Een zielige man

Mijn man is eigenlijk best wel zielig. Soms dan. En dan vooral rond zijn verjaardag. Hij is namelijk tien dagen voor kerst jarig, en dat is naturlijk eigenlijk helemaal niet handig. Niet dat hij er wat aan kan doen, maar toch.

Zelf helpt hij ook niet echt mee door elk jaar alleen maar een semi-lang lijstje met kerstwensen te maken, met de mededeling dat ik zelf maar moet bedenken wat ik voor kerst en wat ik voor zijn verjaardag wil geven. Juist, super onhandig dus. En niet alleen omdat hij uberhaupt al nooit weet wat hij wil, en "lang" dus erg relatief is. Maar ook omdat we natuurlijk nog familie hebben die ideeen voor en de kerst en zijn verjaardag wil, en dat moet ook allemaal van datzelfde lijstje. Daarnaast wil ik er natuurlijk ook voor zorgen dat hij niet met drie pakjes op kerstochtend zit, en ik met een hele wasmand vol, of dat hij juist maar een cadeautje heeft op zijn verjaardag en een hele berg met Kerst, want dat is ook zielig. Dus. Dilemma na dilemma.

Voor het geval u nu denkt, joh, maar dan verzin je zelf toch iets? Dat feestje gaat helaas niet. Manlief is namelijk -enorm- precies met wat hij wil. Hij scheurt nog net geen pagina's uit fietsen en hardloop catalogi, zeg maar. Dit jaar kreeg ik zelfs een lijstje met dingen die hij -niet- wil. Dus zelf met een verrassing komen is niet bepaald makkelijk, en voornamelijk een kwestie van heel goed opletten wanneer we weer een samen door een fiets/hardloop/muziek winkel lopen.

Maar wat het dit jaar echt triest maakt? Dat toen manlief voorstelde zijn verjaardag op zondag de 12e te vieren, zijn vrouw in alle staten riep dat dat echt niet kon, omdat de 11e commencement was, en ze dan nog echt geen tijd had gehad om cadeaus te kopen. Dat is pas zielig. Harteloos mens.

Things your professor wants...

...to write on your paper, but doesn't*:

10. "Are you kidding me", or a more polite version, "So the fact that I told you not to do this at least once every class period on the past five weeks went -completely- over your head, did it?"

9. "Aaargh!", or the more introspective, "I am at this point seriously doubting my own capabilities as a teacher".

8. "Your paper was due on the 23rd at 8am. All your sources are a) online, and b) marked with "retrieved November 23". You do realize that you just destroyed your own chances of being taken seriously, right?"

7. "If you can't be bothered to use your spellchecker, I don't think I can be bothered to read the rest of your paper"

6. #Fail.

5. "Two pages and three words does not equal three pages. I'm not an idiot. But thanks for trying"

4. "Plagiarism. And I find the fact that you apparently think I'm so stupid that you really thought I would not notice you copying straight from wikipedia/the book/my notes incredibly insulting. That alone would have earned you an F."

3. "Can't get through your first page, due to lack of paragraphing, the constantly changing font, and the apparent random use of punctuation, so I gave up", or "You do realize a 3-page paper is not just a really long tweet, right?"

2. "This is utter BS", or "And were you thinking at all when you wrote this down, or did your brain just turn itself off?"

1. "WTF?", or the more culturally appropriate, "I am now going to tear my clothes and pour ashes on my head"



*But of course we professors, and especially this one, don't. We believe in providing constructive feedback that will nurture our students, and help them grow into knowledgeable, mature, well-rounded professionals. Or else drop out. It's all fair game to us.

Happy Thanksgiving

May your turkey be scrumptious, your ham be delicious, your dressing be savory, your cranberries sweet, your gravy creamy, and your casseroles be hearty.
May your gratitude be heartfelt, your laughter be real, and your happiness sincere.
May you remember to love your family regardless, to set your oven to the right temperature, take out the turkey at the right time, and wear potholders when you do.
May your nap after dinner be restful, and your left overs fill up your fridge.

