UNC is good for something

Sure, I graduated from Duke, and sure, I have everlasting hatred for all things Carolina. Well, maybe not quite all things.

And then there's this: The Southern History documents collection at UNC. You want David Walker's Appeal? It's here. You want Fitzhugh's Cannibals, All? It's here. You want Life and Narrative of William J. Anderson, Twenty-four Years a Slave; Sold Eight Times! In Jail Sixty Times!! Whipped Three Hundred Times!!!? Yeah, they got that one, too.

It's almost enough to forgive them Shammond Williams. Almost.

Idle hands are the devil's playground

I've been good. For a limited time only... Here is a less identifying shot of the kids with their new winter hats.



The Wild Boy's new winter hat.



The Drama Queen's new winter hat. She selected the pattern and the yarn herself. And I have enough left over to make a matching scarf.

Whither History?

I realize that my posts have had less of a historical edge to them lately. The simple explanation of that is that I turned in the diss a little over a week ago, and have been taking a much-needed vacation from allmost-things-history.

In reality, I've been diligently working on a few projects. I wrote another encyclopedia article this week. As a side gig, this is a good one. I like doing the small-topic research, putting together a short piece, and becoming an "expert" on some new area. Kind of fun.

I've also been working on syllabi for my upcoming teaching gig (I begin part-time work in January). I went to my first department faculty meeting, where I got the inside skinny on things that I'd only assumed as a grad student -- especially interesting were the economics behind course scheduling. How do you construct major requirements? Concentrations? How can you offer students what they need without running the risk of having every other course get cancelled due to low enrollment? How do you balance the requirements of a discipline with the consumer-driven attitude of students who demand more choice?

I've been doing odds-and-ends work like formatting my bibliography, applying for graduation, and getting paperwork done. The necessary evils of the degree, I suppose.

Other than that, I've been watching TV and crocheting. Made a hat for the Wild Boy. It's getting cold here. Yay! I'm heading to the yarn shop this afternoon to pick up materials for two more projects.

I promise there will be more history in upcoming posts.

10:37

Snack time!

What are they serving?

SNACKS!

I knew there would be one of these...

You scored as Miranda Hobbes. You're Miranda! Smart, independant and yes, pessimistic. You're a good friend who is ready to listen and give your own unique, cynical advice. You do have a soft spot, though, and when you're ready you'll let people in.

Miranda Hobbes		79%
Carrie Bradshaw		46%
Samantha Jones		42%
Charlotte York		42%

Which "Sex and the City" girl are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

Sitemeter

Inspired by other folks who regale us with stories of the strange google searches that bring people to their blogs, I have recently joined Sitemeter. No real surprises. I don't get a lot of traffic, most of it is friends of mine. But how priceless is this? Google searches: "H3 mom ad," "reproductive endocrinologist in Tijuana" and (my favorite) "Matt Walsh shirtless." Alas, the person in search of that must have been sorely disappointed.

It's just... I hate that girl!

Ok, I'll admit that Sex and the City has grown on me a bit. I've caught a couple of episodes on TBS, and have seen a few more on OnDemand (yay! Nudity! Adult language!) And I don't hate the show....

I hate Charlotte. She irritates me SO MUCH! Which is fine. A good show can present unlikeable, unsympathetic characters. But then my question became, doesn't she annoy everyone else? Like, for instance, Carrie and Miranda and (for god's sake) Samantha? Why do they hang out with her?

It dawns on me that she might be like that friend in high school, the last of the foursome, who you tolerate because you went through junior high together, but then the rest of you moved on and she, well, didn't. She's the friend you just barely tolerate. She's the friend you ditch when given the opportunity.

In the mood...

We were at the local Not-Chuck-E-Cheese kid-friendly pizza place a few nights ago, noticing that there were many birthday parties. Many more than usual, I would venture to guess. I commented to Spouse that September is the month when there are the most births in America. You know, nine months after those cold winter nights.

