Scribbles from the past

I found an old notebook, a small one, the kind I carry in my purse in case Something Needs to be Written Down.

Clues, such as an old Christmas shopping list that includes the name of my son's former fiancee, suggest that I started it about 3 years ago, then misplaced it for a while until I found it again last spring and used it to take notes from a lecture I attended.

It contains several lists of names, obviously students' names, but I don't remember most of these students. It sometimes distresses me how many of them simply flee my memory. In the early years I only taught a few classes at a time and over the years some students voluntarily came back to me for seconds, but a good estimate of the average number of students I've taught each year is 200. Nine years, 200 names a year -- probably I've forgotten 1600 of those 1800. This saddens me, because I tend to really like most of them.

I've found old to-do lists and notes from department meetings, and the thing that I actually wanted when I pulled out the notebook -- a folded-up handout from that spring lecture.

The oddest thing in the notebook, however, is this message to myself, in large letters, clearly intended to catch my attention:

POINT THE ARROWS TOWARD THE PATIO DOOR!

I have no idea.

I Hate When That Happens

I'm reading final papers, compiling final grades. Once that's done, I am finally free to CLEAN MY HOUSE! MOW MY LAWN! RECONNECT WITH MY FRIENDS! RECONNECT WITH MY FAMILY! GET BACK TO UNFINISHED PROJECTS! Etc.

So I took a break to have a snack and watch a little TV in my bedroom. (The living room TV has been disconnected for seven weeks; I was in mid-project when my summer semester began, and that's still the status of the project: mid.) The next thing I know, the poppies have overtaken me and I'm lying down. Ok. A half-hour snooze wouldn't hurt.

Four and a half hours later, I awaken.

Oh, this stinks.

Cool news

I made two major changes to my electrical consumption during the same week, about 6 weeks ago. I changed most of my light bulbs to compact fluorescents (the remaining light fixtures get used either rarely or briefly). And Tall Son finally rendered operational the recycled central air conditioning unit that he salvaged for me last summer.

This time last year I was cooling by using two window a/c units and keeping my spare bedroom and office doors closed, so I was only cooling a part of my house.

To add to the equation, two weeks ago I had removed the tree in front of my house that provided shade during the afternoons, so I'm sure that the a/c now has to work even harder to keep me cool.

I’ve spent one very comfortable month: I keep the temp at about 75, even at night (I sleep poorly if I’m hot).

So today I got the electric bill, and I fully expected that upon opening that bill I’d have to turn the a/c up to 80 and start living in the dark.

Wrong.

The bill is for $74.69. For a full month. In Florida.

The recycled a/c is a Trane, but it’s 10 years old, so I wasn’t sure it would be all that efficient. I suppose it is.

My electric company offers interesting statistics on the bill: the KWH total and daily average and the same info from the same month one year earlier. Last summer, same month, with partial-home a/c and incandescent bulbs, I used a daily average KWH of 29. This summer, it’s 25.

I won’t really know the impact of the bulbs alone until a/c season is over and I can compare KWH consumption during the heating months to last year’s consumption.

But for now...cool!

Where did the mud go?

Yesterday I was on the phone with my daughter, who was in her backyard, and I overheard her Littlest, age 3, approach her and ask, "Where did the mud go?"

Apparently the day before his toy had been muddy, but now it wasn't.

“Here it is,” my daughter said. “It dried up. It’s dirt now. Mud is dirt mixed with water.”

“It is?” he asked incredulously. “Mud is dirt?” Littlest has a most appealing way of emphasizing his words when he’s expressing his amazement. Like Shirley Temple, only less precious.

At age three, one finds much to be amazed by.

Like mud, whose secret identity is dirt.

Dear Netflix,

I know you’ve been worried about your movie. I’ve had it for over three weeks, and now you’re putting little notes on my queue, gently letting me know that it’s ok if something’s gone wrong with the disk; I can let you know without getting punished.