And once this day is over, yes, you may start getting ready for Christmas ;)

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

Scrooge in action

People, let's get this straight once and for all. Thanksgiving comes before Christmas. Thanksgiving is in November, Christmas is in December. That means that yes, Thanksgiving comes first. That means that although some of you with family overseas and an almost neurotic desire to ensure their gifts get to them on time, will shop for Christmas gifs before Thanksgiving, most of you will wait until Black Friday. Or Cyber Monday. Or Manic Tuesday. Or shop-till-you-drop Wednesday, or whatever other crazy invention the retail industry has come up with. The bottom line, however, is that Christmas does not start until -after- Thanksgiving. Give thanks first, then become a materialistic glutton obsessed with Christmas trees and smelly candles.

It seems like such a simple concept. You hang up your fall wreath in October, put out your pumpkins, your scarecrows, your bales of hay, and whatever else strikes your fancy, then take them down after the last Thursday in Thanksgiving, and go nuts with your Christmas decorations. Easy, right?

Then someone please tell me why, when I went shopping for Thanksgiving napkins and a center piece this weekend, every single store I went to no longer carried Thanksgiving paraphernalia, and had since stocked their shelves with Singing Santas, replacement Christmas lights, and candy canes? One store employee even had the gall to tell me that I was doing that kind of shopping "kinda late". Now I don't mean to be a Sheldon here, but this past Saturday, Thanksgiving was five days away. Shopping for anything five days prior to the event does not qualify as a "kinda late". Trying to find a copy of the latest Twilight DVD on Christmas Even, that is "kinda late". And if we take America's general inability to look further the next elections as a standard, I was actually positively early.

People, it's thanksgiving. The season to give thanks and eat lots of turkey and casserole dishes. That means I don't want to see nativity scenes, Christmas trees, or reindeer in anyone's front yard, porch, store display, or shopping aisle until November 26. I'm serious.

Een klein stukje Nederland

Vorige week had ik er het al over, maar het is deze week dus officieel "International Education Week". Buitenlandse faculty wordt aangemoedigd om vooral in traditioneel kostuum naar het werk te gaan, en er worden de hele week allerlei activiteiten georganiseerd, van panels, tot luncheons met speakers, vertoningen van films, en zoals vandaag, de "Cultural explosion", oftwel, een internationale fair.

Maanden geleden was ik al gestrikt om als enige Nederlander op de campus op deze fair een stand te doen, en dus, stond ik afgelopen zondag een trifold over Nederland in elkaar te knutselen. En ik moet u zeggen, ik heb echt mijn roeping gemist. Want die trifold is nog best wel gelukt. Met een beetje hulp van een vriendin in het word processing center had ik foto's van tulpen, molens, landschappen, het koningshuis, een aantal steden, en enorme kaart en het wapen van Nederland geregeld, en dat tezamen met rood constructie papier, schaar, lijm, en wat geweldige interessant feiten over Nederland ("The Netherlands consists of 12 provinces", "The Netherlands is a constitutional monarchy") is het een best wel aardige productie geworden. Als ik niet dood en dood moe zou worden van gillende zeven-jarigen, zou ik best wel een leuke juf zijn. Of in ieder geval eentje met mooie posters aan de muur.

Maar goed, de afgelopen dagen heb ik tussen de bedrijven door het huis afgestruind op zoek naar allerlei "typische" Nederlandse dingen en zo vertrok ik vanochtend gewapend met klompen, een Delfts blauwe vaas, een Delfts blauw bordje, de Nederlandse vlag, een slinger met stoffen vlaggetjes, een paar blikken, een oud leesboekje, mijn Nederlandse kostuum, en de nieuwste Bosatlas naar mijn werk. Met een beetje kunst en vliegwerk stond mijn standje als eerste in een nog lege gymzaal in elkaar, en vertrok ik om les te geven. En toen ik terug kwam, stond ik natuurlijk tussen de twee koelste landen, India en Nigeria. Landen waar ze mooie sieraden en kleding aan hebben, prachtig beeldhouwwerk kunnen laten zien, en exotisch eten hebben waar mijn stroopwafels niet echt aan konden tippen. En dan nog vroegen twee prachtige dames in een sari waarom ik mijn kostuum niet aan had, maar aan de muur achter mij had hangen. Ik heb maar vriendelijk gelacht, en mijn mening dat ik met dat kostuum werkelijk al mijn geloofwaardigheid als professor kwijt zou zijn, voor me gehouden.

