the educated serf

Hey, Barney, can you spare a dime? This is a very short little comment, since, as you know, we serfs don't have time for contemplation and reflection.  I have an unfinished post about something more intellectual -- but well, it will have to wait.   I have to earn some money, which means blogging for peanuts, writing lesson plans with limited readings but lots of graphics, and sending out job applications, hoping they don't bear the tainted stink of failure that I truly believe is starting to adhere to me, just like the Steeler jerseys are adhering to the sweaty Monday Night Football fans I run into in CVS, the parking lot of the school, the neighborhood, and of course, the gas station, on this unusually warm September day.   But I'm having trouble reading the newspaper, listening to the radio, or thinking about my nonexistent bank account and the debts that we indentured types have stupidly incurred upon ourselves (really, wouldn't it be easier if we could blame the Gre

When Scarlett and I walk in the woods, she generally likes to chase deer.  We're in a part of Pennsylvania where deer are really plentiful.  We joke that it took about three weeks after we moved here to get sick of them out in front of the house ("oh look! Bambi!" became "oh look! vermin!").    But they are beautiful in their own way, especially when the dog and I come across them, in various ways as we walk in the morning.  She smells them before I see them, I see them before she chases them.   Is she trying to catch and kill them?  I don't think so. Squirrels, yes, she has a death wish for squirrels.    We have evidence for that one.   But the deer are big.  And usually fast.  So, sometimes Scarlett runs a bit until the deer have effectively cleared out or she can't smell them anymore and then she doubles back and finds the spot where they were sleeping, standing, peeing, and makes sure she smells it thoroughly, adding her own scent for good measure.  

The other day I was walking the dog in one of our usual places, which is very wooded, but rather contained -- in fact, it reminds me of what it might be like in an area set aside for "the hunt" in medieval times -- it's wild but it's tame.   You know you're going to run into some deer (inevitable) and possibly other creatures, but also other people, usually mountain bikers (okay, that ruins the medieval image right there) and sometimes other folks with their dogs.      It was quiet that morning and so we went pretty far back into the woods (knowing it's got a boundary -- this is a park, owned by the state, that was once someone's estate, complete with ugly mansion on one end, paved pathway with women in jogging suits around the perimeter, and of course, a holiday light extravaganza you can drive through for $18 while you listen to "the Twelve Days of Christmas" on your car radio.)     I can't describe the way the forest has a medieval cast to

Welcome to the educated serf.   Being a serf, I can't imagine why you'd waste your time reading this, but being educated, I have not been able to eliminate a certain amount of reinforced hubris that suggests you might actually be interested in what is being said here.   The question, of course, is how to tell if she's a witch.