What the hell have I been doing?

It has been a while since I last blogged on and, again, all apologies. I will, however, introduce you to a good friend of mine of late. Together we've been starting the decade off right:

Family size, 'cause that's how I roll. I know, 'It's just salt and pepper chips, D! wtf,' is what you're saying but I tell you, they are so much more than that! I don't even like pepper (most of you already know the story of the vomitous incident in my childhood involving my sister, a blindfold, and an entire tablespoon of black pepper -- I'm sure I don't need to connect all the dots for those of you who don't) but these chips are truly phenomenal. Not all of you have access to the world of Utz, but someday you will and when that time comes, I expect you to make the right choice.

So it's been a busy start to the new year/decade/rest of my life! Parental visit from Dec 30 - Jan 5. With flying days counted in, they only spent about 5 days here, total, which was a miracle because it felt like 5 months. After expressing "discomfort" with the idea of staying with us, my mother agreed to let me priceline a hotel room for her = GENIUS. Necessary, complete genius. I hope they never feel comfortable enough to stay with us; that is my goal. I got a ridiculously good rate at the Camden Yard Marriott -- discovering after the fact that this good rate may have been due, in part, to this exact Marriott being the one where last year a father killed his three children by drowning them in their hotelroom bathtub. Against all odds, I managed to keep this info to myself despite daily convos with my mother on how unbelievably cheap the room was, how priceline is magical, etc etc. They loved the place! The cleaning staff even left a 2L bottle of Pepsi for my father on his pillow with a note saying how they realized Pepsi was his drink by his penchant for trashing things that are perfectly recyclable. Maria I. and Izzy P. have gained a friend for life in Stuball (their names really were Maria and Izzy, I saw the note myself!). So the hotel stay was a key highlight of the visit (for all of us). My mother also really liked the art in their room and when I looked closer to discover who the artist was, I saw this:
No joke. So either 1) I need to get my head out of the gutter; 2) some Mormon has a really great sense of humour; or 3) a talented artist has an unfortunate name/signature.

I can't possibly narrate all the shenanigans that went on in those 5 long days but I will list a few.

1) My dad made us watch Old Yeller. E had never seen OY before and expressed that truth out loud before I could stop her. In exactly 6 seconds OY went from something that my father wanted maybe to watch to a movie we all had to see right then or the terrorists would win. He moved the armchair directly in front of the TV and let/made E sit there to watch it. While holding Monty. Damn you Turner Classic Movies!

2) My dad came out of the American history building at the Smithsonian talking like Yosemite Sam. I don't know what happened to him in there (my mom and I went through the whole building while he enjoyed the US military history exhibit for 3 hours) but when he came out he started saying Vietnam super weird - like the talking-head generals on History channel shows, with a disturbing pause between Viet and nam - and Yemen like YAYman. But by far the most egregious pronouciation mishap that Stuball inflicted on us all, alas, I cannot blame on the Smithsonian because it was in evidence before the DC trip. He enjoys the phrase, "annals of history" but - you guessed it - pronouces it "anals of history." I can't figure out if he knows that with a long A sound he's saying buttholes of history and he's doing it to amuse himself because he's calling me a butthole or what I do butthole-ish OR, and I have to pick this one so that I can still talk to him, he just doesn't know or care to know.

3) My father made it clear that he doesn't know the difference between us *teaching* at the College and attending it. It's all some pinko gotcha way of avoiding doing real work, ya see.

4) Everytime a person of color would walk by, my parents would say, "Rough neighborhood." This is hardly the only anecdote of that nature I have to report but it is the only one I will include here. How do you ask your parents to kindly stop being so fucking racist and at least shut the fuck up about it? I struggled to find a way every single time and was perpetually reminded of why I left Calgary to begin with. They have become stereotypical versions of my grandparents.

But I can't only dwell on the negative. I think they had a good time, they liked the brisket I cooked them (my father didn't like the special local micro-brewed beer I bought him, vociferously preferring Bud, but I kinda knew that would happen which was why I bought him th special beer), they liked the dog, they bonded with E (who wouldn't???), and despite everything, it was really wonderful to see them after so long - I don't think I'd seen them since last March. AND they actually flew somewhere in order to see me which they'd never done before together and I really doubted that my father would ever do that, so I really do appreciate that and feel loved. They don't know anything about me but they love me anyway and nothing is better than that.

It felt like only seconds after they'd left, I had to fly to San Diego for the annual Conference of Pain and Faint Hope. But San Diego was stunningly gorgeous, especially in the middle of winter.

Who could ever get tired of palm trees??
I met up with old friends (the best, bestest thing about the Conference of Pain) and listened to n8 make "that's what she said" jokes (why are they still funny?? but they are!) over ridiculously large Ghiradelli sundaes:
Saturday morning I did The Interview. I only had the one, but I was lucky for it! The interview suite was in a very peculiar hotel on the waterfront. Here are some pics that I took of it while I was waiting outside the suite door for them to let me in.


It's really gorgeous but the downside is you can hear everything that everyone is saying on every balcony.

And then I flew out of CA! Was only there for 24 hrs. I thought this was the genius way to survive the Conf of Pain but apparently the airport people thought I was a drug mule. I was padded down a number of times (assured that this was just a random check each time), was locked inside a glass room in the middle of the security hallway while my hands and shoes were swabbed, and I met the drug-sniffing dog, Clara. But my clothes remained on and the integrity of my person was not compromised so that's good. I should have just stayed an extra night!

Semester starts in 10 days. Here's a delicious irony for you: in order to discuss academic rigor, the College has cancelled the first Wednesday of classes for a faculty retreat. I should just drink the Kool-Aid.