Maar goed, het was een daverend succes. Werkelijk waar. Ik ben door drie zakken stroopwafels heen gegaan, heb honderden mensen langs mijn tafeltje zien gaan, tientallen keren uitgelegd dat klompen niet echt meer gedragen worden, en ben geinterviewd door het lokale televisie station (en joh, wat was ik blij dat mijn kostuum niet aan had). Toen we moesten afbreken vond ik het bijna zonde om mijn kleine stukje Nederland op te moeten bergen.

En toen pas bedacht ik me; dit is net zoals vroeger. Toen we in het buitenland woonden, en op onze internationale school elk jaar een internationale fair hielden. Elk jaar stonden we daar met ons Nederlandse standje. We verkochten erwtensoep, of mosselen, of stroopwafels. En er stond altijd iemand in traditioneel kostuum. En het was elk jaar even leuk. Net zoals deze cultural explosion. Dus eerlijk gezegd denk ik dat ik dit volgend jaar gewoon weer doe. Voor old time's sake.

Rain, rain, rain, rain

Rain does funny things to people. Besides making them wet and notoriously late for everything, I mean. Here in the south it seems to mainly affect one's ability to drive in a normal, rational, and focused manner. I don't know what exactly people think when they realize it's raining and oh-my-god I am in my car, but I'm guessing it's either, "Oh dear Jesus and all the saints in heaven it's raining and that is so scaaaaaary, oh Sweet Jesus", or "What the !@#$^, where the !@#% is all this rain coming from? It's messing up my wax. Well, !@#$^, I better get the !@#$% where I need to be". In short, when in rains in Georgia, we have two kinds of drivers; the kind that slows down to at least twenty miles under the speed limit, or the kind that drives at least twenty miles over. Oh, and a third category that always forgets to turn their lights on. Honestly, I'm not sure what they're thinking, so I'm not even going to try, but I have the feeling these are the same people who don't use blinkers, pull out in front you doing 15mph, and have a phone glued to their ear every moment they're in their car.

Now it's raining today. Not anything terrible like a torrential downpour complete with thunder, lightening, and tornadoes, no, it's just a light to medium sprinkle, the kind that can last up to three weeks straight in Holland. But apparently that doesn't matter, because driving to work was fraught with numerous opportunities for serious accidents. I've had people stopped under overpasses on the interstate when the rain increased to a steady, but light, drip-drip-drip, people doing a comfortable 35mph on the interstate, people swerving into a ditch every time a semi approached, and people deciding that rain=drive faster!

Since I'm feeling slightly magnanimous today, though, I'm going to cut these poor Georgia drivers some slack. You see, the roads in this state are pretty terrible, and so even the slightest drop of rain can lead to possibly hazardous conditions. If you're an attentive, cautious driver, you will do fine, but I think we can firmly establish that most local drivers (the ones who can't take turns without ending up on the other side of the road) do not fall into that category. Not only do we not have the awesome water-absorbing blacktop that they use in most of Europe, here in Georgia, the interstate is constructed using large concrete slabs, the kind that make your car go "ka-dunk" every time you hit a seam between two of these babies. And guess where water likes to sit and rest when it rains? Right, in those seams. So this means that any minute amount of rain is going to cause lots of spray and the possibility of hydroplaning. And when you learned how to drive in your daddy's fully loaded SUV with automatic transmission on your granddaddy's farmland, spray and hydroplaning are simply not part of your driving vocabulary.

