So today I ventured outside of the cocoon that is my festively decorated home for something other than an errand for the first time since commencement and spent the day with my friend Jill (she of last year's videotaped scavenger hunt). Because I'm sure that any day now we're going to uncover that we really are related, she thought it would be a great idea to hang out, talk, and bake up a storm for all of our neighbors. I mean, God forbid we just hang out and eat cookies. We. Will. Be. Productive!
Our baked goods of choice this year were several pumpkin breads. Last year, while I was putting together a far too complicated "upside down snack cake bread" (the ingredients provided to me in a cute jar by a friend painfully unaware of my lack of culinary skills), and loaves and loaves of banana bread for my neighbors, Jill turned out the most delicious pumpkin bread I have ever tasted. So this year, I decided that the best way to make up for our loud dogs who occasionally have escaped into the neighbors' yards, was by giving them each a bunch of pumpkin bread. What's not to love about pumpkin bread?
Now I will gladly admit to you that cooking is not my forte. Cooking is one thing not tied to my fragile ego. I instead pride myself on my analytical skills, my memory, and other cognitive features. So you would think that buying the ingredients would be easy as pie for me (the pun is coming..). And I thought it was, until I put all the cans of pumpkin on Jill's counter, and realized I had not read two of three cans correctly and purchased "pumpkin pie mix" instead of regular canned pumpkin (and there's the pun..yes, intended). For someone who (to quote "Pretty Woman") "went all the way" in the college, you would think that reading would not be a problem. Right.
But, Jill came to the rescue. She had me read out the ingredients on the pie mix (pumpkin, sugar, water, spices), and then said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, "OK, so we'll just not add any sugar to that batch, and add only a little water, and it will be fine."
And I'm not sure how it happened, which probably underlines my complete lack of culinary gifts, but the pie/bread actually tastes just fine. The consistency is a little off, but it tastes just like pumpkin bread. And if it looks like a duck, and tastes like a duck..? Right.
Having said that, I of course can't let my neighbors think I can't complete a task as basic as purchasing the correct ingredients, as thanks to Paula Deen baking has become -the- thing southern women use to prove their women-worthiness, so I will be giving them the real pumpkin bread. If I can figure out which one it is.
Will the real pumpkin bread please stand up?
Monday, December 19, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Bah humbug
"DC is my wife.
and I love her...
and will for all my life"
Husband-dear's spontaneous warbling in the kitchen
So I know I've been a total slacker when it comes to blogging this week.
I have.
And every time I get in my car to gallivant around town, I realize how badly I need to write a blog about people's inability to use turn signals and turn lanes. But then I come home, turn on our Christmas lights, whip a batch of cookies, clean something, make myself some tea, and realize I really don't want to whine about what horrible drivers Georgians are. I would much rather sit on my couch, look at the lights on the mantle and on the tree, pet the dogs, and listen to husband-dear making up songs in the kitchen. Or decide we have way too much peanut butter, and venture into the previously unexplored world of online recipes and whip up a batch of peanut brittle (brittle = cookies left in the oven too long). Or reconfigure our picture wall. Or write Christmas cards. Or call friends.
So, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. I know you all love to read about my bah-humbug attitude towards life, but right now, there's just very little humbug and lots of jolly old cheer.
Now please excuse me while I have my first glass of eggnog of the season. I promise that there will be more of the usual after the weekend. I think. Although if I hear that Beach Boys song with the lyrics "Christmas comes this time each year" one more time, you may get your usual vinegar-filled blogging a bit sooner.
and I love her...
and will for all my life"
Husband-dear's spontaneous warbling in the kitchen
So I know I've been a total slacker when it comes to blogging this week.
I have.
And every time I get in my car to gallivant around town, I realize how badly I need to write a blog about people's inability to use turn signals and turn lanes. But then I come home, turn on our Christmas lights, whip a batch of cookies, clean something, make myself some tea, and realize I really don't want to whine about what horrible drivers Georgians are. I would much rather sit on my couch, look at the lights on the mantle and on the tree, pet the dogs, and listen to husband-dear making up songs in the kitchen. Or decide we have way too much peanut butter, and venture into the previously unexplored world of online recipes and whip up a batch of peanut brittle (brittle = cookies left in the oven too long). Or reconfigure our picture wall. Or write Christmas cards. Or call friends.
So, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. I know you all love to read about my bah-humbug attitude towards life, but right now, there's just very little humbug and lots of jolly old cheer.
Now please excuse me while I have my first glass of eggnog of the season. I promise that there will be more of the usual after the weekend. I think. Although if I hear that Beach Boys song with the lyrics "Christmas comes this time each year" one more time, you may get your usual vinegar-filled blogging a bit sooner.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The non-issue of non-race
"It's sad but true, everyone's a little bit racist - alright? Alright!"
Gary Coleman ~ Avenue Q
For the past few years, Steve and I have been working on and off on a fascinating research project involving focus groups, content analysis, and all sorts of all other techniques that make my little researcher's heart beat faster. Even after Steve left to become Dr. Steve, he and I kept on working on the project, and have since produced two conference papers (one of which I presented on at the last conference in New Orleans), and a manuscript we've submitted for publication (the one that got the r & r). The entire research and writing process has been fun, educational, and all that good Lifetime special stuff. However, ever since we've been publicizing our work outside of the south, we've gotten some, well, strange feedback.
In order to understand what I'm about to start harping on (and harp is what I will do), you should know that our study was carried out at my university. Which happens to be an HBCU. Subsequently, all of our respondents were African American. For the record, no other study in this specific field has ever included an all-Black sample. In fact, the vast majority of similar studies sampled scores and scores of white midwestern kids, and happily generalized their findings to "youth in general".
