Yesterday, John and I were playing Zelda (see previous blog) when the phone rang. He had to take the call, so I got the controls for awhile. I stumbled around a small village for a bit, chatting up the locals, and then I came across a small garden area that had seven kitties in it. While I wondered about the purpose (game-wise, that is) of those kitties, I discovered that I could pick them up! I picked up one and walked around the garden with it, and the other kitties followed me. So I gave them each a turn. When John got off the phone, I excitedly shared my discovery with him. "The game lets you hold kitties!!!" He shook his head at me in dismay. "Clearly this is the wrong game for you."

A few years ago when John announced that he wanted to buy a Nintendo GameCube that came with a bunch of Zelda games, I thought he was seriously damaged. I mean, I wondered if he had been struck in the head with a blunt object. It seemed completely inane that John, who (despite blips of evidence to the contrary) is a pretty practical guy, would want to spend $100 on a game from his childhood that he wouldn't have time for anyway. When are you going to have time to play it?, was one of my big objections. But that was before. Now I understand: you make time. The game makes you make time. It sucks you in completely. When he first brought it home, I'd sit on the couch reading and occasionally mocking him. Then it happened. "I still can't believe you're wasting your time on this. It's just so... WATCH OUT FOR THE BAD GUY! Phew, that was close! Hey, can I try?" That was it. The beginning of the end. The GameCube bundle came with four games: The Legend of Zelda, The Adventure of Link, Ocarina of Time, and Majora's Mask. A few weeks ago, we finally finished playing Majora's Mask, having started it about a year ago. It takes gobs of time to play, and we really don't have that much time to devote to it, which is why it took a year. But once we'd finished it, I felt a certain... emptiness. I was really bummed that we didn't have another Zelda game to play. Fortunately, Nintendo released their latest Zelda adventure this year: The Twilight Princess. I ordered it on Amazon and it arrived in time for us to start playing it last weekend. This one is going to take us MUCH longer than just a year!

Talking to my friend Amy the other night on the phone, we got to talking about the "in" crowd. When Amy and I worked together, we got accused of being the "in" crowd in our office. When she reminded me of that, I couldn't help but laugh. The "in" crowd? Setting aside the fact that the idea of an "in" crowd in that office is moronic (we were working for the state, at jobs we hated, making a smidge above the poverty line-- how "in" could we have been??), I had to laugh at the thought of ever being a part of the "in" crowd. Certainly not in elementary school (I've already talked about my issues with sweat pants, and let's not forget that I got glasses and braces in the same year). Certainly not in junior high (still with the braces and glasses, but add a clarinet and a dorky laugh). And definitely not in high school (no braces or glasses, and I'd worked on the laugh, but I continued to be a massive band geek). Amy informed me that she, too, was exempt from the "in" crowd during her formative years. When I thought about it, I couldn't think of a single person that I'm friends with today who would have qualified for "in" crowd status. So here's my question: what ever happened to those people? You know-- the jocks and cheerleaders from high school. Where are they now?

Hands down, the funniest blog I've ever seen. I came across a link to this blog from another blog that I read regularly and, while reading all of the archived posts, I laughed so hard I cried. Several times! Check it out, for a good laugh:

http://awkwardthingsisaytogirls.com/

Over the past four years of graduate school (has it been that long?), I've developed a way of thinking about research papers. I like to call it the "I'm not an idiot" paradigm. The gist of it is that in history research papers, you have to give a nod to the work of others that is related to your own. You have to demonstrate that you are aware that the arguments exist, even if you don't intend to go into great deal about them. In other words, you have to prove to your professor or advisor or committee that you are, in fact, not an idiot. I'm sorting through a lot of my own "I am not an idiot" sections in my prospectus right now.

Most people know that I'm deaf in one ear. It used to bother me a lot, but now it doesn't so much. Hell, half the time I don't even remember which ear it is. But despite the fact that it has ceased bothering me, it continues to present its own unique set of problems. The biggest, of course, is that I frequently misunderstand what people are saying to me. As in, [First person]: "Hi!" [Me]: "I'm fine, how are you?" Or something along those lines. But often, it's a lot worse. One of the most cringe-worthy examples came a few summers ago when I was TA-ing for a favorite professor of mine. Said professor and his three TAs (including me) were in the big history lecture hall, administering an exam. The deal is, you spread out around the room so that you can catch any cheaters and answer any questions. A girl (not one of my students) raised her hand in my area and I went over to help her. This is what I heard:

Girl: "Can I look at my notes?"
Me: "No!" <Insert me looking at her like she's insane.>
Girl: "... seriously?!?"
Me: "Uh, yeah."