Interestingly, our county does have both the nifty water-absorbing asphalt and the smooth blacktop, although that doesn't stop people from driving like wet rags anyway. But whenever you venture out of the county, you can tell where the county line is based on the loud "ka-dunk!" and the sudden exponential increase in wetness. Now although I realize that our surrounding counties do not have the income that comes with having a base right smack in the middle of it, and that some of them struggle with their budgets so much that the school week was reduced to four days, I still can't help but gripe and complain whenever a passing sixteen-wheeler rains the Georgia version of the Niagara falls down on to my car.

So, yes, driving in the rain in Georgia is a pain. Fortunately, they've predicted sunshine for the rest of the week. Thank heavens for small favors.

A non-yelling award or customer service advisement-style

A few years ago, the university administration introduced the idea of "academic customer service" where the sole purpose of the faculty and staff would be to "serve our students by providing them with the very best we had to offer", or something equally non-academic. They were thrilled by the idea of faculty and staff doing everything in their power to keep the students happy, I'm guessing first and foremost because of what this would do to the alumni surveys and the school's endowment. Needless to say, the faculty were less than pleased. Mainly because we're always less than pleased at anything new, as that's our job, but also because we saw the main problem a mile off, namely students claiming their grade/classroom rules/getting caught for plagiarism was not "providing them with top-notch customer service".

To me, "a customer service-oriented university is an oxymoron"anyway. Seriously, people, "Would you like to take advanced statistics with that" just doesn't flow for me. And anyway, aren't professors supposed to be crusty old academics with little social skills and a complete inability to explain even the simplest concepts? Isn't that the golden ticket to getting students to really grasp the two truths they should take away from college: a) there is no right answer, ever, and b) you need to figure everything out on your own?

But I digress, This week is advisement, and as administration would put it, it's "An ideal time to put our excellent customer service skills to the test". Personally, I would say it's an excellent time for to test my patience, as I think I might have possibly explained the same thing 123 times. When you consider I only 70 advisees, that's 1.76 times per student, without adding in the number of students who heard me explaining it to others. I am dead serious when I say I am proud, truly, honestly, I-should-get a-badge-or-at-least-a-free-meal proud of myself for not having yelled at anyone this week. Not one. Well, at Steve. But he doesn't count. Plus it was through email, and he told me I could, so yeah, not counting that one.

Now I know you all are probably slightly smiling at the screen (or picking your nose, or pouring a drink, or yelling at the kids), but inside your head you're wondering, "Oh-kay, what kind of a short-tempered, unfriendly, anti-social semi-professional is she?" And if you've never been on the other end of an advising session, that is so true. But allow me to just share with you some of the things I've had to say over and over and over and over again in the past four days. Perhaps it will clarify things just a tad.

"Read the sign on the door."
"Have you read the sign on the door?"
"Look at the sign on the door"
"Read what's on the door"
One major problem with advisement seems to be the ability to read. You see, my classes don't stop, my grading doesn't come to a screeching halt, and my committee demands don't cease during advisement either. It all goes on while I'm supposed to help 70 kids pick out next semester's schedule in the cracks left between everything else. This means that I design a schedule which I then post on my door. A schedule that says (and I quote): "Advisement this week will be 8-10am on MTWR, 2-4pm MW, 10-2pm Friday" (and yes, Dutch readers, MTWR makes sense to college students). And still I get students barging into my office when I'm on the phone, obviously in the middle of grading, in a conference with another faculty member, of counseling a student. First time is doable, second time is OK, but by the third time I want to snap. But I didn't. Brownie point, no?
"Yes, I need to be advised"
(Walks into office while colleague and I are clearly in a meeting)
"Have you read the sign on the door?"
"Yes, I need to be advised."
"The sign on the door says advisement ended at 4 today"
"Oh. I didn't see that. But I still need advisement. Can you help me?"
"Not right now."
"Well, when?"
"Read the sign on the door"
"What does it say?"
Drink, anyone?

