Next week one of my tasks is to preside over a series of student senior presentations, so I scheduled some rehearsal time today for students who wanted to check out the room, make sure they were comfortable with the AV equipment, etc. Several came at the beginning of the rehearsal time, but for the last hour or so I was on my own in the business school's fancy conference room. What's fun about this is that some parts of our campus are intensely territorial - the business people and the media people for some reason hate it when we raggedy long-haired humanities folks wander over in our Birkenstocks to invade their pinched, business-suited space. As part of the AV setup I had tested the sound system (quite nice), and once it looked like I'd have some time to sit and wait between students, I decided I'd might as well be comfortable. So I grabbed a Coke from the machine in the hall, plugged in my favorite mix of Steely Dan/Jackson Browne/Crowded House, propped my feet up on a chair and got comfortable to grade a few papers. Stern business-suited people kept doing startled double-takes as they passed by the conference room doors, and the secretary of whatever department was across the hall kept shooting me glances that were clearly meant to cast some sort of long-lasting evil hex on my ass.
After a while I got bored with grading and decided to do a quick browse of the blogosphere, since I had the laptop hooked up for the student presentations (and Steely Dan). I visited all the usual suspects, chuckling, pondering, basking in the warm glow of bloggy companionship. And then, in the middle of reading the comments about oral sex over on Phantom's blog, I realized that the room's overhead projector was still on, casting a full-color ten-foot tall image of phrases like "I kept wanting to slap him and say, Get over yourself, little white guy!"
It seemed oddly appropriate.