I don’t think I’ve ever been at work on my birthday before, except in 2001. My wife (then girlfriend) had flowers sent to the office. And I caught the young ladies of the suite reading the card when I got back from a smoke-break. Evidently, there was speculation of some sort about whether I was single, gay, how old I was, etc. No one believed I was “only” 22, and I was insulted for some reason. The whole “you’ve been with the same girl for how long?” thing was also insulting, as if three years meant something that everyone understood but me. Playing the field? No thanks. I wonder what some of them would say if I told them that we’re married now, with a beautiful daughter.

Today, I am 31, have a wonderful wife and daughter and really don’t care about my age anymore (remind me I said that if I’m still blogging when I turn 40 in 2019).

This week, wherein I am only supposed to work half-time, has been a bitch.  Yes.  A bitch.  I wish it ill.  Plenty of ill-deserved criticism at work, including being talked down to, taken advantage of and other bullshit I don’t need and don’t get paid enough to take.  Oh, and I was still working tonight, when I wasn’t even supposed to be working today.  Fun!

And, well, this is kind of funny.  But I’m sleep-deprived enough to actually be hallucinating a little a few times a day.  I see things that aren’t there and hear things that aren’t happening.  This is getting a little scary.

I keep forgetting.  It’s strange.  Two years as a VISTA member, and now I can’t get away with wearing shorts to work and only shaving twice a week anymore.

Stranger still, I’m in the same office after the rest of the suite moved.  I’ll be staying on in the Provost’s Office to work on faculty development issues two days a week for six months to earn some cash.  At least the PhD (for which I received three negative comments in two days last week — nice) means something right away.  It was listed as a prerequisite in the job description.

I’m tired of apologizing for it, like I owe it to everyone to live up to three letters or something.  It’s not like being an Eagle Scout, that’s for sure.

And this makes me sad, here.

Hypergraphia, wanderlust and a job that ends in five weeks.  These make for good journaling but bag blogging.  Sorry.


It’s officially the coolest room in our apartment.  I’m jealous!  I was joking last night that I wanted to sleep on the floor in there read all night.

We never bother to paint because we move a lot; so our walls are all off-white.  For Baby’s room, I used non-VOC paint to get the space a glossy shade of blue.  There is wonderful light (from soft flower and bug wall lamps, to a medium lamp to a big floor to the nuclear dawn of the ceiling light), a soft rug, cute curtains, soft, wooden furniture (including some that we intend to grow with her), a rocking chair, TOYS and — for now — two bikes!Also , to keep the dragon plant company, a money tree!

It was a task. It felt like my Augean stables, as I cleaned off a storage shelf, the huge closet, computer desk, two full bookshelves, bike parts and tools, pens (PENS!). This took me several weekends.

Then I painted with a brush, so that I wouldn’t have to make a mess. Before and after painting, I had fun with sandpaper, putty and DUST (which had to be vacuumed from everything, mopped up, etc., in case of lead paint, etc.).  This took a week of evenings, with a few mornings and one afternoon.

Then there was a big trip to Ikea, after some careful planning and measuring.  And, you know, putting everything together (which I really enjoy).

And, finally, decorating!  This was the fun part.  I had a nice beer, my headphones and went to town last night.  I think that was the last beer I’ll ever drink in there.

The crib is in our room, closer to me, since I’m a light sleeper.  After that, it will replace the bikes in Baby’s room.  Her window looks out onto trees and, when they don’t have their leaves, North Baltimore.  There are three doors: one to the hallway, one to the closet, one to the bathroom (both bedrooms have doors into the bathroom, which is pretty cool and part of the “charm” of this old place).  The floors are the original (creaky and scarred) hardwood floors.

It’s weird to think that, in a matter of weeks or even days, there will be a tiny baby there.

Also, in the mail today: my new camera and the Baby Bjorn!

More photos here on Flickr!

What a week already!  Yesterday, we saw the OB early in the morning.  She said the same thing as two weeks ago: things look stable; maybe in two weeks, Mama can come off bedrest a little.  Good news.

Then we went to the bloodlab, where we spent about four hours.  It was hot, close, and you could feel the frustration from people over the waiting.  The nurses didn’t think Mama looked good.  So we got to wait behind a curtain after the first hour.  Before that, I finished Into the Wild.

We had lunch, which was heaven after we’d been fasting for the testing (I fasted, too, for sympathy).