"Did you bring your registration permits/checksheet?"
"Did you fill out your permit?"
"No, you need to plan your own classes, and put them on your permit"
"Yes, you need come up with your own proposal for a schedule and write it on your permit"
"No, I do not design the schedule for you, you need to do that yourself, and put in your permit"
Again, reading is the problem here. Not only are students told when they first come in how advisement works, they are reminded at the beginning of every advisement cycle by an email from the registrar's office, and I myself send them an email explaining how they're supposed to go about this. And not only that, but it's on that same sign on my door. In spite of all that, I still have at least 30% of my student huff and puff when they find out that they have to design their own schedule, and my job is to advise them on their choices.
"There's no need to sigh, you can do this"
"No I can't."
"It's really easy. You know what you have to take, look at your checksheet, you know the schedule, look in banner, and you add the two together."
"But I don't know..I can't..sheesh! I mean, jeez, can't you do this?"
"No, you can do this."
Insert huge heaving sigh
"Don't pout, it's not going to work with me. I have two kids, trust me."
And, O-M-G, they stopped.

"They're in the cubbies behind you"
"The permits are right there"
"The checksheets are right there, in those cubbies."
"They're right behind you"
"See, right there? What do you mean you don't see them, there (pointing at shelf). There (pointing again). Right there (getting up and pulling permit off shelf).
I'm telling you - reading. The students are told, through the sign on my and my colleagues' doors, my email, and a HUGE sign over the cubbies where all the forms are. And still they ask. They walk right past the desk, into my office, with empty hands, and then have NO clue where these cubbies I speak of are.
"They're the shelves you're nut supposed to sit on, but you do anyway"
"Ooooh...you mean those!"
Yes, those.

My absolute favorite, though, was when a student interrupted a meeting by opening a closed door, walking in, and demanding to speak to Dr. something-berg. I believe she may have even sat down. Now although my name is definitely Dr. something, it doesn't end on "berg". So I told her, straight faced, that there was no Dr. something-berg here. She got confused, ask where Dr. something-berg was, and then after a moment of confusion exclaimed, "But you're her! I know you're her!".
"Yes, but my name is not Dr. something-berg."
"Does it matter?"
"Well, if you want to see me for advisement, it would be nice if you knew my name."
"Well, what is it?"
"Look around you, and see if you can figure it out."
(there was a name plate on the door, a schedule with my name on it next to her, and an award sitting right in front her)
"I don't see it."
"Look again."
"Oh yeah, yeah, there it is. See, it does say Dr. something-berg!"
"No it does not, trust me."
"Yes it does, right there, some-thing-berg"
"Where on earth do you see the 'g' in there?"
"Uhm, oh yeah. So now can I be advised?"
And still I didn't lose my temper. It's seriously a miracle, I tell you.

And I could go on and on, about students following me to the bathroom, asking me for pens, pencils, advisement even when I'm not their adviser ("But I'm here now!"), and trying to take classes they're not supposed to. But I won't. Because I might get too wound up and yell at those last few stragglers who are bound to trickle in later today. And it would be a shame to break my perfect record.

Yahweh, God, and nothing at all

Separation of church and state is a serious matter in this country. Very serious. It almost eclipses the firing of the Dallas Cowboys coach earlier this week. Almost. Both proponents and opponents have spend millions of dollars on websites, court cases, and generally trying to convince the other side that they're wrong, and the constitution really implies that God should/should not be a part of this country's government. Poor Ben Franklin has been quoted by both sides, and if either side is to be believed George Washington was either a die-hard baptist or avant-la-lettre postmodern atheist. I've heard about court cases about placing the ten commandments in a courthouse, crosses on federal land, and whether or not the placement of a nativity scene/Christmas tree/Menorah on the lawn of a police station/public school/city hall/court house is legal.

The entire debate on what to teach in public schools is equally interesting. Especially the debate centered on science classes. Apparently, various states have been dealing with the debate whether or not it's legal to put "evolution is a theory not a fact" stickers on science books that teach evolution. Although a federal judge in Georgia outlawed this practice in 2005, several other states are still toting the sticker. Opponents of the sticker will argue it's an attempt by the religious right to introduce the teaching of creationism in schools, and thus bring religion into the public school system, while proponents will tell you that evolution is not a proven fact, therefore putting it on a par with creationism/intelligent design, which should thus also be taught to our young innocent children. As a scientist, however, all I can do is giggle and tell you to bring on the stickers, and while we're at it, engage our children in an ethical debate on what constitutes "truth", "fact", and introduce the notion of falsificationism just for the fun of it.

