This morning’s events (or lack thereof) are the kind that can ruin your whole day. I feel so sad. I’ll have to tell the whole story for this to make sense.
Last week, Peter brought home a permission slip to go on a field trip today. The field trip consists of taking the light rail train downtown, going to a movie, and then taking the light rail back to school. I thought this sounded like a really cool and fun field trip. I volunteered to be a chaperon. On Monday, when I was picking up the boys from school, Peter’s teacher saw me, came up to my car, and told me that I could definitely go on the field trip as they needed all the chaperons they could get. But she said that in order to be a chaperon, I needed to sign up as a volunteer with the school district, which involves filling out an application and having them perform a background check. I told her that I had signed up as a volunteer with the district last year, and she said I would need to renew it for this year. I said okay. Then I totally forgot to do so.
Yesterday, Melanie asked me about signing up to be a volunteer. Peter’s teacher had asked Melanie about it because she could see that, as of yesterday, I was still not approved. I cringed as I realized I had forgotten to sign up and the field trip was scheduled for the next morning. But Melanie told me not to worry. I could fill out the volunteer application online that night and things might yet work out. If the application wasn’t approved by the morning, perhaps something could yet be done to allow me to go. Peter’s teacher was determined to have me go, since she really needed the help. And so, last night, I filled out the online volunteer application, and I then went to the grocery store to get Peter and me some lunch stuff to take on the field trip. Melanie and I talked to her mom to see if she could help us out by picking up Creegan after preschool, since I wouldn’t be available, and she agreed. Everything was set.
This morning, I got up earlier than usual so I could get ready for the field trip. I dropped Melanie, Eddie, and Peter off at school around 8 AM. I told Peter I’d see him soon. I then took Creegan to preschool and reminded him that Grandma would be picking him up. I then drove back to Peter’s school. I thought the field trip was supposed to start around 9 AM, so I sat in the car listening to a podcast for a little while. At 8:54 AM, I got a text message from Melanie saying I definitely could not go on the field trip. My application had not been processed and there was simply no way around it. I felt absolutely heartbroken for Peter, and very sad that I couldn’t explain it to him myself. I would just be a no-show. (Hopefully, his teacher explained it to him.) I also felt bad that I was leaving Peter’s teacher in a bind, since I know she was desperate for chaperons. It was an all-around crappy situation.
I drove home, feeling very sad. When I got home, I checked my email. My application to be a volunteer with the school district had been approved. I received the email at 8:46 AM, eight minutes before Melanie’s text message informing me that I could not go on the field trip. I can only assume Peter’s teacher had checked on my application mere minutes before it was approved. At the moment I stood outside of Peter’s school, about to meet up with his class, I was actually an approved volunteer. But I turned around, left, and went home because nobody knew it. Talk about frustrating and disappointing.
Let’s hope the day improves from here.
Formerly Benj (& Purge); formerly Sucking on Oranges
Showing posts with label Ranting and Raving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ranting and Raving. Show all posts
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Monday, June 30, 2014
And the Problems Begin…
In an effort to be positive, let me start by listing some of the things I’m enjoying about Utah so far (most of which I would have predicted, as I’ve written about these particular aspects of Utah before):
And now for the complaining:
Okay, I’m done. Thanks for listening.
- The dry air is lovely. It doesn’t qualify as “hot” here, and in the evenings it is downright pleasant.
- The mountains are beautiful, and we’ve got a close-up view from Melanie’s parents’ house. I don’t tire of the view.
- There are many decent radio stations here. Despite the seeming abundance of commercials, there is a lot of good music.
- The library system is superior to what we had in Atlanta and Tallahassee. We visited the local library today, and it was awesome. They have everything you can think of. They have tons of DVDs. Seriously, thousands, in this one little branch of the library. They also have a pretty nice kids’ area, which made it quite entertaining for our boys. There is a seat in the kids’ area by a large window, overlooking the valley below. Quite posh for a kid. I myself would like to sit there and read for a couple of hours!
- Melanie and I have gotten our bedroom pretty much set up, and I quite like it. We’ve never had a TV in our bedroom before, but we do now. It seems luxurious and spoiled. I got the TV set up last night, and there are tons of free over-the-air stations here. We watched a DVD as we lay in bed, and it was nice and cozy. Very enjoyable.
- The kids are also set up in their bedrooms, with their bunk bed having been restored. I figured out how to put it back together without any instructions, which may not be a great accomplishment for a lot of folk, but I’m pleased with myself.
And now for the complaining:
- This carpal tunnel thing is terrible. I have been messed up for several days now. I can hardly do anything for more than a minute or two before my right arm and hand are aching and tingling. That’s my dominant hand, so this is potentially disastrous. I think it might be a little bit better than it was a couple of days ago, so I’m crossing my fingers (with my left hand) that it will continue to improve. Otherwise, I’m fearful this will lead to surgery or something. And, seeing as how we just moved, the insurance situation is a bit uncertain right now. Ugh.
- It took about 48 hours of living here for the kids to break something. Like something out of a sitcom, they kicked a soccer ball, in the living room, right into a large decorative glass plate. The plate looked like a giant flower, more or less. It was quite beautiful, really. Now it’s smashed. I’m sure Melanie’s parents are overjoyed to have us in their home.
- I woke up in the middle of the night last night with a nosebleed. My third night in town and the dry air is giving me random nosebleeds. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about that, but for whatever reason, I’ve always gotten random nosebleeds in Utah. Maybe it’s the elevation rather than the thin air. I’m just having that thought as I type this up. I don’t know which makes more sense, but it can’t be coincidence. I’ve probably had one or two nosebleeds in the last eight years, whereas I used to get them all the time in Utah and I’m already getting them again. I know I’m going to deal with dry skin issues here, and this is just the blood-red icing on the cake. I’ll look like a decaying zombie before you know it, with blood on my face and my skin falling off. Hooray for me!
Okay, I’m done. Thanks for listening.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Night Terrors
For approximately eight years straight, I’ve suffered from persistent night terrors. Their names are Edison, Peter, and Creegan.
To be fair, only Creegan is a serious problem nowadays. But he’s well past his third birthday, and he has gone maybe one or two nights without pestering us. I probably shouldn’t complain—after all, gone are the days when he would repeatedly drop kick me in the face while I slept—but lately, he’s coming in earlier, and earlier, and earlier. On a good night, he’ll spend maybe three hours in his own bed before coming to ours. Half the time—probably more—he comes in before we’re even asleep! We have little stamina for putting up with his hissy fits if we try to get him to go back to his own bed, and heaven knows we’re not interested in accompanying him back to bed as a kind of compromise. (If we offer to take him back, he’s much, much more likely to go.) Even if we do take him back to his bed, he’s likely to return to our room within an hour or so, and sometimes within 10 or 15 minutes. The problem is, I am so damn sleep deprived at this point. I accept some of the blame for that. Maybe I should be going to bed earlier than I do. But no matter when I go to sleep, even if I’m lucky enough to be asleep before Creegan comes calling, he’ll likely wake me up multiple times in the night. Either he’ll keep returning to our room, or if he stays in bed with us, he’ll interrupt our sleep multiple times anyway. For example, he’ll often start grunting in protest at some time during the night when he’s sleeping next to us. He doesn’t seem to be having bad dreams. He just acts like he’s pissed off. So he’ll grunt and jerk his body, like he’s not comfortable and he’s incredibly upset about it. He’ll just keep going and going. If you tell him to quiet down, he gets mad. There’s no real solution, it seems. And I’m just not a good sleeper anymore, so these interruptions can sometimes be extremely detrimental. Even if I get him back to sleep fairly quickly, sometimes the mere waking up leaves me too wide awake (and annoyed) to quickly return to sleep myself. I’ve sometimes laid there for 30–40 minutes after getting Creegan back to sleep, just waiting for my own sleep to return. I’m lucky to get six cumulative hours of sleep a night, and never more than one or two (if I’m very lucky) in a row. Is it any wonder I nowadays have almost constant headaches?
Okay. That’s all I have to say. Just needed to gripe.
To be fair, only Creegan is a serious problem nowadays. But he’s well past his third birthday, and he has gone maybe one or two nights without pestering us. I probably shouldn’t complain—after all, gone are the days when he would repeatedly drop kick me in the face while I slept—but lately, he’s coming in earlier, and earlier, and earlier. On a good night, he’ll spend maybe three hours in his own bed before coming to ours. Half the time—probably more—he comes in before we’re even asleep! We have little stamina for putting up with his hissy fits if we try to get him to go back to his own bed, and heaven knows we’re not interested in accompanying him back to bed as a kind of compromise. (If we offer to take him back, he’s much, much more likely to go.) Even if we do take him back to his bed, he’s likely to return to our room within an hour or so, and sometimes within 10 or 15 minutes. The problem is, I am so damn sleep deprived at this point. I accept some of the blame for that. Maybe I should be going to bed earlier than I do. But no matter when I go to sleep, even if I’m lucky enough to be asleep before Creegan comes calling, he’ll likely wake me up multiple times in the night. Either he’ll keep returning to our room, or if he stays in bed with us, he’ll interrupt our sleep multiple times anyway. For example, he’ll often start grunting in protest at some time during the night when he’s sleeping next to us. He doesn’t seem to be having bad dreams. He just acts like he’s pissed off. So he’ll grunt and jerk his body, like he’s not comfortable and he’s incredibly upset about it. He’ll just keep going and going. If you tell him to quiet down, he gets mad. There’s no real solution, it seems. And I’m just not a good sleeper anymore, so these interruptions can sometimes be extremely detrimental. Even if I get him back to sleep fairly quickly, sometimes the mere waking up leaves me too wide awake (and annoyed) to quickly return to sleep myself. I’ve sometimes laid there for 30–40 minutes after getting Creegan back to sleep, just waiting for my own sleep to return. I’m lucky to get six cumulative hours of sleep a night, and never more than one or two (if I’m very lucky) in a row. Is it any wonder I nowadays have almost constant headaches?
Okay. That’s all I have to say. Just needed to gripe.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
I Snooze, I Lose
I’ve owned the same alarm clock for over a decade. I bought it because, at the time, it seemed fancy-shmancy. The main attraction was that the alarm clock could wake you up to a CD, something I thought was just unbelievably cool. Not only that, but you could set up to three different alarms! Wow! I trusted the Sony brand name, and I purchased the clock radio without reservation.
Jump ahead approximately a dozen years, and I’m still trying to figure out how this damn clock works. I know, I know, this story inevitably paints me as a moron – either as a moron who can’t figure out an alarm clock after something like 4,000 nights of sleep or as a moron who has put up with a crappy alarm clock for over 10 years rather than purchasing a replacement. Well, be that as it may, this little alarm clock boggles my mind. Whether I want to turn the sounding alarm off or just press snooze, it’s like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube, blindfolded and with one hand. Now, I know everyone stumbles and fumbles when trying to deal with an alarm. Spending 2.5 seconds groping for the alarm and feeling your way to the snooze button is nothing new. But what I’m talking about is far, far worse than that. On this particular alarm clock, as with many other alarm clocks, the snooze bar is the most prominent button on the device. Unlike any other alarm clock I’ve ever dealt with, however, this snooze bar has to be pushed repeatedly before it actually responds. Put simply, it makes you beg before it will do anything. I honestly believe there are only a few select places along the snooze bar that can be pushed to any effect. As you can imagine, this is terrible. The best strategy is to just start rat-a-tat-tapping all over the top of the alarm clock, as if you’re typing in a PIN. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the code right and the alarm will be silenced. Of course, you the run the risk of double- or even triple-activating the snooze, which on this alarm clock adds 10 additional minutes to your snooze time for each push. You might want a 10-minute snooze and end up with 30. If you actually have to get somewhere, that’s bad news. And yes, it’s happened to me more than once.
