The drum beating in my head...

...actually isn't in my head at all. No, the drum I've been hearing intermittently for a week is located directly over my head, backstage of the auditorium on the second floor. It seems that space is tight in the music building, and someone had the brilliant idea to relocate the loudest, most disruptive instrument to storage space above my office. And thus a classroom is born.

Today I managed to catch the professor and find out the whole, awful truth. He was a very nice guy, a symphony member and adjunct faculty. He's not happy about being exiled to a dusty, spider-infested corner of campus with no phone or computer. His students are supposed to practice 5 hours a week outside of class. With 10 students, that makes a total of 50 hours a week that there will be drumming. Some percentage of that will take place during work hours.

I find the whole thing too absurd to fathom. Is it unreasonable for me to ask that I work in an environment where there is not a drum kit 8 feet from my head? The answer I've heard so far is there's just no other place to put the drums, and academics come first. Sound tiles and carpet reportedly are on their way, but how much good can that do when the drums are 8 fucking feet away from my head? It seems if one is expected to work productively, it is reasonable to require a minimally supportive environment, which would include NO DRUMS NEAR MY HEAD.

But I've said all there is to be said about it.

My weekend included some time with friends, which was nice. It also included the memorial service for one of my favorite professors. Even though I knew she was dying, my impression is still mostly one of disbelief. That, and helplessness. I don't even know her family well enough to really help out, to do anything substantive like visiting. They are a private, closeknit little nest, and it seems it would do more harm than good to intrude on that.

At least Katrina is gone. The wind pulsed on and on for hours Monday night. It was hard to believe there could be such a quantity of wind. It kept me awake, and I wondered if the giant oak in the front yard would hold out. But aside from the worry, the wind was just loud. No major damage here, though--just lots of premature fallen leave and little sticks and branches. We were incredibly lucky.

The official first sign

Mark this date for the first sighting of a big, green acorn on the ground. It's still hot as hell, but summer's days are numbered. The redbud trees are scattering their helicopter pods on my driveway, and the monkey grass is blooming tiny purple flowers. The acorn crunching underfoot is the surest sign of all.

Hard to say

One of the professors I admired most, both as a student and later as a staff member of my college, died this weekend of cancer. We'd known around campus for about eight months that she was very ill, and recently we even began admitting to ourselves that her death was imminent.

As the college webmaster, I was told a couple of weeks ago to be ready to post a notice of arrangements when the time came. I tried to help prepare some of my other friends who knew and loved her. When I found out this morning, I went about my assigned task. My colleague emailed me Cynthia's obituary. Someone else sent a photo. We had all had time to prepare.

As I was formatting the text and preparing the image of this lovely woman, I thought that this is one of the stranger aspects of my job. A few years back, on a different site, I had to post the tragic news of a friend's sudden death. If I momentarily felt bitter about the task, of being a literal harbinger of doom, I also realized I was glad I was the one to do it as my own small testimony of honor.

Got a complaint?

Today was my day for listening to other people complain. It's my favorite part of the new year. I fielded criticisms for just about every aspect of projects related to my job. I was treated to one professor's philosophy of what the web should do, and how our administration is evil and authoritarian.

I made the point that we're an institution trying to put on a public face, which is why every page of the site shouldn't have a unique identity. He agreed on a certain level, but he had a big but. To tell the truth, I accidentally quit listening at that point, so I'm not sure what the "but" was. At least he was relatively nice and acknowledged that it wasn't my fault personally. It was one of the less hostile encounters I've had with faculty.

Yes, that was just one highlight of the day. Luckily, my new student worker continues to kick ass and take names (as we said in junior high). I was actually moved to near-tears this morning by his wonderfulness.

Going home now to drink a beer and test my stomach with Mexican food. Ate a donut this morning with no major repercussions, so I think I'm cured of the stomach funk.

Sweaty

It's really too hot to not be angry at this point. Really, it's miserable and my yard hates me b/c I haven't watered in more than a week. What can I say? I was out of town and sick.

In other news, I just saw the sceptre that is carried by the grand poo-bah of the school at big academic functions. We have our opening convocation next week, so the sceptre is being prepared for the ceremony. By "being prepared," I mean it's been taken out of its box in the attic and now is lying on the floor under a chair in my colleague's office. We're very reverent around here.

But then, maybe I'm just showing my Catholicity by assuming ceremonial objects should be treated with delicacy and respect. Lapsed Catholic that I am, I'd feel a little uncomfortable seeing a monstrance sitting on the floor. But our school is barely Presbyterian, and those folks are perplexingly secular. I never feel right inside churches with clear-glass windows.

