Top 10 Yards of Flannel

The Crumpet Collection rings in its third year this 2011 with double dosage weekends to liminally-spaced Asheville, Carolina Northside.


Yard of Flannel #1: To succeed in fitting in wardrobe-wise on what is arguably universally the classiest occasion of the year most everywhere—New Year’s Eve—Asheville implicitly requires puffy vests, facial hair, cigs, dreads, and, most critically, flannel.

Flannel #2: Mecca of health foods and vegetarianism, Asheville’s dining cuisine is peculiarly tasty. . .one “wheat meat” burrito at a time. Even carnivores probably will have tastier luck at vegetarian establishments than, say, restaurants advertising the “BEST” Mexican cuisine, yet who, befuddlingly, seem to experience severe angst at fulfilling an order of queso and margaritas. Also, as a general public service announcement, if a flannelite native should ask for a “bowl,” s/he does not mean the piece of pottery one just purchased as a desk-deco paperclip holder.

Flannel #3: A rhetorically-significant tunnel—landmark for most anything immediately outside of downtown: past The Tunnel, just before The Tunnel, right after The Tunnel, 10 miles past The Tunnel—seems to separate the environmentally artsy vegan downtown core from the suburban Waffle House, Longhorn, Super 8, Wal-Mart culture. Such is life beyond and before The Tunnel.

Flannel #4: The Biltmore Super 8 (past The Tunnel), for all its wobbly toilets, towel shortages, frozen biscuits, and the occasional scent of illegal substances, actually has quite friendly customer service. Having stayed there twice in successive weekends, the clerk will kindly grant one’s request for the same room and, upon checkout recalls, “Oh yes. Ms. Hoover. I spoke to you on the phone about your room request. I’m so glad we made such a good impression on you!”
AKA: Should you need assistance in society, drop my name at the Biltmore Super 8, and you will be well-attended. (Though I highly recommend Sweet Peas Hostel, walkable in the heart of downtown—the crème-de-la-crème of hostel accommodation and reasonably-priced at $30/night/person.)


Flannel #5: Asheville’s River Arts District is a fascinating slice of warehouses-turned-art-studios with eclectic art and fortuitous conversation. One such artisan, Joey the Potter, self-proclaimed maker of “pots and empty beer cans,” helpfully recommended his friend’s Sirius.B band as New Year’s Eve entertainment. With hits such as “Monkey Robot Soldier,” it shouldn’t be a surprise we found ourselves raucously heralding the new year to a vamped version of “Auld Lang Syne,” followed by amoeba absorption in a flannel mosh pit cheering the new decade.

Flannel #6: Perhaps as is the case for most cities, Asheville is wholly ill-equipped for the barrages of taxi requests supplying the hoards of pilgrims gravitating to the city from far-reaching mountain hamlets in search of grog on New Year’s Eve. After 40-some-odd calls to taxi busy signals between 3 and 4 a.m. and much wandering of the perilously icy streets, we caught a ride with sober Anne—a kind soul whose grandparents, coincidentally, met and married at our alma mater.

Flannel #7: Even a cursory perusal through the many art vendors’ shops, particularly the famed Woolworth Walk (venue for selling local crafts and art), yields speculation as to the cosmic leanings of the greater Ashevillain populous. Recurring themes in the artistic renderings of this city include, but are not limited to: robots, flying saucers, alien renderings, spaceships, and general other-worldliness.

Flannel #8: The surrounding mountain beauty hugging the city is truly moving; however, the seductively accessible tendrils of roads creeping up steep mountain slopes are rather deceptive in their propensity to cause motion sickness, especially on gloomy, rainy days where the visibility from “scenic” overlooks is…zero. If such a scenic drive is attempted, it would be of considerable worth to all passengers involved to check to see of the Blue Ridge Parkway is indeed open and accessible BEFORE winding upward, up, and up to reach a only a roadblock…and an adequate space for passengers to be ill if (likely) necessary.

Flannel #9: After rainy climbs up random mountain peaks in the driving rain, there is nothing more rewarding than snagging some world-famous truffles from the Chocolate Fetish (official chocolatier to the Biltmore family) and moseying over to Double D’s for afternoon tea. The (stationary) London-style double-decker bus turned Atlanta party bus turned Asheville landmark is a two-story coffee shop: sipping coffee from the second floor watching the always-interesting Asheville clientele go by is a memorable afternoon, guaranteed.

