D constructing D

Hitting the Nail on the Head

2010-03-27T18:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you read something and it resonates so true with you that you have to stop for a minute and revel in the simplicity of someone who just gets it right.

Today, I found just such an example over on Huff Post.

The Tea Party mantra of "Take back our country!" is racism cloaked in patriotism by people who can't compete, can't adapt, and no longer have the protection and security of simply being white. This is even more prevalent in the South. Their fear the world is leaving without them, their fear the federal government won't favor them and the state government doesn't have the authority, their fear the ones they have for so long been able to oppress and keep in their place are no longer willing to stay there and are therefore gaining more power, and their lack of control over these changes around them is what is driving this movement. They can call it whatever they want, justify it in whatever way helps them sleep at night, but I see the truth and it disgusts me.

Good job and good writing, Melissa.

I just don't get these kids today

2010-03-13T18:52:00.000-08:00

Ok, so D-fav J is on a rant and decided to pull me into it. I thought I'd take just a moment to defend myself and my original argument.

A. The original intent of my post (as opposed to the letter I actually wrote to the company), was a sort of tongue-in-cheek poke at myself. It's the inevitable dismay at having turned into my mother.

B. I think you have misunderstood the nature of my complaint. In that original letter I wrote to Steep and Cheap, I was pointing out that I don't wish to encounter the word "shit" when I'm trying to shop. The "there are kids reading this" comment was secondary to MY preferences and I felt you sort of focused on that part of my comment when that was just a lazy phrase I threw in. I felt (and still do) that I have every right to express my opinion to companies whose services or products I purchase...whether it be for the manner of their advertising (take Nikon's Negro in the jungle ads, or Steep and Cheap's bomber jacket's da shit ad copy), or the taste of Campbell's soup (too damn salty! already). I feel no differently about this interaction with a corporate entity than I do when I ask Kroger to add a few more organic and green product choices, please. And really, if you had read that particular Daily Dose where he talked about going into a bar and calling some Irish guy a drunk Mic or something, you'd know where I'm coming from.

The "you kids get off my lawn" title was intended as a poke at my advancing age and the stereotype of grumpy ol' Mr. Wilson trying to rid himself of Dennis the Menace (I know, probably an obscure reference for you). But with respect to young people, yeah, I do care when teenagers sling around the f-bombs when families with small children are trying to eat. I do care when some drunk concert-goer screams like a little girl through every fucking song when I paid $60 for a ticket to listen to the performer actually sing it in person. I do care when lifeguards text message on their cell phone when they are supposed to be in charge of saving lives. However, I don't really give a flying rat's ass what the young kids do amongst themselves. They want to call each other "nigga" and I'm supposed to believe it's not racial, so be it. When my nephew posts pictures of himself and his friends on Facebook playing with balloons in the shape of a penis and testicles and act as though they are giving each other blow jobs, I'm not saying a word. Let him realize how embarrassing that's gonna be when he tries to get a real job post-college.

But let's get real here for a minute. You have rigorously defended the younger generation as though they are a generation of polite, smart, civic-minded Kevin Arnolds, and I think you are living in a dream world there. Sure, the younger generation is not racist. I think the younger generation is not racist NOT because they are some greater level of benevolent than previous generations but because their parent's generation purposely raised them not to be racist, in defiance of their (parent's) own upbringing. But overly civic minded? Horse shit! I believe this generation is as apathetic as most other previous generations. I believe your sense of your generation being so proactive is a product of your personal experience (and you hang with a pretty damn upscale crowd), and not indicative of the larger community of young people. Go to a soup kitchen. Or a hospital. Or a reading program. Who do you see volunteering? Who is walking around your neighborhood trying to solicit donations for charity? When I was 37 years old, I began volunteering at the zoo. I was the youngest volunteer in my area by about 25 years. No one is going to come close to approaching the elderly in terms of giving of their time and energy. It takes time to gain the perspective and see the value in "giving back". Young people (as a group) just aren't there yet.

So, while it may not be okay to be openly racist these days, there are plenty of other things that these "kids today" have no problem being pretty darn insensitive about. (Although, I will admit that it is not significantly different that the lack of civility and sensibility that one finds in the public at large---this really doesn't seem to be a product of age.) However, it was YOUR argument that the young people today are so much better than the young people of previous generations.

Case in point. Let's go back to the Steep and Cheap advert about the hat with a zippered pocket for the ski-lift doobage. I heard back from Fred after that post. Here's what he had to say about the rules he had to implement regarding ad copy. And keep in mind, that this is just the bare minimum.

I have made progress on the editorial front by implementing at least the following guidelines and limitations:
Absolutely no use of the “f” word in backcountry copy
Avoid sensitive issues related to politics and religion
Never make fun of a human disease or disability (this was out of control before)
Absolutely no hate speech or anything that can be perceived as bigotry
Be sensitive to the values of parents
Your concern about the “stoner culture,” as you call it, is also a concern to me. I mean that sincerely.

He actually had to distribute rules that said they would not drop f-bombs or make fun of human disability. Now there's some upscale thinking for ya.

I am not blind, deaf, or an idiot. My nephew uses the term "gay" as a put down. I find it appalling. I have heard him talk to his friends when he thinks he is out of earshot and he calls women "bitches" and "ho's". Cringe City. He takes pictures of he and his friends flipping the photographer the bird. So 1977. And apparently, there is some quality of mouth wide open, tongue hanging out that he finds to be a heart-warming Kodak moment. I take a "I won't ask, please don't tell me" approach.

Do I think that kids enjoy pushing the envelope? Of course. Do I tire of having it thrust upon ME where I find it difficult to avoid? You bet. I find it irritating the same way I find it irritating that blue jeans come in two varieties--elastic waist just beneath my cleavage or producing a muffin top/threatening to show my butt crack every time I bend over. I am 47 years old and I'd like MY preferences to be considered along with those of 12-24 year olds. I'd like Campbell's soup to make a low, LOW sodium soup that I could choke down. I'd like my concerts without the vomit, pot-haze, or screaming ninjas, my swimming pool with an attentive life guard, my shopping experience without the shit-fucking-stoner copy, and I'd like to eat in peace. I realize the value in NOT selling alcohol at venues that attract a lot of people. I don't consider it an inconvenience anymore--I consider it a public service.

As for the young people of this generation, I think they have great potential. I think they have great challenges. I don't think they are substantially different than my generation, my parent's generation, or your generation. They have their own culture and they are welcome to it. But they do have to interact with people of all ages, and that includes customers of their businesses. And if they want to sell to people outside of their generation, they are going to have to consider the sensibilities of people outside their generation. I don't think you call your colleagues "homies". I don't think you call your boss "nigga". I don't think you use the word "shit" in ad copy and I do think it's irresponsible to encourage drug use. Steep and Cheap doesn't want to sell to me. That's their choice. I have every right to open a dialogue about it, to encourage them to see me as more than a cranky old person. Maybe one day, probably when they are 47, they will begin to think of me as a valuable customer. But by then it will be too late. No one will be listening to them either.

You Can Never Go Home Again

2010-02-28T13:13:00.000-08:00

I realized today, in glaring terms, how little I have left in common with the friends of my youth.

Today, I received an invitation to my 30th High School Reunion. Here is the announcement in its entirety.

Dear Classmates:

It is hard to believe that we are approaching our 30 year class reunion! We hope you are gearing up to participate in our celebration that is currently being planned. Our goal is to reunite friends and have a wonderful weekend. Please set aside July 30-31^st, 2010 on your calendars. Below is a tentative outline of our plans.

Friday, July 30 -

“Cornhole At the Club”

Site: Bellefonte Country Club (Poolside)

Time: TBA

Dress: Informal

Features: Grilled hamburgers, hotdogs, games and swimming.

Saturday, July 31-

Golf Outing for the guys. Check the website for further details which are pending.

EVENING: Semi-formal Dinner/Dance

Time: 6:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. Social Hour/Appetizers

7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. Dinner/Awards

9:00 p.m. to 12 midnight Dance (D.J. will be spinning tunes from 1975 - 1980)

When I saw that the Friday evening event was "Cornhole at the Club", I wondered just exactly what sort of reunion they were planning. Apparently, I'm a real asshole (no pun intended) for pointing out their unfortunate choice of words.

Race in America: D responding to J responding to D

2009-12-10T16:32:00.000-08:00

Wherein D owns what she says, smooths D-Fave J's ruffled feathers, and elaborates, possibly inciting deeper discussion or perhaps further division.

Wow. I'm kind of surprised to read this from you at this point, D.

Ok, I'm just gonna say this. This sort sounds like I'm your pet project and I backslid or something. Am I supposed to be sorry for my comments? You should know by now that there is almost always deeper thinking behind my ideas. Rather than shame or disappoint one another, let's get right to them.

There are a lot of issues at play here and perhaps the best way to tackle this is to deconstruct them.

Tiger Woods. All the hullabaloo surrounding Tiger Woods seems to be an issue of racial politics. Who owns celebrities? Can we share ownership of mixed race people? Am I allowed to claim Obama as one of my own? I am not ignorant of the "one drop" rule, nor do I have any problem with the black community using it as their own barometer of those they wish to claim. However, high achieving people are claimed by virtually everyone. Case in point: Michael Jordan. He is claimed by his family, his hometown, his high school, his college, his teammates, fans of his sports team, North Carolina, Illinois, Chicago, his racial community, his nation, just about every fucking person everywhere. Why? Because we ALL want to align ourselves with uber talented, insanely spectacular people. Who owns Michael Jordan? No one. Son of a bitch has more money than Oprah. Well, he did until he got divorced.

I will concede that a lot of what the field negro says, he says to be provocative and to initiate discussion. So when he says that Tiger Woods is just getting his come-uppance for rubbing elbows with the massah and forgetting about his blackness, I take it as tongue in cheek. But the field spends an extraordinary amount of blogspace advancing the idea that high-achieving black professionals fool themselves into thinking they are powerful. That the black power elite are neither powerful nor elite because the ~~real~~ white power elite can jack-slap them back out to the fields the first time they forget their place. He usually suggests this idea after a powerful black person has fucked up royally. Although I have learned a great deal from the field and respect him immensely, I think this idea (if indeed he actually believes it) is preposterously naive. He violates common rules of logic when he applies his pet theory not to the broader community of high-achieving black professionals, but only to those who have fallen from grace. It is easy to say Tiger's fall is the result of the white man's displeasure with the n****r after the black man has fucked half a dozen women outside of his dream marriage, lost a variety of contracts with morals clauses, and embarrassed himself in public.

But can we please concede that Tiger Woods is NOT subject to the same prejudices, indignities and pressures as the rest of the community of color? He's fucking fantastically rich! We're not talking Bernie Mac rich or Eddie Murphy rich. We're talking audience with the President rich. We're talking Michael Jordan rich.

I would remind the field of Obama's comment on David Letterman regarding racial backlash. Do you think for one minute that TIGER WOODS the GOLFER forgot that he wasn't white? Do you think for one minute that anyone in his professional life has ever let him forget that he is the great black golfer? That he is the barrier breaker? That he is a role model for a new generation of black youth? Speaking for myself, I celebrate the Tiger Woodses and the Michael Jordans of the world for their incredible talent and not for their color. Maybe I have the luxury to ignore their race, but I have no less right to them than you do.

African American as a race. I will absolutely allow that the shifting vernacular is not a plot to piss me off. I believe, as you do, that changing terminology is a result of an evolving sense of community. I also would like to point out that I was never irritated by this, simply pointing out that it had changed and that the term isn't reflective of racial composition. I know a number of Caucasian people from Mexico who receive whatever special considerations are given to those who are considered Hispanic by virtue of ambiguous racial definitions. Further, I was pointing out the general wackiness of a blogger's self-identified nitpicking about race when she didn't actually identify by race. Capishe?

And now, for something completely different.

Race, and culture, are impossible to precisely define, but I would definitely say there is a "pole" around which the African-American/black culture centers, and a "pole" for majoritarian culture, primarily the culture of those who don't necessarily have to give explicit thought to race.

I would suggest that white people are forbidden from giving explicit thought to race--at least since the 1960s. Sure, as a group, white America has a lot to make up for after 150 years of cross-burnings, lynchings, fire bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, water hosing of freedom marchers, George Wallace attempting to prevent the integration of the U of Alabama, and promotion testing that favors white applicants. I am the first to admit that white America showed its ass. But that doesn't mean we should have to give up our voice entirely. If anyone, anywhere tries to stand up and say something about the white race these days, they are labeled a Nazi sympathizer and white supremacist as a matter of course. Now..I'm not one for patting white American on the back for merely easing up on the pressure it places on the back of the neck of most minority communities. However, I do think that the "struggle for racial equality" doesn't have to always be a "struggle". I think that there are plenty of white Americans willing to talk to other white Americans about race....about the impact and legacy of our (the collective "we" here--referring to majority culture) culture on others. About our blindness to the lingering vestiges of racism. About our improbably but widespread acceptance that the playing field is level, and can be leveled without making anything harder or more competitive for white Americans. I can't tell you the number of young men I know who, upon entering the workforce and understanding that really would have to compete with everyone made some wistful comment about how much easier things were for their fathers. And those comments were full of a scarcely hidden anger. White America hasn't thought these things through--nor had I until we started having or substantive discussions on race here, J. I am willing to act as ambassador for racial equality, but to be perfectly honest, I could use a hand up here and not a slap on the wrist.

I don't know everything. I don't know what to say sometimes. I don't have the depth of understanding and sometimes lack the vernacular to put it in the words that will sink and stick with white folks. But I am trying.

My culture is not the caricature that Eddie Murphy and Chris Rock present to great comedic effect. White America is not Buffy and Chip upset because their tee-time was pushed back half an hour because Obama's motorcade was going through town. Sure, the comedy is in the way white people are ignorant to their incredible privilege and have wackaloon ideas about what it means to be put out, but when this is the pole that I have to swing from, how can I be allowed to have a real voice in the race discussion? It has been my experience (and here I mean ME as an individual) that I am not allowed, outside of our conversations, to be taken seriously in any meaningful public discussion about race. Unless, of course, I concede to the default POC position. And in some ways, J, isn't that what your response to me tried to get me to do?

That is to say, and I'm trying not to be shrill here, but honey, the terms black, Negro, Colored, African American, Afro-American, Black-American and others are not about you. We're not shifting around to annoy you (the bulk you--majoritarian culture), we're shifting around because we want a term that will do the impossible.

Did you just call me "honey"? :p

So it wasn't about whether the shifting vernacular chosen by this community or that irritates me. In fact it doesn't. Race is a shifting construct and I don't give a rat's ass what anyone calls themselves. I'm actually not all that fond of the term "white". I think it is becoming an epithet in itself. Neither do I have any sense of community coming out of the term European American. It just seems alien to me. And not to go all Obama on your ass, but isn't there an American culture? We are not as divided as our skin color would suggest. I don't think by leaving my voice and those of the majority culture (and I'm not talking about Rush Limbaugh's voice here either--I'm talking about enlightened white Americans) can we ever hope to truly carve a post-racial America.

Do I compare the hostility of the minority culture over real and ongoing racism with my "ideological hostility of the oppressors"? No. But when someone suggests that rude behavior becomes a crime when I do it, but doesn't when you do it, I have to wonder whether the community of color wants to have a meaningful discussion about race or wants revenge. Just as there is a die-hard white racist faction out there (*cough* Rush Limbaugh *cough*), there is also the "make whitey pay" faction out there, too. To deny it is to be naive.

By way of segue, there is a crazy professor in our department that regularly terrorizes graduate students by ambushing them regarding language. I heard her verbally berate a colleague's husband for calling a group of us sitting at a table "ladies". Forget that he was offering to "get us ladies something" all she heard was "ladies" and she went OFF on a tirade about how she wasn't a lady, she was a WO-MAN. Same wackjob went off on me because I called her by her first name when we were having a beer. After ripping me a new asshole for 10 minutes, she finally said that it was ok to call her by her first name if we were, you know, having a beer or something, but I shouldn't do that in professional environment. The irony of the fact that we were having a beer when she did this was completely lost on her. I am saying that most white Americans don't want to offend. We want to call people what they wish to be called. No one asks me what I wish to be called. Or my group. We're white. We're supposed to love it. We're white, after all, and every advantage is afforded us automatically.

Here is what I'm saying, J. I am ready to work to level the playing field in every way. I think there are hundreds of thousands of white Americans who feel the same. If they are like me, they don't understand why we're not being allowed to join the fight for racial equality. We are frustrated and tired. My suggestion to everyone is that you don't allow our frustration to allow us to give up on the cause. That would be a mistake.

Oh, and one more thing. I simply do not agree with this statement.

"Let us say, at best, I think you over-estimate the extent to which "People of Color" think/care about what the majority does."

I think "people of color" care a great deal what white America does.

Since when is African-American a race and other thoughts on racial politics

2009-12-08T18:05:00.000-08:00

This is perhaps a roundabout away of getting to my point, but I was reading an article by field negro on Tiger Woods today, which led me to a variety of other articles on race. One in particular by Carmen Van Kerckhove, I found particularly perplexing.

Van Kerckhove self-identifies as Chinese and Dutch. Umm. Carmen, dear. Neither of those are races, but nationalities. That Van Kerchkhove would "nitpick" about race when she self-identifies by her ancestors' national origin is just plain wacky. Which brings me to my next odd example of race in America.

I recently was asked to sign a contract which asked for my racial identity. I was perplexed by the selection. The options were:

Caucasian
African American
Asian
Native American
Mixed race

Since when did African American get to be a race? That term has only been around for about 20 years! I am 46 years old and I can remember when black people, regardless of nationality, were referred to as Negroes. At some point in the 60s, Negro was thought of as condescending. So then it was Black. Then it became Black American. Now, it's African American. As if all black Americans are of African origin. I'll be honest. There have been times when I have thought that these shifting ideas about what to call POC was merely a way to prevent white Americans from having any sort of voice in the race discussion. As long as you can shout down the majority group by making them feel prejudiced for daring to open their mouths, you own the direction and tenor of the discussion. Bad form, I say.

The black community seems to think that Tiger isn't black enough. At least, that's my take on it. He doesn't date black women. He doesn't seem to want to be "one of them". I don't have any problem with Tiger's behavior. Tiger self-identifies as Cablinasian (Caucasian, Black, American Indian, and Asian). I sort of like it that he hasn't allowed anyone to own him, racially speaking. I think we should let people be what they want to be. If they don't agree with our ideas of race, so be it.

If we are to split hairs, and since this is my blog I will, shouldn't the options more appropriately be:

Mixed-race with primarily Caucasoid features
Mixed-race with primarily Negroid features
Mixed-race with primarily Mongoloid features
Mixed-race with primarily Australoid features
Mixed race without categorical dominance

I'm just saying. I don't know that I have the answer about how best to identify race in the first place. Aren't we all "Out of Africa"? There is no scientifically meaningful way to describe race. Race is, whatever we want it to be. I think I'm going to start self-identifying as mixed race. After all, my ancestors include some colorful people.

Of course, my comments are not meant to belittle the experiences of persons of color who have been actively discriminated against based on racial prejudices. But when I read a recent blog post on Feministing wherein people say that if a minority calls me an epithet, it's just being rude, but if I call a minority an epithet, it's a hate crime, I wonder how f*#@'d up our ideas about race have really become.

It would seem that Tiger Woods, a mixed-race individual, has had several affairs, all with white women. field negro appears to think that white America has given Tiger a wake-up call to the effect that his ass is actually black. I never actually thought of Tiger as black. I thought of him as Asian. I guess this is my prejudice. He looks more Asian than black to me. But it is almost as if we demand that some racial group own him lock, stock, and barrel.

Like Tiger, we are not all black or all white. We are not all white culture or all black culture. I think that the "black experience" in America has been well enough known to me that it has influenced who I am and how I look at myself. Yes, I have had black Americans treat me as though I had a sheet hanging in my closet because I am from Appalachia. Weren't they surprised to learn how far that was from the truth.

We are a human race. Our blood flows into and between us all. I'm not prepared to throw Tiger Woods or anyone else under the bus based on their skin color, racial identity, or sexual proclivities. Tiger is a man. He has to deal with his stupid shit, same as you and I do. I would suggest that race has very little to do with his current issues. Money and fame make everyone colorblind.

Journalists who don't understand their profession

2009-11-19T22:09:00.000-08:00

Three points in response to this unbelievable news out of St. Louis, MO. An anonymous poster to a blog linked to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch posted a one word comment in response to the question of the day: What is the strangest thing you've ever eaten?

His response: pussy.

The moderator of the blog deleted his post. The anonymous commenter re-posted his comment. (Probably thinking it hadn't gone through.) By mechanisms still not well understood by me, something called WordPress, sent Kurt Greenbaum, the author of the blog post and the STL Post-Dispatch's "Director of Social Media", an email, and.....well, why don' we let Kurt describe what happened next."

I deleted it [the second comment], but noticed in the WordPress e-mail alert that his comment had come from an IP address at a local school. So I called the school. They were happy to have me forward the e-mail, though I wasn’t sure what they’d be able to do with the meager information it included.

Well, I'll tell ya what they did with it. The IT department at the school were able to pinpoint the computer and the time and apparently, identify the poster because only one person had access to that computer at that time. So despite the fact that the STL P-D's privacy policy specifically states that they will not share information on posters with third parties without the poster's consent, Greenbaum did exactly that.

When confronted with the news that the anonymous comment had garnered a tattle-tale phone call from the blog owner, the school employee resigned on the spot.

Kurt Greenbaum then posted an account of the situation on the STL P-D website, whereupon he was summarily torn to shreds by every poster (save a handful) to the page.

I have three things to say about this.

1. The glee with which Kurt Greenbaum reports of a person losing their job for posting a mildly vulgar word qualifies him for mayor of Douchebaggerdale.

