Freight Train Runnin' thru the Middle of My Head

Athens
The weekend in Athens, Ohio (home of our alma mater, Ohio University) was absolutely fantastic. Just the breath of fresh, autumn air that I needed. I got to see lots of my best friends, former professors, and folks I hadn't spoken to in a while. I also got to spend time in the little town that means so much to me. The hills were just starting to turn colors, and the air was really crisp and exhilarating. Walking around on the brick streets of Athens, hanging out in the hippy dives of Court Street, and trolling around the campus where I really grew as a person...all these things were wonderful. The best part was hanging out with one of my best friends who is now an instructor at OU. I miss her so much.

Funny highlights include seeing my mentor karaoke to "Like a Virgin" and "I Will Survive," drinking beer and wine inside the Modern Languages building--which felt a bit scandalous, and a fabulous dinner party at the home of Dr. B, where I spent a lot of fun time as a Master's student. Everything was just incredible. I didn't want to come back to Chapel Hill: the work, the grading, the 6 a.m. mornings. But life rolls on. As Jason kept saying all weekend, the fun has to stop sometime.

Almost Famous
So I did a little interview for the Gazette, and there's a big buzz in my department. Favorite comment? "You do WHAT? What's a blog?" Also good: "Why was your picture in the paper? I didn't have time to read it." Also good: "Can you show me how to do that?" And, the most often heard question is this: "How do you find time to do something like that?"

A couple of people have commented on how ugly the word "blog" sounds. It doesn't bother me, actually.

It feels like I'm revealing a little secret about myself. And now the word is out. So I'm torn...I want to see what happens now, and I'm glad people are excited about it, but I am also feeling a little bit of pressure to "blog well" from now on. What does that even mean?

Well, we're off to Athens, Ohio tomorrow for a reunion with a bunch of old friends from Ohio University. We've been looking forward to this trip for months now. But that drive is going to be painful!

Dear stuff
Dear "Freight Train," Springsteen CD's, slow lunches with friends, fun books, stupid TV, Netflix:

I miss you. When will I see you again? Please let me know how you are doing.

Love,
Betsy

Who makes a better Mexican: Willem Dafoe, Enrique Iglesias, or Antonio Banderas?
Well, at least it had Cheech. And Salma. And that fantastic character actor with a scarred face. I think Willem was just too strange for me as a Mexican. His Spanish was horrid. Utterly painful! Why not let the fantastic, multi-talented Ruben Blades take that part (ok, ok, he's from Panama, but still...). When Enrique told the guy that the guitar cases were heavy because they had "amplificaTHiones" (Castillian zezeo), I almost laughed outloud. And then, the ending, with the Spanish Antonio Banderas ironically (subversively??? Rodriguez is tricky!) caressing the bandera mexicana. Ah, that Rodriguez. So so so interesting and complex. And pomo.

And Johnny Depp. I heard Ebert call him the new Christopher Walken. So strange, characters so fascinating, you can't take your eyes off him. Between this crazy role and the savvy-speaking, swaggering pirate of the Caribbean, Johnny Depp has been unforgettable lately.

Much to be said, right Hizzle? Go see "Once upon a Time in Mexico" and then ponder it for a while. Blog about it. Everybody's doing it. You know you wanna.

Saturday...in the park...I think it was the 4th of July
Random Chicago moment. Sorry.

Trying to get motivated to work on a !@#$ conference paper. Saw Angel this morning at Hairspraye and came out with some pretty short hair. Jason too. Went to Cameron's at University Mall, where we can seem to waste more time than anywhere else on earth. Found some cool things, most of which will have to wait 'til later for purchasing. Getting paid once a month bites. Then a late lunch, and now to work.