You see, those stickers are right: evolution really is nothing more than a theory. It's not a fact. It's what we think happened, but it's not the truth. Science is not out to uncover the truth. The purpose of science to find out whichever solution is most likely, which we then accept until we can disprove it. So nothing we consider "fact" is really a fact. Gravity is nothing more than a theory either. It's very well possible that we're held down to earth by large, pink, invisible octopuses whose suckers on the ends of their invisible tentacles keep us from floating away. It's unlikely, indeed, but a possibility. So although evolution is very likely, it's by no means The Truth. Having said that, however, I would like to once and for all squash the idea that that puts it on the same level as creationism, i.e., the belief that a deity created the earth in six days and rested on the seventh. That's a belief, not a tested theory. And although you are free to believe whatever you wish, I'm not sure if we want to center our teachings on our personal beliefs (as personally I believe that life would be so much better if we all took naps in the afternoon and drank more green tea).

Anyway, I digress. The point is that in the United States, the idea that any government agency or organization touts a specific religious belief is considered unacceptable by most people. The military is a prime example of how this works. For although they have chaplains, these people have to represent all religions, which can very well mean that a southern baptist chaplain will defend a Jewish member's right to wear a yarmulke one moment, and reserve the chapel for the base's wiccan group next. And whenever a chaplain is asked to offer a convocation (non-religious term used to replace the term "prayer"), they get incredibly creative. One specific chaplain presiding over a unit holiday party managed to use "yahweh", "Jesus", "Allah" all in one "convocation". while also paying service to the atheists by addressing the importance of listening to the self and working on personal growth and responsibility.

So when you send your kids to the local public school, you know not to expect any reference to religion. No prayers, no reference to religious holidays (and if they do mention, say Christmas, they have to discuss all other religious feasts as well), and no teachers touting God, Jesus, Yahweh, or Allah as the solution to all problems.

When we moved to the south, however, I expected the worst. I mean, this is the part of the world where people will gladly give 10% of their income to a mega-church run by a pastor driving a Lexus, but balk at paying $10 more in tag fees to the state can built a much-needed level 1 trauma center. But, until last week all was well. No zealot teachers, no iffy statements, no hint of creationism. All was well.

And then a few days ago, Ozzie, the oldest, came home with the statement that his substitute teacher was, in his words "a religious idiot". Now you should know that although his father and I are Christian, Ozzie is currently (or possibly forever) in an atheist phase. He doesn't know what to believe, so he opts to believe in nothing. And we accept that, although that doesn't preclude us from dragging him to church every Sunday. So anyway, when Mr. Substitute embarked on teaching science, and started telling the students that evolution scientists were morons and had it all wrong Ozzie perked up. And bless his heart, he spoke up, and told Mr. Substitute he wasn't quite sure that was right. Well, Mr. Substitute ignored Ozzie, but told the class that anyone who didn't believe that God created the earth was going to H-E-double-hockey sticks (real southern baptists can't say "hell").

Now I beg your pardon, but no one besides myself, Ozzie's dad, and his bio-mom are allowed to tell him he's going anywhere. No $70 a day substitute whose sole job is to keep the kids from tearing up the room is going to tell my son that he is going to hell. No. Way. Let alone tell him what's right and what's wrong, and who's a moron and who isn't. We can do that at home thank you very much. If you just teach science, we'll do the rest. Thanks.

So now I'm working on a pointy email to the school. I'm so incoherently overwhelmed by Mr. Substitute's stupidity however, that I'm really not sure what to write. I want to write about how we will yank Ozzie out of public school and put in him in a far better private school, if all the private schools in the area weren't baptist or methodist, and that would kind of defeat the purpose. I have also considered relaying the story and then putting "What the $%^@?", but that doesn't quite seem to capture my message either. I could of course just do the American thing and sue the school. At any rate, I don't know yet. But I did tell Ozzie that next time that substitute teacher says anything, he should quote that verse from the bible about casting the first stone. You know, fight fire with fire.

