Weetjes

De hele week loop ik al met halve ideeen voor een blog. Dan ben ik mijn tanden aan het poetsen, en denk ik, oh ja, daar wil ik het ook nog over hebben. Of ik zit in de auto, en bedenk me dat ik toch ook nog eigenlijk best wel heel veel te zeggen heb over het een of het ander. Maar ja, dan kom ik op mijn werk, of thuis, dat maakt tegenwoordig niet zo heel veel meer uit, en dan is het te druk om behoorlijk iets te schrijven. Want een blog moet natuurlijk wel mooi zijn. In ieder geval een beetje. Dus in plaats van niks te schrijven, dacht ik, laat ik vandaag eens een blog vol met weetjes doen. Dingen die je anders vast nooit geweten had. Die je misschien ook helemaal niet had willen weten, maar die je nu toch maar mooi voor je neus geschoteld krijgt. Dingen waar ik een blog over wilde schrijven, maar waar dus gewoonweg geen tijd voor was. Dus. Daar gaan we.

Wist u dat?

1. De enige keren dat DixieChick en manliefs bed er 's ochtends niet uitziet als een waar slagveld is wanneer ze allebei te moe zijn om zich 's nachts om te draaien. Omdat manlief geen dekbed meer kon zien na ons verblijf in Duitsland zijn we op zijn verzoek over gestapt op lakens en dekens. En elke ochtend ziet het bed eruit alsof we elkaar de hele nacht met ons beddegoed te lijf zijn gegaan. Behalve wanneer we echt heel moe zijn. Dan hoeven we alleen de quilt maar terug te slaan, en het is bed weer prachtig opgemaakt. Moe zijn heeft toch best wel zijn voordelen.

2. Dixiechick's IT department is eindelijk wakker geworden en een heeft een nieuw Internet security tool geinstalleerd. Geen enkele site uit Nederland is nog beschikbaar. Zoals Lambik zou zeggen; beuh. Godzijdank is blogspot en Facebook nog wel beschikbaar. Een aangezien ik het eerste mag tellen als "original creative output" en het laatste een nieuwe onderzoeksproject is, is dat maar goed uit. Maar ja, ondertussen kan ik dus niks meer lezen over Nederland. En kan ik ook niet meer op dat leuke forum. En het is niet alsof ik niet hard werk. Om nog een keer Lambik te citeren: beuh.

3. Manlief de opdracht heeft gekregen subiet de vlagstok, die al maanden stof lag te verzamelen in de garage, op te hangen, en de vlag halfstok te hangen. Sommige dingen gewoonweg niet voor te stellen zijn, en honderd keer erger lijken als je er niet dicht bij bent. Wie had ooit kunnen denken dat Konniningedag zo verstoord zou worden? Dat zulke beelden op 30 April uit Nederland zouden kunnen komen? Het is onvoorstelbaar, verschrikkelijk, en niet met woorden te beschrijven.

4. Het morgen commencement is? Jawel, het semester is alweer voorbij. Om even gezellig letterlijk uit het Engels te vertalen: het is echt bij mij d'rop geslopen. Geen idee waar de tijd is gegaan, maar de tentamens zijn nagekeken, de cijfers zijn berekend, en morgen lopen er weer tientallen van onze studenten mee (helaas vier minder dan gepland).

5. De online cursus eindelijk af is? Het heeft vier weken van weekenden werken, avonden werken, en heel weinig slaap gekost, maar het is af. En het leuke? Ik ben de enige die de deadline heeft gehaald. De rest heeft het klaarblijkelijk niet zo serieus genomen als ik. Ergens voel ik me weer de nerd die ik vroeger op school altijd was, maar ergens ben ik toch wel stiekem trots dat het me gelukt is. Dus. Iemand zin in een intro to mass comm cursus?

6. Ik sinds vorige week weer kan hardlopen. Het is een wonder. Vooruit, de schoen kan nog niet helemaal dichtgesnoerd worden, maar de teen doet geen zeer meer. Ook was mijn voet maandag eindelijk klaar voor de grote overstap van crocs naar sandalen. Dichte schoenen lukt nog niet, maar aangezien ik een aardige Immelda Marcos selectie van sandalen heb, vind ik dit al een feestje waard.