Well, Netflix, the disk is ok. I’ve just been really busy. You’ll see that other disks have come to and gone from my mailbox, but that’s because they’re episodic TV. I can fit in a 40 minute TV fix where I can’t manage a 120 minute flick.

And, oh, I don’t know. I think this disk was giving out vibes. I only vaguely knew what it was about anyway: general concept, big awards nominated and won. But I couldn’t get myself to actually put it in the DVD player.

Last night I did. Netflix, although it was tough for me to part with some films, such as Remains of the Day and Capote, you can have Adaptation back. I liked it and I hated it. I’m so confused.

(SPOILER ALERT!)

It was, at first, stunningly – almost annoyingly – clever, so not-Hollywood. I even loved the revelation of “Susan Orlean’s” secret life. Because I was rather enjoying myself, I had such a sinking feeling when the movie decidedly went Hollywood. “Susan” decides to solve her problem by becoming a homicidal maniac? What?

On the other hand, the ending might be part of the looping-around metatextual nature of the film. After all, everything changed immediately after Charlie had his one-on-one with Robert McKee, the motivational hack screenwriting coach. So, upon McKee’s advice, Charlie – the fictional and the real one – does precisely what earlier he said he wouldn’t: “I just don’t want to ruin it by making it a Hollywood thing.”

I either get it: Kaufman’s making an ironic statement about the inability to escape the Hollywood ending (and didn't Altman already cover that in The Player?).

Or I don’t get it.

Anyway, Netflix, stop worrying. The disk is in the mail.

Love,
Bitty

Mad Men

Obvious to anyone with eyes is that I haven't done much blogging lately.

I wish I could say I was having too much fun to blog, but really, I'm just too busy with the complications of life.

I've also paid little attention to television lately, so it was utterly accidental that I came across Mad Men this week. For this I must pop my head back into blog world momentarily.

Omigod.

Watch this show.

AMC has a fairly heavy rerun schedule for it (click on "episode 1 encore schedule" just below the giant picture), including "The Making of Mad Men," which I have yet to see.

It's about the early 1960s...but it's not. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose!

Two scenes particularly struck me: the moment that Joan whisked the dust cover off the IBM Selectric and told Peggy not to be intimidated by the technology, and Peggy's visit to the gynecologist.

Even though I didn't learn to type until 10th grade -- later in the 60s -- that jump from manual to electric was as jarring as driving a VW Beetle and then hopping out and driving a sports car. And let's just say that I was patronized almost as much at my first gynecologist visit in 1971, although I wasn't subjected to cigarette smoke, too.

I turned 7 in 1960, and I remember it well: the fashions, the cigarette smoke, the sharply delineated lines for men and women and no one with darker skin in sight.

This show is genius.

Now back to temporary blackout.

More about getting shot down

Apparently it's not just those nutty women who are full of excuses for dumping people. Now corporate America's in on the act:

Sprint Nextel is hanging up on 1,000 of its cell-phone subscribers because, the company said, they complained too much.

Sprint Nextel ... which ranked at the top of MSN Money's Customer Service Hall of Shame in April, apparently didn't appreciate when people called their customer-service lines to voice complaints, The Wall Street Journal reported Saturday. So the company told those unhappy customers to hit the road.

"The number of inquiries you have made to us . . . has led us to determine that we are unable to meet your current wireless needs," Sprint said in its [Dear John/Jane] letter.

However, the jilted customers get a consolation prize: their balances have been zeroed out and their early termination fee has been waived.

Thanks for not charging your customers for getting dumped, Sprint Nextel!

If She Doesn't Want to Date You, She's Probably Nuts

I've logged on a dozen times today and I even though I have no time for this, I can no longer remain quiet about the first "story" that AT&T offers me on the homepage today. Here's the teaser:

Guys Reveal: 'The worst turn-down I ever got was...'
Rejection is never fun, is it? Comfort yourself with the knowledge that some of the women who dole out these turn-downs could be, well, a little bit nuts.

