I did not get to eat dinner last night, and it's all our local school system's fault. Well, and the local police too. And a few idiot drivers. And people with way too many choices. And possibly even the people at Subway. And probably husband-dear's too. And since I hate making people feel left out once I start shifting blame, I'll just go ahead and say that it's my students' fault too. Oh and Steve. Of course. Like the woman in Margeritaville, he's always to blame.
So what happened?
Yesterday evening was going to be a "take care of yourself" kind of evening. I had to work late (hence blaming the students and Steve), and husband-dear had to go to a meeting on base. So each of us was going to fix our own dinner, which in my case meant picking something up on my way home. Sounds easy enough. You would think that in a society as geared towards convenience as this one is, it would have been a piece of cake. Think again.
The trouble started at around 7pm last night, when I found myself on the highway into town, only to come to a dead stop in the middle of an intersection, where a police officer in a neon green vest was directing all traffic away from the direction I needed to go. I could see flashing lights over the hill, and assumed someone had finally done what we have been predicting for years, and pulled out of one of the subdivisions along that road without looking while doing 35 mph and encountered someone coming down the hill doing 65mph.
Now in Holland, people would have stepped up to the police officer, asked him what was going on, and asked him how to get to where they were going. But here in Georgia, police officers are not that service-oriented. In fact, that one time I spun off the road, I debated calling the police for help in getting back on the road, and husband-dear all but forbade me from doing so, arguing that all they would do was yell at me for losing control of my car, give me a fine, and then charge me for pulling me back on the road. And when I saw a car in front of me pull up to the police officer, and get yelled at so loudly I could hear it over my car radio, I knew I had better just move on.
But just "moving on" is never that simple in our town. Without any planning or zoning committee, our town has but a few roads that actually go somewhere. Most roads meander through subdivisions, past gas stations and come to abrupt halts just when you can see the place you need to be at. So anytime you can't take one road into town, you may find yourself driving anywhere from five to ten miles to get to where you wanted to be. And that was the case this time as well. It's actually a good thing I've taken up roadbiking, because five months ago I would have had to drive ten miles into the next town before I would have known where to turn. But the sun was shining and it was pretty out, so the fact that it took me a good fifteen minutes to turn into the main road, didn't deter me too much. Yet.
And that's where problem number two hit. Once I pulled on to the main road, I noticed that all the drive-throughs were lined with cars. The Sonic did not have one single empty spot, the Burger King parking lot was full, and even the gas station was buzzing. The overflowing parking lot at the local high school explained the craziness. Fortunately, I was in a healthy mood, and so decided to stop at Subway. For some unfathomable reason I can't remember now, I assumed that fewer people would chose the healthy option. Well, the place wasn't as crowded as everything else around it. When I came in, there were three people in line, and I settled into a content patient wait, confident that I would have food in my hand in a few minutes.
And instantly I was confronted with problem number three. I had assumed that the four sandwiches on the counter for the three people waiting, but they were not. They were for the one lady first in line. She was placing an enormous order, which involved things like toasted sandwiches, non-toasted flatbreads, pizza's, sides, drinks, and whatever else Subway had to offer. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that this lady, who, may the record show, was wearing a badge that showed her to be an English teacher at our local high school, had minute orders for what needed to go on each sandwich. Anyone who has ever stood behind one these incredibly controlling customers knows exactly what I'm talking about
"Yeah, so that one needs to be half plain, no cheese, well, actually, American. But just one slice. Yeah, right there. Thanks. And no salt. Only a little salt on the BLT. Do you have fat-free honey-mustard? You do? Great, I would like half of that and half of dribbly dressing number three on the Cold Cut Combo, and then just a sprinkling of lettuce. Just a little bit. Yeah, just a little. That's too much. Yeah right there. Onions? Yes, but only on the Turkey. In fact, add peppers to that one too. And pickles. But just a little. Very light. Light, light, light, light, light."
