The Crossing

Tonight as I was headed to finally get that weird noise the back of my car has been making for the last six months checked out, I nearly rear-ended the car ahead of me when it came to a screeching halt.

As I looked up from certain death spelled out in the rear bumper of the car ahead of me, I saw a string of nine geese blithely crossing the road at glacial speed.

It took only a couple of minutes for all of them to get across, but I was entirely struck by the whole situation while I sat there waiting. I guess it's the sheer humanity of it all, which may be a little absurd, but there really was this sense of common goodwill about five of us strangers, waiting in our cars in the middle of rush hour, refusing to move an inch until we were all damn sure that the last little guy had safely hopped up onto the curb.

Harry Potter and Healing

A couple of things:

1. I'm finally willing to cease and desist in my one woman struggle against Harry Potter. The craze began right as I was starting college, and, incidentally, right as I was starting my snotty English major at my snotty private liberal arts school. Needless to say, I took a snotty approach to the Rowling gang.

They weren't good enough for me. They were probably good enough for Oprah watching moms everywhere who hadn't read a worthwhile book in ages, but not for me. I was quite certain I wouldn't live long enough to read all the great literature humanity had produced, so there was no way I'd waste my time on this dumb thing. I would stand blissfully by and watch the Harry Potter craze die out in a few weeks time.

Yeah.

So I was wrong on that one and am duly embarrassed by the 17 year old attitude I was exhibiting there. Mea culpa.

My plan for next summer is to read the entire series, starting with book one. I'm already dreading my impulsive decision a few nights ago to read the summary of book 7 on wikipedia so I'd know what people were talking about.

2. I went to a Faith Healing tonight at my sister's church. Joe Schmoe Healing Man With Special Powers from God and Even More Importantly, Approval from the Vatican came to the church for a rosary, a mass, a personal faith testament, and a healing ceremony.

He came with instructions for strong male volunteers to be ready to catch people when they were slain in the spirit and fell to the ground in faithful healing.

I wanted dancing with snakes, writhing on the floor, speaking in tongues, doves descending in fire, people exclaiming and shouting, and general hoopla.

Frankly, I was sorely disappointed. A few people fell once in awhile, and I tried to bribe my brother-in-law to get up there and fall down, assuring him that it would probably "make my YEAR" if he did it, but Mom, Cyndy, Dave, and I all sat not-so-respectfully in the back row of the choir loft. Every once in awhile we'd mumble along to a decade of the rosary (come on, try to resist THAT impulse), but overall, I'd give the faith healing a big D+.

3. I beat my high score on the Bricks game on my cell phone somewhere in the middle of the personal faith testament.

Nothing says summer like Van Morrison

I think one of my favorite things about summer may be driving late at night with my sunroof open, windows down, and radio blaring. Jim says I listen to music in the car way too loud, but as far as I'm concerned, there's no other way to listen, particularly on a summer night and REM's "Losing My Religion" is on the radio.

I was having such a good time singing along (and thinking about that great scene from 90210 when Brenda is breaking up with Dylan after the big pregnancy scare and Losing My Religion is playing...didn't Cyndy blog about this moment?), I took the long way home to indulge in another one of my favorite things that Jim doesn't approve of: inordinately fast driving. So I took 494 to 394 to 101, and was rewarded when I hit the beautiful part of 101 with Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic." It only could have been better had "Mystery" by the Indigo Girls come on next.

Anyway, it was the kind of summer night you hope for, the kind of night that makes you feel like it's all just going to work itself out in the long run.

Even my master's thesis couldn't touch me. And let's be honest, that's really saying something.

Happy Birthday Mek-head

Also, today is my little brother's 22nd birthday. Here's to you, Mek.

My German-Catholic Grandmother

Tonight (in the unending quest to find something, ANYTHING to do besides my reading for the lit review) I paged through the Alumni magazine of my alma mater.

One of the top stories was about four faculty members who had received awards during the last all school mass of the year. One was an award chosen by parents, one by students, and the other two by faculty and staff. And yes, in high school I attended All School Masses.

Upon receiving the Apple Polisher Award from the student body, the lucky Spanish teacher said something to the effect of, "I'd like to thank my Lord Jesus who is responsible for all the great things about me."

At the risk of sounding cold, callous, angry, God-hating, Jesus-hating, and Christ (no pun intended), even a little jealous, I thought that was a lame-o acceptance speech. It doesn't really seem to have the right amount of humility--it affirms that yep, she's great, and while she won't take credit for it, dammit, she is. Also, while I'm a firm believer in the fact that some days in a classroom are in need of a little divine intervention, I don't ascribe to the belief that the Lord Jesus Himself is making me a mediocre, good, or great teacher, or for that matter, is all that particularly interested in my teaching.

So I'm thinking all of this to myself and realize, "God, Rach, you sound cold, callous, angry, God-hating, Jesus-hating, and frankly, a little jealous."

