Well hello there! Happy Christmas Eve-Eve to you! Everyone wants a short history lesson, right? Let's get to it! Now that all my finals are graded and grades have been turned in, I thought I'd share with you a little wisdom from my students this semester. It's always depressing fun to see what they haven't learned during the semester, right? Right!

• NATO was an organization founded to help African Americans.
• In 1968, Lyndon Johnson decided he "did not wanna be president no more."
• "When becoming president one must not have an uneasy head when running the nation."
• "There have been various presidency's [sic] throughout American history, each carrying different views and plans."

And now, my personal favorite. When describing how Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated before the 1968 election, one of my students mused that if RFK hadn't been assassinated and had won the election against Nixon (who had already been bested by John F. Kennedy), headlines would have read "Kennedy is Nixon's Kryptonite."

When we brought the Christmas tree into the house this year and set it up in the stand, we realized that a few small branches at the bottom needed to be trimmed.
John: I'll go get the nippers [tree-trimming device].
Me: Heh. You said "nippers."

More recently, we were talking about how John's parents used to grow their own veggies and can them, but that John's dad wasn't terribly involved in the process.
John: I mean, he'd be around for planting and he'd do the hoeing.
Me: Oh yeah? Your dad did a lot of "ho-ing," did he?

Someone stop me.

Hello! I'm so glad you could make it! Here, let me take your coat. Was the drive okay? Here's a slice of cake, and make sure you get some punch!

Today's my birthday and I couldn't be more thrilled. I adore my birthday. Remember when you were a kid and it was the night before Christmas? And you were so excited you couldn't even sleep? That's how I am about my birthday. In fact, at 1:30 this morning, John had to tell me, essentially, that if I wanted to get up early and open presents I needed to go to sleep NOW. Whatever, dude. Eventually I did fall asleep, only to wake up bright and early this morning, unable to contain my excitement. I mercifully let John sleep until about 7:15, at which point I couldn't take it any longer. Presents commenced, I talked to my folks, and now I think I'll put in a few minutes making my birthday pie. An Emily birthday just isn't an Emily birthday without apple pie, after all. Happy birthday to me! What a great day it is!

So, ah, my orange juice consumption has gone up dramatically in the last few weeks. Not just dramatically, but exponentially. Since November 29th, I've consumed roughly three gallons of orange juice. That's over a pint of orange juice a day, people. And as if that wasn't enough, we bought a (small) crate of clementines over the weekend and, thanks to me, it already has a sizeable dent in it. The only explanation I can muster is that my students have the plague and my body has gone into overdrive trying to prevent me from catching it, too. Apparently the only way it can think to do that is by having me chug orange juice, because I seriously can't get enough of it. Anybody need an orange juice spokesperson? Because I'm your fanatic.

If this has never happened to you, you're a more careful typist than me. Picture the scene: you're typing at your computer, your fingers moving across the keys at relatively high speeds. You hit a combination of keys that you hadn't intended, and all of a sudden you've brought up some window about changing your font or searching your hard drive. Or maybe you accidentally hit a hot key that shuts down your program, and suddenly you're being asked if you want to save your work before losing everything you've just done. Surely this has happened to you. It happens to me on a regular basis. With me, I'm usually opening up the Spotlight function on my Mac. Frankly, I don't even know what the hot key combination is for that, but I find it regularly purely by accident. It's the result of typing too fast and not being careful enough, I suppose. But just now, I was responding to a student's email. I went to sign off and accidentally hit some set of keys that prompted a window to pop up saying, "Are you sure you want to delete all the emails in all your mailboxes? This action cannot be undone!" And my choices were "okay" and "cancel." I can't tell you how many times I re-read that prompt, to make sure I clicked the right button. Why on EARTH would that be a hot key combination?!? Surely that should be buried somewhere deep down in the system, somewhere below "deactivate my license codes" and above "delete all my files, please, kthnxbai."

Early this morning I was awoken by John's infernal alarm clock: "pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah... pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah...". It finally came to a stop, so naturally I assumed that he had turned it off. Then I heard it again, louder: "pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah... pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah, pizza-aaaah..."! It was then that I realized it was a bird, not his alarm clock. (Perhaps I should take this moment to say that it's been hot enough down here lately that we have all the windows open. SEND SNOW!) This makes me wonder: what kind of bird makes a call that sounds like it's saying the word "pizza"?

There's a grocery store we frequent here in Gainesville called The Fresh Market. It's basically an overpriced premium chain store, but we buy some of our veggies there because they have a good organic section. During the holiday season, a small family business sets up shop on the corner of the lot occupied by The Fresh Market (and a bunch of other stores) to sell Christmas trees and wreaths. The same family has been doing this for almost two decades. But this year, The Fresh Market effectively handed them a cease and desist order to get them to stop selling wreaths. You see, The Fresh Market also sells wreaths and they're worried that this small family business is going to cut into their wreath sales. Whaaaat? The Fresh Market also sells coffee, but I don't notice them telling the kitchen shop two doors down to stop selling coffee. Or the ice cream shop to stop selling ice cream. Or the bakery to stop selling bread. So why pick on this small family business, Fresh Market? Why be the neighborhood bully? Why not just say that there's enough business for everyone? Because here's the thing: I'm headed out to buy a wreath over lunch at the family business. I hadn't planned on getting a wreath this year, but after I found out about what jerks you are, I made my decision. And you know what? I'm going to buy the nicest wreath they have. Put that in your Scrooge pipe and smoke it.

The job market in history is a bit like dating. You give out your phone number. You wait excitedly for a phone call. You're sure the phone will ring. You made a good impression, right? There wasn't broccoli in your teeth, you felt pretty confident. But then, the phone doesn't ring, and you start to wonder. Did you give out the right number? Is the phone working? And then commences the intricate dance of picking up the phone to make sure it's working. (Hint: it's working. It's always working.) And, wait, what's that on the floor? It looks vaguely familiar. Oh, yeah, it's your self esteem.

Wait, was that too cynical?

Me: So, if you don't like the Nutcracker ballet, does that also mean that you don't like the Nutcracker music?
John: No, the music is fine. It's watching people jump around in their pajamas that gets on my nerves.

I got a fat letter today from An East Central College, to which I've applied for a job. I won't pretend that my heart didn't skip a beat when I saw it. I tore it open while I was standing at the mail box. What was it, you ask? It was a fundraising letter, asking for money. NO KIDDING. Employment: yur doin it RONG.

I recently read an article about eco-friendly hotels in which the author (the lovely Holly of Nothing But Bonfires) referenced, among other things, those signs in hotels that urge you to hang up your towels if you'd like to use them another day. The article was interesting, but what caught my attention was a comment at the bottom of the article. A reader mentioned that even when he hangs up the towels, the maid service whisks them away and replaces them with new ones, prompting him to want to lower his tip. His tip? Wait, his tip? I confess that I've been staying in hotels lo these many years and have never left a tip for the maid. Twice I've stayed in a B&B where it was (politely) suggested, but never in a hotel. What do you think? Is it bad form not to tip the maid service at a hotel?

Since I didn't get a chance to talk to my sister today, on her birthday, I wanted to leave a few thoughts here. She's three hours earlier than I am, so she'll read it late tonight, long after I'm asleep.

When I was little, I wanted to be just like my sister. Ten years my senior, she was my idol. She wore a sweatshirt inside-out one day, accidentally. I thought she did it on purpose, like maybe it was all the rage, so I put on a sweatshirt inside out, too. Years later, I still find things to admire about her. Her patience. Her flawless skin. How she finds joy in all things.

Happy Birthday, Heather. I hope it was wonderful.