Shall we scan these nutty shoot-downs quite apart from the comments made by the puff piece's author or its "expert," Dr. Lillian Glass?

"I was told that I'm too neat. Neat?!" —Gary, 56, Toronto, ON

"She told me it wasn't a good idea because she was anemic and was having her period." —Joe, 54, Justin, TX

"She didn't think her father and I would get along." —Curtis, 43, Jacksonville, FL

"One woman told me I was too intelligent for her. Sure." —Ray, 37, Raleigh, NC

"A woman told me she was probably going to be too tired the night I asked her out... but she told me this two days ahead of time." —Kevin, 41, Dallas, TX

"A girl I liked said she wouldn't date people born the same month she was." —Greg, 22, Wilmington, DE

"A girl said that her car broke down and gave me a big, long story about what was wrong. Only problem? I have a car and could have driven her. Plus, I'm a mechanic." —Wally, 20, Chicago, IL

"She told me she had to go buy the donuts for her Singles with STDs group. Point taken." —Greg, 32, San Diego, CA

Ok, I'm old, so it's entirely possible I have no idea what I'm talking about, but it seems to me that even though many a woman will go after a man who interests her, males still do much of the pursuing, especially cold-call pursuing (no prior acquaintance or even across-the-room flirting).

Again, call me on this if I'm wrong....

But as old me remembers it, a lot of men just won't take no for an answer. And the more attractive the woman, the more likely she'll be pursued by an overabundance of Randy Romeos.

If no doesn't work or if the sheer volume of unwanted advances gets a gal down, what then?

Well, mentioning menstruation will make him move.

Saying "STD" sends him slinking away.

Most of the rest qualify as clever putdowns. Telling a man he's too intelligent? (rejecting him with flattery) Telling a mechanic she can't see him because she has car trouble? (signalling she has utterly no use for him) Planning to be tired in two days? (an update of the "I have to wash my hair" meme)

Dealing with unwanted advances in a less-than-forthright way might be breezily classified as passive-agressive (and Glass uses that term), but fending off an advance with sarcasm or even a tall tale is simply not the same thing as "nuts."

It's dismaying that a female psychologist and a female writer would characterize women who reject men's advances in clever form as "nuts," an "embarrassment," "insecure," "hostile," "a liar," and "evil." Yet those are Ascolese's and Glass's words. That two women, one a purported communications expert, have pronounced these women (who just want to be left alone) as evil, insecure, hostile, embarrassing, lying fruitcakes suggests how deeply the idea runs that men have the right to expect that their advances will be welcomed. Anything else from women is a display of mental illness.

No wonder the women don't just come out and say hell, no.

Author Caitlin Ascolese breathlessly leads into the putdowns with "for once, guys, it might really be them and not you!"

No, Ms. Ascolese. It's still the guys.

And you're not helping any.

Separation Anxiety

My Netflix membership has changed my life. I've given up a bad habit or two (never you mind what) to make time for the films and I reward myself with a movie at the end of the day if I've been productive. (Or need to console myself because I haven't.)

I stand staring at the movie selection in stores in wonder because I needn't buy a single one of them. I "own" them all. I just pay Netflix a few bucks a month to store and ship them to me.

But sometimes it's hard to let the movies go back. I want to tuck them on my shelf, or buy myself a copy to keep. So far I've resisted the urge.

But it was so, so hard to return Capote and The Remains of the Day. So hard.

Now you know something about me.

Where have you BEEN, Bitty?

Livin' large as an M&M, my babies. Livin' large.

You know you're a Grandma when...

you find yourself at the age of 53 having dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for dinner.

And it's not half bad.

A nice round number

600 more days for the Bush administration.

May the republic last that long.

Gone

I'll be doing even lighter than my usual light posting for the next few weeks. I'm in one or another of the Carolinas, watching my small grandsons for a few weeks while my daughter jets off to see Europe. Or at least some parts in Germany and Ireland.

You should be lucky enough to have such a mother.

