It Was Definitely a Turd

Well, my sister site has recently written a piece concerning scatology, so here I go as well.

My office situation has changed drastically since moving to The University of the South from The University of the Midwest. Back in the Lou I had an entire 1960s ex-Real Estate office to myself complete with personal kitchen, porch, and office. I could blast Florence Foster Jenkins with absolute impunity. Now, I'm in a state-of-the-art technology center complete with plasma televisions everywhere and more gadgets than I can shake a stick at. The only problem, as I described to Dave, is that my desk is now in, for lack of a better word, a public area. That doesn't mean that I'm in a public restroom or anything, but it does mean that I can no longer have opera blaring and that I overhear personal conversations on an hourly notice. Here's something you might not know so make a note of it: in such an open office area if you listen to voice mails on speaker phone everyone can hear it. And by everyone I mean people in the opposite public bay.

Anyway, speaking of public restrooms this state-of-the-art institute at which I now work has a, I suppose, state-of-the-art bathroom facility. Maybe not as state-of-the-art as you would find in Japan but it has the automatic lights that turn on and off and, basically, everything except for the soap dispenser is automatic. Which brings us to a problem.

On more than one occasion when going to use the commode I have been confronted by a turd. Just sitting there all happy-go-lucky staring at me as if saying, "You got a problem with this?" And, of course, this being one of the state-of-the-art automatic flushing toilets you can't just hit a button or pull a lever and make it disappear. The first time this happened I tried putting my hand over the sensor and pulling it away in a mock act of defiance. No deal. The sensor reflected nothing while the turd bobbed happily, mocking my mock act of defiance. As of now, I have found no way of activating the flusher without sitting down for a good thirty seconds and standing up again. State-of-the-art or not, give me a good old fashioned flusher any day of the week. I have realized that just like John Cage, I too like a fresh bowl.

The second problem with the ol' automatic flusher is the elimination of one of the most sacred of bathroom rituals. As the old receptionist back at the Joyce Foundation put it: the ol' dump and flush. I remember once as I was manning the desk for her, Delores came back in quite a huff. "Women are nasty!!!" she announced to the entire front office. "Someone did not dump and flush!!!! That's what you do. You dump and flush. Dump. Flush. Dump. Flush." This continued for a good three minutes. While everyone was looking nervously I was busy laughing my head off. As humorous as this story is it does contain an important lesson in etiquette that I'm sure Bartholomew the Elder emphasizes in his classes. Sadly, the state-of-the-art toilet has now turned this into not the dump and flush but the dump, wipe your ass (if you are so inclined), stand up, and sit back down. Definitely not as good as the ol' dump and flush.

Oh, technology, you raised our hopes and dashed them quite expertly. Well played, sir!

And Another Thing ...

The Raleigh public library has no audio-video material. No opera. No old black and white films that nobody checks out. Not even a really bad exercise video entitled "Learn How to Dan." How can this be?

Street Signs

You know those things called street signs? I've been told that in some cities like Chicago they help one to identify one's place in the city. If you're lucky they are placed in large letters and hang on the traffic light. If you're very lucky, some cities will have signs telling you that you are approaching a street. If you are less lucky then you may have to squint at one of the four corners to find out what streets you're at. If you live in Raleigh then give up because most intersections will have only have this street identifier on one of the corners and some intersections won't have one at all. Street names? We don't need no friggin' street names.

So city of Raleigh, I agree to pay your stupid vehicle personal property tax and you agree to put up decent street signs. Okay, cool? No. Oh, well. It was worth a shot.

Bloooooging in the South

Oh, I'm sorry. That should be web loooooging in the South per my objections to the "B" word.

Well, the final box has finally been unpacked and I hereby declare myself a southerner. This can only lead to the following series of most unfortunate events:

1. I drink a mint julep. All seems well in the world.
2. I start driving 20 miles over the speed limit. Well, I'm usually at between 10 - 15 so this isn't too much of a stretch. All is still right in the world.
3. I start cheering for the Nationals, Orioles, and/or Braves. Nah, that'll never happen.
4. I use the phrase "ya'll." Oh, oh. This can only lead to:
5. I'm caught French-kissing an underage goat under a haystack much to the chagrin of David Sedaris's parents.
6. Former friends and colleagues come to Raleigh to coo at my goat children.

I suppose that there's worst things in life than having goat children. All is still right in the world. Huzzah!