So what kind of feedback have we been getting? Well, several people have commented on how awesome it is to finally see a study that focuses on African American media users, and left it at that. Fine. They're happy, we're happy, everybody happy. But then we started to get written feedback from reviewers. And it did little to make me happy. In fact, every time I think about it, I want to bang my head against a wall and see if it's too early for a drink.
The feedback we've received can generally be grouped into three categories:
1. "What's really interesting about your study is that it focuses on African Americans."
2. "I'm concerned about the external validity of your study. With your sample make up, you really cannot make statements about "youth in general""
3. "Since your sample is made up of all African Americans, you should try to make statements comparing them to white users"
Let's start with the first category. Although it seems like a lovely compliment, it's really not, as it suggests that our -one- redeeming factor is that we focus on African American students. Not the fact that we started dissecting an important concept, or uncovered various interesting discrepancies. Instead of looking at our theoretical contributions, our one redeeming feature is that we focused on students at an HBCU, who all happen to be Black. It's as though the reviewers are telling us how "speshul" we are by virtue of the skin color of our respondents, not by our detailed analysis or interesting findings. There's little warm and fuzzy about that.
And regarding the second category, where do I start? I won't brandish the "r" word around, but really, people, really? Our study has little external validity because we use only Black respondents? (just for the record - we don't generalize our findings, so they can't accuse of that, thankfully, I suppose) But let's consider the fact that numerous similar studies, which all rely on WASP Midwestern students for their results, happily generalize all over the map, while when we, with our definitely non-white sample, dare to make minor, tentative statements about a "possible clue" to overall behavior, our external validity is at risk? Since when do white youngsters in the midwest represent all American youth? And since when do the responses provided Black participants in the south reveal nothing about that same youth? if our 18-24 year old respondents are not part of this "general youth", what are they? Geriatrics? Children? Aliens?
Oh wait, I'm sorry, I forgot! *facepalm*. White culture and white younsters are culture and youth. And when you utilize only white respondents, race is a non-issue. But if you use anything else, it's "ethnic" and marginal. Obviously, that's it. I am so sorry.
Oh, yeah, and there was a third category too. Well, all I can say to that is, uhm, remember research methods 101? You can't make statements about a specific group unless you compare them to another group. And guess what, that is something we did not do in our study. So yeah, nice try, but once again, just because our study featured an African American sample does not mean that that should be the focal point of our findings.
I'm sorry this blog isn't funnier, or happier, or includes more references to rainbows, unicorns, and mermaids, but this kind of stuff really does make me wonder about the world as a whole. Because if academics, who are supposed to be tolerant, hippy-dippy, all-embracing, and as far away from prejudice as possible, are unable to realize what they're actually saying, what does that bode for the rest of mankind?
Gary Coleman ~ Avenue Q
For the past few years, Steve and I have been working on and off on a fascinating research project involving focus groups, content analysis, and all sorts of all other techniques that make my little researcher's heart beat faster. Even after Steve left to become Dr. Steve, he and I kept on working on the project, and have since produced two conference papers (one of which I presented on at the last conference in New Orleans), and a manuscript we've submitted for publication (the one that got the r & r). The entire research and writing process has been fun, educational, and all that good Lifetime special stuff. However, ever since we've been publicizing our work outside of the south, we've gotten some, well, strange feedback.
In order to understand what I'm about to start harping on (and harp is what I will do), you should know that our study was carried out at my university. Which happens to be an HBCU. Subsequently, all of our respondents were African American. For the record, no other study in this specific field has ever included an all-Black sample. In fact, the vast majority of similar studies sampled scores and scores of white midwestern kids, and happily generalized their findings to "youth in general".
So what kind of feedback have we been getting? Well, several people have commented on how awesome it is to finally see a study that focuses on African American media users, and left it at that. Fine. They're happy, we're happy, everybody happy. But then we started to get written feedback from reviewers. And it did little to make me happy. In fact, every time I think about it, I want to bang my head against a wall and see if it's too early for a drink.
The feedback we've received can generally be grouped into three categories:
1. "What's really interesting about your study is that it focuses on African Americans."
2. "I'm concerned about the external validity of your study. With your sample make up, you really cannot make statements about "youth in general""
3. "Since your sample is made up of all African Americans, you should try to make statements comparing them to white users"
Let's start with the first category. Although it seems like a lovely compliment, it's really not, as it suggests that our -one- redeeming factor is that we focus on African American students. Not the fact that we started dissecting an important concept, or uncovered various interesting discrepancies. Instead of looking at our theoretical contributions, our one redeeming feature is that we focused on students at an HBCU, who all happen to be Black. It's as though the reviewers are telling us how "speshul" we are by virtue of the skin color of our respondents, not by our detailed analysis or interesting findings. There's little warm and fuzzy about that.
And regarding the second category, where do I start? I won't brandish the "r" word around, but really, people, really? Our study has little external validity because we use only Black respondents? (just for the record - we don't generalize our findings, so they can't accuse of that, thankfully, I suppose) But let's consider the fact that numerous similar studies, which all rely on WASP Midwestern students for their results, happily generalize all over the map, while when we, with our definitely non-white sample, dare to make minor, tentative statements about a "possible clue" to overall behavior, our external validity is at risk? Since when do white youngsters in the midwest represent all American youth? And since when do the responses provided Black participants in the south reveal nothing about that same youth? if our 18-24 year old respondents are not part of this "general youth", what are they? Geriatrics? Children? Aliens?
Oh wait, I'm sorry, I forgot! *facepalm*. White culture and white younsters are culture and youth. And when you utilize only white respondents, race is a non-issue. But if you use anything else, it's "ethnic" and marginal. Obviously, that's it. I am so sorry.