2. The fact that he vehemently defended his actions when everyone told him what a douchebag he was and the fact he felt blameless for forcing someone out of a job for something that was neither illegal nor immoral is further proof of his douchebaggery. What? You don't believe me? Look at this:

@Ghetto: Yeah, you caught me! I made him log on to his computer at work, visit STLtoday.com’s Talk of the Day, read the item, type a vulgarity and hit the “submit” key.

Interesting perspective. Thanks for your contribution.

Oh, I didn’t say he was fired. I said he resigned.

— Kurt Greenbaum 3:31 pm November 16th, 2009

or this:

Blocking IP addresses is a bad idea. You can accidentally block everyone from a particular place of business. I didn’t track down the guy. His place of work just showed up in the email alert because their servers were correctly configured.

Defend the guy who posted the vulgarity all you want. I’m not regulating someone’s thought. He can think whatever he wants. I’m moderating our boards. Follow our guidelines and this won’t be a problem for any of you.

Remember, I said it was a school, right? It could have been a student. I didn’t know who it was. I just thought the school might like to know about it. I sleep fine at night.

— Kurt Greenbaum 4:26 pm November 16th, 2009

Oh, the douchbaggery. It burns.

3. I wouldn't buy a STL Post-Dispatch if my life depended on it. If their Director of Social Media doesn't understand the nature of social media, he deserves to be fired for that alone.

I don't think I have ever heard of a bigger douche than this guy. But by god, don't call him a facist. At the St Louis Post-Dispatch, they'll call out your business for your personal thoughts.

Oh, and what warning do posters get to watch their language by the P-D? If you attempt to post, this is what appears in the comment box.

Share your thoughts here.... (Please keep it civil. Don't say anything you wouldn't in front of your mother.)

I guess these guys have never met my mother.

Massive fail, dudes.

A Sustainable Future? A Response to J

2009-10-27T12:28:00.001-07:00

Please see J's prescient post on our potential for a sustainable future. Because this response is too long, it won't fit on his comment section.

Ahh, the big question. Can humans live sustainably? My answer is simple: the environment carries a big stick and isn't afraid to use it to beat the crap out of us.

A plethora of B-movie scenarios are proposed for the time of scarce resources. The formula goes like this...resource inequities turn the world into a dyad of "haves" and "have nots". Governments of wealthy nations allow their populace to live beyond their means and the rest of the world be damned. When other nations come with their hands out, wealthy nations undergo a rapid culture shift, moving toward overt nationalism, intense isolationism, and a return to conservative values. This is a not so subtle way of saying, "If those people had worked harder and saved for a rainy day, they might have what we still have. Aren't we great?", and is one of the most ugly and obvious examples of First World privilege imaginable. (But I digress.) Ultimately, resources become so scarce that the government can no longer contain the situation and falls. Then it's every man for himself. Individuals and families hoard the remaining resources, hole up in our houses, and shoot all who attempt to enter. This also fails. (Think every zombie movie ever made.) After the family unit fails, the survivors (almost always very young people with one or two progressive old folks who can pass on accumulated knowledge) congregate in happy communes and human culture is reset to a more sustainable level. Lather. Rinse. Repeat every ten millennia or so.

Our alternative scenario is that we skip all the government control of the situation and go straight to the hippy-dippy commune approach. Not. Gunna. Happen.

There is a third option, and that is the one I think you are proposing. Technology and self awareness can give people the tools they need to maintain a first world standard of living, curb population growth, and feed every mouth in need. All we need is a paradigm shift in culture to get it there.

I maintain it won't work. Oh, I think it is physically possible (people CAN be taught to live within hard limits and exhibit self-restraint) but the cultural jumping off point precludes it. Somehow, American culture has embraced the idea that we get to decide our own reality. And as goes American culture so goes the world. Let me give you an example. I spent this morning reading an internet board that I can only describe as the "To vaccinate or not to vaccinate: that is the question facing the inept" fiasco. There are people who are convinced that there is a conspiracy between the government and Big Pharma to kill them, that scientists are doctoring clinical trials purposely to bring bad product to market, and that any money made off of of meds renders the entire profession corrupt. Remarkably, these same people who think capitalism in the medical profession is bad also think that government programs that make medical services available to the masses are also bad. So capitalism AND socialism be damned. For fuck's sake, J, nothing can save these morons. In the absence of a real disease outbreak here in the United States (I don't think Americans believe it can happen here even if it happens in Europe) that wipes out a significant portion of the population, nothing will convince these idiots of the error of their thinking. I say, let them skip the vaccinations. Just kick their children out of public school, let them contract small pox, and corral their idiot behinds in quarantine camps.

But the point here is, when did it become okay for people to decide whether to accept facts, whether or not to "believe" scientific findings, and whether or not to act in a way that places not only themselves, but others in grave danger?

Humans have all the intelligence, knowledge and physical power necessary to actually bring ourselves back from the edge. But we won't. It is one reason that I think Obama might actually fail. The birthers, the anti-vaccination crowd, the climate-change deniers all seem to be living in an alternate universe that the educated, thinking man can't penetrate. They are so gripped in their own ignornace and conspiracy theories that they can't see what idiots they really are. While they may not be the majority, they are the lowest common denominator. And we "leave no idiot behind". The vast majority of people would rather wallow in ignorance right up to the moment that they trip into their mass grave. Humans are smart, but we aren't rational. We clasp to prior knowledge even when doing so harms us. If we were rational, religion would have disappeared generations ago. We can justify the most outrageous behavior.

Furthermore, a culture shift demands that the majority follow the rules. What biological population is able to control all its members?

I taught an entire course on environmental issues in which we discussed the problems of oil extraction and refining, the probem of carbon release and climate change, the problems of grwing population size and world hunger. I STILL had a kid tell me toward the end of the semester he wasn't going to give up his gas-guzzling car because "chicks dig it".

Humans are animals and please, tell me one biological population that is not (ultimately) controlled top-down (by predation, parasitism, viral attack, etc.), laterally (by competition), or bottom-up (by environmental controls). Tell me one.

Consider for example, our cultural expectation of monogamy. There are always extra-couple copulations. Why? Because even when there is the expectation of monogamy, individuals maximize their offspring's survival chances by investing in a variable set of genes. Sure, one of those offspring may be the most fit today, but what about when conditions change rapidly? Variation is good. Variation is the stuff of evolution. We will lie when culture works against our best interests. Sometimes we don't know why we act like we do, even when we act in defiance of cultural norms. I maintain there is always an element of biological determinism at work.

And unlike those in the "can humans exhibit enough self-restraint to prevent disaster", I propose that humans are controlled hardest by the limits set by the environment. If we improve technology we will merely increase the carrying capacity of the Earth. We will continue to fill all available space until the environment pushes back. We will bicker and fight and joust among one another like chickens in coop.

I think there are an enlightened few capable of sacrificing their own self-interests for the greater good. Perhaps they can change the mass culture, but I doubt it. Maybe these few are the founders of the hippy-dippy communes, but the masses are far too distrusting and stupid to make it work. I think martial law is just about the only way to achieve peaceful (?!!) sustainability. The other alterantive is to let the Earth take care of itself.

I realize I have rambled here and not stuck to the true intent of your original post, but I think maybe I was working through this as I wrote my response. It would be great if we somehow could educate our way into this sustainable future. I don't think I'm likely to see it in my lifetime, but I could be wrong.

Am I fearless?

2009-09-06T09:58:00.000-07:00

I was reading through a series of blog posts by The U, and dude got me to thinking. He posed a simple question. If you were to make this statement:

“What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me.”¹

What would you be talking about?

That got me thinking. This isn't about fear of dying. Death removes all fear or dread. Job intended to convey a fear he had to live with. What befell Job was, to him, a fate much worse than death. A fate from which there was no relief. If Job's fate befell me, what would that circumstance be? What is it I fear most?

I have accepted that those close to me will die one day, as will I. Death is a part of life. I don't fear it or dread it. Illness leading to death, no matter how painful, slow, or debilitating is also a part of life. I don't welcome it, but neither do I dread it. Dying as a result of some awful accident? Really, does it matter the form in which death comes? It is coming and it is relentless.

Loss of my senses. Sight. Hearing. Troublesome, yes. But I would adapt and lead a full life, I think. Loss of limb. A mere inconvenience. Paralysis. I'd learn to do wheelies in my chair. Can't communicate? I have a full life going on inside my head most of the time anyway. My thoughts would just be my little secret.

So what am I afraid of? Loss of freedom? Having to be or forced to be dependent on someone? I have a brother in prison. While I agree that prison is not an enviable lifestyle, I think I would survive it.

Rape? As someone who has dealt with sexual assault, I can say with confidence that it can be overcome.

Being alone? I'm not one to get lonely. Fear of dying alone? We all die alone.

Fear of failure? Fear that I have wasted my life? Fear of being forgotten? Fear that I will disappoint my loved ones? Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. I will fail. I have wasted a grand portion of my life. I will be forgotten. I have disappointed my loved ones.

I think people who have children have fears I will never know. Fear for a child's health and safety. Fear for their future. Those are not my fears.

I was beginning to wonder if I was fearless. But then something began to nag at me. Something small. And the more I thought about it, the more the lack of it seemed to fill me with an emptiness that I didn't want to consider. Because I am living with that thing I dread everyday.

My fear is that I will die before I know love. I'm 46. I'm past the halfway mark here. I haven't found a loving relationship in my adult life. I don't know what it is like to love and be loved in return. I have looked, not looked, waited, pursued, turned over rocks, kissed frogs, given up, taken up the search again. Zilch. Nothing. Nada. I'd love to say I loved my husband, but it's a lie. I don't know what a loving relationship feels like. I don't know what an honest love between a man and a woman feels like.

Funny thing. Unlike Job, for whom the thing he dreaded most arrived on his doorstep and settled in for the long haul, I live every day with that thing I dread most, and the only thing that keeps me going is the hope that one day it will move along and leave me to my happiness.

So you think you want to go to graduate school

2009-08-04T20:45:00.000-07:00

Lots of people toy with the idea of going to graduate school, but as we know, only a self-selected few actually do. And those who do wonder constantly if it is the right thing to do. I'm no exception. I think about whether I've done the right thing with my life a lot. I've been chasing this Ph.D. for 8 years now. In January 2001, I began to make up the deficiencies I had in my undergraduate record. I thought I'd get my masters. If all went well, I'd get my doctorate.

I wondered if I was smart enough. (I am.) I wondered if I had what it takes to stick with it. (I do.) I wondered if I would enjoy the job I got when I got out. (I believe I will.) I wondered if it was as bad as some people made it out to be. (It is.)

About a year ago, when I was in the middle of one of my blue funks, I conducted a survey of graduate students (which I still haven't properly analyzed), and got input from the people who've been here about whether they would do it all over again. Most would, but most were unhappy about some facet of the way their graduate experience had gone. More than a few were disillusioned with academia. If I can be given a little room to extrapolate here, I'd say that most clearly loved with the work, and clearly were not in love with what it takes to do that work. And that made me realize something about the people who do succeed in graduate school. We don't give up when the going gets tough, or when the going gets really tough, or when the going get ridiculously, unbelievably, inconceivably tough, or even when you-really-should-have-brought-a-lawsuit-over-this-shit-already tough.

Graduate school reminds me of marriage that way. The relationship starts off in this idealized, I'm-just-crazy-about-you way and over time it becomes more and more strained until one day you come to your senses and realize that the way you're being treated isn't ok. Not in your book. Not in anyone's book. So yeah. An ability to tolerate the intolerable because there is no other path leading toward your goals--that's what it takes to be a successful grad student.

I understand now what J meant when he said he would tell people to do something else if you could, but if you can't do something else, then, dig in and get comfortable.

So, yes, people in grad school are smart. Being smart is the least of your worries. Do you have the other traits necessary to succeed in grad school?

Are you tenacious? Can you stick with it when you hate your advisor, when nothing is going right with your work, when your committee is convinced you are a moron, and when nightmares of having to pay back those student loans wake you up in the night? If not, stay away.

Are you self-motivated. No one is going to hold your hand in graduate school. No one is going to make sure you are working. If you need a coach just to get out of bed in the morning, join the gym. No one is going to cheer from the sidelines to spur you on. Maybe your mama, but certainly no one you work with.

Do you know what your strengths and weaknesses are? Self-awareness is extremely helpful. If you don't know already, graduate school will gladly point your weaknesses out to you.

Are you thick-skinned? Can you stand people yelling at you? Because professors will. They will say things to you that cut to the bone. You will be amazed that these people can say these things and live with themselves. Trust me, their comments may hurt but they are doing you a favor by saying them.

Can you work alone? Graduate education is, by its very nature, singular work. No one is going to be there when you are in the lab night after night after night. This is your path. Remember?

Confidence. In fact, I would say that most graduate students border on narcissistic personalities. We believe in our abilities. Usually, we have the stuff to back up that faith.

Are you ready for the hard realities of life? Because I'm going to tell you, you aren't nearly da shiznit as you think you are. Most smart people are used to being the smartest person in the room. In graduate school, everyone is smart. Most of them are smarter than you. You will feel stupid around these people...for a very long time.

I have heard many people say that a graduate degree is "just a piece of paper" and "it really doesn't mean anything". I can't even address how wrong these people are. Graduate school is a gauntlet and you really can't begin to understand how much that paper represents until you have done it yourself.

I'm still wondering 8 years later whether I did the right thing.

Failure 2.0

2009-08-01T21:56:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a three-week field research excursion with my nephew. I really didn't know him when we got in the car. My objective on this journey was to get an idea of the man this kid had turned out to be. We had a lot of conversations, he and I on our 7000+ mi journey. At one point, he and I got into a discussion about something...I can hardly remember what at the moment....and my nephew made a sweeping, unflattering characterization about black people. Something along the lines of "all black people are lazy."

I told him in no uncertain terms that all black people are NOT lazy, that the same could be said of white people in general terms, and of him in particular, and, you know, that he sounded incredibly, undeniably, idiotic.

In his most incredulous voice, he said to me, "You act like I'm racist." He explained that in the neighborhood he had lived in in Louisville while he went to school--a neighborhood that was probably 50:50 black:white and probably a heavy on the poverty (it is a college area, after all)--that THOSE blacks were lazy and not trying to improve themselves. Clearly, this was meant to portray that he wasn't racist about ALL black people. In his mind, somehow, it was acceptable to be racist about those poor lazy black people in his neighborhood in Louisville.

I didn't point out (although I should have) that he was, in fact, a college dropout...that his life lacked any direction whatsoever...that despite being given an opportunity that most of the world would kill for...HE was the one who wasn't capitalizing on this incredible opportunity that his parents had made available to him. I didn't say that. But it was dancing on the end of my tongue.

I did explain to him that not everyone was able to attend college nor had the aptitude for it and some of THOSE people had to live in his neighborhood because their economic reality, so while he had to slum it for a bit to sacrifice for a college education (in an apartment that his mother was paying for and tuition that his father was paying for), there were others that had risen as far as they were likely to go and for them--this was a decent life. They were not lazy. They were not trying "not to improve themselves". They were living out an alternative life path that--even if it didn't live up to his standards--didn't mean they weren't trying. To call those people stupid and lazy was petty and irresponsible.

Now I am the first to admit that my nephew has some serious misconceptions about the world and is in rather deep denial about himself. When I informed him that the apartment he complained about (and that his mother bought for him) cost 3X the cost of my mortgage, he acted like I must be some sort of supreme failure. He has a fairly well developed sense of entitlement all right. More than I am used to seeing in any of my college students I complain so bitterly about.

But looking at the larger issues here, I can't understand what it is that makes us look white and black people in exactly the same circumstances and only see the negative in the black people? What is it that makes us blame black people for their plight? What is it that makes us look down on black people at the same time as we co-opt their language and sense of style? What is it that makes us look at poor black people and forget that their poverty might have more to do with keeping them down than a lack of ambition? What is it that makes us not see an angry Harvard professor, but a black man out of control in a high-class neighborhood?

When it comes to this, it isn't just my nephew. I think it is a white cultural thing. White people are conned into thinking (by everyone from television news to hip hop artists) the black community glorifies the gangster-slum culture.

If his status ain't hood, I ain't checkin' for him
Better be street if ya lookin' at me
I need a soldier
That ain't scared to stand up for me
Known to carry big things, if you know what I mean 
Destiny Child, 'Soldier'

Even in the younger generation where friendships are much more colorblind, they still see the general population "out there" as fitting those old stereotypes. And I just don't know how chipping away at one false premise at a time one person at a time is going to make any difference at all. It is important to me that my family do what it can to stop the perpetuation of white supremacy in this country. And I thought that in that one little bit of real estate that I might actually be able to effect change.

And that's what I was trying to do. Only I was trying to do so without tearing the kid to shreds. My nephew is trying. He just extraordinarily protected. And I'm not sure my message came across as well as I'd hoped. But while my nephew sat there, incredulous that I was calling his racism racism, I sat there wondering why the hell I didn't have a better grasp on how to tell a white person that their privilege was showing.

On why this is my favorite travel pic

2009-07-29T00:08:00.000-07:00

and this is not.

The difference in these two pics is the presence of my breasts. I think I look like a normal, healthy person in the first pic, but a grotesque caricature in the latter. Bug loving mama, a very dear female scientist who happens to be pregnant as I write this, wrote an insightful post on what it means to be a woman and a professional in this day and age. Her post has caused me to reflect on my own ideas about being a professional woman. I decided to post my response to her post. Yes, it can be read alone, but is better read in the context of the original post.

Daktari said...

I find this post very interesting. First, I tend to agree with you (i.e., professional equal masculine [attire]). And when I begin to examine why I agree with that, like you, what I find is very telling and more than a bit disturbing about ME.

We are quite the same, pregnant you and non-pregnant I. Where you have a pregnant belly, I have extraordinarily large breasts. And where you want to be taken seriously as a scientist who happens to be pregnant, I wish to be taken seriously as a scientist who happens to have large breasts. Unfortunately, we both know that a pregnant belly and big boobs trigger negative biases and stereotypes in both men and women on both a professional and a personal level. You are pregnant, therefore you aren't serious about your work. I have big boobs. Obviously, I've gotten where I am by capitalizing on my tits. Or worse, I must be a bubble-headed bimbo. Like you, my physical condition announces itself before I have an opportunity to demonstrate my competence, my seriousness, or my professionalism. So in virtually any interaction with a new acquaintance, I believe myself to be operating from a position of weakness (having to identify and diffuse each new person's biases and stereotypes). I do so predominantly by downplaying (to the best of my ability) my physical attributes (hiding them, if you will), seldom dressing in feminine attire, and by ignoring any reference to them (and trust me, you'd be surprised how many people are willing to say "Wow, those are some tits!"), and finally, by overwhelming people from the get-go with my intelligence, competence, and professionalism.

It's a lot to ask of every single interaction I have with every single person I meet. And it is one reason that people who only know me via the internet think that I am something of an intellectual snob. Because they haven't met me, they don't understand my need to diffuse a potentially embarrassing situation before it happens by overwhelming them with my competence.

It is sad but it is my life. Be thankful that pregnancy is only temporary. Unless and until I have money for a breast reduction, this is my life permanently.

Perhaps what is most sad is that I don't feel like a normal person. I haven't felt like a normal person since puberty. I wish more than anything that I could change that. Because that women in that top photo looks pretty and fun and interesting to me. And that woman in the second photo looks like boobs with legs.

One for the "Yeah, Right" category

2009-07-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

Seems like all we've done is stand by water. Here's a few of the god-forsaken places we've had to stand and sometimes catch moths.

Life is hard on the road and research is a bitch.

(Mono Lake)

(Jenny Lake)

(Grand Prismatic Spring)

(San Francisco Bay)

(Alpine lake on Tioga Pass)

(Lake Mary)

(One of the Mammoth Lakes -- ~~name now forgotten until looked up~~)as Josh has now informed me is Horseshoe Lake.

Feeling sorry for me yet?

A taste of today

2009-07-17T00:32:00.000-07:00

Today we went from June Lake, to Mono Lake (pronounced Moan-o, not like the teenage malady), to Tioga Pass to Yosemite to San Francisco. It was quite a day and exceedingly hard to capture in a concise blog post.

So thoroughly would I fail to do so, I will leave you with this little taste of our day.

Bridalveil Falls.

Simply spectacular.

Camping hazards

2009-07-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

Here's a little tip from your friend D. Leave the damn marmots alone.

A fond farewell to a trustworthy friend

2009-07-14T10:19:00.000-07:00

Hikers understand the value of great boots. They are the most important piece of equipment you have. My fondness for my hiking boots is well documented. I love my boots so much that I went out and bought a spare pair for when the first one's wore out.

I bought those first ones in 2003 before my first trip to Yellowstone. They will have to be retired after this trip. This is why.

And that little bobble cost me this.

My own fault for not thoroughly checking over my equipment before beginning such a hike.

It's not as bad as it looks.

A challenge to remember

2009-07-14T01:57:00.000-07:00

Today, my nephew and I hiked 10 miles. Might not sound like much but it was no ordinary ten miles. It was ten miles out of the Golden Trout Wilderness. From the Ramshaw Meadow to the Trail Pass Hiker Trailhead. It was a reversal of our trip in a mere four days earlier.

Pfffft, I hear you say. 10 miles doesn't sound like much.

What I did today was the single most challenging hike of my life. It was an accomplishment of which I am very proud. We did it. We crossed Bitch Pass and Mulkey Meadow and Trail Pass and Horseshoe Meadow, and we did it all by ourselves.

For those who don't know the saga, we met the packers on Thursday morning and dropped off tent, sleeping bags and pads, and our food and relaxed for a day in Lone Pine, California. Early Friday morning, we arrived at the trailhead. Elevation 10,000 feet. That's about 9,342 feet higher than where I spend most of my time. It took nearly an hour to drive up the 6,000 feet from Lone Pine to the trailhead. Yes, an hour. Yes, we were in the shadow of Mt. Whitney. I should have suspected something was up. Anything that near to the highest peak in the lower forty-eight has to be challenging. Somewhere on the way up, my lungs shrunk. My stamina must have gotten left in the hotel room with most of the food we had to abandon (bear country, you know). Walking across the parking lot felt like an aerobic workout. Air that thin makes the muscles burn and ache a lot faster. We were not acclimated.

