Comma Dot Comma

I faced the snowy world today with a swell of triumph in my breast. Wait. That didn’t come out right. I guess I shouldn’t put “swell” and “breast” in the same sentence from now on. Start over.

I faced the snowy world today with the triumphant visage of a superhero. Dottie the Conqueror. I did not walk to the car, I strode. Sashayed. Swaggered. Why? Because I had faced the powers of inertia with my small weapon (word processor) and I had won.

The air conditioner in my apartment has been broken oh, since we moved in a year and a half ago. We called the landlord every week all summer and in September he finally replaced some pipes and tubes. Leaving behind holes in several walls in the house. Also a giant black rubber tube with a matching copper tube curving down the entire wall of our back room. Also a hole in the back brick wall where the tube goes out. There is putty around it but the sunlight still comes through and makes cool designs on the floor.

I like the sunlight designs but really. It’s cold out. More phone calls. More unreturned phone calls. Finally I included a –shall we say — firm letter with my rent check. Sample sentence:

“We look forward to your cooperation in the timely completion of the repairs– a hearing would be an inconvenience for everyone, and we’d like to avoid it if possible. ” (In Baltimore you can put your rent in escrow with the city when repairs go undone for long periods).

Three days later, the tube has been replaced, and the Russians are banging around the house filling in holes and gesturing and saying things I don’t understand but find satisfying to listen to. Everytime the say something, they follow it up with a productive and sensible action. I wish they were here all the time. I wish they would tell each other to bundle the recycling or sew the belt loops back on my brown pants. I tell myself these things but it doesn’t have the same effect. Maybe because I use English?

Russian A: “Glotsky dubrenik!”
Russian B: “Da!” And Russian B starts mixing up putty or rehanging the drywall or whatever.

I talked to the nice go-between lady at the Landlord’s office. She said that the Landlord planned to personally supervise the work. She said I should let her know if anything was not to my liking. “Good thing you sent that letter,” she said.

“Oh, did you read it?” I said.

“Yeah it scared me a little,” she said.

“Pretty badass eh?” I said. We laughed.

Only one worry. As I was heading out the door the Russians were talking concernedly about a crack that runs along the ceiling. I hadn’t even mentioned it in the letter. They were tilting their heads to view it from different angles. They were calling their boss on the cell phone about it.

“Is that bad?” I asked one of them, pointing at the crack. He listened to the cell phone conversation for a moment and then turned back to me with that concerned doctor look that you know means bad news.

“Da,” he said.

Later today I will post a picture of the Black Tube That Was and Is No More. It deserves to be commemorated. (wait, now I wonder if the AC is broken again. Must doublecheck when I get home).

Okay, I warned you that I love quizzes. So here’s one, with my results. What genre would your life be?

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone’s obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski

The Mister is looking for a tenure track professor job. They don’t make it easy on him.

Here’s his schedule for the latest multi-day interview:

Tuesday, December 6, 2005

And this is after five years of grad school, a huge application process, a mini-interview at a conference, a mini-phone interview, and a lot of “networking,” which is the academic version of this:

Now imagine doing that for multiple schools. It’s sort of like when you go to visit someone at their office and the door is slightly ajar. You knock, and they say, “come on in!” What you don’t realize at first is that they and all their friends are pressed up against the other side of the door so it won’t budge. They are whispering about you as you try to jam yourself through the tiny crack in the door, shoving against it with your hip and shoulder, sucking in your stomach, and the whole time trying to keep up the friendly banter. “Why yes, I do enjoy the outdoors! And you?”

If you’re reading this, Mister, I’m proud of you. You’re almost through that door. A year from now all the undergrads will have crushes on you, their new young professor with the fascinating research ideas, the staggering intellect, and that way of making even complicated statistics as clear as day.

For some reason the people at my church have seen fit to let me teach the 3rd/4th grade Sunday school class. They must not be aware how much I revel in silliness.

Strictness and silliness are necessities in a class with two kids who speak mostly Russian and two more who don’t read yet (plus assorted others). We can’t just sit quietly on our folding chairs and read the Bible. Anyway the Bible is boring in lots of places.

Yesterday’s lesson was on the angels visiting the shepherds when Jesus was born. We were kind of acting it out as we went along. We were all grouchy tax collectors, hugely pregnant women, and sleepy shepherds. I mentioned that the sheep probably knew something weird was going on before the shepherds did. The kids milled around and nudged each other and went “BAAAA” a lot.

It was one of those moments. Ten children in my charge bearing an uncanny resemblance to sheep. How did I get such a funny life?

So then we got to the part where the shepherds are really scared of the angels, and I asked the students why they were scared. Suddenly I was trapped in a conversation about what angels look like.

“Girls with blond hair and wings!”
“No, they’re guys! Guys in dresses!” (snicker snicker)
“They are really bright, like the sun, that’s scary!”
“Maybe they have weapons!”
“Yeah, they have masks and ninja weapons!”
“They are ghosts, scary ghosts!”

“You’re all correct,” I said. “Angels are shiny, blond-haired, cross-dressing ninja ghosts.”*

Every week as we put away our props and crafts and pencils I wonder what they tell their parents about class. “What’d you learn today, honey?” “I learned how to be a nervous sheep!” They demonstrate by body-slamming their siblings and saying “Baaaaa” as loudly and plaintively as possible. That little game will last the whole car ride home.

*Just kidding.

My favorite fake-Christian-News monthly is out. This article in particular makes me laugh:
Pastor Named Most Relevant

(It looks like the link is temporarily broken, so I changed it to the larknews homepage.)

I have a new favorite customer reviewer on Netflix. He’s (and I’m sure it’s a he) been helping me see old favorites in a new light.

For example, I thought Blade Runner was a story in which a man goes on a lonely quest across a futuristic landscape of dark urban decay. He has been assigned to hunt down and destroy a group of rebel androids. In the process, he finds himself questioning right and wrong, authority, what it means to be human, and ultimately his own humanity.

Turns out I was overthinking it. Here’s what my favorite reviewer has to say:

When I am first to watch this movie, I am not understanding what problem is for protagonist. Yet, I wait for not so long and I see immediately what that big is problem indeed! He is fall in the love with pretty robot woman and she is as beauty much for any man for his eyes to stand for. I watch this movie and hopeful for policeman to save and marry his robot woman. And, Man, it is for much excitement! Will he to achieve the success? You will have to discover for that your own watching!

It’s just a simple cross-species love story! Glad I got that straightened out.