I have six minutes before I have to head downstairs (damn this building that is not ADA compliant!) to meet with a prospective student who can't navigate stairs. So I thought I'd post, just to make sure I get one in for the day. I know, it's not a quality post, but what the hell. I'm driven by my commitment to NaBloPoMo to post about any old crap.
OK, the good news for today? I scored two free basketball tickets to our men's exhibition game tonight. Footslogger and I will be seated with the UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT. Hmm. Opportunity to schmooze? I'll take it!
Oh, and that reminds me of a funny story involving said president, a colleague and me, and the line at a sandwich shop. I'll tell it if I get a chance later today.
Why a Bad Ass?
- Dr. Bad Ass
- In 2001, I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail and collected data for my dissertation. I had taken the trail name "Turtle" as a symbol of my desire to be persistent, to be connected to the earth, etc. After about two months of hiking (400 some odd miles), I injured my piriformis -- a big muscle in my rear -- and left the trail for a month and a half of physical therapy. Yes, on my ass. The piriformis muscle, because it was injured, banged away on my sciatic nerve, making it impossible for me to sit, stand, lie down, or simply BE without pain. Just before my completely self-sacrificing, wonderful, and ever-lovin' spouse, Footslogger, showed up in Damascus, Virginia, to collect my sad self and take me to a hospital where I could get good drugs and some rest, a couple of hiking friends (Chris and Triple Slim) stopped by the drug store, bought a little stuffed donkey, and brought it to me in a paper bag. They said, "Your trail name used to be Turtle. Now it's (drum roll, please) Bad Ass Turtle." That donkey is now sitting on my desk, as a reminder for me to be who I truly am. Not just a bad ass, but Bad Ass Turtle. Want to email me? Try badassturtle(at)gmail.
Meez
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