Midterm madness

Midterms are a lot like giving birth; it's painful, takes far too long, and somehow you forget how horrible it was right after it's over.
Obviously I'm not in the middle of labor right now, but I sure am in the middle of midterms. Once again I'm wondering how on earth I survived this in previous semesters, why I felt the need to assign major papers in three of my classes, and why I thought having students do presentations this week was such a good idea. Between midterms and playing nurse, I have had about ten minutes to sit down in the past five days, have slowly felt my friendliness eroding, and haven't even had a chance to update my blog. It's a complete disgrace. I know.
Now I need to go teach a class, tell a student that they can come back during office hours, grade various papers, and deal with late assignments. I will be back (hopefully anyway).

Florence Nightingale

I am not a Florence Nightingale. I admire people who have the ability to care for sick people, but it´s not for me. And this is funny thing, if you consider that up until about tenth grade, I wanted to be a doctor. Not one of those oddball “PhD”s, but a real medical doctor. I decided against it when I became aware of the practical limitations of that career choice. As I grew older, I realized that moving to different countries, as I had been doing up to that point, and wanted to do, well, pretty much for the rest of my life, meant going back to school to get a different license every time my residence changed. And although I loved school, I wasn’t quite sure if I was ready for that kind of educational commitment. At the same time, I also figured out that once I had decided to be say an oncologist, that is what I would be for the rest of my life. Since I could barely envision myself living anywhere, or doing the same thing for more than four years, this did seem like a good choice. When I ended up rooming with several med students in college, who were always talking about horrible attendings, annoying interns, and ornery patients, I definitely knew I did the right thing. And learned how to develop an iron stomach as a result of my roommates’ tendency to share their medical experiences over dinner.

However, with a husband, two kids, a dog, and a guinneapig, I, from time to time, have no choice but to play nurse (and hopefully do a better job than Florence Nightingale allegedly did). Fortunately, people in my family rarely get sick. As I mentioned this summer when I got sick, that was the first time in twelve years, and I can’t remember the last time husband-dear was laid up. I honestly believe I’ve spent more time dealing with sick pets than I have with sick people. If you ever need advice on how to feed a guinneapig using a syringe, or how to make a dog eat a pill, do let me know.

Today and yesterday, however, I hit the jackpot. Not only was Zoe due for her mandatory spaying, but husband-dear had to have minor surgery. Now I do have to admit that dealing with sick people, and animals, here in the US is a lot easier than it is in Europe. If there is something wrong with you here, a doctor will immediately suggest a solution. In the Netherlands, if you take a sick child to the doctor, they will, nine times out of ten, tell you to “wait and see”for a little while (“laten we het nog even aanzien”). Even if you, as a sick adult, go see a doctor with say a fever and a sore throat, they will most likely barely look at you, and tell you to go home and see how it develops on its own. Now I’m not arguing that we need to medicate every patient that comes in, but it’s nice to at least feel as though your doctor takes your issue seriously. Plus over here, you simply can’t afford to stay at home and see how it develops. I have ten sick days, and I refuse to spend them sitting around the house “seeing how it goes”, when I could be better in a day. But I digress.

Another thing I absolutely love about medical care in the US is the understanding that 1) sometimes you hurt, and 2) making the hurt go away is not a sin. I can still remember my mother’s doctor telling her that a slipped disc didn’t require additional pain medication, and the poor woman was sent home with ibuprofen. Again, I’m not about just drugging people up to the eyeballs, but why should women suffer through childbirth, sometimes for more than 24 hours, without someone suggesting a pain killer? Even the vets here seem to understand that. So when we took Zoe in yesterday morning, the vet recommended giving her an extra pain shot after the surgery. Great! Instead of a dog dragging butt, and whining, our puppy is as good as gold, chewing and playing as though she doesn’t have four sutures in her stomach. And husband-dear was not sent home with a batch of ibuprofen, nope, he was given some serious bona fide painkiller. He’s barely been using it, but it’s nice to know we have it.