Oh, yeah, and there was a third category too. Well, all I can say to that is, uhm, remember research methods 101? You can't make statements about a specific group unless you compare them to another group. And guess what, that is something we did not do in our study. So yeah, nice try, but once again, just because our study featured an African American sample does not mean that that should be the focal point of our findings.
I'm sorry this blog isn't funnier, or happier, or includes more references to rainbows, unicorns, and mermaids, but this kind of stuff really does make me wonder about the world as a whole. Because if academics, who are supposed to be tolerant, hippy-dippy, all-embracing, and as far away from prejudice as possible, are unable to realize what they're actually saying, what does that bode for the rest of mankind?
Thursday, December 8, 2011
No no drama, no no no drama
I hinted at the relative lack of stress earlier in the week, and now that finals week is coming to a close, I have to come to the conclusion that, for the first time in over four years, there has been no student-drama. None. At all.
Although I would love to tell you that it's because this year's graduating seniors are all mature, poised, and collected young adults who understand the notion of action --> consequence, I'm afraid that's not it. I think this sudden drop in drama is related to the most brilliant scheduling change ever implemented by the registrar. And I mean "brilliant" in the most literal way possible.
While in previous years, grades for graduating seniors were due a week before everyone else's (so the registrar's office could determine whether a graduate could actually graduate, or would be gracing the campus with his or her presence for another semester or two), this year, the registrar's office decided that that was far too stressful for everyone else. So instead, senior grades are due with everyone else's, and although all graduating seniors are allowed to "walk" (i.e., participate in graduation), not all of them will receive their diploma in the mail the following week.
At first I didn't think much of this decision. Why not let graduating seniors know how they did on their last classes before commencement? It didn't seem fair to let them walk, but then leave them in the dark about whether or not that walk was "it", or not.
But then I regained my common sense, and came to several important realizations: 1) no need to administer senior finals a week early, which means that a) there is no need to develop finals early, b) no need to grade them while I'm in the middle of grading a million papers, and c) no need to design my final grading sheet while grading those same million papers. The second realization (yes I realize I owe you guys a 2), but that would have created the longest run-on in the world, which is just wrong), anyway, the second realization was that seniors would now no longer realize they were not graduating until -after- commencement and I had long gone home for the break. And this meant they wouldn't have a chance to have a full-on break down in my office. Well, technically, I suppose they still can, but I won't be there. Sure, they can send me nasty emails, leave me endless voicemails, but those have got nothing on a full-on, histrionics-filled implosion, complete with veiled threats, pleas to my humanity, and references to old semi-invalid grandparents who had just sold their last family heirloom to buy a plane ticket to see their only grandchild graduate.
So, and I never though I would say this, thank you Mrs. Registrar. This was a true stroke of brilliance (which probably means it will be revoked next semester, however, let's rejoice while we can).
Now, let the commencement commence!
Although I would love to tell you that it's because this year's graduating seniors are all mature, poised, and collected young adults who understand the notion of action --> consequence, I'm afraid that's not it. I think this sudden drop in drama is related to the most brilliant scheduling change ever implemented by the registrar. And I mean "brilliant" in the most literal way possible.
While in previous years, grades for graduating seniors were due a week before everyone else's (so the registrar's office could determine whether a graduate could actually graduate, or would be gracing the campus with his or her presence for another semester or two), this year, the registrar's office decided that that was far too stressful for everyone else. So instead, senior grades are due with everyone else's, and although all graduating seniors are allowed to "walk" (i.e., participate in graduation), not all of them will receive their diploma in the mail the following week.
At first I didn't think much of this decision. Why not let graduating seniors know how they did on their last classes before commencement? It didn't seem fair to let them walk, but then leave them in the dark about whether or not that walk was "it", or not.
But then I regained my common sense, and came to several important realizations: 1) no need to administer senior finals a week early, which means that a) there is no need to develop finals early, b) no need to grade them while I'm in the middle of grading a million papers, and c) no need to design my final grading sheet while grading those same million papers. The second realization (yes I realize I owe you guys a 2), but that would have created the longest run-on in the world, which is just wrong), anyway, the second realization was that seniors would now no longer realize they were not graduating until -after- commencement and I had long gone home for the break. And this meant they wouldn't have a chance to have a full-on break down in my office. Well, technically, I suppose they still can, but I won't be there. Sure, they can send me nasty emails, leave me endless voicemails, but those have got nothing on a full-on, histrionics-filled implosion, complete with veiled threats, pleas to my humanity, and references to old semi-invalid grandparents who had just sold their last family heirloom to buy a plane ticket to see their only grandchild graduate.
So, and I never though I would say this, thank you Mrs. Registrar. This was a true stroke of brilliance (which probably means it will be revoked next semester, however, let's rejoice while we can).
Now, let the commencement commence!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Vijf dingen...
Deze uitdaging zag ik op Petra's blog, en vond het zo interessant om daar zelf eens over na te denken, dat ik besloten heb hem schaamteloos te kopieren. Sue me, zou ik zeggen. Oh wacht, Petra woont in de VS, dus misschien kan ik dat maar beter niet roepen..uhm..Petra, laat maar weten wat je royalties zijn!
Vijf dingen die jullie niet van mij weten (maar misschien ook wel)
1. Dit is het vierde land waarin ik woon. Ik heb al in Nederland, Frankrijk, en Duitsland gewoond. Frankrijk en de VS staan momenteel op een gedeelde eerste plaats, maar daar kan nog verandering in komen, natuurlijk. Al moet ik zeggen dat wonen in Georgia niet echt geholpen heeft.
