Chloe vs. The Chipmunk

Despite growing up on a farm, and despite my love of cute, furry animals in the wild, I have an intense fear of any foreign animal intruder in my house. Lizards. Spiders. Ants. Bugs. Frogs. Heath used to pick these and other varmints up and chase me with them when we were little, and to this day, I'm terrified of them, if they're indoors. Even if I see them outside, I tend to run. While I have maintained my cool in many a traumatic, high-stress situation, and I assure you that I'm good to keep around in a real crisis, I really flip out when critters crawl in my house.

So you can imagine the hysteria that resulted today when I was standing there, minding my own business in the kitchen refilling my pepper mill, when I look up to see Chloe Cat walking through the back door, head held high (which is unusual) and carrying what appeared to be something in her mouth. It looked like either she had something in tow, or she just had walked through some leaves that got stuck in her whiskers, which is what I was hoping was the case. But what went running through my mind was something like, "oh no, no, no, NOOOO" as she pranced herself right beside me and dropped a cute - alive! - chipmunk on the kitchen floor. Stunned, the little guy looked up at Chloe. She stared back. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. I thought (and here is an example of why a PhD is NO measure of intelligence) that if I screamed, "bad Chloe! Go away chipmunk!!" she'd realize the err of her ways and pick up the chipmunk and take him back. I was wrong. My screaming resulted in the chipmunk scampering over towards the sliding glass door, and Chloe chasing. He was trapped. I stood there for a minute, screaming, jumping up and down like a maniac, wondering if I should call Casey or Dave first for assistance. I knew Casey had to work tonight, so Dave was the lucky recipient of me, still screaming, "Ohmygod there's a chipmunk in our house! What do I do? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!!!"

Meanwhile, Chloe was having a field day, playing with her new toy. It was apparent that she didn't want to kill the poor chipmunk - who was rather cute, by the way - but she just wanted to chase it and play. She cornered it in the kitchen. Luckily, Dave instructed me to open the front door, incase the rodent ran through the house, and to give it another option for escaping. Sure enough, I watched as Chipmunk scampered from the kitchen, through the dining room, behind the couch, and around the television, and laughed as Chloe followed right behind. I nearly lost it, however, when Chipmunk hit the parquet floor, full speed, and looked like he was about to take flight right out the door. Straight out of a cartoon, I tell you. Chloe caught him, and cornered him between the open door and my road bike, which has been parked in the hallway until we figure out where to keep it long term.

At this point, my conversation with Dave consisted of Dave laughing hysterically, and me yelling into the phone, "oohh!! Yay! Little chipmunk, go! You're almost there! Come on! Door's open! Go free! Go!" Stealthily, Chipmunk scurried under the door and bolted into the front yard. Before Chloe could chase him, I quickly shut her in and refused to let her out the rest of the night. She sniffed around the house for at least an hour, though, hoping to find her little buddy hiding around the corner.

It took me at least an hour to quit shaking.

And that's what happened on Day 1 of my transition to housewifery. I think I'll go back to dissertating tomorrow.

On Writing, and Qualitative Research: A Pep Talk

Dear Self,

You are writing a dissertation that has relied on qualitative methods/analysis. That means you have the freedom to let the data tell the story, in as creative a manner as your little pea brain will allow. So quit trying to force it. Pretend it's a blog, and you're writing for an audience of everyone. Isn't that why you fell in love with qualitative research in the first place? Of course it is. You're doing research that everyone can understand. You don't need a PhD to "get" what's going on in your dissertation - which is why someday, it'll be helpful to someone who really needs it.

The qualitative/feminist/critical approach to seeing the world - that everyone's experiences have value, that the mundane is what's important, that there is meaning in our seemingly routine, taken for granted interactions, that who really cares about p-values and standard deviations when what we should be focusing on are the outliers, the marginalized, the ones who are overlooked and without a voice? - when you embraced that approach, remember how much better you felt about the world? And yourself? And how everything just sorta made sense? It's why you are doing what you're doing now. That, and because you knew you could do some amazingly cool studies that might just change the world, or at least one or two people's way of thinking. So don't screw it up. Just write. Let the respondents tell their story (which is a really cool story, by the way), and bring it to life with some tidbits here and there about what you think they meant or why their experiences were what they said they were.