And yet, off we set. My two new companions quickly became one when I was informed that my primary contact, a graduate student from Northern Arizona University intended to run in. Yes, you heard that right. She intended to run into Ramshaw Meadow. She is in training for the New York Marathon. She is insane. She is also so skinny that it defies description. And this is how we came to set off with Sue, the assistant botanist for the Golden Trout Wilderness. Fantastic hiking companion. She never failed to be supportive when I thought my lungs would burst. More on her later. Our first ascent was 1000 feet over 1.5 miles. About half way up, I said the words I always dread.

I may be in over my head here, folks.

Sue wouldn't hear of it. She led us over boulder scrambles, switchbacks, sagebrush-thick meadow margins, sedge-and-wildflower meadows, creeks, sinks, rivers, and passes. Five and a half hours after we started, we entered camp. I have never been so happy to see my things waiting on me out there. I knew the minute we sat down that I was NOT going to be able to make my return trip on Sunday. We had pushed too hard. We had pushed well past my limits. Five and a half hours was too fast for an out-of-shape flatlander like me. No way my legs would be ready by Sunday. So before the evening was out, I was doing the math in my head on how long our food would hold out. We had enough.

I spent four glorious days in the backcountry, exploring meadows, bouldering, watching a black bear graze in our meadow, sighting mountain bluebirds, trying to take pictures of golden trout, chasing lizards, exploring old movie sets, studying one of the most wonderful Abronia I have ever seen, and enjoying the company of three of the most interesting people imaginable and a very playful yellow lab. Most of all, I let my legs heal. This morning, it was time to leave.

Sue and Calder and Remy saw us off. Meredith, unfortunately, had left earlier to do work much further up the meadow.

The south fork of the Kern River. Our campsite.

A self-portrait after summiting Bitch Pass. Calder named it Bitch Pass. I think it is technically called Mulkey Pass, but I am inclined to let Calder have her way.

After summiting Trail Pass. This after meeting a trail packer packing heat with her daughter on the trail and who described what lie ahead as "Oh God, you've got a slow-burn incline and a bunch of gnarly switchbacks up there". I was not detered. We made it. Without vomiting or having a heart attack--both conditions had crossed my mind as possibities at various points along the path, I might add.

On our way down from the summit. The way up took 1 hour and 25 minutes. The way down took about 20.

This is the mountain through which Trail Pass passes. We did that and another just like it. We found our way out of the wilderness. Armed with nothing more than a map. We did it with 30 pounds of water and supplies strapped to our backs. We did it in one day, by ourselves, and no one can ever take that away from us.

We treated ourselves to steak dinners tonight. I think we earned it. Oh, and as you might have guessed, I sprang for a new cord for the computer to download pics.

1136 miles and counting

2009-07-07T23:52:00.000-07:00

So we were a little late leaving town. Like nearly a full day late. Ok, I chalk this up to having to put my car in the shop after having gotten rear-ended over the weekend, and the fact that the ONLY thing I asked anyone at school to do to help me prepare for this trip did not get done and I had to spend 2 hours when I was ready to leave town to do it. And I just have to mention that this anyone who said they would take care of that project was badgering me with phone calls and requests for help with her issues while I was trying to get out the door. So instead of leaving at 3 pm (my original worst-case scenario), we left home at 7 pm. We pulled out of St. Louis at 9:50 pm. That was AFTER convincing the people at REI to actually fit Lee for hiking boots when we arrived at the store only 10 minutes before they closed. While he tried shoes, I picked up hiking socks, stuff sacks, aluminum cookware, and waterproof matches. I'm kicking myself for having forgotten the water purifying pills (a worst-case backup for the filter), and long underwear. And that was also AFTER eating at St. Louis Bread Company, which we also convinced to feed us after we arrived 10 minutes before their closing. All I can say is REI is probably the best place I have ever shopped when it comes to quality service.

We only made it as far as Springfield, MO the first night. (A mere 313 miles from home.) Really disappointing. But I had been up since 5:30 am that morning. It was all I could do. In any event, we made up some time today. I drove from 9:50 am. until 1 am. We only stopped for gas, an oil change (1 hr) and dinner (1 hour). Which is how I came to be in Albuquerque tonight. I had hoped to be in Flagstaff, AZ, but that's how it goes.

Lesson #1 from the road. Never count on someone else to do what they say they will do, especially when that someone has a history of dropping the ball.

Lesson #2 from the road. Never listen when someone at the rental car agency tells you to "not worry about oil changes".

Lesson #3. Sleep is a necessity, not a luxury.

Lesson #4. When you are running late, in a hurry, and virtually panicked about the time you have to drive to California, THAT's when you'll forget the cord to download pictures from your camera.

So sorry folks, there will be no pictures from the road. You will all have to wait.

How the Supreme Court got it right at the same time they got it wrong

2009-07-01T20:47:00.001-07:00

The Supreme Court upheld the main tenants but narrowed the scope of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 by a vote of 8 to 1. The lone dissent came from the Supreme's only African American member, Justice Clarence Thomas. Oh, the irony.

While sidestepping the constitutional issue of the meat of the Act, in the majority opinion, the Court hinted that the Act may soon find itself on the chopping block (and you can count on the Republican party to spearhead efforts to chip away at the Act for years to come). But the Act is still needed. Racial inequality is an American reality. A President Obama has not heralded the emergence of post-racial America, yet the Court in all its insulated, isolated wisdom exhibited a collective queasiness about continuing to support what they seem to see as race-based politics.

Are they right? Are we past the point where the majority group attempts to disenfranchise the minority?

Hardly. Consider this. And this. This. Or perhaps even this. Can't forget this. But perhaps most disturbing of all is this:

The Pew Center on the States' Make Voting Work project estimates that while 39.8 percent of the general U.S. population of voting age cast ballots in 2006 elections, only 20.4 percent of the military population of voting age did so. That disparity exists despite surveys that show a very high interest in elections and voting among members of the military.

"Interestingly, of those military personnel that said they did not vote in 2004, 30 percent did not because their ballots never arrived or arrived too late to their duty stations and 28 percent did not know how to get an absentee ballot, found the process too complicated, or were unable to register," according to a Pew report.

From the Pew Center on the States and electiononline.org.

Voter disenfranchisement is rampant in America. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was intended to prevent the disenfranchisement of black Southern voters. And yes, it has changed the landscape of this country, both from a racial and a cultural standpoint. But it is not only still needed to protect voters from a return to the abuses of the past, but it is equally important that Congress broaded its scope to include other forms of legal, but morally questionable, partisan disenfranchisement.

Homeless veterans, overseas active military, the elderly, homeowners in foreclosure, newly registered voters, voters who have moved, voters who had their Social Security Number or Driver's License number entered incorrectly into state databases...all of us deserve to have our votes counted. We deserve better than to have partisan Secretaries of State purge us from the rolls of registered voters, from having partisan poll watchers challenge our votes, from having to submit provisional ballots, which may or may not be counted.

The Voting Rights Act of 1965 is not only still needed, it needs to cover more citizens at risk.

IMO, the primary voter fraud of the election of 2008 was the systematic disenfranchisement of legally registered and eligible voters--an act perpetrated by local and state government employees against their constituents.

Really really really bad legal advice

2009-07-01T19:56:00.000-07:00

Found this browsing over on the DOJ website. A jury today found former Memphis police officer Arthur Sease IV guilty of civil rights, robbery, narcotics and firearms violations. Apparently, Mr. Sease and his co-conspirators used their position as police officers to rob drug dealers in Memphis and then to re-sell the drugs for their own profit.

Mr. Sease's five co-conspirators all decided to plead guilty. Their sentences are as follows:

"Andrew Hunt was sentenced in February 2009 to 10 years in prison after pleading guilty in September 2006 to a federal civil rights conspiracy, robbery affecting interstate commerce and drug distribution.

Former Memphis police officer Antoine Owens pleaded guilty in August 2007 and received a sentence of 63 months incarceration and three years of supervised release in March 2009.

Alexander Johnson, another former Memphis police officer, pleaded guilty in April 2007 and was sentenced to 30 months in prison and two years of supervised release in March 2009.

Laterrica Woods, a civilian who helped Sease and Hunt with one of their robberies, also pleaded guilty to a civil rights conspiracy in September 2007 and was sentenced to 36 months imprisonment and three years of supervised release in April 2009.

Harold McCall, also a former Memphis police officer, pleaded guilty to a civil rights conspiracy in a related case in May 2007 and received a sentence of three years probation including one year of home confinement in June 2009."

Mr. Sease decided to place his fate in the hands of a jury. Today, he received his sentence: life + 255 years.

"The sentence is extraordinary in that it is one of the longest ever imposed for civil rights violations which did not involve a victim’s death," said My Harrison, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Memphis Field Office. "We will vigorously investigate abuses of authority to defend the fundamental right to ethical behavior by government employees."

I'd fire the lawyer.

When Travel Plans Fall Apart

2009-07-01T19:00:00.000-07:00

Today at 6:44 pm, I got a call from someone associated with my upcoming trip up Mt. Whitney. Those of you who know me know how I have looked forward to this part of my field work. I've spent months dreaming about the opportunity, and weeks planning the details, getting the permits, and learning as much as I can about the equipment I'd need. I have purchased:

a $250 custom backpack
a $300 down sleeping back and backpacking sleeping pad
a $35 backpacking stove
a $50 set of backpacking cookware
$ 48 worth of cooking fuel and a pair of Smartwool hiking socks I bought just today

I have spent countless hours planning meals, learning about bear cannisters and water purification, Sure, it was a bobble when my first field assistant backed out and I had to recruit my nephew at the last minute. But I was able to borrow a backpack and sleeping bag for him and as of last night, I was back on schedule. The only thing I didn't worry about was my companions. I had arranged to meet with another group of researchers working on the same population of plants. While I lack any significant backcountry wilderness experience (and have no multi-day backpacking experience), the group I was going with has been making this trek for the past 3 years. They were renting pack animals and had offered to allow the animals to shoulder the heaviest of my field equipment. It was great. I wouldn't have to worry about getting lost, and would have a wealth of experience to draw upon if I had questions or got in trouble.

That was, until today. At 6:44 pm, while strolling through Lowe's plant department, I got a phone call from the folks making the trip. They want to leave a day early. I can't get there a day early. I had planned 3.5 days to travel and that would allow me enough time to drive safely and sanely, pick up my backcountry/research permits, rent a bear canister, get my things in order and meet up with the group. I can't do that in 2.5 days. The drive is more than 1500 mi and I am the only driver. I can't leave before some equipment arrives on Monday, so I doubt I would even be on the road before 3 pm. I had been toying with the idea of leaving at 6 am on Tuesday morning and putting in two hard days driving to arrive, at the latest, by noon on Thursday.

I told the person who called that while I thought I could make it, I wasn't sure. Now after looking at a map, judging my driving endurance based on the last two trips I made earlier this summer, I realize it simply isn't possible for me to drive 1500 miles in 48 hours. I simply can't make it to the Forest Service Office in Lone Pine by 4 pm on Wednesday. I couldn't take off up the hill without my research permit or my backcountry camping permit. Even if I could make it by some miracle, what kind of shape would I be in to begin a hike after that kind of marathon driving?

No, it just can't be done responsibly. Nor can I, with no backcountry experience and no multi-day backpacking experience, traveling with a kid who has never camped out anywhere but his backyard, responsibly tackle a 10-mile, possibly ill-marked wilderness trek through bear country alone. The Forest Service doesn't require a bear canister as a money-making scheme.

If the group doesn't wait, I'm going to have to scratch this portion of my research, which would suck, and eat the entire cost of the purchases I made--roughly $700.

Man, when my travel plans fall apart, they sure do fall apart. Trust me. I am trying not to cuss right now.

How Dell lost my business

2009-06-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

The summer between my first and second years of my masters program, I bought a laptop. I justified this purchase by saying that I needed more computing power/storage/capability/flexibility/portability than a desktop to complete my masters and doctorate. I bought a Dell. I really didn't look at any other computer manufacturers. I had a Dell desktop which had performed well over the years, Dell as the leader in sales of personal computers at the time, and they had (for that time) the best deals on computers. Of course, that was 5 years ago. My how the playing field has changed.

The NYT reports this morning that Acer, the little Taiwanese company that could, is poised to take over second place in the sales of personal computers from Dell. That doesn't surprise me one bit.

At the time I bought my laptop, I purchased the smallest screen (12 inches, more portable), the fastest processor, the largest availability of memory, and the top of the line "glossy" screen. I also bought the most comprehensive, most convenient, most expensive service contract package they had available. The in-home, bumper-to-bumper warrantee, guaranteed for 4 years with a special number that ensured that I was given priority service. It was my understanding that the special number would ensure that I was always connected with American technicians. I was happy with every facet of the purchase. And for the first two years, everything was the bees knees. When I had my first problem with my computer, I called up Dell for warantee service and encountered my first problem with the company: the dreaded call center in India.

What happened to the priority American service I paid for? Turns out, I was given an 800 number to call, where I waited in line to be connected to Dell India just like everyone else. There was no "special number". When you are connected to Dell India and they realize you paid for the "special number" they either asked me to hang up and dial a different number (where I then waited in line behind every other caller again) or they transfer me to the proper department. More often, they transfered me to the wrong department, who transferred me back and the whole process began again. The $300+ I paid for the special treatment was a complete waste and actually cost me more time than if I had never paid it.

Strike one.

Service early in my contract period was competent, relatively speedy, and effective. They always had to send a technician from St. Louis, and since technicians are Dell contract employees, they get paid on the number of calls they complete in a day. Spending a half-day driving from St. Louis to southern Illinois wasn't these technicians idea of maximizing their earning power. And to make matters worse, they often required two trips to complete the repair. One trip to identify the problem and another to make the required repair. I actually had one technician suggest that I meet him half way. I suppose we were supposed to do the work at a rest stop or something.

I felt for them, but I paid a lot of money for top-of-the-line service. I refused.

But the next time I needed a repair, approximtely mid-way through year 3 of my 4 year warantee, something at Dell had changed. When I called Dell India, I was told I would have to work with them to identify the problem myself. This required that I take apart my own computer while they ran through a laundry list of potential problems. When I explained that A) I had paid EXTRA money for special service with American technicians, and B) my warantee specifically said that Dell technicians would do the diagnostic work, they claimed that things at Dell had changed and my service contract was no longer valid.

Whoa. Strike two.

Anyone who has dealt with Dell recently knows the futility of trying to talk to an American and of trying to move your way up the ladder with anyone in Dell India. I admit it. To save myself any MORE aggravation, I took my own computer apart and went with the flow. There was no more "special number" department for me to be connected to.

Strike three to infinity.

Actually, when the technician arrived that time, he basically installed new parts in most of my computer. It was a pretty good deal. My computer has held up as well as can be expected. I had to replace the battery (not covered under warantee). I bought an off-brand and I suspect that many of my current problems are from inadequate battery power. I basically have a portable plug-in computer at this point.

They say you get what you pay for. But in the case of Dell, you don't even get that. Dell did not honor the terms of the very expensive service contract that I bought. For this reason (and the fact that I detest dealing with Dell India), they lost my business. Forever. No amount of cheap computing power will ever sway me their way again.

Dell also changed the way I look at personal computers. The fact that I paid so much money for competent, efficient, quick, high-quality repair service gives an inkling of how important this is to me. The fact that I got nothing of the sort caused me to look at the service reputations of all the leading competitors to Dell. None faired much better than Dell. (Of course, I realize that Mac doesn't seem to have these service issues, but I'm locked into the PC route for now given that all my ancillary software is PC-based. And I have issues with Apple as well, just not as great.)

My decision was to treat a personal computer as a disposable item. Much like an iPod. I decided to buy the cheapest suitable computer and when it breaks, I'll just get a new one. They are now selling computers comparable with my current notebook at prices less than the price I paid for my premium service contract with Dell.

Dell, you want to know why you are losing customers to Acer?

I just told you.

More Panty Twisters

2009-06-26T20:47:00.000-07:00

Life is linear. You learn as you go. The past two weeks were a treasure trove of life lessons. Here are a few that caught my attention.

There appear to be two types of people: doers and worriers. I am a doer. I get things done. Worriers get nothing done and chap my ass.
Compromise is a foreign concept to most people, who seem to think that conflict resolution occurs when the other guy gives in.
Conflict resolution skills should be taught in nursery school with a refresher course every Monday morning.
Scientific disagreements should never be taken personally and taking it personally is a sure sign of professional immaturity.
I don't have time to resolve everyone's conflict nor do I have the desire to, and yet, I find myself constantly thrust in that position. Most people don't like my approach to conflict resolution, to which I say, "Tough shit. You involve me in your conflict, you get what I bring."
In any group effort comprised of more than three people, I will get the least desirable job. The least desirable job comes with the most work, the lowest amount of recognition, the highest risk of blame, and the highest probability that you will make the undeserving look competent.
If there is a way for someone to really piss me off, they will exercise it.
I have no respect for people who undermine or misrepresent my work. None whatsoever.
I seem to run into a disproportionate number of assholes.
I like people with foreign gestures. They are fun to watch. I've decided to adopt a few.

Shedding some light on a dark continent

2009-06-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

News out of the BBC on the incredibly shocking, unbelievably disturbing, and morally outrageous findings that one in four South African men has self-identified as a rapist. Half of that group consider themselves serial rapists. 5% of the them have committed a rape in the past year.

Nearly a quarter of Canadian women have been victims of rape or attempted rape. In some developing countries, women are initiated into sexual activity as a rite of passage. Most rapes are committed by someone the victim knows.

I don't think I have ever had a conversation about rape with any of my friends. Women just don't talk about it. I don't know why.

I was first assaulted by a boy in my grade school who attempted to rape me in my friend's backyard. It was weird. We we playing in her yard. He just appeared. We didn't like that boy particularly. Hadn't spent a lot of time around him. He just showed up and was hanging around. At some point, he grabbed me and threw me to the ground. He pinned my arms. I thought he was just trying to be...well, you know how boys are. They want to prove they are strong. They want to make you squirm. Sitting on you was a means of pissing you off and when any other boy had done it, they eventually grew tired of holding me down, let me up and laughed about it. I usually punched them really hard and threatened them with a swift and violent end if they tried that again.

So at first, I didn't suspect that there was any real danger. I was angry and struggling but I couldn't throw him off me. When I realized the futility, I almost submitted. But then he went to unbuckle his pants. I didn't even know what rape was. I was in the third grade or so and I knew this boy from school. All of a sudden it just clicked in my head. He meant to have sex with me right there in Sheila Arrington's backyard. I screamed. I hollered. I fought with all I had. I kicked. I bucked. I twisted. My God he was strong. He must have been seriously disturbed and a victim of abuse himself to have attempted an all-out effort to rape a 10-year-old classmate. But I knew one thing. I wasn't going to let it happen. He finally let me loose when I began screaming for my friend's mother. I climbed to the top of the swing set where he couldn't reach me and I didn't come down until he had left. Interestingly enough, when this boy assaulted me, my friend walked away and went into her house. She did nothing. She didn't get help. She didn't inform her mother. I was on my own out there. I fought.

I won.

I remember yelling at her later. My only other experience with sexual assault was an instance of "date rape" in which some light petting turned into a forced oral encounter involving a co-worker with whom I accepted a date. I didn't realize that what he did was illegal. I just knew I he was a major asshole and I never wanted to see him again. Yeah, I was naive. I don't know what feelings you are supposed to have after having been sexually assaulted, but in both instances, I was relieved it was over and I was mad. I wasn't mad at myself. I was full-on mad at them. Not enough to kill them, but enough to make me never want to interact with them again. I can't imagine someone staying with a partner who raped them.

If there is a bright side, I am happy that I never experienced anything that seriously injured me or scarred me emotionally. But to think that good girls from good homes aren't subject to the same sort of sexual predators that are out there is insane. One of my childhood friends was sexually abused by a choir director at her local church. Religion, education and money aren't enough to protect us from sexual assault. Rich daddy's can't protect their daughters because some of the son's of rich daddies can't be trusted. You just never know behind which eyes lurk the capacity for sexual assault. There are some seriously disturbed young people out there.

Rape, or the prospect of forced sex are profoundly disturbing. At the age of 10 or so, I got an eye's-wide-open introduction to the big bad world out there. Although I honestly think I didn't extrapolate that experience to all boys (thankfully not). I think I interpreted it as "he just wasn't right". Men like my Dad wouldn't do those kinds of things. I still believed there were good men in the world. Men who would protect me. But I remember wondering, after he let me loose, about what life was like in his house. His life must have been a nightmare. The abuse must have been unreal. It's a cycle. I'm just thankful he wasn't able to complete the circle with me.

If it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone. And it does happen to lots of anyones. It is time we, and I do mean the universal collective we, do something to put an end to the assault on half of the world's population. It is time to speak out and speak up. This has got to stop.

Group Work

2009-06-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

Ask anyone. I hate group work. I had a showdown with a fellow graduate student in one of my classes over the subject of group work. For a while, that interaction was the stuff of legend. People loved to relive their favorite lines from said disagreement. (Although the list of people who were present for said discussion is getting shorter the longer I remain here.) I admit it. I don't like working in groups. My problem with group work is that groups waste time and productivity on social interaction that could better be spent in pursuit of the objective. I can stand a lot of things but wasting time on extraneous matters--like other people's feelings and sensibilities--when I could be getting something done is among my top pet peeves. When I work alone, I don't have to worry about how someone else feels about my ideas, whether or not my perspective is getting it's proper due, and so on. I can just tackle the assignment. So the people responsible for wasting my time when I could be getting things done tend to fall deeply in my estimation. I view group work as an abyss that I'd do best to avoid.