I know what you’re thinking. Why not just turn the alarm clock off and forget the snooze? In other words, quit complaining and get out of bed already! Unfortunately, turning off the alarm might be even more difficult than pushing snooze. Unlike the alarm clocks of yore, this alarm clock does not feature a switch that turns the alarm off and that must be switched back into place in order for the alarm to be set for the next morning. Such quaint functionality would make silencing the alarm a breeze. But on this contraption, you simply press a button that silences the alarm and leaves it ready for the next day. There are obvious advantages to this. And perhaps there are obvious reasons for making the “off” button somewhat difficult to find, such as that you are less likely to turn off the alarm and then slip back into slumber. But this particular “off” button resides as a slight bump on the face of an alarm clock that itself is rather bubbly-shaped. The result is that it’s nigh unto impossible to distinguish the “off” button from any other contour of the alarm clock, including the myriad other buttons very near to the “off” button, at least one of which, if mistakenly pushed, will set the radio blaring. If the goal is to wake you up, I suppose this is fairly effective. But it’s also highly frustrating.
I suppose in this day and age I should be using the alarm clock on my cell phone, or at least upgrading to an alarm clock that can play mp3s and automatically update my Facebook status to let my friends know when I’ve gotten out of bed. Yeah, I probably should. But as you can tell, I tend to keep things old school around here. And what’s more old school than sticking with what you’ve got and relentlessly complaining about it?
Jump ahead approximately a dozen years, and I’m still trying to figure out how this damn clock works. I know, I know, this story inevitably paints me as a moron – either as a moron who can’t figure out an alarm clock after something like 4,000 nights of sleep or as a moron who has put up with a crappy alarm clock for over 10 years rather than purchasing a replacement. Well, be that as it may, this little alarm clock boggles my mind. Whether I want to turn the sounding alarm off or just press snooze, it’s like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube, blindfolded and with one hand. Now, I know everyone stumbles and fumbles when trying to deal with an alarm. Spending 2.5 seconds groping for the alarm and feeling your way to the snooze button is nothing new. But what I’m talking about is far, far worse than that. On this particular alarm clock, as with many other alarm clocks, the snooze bar is the most prominent button on the device. Unlike any other alarm clock I’ve ever dealt with, however, this snooze bar has to be pushed repeatedly before it actually responds. Put simply, it makes you beg before it will do anything. I honestly believe there are only a few select places along the snooze bar that can be pushed to any effect. As you can imagine, this is terrible. The best strategy is to just start rat-a-tat-tapping all over the top of the alarm clock, as if you’re typing in a PIN. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the code right and the alarm will be silenced. Of course, you the run the risk of double- or even triple-activating the snooze, which on this alarm clock adds 10 additional minutes to your snooze time for each push. You might want a 10-minute snooze and end up with 30. If you actually have to get somewhere, that’s bad news. And yes, it’s happened to me more than once.I know what you’re thinking. Why not just turn the alarm clock off and forget the snooze? In other words, quit complaining and get out of bed already! Unfortunately, turning off the alarm might be even more difficult than pushing snooze. Unlike the alarm clocks of yore, this alarm clock does not feature a switch that turns the alarm off and that must be switched back into place in order for the alarm to be set for the next morning. Such quaint functionality would make silencing the alarm a breeze. But on this contraption, you simply press a button that silences the alarm and leaves it ready for the next day. There are obvious advantages to this. And perhaps there are obvious reasons for making the “off” button somewhat difficult to find, such as that you are less likely to turn off the alarm and then slip back into slumber. But this particular “off” button resides as a slight bump on the face of an alarm clock that itself is rather bubbly-shaped. The result is that it’s nigh unto impossible to distinguish the “off” button from any other contour of the alarm clock, including the myriad other buttons very near to the “off” button, at least one of which, if mistakenly pushed, will set the radio blaring. If the goal is to wake you up, I suppose this is fairly effective. But it’s also highly frustrating.
I suppose in this day and age I should be using the alarm clock on my cell phone, or at least upgrading to an alarm clock that can play mp3s and automatically update my Facebook status to let my friends know when I’ve gotten out of bed. Yeah, I probably should. But as you can tell, I tend to keep things old school around here. And what’s more old school than sticking with what you’ve got and relentlessly complaining about it?
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Like a Good Neighbor...
Melanie and I were awoken this morning by someone knocking at our front door. We didn’t answer. Not only were we unprepared to answer the door, but Peter and Creegan were still fast asleep. In fact, the very reason we didn’t answer the door last night was because we were in the midst of trying to get these very children to sleep. You see, the same person had come knocking at our door less than 12 hours earlier. It’s the same person who calls our home phone at least five times a day, often a dozen times per day. It’s our neighbor, Jimmy.*
Jimmy moved into our apartment complex a few months ago. He’s a fairly high-functioning adult, but he’s not as independent as most people his age. He has a gold medal or two that he received at the Special Olympics, if that helps you paint your mental picture. Jimmy called us out of the blue about a month ago, having been referred to us by some local church missionaries. Because we live in the same apartment complex, Jimmy was hoping we could give him a weekly ride to our church services. I admit, I was less than thrilled by this request. Almost the same thing happened to Melanie and me in Atlanta, where we suddenly became responsible for a complete stranger’s transportation needs. That brought certain challenges to our life, but we were a much smaller family then. We handled the chauffeuring fairly well. But things are different now. Melanie and I already struggle to get our family to church on time every week. Adding another person to the mix would not be easy. But of course, we wanted to help. So we said yes.
So far, the rides haven’t been a problem. Jimmy’s only gone to church with us twice in the last four weeks. But the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. He calls incessantly. We don’t answer it. Neither Melanie nor I have the time to stop and chat with the guy. But now he’s just showing up at our door. He lives only a few apartment buildings away from us, so he can get here in two minutes. I fear we’re going to feel trapped in our own home. I don’t mind giving the guy a ride, but random appearances at our door are not my cup of tea. The last time we gave him a ride to church, he showed up at our house about 30 minutes before we were ready to leave. Instead of waiting for us to call him to say we were heading over to pick him up, which is the official plan of action, he came to us. He didn’t call first. He just appeared. We were still struggling to get kids to put on their clothes. We were on the brink of eating lunch. It was incredibly awkward and stressful. As we tried to get kids dressed and shove food down their throats, Jimmy read us all of the text messages he had sent back and forth to a friend on the previous night. Jimmy was playing a joke on the friend, telling the friend that he (Jimmy) had been arrested for stabbing a person in the heart and killing him. That is what our kids got to hear as we tried to prepare them for church.
The first time Jimmy came to church with us, he ran into someone he had gone to church with when he lived in his previous apartment. Jimmy considered the person to be an old friend and was very excited to see him. This old friend, whom I’ll call Nick, seemed a bit unsettled to see Jimmy. Nick lives very close to Melanie and me and has been a decent friend to us. He’s been in our home several times. Shortly after Jimmy knocked at our door last night, Nick coincidentally called me up to talk about Jimmy. It’s important for you, the reader, to realize that Nick is one of the nicest, most generous and thoughtful people I’ve met. And Nick was calling me to warn me about Jimmy. Pretty much everything Nick said to me was something I’d already experienced, but he assured me this was just the beginning. He even said that Jimmy was quite literally the main reason he and his wife had decided to move across town. “Moving is the only way to stop it,” he told me. Bear in mind, Nick had done his best to be kind and helpful to Jimmy for a full two years before moving. And now Jimmy happens to move just around the corner from Nick. I can tell that Nick is panicking about this, but I’m happy to let the Jimmy problem fall into my lap for now. Still, as you can understand, I’m not without anxiety over the matter.
Maybe some of you think there is an easier solution to this than I realize. Maybe you think I should just explain to Jimmy that he should call before he comes over, etc. Perhaps that’s true. I don’t know how you say something like that, and I’m not sure how it would be understood or if the request would be respected. Nick said that Jimmy would complain to certain ecclesiastical leaders if Nick ever failed to give him rides or showed up late or anything like that. Supposedly, Jimmy would tell people that Nick wouldn’t help him or wasn’t doing what he’d said he’d do, etc. Nick, whom I remind you is an incredibly upstanding guy, felt that his reputation was truly being tarnished, that certain people really did talk to him as though he weren’t being a good and helpful person and was somehow shirking his moral duties. It’s hard for me to believe anyone could view Nick that way, especially based on Jimmy’s reports alone, but there’s no denying the urgency in Nick’s voice as he tried to warn me about the hardships that Jimmy brought to Nick’s own family. Knowing Nick, maybe he tried too hard. Maybe he helped too much to begin with. I’ve been keeping things to a minimum thus far, and I don’t have plans to reach out any more than I already have. I’m trusting this is the right move, but I can already see things spiraling a bit. And yes, I’m worried.
*Jimmy’s name isn’t really Jimmy. I feel compelled to change his name for this post, though I’m not sure why.
Jimmy moved into our apartment complex a few months ago. He’s a fairly high-functioning adult, but he’s not as independent as most people his age. He has a gold medal or two that he received at the Special Olympics, if that helps you paint your mental picture. Jimmy called us out of the blue about a month ago, having been referred to us by some local church missionaries. Because we live in the same apartment complex, Jimmy was hoping we could give him a weekly ride to our church services. I admit, I was less than thrilled by this request. Almost the same thing happened to Melanie and me in Atlanta, where we suddenly became responsible for a complete stranger’s transportation needs. That brought certain challenges to our life, but we were a much smaller family then. We handled the chauffeuring fairly well. But things are different now. Melanie and I already struggle to get our family to church on time every week. Adding another person to the mix would not be easy. But of course, we wanted to help. So we said yes.
So far, the rides haven’t been a problem. Jimmy’s only gone to church with us twice in the last four weeks. But the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. He calls incessantly. We don’t answer it. Neither Melanie nor I have the time to stop and chat with the guy. But now he’s just showing up at our door. He lives only a few apartment buildings away from us, so he can get here in two minutes. I fear we’re going to feel trapped in our own home. I don’t mind giving the guy a ride, but random appearances at our door are not my cup of tea. The last time we gave him a ride to church, he showed up at our house about 30 minutes before we were ready to leave. Instead of waiting for us to call him to say we were heading over to pick him up, which is the official plan of action, he came to us. He didn’t call first. He just appeared. We were still struggling to get kids to put on their clothes. We were on the brink of eating lunch. It was incredibly awkward and stressful. As we tried to get kids dressed and shove food down their throats, Jimmy read us all of the text messages he had sent back and forth to a friend on the previous night. Jimmy was playing a joke on the friend, telling the friend that he (Jimmy) had been arrested for stabbing a person in the heart and killing him. That is what our kids got to hear as we tried to prepare them for church.
