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Well, after my hopeful email about Tuesday night dinner out, I never went. Why? Because before I could get out of the house, I opened an incredibly damaging email about a situation in my department at My U. We are undergoing some internal processes right now that I thought, mistakenely, were going well.

The good news is that this email reaffirmed these things I already knew:

1. I hate liars.

2. I hate being manipulated.

3. I have people who say they do something "for your own good" when it is really, completely, all about what their own good and what they want, and they could give a good goddamn about your good..

4. I hate being treated like I am an emotional female because I state an opinion openly... like my male colleagues do every damn day.

5. I hate back door, Men's Club politics.

Without breaking any kind of confidence, I can tell you this: I understand people doing all the above for multiple millions/billions/trillions in the banking and business empires of our country. It makes them crooks and theives who should go to jail, but I understand the motivation. What rocks me--still--is that in my small, tiny, itsy-bitsy area of turf within academia, people are just as manipulative, ruthless, and petty over such tiny resources.... just as misogynistic, impatient, unkind, and careless. With so little to gain. So little kindness. I am still reeling.

Pearl

Tuesday is the day I have established the ritual of taking myself out to dinner.

So where to tonight, Pearl?

I think... I'm going around the corner to Cafe Toulouse, a faux French bistro in my neighborhood that is within walking distance. They have a decent wine list and some good dishes--not as many as a real French restaurant, bistro or even cafe would have, and they are a wee bit pretentious... but I can always get a good table on the patio and sit as long as I want.

The last time I went, I had the trout, and it was delicious, delightful, and delectable. Tonight I may go with the roast chicken. or perhaps simply the cheese plate--it is that kind of night.

I am also debating about reading material. Generally, Tuesday night's dinner is devoted to personal choice reading material (fiction) or actress-oriented material (book in process). However, I am uncertain I have anything in either category... and I do have 26 midterms fresh out of my students' little paws.

All short-answer.

All simple to grade.

All ready for judgment--not that I judge, but that is what my students think, that I sit in a chair at home, sip something like Earl Grey tea, and bleed red ink all over their texts while I laugh like Edward Rochester's mad wife at their failures. 

Far from it.

 At times I do laugh like a maniac, cry like a woman out of her mind with sorrow, or thrash on the ground and scream... but those are the moments when I find that a student states with absolute certainty a "fact" refuted by not only the textbook, but my lecture, my handouts, my power point supplement, and in-class discussion. What can one do but sob for the student who is so dog-headedly positive of the non-fact? One can only admire the kind of courage that led men before the Wright Brothers to strap on paper wings and jump off a cliff, the genius that suggested to people who found themselves toast-less for breakfast that a repair of said toaster should begin by sticking the silvery tines of their fork deep into the coils while said toaster was plugged in and turned on, and and the state of hubris that allowed Lindsey Lohan to launch a line of patterned fashion tights. 

But we have all been master of the non-fact (including me--hugely), so my manaical hystrionics dwindle down to empathy and sorrow, and I simply sigh, make a check mark, and move on. Check. No check. Check.

Pearl  

Well, the weight I lost in Paris is back. It is not so much added pounds as a lack of firmness, so I am back to my familiar round plumpness. Sadly.

Why?

No walking. 

This is absolutely it. I changed my diet dramatically while in Paris and am sticking to it, despite the constant temptations in the US of processed sugar, processed foods, fast foods, and huge portions. I fall off the sugar wagon, but not as badly as I used to, certainly.

But my daily practice--necessity--of walking is gone. In DFW, people ONLY walk a/ for exercise, b/ if their car has broken down, or c/ if they're crazy.

Seriously.

Nobody uses walking to get anywhere, primarily because walkers must contends with drivers and everything is spread out. I can't walk from my grocery store to my cafe to my bookstore to my apartment. I can walk from my apartment to restaurants, a Starbucks, an Apple store, a post office, and a high-priced pharmacy... but not for groceries, books, gas. But even if I drive, I cannot find one place--even a nexus of shopping centers at a crossroads--where I can do all my errands at a Target, a grocery store or farmer's market or speciality food stores, a bookstore, a cafe, and a good set of clothing stores... Malls and gallerias don't have Target or groceries or CVS or Office Depot.

