If Walls Could Talk...

If my walls could talk, right now the new ones would be exclaiming about how much of my vocabulary is uncouth and downright awful.

Right now, I'm working on moving from one apartment in New Haven to another. Nothing's wrong with the current apartment; I've spent 16 great months here. I'm moving in with Le Boyfriend, an event which I think my parents are pretending isn't happening and the rest of my social circle wishes was just done already, so I'd stop bitching talking about it.

But in my defense, this is turning into a Nightmare. That's right, with a capital N. We were told that the kitchen would be done before we moved in. Well, we technically move in Aug. 1, but they still haven't laid tile in the kitchen. Which means that there's no cabinetry and no appliances in there, either. In fact, the wooden padding that goes between the tile and the old linoleum isn't finished yet. I know this because I have a key to the apartment already, so that we can move some stuff in before this weekend.

Now, I normally wouldn't be so concerned, but for two issues:
1: The bathroom renovation in my current apartment that was supposed to take 2 weeks to complete took 3.5
2: R, the new tenant taking my room, has a move date of Saturday, that we're trying really hard to accommodate. If the kitchen isn't done, I can't finish moving in. I'm not "living" in a place that I can't even safely store my breakfast cereal and soy milk.
Experience tells me that it may very well take longer than the original estimate, and then I've got a concerned R in the other ear.

R and I had the conversation about how long it would take me to move out my stuff while the landlord was standing there with us in my kitchen. So it's not like he doesn't know of all the concerns/issues. I'm beginning to think that moving in with my grandmother might be a simpler solution. The fact that she lives in Indiana? Minor detail. We'll invent teleportation to get around that problem.

I may have neglected to mention the annoyance of a heat wave. Packing while breathing in what feels like soup is painful. Seriously. Le Boyfriend almost gave himself a case of heat exhaustion on Sunday when we moved the first truckload of stuff over. (I made him sit his ass down and drink half a Gatorade. "You can't 'power through' in this heat. Mostly because I can't 'power through' getting you to the hospital because you're being a stubborn dumb ass," I told him. Guilt: perfect for all those time you need to "help" someone make a decision!)

Moving apartments during the last week of July during a heat wave? Not the best idea ever. Le Boyfriend has been informed that we are never ever ever moving again because I can't deal with the thought of it (he laughed, but agreed).

I'm moving some more stuff tomorrow, with a friend that I helped move several weeks ago. I'm desperately hoping that maybe, maybe the tile will be down on the kitchen floor when I walk in the door?

Well, a girl can dream, right?

You drive me crazy

It's time for another sporadic update by yours truly, The SMiChick. Today we shall talk about something near and dear to my own heart, because it's been a rough couple of days/weeks/months and I have things that I finally know how to deal with.

In other words...

Erin's List of Things That Drive Her Bat Shit Crazy*

1. Inefficiency
   
   There are 24 hours in the day. I spend roughly 8 of them sleeping, 2-3 of them eating or preparing food to eat, another ~7.5 at work, 1 hour of travel/outdoor time and 1.5 hours in transition between the states of sleep and work. That leaves me with around 2 hours of time for movies, books, cleaning, ParkerPuppy cuddle time, and whatever else I want or need to do. I do not want to spend any more time than I have to on Requirements (cleaning, food prep, daily duties, etc.). Less time with Requirements means more Erin Time. And I think we can all agree that personal time is awesome, and deserves to be hoarded.
   
   So when I find ways to spend less money, less time, less resources on Requirements, I tend to make them part of my habits. I use retailmenot.com. I stack the wet, clean dishes in the rack for maximum drying ability while being able to easily take the stack apart so that everything can be put away in moments (hint: put like things together in the rack). I have the shower stuff organized in the order I use it so that I don't have to think about what I'm grabbing, I just go to the same spot every day and use it (shampoo, conditioner, face wash, body wash - you have to use the shampoo first because it comes before conditioner, everything else comes after conditioner so that you can leave it in for a little while to get everything nice and soft and smooth and shiny). I buy things on clearance ($1.50 bag of whole meal flour at Target, SCORE!). Make up is in a drawer organizer, grouped by item and color. All of this means that I can spend what's leftover from my resources, whether it be time or money or less stress on things that I actually like to do. Like sleep. Or read. Or attempt new complicated recipes of deliciousness. If you don't waste effort in the first place, you can do a lot of amazing things that you like with it later on. (Yes, sleep is wholly in the amazing category.)
   