I don't understand our love affair with group work. I think there is this mistaken idea that groups are democratic and therefore are inherently superior to any other schemes, that groups promote cooperation (which seems to always trump efficiency or productivity, much to my puzzlement), that group members have a greater investment in the effort due to broader participation (this may or may not be true, depending on the initial investment of all members in the outcome), and that groups foster creativity in problem solving (of course, this assumes that group members feel secure enough to interact creatively). And why is it always group work? I have seen many a group bypass an expert in some particular field for allowing a group to tackle the problem.

Oh, I will admit, if education and growth are the objective, groups may be the way to go. Giving someone a safe place to expand or experience something might best be done in a carefully constructed group. By and large, however, most groups are not carefully constructed. Who hasn't been stuck in a group because they needed a warm body and you were at the wrong place at the right time? But when conquering some objective is the point, group work can muck up the works. And the main problem in groups is the scarcity of effective leadership and the lack of appropriate authority.

I am involved in a seminar that has crashed and burned due to the misuse of group work. Foremost, the group tasked with organizing the seminar was not given the proper authority. There is a higher body of the organization that can and has abused the schedule to the point that the organizing committee looks unorganized and foolish and feels they have to apologize to the group or blame the higher-ups for the disorganization. Net effect? Group confidence is undermined at all levels. Still, I feel for them. Been there, done that.

And as if we weren't all enduring a shining example of the problems of group work, the entire organization is married to group work. I have been asked to volunteer for committees, based not on my expertise or interests but to fulfill a requirement that I be on exactly 2 and no more committees, that each contain a predescribed number of participants of my category. When our group did not do so willingly, there was a bit more than a little resistance. I offered a solution which was seconded by another newbie like myself and STILL the older group bristled. But my main complaint with the group organization is that I have been asked to do nothing alone. Not only that, but I have been given no time to explore my own thoughts on any subject. Instead, every time I was asked to accomplish some task, I have been asked to collaborate. At every turn, I feel this crushing responsibility to involve my partner in some aspect of every activity that I am not bringing my best self and my best ideas to the project. I have been given no time for personal reflection. The only way I can think to describe this feeling is being sleep deprived. I feel like I am simply being jerked from one situation to the next and asked to react. Who knows if I am acting appropriately, inappropriately, efficiently, effectively or otherwise? I have no time to plan a best approach. It's just, "Here's the task. Go!"

I find this particularly amusing? frustrating? peculiar? because this seminar is about education, and so much in education is about working within people's comfort zones and capitalizing on their strengths. As teachers, we have to provide a range of experiences so that students who work best by reading, doing, and watching can all have an opportunity to learn. And yet, in a seminar about education, I am not given the opportunity to work in the style that works best for me with at least some time allotted for personal reflection. Alone. I would never undertake a project without first thinking through a plan, potential problems, and possible workarounds. But over the past week or so, I have been asked to achieve some goal--even if I am expected to bring some expertise to the table--without having been given the space I need to bring my best effort to the task. End result? I'm doing a half-assed job. I have been paired with someone, then pairs are paired, and pairs of pairs are paired with a more experienced pair and so on.

Tempers are getting short. And it's not just my temper. (Those who know the true me would be proud of the exhibition of tolerance I have maintained in light of my frustration.) I see it in the teachers. I see it in the new grad students. But I think the utter frustration is with the group organization. It's ineffective and people are getting tired of failing. Ok, maybe we aren't failing, but we certainly aren't making progress consistent with our capabilities. Unstable group membership demands we constantly renegotiate leadership positions. Stable groups only have to establish dominance once.

Look, I am willing to let someone else lead. In fact, I like it when I don't have to lead all the time. I am willing to defer, even if it means that someone with less experience gets a chance at learning something from the whole leadership experience. But for God's sake, I need a little space. I need some room to think.

There has to be a place where it is okay for someone with MY learning style to exist outside of a group.

Tempest Tossed

2009-06-18T19:10:00.000-07:00

While Liv was out on her very own Wild West Adventure, we had a little hiccup in southern Illinois. May 8, 2009. Liv-fav D-ennis, Paul, and Mike Hanson were graduating and I decided to attend. When I left Do Well, it was bright and sunny. Midway through the graduation, I heard something. I ignored it at first. Then I heard it again. Thunder. Thunder you can hear inside an arena is bad. Very bad.

I left the ceremony and went home. They had a spectacularly craptastic speaker who basically did a half hour appeal for capital funds. It was embarassing. So I left to take care of Jake and save my house from ultimate destruction. It was raining before I made it to my car. I had never seen so much water come down so fast. I got home mid-storm and tried to calm Jake. I decided to wait until it stopped raining and he was calm and then I'd go back to school to work. When it stopped raining, I peeked outside. I thought it was over. Oh silly me.

The water. I couldn't believe the water. I snapped some pictures. I narrated some video.

And because I don't know how to combine clips, you have to watch it piece meal.

It started to rain again, so I went in and started working on grades, and just as I was ready to send them out via email, the power went out. No internet. Then the tornado sirens went off. So I gathered up Jake and went in to the utility room to wait it out...that was until the storm blew the screen clear out of my kitchen window. I got up to close it and saw this.

So I had to take a look out front.

The real reason I didn't want to stand there any longer wasn't fear, it was that I was getting soaked.

After the storm ended, I still had no power. So I called Rose at school and asked her how things were down there. She said power was out in the building and everyone was leaving. So I didn't go back to work. I decided to just wait until the power returned and go from there. I figured, you know, 5 hours at the most.

Boy was I wrong.

Tomorrow, I'll post some damage pics from around Carbondale.

an Undeniable Downturn

2009-06-18T17:55:00.001-07:00

You know, sometimes I just can't put a finger on what is wrong. But I am smack dab in the middle of a full-frontal funk coming on. Things should be looking up for me. New job. Pays more. New opportunities. New experiences. An entirely new year, but I'm just not feeling the love. I was told that I'm expected to fail, or at least to not do well. And it just took the air right out of my balloon. In fact, with each passing day, I feel more and more....displaced. Like an interloper. Like I've overstayed my welcome. And there is nothing more unpleasant than feeling unwelcome in your own life. Because if you can't move on, it's just a bad feeling that sticks and stinks. Like dog shit on the bottom of your shoe.

I'm in an unusual place in my life. I've never HAD to stay somewhere. If I got fed up, sick of it, feeling restless, unsatisfied....I just threw a dart at the map and away I went. But this damn education thing has me STUCK. I can't walk away. And I'm not happy here anymore. There. I said it.

I am not happy here anymore.

I think I could be happy here again if a whole series of events could miraculously undo themselves. If I could remove myself from the people who are making me feel badly. But I can't.

I keep telling myself: just another year and a half. That's all. You can do a year and a half standing on your head. I try to immerse myself in the work. And you know, that works. Only sometimes, like for these next two weeks, I have to do something other than the work that will get me the hell out of here. And I resent the interruption.

I'm getting headaches pretty regular. And heartburn. And general malaise. And melancholy. Just nothing seems to be looking up. Maybe I'm menopausal. Maybe I'm being dramatic. Maybe I'm right.

I can't seem to clean my house. I can't seem to fix any food. I can't seem to do anything but the bare minimum. And sometimes, I lower the bar on the bare minimum. I want this to end.

BBW

2009-06-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, there was a fast food restaurant in our town called the BBF. Their "spokespersons" were two cartoon characters named Burger Chef and Jeff. I haven't thought of that in years. But I was reminded by the acronym BBW, which was my saving grace out in the field this time.

BBW stands for Baby Butt Wipes.

I don't know why I haven't discovered these things before. Maybe because I'm not a mom. But you guys that are have been holding out on the rest of us. These things are like gold to the field-weary traveler. They are a semblance of cleanliness in a world of dirt, dust, and body odor. They are a little travel miracle in PET.

I'll never go out in the field without them again.

5353 Miles in 12 Days

2009-06-15T16:29:00.000-07:00

Folks, that's an average of 446 miles per day. Every day. For 12 days. That's about the distance from New York City to Cleveland.

Every trip is a learning experience. Here's some things I learned.

When you find a population of your study organism, sample it. Do not go 5 miles down the road. Do not eat a sandwich first. Stop the car. Get out. Sample the population. Failure to do so will ensure: A) The population down the road evaporates before you get there. B) You are unable to re-locate the population when you come back, and C) A pack of rabid coyotes, a DNR worker, or a livid land owner will be standing guard when you return.
I don't get Texas. At all. And I'm done trying.
The best Motel 6 ever is located in Oklahoma City.
Colorado has beautiful horses.
If someone is behaving badly on the roadway, invariably they are sporting California plates.
Kansas City, my behind. The best smelling BBQ is found in Moriarty, NM. Jake agrees.
Both Dennys and IHOP put milk in their pancakes.
The average breakfast out costs $12, a price I consider outrageous for eggs and a few slices of bacon and a pancake containing milk.
The cascading flight pattern of desert hares works against them in a showdown with a car.
Jake is a pretty damn good field assistant.
Road signage in the Navajo Nation leaves a lot to be desired.
I owe Rich Spellenberg a bottle of scotch.
It's always a relief when, having the evidence to resolve a long standing feud, you prove the person right who has been helping you.
Everyone should do the drive from Grand Junction to Durango. And the Beartooth Highway. And the ring of Kerry.
Oklahoma could use a lesson or two regarding the appropriate warning distance for upcoming road construction. Seriously. Like before more people die.
Coca Cola always tastes better ice-chest cold and in a glass bottle.
I am intoxicated by the freedom of the open road and answering to no one, which is to say, I have grown fond of traveling alone. Quite fond.
Truck stops are pretty safe places if you have to sleep in your car.
I have people who care about me enough to check on me every single day. And who those people are surprised me.
I can sleep in a car for two weeks without wanting to take someone's head off.

The real reason research takes so long

2009-06-14T19:45:00.001-07:00

Adventure in unlikely places

2009-06-14T19:45:00.000-07:00

I realize I have a pretty weird idea of fun. And I love food. And one of my favorite things is to find adventure that tastes good. So while on the road, imagine my delight at finding this place. I mean, if a place doesn't just SCREAM adventure, I don't know what else does.

In case you somehow missed that, it's a tortilla FACTORY. Meaning they manufacture tortilla. And they let me see how they did it. There was a young guy named Hector and an older fellow who's name I didn't catch. Or maybe it was that I couldn't pronounce it. But they showed me how they make tortillas. It was interesting. But it was better eating.

OK, so what that it was only 10:00 in the morning. I was out of my time zone element. It was almost lunchtime for me. They were really nice. Hector said I could order anything from the menu. Breakfast, lunch or dinner. So I ordered this....

Mmmm. And that was a chili-rich salsa. Not for sissies or people with ulcers. And yes, that is a Coca Cola in a GLASS bottle.

And then I ordered this.

Chicken chimichanga with beans on the side. When it arrived I had to run back out to the car to get my cheese pills. I was living by a thread on this trip, I tell ya.

I cleaned my plate. I didn't want to eat again until about 11 pm that night. And in case you wondered, the pills worked.

One must remember that they aren't fool-proof. And when roughing it on research trips, playing fast and loose with the lactaid rules can be a very dangerous thing. When the pills fail, as they did on me in eastern Utah...well, suffice it to say that a new camp shovel was demanded after that afternoon. And that was the result of "mystery milk", meaning I'm not sure what I ate that had milk in it, I just know that something did. Just remember that if Mr. Utah DNR had shown up only a few moments earlier, we might have been having quite a different conversation than the one about botany we shared.

But I was home free after this tasty treat from Hector and that other guy's Tortilla Factory.

Oh, and if you are ever in Moriarty, NM, make sure you go to the BBQ joint. It smelled like a little bit of heaven.

Just a quick hello

2009-06-09T06:17:00.000-07:00

The problem with trying to do field research alone on a study system that demands you search for it during the day and work on it until well after dark is...that often doesn't leave time for the realities of living: where are you going to sleep? After finding A. nana (finally!!!) about 8:00 p.m. last night, collecting my DNA, running my scent samples then processing them, it was about 10:30. I was 50 mi from town one way at 30 miles from town another. The BLM land didn't seem to have any roads to pull down to camp for free. It was dark. I was tired. Jake had been in the car ALL DAY. I went the 30 mi direction.

The hotel in this town the size of Dowell didn't have any rooms. I went 20 miles on to the next town. No hotels. I went another 20 miles on to Beaver. Beaver had a lot of No Vacancy signs. But finally, I found one. The fellow at the Butch Cassidy Inn (Best Western) in Beaver, UT, wanted to dicker on a price when I told him I couldn't afford $75.00 plus tax for a room. He asked what I could afford, and I said I was looking for something under $50. He started talking to a woman standing next to him (not to me, mind you) about the attributes of his hotel, the time of year, the free continental breakfast (God, I know I can't sleep at night thinking about those free, cheap, sticky pastries that come out of a box), and said that if I was willing to give him $55 he could get me a room.

It was 12:55 am and I've been driving for hours and this jackass wants to start fucking with me over $5?

I don't think so.

He was lucky I only said, "Thank you, no."

So I went down the road at paid $60 at the Country Inn. Whereupon I got locked inside my room for almost a half hour before I could get out. Don't ask me. Usually, I'm pretty good with things like door locks.

Since I spent all my blogging time trying to release myself from my room, this morning, this is all you get.
Happy Tuesday. I think. Oh, and my computer is making terrible whirring noises. I'm not sure how many more blog posts from the road you can count on.

June is Tripterocalyx month

2009-06-06T23:04:00.000-07:00

I have found a lot of Tripterocalyx in bloom. In NM. In AZ. And now in Utah. It's a pretty cool plant.
It has really cool seed heads.

And I hope you are seeing this, but that is a bee-mimic fly working those flowers. I caught that sweet little photo at the Angel's Peak location. Tonight, I found a hawkmoth working the group I found in Utah. Leave it to the Utah working group to employ a highly skilled, massively efficient organism for pollination, while in the Navajo Nation....well, I'll say no more.

Angel's Peak, NM

2009-06-06T22:29:00.000-07:00

I tried to drive from Albuquerque, NM to Farmington, NM in one day. I started very late. Very late. I have an excuse. I was trying (unsuccessfully) to find Abronia bigloveii. I looked high and low. I looked until it got dark. And then I tried to drive to Farmington.

Huge mistake.

It was only about 100 miles. But it was 100 miles through the Navajo Nation.

Folks, the Navajo apparently don't believe in fast food restaurants, rest areas, or reasonably priced hotels. So I was suddenly aware of the miracle that happened when I saw a brown sign that said BLM campground.

Holy moly! I couldn't pull down that road fast enough. And then it was another 5 miles. It kept teasing me with signs saying "scenic lookout" and "picnic area". Aaargh. Where was the damn campground?

When I finally found it, I had my pick of the place. I was all alone. A free campground and no neighbors. That's my idea of fun. Too tired to erect a tent, I put my sleeping bag down in the back of the car, let Jake eat and do his thing and then it was all zzzzzzzssssss.

In the morning, I want you to see what I saw just steps away from my car door.

I'm lucky I didn't run over the cliff.

The Road is my Middle Name

2009-06-06T08:07:00.000-07:00

I love to travel. I like to take long car trips. I know. It's totally anti-envirochick. But it is a not-so-secret pleasure.

Jake is not as hip on the traveling, but he is digging the extra wide ride he's got going on this trip.

He does enjoy the pit stops.

Ahhh, the open road. Here are some reasons why I love it so much.

In the past three days I have seen:
1. An emu
2. A llama
3. 4 bearded billy goats
4. A cow chewing a very large trash bag
5. About 40 dead armadillos (all in Missouri, btw)
6. A pink Hummer
7. A great new, absolutely free campground in the heart of the Navajo Nation.
8. About 40-11 things I couldn't take pictures of.

But here is a taste of the things I could.

My ride. Sa-weet.

So far, my campsite.

My first sunrise. (Texas rest area near Amarillo.)

Abronia fragrans. North of Amarillo.

Thought I was kidding, didn't you?

This horse let me pet ~~him~~ her over the fence.

Only on Route 66.

Gopher snake in Monument Valley. He is no more. He is a former snake. He's pushing up daisies. I didn't do it. I promise.

and they're off

2009-06-02T07:19:00.000-07:00

...just as soon as I wash Jake. Head to school. Pick up maps, traps, insect pins and chemicals. Oh, and make a few scent collection bags. I can't seem to find mine.

See you when I return. Or when I can't take it and need a shower and spring for a hotel room.

Adios. Wait. I was told not to take that bitching ride into Mexico. So, ta-ta for now!

OK, so Jake didn't get a bath. He's just going to get all dusty on this trip anyway. Sheesh. Cut a girl a break. =]

Remember this story?

2009-05-31T12:31:00.000-07:00

Four and a half months after inauguration day, Minnesota still doesn't have two working senators. Norm Coleman has decided to single-handedly decide for all Minnesotans that they shall not have full representation in the Senate by pursuing a legally indefensible and morally outrageous battle to prevent the secretary of state from issuing a certificate of election for the Republican governor's signature to seat Al Franken. Whew! That was a mouthful! The people of Minnesota aren't happy.

Why?, you ask. Consider what Franken represents: a filibuster-proof Congress.

Greg Sargent reports that Dirk Van Dongen, who heads up the "Team Coleman" group of lobbyists raising money for Norm, said that the group is having some trouble getting more and more money as the donors max out. Van Dongen insists, of course, that the real purpose of this effort is to get Norm Coleman in the Senate.

Van Dongen, however, said Coleman fundraisers would press on because of the danger of letting Al Franken put Dems within a filibuster-proof 60 Senate votes. “There’s a strategic dimension to this — the importance of keeping the seat in Republican hands,” he said. “There are people who are providing support to Norm who have never met the man for that reason alone.”

The NRSC has just plowed another $750,000 into Coleman’s recount effort, raising questions about whether GOP donors are funding an effort they know is doomed merely to keep the seat empty as long as possible.

Asked about this, Van Dongen said the goal was to put Coleman in the seat, but added: “Is it better empty than in Franken’s hands? Hell, yeah.”

The DNC isn't taking this lying down apparently, which has written a prescient note to the fair governor of Minnesota.

Dear Governor Pawlenty:

It has now been six months since Minnesota voters went to the polls to cast their ballots in a hard fought election for the United States Senate. No one will deny that the race was incredibly close - but after an official recount, an extensive legal process and a clear and definitive ruling by the three judge panel, it is all but indisputable that Democrat Al Franken won and will be the next Senator from Minnesota.

The voters of Minnesota elected Al Franken, and during every step in the legal process that judgment has been confirmed. By continuing to fight this losing battle - despite the fact that two-thirds of Minnesotans believe its time for him to concede - Norm Coleman is putting his own political ambition ahead of the voters choice and Minnesotas right to full representation in the Senate.

Last month, there was another hard fought race in New Yorks 20th Congressional district. But once Republican Jim Tedisco realized the numbers were not going his way, he appropriately conceded. He congratulated his opponent Scott Murphy and moved on. Now that the outcome of the election in Minnesota is abundantly clear: its time for Norm Coleman to follow Jim Tediscos example. I urge you to use your influence to bring this process to an end by asking Norm Coleman to allow his neighbors and yours, their full representation in Congress.

However, if Mr. Coleman refuses to concede and this case is heard and decided by the Minnesota State Supreme Court, I urge you to commit to signing an election certificate for the rightful winner as soon as the Court issues a ruling in this case. To allow this to process to continue into the federal courts for no other reason than to deny for as long as possible the seating of another Democratic Senator would make what has been a bad situation for Minnesotans even worse. I urge you to do everything within your power and influence to bring this process to an end.

Sincerely,

Tim Kaine
Chairman Democratic National Committee

As Kleefeld points out in this article, there will be political fallout (as if there isn't going to be already) for continuing to delay the seating of a rightfully elected and certified Senator to the United States Congress. My question is: Why isn't the Democratic party suing the Coleman group for that very thing. They have admitted to be acting for the sole purpose of denying a rightfully elected public servant his seat. There are times when intent is everything. This is one of 'em.

The Wall Street Journal is apparently fanning the flames of passion among the Republican base in its ~~editorial~~ prosletizing (versus, you know, real reporting) of the facts on the election and recount. FiveThirtyEight.com has done a great job of detailing why Coleman's legal boat is full of holes and why this is all not going to go well for Gov. Pawlenty. But first and foremost, they have done a superb analysis (actually a series) of why Coleman is pursuing a legal approach at all (long story short, Coleman doesn't have a bat's chance in hell of winning a second recount--his hopes should be pinned on a do-over).

The trial before the Minnesota Supremes begins tomorrow. For a more in-depth analysis of the Coleman Camp arguments, go here. Oh, and in case you were worried that the MSC had the final word, Coleman has threatened to take this all the way to the SCOTUS. I'm sure the people of Minnesota are thrilled.

Crack for 40 Year Olds

2009-05-29T20:43:00.000-07:00

OMG.

It's tasty like whoa.

Key Lime.

Bars.

I have found my new favorite summertime dessert. Trust me, this is a whole lot easier than the Lime Chiffon Cake that takes about 4 hours to prepare from scratch. Homemade smoemade. This took a grand total of half an hour with 26 minutes of that in the oven.

So is 4 bars in one sitting too much for dessert?

Not that I did. I'm just asking.

Racism--It's not just for black people anymore

2009-05-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

It's multiple choice.

"Fat, Nigger-Loving Whore"

1. What the asshole screamed at me at the stop sign in my town today.
2. What the racist asshole screamed at me at the stop sign in my town today.
3. What the low-life, mother-fucking, scum-sucking, bottom dweller screamed at me at the stop sign in my town today with the same mouth he kisses his babies with.
4. Proof that we are in post-racial America.
5. Irrefutable evidence that I need to graduate and GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS BACKWATER HELL HOLE.

I am still trying to figure out if it was the Eracism sticker or the Obama-Biden sticker that made him sling epithets at me out his car window. Damn fool.

