Archive for February, 2010
Medieval Literature in the Fall
Posted by Michael Livingston in Academics on February 24th, 2010
Looks like I’ll be teaching Medieval Literature in the Fall. Now I need to figure out what that’ll actually mean. A broader build of the Medieval Outlaws course I’m currently teaching in the Honors program? Perhaps the legends of King Arthur? Maybe a Norse literature class? Or something with Siege of Jerusalem?
I have no idea what it’ll be at this point, frankly. And I have to admit that the blank canvas is rather thrilling!
Mid-Semester Crunch Time
Posted by Michael Livingston in Academics, Homelife, Teaching on February 23rd, 2010
If I’ve been a bit absent of late, there’s a reason: The 4 weeks or so that I’m right in the middle of at the moment are probably my busiest of the year.
First off, there’s the teaching load. Papers have been coming in for each of my classes, and having two new courses to teach this term that require “from scratch” preparation — my Tolkien lecture class and Medieval Outlaws — is sucking up a lot of otherwise free time. Oh, and I also have a couple of big mid-terms to write.
Second, there’s The Shako, the literary magazine of The Citadel. It’s a lot of fun to run, and through much of the year it’s a piece of cake. But for about a month of the year it’s intense work. This is especially true in the week or so leading up to the submission of the journal to the printer. That’s this week.
Third, there’s my annual review. Every year the department meets to determine whether I’ll be able to continue my employment here at The Citadel. (In a few years, after I hopefully get tenure, they’ll meet to pass judgment on my performance, but it won’t be quite the job threat that it is now.) For this meeting I have to put together a Personal Data Sheet (PDS), which is really a multi-page, single-spaced narrative of what I’ve done this year along with all the supporting documentation thereof: tests, graded papers, publications, work in progress, student evaluations, and a partridge in a pear tree.
Fourth, there’s the Brunanburh book I’m putting together. It’s in the last gasps as we heave toward the finish line, legs and lungs are burning. That’s good news, of course, but it also means lots of last-minute, must-act-now items.
Fifth, there’s the family that one doesn’t dare lose track of in the tumult. As busy as I am, time must be found to run around with the kids. Or, as I did this morning, to walk the boy to preschool.
Sixth, there’s the 10 minutes I set aside to write this summary. Actually pushing 13 minutes now, which means I need to take my leave.
Pennies from Heaven
Posted by Michael Livingston in Homelife on February 17th, 2010
For quite a long time now, there’s been a tradition in our house that after the boy’s teeth are brushed, his pajamas on, and his last book read, he gets to have a story. These stories, by no decision of my own, involve a snail named Steve and his lizard friend, Larry.
I know. Like I said: not my fault.
Anyway, the nightly adventures of Steve the Snail and Larry the Lizard usually involve Steve and Larry learning some important life lesson: some lesson that our son, almost invariably, failed to comprehend earlier in the day. Thus, if the young master didn’t do an adequate job of sharing with his little sister, Steve and Larry find themselves needing to share. I’m not sure that the lad has noticed the correlation.
It’s been very interesting over time to see his reaction to these stories change: from smiles of wonder to thoughtful introspection. Recently he’s started commenting on the story, adding to it after its done or providing a playback of what he found most interesting. It’s quite wonderful.
In tonight’s story, for instance, Steve the Snail and Larry the Lizard were walking down the sidewalk when Steve found a penny. Walking on, Steve found another. Noting that he now had two pennies while Larry had none, Steve decided to give one of his pennies with his friend. They each now had one penny, and this made them both very happy.
After hearing this, my son thought on the story for a good 30 seconds or so. “I don’t have a penny,” he said.
“Yes, you do,” I gently corrected. “You have pennies in the Jeep bank.” (His granddad made him an awesome “piggy” bank that looks like a Jeep; the young master loves it.)
“Oh!” he whispered. Then he thought some more. “Pennies, um, carried by birds.”
“Birds?” I asked.
