fourteen years

I have so many pressing things to do that I have a difficult time convincing myself to take the time to post here. Also, I would rather I had something to say besides "I rode in a hot air balloon this weekend. Livestock fled from us in terror. A lot of people in North Georgia need to clean out their pools," although I really did enjoy the experience very much. I would rather use this space to subject you all to my deepest philosophical musings, my happy discoveries in bookshops (thanks, Everett), my thoughts on graduate school and the field of history, and other such highbrow topics. Today, however, we will simply discuss a scary number that I came across while navigating the Duke University history department's website. That number is fourteen. One-four, as in, the number of years the department will allow you to complete a PhD. Seven years for the coursework, seven years for the research, writing, and defense of the dissertation. I can only imagine that this latter period will include at least two trips to the tops of mountains, preferably in the Himalayas, to seek the wisdom of nearly-naked, long-white-bearded gurus. Fourteen years. At least Jacob ended up with two wives, two concubines and a bunch of goats after he worked for that long. All I'd get would be a wildly expensive outfit and a certificate. And I like goats.

The website kindly assured me that the department does not expect everyone to require fourteen years. I felt only marginally comforted by this, and am now considering a career as a hot air balloon pilot. Love to you all, especially Jonathan who is about to be traveling to one of America's best cities and is sure to take in a game or two at the Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field, right? Just to make sure he is prepared for this life-changing experience, I will publish here the correct lyrics to the famed anthem always sung during the Seventh Inning Stretch:

Take me out to the ballgame
Take me out to (or with) the crowd
Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks
I don't care if I ever (or never) get back
For it's root, root, root for the CUBBIES (this part is critical)
If they don't win, it's a shame
For it's one - two - three strikes
You're out at the old - ball - game!!!
*wild screaming and waving of baseball cap at the close of the song is optional, but recommended. If the Cubs are behind, heaven forbid, you should close the song by yelling, "Let's get some runs!" as loudly as possible.