So if you are driving through my town and see a bucktooth hillbilly driving a gold Saturn, you might want to roll up your windows, just in case.

Speaking of D-constructing D

2009-05-29T15:31:00.000-07:00

Therapy is not for sissies. Well, I guess you could go to a therapist and complete ignore your problem or the "hard truths" that come with self-examination, but it would be a waste of money and I would hazard that it would border on malpractice on the part of your psychologist.

In any event, I go to therapy and talk for a bit and then listen to a man tell me about myself. He tells me things about myself I already know and am happy about, things I already know and I'm not happy about, things I ought to know but don't, and things I hadn't a clue of. And yes, sometimes it's hard when someone tells you what your friends won't. I realize that we all have bad behaviors, but when isn't it hard to listen to someone tell you yours? But, I listen carefully when Bill talks because I know he isn't interested in embarassing me or shaming me into behaving differently--he simply wants to give me the tools I need to get what I want out of life.

Today he did a lot of talking.

Psychologist Bill is pretty good. He doesn't let me control the session. We don't waste time. I'm comfortable opening up about my life (at least this situation, anyway). I am confident he will not take advantage of my weaknesses. I feel pretty good about the rapport. He seems to have crafted a program designed to capitalize on my strengths. I like to do things. He gives me things to do. I feel like an active participant in my therapy.

Last week, my assignment was to describe the problem I was having with my advisor, to articulate why it was a problem for me, and to establish end goals by which I would consider the problem resolved. What was missing from this assignment was the hard part...the actual "how to" of resolving it. The act of remembering these interactions and crafting a narrative about them had two effects. Foremost, it made me angry to think about the interactions again (I realize that I detest being the object of injustice--I just get incensed), but it also made me anxious to think about the problem and STILL have no idea how to get from Point A (the unprovoked attacks on my character) to Point B (making the attacks stop). The thinking about it, dwelling on it, and having it still be unresolved caused me to become anxious. When I feel anxious, I engage in repetitive behaviors to calm myself. In this case, I rewrote and recrafted the written assignment in an 8-hour marathon in which I didn't move from the couch. It lasted until 5 am when I finally emailed the assignment to Bill to render further revisions pointless. The fact that my repetitive behaviors have absolutely no direct bearing to the problem doesn't seem to matter. As Bill told me when I sought some relief for a particularly acute attack of the OCs in the past (that's obsessive-compulsives for you newbies), "if you could make yourself stop by telling yourself the behavior was pointless, you would have stopped already." It's not that I don't recognize the OC behavior, it's that I can't seem to stop engaging in it. And when it is really bad, I have to make deals with myself that I won't let it interfere with major life activities. I'll tell myself that I can spend 4 hours writing a 2-paragraph email, but I have to quit at 2 and go to class. And if I didn't make these deals, sleep, work, friends, and dogs would all have to wait until my anxiety was fully pacified. I guess it's better than kicking the dog. I'm really not doing much more harm than wasting my time.

Bill seems intent on making my get in touch with my feelings. Sometimes I think I've never been properly introduced to my feelings. Bill claims I start every sentence with "I think...." =] In any event, today we had a discussion about identifying feelings. Bill says that anxiety iand anger are responses to fear. So that me, being both angry and anxious, must be experiencing fear. I maintain that anger and anxiety are a response to frustration. There is quite a bit of distance between fear and frustration I think. Either that or Bill and I have quite different ideas about fear. I am not afraid to tackle this problem. I am not prevented from acting by fear of my advisor or the consequences. I am angry because I am frustrated that I have to tackle this problem at all. Because in reality, I'm not the problem. And I think I am anxious because this is a tricky problem and it demands skills that aren't very well practiced in me: patience, calmness, and political awareness.

In other words, I'm not crippled by a fear of the interaction. I am anxious because there is another person in this who can respond to my approach by crying, becoming angry, becoming belligerent, and possibly making my life more of a living hell. I am anxious because I find myself having to tell a person lacking in self-esteem that they are behaving like a major league butthead. It wasn't obvious to me, but seems obvious to others that my advisor is somewhat intimidated by me. I mean seriously, I didn't see it. But if that is true, how much worse is it going to be to have the person who intimidates you force you to deal with your bad behavior?

Sheesh.

But I will address it. And I think after today and talking with Bill, I might just be able to handle it well. I have to remain calm. I have to remain calm no matter how off topic she goes, no matter how she tries to poo-poo it, no matter how much she yells or tries to deflect this back on me. The thing that I'm actually afraid of here is that she won't change and I'll have to tolerate this behavior until I finish. Or that our relationship will be strained because of it. Or that it will escalate because I dared to call her on it. Because any of those scenarios would truly make my remaining time here unpleasant.

The International Nature of Graduate School

2009-05-27T20:05:00.000-07:00

One of the things that I have always admired about academia is that it tends to be tremendously diverse. I can scarcely think of a single graduate program that isn't populated by an international cast. Except maybe mine. Oh, we are international, not terribly racially diverse, and somehow we have failed to integrate.

Our faculty is young. Since I came in 2003, we have hired 6 new faculty members. Every hire was to replace an retiring white botanist or ecologist. Aging, white, male botanist or ecologist. All but one of the new hires were straight out of college. Four women. Two men. All white. Despite the strides the department has made in bringing gender equity to the faculty, they have failed miserably to post any gains in racial diversity. All the faculty in our department are white. All are Americans save one Asian. Seven men. Four women. One male and one female emeritus faculty.

The graduate students are far more diverse. We have students from Korea, China, Senegal, Nepal, and Colombia. In the recent past, we had students from Panama, India, Argentina, and Ghana. I've met people from California, Utah, Tennessee, but mostly from the Midwest. We have one Hispanic American. Here's the thing. With one notable exception, all the international students hang with other international students. They may or may not be from the same country, but it appears that their common bond of being foreigners binds them greater than any desire to integrate. We have an extremely active international student union, so successful, in fact, that I feel I miss out on the potential that a diverse cohort offers.

There is a Chinese man in our department. His English is so good that at first, I thought he was Asian American. It floored me to learn that he only learned English 5 years before I met him. It totally caught me off guard when he spoke of how he hated being touched. He particularly hates having his head touched. Americans are rather touchy. When we sit around bitching about things that have happened to us, he invariable includes a story about someone touching him unexpectedly. A salesperson in a store. A graduate student who teasingly tussles his hair. He finds it terribly offensive. Just a little cultural difference that I have come to accept even if I don't understand it. The Chinese student is the only student I know that regularly invites the Americans to his house for parties. The rest of the international students only hang out with other international students.

I find that quite sad. Now, I've accepted that some of the straight-out-of-undergrad grad students (the very early 20-somethings) really don't want to hang out with me. I accept that. I hang with D-friend Bek and somewhat with D-friends Liv and Melissa. I understand the 2-year cycle and realize that students are going to cycle in and out and some cohorts are tighter than others. But I find other cultures incredibly interesting and I ask our international students a lot about their culture and their homes. People usually like to talk about themselves, especially the South Americans.

But I am sorry to say that the students I am most curious about are those from Africa. Several countries in Africa are on my bucket list. I would LOVE to talk to these students about their cultures and their homes. But more than any other students, the African students flat out will not socialize with the rest of us. They don't generally eat lunch with us. They don't go to the international parties. And I have wondered for some time whether this sort of elective segregation is part of their culture. I just don't know and it appears I won't find out.

Houston, we have a problem.

2009-05-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

Aphids.

I think these speak for themselves.

Can you say malathion?

Oh, and those damn ants are tending the aphids.

In America's new Obama-forward, post racial world bluebirds follow me around all day

2009-05-24T23:01:00.001-07:00

Recently, I decided to take my frozen food on vacation. Ok, there was the little matter of an inland hurricane and my determination not to lose hundreds of dollars worth of steaks, vension, and chicken in my freezer, but regardless of the circumstances, I recently visited D-bro Don in suburban Chicago.

I'm just going to lay it on the line. D-bro is racist. In fact, both D-bros are racist. Why they are racist is a mystery to my sister, mother, and I. My parents did not raise us to hate. It wasn't like my brothers had negative interactions with black people. My grandfathers used to use ethnic slurs, but mostly while watching basketball games on television. I don't recall there being any sort of hateful indoctrination or even overt racism anywhere in my childhood. I mean, who knows, maybe my grandfathers were conducting a covert program of race-hate for my brothers while they spent time together in the garage.

Our community was extraordinarily white. The closest we came to a minority in our grade school was a dark-complected kid who may or may not have been Hispanic or Native American. One African American family attended our church (Episcopalian), and I actually had something of a crush on the boy in that family. I was in grade school and he was in high school. His name was Kevin. Oh, first love. Deep sigh. But I digress. We grew up in a world free of racial strife. Our first interaction with other black students was in junior high school, and by then the politics of adolescence dictated who you hung with (people from your hood), and interracial dating was still strictly taboo. The lunchroom was wicked crowded and I don't remember ever noticing who ate with whom. I ate with kids from my all-white grade school. But the summer between sixths and seventh grade, a black family moved in the house two doors down and all hell broke loose.

The Whiteheads were your standard black middle class family. They had moved from Cincinnati with the major employer in town. Their children were the first people of color to attend the neighborhood grade school. The first ones EVER. In fact, they may have been the first black people to step foot in that building. Even the janitors and lunchroom ladies were white. Neither of their kids was in my class, so I have no idea how they got on. I imagine it was pretty damn tough to be plunked down from Cincy into lily-white backweeds Kentucky and stay above water. And the parents in our neighborhood practically had a fucking coronary. The kids seemed far less distraught. I tried to make them feel welcome--like I would have done for any other new kid. To this day I don't know why, but Paula (the girl closest in age to me) refused to interact with us. For all I know, some parent may have threatened her to stay away from their kids. Her younger brother was like an overgrown puppy dog who just wanted to follow the action around, but as he entered junior high school I think the fact that some parents didn't want a black boy in their house probably limited how close he could get to kids in the neighborhood. Eventually, he gave up as well. Probably with some relief for Paula and Chucky, our junior high school included the "black neighborhood" and was integrated.

Then, when we were all in high school, a curious thing happened. I noticed that Paula had black girlfriends over to her house. They were always from out of town. Her old neighborhood chums? Cousins? I have no idea. But I remember sitting outside with the gang on the block and staring at the Whitehead's place and wondering what the hell Paula did in there all day. Staying inside all summer would have been like imprisonment to me. I wondered why she never wanted our friendship. I supposed that she didn't feel included and didn't want to try. And I remember feeling like a failure because she didn't. I always felt is was OUR neighborhood and that included Paula and Chucky.

But my brothers were a bit older than me and they were too old to hang on the block by the time the Whiteheads moved in. Boys their age were more concerned about getting drafted into Vietnam. I sure don't remember there being any racial issues in our high school in the 70s. My brothers never had a black friend that I knew of, but I never knew either of them to spout racist rhetoric either.

But when I went to visit D-bro last, he slung racial epithets as easily as saying "good morning". It is clear that this is a comfortable part of his vernacular. I started a conversation with, "You know what I don't understand...." and he interjected, "why there are so many niggers in Chicago?" It was clear to me that saying something like this among his friends is considered high humor. I was also clear to me that he realized he had fucked up before it even finished coming out of his mouth. I gave him one of those "you have to be fucking kidding me" looks and we moved on, this time with a little bit more of a check on his language. I can hardly lecture a man on how to think in his own home. But having kicked him out of my house (when we were both in the Chicago area) for using such language in MY house, he is very clear on where I stand on the issue.

I have written before about how my brother and I disagree on social programs and politics. I have also written recently about how he does seem to have an open mind. So this racial bias perplexes me. Granted, he hangs around with lesser educated, country music lovin', gun totin' bubbas, but I grew up surrounded by them, and I'm not racist. Neither is my sister. Or my mother. I am looking forward to the day when he turns to me and asks me that relevant question about race and I can finally answer him. And I have decided if and when he does, I'm going to ask a question back. I'm going to ask him why, what possible justification could he have for discriminating against someone based on skin color?

I desperately want to help my brother on the road to getting the hell over himself. But like all people with screwed up thinking, they have to be ready for the message. When he's ready, I will be, too.

Empathy doesn't always increase with age

2009-05-24T12:51:00.000-07:00

I had this intuitive sense that people become more empathetic as they get older. Apparently, that was just wishful thinking on my part.

Consider this guy, who at 66 pushes a potential suicide off a bridge because he is fed up with blocked traffic.

BEIJING — Chen Fuchao, a man heavily in debt, had been contemplating suicide on a bridge in southern China for hours when a passer-by came up, shook his hand _ and pushed him off the ledge.

Chen fell 26 feet (8 meters) onto a partially inflated emergency air cushion laid out by authorities and survived, suffering spine and elbow injuries, the official Xinhua News Agency said Saturday.

The passer-by, 66-year-old Lai Jiansheng, had been fed up with what he called Chen's "selfish activity," Xinhua said. Traffic around the Haizhu bridge in the city of Guangzhou had been backed up for five hours and police had cordoned off the area.

"I pushed him off because jumpers like Chen are very selfish. Their action violates a lot of public interest," Lai was quoted as saying by Xinhua. "They do not really dare to kill themselves. Instead, they just want to raise the relevant government authorities' attention to their appeals."

Holy shit.

I guess it is only me who find myself much more tolerant of alternative opinions, human frailty, and personal foibles as I get older. Maybe it's because I would hope that others are more tolerant of mine.

Therapy is not always theraputic

2009-05-24T12:04:00.001-07:00

So I have begun seeing a counselor again. Same fellow as last time, completely different issue. Nice guy, my therapist Bill. The thing I like about him is that he is straightforward, doesn't let me dump all of this on someone else's doorstep, and gives me discrete things to think about or do that move me toward solving the problem. I quit going last time when our conversations just began to devolve into me just rambling. Just talking isn't my idea of taking an active role in moving forward. In any event, I'm back in trying to deal with issues of trust and betrayal in a professional relationship.

My first assignment was to write out a description of a couple of interactions with my advisor that I found objectionable, and to detail what happened and why I felt it was a problem. I then outlined specific results I'd like to see, how I wanted to feel about me after the dealing with it part was all over, and to identify any potential conflicts to achieving those objectives.

What I see missing from this puzzle is the "how to deal with it part". In large part, the anxiety over the situation arises from knowing that if I don't do something about it, it is likely to continue and to escalate. Obviously, in a situation that I already feel as gone way the fuck over the line, escalation is not an option. The thing that pisses me off is that despite having done nothing that I can recall to deserve becoming my advisor's punching bag, I have to put my neck on the chopping block by daring to call her on it. My experience with her and with most people is that when you approach them with a serious problem with their behavior, they seldom take the news well.

Ain't it grand to be me?

In any event, writing out my objections and having to articulate why, specifically, these interactions are problemmatic, and what I feel should be done to make it right only served to inflame my passions about these events all over again. This inflammation does not just subside because the assignment is over, but has caused me to have to re-write and re-read the homework sheets again and again. Finally, at 4:53 am this morning, I emailed them to my therapist hoping that this would make further revisons pointless. I was able to get about 5 hours of sleep. I am trying to find my good karma again.

Five reasons D-fav J should Twit

2009-05-22T22:04:00.001-07:00

Twitter. It's simple. It's 140 characters. It's entertaining as hell. D-fav J thinks it is just another distraction from work.

He's absolutely right. But those distractions can be fun like woah. =]

So here I present 5 of the many reasons that J should twit.

5. Rachael Maddow
4. NPR Politics
3. food_democracy
2. MMFA
1. Daktarii

Come on. You know you wanna.

Speechless

2009-05-22T21:43:00.000-07:00

Patagonia Women's Capilene Hipster Briefs

$20.00

Superbly styled for warm weather running and fashionable summer casual wear, Patagonia's Capilene® Hipster has a stylish low rise and features a new blend of new soft and stretchy Capilene® fabric. Mini rib fabric throughout the crotch gives you better breathable comfort than traditional base layers.

New soft 4.6-oz. fabric consisting of 96% nylon/4% Spandex and treated with Capilene® technology
Highly breathable mini-rib fabric through crotch
Form-hugging construction
Low rise fits well with yoga and hipster-style pants

Honestly, I'm not sure which I find more disturbing. A $20 pair of panties or the fact that there are FIFTY-EIGHT reviews of this product and that it has a 5-star rating on Altrec.

Age isn't subtle

2009-05-19T21:20:00.000-07:00

Today, I made an appointment at the optometrist and they had an opening later in the afternoon. So I go. They make me hold a paddle over one eye and read the last line on the chart. Then over the other. Puff air in my face and then put me in front of the eye machine. The optometrist stands up and informs me I have 20/20 vision with my glasses on. All is well in Daktariland right up until she informs me that I don't need new glasses per se. I need trifocals. That's not BI, that's TRIfocals.

Age is a wicked mistress. Right now she's more dominatrix than anything else.

Remember the whole letting my hair grow out and if it's grey, it's grey dammit? Well, it's grey. OK. I really never did like the way the hair color turned my hair red, and my natural color lacks that, but it almost feels like I'm watching myself age. It's not exactly salt and pepper at this point, but there are more than just a few grey hairs streaked in with the natural dark blonde. It's not quite the pretty grey hair my father had, but then again, I think I might have been devestated by a head full of grey hair at 46.

And while I'm at it, that whole Coca Cola Classic thing that I had undertaken with such gusto? It turns out that Coca Cola Classic was only a big treat when I had it just every once in a while. Drinking it regular takes that away and I was losing a small part of the joy of having a Coke.

Gotta run. Have to go shopping for walkers and support hose.

Two Roads, One Destination

2009-05-18T22:26:00.000-07:00

Today, I recalled something D-friend J (not to be confused with D-fav J) said to me not too long ago. He was speaking about his difficulties in initiating his dissertation research and noted that he struggled to design an appropriate research project, and in the process began to doubt his abilities and strength as a future scientist. He mentioned that he spent nearly a year in despair and thought seriously of quitting as he worked through the process. I can now happily report that J came out the other end with a viable project that was eventually funded, and he now sees a silver lining in the experience. He was glad that he stuck with it and that he hadn't been handed a project as some of our own colleagues have. To D-friend J, the struggle was part of the process.

This got me thinking about my graduate experience and that of those around me. There really are two different graduate experiences. There are those who walk into a well funded project designed by an experienced researcher, and those who don't. Now, I will leave J to his opinion, but I have given this some dichotomy some thought and I have come to quite a different conclusion.

The merits of walking into a project are many. Obviously, you don't have to worry about designing a project. You hit the ground running. Don't underestimate the value of skipping this hurdle because graduate school has a timer on it. Your departmental support will run out and some departments, mine included, have unreasonable expectations for when the finish line should be reached. Second, you don't have to write grants in support of your research. Designing and getting support for a project is time consuming, stressful, and virtually guaranteed to send you to the brink of depression. Finally, there is another merit that is often overlooked. If you are walking into a funded project, especially if that project has NSF funding, it is most likely that your advisor is an established and respected researcher. The importance of training with a successful researcher should not be under-emphasized.

The young professor seems eager, and in fact he or she is. They are eager to get a mini-me in their lab so they look and feel good about themselves. Unfortunately, they don't tell you that their one big accomplishment as a professional scientist is in getting you to work with them. They probably haven't established their own research program, haven't got a handle on their teaching assignment, and are going to be entirely too busy on those tasks to appropriately mentor you during the first months while you are struggling. Let's face it, a naive graduate student is a young professor's meat and potatoes; they are the first rung in the tenure ladder. The professors are untested as mentors, and often haven't quite made the mental adjustment from worker on someone else's research program to designer of a research program. That crap they have up on their web site--total bullshit. It is as simple as that. Whether or not a young professor will have the ingenuity and creativity to establish their own research program remains to be seen. Aligning yourself with such a researcher is a crap shoot. Are you willing to bet your future on a crap shoot?

The problem with graduate school is that no professor, young or old, is going to tell you this.

Looking to shift the emphasis of my research program, I elected to work with a professor that was better established than the one I had worked with on my masters. After one semester, I proposed my project to my committee. Imagine my dismay when my committee told me it wouldn't work. I wondered why my major advisor hadn't pointed out the problems with my research design. It was back to square one. That was when my master's advisor stepped forward and said that I should work on a project similar to my master's project and if I chose to do that, she'd be happy to advise me. Crushed by my initial failure and lured by the seemingly easy project design, I switched labs. Yes, this put me on a path that went away from where I wanted to go, but it was better than having no project at all.

I assumed a lot in that switch. I assumed that my advisor would offer the same level of support she had during my masters program. I assumed that my advisor would help me secure funding for this project. I assumed incorrectly.

I spent the next semester designing the project and forming a new committee. My advisor offered little to no guidance on the scope of my project. In fact, she expanded it in ways that made me uncomfortable, but assured me that no one ever finishes the project they propose and we would just "cut that part out at the end". My committee liked this project, noted its amibitious scope, and each member assured me that it was a fundable project. Never doubting my grant writing skills, I was poised and ready to work with my advisor to secure funding.

I wrote a few small grants which were promptly rejected. I approached my advisor about writing an NSF grant, but she had already obligated herself to submitting to the very same program as a co-PI with a better established researcher outside our university. Ultimately, that grant was never submitted, but I was never informed. No mention was ever made of submitting for another deadline. In fact, my advisor seemed to think that funding my project was entirely my responsibility. I wrote eight grants in my first year. I had no field season for lack of funding. I wrote twelve grants in my second year. I had no field season for lack of money. I wrote nine grants in my third year. Most of these were to fund a research project that supported the new direction my advisor wished to take her lab, but that had nothing to do with my dissertation project. My advisor felt that this was an exciting new direction and that funders would jump on the project. They didn't. I went back to writing grants in support of my project. I was able to get out to do some field work by paying my own way and piggybacking on the research of a lab mate. I owe her big time for that. In my fourth year, I wrote five grants. In four years, no grant I wrote was funded. To this day, I have no idea what the problem is with my project. One of my committee members suggested that I have someone other than just my advisor read over my grants before submitting them, but when I asked two professors to look at them, both claimed they didn't have the time. Finally, at the end of my fourth year, I received a two-year fellowship for which my major advisor claims that I am ill suited. So much for faith in me. The fellowship pays well enough that I will be able to pay for my own research. I will be able to finish--that is if they let me have both years of the fellowship.