That's all. Oh, and quit procrastinating with your incessant blogging, facebooking, and twittering, and maybe you'll finish in a timely fashion.

Sincerely,
Your Self.

And it matters that he's gay because... ?

Check out this article in today's Lexington Herald-Leader.

In my opinion, this article is not so much about the "special place" for celebrities to chill in at the Derby, as it is about pointing out that the person who designed it is a gay man from Kentucky, without really saying that he's gay. There is so much going on here, I don't even know where to start with an analysis, except for, why does it matter that he's gay, and why did they have to emphasize it so much throughout the article?

My 2009 Dave Matthews Concert Experience

subtitled: Turn Off Your Effing Cell Phones and Just Enjoy the Show.
also subtitled: Sometimes it's OK to Flirt

As hard as I tried to have a good day on Tuesday, April 28, it just was not happening. I was overwhelmed. It's been a rough couple of months. "Life" caught up with me, and I couldn't get over it. Not even a cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate shake combo from Steak n' Shake helped (but it was tasty and I enjoyed every bite/sip). So somewhere around Knoxville on my drive to Atlanta I made the executive decision that I should just go directly to Alpharetta, scalp a ticket to the DMB show, and forget about my worries. It would mean I'd go to 2 DMB shows this week - a feat I've always wanted to attempt but never had the opportunity.

It was a challenge. First, I had to get myself into a venue parking lot, for which you technically need a pre-purchased pass that I did not have. How did I overcome this obstacle?

17-year-old parking attendant, Lot N: "Ma'am, I need your parking pass?"
Me: "No! What? Oh my gosh, I'm supposed to meet my friends here, I think they're in this lot? They have my ticket to the show! I needed a pass? I had no idea."
17-year-old PA: "Uhhhhh"
Me: **smiles really big and looks cute***
17-year-old PA: "Ok, sure, go ahead and park wherever you want in this lot."

Somehow a few minutes later, I "connected" with a scalper who said he had an orchestra section seat. 5 minutes and $100 later, I was on my way to the ticket-scanning gate. Upon arriving, I said a prayer that I just got in the arena. Even if my ticket wasn't a legitimate seat, I'd at least camp out on the lawn and it'd be worth the effort. After multiple attempts to scan my ticket and gain legal entrance, I realized quickly that I had a fake - and of course said nothing, still hoping it would work. A very nice supervisor came over to assist, and when it still wouldn't scan for him, he took the ticket, and just when I thought I was about to get booted/arrested, he ripped the appropriate end off, and instructed me to go on in and have a great time, with a big smile and pat on the back. I was elated, and think I started jumping up and down.

I had a 13th row seat! Front and center. I was stunned to be so close to the stage. Sitting there eating my hot dog and drinking my overpriced Bud Light, I knew that it wasn't right, and nearly teared up. I was so close to the stage! And didn't want to leave. But how could I, ethically, remedy this situation?

Well. First, I left my seat. I didn't want to draw attention to myself when the real owner of Orchestra 2, Row M, seat 1 came around. Turns out, all I needed was the "Orchestra" designation on my ticket to gain access to the mass chaos that was the Orchestra section. I knew that no one in that section would sit, all night. This worked to my advantage. I waited by the concession stand until the house lights went down and Dave came out on stage (opened with Rapunzel!), then I walked right back to the Orchestra section and implemented phase 2 of my plan: picked a row full of drunk boys, worked my way right in the middle of them, and proceeded to flirt/dance with them so they wouldn't want me to leave.

Surprisingly, it worked! I made friends. The guy beside me was friendly and not creepy, and a huge fan of Tim Reynolds. The guys on the other side of me had the same idea I did, apparently, but got booted when a really nice woman in a super cute Neiman Marcus dress (I asked) took over. We had a great time, the three of us, crammed into the space where only 2 adults should fit. Never fear: I have fully disclosed to my sweet fiance the nature of my actions, and he totally understood. Also, the level of flirtation needed to maintain the seat was minimal, seeing as how a drunk woman was beside me, and the guy to my right was equally as into the music as I was. Hence why I am marrying the most amazing man on the planet.