In spite of all this though, at the end of the day, I’m still playing Florence Nightingale. I still have to make sure both patients are fed and watered, telling one not to lick their stitches, and ensuring the other one has taken their antibiotics (you decide who’s who). So I took a personal day yesterday and today, mainly because husband-dear is still too wobbly after having been out for several hours to be on his own, and someone had to pick the puppy up from the animal hospital. I spent the whole day preparing meals, making lemonade, fielding calls from friends and family, helping husband-dear put clean clothes on, keeping the dog from running around too much, making sure my husband is still comfortable. I have to say, I admire people who do this for a living. I mean, I love my family, but I can’t imagine doing this for people I don’t know. So kudos to all nurses, and let’s all pray and hope everyone is back on their feet soon!

De DMV

De DMV

Zo op het oog bekeken is Amerika echt een vrij land. De gemiddelde Nederlandse milieustraat heeft meer regels dan de county waarin wij wonen. Amerika kent geen burgerlijke stand, en ook kent Georgia amper regels over wat je wel en niet aan je huis mag verbouwen. En ondanks dat zijn sommige aspecten van het leven zo verschrikkelijk bureaucratisch dat een Nederlandse gemeente er nog een puntje aan zou kunenn zuigen. De DMV, of het Department of Motor Vehicles, is, in ieder geval in Georgia, zo’n prachtig Kafkaesque fenomeen. Het is een organisatie die de meeste mensen zoveel mogelijk proberen te vermijden, maar soms kun je niet anders. En voor was dat vandaag, vanwege een adres wijziging, helaas het geval. Gelukkig biedt een bezoekje aan de DMV wel altijd uren gespreksstof, en dus ook het perfecte onderwerp voor een post!

De DMV in Georgia staat voornamelijk bekend om de vreemde regels. Zo hebben ze hier bedacht dat elke keer als een buitenlander iets aan zijn of haar rijbewijs wil laten veranderen, ze in persoon bij de DMV langs moeten komen om te bewijzen dat hun immigratiestatus nog courant is. Het lijkt op zich logisch. Uiteindelijk kan je verblijfsvergunning in de tussentijd verlopen zijn. Het zou ook een heel zinnig idee zijn, ware het niet dat de verloopdatum van je rijbewijs aan dat van je verblijfsvergunning is gekoppeld. Dus als je verblijfstatus afloopt, is ook je rijbewijs verlopen. Maar nee, dat telt blijkbaar niet. En dus moet arme non-citizens elke keer weer in de auto naar de DMV, terwijl hun Amerikaanse counterparts alles lekker achter de PC kunnen doen.

Maar goed, ik ben de beroerdste niet (en ik heb eigenlijk gewoon geen keuze), en dus ga ik elke keer braaf. Ik leg aan mijn baas uit waarom ik eerder weg moet, en bereid me met een auto vol met papierwerk voor op minstens twee uur vertier. Want “even” naar de DMV, dat is er hier niet bij. Er staat je daar namelijk ook nog een hele papierwinkel te wachten. Zo moet je als green card houder, wiens verblijf gebaseerd is op je huwelijk elke keer je huwelijkscertificaat laten zien. Het maakt niet uit dat je die groene kaart al helemaal nooit had gekregen zonder huwelijk. Het maakt ook niet uit dat je huwelijk al helemaal is doorgelicht en goedgekeurd door de immigratiedienst voordat je uberhaupt toe bent aan een rijbewijs. En het maakt al helemaal niet uit of al je andere identificatie bewijzen, van paspoorten tot militaire identificatie, tot oude rijbewijzen je getrouwde naam of “echtgenote van”aangeven, je moet dat huwelijkscertificaat kunnen overhandigen. En ik zou er niks over te klagen hebben, als ze je dit ergens vertellen. Op hun uitgebreide website. Of in het boekje dat je krijgt. Of desnoods in een aanplakbiljet op de deur. Maar dat doen ze dus niet. Je komt er pas achter als je na een uur wachten door een norse mevrouw vertelt wordt dat ze “absolutely cannot process your case”.

En die laatste opmerking is toch eigenlijk wel het meest verbazingwekkende; de mensen bij de DMV (in onze plaats in ieder geval) zijn total, absoluut, 100% niet aardig. Tegen niemand. De een na de ander wordt afgeblaft of weggestuurd. Of je nou lief bent, of niet, jong, of oud, in uniform of als hippie, het maakt allemaal niks uit. Het is zelfs zo erg dat vrienden van ons expres naar een DMV 20 mijl verderop rijden om de allerergste mevrouw te vermijden. En dat voor een staat waar iedereen erop staat dat je een “great day”hebt is dit wel erg ongewoon.

