getting past words

So maybe I was wrong about that whole "Lucky" Thing

2011-04-06T11:48:00.001-04:00

This picture was taken less than 24 hours after my last post. Seriously.

After my last tap on the "Publish" button - which ended with a sappy comment about lucky breaks and cool rescue stories - I left work and commenced my usual evening routine: Rush home, feed the dogs, exchange some love and hugs with them, grab a protein bar, and head to the gym to meet my workout partner.

On the treadmill, I noticed some swelling in my right thumb (the one with the tiny red dot a la hawk). Lifting weights, I noticed some more. By the time we got into the hot tub (this is an essential part of my week), my right thumb was three times the size of the left one. And it was throbbing. So I decided it would be a good idea to go to the doctor in the morning. However, when I got home from the gym, I had a tiny 2" long red stripe, as wide as a piece of yarn, that went from the first knuckle of my thumb to my wrist. So, knowing this means bad juju, at 10:30 pm I went to the emergency room. And I was right. Within hours of checking in, the stripe was an inch wide and went from my thumb (or bratwurst, whatever) all the way to my armpit. I was being pumped full of intravenous antibiotics and I had a fever of 103.5. It was not a good night.

I was diagnosed with invasive cellulitis, most likely caused by a Strep infection. These infections are very common in puncture wounds on the hands and feet and are most often caused by pricks from rusty nails and garden-variety rose-thorns and other brambles. Had I not headed to the ER when I did, the infection could have spread to my heart and lungs, and I easily could have expired. As in, to become compost. Whoa.

After sitting on that knowledge for three days while inundated with IV antibiotics and prodded by about 37 doctors (most of whom came to see me - and giggle at me - because of my ridiculous story), my fever had broken and my thumb had returned to about twice its normal size. Finally, (I think because I whined so much about being stir-crazy and missing my friends' Super Bowl party) I was prescribed two weeks' worth of oral antibiotics and sent on my way.

I should add that I was lucky enough to have a slew of friends and family come and keep me company (and give me books and movies and crosswords and stuffed animals and candy and balloons) during my tenure in the hospital, so it wasn't actually all that miserable... my workout partner even stayed with me overnight when my fever was at its worst! With all that attention, I felt very special, and very loved.

Nevertheless... the moral of the story was given to me by the doctor who first saw me in the ER: "Never forget that no good deed goes unpunished."

Indeed.

This is what happens.

2011-02-03T15:57:00.006-05:00

This morning, I stopped by the adoption center to drop off one of my foster puppies to be neutered. On my way out I encountered a well-dressed woman who was knocking on the door with one hand and holding a reusable grocery tote in the other. The bag was wrapped tightly around what appeared to be a small hawk. I opened the door and she asked me to please take the bird from her; I tried to explain that I am just a volunteer and could only direct her to the in-house vet or to Carolina Wildlife Rehab, but she ignored me and said, "I have to go to work in ten minutes! I can't take him anywhere!"

The hawk looked like this:

I glanced out at her car and noticed she had a hospital parking sticker. I was tempted to say "Look ma'am, I work at the hospital too... I don't work here. This isn't my job and I have to go soon too." But I had half an hour, so instead I said (without thinking, as usual), "Well, I suppose I can take it to the vet for you if that's what needs to happen." She thrust the animal into my arms, scurried off to her vehicle and drove away.

I somehow managed to hold this dangerous, beautiful, majestic creature all the way to the vet - keep in mind that my car has a manual transmission. I'm not sure how I managed this. I walked in and said good morning to my friend, who is the receptionist there, and she directed me into an exam room and shut the door, at which point the hawk shook free of the towel I had thrown over its head, stepped onto my arm and perched there.

Knowing I was alone in the room, I raised my arm into the classic falconer stance. I felt pretty cool for a split second... and then I realized that I looked like a complete idiot. I lowered my arm slowly onto the exam table and the hawk walked down my arm and sat down on my hand. As if it were a tiny nest.

Great.

The vet walked into the room and immediately began to scream. "Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! It's going to DESTROY YOUR ARM!!!! JESUS CHRIST!"