“Bird dropped the penny” — he lifted his arms and dropped them down toward the bed — “fell from the sky and boom!” — at this his arms hit the bed dramatically — “Penny hit the sidewalk and bounced and Steve caught it.”
He nodded once more, confident that he’d figured it out. Then, as he snuggled up into my shoulder, it was my turn to smile in wonder: wonder at my boy, wonder at my life, and wonder at a snail catching pennies dropped by birds. It is, after all, a far better story.
Charleston Snow and Cadets
Posted by Michael Livingston in Homelife on February 13th, 2010
The weatherfolks said it was going to snow in Charleston. They said it would even stick. A once-in-a-generation event. I admit I didn’t believe them.
The storm wasn’t scheduled to arrive until 8 or 9 pm, but schools let out early so folks could prepare. Road crews were put on high alert. News reporters ran around to key locations to cover the horror live. One channel referred to it as an impending “bombing,” which struck me as both silly and in rather bad taste. They acted like the Apocalypse was on its way. Stock up on supplies!
Well, almost unbelievably, it happened: Last night, it snowed here at The Citadel.
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Website Changes
Posted by Michael Livingston in Homelife on February 11th, 2010
I really ought to have been doing a bit more in the way of genuine work today, but instead I got side-tracked for a few hours playing with Google Buzz and — on a related note — my website here.
To begin with, Google Buzz is, well, interesting. I’m not a twit, er, a twitterer. But I can see where this Buzz business could lure me in where bickering birds could not.
As you can see, I’ve at least temporarily put into place a “BuzzFeed” over in the side column of the site, which is bringing in whatever buzzing I manage to do. I’m still experimenting, so it could disappear at any time. Or, alternatively, it could change form if I can figure out exactly how this guy set up his Buzz-er.
The other order of business for the day in terms of this website was a fix (at last!) of the connections between this site and Facebook. Comments made on my notes over there (that is, on the posts made here that get automatically copied over there) will now be automatically copied back over here. I don’t think comments made here can be shuffled over to there, but I’m happy to at least have full data here on this site.
Now if I can get Google to let me automatically feed posts like this into my Buzz stream, I’ll feel truly accomplished.
Marines in the Muck
Posted by Michael Livingston in Homelife on February 8th, 2010
Living here at El Cid one sees odd things now and then. Among my favorites are the Marine exercises in the marsh behind the house. For some reason I really enjoy looking out the window and seeing very muddy cadets struggling through the muck. It’d be one thing if they were miserable, but if they aren’t happy they sure do a great job of masking it.
Last week’s exercises were on a lovely day, so I walked out with the camera and took some shots of the action. Here’s the “course” that the young lads and lasses follow through the marsh. This is tidal marsh, and at the moment the tide is out. Perhaps it doesn’t look so bad to you:
The Marsh "Course"
I didn’t need to wait long for a group of Redbadgers to come along. Here’s a group of three fellows coming through the same stretch pictured above. I think the guy in the middle was looking for his M16:
Marines in the Mud
The gentleman on the right side of the picture, about two seconds later, took a swandive into the goo for the benefit of my picture-taking. Alas, I didn’t have the camera ready, a fact I didn’t have the heart to share when he finally crawled up out of the mud. Good man, though. Good man indeed.
Muddy Pavement
Here’s a shot of the road they ran down right after crawling free of the marsh. I think that cadet in the distance is passing my trash bin. That’s not really water on the road, by the way. It’s the sloughed-off marsh mud that they call “pluff” ’round these parts. Stinks to high heaven.