Maar op zich zou ik hier ook nog wel tegen kunnen. Ik heb ten slotte in Nederland, Duitsland, en Frankrijk gewoond, en ben dus wel wat gewend wat betreft slechte klantenservice. Maar het meest vervelende aan onze locale DMV is dat ze het heel vaak verkeerd hebben. Dan blaffen ze je af voor iets, en als je dan even voet bij stuk houdt, of naar een manager vraagt, dan blijken ze ongelijk te hebben. Zo zou manlief niet met een LES (een soort loonstrook) kunnen bewijzen dat hij in Georgia gestationeerd zou zijn. Manlief werd, ondanks dat hij in uniform daar stond, als een klein kind verteld dat hij dan vast iets verkeerd gelezen had. In een gebied waar EDIAFAD (every day is air force appreciation day) een soort lokale slogan is, kon dit bijna in de krant. Maar gelukkig laat manlief zich geen kaas van het brood eten, en hield voet bij stuk. Toen er eindelijk een manager bijkwam, moest deze inderdaad toegeven dat zijn ondergeschikte ongelijk had. Mijn oma zou gezegd hebben: “Het is toch schandalig?”

Maar ja, wat doe je eraan? Zij zijn de baas over de rijbewijzen (en in een hele apart organisatorisch besluit, het voters registration process), en dus doe je maar wat ze zeggen. Uiteindelijk blijf je toch een beleefde southerner. Maar “have a great day!”zullen ze van mij niet echt vaak horen.

Midterms

Midterms are almost upon us, therefore frustrations are running high, among, well, pretty much everyone. So it's high time for one of Dixiechick's dreaded lists to guaranteed student success!

And today's it: Things a professor never wants to hear her students say (and what she’s really thinking):

1. I missed the test because my car broke down (yes, and dogs ate your homework), and I don’t have time to retake it right now because I have an appearance as Ms. Kappa Alpha Kappa (what?), but is it alright if I stop by tomorrow say at 3? (And you’re in college why?)

2.I really should have gotten an A on that paper (shoulda, coulda, woulda). You should know how hard I worked (you mean in the three hours before it was due). And you’re a hard professor (And that’s an excuse how?). Everyone says so! I mean, c’mon! I met all the requirements, and you said yourself I tried really hard! (Yes, and right now, I’m playing the world’s tiniest violin, just for you!)

3. OK, so have you heard the latest about Anthony and Renee? Apparently they were seen with half their clothes off during a study session by one of Renee’s roommates (Wow, I did not need to know all that). Oh yeah, and it was a study session for one of your classes (Great! Well, at least they're studying I guess). And you know Anthony is dating Claire, and she is scary. I can’t wait to see what happens when she finds out! (I guess I must have misread my application, and I now work at Dallas University)

4.So what’s your husband’s name? And your kids? How old are they? Is your husband nice to you? How did you two meet anyway? (How did I end up on 20 questions?)You look like a really cute couple. I bet your husband was really happy when he found you. He’s not that bad-looking himself actually! (Should I take our picture down from our desk?)

5. You don’t understand. If I get a C in your class, my mom will kill me (you're 21 and you pay for your ow tuition. Explain). Look, I’m only three lousy points away from a B. Why can’t you just give me those four extra points for good behavior or something? I mean, I was always nice to you in class, so pleeeaaase. (Can I have some cheese with that wine?). I mean, I really am not a C student.(Guess what, you are)

6. Why did I get a zero? You know I would never plagiarize on purpose (that really makes no difference, really). It was an accident, I promise, I didn’t know, and I always pay attention (Well, I mentioned it every other class, so you were asleep during only half of my classes then, lovely). Please don’t put me on probation, it will so ruin my scholarship (…)

7. Where is Dr so and so? Do you know where Mr. J is? Have you seen my roommate/the work study student in the lab/ the dean? (I am not a secretary!)

And the absolute, all-time no-no:

8. Look, I know it's not your office hours right now (no, it's ten minutes before my next class), but I really need to speak to you about that grade I got on that paper (Someone rescue me, please).

Madison Avenue

Do you know how sometimes the funniest conversations occur when you don’t expect them? And then when you think back, you’re not sure if they’re really that humorous at all? Well, that happened to me this morning, during our Sunday morning long run. Husband-dear and I shared the following, maybe not so funny now, but hilarious at the moment little exchange:

Please note that we’re at the 6 mile mark (out of an 8.5 mile run), husband-dear has been biking a lot lately instead of running, and I really want to finish the run in under 80 minutes.