The first time Jimmy came to church with us, he ran into someone he had gone to church with when he lived in his previous apartment. Jimmy considered the person to be an old friend and was very excited to see him. This old friend, whom I’ll call Nick, seemed a bit unsettled to see Jimmy. Nick lives very close to Melanie and me and has been a decent friend to us. He’s been in our home several times. Shortly after Jimmy knocked at our door last night, Nick coincidentally called me up to talk about Jimmy. It’s important for you, the reader, to realize that Nick is one of the nicest, most generous and thoughtful people I’ve met. And Nick was calling me to warn me about Jimmy. Pretty much everything Nick said to me was something I’d already experienced, but he assured me this was just the beginning. He even said that Jimmy was quite literally the main reason he and his wife had decided to move across town. “Moving is the only way to stop it,” he told me. Bear in mind, Nick had done his best to be kind and helpful to Jimmy for a full two years before moving. And now Jimmy happens to move just around the corner from Nick. I can tell that Nick is panicking about this, but I’m happy to let the Jimmy problem fall into my lap for now. Still, as you can understand, I’m not without anxiety over the matter.
Maybe some of you think there is an easier solution to this than I realize. Maybe you think I should just explain to Jimmy that he should call before he comes over, etc. Perhaps that’s true. I don’t know how you say something like that, and I’m not sure how it would be understood or if the request would be respected. Nick said that Jimmy would complain to certain ecclesiastical leaders if Nick ever failed to give him rides or showed up late or anything like that. Supposedly, Jimmy would tell people that Nick wouldn’t help him or wasn’t doing what he’d said he’d do, etc. Nick, whom I remind you is an incredibly upstanding guy, felt that his reputation was truly being tarnished, that certain people really did talk to him as though he weren’t being a good and helpful person and was somehow shirking his moral duties. It’s hard for me to believe anyone could view Nick that way, especially based on Jimmy’s reports alone, but there’s no denying the urgency in Nick’s voice as he tried to warn me about the hardships that Jimmy brought to Nick’s own family. Knowing Nick, maybe he tried too hard. Maybe he helped too much to begin with. I’ve been keeping things to a minimum thus far, and I don’t have plans to reach out any more than I already have. I’m trusting this is the right move, but I can already see things spiraling a bit. And yes, I’m worried.
*Jimmy’s name isn’t really Jimmy. I feel compelled to change his name for this post, though I’m not sure why.
Friday, March 30, 2012
The Hate in My Love-Hate Relationship with Utah
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been listening to morning radio during the first hour or two of my work day. It’s been a semi-refreshing change of pace from listening to music absolutely all day long. (Yes, I said it.) One of the main radio stations I’ve been listening to (via the Internet) is Salt Lake City-based X96, whose Radio from Hell was my morning show of choice back when I lived in Utah. Because I’m two hours ahead of the Beehive State, I can join the Utah program later in my day without having missed much of the broadcast.
While it’s been fun revisiting Radio from Hell, listening again to Utah radio is souring my opinion of the state. Not because of Utah radio itself. I’ve been surprisingly disappointed with the radio offerings in this corner of the US, including Atlanta (which I would have expected to have even more radio options than SLC, but which is actually much worse). However, the news stories and advertising on Utah radio remind me all too much of a culture that I have not missed. To begin with, Utah is surprisingly snooty. I don’t think I realized this until I left the state and then returned for the occasional visit. Salt Lake City is a more cosmopolitan city than many would think, and I’m convinced that you could be quite happy living there if you were a snob. There are advantages to living in such a place—SLC features some very nice restaurants, parks, and shopping, for example—but there is also a sense in which Utah residents are relentlessly, even if silently, judgy. It’s a cliquish place to be. It really is.
That brings me to another part of Utah culture that I’m just not interested in. It’s fractured. There is such an “us vs. them” mentality. You might not notice it too much if you stick to your own kind, but I don’t like the underlying tension that it creates. Obviously, this is something that stems from the heavy religiosity of the state, and yet it exists because people on both sides of the divide are so often closed-minded and judgmental. One group seems to operate under the guise of, “You’re great, as long as you’re just like me!” The other seems committed to thinking, “You’re great, as long as you’re not one of them!” It gets tiring. In my experience, it’s a more implicit than explicit part of the social dynamics of living in Utah, and yet it is both pervasive and annoying.
I mentioned that advertising has stirred up my disdain for certain aspects of Utah culture. Even when I lived in Utah, I was painfully aware of how much Utah advertising caters to a particular demographic. Though I fall largely within that demographic, I always found it rather insulting that I would be pandered to in such a cheap and discriminatory way, with other members of the community who don’t belong to the target demographic being ignored altogether because, hey, who cares about them (and aren’t we all more comfortable pretending they don’t exist anyway)? But it’s worse than I had formerly realized. Having lived outside of Utah for roughly six years, I now recognize just how much even the most innocuous and, as it were, secular Utah advertisement is catering to a very particular crowd. It’s quite subtle, but it’s there. It’s the most obvious in cases of “funny” commercials. I’m not sure I can explain how so, but the humor is often insultingly stupid. “Corny” is probably an apt description. I don’t think humor has to be raunchy or edgy, but if you want to keep things clean and wholesome, at least make it intelligent. Sometimes I get the impression that Utahans (and thus those whose livelihoods depend on appealing to Utahans, such as certain advertisers) are more concerned with something being appropriate than with it being creative or artistically good. If something is wholly inoffensive, it’s lauded—not just morally, but creatively! Insofar as something is not squeaky clean, it doesn’t even deserve consideration—it simply can’t possess any artistic value in that case. It’s an attitude that really irks me.
I’m writing this blog entry because I feel a bit crestfallen. When I visited Utah last summer, it actually sparked a genuine desire in me to live there again someday. Of course, I was simply on vacation, interacting largely with friends and family. I wasn’t living my normal, day-to-day life. Listening to Utah radio every morning over the last week or two has given me a tiny taste of what it might be like to be re-immersed in that culture on a more permanent, normal-life basis. It’s somewhat unappealing. Then again, who knows. Last time I was in Utah, I was also feeling inspired to live life my way and not give a crap about what others think. (Those feelings eventually gave birth to this post, several months later.) Perhaps if I were more in touch with that attitude right now, I wouldn’t mind living in Utah. I worry, though, about falling back into normal attitudes and ultimately feeling like I haven’t progressed at all, like all of the progress I’ve made over the last six years has been lost. I’m really on the fence about ever returning to live again in my home state. If the opportunity presented itself, I think I’d probably go for it. But I sincerely fear that I might regret it.
While it’s been fun revisiting Radio from Hell, listening again to Utah radio is souring my opinion of the state. Not because of Utah radio itself. I’ve been surprisingly disappointed with the radio offerings in this corner of the US, including Atlanta (which I would have expected to have even more radio options than SLC, but which is actually much worse). However, the news stories and advertising on Utah radio remind me all too much of a culture that I have not missed. To begin with, Utah is surprisingly snooty. I don’t think I realized this until I left the state and then returned for the occasional visit. Salt Lake City is a more cosmopolitan city than many would think, and I’m convinced that you could be quite happy living there if you were a snob. There are advantages to living in such a place—SLC features some very nice restaurants, parks, and shopping, for example—but there is also a sense in which Utah residents are relentlessly, even if silently, judgy. It’s a cliquish place to be. It really is.
That brings me to another part of Utah culture that I’m just not interested in. It’s fractured. There is such an “us vs. them” mentality. You might not notice it too much if you stick to your own kind, but I don’t like the underlying tension that it creates. Obviously, this is something that stems from the heavy religiosity of the state, and yet it exists because people on both sides of the divide are so often closed-minded and judgmental. One group seems to operate under the guise of, “You’re great, as long as you’re just like me!” The other seems committed to thinking, “You’re great, as long as you’re not one of them!” It gets tiring. In my experience, it’s a more implicit than explicit part of the social dynamics of living in Utah, and yet it is both pervasive and annoying.
I mentioned that advertising has stirred up my disdain for certain aspects of Utah culture. Even when I lived in Utah, I was painfully aware of how much Utah advertising caters to a particular demographic. Though I fall largely within that demographic, I always found it rather insulting that I would be pandered to in such a cheap and discriminatory way, with other members of the community who don’t belong to the target demographic being ignored altogether because, hey, who cares about them (and aren’t we all more comfortable pretending they don’t exist anyway)? But it’s worse than I had formerly realized. Having lived outside of Utah for roughly six years, I now recognize just how much even the most innocuous and, as it were, secular Utah advertisement is catering to a very particular crowd. It’s quite subtle, but it’s there. It’s the most obvious in cases of “funny” commercials. I’m not sure I can explain how so, but the humor is often insultingly stupid. “Corny” is probably an apt description. I don’t think humor has to be raunchy or edgy, but if you want to keep things clean and wholesome, at least make it intelligent. Sometimes I get the impression that Utahans (and thus those whose livelihoods depend on appealing to Utahans, such as certain advertisers) are more concerned with something being appropriate than with it being creative or artistically good. If something is wholly inoffensive, it’s lauded—not just morally, but creatively! Insofar as something is not squeaky clean, it doesn’t even deserve consideration—it simply can’t possess any artistic value in that case. It’s an attitude that really irks me.
I’m writing this blog entry because I feel a bit crestfallen. When I visited Utah last summer, it actually sparked a genuine desire in me to live there again someday. Of course, I was simply on vacation, interacting largely with friends and family. I wasn’t living my normal, day-to-day life. Listening to Utah radio every morning over the last week or two has given me a tiny taste of what it might be like to be re-immersed in that culture on a more permanent, normal-life basis. It’s somewhat unappealing. Then again, who knows. Last time I was in Utah, I was also feeling inspired to live life my way and not give a crap about what others think. (Those feelings eventually gave birth to this post, several months later.) Perhaps if I were more in touch with that attitude right now, I wouldn’t mind living in Utah. I worry, though, about falling back into normal attitudes and ultimately feeling like I haven’t progressed at all, like all of the progress I’ve made over the last six years has been lost. I’m really on the fence about ever returning to live again in my home state. If the opportunity presented itself, I think I’d probably go for it. But I sincerely fear that I might regret it.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
My Reality Check Just Bounced
Being back in Tallahassee is a rude awakening on so many levels. Utah was wonderful. Really. More than ever, believe it or not. And more than ever, I’m aching to get back there and just settle in. I’m tired of aspiring for something wholly other. I’m sick of the journey, quite honestly. I want the destination at this point. And I’m happy to grow and develop in my own way once I’m at my destination, but I’m tired of life being all about getting somewhere else. Somehow, even before heading to Utah, my mind started opening up and it’s like I started seeing things more clearly and honestly than I have in a while. I’ve been wanting to blog about all my thoughts and feelings, but I feel like I don’t have time, and I know from experience that I’ll get lost as I try to articulate things and end up not saying half of the most important stuff I want to say. Bottom line: I just want to be comfortable and in my place. And right now, I’m not. Being in grad school is a means to an end. And I’m growing tired of it. The best analogy I can think of is when you spend all day long in the same room, and after hours upon hours, you just want to get out and have some new stimulation and take a deep breath of fresh air. I feel like that’s what I’m aching to do. And I’ve only recently become honest enough with myself to say, without assuming I’m somehow mistaken or an idiot or otherwise in the wrong, that my graduate program just isn’t that wonderful or rewarding. Yes, there are extremely smart people who teach here. But I don’t feel like I’ve been inspired or wowed as a student. I thought a Ph.D. program was meant to be incredibly exciting, to take you to new levels, and to groom you to be a professional. I, on the other hand, feel much like I could disappear and nobody would even realize it. I know I’m not the most proactive student in the world, but I thought part of the point of a Ph.D. program was that they took you under their wings and made sure you were ready for the next phase of your life. That’s not happening here. I quite literally think I’ve gotten little more out of this program than I would have gotten out of reading books and articles on my own. That just doesn’t seem right to me.
