Some of the books are purely for pleasure. Others are listed with the intention of beefing up my knowledge of early American history before school starts in the fall. All of them I’ve been wanting to read for some time. If you’ve read any of them, please let me know what you thought. I plan to read them in no particular order–I have them lined up on my desk, and I’ll grab one as the mood strikes me. Very unlike grad school. And so, in that spiri, here is the list in no particular order:

The Race Beat: The Press, the Civil Rights Struggle, and the Awakening of a Nation (Roberts/Klibanoff)

Banker to the Poor: Micro-Lending and the Battle Against World Poverty (Yunus)

Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities (Robbins)

The Innocent Man: Murder and Injustice in a Small Town (Grisham)

Jonathan Livingston Seagull (Bach)

American Slavery, American Freedom: The Ordeal of Colonial Virginia (Morgan)

A Great Improvisation: Franklin, France, and the Birth of America (Schiff)

History Wars: The Enola Gay and Other Battles for the American Past (Linenthal/Engelhardt, eds.)

Opening Day: The Story of Jackie Robinson’s First Season (Eig)

Generations of Captivity: A History of African-American Slaves (Berlin)

Widow of the South (Hicks)

Coach: 25 Writers Reflect on People Who Made a Difference (Blauner, ed.)

Summerland (Chabon)

I’ll probably mix in a few mass-market paperback mysteries as well, especially on the honeymoon. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

As it turned out, we arrived in Oxford around a bit before noon on Saturday, and our first stop was Rowan Oak, the home of William Faulkner. As both a southern historian and a historian of the South, it’s actually quite embarassing for me to admit that I have never read Faulkner, but it’s true. I’ve always wanted to, but I’ve just never gotten around to it. I think this may finally push me to do it. The house (pictured above) is surprisingly sparse. It’s a pretty old Greek Revival with some neat little nooks and crannies, but in terms of furnishings, it’s not what you might expect. Faulkner had a nice library and an office/writing room, but the relative dearth of books was a bit baffling. I suppose much of his library is probably housed in an archive somewhere, but it was a bit refreshing that he enjoyed reading mystery novels (there was a stack of them next to his bed). This makes me feel less guilty about reading contemporary (read: non-literary) fiction.

After checking out Rowan Oak, we headed downtown to the historic square for lunch. Probably the greatest thing about Oxford is that it has the very cliche “courthouse square” seen in many southern towns. In most such towns, however, the square is virtually dead these days. Not so in Oxford. It is a thriving agora lined with bars, boutiques, and bookstores, not to mention some fantastic restaurants. And yes, there is a Confederate monument in the center. Erected in 1907 by the United Daughters of the Confederacy.

For lunch, we decided on City Grocery, which serves “eclectic new Southern cuisine.” If by “eclectic new Southern cuisine.” We chose a couple of sandwiches, but these were not your your father’s ham and cheeses. Emily had a turkey and havarti on a croissant with a fried egg and dijon mustard. Very good. I had a fried chicken breast on a herb biscuit with caramelized onions and a molasses aioli. Three words: oh. my. God. It was quite simply one of the most delicious creations I’ve ever eaten. As if that weren’t enough, we shared a slice of chocolate-peanut butter pie that left us both wanting more.

After lunch, we walked down to the appropriately-named Square Books, whose owner just so happens to be the mayor of Oxford. This is one of the best, not to mention largest, independent bookstores I’ve ever visited. I think I could have spent hours there. On the second floor, there is a balcony that runs the length of the building along a side street where you can sit outside and look toward the square while reading your book and drinking your beverage of choice. Of course, it was too cold for that this weekend, but I imagine that in the late spring and fall, it’s a beautiful place.

They also have a fairly extensive collection of signed first editions (and have been running a monthly signed first editions “club” since 1979). In fact, I happened upon a signed first edition of what is perhaps my favorite book, Blood Done Sign My Name, which I know I’ve mentioned on this blog before. Having just passed my M.A. comps, I felt it appropriate to purchase a signed copy of the book that inspires me to be a better historian.

