Unicycle Watch 2008

The latest update:

The tall skinny kid that wears jeans and the Indian Jones-like fedora is getting quite proficient.  He zips around at a pretty good clip now, even talks on his cell phone while negotiating left turns (though he does cut them a little tight).

Other kid with no distinguishing features whatsoever, well, he's clearly not keeping up with his unicycling exercises.  I see him walking his cycle around, head down, defeated by a single wheel.  Listen, son, if you can't execute your quirky affectation well then you need to just drop it.  If you're bad at being nerdy then you're simply a loser.

wow.  Just woke up from my post-teaching nap and realized that its already past 4 pm.  And there's nothing to eat here except dried beans, a jar of homemade pomegranate preserves, and an enormous bottle of corn syrup (neither of which are mine, but I want to ask the landlord now if he uses them together).  AND actually, with Gutav barreling down and the holiday weekend coming up, crap, I really need to just go to the store.  Come Tuesday half the town may very well be obliterated... and then...  THERE WILL BE NOONE TO SELL ME FOOD!

And guess what my feathered friends?  We have a surprise for you on the show today.  Our very own Matthew Eric Wise is coming to town this weekend!  Now I have a date for the Chiggerfest.  AND my own personal FEMA representative.  (Note: Matt does not actually work for FEMA but for the CDC on a very prestigious post-doc fellowship thingy.  And he probably doesn't do a whole lot in terms of disaster response (the obvious jab here is to point out that FEMA doesn't either but I feel like as a recent arrival to a Katrina-ravaged state that I should keep such jokes to myself, yes, I'm nesting parentheses again) but I've decided this is a new and fun way to tease him.  Next time you see Matt Wise everyone, be sure say something to him along the lines of "Hey, you work for FEMA right?  You're really good with sandbags?" or "Hey, do you know Michael Chertoff?  Do you think you could get him to sign a photo or something for me?")  Anyway, it will be really nice to see a familiar face around here.  I'm going to show him all the hot spots.  The fried alligator joint.  The Superwalmart.  Where the really big dog lives at the end of the cul-de-sac...

I just made the perfect soft-boiled egg!

This has been a significant personal goal for most of my adult life.  It's a much more delicate process than people realize.  You have to bring the water-egg combination to a boil slowly and then, once its boiling, coddle it (yes, in fact gently overprotect it - remove the pot from the heat and put the lid on) for approximately five minutes.  Cooking time varies from pot to pot and stove to stove.  Or at least this is what I've told myself.  It's likely that the real issue is that I've convinced myself that I can intuit the cooking time (this has been a life-quest after all, a spiritual journey of forgiveness and fortitude in which I learn that I am one with the universe, that I am the universe, that the universe is me) and am just easily distracted in the morning and end up boiling the poor little ovum for twelve minutes or more.  Anyway, today I did it (and have no idea how).  A moment of happiness in an otherwise mediocre week.

Oooh and the sun is back out!  At least until the next hurricane arrives in five days to once again obliterate the Gulf Coast.  Even the name Gustav sounds so much more menacing than Fay (Fay just reminds me of dopey Weimaraners).  My roommate explained to me the hurricane-naming protocol yesterday.  Did you know that they use only an 18-letter alphabet (this is how we got from Katrina to Rita in a matter of weeks)?  In most hurricane seasons this is enough but in, like, 2003 they ran out and had to dip into the Greek alphabet (does anyone remember Hurricane Iota?).  They now have the Hebrew alphabet ready to step up too if they ever make it through the Greek alphabet too which, with global warming and the imminent increase in major, hurricane-like weather, is increasingly possible.  Fascinating!  My roomie is a wealth of meteorological information!

Um.  Just had a frustrating/embarrassing moment.

I got my umbrella tangled in my hair.

Operator-person-lady: "Hello!  This is United Mileage Plus Customer Service!  How can I help you this morning?"

Me: "Hi.  Yeah, I just moved and would like to change my address with you guys."