7. Het vandaag Fez' laatste dag is. Als trouw blog lezer weet u natuurlijk dat Fez mijn geweldige Duits-Nederlandse uitwisselingsstudent is. Helaas is haar project klaar, en dus vertrekt ze dit weekend. Met wie moet ik nu in het Nederlands roddelen over mijn studenten en collega's? Of zeuren over het gemis aan drop en brinta? Fez, we gaan je missen!

Goed, dat waren mijn blog-ideeen van deze week. Mijn excuses voor deze twitter-versie, volgende week wordt alles beter!

Finals and faith

Students do funny things when finals week is here. Suddenly you will find people quizzing each other in bathrooms, the hallway, studios, and in the computer lab. Students will send you emails at three o'clock in the morning, leave endless messages with questions on your voicemail, ask about review sessions and old quizzes and tests, and spend every waking moment in our building. In all honesty, my students here are not that much different from my students back in Europe, or students in Texas or up in New England. Everyone is nervous, stressed out, tired, and wants to do well. And go home. With honor, preferably.

But there is one thing that is unbelievably, vastly, and above all, unexpectedly different from anywhere else I have taught or been a student: religion. Our students will not only spend hours in the hallway studying, the majority will also spend at least a few moments before every final in prayer. Yes, in prayer. Sometimes they will even pray out loud. Or sing a little. And no, we are not a baptist/mennonite/quaker/mormon college. We are a simple public school, which is thus not supposed to have any religious affilitation whatsoever. Supposed, yes. And I suppose if you don't consider all the times the president or provost opens an official meetig with a prayer, or those occasions when we are reminded that we should tell our students to take their concerns to God, or all the towel and basin displays we have in every building, then yes, our school has no religious affiliation at all.

And it's not just prayer. Today during one of my finals, one of my students called out; "Jesus!", to which I responded, "He's not here right now, but maybe I can help you."
All my students were in uproar. Jesus was there, in spirit, and I had better believe it, because they needed him. There was, and I quote, not going to be any devilworshipping while they were doing their final. No sir. And Amen to that. Alrighty then.
And when I walked into the second final of the day, the following message had been scrawled on the whiteboard:
"Thank you Jesus for His son. Jesus, have mercy on us! Philosophy and ethics, 2009"
I looked at the board, and said something noncommittal, to which my students responded that they were really serious, and I had better not jinx them. My finals are apparently so hard, only God can help them through.

Now let me just come out of the closet here and tell you all that I am a Christian too. A tree-hugging, liberal, hippie Christian, but a Christian nonetheless. I go to church every week, and even teach Awana. But even for me, this really raises my eyebrows. What are my students going to do if they ever have to work for an atheist/Muslim/Jewish/Mormon/Wiccan boss? One who doesn't appreciate such outbursts of faith? Tell him he is going to hell? That will go over really well, I'm sure.

Well, I guess I better grade my finals. See if God really shined down on my students today, or if they just didn't study enough.

Separation Anxiety

For the first time in over a year, husband-dear and I got to enjoy a weekend away together. No kids, no dog, no chores, nothing. Just him, me, and a cabin in Ft. Yago national park. Oh yes, and a mountainbike race on Sunday. And a crate full of work for me. But other than that, it was bliss. There was a lake behind our cabin, woods all around it, and we were only half an hour away from the wonderfully quirky college town of Athens and one hour from the famous Stone Mountain. It was absolutely delightful to only do things we really wanted to (and work, of course, although that was definitely less delightful). I had forgotten how much time you can spend on a weekend running errands, cleaning the house, and taking care of your dependents. Sure, being away for a weekend means the house isn't clean, the laundry didn't get done, and there are only enough groceries to last us until Tuesday, but not having to deal with a hyperactive dog at 6:30 in the morning, make macaroni and cheese at least once, or wonder why things get dusty so quickly was really worth it.

