Something For Everyone

I was off work on Wednesday, and I was excited that this would allow me to watch the U.S. vs. Algeria game on my own TV (instead of my work computer) as well as Andy Roddick's second round match at Wimbledon.

Andy's match was up first at 8am.  He lost the first set but was playing much more solidly thereafter.  By the time the US game came on, I thought he was in control of the match, so I dialed the match up on my laptop (thank you for existing, ESPN3) and changed the TV to the soccer game.  I learned that given the tempo of a soccer game and the breaks between points and games in a tennis match, it is possible to watch both simultaneously without really missing anything too important.  Andy won his match in 4 sets, looking strong after that first set mishap.

In the first half of the soccer game, I felt like the US controlled the ball, so I thought they had a good chance to win though the score was nil-nil at halftime.  I felt like they got ripped off when another goal was disallowed (beautiful goal, too!) but at least this time it was just a bad off-sides call.  Last time, who the heck knows what happened?  I liked Coach Bradley's suggestion that when a referee regrets calling a foul, he sometimes decides he is going to prevent that foul from changing the game, and so the referee might have disallowed the goal in order to reverse the call on the foul against Altidore.  But who knows.

By halftime, I was aware that the Isner/Mahut match that had been suspended due to darkness on Tuesday night was still going, so I flipped the tv over to watch that.  At that point, it was not quite record breaking yet, but still getting very interesting.  By now, you've all heard about this unprecedented match.  When the soccer came back on, I flipped back over.  In the second half, I felt like the US had quite a few great scoring chances, but they just couldn't convert.  As the minutes ticked away, I was trying to console myself about the failure to advance, telling myself that if they couldn't manage a single win, they didn't deserve to move forward.  Then time ran out and they announced there were about 4 minutes of stoppage time left.  That's a lot, I thought!  And then I saw Landon Donovan bring the ball all the way down the field, pass it off to Altidore, and score a goal because he followed Dempsey's deflected shot.  (Always follow your shots, Dad and Bart told us repeatedly growing up.)  I screamed!  I jumped!  I shouted GOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLL!  I freaked Oscar out!  I waited for it to be called back!  It wasn't!  I thought Coach Bradley looked like he wanted to go jump on the pile!  I realized the US won the group!  I wondered if this could be the game that American kids will cite in 15 years when they're leading the US team to victory!  I ran out of exclamatory things to do!

Update: Want to relive the excitement?  Check out this video!

I hoped for Lando to do the shirt swap thing.  (He didn't.  Bummer.)  I liked his post game interview, in which he rubbed his eyes as if to stop tears, and then managed to compose himself to give a great wrap-up.  I liked that he said "you can't miss from there."  I liked when he said "Hi Bianca" and blew her a kiss at the end of the interview.  (He is divorced from this Bianca Kajhlich, but I like her, and I like that he speaks well of her despite the split.  He credits her with helping him realize that a lot of people work really hard to try to earn the opportunities that he was handed because he's so talented.  And I believe Bianca could take any of the British WAGs, any day of the week.)

And then I switched back to the Isner/Mahut match, at which point I entered some kind of trance.  I could not believe what I was seeing.  I could not leave the couch.  I never felt strongly that the match was going to end.  I was convinced it would get called again on account of darkness, even though I started watching it about noon my time, and it didn't get called until about 4:10.  I couldn't believe Mahut was still leaping around.  I felt sure that Isner was nearly passing out.  As I neared the end of my race Sunday, I experienced a sensation that I can only describe as "out of my head."  It's sort of a combination of fatigue and adrenaline, and it's a thrilling sensation, but I also worry that it is one step away from passing out, so I try to get rid of it as quickly as possible.  When they interviewed Isner after play was suspended the second time, I am fairly sure he was "out of his head."  How long had he been in this altered mental and physical state?  Did he have any idea what was going on?  I thought to myself, Andy and the US were playing today?  At that point, those contests both seemed like ancient history.

(Isner and Roddick on the changeover during their semi-final at the Legg Mason last year.  Andy got him that time, but Isner won their matchup in the US Open.)