Operator-person-lady: "Okay!  Well I'm happy to help you with that..."

Me: "okay."

Operator-person-lady: "Okay!  Let me see here...  um..."

Me: "..."

I'm not really sure what we're waiting for but I figure silence is the best strategy for me so as to not cause confusion with attempts at further clarification.

Operator-person-lady: "Okay!  Can you give me your new zip code first please?"

Me: "Sure.  It's 39759."

Operator-person-lady: "Okay!... so this is Mississippi?"

Me: "yes."

Operator-person-lady: "And your previous zip code was in California?"

Me: "yes."

At this point I'm a little irritated, partly because I'm not quite sure why this process is so cumbersome and also because I think I detect a tone of... incredulity?  judgment?  Turns out it's mostly just confusion.  Maybe imposing awkward silence isn't the best policy.

Operator-person-lady: "Um...  Okay!  Now could I have the town please?"

Me: "Uh.  Yeah.  It's Starkville, Mississippi."

I want to ask how the postal code doesn't already give her this information but her long pauses and sighs and the frantic clattering of the keyboard in the background suggest that this whole task is clearly on the verge of overwhelming her.  But then the fun part begins...

Operator-person-lady: "Sparkville?  Okay!  Now I-"

Me: "Wait.  Did you say Sparkville?  It's Starkville."

Operator-person-lady: "Yes, Sparkville."

Me: "So are you putting down Sparkville or not?  The town is Starkville."

Operator-person-lady: "...."

Me: "Um.  Starkville.  Like stark.  Like empty and devoid."

I'd like to point out that I'm sympathetic to the fact that some people have trouble hearing.  I, for one, have a diagnosed hearing problem and I have trouble understanding people all the time, especially here in "Staaahksviyull, Mih'sippi" where nobody bothers with consonants.  But!  But!  She's a telephone operator!  If nothing else she should be good at hearing.

Operator-person-lady: "Okay!..."

Me: "Kind of like stork?  The bird that delivers babies?"

Operator-person-lady: "Sporkville?"

My brain exits the conversation for a moment to ponder this.  Perhaps this operator is an outsourced worker in a faraway land and perhaps this cultural reference to storks delivering babies is lost on her which is fine.  No hard feelings.  But where, tell me, on this earth, are sporks used to deliver babies?

Me: "No.  Starkville with a T.  T like in telephone.  Not P like in purple.  T."

Operator-person-lady: "T like in Tom?"

Me: "...um.  sure.  like in Tom."

Or Telephone!

Operator-person-lady:  "So Starkville!  Okay!"

I want to stab my eyes out.

It turns out that it's not going to stop raining, like, ever.

Does anyone know how long a cubit is?  I feel like I should start a building project...

After my three hour nap yesterday (footnote 1) mon compagnon de chambre and I stopped by the College of Arts and Sciences happy hour.  The Vice-Dean of the College invited me to his Labor Day Chiggerfest party-thing.  I was instructed the bring my own life jacket and side dish (footnote 2).  And the Dean-Dean re-invited me to his football tailgate.  He also explained to me the alcohol rules for the MSU campus.  There is a common misconception that it is a dry campus.  It truth (footnote 3), it's a jumble of rules and regulations about what type of alcohol is allowed in various zones.  Hard liquor vs. beer.  I think there are little white zinfandel jurisdictions scattered about but nowhere you'd want to be - Aquaculture's nutritional science wing, for example.  Anyway,  it turns out that the A and S Dean's tailgate is technically in the hard liquor zone but between the Provost's dignified presence (apparently it's his favorite tailgate, though his wife is head of the organizational committee - there's an organizational committee!?) and payoffs to law enforcement, beer flows freely.  I'm getting pretty psyched about the first home game.