Until this point, my interaction with the injured animal had been entirely peaceful, even gentle, but in response to the squawks of the flustered veterinarian, it squeezed my thumb a little (with its very sharp talons) and made a small puncture. It didn't hurt, but after the vet pried the hawk's talons from my captive digit, she urged me to wash out the wound as thoroughly as possible, as these kinds of injuries tend to become infected. She also told me that for future reference, when dealing with a hawk, to do one of two things:

1) Put it in a box so it doesn't DESTROY YOUR (INSERT BODY PART HERE), RIP OUT YOUR EYES or KILL YOU. (I am actually sure all of these things are entirely possible, but it's much easier to make light of her warnings than it is to admit to my own stupidity in handling the hawk so blithely.)

2) If you don't have a box, grab it by its beak and both legs so that it cannot hurt you. She demonstrated the latter advice, which I thought was pretty brave. I had no intention of touching any of the hawk's sharp parts and was doing my best to avoid them.

The vet said that she would call wildlife rehab and take care of the rest, and she sent me on my red-faced, shameful way.

A few hours later I received a text message from the manager at the adoption center saying that I did a good job (which made me feel slightly better) and that the hawk had recovered, and was ready to be released into the wild.

Then she asked me if I knew where the animal had been found; hawks live in "bird communities" and should always be released in their home territory, regardless of whether they are juveniles or adults. Unfortunately, I didn't know... the lady had not given me her name or where she found the bird. She had only told me that it had "just happened a moment ago." In light of this (minimal) information, the hawk was released in a residential area adjacent to the adoption center. I hope it finds its way back to its real, non-hand nest.

I am sad and disappointed in myself that I didn't handle this situation more intelligently. I didn't take the woman's contact information or get the bird's original location. I didn't bother to look for a box. I didn't know how to handle the hawk, I didn't have any help, and I didn't know what I was doing. I just held the bird in a towel until it escaped and took up residence on my arm... at which point I just stood very, very still. I've always taken the stance that when dealing with any foreign animal, wild or otherwise, the best you can often do is to try to scare it as little as possible. So I strive to emanate waves of quiet and calm. I have to say... it's usually pretty effective.

Sometimes our efforts to do the right thing are not well-informed, and we put ourselves (and/or others) into danger. But with animal rescue (and with life in general), that's just how it goes sometimes. Sometimes our hearts take over and we narrowly avoid destruction. And sometimes we get maimed.

I was lucky. I have a tiny red dot on my thumb. But with that experience behind me, if I'm ever presented with another bird of prey, bobcat, lynx, or other highly dangerous creature... I'll make sure to find a box.

Yesterday I died a little bit inside

2011-02-02T10:44:00.000-05:00

True story.

Yesterday, I was tutoring English grammar using the newest edition of the Prentice Hall Grammar Workbook. In the "identify subjects/objects of sentences" section, I found the following sentence:

"For many people, twittering is a useful source of important information."

The implications of this are astounding.

1) How puerile has our culture become that Twitter is now a part of our educational system? Is this the publisher's way of attempting to reach out and relate to the younger generation? If so, I do not support these efforts, but find them insulting and counterproductive. I think that Twitter is evidence of how everyone is being pushed towards increasing immaturity in two ways:

A) If you can't say it in 160 characters, you can't post it here. God forbid you have more complex thoughts than that. This interface places almost Orwellian limitations on interpersonal communication, and I find it disgusting.

B) Twitter is mostly a place for celebrity gossip and "trends" created by whatever "important" person decides to impose his or her opinion on a particular topic.

This isn't to say that Twitter is completely useless. If I used Twitter, I would have posted the following Tweet:

"true story: was tutoring n found sentence in Prentice Hall Grammar Workbook: 'For many people, twittering is a useful source of important information.' 4 real."

It is also quite useful for posting links to interesting articles and trivia... but "a useful source of important information?" Please give me an example. Anyone.

Putting Facebook in a textbook would be bad enough... but Facebook has at least been around for more than five years and is now a legitimate part of adult networking.

2) Isn't it called "tweeting?"

FAIL

A Typical Day

2011-01-24T22:16:00.003-05:00

Since I'm working in a chemistry/imaging lab and tutoring high school kids for extra money, I decided to teach myself some more chemistry between clients at Forsyth Tech. I started today. I began reading in Chapter 1 of the same textbook I used when I took Chem I at Forsyth Tech back in 2002, and I'm shocked at how much of it I have either forgotten... or more likely, never bothered to learn in the first place.

