I'd been meaning to write about said otter because this Beanie Baby question—the tags, the BB craze a few decades ago, my niece's yearning for a real dog, rediscovering objects from my childhood, etc.—managed to stay in the back of my mind since the holidays (and one of my New Year's resolutions has been to make time for low-stakes writing on the blog). But then with the combination of the start of the semester and the political happenings in the country, I was kind of like: screw it, I don't have time to be writing about no freakin' otter.
Sorry, Seaweed. I love you, even if I haven't politicized you...
For year 2017 I've made all sorts of interesting resolutions. For the first time in, like, 20 years, I'm not resolving to stop swearing (or even swear less). I've found that I just can't fucking do it, and besides, swear words are mere social constructions...
In Japan we have what's called a hatsuyume—or, the first dream of the year. It's typically the dream we have on the night of the 1st or the 2nd. Our hatsuyume is supposed to be a form of fortune-telling—if it's a good dream we savor it, and if it's a bad dream we find ways to dispel the bad fortune. For me, my hatsuyume was born out of all the planning I'd done a few days prior to make sure I'd be able to achieve several different goals during the year 2017.
But before that, I'm going to talk about my students. At the end of October, a couple of weeks before the election, my students from the Anime Club hosted a maid café. I'd never been to a maid café, even while I was living in Japan, so I was a bit tickled to be losing my maid café virginity here in California.
This maid café was a lot of fun, and very, very souped up. And get this—the students gave me an Attack on Titan scarf!! OK, supposedly I won it in a raffle, because paying for your entrance got you a raffle ticket (or two, I have no idea). But the raffle was rigged, I tell you—RIGGED!!! In fact, it was very Japanese of them to make it so that the club advisor won the raffle on the first go... kind of embarrassing, but very cute.
But what is so appealing about Worst Cooks is the presence of Chefs Anne and Bobby (at least in the seasons we've been watching)—entertaining people who are also really great chefs. The show gives me hope that, even for someone like me, a teacher may actually do the trick of teaching me to cook properly.
As we get closer to the early-ish deadlines for humanities jobs, I realized that I hadn't written about two specific documents that are (often) a part of the application packet submitted for job calls: the cover letter and the teaching statement.
These are, as always, my personal opinions—so do disregard what seems inappropriate for you or the jobs for which you are applying. I'll have more thoughts later about phone interviews and campus visits—which you will be offered if you do your due diligence, present yourself as fitting the position, and also have a heavy sprinkle of luck!
The collection is wonderful, and I hope you get to read it one day if you haven't already. Please don't think that it'll take you nine years to finish it—once I got started, I was done with it in just a few days.
The titular story is about a woman who enters an Ivy League school as a freshman and learns—and is made to reaffirm—all the injustices tied to being black, female, and queer (though she doesn't identify herself in all of those categories).