Curse of the Merengue

I have something to confess.  I do not like Latin music.  I know it's adored by most of the world's population, and I have tried to appreciate it, but it in no way speaks to me.  Many have asked, with the best of intentions: 

"Do you want to come hear this amazing Brazilian singer?" (No, I don't.) 

"We're going Salsa dancing, why don't you come along?"  (Because it will lead to great suffering.)

"Oh, but this band from Colombia is amazing - I'm certain you'll like them." (Your certainty is baseless.)

So, I'm visiting a friend in Washington DC, and she took me to her swanky office party at the World Bank. The party was fabulous - the food was amazing, from the red velvet cupcakes to the ridiculous array of martinis, and Santa was in attendance.  The dancing was also terrific because the DJ understood the crowd and played fun pop music from all over the world.  As one might expect, every fourth or fifth song was a Latin American number, and in the midst of it all, my friend admitted to me that she didn't much care for Latin music.  I was thrilled to tell her that I felt the same, and we spent the next ten minutes commiserating about being a misunderstood minority in a world where Salsa dancing is a default activity for the young professional demographic.  Then she turned around and introduced me to a colleague of hers.  We started chatting, and the colleague's friend asked me to dance.  Being in a party mood, I said yes, but then realized with horror what I had agreed to when he asked 

"Do you know the Merengue?" 

My heart sank. 

"No, no I don't." 

(Actually, I have been taught the Merengue many times, but my otherwise excellent physical memory fails me when it comes to Latin dancing.) So, I was polite and learned the Merengue.  Again.  It was not fun.  A mere two hours later, I do not remember the steps.  I think the ghost of Carmen Miranda heard my complaining and wanted to teach me a lesson, but I'm still not sure what the lesson is. Will this nightmare never end?  

Family Photos

My Dad has entered the Skype age, and he was so excited about our first video chat, he took a picture.  In a similar vein, the other day I was Skyping with another friend, and she held her digital camera's display screen up to her webcam so I could watch a video of her daughter doing cute stuff.  Why have two cameras when you can have eleven?

Consistency Counts

Today was the last day of classes for the semester, for which I am grateful.  One of my students made a memorable last impression by sleeping in and failing to show up for his oral presentation (at 2 in the afternoon).  He emailed me to apologize, but started his message by misspelling my name.  At least his performance has been consistent.  

Communication

Some of my students did a terrific presentation today on communications media, where they divided the class into groups, then gave them a math problem to solve together, with the restriction that they could only use one communications medium to collaborate.  

The question was: "You have the misfortune of having an unreliable clock.  You set the clock to the correct time at midnight, but it loses 24 minutes every hour, and it now says 3:00 am.  The clock stopped one hour ago, so what time is it now?"

To solve the problem, one group could talk to one another face-to-face but couldn't write anything down.  Another group could pass one another paper notes, but not speak, while another used a similar technique but with instant-messaging.  The last group could only use their cell phones to send text-messages, with hilarious results.  The face-to-face group finished first and won the challenge, with paper and internet coming in second and third.  The text messaging group was catastrophic.  Their initial text read:

"You have the misprint of having an unreliable block Your block to the correct time at midnight but it loses 24 switches our and now it says 3am The block is stopped hour ago, what time is it now#"

Piedmont Pig

Not long after I moved to Atlanta, I was driving home one night and saw a man walking his pet pig down the street.  I wondered if I had hallucinated, but it turns out this pair are a local institution, and can often be seen taking the air in and around Piedmont Park.  Yesterday I saw them surrounded by curious passers-by, and as I was taking this picture, I heard the man describe his porcine companion's personality as "aloof".  

I should note that I have never seen the pig wear the same t-shirt twice.

Southern Fried Thanksgiving

American Thanksgiving is this weekend, and I am responsible for baking a pie. I was at the grocery store to get the necessities, and was thrilled to see a huge display offering both the hardware and software for deep-fried turkey. In the photo you'll notice that the fry kit is a mere $79.99, and they have conveniently displayed it beside the 3-gallon containers of peanut oil, a steal at $39.99.  With all the money you'll save, you could pick up a couple of fire extinguishers.  I'm told that fire departments across the nation brace themselves for the inevitable disasters that arise from such festivities

Kids These Days

I know, I know - I need to stop being surprised by these things, but... One of my students who is an Aerospace Engineering major says he has never heard of The Right Stuff. He's never even heard those words in combination. Sigh.

Overheard in the Hall

Sitting in my office, I overheard this comment from an undergrad walking down the hallway:

"There are many more syllables than you think in every Asian word."

Dear readers who speak "Asian", any thoughts on this?

Education Today

I'm working on another job application, this one for the role of "The Film person in the English Department". I took a gander at the university's website to see what's going on, and what kinds of courses they offer in English. The most intriguing title was for a graduate seminar called "Weird Books by Women Novelists." I feel inspired to propose a series of "Weird Films..." courses.

From General to Specific

Today my students started working on their final projects, where they will design media literacy lessons for actual high school students. Their first task was to come up with a topic, so I put them into groups based on their interests and gave them a few minutes to brainstorm. Before long, one group signalled to me that they had a topic, so I said "Great! What is it?" Their response:

"Different media have different effects on different people."

I tried hard to disguise my sinking feeling. Had they not been paying attention when I gave them that lecture on pointless vague statements and how they are pointless and vague?

I entered salvage mode, asking "Can you be more specific?"

His classmate piped up with "What he means is that we're going to compare written, audio and video versions of the same story and have the students discuss how differences in media lead you to different interpretations."

Phew.

Fear of Little People

I'm doing some grading-for-pay like I did last summer. So far the papers have not been as hilarious as usual, but one stands out from the others. The prompt was something like "Discuss something that frightened you as a child, but you find humorous as an adult". This person's response: Little People. The author refers to them as Small People, but you get the idea.


