Big Compliments and Small Victories

It was my intent to try to update while in Chicago-- but, I'm not going to lie-- I'm a popular girl, and when the city calls, you gotta answer. My trip to Chicago confirmed a few things:

1. I will never pursue a PhD. At least not now, and probably never. What confirmed this for me was attending a doc-level Stats class with my friend W, a student in Educational Psychology. As I sat there listening, I almost started crying because of the sheer pressure Math caused in my brain. I think I had an aneurysm. The only way to cure said head injury was to eat and drink the rest of the weekend.

2. Mid-western values are alive and well in Chicago, even though it is a big city. In some cases, it's even friendlier than Mt. Pleasant. For example, while W and I were walking to the train station, we passed the Episcopalian Church. I was pleasantly verbally assaulted by a gay (and possibly drunk and possibly mentally ill) man, who went on and on about my flowered tapestry coat: "Ohmigod! That coat is simply stunning-- just absolutely beautiful... what a fall gem. And, look at the whole emsemble-- your style is so elegant, you just wear it so WELL...." I was sort of embarrassed, and just went on repeating, "Oh, thank you, thank you..." And, then, this same man, turned to W and said, "Well, you look OK too-- but your style is a lot more low key than hers." W said thanks too, but on the train we marveled at what an odd social situation it was: why, when two people are together, and a stranger offers one a compliment, that he/she feels compelled to also compliment the other. Hm....

3. A good meal, always, is focaccia bread, olives, cheese, grapes, proscuitto (sp?), and red wine.

4. Valpariso, IN is a lot like Mt. Pleasant, but more religious.

On a far less Chicago-related theme, I was very happy today when one of my students reported that he had good news about one of his classes. "Well, what is it?" I asked. "I got a C on my business test that I studied four hours for." I congratulated him on the C, because the highest grade in the class was a B+ ; and, more significantly, he said that for the first time in his life, he wasn't the one kid in class who failed miserably.

His parents didn't share my enthusiasm, apparently-- which makes me sad-- because that means they might not be being realistic about what achievements their son is capabable of. They might've said, "Son, a C isn't anything to celebrate. Next time get an A." I fundamentally disagree. If you work your ass off for a C, like I did in Math and Science classes, a C IS MOST DEFINITELY something to celebrate.