Flannel #10: Asheville is certainly the eyeball’s playcourt with vibrant and striking stimulation converging from all sides—so much so that it’s rare to ever look down at one’s feet. And so it may not be until the end of an unnoticeably long day or perhaps upon returning home and unpacking that the foot-traveler notices a dusty, shimmering sheen coating her shoes. The glittery flakes of mica rock so common to Asheville are welcome complimentary souvenirs to take home and disperse. The aliens most likely had this in mind when they left it behind.

Most Wanted List: Meat?

Crump it Up List: “OK It’s Alright With Me”—Eric Hutchinson, “Little Lion Man”—Mumford and Sons, “Auld Lang Syne”—Robert Burns (feat. Sirius.B), “Monkey Robot Soldier”—Sirius.B, “Sick Tonight (Dr. P remix)”—dan le sac Vs scroobius Pip

Peace out Brussels Sprouts.

(This issue of “The Crumpet Collection” is brought to you in part by: Melissa, Nicole, Danae, Kimmy, Kelli, Joey the Potter, Alex the Dread, “Put Your Pants On” Reid, Sirius.B, Anne, Sweet Peas Hostel, Martha—reservations specialist at the Biltmore Super 8, the Mellow Mushroom TV coordinator, the hazelnut latte maker at Double D’s, the yarn shop alpacas, and the dapper mystery gentleman who smoothly bequeathed his parking stub. Until we meet again, Happy Trails!)

Keep it flashy, Ashy.

Top 10 Trips to Walgreens

In this non-traditional format, the Crumpet Collection soaks up a rare look inward to the dialogic ingredients of genius Christmas card-making.

Yes, Christmas card-making.

This you must remember, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous.

Trip to Walgreens #1. On Christmas Eve’s eve, the Hoover parentals, on account of helping Santa scour East Tennessee for a highly rare sonorous gift, commissioned their daughters to design the family Christmas card—thought to be most expediently achieved at the neighborhood Walgreens. The guidelines: folding photo card (with blank writing space on the inside!), just generic “happy holidays” (NO references to “Christmas” or “New Year!”—seeing as how the greeting will likely be late for both), NO snowflakes (it will clash with the beach in the photo!), NO designs you wouldn’t send to a 90-year –old (nothing too “modern!”), and for goodness sake NO corny REINDEER (Tara!).

Trip to Walgreens #2. NO problem. Enter Walgreens Online greeting card design and begin customizing for all the above criteria. Endless, customizable options? Oh, joy:

“FINE. You’re taking over this entire thing. Why don’t you just crop yourself a little photo of you, by YOURself, with a lone palm tree and make your own card. And write ‘have a warm, spicy Christmas’ inside.’”

“I’m NOT ‘taking over.’ I’m just editing. Over my dead body will there be a typo in OUR Christmas card. And it wasn’t ‘spicy Christmas.’ It was ‘warm wishes and spiced seasonings.’”

“We’re NOT writing that! Whatever. Just make your own. Here. Here’s your crop.”

Trip to WG #3. After hours of heated deliberation as to how “happy holidays” should/could be expressed most eloquently and in which font style, the in-store photo kiosk defaults begin looking more peaceful. There, whilst waiting in the eternal line, one might ruminate upon the Evolution of the Bow: 1) Handmade ribbon bows, 2) pre-made tape-on bows, and finally 3) the 2010 model—the 1-dimensional adhesive sticker bow. And still, after all that, shockingly, the line remains.

Trip to WG #4. The line, coupled with the out-of-stock status on York Peppermint Patties suspends the mission to a later hour. How any institution worth their pepper can afford to be out of stock on peppermint patties at Christmas is beyond comprehension.

Trip to WG #5. And so, back to the online drawing board to the unfortunate strains of “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters,” which apparently got erroneously dragged into the Christmas playlist, much to widespread consternation and mounting frustration.
“Shut UP E-J!”
[Gasp] “You CANNOT call him B-J!! It’s WRONG.”
“I didn’t say B-J. I said Eeeee-J. This is Elton John. Not Billy Joel. Why can you never keep them straight?!”
“I can. Only one of them is straight, actually. But it doesn’t help that they each have two first names. We need some Kenny G.”