I never thought I would need that knowledge. People never place enough value or focus on their coursework when someone else is paying for it, especially when they think they know that they're headed in a different direction and it will not be ultimately relevant. I was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Oh well. Live and learn... in this case, the law of relative proportions. Or the chemical properties of carbon. Something like that.

I've been listening to a lot of talk radio (politically moderate, but with a strong aversion to crackpot theories) on my way to, from, and between my two workplaces.

It's nice to hear an exchange of intelligent/practical thoughts because I spend 95% of every morning and 25-50% of every afternoon in total solitude, and even including interaction with others, I spend a full 88% of my day dealing with 1) a smörgåsbord of acronyms that stand for radioactive chemicals that are in no way relevant to my life and 2) people's gross inability to understand how to convert percentages into decimals and fractions and vice versa.

88%. That's 88 out of 100. 88/100. 88, hundredths. 0.88. It frustrates me to no end that I can't make this clear... and I don't know what I'm doing wrong! Maybe I should start drawing pie charts that look like pizzas. People always respond to food, right?

AND NO THAT IS NOT PI

A PUPPY! A PUPPY!

2011-01-18T22:02:00.000-05:00

He isn't mine. Don't worry. He's a foster for the Forsyth Humane Society. His name is Carson!

This is my favorite picture EVER

PUPPIES CAN FLY

I hate Business 40.

2011-01-13T16:46:00.000-05:00

Background: I have two jobs. I work at a medical school in the morning and at a community college in the afternoon.

I had an extremely frustrating experience trying to get from one job to the other today:

1) I was starving and had a killer craving for Subway. I was also determined not to give in to any of the fast food grease-athons that litter every highway. Apparently there is no Subway between the hospital and the Kernersville campus of Forsyth Tech, so I drove all the way to Greensboro to find myself a sandwich. I ended up at Sheetz - there are no Subways anywhere! This seems impossible. But I had an hour... so why not? I got my grilled chicken sub and happily trotted back towards Kernersville.

2) The Colfax exit, which I use to access the Kernersville campus, is only accessible from east-bound Business 40, and I was headed west. Solution: take the next exit up and turn around. Easy, right? WRONG. The on-ramp from 66 and the off-ramp for Colfax are parallel to each other. Like this:

I did not have enough grumbly sounds or random syllables to convey exactly how frustrating I found this phenomenon. So of course I had to continue all the way to Sandy Ridge Road (pretty much back in Greensboro), turn around again, go back ANOTHER exit towards Winston-Salem, turn around again, and then proceed to the Colfax exit. Like this:

This whole process took about 25 minutes. I am surprised I did not end up with vertigo... kind of like riding the Gravitron at the fair.

All while I ate my sandwich. Which was delicious.

If you haven't heard of them yet...

2011-01-11T00:32:00.000-05:00

PLEASE check out Pomplamoose.

Because they are amazing. So listen here!

And if that wasn't enough for you listen to this

And definitely this

Thanks :)

Things of Wednesday

2010-12-15T12:44:00.000-05:00

If I were a Pop star this is what I would sound like

Water is cool and so are physics

This makes my day better every time I watch it

Seriously animals I love them

And also babies. Especially blasphemous preaching babies

Too bad I can never tell the difference between Ok Go and Get Set Go. Does anyone else have that problem?

I took my roommate to the airport last night and before I dropped him off, we ate at this restaurant. I saw a sign that appeared to read "Quaker State" from a distance and then noticed that it actually read "Quaker Steak and Lube." Obviously, I had to go check it out. It's actually an old Quaker State that has been converted into a restaurant; it's a wings and beer sportsbar type place with classic cars positioned on lifts about the dining tables. I ate my dinner beneath a '68 Corvette Stingray.

It was kind of like heaven. I'm pretty sad that the only one in North Carolina is in Concord.

This is my new favorite image

2010-12-11T12:57:00.001-05:00

Some Funny

2010-12-08T08:59:00.000-05:00

Ah, Death in the News

2010-11-29T13:15:00.000-05:00

1) Only an actor would murder his mother with a sword. But...

Dude, really... a sword? That's just hardcore.

2) Manchester police have charged a man with manslaughter for a "failed prank" that is pretty obviously murder.

How do you not know the difference between an air rifle and a .22?

Yes... I read a lot of CNN at work.