More immediately, I’m stressed and admittedly rather upset about how my fall semester is shaping up. I’m set to teach an ethics course that currently has 138 enrolled students. When I was a TA for a class that size, I was one of three TA’s. But, due to various constraints that I suppose ultimately tie back to the less-than-stellar economy, I’m being given one TA to help me out with this course. One. To make matters worse, this class is supposed to be “writing intensive” so as to satisfy certain university requirements. That means that I am required to require the students to write a certain amount over the course of the semester and to give them feedback on that writing. With only one TA, this seems virtually impossible. I’ve TA’d for this very same course a few times now, and at my busiest, I was responsible for grading 61 students. At that time, I felt like I was constantly grading. It was a lot to do. So, how in the world am I supposed to make my one TA grade all 138 students that are enrolled in my class? Short answer: I don’t think I really can! But where does that leave me? Do I try to grade half of them myself? That’s not going to work! I’m going to be plenty busy just preparing for the class and, heaven forbid, working on my dissertation. So what am I supposed to do? I figure that even if I spread the writing requirement out over 10 assignments, there will be 138 (rather short) essays to grade almost every single week. And that’s just impractical for one person to grade, or even for two people to grade when one of them also has to teach the course. Being in this situation is irksome. I feel like this is a rather common thing in life, for the requirements to be impossible to satisfy if one tries literally to do so in the proper way. It seems like most jobs tell you that you have to (a), (b), and (c), and yet those things in some sense contradict each other. For example, when I worked at a call center, I was told I couldn’t work any overtime without prior approval, and yet I was basically always required to stay longer than my actual shift (the requiring of which was not to be construed as permission to work overtime). I think that’s pretty much par for the course at most places, and yet it’s agitating. I think most people get away with things by bending the rules, but for those of us who want to follow the rules, it doesn’t work out. And then we look like the incompetent ones because, hey, why can’t we do it when everybody else can?
That’s my rant for today. It’s a shame I feel like ranting because I was actually feeling quite inspired while I was in Utah. My motivation has now been disemboweled by reality, but I guess I should try to muster up some enthusiasm, thinking of it as a ticket out of this place eventually. That was my game plan, and then I was told I’d get one TA. I’m finding it hard to recover from that.
More immediately, I’m stressed and admittedly rather upset about how my fall semester is shaping up. I’m set to teach an ethics course that currently has 138 enrolled students. When I was a TA for a class that size, I was one of three TA’s. But, due to various constraints that I suppose ultimately tie back to the less-than-stellar economy, I’m being given one TA to help me out with this course. One. To make matters worse, this class is supposed to be “writing intensive” so as to satisfy certain university requirements. That means that I am required to require the students to write a certain amount over the course of the semester and to give them feedback on that writing. With only one TA, this seems virtually impossible. I’ve TA’d for this very same course a few times now, and at my busiest, I was responsible for grading 61 students. At that time, I felt like I was constantly grading. It was a lot to do. So, how in the world am I supposed to make my one TA grade all 138 students that are enrolled in my class? Short answer: I don’t think I really can! But where does that leave me? Do I try to grade half of them myself? That’s not going to work! I’m going to be plenty busy just preparing for the class and, heaven forbid, working on my dissertation. So what am I supposed to do? I figure that even if I spread the writing requirement out over 10 assignments, there will be 138 (rather short) essays to grade almost every single week. And that’s just impractical for one person to grade, or even for two people to grade when one of them also has to teach the course. Being in this situation is irksome. I feel like this is a rather common thing in life, for the requirements to be impossible to satisfy if one tries literally to do so in the proper way. It seems like most jobs tell you that you have to (a), (b), and (c), and yet those things in some sense contradict each other. For example, when I worked at a call center, I was told I couldn’t work any overtime without prior approval, and yet I was basically always required to stay longer than my actual shift (the requiring of which was not to be construed as permission to work overtime). I think that’s pretty much par for the course at most places, and yet it’s agitating. I think most people get away with things by bending the rules, but for those of us who want to follow the rules, it doesn’t work out. And then we look like the incompetent ones because, hey, why can’t we do it when everybody else can?
That’s my rant for today. It’s a shame I feel like ranting because I was actually feeling quite inspired while I was in Utah. My motivation has now been disemboweled by reality, but I guess I should try to muster up some enthusiasm, thinking of it as a ticket out of this place eventually. That was my game plan, and then I was told I’d get one TA. I’m finding it hard to recover from that.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tired
I feel mentally and emotionally tired right now. Worn out a bit. I’m on campus, which means that I’ve been walking around outside in the heat, so that could be part of the problem. I’m sure it doesn’t help. But even aside from that, sometimes there are aspects of life that don’t seem very fulfilling and yet are very time-consuming and demanding and require a lot of effort. That sucks. I guess I should be grateful. Many people throughout history, and even throughout the world today, don’t have a choice about what life is like. Complaining that everything I do isn’t completely fulfilling and/or easy says something about the spoiled culture I’m a part of, I suppose. Even so, ‘tis my culture, so….
My students just don’t get a lot of what I’m trying to teach them. I’m not teaching an easy class, and it doesn’t help that it’s a condensed summer semester. But really, is it that incomprehensible? Is it me? Do I not know how to convey information in an understandable way? Or are they just dense? Really, I think some of it is that they don’t really put forth an effort to practice and/or read outside of class time. The point is, no matter what the excuse is, it’s a bit irritating and frustrating.
I was talking to a student after class about academic life. He asked about what I’m studying. I told him about the first draft of my dissertation prospectus and how the head of my dissertation committee said that I probably have way too much planned. My proposal outlined a five-chapter project, but I was told that my second chapter alone is probably enough for an entire dissertation. But the problem with philosophy is, anything could be a dissertation! Everything can be discussed and debated down to the tiniest little detail. It's exhausting, in a way. And a bit tedious. I feel like it’s all too common to have an idea in mind and have it in some sense squelched. Some of that goes with the territory—you may think you have an ingenuous idea, but if there’s a big gaping hole in your theory, then sorry, the theory fails. That can be disappointing. But it’s more than that. I feel like people always want you to narrow in or branch out from what you’re interested in. To offer an analogy, I feel like I had an idea for some portrait that I wanted to paint. I told my benefactor about it, and the benefactor says, “But, Ben, there’s enough detail in a single nostril that, really, you could and should just do a painting of a nostril.” Well, I wasn’t excited about getting into all the fine details of a nostril! I wanted to paint a face! And I liked the face I wanted to paint!
Anyway, that’s sort of how it goes. And that’s where my mind is at right now. I think I’m just tired. I actually got the feedback on my dissertation prospectus a week or two ago, and I haven’t felt down in the dumps about it. I sound like it now, but it’s just my mood. Still, I do feel like this accurately describes the way things go. And it’s not fun.
My students just don’t get a lot of what I’m trying to teach them. I’m not teaching an easy class, and it doesn’t help that it’s a condensed summer semester. But really, is it that incomprehensible? Is it me? Do I not know how to convey information in an understandable way? Or are they just dense? Really, I think some of it is that they don’t really put forth an effort to practice and/or read outside of class time. The point is, no matter what the excuse is, it’s a bit irritating and frustrating.
I was talking to a student after class about academic life. He asked about what I’m studying. I told him about the first draft of my dissertation prospectus and how the head of my dissertation committee said that I probably have way too much planned. My proposal outlined a five-chapter project, but I was told that my second chapter alone is probably enough for an entire dissertation. But the problem with philosophy is, anything could be a dissertation! Everything can be discussed and debated down to the tiniest little detail. It's exhausting, in a way. And a bit tedious. I feel like it’s all too common to have an idea in mind and have it in some sense squelched. Some of that goes with the territory—you may think you have an ingenuous idea, but if there’s a big gaping hole in your theory, then sorry, the theory fails. That can be disappointing. But it’s more than that. I feel like people always want you to narrow in or branch out from what you’re interested in. To offer an analogy, I feel like I had an idea for some portrait that I wanted to paint. I told my benefactor about it, and the benefactor says, “But, Ben, there’s enough detail in a single nostril that, really, you could and should just do a painting of a nostril.” Well, I wasn’t excited about getting into all the fine details of a nostril! I wanted to paint a face! And I liked the face I wanted to paint!
Anyway, that’s sort of how it goes. And that’s where my mind is at right now. I think I’m just tired. I actually got the feedback on my dissertation prospectus a week or two ago, and I haven’t felt down in the dumps about it. I sound like it now, but it’s just my mood. Still, I do feel like this accurately describes the way things go. And it’s not fun.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Gettin' Baked
Warning: this post is bi-polar. The next paragraph has basically nothing to do with the one that follows it. It is the second paragraph below that is the real subject of this post.
Sitting down to write this entry, I am torn between writing about the ceaseless stresses that come with being a relatively poor, married, graduate student father and discussing something much less gloomy. Suffice it to say, the more people in your family, the more often something is wrong. I dare say, this has been the most stressful, and at times dreary and depressing, my life has felt in several years. I’m not in a constant state of sadness or anything, but I’ve felt more despair since Creegan was born than I’d care to admit. Good thing he’s a cutie. It’s not like it’s him causing the problems, anyway, at least not specifically. It’s just that he’s one more person in the equation. Our resources—emotional, psychological, and physical alike—are further tapped. Add that to the endless supply of demands that are upon you—familial demands, professional and academic demands, even personal-development demands—and it’s rough, especially when someone is always sick, an errand always needs to be run, a meal always needs to be made, a van always needs to be taken into the repair shop, an essay always needs to be written, a test always needs to be graded, a call always needs to be made—to the apartment maintenance staff because something’s falling apart, to the hospital billing department because they can’t figure out my insurance, etc. It never ends. I don’t know how Melanie does everything she does, and she does a lot. But as a family of five, it’s harder and harder for demands not to impinge on everyone, and I sometimes don’t know if I can take the stress and/or blah of it all.
OK, I guess I had to get some of that off my chest. You’d never guess that I had decided not to write about stress, would you? I actually chose to write about something happier. And what’s that, you ask? One of my favorite food discoveries of the past year—baked chips. Two or three months ago, Melanie and I were at some friends’ house for a barbecue, and they served Baked Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles® to go with their burgers. I’ve tried baked chips before, but I didn’t remember caring for them all that much. However, Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles have long been one of my favorite kinds of chip, so I thought I’d try out the baked variety. To my surprise, I found that I liked them even more than the “normal” kind. I’ve since tried other baked chips from Frito-Lay, including Baked Doritos®, and I find them all surprisingly good. With the exception of Doritos, I genuinely like the baked versions better. That’s happy news for my health, since a serving of baked chips has roughly one-third the amount of saturated fat that the “normal” chips have. If you’ve been following my blog, you know that reducing my saturated fats seems to be having a positive effect on my weight. The cool thing is, even if the “normal” and the baked varieties of chips were equally good (or bad) for you, I would opt for the baked versions almost every time. They really do taste better. (Bear in mind, I’m the kind of person that also thinks French fries, McDonald’s hash browns, and the like taste better if you squeeze them really hard with a napkin first and get rid of a lot of the grease. I’ve been like that for years, so it’s not merely a change in my diet that has prompted me to enjoy the less greasy version of chips. I like the more natural taste.) On the downside, baked chips are a lot more expensive. If I remember correctly, a bag of baked chips is at least dollar more than “normal” chips, and I don’t think you get as much. Depending on how much you eat chips, switching to baked chips could be expensive. Of course, if you eat them very frequently, you’ll be much better off switching to the baked variety.
