I finally caved in two days ago. I could not take it any longer. No more! I was tired of wondering what to eat for breakfast, did not want to rifle through the yellow pages looking for yet another local Asian store which might carry my beloved Indonesian spices, and was done feeling like my enamel was going to melt away while eating really sour or super sweet candy. So I gave in. I went online, to a store very aptly called "the little Dutch girl" and ordered about $50 worth of Dutch candy, Indonesian spices, and Brinta.
Don't know Brinta? Shame on you! And if you give me $1, I'll even let you try a bowl. Well, maybe half a bowl. How about a spoonful?
Anyway. I've been checking my doorstep every hour, hoping that the UPS man will show up with my box of goodies. I can't wait!
Now I know that every Dutch person and their dog orders Dutch food online, and that I was possibly the last holdout, but I just never wanted to go there. It felt needy, dependent. As though I couldn't make it on my own in a far off country. So I always told myself I would never order from one of these Dutch American online stores. After all, when I lived abroad as a kid, we didn't have Internet, and we did just fine living off what people sent us. I learned to like the local goodies, and got over my craving for Dutch stuff. So when we moved to Georgia, I was going to tough it out. I had made it without ever having to order anything when living up in New England and in Texas, so I was going. To. Be. Fine. Thank.You.
My resolve lasted almost two years. Two years of begging friends, family, and at times, almost total strangers, to send me Dutch stuff. Two years of trying to like Sweet Tarts, Spree, and Skittles as much as Schuimbanaantjes, Manneke Pisjes, Bruine Boerderijdrop, and Tikkels. And I lost the battle. And you know what? I don't care. With our next trip to Holland probably about a year away, I needed my Dutch goodies. Now.
Now please excuse me while I go and see if I can track my package online. Who knows, it may get here today!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Dishwater
After almost two years of careful observation, I have come to the conclusion that there are three kinds of hairdressers in my part of the world; the walk-in-quick-cut-cheap kind, the expensive spa kind, and my hairdresser. I've tried all three, and am usually content only content with the third category. I say usually, but this week, I can't really say that is the case.
When I first moved here, I was in such desperate need of a haircut, I pretty much walked into the first hairdresser I saw, which turned out to belong to the first category of hairsalons. It was called something ominous like "Cuts-r-us" or "The cutting edge", which should have warned me in advance. In spite of that, though the lady cutting my hair was nice and seemingly proficient. I could even forgive them for having posters dating at least twenty years back on the wall. However, when I noticed she had short hair in the front, and a tiny little ponytail in the back, and she explained to me she was letting her hair grow out that way, I immediately knew that I should probably not trust her with my hair grooming wishes in the future. At this point I probably should add that I like to change my hairstyle about once a year. Nothing too drastic, I mean, obviously the years of going from shoulderlength blond hair to a short red bristly do are long gone, but every once in a while I like let to my hair grow a little longer, or have it layered, or whatever else comes to mind. And in order for that to go over well, I need someone who has some inkling of what looks good and what doesn't. I can't say that this lady particularly inspired me, so that was my last visit to "Cuts-r-us". But since I did really like the price of the cut, the next time I needed one, I went to a similar salon, this one with an equally inspiring name, something along the lines of "Cut to the quick". Although the price was again awesome, all the other women in there were either their having hair permed to 1980s perfection, or wonderfully bright platinum highlights put in, or something equally not up my alley, that I realized that I was going to be stuck with the same boring hairdo forever if I didn't find some other salon.
So the next time I had to have my hair cut (and let the record state that at this point I was so freaked out by our retro hairdressers that I let it grow out for at least five months), I braced myself and my wallet and went to a ritzy-looking upscale salon by the name of "High maintenance". I made it as far as the front door, which is when I got a good look at their prices. Call me scrooge, but I will not pay over a hundred dollars for a haircut, or anything else that doesn't come with a warranty and will last at least a year. I peeked inside, and immediately realized that this was a "to be seen" place, in other words, a hairdresser where you have to dress up to fit in with the rest of the women there. My jeans, t-shirt, and plain, short nails, were definitely not going to pass as acceptable at that place. Talk about high maintenance. So although my split ends were growing split ends at this point, and I was almost ready to start wearing an Arab headdress, I turned around and went home.
