Wi Fi Fo Fum
Aug. 27th, 2004 12:22 amI earned some sort of geek merit badge yesterday by successfully setting up a WiFi network in our home, with two computers happily coexisting on it. Both are able to see the printer, I can transfer files from one to the other, and I can stream my entire iTunes music library (on the iMac) to K.'s laptop in the kitchen, if it happens to be in the kitchen and I happen to want to listen to music while I make an artichoke, bacon, feta, and asiago pizza. (Which I did.) I am a bit goggle-eyed by the laptop's ability to be on the internet without any wires coming out of it at all. It's just a wee lozenge, an overgrown Chiclet. Dark magic, elder arcana, bad juju.
We had dinner with the other new faculty last night, in a turreted fantasy building that looks like...not Cinderella's Castle, but the castle of Cinderella's less ostentatious friend—the one who doesn't get Prince Charming, but does attract the attention of a quiet young man who is, after all is said and done, more worthwhile, and who likes autumn leaves and libraries. The interior space reminded me quite a bit of the central room of Sharples (the Swarthmore dining hall), which once again drove home the fact that K. has a different relationship to academia now; not only do we not have to worry about the Sorting Hat, but we're sitting at the head table. Our actual table included K.'s new colleague in Classics, just out of grad school after a 20-year break; a woman studying Victorian epitaphs and her husband, a Lutheran minister; a historian of junkyards and his wife, who'd just lived a year, snowbound, in the northernmost part of the UP; and the Dean of the Conservatory of Music, who told me where to buy guitar strings. Handy fellow.
(N.B.: I'm a little interested to read the journals of the incoming freshmen at Swat, like
_swallow, to compare and contrast our orientation and theirs.)
Despite a nasty headache, I was socially more or less ept, though academics have a habit of staring intently at me after I've answered a question, as though saying, "Uh-huh. Now, what's the interesting part of your answer?" And I fielded a lot of "What do you do?" questions with a cheerful "Nothing!" after two or three failed attempts to explain about being a writer without a) mentioning the porn or b) sounding like a pathetic wannabe. (Which I may be.) Enh. We listened to Remarks from the Deans and the President, and ate fairly decent barbeque, which is what one does at these things.
Later, I had a lovely long talk with Miriam, late at night with crickets on backup. Comfy.
We had dinner with the other new faculty last night, in a turreted fantasy building that looks like...not Cinderella's Castle, but the castle of Cinderella's less ostentatious friend—the one who doesn't get Prince Charming, but does attract the attention of a quiet young man who is, after all is said and done, more worthwhile, and who likes autumn leaves and libraries. The interior space reminded me quite a bit of the central room of Sharples (the Swarthmore dining hall), which once again drove home the fact that K. has a different relationship to academia now; not only do we not have to worry about the Sorting Hat, but we're sitting at the head table. Our actual table included K.'s new colleague in Classics, just out of grad school after a 20-year break; a woman studying Victorian epitaphs and her husband, a Lutheran minister; a historian of junkyards and his wife, who'd just lived a year, snowbound, in the northernmost part of the UP; and the Dean of the Conservatory of Music, who told me where to buy guitar strings. Handy fellow.
(N.B.: I'm a little interested to read the journals of the incoming freshmen at Swat, like
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Despite a nasty headache, I was socially more or less ept, though academics have a habit of staring intently at me after I've answered a question, as though saying, "Uh-huh. Now, what's the interesting part of your answer?" And I fielded a lot of "What do you do?" questions with a cheerful "Nothing!" after two or three failed attempts to explain about being a writer without a) mentioning the porn or b) sounding like a pathetic wannabe. (Which I may be.) Enh. We listened to Remarks from the Deans and the President, and ate fairly decent barbeque, which is what one does at these things.
Later, I had a lovely long talk with Miriam, late at night with crickets on backup. Comfy.