Post Office Standard Time, or 5:03 is the new 5:30

I had to go into the office today and was gone much longer than I planned. This meant I had to make a beeline to the post office to get my bills sent out before I leave town in the morning. Not to fear, though. I know EXACTLY when the boxes outside my post office are picked up: M-F 5:30 and S 4:30. This is emblazoned somewhere on the side of my brain. I sometimes plan whole days around these times.

Imagine my surprise, then, to pull up to the boxes at 5:03 today, a Monday, and find a post office employee cleaning out the boxes. Seven of us in line jumped out of our cars and RAN to him, frantically waving our mail. I told him that I thought the box was picked up at 5:30. He said something that made no sense (he was finished inside?), but I didn't argue with him because I wanted to make sure my bills got in that bin of his.

Maybe since all three numbers are the same -- 5, 3, and 0 -- 5:03 is just as valid a pickup time as 5:30.

This shouldn't be optional, though. If the posted time on the boxes is 5:30, we the patrons should have until 5:30 to get our little letters in those boxes.

(EDIT: My skeptical mind asked if the guy might be an impostor, but if he is, he's both well-prepared and impudent. He was wearing a post office uniform, driving a post office car, and he had the keys to the post office box. After he finished collecting the mail, he drove to the back of the post office. I sat and watched to make sure.)

Yards of work

When I first came out to work, the resident bunny ran out from under this chair and streaked across the yard. I have yet to catch a good photo of the bunny. But I continue to try.

While school was in session, I didn't have time to do things properly, including yard work. We've had so little rain that it almost doesn't matter that the leaves still cover the ground and the grass remains uncut. (Except for a small patch of weeds, the ground cover has barely grown.)

So today I MUST do the worst of it, since I'm leaving town for three and a half weeks the day after tomorrow.

Under normal circumstances it wouldn't be possible to do this kind of work in the middle of the day on May 20. According to weather.com, it's 81 degrees, but it's the insanely low humidity -- 46% -- that makes yard work in mid-day not only possible, but pleasant. I would be enjoying it but for the knowledge that this is not normal and suggests something scary about our climate.

The Cavemen are Coming!

The cast of ABC's "Cavemen," a comedy adapted from Geico insurance commercials

ABC has placed Cavemen on its fall schedule, a spin-off from those clever GEICO ads. You can keep the Gecko; I'm half in love with the long-suffering C'man who scoffs at the insensitive GEICO ads and struggles through sessions with a therapist who, from her position of privilege, just doesn't "get" the prejudice faced by a caveman.

The ad's guy doesn't seem to be one of the series' cavemen, however. I suppose he isn't/can't be available since he's already the very public face of GEICO. Too darn bad.

ABC/Cavemen producers: don't screw this one up.

Happy Mother's Day!

I wanted to post some flowers for all the mothers -- my mother, your mother, you, you who want to be mothers but aren't yet, and especially those who want to be mothers but can't be.

We all mother in our way.

I wanted to post a photo of flowers, but my parched yard doesn't have any, and I didn't want to pinch a copyrighted photo. Then I noticed the tiny basket of shell flowers that Grammie gave me years ago.

It seems appropriate.

Happy Mother's Day!

Justice for Pfc. LaVena Johnson

Go here.
(I'm keeping this post at the top.)

Not all Army work is destructive

Source: Edgewood Chemical Biological Center

By now, those of us paying attention have heard of the Case of the Mysterious Missing Honeybees:

In 24 states throughout the country, beekeepers have gone through [...] shocks as their bees have been disappearing inexplicably at an alarming rate, threatening not only their livelihoods but also the production of numerous crops, including California almonds, one of the nation’s most profitable.

“I have never seen anything like it,” Mr. Bradshaw, 50, said from an almond orchard here beginning to bloom. “Box after box after box are just empty. There’s nobody home.”

The sudden mysterious losses are highlighting the critical link that honeybees play in the long chain that gets fruit and vegetables to supermarkets and dinner tables across the country.