Okay. That makes sense: I cannot find everything in one place in Paris, either. But Dallas doesn't have a mass transit system that allows me to travel quickly and cheaply by bus or subway or light rail and shop up and down the line, finally returning home. In Paris, my day was linked by stops along the Metro lines to pick up books or CDs or get to the archives or theatre or museum... then return to my home stop where I picked up groceries, phone cards, wine, and fresh fruit from the market en route to my apartment. I walked all day--stopping to see, to buy, to do--then walked more, then rode the Metro, then walked... It wasn't exercise, and I ddin't think about how much I was walking--I just did it. In heels. All damn day.

Her ein DFW, I walk for 30 minutes on a trail for exercise: which is, mentally, not very interesting and visually not very interesting. I am also not engaged on all cylinders over my landscape as I am in Paris: I see buildings, shops, cafes, people, EVERYTHING, while I walk--which again makes walking not "exercise" or a chore, but a brilliantly wonderful way of connecting to my city, my landscape, and my fellow human beings. Even the Metro offers interesting sights consistently.

Walking here is boring. You can't go anywhere, you can't get back, it takes forever because you're not supported by transit, and the sight you're most likely to see is cars, cars, and more cars. And DFW drivers do not like walkers (or bikers) and do not recognize them as a vital part of the landscape, or at least equals on the road. 

In part, it is me. I do not like to exercise for the sake of exercise, but I do like walking to see things. To get to intersting places, interesting destinations, to complete necessary errands. I could park at the far end of parking lots: but that feels like I am tricking myself, and myself is not fooled. That is not REAL walking and, dude, it is in a parking lot. Asphalt. Flat. Nothing to see. I could...

This is a constant debate. I do not win, neither does myself. Dang.

I miss walking. I miss connecting with the world around me. Dallas is a perfectly interesting city, except that no one expects to see it except through the window of a car moving at 40 mph (or more). Or walking your dog (not an option!). And there is no part of the city that is not like this: it is the city's ethos.

I miss walking, And I'm gonna get yelled at by my doctor.

Pearl

I am here for a conference in French history and gave a paper yesterday morning: early. Done... and done. It all went very well, including the power point pictures I used to illustrate my points.

I am staying at a hotel that is not the conference hotel, but a short two-block walk away. When I checked in--very late Thursday night--I was told I had a mountain view room.

Not a lie.

In fact, I can see several mountains.

 

I went out to the second day of the conference, then walked back here for lunch before exploring Bourlder.

 

Gorgeous. This is one of the things I miss being away from the Hudson Valley: mountains. Of course, these are taller, rockier, pointier mountains than the Catskills, but still.

 

Boulder is a crunchy town, meaning university-hippie-whole grain. I love it. Reminds me, again, of back home.

Tomorrow back to DFW.

Pearl

Over on my Texas blog, I've been writing about the Texas State Fair, which I attended with friends last week, Butter sculptures, quilts, and fried foods. Go here to read all about it.

I also wrote about my problems with AT&T's Customer Service, a term which means something different on each end of the phone (ironically). Advice? Go here to answer my questions.

And an easy recipe for Spicy Chicken.

Last week was a busy week in North Texas. This week I am travelling to Boulder to give a paper on 19th-century actresses again, this time about the "new" ways in which men looked at them, given new "ways of looking" evolving during the period. The title is

GAZING AT A WOMAN ON THE PARIS STAGE:

THE FLÂNEUR, THE COLLECTOR, THE ARTIST, & THE CUSTOMER

Late Nineteenth Century Theatre and the Male Spectator

 

and I am using pictures like this one of a young Sarah Bernhardt:

I hope to see something of the city while I am there: everyone tells me how great Boulder is when they hear I am going there. I believe them!

Pearl

 

Although Dallas in now way resembles "autumn" right now, My U is on its annual fall break. Which means a long weekend over Columbus Day. I am takignt he time to catch up on a/ grading, b/ housecleaning, c/ sleeping... not in that order, actually.

Friday and Saturday I driove to Beaumont, TX, to again see an original play, give feedback, and give a workshop on playwriting. Alll of it was surprising fun, except about about 10 minutes of terror on Friday-night Beaumont rush hour traffice on a major highway. Besides that: terrific!

No pictures this time of wacky Texas roadside stuff: the highway was smooth and clear, no real sightseeing.

Coming home I picked up some bug, however, that knocked me out for Satruday night and msot of Sunday. I got the laundry done, the groceries, cooked some chicken soup, took out the garbage and recycling, and then crashed on the sofa, knocked out by whatever that was. between the pollen, the swine flu (that was not it), the colds, and the stress of mid-semester, it was something that laid waste in my household for about 24 hours.

