Overeducated Twit

Lie to me?

2009-12-25T15:42:00.000-06:00

When I was seven years old, I was terrified of The Wizard of Oz. It wasn't the flying monkeys or tornado or munchkins, no. It was something far more terrifying--you see, when Dorothy's house lands on the witch, that's scary stuff. Her house--there's a witch under it, see. To put that in context, the house we lived in at the time had a crawlspace under it, one that raccoons and other critters would often get into and sometimes fight, their snarls and thumps carrying up the the floor of our house. If there was a witch under Dorothy's house, well, who was to say a witch couldn't get underneath ours?

I'm not sure how I would have been able to handle the idea of a man being able to come down our chimney--undoubtedly, I'd have been terrified, lest burglars could use the same entrance.

I was not brought up to believe in the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, or any other number of fictitious entities people seem compelled to make their children believe in. As someone who's grown up in this culture, but never quite a part of it, the phenomenon baffles me.

Why Santa? Why shouldn't kids believe that the gifts they received and loved were courtesy of Mommy and Daddy? Is it the leverage of "be good or else" that Santa provides? Why go to such elaborate lengths (Santa tracking via NORAD, seriously?) to convince the children of a lie? Is it just the nostalgia of how things have always been done?

I'm not being confrontational here, just genuinely curious.

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Now playing: Evan Greer - Two Hands Touching
via FoxyTunes

Job-related thoughts

2009-12-14T12:54:00.001-06:00

Scattered. Apologies. The brain vomit needs to go somewhere.

Since I graduated with my master's, I fell quite by accident into adjuncting. Before that point, I swore I wouldn't do it. It was poor paying, too much work, and too up-in-the-air. But I had a master's in a liberal art and little job experience, and the offer fell into my lap with the department chair practically begging me to work there. I took it.

I've sworn I'd leave it multiple times over. For one semester, I did. And I came back. This semester, midway through, I swore again that I'd leave. And I've resigned myself to not quitting, to keep teaching. I figured last time when I quit that it wasn't actually my job that was the biggest stressor but several glaring issues with my personal life. Granted, those factors affected my teaching ability, but I've learned to distinguish where the problems were and correctly identify what needs "fixing" through life decisions.

This time it's different. I was ready to teach and am willing to teach--but it may not be financially viable this time. I need a "real" job, one that doesn't leave me high and dry when budget cuts crimp the campus, one that doesn't leave me scrambling to find employment to supplement my current employment when I only get a couple classes.

One change at a time, I told myself. That may get me nowhere but the poorhouse. Onward with the job applications then. The market sucks, but if I get nowhere in the search, I'm still at least committed to two classes (one of which may or may not make...) and a bit of pocket change from my hourly, minimum-wage tutoring gig. And if the search is successful, well, I have no doubt that my department will find any number of willing, able, and under-employed workers to take those classes. My boss at the tutoring gig is more mentor than boss, and she's been very supportive in terms of "if you work for us, I'd love to have you, but if you find something better, great!"

No job will be perfect; I understand that. But a livable income and job security are not unreasonable expectations.

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Now playing: Marilyn Manson - Tainted Love
via FoxyTunes

Unsent letters: Student edition

2009-12-10T21:48:00.001-06:00

Hey you,

Yes, short of failing your portfolio requirements spectacularly, you are on course for a solid A. This is a good thing because you are a good writer and a great addition to the class. That said, your grade and exemplary marks have nothing to do with the constant, how shall we say, sycophancy. Seriously. You'd be making those grades without the appeals to my ego, and indeed, I'd prefer you not. Ah well. Our paths shall part shortly, and you'll do me proud in your Comp 2 class regardless.

Hey you,
Yes, you of the frantic, panicked e-mails, so worried about failing. Take a deep breath and then another. Now, relax a bit. Are you going to make an A? No. But you'll be darned close, and I'm proud of you. You've been struggling with the consequences of difficult life choices, and you work hard, and you write well, and I'm proud of all that. So give yourself a pat on the back for having made it through your first semester successfully. You did it.

And you. Hoo boy, where do I start with you?
You've been a pain in my ass all semester. I really don't care if you fail to turn in papers because, hey, it's one less for me to grade in any given stack. I also don't particularly care that you show up when you show up and don't when you don't feel like it. Again, this means less work for me. I do greatly despise it when you schedule yourself for tutorial times--and then do not show up. Not once, not twice, not even three times--but consistently, even double-booking times during the last paper when worthier students would have shown up. And now, you want short-notice accommodation for testing services to take your final. Fine. Enjoy it. I highly suspect that when I am on campus next to pick up the completed exam, it will be likewise not completed. And that's fine too. Know why? Your grade is going to be the same regardless of whether you take it or not. Cheers.