And that's when I found my salon. It's an Aveda salon, and I absolutely love it, as I do my hairdresser Alli, even though her real name is Ann, and she's only called Alli because there's another Ann there already. The prices are not insane, the place smells wonderful, they give free mini-facials, and Alli generally knows how to handle my "I want something different by not too crazy" requests.
Until last week. Before I go into what happened, I'm going to let you in on a little secret here; until two months ago I had the most boring dishwater blond hair. It wasn't always like that though. Up until several years ago, my hair was really light blond, but unfortunately, over the past three, maybe four, years, my hair has gotten darker and darker. To the point where now it's that incredibly dull color Dutch people milkfarmer's dog's hair. So a few months ago, I took the plunge, and had my hair highlighted. And I loved it. It was subtle, and looked very natural. When I went back last week, I asked Alli to touch up my highlights, because they had faded a little. Now I'm not quite sure what happened, because when I came home, my hair looked, well, like my hair. Boring, dull, and dishwater blond. I think she put the wrong color in, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't pay to have my hair highlighted in my own natural color. And I know I should call and go back. But I can't. Alli is so nice, and everyone there is so nice, and I don't want to be like the Grinch. I can live with this, in fact I did so for years. I think I can still do it. I can try anyway. Right?
When I first moved here, I was in such desperate need of a haircut, I pretty much walked into the first hairdresser I saw, which turned out to belong to the first category of hairsalons. It was called something ominous like "Cuts-r-us" or "The cutting edge", which should have warned me in advance. In spite of that, though the lady cutting my hair was nice and seemingly proficient. I could even forgive them for having posters dating at least twenty years back on the wall. However, when I noticed she had short hair in the front, and a tiny little ponytail in the back, and she explained to me she was letting her hair grow out that way, I immediately knew that I should probably not trust her with my hair grooming wishes in the future. At this point I probably should add that I like to change my hairstyle about once a year. Nothing too drastic, I mean, obviously the years of going from shoulderlength blond hair to a short red bristly do are long gone, but every once in a while I like let to my hair grow a little longer, or have it layered, or whatever else comes to mind. And in order for that to go over well, I need someone who has some inkling of what looks good and what doesn't. I can't say that this lady particularly inspired me, so that was my last visit to "Cuts-r-us". But since I did really like the price of the cut, the next time I needed one, I went to a similar salon, this one with an equally inspiring name, something along the lines of "Cut to the quick". Although the price was again awesome, all the other women in there were either their having hair permed to 1980s perfection, or wonderfully bright platinum highlights put in, or something equally not up my alley, that I realized that I was going to be stuck with the same boring hairdo forever if I didn't find some other salon.
So the next time I had to have my hair cut (and let the record state that at this point I was so freaked out by our retro hairdressers that I let it grow out for at least five months), I braced myself and my wallet and went to a ritzy-looking upscale salon by the name of "High maintenance". I made it as far as the front door, which is when I got a good look at their prices. Call me scrooge, but I will not pay over a hundred dollars for a haircut, or anything else that doesn't come with a warranty and will last at least a year. I peeked inside, and immediately realized that this was a "to be seen" place, in other words, a hairdresser where you have to dress up to fit in with the rest of the women there. My jeans, t-shirt, and plain, short nails, were definitely not going to pass as acceptable at that place. Talk about high maintenance. So although my split ends were growing split ends at this point, and I was almost ready to start wearing an Arab headdress, I turned around and went home.
