How I Almost Became Jewish Today

Hello again, everyone...

I’m suffering from some serious writer’s block right now so, in lieu of the standard hilarious anecdote or political tirade, I’m just going to tell you about my day in a quasi-stream-of-consciousness style.  Enjoy.

Today my fellow mortuary science faculty members and I took our students to various places of worship in the greater Des Moines area (we’ve come to call it our “Religious Road Show”) where funeral rituals and customs are demonstrated and discussed. We began the day at the Tifereth Israel Synagogue where I found a tennis ball lying in the parking lot and promptly threw it at a group of inattentive students; it was basically like the classroom only with a paved surface and a tennis ball. The synagogue is home to a conservative Jewish community, which, according to Rabbi Steven’s general description, is about half-way between the Orthodox Jewish and Reformed Jewish faiths.  

Tifereth Israel Synagogue

Interestingly enough, the temple has a very impressive art collection including an original Andy Warhol collection and a series of paintings done on the Holocaust.  Rabbi Steven Edelman-Blank was a very congenial and unexpectedly humorous host who delivered some great religious humor.  As we all arrived and sat down in the worship area, he proudly pronounced, “Congratulations, you’re all Jewish now.”  Another comment that struck my funny bone followed his description of the Jewish belief in resurrection when he said, “We invented it before you…HA HA!”

Rabbi Steven Edelman-Blank

From there, our next stop was St. George’s Greek Orthodox Church.  I had to chuckle when a student told me he would refrain from talking about Jesus in this church (that was the LAST one, Einstein!).  I told him that this was an Orthodox Christian community and that these people were more Christian than he was!  (Lighten up, Francis…that’s a “they’ve been doing this for 2000 years” joke.)  If you’re ever in Des Moines and you have a thing for unique, beautiful churches, St. George's should be on your list of places to visit. It is full of rich, vivid iconography (pictures of saints and major figures of the faith…a la’ Mary and Jesus), a beautiful iconostasis (a large wall of icons that separates the altar from the rest of the church), and a dome that serves as a natural amplifier.  I’m not kidding!  As you walk to different spots in the church while the priest is talking, it literally sounds like he is standing right next to you.

St. George's Greek Orthodox Church

After that, the students headed to Our Lady’s Immaculate Heart Catholic Church in Ankeny.  I, however, went to Maccabee’s Kosher Deli in Des Moines and ordered a pastrami-on-marble rye.  Before you think I’m some anti-religious slacker *wink, wink* with an axe to grind against Catholics, I had business there as I had to pick up kosher meals for one of our visiting Jewish students.  As I stood there inhaling the various culinary odors, entranced by the meat slicer, I thought, “Do I really wanna eat Papa John’s pizza for lunch today?”  I went so far as to ask the Rabbi who was preparing the food.  Rabbi Yossi Jacobson is a delightfully witty and humorous man and my visit with him alone made the trip worth it.  However, in my best dietary interests, I asked his opinion: “Rabbi Yossi, should I have pizza for lunch with the rest of my students or should I get a pastrami-on-rye?”  His answer was right out of Fiddler on the Roof: (In a heavy Yiddish accent): “What, are you kidding me? Is it better to live or to die?” He rightfully took my laughter to mean “I’ll take the pastrami!” and I didn’t regret my decision.  He told me he would make it with extra love and it was AWESOME!!!  He proceeded to ask my name and I told him.  He said, “Carrico…a nice Jewish name!”  I chuckled and said the name originated in eastern Spain.  He said (again with the Yiddish), “I’m kidding. I can tell by your body language that you’re not Jewish.  Not enough resistance.  You’re being too NICE to me.”  My visit to Maccabee’s Deli was the highlight of my day.

Rabbi Yossi Jacobson

After making sweet culinary love to my ambrosial pastrami sandwich in direct view of all the pizza-eating troglodytes, my colleagues, the students, and I returned to campus where the students witnessed a live military honors service.  I was struck by the gravity of the simulated presentation; even without the deceased veteran present, seeing the slow, deliberate movements, the salutes, the rifles, and hearing Taps still brings a chill to the skin and a tear to the eye.  Anyone who has witnessed such a service knows what I mean.

At 4:15, I jumped in my car and prepared for the daily one-hour Battle Royale/commute across the barren combat zone that is Interstate 80 and returned home to an empty house where I promptly removed all my clothing and ate two tacos while sitting on the couch in my underwear watching Big Bang Theory.  Top that, dear reader.

Well, there it is…my day.  Not a bad way to earn a living if you ask me.

Thanks for checking in…

Travis

A Week in the Life of a Mortuary Science Instructor

As a preface to this installment of the Apathetic Professor, I’d like to point out what I and a select few of my colleagues noticed after I decided on the name of the new blog.  In the interest of literary cleanliness, I opted to not include the “The” in the URL of this new creation, hence, the website now simply reads “apatheticprofessor.blogspot.com” which, as you’ve all no doubt noticed, seems to read “a pathetic professor.”  While there may be many of my former and current students who wholeheartedly agree with this inadvertent self-evaluation, I found it to be a stroke of unintended genius that underscores both my lack of instructional skills and my lax attitude towards life in general.  Damn, I’m good.