Netflix raises prices, offers streaming-only option

2010-11-22T12:21:00.000-05:00

Netflix raises prices, offers streaming-only option

Think this offers some hope for the dying business of in-store movie rental, or not?

Politically...

2010-11-20T21:33:00.001-05:00

My Political Views
I am a centrist social libertarian
Left: 0.04, Libertarian: 5.75

Political Spectrum Quiz

Top Ten Excuses to Hoard Useless Items in the Attic

2010-11-20T17:27:00.001-05:00

This is an antique.
So sell it to Antiques Roadshow or something. Please.
This is a collector's item. It will be worth money someday.
Maybe. But be realistic... probably not.
This will fit me again someday.
No it won't. And if it does... it will be so far out of style that everyone will know you went through a LONG chubby period.
I will find a use for this random length of rope or piece of upholstery, but for now I will stick it in a box.
You will forget about this item and you will never use it. Just give it up.
This is a hobby I should take up someday.
If you have enough money to retire and actually develop hobbies that you would need to put off for now... you can buy it later.
I am keeping this for my children.
Seriously, any more than ONE BOX of knickknacky shit and your children will NOT be grateful. They will be angry. Really angry.
When my appliance/winter coat/board game wears out and is no longer functional, I will replace it with this other one that I can put away for now.
Ok... no. When you leave something in your attic for that long, not only does it lose quality, but you forget about it. Most likely, you will just buy a new one and then come across the other one someday much later... and throw it out because a bat made a nest in it and had baby bats.
I am keeping this because it belonged to my dead relative.
Let's be honest. That's a little creepy.
This has sentimental value because [insert random person's name] gave it to me.
Just call them instead. Unless they're dead... in which case, see (8).
I am saving this for the zombie apocalypse.
REALLY? And you don't have a bomb shelter? SHAME ON YOU.

Christmas Carols are Amazing

2010-11-15T08:56:00.000-05:00

1. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

All of the other reindeer
Used to laugh and call him names
They never let poor Rudolph
join in any reindeer games

Then one foggy Christmas eve
Santa came to say:
"Rudolph with your nose so bright
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Then all the reindeer loved him
As they shouted out with glee
Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer
you'll go down in history!

Like every other social outcast, Rudolph learns an important lesson: The other children will love you only when you become useful to them. But remember... you're still a freak.

2. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town

He's making a list
and checking it twice
Gonna find out who's naughty and nice
Santa Claus is coming to town

He sees you when you're sleeping,
he knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness' sake

Santa Claus is a creepy stalker. He will punish you for your sins. Be very afraid.

3. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night

Wow, Mommy is an adulterer and Santa is a womanizer! LOL!

4. Frosty the Snowman

Frosty the snowman, knew the sun was hot that day
so he said, "let's run, and we'll have some fun,
before I melt away."

I'm about to die a horrendously gory and painful death! So uh... let's play tag!

5. The Twelve Days of Christmas

On the ninth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
9 Ladies Dancing
8 Maids a milking
7 Swans a swimming
6 Geese a laying
5 Golden Rings
4 Calling Birds
3 French Hens
2 Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

True love is... jewelry, women, and a metric ton of poultry.

Teach your children core values! Sing Christmas Carols every year!

The Ignorance of Youth

2010-10-18T01:31:00.000-04:00

Dog Park: Day Two

2010-10-17T22:22:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, after a very disheartening hour at Washington park, I posted that I am strongly considering placing Tucker in a working dog program because I am not sure he is suitable for a family environment, and I asked for comments and advice.

Though he has never bitten a person intentionally, Tucker has reached a point where I am very uncomfortable when an unfamiliar person or dog approaches him. He snarls and snaps at almost every dog who gets too close to him now, unless he is distracted by a toy or I tell him no and have my hands physically on him.

I have stopped trying to pretend that he is just loud and awkward and wants to play. And the more I watch him, the more I wonder if he was bullied by his litter mates as a very young puppy or didn't get enough milk. He was the smaller of two males left in a very large litter of 4 males and 8 females - he was the same size as the females. 12 puppies?! No dog has that many nipples. His mother is not a mutant.

The thing is, I don't give up easily. Not on dogs, not on people I love, not on anything I think deserves a chance. I need to exhaust every possible option before I can let go of anything. I beat proverbial dead horses with all the hopeless romantics in the world, and I'm trying to temper that tendency with a measure of realism. But I can't just give up on him. Not now.

