WAY Too Easy
First things first: if you would like your very own "I'm Blogging This" t-shirt, so as to make all your friends nervous, go here.
On to blither. This week is all about packing and dragging things around. Yesterday Sam and I went to be part of a crew of friends moving a colleague out of her apartment and into her new house. You want to be part of these events when you can, because they become part of the department's collection of stories. I've been hearing for years, for instance, about The Day The Piano Fell On Rick, or The Move That Culminated in Street Footraces, or That Time We Had to Move 94 Boxes Of Books Up Three Flights of Stairs -- wait, this is Pittsburgh and we're English professors; that last describes all the moves.
Well, almost all. Yesterday was something completely different. There were stairs, yes, there were a few boxes of books, but basically there was very little to do. I think we each got one or two boxes to move, and then we ran out of stuff. If you wanted to look busy and useful, and therefore deserve the tasty free lunch, you had to wrest chairs (there were two, I think) away from other colleagues, including your boss, which makes things problematic. This one will go down in departmental history as The Time We Didn't Have To Do Much At All And Were Completely Done in An Hour and a Half But Ate Up All Those Nice Cookies Anyway.
Today I'm going -- eventually -- to go into my office -- what there is left of it -- and pack up more boxes, as the movers are, theoretically, moving my stuff upstairs to my new shiny office on Monday. The books have all been packed (sort of a mistake; I keep needing them -- where's my Dictionary of Saints? Where's the Medieval Latin Dictionary? Where's the Handy Book of Irish Phrases?*), but I haven't packed any of the art yet, which in my case takes up nearly as much space as the books.
Also there's the tea making equipment. I have enough mugs to feed the entire department, and history, too, if they want to stop by. All has to get packed.
I went upstairs Monday to see how my new office is coming along. It's been painted, and they took the former occupant's curtains down. So far, so good. But they've apparently lost my new furniture. This worries me. I desire that new furniture greatly. I've got plans for that new furniture. I'm going to be a completely different girl when they give me that new furniture. Timely. Coherent. Extraordinarily non-messy.
But if they can't remember where they've put my new furniture, I'm going to move into the new office and remain as I am. They lose my furniture, I lose the graduate files. I think that's fair.
*Now that I mention the Irish phrase book, I'm reminded of another book I now want, since it's come into my head. It also contains Irish phrases, but it's aimed specifically at Irish parents whose children are learning Irish in school, and coming home speaking it to parents who also learned their Irish at school and have forgotten it all. Unlike other handy phrase books, which give you touristy phrases (oh, right. Exactly where are you going to be when you have to say "Please send the chambermaid up with towels and soap" in Irish?), this one tells you how to say things like "Let's play a game!" and "Drink your milk, darling," and, my very favorite, "Get down from there or I'm going to kill you." Unfortunately, the damn thing's packed, and I could use it right now.
Please send the movers up with towels and soap.
On to blither. This week is all about packing and dragging things around. Yesterday Sam and I went to be part of a crew of friends moving a colleague out of her apartment and into her new house. You want to be part of these events when you can, because they become part of the department's collection of stories. I've been hearing for years, for instance, about The Day The Piano Fell On Rick, or The Move That Culminated in Street Footraces, or That Time We Had to Move 94 Boxes Of Books Up Three Flights of Stairs -- wait, this is Pittsburgh and we're English professors; that last describes all the moves.
Well, almost all. Yesterday was something completely different. There were stairs, yes, there were a few boxes of books, but basically there was very little to do. I think we each got one or two boxes to move, and then we ran out of stuff. If you wanted to look busy and useful, and therefore deserve the tasty free lunch, you had to wrest chairs (there were two, I think) away from other colleagues, including your boss, which makes things problematic. This one will go down in departmental history as The Time We Didn't Have To Do Much At All And Were Completely Done in An Hour and a Half But Ate Up All Those Nice Cookies Anyway.
Today I'm going -- eventually -- to go into my office -- what there is left of it -- and pack up more boxes, as the movers are, theoretically, moving my stuff upstairs to my new shiny office on Monday. The books have all been packed (sort of a mistake; I keep needing them -- where's my Dictionary of Saints? Where's the Medieval Latin Dictionary? Where's the Handy Book of Irish Phrases?*), but I haven't packed any of the art yet, which in my case takes up nearly as much space as the books.
Also there's the tea making equipment. I have enough mugs to feed the entire department, and history, too, if they want to stop by. All has to get packed.
I went upstairs Monday to see how my new office is coming along. It's been painted, and they took the former occupant's curtains down. So far, so good. But they've apparently lost my new furniture. This worries me. I desire that new furniture greatly. I've got plans for that new furniture. I'm going to be a completely different girl when they give me that new furniture. Timely. Coherent. Extraordinarily non-messy.
But if they can't remember where they've put my new furniture, I'm going to move into the new office and remain as I am. They lose my furniture, I lose the graduate files. I think that's fair.
*Now that I mention the Irish phrase book, I'm reminded of another book I now want, since it's come into my head. It also contains Irish phrases, but it's aimed specifically at Irish parents whose children are learning Irish in school, and coming home speaking it to parents who also learned their Irish at school and have forgotten it all. Unlike other handy phrase books, which give you touristy phrases (oh, right. Exactly where are you going to be when you have to say "Please send the chambermaid up with towels and soap" in Irish?), this one tells you how to say things like "Let's play a game!" and "Drink your milk, darling," and, my very favorite, "Get down from there or I'm going to kill you." Unfortunately, the damn thing's packed, and I could use it right now.
Please send the movers up with towels and soap.
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