I have some Wensleydale cheese in my fridge... The base image is from the official website. 

Culinary discovery

Just in case anyone was worried after that last post, I am now happy and warm and full of beer. Well, not that full. But I am kind of excited about it, so I thought I'd tell you. Caroline, Tanja and I went to our dorm's Social Center tonight, which is like a pub, except less cool. :) But I decided, while I'm here, I might as well try beer again because, as many of you know, in the US I pretty much thought it was disgusting. But I asked the barman what he recommended, and he said "Bitter or lager?" and I remembered having a sip of Rebecca's Sam Adams Boston Lager in our kitchen last year (and had a momentary stab of Rebecca-missing) and thinking it wasn't too bad, so I said "Lager." And he said "A pint?" And I, remembering my mum's tales of Dublin in the 60s, said, "Do you have half-pints?" And he said, "Sure." So there it was. 80p. Not bad, eh? I've never had a beer in an American bar, but I'd think it wouldn't be that cheap. And it was actually good! I actually enjoyed it! I think the brand was Chapman's.... I feel a new day is dawning.

Just in case anyone is now worried, don't be. I'm no more likely to drink to excess here than I was in the US--in fact, a lot less likely--and I'm loving the half-pintness. But I'm just excited that I now like beer. Opens up a new culinary horizon. And it'll make this year more enjoyable. In a taste-discovery sort of way. Ok, I'm going to put my shovel down and go read "Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts." Which is very good, by the way.

me vs. English Burocracy

I think I misspelled that. In any case, this whole post should be prefaced by the acknowledgment that I'm not at my best today, for reasons which will become clear.

In my last, I mentioned that there was a beeping outside my window. It was coming from an alarm affixed to the control panel of an outbuilding in my flat complex. The alarm was in a box with a message reading "Prewarning for Block D, Flat 6" or something of the sort. The beeping had woken me a few days ago and continued for a few hours, whereupon it let out a pronounced beep and fell silent. Then yesterday when returning from the library for lunch, I discovered that the beeping had recoomenced. Let me explain the beeping. It was a high-pitched note--easily at or above a woman's high A, although I did not measure it precisely. It's difficult to tell in which octave a machine-produced noise sounds. In meter, it was aproximately an eighth note (or quaver) followed by an eighth rest in about quarter note=60. For you non-musical people, that means there was a beep followed by an all-too-brief pause about every second.

This beeping began, as I said, about noon or 11:30. It continued. Constantly. All day. All night. I couldn't sleep. I actually dug out the ear plugs I got from a business-class pack my parents got from a transatlantic flight (why they were travelling business class is a long story--sufice it to say, we don't habitually travel like that) and stuck them in my ears, feeling like the narrator of The Mezzanine. Now I had pressure in my ears. I took them out, finally, and managed to get some sleep, although I kept waking up to a beeping and dreamed that I was a hobo trying to get back into contact with his daughter, who had been raised by someone else. Very entertaining dream, but not very restful.

Oh, I forgot to mention that yesterday after class I stopped into my dorm's reception desk to complain. They said, yes, they knew, it had been going on for the past three years and there was nothing they could do about it.

I awoke this morning to more beeping. Constant. I decided to call Housing Services. Of course, there's no phone extension listed for Housing Services, and you can't call the phone number on their website from a dorm phone. Of course not. Why would I even think so. Finally I actually called a wrong number, who directed me to the reception of another dorm, and she found the number for the reception of my dorm, who told me that they could arrange for me to move. No, I said, I don't want to move; I just want this beeping to stop. She told me I could go directly to housing services. I hung up the phone and cried. The beeping continued. It occured to me then that what this actually was was torture. I still feel odd saying that word because it conjures images of racks, of unspeakable horrors done to Iraqui prisoners. But is it not torture to deprive someone of sleep? If I were in a cell, this would certainly make me inclined to tell someone anything to make it stop. I really can't fully express the effect the beeping had on me. Suffice it to say, my flatmate Tanja said I looked unwell, and I think I looked like a maniac.

