking up into one of the pine trees next to the sidewalk. I looked up, and there was a hawk--if not the same hawk as last time, then certainly the same variety. Since I still had my camera in hand, I started taking shots. The hawk decided to move pretty swiftly thereafter, gliding down to the ground, landing in the ground cover near the building, then hopping up to the railing leading down to one of the basement machine access doors. I took picture upon picture of hir there:



A co-worker watched me take them and started chatting with me as I was standing probably about 12 feet away. The hawk didn't budge, and seemed to pay us absolutely no mind. I moved in to about 9 feet, at a guess, and kept taking shots. S/he only ever looked at me once there:



Eventually, though, it did fly off, to a nearby athletics field, to perch on a goal there, a few shots after which I left it to go inside. Before that, though, I was stopped by one of the folks who works downstairs from me, who asked if I was using a digital camera and if he could be emailed copies of the pictures, which I did.

I was interrupted by another co-worker just before noon to tell me that the hawk was sitting on a branch right outside her window. I went and took a look, to find many in her suite huddled around her window watching it clean itself, mostly turned away from the window. We talked about it for a few minutes and I tried to take a few shots, but it was a horrendous light situation out of which I only got two good shots. It didn't help that s/he was turned away during most of my visit there. But again, it took no mind of us, even if it could hear us through the window, which I doubt.

The gentleman who I sent pictures to that morning replied to me that afternoon to share what he had seen on his lunch break: one hawk on the ground eating a fresh kill, and complaining at another who was trying to razz hir from the roof. Wish I'd seen that bit.

On the way back from yoga, I spotted hir again, this time in the tree right next to the back entrance of the building. I ran in and grabbed my camera again, this time getting a few more shots, some of hir grooming:



And a few more when s/he finally noticed me:



But you get the idea. It was a hawk-filled day.

Today, though, I'm in satisfied mode. Good gathering last night with folks, including early birthday gifts from the other J. Had a lap-cat for awhile--a gorgeous friendly calico who somebody will be taking away from us this weekend. Unfortunately, I also pretty well proved that I'm allergic to cats in the process. Love them, but they make me sneeze. Went home and showered so as not to get the allergens on my freshly-washed sheets. Went a little overkill on the shower, taking my time and thoroughly washing and treating my hair to a rinse and shaving and all kinds of nonsense, and came out smelling of vanilla mint and raspberry and a hint of cocoa. Slipped into bed, clean on clean.

Unfortunately didn't get to sleep in as long as I'd like: I woke up hungry. Got up and had some granola, did my usual Internet surfing, and will shortly be leaving for a minor road trip. To see a movie. Friends and I have decided to boycott the crappy theatres nearby, and unfortunately they're the only ones showing the Pirates sequel.

That being the case, I should probably go get ready to head out. Hopefully it'll be worth the trip--but even if not, usually the entertainment of the friends being enclosed in a small space for almost an hour each way is worth it. Ha.

memory and meaning

I passed a woman trying to lead a gaggle of kids on bikes on my way home for lunch today, and it brought to mind a near-ancient memory of a bike accident I had when riding on the back of my mother's bike when I was tiny: younger than five, at the very least.

We were on a country highway near the house we lived in at the time, and most of what I can remember involves gravel, and dust, and movement, and hurt.

From around the same time, I remember getting bitten by the across-the-street neighbor's dog, though that one mostly involves images of their front yard and running down their driveway.

I think I remember happier things, like playing with our German shepherd in the snow in front of the house, but that one I can't be sure wasn't ingrained in me from seeing the photo my mother took of it or not.

I'm pretty sure I remember a meal with my grandparents (mother's side) in attendance, at least, at the big dining room table, and my grandfather urging me to finish my meal so I could belong to the Clean Plate Club.

I remember parts of my fifth birthday very clearly, including one view of our patio from the sliding glass door, right before I ran in, fell, and split my head open on one of our wrought-iron chairs. Stitches on my birthday, no less.

But most of these have moments of crispness in between a lot of haze, and I sometimes wonder if everyone's memory works like that. Mine works much like a series of still images, like a photo album, and because of this, I think I know why my data is so important to me: my memories are tied up in it. My photos and writing work as ciphers: keys to open lock-boxes way back in my brain.

