Real Conversations with Mom: Academic Rank

Mom:  "You know, all of my dead aunts and uncles would be really proud that you're a full professor now instead of a half professor."

Me:  "A half professor?  There's no such thing as a half professor."

Mom:  "What are they called, then?"

Me:  "Assistant, associate, then full."

Mom:  "Well, I just made some people half professors.  I like that better."

Me:  "I don't think you have the authority to do that."

Mom:  "I gave myself the authority.  And I'm going to tell all of the dead relatives."

Me:  "Wait.  What?"

Mom:  "I will tell them that you are not a half professor anymore, and they will be really relieved.  Being a half professor sucks."

Me:  "Seriously, Mom?  It's been a couple of years now since I...what am I saying?  I was never a damned half professor.  You are making my brain hurt."

Mom:  "Of course, I'll be really proud when you're a double professor.  That will be a great day."

Me:  "There is no such thing as a double professor, Mom."

Mom:  "Well, that is not right.  What is your new president's name?"

Me:  "I am not telling you.  Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Mom:  "Do not get smart with me!  You are not a double professor yet!  And if you are not careful, I will make you my half-daughter.  Then your sister will outrank you."

Me:  "I am not having this conversation."

Mom:  "Too late."

Real Conversations with Mom: Knocking Things Over

Mom:  I would like you to do me a favor.  Would you do that?  Do your mother a favor?

Me:  I might.  It depends on the favor.

Mom:  You are so suspicious.

Me:  You are my mother.

Mom:  Okay, I don't like the way you said that, so I'm going to ignore it.  Could you please stop knocking things off of the shelf in the hallway? 

Me:  Yes, I could do that.  But only under one condition.

Mom:  I do not want to hear about conditions.

Me:  I will stop knocking things off of that shelf if you stop putting things on it.

Mom:  It's a shelf!  You're supposed to put things on a shelf, not knock things off.

Me:  Yes, but I am a big klutz.  If you put things on a shelf, I will knock them off.  Probably lots of times.

Mom:  This is bullsh*t!  I want you to stop knocking things off of the shelf!  You are a grown woman.  Learn not to walk into things!

Me:  I really don't think that's in any way possible.  No, I can't.  The only way I could stop walking into things would be to stop walking.

Mom:  Fine!  Stop walking in the hallway.

Me:  But...

Mom:  I do not want to hear it!  If you can't stop knocking things off of that shelf, then you cannot walk in the hallway anymore.  The Queen has spoken!

Me:  No one ever talked to me this way in Special Gym.

Mom:  Maybe they should have!

Merely Mildly Funny Facebook Posts

Honestly, everyone, you all need to step it up.  Nevertheless, here are the funniest facebook status updates that hit my feed this week; take a bow, my friends:

1. Note to self: must never, ever, ever call my son "buddy" ever again! Ever. 

2. This looks DEADLY....my husband and children will love it! 

3. Is there a cocktail that epitomizes your historical expertise? 

4. I would like to announce that I've just been named the starting quarterback of the Green Bay Packers. 

5. HOW AM I GOING TO WATCH AGENTS OF SHIELD AND SLEEPY HOLLOW?! 

6. Why do liberals hate and want to kill soft, fuzzy puppies with perky ears and waggity tails? 

7. OK, about.com: what part of searching for "Crockpot chicken" recipes makes you give me ads for walk-in showers, belly fat, and heroin addiction?

8. Well.... I'm bored as hell 

9. At least no advisees were harmed in the completion of the week. It was close, though. 

10. I just said "And NO dramatic readings of the pizza menu tonight."

A Poem for Megan

My very most loyal blog fan, dearest readers, is Megan.  She not only reads this blog, but she passes it on to others.  Alas, poor Megan!  She has a terrible cold this week and not nearly enough sympathy.  Therefore, I have written her a poem.  With apologies to Tennessee Ernie Ford, I present you with "Sixteen Sneezes":

Most people say a virus gimme this cold
The pain and exhaustion have taken hold
They've taken hold and left me limp
With mind that's weak and a fever that's strong

You sneeze sixteen times, what do you get?
Another head throbbing and tissue that's wet.
Oh, children, don't you call me 'cause I can't go
My nose is a'drippin' and my brain is slow!

It was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine
I rose from my bed, and I thought I was fine
I sneezed sixteen times and I started to cough
And my husband said "Better take some time off"

You sneeze sixteen times, what do you get?
Another head throbbing and tissue that's wet
Oh, children, don't you call me 'cause I can't go
My nose is a'drippin' and my brain is slow!

It was worse next mornin', my nose drizzlin' rain
Hackin' and wheezin' are my middle name
I was dazed by the Nyquil that I drained last night
Cain't no antibiotic help me win this fight

You sneeze sixteen times, what do you get?
Another head throbbing and tissue that's wet.
Oh, children, don't you call me 'cause I can't go
My nose is a'drippin' and my brain is slow!

If you see me comin', better step aside
A lotta you didn't, outta stupid pride
One giant sneeze, a great big cough
If the first one don't a-get you
Then the second one will

You sneeze sixteen times, what do you get?
Another head throbbing and tissue that's wet.
Oh, children, don't you call me 'cause I can't go
My nose is a'drippin' and my brain is slow!