Turn on the snark

Sometimes I really truly wonder how American academics do this. How they live this life of publish or perish, endless advisement, antiquated pay structures, 100-hour weeks, mandatory committee membership, and underprepared students? Seriously, people, how?

And on a side note, yes, I am making the very bold statement that the average American college student is -not- as well prepared for college as your average Dutch VWO graduate. After reading too many papers that start sentences with "being that", and eschew any form of proper citation, I am done being nice. There.

Anyway, about American academics. How do they live this life without completely and totally losing their mind? Are they all closeted alcoholics? Are they, like nuns married to their God (i.e., scholarly research)? Do they live on energy drinks and vitamin tablets? Do they secretly have an army of oompa-loompas doing all their work for them?

I mean, I'm all for hard work. You know, idle hands do the devil's work, early bird gets the worm, hard work never killed anyone, and all that good stuff, but this is just really getting out of hand.
We finally finished the self-study last week. Forty-one pages, 16,000 words, and three all-nighters, but it went out on Friday. Hallelujah. But guess what this week is? Indeed, it's advisement! Yay! Eighty students, eighty registration permits, five days, twelve lectures. And guess what next week is? International Education Week! And guess who serves on that committee? Yes, I do! And guess what the week after that is? Senior portfolio week! Ten portfolio and ten defenses to sit through! Yay! And the week after that? Senior finals! And hence lots of "OMG what do you mean I can't graduate?" drama! Woohoo! And the week after that? General finals? And the week after that? The week I will probably lose my mind. If I don't lose it in the next few days.

What makes all this worse is that as I'm suffering through this, is that I know others are going through this too. Again, there is nothing wrong with suffering, I was raised in a proper Catholic/Calvinist home, and so I know that the only way to get anywhere is through lots of suffering and guilt. And trust me, there is enough of that going around. Calvin himself would be proud of me. But I don't see anyone else writing snarky blog posts and walking around like zombies. Most of my fellow academics seem to adhere to the "Wear your bags like a badge of honor" code you learn when you get your degree.

So I wonder, do all academics feel like me, but just don't show it? (come to think of it, like me?) Do they all want to go home and spend time with their spouses/kids/pets too? Do they worry their spouses will take on concubines in their prolonged absence as well? That their kids will sign themselves up for adoption and that in spite of all their best efforts, their work still won't get published? And that if they don't publish, they won't get tenure, and all their hard work will have been for nothing?

But that's the south for you - even if they do, you will never know. These southern academics would rather lose tenure than admit that they too might feel a tad stressed. They're "Blessed", "Really inspired", or "Overwhelmed but feeling really good about it".

So here's my request to all you American academics, can we please have a bitching session? Please? Just a small one. Just once. Just to let it all out, realize we're not alone in this, and that we will be OK? I promise, you will feel better. And who knows, you might even get some research collaboration out of it too. But most of all, you'll feel like a new person. Seriously.

Van katoen

Dit jaar zijn de boeren vroeg met het katoen oogsten.

Kijk, dat is nou zo'n zin waarvan ik nooit, maar dan ook nooit, gedacht had ik die ooit op zou schrijven. Als stadsmens, of liever gezegd, veredelde buitenwijkmens, had ik niks met het platteland. Begrijp me niet verkeerd, ik vond het mooi hoor, en kon enorm genieten van lange wandelingen-slash- fietstochten door polders, weilanden vol met koeien, en maisvelden. Maar ik kon er werkelijk geen zinnig woord over zeggen. Vaak wist ik de juiste woorden niet eens, laat staan dat ik ze tot een zinnige zin kon rijgen.