So I think it's through my writing and pictures that I remember best. Things that I don't write down or capture visually tend to fade, but the problem with that is that those things end up being subject to revision. The way I write it becomes more ingrained than the original memory, and thus better remembered. If I leave out a detail, it's more likely to be forgotten. But then again, if I don't re-read that bit of writing recording an event, it's subject to the same rules as a memory I haven't recorded, other than a little bit of reinforcement from having to put it into words to get it down in the first place.

Of course, there are things that aren't like that, and weren't recorded, but I still remember: these earliest memories are an example. I don't think I ever wrote about these, and other than the snow picture, none were photographed. These were only in oral history at best, and just in my head at worst. Though I do remember my mother jesting about my grandfather's "Clean Plate Club," so it's possible that I matched that up with an image from memory--I just find it really hard to be sure.

This realization starts to pull the rug out from under me if I ponder it too long: if what I remember isn't real, then what is? But then I also manage to input into the equation that it's always been like this, and it probably is for others, and they don't seem too bothered by it.

And in some ways, it works for me, since I do write, and I do take photographs extensively. And I can even--to some extent--preserve the memory of others this way.

In college, I took a course on oral history. During it, I did a project with my aunt, who lived in Denmark during World War II along with my dad and the rest of his immediate family. She was quite a bit older than he at the time, though, and remembered more from the time. I talked to her about the experience, then wrote it up for that class. This came up in conversation with my uncle a while back, who encouraged me to find that paper because he wanted a copy. I also want to read it again too, since she's gone now, and that written documentation may be all there is left of it (though I imagine she'd talked about it with others). But it's in an ancient laptop that's not entirely stable, and I haven't taken the time to try to dig it out of there yet. I should.

But it makes me realize how much of my life (and my recordings of others' lives) is tied up as data. And realize why computers dying on me fills me with such panic whenever it happens--because that's my memory. That's part of me. I could certainly live without it, but I don't want to lose more than I have to.

And I'm out of time here, but I have to say that examining all this really makes me want to go out and get another external hard drive, just in case my backup dies. It also reminds me that I should do some further backing up soon. This brain doesn't run on its own, you know.

Weather and office shenanigans

So I headed home for lunch today. My timing's impeccable: I started driving back just as the sky let loose. I had a hard rain accompaniment all the way to campus, when it let up to a gentle but steady sprinkle.

I had brought my umbrella into my office this morning, but hadn't taken it with me back to the car during lunch. And guess who brilliantly decided to wear a white shirt with her skirt this morning?

Hi: that would be me.

I even further appreciate the fact that the door leading to my office is right inside the stairwell now. Not that it was a big deal.

Though I don't think it's raining presently, I can see another wave coming: the darkness having just crested over the nearest mountain range that I can see from my office window. I'm still getting used to this view: I switched offices recently, to one office back in the suite. It's nice: tucked away, a little more quiet, better furnished, less of a bowling alley layout, but it is down a window compared to my last office, which I do miss. But I still do like it.

week in review, week in preview

A few quick notes this morning:

This is the part about a storm season that I love: when the oppressive heat and humidity is broken one morning, and though the clouds are low and drizzling over the mountains in the distance, the scudding clouds above you are broken by gaps filled with sunlight. When you can open a window and catch a breeze just tinged (but not heavily ridden) with the next shower.

When it's a temperature comfortable to humans. Well, me in specific.

Today's one of those rare days when I wear a skirt just because (though I'll admit that they're certainly cooler).

Got back from the last conference mid-week last week, which was in Hershey, where the hotel provides you with enough chocolate to drown a horse if you want it. Upon check-in and check-out, they hand you two chocolate bars. A basket full of chocolate was their answer to a housekeeping screw-up (they swiped my soap by accident). Rather than the hard candies that some conference locales provide next to the water in the back of the session rooms, they provided a selection of Hershey's chocolate. You get the idea. It was a refreshing change when on the last day, they served cheesecake for dessert: regular cheesecake, with strawberries, and no chocolate.

