The perfect martini

Sometimes life calls for a break. Like when the first adoption agency you call turns you down because "second marriages are too risky, even if it's only your husband's"or when your best friend has some less-than-happy news, or when it's rainy and cold again, or when that same wind that blew over your full trashcan knocked over your grill, tossing old charcoal and all your grilling utensils all across the backyard. And now we all know that you're supposed to talk about these things, you know, with your nearest and dearest, who will help you work through it. But sometimes, every once in a while, you just need to indulge yourself. And we all know that shopping, exercise, and chocolate are probably on most people's top three. But every once in a while, the only thing that really works for me is one of husband-dear's lethal martinis. So for those who are feeling "it" right now, here is my perfect martini recipe:

1 cup of Vodka
1 cup of Pomegranate juice mix
1/3 cup of lemonade

Add all ingredients to a shaker
Add a handful of ice
Shake
Pour

Make sure you have had an adequate dinner beforehand and plenty of friends to share, and drive you home, of course.

Will write for bad food

I don't know who told you, but the idea that all Americans are junk-food-freaks is severely overrated. In fact, I am will go as far as to state that many of them are health freaks extraordinaire. They eat balanced meals, make sure they get their servings of fruit and vegetables, work out, both aerobically and anaerobically, and shy away from sodas, fast food, and anything high in fructose corn syrup. And can I go even further and tell you that this very moment, I am sick to death of it?

I mean, here I am, sitting at my desk, trying to enjoy my lunch. I've just spent three hours teaching, and really want to eat something rewarding. And what am I munching on? Carrots. Indeed, baby carrots. I just polished off a fat-free yogurt, had two crackers with nothing on them, my raisins are on deck, and for a snack I've brought a banana and a tangerine. Yay. You know what I want? I would like some chips, lots of cheese...oooh..cheese, some fries, skittles, chicken tenders with honey mustard sauce, and really anything fried. But no, none of that is in my lunchbag. And that's not because I didn't want to bring it, but no, because we don't have any of that in our fridge. Because we too have bought into this health thing, and we are a healthy Dutch-American family. Sigh.

And while up until a few months ago, I could count on Steve or some of my other colleagues to share some of their chips or cookies or other less than healthy food, those days are over too. Apparently, my co-workers, or rather, their wives, have collectively decided to go healthy too. All Steve could offer me was a pear. Yesterday it was turnips. I kid you not. Turnips. Whatever happened to the pastries everyone used to bring to the office?

What makes this whole thing an ever bigger slap in the face is that tonight, when I get home, there will be no opportunity to hog the couch with a big bag of chips either. First, because we all the chips in our pantry got eaten over the weekend (may the record state it was not by me), and second, because I promised a friend I would go for a run with them. A run! I want a cheeseburger with a shake, not a run. And I know, I could just go to Steak and Shake and gratify my desire, but the health-kick that my world is on would make me feel so bad for doing that, it would not be worth it. It's so not fair.

And in the meantime, my raisins are gone, and I've just checked my purse, and there is not a dime in there I could use for the vending machine either. I feel bad for the students whose papers I'm about to grade. That's all I'm saying.

zomerschool

Soms ben ik enorm conservatief. Dan wil ik gewoon dat dingen precies zo blijven zoals ze vorig jaar waren. En het jaar daarvoor, en daarvoor, en daarvoor, ad nauseum. Waarom veranderen als alles prima gaat? En ja, als je niet vooruit gaat, dan ga je achteruit, of zo, maar daar geloof ik niet in. Ik ben meer van het "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" principe. Maar helaas denkt niet iedereen daar hetzelfde over.

Vanwaar deze tirade? Nou, u moet weten dat de universiteit het lef heeft gehad om aan mijn zomer te tornen. Nou ja, ze hebben het lef gehad om te suggereren dat ze misschien aan mijn zomer gaan komen. En u weet, mijn zomer is heilig. H-e-i-l-i-g. Dus dit is niet goed.