"My biggest fear when I was younger was small people, the really short adults like on The Wizard of Oz. The reason I was afraid of small people were that they could get in my hamper, they could fit in my trunk, and my mom was scared of them.
Small people can fit practically anywhere. Every time I went to the bathroom in my house, there would always be a hamper. The hamper was a perfect spot for a small person to fit into, and I was always scared he or she would jump out of the hamper while I was using the bathroom. It would be so easy for small people to jump out of hampers and kill people.
It would be simple for a small person to hide in the trunk of my car while my family are heading down the road, and I am dead by that person choking me or shooting me."

Jeffrey Express

As a grad student, I didn’t have a car, so I learned to navigate Chicago on public transportation. I spent many hours on the #6 bus, the Jeffrey Express, which connected three very different zones of the city: the working-class black neighbourhood of the South Side, Hyde Park and the University of Chicago, and the downtown, with its shiny skyscrapers. Chicago is still a segregated city, and riding the Jeffrey Express tended to place these divisions in stark relief. The correlation between urban geography and race, class, and education was unmistakable, and it was always clear to me that this bus was one of the few public spaces where these separated spheres would mix. One day in 2003 I was taking the Jeffrey downtown, no doubt to watch movies at the Art Institute, when some middle-aged ladies climbed aboard and started talking to people about a candidate for the Senate. They handed out modest brochures, and they sat and chatted with cleaning ladies and grad students alike about a man they believed in, and who promised to bring real change. I remarked that it was a clever move to campaign on the Jeffrey, a bus line that sliced through demographic divisions. Still, I had my doubts that their candidate would have much of a chance, what with the strange and politically unlikely name of “Barack Obama.”

Political Pumpkin

Enjoy the glow from my Barack Obama pumpkin.  I got the stencil here.

Haunted House

A friend of mine suggested that since Halloween is approaching, we should visit a haunted house.  There are a number of these places around Atlanta, where people take over part of a mall and turn it into a maze full of vampires and smoke machines.  We found the address, next to a discount furniture outlet, and we knew we were in the right place when we saw various monsters wandering around the parking lot, making menacing gestures at squealing teenagers. The lizardy alien with glowing red eyes chased us to the ticket booth.  There were two paths to choose from, one called "Mangler", the other "Carnivore."  We went for the latter, and I noted that you'll never hear of a horror attraction called "Vegetarian".  

Upon entry, the first thing you see is a TV attached to a night-vision security camera - a novel way of reassuring the visitor that they won't get lost in the dark, and also dissuading anyone with funny ideas.  After the safety briefing about not smoking or eating, you walk through a labyrinth of corridors and chambers, each filled with a different variety of scary stuff, including actors who ham it up to great effect.  There was no unifying theme or logic to the place other than "BOO!", so the werewolves hung out in the mad scientist's laboratory, while a chainsaw maniac was guarding the occult temple of skulls.  Whatever.  Even though I kept repeating "It's only a theme park", we were a couple of nervous nellies, and I think I annoyed the group of teenagers in front of us with my screaming.  Still, I reserve the right to scream when an axe-wielding clown jumps out of the shadows at me.  I had read the website before we went, and one of the FAQs was "can you get lost?".  The answer is no, since it is not a maze, and while there are areas where you are meant to get disoriented, staff members will appear to direct you to the exit if you get turned around.  I required re-orientation in the hall of mirrors.  After a few minutes of running around in circles and screaming at my own reflection (yes, really), a helpful zombie lady shuffled in and stuck out her arm to show me the door.  

An Honest Day's Work

Last weekend I volunteered to help build a Habitat for Humanity house.  My church organized the work group, and it was quite amazing to see how much we did in a day.  I loved meeting the future owner - a woman who works as a doula, and who specializes in teen mothers.  She's building the house for her and her kids, plus she is raising her sister's children, all of whom came out to work on the house.  The crew from the previous weekend had put up the exterior walls and the interior studs, and we did the whole roof, installed the windows, and started the back deck.  I was on roof duty, and I successfully navigated the struts and nailed the plywood pieces into place.  When I say I was "successful" I mean "I did not fall off the roof".  It is a strange experience to work on a roof when the house is full of people hammering nails - the echoes change every time you install another piece, and the vibrations can be unnerving.  After a lunch that reminded me of why everyone in America has type-2 diabetes, I started working on window installation, which involved yet more hammering.  I did so much hammering, sometimes I did it with my left hand just to keep things interesting.  Being an academic and unaccustomed to manual labour, I found that by the time I got home I had to take a tylenol and put my right arm in ice to recover.  This made me feel a bit lame, so to speak.  

Let Your Fingers Do the Walking

I am on the job market, as usual, so I spend a lot of my time reading academic job ads.  They rarely make interesting reading, except that they sometimes reveal levels of confusion within a given department, like the ad that said they were looking for an expert in "silent and sound cinema".  My understanding of film history is that "silent and sound" is the same as "everything".   I am used to this type of vagueness, but a recent ad takes specificity to a new level.  It starts out normally, but then it descends into absurdity, with some mystifying details about the successful applicant they have in mind:

"Presents classroom lectures that are logical and coherent".  Well, ok, but it's sad that you have to state this.

"Treats others with respect and consideration regardless of their status or position; Accepts responsibility for own actions; Follows through on commitments."   Everything I need to be a professor I learned in kindergarten.  

"Ability to read and interpret documents such as research studies, administrative policies, and journals, newspapers, etc."  I should note that the first requirement for this position is that you have a PhD.  Ability to read?  Newspapers?  I should mention in my letter that I, like Governor Palin, have read "all" the newspapers?

There is an entire section entitled "Reasoning Ability", which includes such gems as: "Ability to apply logic as appropriate."  When is it not appropriate?  "Ability to interpret instructions furnished in written, oral, diagram, or schedule form."  I refuse to read schedules!

The physical requirements are truly bizarre:

"Vision requirements include ability to read student assignments and grade appropriately."  May I remind my reader that this is a film studies job.  And which body part do we watch movies with?

"The employee is required...occasionally to use hands, fingers, and frequently to talk or hear."  Only occasionally to use hands?  It makes me want to get this job and then push this point, i.e. "I totally used my fingers ten minutes ago, so I'm not doing it again until tomorrow."    Or, "My contract says I have to talk OR hear, not both."

