If you see The Coach today,
wish him a happy b-day.
Archive for July, 2010
Esoteric Reference
2010
07.27
07.27
Proving Robert Putnam wrong since 2010
Yes, we joined a bowling league and it starts tomorrow night
Take Your Birdie to Work Day
2010
07.25
07.25
With the power invested in me as the Mayor of the College of Liberal Arts (thanks foursquare), I declared Saturday “Take Your Bird to Work Day.” Well, actually, it was take your Birdie to work day — meaning I loaded my adolescent Jack Russell into Sally and went to campus to do a little course prep. I’ve tried taking my other dogs to work before, but it’s never been very successful. Chessie cowered in the car and whined under my desk; Clancy acted like he had the canine version of Tourette’s Syndrome. Neither dog acted like a good citizen and both dogs probably could have used a tranquilizer or something. In fact, the day I brought Clancy to the office, I got so frustrated that I left after an hour.
But, hey, it’s summer and most professors are hiding in a faraway country or a house on the coast or on the links — they are anywhere but in the Liberal Arts Building. Since The Coach and I are taking about taking a massive road trip next summer while he’s still on his sabatical from football — and since we want to take the terriers along — I thought it would be a good time to see how Birdie would behave. Aside from trying to climb out the car window a time or two (we need to work on that), she was amazing! She spent a little time sleeping on the chair, then I took her for a walk (where she ate goose poop – not so good), then she curled up under my feet and went to sleep. Yeah, Birdie’s a good little tenure pup.
Now if I could only teach her to grade papers …
Not Administrator Appropriate
2010
07.23
07.23
It was rumored that I was going to buy some administator appropriate shoes this summer. It’s true, I do need some. These, however, are not it — even though I just ordered a pair off of Amazon. How kitschy are they — and so damned cute. T.U.K., you might oust Doc Martins as my favorite shoe provider!
Reading List for the Apocalypse
2010
07.23
07.23
The other day, as I was putting together the update to my Big Book Challenge, I came across a new list on Time’s website. It appears that the editors have put together their top ten post-apocalyptic books. Now, I’m a sci-fi buff and I read a lot of dystopian fiction, so I was surprised to learn that I had only read one book on this list – and that was the nonfiction book by Alan Weisman.
Obviously, I feel compelled to rectify this situation. Lord knows, after I read The Long Emergency, I felt like the end of the world would be here before the end of my lifetime – but that’s a story for another blog entry.
Here’s the list. Have fun with it!
Retrospective: Roman Orgy
2010
07.22
07.22
Bathhouse Row
Hot Springs National Park, Arkansas
Yesterday, I swear, The Coach and I visited the nation’s weirdest national park. Okay, I haven’t been to every national park, so maybe that statement won’t be particularly accurate in the long run, but Hot Springs National Park is one of the oddest parks I have been to so far in my life. In some ways, it reminded me of TQE’s adventures in Turkey, only The Coach didn’t make it to the bathhouse before it closed.
Maybe I should start from the beginning? You see, when I first planned The Coach’s birthday trip, we were going to stop at the Superman Museum in Illinois. Of course, I planned that side trip before we acquired Patton — you know, before we ended up with the two critter tag-a-longs. Since we are good pet owners, we don’t leave our animals in steaming hot cars in the summer (if you do – shame on you!), so we ended up having an extra day in our trip to Little Rock. The Coach, seeing that Hot Springs was only an hour from Little Rock, decided that now would be a good time to ‘bag’ another stamp in our National Parks Passport Book. So, we grabbed the camera, put down Sally’s roof, and cruised down I-30 to the back road into the park. Along the way, we passed many signs indicating that Arkansas is overly concerned with religion {“Vote Out Incumbents! Support Pro-Life Candidates!”} but otherwise it was a pleasant drive.