And that's when I found my salon. It's an Aveda salon, and I absolutely love it, as I do my hairdresser Alli, even though her real name is Ann, and she's only called Alli because there's another Ann there already. The prices are not insane, the place smells wonderful, they give free mini-facials, and Alli generally knows how to handle my "I want something different by not too crazy" requests.
Until last week. Before I go into what happened, I'm going to let you in on a little secret here; until two months ago I had the most boring dishwater blond hair. It wasn't always like that though. Up until several years ago, my hair was really light blond, but unfortunately, over the past three, maybe four, years, my hair has gotten darker and darker. To the point where now it's that incredibly dull color Dutch people milkfarmer's dog's hair. So a few months ago, I took the plunge, and had my hair highlighted. And I loved it. It was subtle, and looked very natural. When I went back last week, I asked Alli to touch up my highlights, because they had faded a little. Now I'm not quite sure what happened, because when I came home, my hair looked, well, like my hair. Boring, dull, and dishwater blond. I think she put the wrong color in, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't pay to have my hair highlighted in my own natural color. And I know I should call and go back. But I can't. Alli is so nice, and everyone there is so nice, and I don't want to be like the Grinch. I can live with this, in fact I did so for years. I think I can still do it. I can try anyway. Right?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Wat doe ik aan vandaag?
Toen ik bij de McDonald's werkte, in een ver, grijs verleden, droeg ik mijn eerste, en ook meteen laatste, uniform. En ik, als nerd die ik was, was apetrots op het pakje dat bestond uit een gestreepte blouse, een strikje, een zwarte broek, en de rode klep. Dat baantje bij de McDonald's in Nijmegen was ten slotte mijn eerste "echte" baantje na jarenlang als babysitter mijn geld verdient te hebben. En als babysitter zag je er nou eenmaal nooit zo belangrijk uit. We kregen bij de McDonald's zelfs een naambordje! En op dat naambordje kon je stickers verdienen; brons, zilver, en goud, voor de verschillende dingen die je bij de McDonald's moest beheersen, namelijk counter, keuken, en schoonmaken. Dat was voor een overachiever als ik zelf natuurlijk helemaal feest.
Maar goed, na drie jaar bij de Mac gewerkt te hebben, heb ik daarna eigenlijk nooit meer een baantje gehad waarbij je je op een bepaalde manier moest kleden. Omdat de meeste van mijn bijbaantjes technisch van aard waren, was het vaak juist zaak om zo oud mogelijke kleding te vinden omdat je toch het merendeel van je dag onder bureaus lag. En aangezien al mijn "echte" banen altijd op een universiteit waren, heb ik sinds ik klaar ben met mijn studie, ook nooit meer hoeven denken aan wat nu weer aan zou doen. Totdat ik naar Georgia verhuisde. Ik zal niet uitwijden over hoe vervelend het is om elke dag panties aan te moeten, of een gestreken blouse klaar te hebben liggen, of hoe je op een gegeven moment alle medewerkers van de stomerij bij naam kent. Maar het is irritant. Geloof me. Zelfs voor een overachiever zoals ik.
Maar goed, deze zomer was ik dus helemaal blij, want we zouden geen dress code hebben. Niks geen regels over wat wel en niet mocht, we zouden helemaal vrij zijn. Eindelijk zou het hier op de campus gaan lijken op een echte universiteit. Zo eentje waar professors in oude Che shirts rondlopen, met versleten teenslippers aan de voeten, oude shorts aan, en honderdtachtig oude buttons op hun legergroene tas van dertig jaar geleden. Omdat ik nou niet meteen iedereen op stang wilde jagen, had ik wel alvast wat semi-nette korte broeken en rokken aangechaft. Ik kon mij namelijk prima voorstellen dat niet iedereen op mijn hip-hugger booty-shorts zat te wachten. Maar de slippers stonden al klaar, en ook de blousjes had ik ver achter in de kast weggestopt.