Saturday...Saturday...Saturday night's alright (alright alright...ooo ooo ooo)

Hurrican't (oh, and a sappy memory. Beware.)
Yesterday blew in and out like a not-so-dangerous thunderstorm. Luckily, we didn't feel Isabel's wrath over here really, although a lot of people I know still don't have power. As my good friend Daniel quipped, though, el dios Jurakán must be mad at GW, because our nation's capital got a thrashing. And the coast here doesn't look so hot, either. Let's hope its the last hurricane madness of the season. Despite the blustery, blustery day, we got out in our sturdy little Ford Escort and drove to Jean's where there was South Park (the movie), incredibly tasty jambalaya thanks to the efforts of Justin and Jackie, and good conversation. Jean's has become the place to run to when disaster strikes, a cozy haven from the crazy world outside. Sort of like a womb, maybe? Hmmm....sounds kinda icky, but I swear, it's nice! It was a little hard grading quizzes about existentialism during the Generation of '98 in Spain what with all the excitement both inside and outside, but I managed to finish them in time to still relax a little bit.

I have to say I was strangely fascinated by the wind. The trees blowing around were sort of poetic, really. And it felt fantastic, if you could stand on the balcony absorbing the breeze but away from the rain. Reminded me of the fact that I wanted to be a meteorologist once. A storm chaster, to be more precise. When I found out that job existed, I figured it was the coolest, most exciting thing that anyone could do. I think I got this inclination from the men in my family. My dad was struck by lightning once while he was standing in the middle of the yard, staring at the sky because he was so entranced by what he saw. My grandpa went outside during every single storm of his life, despite the fact that my grandma was so afraid of them she would scurry all the grandkids to their bedroom and put us all in the bed together. Every time there was what she called "keen" (piercing, sharp, loud) lightning, she would put her head under the quilt and make a little whimpering sound. Meanwhile, there's Papa, standing outside under the eaves watching the ballet in the sky like it was his last. I was always forced to go into the bedroom with Granny, but I really yearned to be out there with Papa. I think of him everytime the sky gets dark and the weather gets ominous. I feel like maybe it's him waving at me from somewhere.

Thoughts
Thought #1: People who steal things suck.
Thought #2: Family members who borrow large sums of money and never pay it back suck.
Thought #3: Having to blow your nose every 15 seconds not only sucks, but hurts.
Thought #4: Hurricanes suck, especially when you can't even get a day off to deal with them.

Pizza is good, though. Especially with ham, green peppers, and mushrooms.

I wonder if I will get stuck in Dey Hall tomorrow while things are swirling around in the construction zone just outside my office window? I wonder if I'll be in the middle of class when the electricity goes off, killing my lesson plan centered around transparencies? And I wonder what the appropriate attire is for facing Isabel? Umbrellas probably won't be enough, unless you like flying around Mary Poppins style. I don't have a raincoat or boots. One of those bright yellow throwaway ponchos would come in handy. Have fun tomorrow, everybody!!

The much-awaited Springsteen report
The Springsteen show totally rocked! These were the seats of a lifetime: 23 rows from the pit, dead center stage, right in front of Bruce himself. There were also gigantic screens so I could see every pore, every wrinkle. Watching Bruce's face takes the music to a whole new level, it seems. Part of his art is the emotion he shows in his face and with his body. He is, not just a singer/songwriter/musician, but a performer. Bruce live is like a homecoming. It is a ritualistic purging. An exorcism.

The show started with an incredibly touching rendition of "I Walk the Line," a tribute to the late Johnny Cash. My other favorite perfomances were "Badlands," "Jungleland," and, surprisingly, "Brilliant Disguise." I had forgotten how beautiful that song really is. I also always enjoy "You're Missing," from The Rising, a Springsteen song that I admire for its poetic simplicity. Once again, I was denied my favorite song, "Thunder Road." Everyone was calling for it, but he didn't deliver. I wonder if I will ever get to see him do it live?

The sweatshirt wasn't there, unfortunately. But I found another cool one. Not quite the same, but cool nonetheless. So I did walk away with Springsteen attire that I can't wait to show off once the weather gets a bit cooler.

On the health front: I'm still a bit dizzy, and my nose is horribly runny, and the headache is pretty constant. But I'm functional now. I think Springsteen might have magical healing powers.

Tomorrow = Springsteen
The highly anticipated Springsteen show is tomorrow, and today I'm sick as a dog. This is honestly the sickest I have been in recent memory. I have what appears to be the flu, complete with a very sore and achy body, sore throat, throbbing head, and stuffy nose. My back has decided to totally revolt, and it seems as though this is where the majority of the flu is residing.