When I received the fellowship, the chair of our department expressed his displeasure because he feels I should not have been awarded support that would necessarily include a sixth year of university funding. Honestly, I am incensed and confused by this attitude. After struggling for four years, after writing more than thirty grants in support of my research, I finally got the support I need to pay for my own research out of my own pocket, and I am being told that the money came too late? WTF?

Imagine how different my experience might have been had I walked into a predesigned, well funded project. I would not be facing my fifth year only now getting my field work underway. I would not be facing the pressure of trying to finish a four year degree in one year. Honestly, I don't think it can be done. If they strip me of the second year of funding, I have every confidence that I will be walking away from this project empty handed. Had I had funding at the beginning, I would probably be finished by now. I would not be the laughing stock of my department. Instead, I spend every day trying to cope with the stress that never seems to end. I stare at the bottom line on my student loans and wonder if I will ever be able to afford the minimum payments. I wonder if I will ever own a new car or my own home once I move away from this place. I feel humiliated nearly every day that I walk into my building. I'd quit, but I can't. I can't afford to walk away with anything less than a Ph.D. because that is what it is going to take to pay off those loans. All in all, in this economy, I see nothing but economic ruin for me.

Sometimes, I wish for a swift and painless death. And I'm not kidding. I'm not suicidal, but I would welcome an end to the stress if it befell me. I don't feel my future holds any real, well future. I made a mistake--not in coming to graduate school--but in aligning myself with an untested researcher who, either through lack of experience or lack of interest, didn't take a vested interest in my success. I still feel that my advisor should have taken a more active role in seeking funding for my project. Instead, she has distanced herself from me. She has certainly taken greater interest in the projects of other students. Whether it was through gross incompetence or willful negligence, I paid the price for my choice and no one else. And I will continue to pay for it for the rest of my life.

I used to be considered one of the top students in our department. Now, I feel as though I'm something of a departmental joke. Professionally, I wonder if this is something that I will ever be able to overcome. Unlike D-friend J, I woud not recommend designing your own project. I do not feel like it will make me a better researcher. While he came out feeling worthy, I'm four years in and my confidence is shattered. My only suggestion to others is to go for the pre-designed, well funded project working with an established, tenured professor. Don't put yourself in this boat with me. If it sinks, no one will save you, and others just stand on shore thanking their lucky stars they aren't you.

It's a small world after all

2009-05-17T20:33:00.001-07:00

17 May 2009 -- As of 06:00 GMT, 17 May 2009, 39 countries have officially reported 8480 cases of influenza A(H1N1) infection. From the WHO. Click on photo to enlarge.

So now what? It's the little pandemic that couldn't. Swine flu, H1N1, or whatever you want to call it appears to be spreading slowly, causing much fewer deaths than anticipated, and while I haven't heard anyone talking about it fizzling out, the World Health Organization is not recommending any travel restrictions anywhere.

I did a little bit of reading and have learned that H1N1 is a novel influenza virus, meaning virtually no one has any acquired immunity to it. There is no vaccine available and it seems to be of normal communicability. The fact that there have only been 4 deaths in 4714 confirmed cases in the US (in other words, only 0.085% of all cases ended in a fatality), seems to be reason enough for the media to let the pandemic scare slide.

Africa is either an insulated place or this tally is incomplete. Then again, after ordering the slaughter of 300,000 pigs, Egypt may be reveling in their responsibility for averting disaster.

**U.S. Human Cases of H1N1 Flu Infection**
(As of May 15, 2009, 11:00 AM ET)
States*	Confirmed and Probable Cases	Deaths
Alabama	55 cases	0 deaths
Arkansas	2 cases	0 deaths
Arizona	435 cases	1 death
California	504 cases	0 deaths
Colorado	55 cases	0 deaths
Connecticut	47 cases	0 deaths
Delaware	60 cases	0 deaths
Florida	68 cases	0 deaths
Georgia	18 cases	0 deaths
Hawaii	10 cases	0 deaths
Idaho	5 cases	0 deaths
Illinois	638 cases	0 deaths
Indiana	71 cases	0 deaths
Iowa	66 cases	0 deaths
Kansas	30 cases	0 deaths
Kentucky**	13 cases	0 deaths
Louisiana	57 cases	0 deaths
Maine	14 cases	0 deaths
Maryland	28 cases	0 deaths
Massachusetts	135 cases	0 deaths
Michigan	142 cases	0 deaths
Minnesota	36 cases	0 deaths
Missouri	19 cases	0 deaths
Montana	4 cases	0 deaths
Nebraska	27 cases	0 deaths
Nevada	26 cases	0 deaths
New Hampshire	18 cases	0 deaths
New Jersey	14 cases	0 deaths
New Mexico	68 cases	0 deaths
New York	242 cases	0 deaths
North Carolina	12 cases	0 deaths
North Dakota	2 cases	0 deaths
Ohio	14 cases	0 deaths
Oklahoma	26 cases	0 deaths
Oregon	94 cases	0 deaths
Pennsylvania	47 cases	0 deaths
Rhode Island	8 cases	0 deaths
South Carolina	36 cases	0 deaths
South Dakota	4 cases	0 deaths
Tennessee	74 cases	0 deaths
Texas	506 cases	2 deaths
Utah	91 cases	0 deaths
Vermont	1 cases	0 deaths
Virginia	21 cases	0 deaths
Washington	246 cases	1 death
Washington, D.C.	12 cases	0 deaths
Wisconsin	613 cases	0 deaths
*TOTAL(47)**	4,714 cases	4 deaths
includes the District of Columbia one case is resident of KY but currently hospitalized in GA. This table will be updated daily Monday-Friday at around 11 AM ET. International Human Cases of Swine Flu Infection See: World Health Organization . NOTE:* Because of daily reporting deadlines, the state totals reported by CDC may not always be consistent with those reported by state health departments. If there is a discrepancy between these two counts, data from the state health departments should be used as the most accurate number.

So for those keeping score at home, here is the latest tally from the CDC.

Still, I find it a little disconcerting that Illinois has the greatest number of cases of any state in the Union, including those with high rates of immigration from Mexico, and with NYC, which was thought to be ground-zero for the US cases.

And me having just gone to Chicago....

I'm not taking this sitting down

2009-05-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

I used to be in fund raising. I wrote grants to tax-funded organizations. Sponsored Programs it was called at the time. But I worked with other people who did other kinds of fund raising, including "direct mail marketing," which is nothing more than a fancy term for junk mail. I would just like to say that I flat out do not believe in direct mail marketing. I detest it as much as you do.

And when faced with a never ending stream of junk mail from one organization I became associated with, I decided to strike back. I would like to show you a letter I wrote to the President, Head of Development, and the Registrar of the University of Kentucky recently. Amazingly enough, I am no longer receiving junk mail with the University of Kentucky logo on it.

Power to the people, man.

Dear Dr. Todd, Ms. Hager, and Mr. Richey,

I am writing you all with a serious concern of broad interest, I'm certain, to many UK alumni and to your three offices as well. In 2003, I requested that a copy of my transcripts be sent to my current university so that I could enter graduate school. The Office of the Registrar required I provide my name, current address, and telephone number. Although I am not a member of the Alumni Association, I began receiving an alumni magazine from the College of Arts and Sciences shortly thereafter, despite never having contacted anyone in that department. Just as quickly, I began to get offers from credit card companies, insurance companies, cable television companies, satellite television companies, digital television companies, cellular telephone companies, and God knows what else, all prominently labeled as "special offer for University of Kentucky Alumni". I have been contacted numerous times by the University of Kentucky Office of Development asking for contributions. Each time I have politely asked that I be removed from the calling list. Every week for the past 6 years, I have received junk mail prominently labeled with the University of Kentucky logo.

I am sending you an electronic letter for a reason. I am a biologist and I work hard to lessen my carbon footprint. I am on the national Do Not Call list and have worked hard to get my name and address removed from junk mailers' rolls. But UK has done me in. You have sold my personal information to the highest bidder and I can't stop the hemorrhage of paper no matter how hard I try. The pennies you have received from selling my personal information has undone years of vigilant conservation. I PAID to have a transcript sent. I did not grant you permission to sell me out to the highest bidder. I did not pay to begin an insidious trail of junk mail, unsolicited phone calls, and never-ending aggravation that is, apparently, part and parcel of being a UK alumnus. Ladies and gentlemen, I am not your latest fund raising opportunity. I am a person of exceedingly little means. Thanks for opening up my life to constant aggravation and harassment by your "advertising partners" and for making a degree from the University of Kentucky one of the most unlikely sources of a negative environmental impact.

As far as I'm concerned, your actions in selling my personal information without my permission is tantamount to fraud and harassment. Whatever you have to do to remove my name from anything having to do with the University of Kentucky is preferable to this. And I can tell you right now, UK will not be getting one penny of my money in the form of donations.

Stop selling out your alumni. You should be ashamed.

Ms. D
UK College of Arts and Sciences Class of 1986

Is it hot in here?

2009-05-15T06:50:00.001-07:00

NSF just published a comprehensive paper, combining the results of 60 years of NSF-sponsored research on the climate. The press release indicates that from all corners of the globe, researchers have found evidence of climate change, and for the first time NSF has compiled this data into one comprehensive report.

I guess I see the future of my research and everyone else's. Looking forward to reading the whole thing. Figure you might be, too.

Click here.

This time last year

2009-05-15T00:18:00.000-07:00

Liv's wonderful past reflections reminded me (albeit, I'm a day late posting this) that last year this time, I was making a drive from Grosvenor Arch to Beaver Dam, with a stop along the way at a veterinarian, who supplied us with this....Jake was a champ about the splint, but it was his own fault, after all. He was the one who decided to roundhouse Jack. Silly rabbit.

Why I talk to people who disagree with me

2009-05-14T19:34:00.000-07:00

I like my brother. D-bro Don has an interesting mind. He is intelligent--as everyone in my family seems to be. And like the rest of us, he has strong opinions on things. My brother and I disagree on virtually every aspect of politics and social programs, but amazingly enough, we have a lot of common ground around gun issues. He is a die-hard Republican. I'm an aging and increasingly centrist Democrat. He revels in poking fun at "Obamalama". Finds it almost as amusing as I did poking fun at our former mental lightweight of a President.

On many issues, my brother can speak with some authority. He reads his local newspaper daily. He seems to have a handle on the national news. He is something of a student of the stock market. And he is extremely well versed on legislation concerning gun laws. Now neither of us is a trained economist or political scientist, so I figure that we both have a right to our respective opinions on the economy, wars, fossil fuel, and approaches to social programs. But my brother is a project manager for a large, urban contractor. He has worked on a variety of public projects, including the building and expansion of schools, hospitals, and public housing. In his job, he has come face-to-face with bureaucracy, Chicago-style. It didn't improve his concept of Chicago politics. He cares about his community. He reads the newspaper and scours the news for stories that affect his community. I suppose in his school district, the administrators are well paid. In fact, he told me that the superintendant of the Joliet public schools earns a half million dollars a year. This fact, which he supported by actually scanning and emailing me the newspaper article describing it, has sent him into a tizzy.

A half million dollars for a public school administrator is about $450,000 a year too much in my brother's view. D-bro has unusual ideas about academia, mostly formed from what others have told him and an ardent distrust of tenure. He can't believe that teachers are given an "lifetime prohibition on firing". Claims that tenure makes teachers lazy. Claims that it breeds bad teaching. I will admit that he would have no trouble finding ample support for his claims. However, in part of his rant this time, he turned to me and said in exasperation, "Can YOU explain why the hell they even give teachers tenure? What possible purpose can that serve."

To which I replied, "I sure can" and I proceeded to explain how tenure assured that professors (and I suppose also public school teachers) could teach controversial subjects without fear of being replaced by disagreeing administrators. I explained how researchers HAD to probe the cutting edge of areas like medicine, biology, astronomy, and physics, and how they often had to push up against borders that some might feel violate their moral or ethical standards. I explained why it is important for the advancement of knowledge that professors be granted autonomy in their work, and that public funds not be hamstrung by the vagaries of the political moment.

He did not concede the point, but I could tell he listened.

We talked about the future of education. I told him stories of the older faculty and their ideas about academia and how I believe they are the last of an old school mentality that professors are the keepers of knoweldge. We discussed my ideas that a college education is becoming just another commodity, and that the ivory towers are going to become an increasingly competitive marketplace where second-tier universities were going to be competing with student-focused community colleges, which have, in some states, begun offering bachelor's degrees. He listened. I could see him absorbing it all. In that mind of his, he is arranging all this information into an evolving opinion and outlook about education. I found that interesting. Interesting as hell. He listens.

The same way he listened after his rant the last time I visited. He was talking to me about the Endangered Species Act--specifically, the reintroduction of grey wolves into the western US. Understand that my brother is a lifetime member of the NRA, a hunter, and a subscriber to a variety of magazines that detail the issues from an "other than scientific perspective". My last visit, I remember quite clearly my brother saying, 'There is a reason they removed wolves from that environment in the first place."

I let that moment sink in for a minute. I wondered whether my brother really believed that wolves had no rightful place in the wild places of the United States. I wondered whether my brother had actually considered that he was, by all appearances, advocating for the extermination of an entire species from the face of the Earth. In a turn of events that shocked me more than anyone, I responded very softly. I shook my head and admitted it was a difficult issue. I expressed my empathy for ranchers who with a razor-thin profit margin were losing stock to wolves. I surmised that it didn't help that wolves were "smart" predators who worked in packs and seemed to be effective, efficient and deadly hunters. It is hard to believe that predators need help. They work with such precision to cull livestock herds. Yet, I explained that scientists have to consider the health of the ecosystem, the rights of the animals to space and land and respect for a natural history that took millenia to evolve. I explained that it didn't seem prudent to think of this strictly from an economic perspective. It didn't seem right to think of this strictly as an issue of property rights. It doesn't seem right to purposefully exterminate an entire species. I told him the truth. I told him that I didn't know what the best course of action was. Was it to compensate ranchers for their losses? Was it to raise prices of meat so that the consumer paid the price for the lost stock? Was it to raise prices on grazing land to fair-market value and then set up a compensation fund for stock losses? But there was one thing I did make clear. I told him I was fairly certain that the wrong thing to do was to shoot wolves into extinction. I just shook my head and told him, "Presumably humans are the smartest animals on the planet. Does that give us the right to make such a drastic and permanent decision? I'm not sure who among us has greater rights than the rights of an animal to exist. Who gets to make that decision for us? What if, after exterminating wolves, we figure out a viable solution to the problem?" In the end, I asked more questions than I answered, but still, he listened. And listening is one great habit of an open mind.

It is sometimes quite useful to talk to people who disagree with you.

Credit where credit's due

2009-05-13T15:08:00.000-07:00

A shout out to D-Mom. I know. You're thinking, "WTF? D is praising her mom? Did hell freeze over?"

OK. OK. I know I'm hard on my mom, but that's mostly because she's hard on me. But I realized something in this whole episode of D-friend Bek's marital difficulties. Bek can't talk to her parents. She can't tell them her life is falling apart. At least I used to be able to talk to my mom. We don't go that route so much anymore, but if I was having some serious shit, I'd at least feel comfortable opening up the truth. So go Mom! And yesterday she gave me some solid on dealing with Bek and offering up some advice. Which, following up on my earlier post about toxic relationships, got me to thinking about love.

When I was married, the thing that gave me the greatest stress was not the way that my husband treated me in private, but the way that he treated me in public. I suppose if I'm honest about it, in my mind one of the great sins is to behave badly in public. A spouse necessarily reflects on you. They are the one you chose to spend your life with (presumably). And when they berate you, do stupid shit, get shit-faced, ask to kiss your best friend at midnight on New Year's Eve, dirty dance with your boss (all things that have happened to me by less than well meaning boyfriends or spouses), well, you get my drift. It is embarassing to look everyone in the eye once dipshit has sobered up or come down off whatever high he was on.

My father was a model of temperance and restraint. I suppose he is the archetype. But there aren't many men out there like my father. He seemed to be predictable without making it look like a challenge.

Bek's husband flew into a rage, ran off to his mother's house, drug everyone from his step-brother's girlfriend to the pastor's wife into his marital problems and after three days thinks he can leave a voice mail message on her phone, apologize and come home and all is well.

Oh hell no. Bek couldn't even call her parents and tell them she was having marital troubles because she is such a private person. If it was me, and my spouse went slinging our business into the marketplace, there would be no reconciliation. Fuck. That. Shit.

I'm never going to be one of those people who can just say, "yeah, well, he's a free spirit that significant other of mine. He _____________ (flies off the handle, drinks too much, dances on tables, chases the cocktail waitress around the pool, etc.). Ha!" The problem with getting my shorts in a knot when someone I am with behaves badly is this: it suggests that I am responsible for another person's behavior and we all know that is balderdash. While I'd love to know my other completely, be in complete agreement with him, be able to count on the constancy of his behavior, and to trust him to know what to do in all situations, I don't think it's gonna happen. HOWEVER, I do think that if your spouse is so unpredictable that you dread going to places with people you care about, you have a problem. If your significant other is habitually behaving outrageously (this is the second time Bek's S.O. has run home to mommy and gotten EVERYONE involved), you might just want to consider that particular red flag a little gift from God and a great big sign that you should cut your losses and move on. I know that if I don't have some measure of behavioral predictability, I can't relax and be happy.

I remember the incredible betrayal I felt when my husband made a bawdy joke at my expense to the landlord. He actually embarrassed the landlord. I was humiliated. I felt betrayed. I felt like my husband was a man I couldn't trust. This is the man who should have been the protector of my honor and instead he was the one tearing it down.

I actually want the kind of relationship where I never have to worry whether my spouse is going to humiliate me in front of my family, his family, my friends, his friends, or the general public. And you know, I sort of think if I find that, that's half the battle. Because if someone respects me enough to behave in a manner acceptable to me while around me, it suggests a level of compatibility that shouldn't be discounted. And yes, I do realize that my standards have devolved to "I'll settle for someone who just won't embarrass me in public". Oh, I don't think that two people are ever going to be in complete agreement on how we are going to conduct ourselves in public at all times. But I don't think there is anything inherently unreasonable in having reasonable expectations. I didn't have it in my marriage, but I always thought I should have.

So anyone who is single, tall, dark and handsome and fits that description, well, just drop me a line.

Avoidant Personality? Meet Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

2009-05-12T22:14:00.001-07:00

D-friend Bek is going through a hard time. She and her husband are having problems. She called me up tonight and told me they had a fight about pizza, he packed up a bag and went to stay at his mother's. Bek called me in tears today because her husband claimed he has filed for a divorce.

Ok, just between us chickens, this guy needs to grow some damn cajones and kick his fucking mommy out of his marriage, go home and deal with his wife.

Ahem. I just had to get that out.

We all know the problem may be about a lot of things, but it sure as hell isn't pizza. The last fight before the breakup rarely has anything to do with the problem. Because the problem has become the way the two people view one another and the habit they have adopted for dealing with one another. It has to do with who has their ear and what sort of nonsense outsiders are feeding them. It also has a great deal to do with the way people deal with stress.

Some people deal with stress on the spot. That's Bek's M.O. and I'd have to guess that also is mine. I mean, I've tried to figure out how I deal with stress. Ok, I bitch a lot. That is to say that I lean on friends and vent. I think venting has its merits. Bek has been venting a lot lately. I just sit and listen. Sometimes that is all it takes to be helpful. By the way, all you people who listen to me vent? Thanks, dude(s). But in my more intimate relationships, I'm not likely to let it build up. I stand up for myself. I don't allow people to walk all over me. I don't think it is healthy for a relationship to allow anyone to get into a habit of treating me poorly, so I point out when I think I'm being treated poorly. The other person can fall in line or move their happy ass on down the line. But not everyone deals with problems like me and Bek. Some people avoid their problems like the plague. My brother is one of those. Apparently, so is Bek's husband. He'd rather get a divorce than even have the conversation about why he is unhappy. People like me and Bek have problems dealing with people like my brother and her husband.

People who avoid conflict at all costs can't deal with an honest examination of the problem. In general, they also can't deal with the fact that the conflict may arise out of their own behavior. I have noticed the most unusual thing when dealing with avoidant personalities. When you call a turd a turd and tell them that this is, in fact, their turd, they tend to look away and say, "hey, there's a much larger turd over there (gesticulating wildly) and that turd is YOUR TURD."

And if you tell them you aren't talking about THAT TURD at the moment, but this turd right here, they will begin to generate a map, with amazing detail, of all the turds in the yard that belong to you.

Because, avoidant personalities can't have the problem be about them. They will wiggle and squirm and justify and deflect and the only thing you can do is nail their happy asses to the wall and walk away. At least, I haven't found a reasonable way to deal with them.

And in trying to accommodate a person who can't deal with conflict is frustrating. I mean, how are you supposed to deal with problems with someone who can't even deal with the fact that there is a problem? And if you insist on talking about the problem, they feel cornered, and either get angry and lash out or cry? I just sit there mystified in such situations. I have no Plan B. I have no idea how to approach the problem other than my way of approaching problems. So when I can't, I find myself doing things like writing about the problem over and over over and over.......and re-writing about it over and over .....and writing emails to the person that I will never send, and obsessing about it. And how do I know this? Because that is where I am now. And you are witnessing an example of it right here in this post. I can't have the conversation with the person with whom I'm in conflict and so I'm writing everything I'd like to say to them here. Stress is like water. It will find a way out.

