I'm in the midst of unpacking bins and boxes and suitcases and looking for the cord for the printer and for the thingy that lets me plug in a bunch of USB cords.  That is, I should be in the midst of those things.  Instead, I'm thinking about my dad on the 100th anniversary of his birth and I'm thinking about a couple of memorable quotes from Mark Twain and Spongebob Squarepants.  (I thought about quoting Joe Scarborough, who couldn't think of Walter Reuther's name this AM while he was knocking the unions, but I want this to be a positive, maybe even fun blog and tomorrow's

December 25, Christmas Day, is reserved by Christians as the day they celebrate Jesus Christ's birth.  There is no real indication that the Christian Messiah was actually born on that day, but it was decided long ago, and there it is.   But little by little the reason for the season was crowded out; St.

So, in my last post, I talked more specifically about my Christian beliefs than is my blogging habit. I doubt I'll do it more often; I don't think that you should believe something just because I do, and so I try to write from the assumption that you don't. But I did mention my own beliefs, and it's Christmas, so let me come clean a bit, because it's an important holiday for me, and because it's such a bitter season:

Apparently, the dreaded "War on Christmas" now extends to having to work between the Christmas and New Year's holidays, at least if the taxpayers pay your salary and your job title is "Senator." According to Senator Jon Kyl, having work the week after the Christmas holiday would be "disrespectful" to Christians. Senator Jim DeMint called working the week before Christmas "sacrilegious." That's right.

Because I know you have been thinking of me, here I am ...

... hanging out next to the remains of Christopher Columbus ...

... shooting the bull ...

... and enjoying some local flavor.

Five years this month, I started my blog "William K. Wolfrum Chronicles" with the post “Climbing from the Hedge.” In that post, I wrote this:

I don't play now, but I have played a lot of tennis over the years, sometimes in leagues or clubs with people I didn't know well. I enjoyed playing with some of those guys so much that we arranged to play again, and became "tennis buddies." With others, I couldn't wait for the match to end.

So, the Beatles are finally available on iTunes, goo goo goo joob. And the news has been greeted with a resounding yawn; many people claim that the move is much, much too late to be hip, and too late to be hip, in the music business, means too late to make a sale. [UPDATE: Since the Beatles sold 2 million songs and 450,000 albums on iTunes this week, I was obviously completely wrong about this.

Tuesday morning was a beautiful day in Cleveland: crisp, clear and golden. I dressed up a bit, as I always do on Election Day. I heard a radio story a few years back about some college students who had put on ties because they were voting for the first time and it felt special, and I thought, Yes. It should always be celebrated. So now I do the same, even on days when my party is predicted to take some hard losses.

We've been on the road the last few days and now I'm sitting in a hospital cafeteria waiting for my husband to finish what I hope are routine tests.  Last night we stayed in a hotel that apparently didn't pay their cable bill because all I could get were local channels.  No political hashing and rehashing and regurgitating and explosive vomiting for over a day!

Today's Election Day. No day makes me prouder to be American.

Go out and vote!

The first time I went to the polls on Election Day I was probably five, tagging along beside my mother. It was a brilliant November day in New Hampshire, and the polls were in a spare room of the town hall, the same room where I would go in later years for Cub Scout meetings and later still walk through on the way to help stock our town's tiny food assistance pantry. There was a larger room upstairs, where the annual Town Meeting was held and where I would someday go for Halloween parties and the soap box derby.

The University of Venus blog at Inside Higher Ed recently posted a personal reflection by a non-white female professor who has felt sexually harassed by one of her male undergraduates. This is at once shocking and entirely unsurprising.

I have two Boston Terriers – Max and Jack. For those of you that visit, Max is the surly, fat, smart one, while Jack is the happy, athletic idiot. Needless to say, we love them completely. Max and Jack have one driving passion in life, and of late, that passion has become a bit of a pain. You see, Max and Jack are poopy aficionados.

Wow. This is dagblog, huh? I don't even recognize the place. Readership is flourishing, the pace of posts is snowballing. Frightening dagger logo be damned, it even looks like an official bloggy thingy now.

I've been blogging angrily about SUNY ALbany's foolish attempt to "globalize" by cutting French, Italian, and Russian from the curriculum.

If you, like me, consider this decision foolish and bad for the education of SUNY Albany's students, please consider signing this petition to restore those crucial languages to SUNY Albany. Thanks.

Earlier this week, I blogged about SUNY Albany's plan to fulfill its "world-wide" mission by cutting almost all of their European language programs and declaring its intention to fire the full-time tenured faculty who teach French, Russian, Italian, and the classics. At the same time, Albany cut its theater major.

When you have access to a pug puppy, you take advantage of said access. So I present, with no further delay:

Alfredo the Pug Puppy