Trip to WG #6: And since one is wondering and online anyway, it may be discovered that G stands for “Gorelick.”

Trip to WG #7. Final product still elusive, and again, hours later, Walgreens beckons in the night. On the way out the back door, navigating through some sort of routine home-maintenance project worthy of power tools, Dad warns:
“Tools by the backdoor. Don’t kill yourself on the way out.”
“Bite me.”
[Gasp!] “You can’t SAY that!”
“It was a PUN! We just stepped in a pile of drill bits. It was a PUN!”
“Your puns AREN’T funny.”

Trip to WG #8. While in line—again—one might this time ruminate upon members of the NRA as the new pagans of the millennium. They are, after all, perhaps the most seasonally-inclined of humanity today (farmers excepted). Happy Festivus.

Trip to WG #9: Miraculously, a card is born—approximately 40, in fact—matching nearly all specified criteria. Sisters confide in Christmas wishes of yore over two bags of York Peppermint Patties (miraculously now re-stocked):
“I used to want to be a member of the E.L.F.S. emergency rescue squad, you know, with the elfish jetpack and jail-breakin’ tinsel (see Tim Allen’s “The Santa Clause”). [Who knew?]
“That reminds me, I used to want to date Rory Buck.”
“Rory Buck?”
“Yeah, you know. The fatherless, bad-boy snowboarding kid from “Jack Frost.”

Trip to Walgreens #10. In the end, Santa sure knows how to keep this family occupied while calling every Walgreens, Target, and Wal-Mart from Knoxville to Chattanooga to Asheville to track down the last remaining boxed set of the 45th Anniversary Edition of “The Sound of Music” complete with Blu-Ray, 2-disc special features (including karaoke sing-along setting), a “Meet the Cast” book, an Edelweiss music box, and my treasured favorite, a glossy letter addressed to “Film Enthusiast.” Not to mention, Alps that really pop. Digital remastery at its finest this Christmas.

Oh, and warm wishes and spiced seasonings from The Crumpet Collection. :)

Top 10 Crimson Letter A's

The Crumpet Collection tides itself over with a visit to Pamela in Tuscaloosa.

Crimson Letter A #1: One wonders how Hester Prynne lost to an elephant for Alabama’s mascot; Hess comes complete with a crimson enough A.

Crimson Letter A #2: The checkered Houndstooth blazer is a must-have for masquerading as a local Tuscaloosan. And, they’re versatile for church, a stroll in the park, in 30-degree weather, in 70-degree weather, and they’re even sold at sporting goods stores.

Crimson Letter A #3: If a Tide fan is faced with the game on TV next to a giant hotdog in a hula skirt, she will see have no problem seeing the forest for the tree; even an entire forest of hula-ing hotdogs probably wouldn’t deter attention from the game.

Crimson Letter A #4: Jack’s, a fast food chain apparently indigenous only to Alabama, should not be confused with Jack-in-the-Box—a southern rarity with the best fast food tacos.

Crimson Letter A #5: After a series of restaurant mishaps in which one orderer repeatedly gets forgotten, brought the wrong order, and given the wrong change all at different establishments in the span of two weeks, maybe there’s some sort of breakdown happening on the part of the orderer and not the service. Enlightenment courtesy of Jason’s Deli in Tuscaloosa.

Crimson Letter A #6: When one sees auspiciously-pillared mansions complete with gated front lawns and “brothers” sipping what is likely mint juleps as they lazily rock on front porch chairs passing the Saturday afternoon, fraternity housing isn’t exactly the first assumption that comes to mind. All that’s missing for an Antebellum South re-enactment are waves of cotton.

Crimson Letter A #7: What surpasses TCBY self-serve ice cream are walnuts in honey self-served and oozing atop said ice cream.

Crimson Letter A #8: Catholics visiting other Christian denominations should remember to tote a Bible to service (Catholics are used to finding each Sunday’s readings printed in the missal) to get full prepared-for-class credit. :)

Crimson Letter A #9: If one hears “Les Miles” on ESPN, no, football yardage has not been converted to mileage, this is merely the name of LSU head coach.