And I walked away, confident that I had executed my duties perfectly. But as I walked away, I heard her sniffling and I paused to reconsider the conversation. I looked back. Clearly she was having issues with her nose. And then it dawned on me. The real conversation:

Girl: "Can I go blow my nose?"
Me: "No!" <Looking, I'm sure, like an asshole.>
Girl: "... seriously?!?" <Looking at me like I'm, yeah, an asshole.>
Me: "Uh, yeah."

Once I figured it out, I hurried over to her and explained that I'd misunderstood her and told her that of course she could leave to take care of things. While I was explaining myself, she continued to glower at me. Like I said, being deaf in one ear presents its own unique problems.

Reading over the latest poll for Time Magazine's top 100 most influential people last night, I couldn't help but notice that Angelina Jolie (#9) and Brad Pitt (#13) are beating people like Al Gore and Nelson Mandela (#s 23 and 24, respectively). One could claim, of course, that Angelina Jolie's work in underprivileged countries is deserving of note. And it is. But Brad Pitt? Come on, give me a break! He's even beating out Pope Benedict XVI (#81)! Now, I'm not Catholic. But plenty of people are (I'd wager, in fact, more people than are influenced by Brad Pitt). What's perhaps more disturbing is the news that, thusfar, Rachael Ray (#57) is more influential than Vladimir Putin (#68). I take solace in the fact that Stephen Colbert is in the top five. That, at least, makes sense.

I got this job ad via our department's listserv and I had to share:

"ARE YOU A HISTORY BUFF WITH A DESIRE FOR ADVENTURE?

BRAINBOX ENTERTAINMENT is casting stunt junkie, history buffs to host a new television series. If you are not afraid of physical stunts, and would love to experience history first-hand, then this may be your chance of a lifetime! We are seeking both males and females, all ethnicities. But you must be an adrenaline junkie and be fascinated by history. Are you a carpenter? Are you a culinary artist? Please let us know what you abilities and special interests are-- this is what will make you an asset to this team!"

All I can figure is that they must not know a lot about their target employees. History graduate students, by and large, are not "adrenaline junkies," nor are they likely to be skilled in carpentry (as that involves, I understand, wielding some pretty serious tools with great precision without being maimed).

Go to maps.google.com. Click on Get Directions. Put New York in the first box and London in the second. Scroll down to step #24. :)

There are days when I yearn for a domestic life. Not many, mind you, and I certainly wouldn't want a full-time domestic life. But on days like yesterday, things like laundry and vacuuming sound really good. After weeks of furious editing and 17-hour days (no exaggeration), I turned in my prospectus to my committee. Today I'm eagerly anticipating a day of domestic bliss: I'll do laundry, I'll vacuum, I'll clean the house, I might even bake. And I can't wait!

Though I've known for about a week now, I haven't wanted to tell too many people (since I wasn't supposed to know, really). But now I can: I won an award! It's the Linda Vance Award for Women's History, awarded each year by my department to the person who wrote the best (in their opinion) paper dealing with women's history. It's not something you can apply for; you have to be nominated. I was nominated last year as well, and although everyone at the Oscars claims that being nominated is just as good as winning, I can tell you categorically that they are lying. It comes with a nice check, too, which I'll use to fund a research trip this summer. Hooray!

As we approach the July 21st release date of the final Harry Potter installment, something occurs to me: everyone seems to think that either Harry or Voldemort (or both) will die at the end. So once you've got the book in your hot little hands, will you instantly flip to the back and see how it ends, willpower be damned? Or will you, somehow, manage to make it through all 784 pages without so much as a peek?

I came across this quiz on one of the blogs that I read. It's a bit silly, but aren't they all? The premise is that your answers to a few questions indicate what color your eyes are (or should be). It didn't work for me but I am, after all, an enigma.

Your Eyes Should Be Brown

Your eyes reflect: Depth and wisdom What's hidden behind your eyes: A tender heart

My friend Kim has the most bitchin' stationery. There's no other way to say it. Apparently there's a cool store in her town that stocks the most awesome stationery I've ever seen. And since I'm such a big fan of stationery (cards, mostly), I went on a search for a similarly cool stationery store here in Gainesville. Except it doesn't exist. The only stationery store I could find (and Hallmark doesn't count) stocks not bitchin' stationery for twenty-somethings like myself, but stuffy "I live in a mansion with a butler and I drive a Rolls Royce"-type stationery. *sigh*

So, I'm convinced that they're going to continue to expand the pet food recall list until it includes dry pet food. Because, let's face it, if there's a problem with the wheat gluten in canned and pouch food, isn't there a better-than-even chance that there's a problem with the wheat gluten in the dry food? That's what I thought. So, off we went today to the crunchy pet store in search of wheat-free and gluten-free dry cat food (Luke's food appears to not contain either wheat gluten or corn gluten, so we think it's safe). Since Edgar is about the most finicky eater in the kitty world, we bought four different types. FOUR different types of dry cat food. Thankfully, we were able to get them in fairly small bags. We got home and presented the first type to Edgar. No go. Lydia ate it up. Amos was not around to proffer his opinion. Edgar did, however, like the second and third types so well that I figured we had a couple of winners. Amos is a pig, so I was convinced he'd eat anything. HAH! Amos has, thusfar, firmly rejected each and every type of food we brought home today. I give up. If he's hungry enough, he'll eat it.