   
2. Bad Drivers, and People Who React Poorly to Bad Drivers
   
   Yes, Johnny Appleseed, I am totally looking at you. And yes, New England, am I totally staring you down about this issue. First of all, being a jackass driver puts you, the people in your car, and every other person on the road at risk. So contemplate the fact that jackassery has gotten people killed, and other people sued through the years, and that yes, Tiny Voices, it could happen to you, too. Both the death and the suing.
   
   I could quote statistics at y'all until I'm blue in the face, but there's no point in that. I can't control the fact that not many people care about statistics because they don't have a personal connection to a set of numbers and a bell curve. But I CAN control how I react to the jackassery on the highway. And so can you.
   
   Tell me, what does flipping someone off do for you? It certainly doesn't make you a nicer person, 'cause as Grandma Lucy would say "You are how you act and if that's the gesture or language that you're going to use, you are not a very nice person and you can leave." (Grandma Lucy is fully of nuggety wisdom.) What does honking your horn achieve? Alerting them to the fact that you have one? Congrats, I'm so glad that you have a working horn installed!! That's mega-awesome, dude. And obnoxious as hell.
   
   Actually, I'll make the pop quiz super easy for y'all: it accomplishes nothing productive. Nothing good happened because someone flipped someone else the bird. Nothing wonderful occurred when you draped yourself over the horn for three very long minutes. You know what did happen? You reacted. To a jerk. And then you became an extension of that jerk. You have the self-control of a jerk. And a three year old. Actually, I'm pretty sure ParkerPuppy has more self-control than you in that jerk-moment, and he ain't the brightest bulb in the box.
   
   So now we have a jerk, an extension of the jerk reacting to the jerk, and my dumb-ass dog being a better human being than you are. Ain't this a pretty sight. (If you can't hear my sarcasm, let me make it easy for you: this part is dripping with it.) Grow up. Be patient. Be polite. Use your turn signal; it's included for a reason. And stop making illegal U-turns in the middle of the street like a dumbass. Yes, I'm still looking at you, Johnny Appleseed.
   
   
3. People With Poor Planning/Communication Skills
   
   Just email me the night before if we need to play Car Tetris. Seriously. We have a one lane driveway and I am not at your beck and call.
   
   As far as those skills are related to everything else - if I think you are rude and/or stupid I won't take you seriously. Or I might take you seriously and try to ruin everything you do. Or I might wholly ignore your existence. Or any combination of those things, really. Making me think you are inconsequential (or a potential enemy) is probably really, really bad, because then I don't give a fig what you do or say or want or think. Eh, I'll just do it my way. Or I'll get super passive aggressive. I'm not proud of those moments, but if it gets me what I want or need, I'll live with it. (I'm surprisingly able to live with a lot of moral compromises. Comes with being a godless heathen and all, I'm sure.)
   
   
4. Religious Hypocrisy
   
   I'ma let that one stew in your head for a while. Just know that I hate it. Lots.
   

*Bat Shit Crazy is a term I often use to denote levels of extreme craziness. See most references to my family for further examples.

Try a little harder

I'm really bad at this.

First of all, I don't think that I have lots of random interesting things to say all the time. There's enough OTHER people blathering on the Internet without me helping say a whole lot of nothing.

Then there's the time component. I have a full time job, a budding photography hobby, a choir, a choir board, a holiday ensemble, a dog, volunteer work on weekends at the Peabody, a period music ensemble, occasional pet sitting, normal everyday chores (dishes, laundry, etc) and have recently acquired the Johnny Awesomesauce, my boyfriend (sort of like Johnny Appleseed, only...awesomesauce. You can blame "How I Met Your Mother."). So between social obligations, music obligations, work, dog poop patrol and sleep, I'm sort of BUSY.

Thirdly, I can't figure out how personal to make this blog. I used to write, near-daily in fact, on LiveJournal. It was theraputic. It was dramatic. It definitely helped me chronicle my writing style as it changed, and improved my typing speed like crazy. I was all over that bitch in high school, and the first half of college, but then it sort of died after I got back from Ireland (end of Fall 2006). I started this particular blog for an internship at Saint Mary's, and I'd sort of like to remain true that original purpose - semi-academic, well-crafted thoughtful postings on women, technology, feminism, and education. Yeaaaaaahhhhh. That sort of died.