So today I tuned in at work (thanks again, ESPN3) to see Isner finally topple Mahut 70-68.  Truth be told, I thought Mahut deserved to win the match even though I'm an Isner fan.  Mahut held up better physically, and since he was serving second, he was under more pressure the entire time.  He heard the phrase "Isner leads" 70 times, on every single changeover.  Had he broken Isner, he still would have had to serve out a final game to earn the win.  When Isner broke Mahut, he could collapse onto the court.  I think it's fitting, though, that Isner won, because I think he's at the front end of a notable career.  While we'll always remember that Mahut played a part in this legendary match, I think we'll look back on Isner's successful career and say, "Remember when he introduced himself to the world by holding serve 70 times in a row?"

John Isner on the practice courts at the Legg Mason, August 2009.  Yes, he's tall!

Last week, I watched a documentary film on ESPN called June 17, 1994.  On this day in American sports, the Rangers held their ticker tape parade for winning the Stanley Cup, the Knicks played the Rockets in the NBA finals, Chicago hosted the opening ceremony for the 1994 World Cup, and OJ Simpson took that famous ride in the white Bronco.  The film was awesome, and is evidently showing again on June 30, July 15, and July 31.  I'll long think of June 23, 2010 as another epic day in American sports for much more positive reasons!  And I was home to watch it all!

("Something For Everyone" is an essay from David Sedaris's 1998 collection, Naked.  After graduation, he finds himself unemployed, and he watches some TV before he begins working on an old lady's house renovation.  She says she's so old that it hurts her arm to raise a paintbrush.  I cringe to think how bad it must have hurt Isner to raise his arm when he woke up this morning.)

Having a Good Cry

I am trying to decide between two beginnings for this blog entry.  The choices are:

I cried during my Master's Capstone Defense today.  There, I said it.
-or-
Hello.  My name is Liz, and I cannot handle positive responses to my work in a professional manner.

Everything was going fine.  I talked about the course the project has taken over the past year, which parts of the current draft I am most pleased with, and which elements still feel inadequate.  I talked about how I see this Cather project as the perfect point of entry for the larger project I imagine as my dissertation.  Everyone seemed pleased.

Then my reader wanted to explain his criticism of the paper, but fearing I would take his criticism too hard, he launched into an explanation about how proud he is of the work I've done before eventually getting to the criticism.

This was the problem.  I believe I could have reacted to an eviscerating line of criticism with composure, but I couldn't manage this "you should be proud of yourself" montage.  I am proud of myself.  I just don't quite yet know how to handle other people being impressed with my accomplishments and vocalizing that feeling so definitively.  I started tearing up during the "let's celebrate Liz's hard work" narrative, I started wiping tears during the explanation of what's missing from my argument, and I could not keep it together when it was my own turn to respond, either.

Afterward, I felt like I had to explain.  I wanted them to know that I wasn't crying because I can't handle criticism.  My (female) director told me she thinks it is a gendered problem, and that for a multitude of reasons, women in academia often find it much more difficult to handle praise than criticism.  Then she told me to "stop crying or people will think we didn't like your project."  The first words out of my (male) reader's mouth were: "I was too nice to you at the beginning, wasn't I?  I realized that after the fact."  So I think they both understand.  I'm mostly embarrassed because there has to be a third person in the defense, and since my project's director is also the current director of graduate studies, she asked the professor who will replace her in that capacity next year to attend.  So now I feel like the woman who will be my new graduate studies director is going to forever think of me as "the cryer."

I've been thinking about this all afternoon, despite my best attempts to put it out of my mind.  I can't let it go.  Just yesterday in class we were discussing the feminist work of Adrienne Rich, and I was appreciative that we've come so far in the past 30 years that we can actually offer criticisms about the limited scope of some of her essays.  But maybe we haven't come quite as far as I thought.

The other day, I watched my recording of the cast of Glee on Oprah.  While the show's creator, Ryan Murphy, explained why he had described Lea Michele's voice as a "once in a generation voice," the camera panned to Ms. Michele, whose gaze was firmly directed straight down at her Louboutins.  Before starring in Glee, she appeared on Broadway in Les Miserables, Fiddler on the Roof, Ragtime, and originated her role in Spring Awakening.  Sure, she's only 23, by why the inability to appreciate recognition for her vocal prowess?