Pottery Injuries

Once again, dear readers, I am using the ice packs this evening.  This time I have injured myself in pottery class.  Again.  I find this really, really frustrating.  Here is a list of reasons why:

Six Reasons Why It's Really Frustrating
to Injure Yourself in Pottery Class

1. Centripetal force is a bugger.  See this:

Dudes, see that little 2?  That means squared.  Do you know what it does on a pottery wheel?  It means that if I speed the wheel up, the force goes up really a whole lot.  And if I try to resist it at the wrong angle, physics will kick my ass, resulting in injuries to the entire right side of my body.    Seriously.  Centripetal force is a bugger.  It will get you.*

2.  You cannot make a good story out of a pottery injury.  Believe me, I've tried.  Just today, a student said, "Dr. Grinnell, are you okay?"  And I thought for a minute and said, "No, I have this ice pack on my shoulder because I had to fight off alien ninjas trying to steal the leftover Halloween candy."  See, that makes a good story.  But this student gave me the Student Look of Scorn, and I caved:  "Sorry.  I hurt myself in pottery class.  Did you need me to sign that form?"  And my reputation as a bad ass melted away.

3. Your doctor will not respect a pottery injury.  He will shake his head and tell you to take ibuprofen and use rest and ice and heat.  He might even tell you to take a week or two off from doing pottery which is clearly not a reasonable course of action.  Certain doctors might even suggest that pottery is not the best hobby for you at which point you must remind him about the time you sliced open your thigh with the bypass pruners which caused much more bleeding than any pottery injury, including the time you sliced open your hand on the throwing batte.

Um.

Anyway, you will not receive empathy, let alone sympathy, from your doctor.

4. Your cat will not respect a pottery injury.  Just because all of the muscles from your neck down through your arm and back are screaming does not mean that you can let off petting him.  If you try there will be...consequences.

5. Your mom will not respect a pottery injury.   Not even a tiny, little bit.

6. Your colleagues will not respect a pottery injury.  They won't even pause in their conversation to say, "there, there" or "I hope you feel better soon."  Ask me how I know this.  Go ahead, ask.

I know you won't ask.

Fine.  You can't have any more pottery.
--------------
*At lunch today, it was pointed out to me that it's probably torque, rather than centripetal force, that's causing my injuries.  Having spent fifteen minutes with my old high school physics book, I've decided that this person is probably right.  So, sorry, centripetal force!  Torque, you're a bugger.

Special Gym

One of my facebook friends asked me about my childhood this week.  He was looking for some kind of affirmation about what a miserable time gifted children have in school.

I disappointed him.

I loved school.  I loved almost everything about it.  I loved the smell of chalk in the classrooms and having my very own desk and cubby and getting a new lunchbox every year and the smell of paste and...oh!...library time.  Library time was the best! Visiting where the books lived!

It's possible that I was not a very gifted child, now that I think about it.  Who gets excited by the smell of chalk?

Now I wouldn't want you to think, gentle readers, that I was popular in school.  Alas, no.  I did not have cool clothes or the right haircut or the big, 64-count box of crayons.  You know, the one with the sharpener? Oh, how I wanted the Big Box of crayons! But we couldn't afford it, so I was stuck with sixteen lousy colors.  That sucked.*

No, I was a big nerd in school; I just didn't much care.  As long as there was a book near by, any book, it was all good.

I even liked gym.  No one ever picked me for a team, and I was lousy at every sport (except dodge ball), but I was lousy with enthusiasm.  I learned to play with enthusiasm and not care what I looked like doing so, and I learned this blithe unconcern in the second grade in Special Gym class.

What is Special Gym?  Well, Special Gym was a class for the deeply uncoordinated, although that's not what my parents told me when they explained that I was going to be taken out of math for a while.  What they actually said was, "You can't jump rope, apparently, and there's something about walking backwards that confuses you, so they're putting you in Special Gym.  Math can come later, once we're sure you're not going to accidentally knock a toe off trying to skip."

I might be remembering that last part wrong.  I was only seven.

Each day, when the other students started math, I would walk to the classroom door and wait for the Special Gym teacher to pass in the hallway.  Then I would join the short line of children and walk outside, around a corner, and into a whole other building with a tiny little gym room with padding all along the walls.  Then I would practice walking backwards, and jumping rope without falling, and, on special days, I would get to sit on this square wooden thing with four rollar skate wheels on the bottom and try to zoom the length of the room without falling off.  And if I went too fast or tripped or something, I would just bounce off of the walls or the big rolled up mats or one of the teachers.  Sometimes, I let myself lose control on purpose, just for the bounce.

It was fun.

And there were lots of teachers, now that I think about it.  Four or five, at least, and only eight or ten of us in the class.  And they always talked warmly and praised me even when I did something stupid like walk out of my shoes or accidentally smack someone while trying not to fall over.  And we were absolutely not allowed to make fun of each other.  Ever. 

You know, now that I think about it...hmmm...that was a pretty unusual class.  I never saw any of those other students outside of that class.

Some of them didn't follow directions very well.  Or talk, really.

Um.

Oh.

Well, the hell with it!  I loved Special Gym, and I can almost always walk backwards, and I will dance in circles if I want to or skip badly or take seven hits at a tee-ball before I connect and I don't care.  Point and laugh, precious readers.  Go ahead!  We veterans of Special Gym do not give a frak.

And I still love school.


 

*I have the Big Box of crayons, now, of course.  It was one of the first things I bought when I got a real, tenure-track job. 

Five Attempts to Make Me Feel Better About My Cold

I have such wonderful friends and family; they all know how miserable it is to have a cold, mostly because I insist on telling them.  But when it comes to giving me sympathetic words, well, um, here's a sample of what people have told me today:

1. "At least a squirrel didn't attack you!"

2. "You know what would make your life a living hell, don't you?  If you give that cold to your mother.  Try not to do that."

3. "That's bad.  At least you didn't have vomit on you this time."

4. "No open wounds, though, right?  You haven't stabbed yourself in a long time!"

5. "Well, aren't you glad you don't have a cold in the middle ages?  You'd probably be dead by now."