So I went down to Housing Services. They had me wait around a lot, then told me that they could move me. I said, I don't want to be moved; this isn't a problem with me, it's a problem with the facility. I said that I find it difficult to believe that this problem is unfixable. I added, moreover, that I thought it was a health and safety hazard to have an alarm constantly sounding; if there is some sort of crisis, what will happen? The Housing Services woman said that that was why they had managers onsite--to deal with this sort of thing. She suggested I go put pressure on my dorm manager.

I went back (15-minute walk) to my dorm's reception and asked to speak to the manager. The receptionist said that the manager wasn't there; she was on holiday. I'm afraid I sort of lost it at that point and suggested that the receptionist call the manager and hold the receiver up to the alarm so it could sound in her ears all day, and then maybe she could find something to do about it. To be fair, the receptionist and the woman at housing services had both said that this had been going on for three years, and it bothered some people more than others. Implying that I was a crank for complaining. But I don't think so. I really don't think so. Then the receptionist said that I could come back tomorrow. The prospect of spending a further twenty-four hours under this infernal influence (it was now nearly 11am) was too much for me; I started to cry. The receptionist said that there was no need to get upset, and she'd call me in the morning to schedule a meeting time.

I returned, still crying (I'm somewhat embarrased to admit, but I was in an absolutely drained state--deprived of sleep, of what little ability to concentrate I have--as many of you know, this is not a light matter for me--and the closest I feel I have come to losing my grip on sanity). I passed the alarm box as I was going in. I stared at it, my nemesis. (Actually, I didn't feel that much anger at the box itself, although I had seriously contemplated hitting it with a baseball bat.) Oh, by the way, it is essential for you to know that the receptionist had told me that this alarm was obsolete; there was actually another working alarm in place, but for reasons she (the receptionist) was unclear on, the old alarm was still in place and beeping. So, I opened the alarm's plastic box, saw a button that said "Silence," and pressed it.

Silence.

I started laughing -- and I was still crying at the same time. I came up to my flat and told Tanja about it -- with tears still dripping down my chin. I came in here and opened my window. I hear the wind. I hear passing cars. I hear the sound of myself typing. Actually, in the back of my head, if I try to listen for the silence, I still hear the beeping, but I know it's just an echo, and I hope it will fade.

I only hope that if the beeping starts again, the method I have developed will work again.

I also hope that I won't get into trouble for interfering with a residence alarm--albeit, one I was told was not actually in use.

But above all, I find it both frustrating and rather marvelous that it took me several hours of running around (from 8:30 till 11) to fail to accomplish what I could have done with a simple press of a button.

Classes!

So much to say! First a bit o' business. I just changed the comments setting so that you don't have to have a blogger account to publish, though you do have to write out some letters to prove you're not spamming. That being said, I would consider it a personal favor if you'd indicate who you are and whether you're known to me. You don't have to put your name; you could make it an inside joke or reference or something. I'm loving this as a way to communicate, though. Although also feel free to email and stuff. (Side note: Pete called tonight and I about hit the ceiling. So good to hear a friendly voice!)

Although now that my classes have started and I have mad amounts of reading, I'm not sure if I'll be able to post as frequently or ridiculously as I was hitherto. But maybe that's a good thing....

So, classes! Technically, my first class was yesterday. It was a party for all the students and faculty involved in the program. Guess how many students are doing the MA in Text and Book?

One.
Me.

But there's another student taking the first module, Production of Texts. So I'll have a bit of companionship on the one hand, and someone to squabble over the library books with on the other. :) Not sure what he's like yet; we talked for aproximately a minute. I spent a large part of the "class" talking with the Victorianist in the program, Ian S---, who is extremely nice and frighteningly knowledgable. Which I can't even spell. I also met the other profs, some more extensively than othes, and drank two glasses of wine, which made me very red and slightly less coherent than I might otherwise have been (it was just before dinner). But I'm excited about this program. And Ian S--- is teaching the first real class, which is next Tuesday (unfortunately at 4pm on Rosh Hashana, but I've decided for my purposes that sunset will come early, and in any case listening to anything he has to say will be so much fun it won't really qualify as work. Right?). Unfortunately, I have to read seven books before then. So, as Caroline (one of my flatmates) said earlier this evening, why am I sitting here and talking (or typing in this case) to you? Good question. I would say that it's my steadfast devotion to my friends, but it's really just procrastination.