And just yesterday, I attended a lecture given by my project's director.  She was visibly uncomfortable when the (male) professor who introduced her ran through some of the highlights of her lengthy list of professional accomplishments.  She began by thanking us for coming and then said she couldn't help but feel like we graduate students should be reading or writing instead.  And she apologized that her talk was going to take 45 minutes, even though I was expecting it to run 60 and would have gladly listened to the additional 15.  What gives?

I guess it should make me feel better that this anxiety puts me in the company of other women whose accomplishments I respect and admire.  But I don't like that we feel so uncomfortable with this kind of recognition.  And I'm the only one who cried.  Perhaps I should have adopted the stare-straight-at-my-shoes approach.  Or, at the very least, I should have brought some tissues.

Tomorrow, when my embarrassment about being reduced to tears is less fresh, I hope I will feel relieved about reaching the end of such an exhausting project.  Except that it's never really the end.  I already know what revisions I'll be making on the paper over the summer so I can try to get it published in a major peer-edited journal (which my reader assures me is a reasonable expectation).  I guess the fact that I look forward to tackling that revision, after I've had some time to decompress, is a sign that I've chosen the right career path.

(I read Robyn Warhol's Having a Good Cry for my narrative theory class last spring.  I remember recognizing it at Warhol's attempt to reclaim effeminate reactions to pop-culture texts as legitimate and meaningful.  I can't help feeling like I now need to read it again.)

The Golden Apples

I'm supposed to be writing a paper on Eudora Welty's The Golden Apples. The other day I mentioned this to Nate, who said "Isn't that from Greek mythology or something?" Turns out- yes. So thanks, Nate and Wikipedia.

I learned that Atalanta's golden apples are what got her off track. She didn't want to get married, so she said anyone who wanted to marry her had to beat her in a foot race. Some guy came in with his golden apples from Aphrodite and threw them in her way, so she was distracted by them and he beat her. Darn you, shiny, beautiful objects.

I have a lot to do this week, including this paper. I also have to give a presentation tomorrow on the same paper that I'll be presenting at the Narrative Conference in April. The problem is, there are also a lot of golden apples. These include:

1) The perfect home manicure.I have officially perfected the home manicure. The key is Orly Sec'n'Dry quick dry topcoat. The topcoat makes the polish dry to the touch almost instantly, even after two or three coats of polish. This weekend, my mother-in-law, Patti, asked me which OPI polishes I've had my eye on. A few nights ago, she dropped off three brand new bottles to congratulate me for all my hard work so far. I'm currently wearing OPI Bubble Bath, which is Giada De Laurentiis's signature color and quite possibly my new go-to neutral. I'm polished and ready for tomorrow's presentation. (Though my paper could use another run-through.)

2) Tuesday night, Billy was meeting friends for drinks at Applebee's. How could I pass up Tequila Lime Chicken?

3) Last night, Maryland played Duke at home on senior night. I didn't have tickets, so I had to catch as much of the game on TV as possible. Now the Terps have won 12 of their last 14, can win a share of the ACC title, and have cracked the top 25!

4) Tonight, Jim and Pam are having their baby! (Yes, I realize they are fictional people. Don't you realize that much of my time is devoted to fictional people?)

5) Tomorrow, Billy is coming to watch my presentation, so he and I are getting dinner with Jamie and Katie afterward.

6) I've agreed to play on my friend and fellow Tolkien enthusiast Peter's intramural soccer team, and we have a game Sunday. In College Park.

7) Sunday is packed, actually. Sunday night, Danielle and I WILL be watching the Oscars. Sorry, Golden Apples.

Somehow, it will all get done. I hope.

The Downward Path to Wisdom

Though it's not well documented in this blog, my interest in pop culture is no big secret. I'm convinced that if Nate, Vickie, and I could compete in the competition they used to have on Vh1 called the "World Series of Pop Culture," we could easily make the finals. Although I've kicked my Perez Hilton addiction, I still rarely make it through a day without checking people.com and/or eonline.com. Some people seem to think that this interest I have in celebrity culture runs contradictory to my "serious" interest in pursuing a career in academia, but I don't see why I can't have both. Michel Foucault seems to have managed an interest in bondage and sado-masochism while still establishing himself as one of the most important thinkers of the 20th century, so I don't think I'm the first one to be interested in dramatically different activites. And while I don't appreciate celebrities telling me how to vote, I don't think that professional thinkers like Foucault have the monopoly on wisdom.