Enough with the pleasantries!  Of the books I read, nearly all of them are non-fiction.  In fact, I view fiction through the same lens as Donald Trump views climate change: it doesn’t interest me because it never happened.  My few forays into fiction include The Godfather (which closely reflects the actual Mafioso culture), Dr. Zhivago (which I’ve purchased but have yet to read), and Rush Limbaugh’s The Way Things Ought To Be, which I read in college and can therefore chalk it up to free-spirited literary experimentation.  Hey, I never smoked the weed or drank to excess so it’s all I’ve got in the way of my “wild college days.”

One form of non-fiction I really enjoy is reading “A Day in the Life Of…” articles on notable people in the world of business or sports.  I am fascinated with the mundane daily goings-on of those who are normally inaccessible to common folk such as me.  So, after some interesting travels two weeks ago, I thought I’d offer you a glimpse into the fascinating world of mortuary science education.

The majority of my students are online and, per our national accreditation standards, they must each be visited at the funeral home in which they’ll be receiving instruction.  With roughly 100 students in the program at any one time, this affords me the opportunity to get out of my office on a regular basis.  Indeed, as I type this blog, I’m sitting in a hotel by the Pittsburgh International Airport after visiting a student in West Virginia today.  Interestingly enough, my first daytime trip through this beautiful state felt like I was driving onto the set of The Deer Hunter: low, gloomy, overcast skies; abandoned factories still standing as a testament to prosperity long past; small homes tucked into the hillside, possibly inhabited by coal and steel workers still longing for their halcyon days. It was simultaneously sad and fascinating.  Incidentally, if you’ve never seen The Deer Hunter, you’re a loser.

The most interesting aspect of my trip earlier this month was the dichotomy of the locales in which my students lived: Kentucky and New York City.  On Tuesday, I flew into Louisville and, as that airport is the hub for all UPS operations, got some titillating footage of their fleet of jets arriving and departing.  (Note: Follow me on Instagram if you like airplanes, stupid memes, and mildly disturbing videos.)  I jumped in a rental car and headed south out of Louisville towards the heart of central Kentucky.  As I cruised down the winding two-lane highway, the first thing that struck me was the amount of trash generated by each household.  I’m not talking two or three of those big trash can’s worth, I’m talking a working model of the Himalayas at the end of each driveway!  I can generate a lot of refuse in a week, what with all the Cosmic Brownie boxes, empty Diet Pepsi cases, and dirty Q-Tips, but Holy Mother of Colonel Sanders, these folks throw out a lot of shit!  By contrast, I enjoyed the gentle rolling hills and 19th century architecture that seemed to propel me back to the glory days of moonshinin' and banjo-picking on the front porch (how many of you just thought of Ned Beatty?)  For a moment, I even felt like I was driving in the General Lee!

Let’s move ahead two days: I’m on a plane out of Des Moines bound for Newark, NJ to visit a student who will be working at a funeral home in New York.  As the plane approaches the runway, I look to my left and see Lady Liberty thrusting her torch skyward; I see the majestic Manhattan skyline, dominated by the gleaming brilliance of One World Trade Center; I then look to my right and see MetLife Stadium, the hulking monolith of mediocrity inhabited by the New York Jets.  A dichotomy within this tale of dichotomies is New York and New Jersey.  Now I’m not saying New Jersey is a dingy shithole, but New Jersey is kind of a dingy shithole.  Airports are often reflections of the communities they serve and Newark Airport is no different: it, too, is a dingy shithole whose last update was, and I’m only guessing here, completed in 1983.

After beckoning my Uber driver with my nifty Uber app, I’m off to New York City feeling like a trendy Manhattanite with a manageable coke habit.  I see the George Washington Bridge and watch the signs for Yankee Stadium and Queens whiz by my window as my Uber driver offers a captivating description of daily life in the Big Apple.  An hour later, I arrive at a Jewish funeral home in the Bronx.  And there’s Reason #4 why I love my job: I’m at a Secessionist-era funeral home in Kentucky on Tuesday and an Orthodox Jewish mortuary in the Bronx on Thursday.  How’s that for “A Week in the Life”?  As most of you know, when an Orthodox Jew dies, they are often buried in Israel.  The funeral home I visited will routinely respond to a death in the morning and have the deceased on an El-Al Airlines 747 bound for Israel by 6 PM that same day for an overnight flight.  The next morning, a car will meet the flight at the airport in Tel-Aviv and take the deceased directly to the cemetery for burial.  If you want to know more, sign up for my classes!

Now, here I am in gloomy Pittsburgh writing these words and preparing for a journey to Richmond, VA tomorrow morning.  Another week in the life of a mortuary science instructor…

Peace,

Travis

End of Days

One of the greatest things about being in education is the joyous stretch of days between the last final exam and the first day of the spring term: a stretch of days known (at least in this God-fearing part of the country) as Christmas Break.