Was it worth the effort? See for yourself.


I had the most amazing seats I've had since the 1998 show in Birmingham that I attended with Lucas. My stress went away. I sang and danced the whole night. I forgot about everything that bothered me, all semester. They played my favorites! The concert experience was drastically different that close to the stage. I could see Dave's facial expressions without relying on the monitors! A beach ball got thrown over to me! That Dave had touched 5 minutes earlier! No one sat down all night! We all knew all the words! Everyone was as enthusiastic as I was, and it was magical.

Except for one little thing: no one would put down their cell phones! OMG people. Could you try not touching your iPhone for 2 hours? I think it's totally rude when students text in my class - I was ashamed to be surrounded by people who were disrespecting the band (and all of us around) by ignoring their music and texting people, Tweeting, Facebooking, etc. My fiance fell victim to this at the following night's show. It was so entirely disrespectful. I know, I follow the instant setlists on Twitter, and enjoy them - but there really is no need. How about let's start a trend, where we leave our cell phones in our cars while we're at the concert? Know how you can't text or call during the movies? I think the same rule should apply for concerts. It was so distracting to look over to my new friend and see him carrying on a text message conversation. My suggestion to future concert-goers: put down your effing cell phones and just enjoy the show.

I would tell you about the second night's show, when I had legitimate seats and went with Dave, and how we tailgated before with Mellow Mushroom and cheaper beer, and really enjoyed ourselves, but that story isn't nearly as exciting. We were so, legal.

Random Chatter from A-50

Friday, April 24, 2009. approx. 7:15 p.m. A-50. Watching the movie Penelope after our favorite happy our at Merrick Inn.

Rose: Oh my gosh! Chess is not a feminist game!
LBD: How so?
Rose: You have to kill the queen to win! The King kills the Queen!
LBD: Well if that ain't patriarchal, I just don't know what is.

Fanatic Behavior

Today, in class, we talked about fan cultures. When I get tired of researching gender and weddings, I'm going to start writing about fanatic behavior, so I was really pumped up about the lesson today. One of my students made my point brilliantly for me today - and it was even more brilliant because the students are way more likely to listen to each other than me.

We watched a scene from Trekkies, as well as a video clip from a recent Las Vegas Star Trek convention. Everyone laughed at this guy. But as we discussed just how strange some people can behave when they're huge fans of various things, one student (Katie) chimed in with a very bright analysis: we do the same thing for football and basketball games, yet no one thinks it's weird. A-ha! Welcome to an impromptu discussion on subcultures (also brought up by Matt - thanks guys!). We paint our faces for UK games, we can spout of a list of stats about the individuals and the team, we cheer wildly, we bond over our love of the team, and no one thinks anything of it. It's "normal." Just like it's "normal" for those who maybe aren't part of the dominant group but are equally as passionate about something. Who cares that it's Star Trek?

What matters is that fandom can bring us together, provides a sense of community (see Baym, 2000 and anything by Hebdige), and a sense of belonging. As long as it doesn't involve harming any other person (Shawn Johsnon case, for example), I think fan behavior is perfectly acceptable, and really cool to analyze from a critical perspective. As one Trekkie put it on the video today: at Star Trek conventions, you belong. You're family. Everyone is equal. No one is judged. It's normal to walk around dressed like a member of the crew. Same thing happens on any given Saturday at Auburn. And Kentucky. And anywhere else you see people dressed like you, with smiles on their faces, showing up to support a cause or team or event that has meaning, for whatever reason.

Simple Roasted Chicken

We'll start with the recipe first. I'm addicted to roasting large chunks of meat. It's relatively easy, and the couple of hours I put towards the roasting process always result in at least 3 days' worth of food. Besides that, today I bought a 4 pound chicken at Kroger for $4, which is a great deal. The one thing that still baffles me is how exactly to carve the bird once it's cooked. If it was just me, I'd stand over it and pick of what I wanted to eat while gnawing on a Sister Schubert's roll, never really worrying about slicing a perfect piece of breast meat, or correctly removing the leg, just barbarically enjoying a big, roasted, bird. But, it's not just me, so I always let either Dave or Rose get their meat first and then I go back and carve out some meat the best I can, which inevitably results in a pretty pitiful, destroyed looking bird. I certainly don't care, as it tastes yummy regardless.