And I have so much to tell you!

So, later that evening, I went to the first rehearsal of the University Choir. I think I'm going to like it, despite the fact that it's nonauditioned. It's quite large--they say about 200 people (of which six are tenors, and only a few more are bases). We're doing a Dvorak Te Deum, Verdi's Requiem, a Parry setting of Milton, and some Vaughn Williams songs. I'm excited at the challenge of blending with all these people with British accents. Oh, and the note system is so different! Rhythmically, that is. At one point, Brian M--- went over the British system, but it was still rather a shock, all this talk of crotchets, semi-quavers and minums. Yes, there's really a British note value called a crotchet. It's a quarter note. How cool is that? And confusing.

Oh, and there's an incessant beeping outside my window. I complained, but Reception says there's nothing they can do. It's been going on since noon, a high-pitched series of beeps... driving me bonkers.

And I'm auditing a class on cultural theory. We did Marx today. Fun. Surprisingly. I think this is going to be extremely good for me, and probably enjoyable to boot. It's a six-person class, and everyone's really lively and interesting.

BTW, thanks to all of you who've told me that you're reading this. It makes me feel like I'm actually talking to you all.

Ok, guys, I have to go do some more reading on textual criticism. Unless anyone wants another cup of tea?

'Night.

Ok, Keats moment.

I started studying for the GRE Subject Test today. Several people have told me that the best way to do this is to read all the introductions to the Norton Anthology. Yikes! So, I carted my 11th-grade copy of the Norton English Major Authors Sixth Edition to England, and opened it today to the preface. Have read so far up to the fourteenth century, and am thinking it would be nice to learn Old English. But getting distracted, I flipped forward to page 1770, John Keats, and even though I've read this sonnet many times, it drew tears to my eyes, so I'm going to reproduce it here, for reading and rereading:

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demense;
Yet never did I breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold;
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific--and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise--
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Chills! It's the sextet that does me in. I think it really captures the feeling of reading. I mean, who hasn't felt like that? If anyone has, I pity them.

And while we're on the subject of Keats and reading, I just have to add this. The last sonnet was about first readings, and this is about rereadings. Which reminds me, there's a new Anne Fadiman book of -- I think -- that title, but sadly it's edited by her and not entirely her work. :( If anyone hasn't read Ex Libris, you must, you must. So.

On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again
O golden-tongued Romance, with serene lute!
Fair plumed syren, queen of far-away!
Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute.
Adieu! for, once again, the fierce dispute
Betwixt damnation and impassioned clay
Must I burn through; once more humbly assay
The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearean fruit.
Chief Poet! and ye clouds of Albion,
Begetters of our deep eternal theme!
When through the old oak forest I am gone,
Let me not wander in a barren dream:
But, when I am consumed in the fire,
Give me new phoenix wings to fly at my desire.

Mmm. Actually, for me, this poem itself is redolent of re-readings. Particularly the first few lines as I read them sound in my head in the voice of Eamon G---, my Irish poetry professor. So they take me back to sitting around a table in Rocky in the late afternoon light--acutally, rather like the light right now (it's 6pm here) -- and rediscovering Keats. I was rediscovering the poem even then because I'd read it before. Oh, rereadings. The well-worn joy.

So, this isn't newsy either, but it proves that I'm in the right place, eh?

I don't know if anyone here knows the Mystery! series _Inspector Morse_, but if not, you should. This desktop doesn't quite capture it, but it's the best I could do. If you want more, go to http://www.morsemania.co.uk/welcome.htm. 

Moment of seriousness. I saw this through an odd link on Maeve's blog -- still don't know how this whole blogging thing works, but maybe I'll learn if I have more time to kill like this past week. However, I don't think I will because my classes will start. Oh, and I'm actually making some progress on my writing sample, although it's moderately horrendous and I think I'm now recapitulating some of the problems that I've been trying to fix in the last five drafts. Aargh!

