Conferences...

So I've attended plenty of conferences in my career as professional student, scholar, and professor, but I've never spoken or presented before. That's about to change, however, as I recently heard that I'll be presenting on the subject of rhetorical pleasure--think to teach (docere), to delight (delectare) and move (movere)--this fall. This is great news and I'm pleased as punch, but I'm also starting to get nervous. I mean, it's one of the principle elements of the profession to "profess" your beliefs about your subject, but I've been part of the audience so long that I'm concerned about my ability to present my own ideas. This is just nervousness, of course, but I still feel it acutely.

On the subject of the job hunt, I've had some interest at a few different schools, but I get the feeling some institutions might think me overqualified or disinterested. In fact, I heard directly from one school that interviewed me that one reason why they didn't hire me was because I had a PhD and they assumed I would only stay with their program until I had a better offer. As I know I'm writing for myself, I don't have to explain that this simply isn't true, but if you ever read this post B.R. you should know I would have done a lot to work at your school. Meh...I'm not going to get sour grapes, but I may start posting my rejection letters here (at least the form letters!)

Supposed to be grading

Man, teaching is the best job in the world except when you have to grade. Seriously, I have a very good idea of everyone's abilities and could just give them their grades, but no...I have to sit and grade papers until I want to pull a Gloucester...

--O, Stephen will apologize.
Dante said:
--O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes.--

Pull out his eyes,
Apologize,
Apologize,
Pull out his eyes.
Apologize,
Pull out his eyes,
Pull out his eyes,
Apologize.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man



And to that asshat who flamed my sister and brother-in-law: fuck you! I know you'll never read this (no one does, which is just fine) but you can just die fart-eater. Ugh; wish I could reach through the computer screen to him!

apps

So I'm supposed to bring appetizers for Brian's birthday party tomorrow and I don't know what to make. I mean, honestly, I can make about a dozen perfect appetizers from scratch off the top of my head, but those are usually of a type that's made to be followed with a particular meal or type of food. I guess it would help if I knew what was for dinner, but all I can remember is something Deepali said about making thinly sliced beef.

Bother.

Anyway, I'm really just posting so I can put off writing, and I'm going to go write a page right now. I'm about 26 pages into the fourth chapter at this point!

teaching

so I had a serious fuckin' drain clog yesterday...

I cleaned out tons and tons of asparagus from our garbage disposal and it was a real fuckin' bitch...

...seriously.

Anyway, that's not what I wanted to write about, I'm looking for a bit of therapy. In my fantastic, thirteen-year-long relationship with the love of my life and the mother of my child (both, luckily, the same woman!) I've never once strayed...nor will I. But into each life a little rain must fall and I've found that--on occasion--my eyes stray. I wonder if I'm alone in this sometimes, but most of the time I think I'm just like everyone else and that everyone else lives out their daydream fantasies just like I do...as fantasies. The latest?

...*edited by me!*...

I'd write it down, but I know that I'm writing for posterity and therapy, not popularity. Nothing will ever come of it anyway. Fork.

stolen from wombat

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.

this is from The Schoolmaster:

And although Sturmius herein doth far pass all other, yet hath he not so fully and perfectly done it as I do wish he had and as I know he could. For though he hath done it perfectly for precept, yet hath he not done it perfectly enough for example; which he did, neither for lack of skill nor by negligence but of purpose, contented with one or two examples because he was minded in those two books to write of it both shortly and also had to touch other matters.

Bartholomaeus Riccius Ferrariensis also hath written learnedly, diligently, and very largely of this matter even as he did before ver well De apparatu linguae latinae.

(who ever said context was for pussies?)

a hell-of-a-long-time coming

So another year has gone by, but at least this time I've got the chapters to show for it. Here's a run-down on what's going on...and I know, this is strictly for my own records:

• Charlie was born - it has been almost a year, he's ten months old, but crawling and climbing everywhere...
• Chapters 1-3 are completed, Chapter4 is past half, and I'd like to walk this semester if possible...
• I paid off my first car loan...
• We're actually receiving a tax-refund this year (all the thanks go to Charlie for this!)
• I've taken my cooking to another level...still not baking, but that's not far off
• I did, finally, get an iPhone 3G that I haven't broken (yet)...I was going to get a refurb for $150 from att.com, but they're only available for new customers...so after I called customer service with my WTF attitude, I just went out and got one with the remnants of my student loan.

fucking Deconstruction...

Man, dumb French literary theory drives me insane. I mean, seriously, I'd like to think that we've moved beyond purely linguistic literary criticism at this point, yet we'll still be wading through the morass created by second-rate nitwits with Ivy League educations for the next two decades simply because scholars in the 80s and 90s got caught up in the Derridean and Lacanian agendas of publishing useless crap. Ugh!

I can forget working on the car...I've got to finish critiquing Endlesse Worke...at least Goldberg got his title correct!

The Check Engine Light...

The Check Engine Light makes me feel as though I am a true Renaissance man instead of being just a Renaissance scholar...and you know what? That little light is right. I took my car (a silver, 4dr, v6, Honda Accord LX) to AutoZone and they patched into the computer outlet behind the ashtray. Yeah, I knew it was there. Anyway, they said that cylinder 3 isn't firing, though you just have to rev the engine to hear that it is. So I'm going to replace the plugs, distributor cap, and cables. I did this twice before, once on a bitchin' 94 Aspire and once on a 93 Accord; I figure I can do it again. The big question is when will I get around to it. I don't know. If I get eight pages written tomorrow morning, I'll take the early afternoon and do it. Otherwise I'll put it off until it cuts into my Easter weekend.