For those of you who may be unaware of my past, I have spent countless hours working behind the counter of such wonderful food establishments as McDonald's, the local deli, and cafeterias. And let me let you in on a little secret; we don't like customers like that. We really don't. I can tell you that whenever you talk to us like that, you are really just pissing us off. Really badly. It's fine if you want to fine-tune your order, but please keep in mind that it is just a sandwich, and not the next cure for cancer. On top of that, we know what "a little" means, we did go to school, you do not have to keep using synonyms to make your point.
But the lady, oblivious to my dark thoughts, droned on, and on, and on. When she was done, I thanked the heavens for giving me patience, and was convinced I was going to eat fairly soon now. And wrong again. The two people in front me not only wore the same type of badge as pickle-lady, they also had two equally huge orders, and a similar desire to minutely choreograph the looks and layout of each piece of food.
And so I left. Call me a loser for not sticking it out, but I knew that if I had stayed, this evil person inside of me called "auntie sarcasm" would have very quickly taken over, and people here in Georgia generally don't like her very much. So I took myself and my auntie out of there and drove home. Where I had grapes and chips for dinner, and pouted. Next time, I'm ordering in.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Roadbiking 101
Ten things I learned while riding my roadbike along the Georgia roads:
1. If you are a) a woman, b) breathing, and c) wearing spandex, you will be honked at. You might as well take it as a compliment, because they will not stop. Unfortunately, the people honking at you will most likely be a) twice your age, or b) half your age.
2. If bugs fly into your eyes and mouth while running, they will also do so while biking, only at a much higher speed. Wear goggles, keep your mouth closed, and since there is no avoiding the inevitable (think of it as extra fiber!) bring lots of water to swallow some of the bigger ones down.
3. Just because road rules clearly state that motorists must "share the road", doesn't mean that people will. You will not only be run off the road, you will be honked at, yelled at, cussed out, and receive the finger every once in a while. And yes, this happens even when you're right on the edge of the road. Bring your cellphone, take down tag numbers, and pray you don't end up like a friend of ours who had a beer bottle thrown at him from a moving car.
4. You will get sunburned. Wear sunscreen. And lots of it. Unless, of course, you like a farmer's tan.
5. Bugs like people and bugs like sweat. If you are a person riding at a decent speed, you may also want to put on bugspray. Unless you want to end up like husband-dear, who today got to share his spandex with a winged ant.
6. Dogs will chase you. Even the tiniest, sweetest dogs will suddenly turn into a Mr. Hyde, run out in the road and seemingly try to get stuck in between your spokes. Yelling at them does not help, and generally, they only view this as an invitation to nip at your ankles. Yelling at their owners, who in a lot of cases, are standing on their front porches, observing the whole spectacle, does no good either, unless you count alleviating your frustration as something good. The best solution, and as an animal lover, this breaks my heart, honestly, is to speed up and make it seem like you're trying to run over said dog. It sounds horrible, and it is. But picture flying butt over teakettle over the handlebars of your bike while doing 35mph. Right. And the thing is, it tends to work: the dogs will always scamper out of the way.
7. What comes down, must go up. Don't ever get excited over long downhills. You will have to ride up them too.
8. Don't ever assume people have seen you. Even if they have looked your way twice. Even if you're wearing enough neon to help land planes. Even if you're standing right in front of them at a stop sign. Don't ever assume people have noticed you. Because they don't. They will have you an inch from their fender before they register your presence. At which point, of course, whatever was about to go wrong is completely your fault. Bicycling is for the gym, not outdoors. Everyone knows that.
9. When approaching a pedestrian on a sidewalk, always assume they are going to cross right in front of you. Even if they're getting their mail, or talking to a neighbor, or not even looking out into the road. The moment a cyclist rounds the corner, every single pedestrian in Georgia gets the urge to cross the road. Be prepared for a sudden stop.
10. Bring lots and lots of water. This is Georgia, you will need it.
Have fun!
1. If you are a) a woman, b) breathing, and c) wearing spandex, you will be honked at. You might as well take it as a compliment, because they will not stop. Unfortunately, the people honking at you will most likely be a) twice your age, or b) half your age.