De euforie was van korte duur. Een week om precies te zijn. Want gisteren kregen we de volgende email van Human Resources:
"The normal dress code will be relaxed during the summer to provide a more practical and comfortable clothing standard. This policy will be in effect at the beginning of the summer semester (5/11/2009) and ending after the Labor Day holiday (September 7, 2009). Fridays throughout the year will be designated as Business Casual Dress Day. It is the intent that each employee may choose to wear less formal attire (blue jeans) as long as clothing is in good taste and will not negatively affect the University’s image.
Dus de slippers gaan maar weer terug de kast in, en vandaag heb ik gewoon weer een colbertje aan. Maar misschien dat ik toch speciaal voor deze zomer maar weer eens mijn jaren 80 button collectie te voorschijn ga halen. Wat is een universiteit zonder een beetje revolutie?
Maar goed, na drie jaar bij de Mac gewerkt te hebben, heb ik daarna eigenlijk nooit meer een baantje gehad waarbij je je op een bepaalde manier moest kleden. Omdat de meeste van mijn bijbaantjes technisch van aard waren, was het vaak juist zaak om zo oud mogelijke kleding te vinden omdat je toch het merendeel van je dag onder bureaus lag. En aangezien al mijn "echte" banen altijd op een universiteit waren, heb ik sinds ik klaar ben met mijn studie, ook nooit meer hoeven denken aan wat nu weer aan zou doen. Totdat ik naar Georgia verhuisde. Ik zal niet uitwijden over hoe vervelend het is om elke dag panties aan te moeten, of een gestreken blouse klaar te hebben liggen, of hoe je op een gegeven moment alle medewerkers van de stomerij bij naam kent. Maar het is irritant. Geloof me. Zelfs voor een overachiever zoals ik.
Maar goed, deze zomer was ik dus helemaal blij, want we zouden geen dress code hebben. Niks geen regels over wat wel en niet mocht, we zouden helemaal vrij zijn. Eindelijk zou het hier op de campus gaan lijken op een echte universiteit. Zo eentje waar professors in oude Che shirts rondlopen, met versleten teenslippers aan de voeten, oude shorts aan, en honderdtachtig oude buttons op hun legergroene tas van dertig jaar geleden. Omdat ik nou niet meteen iedereen op stang wilde jagen, had ik wel alvast wat semi-nette korte broeken en rokken aangechaft. Ik kon mij namelijk prima voorstellen dat niet iedereen op mijn hip-hugger booty-shorts zat te wachten. Maar de slippers stonden al klaar, en ook de blousjes had ik ver achter in de kast weggestopt.
De euforie was van korte duur. Een week om precies te zijn. Want gisteren kregen we de volgende email van Human Resources:
"The normal dress code will be relaxed during the summer to provide a more practical and comfortable clothing standard. This policy will be in effect at the beginning of the summer semester (5/11/2009) and ending after the Labor Day holiday (September 7, 2009). Fridays throughout the year will be designated as Business Casual Dress Day. It is the intent that each employee may choose to wear less formal attire (blue jeans) as long as clothing is in good taste and will not negatively affect the University’s image.
Acceptable personal appearance is an ongoing responsibility of each employee. Specifically, "common sense" should be the basic guideline and employees should not wear suggestive attire, athletic clothing, shorts, T-shirts, novelty buttons, baseball hats, and similar items of casual attire that do not present a businesslike image. .