And then, I swear to God, I heard the voice of my German Catholic grandmother say, "You need to get your ass to church. Ach, aye Jesu."

Duly noted, Grandma. Duly noted.

Progress

Today Abby took me to Wilson Library to round up my last sources for The Thesis.

This is progress, people.

The Self Loathing

The great thing about finally working on something you've been avoiding like the plague is that all the self-loathing attached to the procrastination disappears, and you start to believe that you can actually complete the damn thing with sanity intact.

As a side note, I found this delightful bit about blogging today in my research: "In March 2003 the Oxford English Dictionary added blog (both noun and verb) and web log to its corpus, drawing from an eclectic set of definitional references. Their definition of blog notes that... 'To blog is to be part of a community of smart, tech-savvy people who want to be on the forefront of a new literary undertaking'" (Boyd 2006).

So, how about that? The OED considers us smart, tech-savvy, and on the forefront of a new literary undertaking.

Sounds good to me.

I heart the Target Express Lane

There are a number of things I like about the Target Express Lane.

1. The 15 year old this-is-obviously-my-first-job high school kid with bad acne who nervously checks out your things while hoping you aren't noticing his sticky name badge with "Charlie" scrawled on it since his "Official Team Member" name badge isn't finished yet.

2. Examining what other people have in their baskets--the items that they needed from Target so badly they had to make a special trip--the things that wouldn't hold off until the next regularly scheduled trip. Tonight, the fifty something man in front of me with long toenails but great hair had a loaf of white bread and some toothpaste. Not bad, but not as good as the twenty something guy behind me who had three CD's and deodorant.

3. Super Sour Cherry Blast Bubblicious gum. Enough said.

4. Teenagers that aren't students of mine and therefore are nothing to me usually avoid the Express Lane because...well, I don't really know why...I just don't usually have to run into them there. This is, apparently, just a bonus.

5. While it probably goes without saying since it's the intended purpose of the Express Lane, I do appreciate the speed with which I can pay for my things and get out of there. It belongs on the list.

This generally pleasing Target experience tonight was pretty well ruined when I walked out of the store and caught out of the corner of my eye a large silver Mercedes SUV moving into the pedestrian walkway. It's amazing I didn't hear it coming first, since the Gangsta rap pouring out of the unrolled windows had long ago passed "cool" and entered the "obnoxious" decibel level. What's worse, the blonde just-out-of-high-school girl--who has probably never been within 100 yards of a real "gangsta"--driving what must have been her daddy's car (this coming from a girl whose dad actually DID give her a car) didn't seem to acknowledge the fact that the mother with the over packed cart and screaming toddler two steps ahead of me and I clearly had the right of way in the pedestrian walk space and just kept on plowing into the walkway.

Unknown Mom who is apparently as stubborn as I am didn't seem bothered. She and I just kept walking in what seemed to be a slow motion battle of wills. Surely Eighteen Year Old Rich Girl in Mercedes wouldn't drive right into us. Surely she'd stop, realize the error in her ways, and turn down her damn music.

Well, she stopped. With not a lot of room to spare. But when she did, she honked at us. For a long time.

In an unusual display which I can only attribute to my own frustrations with myself for another day of complete and total procrastination and avoidance of The Thesis, I honest to God turned to her, threw out my arm and semi-shouted, "Oh give me a fucking break. We HAVE the right of way."

Oh God.

I think the record should reflect this new low: shouting at strangers, even when clearly in the right. (Which, by the way, is my preferred place to be.)

p.s. If you're wondering, I have actually managed to do SOME work on The Thesis, just probably not enough to merit mention on the blog yet. Stay tuned.

The iRack. Courtesy of MadTV

glumbert.com - The Apple iRack

The thing is, I'm having a hard time getting started

In May when I finished my coursework for my Master's Degree, I dreamed of long, beautiful summer days when I would earnestly and thoughtfully write my master's thesis.

When the students would ask what my plans were for the summer, I would wistfully imagine days spent in my office upstairs, articles and research journals on the floor around the desk, me with a ponytail, wearing my glasses, sipping some coffee, and tip tap typing away. The thought of The Thesis seemed distant, surreal, and far enough away that it couldn't hurt me yet. It seemed a scholarly, adult, professional, and dignified way to spend my summer.

At the end of the school year, the Whole Fricking Thing was getting too close for comfort, and I asked teaching pals Tim and KC if they thought it would be appropriate to hold off a "few days" (ie. weeks) and enjoy a little bit of summer before really digging into The Damn Thing. They wholeheartedly gave me permission to not start writing, working, or thinking about It until July 1st, at which time, I would knock that thing out, no problem.

The thing is, I'm having a hard time getting started.

It's July 3rd and so far every time I think I should work on It, I find something else to do. So far I've done three loads of laundry, finished watching Sports Night (both seasons--the show in its entirety), started reading Water for Elephants, gone for a walk, unloaded the dishwasher, gone to Target, and gone out for lunch. Twice.

So yeah. I'm having a hard time getting started.