November 25, 2011
Days are now a blur of paper, ink, email and human contact that only occurs when I'm in class with my students.
Other than that, I'm in my office behind closed doors marking, marking, marking.
Yesterday was productive.
I was able to return the second advanced qualitative interviews.
The intro qual interview guides.
Grade the film classes' film autobiography questions.
Now I just have to let them know their grades.
But that may not be until later this weekend.
I still have to mark the intro qual participant observation assignments.
Unfortunately, this is just the tip of the iceberg.
The rest of it will reveal itself from the depths of the icy waters at the end of the term.
With my ship steering towards it, ready to crash and burn and sink.
Today, however, there will be an opportunity to connect with people I don't teach.
I've been asked to give the introductory remarks this afternoon at the book launch for my mentor's latest book.
An introduction to qualitative research methods book, that I'm currently using, enjoying and hoping, hoping that my students are enjoying too.
Or at the very least have read it.
The remarks I've yet to actually prepare.
Hence while I'll be at my office by 6.30 am.
As my office is about the only quiet place in my life right now.
At least at 6.30 in the morning.
And I'll look good while doing it, as I have an appointment with Norma-the-most-amazing-hairdresser-in-the-world at Klub Soda.
Holding back the grey for another 6 to 8 weeks.
An ever present battle, always waging, and the older I get the more they grey seems to be winning.
An hour of pampering, massaging my scalp, where for a brief moment in time I am someone else's priority.
Instead of the other way around.
I can't wait.
Because while Norma does her magic with my hair, she is attentive.
But in the in between times, when I am slathered with the stuff that keeps the grey away, she leaves me alone.
In peace.
I read, watch the passersby as I sit in front of the big window lost in my thoughts.
Hoping no one recognizes me as I look like an 80s throwback to the "wet look."
Out of touch with my real world for a few minutes.
Ahhhhhhhhhh. . . .
Stephen will be working at the Ten Thousand Villages sale http://www.tenthousandvillages.ca/cgi-bin/category.cgi?template=fullpage-en&item=pageFestivalsTGN this evening but the sale will go on for the weekend, in the gym of the Wilmot United Church, downtown Fredericton.
And it's a pay weekend.
Meaning I'll be perusing the tables laden with jewelry, walls covered in tapestries, little kiosks with hanging planters, Christmas decorations, and all sorts of other goodies just waiting for me and my debit card to show up.
Title Lyrics: She Don't Use Jelly by The Flaming Lips
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
When I go driving, I stay in my lane. . .
November 24, 2011
We live in a country where winter consumes six months of the year.
Snow, ice, cold temperatures are the norm here, not the anomaly.
Nonetheless, yesterday's snowfall, the first significant-stick-to-the-ground snowfall, rendered drivers completely stunned.
Bewildered.
Confounded.
Confused.
Numb.
Dumbfounded.
Because that is the only explanation I can come up with for their complete inability to operate a motor vehicle with a modicum, grain, fraction of common sense during a snowfall.
That, or the snowflakes were really crystallized forms of LSD.
Of course, we have an appointment to get our snowtires on TODAY.
During the first snowfall, Em and I had to schlepp to Oromocto for a doctor's appointment.
While Oromocto is only a 15 minute drive from Fredericton, for some reason, they had a lot more snow than we did.
Meaning having Em drive wasn't as good an idea as I had originally thought.
She was fine until we got off the highway and onto the snow covered ramp and I was telling her as gently as I could muster with panic coursing through my veins that she really needed to slow down.
I love Em.
She has the potential to be a good driver.
Snowing or not, though, she has a tendency to wait significantly longer than I would to apply the brakes.
In any situation.
Meaning when we drive, I am often applying imaginary brakes long before she thinks of using the one right under her foot.
My panic wasn't well contained and she applied the brakes with too much force causing the car to fishtail whilst another car was coming toward us.
Needless to say after that experience, she applied the brakes when I told her and for the first time since she's started driving slowed down when I asked her to and not when she wanted to.
Stephen does the exact same thing.