Art mirroring life

One of the benefits of my fancy hotel stay was that I got to watch a little HBO. I briefly had it a few years ago and developed a horrible addiction to Sex & the City, completely against my will. I would have sat and watched it for days, I was so enthralled. Then my free HBO ran out right before the last season. So, I never saw it (but I did read what happened. I'm a spoiler queen).

So, I caught an episode of The Comeback, which was amusing but almost too painful to watch. Lisa Kudrow does a great job and has the tics down just right. She was exactly like a woman I used to work for, a demi-celebrity in her late 40s determined to make a comeback of sorts herself--by starting a teen magazine. She had been a model and general coattail-rider of her equally horrible, fashion-designer sister. I beleive that, similar to the episode of The Comeback that I saw, this woman once brought in the cover shot of herself on Seventeen and passed it around the office.

It's as if they modeled Kudrow's character directly on my former boss. The claims of being best friends with other celebrities; the offers (never materialized) to call in so-and-so to help out with the cover story; the barely masked jealousy of younger "It" girls; the flip, care-free attitude with deep insecurity coursing just below the surface. Oh, I could go on. I don't think I can watch this show, though it was quite funny. I already know how things turn out.

The continuing gastric crisis

Made it back from my trip, only slightly worse for the wear. The major points:

• Saw the Rev. Al Sharpton in the airport when I was leaving. Someone, a bodyguard or fan who wanted to shake his hand, rudely pushed me out of the way as I was just trying to get to the security line. I said, "EXCUSE YOU" really loudly. I don't care who it is, that's uncalled for. It took me a while to figure out who the celebrity was. At first, I admit I thought it was Johnny Cochrane (but my friend has since told me he died. How did I not know that?). I saw the guy and was like "well-known figure who shows up at controversial moments..." Sharpton was in town b/c people are protesting the various city parks named after Confederate generals. A cause worthy of protesting, but Sharpton is rather slimy in my opinion.
  
• I did get my hot stone massage. The whole pampering spa experience was something to behold. There was a fancy waiting room where, after you'd stripped and put on a big fluffy robe, you could sit in a massage chair while sipping juice and eating cashews. Unfortunately there was a loud couple sitting next to me. They hailed from the northeast, and the man was incredibly obnoxious and said some incredibly racist things. And they say Southerners are racist. Where's Rev. Al when you need him?
  
• Enjoyed the fancy pool, where pool boys set up towels for you. The whole time I kept thinking of David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. It's about a luxury cruise, but the fancy resort had a lot of similarities, like overly friendly staff who insisted on calling me MRS. Shorttina.
  
• Two biggest bummers: the hotel was not beachside and there wasn't a fried grouper filet to be had for as far as the eye could see.
  
• Not that I should have eaten it. I had continuing gastric distress--cramps, nausea, you name it. People are starting to suggest gently that I see a doctor for ulcers or tapeworms. I am refusing so far. At most, I'll be told I have IBS, which I think is a load of plain old BS.
  
• The conference was incredibly dorky, but not in the techy geek kind of way. As a person used to being on the underacheiving side of the tech world, I found it disconcerting to be among the upper 3% of tech-savvy attendants. There were a number of useless presentations and a lot of conclusions drawn from anecdotal evidence. There were also a lot of pasty people doing silly things.
  
• Met a lot of nice people from other schools and had interesting conversations. Grew very tired of smalltalk by the end of it. Actually, I wasn't tired of smalltalk. I was happy to chat with people about their fabulous new shoes or their vacation plans for the rest of the week. I was sick to death, though, of talking about my institution and your institution, etc. Did learn some good things, though.
  
• Was glad to get home. My house was way too hot and I had horrible stomach cramps, but it was home. Now I have a mountain of work, mostly in the form of random small-but-time-consuming tasks. However, I have a new student worker who is awesome in his awesomeness. It's going to be a good year.

Loud breather

There is a new person on our staff. I have noticed during meetings over the past couple of days that he is a loud breather. Yesterday, for example, I was sitting on the exact opposite end of the table (the length of three people sitting comfortably between us) and I could here him inhale. And exhale. Today wasn't quite as noticeable b/c we were in a room with more ambient noise.

Surely this is entirely new Seinfeld character unto himself. But, he seems like a nice, competent guy so I'll try not to hold it against him.

My big dilemma now is whether or not to get a massage at the fancy resort during the conference this weekend. I know, big problem. It's just so expensive that now I'm not sure I can use the "I deserve it, it's a gift to myself" rule. Also, there's a requirement to schedule ahead and I don't do well with commitment.

Ah well, I'm sure it'll work out. Apparently there's a hurricane brewing in the Atlantic, but right now they're predicting it hits NC/VA. Hopefully it won't make a surprise turn for S. FL.