I'd like to retract the last post where I wrote that I freaked out over the warning signal from my car, but it wouldn't be honest. And in a way, I like the Check Engine Light; it represents the conscience. It warns you that things may soon break down or get out of hand if preventive measures aren't taken...now, if I could only listen to my inner Jiminy Cricket as well as I responded to the light on my dashboard I'd be just ducky.

Two Years Later...

Yeah, it's that time again...two years later...:) But that's not why I'm writing. I'm really just writing now because I need to set the record straight. After everything that has happened over the last two years, the comments I left online are no longer true.

• I wrote and defended my prospectus last September. Well, I wrote the thirteenth and final draft of the prospectus, and my advisor liked it! Then, I revised it again...finally, I filled out a ton of paperwork, had to reapply to the department, etc. and defended that bitch.



• Since then, I've written Chapter One and am part way through Chapter Two...I'm not posting any of it here, but I will someday.



• Also, I've successfully spent eight months without a cig. I went absolutely bonkers in the beginning, but have recovered control and returned to my previous, slightly-less-insane self.



• And finally, most importantly, I'm going to be a father...in like, one month. The process has been more fun for me than for Allison, but I still think it's not nearly as bad as people make it out to be. We're excited as all get-out and the baby's going to be damn cute if she takes after her mother.

So what I said before, that's not really how things stand. I thought I'd be stuck in Prospectus-Limbo for the rest of my life, but now I know it was only for about a decade. I'm going to need to come back here more often, but I make no promises...especially since that kid's on the way!

If I'm allowed, and I know I am, since I'm writing this for myself, I'd like to shout-out to Jamie Oliver and Nigella Lawson, two cooks that have helped me pack on 18 pounds of sympathy weight during Allison's pregnancy and have taught me a few great new recipes.

long time since I wrote to myself

I'm trying not to grade papers right now, so I thought it would be a good time to write. The dissertation is moving (finally) but not today. I've got a deadline, however, which means that I don't have to worry about not getting the stuff done. For some strange reason, I always meet my deadlines (at least when they're for someone else).

More than anything, I thought I'd leave a note about the book that I'm reading right now...The Once and Future King, by T.H.White. Anyway, the note I wanted to leave was that I consider this a book for all people, but for men in particular. There's something so casual and so destructive in White's relation of the love between Lance and Gwen that I'm not sure it's for both sexes. Don't take me the wrong way, but if you feel that different you can message me and we can duke it out. I'll win, I always do. Goulet!

problems with power

So I've been reading and writing; what's new? The writing. I haven't written much on my dissertation for the last eighteen months. What follows is my PhD history (from my point of view). I sped through my coursework and loved it. Literature was always my strength and it was no surprise to me when all sorts of texts opened to my glance. It was exhilarating; during my time at PU I didn't have a computer, half the time I was there I didn't even have a television. I had a one room apartment, full ashtrays, all the reading anyone could want, the drive to succeed that only the young have, and a growing telephone bill. I was broke and I loved it.

But then I moved away; I married the love of my life, moved a few hours away from the University, and tried to continue working on my own. It wasn't easy. After a while (read, a year) I finished a first draft of my prospectus. The research wasn't great, but it wasn't completely shoddy either. This draft, my advisor sent back to me with instructions to cut it in half. Yeah, C. (my advisor) gave me more comments than just to cut it down, but it didn't feel like it. I felt more like I had been deserted.

Eight months later I produced another draft. This prospectus had focus, and I still think it's an honest preview of the dissertation I'm now writing. But I never really received any feedback at all on this draft. Do you know what C. told me? Are you sure you want to write a dissertation? You could do a lot of things with your education; you don't have to teach. What the fuck. Honestly, I took it as he meant it. I drove home, flipped the thing over my shoulder, and didn't think about it for another six months. (Do you see how time flies?)

So, I'm finally writing again. Another year passed during which I filled another research notebook full of random data. I've stored some great ideas, followed lots of thoughts, and read more than I had planned. But none of these things helps one write a dissertation. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I simply must write. I'm not a Nazi about it, but I enjoy it again. Finally.

I still need to talk to C. about my project. If he's willing to help I'll have a great time finishing the damnable thing; if he won't help me I'll farm the paper out to the first graduate school that will take most of my credits and transfer, paper in hand.

Let's hope that's not how it goes.

weakened from the weekend

I've got some questions that I'm mulling over, and as I'm writing to myself, I thought I should try to record them.

1. Why is my vision of the world fairly optimistic when every novel, movie, and work of art that I appreciate is actually drawn from real life (a.k.a. slit-your-wrists depressing)? I mean, I can see the value of comedy, but I still labor under the academic's stereotype that a decent novel end unhappily. I'm oversimplifying, I know. Think of it this way: if Malamud's The Natural ended like Disneyfied film version, wouldn't you feel as though the moral of the story were missing? Ok, I'm smart. I know it. I just answered my own question.
2. While working on my dissertation, when do I show and when tell? My response as a sometime composition instructor is that I should know the answer because I've examined my audience. But my advisor is my primary audience and I haven't spoken to him for at least a year...so I don't know. Of course, I'm also my own audience and I don't seem to like anything I write any more. I suppose I should go back to writing sonnets for Allison, at least then I knew who I was writing to.
3. What should I do about Guy? He was my best friend for years. We helped each other through some difficult times. Grew up. Grew apart. Kept in touch. Yada, yada. Anyway, he pulled the Fadeout. He missed my thirtieth birthday party; I never followed up either. I suppose that constitutes a double fadeout; whatever the cause though, he's been moving on with his social life in the past year and I never realized that it bothered me until I didn't get invited a party that he was throwing in the city. (Yes, I'm shallow. I've always admitted it though, so I've got that going for me...and I'll freely admit it now: I don't think I cared about losing Guy's friendship until I realized it would actually have some sort of manifestation in the real, physical world.) So; what should I do about him? I'll try to think of it more later; that's worked for the last year or so.