Beekeepers have fought regional bee crises before, but this is the first national affliction.

Now, in a mystery worthy of Agatha Christie, bees are flying off in search of pollen and nectar and simply never returning to their colonies. And nobody knows why. Researchers say the bees are presumably dying in the fields, perhaps becoming exhausted or simply disoriented and eventually falling victim to the cold.

As researchers scramble to find answers to the syndrome they have decided to call “colony collapse disorder,” growers are becoming openly nervous about the capability of the commercial bee industry to meet the growing demand for bees to pollinate dozens of crops, from almonds to avocados to kiwis.

Along with recent stresses on the bees themselves, as well as on an industry increasingly under consolidation, some fear this disorder may force a breaking point for even large beekeepers.

A Cornell University study has estimated that honeybees annually pollinate more than $14 billion worth of seeds and crops in the United States, mostly fruits, vegetables and nuts. “Every third bite we consume in our diet is dependent on a honeybee to pollinate that food,” said Zac Browning, vice president of the American Beekeeping Federation. (emphasis mine)

However, the Army's Edgewood Chemical Biological Center may have solved the mystery:

Researchers have identified potential culprits behind the wide-spread catastrophic death of honey bees around North America and Europe. A team of scientists from Edgewood Chemical Biological Center and University of California San Francisco identified both a virus and a parasite that are likely behind the recent sudden die-off of honey-bee colonies.

Using a new technology called the Integrated Virus Detection System (IVDS), which was designed for military use to rapidly screen samples for pathogens, ECBC scientists last week isolated the presence of viral and parasitic pathogens that may be contributing to the honeybee loss. Confirmation testing was conducted over the weekend by scientists at the University of California San Francisco. ECBC scientists presented the results of their studies yesterday to a United States Department of Agriculture working group, hastily convened to determine next steps.

For the past year, experts have observed a marked decline in the honey bee population, with entire colonies collapsing without warning. Approximately 50 percent of hives have disappeared and researchers around the country are scrambling to find out why. Scientists have termed this phenomenon "Colony Collapse Disorder" and fear that without honey bees to pollinate crops like fruits, vegetables, and almonds the loss of honey bees could have an enormous horticultural and economic impact around the world.

ECBC is one of many academic, commercial and government concerns studying the honey bee population decline. ECBC’s role will be to identify the extent of the problem and conduct ongoing detection activities.

One summer when I was in high school and both ECBC and I had different names -- its was Edgewood Arsenal -- I worked there. So did my pal Vintage Flowerchild. Sixteen years old and I had a security clearance. Yes, I used to work for Uncle Sam, just like George Bush does. (clears throat)

Anyway, it's nice to see that all that military whiz-bang genius designed to save soldiers from chemical attack might also help us save our food supply, especially since the news from China is so frightening.

Woman Survives Being Pushed over a Bridge, or, Damn Those Hummers!

This is either Arlene Payan's worst day ever, or her best:

JACKSONVILLE, FL -- Her hands still trembling, her clothes and hair still damp, Arlene Payan found the strength to talk about the drop that could've taken her life.

"It's scary, it's nothing fun," she said.

A blown tire forced her to stop on the bridge.

"There was a huge rock on the bridge," said Arlene. And I got off the passenger side to check it out. And that's when I heard the screeching when the other car, a Hummer, hit the side of my car."

The H2 Hummer smashed into her little Toyota.

The force sent Arlene's car into her.

She sailed over the railing.

"After that, I just remember when I was flying over the bridge," she recalled. "I don't know how the car hit me or anything."

She popped up like a cork, twenty feet below, unhurt.

"I just started swimming, I had to. I just started swimming and just hoped everything was going to be OK."

A Jacksonville Sheriff's Officer leapt from a helicopter hovering over the river and hauled her to a boat.

"It was wonderful. I'm glad they were there."

Back on dry land, Arlene refused a ride to the hospital and came back to check on her car.

She works as a manager at a pharmacy in Jacksonville Beach. Her boss gave her the day off.