Makes me equally nervous and overwrought.
And it's taking a damn sight longer to get him to listen.
I have become my mother-the-most-nervous-winter-driver-to-ever-get-behind-the-wheel-of-a-car.
There has to be a medication for that.
Luckily, the weather is turning back to its unusual warmth for this time of year and tomorrow we will treated to a balmy 9 degrees Celsius, which should be warm enough to melt the infernal white grains of cold and misery from the ground.
I used to love winter.
But as each winter passes my tolerance for stupid drivers, poor city snow removal, bitter cold, my fear of falling, inability of the school board to recognize a storm and cancel school for the day, shoveling the driveway or fighting with the kids to shovel the driveway, decreases significantly.
And don't even get me started on Christmas.
That'll come later.
Em presented her sociology seminar yesterday.
She applied symbolic interactionist theory to explain the changing meaning of Holocaust symbols.
The swastika, Star of David, and tattoos.
Apparently, her seminar generated significant discussion among her usually mute class mates and even the teacher had no questions to ask to further the discussion.
I may have my sociologist.
Finger crossed.
Title: Bad Habit by Offspring
We live in a country where winter consumes six months of the year.
Snow, ice, cold temperatures are the norm here, not the anomaly.
Nonetheless, yesterday's snowfall, the first significant-stick-to-the-ground snowfall, rendered drivers completely stunned.
Bewildered.
Confounded.
Confused.
Numb.
Dumbfounded.
Because that is the only explanation I can come up with for their complete inability to operate a motor vehicle with a modicum, grain, fraction of common sense during a snowfall.
That, or the snowflakes were really crystallized forms of LSD.
Of course, we have an appointment to get our snowtires on TODAY.
During the first snowfall, Em and I had to schlepp to Oromocto for a doctor's appointment.
While Oromocto is only a 15 minute drive from Fredericton, for some reason, they had a lot more snow than we did.
Meaning having Em drive wasn't as good an idea as I had originally thought.
She was fine until we got off the highway and onto the snow covered ramp and I was telling her as gently as I could muster with panic coursing through my veins that she really needed to slow down.
I love Em.
She has the potential to be a good driver.
Snowing or not, though, she has a tendency to wait significantly longer than I would to apply the brakes.
In any situation.
Meaning when we drive, I am often applying imaginary brakes long before she thinks of using the one right under her foot.
My panic wasn't well contained and she applied the brakes with too much force causing the car to fishtail whilst another car was coming toward us.
Needless to say after that experience, she applied the brakes when I told her and for the first time since she's started driving slowed down when I asked her to and not when she wanted to.
Stephen does the exact same thing.
Makes me equally nervous and overwrought.
And it's taking a damn sight longer to get him to listen.
I have become my mother-the-most-nervous-winter-driver-to-ever-get-behind-the-wheel-of-a-car.
There has to be a medication for that.
Luckily, the weather is turning back to its unusual warmth for this time of year and tomorrow we will treated to a balmy 9 degrees Celsius, which should be warm enough to melt the infernal white grains of cold and misery from the ground.
I used to love winter.
But as each winter passes my tolerance for stupid drivers, poor city snow removal, bitter cold, my fear of falling, inability of the school board to recognize a storm and cancel school for the day, shoveling the driveway or fighting with the kids to shovel the driveway, decreases significantly.
And don't even get me started on Christmas.
That'll come later.
Em presented her sociology seminar yesterday.
She applied symbolic interactionist theory to explain the changing meaning of Holocaust symbols.
The swastika, Star of David, and tattoos.
Apparently, her seminar generated significant discussion among her usually mute class mates and even the teacher had no questions to ask to further the discussion.
I may have my sociologist.
Finger crossed.
Title: Bad Habit by Offspring
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Can you pay my telephone bills?
November 23, 2011
One very special way to wake up and start the day is to open your email than your Telus e-bill to see your balance is $2117.58.
Because if you're not awake by then, you will be as your brain processes exactly how much money that is.
And then as it processes how the hell it happened in the first place.
That's the real question.
What happened?