Today, I have been thinking about a few influential quotes made by celebrities. Last week, Billy and I tuned in to watch Conan O'Brien's final Tonight Show, and I was moved by the "goodbye" message he delivered. Though he waited several years for his dream job and held it for only less than a year, he signed off by saying, "Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen." I don't know if this is true; I hope it is. I do know, though, that everything good I've ever gotten in my life has resulted from a combination of working really hard and being kind, and some amazing things have happened to me. He can't be all wrong.

This morning, I woke up early to watch the quarterfinal match between Andy Roddick and Marin Cilic I had DVRed overnight. Andy hung in there in his last match against Fernando Gonzalez, and though he admitted to getting a fair amount of good luck, I believe it was his mental toughness that carried him through. I've seen Gonzo play in person, and he doesn't have that determination. I watched him lie down on the court on a hot day. Really-- del Potro climbed over the net to help him up. Today, Roddick's determination was not enough to get him the win. After losing the first two sets to Cilic, he was able to even the score by winning the next two despite a shoulder injury that made his fingers go numb. He was broken early in the last set, and you have to hand it to Cilic for staying in the match mentally after seeing a 2 set lead disappear. Watching Andy lose this morning reminded me of what he said immediately after losing to Federer in last year's Wimbledon final. I can't imagine what it must be like to be asked to speak publicly after the most devastating moment in your professional career. You might remember that when Federer was forced to do this after losing last year's Australian Open Final, he said "God- it is killing me," pushed the microphone away, and broke down in tears. There were tears behind Andy's eyes when he lost, too. But when the interviewer suggested that tennis can be a cruel sport, Roddick said "No, I'm one of the lucky few that gets cheered for. So thank you for that, I appreciate it," before saying he still hopes to get his name on the trophy one day.

Andy gets in a practice session at the Legg Mason Tennis Classic in DC, August 2009.

While I was getting ready for work, I was listening to Billy Joel's "Vienna" on repeat, per Anne-Marie's suggestion. In the song, he sings "Slow down, you're doing fine. You can't be everything you want to be before your time," and "You got your passion, you got your pride, but don't you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true."

As I was mulling all of these things over, I remember that when I chose my classes for this semester, I promised myself I would enjoy it. It could be my last semester in grad school for quite some time, so I intentionally chose classes I thought would be fun. I mean, look at all these books I get to read:

Left: ENGL631: Readings in American Literature: Women's Writers of the 20th Century
Right: ENGL748b: Seminar in American Literature: Color Lines and American Literature, 1840-1880.

So this is the new goal: remember that I promised myself I would enjoy it. I might not get into the PhD program, but I have to try to keep the anxiety from causing me to break a promise to myself.

("The Downward Path to Wisdom" is a short story by Katherine Anne Porter and currently available in her Collected Stories. It's mostly a story about a young boy and perceptions across a generational divide.)

Waiting for Godot

Today while I was on the Arc Trainer (the Elliptical's evil step-sister), it occurred to me that I've spent the past 27 years psyching myself up. But what do you do when you need to psych yourself down?

A lot of music is dedicated to helping you psych yourself up. For several weeks before my PhD application was due, I was listening to the Glee CDs on repeat. A sampling of lyrics from these tracks include:

-"I'm through accepting limits 'cause someone says they're so. Some things I cannot change, but 'til I try, I'll never know." (Defying Gravity)

-"Don't tell me not to fly; I've simply got to. If someone takes a spill, it's me and not you. Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade?" (Don't Rain on My Parade)

-"Don't stop believin'-- hold on to that feeling." (Don't Stop Believing)

In the midst of composing my writing sample, I probably took a break to play to "Don't Rain on My Parade" no fewer than 20 times.

These songs aren't much help during the waiting, though. If there is a song along the lines of "I know I'm qualified, I believe I deserve it, but I'd like to prepare myself for the worst possible outcome," I'm not familiar with it. I'm not used to waiting for other people to make decisions that impact my life in such significant ways.