2. Ik heel precies ben in hoe onze handdoeken opgevouwen moeten worden. Door midden, dan nog een keer door midden, en dan in drieen. Je krijgt dan de mooiste stapeltjes in de kast, maar ja, helaas wil manlief nog steeds met allerlei andere creaties op de proppen komen. Ik kan daar zo gek van worden, dat ik in staat ben om een hele stapel handdoeken opnieuw te vouwen.
3. Toen ik leerde autorijden, ik het doodeng vond om in te voegen op de autobaan. Jaren nadat ik mijn rijbewijs had vond ik het nog steeds helemaal niks. Het was zelfs zo erg dat toen ik aan parachutespringen deed, ik het rijden naar de dropzone toe enger vond dat het eigenlijke springen. Ik kan nu echter met alle eerlijkheid zeggen dat ik niks zo leuk vind als invoegen, hoe drukker, hoe groter de uitdaging, hoe leuker!
4. Ik vroeger in musicals zoals "Godspell", "Peace Child", en "Oklahoma!" gespeeld heb, en nog steeds een playlist met de naam "showtunes" op mijn ipod heb (en ook nog steeds alle liedjes uit die musicals zo kan zingen)
5. Als ik met mensen praat die een accent hebben in hun Engels, dan ga ik ze onbewust nadoen. Het is echt heel erg, en ik kan er niks aan doen, maar op een of andere manier begin ik vaak hun zinsopbouw en grammatica te kopieren, en produceer dus zinnen zoals, "You here at 11, yes?"
Vijf dingen waar ik iets vanaf weet:
1. Communicatiewetenschap. En dat mag ik hopen ook. Dat heb ik ten slotte gestudeerd. En laat me beginnen met te stellen dat "media" meervoudig is. Overigens hou ik er helemaal niet van om in mijn vrije tijd het over mijn werk te hebben, dus je zult me niet vaak horen praten over de media, onderzoek, ethiek, of daaraan gerelateerde zaken.
2. Engelse Grammatica en spelling. Na jarenlang als copy-writer gewerkt te hebben, ben ik een enorme "stickler" voor het juiste gebruik van woorden, zinsopbouw, grammatica, en spelling. In het Engels dan. Want in het Nederlands bak ik er niet veel van.
3. "Deciphering bureacracy". Hier kwam manlief net mee op de proppen. Met andere woorden, als er formulieren ingevuld moeten worden, een ingewikkelde procedure gevolgd moet worden, of er moet iets uitgezocht worden, dan zou hij mij bellen. Belastingen, immigratie, naturalisatie, pensioenen, verzekeringen, ik draai er, volgens hem dan, mijn hand niet voor om. Persoonlijk ben ik van mening dat iedereen die naar de VS geimmigreerd is, hier een expert in is, maar goed, volgens manlief moest deze erbij.
4. Interculturele "blended" families. Ik geloof dat ik ondertussen toch best wel een expert ben geworden in hoe cultuurverschillen de kop op kunnen steken in een huwelijk, en helemaal als je met het "ja-woord" er drie voor de prijs van een krijgt.
5. Onderwijs, en alles wat daarbij komt kijken. Ik geloof dat ik hier, gezien de aard van de vele posts op dit blog over onderwijs, hier niet echt meer over hoef te zeggen :)
Vijf dingen waar ik niks van begrijp of in geinteresserd ben:
1. Auto's. Ondanks dat ik een duidelijke mening heb over welke auto ik mooi vind en welke niet, weet ik niets, maar dan ook niets af over hoe ze eigenlijk werken. En als het aan mij zou liggen zou ik waarschijnlijk een keer per jaar mijn olie laten verversen. Misschien. Niet omdat ik niks om mijn auto geef, maar omdat ik me er gewoon echt niets voor interesseer, en dat soort dingen dus vergeet. Gelukkig heb ik manlief, die wel aardig wat van auto's weet, en dus niet alleen kleine dingen zelf repareert, maar mij er ook aan herinnert wanneer het weer tijd is voor een "oil change".
2. Football. Ik heb het jaren geprobeerd, en ondanks dat men mij al zeker tien keer de regels heeft uitgelegd, kan ik ze maar niet onthouden. Ik kijk misschien een halve wedstrijd (als je alle fragmenten bij elkaar optelt) per jaar, en snap werkelijk niet wat mensen bezielt om in de vrieskou naar een wedstijd te gaan die zeker wel drie uur kan duren.
3. Planten en tuinieren. Het is maar goed dat manlief een "green thumb" heeft, anders waren al onze planten allang doodgeweest. Het enige waarvoor ik echt interesse kan opbrengen is het groeien van kruiden en groenten, maar alhoewel ik niks zo geweldig vind als een mooie tuin, vind ik het onderhoud er van echt helemaal niks.
4. Koken. Deze hoort misschien niet helemaal in dit lijstje thuis, omdat ik het wel kan, maar ik er gewoon helemaal niks aan vind. Daarentegen vind ik bakken wel weer helemaal geweldig (go figure...). Gelukkig ben ik getrouwd met iemand die werkelijk gek is op koken, dus daarmee heb ik enorm gemazzeld.
5. Naaien, breien, borduren. Ik kan nog niet eens een knoop aan een blouse zetten. Nou ja, dat is niet helemaal waar. Ik kan me een glorieuze morgen herinneren toen ik alleen thuis was, en met veel pijn en moeite een knoop aan een blouse heb gezet. Verder bak ik er niks van. Ik kan geen sokken stoppen, geen broeken korter maken, niks. Maar, een van mijn voornemens voor het nieuwe jaar is om daar verandering in te brengen. De naaimachine staat al klaar. Dus wie weet wordt het nog wel eens wat.