Another block or so away are two more off-shoots of Square Books, known as Off-Square Books and Square, Jr. The former is somewhat misleading, given that it, too, is actually on the square, but their inventory consists primarily of used books and publishers’ remainders. Very nice. I picked up three books there, two of which I’ve been wanting to read for some time. Square, Jr., as you might imagine, is a children’s bookstore. Emily and I didn’t wander in, but given my experience in the other two stores, I’m sure it’s pretty awesome as well.

After we had our fill of bookstores, we headed to the hotel, which was located on the campus of Ole Miss. After resting our tired and weary feet for an hour or so, we ventured out for a quick view of the campus. We didn’t see much actually, except for the Lyceum and the Grove (the Ole Miss equivalent of the Rotunda and the Lawn, respectively). I think it must have been spring break, because the campus was almost eerily quiet.

Emily suggested that we check out the tiny town of Taylor, about seven miles south of Oxford, so we did. It’s home to a folk art community and the “Taylor Grocery.” Why these people are so fond of calling their restaurants “groceries,” I do not know, but Taylor grocery is a small catfish restaurant where they allow you to bring your own brown bag. Pretty sweet. Driving by, it looked like a total dump, but I bet it’s phenomenal. We didn’t eat there, but we did stop by the Taylor arts center and check out some of their very cool work. We even contemplated purchasing a fish–or rather, a hunk of cypress painted to resemble a fish. In the end, we couldn’t justify spending $50 on art, especially when neither of us has a job lined up, but I still sort of want that fish.

From there, we headed back to the hotel and then walked back down to the square for dinner and drinks. After a pretty good dinner at Old Venice Pizza Co., we headed to the upstairs bar of City Grocery, where we watched the Duke/UNC basketball game and I imbibed several bourbon & cokes. (Can’t beat that on your birthday.) When we were finally ready to stumble back to the hotel, we walked outside only to discover the shuttle from our hotel parked right out front! We didn’t even realize it was running, but we hopped in and could not believe our good fortune.

The next morning, we nibbled on a mediocre continental breakfast at the hotel before heading to the world-famous (OK, maybe not world-famous, but locally famous) Bottletree Bakery, which just so happens to be featured in this month’s issue of Southern Living. It did not disappoint. Emily had the largest cinnamon roll either of us had ever seen, topped with enough icing to kill a diabetic. I couldn’t decide what to order and eventually compromised, ordering a sausage biscuit (with what I think was locally-made sausage) and breakfast foccacia–essentially, a huge chunk of foccacia bread topped with scrambled eggs, chopped-up bacon, and cheese. Both were delicious. I really wanted to try a blueberry muffin, but I simply didn’t have room.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I loved Oxford, and actually sort of regret not applying to graduate school there. I thought about it, but for reasons I can’t fully remember, I decided not to pursue it. Alas. I’ve (more or less) enjoyed my time in Tuscaloosa, and my professors here have by and large been terrific, but in terms of the culture of the town, it can’t hold a candle to Oxford. Most importantly to me, Oxford is a relatively small, yet bookish town, and for me, that’s perfect.

A quick story to illustrate this point: Saturday evening, Emily and I sat at the bar at City Grocery for a couple of hours. One of the bartenders there looked to be in his early- to mid-thirties, but we didn’t really talk to him or anything. Sunday morning, we’re at Bottletree Bakery (where they have a long, low bar in addition to tables), and the woman sitting next to Emily–who had been reading The New Yorker (you don’t see that in Tuscaloosa)–gets up to leave. And who should sit down next to her but the bartender from the night before, with a copy of the Bible and Thomas Paine’s Common Sense. I was like “That’s my kind of bartender.”

To make a long story short, if you have the opportunity to visit Oxford, take it.