"The noise level in the work environment is usually moderate.  Noise could include interaction with students, faculty, staff, and the public; other noise may be generated by telephones, computers, or instructional equipment."  I feel compelled to get this job just so I can run out of the room screaming when the telephone rings.  I might even wave my fingers around.

My question is, what kind of lunatic did they have to fire to make the lawyers write up this ad? One of my colleagues said that it sounds like a job ad written for aliens who are unfamiliar with life on planet Earth.  I hope I at least get an interview so I can find out what happened.  

Blessing of the Animals

This morning was the Blessing of the Animals service at my church, and it was everything I had hoped.  For one thing, everyone there (including me) was straight out of the Preppy Handbook - never have I seen so many Chocolate Labs and King Charles Spaniels.  There was also an array of rescued Greyhounds, some with missing limbs and others with surgery scars, but all of whom were happy to be in a crowd of animal lovers.  It was standing room only, so we sat on the floor at the back, and Mollie lay down quietly amid the cacophony.  The woman next to me had a Pointer puppy named Pinto who alternated between leaping around and sitting on me.  She said, "Thank goodness you're an animal lover."  Mollie was extremely well behaved, and she even stood up for the reading of the Gospel.  There were no parrots in attendance, alas, but there were some hamsters inside those plastic balls, and a few brave cats.  I was disappointed when I overheard someone saying that they had left their iguana at home.  The role of "escaped animal running crazily through the congregation" was played by a Jack Russell Terrier, who embraced the role with gusto.  He was eventually captured, and as his owner carried him away, he had an expression of doggie pride at a job well done.  During the Eucharist the priest went through the congregation to bless all the critters and those who care for them. At coffee hour we chatted with another priest who is heavily into cat rescue and was full of stories about Border Collies who have real jobs herding sheep in Colorado.  

Vote or Die

It was a glorious day in Atlanta today, so everyone went to the park to have picnics, play frisbee, and walk their dogs.  While walking mine I noticed that the voter-registration people were out in force, getting everyone signed up to make democracy happen.  A mother-daughter team approached me and asked if I was registered.  I said "Thank you for asking, but I'm not American." The mother said "Oh, I don't think that matters."  I suggested that it did, but she wouldn't take no for an answer:

Woman: Do you have a driver's license?

Me: Yes, but I'm not a U.S. Citizen.

(Woman consults clipboard)

Woman: Are you a legal resident of Fulton County?

Me: Yes, but...

Woman:  Well then you can vote.

Me:  I'm pretty sure you have to be an American citizen to vote.

Woman:  But if you live here legally you can register.

Daughter:  Mom, that doesn't sound right.

Me: I'm Canadian.

Woman:  Let's look at the list again...driver's license...social security number...over 17 years old...not a felon....

Me:  I don't want to get deported.

Woman:  Oh, wait, I guess you have to be all the things on the list.

(Daughter rolls eyes)

Me: Yes, I imagine so.  But thank you for your dedication.  Good luck! 

While this was going on, I was on my cell phone with a Canadian friend who works in the U.S. As she listened to this confused repartee, she found herself seconds away from demanding to speak to the woman herself and explain how citizenship works.

The irony is that if I had registered to vote, illegally, then that would be a felony.  Then I'd be a felon, and wouldn't be able to vote.

This made me reminisce about the time I got my Georgia driver's license and the woman at the DMV tried to register me to vote in spite of my Canadian passport and Ontario license because I "seemed American" on account of my clear English and blonde hair.

America is dying for me to get the franchise.  

Looking for Nothing

This weekend I visited the Shambhala meditation center, where Mick takes meditation classes.  As one might expect, it was a very peaceful place.  I took part in a class, and after we did a five-minute exercise where you sit quietly and become conscious of the feelings in your body, the instructor asked us what we had experienced.  

She asked "What was it like?", but then revised her question. 

"No, wait, I don't mean what was it like, I mean, What was it?"  

I thought, man, this is sooo Buddhist.  Afterwards, we had the universal experience of coffee hour, except that it was green tea instead of coffee.

To reciprocate, I'm planning to take Mick to the blessing of the animals service at All Saints' at the end of the month.  I'm planning to bring Mollie too!

Road Trip Cuisine

This weekend Mick and I made a road trip to Chattanooga for a swing dancing festival.  The festival was great fun - they had live bands playing in the park by the river, and we boogied on the very crowded dance floor. 

On the way we decided to try out a legendary form of food preparation - engine manifold cooking.  The idea is, you wrap up food in many layers of tinfoil, then place it strategically on the hottest parts of your engine (avoiding the moving parts), close the hood, drive for at least 2 hours, and then you have a delicious hot lunch.  I was in charge of the menu, so I did an internet search and discovered that there was a book on this published in 1989 entitled Manifold Destiny.  It is long out of print, and extremely difficult to come by, but I managed to get a copy through interlibrary loan - an elaborate process that involved my consulting with several Georgia Tech research librarians. 

When the book was finally delivered, I pored over it and devised my menu, which included marinated tofu, sliced potatoes and carrots with fresh rosemary, corn on the cob, and baked apples with sugar and cinnamon.  I used a whole roll of tinfoil to wrap everything up, studied the layout of the car's engine to figure out the best spots, wedged everything in, and off we went.  

Two hours later we pulled over at a Civil War battlefield, sat down under a monument, and unwrapped everything.  The food was perfectly cooked, and we are now planning more trips just so we can have an excuse to try new recipes.

   

DragonCon 2008

DragonCon is a major annual event in Atlanta's cultural life.  This huge meeting of science fiction and fantasy enthusiasts begins with a parade.  Here are some highlights:

I cannot explain this large multi-person cat.

Found-object artists/Star Wars fans in costume.  The central figure is Chewbacca.  My camera failed, (ok, I failed) to capture the Darth Vader made of Jack Daniels whiskey boxes.

Stormtroopers are scary, especially in large numbers.

Publish or Perish

At long last I sent my book proposal to a university press yesterday.  I had been agonizing over the wording for ages, but finally emailed it to the editor.  She emailed me back almost immediately to say "This looks good."  What?  That's it?  They should decide in a couple of weeks.