Monday, I cleaned house and ate (drank?) more soup, and today I'll be completing grading and mid-semester evaluations for my students. Tomorrow, classes begin again--thundering forward to Thanksgiving. Non-stop, sort of, but there you go.

Back to the red pen.

Pearl .

Hidden in the northwest corner of our campus is the law school. It has a lovely little quad in the middle as well as this interesting Grecian-like temple.

 

 

 

Two years ago, one of our students used this is the setting for an independent production. He staged the play in and around this outdoor building, adding only a few things like stools and some lighting for the nighttime performances.

This is one of the quietest parts of campus, where the law school faculty and students are the smaller population than general campus space.

 

Our students keep trying to break through the veneer of separated schools and use the law library. They are intimidated by the quiet, the older students, the not-belonging. And of course, I'm a scholar and a geek, so I think the notion of checking out various libraries on campus... fun.

Pearl

I was with my mum in Amsterdam, starting our four-day rock 'n' roll tour of that great city. Read it here.

Photos of the day include:

 

 

And my watercolor box...

I should warn you that Mum and I are planning a trip driving down the California seacoast, along Highway 1, next spring... It will be another crazy wild time!

Pearl

 

I finally saw Julie & Julia, the film made from the book by Julie Powell, which was in turn based on/drawn from her blog about Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child.

I loved it. Thoroughly entertaining, thoroughly delightful, very well done.

I know there has been a certain amount of backlash towards Powell, then and now, about her blog and the film. I have to ask, Why? I do not get it. If anything, I would think Powell would complain about the movie because the writer, Nora Ephron, did not make the Powell half nearly as delightful as the Child half... and then you've got Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci as the Childs, so right there... how can anyone compete?

I am actually very fond of Julie & Julia, the book and the entire story by Powell because it was inspirational to me about blogging, about writing, about finding a project that can, for a little while at least, define one and give a direction to one's life. I have been where Powell was: in a dead-end, depressing, limited job while everyone around you is streaking forward. I have re-made my life by finding a shorrt-term (or long-term) project that gives one purpose and focus, and in the end somehow changes... everything.

It was the book that made me want to start a blog, which I had never thought to do. Blog? Me? Why? I keep and have kept journals, but writing a blog which is like a public journal... not so sure.

Going to Paris on sabbatical gave me a focus for the blog. Not being there has left a space that isn't exactly full yet.

Besides, the reality of Meryl Streep playing Julia Child and Stanley Tucci as her husband, a thoroughly non-traditional couple delighting in their relationship, learning Paris, leaving Paris, their love of food and entertaining and life was glorious. Beautifully done. I am pleased too that Streep and Amy Adams have developed a kind of screen relationship, perhaps a mentoring one. It was the center of Doubt and made it powerful. Although Adams and Streep didn't share screen time (like Julia and Julia not sharing space, either), their individual performances obviously impacted on one another's.

What a great experience! Who wouldn't want to act with Streep and learn from acting with, watching, studying her work? Damn. That would be like winning the Oscar, the Tony, and the Nobel Prize in one.

And of course, watching Streep and Tucci act off each other is a dream, too. So good, so smooth: two master actors who know their craft and their talent, working actors who are both incredibly smart, too... bloody fantastic. 

So while I am disappointed that Powell's half got less colorful master treatment from Ephron, overall the movie was fine. And I continue to admire Powell's original journal, and her continuing blog, and her moxie for finding something to change her life.

Pearl

 

I am watching the Inspector Lewis, Season 1 series from Netflix. Delightfully, it is reminding me of my times in Oxford, although the stories themselves are slow to unfold...

This one has scenes thus far in the Malmaison Hotel, a former prison now luxury hotel.

Also outside the church on High Street, St. Mary's Church, which is nearly directly across from University College where we stay during summers. It is a 13th century church that is the parish church of Oxford; Thomas Cranmer, John Wesley, and C.S. Lewis all made appearances there. It also has a lovely tower to be climbed for a gorgeous view of the city.

Oh, a major character got killed and someone referenced "the Book Depository": Dallas and Oxford come together in an odd moment...

And the Bodleian, and the Ashmolean.

As well as various spots throughout the City itself. Oxford is a most delightful city, despite the tourists. After all, it is a city built around, based upon the idea of a university: the collection and dissemination of knowledge, with all the joys, prejudices, horrors, and revelations of such practices.

Pearl