escapism.

I feel like yelling this week.


I don't usually yell; I'm more of a roll my eyes and bear it kind of a person. But this week... ugh. I would like to yell.


So it is nice when I close all of my projects and distractions and connections and see this on my desktop.

And it reminds me of this 

and this

and this

and then I start again and I don't want to yell quite so much.

I haven't yelled yet.

the demise of my basil basket.

On Halloween, I made my way to Target for the makings of a holiday fete. I tossed my Basil basket on the ODT and off I went.  When I arrived at the cherished big box retailer, I was bummed to find that one of the welds on the arms had weakened.

Fortunately, I was able to make it home with my precariously balanced 5lb bag of sugar, multiple 2 liters, and gobs of candy and hair product. This is just the kind of thing that would happen when I'm carrying a load like this, I thought.


But the reality is, I have been hauling loads like this several times a week for the past year as I've done my grocery shopping and commuting. The year before that it was daily loads of books.  The demands I have made on this basket have not been insignificant.  I mean, the day before it broke I hauled a pumpkin in it, and the day before that I filled it to overflowing with objects from a thrifting excursion. While I think I may be able, in the short term, to jimmy it back together with some super glue and industrial tape or something, but I'm taking the demise of my basket as a cue that I need to reevaluate my cargo hauling strategies.


I've been thinking about that for a while. I tend to hoard library books at home because the thought of one bulky trip to campus with them all is so unappealing.  Recently I bought and subsequently got in a fight with a plastic drawer unit that I attempted to anchor to my rear rack (it came apart- I had no idea those were so modular!).  There are limits to what I can haul even with the basket- macaroni and cheeses work better than enormous packages or Ikea hauls. 


So, what to do? In a fantasy universe (one where I have a garage and more extra cash), I'd maybe opt for an Xtracycle setup like Big Brother's. But realistically, I see two good options. One is to get another basket or pannier. I really like the concept of Public's rear bike basket, as I prefer rear loads, but I've been spoiled by the mesh on the Basil Bern.  There are of course a number of options around the web if I wanted to go in that direction.


The other option, and the one that I think might be most practical in the car-free long run, would be to get a trailer. I've been loving on trailers since I saw Jeff's bicycle ice cream trailer last summer.  Kent's review of the Burley Travoy only heightened the appeal-- I love that the Travoy is Dahon compatible (like my defunct basket!) and that it folds up for storage.  It is quite expensive though. Yet coming across the Bike Trailer Blog today further enhanced my trailer awareness.  Philly's Craigslist trailer postings unfortunately tend towards the suburbs- outside my car-free access area- but certainly there must be a cost effective way to move in the trailer direction.

For now, I'm limited to my rack and my unfortunate little pannier (its hooks aren't quite big enough for the ODT's meaty rack).


What are your thoughts on upping the cargo capacity of my bikes?

if only i could ride the bike i just bought.

The D3 arrived this morning. It's an pretty overcast day here, and I woke up feeling not so well, so getting the bike was pretty exciting. It was easy to get up the stairs which is about all it takes to make me happy. Or so you would think.



Getting it together was, for the most part, a breeze. I really liked all these clever little hinges. It really does just snap together.

So this it where I started to have problems. As you can see, there's no seat. Currently, as it stands, if I try to put the seat post in, the seat is taller than the handle bars. As I have a 28" inseam, that would work, oh, I don't know, basically never.

The problem is that there is this white piece of pipe stuck up the stem (?- my bike vocab is limited here). There's no mention of this piece anywhere on the instructions or in any picture. My first call to Performance's product support, the guy says, "Yah, that's just a piece of packing material. Pull it out." And I was like, well, funny you would say that because I already tried that, but what the heck. I'll try again. So I hang up, and I try pulling really, really hard, and it won't budge. So I call Performance's product support again, and I'm like, no really, that piece of pipe won't come out.


And so this guy, he's a little more committed to being helpful and suggests maybe needle nose pliers, which would work if I had pliers that had an eighteen inch nose on them. And ultimately he says, well, you should take it to a shop. Which pisses me off to no end, because for this bike, they don't give you the option of shipping it to the shop to begin with, which I would do because I'm not a mechanically oriented person. So now I have no option really, lacking the necessary brute strength to get the pipe out (really, I think most people would- it's going nowhere), but to try and figure out how to get it to a shop. As SEPTA has a no bikes policy (including folding) and I lack bungee cords to strap this shit on the back of the ODT, I feel pretty hosed right now. Going to give the local Performance shop a call to see if they can make this right.

trial by blog, update.