2. If bugs fly into your eyes and mouth while running, they will also do so while biking, only at a much higher speed. Wear goggles, keep your mouth closed, and since there is no avoiding the inevitable (think of it as extra fiber!) bring lots of water to swallow some of the bigger ones down.
3. Just because road rules clearly state that motorists must "share the road", doesn't mean that people will. You will not only be run off the road, you will be honked at, yelled at, cussed out, and receive the finger every once in a while. And yes, this happens even when you're right on the edge of the road. Bring your cellphone, take down tag numbers, and pray you don't end up like a friend of ours who had a beer bottle thrown at him from a moving car.
4. You will get sunburned. Wear sunscreen. And lots of it. Unless, of course, you like a farmer's tan.
5. Bugs like people and bugs like sweat. If you are a person riding at a decent speed, you may also want to put on bugspray. Unless you want to end up like husband-dear, who today got to share his spandex with a winged ant.
6. Dogs will chase you. Even the tiniest, sweetest dogs will suddenly turn into a Mr. Hyde, run out in the road and seemingly try to get stuck in between your spokes. Yelling at them does not help, and generally, they only view this as an invitation to nip at your ankles. Yelling at their owners, who in a lot of cases, are standing on their front porches, observing the whole spectacle, does no good either, unless you count alleviating your frustration as something good. The best solution, and as an animal lover, this breaks my heart, honestly, is to speed up and make it seem like you're trying to run over said dog. It sounds horrible, and it is. But picture flying butt over teakettle over the handlebars of your bike while doing 35mph. Right. And the thing is, it tends to work: the dogs will always scamper out of the way.
7. What comes down, must go up. Don't ever get excited over long downhills. You will have to ride up them too.
8. Don't ever assume people have seen you. Even if they have looked your way twice. Even if you're wearing enough neon to help land planes. Even if you're standing right in front of them at a stop sign. Don't ever assume people have noticed you. Because they don't. They will have you an inch from their fender before they register your presence. At which point, of course, whatever was about to go wrong is completely your fault. Bicycling is for the gym, not outdoors. Everyone knows that.
9. When approaching a pedestrian on a sidewalk, always assume they are going to cross right in front of you. Even if they're getting their mail, or talking to a neighbor, or not even looking out into the road. The moment a cyclist rounds the corner, every single pedestrian in Georgia gets the urge to cross the road. Be prepared for a sudden stop.
10. Bring lots and lots of water. This is Georgia, you will need it.
Have fun!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
...........
In order for me to blog, I rely on some sort of quiet time to get my thoughts together. Generally, I have a million ideas floating around in my head, and then while I'm driving to work, and after I've become sick and tired of NPR, one of those thoughts crystallizes into a blog. I start seeing paragraphs, anecdotes, and quotes. Every once in a while, like this past Tuesday, I'll just sit down and pour out what's inside my head, but most of the time it takes a little while longer than that. So I spend a few moments on my morning commute thinking it all over, and then when I get to work, I'm ready to splash it all on my screen.
However, recently, work has been getting in the way of putting all these wonderful and enlightened ideas into words. Like this blog, for instance. Last night, as I was putting laundry away, I started to consider American drawers and cupboards as compared to Dutch drawers and cupboards. I had the whole concept all outlined in my head. I was going to talk about our pantry, my mom's pans, and a friend's sewing room, and somehow convince you that Americans care less about well-organized storage space. But once I arrived in my office, all these interesting anthropological insights were immediately pushed to the back of my mind as I was faced with the order of the day. And today's order is what I really want to share with you. I promise I will talk about cupboards and drawers at some other point in time.
You see, this morning we buried a much-esteemed co-worker who died of Leukemia last Friday. His name was Charles, he was barely 60 years old, and he was the chair who hired me on a temporary contract almost two years ago. This man was more than my boss. He was the man who saved me from a life of a stay-at-home military spouse by responding to my inquiry with the following words; "The opening you applied for has already been filled, but a faculty member just quit yesterday. Can you start work next week?". The man saved my life. And my husband's probably.
