I come from the land of a cappella

I fear that in my new position, I will be unable to ignore a cappella as I have been for the last seven years. See, the thing is: if you know someone in the a cappella group, it's mildly entertaining; if you and your friends form a fake a cappella group that only sings tv theme songs and ends every one of them harmonizing "word," it's hilarious; if neither of these qualifiers apply, it's mind-numbing.

Tonight, at a networking gathering for new faculty at the five colleges in the area, we were treated to the stylings of Vocal Suspects, a UMass a capella group. They started off their set with "Crazy" (originally by Gnarls Barkley, a group that, if I'm not mistaken, did not include beat-boxing in their version) -- which I found to be a somewhat curious choice for a room full of stressed-out, overworked and baffled junior faculty -- and ended it with "Send Me on My Way," which, again, left very little mystery as to what came next. The bar is closed, we've helped you as much as we can, now hustle on out of here. Word.

Professor discovers she's still human

A weekend jaunt to New York City has reminded me that life isn't all about add/drop, grammar review Fridays, are the students keeping track of how many times I've worn my red shoes this week, chastisements from the library for Interlibrary Loaning books already in the collection, finessing strong thesis statements, anarchosocialism in early 20th Century Barcelona, finding a seat in the Faculty Dining Hall, endless class planning, trying to remember the name of the woman from the Dean's office you've met five times, and reminding everyone that in Spanish class se habla español siempre.

It's also about the not-so-funny stand-up comedians who go on at 1am; $10 cocktails; $5 umbrellas appearing on every street corner two minutes after it starts to rain; steamy subway cars; roasted pork buns; Magnolia Bakery cupcakes; impromptu drinks with fabulous city dwellers; cockroaches; splitting a black and white cookie so that you both get half black and half white; remembering that one time, in that one bar, when we heard "Purple Rain," when was that?; hot corned beef sandwiches consisting only of meat and bread; wandering through the West Village recalling how fun it was to live there; H & H bagels in Central Park on a sunny Saturday morning; knishes in Riverside Park on a sunny Sunday morning; and shopping at somewhere other than Target for a change with someone who knows you well enough to get you to try on something you never would have picked out for yourself, but that -- of course -- looks awesome.

OK, but how many elements are there?

I knew that in Spain the first day of the week is Monday (not Sunday), but last night I learned that, at least in Spain and Latin America, there are five continents. Apparently 'the Americas' count as one continent because they're connected. My argument that the Panama Canal technically separates the two fell on deaf ears. Also, it seems that Mexico was considered part of Central America until NAFTA, when it got absorbed by North America.

The other missing continent is Antarctica, which I guess they just don't count. To be fair, this may be prescient if Antarctica melts into the sea in the next 50 years. But doesn't it make more sense to combine Europe and Asia, if we're following the whole 'continents must be physically separate' rule?

Amherst Tea Party

Dear Amherst,
How are you? Thanks again for the job, and also for the door. Things are beginning to feel a little more familiar around here, day by day. The thing is, though, that, well... how can I put this? I'm addicted to caffeine. It's not the kind of thing I felt I could reveal in the interview because, frankly, I'm not proud of it. Getting addicted to caffeine happened in grad school, when I was only going to be able to pass my qualifying exams if I could keep my eyes open while reading Galdos' La Regenta. Have you read La Regenta? It's a long book. Actually, it's two volumes of a long book, from the 19th century, with a lot of adjectives. You get my drift.

Anyway, here's the kicker: unlike 95% of people addicted to caffeine, and 100% of Spanish Professors, I hate coffee. Don't touch the stuff. My weakness is for tea: a nice, full-bodied tea, a little smoky, a little nutty, with sugar and a splash of milk. Loose-leaf tea, a good Assam, a Ceylon, or even a Keemun, really stands up to the brewing process, holds its own with milk, and leaves you feeling fine and dandy for the rest of the afternoon. But even English Breakfast, Earl Grey, your more common blended teas, these are also excellent brews. And don't get me wrong, although I'm partial to loose leaf, I don't mind bagging it. A good-quality tea bag is nothing to snub your nose at, and there are plenty of options on the market these days: Numi, Stash, Republic of Tea, even Bigelow makes a powerful bag. Of course, as Mick and the gang said, you can't always get what you want, and so, sure, if I'm in an airport, or stuck going to Starbucks, I'll slum it: I'll drink an inferior bag, just because I'm jonesing for a jolt. I admit it.
But, that's the thing, I've been walking around this beautiful campus, all New Englandy, and I've been to receptions, the faculty dining hall, the student center, everywhere. And all I see is Lipton's. Lipton's! Lipton's is the in-bred, toothless third cousin of teas. It's a joke. Ask any self-respecting tea drinker, and they'll tell you that Lipton's is to tea as Folger's is to coffee. Sure, yeah, back in the '70s it might have been ok to drink instant coffee or Lipton's, but this is 2007, Amherst, and I'm as much of a tea snob as those other 95% are coffee snobs. But no one caters to the tea snob, noooooooooo, it's all espresso machines and fair trade beans and soy lattes around here, so where can an easy-going junior faculty member go for a little cuppa tea? Williams?!?

I hear that Super Stop 'n' Shop sells Irish tea. Also, didn't a bunch of people throw some tea in a river in Boston? Maybe you could talk to those people. You'd think with an endowment of a gazillion dollars someone could shell out a couple of bucks for a decent teabag.

Respectfully yours,
Dr. SJB, tea aficionado

The First Week: Life Behind a Closed Door

Am I officially the last person on earth to finally Simpsonize myself? And my dog? It seemed like a good visual for my first week earning my keep from Lord Jeff. As the week draws to a close, I find myself miraculously still standing despite the mounds of work threatening to topple me, going through my "good" clothes very quickly, and enjoying the sights and sounds of an office with a door. Not only a door, but a nameplate, too, which I may or may not have audibly cheered upon seeing for the first time. On the heels of grad school, every time someone offers to make a copy for me, provides me with an endless array of free office supplies (Door stop? Check. One of those tray things with the in and the out and the racks? Check. Fancy post-it note dispenser? Check.), informs me that buying 10 Almodóvar movies on Amazon (and watching them) is considered part of the job, tells me I can check that book out for a year, and reminds me I have a TA to grade quizzes, I feel a little like I'm taking advantage of them. I think I can pinpoint the moment I realized I wasn't at Cal anymore: Monday night, 7:30, as I found myself amid the surreal scene at convocation, with a chapel full of dusty professors in mismatched regalia sweating through layer upon velvety-striped layer of polyester as President Marx told the class of 2011 they were certified geniuses. Where am I?

As for the classes and students this week, it pretty much went down just as Josh envisioned it, minus the singing. And the quill. Well, and the automatic tenure. Yeah, it was nothing like that, but it could have been. Maybe they'll give me another door! An even better door!