Vijf dingen waarin ik geloof
1. God. Ik ben dan wel geen bible-belt-fundie, maar ook geen typische academische atheist. Ik vind het moeilijk voor te stellen hoe het zou zijn om niet te geloven, want voor mij krijgt het leven zoveel meer diepgang door het geloof in God. Ik begrijp dat dit in Nederland tegenwoordig helemaal geen gangbare levenshouding meer is, maar goed, there you have it.
2. "Grace". Ik heb hier nog nooit een goede Nederlandse vertaling voor gevonden, maar ik geloof dat "genade" dicht in de buurt komt. Het draait om het idee dat je van het beste uitgaat in de mens en het leven, mensen dingen vergeeft, zelf om vergeving vraagt als dat nodig is, en geen dingen vast blijft houden,
3. Onderwijs, of dan het belang er van. Ik geloof dat als ik de zin "the importance of education" nog een keer in de buurt van de jongens gebruik, ze allebei van huis weglopen, maar ik kan hier maar niet genoeg op blijven hameren. Zonder goed onderwijs ben je nergens. En het hoeft niet altijd tot een "marketable skill" te leiden, soms kan het ook puur gaan om het verbreden van je eigen begrip van de wereld om je heen. Er is geen grotere zwakte dan "ignorance", en dat is alleen te voorkomen door onderwijs.
4. Het bestaan van ware liefde. Het is nog lang geen Valentijn, en dit klinkt wel heel zoetsappig, maar ik geloof echt dat manlief en ik voor elkaar gemaakt zijn. Van onze sport-kick, tot onze nieuwsgierigheid, ons gevoel voor humor, onze koppigheid en onze ongenuanceerde manier van ruziemaken toe. Ik wist dat manlief "het" was op het moment dat we (misschien een kwartier nadat we elkaar hadden leren kennen), een geanimeerd gesprek hadden over bevroren neushaartjes. Wanneer zulke rare onderwerpen niet meteen leiden tot een "well, it was nice to meet you", dan weet je dat het bijzonder is.
5. Het belang van goede vriendschappen. Ik wist altijd al dat het hebben van goede vrienden en vriendinnen belangrijk was, maar totdat ik naar deze uithoek verhuisde, had ik geen idee hoe belangrijk dit wel niet was.
En dat was het lijst dan. Een prachtige "Dunglish" beschrijving van DixieChick in iets meer detail :)
Vijf dingen die jullie niet van mij weten (maar misschien ook wel)
1. Dit is het vierde land waarin ik woon. Ik heb al in Nederland, Frankrijk, en Duitsland gewoond. Frankrijk en de VS staan momenteel op een gedeelde eerste plaats, maar daar kan nog verandering in komen, natuurlijk. Al moet ik zeggen dat wonen in Georgia niet echt geholpen heeft.
2. Ik heel precies ben in hoe onze handdoeken opgevouwen moeten worden. Door midden, dan nog een keer door midden, en dan in drieen. Je krijgt dan de mooiste stapeltjes in de kast, maar ja, helaas wil manlief nog steeds met allerlei andere creaties op de proppen komen. Ik kan daar zo gek van worden, dat ik in staat ben om een hele stapel handdoeken opnieuw te vouwen.
3. Toen ik leerde autorijden, ik het doodeng vond om in te voegen op de autobaan. Jaren nadat ik mijn rijbewijs had vond ik het nog steeds helemaal niks. Het was zelfs zo erg dat toen ik aan parachutespringen deed, ik het rijden naar de dropzone toe enger vond dat het eigenlijke springen. Ik kan nu echter met alle eerlijkheid zeggen dat ik niks zo leuk vind als invoegen, hoe drukker, hoe groter de uitdaging, hoe leuker!
4. Ik vroeger in musicals zoals "Godspell", "Peace Child", en "Oklahoma!" gespeeld heb, en nog steeds een playlist met de naam "showtunes" op mijn ipod heb (en ook nog steeds alle liedjes uit die musicals zo kan zingen)
5. Als ik met mensen praat die een accent hebben in hun Engels, dan ga ik ze onbewust nadoen. Het is echt heel erg, en ik kan er niks aan doen, maar op een of andere manier begin ik vaak hun zinsopbouw en grammatica te kopieren, en produceer dus zinnen zoals, "You here at 11, yes?"
Vijf dingen waar ik iets vanaf weet:
1. Communicatiewetenschap. En dat mag ik hopen ook. Dat heb ik ten slotte gestudeerd. En laat me beginnen met te stellen dat "media" meervoudig is. Overigens hou ik er helemaal niet van om in mijn vrije tijd het over mijn werk te hebben, dus je zult me niet vaak horen praten over de media, onderzoek, ethiek, of daaraan gerelateerde zaken.
2. Engelse Grammatica en spelling. Na jarenlang als copy-writer gewerkt te hebben, ben ik een enorme "stickler" voor het juiste gebruik van woorden, zinsopbouw, grammatica, en spelling. In het Engels dan. Want in het Nederlands bak ik er niet veel van.
3. "Deciphering bureacracy". Hier kwam manlief net mee op de proppen. Met andere woorden, als er formulieren ingevuld moeten worden, een ingewikkelde procedure gevolgd moet worden, of er moet iets uitgezocht worden, dan zou hij mij bellen. Belastingen, immigratie, naturalisatie, pensioenen, verzekeringen, ik draai er, volgens hem dan, mijn hand niet voor om. Persoonlijk ben ik van mening dat iedereen die naar de VS geimmigreerd is, hier een expert in is, maar goed, volgens manlief moest deze erbij.
4. Interculturele "blended" families. Ik geloof dat ik ondertussen toch best wel een expert ben geworden in hoe cultuurverschillen de kop op kunnen steken in een huwelijk, en helemaal als je met het "ja-woord" er drie voor de prijs van een krijgt.