We arrived in Hot Springs, drove down Central Avenue, tried not to run over pedestrians, and found one of the fanciest parking structures I’ve ever seen — including a nifty water feature:
The fanciest parking garage I have ever seen
Hot Springs, Arkansas
So, with the car stowed away, we wandered down to the Visitor’s Center, located in the old Fordyce Bathhouse. That’s when the weird park sensations began. You see, the hot springs were thought to have curative powers so people would travel by stagecoach and, later train then car, to come to the springs. The master vision was to have an European-style spa community — and this was the vision embraced by the park service prior to the Depression and World War II. As you might imagine, sick people don’t want to soak in springs. Oh no, they want creature comforts — thus, the bathhouses were built.
We toured the Fordyce, looking at the old tubs, the vapor closets, and the massage rooms. At one point, people were given electric shocks while in the water. Obviously this was before the Loony Tunes educated a generation of children, showing us that it was a bad idea to drop a toaster in a tub. Of course, the men had a larger bath room; they also had the better rooftop patio where they could sunbathe in the nude. But, my particular favorite moment in the center was the video — circa 1980s, judging by the hair — which told us how to take a bath. You go to a room and strip. An attendant wraps you in a sheet. You soak in a tub. Someone walks in and scrubs you with a loofah and so on and so forth. I was good until the loofah part; well, that part and the part where they talked about how they scrubbed the tubs out after each person. That skeeved me out a bit. All I could think about was getting athlete’s foot on my ass. The Coach? Not so skeeved out. While he was all for going down to the Buckstaff Baths, I think I’ll wait for the Quapaw Baths to open. I’d rather play in the pools, thank you very much.
After looking through the visitor’s center, The Coach asked one of the rangers to recommend a good place to eat. We ended up going to the Exchange Street Cafe, which was charming in its own way. The service sucked, the floors were sticky, and The Coach never got his fries, but the BBQ was good, the decor was cute, and I had some rockin’ good sweet potato fries. To be fair, I think that the waitress didn’t show up, which would explain the service. The poor lady at the counter was busing tables, serving food, and watching her kid all at the same time.
The rest of our trip included filling a bottle with hot springs water so that The Coach can “quaff the elixir,” as the orientation film put it. We also spent an ungodly amount of money to ride in a “duck,” which was an okay experience — but not worth $13/person. Plus, we then saw a different duck group giving the rides for only $10/person, which really kind of annoyed me, but whatever.
For the record: We did make it back to Little Rock in time for The Coach to go to the Arkansas Inland Maritime Museum. He said that it was a squeeze to get through the USS Razorback. Me? I stayed in the hotel room and played with our neglected cats.
Originally Published: July 7, 2008
Retrospective: Presidential Wanderings
2010
07.21
07.21
Storm in Little Rock
Taken from the Clinton Library
As you probably have figured out by now, the Coach and I are big nerds. For the Coach’s 40th birthday (coming soon to a candle factory near you!), we decided to take a trip. I gave him two options: Memphis, with all of its Elvis-inspired glory, or Little Rock, where we could see Clinton’s museum. The Coach opted for Little Rock, mostly because there was a chance that he could go to the maritime museum to play on a submarine.* So, we drove down on the 4th of July and checked into the only downtown hotel that would take critters because Pyewacket and Patton are in tow. Let’s just say that the hotel is adequate, but almost everyone else is here for a family reunion.
Yesterday, we dragged our sorry asses out of bed, ate our free continental breakfast (pretty good), and headed for the William J. Clinton Presidential Library and Museum. For those of you who are keeping count, this is our fifth Presidential Museum.** The library is located along the Arkansas River, on the opposite side of I-30 from the museum bookstore. For some reason — a “mis-memory” of the controversy about the location of the museum — I thought the library would be hanging out over the river. That’s not the case, although it does seem to be in a flood plain.
We started out by looking at the miniature White House, then made our way up to the 12 minute orientation film. We were sitting there, waiting for the video to start when this person behind us said that he couldn’t wait for the W museum to open. I had to elbow the Coach on that one. Seriously? What on earth will W say about his miserable presidency? But then, that’s besides the point …
The Oval Office
Duplicated in the Clinton Library
After the video, we wandered down to the model of the Cabinet Room, which was packed to the gills with people from — you guessed it — a family reunion. We decided to go down to Cafe 42 and eat lunch; we figured that this would allow that honking huge family to make its way through the museum. The food, by the way, was pretty good. We had the lunch buffet which included mashed potatoes, roast pork/beef, and bread pudding. Good thing we were walking around for the rest of the afternoon!