As the happy hour event began to wind down (my tab was $4!) a bunch of us junior faculty went to a new bar/restaurant for dinner.  I had my first catfish po'boy.  Decided for sure who my new best friend is going to be (footnote 4).  The very best part of the evening though was the over-21 wristbands they gave us.  I needed a philosophy professor to help me put mine on which was a little embarrassing.  Printed on it was the following:

Ross Kelley & Hosford Attorneys, PLLC

323-0844

Starkville, MS    Westpoint, MS    Tupelo, MS

Awesome.  

I think I'm magneting it to the refrigerator.  Roomie pointed out the only thing that would have topped this is if they listed a bailbondsman.

Okay, off to watch the Biden announcement!

Footnote 1: It sounds decadent, yes.  And certainly I will flaunt it as evidence of how academic life ain't half bad.  But it was entirely necessary given that I'd only had four hours of sleep the night before after being up super late prepping my Ancient Egypt lecture.  The lesson learned is that one can spend hours scouring the internet for the perfect image of a mummy (you want to see the shriveled body of course but not one that's too gross or has hair or fingernails as to be upsetting - 8 am is too early for 4,000 yr-old hair and fingernails) and the students will be just as unimpressed as if you had simply drawn one on the chalkboard.

Footnote 2: I'm envisioning an afternoon of swarming, biting, disease-vectors, near-drowning, and cold slaw.

Footnote 3: This is more of just a note to myself to remember to start more sentences this way.

Footnote 4: She's awesome.  We're taking our respective dogs for a hike tomorrow in the wildlife refuge tomorrow, weather permitting.  Tropical Storm Fay (or as my Mom calls it: Massive-Hurricane-that-is-headed-straight-for-you Fay) needs to take a time out.  Or make a right turn.  Alabama always gets all the breaks.

Things that are bigger in Mississippi:

Bugs

Parking spaces

Bathroom stalls

Toilet paper rolls

Turnips

Jack Russells

I'm trying to figure out the connection.

I wear big girl underpants

I've decided that those plastic children's toys/work stations designed for ages 1-5 -- y'know the really irritating ones where the kid puts a colored plastic block through a hole and/or presses some large illustrated button and/or turns a little crank and tinny music and delight ensue? -- are excellent training for setting up a HP C7280 All-in-One Printer, Scanner, Fax machine.  You go through all these steps pressing various beep-and-chirp-inducing buttons.  You actually load separate little brightly-colored ink cartridges in their matching brightly-colored docks.  Then, when the contraption refuses to do what you think it should (like, print shit) you throw a tantrum and march down the hall, hit a colleague, and steal his toy.

Tangelos!  

I love tangelos.  Second to persimmons they may be the perfect fruit (I also have some fond memories of mangosteens, the Jewish mangoes of SE Asia).  I was starting to feel like the only fruit I was buying was shipped here from California, not so local, not so sustainable.  So I checked out the local grape, the muscadine, that is coming into season here.  Strangest grape ever.  No wonder its used to make an unloved wine.  Thick, sour skin.  A squishy middle that kind of ejects itself out on your initial bite.  And then SO many big bitter seeds.  Its like a multi-step process to eat and, well, the ratio of work to happy fruit-ness is maybe one-to-one.

Hm.  Tangelos are superior.  Efficient.

I did my first Western Civ lecture today.  8 am.  The Neolithic Revolution.  Let me tell you those kids were dazzled.  I told them their first assignment was to work the date in which the wheel and/or plow was developed into a conversation at a party this weekend.  A couple diligently wrote that down so we'll see.  Spreading the knowledge.  It's not a job.  It's a calling.

Oh!  I also was asked today by one of the PhD students here to be on her dissertation committee!  I have my very own duckling already.  I'm so pleased.

Totally unrelated, tomorrow I may fling my printer off the roof of Allen Hall.

Oooh and maybe the muscadine grapes too since I'll, y'know, already be up there.  And, shoot, maybe this crappy remote here too.  I should make a list. 

