The thing about computer programmers is, they're pretty okay in a one-on-one situation. Once you get them talking about anything other than what they do, they're basically like normal people. It's when they're in a large pack that you have to worry. Last night, I attended the "jug" (Java User's Group) put on by John's company. The room was full of the creatures in their natural habitat, all talking about what they do, pitching their ideas, and--of course-- networking. I found myself talking to a man who told me all about this software he's built that produces-- no shit-- "information currency units." I learned all about how you, as a software developer, can use these "currency units" to "better your company, better your business, better the world." He was so convinced he had a gem of an idea that part of his sales pitch was a promise of "one gram of cannabis, should it ever become legal." I reluctantly took his business card and sent him on his way. Then I headed for the bar.

We arrived safely in San Francisco late last night and, after a 90 mile-an-hour cab ride (no joke, I actually checked) we made it to the Palace Hotel (www.sfpalace.com). It's one of the oldest and grandest hotels in the city and comes with an equally impressive per-night rate-- good thing John's company is footing the bill! Without looking like too much of a tourist, I'll try to take some good pictures while were out and about. For now, here's a photo of the swanky bed!

So I overheard part of a conversation yesterday between a girl and two guys. I wasn't eavesdropping, but she was talking really loudly when she said rather emphatically, "If God didn't want me to do it, God wouldn't have given me this body!" I may have stared, I'm not sure.

Women's historian Carol Berkin once said that she views every documentary she participates in as a correction to Mel Gibson movies. According to Dr. Berkin, "A movie like The Patriot is filled with the most outrageous historical impossibilities—first, Gibson is a rich Southern planter who grows corn. I mean, he lives in South Carolina, the rice-producing capital of America, and it never dawned on him to grow rice? He grows corn, which he couldn’t sell to anybody if his life depended on it. Secondly, his slaves apparently are not slaves, they’re members of a union and they have pension benefits. It’s just ridiculous. But what is most disturbing about the movie is it puts an actor in an 18th-century costume but lets him retain all his 20th-century sensibilities. Everybody in the movie thinks and behaves like a modern person, and the message that comes across to students is that the 18th century is just like the 20th century except that the people have different hairdos."

I was in the archives the other day, reading Catharine Sedgwick's Morals of Manners, published in 1846, and came across some advice that I thought would be fun to share:

“If you hear men or women in the street, or in company, in a car, or a steamer, talking much and loudly of themselves and their own affairs, set them down as ill-bred. They may wear fine clothes, and be in high company, but believe me they are ill-bred.”

“The best seat, my dear girls, is not your right, and should be accepted with some acknowledgment.”

“To help yourself first at a table, and to look out for the nice bits, and the large portions, is coarse selfishness, not to be tolerated in those who assemble around a table, instead of a trough, and who make their food a social blessing.”

My humble apologies to those friends whom I've neglected this summer. I haven't been purposefully avoiding any of you, I've been researching and writing my master's paper. So my days of late have been spent cloistered away in the archives reading children's literature, or sitting at my computer screen, furiously trying to be brilliant. Once this paper is done and defended, I will get back in communication with everyone. Meanwhile, I hope you are all doing well. Much love from sunny Florida,

-e

There's this great little pizza place near our house that my friend Roger recommended to us when we moved to this area. We go there and make small talk with the owner often enough that he knows our names. But recently, I called in an order over the phone. I knew I was speaking to the owner, but I was fairly sure he didn't know who I was. When I was done placing the order, he read it back to me and said, "and is this Emily?". It was then that I knew we had a problem. Obviously, I need to get John to place the order next time!

It's always fun to read teaching evaluations after the semester has ended. For those teachers out there, I recommend sitting while you read over them because inevitably you'll laugh so hard you'll need to steady yourself. One semester a student critiqued not my teaching but my clothing, noting that I needed to dress my age and "wear cute skirts and tops." And this past semester's crop of evaluations didn't fail to make me laugh: one student, when asked "what personal qualities or teaching skills of the instructor contributed to the success of the course?" observed that I was "intellegent." Mind you, these are college students.

When we were in Manhattan, I went to this great eyeglass store and bought a pair of sunglasses. I took them to a place in Gainesville to get my prescription put in them and I just picked them up today. They're a rosy pink color, with pink-brown lenses. So now I'm looking at the world through rose colored glasses. HAHAHA! Okay, that's the last one.