Oh, but, anyway, I ran accross this statement against homophobia that's a chain-blog thing... I don't normally go for this sort of thing, but I found it really powerful, so I thought I'd share it with you. Reminds us that a lot of good work has been done, but there's still a lot more to do.

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I
wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn’t have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

The original then said,
"Repost if you believe homophobia is detrimental and wrong."
but as the blog discussion stated, this is trying to guilt you by implying that if you don't repost it, you're a homophobic bastard. Since I don't believe that not doing something means you don't care, and I think guilt trips are mean, I'll instead say, "post this if you feel like it." Which proves why I should never really be an activist; I'd be terrible at it.

The Arts Building, home of the English Department. Mmm, ivy. 

See, the clocktower is visible from all over campus. 

So, classes still haven't started, so I have all this time that I could be using to usefully work on my PhD application, but instead I'm doing pointless yet oh-so-addictive things like making desktop collages. And posting on my blog, cometo think of it. But I was watching Pirates of the Caribbean the other day, and I decided that my earlier collage was inadequate (or at least only one side of the story). I'm now going to ruin this collage by explaining it. I was struck by this line that Norrington says towards the beginning of the film. It's strange because I'd always sort of assumed that he'd included Elizabeth's father in the statement, but of course it could also be read to be just himself, and that "caring for" is his stilted, Victorian way of saying "love romantically and want to have lots of babies with." But it did strike me that many men in the film care for Elizabeth in different ways, so I made a collage of them. I suppose you could extend it to the pirates, etc., but I think this about covers it. Many thanks to http://potc.arwen-undomiel.com/ for the pictures. Of course, the site doesn't know I'm using them, and I don't have copyright, or anything (and probably neither does this website), but this is my attempt at acknowledging intellectual property, ok? :) 

I had a one-night stand with a printer. So, there are printers in the library here, but you have to pay 2p per page to print, plus you have to go to the library. So I thought I'd see what the second-hand store, called Where Else?, had in the way of printers. I got a printer there for 21 pounds. Pretty good, eh? (My Canadian flatmate is rubbing off on me.) But then when I got it back to my flat, it didn't work with my computer. And it's not just that it didn't work. It prints half of a page and then freaks out. Rather, just stops. And this voice from my computer says, "There is a problem with the printer." As if I need a computerized male voice to tell me that. It sounds very cheerful about it, too. Grr. So, after much coaxing and after getting Tanja and Marc (Caroline's boyfriend--oh, wait, I haven't told you about Caroline yet--wait till the next paragraph) to look at the printer, I've decided to send it back and just pay my 2p/page in the library. I actually probably won't be printing all that much. I mean, I only have one paper due for my Research Methods class, and I have no papers at all due for my Production of Texts class (which I still think is odd.) So I'm going to return the printer tomorrow. Heartbreaker.

So, Caroline is my new flatmate! She's from Belgium, and she's studying finance, and she's really nice. Marc is her boyfriend, and he's staying in the area till Tuesday to help her move in. He's nice, too. We're still waiting on one housemate. I hope she arrives soon; classes do start on Monday, after all. But for the moment, we have a really nice house dynamic. We all basically do our own thing, but we often end up in the kitchen at the same time, and we talk and laugh and share information and stuff. Very nice.

Oh, and I went grocery shopping today. I went to Sainsbury's. I got smoked salmon and peppers and tomatos and salad greens and soup. And lotion and some other stuff, but the salmon is the big news. I had smoked salmon salad tonight. I feel extremely extravagant, but I really needed a break from cheese. For the past few days, I've had cheese for lunch and dinner. Cheese sandwiches, sometimes augmented with ham, cheese omlettes, cheese in leftover nan heated in the microwave.... not a good nutritional move. So now I have Omega 3s in addition to greens, and I feel very happy. Maybe this'll stop me from waking up each morning with a stomach ache, which has been happening the past week or so. I think it might still be jet lag. Or maybe cheese.

