I think I finished my tenure dossier. On Friday I heard that the administration’s position is, “We don’t care about your narratives, we just care about numbers,” so I stopped futzing with my narratives, made a bunch of colorful graphs, attached a mile-long bibliography on how numbers and graphs rule, and decided it was time to move on to more fun tasks. If people see my record of publications and my student evaluations and are still not convinced, it’s their misfortune.
I also wrote my sabbatical application and prepared the syllabi. And now I’m ready for my summer holidays. They will only last one week this year, but that’s better than nothing. My plan for the holiday week is:
1. Go to the gym every day because after everything I’ve had to do this summer, the gym is a place where I go to rest.
2. Go to the Indian buffet every day. And don’t even dare to suggest I don’t deserve this little indulgence. I’ll go there straight from the gym.
3. Sleep during the day.
4. Read only for fun.
And now N and I are watching our favorite Russian TV show which we haven’t had time to watch since May. The show’s host has made us happy with a spontaneous and completely serious admission that “Here in Russia were are not like those folks in the Netherlands or whatever. We don’t rely on our brains. We have feelings instead.” And this was a perfect beginning to my summer holidays.
Clarissa's Blog 
“Go to the Indian buffet every day …”
Everything is better with raita and tamarind chutney on it. 🙂
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Also, there’s a hilarious story about London that I found — it’s by Will Self.
The premise is that Londoners don’t really die, they’re simply moved out to distant travel zones from the city centre. Enjoying Southwark while alive? You’ll be moved to Sydenham, if you’re lucky, or perhaps Leytonstone will be your harrowing post-life experience. (Also, north London is seen as punishment for those who lived their lives horribly, so if you’ve been a bit naughty, it’s off to somewhere west of Ruislip for you. Perhaps you’ll be banished entirely from London and be made to live in Swindon.)
The tricky part is when the protagonist starts getting calls from his dead mother, who now lives somewhere unfashionably awful.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out how much I need on an Oyster card for return travel out to zone 6 from South Kensington … 🙂
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