5. Onderwijs, en alles wat daarbij komt kijken. Ik geloof dat ik hier, gezien de aard van de vele posts op dit blog over onderwijs, hier niet echt meer over hoef te zeggen :)
Vijf dingen waar ik niks van begrijp of in geinteresserd ben:
1. Auto's. Ondanks dat ik een duidelijke mening heb over welke auto ik mooi vind en welke niet, weet ik niets, maar dan ook niets af over hoe ze eigenlijk werken. En als het aan mij zou liggen zou ik waarschijnlijk een keer per jaar mijn olie laten verversen. Misschien. Niet omdat ik niks om mijn auto geef, maar omdat ik me er gewoon echt niets voor interesseer, en dat soort dingen dus vergeet. Gelukkig heb ik manlief, die wel aardig wat van auto's weet, en dus niet alleen kleine dingen zelf repareert, maar mij er ook aan herinnert wanneer het weer tijd is voor een "oil change".
2. Football. Ik heb het jaren geprobeerd, en ondanks dat men mij al zeker tien keer de regels heeft uitgelegd, kan ik ze maar niet onthouden. Ik kijk misschien een halve wedstrijd (als je alle fragmenten bij elkaar optelt) per jaar, en snap werkelijk niet wat mensen bezielt om in de vrieskou naar een wedstijd te gaan die zeker wel drie uur kan duren.
3. Planten en tuinieren. Het is maar goed dat manlief een "green thumb" heeft, anders waren al onze planten allang doodgeweest. Het enige waarvoor ik echt interesse kan opbrengen is het groeien van kruiden en groenten, maar alhoewel ik niks zo geweldig vind als een mooie tuin, vind ik het onderhoud er van echt helemaal niks.
4. Koken. Deze hoort misschien niet helemaal in dit lijstje thuis, omdat ik het wel kan, maar ik er gewoon helemaal niks aan vind. Daarentegen vind ik bakken wel weer helemaal geweldig (go figure...). Gelukkig ben ik getrouwd met iemand die werkelijk gek is op koken, dus daarmee heb ik enorm gemazzeld.
5. Naaien, breien, borduren. Ik kan nog niet eens een knoop aan een blouse zetten. Nou ja, dat is niet helemaal waar. Ik kan me een glorieuze morgen herinneren toen ik alleen thuis was, en met veel pijn en moeite een knoop aan een blouse heb gezet. Verder bak ik er niks van. Ik kan geen sokken stoppen, geen broeken korter maken, niks. Maar, een van mijn voornemens voor het nieuwe jaar is om daar verandering in te brengen. De naaimachine staat al klaar. Dus wie weet wordt het nog wel eens wat.
Vijf dingen waarin ik geloof
1. God. Ik ben dan wel geen bible-belt-fundie, maar ook geen typische academische atheist. Ik vind het moeilijk voor te stellen hoe het zou zijn om niet te geloven, want voor mij krijgt het leven zoveel meer diepgang door het geloof in God. Ik begrijp dat dit in Nederland tegenwoordig helemaal geen gangbare levenshouding meer is, maar goed, there you have it.
2. "Grace". Ik heb hier nog nooit een goede Nederlandse vertaling voor gevonden, maar ik geloof dat "genade" dicht in de buurt komt. Het draait om het idee dat je van het beste uitgaat in de mens en het leven, mensen dingen vergeeft, zelf om vergeving vraagt als dat nodig is, en geen dingen vast blijft houden,
3. Onderwijs, of dan het belang er van. Ik geloof dat als ik de zin "the importance of education" nog een keer in de buurt van de jongens gebruik, ze allebei van huis weglopen, maar ik kan hier maar niet genoeg op blijven hameren. Zonder goed onderwijs ben je nergens. En het hoeft niet altijd tot een "marketable skill" te leiden, soms kan het ook puur gaan om het verbreden van je eigen begrip van de wereld om je heen. Er is geen grotere zwakte dan "ignorance", en dat is alleen te voorkomen door onderwijs.
4. Het bestaan van ware liefde. Het is nog lang geen Valentijn, en dit klinkt wel heel zoetsappig, maar ik geloof echt dat manlief en ik voor elkaar gemaakt zijn. Van onze sport-kick, tot onze nieuwsgierigheid, ons gevoel voor humor, onze koppigheid en onze ongenuanceerde manier van ruziemaken toe. Ik wist dat manlief "het" was op het moment dat we (misschien een kwartier nadat we elkaar hadden leren kennen), een geanimeerd gesprek hadden over bevroren neushaartjes. Wanneer zulke rare onderwerpen niet meteen leiden tot een "well, it was nice to meet you", dan weet je dat het bijzonder is.
5. Het belang van goede vriendschappen. Ik wist altijd al dat het hebben van goede vrienden en vriendinnen belangrijk was, maar totdat ik naar deze uithoek verhuisde, had ik geen idee hoe belangrijk dit wel niet was.
En dat was het lijst dan. Een prachtige "Dunglish" beschrijving van DixieChick in iets meer detail :)
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Five days, 15 hours, and 45 minutes
until commencement.
And truth be told, for the first time in four years, I actually feel like I'm on top of things. I know, I know, I can't believe I just said that out loud myself either. I'm sure tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and realize I forgot to grade some major assignment, and have a major article rewrite due, or something equally disastrous, but for now, I'm happily basking in the glow of feeling like I might make it out this semester relatively unscathed.