Movie Palace Encounters

At the beginning of the academic year, there are a string of receptions, luncheons and dinners to welcome new and returning faculty to campus.  Most of these events are, to be frank, dull and tense.  First, academics are not the most socially gifted demographic, and in the days before the semester starts they are all nervous and strained about getting their courses organized.  This combination of factors rarely makes for a good party.  Still, when my friend invited me to one of these events, I tagged along, thinking that at the very least I'd get a free dinner.  Against all expectations, I came away with much more.  

The dinner was at the Fox Theatre, an Atlanta institution that started life as a Shriners Temple, became a movie palace with an Egyptomania aesthetic, and now hosts concerts, parties, and the occasional film screening.  Early in the evening we went on a tour - it was great fun to hear about the Orientalist decor, the early air-conditioning system, the huge cinema organ, and the elaborate fire-control systems (since the building dates from the era when film was extremely flammable - explosive, actually).  If I teach "Intro to Film" in Atlanta I plan to take my students there so they will know how fabulous a movie theatre can be. 

After the tour I got in line for the bar, and started chatting with a guy who, like me, had been invited by a friend to come along for a free dinner.  He told me that he works for the local newspaper, but I soon discovered his real profession:  magician.   We hit it off, and had dinner together courtesy of Georgia Tech.  Since then we've taken Atlanta by storm - swing dancing, the drive-in, and this weekend we're going to a laser show about the history of Georgia.  He has promised to teach Mollie a magic trick so she can show up all the other therapy dogs.  

Walk/Watch

When I go to the gym, I often watch tv on the treadmill, as it helps pass the time and distracts me from the absurdism of running to nowhere.  Yesterday I observed an application of this idea that I had never anticipated.  I was walking Mollie in the park when I heard the sound of recorded dialogue.  I thought it was a radio at first, but then I saw a man walking along the path while watching television - not on a little iPod, mind you, but a full dvd player with a laptop-sized screen.  What was he watching that either couldn't wait until after his walk, or which provided such terrific motivation while walking?  Married With Children.  I find it remarkable that someone would own a dvd of Married With Children, much less take it for a walk.

Labyrinth Report

A nice family is renting my property in Canada, and the lady of the house has a blog.  Her latest post about the labyrinth that my father built years ago makes me nostalgic.  Also, it's nice to see the place represented by someone who is a better photographer than I am.

Mollie Career Update

Mollie has passed her therapy dog assessment - in fact, she out-performed some of the experienced therapy dogs who were among the examiners.  One of the tests involved my approaching another person with a dog and greeting her, but ensuring that our dogs don't interact directly.  Mollie sat patiently, while the tester's therapy dog got all giddy and silly.  Some have suggested that the dog was intimidated by Mollie's therapy-dog prowess.  Next weekend I'll be going on an observation visit (without Mollie) to watch a therapy dog team at a children's psychiatric hospital.  I suspect that will be even more interesting than I can imagine.  After that, I'll get a list of teams that need new members and we can get to work.  

At the volunteer training session I was told that the organization has a few cats in their membership, and one therapy bunny named Hershey.  How cute is that?  

Magic Shadows

Yesterday my friend and I kept trying to see a movie.  We've heard a lot of buzz about a French thriller called Tell No One, so we decided to go to a matinee.  Apparently, everyone else in Atlanta had the same idea, so the afternoon show was sold out.  We got tickets for the 7pm show and returned early to get a good seat.  All of Atlanta's French cinema enthusiasts were lined up outside, nervously, as a dramatic thunderstorm was fast approaching.  They let us inside just before we got drenched, but the moment we settled into our seats, the power went out.  Foiled again!  Most of the audience decided to wait it out, and soon everyone took out their cell phones to use their illuminated screens as flashlights.  It looked like the theatre was full of digital fireflies. Somebody produced an actual flashlight, and before long a shadow puppet show was being performed on the movie screen, to everyone's amusement.  The narrative involved an encounter between a giraffe and a crocodile, and it concluded to thunderous applause.  After half an hour they kicked us out because there was no sign of the power returning, so we went back to my house to drink cheap wine and marvel at the tree that had fallen through my neighbour's roof in the storm.  He was in good spirits about it, saying "the roof was old anyway...everything happens for a reason."  

Cajun Dancing

My latest internet-facilitated date was with Larry the Mortgage Guy, who has introduced me to cajun dancing.  Last night's dance was held at the Knights of Columbus hall, where the dance floor is illuminated by Christmas lights and each corner is equipped with a fan to keep the dancers cool.  I had asked Larry about the dress code, and he said he was going to wear his cowboy boots.  I was thrilled at the prospect of wearing mine, and they turned out to be well suited to the waltz and 2-step.  Between dances we would sit at the tables among people enjoying bowls of gumbo and plates of bread pudding and talk about exotic cajun dance venues - assorted barns, restaurants, and clubs throughout the South.  My favorite story was about a club in Louisiana where the dance floor is on a platform over a swamp, with alligators prowling below.  No alligators at the Knights of Columbus hall, but the all-ages crowd provided plenty of visual interest.  The band was genius - the fiddler introduced the accordionist as the best in Louisiana, and therefore, the world.  The guitarist, whose instrument was covered in patriotic stickers detailing his military career, told corny jokes between sets and complimented the crowd on their fine dancing.  

Intelegent Design

I have spent the weekend rating diagnostic writing tests.  The prompt posed a question about whether or not the Georgia Tech administration should have the right to read students' email. Here are some highlights:

College is about no control.

If you don't like people checking your bags, buy your own plane.

Administrative access to emails would create an environment of senseless snooping, wasted taxes, mistrust and schizophrenia.

Have we not shown a consitent thrive for excelence?

The right to privacy has become a prominent issue in the recent technological error.

Privacy is a sense of being private.

The internet is constantly eveloving.

Email exists as the backbone of modern society.

And the winner is:

The fact is, Georgia Tech students are intelegent.

More pearls of college wisdom

I'm making some extra cash by rating State of Georgia standardized tests to assess college students' writing.  Some hilarious insights from these young minds:

"In the early 1400s nobody had a clue what smoking did to their bodies."