Charles was what my kids would call "a cool dude". He was stoic, never got too worked up about anything, didn't believe in bureaucracy, and always had his faculty's back. When he told us he was diagnosed with Leukemia last summer, we could not believe anything but that he would pull through. Then at last December's commencement, he told me he had been told the doctors could do little for him, but search for a bone marrow donor. Because of a lack of African American bone marrow donors, his options were limited. And so Charles passed away.
His funeral service was in an African American baptist church. Having never been to an African American funeral, I was curious to see if it would be any different from the standard white American church funeral, with lace handkerchiefs pressed to red-rimmed eyes, a wheezing organ, a choir consisting of old ladies, and at least some sort of rendition of "A mighty Fortress is our God". And my goodness, it was different. And I am going to go out on a limb here, and say that I liked it better. The Gospel choir sang slow, almost dragging songs that just cut right through you, the higher tones sometimes were so close to wailing, it gave me goosebumps. Everyone walked by the open casket, and everyone was given the opportunity to say goodbye. And people cried. They didn't sit up straight in their pews, holding it all in, they let it out. People around me were humming along with the songs, praying out loud, and crying out "Amen" when they felt the need. At one point during a song, we could even hear the widow crying out in her grief. It was heart-wrenching, yet cathartic at the same time. Why pretend everything is OK when it's clearly not? At least this way Charles, had he been watching, knows that he is truly missed.
So today has been an off-day. It's hard to get back to work when you've just said goodbye to someone you know you will miss sorely. It's even harder to blog about closets and drawers when all you can think about is someone's widow. So I did what I do every once a while, I just let it out for you to chew on. And to top it all off, I really did not know what to do for a title. Sometimes silence just says it all.
However, recently, work has been getting in the way of putting all these wonderful and enlightened ideas into words. Like this blog, for instance. Last night, as I was putting laundry away, I started to consider American drawers and cupboards as compared to Dutch drawers and cupboards. I had the whole concept all outlined in my head. I was going to talk about our pantry, my mom's pans, and a friend's sewing room, and somehow convince you that Americans care less about well-organized storage space. But once I arrived in my office, all these interesting anthropological insights were immediately pushed to the back of my mind as I was faced with the order of the day. And today's order is what I really want to share with you. I promise I will talk about cupboards and drawers at some other point in time.
You see, this morning we buried a much-esteemed co-worker who died of Leukemia last Friday. His name was Charles, he was barely 60 years old, and he was the chair who hired me on a temporary contract almost two years ago. This man was more than my boss. He was the man who saved me from a life of a stay-at-home military spouse by responding to my inquiry with the following words; "The opening you applied for has already been filled, but a faculty member just quit yesterday. Can you start work next week?". The man saved my life. And my husband's probably.
Charles was what my kids would call "a cool dude". He was stoic, never got too worked up about anything, didn't believe in bureaucracy, and always had his faculty's back. When he told us he was diagnosed with Leukemia last summer, we could not believe anything but that he would pull through. Then at last December's commencement, he told me he had been told the doctors could do little for him, but search for a bone marrow donor. Because of a lack of African American bone marrow donors, his options were limited. And so Charles passed away.
His funeral service was in an African American baptist church. Having never been to an African American funeral, I was curious to see if it would be any different from the standard white American church funeral, with lace handkerchiefs pressed to red-rimmed eyes, a wheezing organ, a choir consisting of old ladies, and at least some sort of rendition of "A mighty Fortress is our God". And my goodness, it was different. And I am going to go out on a limb here, and say that I liked it better. The Gospel choir sang slow, almost dragging songs that just cut right through you, the higher tones sometimes were so close to wailing, it gave me goosebumps. Everyone walked by the open casket, and everyone was given the opportunity to say goodbye. And people cried. They didn't sit up straight in their pews, holding it all in, they let it out. People around me were humming along with the songs, praying out loud, and crying out "Amen" when they felt the need. At one point during a song, we could even hear the widow crying out in her grief. It was heart-wrenching, yet cathartic at the same time. Why pretend everything is OK when it's clearly not? At least this way Charles, had he been watching, knows that he is truly missed.