In other words, I passed. When I described the comps ordeal to Emily, she said, “Well, that doesn’t sound like fun.” Suffice it to say that, no indeed, it was not a “fun” two hours, but I suppose it went about as well as could be expected. I walked into a couple of traps, but my professors weren’t nearly as mean-spirited as they could have been, and they all really liked my seminar paper. The general consensus was that I should submit it for publication soon, so that’s encouraging.

After an evening of celebrating with some other folks from the history department (In case you’re wondering, the title/first line of this post comes from a statement I uttered after a few beers on Friday afternoon), Emily and I woke up early Saturday morning and hit the road for… Oxford, Mississippi.

Expect a full write-up of the weekend soon.

Luckily, it will all be over in less than 24 hours.

My exam is scheduled 1:30, which means that by this time tomorrow, I should be in a bar somewhere, well on my way to forgetting everything I’ve been so busy studying. I’m sure the remainder of the semester will continue to be hectic (OK, so maybe it won’t all be over in 24 hours, especially because there has been little movement yet on the job front), but this is one huge monkey off my back. Wish me luck.

On Saturday, Emily and I are heading out of town for my birthday. Don’t ask me where we’re going; I don’t know yet. Why not, you ask? Well, we’ve started what I hope will become a tradition. Instead of giving each other gifts on our respective birthdays, we secretly plan a weekend trip to some not-too-distant locale. So I suppose I’ll find out where we’re going after we’ve been in the car for an hour or two on Saturday morning.

Wherever it is, I can’t wait. It will feel good to breathe again and I could really use a change of scenery right about now. Most importantly, I’ll actually have time to talk with Emily, a favorite pastime of mine that has taken an unfortunate backseat this past month.

For now, though, it’s off to Starbucks for some more historiographical review. Catch you on the flip side.

They work with kids who are a mixture of self-absorption, insecurity, raging hormones, and ambition. They may have to face parents who want their offspring to get into the Ivy League and have jobs they can boast about, but the teachers’ job is to help their students build a self, create the entity that will be their company throughout their lives. That’s why the best teachers listen to students and draw out their thinking, but don’t try to solve every problem. That’s why the best teachers empathize and care deeply about the individual, but never lower standards or expectations.

Anyway, I have no idea where I’m going to be in six months and it’s starting to freak me out a little bit. A while back I posted about where I thought I’d be in five years, but five years is really pretty abstract. But six months? That ain’t nothin’. I think it hit me yesterday as I was looking around the apartment thinking, “Man, I’ll be glad to be out of this place in six months.” And then I stopped. SIX MONTHS?!

Six months ago was the beginning of August, and it almost feels like yesterday. Which means that August of ’08 is essentially tomorrow. And I don’t know where I’ll be living. Right now, the options are as follows:

a) Richmond
b) Nashville
c) Northern Virginia
d) Savannah
e) None of the above

I’ve been pounding the pavement (figuratively speaking, of course), searching every nook and cranny of the internet for teaching jobs. I’m also working with a major national placement agency that is based out of Boston, and I have had a few pretty good leads. I sent letters to about fifteen schools that I am interested in, and most of them sent me form letters telling me that they’d keep my resume on file. A couple of them followed up with personal notes, which is somewhat encouraging, but really… who knows if they’ll even have an opening?

Emily and I would love to get back to Virginia, but I’m starting to get to the point that I’m open to just about anything. I don’t want to be too desperate, but the agency sent my file to schools in New Orleans and Miami, and where a couple of months ago I would have said, “Yeah, I’m really not interested in those,” I’m suddenly thinking, “Miami might be cool for a couple of years.” (Similarly, we drove to New Orleans this past weekend for Mardi Gras thinking we had no interest in living there and we left thinking “That could be fun.”)

I’ve also had a couple of pretty good phone interviews, and I even had an on-campus interview with a school in Richmond that I think pretty well. Of course, that was about a month and a half ago and I haven’t heard from them yet, so who knows what will come of that?