Sitting down to write this entry, I am torn between writing about the ceaseless stresses that come with being a relatively poor, married, graduate student father and discussing something much less gloomy. Suffice it to say, the more people in your family, the more often something is wrong. I dare say, this has been the most stressful, and at times dreary and depressing, my life has felt in several years. I’m not in a constant state of sadness or anything, but I’ve felt more despair since Creegan was born than I’d care to admit. Good thing he’s a cutie. It’s not like it’s him causing the problems, anyway, at least not specifically. It’s just that he’s one more person in the equation. Our resources—emotional, psychological, and physical alike—are further tapped. Add that to the endless supply of demands that are upon you—familial demands, professional and academic demands, even personal-development demands—and it’s rough, especially when someone is always sick, an errand always needs to be run, a meal always needs to be made, a van always needs to be taken into the repair shop, an essay always needs to be written, a test always needs to be graded, a call always needs to be made—to the apartment maintenance staff because something’s falling apart, to the hospital billing department because they can’t figure out my insurance, etc. It never ends. I don’t know how Melanie does everything she does, and she does a lot. But as a family of five, it’s harder and harder for demands not to impinge on everyone, and I sometimes don’t know if I can take the stress and/or blah of it all.
OK, I guess I had to get some of that off my chest. You’d never guess that I had decided not to write about stress, would you? I actually chose to write about something happier. And what’s that, you ask? One of my favorite food discoveries of the past year—baked chips. Two or three months ago, Melanie and I were at some friends’ house for a barbecue, and they served Baked Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles® to go with their burgers. I’ve tried baked chips before, but I didn’t remember caring for them all that much. However, Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles have long been one of my favorite kinds of chip, so I thought I’d try out the baked variety. To my surprise, I found that I liked them even more than the “normal” kind. I’ve since tried other baked chips from Frito-Lay, including Baked Doritos®, and I find them all surprisingly good. With the exception of Doritos, I genuinely like the baked versions better. That’s happy news for my health, since a serving of baked chips has roughly one-third the amount of saturated fat that the “normal” chips have. If you’ve been following my blog, you know that reducing my saturated fats seems to be having a positive effect on my weight. The cool thing is, even if the “normal” and the baked varieties of chips were equally good (or bad) for you, I would opt for the baked versions almost every time. They really do taste better. (Bear in mind, I’m the kind of person that also thinks French fries, McDonald’s hash browns, and the like taste better if you squeeze them really hard with a napkin first and get rid of a lot of the grease. I’ve been like that for years, so it’s not merely a change in my diet that has prompted me to enjoy the less greasy version of chips. I like the more natural taste.) On the downside, baked chips are a lot more expensive. If I remember correctly, a bag of baked chips is at least dollar more than “normal” chips, and I don’t think you get as much. Depending on how much you eat chips, switching to baked chips could be expensive. Of course, if you eat them very frequently, you’ll be much better off switching to the baked variety.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Honestly, People!
It’s been about five years since I started grading essays in some capacity or another. I’ve whined about it before, but it is mind-blowing just how horrible college essays can be. If you ever want your faith in the educational system to be eliminated, just see what incoherent drivel is constantly being churned out by those who are somehow receiving bachelor’s degrees. Worse, academic integrity is disturbingly absent. Every semester that I’ve taught or been a TA in a class that required essays from its students, I have had at least one case of plagiarism. I’ve also been in charge of tracking attendance in oversized classes where a simple roll call is too impractical. In such classes, we’ve tracked attendance by having a sign-in sheet that students must sign as they come into the classroom, or that gets passed around the classroom during the lecture, etc. Think a lot of fraud goes on there? Indeed. I estimate that, during the current semester, I receive an average of 5—6 forged signatures per class meeting. These are students who are signing in their friends, even though their friends are not showing up to class. It’s a joke.
Why do I bring all of this up? Well, as the end of the semester draws near, I realize that a lot of these scamming students are reaping the benefits of their misdeeds. Even the one or two students that have received some sort of academic penalty are not getting the punishments they deserve. There are at least three plagiarism cases this semester from the one class for which I’m a TA, but the instructor does not want to pursue them in any rigorous manner. Instead, the students receive a heavy point-reduction on their essays and a nice little warning written at the end of their paper. Yes, this will disappoint these students, since they expected to get away with the plagiarism. But it’s a slap on the wrists compared to what their punishment could and probably should be. At my previous institution, plagiarism resulted in an automatic “F” for the course, no questions asked. And there was an official note put into your file so that subsequent instances could be more severely dealt with. That’s not going on here. Neither are those committing attendance fraud going to be held accountable. The instructor of the class has informed me, in not so many words, that it would be opening a can of worms for us to deny certain students attendance points for days on which a signature appears next to their name. Never mind the fact that I know who these students are, that I specifically watched for them to come to class and verified that they weren’t there, that their signatures look vastly different on days when I also could not see them in class, that I have done a headcount and verified that I received 8 or 9 more signatures than students were in class that day. But hey, somebody signed these students in, so we better just give them the points. Way to go, dishonest students. Had you been honest, you would have lost points, but because we know you weren’t honest, we have to give you the points. Well played.
And since I’m complaining … can it really be going on midnight, going into December 1st, and I’m dying to turn on the A/C in our apartment? The answer: yes!
Why do I bring all of this up? Well, as the end of the semester draws near, I realize that a lot of these scamming students are reaping the benefits of their misdeeds. Even the one or two students that have received some sort of academic penalty are not getting the punishments they deserve. There are at least three plagiarism cases this semester from the one class for which I’m a TA, but the instructor does not want to pursue them in any rigorous manner. Instead, the students receive a heavy point-reduction on their essays and a nice little warning written at the end of their paper. Yes, this will disappoint these students, since they expected to get away with the plagiarism. But it’s a slap on the wrists compared to what their punishment could and probably should be. At my previous institution, plagiarism resulted in an automatic “F” for the course, no questions asked. And there was an official note put into your file so that subsequent instances could be more severely dealt with. That’s not going on here. Neither are those committing attendance fraud going to be held accountable. The instructor of the class has informed me, in not so many words, that it would be opening a can of worms for us to deny certain students attendance points for days on which a signature appears next to their name. Never mind the fact that I know who these students are, that I specifically watched for them to come to class and verified that they weren’t there, that their signatures look vastly different on days when I also could not see them in class, that I have done a headcount and verified that I received 8 or 9 more signatures than students were in class that day. But hey, somebody signed these students in, so we better just give them the points. Way to go, dishonest students. Had you been honest, you would have lost points, but because we know you weren’t honest, we have to give you the points. Well played.
And since I’m complaining … can it really be going on midnight, going into December 1st, and I’m dying to turn on the A/C in our apartment? The answer: yes!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
My Blu Heaven
This weekend has been wonderful. Honestly, it’s the best weekend I’ve had in a long time. It took this weekend for me to realize that it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a weekend that felt like a weekend. I’d forgotten what they can be like. Typically, I spend the majority of every day, Monday through Saturday, working. Even when I work from home, I break for meals and otherwise am reading and/or writing. Typically, I do an hour or two of work after dinner too. Sundays are different, but they’re not exactly relaxing. I am often teaching a class at church, but even when I’m not, getting ready for and going to church seems to take the majority of the day. It’s been forever since a weekend felt like an honest to goodness break from my “job.”
Well, I sure hadn’t planned to take a break this weekend, but that’s exactly what I did. Since Friday evening, I haven’t done a lick of homework. On Saturday morning, my family and I attended a tailgate potluck party thing at our church. We saw some friends and enjoyed the culinary talents of many. My original plan was to go home immediately afterward and hit the grindstone, but that’s not what happened. Prior to the potluck, we went to Wal-Mart and ended up buying a Blu-Ray player. It wasn’t exactly an impromptu purchase. Melanie wanted to buy me a Blu-Ray player for Father’s Day, but she thought it best to let me figure out which one would be the best for us. I researched them a bit, but we never invested the time or money into actually buying one. On Saturday, Melanie encouraged me to look them over, since it’s a very rare occasion that I’m at Wal-Mart with her. We looked and, based on the little bit of research I did a few months ago, I was pleased with what you could get for what seemed like a decent price. We took the plunge and brought one home. We don’t even have a Blu-Ray disc, but already, I’m extremely pleased.
Here’s why. The Blu-Ray player we purchased (a Vizio something or other) has a built-in wireless connection. Because I have a wireless router hooked to my home office computer, this enables me to view Netflix instant streaming movies through our Blu-Ray player at the touch of a button … or at least, at the touch of relatively few buttons. It’s kind of silly, but this has been quite a thrilling thing for us. I say it’s silly because instantly viewing movies online has been an option for us since we joined Netflix three years ago. What’s more, it was not altogether uncommon for us to watch such movies on our television by hooking our laptop computer to the TV. In short, the Blu-Ray player doesn’t make it possible for us to do anything with Netflix instant viewing that we haven’t already been able to do. It just makes it immensely simpler to do it. And that alone makes Netflix instant viewing feel like a completely new toy to us. The movies have always been available for instant viewing, but not having to hook up a laptop, load Windows, pull up the Netflix website, etc., makes it feel like this extensive collection of online movies are ours. Like we can really just watch them anytime we want. I don’t know how to put it into words. It just feels very different, and it’s very fun. After we got home on Saturday afternoon, I hooked up the Blu-Ray player and within a couple of minutes we were watching a movie as a family, in glorious HD no less. Very cool.
Now, don’t you worry. We’ll get a Blu-Ray movie eventually, so the Blu-Ray player is not just for streaming Netflix. That was never the plan. We very rarely buy movies, but there are a few I wouldn’t mind getting on Blu-Ray. Also, I’ve been told (though I haven’t yet verified) that even DVDs look better through Blu-Ray players because of the interface that the latter utilize. That’ll be cool. For the moment, I have no plan for us to change our Netflix subscription so that those movies we receive in the mail are on Blu-Ray rather than DVD. I don’t necessarily think that’s worth the extra money. But the Blu-Ray experience will be cool for any movies we want to buy in the future.
On Saturday night, the family and I went out to dinner. Today, church went about as well as it can—it should be noted that I often hate Sundays, so to have a good Sunday is awesome—and we once again watched a movie as a family via the Blu-Ray player. These things probably sound very simple, but for me, they are rare. It’s rare for me to just spend time kicking back with my entire family, and I loved it. It was very refreshing. Just thinking of tomorrow makes me sad, to think of being back to work and seeing my wife and kids pretty much for mealtimes and little else.