A few minutes into reading the 22 page e-bill revealed what happened.
And that, thankfully, it had nothing to do with me.
Or any of the other members of my phone plan.
PHEW!!!!!!
When I made the arrangements to have Mer's phone un-suspended, the person on the other end of the phone failed to reinstate Mer's unlimited texting and data usage.
I wish I could say I wasn't surprised.
I really do.
But previous experiences with people whose sole responsibility is troubleshooting issues over the phone day in and day out has resulted in a less than glowing understanding of their abilities to dot the "i"s and cross the "t"s.
In this case that meant that every. single.text. sent to and received by Mer during this time period accrued a charge.
Resulting in about $1400.00 worth of texting.
That's a lot of texting.
Making me wonder about the content and substance of all those texts.
Of course, the real issue is how to ensure Telus saw things my way.
They would, that wasn't an issue.
How long it would take and how loud I'd have to get was the unknown.
Thankfully, they did see things my way.
Removed the charges.
And I didn't even have to raise my voice.
There was one outstanding issue, however.
Mer's continued use of additional minutes.
$230.00 worth to be exact.
And I think that she and I have that sorted out.
I hope.
Because between Telus and Mer, I don't know how much more I can handle.
At least cell phone wise.
I am starting to agree with Stephen that these cell phones are the bane of our existence.
Once the astronomical phone bill started the day there was nothing much I could do but go to work.
At 6.30 in the morning.
All that adrenaline had to be put somewhere.
Into student papers and preparations for classes it went.
But by 4.00 yesterday afternoon, my last class, I was at the end of my reserves.
Making that class one of the longest 75 minutes I had ever taught.
The end of term can't come fast enough.
It really can't.
Title Lyric: Bills, Bills, Bills, Bills by Destiny's Child
One very special way to wake up and start the day is to open your email than your Telus e-bill to see your balance is $2117.58.
Because if you're not awake by then, you will be as your brain processes exactly how much money that is.
And then as it processes how the hell it happened in the first place.
That's the real question.
What happened?
A few minutes into reading the 22 page e-bill revealed what happened.
And that, thankfully, it had nothing to do with me.
Or any of the other members of my phone plan.
PHEW!!!!!!
When I made the arrangements to have Mer's phone un-suspended, the person on the other end of the phone failed to reinstate Mer's unlimited texting and data usage.
I wish I could say I wasn't surprised.
I really do.
But previous experiences with people whose sole responsibility is troubleshooting issues over the phone day in and day out has resulted in a less than glowing understanding of their abilities to dot the "i"s and cross the "t"s.
In this case that meant that every. single.text. sent to and received by Mer during this time period accrued a charge.
Resulting in about $1400.00 worth of texting.
That's a lot of texting.
Making me wonder about the content and substance of all those texts.
Of course, the real issue is how to ensure Telus saw things my way.
They would, that wasn't an issue.
How long it would take and how loud I'd have to get was the unknown.
Thankfully, they did see things my way.
Removed the charges.
And I didn't even have to raise my voice.
There was one outstanding issue, however.
Mer's continued use of additional minutes.
$230.00 worth to be exact.
And I think that she and I have that sorted out.
I hope.
Because between Telus and Mer, I don't know how much more I can handle.
At least cell phone wise.
I am starting to agree with Stephen that these cell phones are the bane of our existence.
Once the astronomical phone bill started the day there was nothing much I could do but go to work.
At 6.30 in the morning.
All that adrenaline had to be put somewhere.
Into student papers and preparations for classes it went.
But by 4.00 yesterday afternoon, my last class, I was at the end of my reserves.
Making that class one of the longest 75 minutes I had ever taught.
The end of term can't come fast enough.
It really can't.
Title Lyric: Bills, Bills, Bills, Bills by Destiny's Child
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
A handsome boy in my underwear, if there's a better reason to jump for joy. . . .
November 22, 2011
Last night I dreamed I was a ghost in Norman Bates' house.
Not even going to touch an interpretation of that.
Sunday Stephen and I were in search of a quiet place to mark and write.