This week's already been a bit of a whirl, and only promises to get worse. Yesterday, a long-time Internet friend and virtual sister who I'd never met in person was in town, ostensibly to visit and tour the university, but also to spend time, which was extra nice.

Reached home to find a package and envelope of news clippings from my dad (got it, and it works!), which I was intending to call him about but didn't due to online drama having happened while I was out of touch Sunday night sometime after I went to work at the club. I called to give one person involved some moral support and catch up a bit, which ate up much of the night, it felt like.

Wednesday some of us are having a gathering that will eat up that night, and on Friday most of that group (including me) will be going to Pittsburgh for a concert, the details of which I still haven't heard, given that it's being organized by a gal one of my friends is seeing but she lives in Philadelphia (I've only met her once). Hopefully it'll work out, though. Another online friend saw the band in question in NYC recently, and gives the tour a firm two thumbs up. Hopefully we'll get a similar performance.

New Orleans pictures, part the third

Though I'm about to leave for another conference, I wanted to note this before I ran out the door.

One of my New Orleans pictures has been solicited for a book, Signs of Life, by a couple I've never met, through the beauty of easily-searched photos online (thank you, Flickr, and thank you, tagging). Here's that shot:



I took that when my host took me on a drive through St. Bernard parish. It was eye-opening. I have lots of shots where that came from, but I have to say it was an uneasy experience. Yes, I wanted to document it, yes, I wanted those shots both to help me remember and to show others, but at the same time, these are peoples' homes. And I was just a tourist.

As for the book, I'm still not really sure how I feel about it. Sure, it's flattering, and sure, I submitted the shot, but this certainly isn't as much about the shot as it is about the subject matter there. I just happened to catch it. And I think there are much better "Signs of Life" from the area, but this is what they chose--the signs people put out to signal how they're dealing. The signs that let everyone know that people were back--or that they'd abandoned the area. There were plenty of those, too. Most residents, those that stayed, met that abandonment with heavy disdain, though.

I don't have a conclusion here (and take that as an overarching statement), but I've got to run or I'll miss my carpool to Hershey, where in addition to the conference, I'll probably get to meet up with a few folks I know primarily online. One I've met before (in New Orleans, in fact), and the other I haven't. Both are fantastic gals, though. I'm just hoping our schedules work out.

con season

Yes, kids, it's con season once again. Conferences, conventions: looks like I'll be hitting up both again this year, but mostly the former. Already hit up the Penn State Admissions Conference, just today finished the Penn State Web Conference, and next week is PACAC (Pennsylvania Association for College Admissions Counseling). Needless to say (and not too much different than normal), I may be a bit scarce.

Today's conference was impressive. Excellent speakers: great ideas, well-presented. Frankly much better than yesterday's pre-conference sessions, but that may be more due to the format than anything else--a tired me and four-hour-long tutorials do not mix well.

During the conference, I talked a bit with colleagues from Student Aid, after which one offered to meet up and exchange notes on different sessions, and others offered to loan me a few books that I might want to pick up. Very nice of them. After the conference, I sat for a bit at Legends with the keynote speaker and some of the presenters and organizers (plus one that I'm not sure qualified as either), rather by accident. I'd only intended to sit at the bar and quiz one of the presenters briefly. Only after I settled in did I realize who else was sitting with him, but I certainly wasn't going to turn down an invite to join them when they shifted to a table, especially since I hadn't really found an opening to start asking questions at that point (nor did I, but that's another story). An exceptionally pleasant bit of hanging out ensued, especially considering that I knew absolutely none of them beforehand. The conversation bounced between a whole bunch of different subjects I enjoy: blogging and fiction writing, new web developments and how the University can use such, as well as some banter about semi-current events at Penn State and filling in the speaker on those bits he wasn't familiar with. Excellent stuff, and rather got me interested in getting more involved in that community. I'd forgotten how easy it is to talk to people that are interested in similar things both professionally and personally, but I suspect that has a lot to do with being overloaded and rather sequestered out in Admissions.

Here's to being not quite so much so anymore, with the arrival of the new writer.