Now I’m sure there are some naysayers and haters out there who would deign to presume that I spend that entire 20-day (counting weekends) period in a thigh-length robe, ratty slippers, and a wife-beater t-shirt arrayed in a wonderful palette of stains.  That’s actually not far from the truth.

For those interested in the daily goings-on of your average college professor on holiday break, I offer you this unabashed and perhaps mildly exaggerated timeline of the previous three weeks:

Thursday, Dec. 15^th – I submit the final F…I mean grade…of the term which means my work is done!  I type out my auto-reply message letting everyone know that I will be in the witness protection program until January 9th and hit “Save.”  The joy I feel at this moment is indescribable; it’s like having my very own e-secretary sending a snarky response to all inquirers letting them know that I’ve reached a Kardashian-esque raison d’etre and shan’t be responding to them until well after the new Year of Our Lord hath arrived. 

Friday, Dec. 16^th – Immediately respond to the Dean’s email in my inbox inquiring as to why I put my auto-reply on a day before the term ends. 

Sunday, Dec. 18^th – As the 8 PM hour arrives, I jauntily strut shirtless around the kitchen doing the Safety Dance as my wife suffers from the Sunday Night Blues.  “Hmmmph…oh the life of a High School educator, having to toil right up to the Christmas bells!”

Monday, Dec. 19^th – Arise at 9:30 AM, having gone back to sleep after my wife turned on what seemed to be every light in the bedroom, bathroom, and closet while getting ready for work. 

Outside temperature: 12 degrees F.  
Temperature under my blankies: 86 degrees F. 

Marital temperature: 32 degrees F.

Tuesday, Dec. 20^th ­– See Monday, Dec. 19^th.

Wednesday, Dec. 21^st – Make tacos for lunch and watch a M*A*S*H* marathon on TV.  Giggle sardonically at the thought of anyone having to work a real job on this glorious day.

I think you’re beginning to get the picture, yes?  Life as a community college professor has its drawbacks but the weeks of unbridled gluttony and lack of general hygiene at this time of year make it all worth it!

Some of you may have picked up on the fact that my wife is in public education as well.  And, as such, it means that she, too, enjoys a joyous, albeit abbreviated holiday break, a portion of which coincides with my little stretch of bliss.  So let’s fast-forward the timeline to the point where BOTH of us begin spending each and every waking moment together during the holiday season and observe any changes.

Friday, Dec. 23rd, 6 AM – Tara arises from slumber, quietly sneaks out of the bedroom, making sure not to disturb her beloved spouse, enjoys a delicious cup of some sort of fancy-ass coffee, watches the birds gathered around her feeder, and finds a peaceful fulfillment in the simplicity of life.

Friday, Dec. 23rd, 9:30 AM – I arise from slumber and emerge from the bedroom, my cracked, dry feet shuffling across the wood floor like sandpaper on a 2x4.  First stop: the bathroom (which, in a feat of poor planning is located directly next to Tara’s Chamber of Solemnity.)  The sounds of the grateful birds chirping their thanks for the seed are drowned out by the various bodily functions emanating from said bathroom.

Marital barometer: Beginning to fall.

Friday, Dec. 23rd, 9:55 AM – I emerge from the bathroom, my legs unable to function due to the contact pressure from being in a seated position for 25 minutes while checking my Instagram feed on my phone.  Dry-footed shuffling is even louder due to dysfunction in lower extremities.

Friday, Dec. 23rd, 9:59 AM – Tara has moved from the Chamber of Solemnity to the living room (which is in close proximity to the kitchen.) I begin to make toast.  After application of ¼” layer of peanut butter, I apply the jelly, much of which ends up on the counter.  Loud clanking ensues followed by more shuffling across the floor towards the couch.  I sit down and eat my toast.  Loud chewing ensues.

Marital barometer: Falling steadily.

Dec. 24-25^th – A wonderful Christmas is had by all. 

Marital barometer: Steady

Monday, Dec. 30th, 6 am – Tara gets up, avoiding any pretense of caution when flipping the covers off in an aggressive manner.  Apparently removes every pan from the drawer (in a loud, clanking manner) when deciding which one to use to make one egg; uses extra salt for louder popping noises.  Grinds own coffee beans with what sounds like a table saw.

Monday, Dec. 30th, 9:30 am – I arise.  More shuffling, bathroom noises, and jelly.

Marital barometer: Bottoming out.

New Year’s Day – Tara returns to work tomorrow; is highly agitated and generally unapproachable. I remind her that I, too, have to go back to work in another three days.

Marital temperature: 32 degrees F and falling.

In the interest of not overstaying my welcome, I’m going to shut it down.  I think you get the picture, though and hopefully you enjoyed a glimpse into the glamorous lives of two barometrically-married educators during the joyous holiday season.

Only two months till Spring Break!

Pax,

Travis