And what the crap is going on with the Olympic coverage?  Why are they showing the gymnastics medalists showcase thingy?  Aren't there still actual events going on?  Oh.  Track and Field is up next.  Sweet.  Be honest, did you know that there was a country called St. Kitts and Nevis?

runrunrunrunrunrunrun.  Damn, the Jamaicans run fast.

Right now there is a flying ant with a stinger cruising around my bathroom.  This is the second one I've seen in two days in the house (Sloane had a mighty battle with one yesterday that, honestly, ended in a bit of a draw).  I hope they're not invading.  Also, if it has wings and a stinger is it still an ant?  

Doesn't that just make it a wasp?  

Or a helicopter?

I think the first day went pretty well.  There's not much to report.  I think one of my students is named Tucker, which seems quaint and cute somehow but maybe only because I think of Tucker Carlson as less than four feet tall and covered in mud that he slipped and fell in (and that makes Tucker Carlson quaint and cute in my book).  I got them to talk a bit, even interrupt each other, which I'm pleased about since the students here are rumored to be pretty quiet.  I would say my only unforced error was getting way too distracted by the biggest rubberband ever that I found on the little podium thingy.  It was huge!  Like maybe half inch think and could fit around my wrist maybe five times!  I wanted to stretch it around the podium or slingshot the whiteboard erasers into the hallway but I thought it would detract from our discussion of the very real dangers of the forest in the 18th-century German-speaking lands.  Not that this kept me from winding and unwinding it around my wrist the whole time.  Who doesn't love enormous rubberbands?  I should have just cancelled class.

The best part is my shiny new Hannah Montana lunch box

This is it!  My first day of school!

I spent the evening fussing over what to wear and ironing all the elements of at least five different ensembles.  Its times like these that make me miss the green sweater I lost in Berlin two years ago.  It was such a nice light wool-blend.  Fit just right.  Tight enough to look polished not so much as to look like a hussy.  I just know it would be the solution to all my wardrobe crises.  The sweater that got away.  I'm sure its covered with mud under the shrubbery somewhere between the Max Planck and the Kaiser's grocery store.  I hope it thinks of me from time to time too.

Oooh!  Oooh!  Also, my roommate is going to start up a board game night.  I'm pretty excited.  I like that his more extroverted nerd-dom is drawing out my shy, inner nerd.  Actually, who am I kidding?  Its not like its a big secret.  I guess I'm just excited to have found a kindred dork spirit.  At least until I've kicked his ass at Stratego.  Do they deny tenure for making a colleague cry?

Okay, off to throw chalk at the kids!

With my mind on my money and my money on my mind

So a while back my department chair sent me some announcement that Snoop would be playing at the local dive bar here last February or so.  Apparently some of his (D-to-the-O-to-the-double-G, not the chair's) family is local but I think the chair wanted to make me feel like Starkville, MS is on the map.  Which it is but only, you know, LANDSAT maps.  Or whatever.  Anyway, I replied to the chair's email with some comment about how Snoop and I go way back, referring to trick-or-treating at his house.  Now, in my head, I was thinking of how Pomona students used to try and approach his Claremont McMansion only to be stopped at the driveway by the security detail.  Also, he'd sometimes play pickup basketball on the court down near Wig Beach.  So, he was, like, around.  But I don't think I ever saw him from anything closer that afar.  This is why I will have a great career as a historian.  I exaggerate connections in an effort to inflate the importance of my commentary.

Well it turns out the chair, big gossip that he is (like, in every way, I think he's 8 feet tall), has spread the rumor that Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr. and I basically grew up together in Long Beach, playing checkers, braiding each other's hair, etc.  And I heard this from a grad student, not from the chair or some other faculty member.  This is no controlled burn obediently stopping at the cleared-brush zone.  Its made the jump to the student population.  Wonderful.  I anticipated being treated like a bit of an exotic species here, being from the west coast and all, but really, this is not the LA I'm from.  And he has family here!  What if someone stops me in the ketchup aisle (yes, there is an entire aisle devoted to ketchup) at the Piggly Wiggly's and calls me out!