First I wanted to thank everyone for their fantastic, well thought out feedback. It's given me a lot to chew on and it has been nice to know that people care so much about my journey. Feel free to leave thoughts if anything else comes to you. The jury is still out and will be, perhaps, for a few more weeks. I talked to the graduate director at School B today and here is the information I now have:

-I have until the "official" April 15th deadline to respond, although they have asked people to respond by April 1. So, hypothetically, they could make me an offer during that 2 week span if they have TAships to give out. After that, in spite of it being an ethical quandry, she said I could accept both schools and pull out from one during the summer. Not preferable, she noted, but she suggested that I do what I need to do on that front. Basically, she made it sound like she's letting me make my acceptance of admissions contingent upon funding if that's how I want to do it. Not sure I feel good about accepting multiple schools, but I like having until the 15th.

-She said that last year they were able to fund everybody that wanted to come; most years, they are able to offer 80%. People that come unfunded are almost always funded by the second year. It's hard to know what the circumstances will be this year, but historically they have a good track record for funding.

--Their waitlist is chronological with PhDs getting priority-- she didn't say where I'm at on the list but I am definitely in the top group.

--Touchy feely stuff that gave me a good impression: she recalled my writing sample and commented on how interesting it was. She also said they don't admit people that they don't want to come (no courtesy admissions). Her advice to me was that if only thing holding me back is money then I should think pretty seriously about coming, something my Mom told me about an hour before.

What did I get out of this? Well, even though she couldn't make any guarantees as to what kind of offer they will be able to make, she represented her program well and tried to give me confidence in the program. And really? I appreciated that she was in her office calling people back at 6:30pm.

So I'm undecided, still, and I'm going to let it be that way for a while(I will probably continue to shrink from the stress... that's another post for another time...).

Tough tittie in Tacoma City, as my grandmother would say.

trial by blog.

I have a conundrum that I would like to put forth to my readers, mostly because I don't really feel like calling everyone to get their perspective. I have two options.


School A: Offered me a funding package including full tuition benefit and a stipend.

I go to School A already. I have good relationships with the faculty, find the location to be very livable, beautiful and comfortable and I have many wonderful friends here. I've gotten good public history experience here and would continue to have such opportunities. Granted it's a really tough year for the job market-- nobody that I know who's applied for jobs with a PhD from my school has gotten hired. For the uninitiated, everyone in our field is operating on the assumption that the job market will continue to be rough.


School B: Waitlisted me for a similar funding package and won't notify waitlisted people until after they accept the admissions offer. Basically, they are asking me to make a blind decision.

School B is located in a huge metropolis on the other side of the country-- living there would definitely be an adventure and would offer more of a singles "scene" (not to mention great cultural and sporting events, the resources of several other universities in town and it is only a few hours away from some of the best libraries in the country)-- and I could take my car there. It has a very strong group of 20th century US historians and offers excellent public history training. School B is more prestigious than School A, and they have a very good rate of job placement (everyone who's worked with the person I would like to work with now has a university teaching job).

So which one would you choose? Short term stability with a risk of not getting a job at the end, or short term risk with a reasonable guarantee for employment at the end? What questions would you ask and what factors would you take into account? Flights between both places and home cost basically the same, for example. Both schools have the same school color, though School B has a cooler mascot. I'm tossing up a poll in the sidebar, but do leave a comment with your rationale.

i wonder if bicycle jesus had a hand in this.

Ugh! I feel like today is taking a big dump right on my head. It's cloudy but it won't snow, but it's cold enough to make one's lungs exhausted from riding the bike. The bike elevator is broken down, yay delightful carrying of the ODT down and up three flights of stairs. I wrote down the wrong deadline to one of my schools, so I missed it, which I found out from one of my recommenders incidentally, which filled me with embarrassment and self loathing. My computer continues to gradually manifest its assholeness by growing slower, which probably portends its imminent death. Not to mention I have a billion things to do that aren't getting done because I just feel so tortured by the day.

So I found it almost annoying when I saw this picture. Ugh! I hate it when the positive energy of the universe speaks to me in my own language, right down to the bottle dynamo. I want to be negative, dangit!

Sounds like a challenge to me. I think I'll have a Peppermint Patty and engage in some intensive rewriting.

UPDATE: I went to check the mail and it is spitting snow (yay!) and my Bicycle Jesus shirt arrived. Redemption is nigh, perhaps?

i love technology.

So earlier in the week I thought my iPod was broken; fortunately it came back to life. Now my phone is broken-- not mortally wounded, but approaching the "being held together by a rubberband and electrical tape" stage (like as soon as I get home). Be advised that I will probably drop it within the next while and it will come apart and I may be unreachable for a bit.

i wonder why they put the meat on these little white sticks.