Project XK: Dealer Sticker Removal
Posted by Michael Livingston in Project XK (Jeep) on February 7th, 2010
I’ve been meaning to remove the dealer advertisement from my Commander since the day I bought it. Somehow, though, I consistently forgot about the matter unless it was pouring rain outside. It’s not that I didn’t have a great experience at Auction Direct, or that I don’t wish them well as a company. I just don’t like the look of the sticker. Here’s a file photo of my vehicle featuring the offending blue monstrosity of a sticker on the tailgate:
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Life This Week: Brunanburh, Broken Bones, Bubbling Butts
Posted by Michael Livingston in Academics, Homelife, Teaching on February 6th, 2010
What’s my life like these days? Well, here’s a selection of snapshots from my life this past week:
Saturday, 2:54 pm. Idly thinking about what Wednesday’s Tolkien lecture will focus on, I begin to ponder the possibility of a new philological reading for a line in The Hobbit. The idea is scribbled on a slip of paper upon my desk, where it will languish among the dozens of other article topics I don’t have time to write up.
Sunday, 4:02 pm. Our 9-month-old daughter is a guided missile for the staircase. Set her down on one side of the house and — zoom! — she’s fast-crawling like a Marine, headed for the foot of the stairs. Up and up to the top, giggling to herself. Catch her, set her down in a new place, and she’ll head back to it. Spin her around, try to confuse her, and like a carrier pigeon it won’t matter. My iPhone and my baby are both GPS-enabled.
Monday, 7:08 am. I wake up feeling the twinges of an illness coming on. The subsequent week will find me fighting off some plague caught from my cadets and/or my son; as a result, my voice teeters on the edge of breaking and I’m far more tired than I’d like. The need to project across the 30+ kids of my Tolkien class does not help, but I love them (and the class) anyway.
Tuesday, 9:15 am. My daughter sets a new personal record by standing unaided for over a minute. You go, girl.
Wednesday, 11:38 pm. I’m poring over manuscript readings for the Old English Battle of Brunanburh poem, trying to determine which rune I should use on a given line of the casebook’s edition. For the record, I decide on an eth.
Thurdsay, 9:04 am. The little girl decides to try walking. Two steps, boom! Stands up. Three steps, boom! Stands up. Four steps, boom! Crawls for the next few minutes.
Thursday, 6:10 pm. Sitting down at the dinner table, I reach across to tussle my son’s hair. He smiles through a face splattered with burrito stuffings. “Can I have your hair?” I ask.
The boy stops chewing, and his innocent eyes look up at my shaved head. Then one of his hands rises to pull upward on a fistful of his own thick locks. “No, Daddy,” he says. “It’s really stuck.”
Thursday, 7:18 pm. Burrito + hair = boy in bathtub. Baby sister joins him for a bit of clean-up (her problem is smushed graham crackers) and the fun lasts a few minutes before the elder child is booted from the bathroom for refusing to share bathtoys. Much screaming ensues.
Friday, 5:11 pm. After a long afternoon of working on some stressful Brunanburh matters, I arrive home to two rambunctious kids. The boy wants me to swing him around. The girl wants me to watch her latest attempt to climb the stairs while carrying a rubber duck. I tell everyone to hold off while I go change out of my uniform. Within five minutes I will have broken two toes on my right foot.
Friday, 11:01 pm. The pain of my toes sends me to bed early. I spend some time thinking through a novel idea (literally an idea for a novel). I decide the idea is sound but still in need of revision. It is subsequently pushed to burner #5 in my mind.
Saturday, 8:46 am. I notice some very fascinating patterns of color on my toes. The next ten minutes are passed in a close examination and a series of flexing exercises to determine how much I can live with the pain. Wife advises urgent care. I decide in favor of some mole skin and an old roll of athletic tape. In hindsight, I’ll wonder if duct-tape would have been more appropriate for the mood.
Saturday, 7:32 pm. I’m putting my son to bed, just getting him tucked in, when he (shall we say) passes wind rather loudly. He giggles a bit, but I try to ignore it (the time for high-fives will come later). But then he suddenly sits bolt upright in bed. “I saw something,” he says.
“Oh? What did you see?” I ask, expecting him to say shadows.
“I saw something bubbling,” he says.
“Bubbling?”
“Don’t worry,” he says, “it was only my butt.” And he laughs and laughs and laughs.