"Before Hillary other women had not run for the 'Master and Commander' position in the U.S."

And my favourite so far:

"Some well-established families have children who eventually become gothic."

Hey Neil, nice backpack!

I know I need to stop being shocked by this sort of thing and just operate on the assumption that my students have same level of historical knowledge as newborn infants, but a student who is writing a paper about a photograph taken on the Moon asked me if there is any television footage of the Apollo 11 lunar landing.  Huh?  I may be arranging a screening on Monday to get everyone caught up on the 20th Century.  

Of course, this is the same student who didn't know what "backpacking" was. 

Monumental Confusion

Today in class we were talking about images from the Hubble Telescope. I had asked the students to listen to an online lecture by an Art Historian friend of mine, where she explains that the scientists who create the much-publicized Hubble images draw inspiration from 19th century American landscape paintings. They have those traditions in mind when they are making decisions about colors (will Hydrogen be red or green?), orientation (since there is no up or down in space), and framing (where do you put the frame on an object that is 100 million miles across?). To demonstrate her points, she explains the connections between the Eagle Nebula image, with its "towering" structures, and images of Monument Valley. When I showed photos of Monument Valley to my students, only one of them knew what they were, and only because he had been there on a family vacation. It was Greek to the rest of them. This confuses me. How does one get through life without seeing images of Monument Valley? What have these young Americans been doing with their eyes?

Mollie's Graduation

Mollie completed her obedience course today.  Here she is in her mortar board.  Next stop, therapy dog assessment.  

This photo session proved to be quite hilarious.  Those of you who have met Mollie know that she sneezes a lot, particularly when she's excited and happy.  The thrill of graduation provoked a fair bit of sneezing, which would make the hat fly off her head.  Our slapstick routine got laughs from human passersby, which only made Mollie sneeze more.  

Now that I think about it, maybe this was Mollie's interpretation of throwing one's cap in the air at the end of the graduation ceremony.  Clever dog.

If I had a camera...

If I had a digital camera, I could have made a visual document of the giant sculpture of Eddie Murphy's head that was being driven around my neighbourhood last night. The minivan-sized head was mounted on the back of a moving billboard advertising his upcoming film Meet Dave. I gather that in the movie, Murphy is a humanoid spaceship inhabited by lilliputian aliens. The giant head is clearly meant to make its observer feel like a tiny alien, or something.

I should get a camera, because then I could let you decide.

Punk'd

This week I started teaching a class on rhetoric and space exploration. Today's class was devoted to JFK's use of pathos in his 1961 appeal to Congress to beat the Reds to the Moon. Part of our discussion was to focus on Kennedy's verbal delivery, so I had them listen to an archival recording of JFK speaking. When I got to class, I turned on the projector and speakers to give the audio file a test-run, as the technology in my classroom is famously unreliable. Everything seemed ok until I tried to make the speech turn off - every time I clicked on something, another speech would start playing, until the classroom sounded like some kind of installation art piece involving the overlapping voices of American presidents. I kept turning things on and off to make it stop, but to no avail. This went on for some minutes, until a student confessed that they were playing the speech from their laptops. Little monsters. I stormed out of the room in jest, and told them that they are all meanies.

I'm telling myself that this is their way of saying they like me.

Creatures Great and Small

I had a visit from my Dad this week, and we had many interesting animal experiences, from the sublime to the ridiculous.  

Six Legs

Shortly after moving to my new place, I discovered that Mollie and I have a great many six-legged roommates, none of whom have offered to pay rent.  So, I have thrown my tree-hugging principles to the wind and acquired quantities of toxic chemicals in all physical states - gas (foggers), liquid (sprays) and solid (bait).  After the initial massacre (the body count was impressive) I have noticed far fewer interlopers.  Either they are dead or have learned to be more discreet.

Four Legs

Mollie has made a full recovery from her tooth extraction, and is back to eating with great gusto.  She is doing well at her therapy dog training, and is now working on cute tricks like "catch the treat", "shake a paw" and if we're lucky, "speak".  Make em laugh!

Two Legs

Mockingbirds rule the neighbourhood. They love to tell me, Mollie, and all the local cats who's boss.  They flick their tails around and make whatever noises they think you'll find threatening. What a bunch of divas.  

Legs are for Landlubbers

Dad and I took in one of Atlanta's great attractions, the Georgia Aquarium.  While I take issue with some of their practices (like the scuba-diving with Whale Sharks, who keep dying in captivity) the aquarium is truly remarkable.  We were thrilled to see the Sea Dragons, who are among the world's most improbable creatures.  We noticed that one of them had eggs all over his tail, at which point a docent came up to say that it was indeed a pregnant male who is "due" in a couple of months.  You can watch their webcam here.

The other highlight was the antics of the Moray Eel.  Morays like to spend their time in holes in the rock, peeking out now and then to grab a snack.  We were therefore amazed to see one emerge and swim around the tank with great excitement.  As it turns out, he knew that it was feeding time, and lo, a long metal arm reached in and handed the Moray a nice fish.  Yum.  

 

Mollie's recuperation

Mollie is recovering quietly at home, and is doing her best to tolerate that woman's experimenting with the camera on her computer.

Animal Dentistry

Mollie has somehow managed to break a tooth, so she's going to the vet tomorrow to have it taken out.  When the vet examined it she said "Oh, Mollie.  You had to go ahead a break a complicated tooth with lots of roots."  Poor pooch.  Fortunately, the timing is such that this probably won't interfere with her therapy dog training schedule.  I feel like she's a celebrity athlete and I'm her manager/coach.  Wish her luck.

Norman's Niche

Last night I went to a screening of a Japanese movie called Death Note about a magical notebook that gives its owner the power to kill people. Spooky. After the film there was a "making of" documentary about the film, which included, as one might expect, interviews with the director, cinematographer, actors, etc. Included among the interviewees was a white guy named Norman who was identified as "Friend of the Director." It seems that Norman's role was basically to hang out on the set and not really do anything...apart from being the director's friend, I guess. He did mention that he has a brief appearance in the film as an FBI agent who dies of a heart attack. They showed the clip from the movie where he clutches his chest and falls to the ground, and then Norman said "Oh yeah, I have died in so many Japanese movies." This makes me wonder if he is friends with lots of Japanese directors - directors who want to watch him die. How strange that this is Norman's niche.