We started at the library.
Not one available seat among the bunch, as they were filled with anxious students, books and papers piled high upon the table top, fingers stopping and starting over the computer keys as hazy ideas refuse to come into sharper relief.
The reality of the end of term looming over them like rain clouds on a sunny day.
We thought of setting up shop somewhere else in the HIL however there wasn't an available spot.
So we did what any self respecting professor would do.
Grabbed two venti Starbucks and left the warm embrace of the library for the chaos and mayhem of my office.
The real question is, though, how come we weren't working at home?
Home has beds that tantalize and tempt us.
Household chores that call to Stephen, mercilessly, until he succumbs to his natural proclivities for cleaning and procrastination.
Ringing phones.
Emails.
We thought that leaving the house would provide us the opportunity to get shit done.
Cause the shit needs to be done.
Now.
As in last week.
And it did.
I made headway towards decreasing the pile of intro to crim proposals.
Stephen worked his way through his own proposal, making changes to methodology, citations, losing a bit of his sanity with each and every key stroke.
Even with the chaos and mayhem of my office, it was still quieter than working at home.
Where we are still under siege as the fight for feline owned territory continues to wage in our home.
Not only are the cats running rampant through our house, bouncing off walls, hiding in silver tea sets, launching themselves at us with reckless abandon, but the dogs aren't being friendly allies.
In fact, our settling in to work at the kitchen table seems to be an invitation for Frankie and Tikka to engage in Operation Attention Seeking.
Even rawhide chew toys and double fist sized tartar busters aren't enough to keep them from pawing, nudging, kissing, in an effort to garner our complete, 100% attention.
Further, Frankie has ownership issues with his rawhides.
Repeated attempts to bury them in all sorts of hidey-holes throughout the house.
Until Stephen informed me that he walked in on Frankie trying to bury his bone in my dirty underwear.
At least someone trying to put something in my underwear.
Title Lyric: Underwear by The Magnetic Fields
Last night I dreamed I was a ghost in Norman Bates' house.
Not even going to touch an interpretation of that.
Sunday Stephen and I were in search of a quiet place to mark and write.
We started at the library.
Not one available seat among the bunch, as they were filled with anxious students, books and papers piled high upon the table top, fingers stopping and starting over the computer keys as hazy ideas refuse to come into sharper relief.
The reality of the end of term looming over them like rain clouds on a sunny day.
We thought of setting up shop somewhere else in the HIL however there wasn't an available spot.
So we did what any self respecting professor would do.
Grabbed two venti Starbucks and left the warm embrace of the library for the chaos and mayhem of my office.
The real question is, though, how come we weren't working at home?
Home has beds that tantalize and tempt us.
Household chores that call to Stephen, mercilessly, until he succumbs to his natural proclivities for cleaning and procrastination.
Ringing phones.
Emails.
We thought that leaving the house would provide us the opportunity to get shit done.
Cause the shit needs to be done.
Now.
As in last week.
And it did.
I made headway towards decreasing the pile of intro to crim proposals.
Stephen worked his way through his own proposal, making changes to methodology, citations, losing a bit of his sanity with each and every key stroke.
Even with the chaos and mayhem of my office, it was still quieter than working at home.
Where we are still under siege as the fight for feline owned territory continues to wage in our home.
Not only are the cats running rampant through our house, bouncing off walls, hiding in silver tea sets, launching themselves at us with reckless abandon, but the dogs aren't being friendly allies.
In fact, our settling in to work at the kitchen table seems to be an invitation for Frankie and Tikka to engage in Operation Attention Seeking.
Even rawhide chew toys and double fist sized tartar busters aren't enough to keep them from pawing, nudging, kissing, in an effort to garner our complete, 100% attention.
Further, Frankie has ownership issues with his rawhides.
Repeated attempts to bury them in all sorts of hidey-holes throughout the house.
Until Stephen informed me that he walked in on Frankie trying to bury his bone in my dirty underwear.
At least someone trying to put something in my underwear.
Title Lyric: Underwear by The Magnetic Fields
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