I'm a Mac

I need a new computer for graduate school. My Mac, which I adore like one of the family, has had a few problems over the years. Its logic board has gone out twice, and just last spring the entire hard drive died. During that last fiasco, I lost all of my course work for my master's degree, and I just can't bear the thought of the same happening with my Ph.D research. It's time for a new machine, we can all agree.

I've been resisting this day, however, because I've realized that the smart choice for this time in my life is the PC, not my beloved, boyishly cute, sweatshirt and Keds sporting Mac. Not only does the PC carry the software that I'll need for calculating and storing statistical research, but it also comes in at around $500 cheaper than the Mac.

I want you all to know that while this may be the smart choice, it is not my heart choice. And I will refuse, for quite some time, to identify myself as the suit wearing, spyware buying, AOL using PC owner. Until I'm really strapped for cash or am willing to recognize the inconvenience of it all, I'm going to own both a new PC and this worn and tattered iBook. But I'll only clutch one of them close to my chest each night as I fall asleep.

Getting Oriented

I enjoyed my return to campus today. Classes haven't started yet, but I'm enrolled in orientation sessions throughout the week. They aren't just for students in my department, but for instructors and TA's in all departments across campus. It's interesting to meet people teaching other subjects and to hear their varied perspectives on the challenges and rewards that come with the territory. At the same time, whenever I explain that I am a middle school teacher who is making the shift into academia, I tend to get an underwhelmed response followed by some ridiculous statement to which I know not what to say.

First there was, "You know. Every time I meet a middle school teacher, she's always a striking and small woman. I bet the boys never skip your class! Ha ha!" Then there was, "English teacher, eh. Do you still have your students diagram sentences? You know, I never understood the contraction or the preposition until I had to diagram sentences. I've heard that's not taught any more and I think it's a real dumbing down of the curriculum."

Sometimes these comments make me feel like I don't belong at the university. Not because I don't feel smart enough or because I don't know enough about my discipline to play along with the scholars. But mainly, I think I don't belong because I'm not . . . well . . . an ass.

Making Ends Meet

I don't know why it took me by such surprise, but when my loan check came in the mail today for the entire amount of my loan, I was rather taken aback. Oh, I've borrowed my fair share of money before, but those checks went directly to my school, never to me. All of a sudden those zeroes began to translate themselves into flights to beach locations and tropical drinks.

Upon setting aside the check and scanning the lending documents that accompanied it, my bubble burst. When all is said and done, I will have to pay back nearly three times the amount of money that I'm taking out. Let me say that again. Three times. Th-ree.

So all of those zeroes will be making their way to my savings account tomorrow where they will earn interest and grow at a rate that pales next to the interest that will be accruing for my lending company on the other end. No plane tickets. No mai tais on the beach. Just my nose to the books. But here's the thing. I've got a feeling it'll all be worth it.

A Guest Entry

Back from the Boundary Waters, but not settled in just yet. Luckily bdoc, patient as ever, decided to take blog matters into her own hands. Thanks sister.

I feed my terrible addiction to Diet Pepsi every morning by stopping at a particular convenience store called Friendlys on my way to work. I KNOW I shouldn't drink that crap so early in the morning but my addiction is too developed now to stop while I'm also training for a marathon. Just can't do it. And truth be known, Friendlys is actually NOT on my way to work. Again, the addiction makes me do crazy things....

I digress.

So, this particularly morning was no different than any other except that I noticed a New Dude (ND) working behind the counter. He wore an eye-harassing outfit of camouflage pants and a tie-dyed shirt with the logo of Friendlys on the upper right hand corner of the shirt. His glasses were WAY too big and his eyes were about the size of baseballs behind them - quite the sight, really so it was hard not to notice him.

I got my soda and walked to the line behind the counter. I patiently waited behind the 2 people in front of me and noticed the 3 people lined up behind me when I finally reached the front. While I handed ND my money, he inquired about the button pinned to my purse.

I told him, "It says, 'Vote Pro-Choice.'"

ND: "Hmmm, I'd have to disagree."

Me: "You can disagree; have that right ... though you'd be wrong." And then I gave him my syrupy-sweet-how-can-you-disagree-with-this-face smile.

OH, he disagreed alright.

ND: "Think about it: We need slaves in this country. What better slaves could we find than those that are already unwanted. Let them be born and then put them into slavery."

He gave me NO HINT of sarcasm or joke in his face or voice. He didn't say anything to indicate jest and merely urged me again to "Think about it" as I walked out the door.

I am not sure whether to be more afraid of his anti-choice statement or his pro-slavery "idea."

Needless to say, there are some characters in Montana ... even in a place called 'Friendlys.'

Evidence of My Colossal Laziness (or Why Jodi Is My Best Friend)

"I think I like the name Jill again. I went through a period where I really didn't like the name, but I like Jill again."

"Uh huh. You're watching Starting Over aren't you."

"Oh my god. Yes. How did you know?"

"I've been watching all week during the commercials for General Hospital. You might want to turn over to ABC to find out how Sonny's therapy is going. Plus, it's the superior of the two shows."

"Huh. Really. Thanks. I will."

The Training: Week Eleven

Injury from my first marathon took me to an orthopedic specialist who offered this sound advice: "If it hurts, don't run."

Well. It hurts. Same leg. Same spots. Same pain.

And the training was going so well up until now. I'm taking today off, but running tomorrow isn't out of the question.

Yet.

A Bump in the Night

For anyone who is keeping track, I still haven't figured out what's wrong with my gut. And it still hasn't gone away. The latest installment of grief coming from that area is incessant gas throughout the night. This condition comes and goes, and I haven't really been able to pin point its triggers. Luckily, I live alone with ceiling fans.

The other night, feeling fairly well, I decided to stay over at the boyfriend's place instead of making the trek home after watching a Twins game that went extra innings. At about 3:30, I awoke with a start at the sound of my own ass letting loose. In these situations, I usually like to play it cool. Pretend nothing happened. But not only did the sound reverberate off the walls, it literally shook me out of sleep and my only option was to pretend that I was rolling over. D didn't move at first, and as the seconds ticked by, I thought I was in the clear. Then, with a sigh that signaled consciousness, he rolled the other way and returned to sleep. My Sex and The City nightmare come to life.

It was obvious to me that I had awoken us both, and it did not take long to realize that my rumble was only one of many to come. I spent the next hour and a half trying to alternately fall asleep and hold things in. Neither of which I did successfully. Finally, defeated, I grabbed my pillow and headed to the couch where I relieved myself, more than once, and slept like a baby for the remainder of the night.

Things could have ended there, but compelled as I am to discuss all embarrassing moments at great length (you know, clear the air . . . ahem), I brought up the incident only to learn that D had no I idea what I was talking about and had slept through all but the part where I shook him to say, "I'm going to sleep on the couch." I figure there are two possibilities here: a) he was lying to protect my dignity or b) he really didn't hear my quaking of the earth. Either way, we make a great match.

And. Done.

Last day of summer school today. It wasn't a total wash, but the first and last weeks were certainly trying. As I returned my supplies to the office, I heard one of the administrators complimenting teachers as they walked by. "You are a great teacher." "Thanks for your hard work." "Great job with the kids." To me, she said, "Nice to meet you." Perhaps she was just trying to expand her repertoire, but a shift was certainly noticeable. Granted, things were a little crazy with the 8th graders on most days, but we made it though and celebrated with a short game of kickball at the end of the morning. It was clear we had built ourselves a little community over our four weeks, and even my most annoying student smiled after I chucked the kickball hard at his back and got him out. Quite a nice little ending note for me, I must say.