This makes me dream of one day appearing in a dvd extras documentary as "the director's white friend who is good at dying."

Clean and Jerk

Georgia Tech is hosting the Olympic weightlifting trials this weekend, so I thought I'd drop by for a cultural experience.  I watched a group of the women competitors and I was intrigued by the diversity of their weightlifting styles. To be honest, I had never thought of weightlifting as a sport where "style" had much relevance, but it was fascinating to see each competitor assume her competition persona, and go through her rituals before the lift.  One woman started with a bow, in a martial-arts kind of way, then paused for a moment of meditation.  Another would crouch down and shake the bar vigorously while tossing her huge curly blonde ponytail from side to side before raising 200lbs over her head.  Another would meticulously coat each of her fingers with chalk, pace back and forth across the platform, then let out a loud "Ha!"  One of the competitors set a new American record for her division.  This inspired me to go to the gym, where I did far less remarkable things.

Best comment ever

And the winner for best student comment on my teaching evaluations for this semester:

"You were weird and I enjoyed it."

Success is mine!

Animal-Assisted Therapy

Mollie has started the process of becoming a therapy dog, the plan being to take her to campus in an official capacity where she can provide everyone with therapy for their university-induced stress.  The certifying organization is called "Happy Tails", and I attended one of their orientation sessions last weekend.  Most of the discussion was about therapy dogs, but there were a couple of people at the meeting with cats who aspire to therapeutic status.   After explaining the assessment criteria for dogs (under handler's control, recovers well from loud noises and strange human behaviour, won't have a panic attack if separated from handler for a few minutes), she pointed out that the assessment is much simpler for cats.  The main question is "Will the cat agree to get out of the carrier?"  I imagine that for most cats, the answer is "No! What kind of question is that?"  

Oral Hygiene/Moral Hygiene

One of my students has been absent this week because he knocked out his two front teeth on the weekend and has been having root canals ever since. He showed up today to ask if it would be ok if somebody else recorded his audio essay, since he now speaks with a hilarious lisp. I confessed that I had not anticipated extreme oral injuries when I designed the assignment. I said it would be ok as long as there was a good story behind his now toothless grin. He did not disappoint.

On the weekend he attended an unofficial event for participants in the Relay for Life. By "unofficial" I guess he means "one of my buddies had a party that was spatially and temporally proximate to the Relay for Life." One of the attractions of said party was "pudding wrestling" which involves people jumping in a tub of pudding and grabbing one another. In the words of my student "You could just watch, but I wanted to participate. The problem was, the guy hosting it decided to protect his floors by covering them with plastic. That was a really dumb idea." (Yes, THAT was the dumb idea.)

Let's do the math:
Pudding + plastic flooring = fall on your face and knock your teeth out

My student explained that he was perhaps intoxicated at the time, and after his pratfall his plan of action was to just put his teeth in a glass of milk and go to the hospital after the party was over. Fortunately, saner and less drunk heads prevailed, and he was transported to the ER. He explained further that all he was wearing at this point were a pair of shorts, i.e. no shirt, no shoes, but plenty of pudding and blood. The nurse asked "What happened to you?" His reply "Well, take a guess." I suppose that he thought the physical evidence made it obvious what he had been up to, not realizing that his appearance raised more questioned than it answered, and that the nurse was probably afraid to speculate.

Extreme Hold

I was out at the airport yesterday doing some aircraft maintenance for my flight club. After we finished, I went into the swanky terminal building to wash the grease off my hands and I noticed a basket of complimentary toiletries in the ladies' room. Most notable was the can of "extreme hold" hairspray - this makes good sense given the hair styles one sees in the South, but it also occurred to me that you would need the most extreme of extreme hold if you're flying this kind of aircraft:

Yum

This woman in period dress is eating a bag of pork rinds and drinking sarsaparilla. I think it's part of her costume.

They're here...

Today in class we were talking about Terminator 2, and I was drawing connections with other films by James Cameron. I asked the students "How many of you have seen Aliens?" One of the smart-asses at the back of the class said "You mean, like, real ones?" Har har.

Battle Ballet

Busby Berkeley, one of the greatest movie choreographers (best known for his geometric patterns made of women's bodies) got his start in the military.  It is no easy feat to coordinate the movements of hundreds of people in a way that actually accomplishes something.  

I had wondered to what extent the Civil War battle would be choreographed - it obviously wouldn't be a free-for-all, but who's calling the shots? The man at the loudspeaker who provided running commentary throughout the battle was good enough to explain that the officers on both sides decide what will happen in advance, but the troops are left in the dark.  This way, people have to actually give and receive orders, couriers have to sprint across the field with messages, spies have to sneak around and report on their findings, and so on.  The result was quite remarkable, with well-coordinated acts of simulated violence played out all over the landscape.  Every now and then a soldier would "die" (eliciting cheers from the crowd if a Yankee), falling to the ground in poses that ranged from the comical to the lyrical. I was impressed with the resolve of the "dead" who lay motionless in the mud for a full hour, as it had been raining hard all day and the field was full of cow pies.

In case you were wondering about the final result, the South lost.  Authenticity to the end.

The Civil War

On the weekend I was able to complete another item on my Southern Experiences Checklist by attending a Civil War re-enactment in Bridgeport, Alabama. I have much to report, but I'll have to do it in installments. One of the highlights was the reconstruction of a field hospital, complete with creepy 19th Century medical instruments. Remember that bit in Gone With the Wind where we watch Scarlett wincing at an unfortunate soldier's amputation? Well...