As presidential libraries go, the Clinton Library is adequate. It is much better than the Carter and Eisenhower museums, but the Truman museum is, by far, the best one I’ve ever been in. We walked around in there for a long time, browsing through the eight-year timeline, dipping into the policy nooks, learning that the Impeachment was just party politics. Well, let me modify that. The Coach is one of the slowest museum goers I have ever met; I spent a good chunk of time sitting on a bench just waiting for him to finish up.
A rainstorm stranded us in the museum after we were done looking around, but we eventually escaped to the museum store where the Coach picked up two ties (one with Republican presidents, the other with Democratic presidents). We could have bought shirts saying “I miss Bill” but honestly, while I wanted Hillary to be president, I don’t really miss the drama surrounding Bill’s dick (not to put too fine a point on it).
Oh, and Doe’s was closed for the holiday. So was the Velo Rouge. The list goes on and on. We finally ended up at the Flying Fish which was quite charming in a greasy, southern kinda’ way. The Coach had something called the Hogwaller basket (2 catfish, 4 shrimp, 6 oysters, and slaw) while I opted for the faux oyster po-boy (the bread was wrong) and okra. The best thing about the joint? The Billy Bass Adoption Center. {LOL!}
Now, I must get ready for today’s adventures. We’re off to Hot Springs to soak our feet in the therapeutic waters and to drink from the mineral springs.
Originally Published: July 6, 2008
Retrospective: New York (Re)Visited
2010
07.20
07.20
Welcome to the old Republic Steel site.
We left our tailings for you.
As you all know, I lived in upstate New York for a while when I was a kid. My folks just sorta’ dumped me at my grandparents’ house when I was 4 and when they didn’t come back, my grandmother enrolled me in kindergarten. I ended up staying there until I finished third grade. When I tell people I lived in the Adirondacks, they generally “oh” and “ah,” going on and on about how beautiful the area is. I agree that certain parts of the park are nice, but I grew up in an abandoned mining town. There’s nothing pretty about what my grandfather called “the slag heap.”
I took this picture [above] from a fork in the road, coming up the mountain from Port Henry to Moriah Corners (or maybe it’s Moriah Center, I’m not sure). You can actually see this landmark from the fort at Crown Point, it’s that large. One of my grandmother’s friends told me that the kids used to slide down this hill. {Ewh!} She also talked about how one day vegetation will cover the whole thing. Okay, it’s true that the trees are starting to march up the tailings pile, but I’m here to tell you that this heap looks the same today as it did three decades ago.
An old Republic Steel sign
Located near the abandoned bath house
One of the things I’m thinking about doing is writing an article about mining in the Adirondack Park. [Update: Still in the thinking stages. My trip to New York was cancelled this year due to various car-related issues.] It’s an interesting situation: the park was set aside in 1892 to protect the watershed, but mining — which is not an environmental good — was still allowed. According to my grandmother, the ore in this mine was the purest in the country, so it was essential to gut the mountain during World War II. In fact, my grandparents’ house is located in an old federal housing project, built to shelter the miners and their families. The rent was $10/mo and eventually the miners were allowed to buy the homes. All I know is that when I have tried to find information about Republic Steel, the three mines around Moriah are never really mentioned, although Lyon Mountain is. I found a couple of really old pictures of the Old Bed Mine [1, 2] on the NYS Museum’s website, but not much else.*
Abandoned Bath House
Witherbee, New York
Even though there may not be a lot of easy-to-find information (I suspect that one would have to really delve into the archives housed at the various historical societies), mining relics dot the area. A rusted sign here, an abandoned building there, stone houses build by “The Company,” and cold spots in the road. I took a bunch of pictures on my trip, including the bathhouse (above), the old hospital, and the old mining office. Yet, one building is completely gone — the Pepto-bismol pink building that was at the mouth of the mine on the “Whee Hill” (that’s what we called it when I was a kid) where the landfill is now located. I wonder when they tore that old building down?
