first efforts

A match made in Montreal...

While the rhetoric folks were RSA-ing in Seattle, our other communication colleagues were ICA-ing in Montreal. Where they were encountering places like this:

 

Somehow I don't think this is a law firm...

(cellphone images courtesy Professor D. O'Keefe)

Reflections from a conference

[addendum 5.27.08]

RSA always steps up. Good hotel (great view!), decent meeting rooms, ideal location, smart people saying interesting things, marvelous time with friends. Oh, and two important Northwest delicacies: seafood and beer.

A short list of happenings...

...first efforts (or, rather, a very fun image from it) was cited in a presentation by Professor Goodale on presidential virtue.

...I learned a new-to-me phrase (also from Professor Goodale): "fat crab" (hint: not much to do with crustaceans).

...I discovered from Professor Atchison that Jefferson Davis was one of the first to popularize the dress-and-combat boots look.

...I was informed by Professor Sloop that "in a year we will all be Twittering."

...I received the most marvelous and precious gift from Professor Morris, fellow connoisseur of all things historical and photographic. Isn't she beautiful? There's something secret and wonderful about her, but I'll blog about that later.

...I was also reminded of how nice it is to walk into a panel knowing that you are in good hands. You know what I mean: programs where you know you'll get your money's worth. Presenters will be prepared. They will stay within time limits. They will say smart things and say them engagingly. They will be more interested in you than in themselves. That should be what we all strive for at conferences: to make the audience members who are generous enough to come and hear us feel that they are in good hands.

Check 'em out while you can

Like asparagus and rhubarb season, puppy season is short. Tiga's puppies go to their foster homes today and the puppy blog will retire - this time, for good. Tiga's pooped. Having 21 babies will do that to a gal.

Pack. Fly. Work. Fly. Pack. Move. Drive. Pack. Move. Drive. Unpack. Heave a sigh of relief.

Things I was told today during a 15 minute ride with the old guy who drives the shuttle for the car dealer repair shop

Driving the shuttle is the perfect old guy job.

Hollyhocks can grow to six feet tall.

I do not sound like I am from Minnesota.

Some southerners think they won the war.

Locavores, Ripped from the Headlines!

This past week I've been reading Barbara Kingsolver's book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. In the book Kingsolver chronicles one year in which her family went totally locavore. Locavore? That's eating only locally grown, organic food - what you can grow yourself or find in your area farmer's market, CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), and, well, wait a sec - let me have Robin Williams explain it to you:

Not only can eating local save the world, it can also help you beat a murder rap! (That Law and Order. Always on the cutting edge of cultural change.) For the record, I ran across this clip when I got online to search for recipes for the chard that I picked up at the farmer's market this morning. I'm a chard virgin so it was important to start out small. I found one for chard and another for the stems. Now that's maximizing your local returns!

House stalking

I can't be the only person who stalks a new house. You know what I mean: that time between the signed offer and the closing when you find excuses to drive by, check it out, make sure it's still there and everything. Maybe walk around the neighborhood a little, just to get the feel of the place. The little yellow house on Green Street is my first house. Even though I lived completely across town (I mean, like 10 whole minutes away), once I signed the offer I found every reason I could to stalk it. I even once ran from campus to the house just to see how far it was (verdict: 2 miles exactly from the Alma Mater statue to my new driveway).

Well, I'm at it again. I can with full certainty tell you that the new house (neither little nor yellow) is a 15 minute run from my current house. I can tell you that two weeks ago the yard featured brightly colored tulips. I can tell you it is exactly an 8 minute drive from my parking spot on campus during the period between 5 pm and 5:30 pm that is known around these parts as "rush minute." And I can tell you that, as of this morning, there are two gorgeous rhododendrons in bloom outside the front door.

This isn't weird, is it? I mean, I'll be living there in three weeks. It's not like I'm these people.

This week in photo history

From Andrew Sullivan's blog: new questions about the authenticity of the Hiroshima photos I mentioned a few weeks back.

From MK the West Coast Finnegan: a Sacramento Bee story about a guy who hunts down the people in old photographs. He's worked with Lewis Hine images and is now on to the FSA.

From The Guardian's Art & Architecture blog: In part one of a new series on online photography collections, Liz Jobey declares the U.S. far ahead of Britain. Nice collection of links for the photographically inclined.

Final remarks

I gave two finals this past week. For some reason I started taking notice of the little things students say when they hand in their exams. This is a specific genre of leave-taking discourse. Beyond the ubiquitous "thanks"es and "bye"s, here's a small sampling of what my students said:

"Sorry about the handwriting." This came from several students, sometimes with the variation: "I hope you can read this."

"This is my last college final."

"You were my favorite professor. And I'm not just saying that."

"Great final!" (not sure if this was a commentary on my skill in making the final, or preparation for what I would find when I graded said student's work)

"Have a great summer!"

I love this last one the best, and several students said it to me. It is the kind of thing you write in a high school yearbook. It makes me smile to realize that they still think about having a summer. It makes me realize that one of the reasons I am in academia is so that I can pretend I still do have a summer. And it reminds me of hot July days spent riding banana-seat bikes with the neighborhood girls, begging our parents to be allowed to ride all the way up to Baskin Robbins to get pink bubble gum ice cream in sugar cones.

So, to those of you who have just finished the semester: Have a great summer.

"The Walk of Shame": Funny, and just the right length!