This makes me happy: A comic take on the COB. That he suggests getting dropped of in Draper to fully enjoy State Street before getting there totally killed me.

This makes me mad: Frank Rich points out that the McCain is perpetuating myths about Hillary supporters switching parties. I think John McCain is wobbly chinned agent of the debbil, so naturally I get all wound up because that means that myth is misrepresenting me.* Felt better after Rich cataloged all of the false campaign myths and dissed them. I would feel better still if my roommates would stop watching Fox News.

This makes me sad: People in Vermont burning their furniture to stay warm in the winter. People in my own town just struggling to get by. Damn.

This makes me sad and angry: There is more international concern for DVD pirating than there is for the use of systematic rape as a strategy of war.

This post is starting to feel a little bit heavy, so here's a special treat. Gawker asked their readers today who their 80's crush is. My oh my, what a perfect opportunity to post gratuitous pictures of ♥Dolph Lundgren♥ , the only man I will ever really love.

I mean really, that body! That winning smile! That slurred ESL "I will never kneel for you" to Skeletor! Dolph Lundgren, I solute you. Schhhha-wing!

** "Myth? Myth?"
"Yeth?"

better a virtual vagina, i suppose, than none at all.*

Good thing I would rather spend what little money I have on booze and ice cream than support patriarchy by going to the movies.



*title comes from the article. genius.

bigger than my britches.

Yah, I know I should be working on like, the bazillion things technically due tomorrow, and I will get to them, honestly (AND I will make it to the Humanities Graduation! boo-yah!). Admittedly the barrage of good news this week has left me with an impressive lack of urgency in wrapping up my semester (I'm not really sure how there's a correlation). As many know, not only did I get official affirmation of my assistantship for next year (and a raise for the summer!--probably to make up for all the hours not worked this semester) but I found out that I got accepted to an oral history seminar at the RivalSchoolThatMustNotBeNamed that includes (!) getting published in a book (it's like I start freaking out--in a good way-- every time I think about this and a big inevitable smile crosses my face) (talk about the most money writing sample for PhD applications ever) (excuse my boastfulness, this is all just really, really affirming). So yah, I got my big break this week. Excuse me if I stop to savor it oh, every ten minutes or so.

But I assure you that my laziness is not cocky-ness.

You know why? Because I just cozied up with my Oral History Association newsletter (I am so proud of myself for joining! I feel so legit now!) and some of the people accepted to my seminar were interviewed for their role in doing a 150 person interview project.* Holy shitbuckets!** Featured in the national newsletter! Now I admit that after I googled everybody who got into the conference-- and I'm the only MA student and one of 3 students admitted-- but the more I get a feel for the caliber of people going to the seminar, the more out of my league I feel. I mean cool, I got accepted, but shit, now I have to produce a paper for these really accomplished people with research I have yet to do. It's daunting. Really daunting. And humbling-- the uncomfortable kind of humbling that makes you want to crawl under the desk. It's like the strangest and most potent combination of ego-boost and self-doubt I think I've ever experienced.

But, as I say all the freaking time, grad school is a confidence game, and I can only benefit from playing up to their skill level, right?

*that is an pretty huge project. I'm hoping for 10 for the conference paper and 20 for the thesis and that's pretty good size, at least for one person.

**that's the word of the week... it emerged in a fit of pseudo-Tourettes road rage on Monday and has yet to go away (the word, that is--the road rage is long gone).

let me be an example.

I'll cut to the chase because I should be writing my paper. The moral of the story is: If you haven't purchased red meat since September, it is unwise to buy a steak in April and eat the whole thing in one sitting.

Worst. stomach. ache. ever.

the tragic state of health care in america, or, why i hate being a grown up sometimes.

Watch out-- this post will be filled with profanity. -M

Today I received a bill for 335.40 from University Health Care. For August 23rd of last year. When I still had decent benefits through Uncle Callison (my student insurance now is sketchy enough to make me a diligent partaker of my multivitamin and hope my appendix never bursts). Surprised, both at how quickly seven months can pass, and in extreme wonderment at how, after seven months, I was being fucking billed, I called their billing office, because um hello, this I cannot afford. I already spent that money on plane tickets for wedding fun and family reunionizing!

I don't have good experience with billing-- something similar to this happened in November over treatment I'd received in May and June and finally it was determined that it was nothing more than an unfightable case of my insurance just being assholes who don't want to fucking pay to have me tested because fuck, they might actually fucking have to pay to treat me. So I was defensive when I made my call today.