I can't help it, my hope for humanity wanes when I read paper after paper telling me that slavery was on the decline after the Civil War or that Jamestown was a sexy place. It's not just that students can't write well, it's that they can't seem to write at all. But over the course of the last two semesters (when I've been grading for two different women's history classes) I've noticed one particularly irritating gaffe that students make: they turn "woman" into a proper noun. As in George Washington, the Grand Canyon, Paris, etc. They write things like "she was a Native American Woman" or "Puritan Women were expected to bare [yes, that's their spelling] children." Where did they learn this???

Yesterday was abysmal. Today, however, was sheer genius. I got a veritable assload of work done today. I read and digested a half dozen articles that are not in my field, but are related to my research. I wrote (some). And I made one intriguing connection that I'll include in my prospectus. Why am I blogging about this? It's just another day of work, after all. The thing is, I'm on deadline (honestly, when am I not these days?). I'm editing my prospectus to turn in to my committee (that's my entire committee, not just my advisor whom I adore and trust) on the 18th. They'll read it, send me their comments (which probably won't focus on the font), and then I'll have a week to incorporate their suggestions into the final product. I'll defend the whole thing, including my qualifying exam answers, on May 9th. Work has been a bit slow and lurching lately, and I've been feeling slightly melancholy about it. So today, my day of sheer genius, was a red-letter day. :)

I just got an email from UF's handy Interlibrary Loan system: "Dear Emily, The article you requested-- 'Maternal Men- Perverts and Deviants'-- has been received." I think that's my favorite email ever!

Ladies, if you're anything like me (and I know a few of you are), you've got at least one bridesmaid dress hanging in your closet. Odds are, you paid pretty good money for it but will never wear it again. Wondering what to do with it? Donate it! There are several reputable non-profits in the country that take contemporary bridesmaid dresses and give them to underprivileged high school students. Generally these are students who want to participate in the prom ritual, but can't afford to. If you're not in a city that has one of these non-profits, get your dress (or dresses) dry cleaned, then box them up and send them to The Priceless Gown Project. Include a letter with your name and email address and they'll send a tax receipt right to your inbox. It couldn't be easier! Here's the address:

The Priceless Gown Project
8727 Grape Arbor Way
Odenton, MD  21113

There are days (most days, in fact) when our house feels like a three-ring circus. We work from home and we have four animals. Not all of them get along and not all of them behave themselves. Lydia, for example, can't let herself in and out through the kitty door because Edgar will beat the sh*t out of her. So she plucks on a screen in one of the front windows to indicate that she wants in. Edgar, in turn, can't be expected to eat out of his own dish. He wants everyone else's food (even though it's the same damned thing in everyone's dish). So he eats Amos's food, which late in the day makes it look like Amos is a pig and Edgar is starving himself. Luke doesn't have a doggie door (because he's so big that if he could get in and out of it, so could a burglar) and so he's constantly whining to be let in or out. So a lot of my day is spent breaking up fights, letting animals out, pulling Edgar away from Amos's dish and introducing him-- once again-- to his own, then letting the same animals in, and (after a long day) threatening to send all of them away to camp for a week so that I can finish my work.

Graduate school is a funny thing. You run into all kinds of amazing people (okay, and some phenomenal idiots and jerks) for a relatively brief moment in time. You exchange ideas, celebrate successes, and commiserate in hard times. People come and people go-- some decide to end with an MA and some you get to see finish their PhDs and go on to get jobs. With regard to the latter, this semester has been a particularly interesting one for me. A fellow history grad who started the same year I did (but, unlike me, he already had his MA) went on the job market this spring and got a job (no small miracle in history these days). Not only did he get a job, he got his dream job, at the exact institution he wanted. Another graduate student, though not in history, has finished her dissertation and has accepted an offer from a great university. When I emailed her to get some citations for my own research, she sent back her entire dissertation for me to peruse (our research areas intersect). It's a funny thing to have these incredible people in your life for such a brief time. Amy Tan says, "I think about all the different ways we leave people in this world. Cheerily waving good-bye to some at airports, knowing we'll never see each other again. Leaving others on the side of the road, hoping that we will." Graduate school can be such a trial by fire sometimes that it's really something to behold when people can get through to the other side and raise their fists in victory.

84-75 and back-to-back National Chomp-ions! After the game was over last night, I stepped outside to see (once again) if I could hear the crowds up on campus. The entire city was roaring! It's great to be a Florida Gator!!!