I will go to Kenan Stadium tomorrow night if I have to crawl on hands and knees. Or be dragged by my hair.

Back to bed. This has been plenty of sitting up for now.

Fashion show
Class was hysterical today. To practice clothing vocabulary, I brought in tons of crazy-looking clothes and had four volunteers go into the hall and dress up in the silliest outfits they could put together. Then we had a wacked out fashion show to the Fabulosos Cadillacs' tune "Matador" (which, btw, is featured on the Gross Pointe Blank soundtrack). Funny, funny stuff. I have some total hams in my classes, so a good time was had by all. They'll never again forget the word for necktie. Or belt. Or dress.

ooooooow. me duele la espalda. my back hurts. again.

am i getting old?

is my back out to get me? what did i ever do to it?? why can't we just get along??

please stop hurting so i can concentrate on this maldito conference paper. please stop hurting so i can be productive. i can't bear to think of a tuesday at home, no classes, and nothing to show for it besides some chicken scratches on a yellow legal pad and a pile of articles that i have sorted and skimmed but remember nothing about. and are these ibuprofen making me sleepy?

Six days 'til Springsteen
At the first Springsteen show I saw, in Charlotte, there was this sweatshirt. Oh...Mama. A sweatshirt to end all sweatshirts. Gray (my favorite sweatshirt color). Hooded. "Springsteen" in an old-fashioned sports font emblazoned across the front (fuzzy letters, like on a letterman's jacket). This sweatshirt was expensive. Crazy expensive. So, being me, I didn't get it. Well, needless to say, I've regretted that decision every day of my life since. I pine for this sweatshirt. I yearn for it. I have dreams about it and hear it calling me in the night. SO...my quest is to get this sweatshirt at the Chapel Hill show in just six short days!! It's not the only reason I'm excited about the concert, obviously, but I am keeping my fingers crossed that they still exist and I can purchase one. Price be damned. I've been saving up and planning for this sweatshirt for months now. It will be mine!

p.s. I haven't been able to find it anywhere online. The Springsteen site doesn't sell merch besides CD's, and it hasn't even appeared on Ebay, to my knowledge.

Pomegranates
A true story: yesterday I wrote a weird poem about (what I thought was) a pomegranate. Last night, cruising happily around Harris Teeter, there they were: a huge bin full of pomegranates. But I have just made an amazing, totally mind-blowing discovery about my childhood and my Kentucky heritage. My grandma used to find these little, round, orange and yellow striped fruits outside (growing wild) and put them in the house like potpurri. They had the sweetest, most robust smell you can imagine. And as tempting as they were to the senses, we were always told you couldn't eat them. So they would just sit around when they were in season and then we'd throw them out when they started to rot. I forgot all about those weird little fruits until yesterday. Sitting at my computer and trying to concentrate on an article, I started thinking about home. And for whatever reason, that smell started floating around in my brain. I thought they were pomegranates. I would have sworn, bet money that they were pomegranates. So last night, almost 30 years old, I see pomegranates for the first time and needless to say, I was confused. These weren't the little orange and yellow fruits I remembered.

I started asking Jason if he had these little fruits at home. He had never seen them or heard of them. Desperate, going crazy, starving for information about these things that represent Kentucky to me, I start cruising the internet. I'm looking up pomegranates. Everything I find confirms that Harris Teeter is correct and I'm wrong. What were those things, then? Did they exist? Did I dream them up? Then it hits me: I can see my granny holding one and calling it a "plum granny." I had never seen a real pomegranate before last night, and in my "educated" mind I had figured that my Appalachian family just called them "plum grannies" because of their dialect. I guess I thought that they were "mispronouncing" the name of a fruit that I knew existed but had never seen. So Jason and I start the search for "plum granny" and there they are: Queen Anne's Pocket Melons! A rare fruit that grows wild in Tennessee, Georgia, and I suppose, southern Kentucky. And, to my surprise, they are edible. I was so excited to finally see a picture that I recognize pop up on my screen that I started to tear up. I'm tempted to call my Granny right now and give her the news: she can eat a sweet-smelling plum granny, even though for 75+ years she has been convinced that they are poisonous. I bet she won't believe me, but what a glorious moment that would be, watching her experience a Queen Anne's Pocket Melon for the first time.