H(husband-dear): Wow, I’m really dragging butt. I’m going to get behind you and let you set the pace, OK?
W (wife = me): Sure. Can you tell me the time and exact mileage please?
So husband-dear uses his Garmin to tell me where we’re at, and I decide I need speed things up a little bit.
H: Wow, you’re really picking it up fast
W: I am? I didn’t think it was that much
H: Yeah it is. But that’s good. You’ve got to find your rhythm, find the pace that works for you, find your breathing..
W (as I jump over some squished roadkill: Find a dead squirrel
H: Lovely. Oh! That would be a great commercial!
W: What?
H: Well, you know, they could show a man and wife (yes he did say that!) running together and they could be having the conversation we’re having right now, you know, with me saying you have to find your rhythm and your pace and all, and you saying you find a dead squirrel. And then the camera zooms in on your face, and you have tears in your eyes. So then the husband asks if you are OK, and you’re like, not really. And then the slogan could pop up: Running, it’s not for everyone.”
W: What?! Are you serious? They should do it the other way around you mean..you’re pacing off of me right now!
H: Yeah, but women are more likely to cry over a dead animal
W: Well, I didn’t, and I’m running faster than you.
H: But still, a man isn’t going to cry over a dead animal in the road, and a woman might.
W: I married a male chauvinist pig, didn’t I?
H: No you didn’t, it would just be funny
W: No, you know what would be funny?
H: What?
W: If they were to use this whole little scene as the commercial. You know, you needing my help to make it, but then playing the macho, when everyone knows it’s the other way around.
H: I still think mine would be funnier
W: Sure.
Silence for a little bit
W: Would you like me to make you an ice bath when we get home?
H: That would be really sweet, thanks.

Running: It takes real balls to do it!

The Office: The American version

When a co-worker asked when my next blog was going to go up, I, after succinctly pointing out that the Internet had been down since 7:30 this morning, thought for a moment. Then I answered, much to his dismay: “You”. So, Steve this one is for you.

Anyway, I don’t really want to write about Steve. He’s a self-proclaimed smart-Alec who comes in late, says he stays late (but no one really knows for sure), votes Democrat, does not go to church, and basically embodies everything that a good academic should be. Although admittedly, I’ve only seen him in sandals over Christmas break (it's that dang dress code). As he and I were shooting the breeze in between classes, I got to thinking (and talking) about the differences between co-worker interaction in Europe and in the US. And you know what, I can’t really say that I have found that many.

I have had people tell me that Americans don’t socialize as much outside of work as they do in Europe. I’ve also heard that American co-workers are less open about their lives, more competitive and secretive, and less likely to take the time to just have fun. But honestly, I can’t say that I’ve encountered any of that. Perhaps it’s the academic environment which is probably very similar across the world, or maybe Europeans and Americans don’t differ that much in this respect.

The infamous end-of-year “let’s go out and celebrate” socials, for instance, are common on both sides of the pond. Just as the “let’s go out for no reason” celebrations. Sure, in the Netherlands you may not be as likely to share a pitcher of frozen margheritas as you are here, and there really aren’t any “bruine kroegen” (brown cafes I guess) around here to go to, but the gist is still the same. Academics here still sit around and complain about their workloads, rejoice in the success (and thus departure) of some of the graduating seniors, and compare wild (and unrealistic) research plans for the break. People will share way too much personal information, and come away knowing their co-workers possibly a little more than they would have wanted to.

And who said that it was “all work and no play” in the US? That’s not where I work. Sharing banter and generally acting silly with the people on your floor is also as common here in Georgia as it was over in the Netherlands. I would venture that academics simply know how to work hard and play hard. Just yesterday, Steve took a picture of me making an extremely ridiculous and unflattering face, then photo shopped the words “Hi! I’m Dutch!” on the picture, and threatened to hang it on my door. It’s very reminiscent of that time in Holland when two much larger co-workers decided it would be fun to push me around the department while sitting in my desk chair. And I take just as much pleasure in picking on my atheist colleague by emailing all the religious forwards I get from my students as I did from buying “support our troops” paraphernalia for my pacifist co-worker in Holland. We let each other know (quite vocally sometimes) when our days are not quite proceeding according to plan, and we will voice our personal opinion about silly emails from the administration by yelling it across the hallway. In fact, I don’t know if this is an academic thing, but both in Holland and Georgia, people are all about staying in their seats and simply yelling questions out their open door. In Holland I might have yelled; “Hey, what’s the best syntax command to use for merging two datasets!?” at my neighbor, while here, Steve just called out in exasperation ”Because of those dang students texting me, I now have a $270 phone bill. Would believe that?!” and then followed up in a softer tone of voice: "It's a good thing my wife no longer gets these bills". Students sometimes stand and listen in wonder. It’s great.

