PREDATORY AWARENESS

Fri, 22 Apr 2005 02:19:13 GMT

Broccoli and Nicotine for Everyone!

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just got home from being a bar wench, downtrodden and angry after 8 1/2 hours of serving old men who look down my shirt and don't tip, and young men who look down my shirt and don't tip to open my mail and find out I've been awarded a big giant huge federal grant to support me through my first three years of my PhD.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you know what this means? Beginning in September, I no longer have to decide whether I want to a) eat vegetables; or b) buy cigarettes.

Wed, 13 Apr 2005 01:52:32 GMT

*ahem*...hi.

I know. I KNOW. It's been two and a half months since I posted anything for real. What can I say. Now that I am officially finished my first year of teaching as a university professor (giant, teetering pile of marking notwithstanding)--I find I have a minute to unclench a little and think about returning to my neglected corner of the internet. I've been fairly ridiculously busy, in addition to teaching, I've been offered and accepted a position in a PhD program in a town not far from where I am now. It means moving nearly an hour away from the city I am in...a city I have lived in for 13 years...over half my life. My parents no longer live here, but my brother and his family do.

I am surprisingly unperturbed about moving. This is likely due to my childhood. I may have lived here for the last 13 years, but for the twelve years prior to that, my parents moved us nearly every other year, bouncing from one end of the province to the other as they worked for, and eventually found, the immigrant's dream of middle class comfort. While I hate the process of moving, the actual nitty gritty of finding boxes and wrapping things and finding an apartment...I am actually excited about being somewhere new, meeting new people, finding my way...I think.

Or maybe I'm not unperturbed because I have, in the intervening months since last I wrote, procured a second job which means I have easy access to all the cardboard boxes my heart desires. In addition to being a learned member of the academy (snork!)...and because of the ridiculously small salary I earn from that lofty position, I have taken a second position as a bartender at a bar on campus. It's not as bad as it sounds, it's a private bar--for faculty and grad students only. I am not charged with serving my undergraduate students. Like other facets of my life, I am nearly ridiculously diligent at this task. It is a laid back pub, serving mostly one of a couple dozen draft beer and various single malt scotches to socially inept and jaded graduate students.

Still, I am careful in my tasks. I pull Guiness very slowly, and Stella Artois very patiently and Foster's with my nose haughtily stuck in the air (It's Australian for piss I believe). I am friendly to those drinking Aberlour and Laphroaig, slightly dismissive of those drinking Bell's, and have only snickered outright once at a poor misguided soul who thought they would make time with me by capitalizing on my Caribbean heritage by ordering Malibu Rum.

For those not in the know...proudly telling someone from the Caribbean that they love the brackish, coconut flavoured Malibu Rum is like telling someone Swiss that they love Switzerland and show their affection by eating Toblerone by the dozen, or telling a Brit that they show their loyalty to the crown by wearing a giant felt Union Jack hat...or buying Spice Girls cds. Malibu Rum is a noxious concoction never consumed by any self respecting rum drinker, or person from the Caribbean, it immediately brings to mind images of burnt, blistery, bloated, and brightly coloured cruise ship travellers looking for brightly coloured trinkets and cheap weed on their 'cultural vacation'.

So in short, I am busy, but back. I smell of beer and Spring sunshine and do not respond well to people who neither tip nor drink good liquor.

Off for now....am I in your good books now Dick?

Tue, 01 Feb 2005 12:40:52 GMT

White Jack Rabbit!

I don't know where this morsel of superstition came from, but I grew up knowing that good luck will come to you for the whole month if you wake on the first day of the month and say "White Jack Rabbit" before anything else.

So...luck.

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 23:54:18 GMT

Gay Porn, Floods, Crutches, Dog Hair, and Pediatricians for the Elderly: An update

I have a really tight group of friends that I've had since highschool. We were uncool drama geeks in high school, and we've remained close despite the fact that we are scattered all over my province in Canada-land. To bridge the distance, and to keep everyone in the loop, we began, several years ago, to update each other, once a week...the important and the trivial things that have made up our lives. I am toying with the idea of blogging (damn I hate that word) our updates, as it brings and interesting glimpse into my life and theirs...until I decide that...I can publish in good conscience my own updates...this one, I sent today. I've tried to ensure privacy, mine and theirs...but reveal that heretofore mentioned Third World Country is actually Guyana, South America.