Still. Roast chicken is tasty and versatile, and I'd serve it to company if I knew how to slice it correctly. Here's what I do:

Before beginning with the raw chicken, take a moment to do some prep work that will save you from contaminating your kitchen with raw chicken germs. Prepare a few prep bowls/small measuring cups with the following: (1) extra virgin olive oil, (2) salt (3) black pepper (4) some sort of dried herb; my favorite is Italian, (5) whole cloves of garlic, 4-5, (6) 2 stalks celery, coarsely chopped, and (7) one coarsely chopped carrot. Also set out your roasting pan (don't have a shiny, pretty roasting pan? Find any baking dish that has some sides, like a 9 x 13 pan), that's been sprayed down with a good coating of nonstick cooking spray. Also set out a plastic cutting board large enough to hold your chicken. Finally, preheat the oven to 400.

Once your prep work is done, then take a whole chicken (defrosted if you're starting with frozen), and remove from plastic in the sink. (It's best if you start with a clean sink, I should add.) Pull out the neck/giblets/guts that are leftover. Allow yourself a moment to be thoroughly grossed out by what you just did, but be thankful you didn't also have to pick out a chicken from your brood out in the backyard to personally sacrifice for the meal, snap its neck and remove its feathers/drain its blood like our grandmothers did. Proceed, after saying a quick prayer to bless your ancestors for living through such a difficult life. Rinse the cavity and outside with cold running water. Place on a plastic cutting board, and pat dry with paper towels. Sprinkle the interior cavity with salt, pepper and herbs. Then stuff it full with the garlic, celery and carrots. Lemons and oranges also work really well as aromatics, if you don't have celery/carrots on hand. Then, rub the outer cavity with olive oil, and salt, pepper, and any leftover herbage. Place the bird on a rack if you're using a pan with such, or just place it in the bottom of the pan if you don't have a rack that fits. Wash your hands really well.

Before placing the roasting pan in the oven, pour some chicken stock and white wine, if you have any, in the bottom of the pan, maybe about 1 cup total. This will help prevent the yummy drippings (think: future gravy) from sticking to the pan and burning. Roast the chicken at 400 for about 25 minutes, then without opening the oven, reduce heat to 375 and roast for 30 more minutes. If you haven't already, pour yourself some of that leftover white wine to keep you entertained until the bird is done. After it has roasted for about an hour, check it - pour more liquid in the pan if it's drying up/burning, and cover with tin foil if the skin is becoming too burnt/crispy. Also wouldn't hurt at this point to use your meat thermometer to check the temperature. Continue cooking until the internal temperature of the breast (read with a meat thermometer) reads 165, which usually takes me anywhere from 1 hour 45 minutes to 2 hours 15 minutes, depending on the oven.

After the bird is cooked, remove from the pan and allow to sit on the counter, covered with tin foil, for at least 5 minutes before digging in. Trust me; helps the juices redistribute and results in a yummy chicken. Besides, 5 minutes is all you need to make up a quick pan sauce, using the leftover chicken drippings that have been poured into a small saucepan and cooked down with the addition of a "slurry" - which is about 2 Tablespoons softened butter combined with 2-3 Tablespoons flour. Whisk together rapidly, cooking over medium high heat. This pan sauce/gravy is best served on top of the sliced chicken, and as a dunking sauce for the aforementioned Sister Schubert's rolls.

I had some ideas for what I might blog about in addition to the roast chicken recipe, but I forgot what I was going to say. And, I'm tired. And, I need to start on Chapter 7 - Discussion & Conclusion. I am elated to have a "Chapter 7" file on my trusty flash drive. And elated to have chowed down on a roast chicken with Rice-a-Roni and frozen green beans for dinner.