Which brings me to my problem. I'm involved in a work relationship that has become entirely dysfunctional because I am dealing with an avoidant personality. Normally work relationships are low on my radar, but this one can't be because it is with my advisor. In relationship terms, we need to break up. It is time to move on. Recognize that the relationship isn't salvageable. We are simply incompatible. Problem is, I'm not ready to graduate . So the state of the relationship is that there is a lot of seething and bad feelings (mostly on my part), and I get pissed at the sight of her. Amazingly enough, she seems to be blissfully unaware of how she is treating me and how it is making me feel.

That part is my fault. Well, it is and it isn't. When someone with whom you have worked for nearly 5 years and with whom you thought you had a good working relationship suddenly begins 1) making fun of you, 2) accusing you of unbelievable and unfounded offenses, and 3) treating you like a second-class citizen relative to the others around you, well, excuse me for being caught off guard. When these things have happened, I have basically stood there with my chin on the floor in disbelief. And when you don't speak up right away, the moment has passed. Do you bring it up later? Will you be able to do so calmly? Is later the best time or is immediately the best time? Those who know me know that I am unlikely to handle that "later" conversation well. Especially after the offense against me has had time to sink in and fester. Which leaves me where I am. Pissed and muted.

And all of that is, in fact, why she thinks our relationship is aces. She tools through life making extraordinarily inappropriate comments, catching people off guard and because no one speaks up, she thinks there isn't a problem. Add to this the complex mix of advisor-graduate student relations of academic life and we are talking about a potentially career-changing problem. I have learned to tolerate things in graduate school that I NEVER would have tolerated in normal life. I sort of accepted that I'm her bitch until I graduate. So despite an exceptional 5-year relationship history, I find myself powerless when she decides that being nice isn't a professional courtesy of which I'm deserving.

It wasn't always like this. Oh, we've had a bobble or two. And the bobbles that I didn't let pass--like when she took a 6-week hiatus and I couldn't get any work done for lack of supplies--I found her completely unwilling to hear that she was the cause of my troubles. In her world, nothing bad that ever happens has her hand in it. And I have let a great deal pass. I didn't sweat the small stuff. I didn't sweat some of the medium sized stuff. In fact, there were some real whoppers that I should have sweated, that I didn't. Because, you know, I always felt that this person had my best interests at heart. I no longer think that. When you realize that someone is not simply blissfully incompetent, or potentially professionally negligent, but openly manipulative, well, that's the moment when your tolerance tops out. Which is exactly where D's bullshit meter remains.

The icing on the cake is that, lately, she has taken to insulting me in public. She has made comments about my ability to interact with children. She has made comments about my love interests. She has been trying to defend her actions by saying that sometimes advisors have to say the hard truths. What sorts of opportunities I pursue, how I spend my leisure time, what rocks my boat is ultimately none of her fucking business.

I live by one mantra. Do unto others. I wouldn't dream of offering my advisor unsolicited career advice or making fun of her interests. Neither would I ask my advisor for life advice because--honestly--I'm not a fan of her judgement. Her life is certainly not a model for mine. And I don't mean to suggest there is anything wrong with her life, but I don't want that to be the path mine takes. She has led a sheltered life. She doesn't know the pressures of divorce, or murder attempts, or five-figure student loans. She doesn't know a world where there is no one to help you when you are going through a hard time. I'd hazard she's never been homeless. Her life has been a virtual cake walk compared to mine. I have had quarries-full more experience than her and I can't think of a single judgement that she could offer that I would give greater weight than my own. I worked in the world for 15 years BEFORE I came to school. She's been out of school for 5. One job. At a second tier school. Yeah. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat for THAT career advice. In fact, when I have opted to listen to her advice, it has rarely gone well for me.

So instead of apologizing (which would have been the humane thing to do), she chose to defend her actions as some sort of self-help program for D. A self-help program that I neither asked for nor desired. In any event, this recent habit of talking to me like I'm some sort of young punk and putting me down at will and in public has destroyed my faith in and respect for her. I am angry. I am incensed, in fact. And I am afraid that I am going to unload on her and it is not going to go well. At this point, I just want to finish and get the hell out. And if she could keep the fucking insulting comments to herself in the mean time, well that would be gravy.

What I am not is confused. I'm not really sweating the "why is she doing this" because honestly I don't give a flying fuck. I just know that if she doesn't stop there are going to be repercussions. I am not going to put up with this crap much longer. I'm at the point where I could care less about accommodating her conflict resolution style. One more comment blasting me out of the water and fur is going to fly. I can't tell you at this point whether I will handle it well or handle it ill. I guess we'll both have to wait and see.

So yeah, I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately, particularly toxic relationships. What makes relationships toxic I think has less to do with the circumstances than the personalities and how those personalities mesh. When you find yourself in a sphere with a personality that is incompatible with your own, my experience is that the best course of action is to get away from one another as quickly as possible. Some relationships can not be salvaged. And certainly one where the mere thought of having to deal with the other person gives you heartburn is one of them.

Has anyone seen my Rolaids?

Roads Not Taken

2009-05-12T21:01:00.000-07:00

Road trips have a strange effect on me. You wouldn't call me a people watcher. I rarely sit still long enough to watch anyone else. But when I am confined inside a car, driving alone, I occasionally will become fixated on trucks. Trucks carrying plumbing supplies. Trucks carrying windows. Trucks carrying caskets. Yes, now and again I will see the truck carrying Batesville Caskets. And all these trucks moving all these products just gets me thinking about a different life than my own.

I think of all the possible careers I could have pursued but didn't. I think about what life as a casket salesman must be like. I think of how that salesman knows every single feature of wood versus metal caskets. I think about how they have to describe the fabric on the inside. Personally, I've never had to buy a casket. When my father died, I was put in charge of picking out his cemetery plot. I suppose some might have found it in poor taste when I laid down in the grass on the plot I chose, but, you know, I had to see if it felt right. After all, that was for his eternity. But I'm sure selling caskets is a very serious business.

And what if I was in the plumbing business. I'd know all the ins and outs of copper versus PVC. I'd know all about soldering and u joints and relief valves and god knows what else. I also am fairly certain that I would be bored out of my mind. I dont think there are many things that I care enough about to sell.

Except maybe bread. And plants. I could sell plants. I could sell the shit out of plants.

But yeah, I could bake bread. I could do that. I think I could have been a musician. A violinist. Although secretly I wish I could have been a drummer. I don't think I could program computers or repair things or push papers. I need problems to solve. I need outlets for logic and reasoning. I need challenges. I suppose designing a plumbing system might do it, but I tend to think that most plumbing projects don't have deep design issues. Maybe I'm wrong. I do like working with my hands.

I think I could design games. I think I could train animals. I don't think I could be a truck driver. I could be a landscaper. No to doctoring. Yes to veterinarianing. No to day caring. Yes to teaching. There are a lot of things I could have done. I am pretty sure I have picked the right profession this time. Almost certain.

Home Repair 101

2009-05-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a banner week for home repair in the good down of Do-well.

First, I discovered that the sump pump had issues. Actually because the hose clamp failed and the hose had become disconnected causing the water in the crawl space to spurt up like a fountain and circulated continuously, I was damn lucky that the sump pump didn't burn out. But, I got a new hose clamp and it seems to be working well. Cost of repair: $1.38.

Then my brakes went out and I had to have new brake pads and rotors. Ouch. But, I have to maintain the pimpalicious ride. $182.50.

Cutting the grass today (which is sky high thanks to days and days and days of consecutive rain), I noticed one of the wheels was wobbly. Thinking it just needed to be tightened, I took a closer look and noticed that the entire wheel was cracked. Cost to replace? $15.50. Part will be coming directly to the house in 10 days. Hope the existing wheel hangs on that long.

I guess I shouldn't complain. I just put 5300 miles on my car on my research trip, and the sump pump has been getting a workout with all the rain we've had, and one can hardly blame the lawn mower for my being hard on corners. However, I can't afford many more weeks like this one, either from a time perspective or a pocketbook perspective.

Oh, and did I mention that the doorknob on the back door came off in my hand Monday morning? And the Argentine ants are back.

Visions of Summer

2009-05-06T17:10:00.000-07:00

Today I bought some roses. And I know people may laugh since I probably won't live in this house long enough to enjoy them in all their splendor, but I believe in leaving a garden behind no matter where I go. These were my choices.

New Dawn. A climber. I will plant this one with a Clematis jackmanii, a dark purple clematis. This will look spectacular, in case you wondered.

Eglantyne. A shrub rose.

A Tradition Few Understand

2009-05-02T15:59:00.000-07:00

When you are a Kentucky native, today is a special day.

It's the high holidays.

The first Saturday in May is the Run for the Roses. If one lives in Kentucky, the week is marked by parades, by a great deal of Kentucky pride, a tradition of really bad hats that never see the light of day the other 364 days of the year, and planning for a day-long party with friends and family. Parties include mint julips, friendly betting, barbeque, and great food.

It is fantastically great fun. Thoroughbred horses are something that makes every Kentuckian verklempt. Attending the Derby is a rite of passage for every college-age Kentuckian. I have attended twice. I'm too old for that shenanigans anymore.

I don't live in Kentucky anymore. My day is marked by a 2-hour online investigation of the horses, their owners, their trainers, and most importantly, their jockeys. I then have to inform my family of my picks, trash talk theirs, and then we all watch the race on television. We seldom win. It doesn't matter. We all choke up when they the University of Louisville marching band plays the state song, My Old Kentucky Home. We deplore the celebrities who think they are "honorary Kentuckians" for a day. There is no feeling like being a native Kentuckian on Derby Day.

Last year, I missed my first Kentucky Derby of my adult life. D-fav Liv and I were on the road in the second leg of our Wild West Adventure. We had it planned to hit Roswell, NM, just in time for the race. Unfortunately, we had fubared the time change. The race had already run. I tried not to appear crushed. But it was like someone had stolen Christmas from me.

I know that no one else gets it. That's part of the attraction.

I picked Desert Party, Chocolate Candy, and Hold Me Back. My horses came in fifth, twelfth, and fourteenth. It's all good.

Mine that Bird went off at 50-1. It payed $102 for a $2 bet. The horse itself only cost $9500. The trifecta paid $500,000+. By golly, Kentuckians love that kind of rags to riches stories. Too bad the horse is a gelding. Best of luck to them as they head to Maryland.

Homeowners Log, 12:20 am

2009-05-01T22:25:00.000-07:00

So I was in the bathroom before bed and I heard something. Something faint. The sound of running water.

That is never a good sound. Unless, of course, you are actually standing in the shower.

So it sounds like it's coming from the laundry room. Nope. Nothing wrong in there, but from there is sounds like it is coming from under the house.

Oh shit.

Broken water pipe? How long has that been running? Fantasies of unpayable water bills begin to fill my mind. So on go the clothes and out comes the flashlight and into the yard I go to investigate. I round the house and stick my ear down toward one of the grates. Oh yeah. That's running water all right.

I go over to the access to the crawl space, pull back the hacked piece of aluminum siding and the warped plywood board that serve as my crawlspace blockade. I move aside the cement block that hold the contraption in place, I squeemishly point my mag light inside. And what to my wondering eyes does appear? A sump pump fountain.

After returning to the house to unplug the sump pump, I go back out, haul it out, only to find that the discharge hose has come loose. The hose clamp has rust through and with nowhere to discharge the water, the sump pump was running continuously.

Thankfully, it was simply a matter of re-attaching the hose. I'll have to pick up a hose clamp tomorrow.

Along with a new chain lock and door handle for the back door. Oh, did I fail to mention that on my way out of the house this morning, the back door handle simply came off in my hand?

My house is falling apart. I need a man. Or at least more money to hire this stuff fixed. Or more time to fix it myself.

The lawn needs mowed, but thankfully it's too wet out there. At least I have THAT excuse.

A Different Take of Racial Politics

2009-04-29T16:41:00.000-07:00

Although these posts are in chronological order, I highly encourage you to read the first post first. Don't worry. I'll be waiting for you here when you return.

And now for Post 2. To refresh our collective memories. A very qualified minority student applied for an undergraduate position in our lab. At least some portion of the time, I would be working with this student worker. So, as might be expected, the professor has asked my opinion about the applicants. Keep in mind that this is not my hire. It is not my decision, and I can only act in an advisory capacity here. It turns out, the professor is experiencing some internal conflict about her desire to hire a former student of mine (see post 1) or to seriously consider this qualified African American student. Now, the thing that I have left out of the discussion above (and below) is that the minority who applied for a job in our lab is 20-something, accomplished, and rather handsome. I saw him for a total of about 30 seconds today. Knowing nothing more than this person was applying for the job in our lab (and as yet knowing nothing about his qualifications) D-advisor remarked that D would tell her to hire this individual because he was a handsome black man. I told her I wouldn't mind working alongside a handsome black man. Then she commented that perhaps she shouldn't hire this applicant because....

wait for it....

D wouldn't leave this individual alone, sexually-speaking.

Excuse me while I have a major WTF moment.

How did we get from point A to point B? You can't begin to imagine how entertaining I find it when the qualities that I find sexually attractive in the opposite sex become valid for disqualifying job applicants. By all means, hire the buck-toothed, fat, white slob with his butt crack showing. Because then and only then will D be able to keep her hands to herself. Is it just me? Or do you people out there love when this shit happens to you? What? You mean this shit DOESN"T happen to you?

When I pointed out that I don't date anyone under 40, she said she wasn't sure she trusted me anyway.

*crickets*

Now there is funny and then there is way the fuck over the line. Where do you think this falls? Is it in the "Ha, Ha, Ha, Let's make fun of D's outside-the-box sexual interests"? Or is this in the "Let's accuse D of being completely incapable of acting in a professional, legal, and moral manner with certain members of the community"? I think it is not only firmly in the second category, it is indicative of a growing habit by this person to publicly attack my character out of freakin' nowhere. This faculty heard that I date African American men, so in the presence of an African American man both he and I would be completely unable to control our sexual urges, regardless of how inappropriate such advances might be. I mean, the ramifications of her actually believing that are extraordinary for me as a professional. Is this the person I want writing letters of recommendation for me as a graduate?

I thought to mention that I don't JUST date African American men, but that I ALSO date African American men, but then I thought, "how is that relevant to this discussion? It's not."

I may have mentioned that this person has made over-the-line-comments about me in the past. About three or four months ago, she and I finally had to have a talk about a comment she made that indicated she didn't think I was appropriate for a job working with children that I ultimately got. Though she had no reason to suspect that I wouldn't excel at the job, her feeling was that I wasn't appropriate for it.

I have wracked my brain to think of any reason that this person would have to seriously believe I possess any of the character flaws that she has accused me of. I mean, she has never seen me teach. She has never seen me interact with children. She has certainly never seen me interact with African Americans, male or female, students or love interests.

And let's not forget for a minute that there is a highly qualified job seeker in this story. Let's not forget that he scarcely made it out of the lab before the comments about his race came up. Let's not forget that I have never heard anyone comment on any of the other applicant's races. Is it fair in any way to this guy that he might not get considered for a position because someone in the lab just happens to find members of his race attractive? Do I deserve the burden that she has placed on me?

Let's break it down. While the other leading applicant is a white male, and the other lab members are white females interested in white men, only when a minority student shows up does she feel the need to raise issues of sexual tension between lab workers? And what prompted this? I must admit, at first I tried to see the humor in this interaction. But the more it sunk it, the more disturbing it became to me. Let me run through some of the things that were running through my mind as she spoke.

Does she think I'm sexually promiscuous? Does she believe that I am incapable of dealing in a professional manner with African Americans? Have I ever led anyone to believe that I do anything except behave in a strictly professional manner with my co-workers? Does she think I'm a pervert? Was this her way of telling me that she doesn't approve of the things I find sexually attractive? Was it a really bad attempt at humor? Was this a racist response? Where the fuck did this come from? Is she seriously going to toss this guy out of the pile because I am attracted to black men?

I decided to answer these questions.

Does she think I'm sexually promiscuous? Although I am decidedly not, I think she does believe that someone attracted to African Americans must necessarily have loose standards. For the record (as though you care) I have had a total of four dating relationships and two sexual partners in the past 9 years.

Does she believe that I am incapable of dealing in a professional manner with African Americans? Apparently so.

Have I ever led anyone to believe that I do anything except behave in a strictly professional manner with my co-workers? I have never, ever, under any circumstances commented or acted on my sexual attraction toward someone with whom I have a professional relationship, whether it is as colleague, boss-subordinate, teacher-student, or even something much less formal. I dare anyone to give me an example otherwise. *Starts humming the theme from Jeopardy* Unlike many of my peers, I do not mine the department for potential dates. In fact, I turned down the only offer of a date that came from one of my fellow grad students.

Does she think I'm a pervert? From the nature of these comments, I believe she finds interracial dating perverse and me by extension.

Was this her way of telling me that she doesn't approve of the things I find sexually attractive? I'd have to give that a big thumbs up.

Was it a really bad attempt at humor? I am sure she thinks her comments were hilarious. My question is, how serious was she about not trusting me with a black man?

Was this a racist response? I'll let you decide.

Where the fuck did this come from? Your guess is as good as mine.

Is she seriously going to toss this guy out of the pile because I am attracted to black men? I honestly have no idea.

So if there are people in this world who wonder why D's bullshit meter is full up, consider these sorts of interactions that exist as a part of my day-to-day interactions with others in a position of authority over me. We are going in to have a talk about this tomorrow. Oh yes we sure as hell are. Wish me luck.

Two Posts One Event

2009-04-29T15:38:00.000-07:00

Today I had an interaction that was disturbing on two levels. For this reason, I'm splitting the discussion into two posts.

Post 1. I have always felt I was a good judge of character. And while I can jump to a radically unfair conclusion based on one or two bad interactions now and again, I am generally speaking, fairly satisfied with my take on people.

Take for instance one of our current grad students. True story. The first time I met this young man, he and another of his cohort were on their way out to lunch and coaxed me into joining them. So I did. Now mind you, this was perhaps the third time I had interacted with one of the fellows, and the first time I had ever met the other. On our way back into the building, the young man I had just met walked over to a car in the FACULTY parking lot and pulled off one of those Christian fish metal car decorations from a complete stranger's car. I asked him what the f*** he thought he was doing. He said, and this is a direct quote: "People who believe in God are stupid." I gave him a bit of a lecture about respecting other people's property, about the idiocy of damaging a faculty member's car, and so on. All I remember was him defending his actions based on not respecting anyone's ideology but his own. I was done with that one on the first day I met him. I stand by the validity of that opinion to this day. Despite having the ego of a megalomaniac, this individual has failed to impress scarcely a soul in our department. I don't like him and he knows it and I really don't care.

But back to our regularly scheduled program. Generally speaking, when I have a student in class, I do not develop any particular "judgement" about them. Most students keep their heads down and certainly do not draw undue attention. Now and again, though, I have an overachiever in that respect. I went to D-friend Liv's B-friend D-ennis' thesis presentation and I noticed a former student of mine in the audience. Apparently, the young man is now a student in D-ennis' department. I remember this student quite well because I had a number of discussions with the professor about him. He was unpredictable, volatile, and extremely opinionated. I feared that one day this student was going to walk into the classroom with a gun and create his very own Columbine. It was the first time I was ever afraid of a student and you don't soon forget that. I STILL stand by that judgement.

In another instance, I recommended a student for an undergraduate position in the department(only 3 weeks into the semester) who had managed to impress me. That student worked out extremely well, has been passed around from lab to lab and is now headed to Canada with our bryophyte contingent for a summer of field work. I STILL stand by that judgement.

I have hired employees and staff in the work world and while it may have been dumb luck, I have was highly pleased with my decisions. Out of fairness however, I will tell of you a time I was wrong.

My sister-in-law married my brother about 15 years ago. At that time, her children were in their late teens and early 20s. The son was a single Dad; the daughter was dating a guy that, well, let's just say that I think everyone hoped it was only a passing fancy. Indeed it was. But one day, she shows up for one of the holidays with an older fellow. A cop. Nice enough guy, but I got a distinctly odd vibe from him. I talked to him quite a bit. As I recall from that meeting, I thought him slightly arrogant,domineering, and though I can't begin to remember why now, I thought he was of below-average intelligence. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what the daughter saw in him. Imagine my discomfort when they turned up engaged a short time later.

Fast forward about a year. Another holiday. Summertime. Lots of beer and outdoor grilling and yard lounging. The engaged couple were there and we all enjoyed ourselves. I remember later that night at home talking to the husband and remarking that Ed didn't seem nearly the jackass that I remember. My husband said, "I was amazed that was the same guy." We laughed about how independently, Ed had changed both of our minds about him that afternoon. So sure--it is possible for me to be wrong. I like to think, as I was in this case, that I am able to change my mind when I see evidence that contridicts my first gut reaction. I think Ed is a really great guy now. The husband, on the other hand, is a totally different story. =p

Which brings us to the reason for this blog post. Today, my advisor approached our lab with a dilemma. She has been awarded support for an undergraduate worker. She told me that a former student of mine had applied for the job. I was never impressed by this student. He missed a lot of classes. He failed to turn in homework. He never asked a single question. As I would walk around the room and look at people's work, this student always seemed to take longer, understand less, and agonize more over the work. His main focus seemed to be to zero in on some minutiae, something that was outside the point of the lab, and spend an extraordinary amount of time on that and be unable to finish the work that was at hand. I recall once, I stayed for an hour-and-a-half after the end of lab to allow him to finish his work. Overall, his work was competent but not outstanding and when given an opportunity to make up work he had missed, he simply failed to do so. Overall, not an impressive record. Top of all that, this young man seemed to have a difficult personality. Not in a "can't get along with anyone" sort of way, but more a "isn't that fellow particularly odd" sort of way. When he interacted with me, I tended to walk away from the interaction thinking "that guy is a real piece of work." I suspected that he might have a learning disability and I generally gave him the benefit of the doubt, but in some nagging way, he seemed to test my patience.

While this student couldn't ask me a single question, he apparently didn't have this problem with the professor. He met regularly with her. And when he did, he had plentiful excuses for his absences, pressed for extra help (which I always found interesting since he failed to ever talk to me), and impressed her with his deep interest in the subject matter. She thinks he is destined for academia and is anxious to give him a chance to gain some research experience. Two takes. One guy.