Sigh. Sorry, I feel like this got derailed a bit. I feel like I’m ending on a somber note, but I think it’s because I’m listening to a somber song right now and I just had some discipline problems arise with my oldest son. (He’s supposed to be going to sleep, and I just had to run into his room because I thought I heard something shatter. It was a false alarm—just a toy xylophone spilled all over the floor—but it happened because someone’s not following the rules and trying to sleep like he’s supposed to. His bed also has water droplets all over it because he’s throwing his water cup. I best not type the next few words I’d like to type.)
Honestly, it was a great weekend. All but the last few minutes.
Well, I sure hadn’t planned to take a break this weekend, but that’s exactly what I did. Since Friday evening, I haven’t done a lick of homework. On Saturday morning, my family and I attended a tailgate potluck party thing at our church. We saw some friends and enjoyed the culinary talents of many. My original plan was to go home immediately afterward and hit the grindstone, but that’s not what happened. Prior to the potluck, we went to Wal-Mart and ended up buying a Blu-Ray player. It wasn’t exactly an impromptu purchase. Melanie wanted to buy me a Blu-Ray player for Father’s Day, but she thought it best to let me figure out which one would be the best for us. I researched them a bit, but we never invested the time or money into actually buying one. On Saturday, Melanie encouraged me to look them over, since it’s a very rare occasion that I’m at Wal-Mart with her. We looked and, based on the little bit of research I did a few months ago, I was pleased with what you could get for what seemed like a decent price. We took the plunge and brought one home. We don’t even have a Blu-Ray disc, but already, I’m extremely pleased.
Here’s why. The Blu-Ray player we purchased (a Vizio something or other) has a built-in wireless connection. Because I have a wireless router hooked to my home office computer, this enables me to view Netflix instant streaming movies through our Blu-Ray player at the touch of a button … or at least, at the touch of relatively few buttons. It’s kind of silly, but this has been quite a thrilling thing for us. I say it’s silly because instantly viewing movies online has been an option for us since we joined Netflix three years ago. What’s more, it was not altogether uncommon for us to watch such movies on our television by hooking our laptop computer to the TV. In short, the Blu-Ray player doesn’t make it possible for us to do anything with Netflix instant viewing that we haven’t already been able to do. It just makes it immensely simpler to do it. And that alone makes Netflix instant viewing feel like a completely new toy to us. The movies have always been available for instant viewing, but not having to hook up a laptop, load Windows, pull up the Netflix website, etc., makes it feel like this extensive collection of online movies are ours. Like we can really just watch them anytime we want. I don’t know how to put it into words. It just feels very different, and it’s very fun. After we got home on Saturday afternoon, I hooked up the Blu-Ray player and within a couple of minutes we were watching a movie as a family, in glorious HD no less. Very cool.
Now, don’t you worry. We’ll get a Blu-Ray movie eventually, so the Blu-Ray player is not just for streaming Netflix. That was never the plan. We very rarely buy movies, but there are a few I wouldn’t mind getting on Blu-Ray. Also, I’ve been told (though I haven’t yet verified) that even DVDs look better through Blu-Ray players because of the interface that the latter utilize. That’ll be cool. For the moment, I have no plan for us to change our Netflix subscription so that those movies we receive in the mail are on Blu-Ray rather than DVD. I don’t necessarily think that’s worth the extra money. But the Blu-Ray experience will be cool for any movies we want to buy in the future.
On Saturday night, the family and I went out to dinner. Today, church went about as well as it can—it should be noted that I often hate Sundays, so to have a good Sunday is awesome—and we once again watched a movie as a family via the Blu-Ray player. These things probably sound very simple, but for me, they are rare. It’s rare for me to just spend time kicking back with my entire family, and I loved it. It was very refreshing. Just thinking of tomorrow makes me sad, to think of being back to work and seeing my wife and kids pretty much for mealtimes and little else.
Sigh. Sorry, I feel like this got derailed a bit. I feel like I’m ending on a somber note, but I think it’s because I’m listening to a somber song right now and I just had some discipline problems arise with my oldest son. (He’s supposed to be going to sleep, and I just had to run into his room because I thought I heard something shatter. It was a false alarm—just a toy xylophone spilled all over the floor—but it happened because someone’s not following the rules and trying to sleep like he’s supposed to. His bed also has water droplets all over it because he’s throwing his water cup. I best not type the next few words I’d like to type.)
Honestly, it was a great weekend. All but the last few minutes.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Summer Games Have Begun
The first six-week summer session started last Monday. It feels like we’ve just begun, but because everything is condensed, we’re already 21% of the way through the semester. You’ll get no complaints from me. I eagerly look forward to the latter part of summer, during which I’ll be engrossed in my own program of study. That will be nice enough in and of itself, but it will also be nice to go a couple of months without grading undergrad papers. I know I keep going back to this, but it is absolutely disheartening—soul-crushing, even—to read through a stack of borderline incoherent papers. If I’m feeling charitable, I chalk it up to the fact that the public school system has failed, that these students have never been required to write an intelligible sentence in their lives and so cannot be held fully responsible. But sometimes you can’t help feeling like they just don’t really give a crap or want to exert much effort. (Case in point: you can explicitly require in the essay instructions that the papers must be stapled together, which should go without saying, and still you’ll get 10-20% unstapled essays—I’m not kidding.) It’s probably a mixture of the two, but for crying out loud, I feel like it’s the teachers (and TA’s) who suffer for it!
Yes, as you may be able to tell, I’ve been grading again. Today marked the due date for the first essay of the semester. Fortunately, the essays in this class are only about two pages long. And, I’ve probably got less than half the number of essays to grade this semester that I did last semester. That thought keeps me sane. They’ll go quickly and easily compared to the last couple of semesters. That doesn’t make each individual page any more enjoyable to read, but still. The end is near. The end is near….
Yes, as you may be able to tell, I’ve been grading again. Today marked the due date for the first essay of the semester. Fortunately, the essays in this class are only about two pages long. And, I’ve probably got less than half the number of essays to grade this semester that I did last semester. That thought keeps me sane. They’ll go quickly and easily compared to the last couple of semesters. That doesn’t make each individual page any more enjoyable to read, but still. The end is near. The end is near….
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
CBS: Crappy Broadcasting System
Pardon the lameness of the title of this post. I’m sure there’s something much wittier that can be constructed from the letters CBS, including some more colorful options that I omitted in order to keep my blog family-friendly. Nevertheless, the given title will suffice for the purpose of this post, which is to complain about the absurdly difficult activity of watching CBS television.
For several years now, CBS’ The Amazing Race has been one of only a few television shows that Melanie and I have consistently watched. However, this seemingly simple task has become much more difficult in the last two or three years. You see, The Amazing Race is scheduled to air on Sundays at 8 p.m. (Eastern). However, because CBS almost always broadcasts sports programming during the daytime hours on Sundays, and because sporting events rarely conclude at the appointed hour, The Amazing Race is basically guaranteed not to begin at its scheduled time. Quite honestly, I’d guess that the Race begins on time less than 10% of the time. The aggravating thing is, you have no idea when it will begin. It could be 8:10, it could be 8:40, it could be anywhere in between or later. Trying to watch the show when it actually airs is pointless.
“So watch it online,” I can hear some of you saying. Brilliant idea. In fact, that’s what Melanie and I do now. But that doesn’t put an end to my frustrations with CBS. I’d be more than happy to watch The Amazing Race online if I could watch it through Hulu or Netflix Instant Streaming, both of which I find to be quite satisfactory services. I’d even prefer to watch the Race online if I could watch it through one of these services, since it would reduce the amount of commercials I’d have to sit through. But, as it stands, online viewing of The Amazing Race is (legally) available only on CBS’ own website. And, wouldn’t you know it, CBS’ online video player sucks. I’ve used NBC’s several times and been relatively pleased. But CBS’ video player has lower quality resolution, does not stream in widescreen, and somewhat regularly malfunctions, forcing me to refresh their website and figure out exactly how far into the show I had watched so I can skip ahead and not re-watch everything. What’s more, their commercials are quite the nuisance. Often, I get identical commercials back-to-back, as if watching the same commercial twice in a row makes me doubly likely to buy the advertised product. (Never mind the fact that every commercial break is likely to feature the exact same commercial, almost always played twice.) In addition, the commercials almost always kick the video player out of full-screen mode, meaning that if you want to watch your TV show at its maximum size, you have to resize the video player every time you sit through a commercial.
These are petty complaints, perhaps. The reason I get so aggravated with CBS is because they are so much worse than any other online movie/TV-watching service that I’ve tried. It’s offensive that CBS won’t offer the same quality of online viewing that you can get from most everyone else. It suggests that they don’t really care that much about their viewers, as long as they’ve got them.
For several years now, CBS’ The Amazing Race has been one of only a few television shows that Melanie and I have consistently watched. However, this seemingly simple task has become much more difficult in the last two or three years. You see, The Amazing Race is scheduled to air on Sundays at 8 p.m. (Eastern). However, because CBS almost always broadcasts sports programming during the daytime hours on Sundays, and because sporting events rarely conclude at the appointed hour, The Amazing Race is basically guaranteed not to begin at its scheduled time. Quite honestly, I’d guess that the Race begins on time less than 10% of the time. The aggravating thing is, you have no idea when it will begin. It could be 8:10, it could be 8:40, it could be anywhere in between or later. Trying to watch the show when it actually airs is pointless.
“So watch it online,” I can hear some of you saying. Brilliant idea. In fact, that’s what Melanie and I do now. But that doesn’t put an end to my frustrations with CBS. I’d be more than happy to watch The Amazing Race online if I could watch it through Hulu or Netflix Instant Streaming, both of which I find to be quite satisfactory services. I’d even prefer to watch the Race online if I could watch it through one of these services, since it would reduce the amount of commercials I’d have to sit through. But, as it stands, online viewing of The Amazing Race is (legally) available only on CBS’ own website. And, wouldn’t you know it, CBS’ online video player sucks. I’ve used NBC’s several times and been relatively pleased. But CBS’ video player has lower quality resolution, does not stream in widescreen, and somewhat regularly malfunctions, forcing me to refresh their website and figure out exactly how far into the show I had watched so I can skip ahead and not re-watch everything. What’s more, their commercials are quite the nuisance. Often, I get identical commercials back-to-back, as if watching the same commercial twice in a row makes me doubly likely to buy the advertised product. (Never mind the fact that every commercial break is likely to feature the exact same commercial, almost always played twice.) In addition, the commercials almost always kick the video player out of full-screen mode, meaning that if you want to watch your TV show at its maximum size, you have to resize the video player every time you sit through a commercial.
These are petty complaints, perhaps. The reason I get so aggravated with CBS is because they are so much worse than any other online movie/TV-watching service that I’ve tried. It’s offensive that CBS won’t offer the same quality of online viewing that you can get from most everyone else. It suggests that they don’t really care that much about their viewers, as long as they’ve got them.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Newsflash: Morality is Magnetic!
I’ve written before about the sloppy philosophy that sometimes permeates scientific studies and leads to wild-sounding (and patently false) conclusions. In some respects, it’s laughable when this happens, but the problem is, it can be dangerous. Too often, these hasty and unwarranted conclusions gain acceptance, and people forget that these “facts” were really just loosely (i.e. poorly) stated to begin with.