So today has been an off-day. It's hard to get back to work when you've just said goodbye to someone you know you will miss sorely. It's even harder to blog about closets and drawers when all you can think about is someone's widow. So I did what I do every once a while, I just let it out for you to chew on. And to top it all off, I really did not know what to do for a title. Sometimes silence just says it all.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Ik ben er niet
Ik ben er niet.
Nou ja, ik ben er natuurlijk wel, maar ik zit verstopt in mijn kantoor, met mijn deur dicht en mijn telefoon uit. Als mensen aankloppen hou ik lekker mijn mond, en mijn mail check ik alleen als ik zin heb.
Er is niks mis hoor. Ik heb geen zenuwinzinking, dipje, of andere nare levenservaring. Ik heb het gewoon echt. heel. erg. druk. Op zich ook niet echt een fijne ervaring, maar eentje die te overkomen is. En als je het zo druk hebt als ik, en je hebt om de haverklap studenten en collega's voor je deur staan die antwoord willen op vragen als: Wil je koffie? Heb je koffie? Heb je al tijd gehad om naar mijn voorstel te kijken? Wat vind jij van de curriculum voorstellen? Heb je mijn mail al gezien? Mag ik mijn paper vijf uur later inleveren? Wanneer heb jij tijd voor een vergadering? Ik ben veel te laat begonnen, wat moet ik nu doen? Dan krijg je je werk dus nooit af.
Niet dat ik mijn werk ooit af ga krijgen. Die illusie heb ik losgelaten. Maar het zou fijn zijn als ik in ieder geval op schema liep in het achterlopen.
En eigenlijk is dit allemaal mijn eigen schuld. Nee, niet omdat ik nou perse deze baan wilde (ook al telt dat wel een beetje mee), maar omdat ik me weer voor iets nieuws heb opgegeven. Werk-gerelateerd, maar wel weer iets nieuws. Waarom? Volgens mij had het iets te maken met vooruitgang willen boeken in mijn carriere. Maar nu ben ik eerder geneigd te denken dat het komt omdat ik me gewoon verveel ofzo.
Twee maanden terug kregen alle medewerkers een oproep om zich aan te melden voor ons "online college". We moesten cursussen opgegeven die we wel online zouden willen geven. Denkende aan mijn enorme reistijd, en een toekomst van thuiswerken in pyjama, gaf ik twee van mijn cursussen op. Twee maanden lang heb ik niks gehoord, en ik was allang overtuigd dat mijn cursussen het niet gered hadden. Welnee! Ze zijn gewoon allebei goedgekeurd. Asjemenou. En eventjes leek het allemaal rozegeur en manenschijn; er zou extra salaris tegenoverstaan, er zou professionele begeleiding aangeboden worden, en ik zag het helemaal zitten.
Maar ja. Toen hoorde ik dat de cursussen van de zomer gegeven moeten worden. En dat het opnemen van podcasts voor elk college niet genoeg is. Nee joh. De college aantekeningen moeten ook online, en deze moeten natuurlijk netjes en duidelijk zijn, en volledig van referenties voorzien worden. Juist. Dus ik moet mijn boekenkast induiken om bij elk feitje te kijken waar dat ook al weer vandaan kwam. Was het Conboy? Of toch McQuail? Of misschien wel de oude editie van McQuail? Elk college moet afgesloten worden met een quiz, een discussion assignment, en een aantal graded assignments. En dit moet allemaal voor 11 mei online staan.
Nee, ik word niet gek. Nog niet. Ik vertel mezelf gewoon dat mijn gebroken teen dus niet voor niets was. Al die tijd die ik normaal aan het hardlopen was, kan ik nu besteden aan mijn werk. Fijn.
Er klopt iemand. Ik ben er niet hoor. Echt niet.
Nou ja, ik ben er natuurlijk wel, maar ik zit verstopt in mijn kantoor, met mijn deur dicht en mijn telefoon uit. Als mensen aankloppen hou ik lekker mijn mond, en mijn mail check ik alleen als ik zin heb.