A whistle in my teapot

Despite the title, this is not a euphemistically naughty post. Shame on you for thinking that!

No, I've been perplexed lately by a mystery in my kitchen. It involves the blue tea kettle that I bought in 1997 in a discount store on Long Island, shortly after I moved there. I was living in a half-basement apartment (dirt piled up in the front yard made it look like a basement level, but you walked around back to the door and it was ground-level and the "first floor" was upstairs with a big deck blocking out whatever sunlight would've made it into my kitchen window. Goddamn Long Island split-level home).

So far in my somewhat cushy life, it was the closest thing to hell on earth. And in that depressing apartment with its hand-me-down furniture and loud, viciously fighting landlord/neighbors, my tea kettle never whistled when I boiled water. Not ever, not even a peep. I assumed it was defective and went on my miserable way.

Imagine my surprise when I unearthed the tea kettle a few months ago (it had been packed up in my parents' attic with other kitchen supplies since my triumphant return to the South in 1998), put it on the stove in my sunny new house and it whistled like Dixie. There's nothing happier than the sound of a whistling kettle. It's really the damnedest thing.

Gastric distress

My birthday weekend was quite lovely, thank you for asking. There must be some mathematical law, though, that describes the phenomenon by which the birthday weekend has even fewer hours in it than the regular weekend (which speeds by quickly enough). Perhaps Jojo could help us out with a little equation, since English majors eschew math (but use words like eschew).

My birthday weekend witnessed healthy doses of good, clean fun and a smattering of naughty, late-night fun. And those are all the details you will receive. Entirely too much eating took place, and since yesterday I've been experiencing distress--not quite bad enough to send me home from work, but enough to make me feel generally wilted and cranky.

Those are the things on my mind today. Also, it's very hot. And, I'm looking forward to this conference in S. Florida this weekend. Fancy resort, beach, seafood, maybe a massage. Oh yeah, and the part where you go to sessions and learn things. I didn't take any exotic vacations this summer (my new house was exotic enough), so this is my last little hurrah before the fall semester and all hell breaking loose.

More Edward Gorey

Continuing from yesterday, here's the horrible E. Gorey death selected for me (from Gashlycrumb Tinies which, incidentally, I had as a much-loved poster in college).

You will be sucked dry by a leech. I'd stay away
from swimming holes, and stick to good old
cement. Even if it does hurt like hell when
your toe scrapes the bottom.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?

It's never too soon to start dreading the holidays

Things are moving right along. This week has alternately crept and sped by. I think today will be the day I officially start celebrating my birthday, which is actually Sunday. Usually I celebrate for a full two weeks, but I'm feeling low-key this year. Come to think of it, the fun began on Tuesday with an unexpected invitation for some latenight activities so I guess it's a party kind of year after all. I'm going to a conference at a fancy resort near Miami next weekend, so I plan some continuing celebration then.

This is the time of year that I start making plans for Christmas. Unlike my mother, I don't actually buy gifts this time of year, but I arrange my flight to Florida, where my parents spend the winter. Last night I was telling them that, b/c I'm lucky enough to get a week and a day of holiday time through work, I'll be arriving on 12/23 and leaving 12/30. That's a full week, and I can still get home to be with friends for New Year's.

Ah, but with parents, no matter if they see you every day as mine do, it's never enough. If my mom had her way, I'd be taking extra days off to extend my stay in FL well into January. You give a week, they take a month. It's nice to be loved, but really annoying when you think you're being generous with your time, only to be met with a sour, disappointed face. ARGH.

Signs of life

Around campus, the floors have been polished to a waxy gleam, and they're putting down new, pebbled sidewalks. It's subtle, but you can feel the energy shifting. Students will start arriving in the next week or ten days, and faculty are already trickling in.

The behemoth of a new library is nearly complete now. I've spent a fair amount of time there already because of several weekly meetings with staff. I've already had a few unpleasant scrapes, but this morning I wandered the stacks alone and experienced some poor design that will likely perplex many in the coming months.

I was looking for The Sun Also Rises, but the numbering in the stacks on the second floor were nowhere near the range I needed. Feeling rather silly, I talked to a mumbling student worker downstairs, who informed me I needed to go up to the third floor, which could only be accessed by a side stairwell. Turns out the sweeping main stairwell, centerpiece of the design, ends on the second floor. You're stranded with no apparent way to continue, except by walking to the opposite end of the stacks to pick up the other stair. Really great traffic flow.

Still, I am impressed with the building. The opulence is so over the top, you can't help but be wowed. And there will be a Starbucks.