Pressure is mounting. I got my letter from Calvert County Public Schools last week asking if I am coming back to teach or extending my leave of absence. The semester starts back up on Monday. I received notice that I'm presenting a paper at our graduate conference, an event which all admitted PhD students are encouraged to attend in order to get a feel for the program.

For lack of a better approach, I have adopted the "try not to think about it" strategy. It's not going so well, but I've found a few good distractions.

1) The Australian Open. Thank you, tennis schedulers, for bringing me this glorious two week mental oasis, even if it is on in the middle of the night. Thank you, Andy Roddick, for making it through at least the first week. Kim Clijsters, any advice for me about preparing for a colossal disappointment? You didn't see it coming? Okay, thanks anyway.

2) Award season. So far, the Golden Globes and the Screen Actor's Guild Awards. Glee is doing surprisingly well. I was happy to see Sandra Bullock win for The Blind Side. My friends and I can discuss the fashion and beauty decisions ad nauseam.

3) Internet. For example, yesterday I came across this posting about what Pi Phis at Cornell are allowed to wear during rush (unintentionally hilarious). Today, I looked through the "Famous Literary Drunks and Addicts." Please do check it out: it lists each artist's vice(s), and for Hunter S. Thompson it simply says, "Everything." Plus, the photo of Faulkner is awesome.

4) Nail polish. Today I spent who knows how long preparing a guest post for my friend Brooke's nail polish blog, in which I admit to having four shades of nearly identical nail polish. Last night, I dragged Billy to Annapolis mall to pick up the fourth and most perfect shade. I'll let you know when Brooke publishes my guest post, but for now, check out the giveaway she's having!

5) Literature. The blog is, after all, called "Literature is Where I Go." The other day, I started reading A Jury of Her Peers. It's fantastic: the more I read, the more I wish that a) I'd started it when Patti gave it to me for Christmas, and b) I'd had it when I was teaching American Lit. (It's just been released in paperback if you were waiting to pick it up. I'm thankful to have the hardcover, though, because I'll use it forever.) Today, I began James Fenimore Cooper's The Deerslayer. So far, Natty Bummpo is annoying me with his self-righteous piety, and I think a lot must happen in this book before he can become the dreamy rogue portrayed by Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. It's set along the banks of Lake Otsego, where Billy, Dad, and I visited this summer, so that is making the lengthy descriptions of the landscape more interesting than tedious.

6) Taking funny pictures of Oscar, who is enjoying the extra attention.

Thankfully, my classes start up in a few days, so I'll be busy again. Any songs you think might help me through, though, would be appreciated. : )

(Waiting for Godot is a play by Samuel Beckett. In it, Estragon and Vladamir are, naturally, waiting for Godot, who (spoiler alert) never arrives. I'm a little frightened to admit that these past few weeks have indeed felt like the inside of a story conceived by Beckett. I hope that once the decision is made I can get back to a nice, somewhat linear, causally-related storyline.)

Holidays on Ice

Happy Holidays, everybody! I hope all of you will enjoy time with family and friends in the coming weeks and that you get to enjoy some restorative time away from your respective "work" responsibilities.

I have been trying to do something for the past week that I am not very good at: relaxing. I am prone to experiencing a certain degree of melancholy when I am sitting at home with nothing that needs to be done. I used to lose my mind by the end of my summer vacation. But this week, aside from being done with school, two things have forced me to spend time at home doing "nothing": I have been sick, and for several days I was actually snowed in.

I have reached the point where I am now tired of doing nothing and ready to rejoin the regular world, just in time to celebrate Christmas with Billy's family before heading west so that we can celebrate the holidays with my own. Perfect timing.

But, if for no other reason than to allow myself to look back on this week to remind myself that I can enjoy doing nothing, I recount to you the episodes of "nothing" I have been enjoying for the past 7 days:

-I have been reading for pleasure. I finished Hunger by Lan Samantha Chang, which easily earns the title of "Most Recommended" book from my reading assignments this semester. It includes a novella, which we were assigned, and several short stories, which were not assigned and thus not read until this week. But the stories are delicious and were the perfect way to begin this week of melancholy-tinged nothing. I have also begun a memoir which I am really enjoying, but which I will not name here because I am reading it in order to make sure it is a good gift to give Mom for Christmas. I also read, cover to cover, my favorite issue of Esquire that comes all year, the "Meaning of Life" issue. If you will be traveling this holiday season, it would be a great one to pick up for the flight.

