we want the world, and we want it now

The Paradise Lounge is everything you could want in a dive bar. Dark wood paneling, wood bar with dark red vinyl seats, a "kitchen" which consists of a fryer and grill behind the bar, tattooed bartenders, diverse clientele, good music on the jukebox, and, as a bonus--good beer selection. Oh, and as a super awesome double-bonus--it's in the City of Madison, which means that yes, this dive bar is smoke-free. Oh yes, the dive bar experience without the smoke hangover.

How to get there? Simple. Walk past the yuppie-r bars/restaurants to Main, then past the old school steakhouse that still has red leather banquettes, past the local/cool gay bar, past the brothel (um, really), and duck into the door under the neon sign. That's what Steve, Stash, and I did after leaving the Great Dane that Thursday night. (Oh, Stash is my new nickname for R, because I do not really like using initials. Stash comes from 'stache, which obviously comes from moustache, which--well, now y'all probably get it if you're reading this).

The room is long and narrow, with the U-shaped bar taking up the center of the room. At front, near the door, some regulars were playing darts. The jukebox is also near the front of the bar area. In the back, others were playing pool and sitting at some rather rickety tables near the bathroom. A few others were scattered around the bar. We took our seats in the middle of the longest stretch of bar--strategically located near the taps. Now, I said the beer selection was good--what does that mean, for a dive bar? At some, it means you get a choice of Bud or Miller. At others, you might get that, and perhaps something like Sam Adams. And at others, you might even get one tap reserved for a local brew like Spotted Cow. At the 'Dise, you have those choices, sure. If you wish to drink your pint of Pabst, they've got you covered. Or, if the hipsters have ruined Pabst for you, you could do as our neighbor at the end of the bar, and alternate shots with a can of Hamm's. That's no problem. While I'm not at all above drinking a can of beer in the right place at the right time, our palates had already been attuned to "good" beer at the Great Dane. So I had a Guinness, which Steve and Stash (uh, are they starting to sound like a superhero or comedy duo yet?) each had Hopalicious, from the Madison-based Ale Asylum.

Almost perfect...but, no music? We used to come here, to the Paradise Lounge, when we lived in Madison, and there were a few songs that were must-plays. Steve went to put some music in, and soon enough the Ramones filled the bar. But...what's this? "KKK took my baby away?" The WRONG song! And what is this other, slow-ish song? Oh no. Steve told me that there were a few songs left to pick..and so off to the jukebox I went. I found a few gems...and then. Oh, he should know better than to leave me alone with music selections. You know I did it. Yes, I played Journey. I was a little worried about losing whatever cred I might have had with the somewhat younger, sorta punk/alternative crowd, but whatever. Journey was a must.

And that brings me to the best thing ever. Or at least, the best thing in an already awesome night. As "Don't Stop Believin'" started to play, Steve groaned, "oh, NO," while I dissolved into a fit of giggles and Stash smirked and drank his beer. Then Stash and I noticed something.

"Steve, look! They're....singing along! See...everyone loves Journey except you!"

"Yeah yeah, it's just those two girls over there."

"Nuh-uh, the dudes playing darts are singing too!"

And then...oh, and then. The super nice, kind of intimidatingly cool, tattooed bartender slid over to the taps to refill a pint, and....yes. Oh, yes. HE was singing along, too. He looked over at me and said, "Pretty soon we're going to have a full on bar sing-along, and we'll have to rename the bar American Idol or something!" And sure enough, most of the bar was singing, or nodding their heads in time to the song, or something. Except of course, Steve, who wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. All he knew is that any reaction he had at this point would include ordering another beer.

Seriously, it could not have been better had it been scripted. Even poor Steve had to admit that it was pretty awesome. We stayed a while longer, relaxing and chatting with each other, and then headed out into the warm, humid summer night to head back to the hotel. A summer rain began to fall just as we got back to the hotel--a summer rain which had turned into a full-on thunderstorm by the time we made it from the lobby to our room. Perfect timing, and a perfect evening.

It was good to feel completely at home and comfortable in one's skin. I don't know why the Paradise Lounge, of all places, has that effect on me. It's not a typical type of hang out for me (in fact, my former roommate that we saw at the Dane said, upon hearing of our plans, "The 'Dise? How do YOU know about THAT place?" I was kind of taken aback, but I get her surprise). I wouldn't go there regularly, even if I lived in Madison. And so, it's not a matter of fitting in--we were outsiders, in our polo shirts and khakis (the guys) and/or white shorts and turquoise top (me. but wouldn't it be awesome if it were the other way around?). But nobody cared. I guess...all I needed that night was good food, good drink, and most of all, good company who were able to "get" it, and get me. There it was...and it was so right.

(post subject lyric : "We want the airwaves", Ramones)

hey, hey, too cool to be forgotten

Last Thursday, I went to Madison with my lovely husband and my colleague, R, for a conference (well, R and I were at the conference. My husband was there to keep me company and do some sales calls in the area). The conference itself was a bit underwhelming, but Madison...ah, lovely Madison. I lived there for only a year, and that was kind of a disappointing year. We lived in a pretty sketchy neighborhood in a suburb, and I was adjusting to homesickness after having just left Virginia. I always kind of wish we had lived there when we had the work/financial stability we have now, so we could really take advantage of the city. Of course, we also now have two kids, so....