So now I feel like I need to do some damage control.  Maybe I'll request some time at the upcoming faculty meeting.  I thought I could do some neutralization work at the informal College of Arts and Sciences happy hour this evening but it didn't go down after all.  Bah.  Next week.

Yes, I generate new things to worry about out of thin air.

The other consequence of not getting trashed with the Deans tonight is that I now have a quiet evening ahead of me to take my newly-tuned piano out for a spin.  It took the blueberry farmer four hours to get the piano back up to snuff (yes, the blueberry farmer strikes again - he was the musician for the new faculty reception the other day too and is, in fact, the glue that holds Starkville together) though the last hour of it was basically a tutorial on playing blues piano.  Which was awesome.  He was showing me all sorts of different styles and which how to nail the blue notes and all that.  We might meet up in a few weeks to play a bit.

I'm SO excited.

Beware the Minotaur

There is a certain circle of Hell - after the river of Phlegethon, before shopping at Circuit City with Ellen Lin - in which a piano is forever being tuned.  The bending notes, the buzzing of interference beats, there's no escaping the onslaught.  It crossed my mind to hide in the bathtub under a blanket but I don't think I can get a very good wireless signal in there.  My dissertation begins with a quote by Murray Schafter: "We have no ear lids... We are condemned to listen."

Indeed.

After months of controlled testing, I have determined that, regardless of  which position I sleep in, my elbows will go numb some time in the night no matter what.

Also, I met a new faculty member of Poultry Science today.  

Finally, so many of my big questions can be answered.

It turns out I live in the tropics.

It is currently 85 degrees, muggy, and pouring rain.

But where are the toucans?

(then in my head I say: "who can?  two can!")

Marcialito, sweet boy, you need to brush up on your Folk-Indie Rock bonafides.

Sam Beam is the frontman for Iron and Wine.

He sings to me and me alone.  And maybe Christina but only because she is standing next to me.

So this is the second day in a row that I've noticed these two kids passing in front of my house, walking their unicycles.

hm. 

dorks.

A sign I saw today

Posted in the women's bathroom on the second floor of Allen Hall (my local bathroom):

BE COURTEOUS OF OTHERS!

If this bathroom needs a spray THEN SPRAY IT!

If you don't like the spray THEN DON'T TAKE IT! 

You didn't buy it.

USE ANOTHER BATHROOM!

Jeez.  I've clearly stumbled into the middle of  a mighty battle.

Spare the innocents!

We only want to pee in peace!

I'm pretty pleased with myself

I just ate six waffles!

breeaaw!

Fairly early in life I established that I was afraid of things flying at my head.  Not such a bad instinct if one lives in a war zone or near a volcano.  Probably means I should never have tried playing goalie in water polo.  Anyway, its too bad I spent my childhood living in fear because the tragic consequence is that I never got good a beach volleyball.  How awesome is beach volleyball?  I can watch all sorts of other Olympic events and be impressed by the athleticism and the human drama and whatever but there are few that I so badly want to jump up and do.  It just looks like so much fun.  Too bad I'd be terrified of the ball.

I'm spending way too much time watching the Olympics.  My roommate and I were discussing making a drinking game out of the coverage (drink when one of the three occurs: a) a sweeping generalization is made about the 1.4 billion people of China - "tonight is the night the people of China have all been waiting for... tonight the people of China stand tall..." (also racist?  yes, I just nested parentheses) b) a bit of not so subtle subtext about China being very disciplined and/or dangerous both gymnastically and geopolitically c) Bob Costas refers to some Taoist wisdom or quotes Confucius, seemingly off-the-cuff) which has made even the filler chatter interesting.  And the commercials!  Aren't we glad that Morgan Freeman is going to be okay?  VISA would have had to really scramble.  AND!  AND!  AT&T used my very favorite song by The Decemberists!  Ex-citing!  Why would I ever leave this house and its really big television?