He responded, "Well, it makes perfect sense that our kids were born in winter." I get insomnia every Spring. That Spouse. He's a smart one.

Surfing the Curl

I have had this post half-written for over a week. It's not making any progress, probably because I was half out of the boat (thanks, C, for keeping half of me in!) and not privy to much that was going on behind me during this event. Either way, perhaps my erstwhile commenters can add their $.02 on the matter. I'm done.

As requested by EJ, who for some reason didn't like my football post, I present Scenes from our Rafting Excursion:

Spouse and I hosted a little college reunion with his roommates -- and, significantly, their significant others -- recently. One of the activities: a rafting excursion.


*This is NOT our group... there are too many white people in the boat pictured. But it is the same river we traversed. Possibly the same spot of our "incident."

It was a full-day trip, so we had plenty of time to enjoy ourselves and take turns "riding the bull," which is sitting over the front of the boat, straddling the tow line. Not too bad for me, especially since I didn't go over any major rapids. But not so good for N, who was riding the bull when we decided to "surf the curl." This involved paddling upstream straight into a drop-off and basically letting the boat get pounded for a few seconds before being pushed back into the current. When you're riding the bull, you don't paddle, and can generally not hear the guide's instructions from the back of the boat, so as we're all paddling full-speed upstream toward the rapids, N turns around to me and asks, "What are we doing???" Just then, the water hit. Luckily, she fell into the boat, not out.

The guide told us that maybe if we all paddled, we could surf the curl for a bit more. Ok, sounds fun. Unless you get turned sideways and stuck in the current curl. Which is what happened. I was up front, so I didn't hear or see everything that was going on. Snippets I heard and/or picked up later:

"just don't fall out the left side!" (as EJ is precariously hanging out the left side -- as Spouse says, it's not a vacation unless EJ is threatened bodily harm!)

"fuck the oar, just stay in the boat!"

everybody get ot the right side NOW!"

C fell onto my legs, which is probably what kept me in the boat. N hit me with an oar accidentally, which she nicely apologized for DURING the incident. I hadn't even noticed.

"Don't panic!" (Yeah, when your guide says don't panic, you begin to realize that things are not going just as he anticipated. And that's when you panic.

Anybody have anything to add???

Football Post #2

I spoke too soon when I said that Colt McCoy had a sleazy male stripper name.

That was before I learned about USC's new starting quarterback, John David Booty... Either a stripper or a teen star from the mid-nineties.

This Post is Not FCC-Approved

WB is saying more and more words, but still struggles with opening consonants. Which leads to scenes like that a few days ago, in which he sat in his carseat, looking out at traffic, saying, "Oh, fuck."

Quinn: "What was that?"
WB: "Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck."
Spouse: "What is he saying?"
DQ: "He's telling the truck to go."
WB: "Yeah."

------

Is it wrong to turn on Contemporary Christian music, and say out loud to yourself, "This is such a fucking good song!"? I guess better than had I said, "Jesus H. Christ, this is good music!" or "God-damn that's good!"

On this day in history...

Neel was not born. I missed it. 'Cause I'm a shmuck. On this day in history, Neel was 3 days old, so maybe he was getting out of the hospital or something. So let's celebrate the anniversary of that. Happy day of homecoming celebration, Neel!

Anyway, in honor of my blogging and real-life friend, let's raise a toast, listen to some Sade, and read our copies of Backlash.

Go over to his site and wish him a belated birthday. I'll wait.

The number one fan of the man from Tennessee

The leaves are turning, there's a chill in the air. Yes folks, it's football season. Spouse has joined a fantasy league (unfortunately, none of these fantasies involve seduction, candles, silk sheets, etc.) so we've got football on in the house more than in past years. We also had college friend guests this past weekend, so that upped the ESPN time as well. There's something so college-y about lounging on the couch eating pizza and watching ESPN. Only difference is we actually own a coffee table upon which to prop our feet rather than stealing one from the dorm common room. Bygones.