This defensiveness quickly melted into hysteria (blasted "hysterical woman" stereotype! I hate being that woman!) as I was told that my former asshole insurer had denied the claim not once, but four times, and finally UHC just gave up and sent me a bill. I told poor billing guy, over and over and over, but I was covered through the end of that month. I mean, fuck, what if my appendix had burst? What if the bill was for 8,000 dollars? Clearly I was being screwed. Finally the guy conceded that my former insurer had said that they didn't recognize my ID information and that I would have to call my former insurer. I would have to do the work because people specializing in medical billing can't fucking handle it. This is our health care system-- oh just charge the patient, they can assume the costs, we don't care how we get our money as long as we get it. That fucking attitude is destroying our country. When patient care-- the whole fucking purpose of going to the doctor-- is not the priority, our country is headed down the shithole fast.

Enraged, I hung up and tore into the black hole pit of hell that constitutes my filling system. Finally-- FINALLY-- I found the letter from my former insurer stating I was indeed covered and called their asses. You know what they told me? Oh, it's because they were filing with former insurance Utah, not Washington. It means they had your prefix wrong. Three little letters on my insurance card that the billing people didn't catch. Of course our system didn't recognize you. Our records don't even show they tried making a claim, the nice girl said.

So I called UHC and the guy had his tail between his legs as I told him how his fucking system that he should understand works, and hopefully I won't get billed for it.

But here's what makes me mad. If you don't know what questions to ask-- if all you did was go to the doctor and that's all you really understand about the situation-- then the system makes you pay. The healthcare system in this country privileges not only the people who can pay for it, but also the people who know how to negotiate it, the people who can articulate their needs or concerns or problems to ensure they don't get fucked over. Honestly, this is the kind of shit that gives me heartburn, I'm choking down berry-flavored Tums like skittles right now because it gives me reflux that everything-- fucking everything in this fucking country-- seems to come back to some kind of privilege. Whether I got the job with insurance because I'm white or because I was a woman or whether that guy didn't take me seriously because I'm a woman or because my class has put me in a position to get higher education so I can have the linguistic skills to deal with the bureaucracy-- it's all dependent on some kind of privilege. And that makes me so angry because it seems to me that healthcare shouldn't be privileged. In a country with as much abundance, with such an exceptionally high standard of living, it seems to me that access to healthcare should be a right extended to all Americans. And that my friends, is why I will support a Democrat in November, because this shit can't be tolerated any longer.

*end rant*

happy spring break to all, and to all, a good flight.

what follows is filled with foul language and is not for the faint of heart or easily offended. -M

'Twas the week before Spring Break
And all through my room
spread a giant fucking mess
and a real sense of doom

The explosion of books
and papers entrap
I can't hardly work
I'm so buried in crap!

The recycling is piling
and I can't find a pen
Just wait until Sunday
I'll be freaking out then

One paper in progress,
another unwritten
German to translate,
But no, I'm not quittin'!

For from out of the clutter
comes a thought that doth flatter!
Grad school's but a moment!
This shit doesn't matter!

So what do I care
if my room's getting smelly
Or that the stress eating
turns my body to jelly?

For on the horizon
Spring Break calls me home!
With nieces aplenty,
and the North End to roam!

With the promise of real beer--
no more three point two!
Merry night bike rides
and family dinners--ooo!

With visions of skies gray
my heart starts to swell
And then bursts out my yearning--
"TACOMA!" I yell!

As I make this last thrust
of effort for school
I call out in the night
for those places so cool--

"On Harmon, on Capers,
on sweet Southern Kitchen,
On Parkway, on Red Hot,
I'll soon stop my bitchin'!"

And despite my damn thesis
and my job that demands
I know I'll soon be in Tacoma
With a Fat Tire in hand

amen.

melon meltdown madness.

I had a meltdown today. Not the old-fashioned sobbing hysterics that used to characterize my meltdowns... it was actually more of a shutdown. I just couldn't take my day, or my week, my cold or the pressures of school.

Naturally I wound up at the craft store looking for something else to do.

I read about Sublime Stitching on Apartment Therapy last week and was duly impressed with the images of say, flying devil spawn and the possibility of them adorning my tea towels. So I got some embroidery gear and went to our magical City Library and checked out the Sublime Stitching pattern book. While the contents of the book are not nearly as subversive or quite as awesome as the website, you can just iron them straight on the fabric and set to stitching.

I made this with the help of some Kozy Shack tapioca pudding and my reading glasses:


There was something satisfying about finishing something that would be evaluated by no one else but me.

Needless to say, I can't wait for Spring Break.

sad day.

John Edwards suspends campaign. Now who am I supposed to vote for?