Crimson Letter A #10: For those drivers who are too preoccupied trying to figure out the math of crossing the central/eastern time zone line on a daylight savings time change weekend, therefore losing track of how low the fuel tank is, never fear. Despite the sparse exits around said time boundary, Exit Rising Fawn rises out of the mists as a truck stop oasis just across the Georgia line, equipped with high-speed fuel pumps and the accurate time.

Most Wanted List: “High School Musical 2”—that first one, I tell ya, Cliff. Hanger.

Up Next: Crumpets from Nash & Grad-School Crumpets

Much thanks to Pamela Harris for her local expertise and cultural adventure-seeking in Tuscaloosa! Love and best wishes to her and Alex!

Top 10 Iced Vanilla Lattes

It's about time the Crumpet Collection sticks around to chill in Knoxville.

Iced Vanilla Latte #1: Fountain City McDonald’s baristas at windows one and two know to start up that iced vanilla latte when the Corolla rolls up at least three times a week. As shameful as it is to admit, this is actually more cost/time efficient than a) getting up 10 minutes earlier to make one’s own and/or b) standing in the Great Wall of China-length queue at the neighborhood library Starbucks.

IVL #2: One of the surprising “comforts” of moving back home is that, somehow after four years of one’s room lying dormant as the beastly West Wing of the house, the urge to convene family pow-wows increases when the resident moves back in.
Most often said pow-wows involve the resident minding her own business being generally studious whilst a raging conversation ensues regarding college applications, the latest high school sports drama, chemistry grades, and kitchen renovations.

IVL #3: The 1-month kitchen renovation project is now nearing its fourth month, though the enterprising do-it-them-selfers said they hope to finish the overhaul by Thanksgiving. The recent addition of a new stove and sink in an otherwise gutted kitchen has certainly aided the family dining experience by enabling “family dinner” to occur in the family’s own home as opposed to cooking and eating in the vacant (but furnished) house next door.

IVL #4: To be kicked off the university tennis courts, commute to the nearby Tyson Park courts, shove a bike half way in the car trunk on account of a court fee, and commute to the Sequoyah Hills court, which by this time is now dominated by senior citizens, would be a demoralizing experience to undergraduates. But to grad students, it is an opportunity to practice convincing bullying techniques in staking court claims.

IVL #5: If one is lucky enough to get DJ Rain for her pedicurist, she gets VIP invites to the Valarium Halloween Party. Pedicurist by day, DJ by night. Why isn’t that more widely considered as a career choice?

IVL #6: It is possible to live 18 years in Knox-Vegas without ever spending quality time in “The Fort” just off “The Strip,” but as a student at the grand University of Tennessee a visit to The Fort is an unavoidable cultural experience. Don’t miss out on the swingin’ porch life: hammocks strung across creaky railings, faulty porches, body shots, hookah gone awry, 1,629 guests-confirmed-house-parties, pumpkin carving with the pitbulls, stolen stereos, unlocked cars, “wait, this isn’t my car,” dark streets, paradise.

IVL #7: For all the horrors of commuting (gasp 25 minutes), it’s hard to top the spectacular October view of the mountains on I-275 whilst listening to the soothing nerdiness of NPR (nerds public radio).

IVL #8: Blessed be the 3 a.m. Krystal’s workers on The Strip, who multitask the drive-thru AND the rowdy walk-up window. Whilst in the 35-minute drive-thru line, one has a proffered vantage point for the costumed comings and goings and roof-climbers. Late night snack and a show.

IVL #9: As a native Knoxvillain, one finds it amusing to observe non-natives acclimate to East Tennessee quirks, such as stinkbug infestations and “that chili-in-a-cup stuff” (aka, the one and only Petro, courtesy of the World’s Fair).

IVL #10: Paying a first-time visit to local hangout Sassy Ann’s is probably not wise the Saturday of fall break weekend. But perhaps worse is implementing the “talk to three people you don’t know” rule on that Saturday of fall break weekend. Amid breaks of surreal techno dance moves, expect to enforce the challenge on upstanding gentlemen who introduce themselves as “I’m an Indian—last of the Mohicans,” “I’m an architect . . . from India,” and the nameless third who buys shots of expectorant “your grandma drank yesterday.” Grand additions to one’s soiree. Indeed.