Who is right? Who is wrong?

So here's the dilemma. Today, an extremely qualified minority applicant entered the lab and applied for the same job. By extremely qualified, I mean that he has a master's degree and is about ready to enter medical school. My advisor immediately felt torn. She felt that the former student would benefit from the job whereas the highly qualified minority applicant was likely to get just about any job that he applied for. I pointed out that if everyone thought that way, this highly qualified minority applicant would be sitting on his hands this summer while we had to work with Mr. Gives Me a Queasy Feeling.

She explained in more detail her desire to support the former student. That he had volunteered to work in her lab before he knew of the paid internship. That he wanted to go to graduate school. Let me say that I don't doubt his sincerity. Nor do I doubt that he will do well enough to earn a master's degree. I am simply saying that if he applied to work in my lab I would be highly reluctant to take him on for two years. It would a challenge and tiring process. But the real kicker was when my advisor said that she believed that if she turned over a problem to this former student--something we didn't have time to work on--that she felt he would excel at that, run with it, and make us all proud.

Oh, do I beg to differ. I realized at this point, however, that she had already made up her mind about the position. She had made up her mind to hire the former student and all Mr. Qualified Minority did was screw that up. I didn't contradict her projections about my former student, although I seriously question her judgement. I believe this student will need an unwarranted amount of hand-holding. I don't think he has the creativity to take off on a project handed to him. He just doesn't strike me as motivated enough or focused enough. He seems very easily distracted. He seems to agonize over everything. And it wasn't even that he agonized over everything. It was that he agonized over it and was unable to move on. It just stopped him in his tracks.

We must also keep in mind that this professor has made less than stellar hiring decisions. She hired a lab manager that basically fubared an entire research project and wasted a year's salary "perfecting PCR protocols" despite the fact that this wasn't his job. By fubared, I mean he took a PCR protocol that work and "tweaked it" until it wouldn't work at all. She hired another undergraduate who collected a paycheck and didn't do any work. He partitioned our hard drive (he drank the Ubuntu kool-aid) on his first day and wrecked a month-old computer. At some point, he simply stopped showing up and all the salary was gone.

Excuse me for having a little more faith in my gut feeling here. Too bad it isn't my decision. And now, on to post 2.

My feeling exactly

2009-04-27T22:21:00.000-07:00

I think there are those around me who know the professional difficulties that people in Texas have caused me. So I can certainly give a big thumbs up to this video. h/t Dancing with Myself.

Technology Bekons

2009-04-26T14:16:00.000-07:00

Things are going to loosen up financially for me in a few months. I am already eyeballing some much needed technology. First is a new computer. Now I have a bit of experience with PCs and I have to say that I'm a fan. However, I am not a fan of the PC industry and my particular bone of contention has to do with technical service. I have owned two Dell computers. A desktop and a laptop. In both instances, I purchased expensive, long-term service plans. What I have found when I attempted to contact Dell for technical service is a frustrating, nearly infuriating conversation with an undertrained representative who cannot: A) deviate from a script despite all attempts to get them to THINK, and B) deal with a problem that doesn't fit the mold. I have sworn more times than I care to remember that this will be the LAST DELL I EVER OWN. My laptop has had its screen replaced, the mother board replaced (2X), and every bit of it's internal goodies (except the DVD drive) replaced. When you can finally get them to send out a technician, they basically rebuild your computer so they never have to come back.

So yeah, I guess service support is pretty important to me. So which companies are better than Dell? Turns out none of them are. Dell, HP, Acer, Sony. When it comes to customer service, apparently they have all farmed their work to India and have opted not to employ technicians but customer service employees who can't help you. All of them. I mean, I flat out can't find a maker of personal computers with what I consider to be a minimally acceptable level of technical service.

There's Apple. Apple has skyscraper customer service satisfaction.

Have you seen what a f*&@#$ng Mac costs? I'm getting a raise, not an AIG bonus.

So what then? Well, beats me.

On the one hand I have a rarely used HP desktop sitting in my rarely used "office". I could take that computer to work and free up a room for...well, whatever. Maybe I should go without a laptop. Maybe I should de-emphasize my non-professional computer use. Maybe I should get a life outside of this little box.

Yeah, right.

Without this shining connection to a digital world, I'd have a freakin' panic attack. So, I've been toying with the idea of purchasing a small, inexpensive, technology-light laptop for little more than blogging, internet cruising, and DVD watching at home. The watchwords being: cheap and portable. No more dedicating a room to a machine. No more carting a machine back and forth to work. Just buying an inconspicuous little notepad of a computer and calling it done. And (hold your breath, friends and neighbors), not buying the extended service contract at all. Treating this little new toy as ....disposable (gasp).

OK, I can hear all the environmentalists gripping their armchairs as I speak. But what else am I to do? They have backed me into a corner by making their customer service so atrociously abhorrent. Do you hear that Dell? And HP? And Sony? Listen up all you PC makers. Your customer service is so bad that I am now treating your product with as much deference as a disposable camera. Do not expect me to purchase on the high end of your product offerings for this reason and this reason alone.

Given that I have just knocked customer service out of my buying decision, I am now looking at product quality. Longevity. Problem free.

Well, there's the Dell Inspiron 15. Approximate cost $550. Cheap bastard version.
15.6" screen. 4G memory. 250G hard drive. DVD player. 6 cell battery and a one year limited warranty that I am sure isn't worth the paper it's printed on. I can save myself $60 by scaling back to 3G memory and a 4 cell battery, but that is just tethering yourself to a wall socket.

Apple MacBook. Exact cost: $1299.00. Pretentious bastard version.
I don't care what you have inside the box. If I can't drive it home at that price, it ain't coming home with me.

HP Pavilion Mini. Approximately cost: $600. They killed Kenny--You bastards! version
Intel Pentium Dual Core Processor T4200. 1GB memory. 160GB hard drive. DVD. Nothing said about the battery.

Sony VAIO NS Series Notebook. Cost $780. Whoa. There was a reason I bought from Dell, you overpriced bastards! version

Intel Dual Core Processor. 4G Ram, 250G hard drive, DVD burner, blah blah blah.

You know, I'm really rather disappointed in the Sony price. I would actually be willing to try that computer. Maybe I'll get lucky and the price will plummet just before I'm ready to buy. But don't you hate when your set yourself up for a disappointing finish? I said that cheap and dependable were the deciding factors and since I can't tell diddly about dependability, that leaves price. And Dell beats the pants off them all. Damn. I hate that company.

Please. Someone. Tell me there is an alternative. Tell me Sony is so much more that I will never dream of buying another Dell. Save me from Dell Hell.

Wherein the author apologizes for being a self-absorbed twit

2009-04-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

Sorry for all who took offense at my recent posts. I am going through a rough spot professionally speaking and I hope that you will all bear with me. Please don't think that my ramblings are any sort of indictment of my friends. I love you all.

Really, I'm not a full-time depresso agent. I simply play one on Monster Quest.

Wherein the author cuts out the crap

2009-04-25T16:16:00.000-07:00

Ok. I don't know what you'd call this, but I'm calling it a change of direction. I am 46 years old and I think I have earned the right to start taking control of my own life. I'm tired of doing things to please everyone else.

I know there is an entire contingency out there that can't believe I do ANYTHING to please anyone else, but you're wrong. I have spent a lot of time and energy trying to please other people and smooth things out for others, and make sure everyone else is happy and never giving a thought to what it is that makes me happy. But a recent series of events in my life have demonstrated, unequivocally, that my self-denial is without value. Let's just say that the lack of positive reinforcement for such behavior has led me to believe I am knocking myself out for absolutely nothing.

So the buck stops here. Presumably, half of my life is over. I think that gives me some latitude.

I have decided to stop coloring my hair. The reasons for this are two-fold. One. Coloring your hair isn't good for it. Two. Despite buying hair color that is designed to be "cool" and not highlight any red, every box of hair color I have tried over the past 4 years has turned my hair red. And it's not a flattering red. It's this weird red that I don't think favors my skin tone. And I guess there is also Three. My dad had grey hair and it looked really nice. I'm hoping my hair will go that way.

Now not coloring hair is a pretty radical thing in my family. It's sort of like saying you aren't going to shave your legs anymore. My 92-year-old Gram still colors her hair. She told me it wasn't polite for me to go grey before she did. I have a feeling that should anyone ask, they'd stare at me like I just dropped out of graduate school to join a commune if I told them of my decision. But color it I will no more. If it makes me look old, I guess that means I'm old.

#2 on my list. I have decided to start drinking Coca Cola Classic again. I love Coke Classic and I haven't allowed myself to enjoy it in years and years and years. I figure if I am going to be overweight and sexless, I might as well enjoy the things I eat. I don't drink enough soda for a can a day to make that much of a difference.

#3. I am going to make some new friends who have absolutely nothing to do with school. I am outgoing. I have always enjoyed a high level of social activity. I never had to wonder what was going to happen on Friday night, because something would come up. Social activity just spontaneously generated around me. And when I first came to Carbondale, we had a large group of grad students who enjoyed each other's company. I thought it would stay that way. But things have changed. People have moved on and new faces have arrived. There are cliques now and I'm part of none. I have tried to integrate but it just feels forced. I don't quite know how to put my finger on it. I'm generally forgotten. If I am not at the forefront of people's minds when it's time to do things, so be it. I'll do my own thing.

#4. Someone once said of me: "You don't seek to be a leader, but in the absence of true leadership, you will lead." I think that's on the mark. Professionally, I have floundered for 4 years. I thought I had the skills and the talent to raise money for my project. I do not. The entire time that I have struggled and panicked and come to terms with an unfunded project, I have done so alone. None of my professional mentors--even those that I thought SHOULD give a shit--offered a hand, any friendly advice, or any alternatives I might have considered. While I was out in the field over the past few weeks, I came to an epiphany. My path through graduate school has been impossibly harder than almost every other person I have studied beside. (I am willing to concede that the Chinese student who was involved in an arranged marriage, became pregnant, and her husband began to abuse her and her child--all while attempting to study for her prelims in a foreign language--wins that contest hands down.) But on a general ease-of-making-progress-in-graduate-school scale with my peers, I have come up as a significant outlier. I have waited on those who should have led to lead, and I waited in a vacuum. I have watched with some amazement as those people who ignored my efforts and needs bend over backwards to extend themselves to others. It is painfully clear I am now solely responsible for finishing. I am left to my own devices. So I am no longer looking for leadership, mentoring or advice from those folks anymore. I believe I have the skills I need to do the work. I believe I have sufficient funds to do the work. And since I traversed the hard times alone, I've decided to continue on my own. I think people who know me in my professional life are going to notice a big change in the coming year. Or worse, perhaps they won't even notice at all.

I don't know if this is all for the better or the worse. I don't really think it matters. I'll be a grey-haired, grumpy ol' fart, who stays home with her dog on Friday nights, or maybe I'll be a smart, genuine, person who finds a social circle that does enjoy my company and what I have to offer. Maybe Jake will be my only friend. Maybe I'll take up roller skating. Or sky diving. Or hip hop dancing. Maybe I'll spend every weekend in the herbarium. Maybe people will be pissed at me or maybe they won't even notice the change. So be it. There is more than one way to do graduate school and there is more than one way to live your life. From now on, I'm doing both in a manner that pleases me.

A new favorite place

2009-04-25T06:54:00.000-07:00

Sand Canyon. California. In the vicinity of Mojave, CA. Or maybe it's more Monolith, CA.

In addition to a vast wealth of partridges, wildlife highlights also include a donkey rescue ranch. Did I mention that I think donkeys are the cutest things ever? If I ever had a farm of my own, I'd have a few donkeys. I'm just saying.

OK, that last one isn't in Sand Canyon. But it is still one of my new favorite places.

5,318 miles and Two Double-Double Animal Styles

2009-04-21T18:08:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd show off a little bit of my favorite plants. Here are my finds, in no particular order.

Abronia turbinata, Washington City, UT. At least I think it's A. turbinata. I had mis-identified it last year. (Not a new population)

Abronia turbinata. Riverside, NV. (Not a new pop and nearly an exterminated pop due to roadside grading)

Abronia elliptica near Hanksville, UT. (New pop)

White-flowered Abronia villosa, Lake Los Angeles, CA. (Uncommon) (New pop)

Purple-flowered Abronia villosa. Palm Springs, CA. (Common) (New pop)

Abronia latifolia (yellow) and Abronia umbellata (purple) grow in sympatry in Montana de Oro State Park. In all likelihood, they hybridize there as well. (Not a new pop) Interestingly enough, Abronia umbellata and Abronia villosa form a species complex that has perplexed Abronia researchers for quite some time. I guess it's up to me to unravel the mystery.

Abronia fragrans. I think anyway. Amarillo, TX. Note the woody caudex. I'm guessing these are perennial. (New pop)

Tripterocalyx micranthus. Riverside, NV. (Not a new pop)

Abronia pogonantha. I think. Near Twentynine Palms, CA. (New pop)

Abronia pogonantha. I think. Near El Mirage, CA. (New pop)

Abronia pogonantha, Lake Los Angeles, CA. (Not a new pop)

Abronia pogonantha, near Baker, CA. (New pop)

From a professional standpoint, it was a fairly productive two weeks. I found six new populations of my plants. I found all the species I had hoped to find and a few extras I hadn't planned on. Amazingly enough, I didn't take a single photo of A. maritima. I have plenty from last year and the two populations I visited weren't new to me, but I do find it interesting that I failed to take a single pic. After all, we are talking about me. So anyway, here's one from last year.

Lessons from the Road

2009-04-20T07:02:00.000-07:00

I believe on each trip you learn something about yourself. Here's a quick run down of somethings I've learned about me.

1. I CAN find Abronia without Liv or Jack.
2. Not only that, I can find Abronia on the side of the road while going 65 miles an hour after dusk.
3. I am not cut out for California driving.
4. I am content to travel alone.
5. I am not a camp cook. I try to care about food on the road, but I don't. Apparently, my fixation with food is simply a hobby that I dabble in during idle hours in my every day life. Cold spaghetti from a can sounds better than dirtying a ton of camp dishes.
6. I will consider myself acclimated to the elevation when I stop losing blood through my nose.
7. Motel 6 is pet friendly and perfectly fine if the wind, cold, or quivering dogs threaten your sleep and sanity.
8. I am much more cognizant of other people's needs and feelings than they are of mine.
9. There are times when it is good that I am out of constant contact with my everyday life.
10. Ultimately, I am the only one upon whom I can depend.
11. My bullshit meter really is full up.

Bonus. During a few tense moments in the field and on the road, I have learned that I am fully prepared to harm someone who tries to harm me.

The Drive By Rockies

2009-04-19T21:35:00.000-07:00

Although I know how you people live for my pictures of roadside Abronia, there is more to life than great smelling, fantastically happy, moth-laden research systems such as these. While Abronia may grow in the ugliest of places, if you just turn around, you are usually rewarded with one of the world's most spectacular vistas. Such is the life of Abronia. The habit of a vagabond, the outlook of a king.

But today was a driving day. And though I know Bin would not approve, I thought I'd give you a taste of my drive-by shooting. If it is any consolation, I merely hold up the camera in the general direction and click the button. I get what I get. Sometimes I get a picture up my nostrils. Sometimes I get a picture of the dashboard. Sometimes, nothing but road. And keep in mind, I am cognizant of traffic at all times.

Here we go:

Jake likes snow

2009-04-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

Since there is no way for me to put things up in order, I'll just offer this nice video of Jake at 9600 feet or so and this fine photo of me. =]

Sick, Tired, and Windblown

2009-04-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

I guess it was bound to happen. I'm sick. And not just sick of driving...although I am. And not just sick of grad school....although I am. I'm honest to goodness sick. I don't know if it is a mild case of food poisoning, or really, really bad indigestion, or a serious case of stress, but Whoa doggies! In any event, I've become adept at finding the <$40 hotel rooms in California. Thank god for internal plumbing. But food poisoning/indigestion/stress or no, the road show that is field research must go on. I went to the beach today hoping to be able to take daytime scent off A. latifolia. That didn't happen. I didn't trust the bags to stay on the plants in that wind. I worried about what sand hitting those expensive air pumps would do to their internal gizmos. And I wasn't entirely sure that I could handle sitting in that wind myself for 2 hours.

That didn't stop me from getting some great photos today. Almost all taken from the front seat of the car. By the way, the wind nearly ripped my car door off more than once today. So I hope you appreciate the challenges I have faced for your viewing pleasure. =)

Enjoy. I'm off in search of Pepto.

By the way, Jake hates the ocean. And wind. And rain. And thunder. And wind. He really, really hates the howling wind we are having out here. He is not having fun. This is his "I'm not having fun" pose.

Bovinus roadsidus var udderiferous. Seen more than one of these.

And can anyone guess where these two pics were taken?

This one was later, but I just thought it looked like someone had poked a stick in some dough.

Some dreams die hard...very hard

2009-04-15T08:15:00.000-07:00

After my ex tried to kill me for the second time, I figured it was time for a change. After my boss had fucked me over for the umpteenth time, I knew it was time. I decided I wanted to become a professor. Oh, how naive I was in thinking it was just a matter of a few years in school.

As I sit in a hotel room chasing research that I am funding with my own money, I realize that I am paying a greater price than just the money pit that is graduate school. I am being changed by this process and I don't think this is a good thing. Let me explain.

I wanted to become a professor. I wanted to teach botany. I love plants. I wanted to pass on that excitement to others. I wanted to inspire in the way nature inspired me. I wanted to do research, to make some small contribution to science. I chose to go into "basic science" because at the time I started, the scientific community was saying over and over and over again that it's greatest need was for "basic"science. For systematists and taxonomists. So off I went secure in the idea that there would be plenty of funding and plenty of job opportunities awaiting me when I got out. If you think about it, I was doing a sort of civic duty for the scientific community.

After visiting a number of universities and getting a feel for their programs and approach, I picked this one. My criteria for selection was based primarily on a reputation for good science and an atmosphere that seemed low key and low stress. I'm too old to give a shit about competiting with my fellow graduate students. Hell, I'm older than most of the faculty. Some programs seemed intent on having students live in fear. I don't know how to explain this except to say that I've survived two attempts on my life. Professors can't scare me.

And then, I got to graduate school. And basic science fell out of favor. Like overnight. Everything is all global warming. No one cares about basic science. Funding dried up faster than my sex life. Not even top researchers in our department are able to get funding in systematics. My advisor told me, point blank, that mine was the last project she was taking on involving systematics.

Excuse me while I feel left out to dry.

I have written more than 20 grants in support of my research. The only funding I have received was a merit-based fellowship that came at the end of my fourth year. From the sounds of it, my department chair doesn't want me to be able to take full advantage of the two years of the fellowship because that will make me a 6th year graduate student. He wants me to graduate at the end of the fifth year. Despite the fact that this is the first funding I've had to do my project. The stress of all of this is crushing me. So, for now, I'm paying for my own research. I'm out in the field driving around looking for my plants with my own money. And it's not going well. It's time consuming, frustrating, and expensive. And it's all borrowed money. Money borrowed on the promise of a Ph.D. that is feeling more and more improbable, and a job that may or may not exist for me when I get out.

And this on top of being made to feel as though I don't measure up because my project has failed to garner funding. Every single day I enter my building, I feel a weight settle in on me. A big boulder I carry through my day that reminds me I am failing. That I'm not doing enough. I'm not good enough. I'm not a real researcher. Half the time, I wonder if professors pass me in the hall and think to themselves, "well, she didn't turn out as promising as we thought." There are days I dread waking up in the morning.

Sometimes, I wonder if my lack of "fear" of faculty makes it worse on me. I think some professors confuse respect with deference. Failure to fear the all powerful Oz equals a lack of respect to some.

I now have crushing educational debt. If I don't get the Ph.D., I fear that I won't be able to find a job that will allow me to pay off that debt. So I can't walk away. But with each passing day, I have less faith that it will happen. When I think about my committee, I don't think about a group of people working to help me. I see a very large obstacle standing between me and my dream. I thought a committee was a group of people helping to train you to a profession. I'm afraid to say anything to anyone about my concerns for fear that, if I do, they will actively work against me. That a PhD won't come at any cost. Graduate school is the only place I have ever encountered where you have no friends, no allies, no help, no hope, and no promise that anything, ever, will get any better. There seems to be a promise that all things will, in fact, get worse. Things happen TO you. You have no recourse. You just have to take it. Perhaps, it is some combination of people and circumstances and my own mental health that has brought me to this point. This point of hopelessness. This point of having no idea what to do next.

I see now why so few single people survive this process. It takes a team to prop up the one running the gauntlet.

I can't believe that this is what it takes to be a college professor. I can't believe this is the process. All I wanted to do was inspire some kids. Make some small contribution to a field that I loved. The job requires a Ph.D. The people who hold those keys don't seem inclined to help me anymore. I'm not really sure what happened, but I don't think it's all me. I don't think I deserve, or any graduate student deserves, the life-sucking, spirit-crushing process that is graduate school. I don't think I'll ever get beyond this. I don't think I have the ability to take on a student and put them through this process as well.

I want the person I was back. I don't like this person I've become.

What Comes Around Goes Around

2009-04-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

Two things are ubiquitous in the west. Sand and wind. It has been a wild day. I headed to Morro, only to find the winds gusting up to 60 mph. I didn't think that was possible without a hurricane. In any event, I don't suspect I'll be finding any moths out tonight. Excuse my finger in front of the camera. I was hanging onto it for dear life.

Funny thing. The room I am in right now is pictured somewhere in the header of my blog. I'm in another $40 hotel room. The closed the campground at Montana de Oro due to winds and falling limbs. That's okay. I've realized it's not the cold that gets to me, it's the wind. It just wears me down. But no loss. I'm working on not having a mental breakdown anyway. This helps.

Thank god for Jake. That's all I have to say.