Schreiber

Well, shoot.

I was toying with the idea of taking off some time at the end of the month and actually going on retreat: spending a few days at the (certainly crazy, possibly even corrupt, but very nice in person) monastic community down on the Cape. Checking out their website, it appears that this is, indeed, something that one can do...although they'd probably want me to give them a bunch of money. (Though not oodles more than I'd pay for a B&B.)

No, the problem is that I've apparently burned through most of my vacation time, and am now tentatively committed to completely torch what's left looking after Peter in November...while G. is (ironically) on retreat.*

Fuck this job.**

Weather: Way too fucking hot.


* Well, or a clergy conference. Something vaguely along those lines.

** This sentiment is deepened by the fact that my cheap overlords in Georgia are being (typically) stupid about overtime; that I spent a pointless amount of time on the phone with a parent who had overnighted a refrigerator, and who then had the gall to complain to my boss about the quality of all of our phone skills; and most of all, by the fact that the day started with UPS dumping a load of packages on our doorstep several hours early...so that they could come back later with more. That sort of thing tends to blight one's enthusiasm.

Subrealm: Why I'm not going to Burns Night

So there's this thing in the D&D universe where it is sometimes possible to resurrect a dead character, but the spell involves powdered diamonds.

I am coming to realize that cars work on a similar principle.

"Oh, OK," said sovay, who was cheering me up/listening to me bitch about the whole affair afterwards. "So I *thought* that your car had died catastrophically a couple of years ago, but in fact you brought it back to life by pouring money into it."
Yes, yes I did. And then I did it again this weekend.

See, I'd been kinda worrying that something like this was going to happen. It's been really cold, and I'd driven the car maybe once between getting back from England and this past Wednesday. Wednesday I got gas, because I was about to run out, and having made it back from the gas station...well, the battery light was on, but I figured that that was just the cold, and not being driven much. Thursday I went out to stock up on stuff* for Peter's visit. I got to the library without incident. Getting out of the library parking lot...my car stalled, and refused to start again.
I cursed, but was unsurprised. (See above.) What I *didn't* know was wtf I was going to do about it. I called Sovay to ask if her cousins had jumper cables; I called teenybuffalo to ask if she had any; I even called my roommate (the one with no car) to ask if he had any thoughts. Eventually, somebody pointed out that my car insurance might be able to help, and they were right. I called Progressive; Progressive charged me fifty bucks and paged a repairman [A] to come by with jumper cables. Everything looked like it was gonna be ok. I went out to my car to wait for the repair guy.

It is at this point that this story changes from mild tragedy to black farce. Because I tried turning the car on (just for the hell of it)...And it turned on.

Lessons learned, #1: This does not mean your car is in proper working order.

SO I let it run for a few minutes...

Lessons learned, #2: It actually takes like 15-20 minutes to charge a dead battery.

...and then called repair guy [A] to tell him he wouldn't be needed after all, and drove out of the parking lot.

Lessons learned, #3: NEVER DO THIS.

My car stalled less than two blocks further on. The dude behind me helped me push it to the side of the road (into a bus stop, coincidentally)., but I was pretty much screwed.
I called Progressive back, asked if I could de-cancel the cancellation. They said "Ooooh boy..." but ultimately pages another repair guy [B] (since repair place [A] hated my guts now.) The downside was that he wouldn't be there for an hour.

Shortly after this, a DIFFERENT random dude [C] showed up with a tow truck. I told him I had help coming. He went away, showed up again a while later, and offered to give me a jump pro bono. (Well, and in the hope of a tip, which I gave him.) So he got my car going...
"Your alternator light's on, though, so I'm not sure how far your gonna make it..." he noted.

Lessons learned, #4: Random dudes in tow trucks are sometimes right AND not trying to screw you out of cash, and I could have spared myself some pain and uncertainty if I'd just told him "Oh, in that case would it make sense for you to tow me to your place?"

Because he was right. Attempting to actually DRIVE the car caused it to stall out.

I called my roommate again and begged him to Google me a towing service.

Lessons learned, #5: Very few towing services are still operating at 11pm.

The local one didn't pick up, so I called the one in Waltham (who we'll call [D}), which (a) is near my workplace, and (b) I thought was the one I'd taken the car to before.**

He took my car, charged me an arm, told me he'd give me a discount on the leg if he did the servicing. I said Great, and went to mourn my fate chez Sovay.
As it turned out, my car was ready the next day. This was actually NOT good news, since I'd planned my evening around taking Peter home on the train. Now, I guess, Grace was gonna have to pick ME up, then drop us both at [D}...once we actually found it.

And then, as often happens, it appears that one thing going wrong (not even sure which) had taken out the adjoining systems. My battery was leaking; my alternator*** had seized up totally; one of the belts linking alternator to drive train had died violently. They had a diagram in the waiting room, with things related to your power train highlighted in red. I needed most of them replaced.

(The irony is that I'd emailed my Aunt just before all this happened. "PS: Tell Abe the car's still running," I tacked on to the end.
Lessons learned, #6: Avoid saying things like this. It attracts attention from the demons who administer Murphy's Law.)