Two blocks west of Kent and Clark

Honour thy Father and thy Mother

I've been teaching a unit on cyborgs, with the intention of engaging my students in ethical debates about artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, and other challenges to human identity that are likely being devised elsewhere on campus as we speak.  We watched a Star Trek episode where an android has to endure a court case to determine if he is property or an autonomous being.  One of the arguments he makes is that he is the expression of his creator's vision, and is therefore sacred.  I asked my students who their creator is (responses included both God and parents), and then asked if and why they felt responsible to those who created them.  After a long period of silence, I provoked them with a "So, none of you care about your parents?  To hell with Mum and Dad!"  This got a laugh, and then my student with perpetual bed-head offered that "If I had to choose between my parents and a box of chocolates, I guess I would choose my parents."  I couldn't resist exclaiming "Wow, that's going in my blog!"

Proper Topper

Last week I broke down and purchased an item of clothing with university insignia on it. It is a pink baseball cap, much like the one pictured here. I bought it because my red McGill cap that I got for free at an alumni event clashed with some of my gym outfits. I tried on every hat in the store, but I was disappointed with their attempt at making a "gold" hat, as the result is just a bad yellow. I would adore a gold metallic hat, but that is too much to hope for. So, I decided to go with the pink one that I see on so many members of the cheerleading team.
I had not anticipated the effect this hat would have on my social interactions. I have been given student discounts in stores, and the men of Atlanta view the hat as a conversation starter, i.e. "Go Tech!"

Urban Wildlife

At last, I am back in my apartment. Mollie and I went for a walk in the park and I couldn't stop grinning about being downtown again. As we entered the park, I saw a couple in the distance who were on a family outing. He was making protective gestures toward her, and she appeared to be cradling a baby. Imagine my delight when I got closer and realized that she was actually holding a bunny. Mollie took interest, but not in a potentially catastrophic way. This is the kind of thing that makes city life fantastic.

My Apartment Has a Floor

...but it lacks a bathroom sink.

Zen and the Art of Aircraft Maintenance

This week I went to my first flying club event, where I was introduced to the wonderful world of aircraft maintenance. It was enjoyable in the same way that cooking is - it makes one feel grounded (insert your own joke here), and a welcome contrast to my otherwise cerebral working life. My contributions to the process were to fill up the tires, use dentistry tools (donated by a pilot/dentist) to winkle carbon deposits out of spark plugs, and engage in long discussions about which screwdriver to use for which job. Good times.

Once the plane was ready to go, I tagged along on a ferry mission, delivering a plane to a nearby airport to be looked at by a real mechanic. It was a night flight, which is new for me, and we got slightly lost, so I got to fly the plane for a while as the pilot tried to sort out which flashing light on the ground was the airport beacon. I learned something interesting, which is that Wal-Mart, while a generally evil force in the world, is most helpful in nighttime navigation because their buildings have a distinctive skylight pattern. Light shines out of the skylights like a flashlight through a cheese-grater, so if you know where the Wal-Marts are on the map, they serve as excellent landmarks.

Monkey Business

The fancy-pants Georgia Tech athletic centre is equipped with a rock-climbing wall. Last week my friend invited me to an intro to rock climbing session for GT women. For three bucks you get climbing lessons followed by snacks, so I was in. I made it up about half way before I started to get too tired, and spent the rest of the time trying to launch myself onto the bouldering wall, where the idea is to move sideways rather than vertically. The hardest part is to remember to lift with your legs, since your inclination is to climb with your arms, which is a) difficult for women, and b) difficult for non-monkeys. I enjoyed it, but clutching crevices in the wall was hard on my nails, so I may stick with aviation for my vertical thrills.

Booze Studies

Yesterday I went to a reception hosted by the publisher of our textbooks. I greatly enjoyed the snacks, cocktails and the free books that I can sell on the internet. While enjoying my sidecar, I came up with the brilliant idea of a course in technical communication based around alcohol - it could include everything from home brew instructions to cocktail etiquette. I ran it by a colleague who said it would be fine as long as I don't mind having 100 students trying to get into my class. No, I don't mind - I understand that booze can make a girl popular.

More great moments in rhetoric

A couple of gems from student papers:

Gem #1
In reference to the movie Contact, where Jodie Foster's character (Arroway) receives a message from aliens and then travels across the galaxy to meet them:

"...despite her being an atheist, Arroway is the only one to actually make contact with superhuman species in any way."

I am curious about this kid's understanding of theology.

Gem #2
I call this one "our troubled youth":

"In the movie poster for Cloverfield the pose (sic) is very basic and serene. The main focal point of the poster is the Statue of Liberty in flames with its head torn off."

Nothing says "serenity" like a mutilated Statue of Liberty. One wonders about what it would take to make this guy anxious.

Synonymns R Us

I have been grading my students' papers, and one of my favourite sentences thus far explains how the poster for the movie Alien uses fluorescent green to show "the out-of-this-world qualities of extra-terrestrial life." Yes, indeed.

eBlame

I've been using eHarmony for a few months, and I've met a few nice people. The system is by no means perfect, but the process does allow one to filter out most of the ne'er do wells. One of the questions that you answer when you're filling out your profile is "What are you grateful for?" This seems a good question to ask to determine a person's values. One guy listed the following:

1. Knowing that my partner will always forgive me.
2. Knowing that my spouse is usually to blame.

I guess I can't fault him for honesty. I am curious about how he distinguishes "partner" from "spouse" - does he mean that he's married to someone who is blameworthy, and he's grateful to have a mistress who never holds him accountable for his actions? Sounds like he has his hands full already, so I'm not sure what he's doing on eHarmony. I don't think I'll be sending him my "Must Haves and Can't Stands", since my list of "Can't Stands" includes "Married, has a mistress and shuns responsibility".

Purple Boots

My students are in the midst of a project where they will do an analysis of a film poster, then create their own poster for the same movie, but emphasizing a different theme. I had a look at their poster drafts today, and one in particular caught my eye. It features, among other things, a female character wearing a pink dress and purple boots. I commented to the poster's creator that I appreciated his fashion choices. He replied "the purple boots are in honor of you." See, on the first day of class I had worn my purple boots, along with jeans, a purple and gold shirt, my lime green ultra-suede jacket and big hair -- I feel that it's only fair to let my students know who they are dealing with from day one. Anyway, it seems that I made an impression.

