Thoughts and Words Ill-Sorted

Does duct tape melt in hot attics?

. . . Ithaca got up to 85 degrees.  And sunny.  With a slight breeze.

So it’s been a barefoot, sunkissed, hammock-filled day.  But not exactly idle.  Sydney started building a cold frame on our front lawn, and I hauled loads of wood chips to make the area around our hammock a bit easier on the feet and on the eyes.  This is why we live in a place known for its long winters: once it turns warm, computer screens get a lot less appealing!

Erin

I attended my department’s annual “placement meeting” today, for those who are curious about or who will be going on the job market in the fall.  I’m not applying until next year, but it’s good to know what I have to have done by then (apparently, a dissertation!).  After acres of depressing news (there are no jobs, applying is expensive, you will be stressed, applying will make you hate your dissertation), I stumbled across one good piece of news: the annual convention at which the interviews take place will, when I apply, be held in Philadelphia.  I have never been there, and I hear it’s big and confusing, but I can get there in four hours of driving from Ithaca.  As in, I don’t have to fit an expensive plane ticket into the budget (this year’s meeting, for example, is in Sacramento–think of that expense!).  A plane ticket may not seem too bad, but the conference is held between Christmas and New Year’s–tickets are rare, expensive, and can easily be overthrown by weather concerns that time of year.  Okay, one good piece of news.  Let’s hope it multiplies as the job market becomes more of a reality!

Erin

This afternoon, a beautiful, 72-degree sunny day in Ithaca, I took the car in for a checkup.  On my way back, the thought of my car rusting away from six months of salt-covered roads made me stop at a car wash.  I’ll admit that I have not gone to a car wash since I left home.  That doesn’t mean I never washed our car!  Anytime I thought the car needed washing (okay, okay, I mean, anytime my inner Dad voice rose to a particularly acute pitch) I washed it in our driveway.  Quite frankly, I didn’t know how car washes worked, and I’m really leery of looking like an idiot in a car shop, in a car wash, or any area where I might look like the stupid girl who owns a car but doesn’t know how it works.  True as it is, I’m still touchy about it.  But this afternoon I was feeling particularly plucky, so I handed cash to the young kid at the car wash when he asked for it and settled in for the ride after triple-checking that my windows were up.  I have to say, the time spent in a womb of soap and whirling brushes has gone down since I was a kid, and I, unlike most busy adults, don’t see it as an improvement.  But even 3 minutes inside the car-wash system was fun, and made me feel one more step on my way to “real” adulthood even as I was reminded of the fun of childhood.

Erin

I’ve been scheduling conferences with each of my students this week, leading to a host of amusing and frustrating interactions. Some realize only later that they’re not available for the time they signed up for, some tell me there is a “mandatory” sorority meeting during their scheduled conference time (does that seem like the right thing to tell your professor?), and some wander in, bleary-eyed, two hours after their scheduled conference time, wondering when (not if) they can reschedule. Sigh.

There are, of course, amusing interactions in the other direction, with students afraid to talk with me because they have confused themselves into a mess about their paper. They then get a bit gushy when I “magically” “fix” their paper mess. No point in telling them I’m a control freak, and tidying things up is my favorite activity!

But the most amusing interactions are those via email. I’ve forgotten how awkwardly we write to our professors. I do it still: “Um, so-and-so-, would you, like, be willing to, possibly, only if you have time, be on my advising committee?” But my freshmen do it in ways that amuse and comfort me–even I’m not quite this bad most day! One student wrote to ask if she could reschedule her conference since it conflicted with her latest schedule. In closing, she told me to let her know “if the new time would be more convenient for you.” Was that really the point of the email? Gotta love awkward indirection.

Erin

Last night I helped some friends move, which reminded me that we, too, will have to do that in just a few years.  I’ve been quite keen on staying just where we are since I’ve never heard that academics didn’t get enough opportunity to move without seeking it out.  But, as I hauled out box after box (oh, man, am I ever grateful that we don’t live up such steep stairs!), I realized that Sydney and I have a lot of stuff.  As in, two dressers, a large bed, a big work table, lots of garden and kitchen stuff . . . and ten 8-foot-high bookcases filled with books.  We may have to move over the course of several days, or at night, all in an attempt to make sure we don’t appall ourselves with the sheer quantity of our stuff.  We also won’t be able to ask for help.  When I think of moving I assume a good deal of muttering under one’s breath and frustration ringing out over the hills when it all gets too much (hey, we live in the country)–not something one can do if you’re in the company of friends!  At any rate, I’m just very, very, very grateful that the moving truck (a full semi, perhaps?) is still a few years down the road.  For now we’ll sit still and keep buying books! 🙂

Erin

While having conferences with my students yesterday, I realized it was prospective-student day on campus.  Hoardes of excited teens, bored younger siblings, and slightly frazzled parents milled around campus and took tours through the building in which I teach.  Several times on my way in and out I was asked if I would like a map or an itinerary . . . which I only later realized means I was taken for a prospective student.  Ouch.

Erin

A few weeks ago a neighbor stopped to chat as he was out walking his dog and I was out feeding the birds.  We had just been acquainted at a recent potluck, where he had been introduced to Sydney and me as Christi’s housemates.  Apparently the introductions had left him under the impression that my name was Cindy and the tall guy at my side was Aaron.  This neighbor had even addressed me as Cindy and I, probably hearing “Sydney” and looking up, had responded.  I, relating this to Sydney, expected him to laugh, but he simply shrugged and said “Happens all the time.”  The word-lover in me was tickled.

Erin

This afternoon I sat in a room with 16 philosophers to hear Sydney deliver a paper at his department workshop.  I can’t give you a summary of his argument (for which most of you will be grateful), but I can say that he was clear, confident, and handled himself well during the round of questions.  That’s saying something, particularly given that this has been a pretty crazy week for him and he had even less sleep than usual with which to work.  Oh yeah, and did I mention that half-a-dozen of the philosophers in the room were faculty?

Erin

Today I peeled the last of our potatoes from Sydney’s garden, combining them with some onions from that same garden for a potato salad.  An hour later I planted the little onion seedlings that arrived in the mail the other day, giving them some dirt in which to grow before we put them in the ground later this spring.

Erin