But having any sort of parental responsibility also means that you spend some time of your "quiet weekend away" wondering if all the family members you didn't take along are doing alright. Funnily enough, it wasn't the kids I was worried about, but our wonderful canine child, Zoe. Zoe had never boarded until this weekend, and we were a little worried whether or not she was going to be alright. Husband-dear was convinced she would be fine. I was not. Unfortunately, I turned out to be right.

You see, Zoe seems to suffer from separation anxiety. You would never know it from the way she does not listen to us, will get mad at us, and destroys our favorite possessions at will, but apparently she is overattached to her humans. And this means she will bring the house down if mom and dad are gone.

We decided to board Zoe with Ruth, her trainer from PetSmart. Ruth has six other dogs, and a yard full of doggy friendly toys, a digging put, and an agility garden. Zoe adores Ruth, and so we thought it was going to be just fine. And it was. Until Ruth tried to get Zoe to eat or sleep, because our little pooch refused to do either. And when baby ain't sleeping, ain't nobody sleeping. Our little black devil howled and whined through both nights, keeping everyone in Ruth's house (and probably those living within a few miles of her too) wide awake. Nothing could get her to settle down, no treats, no cuddling, nothing.

So when we came to pick Zoe up last night, we were met by a red-rimmed Ruth and a very tired Zoe, who, in spite of her fatigue, still managed to very clearly convey her anger at us by completely ignoring both mommy and daddy. She spent all of last night half-dead to the world, following us all around the house on wobbly legs, and flopping down wherever we were. We thought she was fine this morning, until she refused to look at us when we left. Zoe doesn't just have separation anxiety, she also has quite a temper.

Now we're confronted with the problem of what to do when we leave town next time. Something tells me Ruth won't be boarding our little dogg-dog anytime soon, and to be honest, I'm not sure who will. And how do you get a dog to get over their separation anxiety? Is there such thing as doggy-therapy? Or doggy-medication? Or perhaps doggy-hypnosis? Who knew that dogs could have psychological issues anyway?

Let's start by seeing when our little princess will acknowledge our presence again. Then we'll take it from there.

Ski ropes

"Ski ropes on Tuesday"

While I'm waiting for students to show up for their advisement appointments, I thought I would tell you about the confusion that announcement at the top of this blog caused in my little head this morning that eventually led to the conclusion that I am an ethnocentric European.

One thing I love about this country is that there is always so much to read by the side of the road. Of course, the billboards are hideous, but don't you just love how signs like "We're nuts! All peanuts half off!" or "Come to the best soft hands spa in Georgia" send your mind on a long journey of free-association-for-morons that can last for miles? As someone who, due to long periods without books, or furniture, or anything to do, has read every single manual in her house at least once, I can tell that I absolutely love it. I love reading about the homemade Belgian waffles offered by the Hampton Inn on my way to work. I love reading about the cheap tickets to Disney that I can apparently by right next to that same hotel, and I even like comparing different church signs from day to day as my daily inspiration. Today one of those signs read; "In times of need, ask for help", and you know, I really liked that, I mean, isn't it true when you think about it? So, here is my plea: will someone please help me grade 30 research papers and 90 finals next week? Thanks.

Anyway, the sign about the ski ropes was on a part of my drive that has little in terms of roadside reading material, so it immediately caught my eye. Especially since I could not for the life of me figure out why a) someone would need a rope while skiing, and b) why someone would be announcing the sale of ski accessories in a part of the world that never sees snow. As I was driving along the highway, I thought of all the different things you could do while skiing that would require a rope. When I couldn't think of any, I started wonder how maybe southerners would use the word "ski" to mean something else. Something long and skinny; maybe they were talking about guns? Or maybe some type of fried food? And then when I crossed a lake, my little ethnocentric mind suddenly saw the light. Not snow skiing, but waterskiing! And of course you need ropes for waterskiing. Right. So in this case, it wasn't a weird southern thing, it was all me.

And the good thing about that sign? It took me pretty much all the way to work to figure out. And if that's not 30 miles well spent, than I don't know what is.