Also, today I noticed some of the interesting furniture in the sitting areas. Up in the stacks, there's a big arrangement of black leather chairs, and long, angular black fabric couches devoid of cushions (you kind of bounce when you sit down, like on a tight trampoline). Combined with the skull-punching points on the chandeliers, their effect is nothing short of a scary Victorian mansion as drawn by Edward Gorey.

But, I digress. As much as we bitch about students and their careless ways, it's exciting to have them back. There aren't many professions where you get the illusion of a fresh start every year. Even if I never go to a single lecture or concert this year (and I think I made it to a single concert last year), it's exciting to know they'll be going on, and if I happen to walk past the right open window one evening on my way home, I'll hear music or applause wafting into the cool air just as I did ten years ago when I was a student here.

Cool air, of course, is the other happy realization--fall isn't too far away!

Greetings from long lost...

One of my most favorite things in the whole world, better than hot fudge sundaes and fuzzy kittens, is when I receive snail- or e-mail from a former classmate who has begun a lucrative new career in real estate. These are folks who could barely trouble themselves to sneeze in my direction during high school or college, but now they want to listen to my hopes and dreams and sell me a gi-normous property with a mortgage beyond my means.

How very thoughtful they've all become. Thank you, Christine, for the recipe postcards with your photo on the back. And Jenny, you were very ingenious in the way you used the personal listings in our 10-year reunion notebook to seed your email list. We're all so glad to receive each of your very personal messages, also with your ever-present photo.

And who can forget Logan, the cowboy-golfer of our poetry class? Logan, I appreciated the original text on your postcards, which told your story as a simple country boy from Texas oil country. You really put that English major to good use. And now I'm receiving emails to my work account from another fellow art-major. He's a real estate agent by day, but an aspiring gallery/art program manager the rest of the time. Never been the friendliest chap, until now.

Guess what? I just bought a house, and I won't be moving for a while. And I'm sure not a single one of my friends ever plans to move again, ever. Will you leave me alone now?

Random weekend notes

Friday, or "now that's a table that really is a table":

I may have recounted the story of my sad table that was delivered with two non-matching halves of distinctly different color and grain. To make matters worse, the table was discontinued and there seemed to be none left in Denmark (where it was made).

Well, a floor model was returned to the store and delivered to me Friday. It has a couple of nearly invisible scratches which afforded me a 15% refund. As far as I'm concerned, it's perfect. The scratched china cabinet door also was replaced. All is right in my dining room.

Saturday, or "weed holocaust":

I declared WAR ON WEEDS, which involved my ripping up handfuls of the errant plants--enough to mostly fill my city-issued garbage can (is it illegal to dump lawn clippings? hmm)--that have been choking my rosemary, sage, basil, oregano and, as they say, much much more.

Had my first adventure in power lawn tools when I fired up my dad's weed-whacker to chop down some of the taller offenders--some legitimate weeds and some aggressive garden-bedfellows like mint and something else I haven't been able to identify or figure out its purpose, since it neither flowers nor smells herb-y. My whacking technique leaves a lot to be desired, but it cleared the way for step three, or

The dumping of 30 lbs. of pine mulch over the newly cleared areas. Spreading mulch was actually the easiest/fastest part. I discovered I'm highly allergic to some or all weeds and break out in tiny, itchy bumps after about an hour of heavy contact. During the morning, I took one decontamination shower, which involved standing in the shower with my clothes on, soaping down my arms and legs.

That helped for about 30 minutes, and then I took a Benadryl. Lesson: Benadryl works really well on plant-induced rashed, but it also causes you to suddenly need a 2.5-hour nap. All told, I started in the yard around 10 and finished around 5.

To recap:
Weeds ripped up: at least 4 milk crates full
Benadryls taken: 1
Length of new garden hose in feet: 150
Pounds of mulch spread: 30
Hours napped: 2.5
Showers taken: 3
Mosquito bites sustained: about 917
Hours worked: I lost count
Amount of sweat generated: 1 metric fuckload

Sunday, or "what, you're expecting more?":

Sunday was good. I bought some cute sandals--black with white piping, so Audry Hepburn, or something. Also, I fell for the most wonderful kitchen accessory ever, a baby blue enamel colander. You know, the 1960s kind with the big holes that stands on a little curved foot. I've already used it about 8 times. So much happiness, for only $11.99 (got mine at the W-S outlet).

Made Shorttina-friendly pesto (walnuts, not life-threatening allergy pine nuts) and talked to my friend who recently returned from an adventure in NYC. And now I can admit that I have been neurotically worried while he was there that something bad would happen in New York, and even have gone so far as to check CNN throughout the day to make sure nothing was happening. These are troubling times. Although I still worry about NYC, my adopted town for less than a year, I am relieved he's back home.