Maar nu ik al voor mijn vierde herfst op rij door de katoenvelden van Georgia rijd, begin ik toch echt enige patronen te ontdekken. Mijn eerste herfst hier werd het katoen pas vlak voor de eerste vorst, na Thanksgiving, geoogst, en kon ik me dus wekenlang vergapen aan het eindeloze wit aan weerszijden van de weg. Die zomer, toen wij verhuisden, was het volgens de locals nooit echt warm geworden. Met de herinnering aan zwaar bezweet tot onder mijn teennagels en oververhit verhuisdozen sorteren nog vers in mijn geheugen, kon ik daar maar moeilijk bijkomen. Maar nu, ruim drie jaar laten, begin ik die locals door te krijgen. Deze zomer was het namelijk wel "lekker" warm, met temperaturen ruim boven de veertig graden. En het meeste katoen is deze week al binnengehaald. Toevallig ook net de week waarin de temperaturen zijn gaan dalen Dus nu heb ik een theorie. Als stadsmeid. Hoe warmer de zomer, hoe vroeger het katoen rijp is voor de oogst. En als het eenmaal echt koud wordt, kun je maar beter zo snel mogelijk je katoen van het veld halen.

Goed he? Ik vond het zelf wel redelijk indrukwekkend. Voor iemand die het verschil tussen boekweit en rogge nog steeds niet weet dan, he?

Ik vind eigenlijk best wel dat ik het verdiend heb om elke ochtend voor dag en dauw samen met de andere oude boeren uit de omgeving in een schommelstoel voor de lokale convenience store te zitten. Samen uitkijken over diezelfde katoenvelden, mopperen over de prijs van perzikken en pecans, en vooral heel veel koffie drinken. Om dan om tien uur eens zuchtend en steunend weg te rijden in mijn oude pick up truck om dat er nog zoveel te doen is, en anders moeder de vrouw gaat zeuren. En om dan voor de "afternoon pick-me-up" weer terug in mijn schommelstoel te kruipen. En dan alle stadse lui te bekijken die gehaast uit hun werk terugrijden, en hen elk van luid commentaar te voorzien. Dat lijkt me nou eens een goed plan.

En als ik nou volgend jaar eens eraan denk een fototoestel mee te nemen -voordat- het katoen geoogst wordt, dan kan ik jullie eindelijk ook eens beeld geven van hoe het hier utiziet. Dat lijkt me helemaal een geweldig idee.

Sister Wives

There are not a lot of shows on TLC that husband-dear will watch with me. In fact, up until a few weeks ago, there were none. He has absolutely no desire to watch brides-to-be spend an entire year's worth of mortgage payments on a wedding gown, or to watch a mother punch out child number 22. Or 23. Now I may lose my degree over this, but I love nothing more than watching women deal with a hundred children or the decision between satin or silk. I can feel braincells dying off as I watch these shows, but watching them is so relaxing, it's almost addictive.

Anyway, since a week or so, and actually as I'm typing this, my strong, tall, and manly man is watching TLC with me. And this is not a "O-M-G I am going to die but I'll watch it because I love you" watching. No, this is a "Oh good, we get to see the season finale after all, I wonder how it turned out with her walking away". And the show in question? Sister Wives.

For those of unfamilar with this show, Sister Wives is about a polygamous Mormon family; Kody the husband, three wives, a fourth on the way, and approximately sixteen children. It's indescribable. And that is really why husband-dear watches it. Sure, if you ask him he will give you some spiel about every man's dream, but in reality, he is as fascinated as I am. I mean, we just sat through a scene where husband, wife #1-#3 and fiancee (wife to be #4) tried wedding cake together and took a vote on which one to use for wedding #4. How often do you see that on national television?

I'm not sure what the result of bringing polygamy into mainstream American consciousnes will be. A general acceptance that perhaps the Fundamentalist Mormons are on to something, and the bible does command men to marry multiple wives, followed by an exponential increase in polygamy in the bible belt? Or will that same bible belt decide that Utah has really lost touch with Christian values, and start sending Christian missionaries out west? In all honesty, I'm not even sure -why- TLC would air such a show. Did the production assistant who came up with this concept decide it was high time to shed a positive light on polygamy after all the bad press it had been receiving since the fiasco in Texas?

Whatever the reason or the consequences, it is fascinating. And I honestly still don't understand why any man, or woman, would opt for the euphemistically named "multiple marriage". One is enough for me.