Total damage to credit card...let's suck it up and look at that bill again...$758.61.

So yeah. Originally, I was planning to join teenybuffalo and any other Scottish/folksinging/drinking enthusiasts at the Burren tomorrow for Burns Night. But as-is...I really don't feel like celebrating. Or spending any more money.

* Where by "stuff" I of course mean groceries and Dragonbreath novels.
** Answer: No. Also, the OTHER guy in Waltham had, at least according to [D}, screwed the oil pan over so thoroughly that he wasn't gonna touch it himself. %$^Y&UPOI.
*** WTF they call it an alternator, when "Generator" would be a less confusing term, is beyond me.

ME: Do you know what sucks about job applicating?
BARRISTA: All of it?

[She officially wins the conversation, and also is my hero now.]

ME: ...Yes! That. But also,
(1) When you have to list "That one time when you were working for your parents" on your résumé...
BARRISTA: Do you really have to list that?
ME: Weeelllll, it would be helpful in this case. Especially when
(2) Two of the people you would otherwise be using as references are dead.

Bad News: The little part that attaches the cable to my laptop self-destructed last week. While I was still in the last throes of grading.

Good News: My computer-part guy didn't have a replacement, but he WAS willing to let me use his spare HP power cord.
For the entire weekend, as it turned out.
So mad props to Pierre's of the Old Port!

More Good News: I talked the guys at H.R. Distributers, who'd sold me the part in the first place, into getting the company to send me/them a replacement cord. Free.
So big kudos to them. (And actually, also to Pierre again, since it was he who pointed out that Manhattan would supposedly do that.)

Bad news: I didn't get the archivist job at York.

Good news: Uh...I guess moving transatlantic would've made life inconvenient?* And...I guess it's good to know sooner rather than later, so I don't have to keep holding that weekend free...
No screw it, this is pretty much ALL bad news. (If not unexpected.) Espec. because
More Bad News: This means I have to go back to square one on job applicating. And you all KNOW how much I love that!

For today, though, I should get back to copy-editing.**

Additional Bad news: I have what I initially thought was a really bad allergy flareup, but is now looking increasingly like the 'flu. Needless to say, this does not improve my mood OR my productivity. (It is an event that violates the Chez Geek principle!)

* Though, in fact, only slightly more so than moving to DC, which is also looking faintly possible. Also, guess which place's weather/culture is going to get on my nerves faster?

** I believe I told you how the guy in Esslingen dumped several projects in my lap just before Finals week. I got those done.
He gave me more.

Well, drat.

As some of you know, a couple of months ago I applied for a job writing abstracts of articles for EBSCO, which maintains one of the main databases of electronic journals and the like. I've done this several times in the past without results; this time, I actually got an interview. And it actually went reasonably well.

Then I heard nothing from them for two months.

Given this (and the fact that I needed to, y'know, tell MECA whether I was going to be around next semester),* I called the person who interviewed me at EBSCO t'other day. And it appears that EBSCO's higher-ups may, in fact, be *pulling* the position. It's not absolutely certain, of course; but definitely means back to the drawing board for me.

(This does explain a few things, of course: not only the fact that she never got back to me, and the disjunct between what seemed like a perfectly nice supervisor (and team) and a company that is notably bad at telling you in a timely fashion whether you've actually been hired or not...)

sigh, fml, apply for editing jobs...

* Or at any rate I thought I did. A frantic phone call to my department head revealed that when I told him I wouldn't be teaching here next year, he interpreted that to mean "next academic year", whereas I, not being willing to commit when I might be moving to Massachusetts on two weeks' notice, had meant "next calendar year". So on the plus side, I have at least a part-time job in the New Year. On the minus side, it's a job teaching a course I don't like much, and that I need to tear the stuffing out of and redesign so it sucks less.
Well, and of course it pays fairly badly.

I have bedbugs. AGAIN.

I really didn't need this.

I have thrown out the mattress that I got for free back in September, and that is the most likely of several possible culprits. Meantime, we're going to be exterminating, Dalek-style...

The landlord called in a pest inspector today. Unfortunately, he called in a company which specializes in termites; so I do not have a lot of confidence in their finding no evidence of bedbugs in the apartment...
(This is why I wanted to call in the guys with the bedbug-sniffing dogs. grumble.)
* Some remarks of the exterminator-dude suggest, otoh, that one of the OTHER apartments may have been the one that called in with bedbugs. wtf.

* And we're presumably getting treated in any case.

* Examination of the Maine statutes suggest that the landlord may be responsible for paying for the whole affair. (Which, I admit, is odd.)
* Landlord does not look like he is going to go along with this without a fight.

Even if he DOES decide to be reasonable about this, though, I didn't need this. Not emotionally, not financially. I'm already about $500 further in debt to my credit card than I can pay off this month, and am shortly going to be bleeding cash to
- rent a truck to take the mattress to the dump, and
- buy a new mattress. And an actual bedframe, this time, to ensure that any surviving bedbugs don't colonize it from the rug.