The Aston Webb Building, home of the main administrative offices. This picture turned out kind of dark...Someone told me the first day, "If you don't like the weather in Birmingham, wait five minutes." I think they're right. I mean, it really is five minutes sometimes; quicker than I'm used to. 

The bell tower, center of campus. It's a very good landmark, although the picture doesn't quite capture its mass and height. I'll have to work on that. 

Turns out the induction was Powerpoint followed by tea and cookies. Boring! I was hoping there'd at least be drums....

But I got an email with a bunch of my course information! Almost everything I need to know to begin classes! Almost. There appears to be a course I need to take this semester, Research Methods in the School of Humanities, that I have no info on. So I'm going to seek that out tomorrow. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I'll do it! Tomorrow! (Oh, seventh-grade musical theater.) But I emailed my tutor (we Americans would call it an advisor) to ask if we could meet to talk about some of the expectations for the program and make sure I understand them. For instance, it looks like I might only have two hours of classtime a week this term. What am I supposed to do for the rest of the time? And our reading list is really long, but things aren't assingned for specific days. Am I responsible for reading the whole list over the course of the term? That would certainly keep me busy. Also, there seem to be no papers or any assignments until a 3-hour exam in January after the winter break. Yikes! Can we say yikes? I certainly can!

But when I was wandering the halls of the Art Building looking for info, I met a very nice English (in two ways) professor who was cleaning out his office so his rug could be cleaned. He asked me if I was Dutch. I said no. He gave me two books on Samuel Johnson. (The exchange had more to it and actually made a lot of sense and was very pleasant, but it's funnier when I just put it like that.)

I'm really not sure whether the last sentence of that last post should contain "who" or "whom." If anyone knows, please post a comment. I'm at my wit's end. (Awk! Wit's end.) Bizzare Aladdin reference.

I'm settling in well, despite several bouts of homesickness over the weekend. I perked up a lot today. I registered with my GP, or General Practitioner. I really like the British health care system. At least, it suits me as an international student very well. I get treated for free, and I only pay part of my perscription costs. And I don't need additional insurance. British people pay taxes, but it's all free for me! Although I do pay a lot more tuition than the British students, so I guess it comes out in the end. In any case, the medical facility is very nice.

I also met one of my new flatmates! Her name is Tanya, and she's from Germany. Alicia, Tanya, Stephanie and I had dinner here tonight, making sandwiches from stuff we'd accumulated on a shopping trip to Sainsbury's: ham, cheese, cheese spread, and lettuce. Very yummy, actually. Seasoned with good conversation about the political situation in Germany, a quick lesson on comparative legal systems (I tried to explain the Supreme Court situation and discovered that they learn about Roe v. Wade in Germany and Canada--very humbling, as I can't think of a single Canadian major trial, and I don't think the Nurumberg Hearings count...), Pride and Prejudice (we all rather fancy Mr. Darcy), and our plans for world domination. Yes, it's a common theme among my friends. Coincidence? Perhaps not. Mwahaha. (*evil laugh a la Pete*) What can I say? I'm surrounded by evil geniuses. Kind of.

Seriously, I'm very happy tonight. I have groceries, I have a frying pan, I've met and like a majority of my flatmates, I'm warm and dry and well-fed. And tomorrow I have a graduate school induction. I love Britishisms. I feel like I'm going to have to do some sort of bizzare ritual to be inducted into graduate school. Blood letting? Binge drinking? But, no, induction is what we would call.... oh, now I'm having a hard time thinking of an equivilent... Maybe welcome talk? Or introduction? Explanation? I fail. In any case, I'm excited. Maybe they'll tell me whom my tutor will be.

The pictures below are mainly of the city center of Birmingham, which is quite lovely; I don't know what everyone was talking about who said it was ugly and industrial.... though I've heard it's changed a lot in the last 10 years or so.