So now I have no idea what to do. I don't want to chit chat about Johnny Awesomesauce all day long, because we're just dating and starting out. It's not like we're getting married or popping out babies. I don't want to talk about insanely personal parts of my life like I used to on LJ. DUDE you do not need to know about my periods. Or why I have issues with my parents. (What 20-something doesn't?) But I do want the freedom to brag about just how much fun J.A. and I have, or something goofy ParkerPuppy does, or shamelessly promote my fledgling photography skills.

So maybe I just say to hell with my inhibitions and make this blog exactly what I want to be despite these weird loyalties to The Original Purpose of this thing. Or maybe I go take a nap and think on it. Actually I rather like that last idea...

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Totally not tech related. Read at your own risk/boredom.

I sort of want a tattoo.

Problem is, the tattoo that I want would require a lot of time, ink, pain, money and skin. When I described the concept to a friend of mine who has several tattoos, she laughed at me and said that while it would be neat, I would probably never do it. My Cousin of Awesome in Nashville also thought that it would be "damn cool" but advised that I might want to start with a small part of it and "grow it out."

Her phrasing being completely apt, we laughed and smiled on the car ride home from the airport when we were talking about it (albeit quietly so as not to wake the sleeping angel in the backseat). In short, I want a vine-and-flower tattoo. And I'm not talking about some pretty little pink rose and a curly bit of stem around it: my body would be the growing stake for the vine. It would start at my left ankle, curl around my calf and thigh, wrap around my stomach and chest, and flow across my upper back to my right shoulder and then down my right arm with a final flower ending across the back of my hand.

I know, I know (shut UP Tiny Voices). That would be some serious ink. For a girl that has NONE. So let's examine why Erin the Fearless hasn't yet done this.

1) I don't know anything about tattoos. Like, how to design them or where to go or how much they cost or how to take care of them. Everyone in my life who does have them, lives in Indiana. Fat lot of good that does me here in New Haven.

2) Money. Actually, that's a cop out answer. Scratch that. I'm not telling you, Internet, how much I make ('cause that ain't yo' bizniz and all), but I assure you, if I can afford to buy plane tickets like mad all summer long, I can afford some ink.

3) Needles. I don't like 'em. At all. I am told that the sensation of tattoo needles is not the same as the needles that the YHP shoves in my arm when it's time for a flu shot or the anti-cervical cancer thingy, but I've got a healthy fear respect for shiny, pointy things that I can feel in my arm/ass/gumline/where ever it's being put. I had to deal a lot with needles as a kid because of my food allergies, and while I've conquered my fear loathing utter and complete horror issues with needles on an everyday basis, I'm a little scared to find out what happens when I purposefully lay myself out on a table so that some guy/gal/certified creature can poke tiny, rapid, ink-filled holes in my pale Irish skin.

(The Tiny Voices would like to me address the fact that I have a nose piercing. "That required a needle! One that you could actually see light through, if you held it up and looked through it!" Yes, yes, I had that done. But that was one needle and it was fast and despite the fact that it bled, it wasn't that scary because I knew it would be over damn quick. Also, the dude doing it was cute and had the best Irish accent ever.)(SHUT UP!)

4) Professionalism. While IT is not particularly known for being overly strict about how you look, and the media does a damn good job of stereotyping portraying geeks as people who should be free to dress, pierce, tattoo, etc. themselves however they'd like (a la Abby from NCIS, assorted characters from Bones, and some other assorted forensic science shows that are filled with kick ass female characters that I watch), I have had it beat into my pretty little Midwestern head that Mature People do not get tattoos, Tattoo'd People do not get Good Jobs, and all of that other elitist BS that exists.

Problem is that it's still justified in said pretty little head because I still don't know what I'm doing with my life. Yeah, I'm never gonna be the CEO of Chase (ew) or an elementary school teacher in the Midwest (or anything in the Midwest if I can help it) or anything else that requires you to be God Fearing and Conservative, but what if I want to be a CIO or the head of a dept. or something else that requires you to be Professional and Mature? I don't see the CIOs of either school I've worked for hosting tattoos.

(Granted, I interviewed successfully at last summer's internship and Yale while forgetting to remove wearing a nose ring, so it's quite possible that the stereotyping work force is getting looser on the whole Conservative Conformity thing.)

5) My Mother. She's still pretending that the nose jewelry is a sticker. Though I gleefully look for ways to push her buttons, the sheer DRAMA that would occur when I came home sporting a giant vine crawling up my leg and down an arm is not something with which I wish to deal. In fact, I'm fairly certain that I would not wish that "discussion" upon all but the worst of my (mostly fictional) enemies.