Furlough

De kogel is eindelijk door de kerk: we worden volgend jaar ge-"furloughed". Voor diegene die het Amerikaanse nieuws niet obsessief volgen; een furlough betekent dat medewerkers voor een bepaalde aantal uren of dagen per jaar ontslagen worden. In ons geval betekent het dat de universiteit op een aantal vrijdagen dicht zal gaan, en de medewerkers voor die dagen niet betaald zullen worden.

Ook al zou de titel van dit blog anders doen denken, ik kan me er niet heel erg druk om maken. Nog niet in ieder geval. Vooral omdat het nog helemaal niet zeker is dat het ook daadwerkelijk door gaat. De board of regents weet natuurlijk niet of ze dit jaar misschien toch nog die pot met goud aan het einde van de regenboog gaan vinden, of dat het state government misschien toch gaat inzien dat eindeloos bezuinigen op onderwijs misschien wel eens de reden zou kunnen zijn dat Georgia landelijk op de 48e plaats staat in rekenen en taal, en dus houden ze nog even een slag om de arm. En aangezien ik er zelf toch niets aan kan veranderen, geloof ik in dit geval even heilig in het "eerst zien dan geloven principe". Ten slotte is een paar dagen onbetaald moeten werken, want daar komt het voor het wetenschappelijk personeel toch op neer, minder erg dan helemaal geen werk hebben.

Op dit moment is het enige probleem dat ik heb met het hele furlough gebeuren dat het hele rooster van de universiteit op zijn kop staat, en daardoor mijn hele rooster ook. En als ik ergens niet tegen kan, naast mensen die twee parkeerplaatsen in beslag nemen, dan is het wel wanneer mijn planning onderuit gaat omdat iemand anders iets niet goed doet. Hoe komt dit zo? Het is eigenlijk heel simpel. Omdat vrijdag collegevrij moet blijven, moest het hele rooster voor het herfst semester omgegooid worden. Nu is dat natuurlijk niet zo heel eenvoudig met tientallen departments en honderden colleges, maar voor onze universiteit lijkt het wel een bijzonder lastige uitdaging. De registrar's office is er al weken mee bezig. Ten minste, dat denk ik, maar heel zeker weet ik het niet, want feit is dat het rooster nog steeds niet af is. Maar ondertussen is de advisement periode al drie keer verschoven, en staat deze nu gepland voor morgen en Donderdag. Dus in plaats van twee weken in begin April, hebben we nu twee dagen om er zestig studenten per adviser door heen te jassen. Twee dagen. En er is ondertussen nog steeds geen rooster beschikbaar. Volgende week zijn finals, waar we overigens ook nog geen rooster van hebben, want ja, de registrar heeft het te druk gehad met het rooster van het herfst semester, maar als de finals volgende week zijn, dan betekent dat dat het deze week de week is van de finals voor de afstuderende studenten, de presentaties van de portfolios, de verdediging van alle afstudeerprojecten, en nu dus ook van het doorspreken van de roosters van zestig studenten. Zonder rooster. Tel daarbij op dat mijn online classes volgende week woensdag echt online moeten staan, en je raadt het al. Ik ben helemaal klaar voor die furloughs van volgend jaar. Eindelijk rust.

Almost-birthday

Today is my almost-birthday. That's because tomorrow is my birthday. And no, I'm not writing this just to remind you all to wish me a happy birthday tomorrow. I have far too many male genes for that, and will thus do that in a very direct and masculine manner at the end of this post. No, I wanted to just very briefly, since I told husband-dear I would only be up here for an hour tops, recording some podcasts for my online class, so very quickly touch on how much I like American birthdays.

First, there is no need to count out how many people are coming, set up an equal number of chairs, cups and saucers, pie-plates, and little snacks like the ubiquitous pickle rolled in a slice of ham. Instead, you tell one friend you would love to go to Meldino's and sing Karaoke with all your friends, and that friend, without you ever asking, immediately emails all of your mutual friends with the quick message that if they're cool, that's where they'll be on Saturday night. And before you know it, everyone you have ever had fun with, is talking about going out and seeing you on your birthday. And the cool thing? You know for a fact that they're not coming just for the free food, since it's a) at a restaurant, and b) there is no stingy Dutch-ish tradition that dictates that the birthday girl (or boy) has to pay for everyone's drinks and snacks, which c) must mean they like you! They really really like you!