...but I digress. The point here is, while we were there, we did have time to cultivate some favorite places. Every time we visit, I am always at my happiest when I am downtown--whether it is in some favorite restaurant or just walking the streets surrounding the Capitol. This most recent visit, however, may have been the perfect visit. Some of it seems scripted. I am not sure I can put all of my memories into a true narrative, so I may just sketch out a few scenes here. Today's post will be Thursday, Part 1

--First of all, you know you have a great colleague when he turns to you after an interminable conference session full of administrative-ese, and says, "are we really going to the reception?", thus allowing you to form your escape plan...

...which of course is, "oh darn, we were going to go, but we have family here, and are having dinner with them. Not a complete lie, after all, Steve IS my family, and we had dinner with him (he is now R's "brotha from another motha", as well).

--Since it was a really warm evening, summer-cold beer sounded good to all of us. We decided rather quickly that we would eat dinner at the downtown location of the Great Dane, where we could enjoy one of my favorite beers, Crop Circle Wheat. Steve remembered that they have an outdoor seating area, so we requested that. The hostess said it would be about 25 minutes, which seemed like just enough time to have a drink in the bar.

Two minutes (!) later, we were in the outdoor garden, which is a walled area below street level, filled with greenery and decorative lighting. It reminded R of some places he had been out east, and it reminded me of a cafe I had spent time at in Hungary. Our waitress greeted us and immediately informed us that we could save $2 if we bought our beer in pitchers. Win! Our appetizers, dinners, and beer were great, but it's worth stating that we had some of the best service in a LONG time as well. One of the appetizers took a little longer than usual to arrive (the cook got slammed), and our server apologized AND bought our pitcher of beer--we did not expect that at all, especially since we had been enjoying the relaxed vibe of the evening.

The strangest thing that happened at the Dane was this: I glanced up at one point after we finished eating. Two women were walking toward a table in the back corner. "Is that...?" I though. "It couldn't be....well, one way to find out. NICOOOOOLE!"

The woman turned. Sure enough, it was our college roommate, who now lives outside Madison. The odds of seeing her in Madison, and especially seeing her at the Dane (I would not have pegged her as a brewpub person, and I am guessing she is not.), were, well, tiny.

--And so we sat, in the 80 degree weather, as the sun went down. Decompressing from a long afternoon and more so, a long year. It felt good--to sit with people that I can be 100% myself with, who are true friends to each other as well as important to me. It felt good--to be in a city I love, around people who are at the same time laid back and vibrant, full of life. It felt good--to be sitting in that garden, sated with good food and drink, talking about nothing in particular, and in no real hurry. I can't remember the last time I've done that...and damn, it felt good.

(coming up! Thursday, part 2--The 'DISE! OH YEAH. I WILL STOP SHOUTING NOW. or, uh, now.)

(post subject: 2 cool 2B 4gotten, Lucinda Williams)

the trick is to keep breathing

Hey, new blog layout! Like it? I don't...not yet. I am not so much a fan of the colors. But I needed something that didn't clash with my keen new header photo. That is the eponymous midwestern magnolia, in our front yard, still hanging on to a bloom or two despite the lateness of the year. That will probably end tomorrow, in the rain and wind, come to think of it.

So....I promised a post about finding life balance, right? Well. I have no secret...no epiphany here. I think that, if I achieve this at all, it will be through a series of fits and starts. All I've got are some moments that I know are right. The St. Paul trip was one of those. And this morning was another. This was scribbled on a notepad earlier today...

I awoke to two insistent children, and equally insistent work emails...and oh yes, the clamor of dishes needing to be done, carpets to be vacuumed, and so on. I could have put in a DVD and had two hours of work time....but I also awoke, as many of us did, to sunshine and 70 degree weather. So I spent my morning and early afternoon sitting on a blanket in my back yard, watching Matthew and Benjamin play, and being fully there as their mom. What moments felt right? Well...

--Matthew's excitement (ok, and to be honest, mine) at watching the first of the small planes fly overhead en route to the air show. This is my favorite weekend of the summer--the very first Manitowoc event we attended was the airshow in 2006. Ever since then, this signals summer to me. And also--very fast, loud planes are, well, cool. I suppose I am betraying some ecologist principals by saying that--oh, the pollution! The fossil fuel consumption!--but I can't help it. Later this evening, as one of the prop planes practices flips and loops, Matthew exclaimed, "I didn't know planes could do that!!" So cool.

--Benjamin finally overcoming his trepidation toward all things lawn/grass and taking off across the yard, giggling all the way.

--Matthew bringing me "something you want", in his words--dandelions and other assorted wildflowers.

--Matthew bringing me a pretend bowl of ice cream, from the ice cream store (a precursor to our actual trip to the ice cream store).