Dus de slippers gaan maar weer terug de kast in, en vandaag heb ik gewoon weer een colbertje aan. Maar misschien dat ik toch speciaal voor deze zomer maar weer eens mijn jaren 80 button collectie te voorschijn ga halen. Wat is een universiteit zonder een beetje revolutie?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Threes
All good things happen in threes. And apparently, all bad things do too. And that is the reason why this morning, I felt all of out whack when I had to get in a car that was parked in the driveway as opposed inside a cozy garage. Now I don't want you to think that I am some sort of neurotic anal-retentive person who gets upset when things change just a little, because although I definitely have slightly "odd" tendencies (for one I seem to believe that doors can unlock themselves after you've checked them once), I am not that bad that I can't handle a car parked outside as opposed to inside. However, that is assuming we're talking about a situation where a) I'm actually awake, b) my brain is on, c) I had a great night's sleep, and d) it's not oh dark thirty in the morning. You see, in order to make it through my morning, which, by the way, starts at 4:50 am, a feat which cannot be repeated often enough, I need to stick to a set routine, where things can always be found in the same place, things and people generally respond in the same manner, and I can make the same movements (reaching for something, walking to get something) without thinking about them. So when my car is parked outside, as opposed to indoors, that means a large chunk of my routine needs to be altered, which just completely upsets the whole point of being able to do things without thinking about them. For one thing, I can't just load my workbag, laptop, lunch stuff in as I run around doing other things. When your car is parked outdoors, that entails turning lights on, unlocking doors, locking them, and it's too much of a hassle for 5:30am. It also means that I need to calculate in time to defog and decodense my windows, which means hunting for a squeezy, and making sure I don't get my clothes all wet and dirty. Needless to say, I did not figure I had to clean my windows, and did drive to work with a damp shirt. And I'm also pretty sure I left my waterbottle in the garage.
So why all the hassle? Well, we pretty much had the weekend from hell. First, on Friday, husband-dear's laptop finally died. Granted, it had been coming on for a while. The fan had died last year, and in a fit of both ingenuity and frugality, the love of my life purchased a tiny fan to cool his notebook. But a few days ago, the heat finally got to his poor Dell, and it could no longer be prodded to life. Although we were less than thrilled, we were also fairly zen about it, as we knew it was coming. Then, just a few hours later, our trustworthy vacuum cleaner passed away. The belt came off, which I have to admit, had been occuring more frequently in the past few months, but this time, part of the housing cracked, and there was simply no fixing it. We had had the vacuum cleaner for over a decade, so although at this point we were definitely less than thrilled, we were able to tell ourselves that at least we got our money's worth out of our trusty vacuum cleaner. But the real kicker, and the reason why my car had to spend the night outside, happened on Saturday morning when our brand new second-hand riding lawnmower died on husband-dear just as he had finished mowing half the frontyard. Husband-dear did all sorts of complicated things to it, things involving contraptions whose purpose I never quite understood, such as the carburator, the fuel pump, and the carborator filter, but the lawnmower would not come back to life. Husband-dear's ability to cuss up a storm, however, did, as did our driveway, which is now enlivened with a disco-pattern of oil splatters, which, when I saw it, kicked the life right back into my desire to kick something too.
So after spending a ridiculous amount of money at the local vacuum store, and the local BestBuy, we now are the proud, but slightly unhappy and definitely poorer, owners of a brandnew Toshiba laptop and a beautiful, but simple, Cirrus vacuum cleaner. We have yet to fix the lawnmower, and after conversing with the local Sears store, and discovering that we may have some warranty left on the beast, settled on borrowing a neighbor's John Deere for the time being. Now, at least husband-dear can finish mowing the yard, thus allowing his sould to rest in peace. But since you can't leave a John Deere parked out in your driveway, not even in rural Georgia, although perhaps I should say, especially not in rural Georgia, my car had to bite the dust and spend the night outside. And that is why I say that this had better be it as far as stuff breaking around our house. No more!