Most Wanted List: late-night lattes with the roomies

Crump it Up List: “Cooler than Me”—Mike Posner; “Heartless”—Kanye; “Mine”(this is listed for deep analysis of a very disturbing music video)—T-Swift; whatever opus NPR happens to be playing

Top 10 Vodka Sonics

The Crumpet Collection kicks off from Athens and Knoxville with faithful anecdotes of the gluttonous football traditions I have witnessed in this the most active footballin’ season of my life (by active, I mean attending 2 games).

Vodka Sonic #1: When visiting a dry campus (as an alumna of one, who are we kidding?), hit 2-4 “happy hour” cherry slushies at Sonic, liquor store, voila. You’ve got yourself a Vodka Sonic complete with discreet thermal cup.

Vodka Sonic #2: Bargaining a football ticket on the street must be the closest equivalent to participating in the drug trade. I shall put this skill on my vitae.

Vodka Sonic #3: The charm of Athens, Ga., lies in toting a bottle of wine around in one’s purse during a shopping expedition and being allowed to bust it open in a restaurant at dinner. With the full consent of the manager. And free birthday cake to boot.

Vodka Sonic #4: Playing “I Spy” with the moveable camera-on-a-cable suspended from the tops of football stadiums whizzing over the fields is a sporting way to keep entertained. In the rare event this should fail, people-watching is also a fascinating study (mostly fascinating, sometimes just disturbing).

Vodka Sonic #5: One is contentedly occupied watching the field cam zoom about the stadium on its invisible cables when shouts of “Helllllll yeeeeah, I’m just masqueradin’” get progressively louder. And louder. And loud enough that a heavy-set gentleman feels he has attracted enough attention to take off his orange shirt to reveal a heinous Alabama “A” and beam, “Hellll yeeeeah, I’m just masqueradin’. Lost a bet!” If this be the modern Hester Prynne, save us.

Vodka Sonic #6: When choosing between a fried coney or a fried funnel cake at concession stands, be sure to align yourself in the appropriate line: “FOOD” or “DESSERTS.” Should the dessert line be shorter, do not assume to be allowed to order “food” in the “dessert” line. Take note, this rule is enforced; if you break line, the queue of ravenous fans behind you will become unruly.

Vodka Sonic #7: When reading bus timetables, it is vital to note the a.m. / p.m. time distinctions. In some cases, as in the Athens bus stop a few blocks from the shady part of town, p.m. does not exist on the timetable.

Vodka Sonic #8: Whilst waiting on a p.m. bus that will never arrive, it is always comforting for the neighborhood police cruiser to stop and ensure one is “ok.” After explaining it is not within their jurisdiction to offer a ride downtown, the helpful officers said they would be happy to arrange for boys on scooters as alternative means of transport.

Vodka Sonic #9: One may have crawled into sweet slumber at 3 a.m., but OF COURSE it is positively reasonable to awaken at 6:30 a.m. for the thrill of pepping up for a rousing four hours frying in the sun watching America channel its aggression in a spectacle of confusing yardage and rules no one likely fully understands. And despite one’s moral opposition to drinking at such an ungodly hour, it is the cultural thing to do in such situations. Who needs Wheaties for breakfast when Strongbow and Chex Mix are on hand? At least the cider consistency of Strongbow is close enough to apple juice. When in Athens, apples to apples.

Vodka Sonic #10: The drive from Athens, Ga., to Knoxville is a stunning one through a slice of North Carolina mountains, but at 10 p.m. on a hungry stomach, the drive is rather starved of inspiration until one happens upon an oasis consisting of a lone eatery (KFC) and a Wal-Mart. Unfamiliar with the menu, one orders a chicken sandwich only to drive up and see a tottering Col.-Sanders-smiling bucket maneuvering its way through the tiny window into one’s low-rider vehicle.

One sputters around the chicken bucket to the faceless attendant, “Oh, d-d-dear, is, is, this a chicken sandwich?”