Granted, the semester didn't appear to look that way when it first started. First, there was the surprising and exciting, but less-than-perfectly-planned revise and resubmit that Steve and I had to complete in the first weeks of the semester. When I was only teaching a 1x1 (did I really at one point in my life only teach one class per semester? Really?), an r and r* was enough to send me spiraling into an "Ohmygod I don't have the time! I can't do this! Why me?" tailspin. But now, teaching 5x5, I just shrugged, put on my big girl pants and completed it within the set deadline. At night, and on weekends, but it got done.
Then there was the online class that needed developing, and the totally awesome (not!) news that our self-study report was so well done, we were going to be used in a pilot study and had to rewrite the whole 50-page document. So much for the age-old adage that you better things right the first time around. Then of course there were races to run, conferences to attend, and various student-centered issues to deal with. Oh, and did I mention my hard drive crashed about a month ago? No? Well, it did. And I lost all of this semester's grades and lesson plans. I know, it was bad. But then, after our IT department had given up on it, the magic hard-drive fairy (i.e., a guy in husband dear's unit) stepped up and fixed it.
So, was Fall 2011 a great semester? Well, no greater than any of the other semesters I've survived here in Georgia. But for some reason, it's the weekend before commencement, and I only had two papers left to grade. I had time to stop by the post office and pick up my parents' Christmas package, do some Christmas shopping, go for a run, a long bike ride, and go out to a nice dinner with husband-dear. I even managed to get two nights of about 10 hours worth of sleep.
I'm telling you, I simply HAVE to be forgetting something. This cannot possibly be right. Now if only I could remember...
* r and r = revise and resubmit: whenever a journal asks you to rewrite your article and then resubmit it - it sounds bad, but it's actually much less common than an outright rejection, and therefore considered something like a minor triumph
And truth be told, for the first time in four years, I actually feel like I'm on top of things. I know, I know, I can't believe I just said that out loud myself either. I'm sure tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and realize I forgot to grade some major assignment, and have a major article rewrite due, or something equally disastrous, but for now, I'm happily basking in the glow of feeling like I might make it out this semester relatively unscathed.
Granted, the semester didn't appear to look that way when it first started. First, there was the surprising and exciting, but less-than-perfectly-planned revise and resubmit that Steve and I had to complete in the first weeks of the semester. When I was only teaching a 1x1 (did I really at one point in my life only teach one class per semester? Really?), an r and r* was enough to send me spiraling into an "Ohmygod I don't have the time! I can't do this! Why me?" tailspin. But now, teaching 5x5, I just shrugged, put on my big girl pants and completed it within the set deadline. At night, and on weekends, but it got done.
Then there was the online class that needed developing, and the totally awesome (not!) news that our self-study report was so well done, we were going to be used in a pilot study and had to rewrite the whole 50-page document. So much for the age-old adage that you better things right the first time around. Then of course there were races to run, conferences to attend, and various student-centered issues to deal with. Oh, and did I mention my hard drive crashed about a month ago? No? Well, it did. And I lost all of this semester's grades and lesson plans. I know, it was bad. But then, after our IT department had given up on it, the magic hard-drive fairy (i.e., a guy in husband dear's unit) stepped up and fixed it.
So, was Fall 2011 a great semester? Well, no greater than any of the other semesters I've survived here in Georgia. But for some reason, it's the weekend before commencement, and I only had two papers left to grade. I had time to stop by the post office and pick up my parents' Christmas package, do some Christmas shopping, go for a run, a long bike ride, and go out to a nice dinner with husband-dear. I even managed to get two nights of about 10 hours worth of sleep.
I'm telling you, I simply HAVE to be forgetting something. This cannot possibly be right. Now if only I could remember...
* r and r = revise and resubmit: whenever a journal asks you to rewrite your article and then resubmit it - it sounds bad, but it's actually much less common than an outright rejection, and therefore considered something like a minor triumph
Friday, December 2, 2011
Postal woes
So for the past week, we've been trying to get a hold of a package my parents sent us for Christmas. This means that there is a box FULL of totally awesome presents sitting three miles from our house, and we have been unable to get at it. Anyone with children, or, like me, the heart of a child, knows how completely, utterly, and totally unbearable this is. And I'm hoping and praying and lighting candles that today we will FINALLY be able to put our hands on said package, however, I am not getting my hopes up just yet.
For some reason, having trouble getting overseas packages delivered to your house has become something of a Christmas tradition at our house. We've had issues with lost delivery notices, closed post offices, and a whole host of frustrations related to the fact that only the person ON THE BOX is allowed to sign for the parcel. Since that's usually me, and I am, as you all know, much never home (especially in the first week of December, when hey, it's finals week, and oh, that's when most of our packages come in too! Yay!), you can imagine the gnashing of teeth and renting of clothes that takes place every year when we try to get our packages deliver to us. Last year, my brother's package broke all records when it took almost two months, and a panicked call to the local post office when we received a sudden final notice in the mail in February, to actually receive his Christmas presents (which we merrily redubbed "Valentine's Day gifts").
After a long talk with the lovely lady at the post office about the irascibility of overseas mail delivery (apparently the combination of a strike and snow led to the 8-week delay), the fact that all Dutch parcel mail for some unknown reason requires a signature, and that therefore they best deliver our packages on Saturday, we thought our parcel woes had been resolved.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
No.
On Monday we received a peach-colored "Sorry! You weren't home!" notice in our mailbox. Apparently our mail lady had tried to deliver my parents' package, which, as usual, required a signature, and found us not at home. Hence the notice. Now this time we noticed a "sign here for redelivery" option, which we thought would be the end of all woes. So I signed the line, marked where I wanted them to leave the package ("front porch"), and put the slip back in our mailbox.