Weet u, ik had dit jaar mijn zomer al weer helemaal uitgepland. Ik zou net als vorig jaar weer een online college gaan geven, en een gewoon college. Dat ene normale college zou dit jaar ons stage vak zijn, wat dus in feite niks voorstelt. Nou ja, veel mailen en streng toespreken, en administratie bijhouden, maar u weet, dat kan Dixiechick met haar ogen dicht. Ik zag het dus helemaal zitten. De hoeveelheid werk zou net genoeg zijn om me te behoeden voor een zomer van drie enorme lange, lege maanden, het inkomen zou mooi helpen met mijn "help Dixiechick aan een zwembad" spaarfonds, en het zou allemaal niet zoveel zijn dat er niet genoeg tijd over zou zijn voor lange middagen in ons mini-zwembadje en met een boek bij de Starbucks. Maar helaas lijkt het eruit te zien alsof mijn idyllische zomer in het water gaat vallen.

Het is nog niet helemaal zeker hoor, maar als alles wat ze nu van plan zijn, dan weet ik niet of ik nog wel zin heb in summer school. En wie kan ik beter om advies vragen dan, juist, u, mijn trouwe blog lezer.

Wat willen de powers-that-be doen? Nou, op vrijdag kregen we te horen dat het "summer school committee" (jawel, dat bestaat echt) aan het beraadslagen was om zomerschool later te laten beginnen, en een week voor het begin van het herfst semester te laten eindigen. Dit zou betekenen dat we dus in Mei drie weken vrij zouden hebben (in plaats van een), en dan in Juli dus maar tien dagen in plaats ven aan maand. Ik was not amused.

En ik weet het, ik weet het. U denkt nu allemaal, mens, je hebt in Mei drie weken vrij en dan in Juli nog eens tien dagen, wat loop je nou te zeuren (of misschien denkt u dat helemaal niet, maar stel ik mij dat zo voor). Maar weet u, ik had vorig jaar echt een maand nodig om bij te komen van het gekkenhuis dat ze hier werk noemen. Mijn werk is namelijk echt niet normaal druk. Had ik u al verteld dat ik gisterochtend (dat was dus zondag) om half zes niet meer kon slapen, en dus maar drie uurtjes aan het werk ben gegaan? En toen 's middags ook nog even gewerkt heb? En me eigenlijk heel relaxed voelde omdat het niet de hele dag was? Dus. Ik weet niet of ik met maar tien dagen tussen een semester en het altijd achterlijke drukke herfstsemester nogwel mijn gezond verstand kan behouden.

Maar aan de andere kant...drie maanden thuis zitten? Drie. Maanden. Dat is lang hoor. En dat betekent ook een flinke deuk in mijn zwembad-spaarfonds. Hm. Ik had al zitten denken dat ik natuurlijk bij de Mac kon gaan staan, of de Starbucks, of de lokale boekenwinkel. Maar ja. Of die op mij zitten te wachten. Of ik op hen (alhoewel de uitdaging om in twee landen McDonald's medewerker van de maand te worden toch wel interessant klinkt). Dus. Ik weet het nog niet. Wat vinden jullie?

Senioritis

So far this semester, I have to admit that my students have been little miracles of discipline, diligence, critical thinking, and politeness. And since last semester most of my students were possibly the most unruly bunch I have ever had the pleasure to teach, I've found myself wondering what sort of epiphany they must have had over Christmas break. But then I started thinking, and realized that this sudden change in attitude can most likely be attributed to the fact that the most popular students in my classes are all seniors. And guess what? All seniors suffer from senioritis.

For those of you who just went "seniorwhat?", please allow me to elaborate. If you are, however, completely familiar with this concept, feel free to let your mind wander for the next paragraph or so. Senioritis is a concept probably devised by movies such as "Grease", "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Footloose", which inspired the idea that once American students reach their senior year, there is nothing for them to do in school, other than engage in enormously complicated romantic relationships, drive around in impressive cars, and burst into song and/or dance in random places such as the middle of the street, a high school fair, or the drive in.