So why all the hassle? Well, we pretty much had the weekend from hell. First, on Friday, husband-dear's laptop finally died. Granted, it had been coming on for a while. The fan had died last year, and in a fit of both ingenuity and frugality, the love of my life purchased a tiny fan to cool his notebook. But a few days ago, the heat finally got to his poor Dell, and it could no longer be prodded to life. Although we were less than thrilled, we were also fairly zen about it, as we knew it was coming. Then, just a few hours later, our trustworthy vacuum cleaner passed away. The belt came off, which I have to admit, had been occuring more frequently in the past few months, but this time, part of the housing cracked, and there was simply no fixing it. We had had the vacuum cleaner for over a decade, so although at this point we were definitely less than thrilled, we were able to tell ourselves that at least we got our money's worth out of our trusty vacuum cleaner. But the real kicker, and the reason why my car had to spend the night outside, happened on Saturday morning when our brand new second-hand riding lawnmower died on husband-dear just as he had finished mowing half the frontyard. Husband-dear did all sorts of complicated things to it, things involving contraptions whose purpose I never quite understood, such as the carburator, the fuel pump, and the carborator filter, but the lawnmower would not come back to life. Husband-dear's ability to cuss up a storm, however, did, as did our driveway, which is now enlivened with a disco-pattern of oil splatters, which, when I saw it, kicked the life right back into my desire to kick something too.
So after spending a ridiculous amount of money at the local vacuum store, and the local BestBuy, we now are the proud, but slightly unhappy and definitely poorer, owners of a brandnew Toshiba laptop and a beautiful, but simple, Cirrus vacuum cleaner. We have yet to fix the lawnmower, and after conversing with the local Sears store, and discovering that we may have some warranty left on the beast, settled on borrowing a neighbor's John Deere for the time being. Now, at least husband-dear can finish mowing the yard, thus allowing his sould to rest in peace. But since you can't leave a John Deere parked out in your driveway, not even in rural Georgia, although perhaps I should say, especially not in rural Georgia, my car had to bite the dust and spend the night outside. And that is why I say that this had better be it as far as stuff breaking around our house. No more!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Summer school
When I used to think summer school, I would think either of the cool-but-not-so-bright kids with leather jackets, motorcycles, and a string of girls, or of the somewhat nerdy kids with little motivation for school, the "pick on me" sign on their heads, as well as an inferiority complex that reached the ceiling. Can you tell I grew up watching "Grease" and every single 80s movie that features Mollie Ringwald?
Fortunately, I've grown up a lot since then, and now, besides watching wonderfully profound movies such as Office Space, Muriel's Wedding, Ever After, and Priscilla Queen of the Desert, I also have a much clearer idea of summer school. In high school, summer school is definitely still intended for children who did not do their very best in the previous year, or children who, as my youngest put it this morning, "need some real serious tutoring". But in college, it's a whole different ballgame. And that was news to me.
In Europe, there's really no such thing as summer school. Sure, there are wildly outlandish workshops you can take at exotic locations, workshops which inevitably have titles such as "Statistical modeling in Martinique!" or "The Pan-European Sphere: Myth or reality? Find out more at the University of Monaco!", or the best yet, "Dive into the world of psychometrics in beautiful Barbedos!", but unless you had thousands of dollars to spare and a wild desire to learn about something hopelessly irrelevant, you simply stayed home. The simple reason for the lack of summer school in continental Europe is the length of their summer vacations. While American students get a neat three months off school, Dutch, German, and most other European students, get a measly six weeks off. Six weeks in which they have to earn enough money to go on vacation, go on vacation, and possibly retake a few finals as well. So there is really no time for extra classes there.
Over here, it's a completely different story. Not only do our students have all of May, June, July, and half of August off, they also face the fact that unless they are willing to take on an overload of classes each semester, or enroll in summer school, they will not graduate in four years. Since most students, in spite of the current economic crisis, are dying to get out here as fast as their legs can carry them, they have a choice between two evils. And most of them opt for the less stressful option, namely to spend at least part of their summer in school. And universities love this. Because, and here's the catch; although they charge students full fee, they only have to pay their faculty a portion of their usual salary. Ca-ching!
So then why would any faculty member in their right mind (and that possibly precludes myself) volunteer for summer school? The answer lies in three words: May, June, July. Perhaps there are people out there who can do it, but there is no way I can spend three months doing absolutely nothing. Of course, there are always the wild research plans all of us have around commencement. Ideas which involve writing grant proposals, doing lots of statistics, or answering questions such as "How do teenagers across American incorporate ebonics into their daily life". However, all good intentions aside, most of us know that the moment we stop going to the office, the pressure to work is gone, and every one of us turns into couch potatoes who develop a sudden interest in MTV Cribs, The Discovery Channel, As the world turns, or really anything as long as it's not work.