Two days ago, NPR reported that scientific research has shown a link between morality and magnets. In the words of NPR’s Jon Hamilton, “scientists can adjust morality with a magnet.” And why does he say this? Because test subjects responded differently to stories involving seemingly immoral behavior when a certain region of their brains was subjected to a magnetic pulse, either during or just before they heard these stories. Having been subjected to the magnetic pulse, subjects were less likely to view a failed attempt at poisoning someone as an instance of morally egregious behavior. This is the data on which the conclusion that morality can be adjusted with magnets is based.
I hope it is already clear what the mistake is. Suppose we took a bunch of test subjects, stimulated their brains with a magnetic pulse, and discovered that their judgments of something like distance were affected. Suppose a normal person who is not subjected to the magnetic pulse can reliably gauge that a tree is located 10-15 feet from the window out of which that person is looking. When subjected to the magnetic pulse, imagine that test subjects consistently judge that the tree is located much further away—40 feet, say. Would it be correct to say that the distance between the tree and the window is affected by the magnets? That is, does the presence of the magnetic pulse cause the tree to be 40 feet away, rather than 10-15 feet away?
For all it’s worth, it is apparently the reporter who is phrasing the conclusions of the aforementioned scientific study in such a negligible way. Nothing suggests that the scientists themselves claim morality is (rather than moral judgments are) affected by magnets. But these kinds of error do happen among scientists themselves, as is very evident to those of us who study free will (see this book for a refutation of such uncareful but widely embraced scientific reasoning). Science is only as good as the philosophy that underwrites it. People forget that.
Two days ago, NPR reported that scientific research has shown a link between morality and magnets. In the words of NPR’s Jon Hamilton, “scientists can adjust morality with a magnet.” And why does he say this? Because test subjects responded differently to stories involving seemingly immoral behavior when a certain region of their brains was subjected to a magnetic pulse, either during or just before they heard these stories. Having been subjected to the magnetic pulse, subjects were less likely to view a failed attempt at poisoning someone as an instance of morally egregious behavior. This is the data on which the conclusion that morality can be adjusted with magnets is based.
I hope it is already clear what the mistake is. Suppose we took a bunch of test subjects, stimulated their brains with a magnetic pulse, and discovered that their judgments of something like distance were affected. Suppose a normal person who is not subjected to the magnetic pulse can reliably gauge that a tree is located 10-15 feet from the window out of which that person is looking. When subjected to the magnetic pulse, imagine that test subjects consistently judge that the tree is located much further away—40 feet, say. Would it be correct to say that the distance between the tree and the window is affected by the magnets? That is, does the presence of the magnetic pulse cause the tree to be 40 feet away, rather than 10-15 feet away?
For all it’s worth, it is apparently the reporter who is phrasing the conclusions of the aforementioned scientific study in such a negligible way. Nothing suggests that the scientists themselves claim morality is (rather than moral judgments are) affected by magnets. But these kinds of error do happen among scientists themselves, as is very evident to those of us who study free will (see this book for a refutation of such uncareful but widely embraced scientific reasoning). Science is only as good as the philosophy that underwrites it. People forget that.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Taxes are Fun!
I’ve just spent what feels like all day doing our taxes. I’m fairly certain this is the first time in my life that I’ve completed my taxes prior to April, so I’m feeling very proud of myself. I’m also feeling quite jubilant because, as excited as I was last year, this year is only better. Over $2,000 better, in fact. Which is awesome. In fact, it’s almost ridiculous. Our refund this year is going to be approximately 55% of what I grossed in 2009. I’m thrilled. It’s a good year for this to be happening. For whatever reason, I didn’t get quite as much school-based financial assistance as I did last year. A lofty tax refund—and really, it’s absurd to call it a refund when we’re being compensated almost tenfold what we contributed—will be good, especially with some of the expenses we’re anticipating this year. Some of you know what I’m talking about. Wink, wink.
Despite the fact that it took a hefty chunk of time to complete, filing our taxes went much more quickly and smoothly than ever before, thanks to electronic filing with H&R Block. Given our situation, our taking advantage of electronic filing was completely free. I went with H&R Block because it’s a name I’m familiar with, but I’m not trying to promote them in particular. It’s just nice to have an online program doing all the math for you, asking you relatively simple and straightforward questions and making it as effortless as possible. Filing electronically also makes it possible that we’ll receive our refund within a couple of weeks. Pretty nifty. If you’re eligible for free online filing, and I’m sure at least some of you are, you might as well try it.
Despite the fact that it took a hefty chunk of time to complete, filing our taxes went much more quickly and smoothly than ever before, thanks to electronic filing with H&R Block. Given our situation, our taking advantage of electronic filing was completely free. I went with H&R Block because it’s a name I’m familiar with, but I’m not trying to promote them in particular. It’s just nice to have an online program doing all the math for you, asking you relatively simple and straightforward questions and making it as effortless as possible. Filing electronically also makes it possible that we’ll receive our refund within a couple of weeks. Pretty nifty. If you’re eligible for free online filing, and I’m sure at least some of you are, you might as well try it.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Royal Flush
Or, Royal Pain in the You Know What
I’m probably not even calmed down enough to be writing this. But I’m going to. I’ve been wanting to write another blog post, as I promised a couple of days ago, and there’s certainly something on my mind at the moment. So I guess I’ll write about it.
About an hour ago, give or take, I went to help Edison finish his business in the bathroom. Things were going fine and dandy until I flushed the toilet, at which point the bowl started to fill with water and make a gurgling, bubbling sound rather than sucking everything down and belching in satisfaction as one would normally expect. It was obvious to me that nothing I had just flushed could be causing the problem, but that wouldn’t have been my first suspicion, anyway. Not lately. Because, after about a two-year hiatus from putting things in the toilet, Edison has started “accidentally” dropping things in there again. And flushing. Two years ago, I found Eddie’s habit rather frustrating. Being that he is almost four-years-old, I now find myself absolutely livid with each new occurrence. Over the last two or three months, we’ve permanently lost a couple of small toys down the toilet. That’s better than, oh I don’t know, a pair of eyeglasses, such as he flushed down the toilet in Atlanta. But as irksome as it has been this time around, tonight was the worst. Not because we lost anything of value, thankfully. No, tonight I am beyond upset because I don’t think I’m going to be able to fix the toilet on my own. I’ve always been able to plunge the toilet enough to get things running smoothly, and sometimes even retrieve whatever was flushed. But tonight, Eddie has flushed a small ball that is basically the perfect size for getting wedged quite tightly, right where you can’t really get to it without just pushing it even further out of reach.
To make matters worse, the toilet water started overflowing, spreading all over the bathroom floor. That’s also something we’ve been fortunate enough to avoid until now. I know this is the kind of thing you eventually laugh at, but right now, the only thing I can imagine bringing a smile to my face is sticking Eddie’s head into the toilet and flushing him a few times. Sigh. Maybe next time.
I’m probably not even calmed down enough to be writing this. But I’m going to. I’ve been wanting to write another blog post, as I promised a couple of days ago, and there’s certainly something on my mind at the moment. So I guess I’ll write about it.
About an hour ago, give or take, I went to help Edison finish his business in the bathroom. Things were going fine and dandy until I flushed the toilet, at which point the bowl started to fill with water and make a gurgling, bubbling sound rather than sucking everything down and belching in satisfaction as one would normally expect. It was obvious to me that nothing I had just flushed could be causing the problem, but that wouldn’t have been my first suspicion, anyway. Not lately. Because, after about a two-year hiatus from putting things in the toilet, Edison has started “accidentally” dropping things in there again. And flushing. Two years ago, I found Eddie’s habit rather frustrating. Being that he is almost four-years-old, I now find myself absolutely livid with each new occurrence. Over the last two or three months, we’ve permanently lost a couple of small toys down the toilet. That’s better than, oh I don’t know, a pair of eyeglasses, such as he flushed down the toilet in Atlanta. But as irksome as it has been this time around, tonight was the worst. Not because we lost anything of value, thankfully. No, tonight I am beyond upset because I don’t think I’m going to be able to fix the toilet on my own. I’ve always been able to plunge the toilet enough to get things running smoothly, and sometimes even retrieve whatever was flushed. But tonight, Eddie has flushed a small ball that is basically the perfect size for getting wedged quite tightly, right where you can’t really get to it without just pushing it even further out of reach.
To make matters worse, the toilet water started overflowing, spreading all over the bathroom floor. That’s also something we’ve been fortunate enough to avoid until now. I know this is the kind of thing you eventually laugh at, but right now, the only thing I can imagine bringing a smile to my face is sticking Eddie’s head into the toilet and flushing him a few times. Sigh. Maybe next time.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
King of Wishful Thinking
Melanie and I own a queen-size bed. It was originally Melanie’s brother Mark’s, but he bought a new bed and donated his old one to us when Melanie and I got married. I don’t know how long Mark owned the bed before giving it to us, but since Melanie and I got married in 2005, I’d guess that it’s at least five years old, and almost certainly a few years older than that … and maybe even a few years older than that. I don’t know how long beds are supposed to last. And though it sounds like I’m setting this up to say we need a new bed, I’m not. Not exactly, anyway. In my opinion, our mattress is just fine. I find it very comfortable. But the box spring is, and I think always has been, incredibly noisy. Squeaky and creaky, like the floorboards of a 120-year-old house. And even that wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so darn sensitive. You can’t move a muscle without the bed groaning. It’s amazing REM sleep itself doesn’t cause the bed to squeak. On restless nights, I worry that our neighbors must think Melanie and I are still in the honeymoon phase with all the creaking they must hear. (On the plus side, when Melanie and I do get romantic, our neighbors probably can’t fathom that we’re doing anything romantic—it must sound like lumberjacks deconstructing a rainforest.)
Confession: I’ve never purchased a bed before. I have no idea how it works. I don’t know if you buy the box spring separately or what. I would think so; I know not everyone has one. But in the little bit of research I’ve done online, I don’t see any stores saying anything about box springs for sale. I can find mattresses aplenty, but nobody mentions box springs. What’s the deal? Not that we’re likely to buy a new box spring even if we can find them. But it’s nice to know our options, just in case we someday make our dream a reality. We’ve been talking about buying a new box spring for a long time, but it’s never seemed absolutely necessary, so it’s hard to do it. Of course, this is based on my assumption that it would be a fairly expensive purchase. I’ll be angry at remaining ignorant for so long if it turns out they’re not too pricey. But I assume they are. And so, let the creaking continue.
Noisy box spring aside, my real motivation for writing this post is how crowded I’ve ended up feeling in a queen-size bed. Before you bust out the fat jokes, I only feel crowded when Peter and/or Edison ends up in bed with us. But, so far, that happens almost every night, at least at some point. More often than I’d like, I end up lying on my side on the very edge of the bed, which not only feels unstable but can cause my arms to go dead and ache. (Thankfully, I don’t have nearly the problem with dead arms that I used to have, though it helps immensely if I’m not stuck lying on my side.) I wouldn’t have thought that a king-size bed could make much of a difference, but I learned otherwise when we recently stayed at a hotel in Savannah, Georgia. We had a room with one king-size bed, and to my great astonishment, all four of us fit in the bed rather comfortably! I couldn’t believe it! Consulting the omniscient and infallible Wikipedia, it turns out a king-size mattress is wider than a queen by a whopping 16 inches. I guess I didn’t think it’d be that big of a difference, but now that I’ve seen just how beneficial those extra 16 inches can be when you have children, I’m eagerly awaiting the day when I’ll have a king-size bed of my own. The problem is, I probably can’t afford one until my kids have all grown up and moved away. (Cruel non-literal irony!) Realizing just how lovely a king-size bed would be also discourages me from investing in a new box spring – why invest in a new queen-size box spring when that would pay for a substantial portion of a king-size mattress and box spring? Fortunately, being a grad student precludes me from worrying much about making these kinds of decisions. A more realistic decision I’m currently facing is whether or not to splurge and buy bread that costs over a dollar.