The thing is, it’s actually pretty early in the hiring season for independent schools. Many of them won’t even know whether or not their current teachers will be returning for next year until March 1st, and from what I can gather, most hiring is done in March and sometimes into April and beyond. But I’ve been at this game for a couple of months now, and I still don’t really have a clue about my fate. Quite frustrating, really.

It would be great to know where I’ll be next year, because that would allow Emily and I to figure out several things: what exactly we’re going to be doing, where we’re going to live, when we need to move, and how we need to move.

I’m registered to attend a job conference in Atlanta next Friday and Saturday, so hopefully I’ll be able to interview with a number of schools over a couple of days and walk away with some more substantial leads. I’ll keep you posted.

My semester is shaping up to be a very busy one. Between job hunting and trying to figure out wedding things (Emily will laugh when she reads this, given the disparity in time she and I have put into wedding planning) as well as studying for my comps, interning 10 hours/week at a history magazine, and TAing for a professor who assigns two papers, three exams, and weekly web postings, my plate is pretty full.

That said, there is light at the end of the graduate school tunnel (three months to go!) and I’m starting to realize that as much as I’ve complained about grad school, there are definitely things I’ll miss when I have to get a real job. Like getting off at noon on Fridays, for example. Of course, that alone isn’t quite enough to make me consider staying, but you get the idea.

In any event, I think that’s enough rambling and venting for now. Hopefully that gives you some indication of my life of now, and I hope that this finds you all doing well.

If ever you have five hours to sit around watching television, I highly recommend it. With almost every song, my reaction was something like, “Oh God! I love that song!” I mean, we’re talking high-quality shiz here. Everything from Spin Doctors to Sir Mixalot, Nirvana to NSync, Notorious B.I.G. to Billy Ray Cyrus. And watching music videos–a dying art–was refreshing in a very nostalgic way.

So good, I hope they put it out on DVD. I would buy it.

Things here are going well, although the month of November was as crazy as I expected it to be. Believe it or not, I was actually ahead on my work for most of the semester, the result of my misreading the syllabus. Twice. I won’t go into details, because frankly, I started writing them out, and I realized they were boring as hell. Even to me. And I lived them.

Anyway, suffice it to say, I was ahead on my work for a while. Then, my mother y brother came to visit for a weekend, then Emily and I went out of town for a weekend, then we went out of town for another weekend for The Marriage Rites of Mr. Bedard (sounds like a book, right? right?), then back here for lazy weekend at home, then back home for several days of thanks-giving.

I have learned a few things. One: weddings are really fun. Especially when they have a seven-hour open bar. Two: Do not provide a seven-hour open bar for your friends. If your friends include my friends, this might prevent you from ever owning your own home. (Sorry, John!) Three: The 12-hour drive between Virginia and Alabama is really not too bad, but I do not recommend it 4 times in a span of 13 days. Of course, I will be making it again in about a week, when I return home for Christmas. Or, if you prefer, the holidays.

Speaking as a student, my semester is over. It was actually a fairly easy one. I was (ostensibly) taking 6 credits, which broke down as follows: Black History Since 1877 (4 credits), Independent Readings (1 credit), Teaching History (1 credit). For all intents and purposes, I was taking only one class. Three guesses which one it was. Yes, you’re correct. It was black history.

(Quick recap: Sort of mediocre, not because of the material, but because of the professor. He’s a nice guy, but a real oddball. If you notice anything out there on the web that says “Academics for Ron Paul” or “Historians for Ron Paul,” that would be my guy. He’s leading that charge, if that tells you anything.)

I finished up the independent readings class in mid-October (probably around the same time I posted last) because I read the books over the summer. Of course, I went to see the professor about a month later because I wanted to ask her a question and she said, “You still owe me a paper, right?” To which I responded, “Yeah, no. I turned that in about a month ago. But that answers my question.”

The teaching history class was basically a joke, but a for-credit joke. Which, when you’re trying to get a degree, is really the best kind. It’s only right, considering the German language exam I also had to pass a couple of months ago. That’s what I call a sick joke. (Speaking of sick jokes, Emily and I also watched The Aristocrats the other night. Wow. Just wow. I did laugh though.)