Last year, I got lucky: we bought a house, something that took up most of my summer. But without a house to buy, with two kids old enough that having me there every moment of the day is now considered an embarrassement (although at night they will still tell me they loved hanging out with me, the public eye-rolling gets old), and a dog that is pretty much trained up, I could just envision myself withering away behing my potted plants. Plus, and not be crass, we could use the money. Two months without income, no matter how hard you've saved, is hard. So when the opportunity to teach summer school came up, I took it. And here I am. In my office once again.
But you know what? So far I kind of like it. I only have to go into work two days a week. It's very quiet, with the majority of the students and faculty away, and the one major upside? There is no dress code in summer. So short skirts, flip flops, shorts, t-shirts, here I come!
Fortunately, I've grown up a lot since then, and now, besides watching wonderfully profound movies such as Office Space, Muriel's Wedding, Ever After, and Priscilla Queen of the Desert, I also have a much clearer idea of summer school. In high school, summer school is definitely still intended for children who did not do their very best in the previous year, or children who, as my youngest put it this morning, "need some real serious tutoring". But in college, it's a whole different ballgame. And that was news to me.
In Europe, there's really no such thing as summer school. Sure, there are wildly outlandish workshops you can take at exotic locations, workshops which inevitably have titles such as "Statistical modeling in Martinique!" or "The Pan-European Sphere: Myth or reality? Find out more at the University of Monaco!", or the best yet, "Dive into the world of psychometrics in beautiful Barbedos!", but unless you had thousands of dollars to spare and a wild desire to learn about something hopelessly irrelevant, you simply stayed home. The simple reason for the lack of summer school in continental Europe is the length of their summer vacations. While American students get a neat three months off school, Dutch, German, and most other European students, get a measly six weeks off. Six weeks in which they have to earn enough money to go on vacation, go on vacation, and possibly retake a few finals as well. So there is really no time for extra classes there.
Over here, it's a completely different story. Not only do our students have all of May, June, July, and half of August off, they also face the fact that unless they are willing to take on an overload of classes each semester, or enroll in summer school, they will not graduate in four years. Since most students, in spite of the current economic crisis, are dying to get out here as fast as their legs can carry them, they have a choice between two evils. And most of them opt for the less stressful option, namely to spend at least part of their summer in school. And universities love this. Because, and here's the catch; although they charge students full fee, they only have to pay their faculty a portion of their usual salary. Ca-ching!
So then why would any faculty member in their right mind (and that possibly precludes myself) volunteer for summer school? The answer lies in three words: May, June, July. Perhaps there are people out there who can do it, but there is no way I can spend three months doing absolutely nothing. Of course, there are always the wild research plans all of us have around commencement. Ideas which involve writing grant proposals, doing lots of statistics, or answering questions such as "How do teenagers across American incorporate ebonics into their daily life". However, all good intentions aside, most of us know that the moment we stop going to the office, the pressure to work is gone, and every one of us turns into couch potatoes who develop a sudden interest in MTV Cribs, The Discovery Channel, As the world turns, or really anything as long as it's not work.
Last year, I got lucky: we bought a house, something that took up most of my summer. But without a house to buy, with two kids old enough that having me there every moment of the day is now considered an embarrassement (although at night they will still tell me they loved hanging out with me, the public eye-rolling gets old), and a dog that is pretty much trained up, I could just envision myself withering away behing my potted plants. Plus, and not be crass, we could use the money. Two months without income, no matter how hard you've saved, is hard. So when the opportunity to teach summer school came up, I took it. And here I am. In my office once again.