Came home, did laundry, got an email from my dissertation directory asking for my bibliography.  Scrambled to get that put together and was up late going through all of my footnotes to make sure I didn’t forget anything.

Meetings and “official” stuff already all day today.

My blood sugar is all over the place from fighting the urge to give in to stress.  I’m so tired that I feel like throwing up, but I’m having trouble sleeping also.  I have something huge going on tomorrow (if all goes as planned) that I don’t want to jinx too much by talking about.

But soon, none of this will matter.  Baby will be here.


After doing a lot of work this weekend toward cleaning up Baby’s room (especially the huge closet holding twelve years of two people’s notes), etc., I am relaxing with a delicious sampler I treated myself to last Friday.  My recycling bin is doubled and then still overflowing, and I am covered in papercuts.  I’ve been offline most of the weekend, and it feels great.  Felt.  Great.

With Baby this close and so much left to do, I’m finding it difficult to really care about much else. My hair looks terribly.  Seriously.

Aside from getting ready for Baby in practical ways, all I find myself interested in is hanging out with Mama, listening to music for Baby, watching the Olympics, “Gilmore Girls” and movies from Netflix.

Late-night dissertation editing leads to morning editing with a huge French press of coffee. Have I found the equation which dictates: More Coffee = Less Stress + More Work Accomplished? If so, does it work without this excellent brew from Chiapas?

Revising my dissertation, I wonder if working in higher education/community engagement, outside of an academic discipline, hasn’t been better for my prose writing? I have to write for university administrators, nonprofit and community partners regularly, not to mention sometimes writing in order to convince people to do something they don’t really want to do. There’s a lot of pomp and false wit in the dissertation that I would never put into something for other people to read on paper like that these days.  Of course, blogging is full of pomp, almost necessarily so, so you probably haven’t noticed, as I haven’t until this morning. :)

Office potluck yesterday.  Was not looking forward to it.  Awkward, since I work 4 floors above everyone in that office.  Etc.  But, with good company, it was enjoyable. (Seems like an inane thing to blog, now that I think of it.)

I had a coffee meeting this morning with a gentleman who is extremely pleasant, who likes coffee as much as I do and with whom I joked about a shared stationery fetish when we both pulled out fancy notebooks.  My, oh, my, even with more caffeine later, working alone in your office when it’s beautiful outside, especially after a very pleasant meeting first thing, is difficult and….unpleasant.

On the up-side, I spent lunch-time today reworking some dissertation stuff, so that I am doing my part to get that sumbitch defended before Baby comes.  Still, I am increasingling tired of looking at and thinking about this thing.  Changing language around, etc.  I was talking with someone today about publication.  Well, he was talking about me doing some publishing.  And I had to say, “Hell no.”  I don’t want to look at that thing for some time after I defend it.

On another up-side, when work and other people get to me, I think that, in one year, I’ll have a beautiful Baby and my PhD.  The stress to get there becomes obviously worth it, from that start — not just in hindsight.  I remember what Nietzsche said: “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”

I think I forgot to mention that the second ultrasound was Okay and normal and good.  There are a few small issues with Mama for which there have been some prescriptions (and prescriptions for the problems that prescriptions caused).  But, so far as we can tell, things are going well.  Morning sickness is over, and Mama has her energy back.  Coming up: 20-week blood tests and the Big Ultrasound wherein we can (hopefully) learn the gender!

I haven’t been blogging much on  here lately because I haven’t had the energy and will.  I hate when people say, “I didn’t X because I’m just soooooooo busy [with the inflection that no one, and they mean no one, is as busy as they are].”  So I won’t give you that bullshit.

I’ve been busy with work and planning the memorial ride for the gentleman who was killed in August.  That accounts for a lot of my time.

I’ve also been pulling my hair out about getting my dissertation director to schedule my defense before my wife’s too preggers to travel.  On one hand, I really like the guy and probably have a close philosophical kin in him.  On the other, it’s frustrating to be at the mercy of other people’s schedules and thereby tempted to push them — hard.  I mean, I’m certainly willing to piss people off if I have to, but not until I have to.  Especially not people that I like.  That accounts for much of my sanity.

We’ve also learned that the pregnancy is not without events.  On the ten week ultrasound, there was some bleeding under the placenta that only showed up on the U.S. but shouldn’t have been there.  Our doctor scheduled another for early last week, and it is still there.  The ultrasound technician said it’s something to monitor but not necessary worry about unless the bleeding gets larger.  We haven’t spoken to our doctor since she got the report, however, and it’s worrisome.  It’s also worrisome, to be blunt, when people who you’d think would be concerned are not, or, at least, don’t show it.  Mrs. P. is also on some medication, and that’s never fun.  That accounts for being emotionally dissinterested in blogging.