There is still an open pit in the area
It makes for a “cold spot” in the road
Today, there’s really not much going on in the Town of Moriah. You have to drive at least 50 minutes to go to a movie theatre. The different Catholic parishes had to consolidate; St. Michael’s (below the break) isn’t even open anymore. At one point, the grocery store in Port Henry went out of business (although I am pleased to report that a new one came in and it carries hummus! Who knew?). People drive to Ti to work at the paper mill — a lovely little industry that makes the whole area smell like rotten cabbage.** Other people drive over the bridge into Vermont to work factory jobs. Still others work in the shock facility, because {insert sarcastic tone here} we all know that prisons are such a good form of economic development.
This is the boundary line for one of the old mines
Of course, the most obvious form of economic development is missing. While other communities in this region are up on tourism (Westport is a good example), Moriah has missed the boat. Sure, you can go to the Iron Center (open three days a week in the summer) in Port Henry. Sure, you can go down to the shore and look for the lake monster. But, try to find a hotel in town — and you’ll only find one, unless you plan on driving down to Ti or over to Vermont. And while you might find decent food over in Lake Placid (like we did), there aren’t that many restaurants in the Moriah/Port Henry area.
That said, you will find the best damned hot dogs in the United States at Gene’s, this little hot dog stand located in Port Henry on the way to the beach. If you go there, you have to have the Michigans, topped with onions. I swear, you’ll be in heaven.
Originally Published: July 9, 2008
Sad: Summer’s Over
2010
07.19
07.19
Well, it’s official – my summer holiday is officially over. I didn’t get much done during my 10 weeks off from teaching. I worked a bit on my conference paper thanks to the writing institute. I worked a little on my Louisiana project thanks to my CLAFDA grant. I did get the carpet pulled up in two of the four upstairs rooms in my house. I managed a vacation to Ireland. I’m fairly certain that I’ve entered my second childhood – I read a ton of teen novels, I played skeeball at Gattitown, I’ve been bowling (a lot). We saw a couple movies, I caught up on watching True Blood, and I even went to my first roller derby bout. Heck, we even went to an Otters’ game. For the first time in years, I have a real tan, although it’s starting to fade. My garden gave me a ton of tomatoes and I have enough corn to make it for dinner for the next two weeks.
All in all, a relaxing summer.
Now, however, I am back in my office. I have to do all the crap I meant to do earlier this summer while I am teaching a couple of classes. I am fairly certain that will suck, but teaching in the summer funds my travel for the following year. I’m going to New Zealand in January (thanks to a grant) and I hope to make my way to Germany or Guatemala over the spring break. Since The Coach is taking a football sabbatical, I’m thinking we might have a long weekend getaway in October and I’m hoping for a nice 20th anniversary road trip next summer.
Because I have to get my classes up and running – and because I have a book chapter to crank out by the 31st – I have set up a few “retrospective” entries for this week. I’m almost done deconstructing my old blog account and I want to repost my old travel writings on this blog. Going back through my old blog, I realized that I’ve been blessed with travel riches over the past four years. I’m holding back some entries – I’m thinking about doing a Southwest retrospective in December – but over the next few weeks you’ll be seeing my thoughts about traveling to New York State, Arkansas, Kansas, and Florida. In August, I’ll have a lot of Louisiana writings for the five year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
Don’t worry – I’ll have new stuff as well. The Coach and I are joining a bowling league, we’re still working on our house, and I always have things to say about my classes (grading, ugh) and my research (still trying to make full professor by the time I’m 50). I’m sure there will be some other angst driven entries: Should I take my nose piercing out as I climb higher up the administrative ladder? How much should I protect my new faculty hires from service obligations? What is the appropriate balance between my home life and my work life? What do I do about my old, falling down house? And, of course, the time honored favorite, what do I do with my husband now that he’s not coaching this fall?
Stay tuned. We might be in for a rocky ride.