The preceding message was in no way brought to you by Oxfam International.
Confession: I’ve never purchased a bed before. I have no idea how it works. I don’t know if you buy the box spring separately or what. I would think so; I know not everyone has one. But in the little bit of research I’ve done online, I don’t see any stores saying anything about box springs for sale. I can find mattresses aplenty, but nobody mentions box springs. What’s the deal? Not that we’re likely to buy a new box spring even if we can find them. But it’s nice to know our options, just in case we someday make our dream a reality. We’ve been talking about buying a new box spring for a long time, but it’s never seemed absolutely necessary, so it’s hard to do it. Of course, this is based on my assumption that it would be a fairly expensive purchase. I’ll be angry at remaining ignorant for so long if it turns out they’re not too pricey. But I assume they are. And so, let the creaking continue.
Noisy box spring aside, my real motivation for writing this post is how crowded I’ve ended up feeling in a queen-size bed. Before you bust out the fat jokes, I only feel crowded when Peter and/or Edison ends up in bed with us. But, so far, that happens almost every night, at least at some point. More often than I’d like, I end up lying on my side on the very edge of the bed, which not only feels unstable but can cause my arms to go dead and ache. (Thankfully, I don’t have nearly the problem with dead arms that I used to have, though it helps immensely if I’m not stuck lying on my side.) I wouldn’t have thought that a king-size bed could make much of a difference, but I learned otherwise when we recently stayed at a hotel in Savannah, Georgia. We had a room with one king-size bed, and to my great astonishment, all four of us fit in the bed rather comfortably! I couldn’t believe it! Consulting the omniscient and infallible Wikipedia, it turns out a king-size mattress is wider than a queen by a whopping 16 inches. I guess I didn’t think it’d be that big of a difference, but now that I’ve seen just how beneficial those extra 16 inches can be when you have children, I’m eagerly awaiting the day when I’ll have a king-size bed of my own. The problem is, I probably can’t afford one until my kids have all grown up and moved away. (Cruel non-literal irony!) Realizing just how lovely a king-size bed would be also discourages me from investing in a new box spring – why invest in a new queen-size box spring when that would pay for a substantial portion of a king-size mattress and box spring? Fortunately, being a grad student precludes me from worrying much about making these kinds of decisions. A more realistic decision I’m currently facing is whether or not to splurge and buy bread that costs over a dollar.
The preceding message was in no way brought to you by Oxfam International.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Headaches
A short while ago, I took two Tylenol in order to fight a pounding headache. For me to take pain medication, even of the over-the-counter variety, is quite a big deal. I rarely pop pills. In fact, I could probably count the number of pills I’ve taken in the last five years on one hand (if I had enough fingers). But, for whatever reason, over the last few years, I am highly prone to headaches. Don’t get a full night of sleep? Headache. Physically exert myself? Headache. Noisy kids? Headache. Stressed about something? Headache. Given that at least one or two of these things is almost always going on, my headaches seem unstoppable. I have a newfound appreciation for what my wife has gone through her entire life, as she herself is especially prone to headaches (which are usually much more intense than mine, I’m sad to say). I used to get headaches only rarely, but now they’re practically a part of who I am. Which sucks. And yes, they’re usually worse than what I ever remember getting when I was younger. I’ve even had headaches set in where it literally feels like my skull is suddenly, rapidly shrinking. That’s honestly what it feels like to me. I didn’t come up with that description as I thought back on my worst headaches and thought about how to describe them. No, it’s that when those headaches set in, I thought to myself, “Holy crap, my skull is shrinking and crushing my brain!”
I don’t think I ever understood just how debilitating a headache could be, but I understand it now. And it’s not something I’m happy to understand.
I guess that’s all I have to say. Just getting out what’s in my head.
I don’t think I ever understood just how debilitating a headache could be, but I understand it now. And it’s not something I’m happy to understand.
I guess that’s all I have to say. Just getting out what’s in my head.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
No Me Gusta Queso Falso
Though I don’t eat Mexican food very often, it’s something I’m quite fond of. Or at least I’m fond of the stuff called Mexican food in Utah. I can’t vouch for its authenticity. From what I understand, what I enjoy is probably more properly referred to as Tex-Mex. But regardless of what you call it, ever since I moved to the southeast region of the United States three years ago, I have discovered a fundamental difference between the Mexican-inspired dishes you’ll find in any Utah restaurant and those exact “same” dishes as prepared and served in Atlanta or Tallahassee. The difference? The kind of cheese they use. And that is a very important difference.
Having lived in Salt Lake City for nearly 28 years, I’ve eaten in many Utah Mexican restaurants. And what did I order almost every time I visited one of these establishments? Cheese enchiladas. As a child, I considered these my favorite food of all, ranking them above even that most sacred of child-friendly delicacies, pizza. And never once did I order a cheese enchilada in Utah and receive a tortilla stuffed with white American cheese. No way, Jose! And I would have remembered if I had, because it would not have been a very pleasant experience. But as soon as I moved to Atlanta, that is all I have seen. Granted, I’ve only eaten at maybe five or six Mexican restaurants in Georgia and Florida combined, but in each case, cheddar cheese was nowhere to be found. (Unless you count Moe’s Southwest Grill, which I don’t. And even they put a soupy “queso” sauce on their nachos rather than melted cheddar. But I’m only concerned with full scale restaurants here, so forget them.) The problem with American cheese—and my most recent waiter told me that’s what they use, so I’m not just guessing—is that it’s so fake. Well, it exists, obviously, but it tastes phony. Prepackaged. Blasé. Desagradable.
I assume Atlanta and Tallahassee are far enough apart to ensure that this is not unique to the few Mexican restaurants I have happened to try between the two cities. It must be a regional difference. But what a sad, sad difference it is. It’s one of the most lamentable aspects of my having moved across the country. Qué pena!
Having lived in Salt Lake City for nearly 28 years, I’ve eaten in many Utah Mexican restaurants. And what did I order almost every time I visited one of these establishments? Cheese enchiladas. As a child, I considered these my favorite food of all, ranking them above even that most sacred of child-friendly delicacies, pizza. And never once did I order a cheese enchilada in Utah and receive a tortilla stuffed with white American cheese. No way, Jose! And I would have remembered if I had, because it would not have been a very pleasant experience. But as soon as I moved to Atlanta, that is all I have seen. Granted, I’ve only eaten at maybe five or six Mexican restaurants in Georgia and Florida combined, but in each case, cheddar cheese was nowhere to be found. (Unless you count Moe’s Southwest Grill, which I don’t. And even they put a soupy “queso” sauce on their nachos rather than melted cheddar. But I’m only concerned with full scale restaurants here, so forget them.) The problem with American cheese—and my most recent waiter told me that’s what they use, so I’m not just guessing—is that it’s so fake. Well, it exists, obviously, but it tastes phony. Prepackaged. Blasé. Desagradable.
I assume Atlanta and Tallahassee are far enough apart to ensure that this is not unique to the few Mexican restaurants I have happened to try between the two cities. It must be a regional difference. But what a sad, sad difference it is. It’s one of the most lamentable aspects of my having moved across the country. Qué pena!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Warped Thinking
Discovery News reports that warp drives facilitating space travel at faster than the speed of light look to be a theoretical possibility, though they may bring about catastrophic results—sucking the high-speed spacecrafts that use them, and anything relatively close to those crafts (such as the planet Earth), into a newly formed black hole.
Apparently, a glimmer of hope remains in string theory, which, if true, might allow for warp-speed travel that does not require the formation of a “bubble of dark energy” that ultimately threatens to pop. According to Discovery News, “in a universe where 1 plus 1 equals 3, a possibility with string theory instead of the semi classical physics used by [those who have identified the threat of black hole formation], a stable warp drive is viable.” They go on to note that “the real question is not whether a warp drive, which [some experts] estimate is hundreds of years away, will be stable or not. It's about the fundamentals of the universe; do we live in a universe where 1 plus 1 equals 2 or 3? Until scientists can answer that question, there will be significant limitations on scientific models of the universe.”
While I find the notion of warp-speed travel intriguing, my real reason for bringing up this article is to point out the sloppy philosophy that so often permeates science (or at least scientific reporting). Quite simply, it is not the case that 1 plus 1 equals 3, nor can it be. Whatever these scientists have in mind, it is something other than what they suggest here. They are speaking loosely at best, which unfortunately happens quite often in scientific investigations. I see this all the time when reading about free will – scientists claiming to have shown free will is an illusion because people can be fooled into thinking they did things voluntarily when they did not, etc. The truth is, philosophy permeates everything, so if you’re sloppy with your philosophy, your science suffers. I don’t know what it is about string theory that suggests “1 plus 1 equals 3,” but I assure you it is not at odds with what we mean when we say “1 plus 1 equals 2.” So, for any competent user of the English language, there isn’t a question about whether 1 plus 1 equals 2 or whether it equals 3. It’s the former. If string theory is correct, that won’t change. Whatever they mean in this article, it isn’t quite what they’re saying, which means they are either intentionally sensationalizing the article or just stupid. Neither option appeals to me.
Sorry. Little things like that get annoying. That’s my two cents, anyway. Or is it three?
Apparently, a glimmer of hope remains in string theory, which, if true, might allow for warp-speed travel that does not require the formation of a “bubble of dark energy” that ultimately threatens to pop. According to Discovery News, “in a universe where 1 plus 1 equals 3, a possibility with string theory instead of the semi classical physics used by [those who have identified the threat of black hole formation], a stable warp drive is viable.” They go on to note that “the real question is not whether a warp drive, which [some experts] estimate is hundreds of years away, will be stable or not. It's about the fundamentals of the universe; do we live in a universe where 1 plus 1 equals 2 or 3? Until scientists can answer that question, there will be significant limitations on scientific models of the universe.”
While I find the notion of warp-speed travel intriguing, my real reason for bringing up this article is to point out the sloppy philosophy that so often permeates science (or at least scientific reporting). Quite simply, it is not the case that 1 plus 1 equals 3, nor can it be. Whatever these scientists have in mind, it is something other than what they suggest here. They are speaking loosely at best, which unfortunately happens quite often in scientific investigations. I see this all the time when reading about free will – scientists claiming to have shown free will is an illusion because people can be fooled into thinking they did things voluntarily when they did not, etc. The truth is, philosophy permeates everything, so if you’re sloppy with your philosophy, your science suffers. I don’t know what it is about string theory that suggests “1 plus 1 equals 3,” but I assure you it is not at odds with what we mean when we say “1 plus 1 equals 2.” So, for any competent user of the English language, there isn’t a question about whether 1 plus 1 equals 2 or whether it equals 3. It’s the former. If string theory is correct, that won’t change. Whatever they mean in this article, it isn’t quite what they’re saying, which means they are either intentionally sensationalizing the article or just stupid. Neither option appeals to me.
Sorry. Little things like that get annoying. That’s my two cents, anyway. Or is it three?
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