Hi Everyone,

It's update time. I'll apologize in advance for the length of the
email...you might want to print it off, light your scented candles,
pull out your fanciest bath salts, dim the lights and slip into a bath
with it. I DO NOT recommend taking the computer into the tub with
you. Hell, if that doesn't float your boat, slip into the bath
anyhow...we all deserve a little "alone time" now and again.

Where to begin? From Wednesday night to yesterday afternoon, I
house/dog sat for my brother and sister in law. Their house is chock
full of dog hair. It was sneezy fun. I spent the whole time in a
state of abject sloth; you see, they have TWO satellite dishes, one
for the big screen in the basement, and another for the bedroom
upstairs. Heaven forbid they have to talk to one another at any point
in time. For a poor gal without even basic cable...the weekend wasa
bonanza of take-out Chinese food and too much T.V.

The satellite dish in their basement is illegal, so you can watch all
the pay per view stuff for free. I spent a bit of time watching gay
male porn. It was...informative...and uncomfortable looking. But I
did learn some things. For instance: if two guys meet each other in a
bar, and they are attracted to each other, they should double team the
shirtless bartender (i know he was a bartender because he kept wiping
the bar in a suggestive fashion with a towel) on a giant spider web made of leather and chains. Who said true love was dead?

(Note: I refrained from mixing the eating of the take out Chinese food
with the watching of the gay porn...makes the idea of 'dry garlic
ribs' too icky)

In other news, Guyana is underwater. There is a flood of ridiculous
proportions going on (did I write about this already?). Mom and Dad
are fine, dad had the foresight to build up the land before building
the house. For other folks, the situation is pretty bleak. Georgetown
is actually below sea level, though on the coast. Damn the Dutch
colonisers and their dykes. (get it, it's irrigation system
humour...ha.) Mom runs the [well known charity] fund in Guyana, and has been given a whole 100 000 dollars with which to fix the country. That amount MIGHT be able to run current flood relief for about a day or two.
It's pretty bad. People are being forced out of their homes. My
grandmother's house, which is on stilts, has been hit as well. The
water in her yard is up to about the third step of the house. Stay
tuned for reports of cholera, dysentary and other fun diseases of poor
infrastructure and standing water.

Speaking of the Grandmother, she's in the hospital. Actually, she's
due to be released today. She's alright. She has this old fashioned
belief that if it is raining (which it has been doing since December),
it is therefore VERY cold. The remedy to this coldness is to limit
drinking liquids (which make you cold) and bundle up in as many
clothes as possible. She became dehydrated in no time. The nurse,
who goes to the house twice a day to give her her shots for her
diabetes, assumed she had a fever, but instead of giving her Tylenol,
the nurse gave her Tylenol Cold and Sinus...for nighttime. The woman
slept for two days straight more or less, and she didn't spend her
waking hours taking in any liquid. Long story short, Mom and Dad saw
her, recognized she was dehydrated, pumped her full of liquids, and
then on the advice of their close friend, who is a doctor, admitted
her to the hospital for observation for several days (to make sure her
diabetes, blood pressure didn't get out of control, and because it was
easier to monitor her there than in her house which was difficult to
access). She's fine--but did I mention that their doctor friend is a
pediatrician...so she was admitted into the pediatrics ward...and
she's 85?

Also, in bizarre health news, Dad is on crutches--due to a mysterious
pain in one leg which has been recurring since New Years Day--which
probably would have been fixed with a couple of days of bedrest.
Instead of bedrest, Dad decided to oversee the building of a giant
factory for a friend of theirs. (did I mention that he has no
training in this, that he is a banker with half a degree in physics?)
This means running up and down ladders on a construction site for
hours a day...so, at least he's not stubborn. He's totally aggravated
whatever hurt his knee to begin with, and so now he's a grumpy giant
with wooden crutches. At least he can use them as oars/flotation
devices if he falls down.

So that's about it...as for me--I am still looking for a second J-O-B...I
have come to the horrifying conclusion that if I want an interview for
any of the low-stress clerical/admin jobs that I am looking for, I'll
probably have to lie and say that I do not have an MA. So...that's
time and money well spent.

I miss and love you all.