After thinking about this issue for a long time last night and this morning, I made a decision to invest every shred of knowledge I have about dogs and psychology into working on Tucker's problems. We're going to play together at the park, with corrections for weird reactions to other dogs (Cesar style), for an hour every day. I am a little nervous about taking him to the dog park, but this can't be dealt with at home. Luke is mostly too docile to be helpful, but Tucker defers to him anyway. They have never really fought. And aside from that... I can't think of any other options.

Today was much better than yesterday, and Tucker allowed another German Shepherd sniff him while I held his collar, but I think the best I will ever be able to do is to teach him to ignore other dogs completely when they try to play with him or dominate him. Since he is almost totally avoidant of new dogs anyway, and eager to please me, I don't imagine it will be too hard to shape the behavior, but it makes me very sad. I wanted him to play with Solomon yesterday. I want him to play with any other dog without it being scary and/or dangerous for everyone involved. If things don't get better soon, I may look into medication for him.

Doggie Xanax? Anyone?

At the Dog Park

2010-10-16T14:23:00.001-04:00

Let's return, for a moment, to this image:

It is inaccurate to say that Tucker enjoys the thought of eating people. In public places, he is actually very receptive to human contact. However, he feels extremely threatened by other dogs and does not understand how to play with them properly. He also lashes out at other dogs without a warning growl when he finds them to be too intrusive. This has led to many scary moments, a few nasty gashes in the faces of other dogs who didn't back off, and a $400 trip to the emergency room when I tried to break up a fight between him and another dog.

Today I watched a black lab play bow to a Weimaraner just before the two began to wrestle. Tucker was lying down near where I sat and also watched this exchange. He started to get up, butt-first, as if he would bow. Then he screamed bloody murder, ran to my side, and dropped his frisbee at my feet. This is not an isolated occurrence. Watching other dogs play together actually seems to upset him, and he becomes visibly uncomfortable when another dog comes near him.

Maybe he has impaired mirror neuron function. I don't know. I definitely think he has autism.

There was another dog at the park today whose demeanor is very similar to Tucker's. His name is Solomon, and he was adopted from the Humane Society where I worked this summer. He was my favorite dog in the facility during his time there, and after I took a moment to say hello to him, I wanted very desperately for he and Tucker to play together at the park. But no. They ignored each other completely, and that was the best I could have hoped for.

I don't know how to help Tucker. I don't know if he can be helped. I am reluctant to take him to the dog park even more often in the hopes of socializing him - every time we go, people and dogs want to meet him because he is beautiful and has mad frisbee skills, and it makes me nervous. The days when I took a book to the dog park with me ended when Tucker stopped being tiny and afraid of everything and began to be gigantic and unpredictable.

I have been considering putting him in a program for working dogs all year - he is fiercely loyal, affectionate, hard-working, and intelligent. I've been thinking much harder about it since that ill-fated night when I ended up in the emergency room. If anyone has any thoughts on how I should proceed, please share them in the comments. I welcome any input on how to improve this situation. Ugh.

A Random Thought

2010-10-13T02:18:00.000-04:00

What is it with Mountain Dew? I've heard radio commercials for the supposed new official flavor, pictured above, called "White Out," about seventy thousand times, but I have yet to see this product on sale in a store.

Where is this alabaster mystery beverage?

And why, even though it sounds scary, do I want it SO BADLY?

Our President, the Rock Star

2010-10-05T14:16:00.000-04:00

This morning I was driving out of Chapel Hill when I noticed something strange. I turned onto Highway 54 and noticed a young woman jogging on the side of the road. She was tall, attractive, sort of trendy-looking, and appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties. And she was wearing this:

In fact, let's just pretend that it was this girl, except a little sweatier. Combined with the fact that a Google search for "Obama graphic tee" produces tons of images portraying actual t-shirts worn by actual people supporting our president, while searches for "Bush graphic tee" and "Clinton graphic tee" produce only Obama t-shirt images, the conclusion seems obvious.

Our president is a pop culture icon. Like the Beatles. And that makes me a little sad.

MiniDog Terror!