Excuses, excuses, I know.

From camping.  And “civilization” means a few very crazy weeks at work, including a VERY last-minute site-visit tomorrow when I was hoping to work from home and continue the fight against getting sick.

Autumn is here, though, and that is damned fine.

And my waistpack smells like campfire, after my friend Zack and I sat around one last night for 4-5 hours, including melting two glass rootbeer (yes, ROOTbeer) bottles in the center/coals of said fire.  For the record, it was Zack’s idea.  I thought they’d explode, even empty.

I also kinda lost my cool and yelled [shortly] at a few kids who, in my defense, totally deserved it and needed to wake up a little to unexpected pains in the ass that come with being an adult and sometimes come when you’re fifteen.  I think it worked for the time, and there were/are no hard feelings.  Unless there’s a heartless revenge headed my way.  In which case, it did not, in fact work.

I am deliriously tired.

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I am not a constant worker. That is, I cannot sit for 8 hours doing the same thing. I never have been able to. Instead, I can usually get done said amount of work in a fraction of the time, with plenty of time for playing/relaxing. (Admitting this just might be why I got accused of being arrogant.) I work in spurts. But I don’t understand why my admitting a weakness (i.e., combination of a short attention span and just plain laziness) leads to charges of arrogance (ahem).

Anyway. School work. It usually happens that I do all my reading. Research. Notes. Outline. Bam, I sit down and write a seminar-length paper in one sitting, that needs minimal editing. My secret is thinking about it for a long time first, so that I really am only going through the formality of typing and composing actual sentences around the cute aphorisms I’m storing in my brain.  Really.  I’m so lazy and have so much trouble paying attention to anything that I have trick myself into working.  No shit.

I tricked myself into cranking out incredible amounts of work today leading to a robust introduction and first chapter of my dissertation.  I found delicious kernels of Pragmatism not only in Emerson, but also in Thoreau.  Textual references that are not bullshit and mis-quoted and taken out of context.  So instead of beefing up the scholarship on my definition of Pragmatism by quoting James scholars, I found a dialogue between Peirce, James, Emerson and Thoreau on the relation of thought and action.  Delicious.

I don’t know why I’m writing this.  I’m exhausted and just enjoyed a nice beer and should be reading a trashy novel before hitting the sack.  I suppose it’s largely because I spent the last few months of 2006 and the first half of 2007 researching and writing the damned thing without ever talking about it with anyone aside from my wife, who was also burdened with writing her own.

What is my dissertation about?

An exploration of the possible usefulness of hate.  Via an exploration of how pervasive hate is and what Pragmatism means to me; a discussion of Nietzsche’s view of hate using all of his published philosophical writing; proposed solutions for how to make hate useful.  Sounds sunny and easy, no?

I will admit for the first time to myself that I spent entirely too much time reading and reflecting on and writing about Nietzsche.  But they want scholarship.  Still, I spent over three months doing nothing but reading and taking notes on Nietzsche.  Do I really get him?  I’m sure some of my colleagues would say that I do not because I am not entirely familiar with the scholarship on him.  Somewhat familiar with it and equally bored by it.  I would, arrogantly, reply that I am familiar with Nietzsche‘s work, and I couldn’t give less of a shit what some deconstructionist in a cafe’ thinks about Freddy’s relationship with his mother or how this or that “scholar” had reduced all of the multifarious things Nietzsche said to one principle, phobia or sexual deviance.

That one might posit that another person might not “get” a philosopher because one spent more time reading the primary material than the secondary material is one of the reasons that I am leaving (and in most ways have already left) academic philosophy behind. Behind in an “I’m better than that” sense?  No, don’t get your panties in a bunch.  If reading philosophy journals and going to conferences is your thing, that’s cool.  You do yours, and I’ll do mine.

I can’t help but think that there’s a point where we’re supposed to stop reading about philosophy and reading people who write about it and what other people have written about what these people have written and start, you know, doing it.  Or is it really just an academic discipline and not a mode of living?

Don’t answer that.

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I like the blues in this shot.  That’s all.

And.

