The Midwestern Conference on Literature, Lamguage, and Media

This past weekend, I attended a conference at Northern Illinois University, where Christine teaches and attends graduate school. It was the most activity I've had in one weekend in a long time, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Christine presented a paper called "The Victorian Ideal of Womanhood in Anne Bronte's Tenant of Wildfell Hall" (incidentally, this book came up once in a game of Ex Libris, and I got a point for my opening line. Thanks Racie). The paper was a reworking of a paper she wrote in Oxford that was a top-five finalist in a contest for our program. The paper was well-received, and Christine answered questions very well.

The highlight of the conference (at least academically) was Susan Gubar's presentation Saturday night. If you've never heard of Susan Gubar, you've either been living under a rock or a Baptist steeple. Gubar, along with The Madwoman in the Attic co-author Sandra Gilbert, is one of the foremost feminist critics of the 20th and 21st century. Her paper was what she called "narrative criticism." It was literary criticism presented as narrative, with the critic as a character who observes certain things and not others and will occasionally be wrong. It was an engaging story as well as a fascinating idea. I believe it will be published this summer by University of Illinois Press.

The social highlight was being able to hang out with Christine's friends. whom I've met briefly, but whom I mostly know through Christine's stories about the teaching intern office. The office was everything I dreamed it would be (which doesn't speak highly of my imagination).

Earlier in the semester, the TIs found poop in their office. I heard this story from one of Christine's friends (to protect her anonymity, I'll call her "Meredith"). "Meredith" saw a few pieces of poop on the office floor, and, quote, "knew there had to be more," unquote. Asked how she knew there had to be more poop, Meredith replied, "I am the poo-whisperer." This sounds odd, perhaps, but more poop was indeed on the floor, so her status as poo-whisperer is confirmed. The pattern of the poop was, according to another of Christine's office-mates (let's call her "Heidi"): poo, poo-poo, poo-poo-poo.

When Christine returned to the office, she did not believe that poop had indeed been on the floor. Her poo-whispering challenged, Meredith took the poop out of the trash and showed it to my skeptical bride, who laughed for three hours straight, because, while she finds Kevin Smith lowbrow, she'll laugh about poop and farts until she vomits (which, oddly enough, she does not find funny). If you are wondering, as I did, why Meredith took poop out of the trash instead of allowing Christine to be a scatological agnostic, Meredith defends herself, saying, "There was nothing on top of it" (as if something more disgusting than poop could have been in the trash that would prevent her from fishing around in there). I suppose, however, that it's all in a day's work for the poo-whisperer. (Look for the Poo-Whisperer motion picture at next year's Sundance Film Festival.)

Lest you think the weekend was all poo all the time, another of Christine's office mates (codename, Elizabeth) is as much a grammar nerd as I am (if not, God forbid, more so). At the conferences book sale, I bought an Oxford Grammar, and Elizabeth procured an updated MLA Stylebook. We clung to our purchases like three-year-old with security blankets (desperately nerdy three-year-olds with argyle security blankets).

Christine's sole male friend is conducting field research into the lives of his female office-mates. Based on the behaviors I observed, if he publishes his findings, no male will believe them.

Next weekend, friends from Michigan will be staying with us, and we'll visit the Shedd Aquarium. Pictures and updates will ensue.

By the way, if you noticed the typo in the title, pat yourself on the back. You have a sharper eye than whoever made the magnets that were in our conference materials.