2010-09-18T15:34:00.001-04:00

Last night I found out that I might be fostering a Yorkie for a while. It turns out that it didn't pan out, but as I considered the possibility, I realized that there is only one obstacle: While I revel in the silliness of giants - Danes, Mastiffs, and the like - I am inexplicably terrified of toy breeds, and of Yorkies in particular. I am aware that it makes no sense.

Just imagine this:

I am a ridiculous person.

Signs

2010-09-15T10:19:00.000-04:00

And some people say literacy isn't important

A little more talk and all the wrong action

2010-08-24T20:44:00.000-04:00

Earlier today, I took a break from painting my house and walked into my kitchen to throw an aluminum can in my indoor recycle bin (which is actually a trash can with a lime-green recycle symbol drawn on the lid in Sharpie). For some reason, my garish sign reminded me of the Disney movie WALL-E. Has anyone else noticed the irony in this phenomenon? This is a film based entirely on how consumerism, materialism, and a disposable culture ruin our planet and effectively turn us all into helpless little babies living in a container owned by a super-duper-huge retail corporation which we will get sued if we name so we will instead call it "Buy n Large."

And yet, Walmart and Target sell WALL-E products. Furthermore, the consumer products that were released in support of the film (which can only be purchased at Disney stores) are made of shiny new plastic. Like this:

Is the plastic used to make these things recycled? No way. If that were the case, Disney would want FULL

credit for it.

Birthdays are the final FUN-tier! It even comes with a vinyl tablecloth!

Seriously. Thank you, Disney, for preaching so loudly. The children of the world will thank you someday.

From a spaceship.

Owned by Wal-Mart.

Unacceptable.

There's a smaller message in WALL-E, too: maybe BnL takes over the world because the government just couldn't hack it. Today in the news, I read that a Federal Judge issued an injunction against the Federal funding of embryonic stem cell research, almost directly after the Obama administration had made provisions for it. Specifically,

"[The Director of the National Institutes of Health] said 50 new grant applications up for peer review will be pulled. In addition, 12 grants worth an estimated $15 million to $20 million that have already gone through initial review will be halted, along with another 22 grants totaling $54 million that already are under way and scheduled for annual review in September, Collins said." (CNN.com)

It is important to not that not all stem cells are taken from embryos, and not all stem cell research uses embryonic stem cells. The NIH is still funding stem cell research with other non-babyesque sources. But let's just forget the political/ethical issue momentarily. The hours spent and the sleep lost over writing 84 grant applications (that are now completely useless) could have been used to find a real cure for cancer, to revolutionize burn victim care, or to provide a replacement for the organ transplant donor list, which is a death sentence for many. Congratualations, academia... you just got punk'd.

Love is Blind

2010-08-24T02:04:00.000-04:00

It's a Monday.

2010-08-23T13:29:00.000-04:00

And I feel like this: "Shooting Star" by Hyperbole and a Half

I'll be 26 on Thursday! The kids all tell me I'll be pushing 30 at that point. Thanks kids... I love you too.

I really want to go to this music festival on Saturday... wanna join? It's gonna be amazing (if you like the Mountain Goats). If not, Birds and Arrows is still going to be great!

Day of the Flying Mattress

2010-08-21T22:09:00.001-04:00

I spent today helping one of my good friends move into her new apartment.

The truck that she borrowed to move with happened to be a short-bed Toyota with a toolbox, so it was basically useless. We stacked her queen-sized mattress and box spring on top of each other, wedged them into the bed and laid them over the cab. Then we strapped them down half-assedly with two leashes I pulled out of my trunk and tied together.

It looked kind of like this:

Not surprisingly, we got almost to her apartment and the mattress flew out onto the street. I was following the truck, so I pulled in front of the mattress and put on my hazard lights. Moments later I saw her and her brother sprinting back in my direction. They threw the mattress over their heads and carried it about 200 yards down the side of the road, back to the truck. I found another two leashes in my car and tied them together (sometimes it pays to be a dog addict), and we crossed the straps. The mattress did not come out again. On that trip.

I didn't know we were moving a second mattress, so when we finished moving her bed, I put the leashes back in my car, which was parked at her new place.