Actually, I think I'm going for a run soon, before the sky opens up and really pours.

If you see my brother be sure to ask him about the nice little Saturday he spent with Baron Davis.

If you see Sam Bean as him why he doesn't return my phone calls.

mmm, so I think we should all just agree right now that Sam Bean is the sexiest man to ever wear a sweater vest.

okay, okay, time to catch up

I think I've said it before but I will say it again.  Eric the First Year is quite the scold.  Also, not as bendy as he claims.

But we should move on.

I have arrived in Mississippi.  

It's country.  Like, country.

Here is the end of my street:

Here is  the dog in front of our porch swing:

I was trying to get her to actually sit on the swing and puff on a corn cob pipe but she wasn't having it.  She has recently discovered the joys and frustrations of hunting frogs (she can't smell them so she has to rely on her just okay eyesight) and spends most of her days strategizing, drawing parabolas of hop-trajectories, calculating cross-breeze sheers, etc .  Apparently she can't be bothered with photo ops.

As you probably can't tell from the photo, we live in a very pleasant neighborhood.  I think its mostly MSU faculty here.  Most of the neighbors have introduced themselves and everyone is incredibly friendly.  The Southern Hospitality thing is no joke.  EVERYBODY waves and says hello.  And the department faculty have all been checking in on me regularly, as promised.  I've run into people I know while shopping at the Piggly Wiggly's (they have a Piggly Wiggly's here! Just like in the movies!).  It's all very quaint.  I like it.

I'm trying to keep a running list of ways in which rural Mississippi is like Los Angeles.  Thus far I have the following:

1. The mornings - like, before 9 am - are the very best parts of the day. 70 degrees, sunny, a slight breeze, everything moist from the dew but not yet humid/smoggy.

2. People drive crazy.  It doesn't help here that the stop signs are faded and the street paint has been completely rubbed off.

3. Lawn-obsession.  There are some beautiful lawns here.  It helps that there is plenty of rain but people also devote a lot of time to lawn care (MSU actually has a Turf Department that is separate from Groundskeeping).  When my Dad and I were returning our rented dolly to the local hardware store we spent some time looking over the tractor mower selection.  I have to say, the Husqvarnas are superior to the John Deeres all around.  For one thing they come with roll bars, which seems to me to be a pretty basic safety feature.  And they have seven different settings for blade length.  They are also bright orange.  I wish our lawn were bigger.

4. Holier-than-thou attitudes.  Sort of.  I saw a vanity plate on a Pontiac GT yesterday that read: GODS GT

In other news, the piano was safely extracted from the truck.  It was both terrifying and amazing.  I fully expected to witness (from my safe perch guiding the piano out of the truck to the open arms below) the death of the blueberry farmer, my father, and the future of the MSU history graduate program.  I'm hoping the grad students eventually need rec letters from me (though they do US history so its unlikely they'll ever ask me) so that I can praise both their piano-pressing abilities and their nuanced understanding of current historiographical trends.

I keep expecting something to come out of someone's mouth that I find stunningly offensive, but it hasn't happened yet.  Not even close.  The other day the black woman helping me sort out my textbook orders at the university bookstore scolded me for not knowing my course number by cheerfully saying she was going to whip me but that wasn't so much offensive as baffling.  As I understand it most locals here are either direct descendants of slaves or slave-owners.  I had no idea how to respond to that.

Okay, I think that's all for now.  I'm going to go make a sandwich and read up on the Olympics and/or war in the Caucuses and/or Bernie Mac.  

Sweet, sweet broadband.

Sing to me my darling.

Did you think I'd been pinned under the piano for the last week?

I have arrived in Mississippi, land of sparse and well-protected wireless.  I'll write more in a bit after I get through this backlog of emails.  For your amusement, a picture I took this morning:

Look!  This enormous bug has found a quarter!