Double boomerang

So, I probably didn't mention that I damaged my car a couple of weeks back. Haven't really told many people because it was so dumb and upsetting at the time. On a rainy, dark night I was backing into a driveway, as an alternative to a U-turn, and I scraped up the rear driver's side behind the back wheel.

When Jo and I got out of the car to look, at first I thought I was all clear. We were staring at the back bumper, and it looked pristine. Then she pointed to the side. Major sinking feeling. Very quiet drive home.

Luckily, one of my friends knew about a fancy body shop where cars much fancier than mine (such as, for example, his car, which took hits in two separate parking lot incidents in a single day) get fixed. It sits right next to the local race track on the outskirts north of town.

We headed out there last Friday to take my car. It was a great day for a drive -- sunny and 70. That part of our fair city appears to have ceased development circa 1961. Gradually, the ranch houses give way to vacant land along old Highway 51.

I had never been that far out on the highway, and it occurred to me there might be some notable roadside architecture. We were almost to our turn when I spotted it -- the remants of an old gas station.

The station itself was long gone, but the roof that must have sheltered the pumps remained intact. Someone else must have appreciated the spectacle and spared it for the time being. The whole structure stood at least two stories tall with a gently angled, upside-down gable balanced between double-boomerang columns. Along its edge balanced the letters spelling "food mart." A faded Dr. Pepper sign was supspended between the boomerang points.

The site next door appeared to an ancient, still-functioning motor court. The "cabins" were painted over in a depressing gray, but they looked like they were built in the 1940s or earlier.

The race track was a whole other experience. I only caught a glimpse of it, but the beat-up stands surrounded by scrubby fields looked surreal. I hear you can take your car out and race on amateur nights. I'll be investigating that option soon.

The trip out there reminded me how much I love old highway architecture. I was talking to my friend about it later, and he said he thinks he has my aesthetic figured out. He said something like, you have this fascination with Americana and paintings of pie, and there's a part of it that lies on the surface. Then there's a part underneath that's not idyllic.

I said yes, that's exactly it. It's like in the painting Nighthawks, where you get a nostalgic view of the diner, but you also have that feeling when it's late at night and you notice the flourescent light buzzing really loud. You're tired, and if the buzzing doesn't stop, you might lose your sanity.

Because nostalgia isn't just a window into halcyon days. By definition, nostalgia arises from loss, from longing for something that no longer exists. Even at the best moments of your life, you may be aware that they'll be bygones soon enough. Maintaining that balance of sweet and bitter can provide some clarity. That's what it's all about.

I was pretty impressed with my friend for figuring all that out.

Scenes from the week

Last weekend was the big, rowdy spring party on campus. I missed the festivities (and the annual sound check that rattles my office window, because it was raining and the concerts were moved indoors), which was fine. Had my fill as a student here some years back.

So, Monday morning I was walking in to work from my car when I noticed crawfish carcasses scattered all over the parking lot (remnants of a frat party). In my half-awake state, I had to ask myself if we had had a tidal wave? The way those prehistoric critters were strewn about seemed to signal some cataclysmic event.

Today, as soon as I drove on campus, I saw a little group of students (rare for 8:30 on a Friday, when you usually see only a few forlorn stragglers), and I thought to myself, "I do believe that boy is wearing a fluffy white dress." We have some male students who occasionally wear skirts, so it wasn't entirely surprising. Then I realized that oh, it was a toga. Turns out there were 1000 high school kids around for a classical league event.

By this afternoon, even more of them had donned costumes. There were real, metal helmets and many shields. There was some sort of goddess with scales (the weighing kind) and a shiny drape, whom my friend dubbed The Queen of Mylar. Unfortunately, I didn't see any monsters from the classics. No Cyclops, not a single Scylla or Charybdis.

Shuriken

Blog,

It's been way too long. Not sure exactly how I got so terribly out of the habit, but I suspect I've been keeping my head down a lot lately. Since I work at a college, this time of year everyone is in a terrible mood that will continue to build for a few more weeks. The best way to dodge the bullets of academic contentiousness is just to stay low to the ground.

Even so, I've been grazed a few times. Late last week, I got an out-of-the-blue, scathing message from a very frustrated faculty member who couldn't find a particular name or address on our site. This is someone for whom I routinely perform time-consuming, nit-picky tasks, so his ungraciousness really took me by surprise. Oh, and the best part was that he copied a VP on the message, I guess so it would get me in "trouble." The old "I'm telling your manager" trick.

The punchline is that the VP wrote him back and pretty much said: thanks, jerk , but it's not her responsibility. Direct your angry ass elsewhere. Except he said it in a more eloquent, vice-presidential tone. It's nice to know someone's got my back.

Even so, the whole exchange came on the wrong day, and I proceeded directly to Def-Con 5 meltdown phase. I missed a meeting because I had to hide in my office and cry for an hour. Sometimes, I ask myself why I do this job, especially when probably 50% of the campus is always going to think I suck. The angry letter mentioned here is only one of many encounters I've had lately. Others, with actual ex-professors who used to mentor me and now think I'm an administrative stooge, have been much more disheartening.

I've always said I don't have a lot of ambition. I don't aspire to VP level, and not even Director level. I had been re-thinking that recently; maybe I could be at least a Director someday, and I would probably be good. But I don't know if I'm strong enough to take the daily beatings.

Today's pleasing word is shuriken.