Although it might just prove to be so shocking that no one says a damn thing, which would be awfully awesome. But unlikely.

6) Permanency. Yeah, that shit's forever. I like how I look without tattoos. Would I like how I look with them? I don't know. I guess I could Sharpie myself for a month and find out, but that's a lot of work. And while I'm not really lazy, per say, I don't have that much dedication for a project that has a 50% chance of not happening.


It doesn't help that half the time I ease into things and the other I go for the all-or-nothing approach. (Hey, I never said I was rational!) For this, I have no idea which would be best, because the ink IS permanent, so you might as well go for the complete Body Vine as the Pretty Little Rosebud, because neither one of those suckers is leaving without some serious time with Mr. Laser and Dr. Dermatologist.

So am I insane, or do I just need to sort of direct my desires/curiosities? Thoughts on how to do the latter?

What would you do if...

Let's pretend, for a brief moment, that things are different. Perhaps we live in an earlier time, or in a later one. In this sphere of difference, there are no cell phones, no personal computers much less personal computing devices, no e-readers, no Internet, no cables, modems, TVs, gaming consoles, lasers or anything else that I (and many, MANY other people) currently depend upon to provide me with a job.

In this imaginary and perhaps terrifying world, the question becomes, what would we do? In terms of communication, entertainment, jobs, recreation, productivity... What would the skill set be, instead of that which is currently possessed by millions upon millions of citizens of the worlds?

Well, for starters, y'all wouldn't be reading this, because I wouldn't be writing it, publishing it, putting it on the web for the world to peruse or mock or whatever it is that the Internet does to my ill-used blog.

One of the things that constantly amazes me is our dependence upon technologies. Not only do we assume that past technologies will continue to work (or at least that the foundations they created will), that current technologies will provide that which is needed, and most importantly, that new technologies and ideas will continue to spew forth, making our lives "better," and full of more "conveniences." But is it?

Hundreds, probably thousands even, of articles have been written in the past 20 years about how technology is changing humanity for the worse; that we're losing touch with each other, the world, the earth, life - you name it, we've lost it and DOOM WILL COME OF IT! And another several hundred, maybe thousand, articles have been written on how technology will save the same nouns previously listed. YAY TECHNOLOGY; IT WILL SAVE US ALL! So which is it? Are we slowly dying from the carginogens in our Macbook Pros, or are we creating and pushing the experiences of the human existence with collaborative software and new media mashups?

But rhetoric aside, let's go back to the idea of our world sans the thing we love: how would we manage? Could we manage? Can we even accurately fathom the idea of such a prehistoric world? Well, I can. And do. And sometimes wish it was so.

"Noooooooooo!!" cry out millions of Tiny Voices. "Erin, how can you say such a thing?! You work for ITS!"

Actually, I say and type it with relative ease (and not without a nod to irony). Because the question isn't really can we exist without technology; the answer is clearly yes. Our forefathers and foremothers did. As I'm fond of pointing out to my cell-phone obsessed siblings, modern homo sapien didn't have phones for several thousand years. Yet we managed to survive, create, communicate, travel and raise a lot of pretty awesome buildings without a single phone call or text. No, the question really is, "Should we exist with such a dependency upon technology?" And I think the answer is no.

Should we use technology to make things faster? Sure. I can type so much faster than I can hand write things out, and my handwriting kind of dies after awhile, so type is easier to read in the long run. I like being able to go lots of places with access to the Internet in my pocket, as well as the handy GPS function the iPhone provides. I love the Kindle, and managing 100+ students is beyond easier with our web apps and email. I'm not sure that we could manage that many students without it.

But should we be dependent upon it, to the point that we don't know what to do without it? Oh hell no. But I see that happening, a lot, perhaps more so than others because of the very fact that I work in technology.

So what do we do to combat the driving need to be attached to email, cell phones, texts, updates on Facebook and Twitter and RSS feeds? Well, we start with simple things, like self control. Parents, your children will not die if you do not give them a cell phone at age 8. I promise. I didn't have one until I was 20. I'm sure the Tiny Voices are gasping that such a thing is true, but it is, and HEY LOOK I'm still alive! To put it into perspective, there are still people out there who are living on subsistence farming methods on every continent. They do not own cell phones, and they probably never will. They do not have email, they do not compulsively check Facebook to see if John and Susan are still dating, they do not give a single iota for Michael Jackson's death, life or music. And they are, amazingly, happy.