But you know what? So far I kind of like it. I only have to go into work two days a week. It's very quiet, with the majority of the students and faculty away, and the one major upside? There is no dress code in summer. So short skirts, flip flops, shorts, t-shirts, here I come!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Freedom
As of Saturday 12:30pm, I am once again a free woman. The minute commencement had ended, and I was able to take off the heavy and very cumbersome robe, and reveal to everyone in the office that I had stayed true to my word and worn shorts underneath my regalia, it was as though the sun started shining just for me. I think I may have even sung while walking down our hallway. In fact, I'm so elated that I've been walking around the house saying, "I'm free! I'm free!", much in the manner of Dr. Frankenstein when he first discovered his creation was alive.
Now, free is a relative term, of course. Summer school starts next week, and although I will only be teaching one online class, and one face-to-face class, it's still w-o-r-k, so it's not as though there's months and months of lazy emptiness in front me. But since all I have to say to months and months of nothing is something like "God please no", and I now have a week of absolutely nothing in front of me, I am a very happy woman.
Now for those of you who were worried that besides working seventy hours a week or more, I was still sticking my Dutch cleaning regimen, have no fear, I was not. Husband-dear has been taking over all of my domestic engineering responsibilities for the past month or so. Now although this man is a Godsend and has definitely earned his place in heaven, his cleaning abilities entail one talent I do not possess, namely the ability to let less important things go. Now although that ability did keep our family from imploding, or starving, or being without clothes in the past few weeks, it also means that currently all of our furniture is covered in a lavish layer of dust. However, rest assured, I was not planning on going on a complete nut-job cleaning spree, until I get this "woohoo freedom!" bug out of system.
So far, my planning for today and the next few days looks something like this:
Get up, get the kids to school, lay back down. Wake up at 8 because husband-dear calls, lay back down, but on the couch this time, so important programs such as Good Morning America and Ellen are not missed. Get up and eat breakfast. Maybe run a little. Call some people. Lay back down. Watch more important shows on channels such as Discovery, MTV, and the Comedy channel. Call some more people. Maybe get in the car and drive to meet some people, providing I'm up to it of course.
I have the feeling I will be sick of this by the end of the week But until then, no cleaning, no chores, no work. Nothing. I am a free woman now! Hear me roar. Well, actually not. That's too much work. Hear me snore.
Now, free is a relative term, of course. Summer school starts next week, and although I will only be teaching one online class, and one face-to-face class, it's still w-o-r-k, so it's not as though there's months and months of lazy emptiness in front me. But since all I have to say to months and months of nothing is something like "God please no", and I now have a week of absolutely nothing in front of me, I am a very happy woman.
Now for those of you who were worried that besides working seventy hours a week or more, I was still sticking my Dutch cleaning regimen, have no fear, I was not. Husband-dear has been taking over all of my domestic engineering responsibilities for the past month or so. Now although this man is a Godsend and has definitely earned his place in heaven, his cleaning abilities entail one talent I do not possess, namely the ability to let less important things go. Now although that ability did keep our family from imploding, or starving, or being without clothes in the past few weeks, it also means that currently all of our furniture is covered in a lavish layer of dust. However, rest assured, I was not planning on going on a complete nut-job cleaning spree, until I get this "woohoo freedom!" bug out of system.
So far, my planning for today and the next few days looks something like this:
Get up, get the kids to school, lay back down. Wake up at 8 because husband-dear calls, lay back down, but on the couch this time, so important programs such as Good Morning America and Ellen are not missed. Get up and eat breakfast. Maybe run a little. Call some people. Lay back down. Watch more important shows on channels such as Discovery, MTV, and the Comedy channel. Call some more people. Maybe get in the car and drive to meet some people, providing I'm up to it of course.
I have the feeling I will be sick of this by the end of the week But until then, no cleaning, no chores, no work. Nothing. I am a free woman now! Hear me roar. Well, actually not. That's too much work. Hear me snore.
Friday, May 1, 2009
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!
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!
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