Well, our mail lady is either new, or just in a bad place, because on Tuesday, while she delivered our mail, she (for the third time in two weeks) did not actually pick up our outgoing mail. So we found our peach-colored noticed stuffed in between some magazines. Husband-dear, who is the usually the one to retrieve the mail, therefore decided to tape the notice to the mouth of the mailbox, so that when the mail lady opened our mailbox, she would not be able to put the mail in until she took the notice out. I thought it was brilliant.
Well, the notice disappeared, and it's now Friday, and we still have yet to see our package. So I decided to risk a phone call to our tiny local post office. As I'm not even sure how to capture what was said there in a few, funny but terse sentences, allow me to transcribe the conversation for you.
POL (Post Office Lady): Post office, Julie speaking
Me: Hi, I'm calling about a package...(I explained the entire situation)
POL: Well, I can't get the package out to the mail carriers anymore, they've already left.
Me: Well, what I don't understand is why the package hasn't been dropped off yet. We checked the redelivery option
POL: Oh yeah, well, you can't do that for this type of package. You have to be home to sign it.
ME in my mind: Why not? Seriously, people, it's presents!
Me: Oh.
POL: Yeah, the mail carrier should have crossed that off, but she didn't.
ME in my mind: What?!
Me: Oh
POL: But you can come pick it up today or tomorrow.
ME in my mind: Are you serious?
ME: OK
Now let's assume I had not called the Post Office, but assumed that by signing a form telling them to redeliver, they would actually redeliver? What do you suppose would have happened then?
I can tell you: We would have received another stern final notice in the mail. Or, more likely, the package would have just been sent back without any notice at all. I remember when I called about the final notice in my brother's package earlier this year, the same lady told me, "Yeah, I was wondering why you hadn't been by to pick it up, since you'd called about whether or not it had arrived a few times." That right there does not inspire a whole lot of confidence as far as I'm concerned. I mean, why would you consider sending something back if the customer has been calling about the package since before Christmas? We're in a small rinky-dink town, people, the post office people know us. They me by all the various incarnations of my last name. They know we order from LLBean and Amazon. They know I'm from Holland, and they even know that I naturalized. How can they not think that I might possibly really want my packages?
Sigh.
So I guess I will think of a way to get to the post office before it closes today.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
For some reason, having trouble getting overseas packages delivered to your house has become something of a Christmas tradition at our house. We've had issues with lost delivery notices, closed post offices, and a whole host of frustrations related to the fact that only the person ON THE BOX is allowed to sign for the parcel. Since that's usually me, and I am, as you all know, much never home (especially in the first week of December, when hey, it's finals week, and oh, that's when most of our packages come in too! Yay!), you can imagine the gnashing of teeth and renting of clothes that takes place every year when we try to get our packages deliver to us. Last year, my brother's package broke all records when it took almost two months, and a panicked call to the local post office when we received a sudden final notice in the mail in February, to actually receive his Christmas presents (which we merrily redubbed "Valentine's Day gifts").
After a long talk with the lovely lady at the post office about the irascibility of overseas mail delivery (apparently the combination of a strike and snow led to the 8-week delay), the fact that all Dutch parcel mail for some unknown reason requires a signature, and that therefore they best deliver our packages on Saturday, we thought our parcel woes had been resolved.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
No.
On Monday we received a peach-colored "Sorry! You weren't home!" notice in our mailbox. Apparently our mail lady had tried to deliver my parents' package, which, as usual, required a signature, and found us not at home. Hence the notice. Now this time we noticed a "sign here for redelivery" option, which we thought would be the end of all woes. So I signed the line, marked where I wanted them to leave the package ("front porch"), and put the slip back in our mailbox.
Well, our mail lady is either new, or just in a bad place, because on Tuesday, while she delivered our mail, she (for the third time in two weeks) did not actually pick up our outgoing mail. So we found our peach-colored noticed stuffed in between some magazines. Husband-dear, who is the usually the one to retrieve the mail, therefore decided to tape the notice to the mouth of the mailbox, so that when the mail lady opened our mailbox, she would not be able to put the mail in until she took the notice out. I thought it was brilliant.
Well, the notice disappeared, and it's now Friday, and we still have yet to see our package. So I decided to risk a phone call to our tiny local post office. As I'm not even sure how to capture what was said there in a few, funny but terse sentences, allow me to transcribe the conversation for you.
POL (Post Office Lady): Post office, Julie speaking
Me: Hi, I'm calling about a package...(I explained the entire situation)
POL: Well, I can't get the package out to the mail carriers anymore, they've already left.
Me: Well, what I don't understand is why the package hasn't been dropped off yet. We checked the redelivery option
POL: Oh yeah, well, you can't do that for this type of package. You have to be home to sign it.
ME in my mind: Why not? Seriously, people, it's presents!
Me: Oh.
POL: Yeah, the mail carrier should have crossed that off, but she didn't.
ME in my mind: What?!
Me: Oh
POL: But you can come pick it up today or tomorrow.
ME in my mind: Are you serious?
ME: OK
Now let's assume I had not called the Post Office, but assumed that by signing a form telling them to redeliver, they would actually redeliver? What do you suppose would have happened then?
I can tell you: We would have received another stern final notice in the mail. Or, more likely, the package would have just been sent back without any notice at all. I remember when I called about the final notice in my brother's package earlier this year, the same lady told me, "Yeah, I was wondering why you hadn't been by to pick it up, since you'd called about whether or not it had arrived a few times." That right there does not inspire a whole lot of confidence as far as I'm concerned. I mean, why would you consider sending something back if the customer has been calling about the package since before Christmas? We're in a small rinky-dink town, people, the post office people know us. They me by all the various incarnations of my last name. They know we order from LLBean and Amazon. They know I'm from Holland, and they even know that I naturalized. How can they not think that I might possibly really want my packages?
Sigh.
So I guess I will think of a way to get to the post office before it closes today.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
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