Er is niks mis hoor. Ik heb geen zenuwinzinking, dipje, of andere nare levenservaring. Ik heb het gewoon echt. heel. erg. druk. Op zich ook niet echt een fijne ervaring, maar eentje die te overkomen is. En als je het zo druk hebt als ik, en je hebt om de haverklap studenten en collega's voor je deur staan die antwoord willen op vragen als: Wil je koffie? Heb je koffie? Heb je al tijd gehad om naar mijn voorstel te kijken? Wat vind jij van de curriculum voorstellen? Heb je mijn mail al gezien? Mag ik mijn paper vijf uur later inleveren? Wanneer heb jij tijd voor een vergadering? Ik ben veel te laat begonnen, wat moet ik nu doen? Dan krijg je je werk dus nooit af.
Niet dat ik mijn werk ooit af ga krijgen. Die illusie heb ik losgelaten. Maar het zou fijn zijn als ik in ieder geval op schema liep in het achterlopen.
En eigenlijk is dit allemaal mijn eigen schuld. Nee, niet omdat ik nou perse deze baan wilde (ook al telt dat wel een beetje mee), maar omdat ik me weer voor iets nieuws heb opgegeven. Werk-gerelateerd, maar wel weer iets nieuws. Waarom? Volgens mij had het iets te maken met vooruitgang willen boeken in mijn carriere. Maar nu ben ik eerder geneigd te denken dat het komt omdat ik me gewoon verveel ofzo.
Twee maanden terug kregen alle medewerkers een oproep om zich aan te melden voor ons "online college". We moesten cursussen opgegeven die we wel online zouden willen geven. Denkende aan mijn enorme reistijd, en een toekomst van thuiswerken in pyjama, gaf ik twee van mijn cursussen op. Twee maanden lang heb ik niks gehoord, en ik was allang overtuigd dat mijn cursussen het niet gered hadden. Welnee! Ze zijn gewoon allebei goedgekeurd. Asjemenou. En eventjes leek het allemaal rozegeur en manenschijn; er zou extra salaris tegenoverstaan, er zou professionele begeleiding aangeboden worden, en ik zag het helemaal zitten.
Maar ja. Toen hoorde ik dat de cursussen van de zomer gegeven moeten worden. En dat het opnemen van podcasts voor elk college niet genoeg is. Nee joh. De college aantekeningen moeten ook online, en deze moeten natuurlijk netjes en duidelijk zijn, en volledig van referenties voorzien worden. Juist. Dus ik moet mijn boekenkast induiken om bij elk feitje te kijken waar dat ook al weer vandaan kwam. Was het Conboy? Of toch McQuail? Of misschien wel de oude editie van McQuail? Elk college moet afgesloten worden met een quiz, een discussion assignment, en een aantal graded assignments. En dit moet allemaal voor 11 mei online staan.
Nee, ik word niet gek. Nog niet. Ik vertel mezelf gewoon dat mijn gebroken teen dus niet voor niets was. Al die tijd die ik normaal aan het hardlopen was, kan ik nu besteden aan mijn werk. Fijn.
Er klopt iemand. Ik ben er niet hoor. Echt niet.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Le weekend
Friday -
Graded papers for about six hours, did laundry in between, went for a 750m swim, a nine-mile bike ride, took the family out to dinner, and ran some errands
Saturday -
Cleaned the master bathroom, dusted and vacuumed the master bedroom and closets, tried to fix the blinds in said bedroom, cleaned the guinneapig cage, swept and mopped the kitchen floor, helped husband-dear trim the bushes outside, cleaned the grill, almost had a heart attack when found a letter in the mail from the IRS, relaxed when we discovered it was telling us we were going to get a refund, scrubbed the front and back porch, cleaned every single column of both porches with a wet rag, cleaned the arbordrafts around our house, recorded audio for my new online class for about two hours, went for a 27 mile bike ride with some crazy semi-pros who rode like bats out of hell, showered, ate dinner, took the kids to the mall and Walmart, came home and graded some more papers.