Had an event directed toward connecting campus and community tonight, with four higher eds and Central Baltimore.  I work at one higher ed as an AmeriCorps type.  (Well, I’m assigned there.)  My wife works at another of the higher eds.  We both had to go to the same event tonight. Professionally.  As in, we were separated all night because we were there on business.  Each of us. We didn’t even walk up together because I went with someone from my institution (and because we had to score some caffeine first).  Bizarre to be physically near but apart from someone you share a bed with. I suppose it was beneficial to have the distance to step back. And to see how awesome my wife is and how…excellent she is at everything she tries to do. Being so close to the awesomeness, it’s not that you/I don’t see it. You/I just see it differently. Details. Not the breadth. That’s what I mean. You know what I mean.

Funny moment: When someone came up to us at the end as we were leaving (we did leave together and ride the bus home together after all), with a furrowed brow and said (tentatively) at the realization that we have the same last name, “You two have a connection….?….” Yeah, like I have a common last night? (I don’t.) Maybe it’s because we’re a different color? I don’t wanna think that. Not tonight.

Other funny moment: My pal ate a pizza with what looked like tiny octopi on it. Pulled one off and ate it and exclaimed, “AGH! This doesn’t taste like octopus!” It was squid. And she knows what octopus tastes like. Oh. My.

Also ran into my favorite socialist bike folks, with a Starbucks cup in my hand.  Shame.  Seriously.

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Got this cool little guy for Christmas. He holds tape, pens, cards and has a magnet in his butt to pull paperclips out of the potty.

This week is going by slowly! I had a meeting with a lawyer Monday morning to make sure I don’t get screwed over completely by the lady that hit me and her insurance company. No offense to lawyers or to this particular guy (who was extremely nice and teaches at the university where I work), but I really don’t like having to do this. Really. No. But I don’t wanna get stuck paying bills I shouldn’t even have, either.

I also found out that I have to go see Mr. Foot Doctor again because I am supposed to find out exactly what probability of future damage/pain there is and how bad it will be. While I suppose it would be good to know, I really don’t want to expect it. I need my feet. The idea that they might start giving me hell in ten years because of someone’s inability to drive a car properly makes me want to run over someone’s face (guess who) with this funny shoe I still have to wear. I’m kinda kidding. Kinda.

I was told that this will take at least 4-6 months to solve. In a way, that’s good. We’re moving next week, and Mrs. P. is starting a new job, and we’re officially trying to get pregnant next month. So something to back-burner might actually be good. Besides, as long as someone else fights out getting hospital bills paid and all that, I can live with it more peacefully.

I’m going to finish my mocha now.

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May I be excused by large-nosed folks for this doodle on my co-worker’s desk of Ralph?  I totally got the hump/shape wrong, though.  My other American author doodles were much better, especially my Hemingway.

I am a member of The Large Nose People myself, by genetics. My nose grows constantly. Can you see your nose when you look straight ahead? I can.  When I was a baby, it was concluded that I didn’t get the family nose.  But, you know, what baby is born with a big schnozz?  I’ve really grown that thing.

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I learn new pointers for attending and running meetings all the time. Some are no-brainers: Have an agenda, and stick to it. Start on time, since we can’t all revolve around people who always show up late and can’t manage their time. Take notes in case no one else does.  Stay awake.

Other good ideas include providing some kind of refreshment, even if you just bring a few assorted sodas (and rootbeer is often a surprising hit, and cops usually don’t drink diet cola); printing out the agenda because a lot of people will take their notes on it and don’t carry paper; bring some extra pens; don’t sit through the whole meeting on your handheld.

Less obvious things include not calling folks two days before you want to meet and only giving them one time to pick from. That’s inconsiderate of people’s time.  Also, not calling a meeting just to hear yourself talk, since you could just email your speech — good idea.

But, the single most important aspect of running a meeting is one that two people (so far!) this week have blown. If you call a meeting, show up for it!

Finished a big grant application Friday.  Worked Saturday.  Took off yesterday.  Back to work today, and I feel like I should be stressed out about something.

Back on my bike, too, after six days off, taking transit and walking.  Knee was bothering me, and it didn’t go away after a lot of time off the bike, reinforcing my belief that it’s more from sitting than cycling.  It’s not really a sharp pain, and I think I’m making it worse by holding my leg funny.

It’s very very cold, and I’m looking forward to cycling at any rate.  My ride into work is almost entirely downhill, so I don’t think I can really hurt my knee any more (?).

This list is over.