Moved by my own words
I just finished up a letter of support for a former professor who is going up for full professorship, and a flood of memories came back. All these amazingly glowing comments were just rushing forth, and they were all completely true. I read it back over and nearly got choked up, thinking about how much I really meant all the wonderful things I said about this person. The man is, truly, the reason I am a professor and the reason I study Hispanic Caribbean literature. Without him, as cliche as it sounds, I don't know where I'd be. How do you convey such strong sentiments about someone without sounding over-the-top? Well, I moved myself, so I hope I move the committee.

I hope that someday I can inspire someone--just one person!--the way he has inspired and influenced me. He is still reading my drafts, six years after I graduated from there, giving selflessly of his time even though I'm no longer his student. It's amazing what he accomplishes in and out of the classroom. I joke with him that he must not ever sleep. You would think he was a workaholic, but the fact is he works hard and plays hard. He's always taking time to go to the movies, the theater, take trips, spend time with his loved ones, write poetry. That is a trickly balancing act that not many academics seem to do very well, and it's something that I strive to achieve in my own career.

10 days 'til Springsteen
That is all. Back to work. That means you, too.

Phone tag
I've been playing phone tag with someone from the University Gazette, "the faculty/staff newspaper of unc-chapel hill." They want a picture of me to put with their article on professors who blog, or academic blogging, or UNC bloggers, or some variation of the theme. I hate pictures of myself and sort of hope we never connect. I did an email interview for them a week or so ago. I was glad to be able to take my time and write my answers, since I express myself in writing so much better than verbally. But now I'm a bit nervous to see my words staring back at me from this article. I also wonder if this will cause new traffic on my blog (which isn't a bad thing, but sort of weird). Also, what will my fellow faculty members say? And my department chair? I'll have to keep you updated. I'm sort of a "closet blogger" among my peers right now. A lot of my colleagues don't have webpages, and I haven't really ever shared mine with anyone except my students and friends.

p.s. I now have voice mail on my office phone! Pretty cool! I had to record my message like 5 or 6 times and the whole process took me a lot longer than it should have, but oh well. I'm still excited about having a phone in my office, much less voice mail!

I did it!!
Hey, peoples, I did it! I managed to chop my 60 page chapter into a 20 page article, finally! I know you were as worried about it as I was, so I'm hoping this news makes you feel better. It sure made me feel a lot lighter. Now, to make sure it is coherent as an article and doesn't have gaping holes where I cut out footnotes and citations...hmmm....

In non-academic related news,
Counting Crows blew John Mayer away
Jason (who finally bought a new CC shirt since the other two are falling apart) says he had his face rocked off at Alltel Pavilion last night. I was also really impressed. Adam Duritz was an energetic frontman and showman, not the morose and maudlin mystery (i.e., cranky head) that I've seen him perform as at other shows. They did a great mix of some of their most fun tunes, and the crowd was really into it. Why they went first and Mayer second, I have no idea. Mayer came on the stage, played a few jazzy songs, and the people in our section down front started peeling away. By the time the show was over and Mayer came back for an encore, our section was at least 2/3 empty. The lawn, on the other hand, was populated with excited Mayer fans. He was good, sure. I've seen him three times now, and he always gives a solid performance. But the concert as a whole was so uneven: from the high energy Crows to the mellow Mr. Mayer, it was a bit confusing aesthetically. Regardless, a good time was had by all.

Today I have nothing to say
I didn't have anything to say yesterday, either. But I feel compelled to blog, for some reason. Why is that? Yesterday I worked pretty hard on finishing my article. It is now down to 23 pages, but I have to cut 3 more. I like editing other people's work, but chopping my own to bits is pretty painful for me. I like it all; my words are my children! How can I destroy any of them? I'm so paranoid, I have files called "cut from...." like "cut from ramos otero article." I never just delete; I cut from the original and paste it into this document so at least the words aren't gone forever. I keep every version of every paper I do. I have so many versions of dissertation chapters it's kind of ridiculous. I hope everyone is having some fun and resting this weekend. And those of you at the beach, I hate you!