But the attendant cannot hear on account of the significant sound barrier. Despite the echoing, feeble attempts to deny the weighty bucket, one rolls her car window down further to accommodate the inevitability of the monstrosity.

“I think I just ordered a sandwich,” one says to a Kentucky Fried Chicken visor.
“That’s the 8-piece Saturday Special. Did you not want the Saturday Special?”
“Um, no, just a sandwich” [pushing the bucket back through the car window].
“Oh hun, just keep it” [disappears and returns with a bagged sandwich.]

And for the remainder of the drive through the mountains, one feasts one-handed on drumsticks and biscuits out of the sustaining chicken bucket. Truly, gross.

Most Wanted List: Agua

Crump it Up List: “Fly like a G6,”—Far East Movement; “Lollipop”—Lil’ Wayne; “Banana Pancakes”—Jack Johnson; “Only the Good Die Young”—Billy Joel

(footnote: No worries, I’m NOT an alcoholic. It’s simply that some cultural situations [read: football games] need something a wee bit stronger than a slushy for one to survive in an amiable manner.)

Top 10 De Klomps

The Crumpets try on some De Klomps for size in Holland . . . Michigan.

De Klomp #1: De Klomps. Ornate wooden craft clogs designed and worn by the Dutch. The largest De Klomp factory in the U.S. is in Holland, Michigan. Right next door to the tulip farm and, fittingly of course, the bison farm. Holland, Mich: De Klomps, tulips, and bison meat—and no, that’s not Amsterdam code for “coffee shop.”

De Klomp #2: Lake Michigan, or Lake Mich, does in fact have rip currents. Apparently, rip currents are not only restricted to saltwater; though why anyone would reasonably think that I certainly couldn’t say. When the Great Lake isn’t frozen, it happens to be just like the beach with the added bonus of NO SEAWEED. Nor lakeweed for that matter.

De Klomp #3: Gotta love road trippin’ with little sis.
“Hey, I don’t appreciate you slapping me and then telling me to ‘get my head on straight. Give me the map.’”

De Klomp #4: The wind on Lake Michigan is so powerful that it creates waves gargantuan enough to warrant such posted signs everywhere: “Beware of rough seas.” I suppose we are to assume “sea” then refers to freshwater bodies of water. Though in the event of “rough seas,” water recreants have the quaintness of Lake Macatawa, connected by canal to Lake Michigan. The canal was dug by hand by Dutch settlers in the 1700s and is now used as a safe little haven for sailboats rushing out “to sea,” nearly capsizing in the wind, and then retreating back to the calm canal.

De Klomp #5: “Smells like mustard.”
“And lettuce.”
“Smells like a sandwiches!”
Thank you, Heinz factory of Holland.

De Klomp #6: “Indiana Port Authority” seems at first glance to be an oxymoron. Yet surprisingly, Indiana’s Burns Harbor is actually one of the most bustling ports in the U.S. for steel and grain export from the Midwest.

De Klomp #7: You know a hole-in-the-wall shoe, er De Klomp, factory is worth visiting if Mr. Rogers (Mr. McFeely in tow) and the Queen of Holland have also paid a visit.

De Klomp #8: Cities that bear the brunt of harsh winters and icy sidewalks often heat the city sidewalks with underground gas pipes to keep the sidewalks ice/snow/injury-free.

De Klomp #9: Climb 200+ steps to the top of “Mount Pisgah” in Holland and just let people think you mean the Appalachian Trail Pisgah. The Mount Pisgah of Holland is not exactly a “mount,” but more a glorified sand dune.

De Klomp #10: In the nigh-on-1 a.m. lull down a cruise-controlled stretch of eerie prairie highway, the kind where you catch a glimpse of haunting cornstalks every now and again taking you back to “Children of the Corn” or chainsaw-haunted church group corn mazes, light of any sort is a rare comfort. Listlessly staring into the wine-dark sea of sky [sic], all is quiet to the eye on the western/northern/whatever-n front . . . when suddenly science fictive giants descend with red blinking eyes towering and surrounding for miles. And miles. And miles. Hundreds of red beams blinking in finely regulated syncopation. You run through a quick list of plausible hypotheses: airfield, second coming, Transformers, WWIII air raid, landmine markers . . .windmills? Windmills. And suddenly you are the Don Quixote of the post-modern age. Such is the USA’s appropriation of Holland’s Red Light District.