~Pred

Sun, 23 Jan 2005 20:56:57 GMT

News Flash: Predatory Awareness is ONE THOUSAND years old.

On the day the first written assignment was due in my introductory class, one of my 75 students approached nervously as the rest of the class filed out. He was young, about 17, and dressed very carefully in deceptively expensive clothing designed to make him look like a vagrant. He was accompanied by a friend, a similarly shaggy 17 year old white guy who dealt with his nervousness over approaching the professor by quickly cycling through a series of postures designed to make him look like a gangsta rappa.

Guy #1: Professor Predatory Awareness, um…my printer wasn’t working so good. I’m not sure you can read what I wrote. Can I show you and you can tell me if it’s ok?

Me: Sure—just fish it out of the pile and I’ll take a look.

There ensued thirty seconds of Guy#1 frantically fumbling through the pile of papers. Clearly I was making him nervous. I turned to his friend.

Me: How did you find the assignment?

Guy #2: (Usher two step, 50cent crotch grab, Snoop Dogg head tilt, ball cap removed and replaced with lightening speed). Yo, it was cool, you know—like in high school yo—they never ask us what we think…so, you know.

Guy #1: Here is is, Mrs…I mean Professor….here.

I look at the assignment, it was legible, but the print had some strange lines through the letters.

Me: This looks fine, though your printer was doing some weird things. Did you use a Dot Matrix printer?

Guy # 1: What? I…what?

Guy#2: Dude! That’s sick, I totally don’t know what she’s talking about!

Guy # 1: I don’t remember what kind of professor—I mean printer I have.

Me: That’s fine, this looks fine, I’ll have no problem reading it. I’ll see you guys next week.

As they are walking away I can hear them mumbling.

Guy # 2: A dot what? Dude, what was she talking about?

It’s official. I am ANCIENT*. University freshmen have never heard of dot matrix printers. My quarter century is weighing heavily on me.

*I recognize I’m really young, especially to be doing what I do…however I still remember learning how to type on a typewriter in high school. I think that gives me some cred? Right?

Sigh…

Wed, 15 Dec 2004 00:31:18 GMT

*poke*

erm..hi. Remember me? It's been a long time....been busy. I'm sorry. It's been a Kafka-esque type of busy. Been filling out forms, constructing forms for others to fill out. I've been learned how to gather my 25 years around me like a suit of armour and squeeze every bit of authority I can out of them. I thought I needed them. I thought I needed every second of every one of those twenty five years. You need them a lot when a fair chunk of your students are older than you. Mostly I've learned that I don't need the armour. I just need to work.

It has been nothing short of magical. I have never been more exhausted in my life. I work seven days a week and I don't resent it. I would work more if I could. I have been planning lectures, marking papers, applying for ridiculous scholarships and looking into Phd programs.

I love it. Every stressful, coffee guzzling, ridiculously low paying second. I'm not being facetious. I've found something I love. The bullshit and the long hours and the diminished social life seem worth it when, like this morning, after my class wrote their final exam-several students shook my hand and said thank-you and told me that I changed the way that they look at the world.

I smiled, unable to say that they have done the same for me.

Mon, 25 Oct 2004 01:49:19 GMT

Math related paralysis.

Besides creating my very first mid-term ever, trying to figure out the salient points of world systems theory and the essential bits of postcolonial thought--to teach to the young minds, I am also in the process of applying for huge grants for Phd studies next year.

The applications for these do-dads are enormous, meticulous, Kafkaesque in their non-sensical gibberish. More than that, they give the applicant a teeny amount of space...sometimes as little as 350 words, to outline what your research plan is. My graduate chair is pushing for me to be nominated by my university to apply for a scholarship that is given to only 15 people in all of Canada-land per year. It's good for $200 000 over four years. To be clear, I am a student, well, a teacher now, but I make less now than I did last year with my Teaching Assistantship and scholarships combined. 200 000 dollars, divided by 350 words in application. This means that every word is potentially worth $571.48.

Do you know how hard it is to write something when you have done that sort of horrendous mathmatics? Each time my fingers approach the keyboard, they lock up. I try to outline the theoretical underpinnings of what I plan to do....nothing comes out. The methodology I plan to use...nothing again. I am paralysed by the possible importance of what I am to write.

eep.