Self-control, first then. And then simple curiosity, paired with a banishing of shoe-gazing abilities that my generation is so prone to possessing. I have this crazy idea for mandatory service corp post-high school, but that's for another day entirely. But we must encourage and seek out new ideas and experiences that are not related to the computer. Wait, what is that, Tiny Voices? You ask what you would do without it?

Anything you want, my dears. Unshackle yourself from the Internet and the data networks and the cell phone towers for a day. Try it. I dare you. You might be surprised.

Firsts: a little bit of this and that

The last 30 odd days have been full of firsts for me. I started my first summer not in the Midwest, went to my first ResNet Symposium in St. Cloud, MN, and am preparing for my first major move.

Summers in the Midwest start mid-May and contain hot, muggy days where all you want to do is eat freezy pops and lie under the AC unit. Summers in Connecticut apparently consist of rain, rain, and more rain. I am told this is not the norm, but that was also said of snow in December and January, the cold temperatures in spring, and I don't know how many other things relating to weather and seasonal behaviors. I'll believe "normal" when it finally comes. Trading muggy days for rainy days is an improvement for breathing, but not for my mood stability. Damn you seasonal affective disorder!

The first ResNet Symposium was at its most simple, amazing. Somewhere after Day 2 I stopped being able to describe the fun. There was of course, the expected networking, learning, teaching, sharing, etc. but the level of humor and good ol' fashioned goofballery far exceeded my expectations. I now have many friends that I cannot wait to see again at future Northeast ResNet conferences, as well as looking forward to next year's conference at Western Washington University. And definitely looking forward to 2011, when Yale hosts the Symposium! It'll be a lot of work, but I'm excited already!

As far as the major move is concerned, it's interesting already. I reserved a 12' truck from Penske, as they had the cheapest price/truck and gave discounts for online reservations and AAA membership (it just paid for itself). When my dad and I went to go pick it up Saturday AM, we were given a 16' truck for the same price. Joy. I have now have a monstrosity to drive across the Eastern third of the US. Because 12' wasn't big enough, right?

Other random thoughts, given my current insomnia...iPhoto's "Faces" can be pretty entertaining; mine in particular thinks that car wheels are people. Why can't I mark more "Locations" in iPhoto? The iPhone photos label themselves due to GPS, but I'd like to add more info to the other 500 photos that I haven't taken with the iPhone. Goose Apocalypse in the park today was entertaining: my little brother threw some leftover bread into the water, and then next thing we knew there were 20 Canadian geese surrounding us. I climbed up onto the picnic table to "take pictures." Rain on the 4th of July should be illegal. And I should definitely go to bed.

Continuation

I've decided that since I still have this blog, since I'm still working in educational technologies, I'm still a feminist and I'm still a woman, I should continue in the blogosphere. If no one reads it, ok; if someone does, awesome and thanks for reading.

In the last 13 months, some pretty amazing (and sometimes scary) things have happened. There was a graduation, a summer school class, a paid summer tech internship, lots of pet sitting, a third job at ND working weekends and nights, three job interviews, 2 flights, and one job offer. Thankfully, it was the job offer I wanted. And needed. And good freaking lord I work for Yale now.

Yes, that's right folks, Erin got a job at YALE. Complete with a nice paycheck and benefits. I lived some some "interesting" people for 6 months, and when that lease ended, got the hell out. I now live with very nice people in an apartment 10 blocks from work, that is pet friendly and normally houses quiet people. Currently the subletters downstairs are...well, less than quiet, but I'll deal. PS, my backyard is I-91. That would be an eight lane highway.

So what do I do? Basically, what I did in college, only for lots more money and more permissions to the fun administrative programs. Have I mentioned how sweet this job is? No? Let me declare it so: MY JOB IS AWESOME. Yes, there are days that are less awesome (like when I have to fire someone) and days that are spectacular (like the day I got put in charge of the tech side of Yale's potential/future e-reader program); but every day, I learn something and laugh at least once. Usually more. Definitely more.

I'm learning more about how to be a Boss and a Friend, Dell and Apple hardware, e-readers, ResNet, photography, how to make a film, how to live with strangers (yep, still mastering that one), and how to live on my own. Actually, scratch that last one, I've got it pretty well figured out. I can cook and do my own laundry. I pay all of my own bills. I own a dog and he's all set; I show up for work every day (usually on time, but occasionally I slip up). Yeah, I've got the supporting self thing down. W00t.

As Janice would say: "You go girl." Well, I went East, I settled in, and I'm happy. It doesn't get much better than this.