Sunday -
Did weight lift routine, biked 15 miles, did laundry, changed sheets on bed, worked on course objectives for online classes, tried to fix broken blinds in son's room, failed, decided we need new blinds all around the house, graded even more papers, helped fixed dinner, went to church early to accompany one of the musicians onto base, helped set up for the service, sat through said service, helped clean up the service, packed up for work, realized it is now 8:25pm and I have less than ten hours until my new work week starts.
Would it be fair to say that I am not quite ready for the weeked to end yet?
Graded papers for about six hours, did laundry in between, went for a 750m swim, a nine-mile bike ride, took the family out to dinner, and ran some errands
Saturday -
Cleaned the master bathroom, dusted and vacuumed the master bedroom and closets, tried to fix the blinds in said bedroom, cleaned the guinneapig cage, swept and mopped the kitchen floor, helped husband-dear trim the bushes outside, cleaned the grill, almost had a heart attack when found a letter in the mail from the IRS, relaxed when we discovered it was telling us we were going to get a refund, scrubbed the front and back porch, cleaned every single column of both porches with a wet rag, cleaned the arbordrafts around our house, recorded audio for my new online class for about two hours, went for a 27 mile bike ride with some crazy semi-pros who rode like bats out of hell, showered, ate dinner, took the kids to the mall and Walmart, came home and graded some more papers.
Sunday -
Did weight lift routine, biked 15 miles, did laundry, changed sheets on bed, worked on course objectives for online classes, tried to fix broken blinds in son's room, failed, decided we need new blinds all around the house, graded even more papers, helped fixed dinner, went to church early to accompany one of the musicians onto base, helped set up for the service, sat through said service, helped clean up the service, packed up for work, realized it is now 8:25pm and I have less than ten hours until my new work week starts.
Would it be fair to say that I am not quite ready for the weeked to end yet?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Southern Follies
I don't like April Fool's jokes. Never have and never will. Call me boring, but pranks just don't do anything for me. Well, that's not entirely true, because sometimes they do. When I was a kid I liked to ring people's doorbells and run away as much as the next kid (that is until my mom found out and gave me a talking to). But not when there's a whole day dedicated to them. Anytime something is institutionalized, it kind of takes the fun out of it, and that goes for April Fool's day too. For me anyway. I mean, is it normal to be listening to the news, and with every out-of-the-ordinary news item, wonder if it's a joke or not? So anyway, I was glad when April 1st came and went without any sort of pranks directed at me. But when I read a local news update this morning, all I found myself thinking was that this had better be another silly April Fool's prank.
Apparently, our state government, in all its glorious wisdom, has decided that with all the different special history months, such as the Black history month, floating around, it was high time that southern beliefs and ideas were given a similar amount of appreciation. And so it has transpired that the Georgia state government has decreed April to be the Confederate history appreciation month.
This is what MSNBC had to say about it:
A panel of Georgia lawmakers signed off Thursday on a plan to create a Confederate heritage month, even as legislative leaders reacted coolly to a push to apologize for the state's role in slavery.
Mullis, a Republican, said his bill was not a response to the slavery-apology movement.
And why on earth would legislators claim this month is going to focus on the contributions of all ethnic groups to southern independence? For starters, to paraphrase the movie "Night at the Museum", south, I'm sorry, but you lost. There was, is, and probably never will be, southern independence. And second, which other ethnic groups, besides white people, did they have in mind? The ones the south was trying to keep enslaved through their fight for independence? I'm not quite sure. Whatever it is, I can pretty much guarantee that the thousands of African American students and employees at my school will not be jumping into this celebration.
So please tell me this is an April Fool's joke. Please.
Apparently, our state government, in all its glorious wisdom, has decided that with all the different special history months, such as the Black history month, floating around, it was high time that southern beliefs and ideas were given a similar amount of appreciation. And so it has transpired that the Georgia state government has decreed April to be the Confederate history appreciation month.
This is what MSNBC had to say about it:
A panel of Georgia lawmakers signed off Thursday on a plan to create a Confederate heritage month, even as legislative leaders reacted coolly to a push to apologize for the state's role in slavery.