Crump it Up List: Half of My Heart—9/10ths John Mayer, 1/10th Taylor Swift; Bye Bye Baby—Bay City Rollers; Cracklin’ Rosie—Neil Diamond; Right Round—Flo Rida

Most Wanted List: Leggings

Top 10 Rhetorical Situations

The Crumpets go to grad school...
Rhetorical Situation #1: Graduate teaching assistant orientation week is essentially English boot camp, characterized mostly by hundreds of introductions and awkward juggling acts balancing pizza on knee-caps, keeping drink cups level, craning to decipher chest-emblazoned name tags, all while carrying on stimulating conversation with people lightyears more brilliant than the average juggler, and of course, always commenting on the “rhetorical situation” of the moment.

Rhetorical Situation #2: A new speaker takes the podium and addresses the auditorium of new grad students and slowly, impressionably, begins her dictum: “Now . . . we’re all human beings. And human beings change. From hour to hour. Day to day. Week to week. We all make mistakes. Therefore engaging in intimate relationships with students is strongly discouraged. As is being Facebook friends.” You just thought the sex talks were over. And this is only the opening line.

Rhetorical Situation #3: The hunt for the perfect study carrel is a strenuous process with numerous important factors to consider. Avoiding a horrendous Neyland Stadium monstrosity. Testing draft/air flow and AC alignment. Avoiding proximity to high traffic noise-centers, such as the mockingly cheery dinging elevators. The list goes on. Which is why carrel selection takes nearly a solid hour if done properly with an unflinching checklist.

Rhetorical Situation #4: Why one studies literature . . . to hear one’s graduate studies director say thing such as this: “Always be drunk. If you wake up in the morning and aren’t feeling sufficiently “drunk,” perhaps we should be having a chat. I believe this quote was crafted under the influence of the quotable Charles Baudelaire.

Rhetorical Situation #5: Balancing alcohol intake with coherent academic conversation with superiors was never an issue at dry-campus Berry, which makes these quasi house parties at professors’ homes (with coolers upon coolers of alcohol) an exercise in stoic drunkenness and/or temperance.

Rhetorical Situation: #6: Even leaving an hour before the first class on the first day will not likely allow one a spot in the commuter lots at UT. What’s worse is, once in a parking garage, there is not choice but to keep circling and circling to get out. Twenty minutes later, suspicion confirmed. No spaces available.

Rhetorical Situation #7: This is what happens in workshop tutorials on teaching English 101 after the overview of the grand rhetorical triangle. “Is every situation a rhetorical situation?” “What about living organisms? The rhetoric of trees, for instance.” “Well, trees, if for instance, planted for a certain purpose to create a landscaping effect to communicate a certain ethos, yes. There is a designer with an agenda behind planting trees.” “But trees of themselves. Do trees have rhetoric?”

Rhetorical Situation #8: Scaling back from twenty hours a week to five a week in a writing center with no session reports feels like writing center retirement . . . for now, at least. Unfortunately, I didn’t get dual benefits on my reading load for class.

Rhetorical Situation #9: Another great pearl of admonition. “Don’t hold office hours at night in secluded places, where students may feel uncomfortable meeting with you.” There was general question in our row of critical thinkers if IHOP falls under this description.

Rhetorical Situation #10: I, Jessica Hoover, have an office. Yes. Where I can hold office hours if I so choose. Follow the formaldehyde scent, wade through the rubble of Neyland Stadium under construction, wind down a creepy hallway designated somewhere in the 1940s as “South Stadium Hall,” and there you will find me. So, office hours anyone?

Most Wanted List: Second floor Evans Hall, Berry College

Crump It Up List: “Rock & Roll” and “All Over Now”—Eric Hutchinson, “Break Even”—The Script to my parking garage labyrinths, “The Lady of Shalott" —Loreena McKennitt boost of scholarly lyric, and “I Have Confidence”—Julie Andrews/Maria

(“Crumpets Continued” is a collection that seeks cultural anomaly in the domestic in lieu of the currently unattainable “abroad,” recognizing that every microcosmic drop of the world creates echoes.)