So, I've been here nearly a week, and I still really like it! I'll be happy when I know something about my classes.... but the International Student Welcome Week was really fun! I met students from so many different countries: France, Germany, Canada, Austria, Finland, Kenya, Nigeria, Maritius (a small island near Madagascar), Singapore, Japan, China, Australia, Iran, and several that I'm forgetting or didn't remeber where they're from. :) We've been having great discussions; no one seems to be offended by people asking questions, so we've been learning a lot about each others' cultures. Unfortunately, I haven't really met anyone from Britain yet... but the home students arrive on Monday, so that'll be cool.

I've also made two good friends already: Alicia and Stephanie. Alicia's from Canada (although her parents are from southern India) and she's doing an MA in Egyptology, and she's going to be in my flat all year! Three more flatmates will be moving in soon... we're excited/slightly nervous to meet them. Stephanie's from Germany, although she was born in London and grew up speaking English as well as German because her mom's from Hong Kong. She's doing JYA (although it's the third year of a five year program with a name that sounds a bit like "master's" but she's a year younger than me almost exactly--it's been interesting to compare all these different educational systems) in Poli Sci--or "Politics" as they call it here. So, the three of us have been going around together a lot, which is cool.

This just gives you a sense of the juxtaposition of architectural styles you see in Bham. 

Same location as the last, but a gravestone... 

I forget what this is, but it's pretty. 

The old City Center (or Centre, as the case may be). 

Pics from a tour of Birmingham. This is taken from outside the Bullring (largest shopping center in Europe) facing a cathedral and skyline... pretty... 

My room. Small, but nice. And neater than my room at VC ever was... just give me time. See that empty bookshelf? That's gonna change real soon. 

Birmingham....
the moment for which we've all been waiting. Or at least, me.

So, this is going to be incoherent because I've been running around and I'll have to go to dinner in a bit--a couple minutes, actually-- and I'm still jet-lagged, but I just wanted to say that I'm in Birmingham, and I love it. It's international student Welcome Week--the real thing doesn't start for another 'fortnight' as they say here -- and, btw, I'm using single quotes because my keyboard doesn't have double quotes. How weird and British! :) They actually do say 'fortnight!' It's not just a Victorian thing! This makes me rather happy.

So, I bet you thought you'd hear some actual news. Well, you were wrong. Oh, all right. My flight went well-- I'd actually planned to have the 8-hr layover in Chicago, and all my flights were on time. I read The Historian in the airport and loved it. It was the perfect book for this kind of thing. I recommend it pretty highly. It's kind of like The DaVinci Code except I actually know a small amount about the scholarship it's based on, and I like it. And I guess it is more like real research than The DaVinci Code, which involved less time in libraries and more time in airplanes. But the pacing is great, particularly towards the end. I had a hard time putting it down to go to sleep on the plane.

And the campus here is gorgeous! It's got a lot of greenspace, which surprised me cause it's in the second-largest city in England, and it's got lots of architectural variety, but the main buildings are red brick, as in the phrase red-brick university, the alternative to Oxford and Cambridge, of which Bham was the first. It was founded in 1900, and has nearly 30,000 students. Several people asked me that before I left, and I didn't know, but I do now.

Pictures will follow; I haven't gotten my digital camera out or my network set up in my room.

More later!

So.... I didn't go crazy with posting desktop collages the other day. Not at all. I'm perfectly sane; I don't know why you say that. Mwahaha.

Ok, quick funny story about how you know you've been at VC too long. The other day at the bookstore, Erica came by the desk with a handful of Maxim magazines saying that she was pulling them because they were way too inappropriate. The cover read (something like): "The Hottest Women! The Nastiest Sex!" I said, naturally, "That's awful! Women aren't the nastiest sex! Besides, it should be 'nastier' because there are only two." :) Everybody laughed at me, especially me.

If you don't get it, shoot me an email and I'll hook you up with Rebecca's copy of Where Did I Come From? Or Judith Butler, if it's the other way round. :) Course, Butler would argue that there are no such thing as sexes, so it wouldn't much matter.

Which reminds me of a wonderful Punch cartoon which Lydia Murdoch cited on a syllabus:
"A new fear my bossom vexes:
Tomorrow there may be no sexes!"

Which then leads me to Noel Coward, and I'm a lost cause.