Sen. Jeff Mullis' bill would dub April as Confederate History and Heritage Month to honor the memory of the Confederacy and "all those millions of its citizens of various races and ethnic groups and religions who contributed in sundry and myriad ways to the cause of Southern Independence."
The unanimous vote by the Senate Rules committee — which sent the plan on to the full Senate for consideration — comes days after black lawmakers announced plans to ask the state to officially apologize for its role in slavery and segregation-era laws.
....Mullis, a Republican, said his bill was not a response to the slavery-apology movement.
"I'm from Chickamauga, so it seemed pretty appropriate for me to do something to commemorate the War Between the States," Mullis said. His family owned land at the site of the Battle of Chickamauga, the Civil War's second-bloodiest battle and the South's last major victory.
Mullis has supported efforts to create a Civil Rights History Month in Georgia but opposes a slavery apology. "If I had done something personally, yes, I would apologize," he said.
And why on earth would legislators claim this month is going to focus on the contributions of all ethnic groups to southern independence? For starters, to paraphrase the movie "Night at the Museum", south, I'm sorry, but you lost. There was, is, and probably never will be, southern independence. And second, which other ethnic groups, besides white people, did they have in mind? The ones the south was trying to keep enslaved through their fight for independence? I'm not quite sure. Whatever it is, I can pretty much guarantee that the thousands of African American students and employees at my school will not be jumping into this celebration.
So please tell me this is an April Fool's joke. Please.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
En het regent...
…nog steeds.
Het regent nu al dagen. Als ik mijn blog van 16 Maart moet geloven dan regent het eigenlijk al twee weken. En niet van die Nederlandse miezer regen, nee, van die harde plensbuien die je binnen enkele seconden volledig doorweken. Lake Lanier vlakbij Atlanta, dat de laatste paar jaar bijna tien meter te laag stond, is al bijna weer terug op peil, de lokale rivieren en meren dreigen te overstromen, en de riolering kan het al lang niet meer aan. Het enige lichtpuntje dat ik zie is dat gisteren manlief, in zwembroek en slippers, de fertilizer zo op het gras kon strooien, en niet de sprinklers aan hoefde te zetten om het in te laten weken. Na dit karweitje in de stromende regen geklaard te hebben kwam manlief grijnzend, en doorweekt (vandaar ook de zwembroek), weer naar binnen, want we hadden zo toch zeker wel een paar dollar op onze waterrekening bespaart.
Ik moet toegeven dat de dankbaarheid van een paar weken geleden nu bijna volledig is omgeslagen in een lichte sikkeneurigheid. Niet alleen wil ik de zon weer terug, maar ook heb ik wel genoeg van de hele Georgia-regen-ervaring.
Zo hebben wij bijvoorbeeld geen bijkeuken. Als je via de voordeur binnenkomt, val je zo de woonkamer in. Kom je vanuit de achtertuin? Dan sta je in de keuken. En voor wie via de garage binnenkomt, die moet door onze laundry room. Twee weken regen, een hond, twee jongens, en een man die niet altijd even oplettend is, en je begrijpt het meteen; ik heb de laatste twee weken voornamelijk voorovergebogen met een dweil in mijn handen gestaan. Het enige positieve wat ik geleerd heb is dat erg blij ben met onze donkere houten vloer, want daar zie je de beruchte
En wat dacht je van studenten die niet naar college komen omdat het regent? Voor een Nederlander zoals ik die, ongeacht het weer, naar de universiteit kwam fietsen is dit totaal onbegrijpelijk. De meeste studenten hier wonen op de campus, en hoeven dus alleen maar een paar honderd meter naar het leslokaal te komen lopen. Maar als het hard regent, dan mag je blij zijn als de helft van je studenten komt opdagen. Mijn collega’s kijken er niet van op, want, zoals eentje gisteren zei, “het regent ook wel erg hard hoor”. Maar ik
Maar het meest vervelende aan dit weer is toch wel het feit dat regen in
En voor het weekend hebben ze weer 30 centimeter regen voorspeld. In plaats van een zwembad, denk ik dat ik maar eens aan die ark ga beginnen.
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