After we moved all of my friend's things, we drove over to another apartment complex and picked up a twin bed for her mother's guest room (she had to replace the bed that my friend took). We had no straps, no rope, no nothing. And shockingly, the mattress and the bedframe (which was on top of it) flew out onto the 4-lane road. So we picked them up and put them in the back of the SUV that was following us in the truck... which, obviously, should have been the original plan, but no one was upset. For the rest of the trip, my friend's mother rode in the bed of the truck to try to hold the box spring down, and sang the theme to the Beverly Hillbillies all the way back to her house. Luckily, no accidents were caused by either mishap.

Alternative blog title: Four small women and an even smaller truck.

We had a hell of a time trying to get the couch out of my friend's storage unit. The unit has an unreasonably tiny door that opens into a short, narrow hallway. And after several failed attempts to squeeze the couch out into the hallway, a frantic search for a screwdriver, removing the feet from the couch with only my green LED keylight as a guide, and some Twister-like maneuvering, I ended up ramming the couch with all my weight to get it wedged through the door. But we did it. At which point my friend's mother jumped up and down yelling, "Son of a bitch! We don't need any man to help us! Son of a bitch! We're awesome!"

We high-fived a lot. It was a pretty priceless moment.

On pretension and academia

2010-08-20T22:50:00.001-04:00

So I decided that it's time for me to suck it up and get back into graduate school. As my advisor told me over and over.... "All jobs suck. Research sucks a little bit less." I hate to admit it, but wow, he was right.

So after applying for ten pay-the-bills jobs in my area (I'm averaging applications 6 a day), I was reading articles and looking through faculty websites, examining my options for potential advisors (or at least employers for a year-long fellowship). The following quote was on a faculty member's listing of research interests.

"Nonfiction, with its pretension of veridicality, and fiction, with its patina of verisimilitude, but no necessary pretension to accuracy, are popularly understood as distinct realms."

Seriously? Are you kidding me?

Let's try this again. So people recognize nonfiction - presented as a representation of reality - and nonfiction - presented as resembling reality - as separate categories. Wow. Thank you, researcher who shall remain nameless, for that nugget of eternal wisdom.

The last time I was in graduate school, I never understood why my advisor wanted me to use smaller words. Maybe I was still on a vocabulary binge from studying for the GRE, but I am over it.

Really, though... if you have nothing to say, please don't say it with really obnoxious, erudite language.

Culture Shock?

2010-08-16T01:41:00.000-04:00

One of my roommates is a PhD student in Bio-neuro-chemistry (hyphens have been added for emphasis). He came to the United States from India for the first time on Thursday. He had never left India before that. His first meal in the US, at my mother's bidding, was Indian food (she wanted to make him feel at home)... And the first retail store he was exposed to here? Radio Shack.

Yikes.

He has spent a lot of his time in the last few days being visibly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, it's been amazing to watch him experience our culture for the first time, and to help him get along.

Today, I taught him how to shop in an American grocery store (Harris Teeter). Reflecting on this experience, I am amazed by the things I take for granted - bar code scanners, produce codes, automatic digital scales in the checkout lane; the location of tomato sauce in a very large store; how to use a self-checkout.

I am not surprised that he is often confused and flustered by our extravagance. For example, he was amazed at the number and variety of cartons of eggs available in the refrigerated case, and asked me if there's any recognizable difference between them all. I told him that some people have an ethical dilemma with buying eggs from chickens housed in an industrial farm setting. Those people prefer their eggs to be laid by chickens who are allowed to roam free and graze, like chickens on a small farm. "So," I said, "the ones on the upper shelves are 'friendly eggs' and the ones are the bottom are, well regular eggs. And some of them are laid by chickens who have been supplemented with Omega 3 fatty acids. Those eggs are sold under the pretense that they are healthier."

He looked at me and blinked a few times, pointed at a carton on the bottom shelf and said, "Are these white eggs? Because I don't like the brown ones."

This reminds me of some research I read by Barry Schwartz on consumer choice; he gathered a large amount of data suggesting that while too few choices are boring, too many choices can paralyze the consumer.

In America, you can buy friendly eggs from free-range chickens who eat a lot of salmon, or from free-range chickens who don't, or from regular chickens who eat a lot of fish oil, or from regular chickens who don't. Each of these can be purchased in either the white or brown egg variety. AGH

This is just disgusting.

2010-08-15T19:14:00.000-04:00

Come on, people.

A camera with a slimming effect?

I am Terrible at Blogging

2010-08-15T18:13:00.001-04:00

Wow, it really has been eight months since I posted.