-I have been sitting in front of my television. This has included catching up with Kelly Ripa and Ellen Degeneres, who had both disappeared from my life starting in August. I also watched three episodes of Glee, the Biggest Loser "where are they now?" special I missed several weeks ago, and the Carrie Underwood Variety Special (though I had to fast-forward the "variety" bits. Sorry, Carrie). I completed the requisite holiday season viewing of "Love Actually," and cried this year during the funeral scene upon realizing that Liam Neeson actually did lose his wife this year. Normally I only cry during the scenes with Laura Linney. Billy and I enjoyed the annual viewing of "Elf" together, which has been our tradition ever since we saw it six years ago on our first date. (Six years?! Wow.)

-I have been sleeping. Whenever the fancy strikes me. This, too, has been delicious.

-I've been playing with Oscar. He has been rather spoiled this past week, but he deserves it.

-I've been spending time with Billy!! Without ever having to think about what homework assignment will have to be sacrificed in order to enjoy time with my husband.

-I have NOT been exercising. This has been the only part that sucks. I am tired of being sick, and am glad I am finally starting to feel better. This sickness has allowed me, though, to discover the blissful relief of the Neti Pot, which I might continue using even when I am well.

Just in case you were beginning to think I have been too indulgent, I did actually have to report to work two days. I had to work from home a third day even though campus was closed because of the snow. This return to work allowed me to collect the office Christmas cards, however, which were surprisingly personal and kind this year. I generally view my job as a means-to-an-ends-- a necessary evil that allows me to pursue the work that is really important to me. I don't find the work I do rewarding in itself, but it was nice to hear that my supervisors appreciate my hard work, recognize my efficiency, and enjoy having me in the office. It helped me recognize the ways that my work facilitates the department's ability to do the work that I do think is important, so I am thankful for that, as well.

With that, I am signing off for the year, and looking forward to sharing more with you in 2010!

(Holidays on Ice is David Sedaris's collection of holiday short stories, which includes the particularly hilarious but disturbing The SantaLand Diaries. He also read a version of this story on NPR's This American Life, and you can listen to the whole episode here.)

Perspective, Take 2

Tonight, Billy informed me that he will not be spending any time doing homework. I've decided that this is a great idea!

So instead, after deciding that my last post was somewhat depressing, I bring you a list of 5 happy things that cheer me up in the midst of this anxiety-inducing semester.

1) Pictures of these two little ones:

Josh, 1 year old, is a big Michigan Football fan. I bet he is pretty germ free for a baby, because his mom is my college roommate Beth, hand-washer extraordinairre.

Clara, 9 months old, might be the happiest baby I have ever seen. Also, she lives in Hawaii, so the backgrounds in her photos are always torturously enviable. Her mom and dad are my old friends, Krista and Jordan.

2) Glee. I drop everything to watch this show every week (Wed, 9pm). Every episode so far has been genius. A football team performing Single Ladies? (Skip ahead to 2:40). Absurdly delicious.

3) Rob Dyrdek. The first season of his new show, Fantasy Factory, took a while to get rolling. Season 2 has yet to disappoint. Full episodes are available online, and Vickie gave me seasons 1 and 2 of Rob & Big on DVD, so I can get my Rob fix whenever I want. He makes me laugh until I cry. Last night I dreamed that he died-- talk about a nightmare. Also, I couldn't find anything to wear to his funeral.

4) Crisp fall days that are the appropriate temperature for an open sunroof.

5) Discovering that my reading assignments for the week includes a poetry collection written by Oregonian Legend, Lawson Fusao Inada. I'm reading Legends From Camp. I don't even like poetry very much, and I couldn't put it down. Did you ever think someone could make Fresno, CA seem exotic and exciting? Mission accomplished.

(As a side note, Billy is even better than any of these things.)