To Americans, the concept of senioritis is well known. For Europeans, however, the notion that a high school senior has little left to do in terms of academics is completely foreign. After all, senior year is when European students really need to "kick it" if they want to get anywhere in life. If you're lucky enough to be Dutch, you will spend your senior year struggling through several sets of internal school exams, various term papers, oral exams, and just when you think you will burst into flames from all the stress, June is upon you, and you have to now memorize everything you have ever learned in school so you can regurgitate it during three-week long national exams. And if you're English, French, German, Belgian, Scandinavian, or from anywhere else in Europe, really, it's not much better. You too will spend somewhere around a month sweating over endless finals in a sweltering gym with nothing but the sound of pencils and the creaking soles of the proctors to distract you from your misery.

Interestingly, however, I'm not sure if senioritis really applies to the American senior either. At least not anymore. Many American students nowadays take AP and IB exams, and those all take place in May as well. And even if you're not a brainiac, many states, Georgia included, now force their high school seniors to take and pass an exit exam at the end of the year. So it seems as though even the American student has little time for song, dance, and romantic subterfuge.

That said, many seniors still wish they had nothing to do in their final semester, even though the opposite may be true. Senioritis nowadays seems to consist of a burning desire "to get out of here fast", so there will be nothing to do (or so they think). And that attitude is what is making life so easy for me right now. You see, when faced with senioritis, seniors have two options. Some choose to whine and complain about the every single assignment, and study so little they barely skate by with C's. The problem with that is that a low GPA has never done anyone any good, and this also significantly reduces your chances of receiving a good recommendation from your professor. So with the current economic climate, most seniors opt for the second option: they develop a work ethic like nobody's business, just so they know for certain that they will be graduating on time.

And what does this mean? That students, who as sophomores did not have a care in the world, and lackadaisical attitude was enough to make me pull out my hair, who as juniors were so stubborn and unwilling that I wasn't sure they would ever get anywhere, have suddenly blossomed into mature, young adults who read the book, complete assignments in advance, and tell other students to behave like grown-ups for God's sake. And all this because they. will. get. out. of. here. in. May. It's beautfiul. And even though it may not involve any dancing around cars, dragracing, or harmonious singing about summernights, I really really like it.

I'm sorry

No, this is not a blog where I'm going to be apologizing for something in 500 words or less. I mean, I can if you would like me to, but that wasn't really my purpose. Today, I wanted to talk about "I'm sorry" as the one quintessential American expression that I have grown to love, and the fact that it has recently come to my attention that Americans seem to have more grace in their right pinkie than a lot of Dutch people in their entire bodies.

As all of you regulars know, 2009 was not exactly a year husband-dear and I care to remember. There was obviously the whole baby-gate, which really ripped a whole in the fabric of normalcy. But on top of that our family also suffered through bully-gate, the loss of a grandmother, several good friends who moved away, the fact that we won't be moving for at least another couple of years, and then if we do, Oklahoma looks like a good bet, a child just positively struggling in school, the fact that six, yes, six of our nearest and dearest are pregnant, and the less than thrilling news that several of our closest friends might possibly be moving too. In short, 2009 was not the best of years.

But I'm not writing all this down again to get sympathy. And you know what? I probably will get very little from most of my Dutch readers anyway. At least nothing that will really make me feel better. They will say things like, "you will find new friends", or "you can't blame your friends for getting pregnant", or "well, that's what you get for making friends with people in the military", or "well, you made the decision to work as far away from home as you did". And I don't mean to offend any of my close Dutch friends, but I have really had to come to the conclusion that the American "I'm sorry" followed up with a "would you like some tea?" or "that really sucks", or even "let's go and yell at some students, that will make you feel better" works so much better.

