Gas leak or skunk spray?

As you know, Mom and Dad are in Florida with Grandma and Grandpa. Last night, I was studying metabolism for my exam tomorrow when I smelled something strange in the house. It smelled like gas, only it had a tinge of burning to it. I couldn't for the life of me figure out where it was coming from. I searched high and low, I looked out the window for a potential culprit, and began moving around the house trying to locate the smell.

Needless to say I was getting pretty freaked out, the oven was off, the fireplace wasn't on, and the toaster oven was off. So I called Mom and Dad to find out what to do. We ran through the list of things to check if they were on and then Dad helped me locate the Nicor gas people's phone number for emergencies. Before I called I went down to the basement and the smell was much stronger. The furnace was on so I walked into the panty and was overwhelmed with the smell of gas and I immediately got light-headed, so I called nicor.

The operator who answered my 'gas emergency' was not very friendly, he asked me what my emergency was and as I was telling him he cut me off to ask what our address was. He informed me someone would be at our house in approximately 30-40 mins. I grabbed my cat, turned off the heat, grabbed my notes and pulled the car out of the garage and sat in the driveway waiting for my helper. Sabbath was not thrilled with being in the car and attempted to climb up into the car from the space where the pedals are. Finally, the gas man arrived and I explained the situation to him and that I had turned off the heat, opened the back door and we headed inside.

He used his gas meter and we headed down to the basement and about 10 steps in he says, you know I think the smell might be a skunk. He used his meter on the pipes and nothing beeped. He said it smelled like it had sprayed right along the back of the house, well that's right where the porch is. So we headed back upstairs and outside, where the smell continued on. We noticed that the window well cover was slightly off and he suggested that a skunk may have fallen in, sprayed and jumped out. But he checked the meter anyway and then left on his way, but not before assuring me that the spray of skunks is almost chemically identical to that of natural gas and that it was better to be safe than sorry/dead.

I should've asked if this happens often. I thought he may have been trying to make me feel better about my idiocy, so I googled skunk spray and natural gas. Apparently they put the odor from skunk spray (butyl mercaptan) into natural gas because it is normally odorless. So I still feel like an idiot because I really thought I was going to die, but at least I wasn't completely off the mark. I had to air out the house today because it still stinks of skunk.

Luck

When I arrived at work this morning and propped my umbrella up to dry, I noticed a big splotch of wet bird poo on one of the umbrella panels.

Good thing it wasn't my head.

>:o!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MY COMPUTER CRASHED AGAIN!!!!!! WHAT THE MONKEYS IS GOING ON I HATE HERBERTHA!!!!!!!!

Cultural Differences

It has come to my attention since working in my new position that resume presentation and the standards and norms that go along with it are, in fact, cultural phenomenons. Since study abroad obviously deals with professors in other countries, I have been finding out that the cultural norm in other places (at least in academia) is to have resumes that average 4-10 pages in length. Some have cover pages. Others have photos. Others have listed publication after publication, seminars, conferences, doctoral candidates advised even going back to the 1970s.

The first time I opened a 9-page resume I gasped in shock. The shock-standards were raised considerably (actually they were yanked up by their bootstraps) last week during my project compiling all course syllabi and professor CVs for a site review of one of our international centers. One by one I opened the resumes to be sure they were formatted suitably. I took the liberty of abbreviating those that were longer than 10 pages, taking care to make a note on each one that it was abbreviated and that anyone was free to ask the center for a complete copy. All was going smashingly until I opened a resume that was 47 PAGES long. 47. 47!!

I sincerely hope that particular professor is 90 years old, but his list of accomplishment and collaboration, and experience, and advising, and teaching went on for days and days. With a little boldness I managed to wittle it down to 6 pages, but I may have started the Third World War. You might want to have an ear to the news during the end of May when the professors see what I've done.

Things that make me mad:

1. Olfactory intrusion. I am fed up with the amount of perfume and cologne that permeates the air on the morning train. Each day the soup of air-born chemicals tickles my nose and dries out my eyes for 30 minutes before I arrive at work and begin staring at the computer. Today was particularly bad because the girl who sat down right next to me had drenched herself in something acrid, and my eyes watered for the entire trip. On the train there is no respite, there is no wind, and nowhere you can turn to suck in some cleanish air. I am not opposed to perfume, but the idea is to have a hint of scent that is pleasant to someone within 6-8 inches. If you can be detected across the room, or if your perfume makes your neighbors' throats swell up, it's TOO MUCH! And let's be honest, living in this country where hygiene may be taken to an extreme, most people shower at least every other day, if not every single day. How much fragrance do we really need?

2. Annoying dogs.
a) Those of you that follow my other blog Mona Lisa's Teeth (MLT), will recognize Bowser in this story. This is a dog that belongs to one of the families where I teach piano. Bowser is a friendly dog to a fault. He jumps. Incessantly. About 2 weeks after the escape incident I reported on MLT, Bowser greeted me at the door (by jumping on me) and caught a nail in my bracelet. Being made of elastic and beads/shells, it snapped and beads and shells scattered to the floor. My annoyance was more on principle than a PARTICULAR attachment to the bracelet. Last night, Bowser was at it again, but this time a nail got caught in my favorite scarf. It snagged, and although I was able to pull some of the thread back through, I'm left with a toenail-sized hole. GRRRRRRRRRRR. I took a deep breath, put the dog in the crate, and made sure to request as I was leaving that the dog be in the crate from now on before I come.

b) The next house on my piano circuit after Bowser is home to 4 tiny dogs. While not in danger of having my things destroyed by jumping, I have to bear the 4-part chorus of piercing yaps for the first 5 minutes after my arrival. The polyphony is truly astounding.

3. Children who are disrespectful and parents who are complacent. Yesterday (after the scarf attack) I was the piano teacher that you dreaded as a child. Call me quaint, but when an adult adresses a child older than around 4, the child should respond. I find it to be terrible manners when I greet or address a child and am ignored, and particularly bad when the parent smiles indulgently at their child and shrugs at me as if to say, "kids will be kids." True, but parents should be parents and teach their children to be polite. I layed down the law with one of my students yesterday who sat at the piano and looked straight ahead as though I wasn't even there despite my attempts to engage him. I decided not to resort to being a clown or groveling for his attention, and instead crossed my arms and had a stern little chat (well, monologue) about being respectful. For those of you who have children, I'm sorry to be harsh, and I do understand that kids have bad days just like adults and often express them more freely. Maybe I need to move back to the south where children say "ma'am" and "sir" or at least address adults with titles and know how to behave if they don't want to get a whoopin'.