So, how is the South? It's hot. And the tea is sweet. Very sweet. We're talking syrup here. I'm sure my Pacific Northwest friends have heard about the legendary sweetness of sweet Southern tea but nothing really quite prepares you for it. And I like some sugar in my iced tea. The trick seems to be asking them to mix 5/6 parts unsweetened tea with 1/6th of a part of sweet tea.

What else? Raleigh is an interesting city to live in. At least around the University community it's interesting to talk to someone with a thick Southern accent and you're thinking ... uh, oh and then you realize the guy is more politically liberal than you are. Strangeness. At a conference two weeks ago a guy who looked exactly like Colonel Sanders lamented about the things that could be done with the Iraq war money. What's next? I wouldn't be surprised to bump into ol' Ani DiFranco at the local Family Dollar. Hell, St. Louis was much, much more conservative. So that's been kind of strange.

The drivers here are terrible. Before I go on with that, a little quiz. My car insurance was high because:

(a) My car was a 2005 model.
(b) I'm of the 18 - 30 year old male demographic.
(c) I lived in St. Louis.
(d) I drive what is technically considered a sports coupe that redlines at 8300 RPM.
(e) My car is orange.

If you chose the obvious answer and the one most likely to be right on the SAT, (c), then you are correct. The second I moved to Raleigh my car insurance went down by $1200 per year. So you would think that the drivers in Raleigh are excellent. Wrong. Turn signals are an afterthought. Weaving is not just something old people do although old people also do it. Despite a supposedly mandatory suspension of your drivers license for driving over 70 in a 55, people commonly do 75 in a 55. I'm not complaining about the speed. But when it's raining and there is a bit of congestion you would expect people to slow down. You'd be wrong. I drove in Chicago for three years too and the drivers there are pretty aggressive -- but in an intelligent way. The other problem here is you also occasionally run into a guy who drives 45 in a 65. Argh! Finally, the roads here are insane. They split off for absolutely no reason. They're named after strange people: Buck Jones, Franklin Jones, Jones Sausage (I am not making this up), Dan Adell. They turn into other streets randomly. Every other intersection you have to look twice because to your left it's Jones Sausage and to your right it's Turducken Way (okay, I made that one up). But you get the idea. As another fellow web logger would say: Raleigh drivers and streets you are all BLACKLISTED! Humph. And don't get me started on the beltline. Inner, Outer, turns into 440, turns into 40, 1, 64. Ack! On the bright side there exists a street called Jones Sausage Road. All is right in the world.

Besides all of this and the warnings of David Sedaris, I really like Raleigh so far. It's very pretty and since leaving the Northwest I haven't been around this many trees. It's just like Portland in that when you're on the freeway you think you're driving through some secluded forest. You exit and realize there's a city behind the forest. Nice. I'm also near a really nice lake called Lake Johnson (yeah, they really do like their white anglo names, huh?).

All of this coupled with the just general niceness of people at the University and around town have made me realize something that Alia & Devon realized after only one weekend: St. Louis is kind of a dump. No, erase that. Besides Forest Park, St. Louis is a real dump.

What else? Lessons learned. Should have kept the car registered in Oregon. I guess I should have done my research and realized that Oregon charges the least amount of vehicle registration fees in the entire country. Sigh. Oh, well. When in the South ...

Oh, yes. And tonight I found what will keep me happy for the next three to four years while I toil with my proposal and dissertation research. I've found a new Heidelberg. Wait, scratch that again. The Heidelberg was kind of a dump. Okay, fine. The Heidelberg was a dump and if it wasn't for the $2 Champagne of Beers special it wouldn't have been worth dying of cigarette smoke because of poor ventilation. No, cross that out again. Because of no ventilation. Where am I going? Oh, right. The Flying Saucer. Very cool. More than 200 beers. $2.50 pints on Monday. Firesale beers that are actually good (Oh my God they're having a Fire!!! Sale!!!!). Trivia night questions that involve things I know about like tennis and U.S. presidents. (Okay, at least tonight.)

Okay, enough unorganized rambling for one night. I'll come back one of these other nights with something more orderly and coherent and maybe even some pics of the good ol' South. 'Til then, Tony LaRussa can sleep happily knowing that there's not a strange Asian man stalking him at his Central West End home.

Oh, one more thing. Check out this band: Asobi Seksu. Uh, love them.

For Anyone Who Grew Up With Nintendo