I wonder if there are other references to me embedded in students' work. It's like being in The Da Vinci Code.

The Imagination of Disaster

For the past week I have been living as a nomad. On Martin Luther King Day, there was snow on the ground in Atlanta, so I thought it would be nice to take Mollie for a long winter's walk. We returned to find that my Atlanta had become Atlantis - the pipes in an upstairs unit had frozen and burst and a cascade of water was flooding my apartment. Fortunately, nothing valuable was lying on the floor, and I came home in time to sound the alarm, but the walls in my room had to be torn out, the floor is slated for demolition, and the apartment is now home to a dozen dehumidifying machines. The dehumidifiers create an wind-tunnel effect, so as I was packing my bags I had to keep chasing scarves and papers and other airborne items that got caught in the updrafts. I have been living in a succession of hotels and friends' apartments, and my landlord has made the peculiar offer of a house in the suburbs where I can live until the new floor is put in. Mollie is coping with this well, but I'm starting to feel a bit mental.

At the moment I am at my friend's apartment working on my lecture for tomorrow's class. The readings for this week include Susan Sontag's essay on science fiction film entitled "The Imagination of Disaster." I feel that I am becoming an expert in this field of inquiry.

Checklist item #23

I was taking Mollie for a walk the other evening in the Virginia Highlands neighbourhood. We approached a house with a bright red door, lots of wind chimes and interesting lawn art...but that's not what caught my attention. There was a small picnic table out front, and atop it was a tupperware container of what looked like dog kibble. The kibble was being examined by a possum. It sat so still I thought it was a sculpture at first, but then it gave us a look with its beady dark eyes. I was pleased to finally see a live possum, as it is on my checklist of Southern Experiences, right between Civil War reenactment and snake handling. As I examined the scene more carefully, I noticed two marmalade cats sitting contentedly in front of the house. They didn't seem bothered by the possum, and it seemed to feel the same. I wonder if they are friends or if they just tolerate one another -- itself a Southern tradition.

Severe Weather Alert

Atlanta is beside itself because it is snowing. I'm hoping it continues through the night so I can show up to campus tomorrow in my parka and gloat about being Canadian. A number of my students showed up today in flip-flops and I asked if they were trying to be tough. They confessed that they were just too lazy to dress properly. At least they weren't too lazy to come to class and get frostbite on the way.

Jewelry as Activewear

I started taking a pilates class on campus today, and I love my instructor because she wears big dangling earrings while she teaches. I always take my jewelry off when I exercise because private schools and Girl Guides programmed me thus, but she was rocking some green and yellow beaded chandeliers (which, of course, matched her pilates instructor outfit). Maybe I need to get some rhinestone drops to complete my look while doing the 100.

Professional Ethics

Today in class I made my first attempt at learning students' names. My technique is to ask them to tell me their names and give me an interesting fact about themselves. The results are always fascinating. In one class there are multiple trombonists, while another has a high guitarist population. One student disclosed that he has six toes on one foot. I was thrilled to hear about his morphological anomaly. One of my students chimed in: "Dr. Whitney, you know you want to ask him to take his shoe off. I can see you holding yourself back." I admitted that she had read me right, but I explained that I thought it would be too weird for me to demand that a student take his shoe off in class. Another student piped up "But it's not weird if we ask him!" The six-toed student happily obliged, and everyone crowded around to have a look at his extra digit. The student who followed him said "My name is...and I have ten toes."

I shared this anecdote with a colleague who said that his style in the classroom is very formal, and while he thinks my approach is great, the thought of a student taking his shoe off in class is unfathomable for him, as he likes to retain a certain distance from his students. However, he insists that his students address him by his first name. Meanwhile, I am a last-name enthusiast, and everyone in my classes is Mr or Miss/Ms, which is my way of keeping things professional and distinguishing the classroom from the outside world. We all have our ways, but I prefer my approach to professional ethics, where every person has a title, but also feels free to show off their glorious mutations.

Big Blue

I was walking Mollie in the park today and had the opportunity to watch a Blue Heron wading in what's left of Lake Clara Meer. The bird was very bold, not paying us humans-with-cell-phones any mind. It had a methodical way of walking, and I enjoyed watching it place its slender feet, deliberately, in the mud and murk. Mollie waited patiently for me.

Generation Gap

The majority of my students have never seen Blade Runner. This makes me feel like a geezer. I was contemplating not putting it on my syllabus, figuring that today's young science fiction fans would be so over Blade Runner. But now I feel like a missionary, bringing the gospel according to Ridley Scott to the darkest corners of the undergraduate landscape.

Singing Stones

I thoroughly enjoyed my stay the Quality Hotel in Hillsville, Virginia. I took advantage of the small but mighty fitness centre, where I watched The Searchers from the elliptical machine. The room was configured in a strange way, so I had to watch the movie's reflection in the wall of mirrors. It is interesting to watch a film backwards – some wise person suggested that we should watch films upside-down in order to appreciate their abstract beauty.

Earlier that evening I stopped for a pizza in Salem. The toddler at the next table kept turning around to stare at me. Maybe I had ordered something more interesting than his parents did.

Intrigued by the many highway signs promoting Luray Caverns, I decided to stop and experience subterranean Virginia. The main attraction was the organ that plays stalactites – indeed, a "stalacpipe" organ. You can arrange for a live performance if you book the chamber for your wedding (as over 700 couples have done), but for our purposes, the tour guide pressed a button to put it into player-piano mode. It played A Mighty Fortress is Our God. The sound was more delicate than I had expected - like a xylophone, specifically, the metalophone that I remember from grade four music class at Elmwood – it was my favourite and I was always so happy when I got to play it. It made me so smile to think of the organ's inventor crawling around the cave with his mallets and tuning forks, hunting for singing stones.

In the final stretch of tunnel, there was, of all things, a war memorial, listing men from that county who had died in WWI and II, Korea and Vietnam. The tour guide explained that they have this memorial because nearly 500,000 people come through the caves every year, so lots of people will see it. This is an interesting line of reasoning.