Many things have changed. I have two roommates, soon to be three - all grad students at Wake. I also have a job now (since April); though it doesn't pay much, it's one I like a lot. I haven't quite finished with the house yet. I'm giving myself until Christmas to be totally done - a year isn't a bad window for one person to do a relatively large remodel. I'll post more pictures as soon as I find my camera...

Yesterday, in Roanoke, I went to the most amazing salvage store EVER. I'm pretty sure I want everything in my house to come from this place. Like a headboard made of an old piano harp. There's a big black lab who hangs out by the registers (it's called Black Dog Salvage - how awesome is that?), you get a discount for donating dog food, and a percentage of all profits goes to the local SPCA. Check it out.

Also went to the Taubman Museum of Art. I wasn't really excited about the premiere exhibit this go-round, which is entitled "Posing Beauty in African American Culture." When I got there, however, I was heavily impressed. You know it's a great installation when you find yourself thinking, "Wow, I never realized how much more extreme everything is than it was 50 years ago," or "Maybe Michael Jackson was miserable because he spent his whole life in the closet" or "I wonder what factors contributed to the rise and fall of the Afro as a fashionable hairstyle?"

And because I was feeling pretty crazy, I went to the Mill Mountain Zoo. Not that impressive... but gosh, are red pandas cute. I want one... or maybe I just want a Coatimundi!

Probably not. One more thing: LCD Soundsystem just released a new album and I was lucky enough to get it yesterday. Here's a sample of one of my favorite songs on the disc.

Remodeling house/life

2009-12-01T03:52:00.000-05:00

I've been here in North Carolina since the first week in November. I arrived to find a total wreck of a house (the same house I lived in while I was in college) with a basement in mid-remodel, and covered in thinset dust and concrete. So for the last three weeks I've been working on it. I wish I had pictures of the disaster it was... it can only be approximated by this image, which I took with my phone the last time I worked on the house.

Cinder-block walls, paneling removed, half-studs still attached. Bare concrete floors.

And... here's what I have so far.

Downstairs den, hearthside view

Random space beside den, possibly for musical instruments?

I'm also getting ready to replace the nasty fluorescent lights with nice, soft recess lights. I'm also raising the ceiling by an inch and building an enclosure for that unsightly pipe in the corner. I'm considering built-in shelves against the far (currently white) wall above the baseboard heating, but we'll see what scraps I have lying around... and what kind of motivation Mike and I have left once this is finished. I can't possibly thank him enough for helping me with all of this. Like I could hang sheetrock by myself. Bah!

I'm sick of painting. My life (read: arms) is/are currently saturated with stretchy latex of varying colors... mostly beiges. Cutting the monotony slightly is the nice shade of green that I used in my bedroom, which is shown on the left and complete with multiple boxes yet to be unpacked, dog in kennel, and ferret on bed. Since I moved down here, my ferret (whose name is Rascal) has decided to be my bedmate. It's great, but I'm also slightly afraid I'm going to squash him in my sleep. Tucker, my german shepherd, is not so cuddly. He prefers his wire box. And really, that's fine with me. Who wants to be displaced, pushed, or otherwise jostled by a meaty-legged puppy? Not I. Love the crate. If only Tucker's aversion to sleeping on the bed would keep him from jumping up to nuzzle me with muddy paws. The quilt shown here was NOT on my bed yesterday... that one is the lump thrown on top of Tucker's crate, pending the motivation to wash it.

When this is all over I have no idea what I'll do. Since becoming a professor of Psychology turned out to be an unpalatable option, I've been toying with the idea of becoming a trainer and instructor for service dogs and individuals with traumatic brain injuries (or TBIs). I've also been reading up on the penniless-ness of this career path. It's not attractive.

Maybe I'll become a rock star like Amanda Palmer and travel around the country being awesome with a keyboard, a ridiculous outfit, and occasionally a ukulele. Until then, I think I'll content myself with going to as many of her shows as I can... and then some. Like the one in Orlando, which is in two weeks. I'm more than excited about going to this... I am thrilled. I'm looking forward to seeing an old friend and immersing myself in a new place - I need this occasionally. It reminds me that my being is not always shackled to a place, and that I am, to some extent, a floating entity with the freedom to go anywhere. Basically, I'm Sal Paradise. That's all I have for now.