I do enjoy the game, but probably more for the absurdity than the strategy or athleticism. Absurdity the first: what were the parents of Colt McCoy thinking when they named their son? Sure, they were probably hoping to have spawned the next great Texas quarterback, but they were running a serious risk of producing a sleazy male stripper with a name like that.



Absurdity the second: my new favorite player in the NFL is Peyton Manning. He's. Just. Awesome. And I mean that less for his quarterbacking ability than for his comedic timing. Spouse says Eli got the looks in the family, but Peyton got the charm.



**I'm experimenting with Neel's use of the hover text. Fun in small doses.

It's Official

1. I have sent the dissertation off to my committee. Two hard copies and two e-copies. Out of my hands. It's all over but the crying (or the editing -- which goes hand in hand with the crying.)

2. I have a time slot. I have a course description due by the end of the week for the student catalog. I have a book order to mull over. I tells ya, it's official! I am so employed!

We couldn't possibly all have good taste

In honor of Bruno Kirby, and with a giant nod to Spouse, who found this, I just have to share with y'all:

Coffee Table for Sale.

This week's goals AND rewards...

It's a new week, and I've been out of touch for too long. Much has happened. Much that is good. Here's the rundown:

I have one book left to skim and then rework one historiographical section of the diss.

I will spell-check and read through the whole damn thing.

I will print it out, make copies, and package them.

I will send the draft to my committee by Wednesday.

I have one encyclopedia article left to write. Two have been sent in. I rock!

The rewards:

I will book a massage that I so richly deserve.

I will attend a movie night at K-lyn's.

I will shop a bit in search of ass-kicking teaching boots. Made easier because...

I will start ruminating about my upcoming job!

That's right, gang. Quinn is employed once again. I have lined up a teaching gig for winter and spring terms, doing a survey course and a specialty course to be announced later. But I guarantee... it will be something sexy.

School Memory Meme

I got this from Jo(e) and really like it. Feel free to feel tagged if you like. I won't single anyone out:

Smells that remind me of elementary school: Chalk dust, that indescribable salisbury steak smell.

Things that remind me of elementary school: kelly green paint, red playground balls. Construction paper cut-outs of anything.

How much milk cost when I began school: 25 cents. Lunch was a buck. No chocolate milk until Fridays.

Scariest thing about school: reading out loud. I hated having to read in front of the teacher or other students.

Thing I didn't like about school: reading out loud, getting picked on as the brainy girl, getting cliqued out of the cliques. [Happened frequently.]

Favorite school clothes: oh, Jebus. I was a child of the Eighties. There were stirrup pants worn over shoes. There were leggings worn under dresses (hey, that's back!). There were any number of disasters. But I also had a really cool pink and grey plaid dress somewhat reminiscent of Monique's in Better Off Dead. That counts for something.

Party tricks I learned in elementary school: I was quite a good spitter back in the day. Could also hold my own with some fake nunchucks. But seriously, I learned to juggle in 3rd grade. And can still do it. A bit.

Strangest thing: I remember vividly when we got a new principal at our elementary school, and she wanted to change the school mascot from the Wildcat to the Wallaby, because wildcats were too violent or dangerous, and wallabies were friendly. WTF?

Favorite classroom: 2nd grade. Mrs. Trullinger. She had a big oval rug we sat on to hear stories. I went to her class when I was in first grade for reading. So I got two years of the rug.

Favorite teacher: Mrs. Bolger, fourth grade. She was Canadian, and had a delightful lilty accent. She was also a serious hard-ass. Perhaps I model myself on her! Except that I'm in California's Canada, not the real one.

Best seasonal memory: which is not the same as most vivid seasonal memory (the Christmas virus that kept me out of the 3rd grade play and hence killed my acting career in utero). Best seasonal memory was Halloween -- I won a pumpkin decorating contest -- no carving for 6 year olds, for some reason -- in first grade by making a Jimmy Carter pumpkin.

What I wanted to be when I grew up: I wanted to be a writer. Back then, I meant novelist or poet. But I realize now that I am a writer. And I love it.