I’ve always heard that having fun co-workers is maybe more important than having a fun job. I must have hit the jackpot, because I have both. Now excuse me while I go and harass Steve about why he still hasn’t bought French vanilla-flavored coffee creamer like I requested last week.

It is what it is.

But is it, really?

Euphemism is a concept any mass communication scholar learns about early on their career. It is, after all, one of the main devices used by persuasive communication. A euphemism can be defined as a word that is used to make an unpleasant reality seem more acceptable. The perfect example is describing civilian deaths as “collateral damage” or to speak of “friendly fire” when a soldier gets shot by his own troops.

In my class on persuasive communication, I teach my students that euphemisms aren’t necessarily a bad thing. After all, we all say someone “passed away” instead of the more blunt “they died”. In daily conversation it’s a social custom that softens up the sometimes harsh reality. And that’s great. Although I value honesty as much as the next person, I also firmly believe there’s no need to be blunt about it. However, propagandists and other persuaders often use these word tricks to deceive or mislead people. Euphemisms will leave people with a positive feeling - doesn’t collateral damage sound like an unavoidable necessity to you too? - while the reality of the situation is far less positive. And that is a problem. No one wants to be deceived, but it’s hard to detect deception when it’s cloaked in such commonly used terms as casualties (deaths?), pre-emptive strikes (attacks?), and spin control (manipulating the news).

As I was discussing euphemisms with my students last week, we discovered another interesting feat: the American discourse is full of them. People, and especially southerners, use these sugarcoating terms so often, they have a hard time a) recognizing them, and b) understanding what’s wrong with them.

When Janet Jackson’s breast was exposed, did we call it that? No, it was best known as a “wardrobe malfunction”. Now call me silly, but when someone rips off a piece of your clothing, does that qualify as a “malfunction”? It’s not like your clothes broke down. And what about this incredible fear of being against anything? No one is anti-abortion or against the belief in global warming, no, people are pro-life, and believe in global climate change. It means the same thing, but sounds a lot nicer. People here don’t buy used cars either, like I used to when I was a poor student. My students all have “pre-owned vehicles”. And instead of being given practical advice about "relations" as it's called down here, students in schools are told to "take precaution". Using the c-o-n-d-o-m word alone is enough to send my adult, and usually mature, students into a five-minute tizz. And then when someone is pregnant, and especially when they’re a little younger than one might like, they’re “expecting”, or “in the family way”. And should you, like me, be inconsiderate and use the “p-word”, people will do that funny southern thing: they will flap their hands in front of their face and breathe “oh my”.

My students tried to convince me that using all these words simply meant you were being polite or politically correct. And having been at the short end of that stick for years, they really appreciate people being sensitive about cultural and racial issues. Of course, sensitivity is key. I don’t want people calling me cracker or honkey either. Just like there is no need to be rude. But that is still not the same as simply not facing the truth because it’s too painful. Aren’t people who are “pro-choice” (a euphemism for thinking abortion should be legal) also as much in favor of life as those people who call themselves “pro-life” (but think abortion should be illegal). Isn’t a 15-year old “with child” just as pregnant as a 30-year old? And let’s just be honest and say it: Justin Timberlake wanted the world to see Janet’s boob. There.

Here in the south, we have become experts at avoiding the truth. We don’t talk about important aspects such as life, death, and pro-creation. In fact, we are so afraid of them that we have created an entire discourse of euphemisms surrounding these issues. And honestly, because we don’t address things for what they really are, we have spun this web of “as long as you don’t talk about, I don’t care what you do”. We have created our very own culture of propaganda; intricate, devious, but wonderfully inept, besides the hand-flapping, at handling the situation when these real issues do pop up in real life.

So is it what it is? Well, sort of.