--Having a moment to read and laugh--and cry--along with Michael Perry's Coop.

Now, lest I appear to be attempting the blog version of a Rockwell painting, let me illustrate why things are always...interesting...around here. While Matthew was pretending to bring me ice cream, he informed me that "you must eat your food before you can have ice cream." Since we were in the realm of the imaginary, I barely even thought before murmuring "Of course I will, sweetheart," while engrossed in a particularly compelling chapter involving the perils of purchasing ones first feeder pigs. I was jolted back to the present by my son presenting me with a 1 lb bag of frozen, shredded, mozzerella.

"Matthew, what are you doing?"

"You said you'd eat your food before having ice cream!"

I am relieved to say, the mozzerella found its way back to the freezer...all 1 lb of it.

Later, the kids will nap, and I will tackle work and clean in anticipation of visiting friends old and new(er). For now, I will sit back, and enjoy being in the moment, remembering that Shirley Manson and co. were onto something...the trick, sometimes, is to keep breathing.

everybody wants to be special here

I have a blogging problem. As in, I keep wanting to update this blog, but I have issues finding the words to connect to my thoughts. It's a strange dichotomy--I read beautifully written blogs by friends, and I am inspired to write my own entry. But then, I think of those beautifully written blogs, and think that my blather certainly must bore my readers (all TWO of them, I swear) to tears. So! What to do?

I suppose the only way to get better at this is to do it, so...

note: I just dropped the cap of my thermos into my coffee mug. This is not an auspicious beginning.

...the title of this entry comes from "Here Comes a Regular", by the Replacements. (that's Replacements, y'all. You know who you are. Hee.). This line struck me particularly as I reflect on the end of the academic year, and all the angst--and joy--that came along with it. Of course, the line has a certain "duh" quality about it--everybody wants to be special everywhere, but I think that academia creates a certain special pressure cooker effect. It's not enough to be yourself, you must be a star! The misconception of the easy life of a professor is especially galling to those of us who are on the ground. Although we may only spend 12-15 hours or so in the classroom each week, we certainly find plenty of ways in which we spend our days. There's preparing for class--doing readings, updating lectures, finding new and innovative ways to present class material. There's the grading...oh, the never ending grading and feedback (and most of us give many assignments, and steer away from cookbook/multiple choice work, in the name of effective pedagogy). There are the meetings with students--an enjoyable part of the job, but time-consuming nonetheless. And then there are the parts of our job that have little to nothing to do with teaching: research, grant writing, programmatic development, outreach, recruiting, presenting at conferences, writing papers, and--oh yes, the committee work and meetings. How could I forget those? My point is that the nature of the job is such that no matter how many hours a week you work, there is always more to be done. It's very easy to get into the mindset that you are not, and never will be, doing enough. You must always do more, be better, be more special. While this has its good effects--most of us are deeply committed to our jobs, and many of us achieve things we didn't know were possible, it also takes a toll on mental, emotional, and yes, physical, health.

note: boy, I like the double-dash--don't I? Anyway--

The culture of academia feeds this pressure. While the tenure system gives security to those who have it, those of us who are not there yet, or who are not tenure track, have very little security. We are reviewed every year by multiple people. We are asked every week to do more--to support this new initiative, to serve on this ad hoc committee. And most of all, because we are all in the same situation, it is easy for this mindset--that there is never enough--to seem normal. It's easy to tell yourself that you're doing the right thing, and your colleague who actually seems to have a life is a slacker. Sometimes that is true, but it's easy to go overboard. It's easy to say "you shouldn't go to the gym today, you have grading to do." Or "you can't go home at 4:00, what would people think?" And so wellness falls by the wayside. (Forget the Freshman Fifteen, my fear is the Tenure Track Twenty!). Soon the internal tensions spill out into the world, and working relationships/friendships/family relations can become strained. This, I have learned, is no way to live.

So, by the end of the year, it's easy to become burned out, cynical. To ask oneself "why am I doing this?" And then a series of things happen....

...you get together for coffee or drinks with colleagues and realize that this job has allowed you to work with some of the best people you've ever known.

...you get an email from a student thanking you for everything you've done for him/her

...your student evaluations are fair, and even contain some gems ("you made me love science!" "we love you!")

...you travel with two students, two of your research mentees, who would not have had the opportunity to pursue research at a larger school. You see the joy and pure interest they have in their project. You see how the project allows you, and your students, to build community--not just with each other, but with colleagues from other schools, and with other cultures and communities.

...you see others working hard to provide access and opportunity to others, especially those who may be ignored by traditional educational systems

And when those things happen, you realize--that is why you do it. At least, that's how it works for me. I know that the next years are going to be fraught with worry, with tension, with uncertainty. I will strive to remain certain that there is a reason for me to do this, and that is what matters more than any line on my tenure dossier.

(next: how i learned to stop worrying and...ok that doesn't work. how i learned to achieve work/life balance. ok, that's not even true. how i AM LEARNING to achieve work/life balance. there. close enough).