When I first moved to the US, a long long time ago, I never quite understood what they meant when they said, "I'm sorry", and I often found myself responding with, "Well, it's not your fault!". But Americans aren't actually trying to apologize, they're trying to say, "well that just sucks eggs" without sounding like they're thirteen years old. They want you to know that even though they may not know what to say to make it better, they feel for you. Because let's admit it, when someone tells you that they can't have children, or their best friend just moved to the panhandle, or their grandmother died, the majority of us don't know what to say to make it all go away. And in fact, there isn't anything to say. And Americans acknowledge that, very gracefully too, by saying they're sorry for you.

In my experience, Dutch people have a much harder time being gracious about acknowledging they don't know what to say. They want you to feel better, and so instead of acknowledging the incredible suckiness of your situation, they do one of two things. One option is that they start offering up solutions and dishing out unwanted advice. "Have you considered IVF?"(IVF? Really?! What's that? Because in all my perusing of fertility issues, I have -never- run across that option or considered it), or "How about meeting people outside the military?" (and do tell me how that works in a military town), or "Why don't you just move to a base in Holland?" (Why don't you just move to Georgia? Oh, you can't? Well, there is your answer). The other option involves somehow trying to shift the blame to you; "Well, you knew what you were in for when you married husband-dear" (yes, you know, this pesky little thing called love got in the way), or "You agreed to move to Georgia" (I don't really think "agreeing" is the term you want to use in our scenario), or "You did raise those kids to be way too soft" (OK, I thought I was raising them to be compassionate and friendly adults, but sure, if too soft means they won't beat the crap out of their bully, then yes, they are too soft), or "You never wanted children anyway" (and what did we say about people who can't change their minds? Right..).

I'm not sure why most Dutch people do this, but I can speculate (very well, actually), and I don't think their intent is all bad actually. I think it has something to do with them feeling really bad for you, and wanting to make your problem go away instantly. And that's very commendable. Unfortunately, very few of them go about it in a graceful manner. And yes, it's hard to realize that people may just want support, and not a solution, but how about trying a graceful, "I'm sorry"? Or even a "Wow, that is really terrible"? It's short, it's sweet, and above all, it makes the recipient feel better. And isn't that what the conversation was all about in the first place?

And now, to all my Dutch friends: I know you're not all like that, but I just had to let this out.
I'm sorry.

Musical schilderijen

Vandaag was ik ons huis echt even zat. Eigenlijk begon het gisteravond al, toen een geweldig nieuw boekenrekje dat ik gekocht had niet leuk stond. U moet namelijk weten dat wij al ruim anderhalf jaar in dit huis wonen, en we nog steeds een aantal lege plekken hebben. Meestal kan ik die heel goed negeren, maar gisteren was ik ze zat. Ik wilde dat het huis "af" was, en wel op mijn manier, en niet die van manlief, en wel direct. Maar ja, van haast moet tegenspoed of zoiets, en dus viel mijn plannetje in duigen. Gelukkig ik heb een hele inventieve, begripsvolle, en tolerante man, en die stelde, tot mijn grote genoegen voor, dat ik dan maar wat schilderijen moest verhangen. En ik was in mijn sas.

Zie, wij hebben namelijk samen een enorme collectie schilderijen, foto's, en allerlei andere vormen van wandversiering. Helaas is manlief niet al te gek van sommige van mijn geweldige kunstaankopen (een Corneille! Wie kan die nou niet mooi vinden?), en vind ik sommige van zijn schilderijen meer dan monsterlijk. Nou ja, het is een schilderij. En het is niet eens het schilderij zelf, want ik heb niks tegen Normal Rockwell of zijn printen. Nee, het is de oerlelijke groen-met-goud-en-bruine lijst die zijn moeder erom heen heeft laten zetten. En helaas is manlief -gek- op dat schilderij. Dus terwijl mijn Corneille onder het bed ligt (zo lelijk vond manlief hem), en mijn andere kleurrijke creaties in een hoekje hangen, hangt, of ik moet zeggen, hing zijn Norman Rockwell pontificaal in de woonkamer. En daar was ik het al maanden niet meer mee eens. Maar ja, om nou een schilderij, in een soort unilateral redecoration plan weg te halen zonder dat we er iets anders voor in de plaats hadden vond ik ook weer zo wat. Dus hing het er nog steeds.