And it's the beginning of the semester.
And a lot of my life choices are starting to look like this mattress: seemed like a really sweet windfall at the time, but in hindsight have cost me. A lot.

Fuck it, this day is fired. I'm going to drink Kraken and re-read "Through Depression and Back with Ursula" and/or P.G. Wodehouse.

There's no guarantee, of course, that tomorrow is going to be any better.

OK. Now I'm hired.

Which is a good thing (and thank you all for your good wishes!) But life is not universally sunny...

1) Being hired means I have to create a syllabus. From scratch, since I took a look at my predecessor's syllabi and...welll...it's like the left-wing equivalent of my predecessor at SNHU's. (As in, "This is kinda too much to expect of Freshmen, AND ...wait, is she trying to brainwash them?? On both counts, I don't think they have the critical thinking skills necessary...)

So. Um. Syllabus.

In three weeks.

Let alone the fact that teaching World History is a matter of trying to cram about three intro courses worth of history and historiography and basic critical thinking and text analysis into one unit. (Or as 'the Rhinoceros' put it, "The trick - and it's really hard - is to keep the students grounded as you hurl huge amounts of data at them.")
Hopefully I can get a discount on their textbook: it seems to be by far the least stupid option.

But still. Syllabus in three weeks. I suspect that by the end it's going to be a struggle not to bum cigarettes off my FUTURE students.

1a) Writing a syllabus effectively means I have an extra part-time job. For which I am not getting paid.
And while MECA's paying me more than I ever got paid as an adjunct, that's still only "ALMOST enough not to be insulting," and thus a long way still from "Enough that I can take three weeks off from temping and/or token job applications."
Which would be nice, given that I have to read three books, fret a lot, create a new quiz ex nihilo, design a course from the bottom up, get the textbook straightened out, find the additional readings, and deal with six kinds of bureaucratic crap.

[And naturally, this is the week I really have a yearning to go visit New Haven and/or climb a mountain. Boo.]

2) Did I mention that SNHU has taken me off their shortlist of online profs?
< breathe >
Well. We know where COCE can go, and what they can do there.

3) Peter will be joining me for the week after next. While I suppose this is a good thing, this means I will get no temping done, and that any course prep. will be done sitting outside my door in the interval between putting him to bed and crashing myself.

Oh, and
4) Summer(+ global warming) -> Hot -> High humidity -> Condensation in belowground areas -> all my stuff is growing mold.

...
On the plus side...well, various relatives will be helping me wrangle Peter, and I got interviewed for a p/t NON-canvassing job with Environment Maine. (If I get it, between it and MECA and some temping/random commissions, I'll actually be making enough to be solidly in the black, AND keep my sanity.) Fingers crossed...

Well, f.

A week or so ago, goaded on by my job counselor-guy, I actually looked at the essay section of my Foreign Service exam., and discovered it was due a week earlier than I'd thought--this Wednesday, in fact. Said essay section consists of my absolute favorite sort of thing: write an essay about some occasion when you've displayed X skill. I figured that I had a hole card for the Communication section, since some weeks ago I was hangin' out in the career center when two guys from the DR Congo came in and wanted to sign up on the Maine Job Bank, and no one who actualy spoke French was behind the counter, and I can only listen to people failing to communicate in a language I even sort of speak for so long.
Anyway, I figured, THAT for Communication. Sure, they want a reference to someone who can testify that any example you used actually happened, but that should be straightforward. I'd just track down the woman at the Job Center who was trying to help these guys until I intervened, get her contact info., and we'll be set.

The Job Center, however, has a policy that they won't act as a reference. For anything.

OK, I thought, well, I can still handle this. I'll...track down the actual Congolese guys, I guess. OK, anyone trying to verify my references will have to speak French, but if any organization can find someone who can, it'd be the Foreign Service, right? So I'll go find...refugee services or whatever it's called (across the street, as it turns out) and see if they can put me in touch with them. There can't be THAT many accountants from Kinshasa called Guyguy, and (darnit, what was that guy's name? Serge?) Serge isn't that common either.
Refugee services, of course, couldn't give me info like that, but they did give me the phone number for the head of the local congolese refugee community. I called him up.
"Guigui? No, can't remember him... But Serge, now, Serge is a great guy.."
He gave me Serge's number. Unfortunately, I wrote it down wrong.

< Peter visit then intervenes. No work gets done for three days. >

I called the refugee community leader again this evening, and he gave me Serge's number (again). I called it. A woman answered.

"Allo, Serge?"
"Non, je suis la femme de Serge..."

Alarm bells started ringing in my head at this point: I'd gotten the distinct impression that Serge and Guigui were sharing a bachelor apartment. And when I got Serge on the line, his voice was unfamiliar, and of course he didn't remember any such incident. I had the wrong Serge. Or possibly had the name totally wrong. Either way, I was screwed.

I guess I better hope Fulbright can actually get back to me so I can write about Germany instead.

There are some times in this research project (and I get the impression, in any such project) where you spend ages looking through stuff that might conceivably be useful, only to discover that, in fact, there´s nothing worthwhile there.

My whole trip to Karlsruhe was like that. ( Read more... )