Living really far away, although it does mean you miss out on seeing your family, also means that some people go out of their way to make you have a wonderful day nonetheless. When another friend heard it was my birthday, and I would probably have to work at least a little in the afternoon, she worked out a little plan, and then informed me that I had better be ready to be picked up at 10:45 on Saturday morning, because she was going to take care of me. And also; don't underestimate the mystery of receiving packages and boxes, some weeks in advance, that you can't touch, open, or even look at until the big day arrives.

And then of course there is the American rule, one that at least seems to apply to our family, that when it's your birthday, you get to be a kid again. Last year we really proved how true that was when husband-dear rented a bouncy castle for me. Since we can't go nuts every year, there will not be any bouncy castles this time around, however, I did get to tell him what kind of cake I wanted. After years of having simple Dutch cakes, I am now truly making up for what I lacked; I ordered a pink princess cake. Or, to show that I'm not entirely unreasonable, a green Tinkerbell cake. Or an angel cake. But something girlie anyway. With balloons. Admittedly, husband-dear did roll his eyes, but I know he'll come through.

So, it's official, I am now excited for my birthday. "Nog maar een nachtje slapen!"


Oh yeah, and don't forget: tomorrow is the day dude. If you bring the beer, I'll bring the party. Oh wait. That was a little too masculine. And I don't even like beer. How about this then: If you bring the party, I'll make the martinis?

The name game

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By another name would smell as sweet."
Juliet ~ Romeo and Juliet


I like to make my students angry. Not in a "let's lose our temper and key our teacher's car" way, but a more controlled and constructive manner. I want my students to get worked up about injustice and unfairness, to get upset about things like racism and the glass ceiling, and use their anger to think of ways they can better society.

You would think that teaching at an HBCU in the deep south, this would be relatively easy. Confederate flags, blatant use of the n-word, a state legislature that refuses to apologize for slavery, yet adopts April as southern independence month, bumper stickers embracing confederate ideology, the tendency to call Black men "boy" and white women " honey", these are just a few of the things that make my toes curl. Alas. my students apparently seem to disagree. No matter how worked up I get in class (and trust me, one of these days I will give myself an aneurysm), my students still seem more preoccupied with the usual college concerns: who is dating whom, who made it into which sorority, where the next big party/probate/step/screening is, and of course who said what to whom and why.

But today, I finally got one of my students to get mad. In my ten o'clock class, we were talking about the representation of African Americans in the news, and how the presence of African American anchors does not always have to indicate that society is moving ahead in getting rid of its racist stereotypes. One of my students shared a story about an African American news anchor with whom she interned. This anchor, in order to make it in a larger market, had gotten rid of her afro, had started wearing business suits, and had changed her name to something more "generic". Most of the students nodded in understanding, but a little cluster up front seemed last than happy.

I asked the students what was going on, and one male student, let's call him Brendan, spoke up; "That is absolutely ridiculous. You should be able to be who you are. If they don't like your name, screw them, you don't want to work for them!"
This led to a fierce debate, with one half of the class claiming you had to pay the bills somehow, and the other half claiming that it didn't matter what your name was when you made it big, as long as you were the Black man or woman who did.
But Brendan was not to be dissuaded; "But it does matter! How many white people go around changing their names?!"
One girl spoke up, "But that's not the point. White names are the standard in the industry. If you have some weird name, everyone is going to think you're ghetto or something. If changing my name is going to make it easier for me to get a job, then so be it. You have to face reality you know. You can't live in some fantasy world where everyone is going to have equal chances."
Sadly, that hit home with most of the class. However, Brendan had one last arrow on his bow; "Well, you know what, where I'm going to go, it's going to be like this. You don't know how to spell my name? That's OK, it's B-R-E-N-D-A-N, and now please get me some coffee."

Sugar and cream?