Het probleem met teveel wand en te weinig meubels en frutsels is eerlijk gezged ook iets nieuws. Voordat we naar Georgia verhuisden was er altijd wand te kort eigenlijk. Op een of andere manier hadden we altijd zo'n grote hoeveelheid ramen en deuren dat we maar met moeite plek konden vinden voor onze "pieces". Zo stond in Duitsland manliefs nachtkastje in de hal, en mijn bruidskist in de garage. Hier in Georgia hebben we eerder het tegenovergestelde probleem. Huizen worden gebouwd met zo min mogelijk raam, en dus hebben we heel veel muur. En maak het dan maar eens gezellig.

Gelukkig zijn we vandaag, middels een soort schilderijen-stoelen-dans, een stap in de goede richting gekomen. En het leuke is dat ondanks dat mijn persoonlijke doorn in het oog naar een hoekje van de kamer is verhuisd, ook manlief helemaal gelukkig is. Hij vind namelijk dat de Rockwell daar beter licht krijgt. Juist. Maar goed, na het verplaatsen van de Rockwell, kon het nieuwe rekje daar staan, konden twee van mijn schilderijen naar een meer prominentere plaats in de kamer verhuisd worden, en konden twee nieuwe schilderijen van onder het bed hun debut maken in huize DixieChick.

Nu alleen nog manlief overtuigen dat het kleed in de woonkamer niet meer kan, we echt gordijnen nodig hebben, en onze slaapkamer en de logeerkamer geschilderd moeten worden, en we zijn al een heel eind op weg.

White men

As of today, we have four white men in our program. We've never had four white anythings in our programs before, and I have to be honest with you; I'm not sure what to make of this. Now in principle, there is nothing wrong with white men of course. Unless their name is Pat Robertson, and they claim that the Haitians brought the earthquake upon themselves by making a pact with the devil. Besides "one sandwich short of a picnic" white men like him, I generally like white men. I mean, I married one, which should be enough proof that I have no general issues with Caucasian males. But to suddenly have four white men walking around our department, sitting in my classes, well, it's an odd experience.

You see, the university I work at is, as I have mentioned before, an HBCU (Historically Black College and University). This means that the university was founded during segregation with the intent of offering higher education to African Americans. The school has always been open to people of all backgrounds, but we have just never seen much of an influx of white people. At least, not that I've noticed. And although the college of education (one of the top schools in the state), as well as the school of nursing have always had a smattering of white students, I don't recall our department, or even our college, ever having a white student since I started working here.

Once again, there is nothing wrong with having white students. In fact, I think one can see it as proof that our department is slowly becoming known for offering a high-quality program. But I have to admit that it just feels, well, weird. And I know I'm white. But I'm also a female, and a foreigner at that. I don't represent white America to my students, and I share some of their sentiments about repression and discrimination (if I get called "honey" by our Vice-President one more time, I will scream). I mean, I'm trying to imagine having one of these students in my African American Images class, or even my Philosophy and Ethics class, where race is a central topic of discussion, and I use phrases like, "look, we know the man is out to get you, but can we get back on topic now?" to keep students focused, and I'm not sure how that is going to work. I wonder how my students will respond, will they clam up? Or will they see the student as a representation of "the man" trying to infiltrate one of the last truly African American institutions?

And, more importantly, what does all this say about me? I used to never ever consider my students' race when teaching, why start now? Or does race, in a part of the country where that concept remains contested and highly polarized, still matter? Don't get me wrong, I will teach these men, and treat them exactly the same as all my other students, and probably like them as much as my other students too. It's just that, well, it feels different. And I'm not sure why.