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Dear,
Good day and Compliments,
I mean, I get emails like this at least 3-4 times a week. Most of the time they go straight to my junk mail, but every so often one of them slips through the radar. And because the subject heading usually says something like “Hi. I miss you!”, I read them. I’m half tempted to call the number below and see where it takes me. Or maybe not. One thing I’ve noticed about these people, in addition to their being obviously foreign, is that they often assume a slightly lascivious tone. This, you could say, is symptomatic of their broken English, which is why we get such lovelies like: “something touched me to contact you.” But still, W-T-F?
It gives me a great pleassure to write you as I am browsing the internet when I came across your email contact and something touched me to contact you ,I will be very happy to be in communication with you if you will have the desire with me so that we can get to know each other and see what future holds for us.I will be very happy if you can write me through me back for me to tell you more about my self and give you my picture for us to know eachother better.
You can also call me on my cell phone at +2348025804779
I will be looking forward to hear from you.
Yours sincerely,
Blessing Chukwukelu
ME: Did you see the list of committee assignments Dept. Chair sent out?
Other New Hire (and a cool gal, I might add): Yeah.
ME: Can you believe I’m “Diversity Outreach Coordinator?” Um…what’s up with that?
ONH: Oh, I know. [Spouse] and I were wondering if that annoyed you, having to be “Captain Latina” and all.
It’s official: I, new-professor-with-hispanic-surname, am the Latino Student Union Faculty Advisor, the Latino Studies Minor Faculty Advisor, and the Diversity Outreach Coordinator for my department. I’m also on the Advisory Board for the American Cultural Studies program. Sounds intense, but you won’t find me complaining. While these ethno-admin roles might seem like a lot of work, they actually only translate into 2 meetings/year and extra office hours once each quarter for students who might (but often don’t) come with questions about The Minor, which doesn’t take effect until late 2008. So at the moment I find it worthy of a joke or two every now and then. Ah…the absurdities of identity politics. ONH’s spouse is also a new-professor-with-ethnic-surname, so at least I’m not alone. Until they-with-names-that-do-not-matter catch on to the fact that I do very little, service-wise, and assign me additional committee duties, I’m keeping mum. Why fix it if it ain’t broken? I know “it” might very well stand for a pervasive pattern in which academics-of-color are administratively “exploited” and expected to “represent” an ethnic group to which they, like me, feel no “authentic” cultural ties. Is it politically incorrect or an act of integrity to feel annoyed by having to represent la raza?
In the end, what do I care? Said exploitation isn’t happening in my little universe, so I’m not worrying about it. I know, I know. There are those who might say I should step up for “my” people, but I’ve got a kid to raise, a book to write, and classes to teach.
Sheesh.
I could post something about the obscenely long flight delay that left me, Bump, and Oma (that’s Dutch for grandmother) hanging around the Burbank airport for seven hours. Or something about our eventful trip to California to visit friends and family. Then too I could write about how crazy things are at the moment as The Fam and I prepare for our move to Crunchyville this Thursday. (Yes, this Thursday).
Instead, let me share with you what just happened two nights ago while Bump, Mr. G, and I slept soundly at home: some crackhead stole our stroller from right under our noses. Mind you, we called the stroller our “Bentley” because, people, this thing had serious bling-bling: suspension, alloy wheels, kick-ass maneuverability, off-road extras, and so easy to handle I often used one hand to stroll dear Bump around town. And stroll we did all summer long: I’ve got the tan to prove it. This was our dream stroller, courtesy of Vermont Grams who bought it for us as a “pre-Father’s Day” gift. After taxes, it cost $400.00. Those who know me well know I would never dish out that kind of cash for pretty much anything other than health-related necessities. But in the world of strollers, you definitely get what you pay for.
Though broke, we can eventually replace the stroller (they’re now going for about $100 less), but we’ll never be able to replace the little stuffed giraffe we had attached to it. This was Bump’s absolute favorite companion toy. Actually, it wasn’t a toy: it was a security object. One he loved to tote around with him in the stroller, the car, at home, on my lap, everywhere and all of the time. When I think about what these crackheads did with the giraffe — probably chucked it off the side of the road like a useless piece of nothing — I want to tear them a new one. Seriously. That’s what being a mom is all about, folks. What matters most to your son is what matters most to you. And if I had to choose between the $400.00 stroller and the tattered little giraffe? That’s a no-brainer. The giraffe was priceless to him and to me.
Crushed. Just crushed.
…who knew?
Apparently, the Bush Administration did. Read more here.