So, speaking as a student, my semester is over. As a graduate teaching assistant, however, it is not. We give the final on Thursday, but I’ve already calculated my grades to this point, so I just have to plug in the final exam grade. Hopefully I can crank those out in about 24 hours. Everyone tells me grading the final is really easy because 99% of students won’t care enough to ask for them back, so you just read it, make a couple of check marks, and throw a grade on there. And if they come back in January like, “I wanna see my grade, you toad!” then I’ll re-read it and throw some erudition on it real quick.

Sounds good to me.

What that means is that for the next week or so (a little less now), I’m basically just chillin’ and finally getting to do some reading that I’ve been wanting to do for a while.

I found a copy of Eric Foner’s book Who Owns History? at the library bookstore for $1, so I bought it. I then realized I put it on my Christmas list this year, so I e-mailed my mom to tell her. Her response? “Well, I guess you can take it to Border’s for store credit. Merry Christmas.” It was pretty good, but not quite as good as I had hoped, so I’m kind of glad I got it for one junior bacon cheeseburger instead of unwrapping it on Christmas Eve, giddy with anticipation.

Now, I’ve moved on to a Grisham novel, one of the few I haven’t yet gotten to (The Testament). It’s pretty good so far, but it’s a Grisham novel, so what more can I really say here?

I’m also reading another history book (I’m a masochist), but this one I got for free in exchange for writing a review for the UA-published grad student journal of southern history. It’s called The Spirit and the Shotgun, and it’s about armed self-defense v. philosophical non-violence during the civil rights movement. It’s very good (much better than I expected), although I suspect that none of you are particularly interested in reading it.

Pause. Emily just woke up, so it’s time for me to make some french toast. Back in a few.

OK, back. Where was I? Oh, yes–books. Right.

So, next on my list is a (relatively) new book I picked up the other day called 1 Dead in Attic. Written by a journalist, it is a collection of observations in New Orleans, post-Katrina. I have a feeling it’s going to be a powerful read, and after reading the acknowledgments–always my first stop, the author (Chris Rose) seems to have an engaging writing style. It’s labeled as a history book (indeed, I found it in the history section), but it just doesn’t seem like history yet. Which brings me to a philosophical question on the nature of history: when does the past become “history?” Is the recent shooting in Omaha a part of “history?” Or is it simply the very recent past? What about Katrina? I think we’re starting to see 9/11 dealt with in a way that it’s considered “history,” so maybe the threshold is somewhere around 5 years or so.

Anyway, the book seems to have a history of its own. Rose self-published the book in early 2006, not terribly long after the storm. It apparently sold very well and Rose was working on a follow-up book when Simon & Schuster approached him about buying the rights to republish, so both books have been combined as the new 1 Dead in Attic. I’m looking forward to it.

In other news, I have a more formal interview at a (for now) unnamed school in R_____, V______ coming up very soon (I’m not sure why I did that with the name of the city. Seemed appropriate at the time. Probably wasn’t. Oh well). As some of you are probably aware, I had an informal meeting there about a month ago, which seemed to go pretty well. In any event, I’m really trying to not get my hopes up here, but it’s tough. I really like the school (at least from what I’ve seen so far). I’d love to get back closer to home, and in terms of logistics for this summer, what with the finishing school, getting married, not starving while waiting for the new job to start, and moving, it would be really nice to know in the next month or two what I’ll be doing next fall. Then we could start making the less important but much more nagging arrangements in terms of moving trucks, subleasing, etc., etc., etc.
Of course, it all seems too easy. That’s what I’m telling myself. How could I possibly get a job in December or January at the first place I really looked? It just doesn’t work that way usually. But deep down, my hopes are up. Alas.

Sorry for the delay in posting. I hope this small book has given you an insight into my life of late, and I hope this finds you all doing well. Merry holidays!