And you and you,
I've enjoyed having you both in class. Different classes, but you're remarkably similar--I see the same work ethic and constant attention in class, the regular if perhaps slightly unpunctual attendance. You're neither of you the brightest ones I've ever had, but that hard work and attention to detail and the drafting process makes up for a lot. You're right--that final paper sure did have a lot less inked-in corrections on it. Congrats. You'll do me proud in your next class, I think.

And last but not l--er. Nevermind.
You never turned in a single paper over the course of the whole semester that came anywhere near meeting the assignment criteria. Your quiz results were clearly pulled out of your ass in an attempt to bluff me, and while you were present in nearly all classes and had a most pleasant demeanor, you still are failing. And you know what the kicker is? I'm disappointed. You had an awesome semester's research topic that could have yielded some fascinating papers, and if you could just channel a bit of that strong voice into more appropriate academic writing, you could have produced some great papers. Perhaps you'll do so for your next Comp 1 teacher. I hope so for his or her--and your own--sake.

It's her job, I guess

2009-12-08T20:52:00.001-06:00

I was griping to my mother about tomorrow's 8 a.m. final that I have to administer on the campus that's an hour away.

"8:00," I groused, "which means I have to be out by 7 but should probably leave more time since it's snowing." No morning person, I was primarily griping about the hour.

"And make sure you have a blanket in your car."

"OK." Cue eye rolling here.

"Do you have a blanket?"

"Yes, mom."

"And water and maybe some trail mix? You may need the calories to keep your body temperature up."

"Um... no."

"Put some in your car."

"OK, I'll have trail mix. But seriously? Water?"

"Just do it. Get a bottle from the garage."

Goodness. It's just a snowy day. I've done this before, multiple times over, thanks to a campus that wouldn't cancel for the apocalypse itself. Still, I suppose that tomorrow morning I will be sure to have everything on hand I may possibly need in the event of a breakdown, car-in-the-ditch, or snow-in scenario.

Another piece of my soul, GONE

2009-12-05T17:07:00.002-06:00

My soul is getting more and more tarnished... Ah well. Good thing I wasn't using it for much.

In other words, I crossed to the dark side.

140 characters is an exercise in brevity. It's also quite manageable a way to capture those flitting, fleeting thoughts that go through my head over the course of a day. I'm ashamed to admit I kinda like it.

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Now playing: Rise Against - Blood To Bleed
via FoxyTunes

O RLY?

2009-12-02T21:15:00.002-06:00

So... I got an e-mail from the coach of one of the athletes in my remedial writing class. He said this student had informed him that he was currently making a C in my class as finals week approaches, and could I verify this information?

Oh. Man.

I nixed several responses like "Are you freakin' kidding me?" and "He has never been on course for a C in my class" or the short, sweet, "WTF?! Seriously?!" and definitely bypassed the flippant "Oh, good one" that crossed my mind.

I settled on opening the e-mail with the more tactful, "Unfortunately, that information is NOT correct," followed by enough info to convey that this student has all but flunked already.

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Now playing: Thrice - All That's Left
via FoxyTunes

They'll miss me when I'm gone

2009-11-30T22:08:00.004-06:00

The classes I teach at my alma mater are remedial writing classes. Part of that package entails extensive conferencing and multiple drafts for most paragraphs and essays assigned. It's work-intensive, and they tend to hate me when they turn in one draft, get it all bloodied up in red (or blue or purple or magenta...) ink, resubmit it, get it back with more bloody marks (enough of them in the same exact places, remarkably), and then turn in a final draft, which I usually manage to maul as well.

They hate me, I tell you, hate me. I practically felt the daggers from one student during her conference today.

But then in class, as I explained that the last in-class assignment would have less direction from me and less intensive editing unless they had specific questions about specific sentences or words, etc., I told them that once they got to the composition classes, they'd get a lot less one-on-one direction on their papers.

"So can we come bring them to you to look over for us?" one student asked.

The Road... finally.

2009-11-26T00:11:00.000-06:00

I believe I have professed my love for all things Cormac McCarthy before. And I'm pretty sure I've raved about the amazingness of his novel, The Road. And I'm also pretty sure I've mentioned my ambivalence about A. Is the movie ever going to be released? and B. Will it be faithful?

My fears have been laid to rest. I saw The Road tonight, and it was good. The acting is spectacular, and the atmosphere captures the harshness of the world Cormac McCarthy has presented. The occasional voice-over narration even captures some of McCarthy's prose... not necessarily the best examples, but enough to make rabid McCarthy fangirls (i.e. people like me--nerds) sit up and squeal with delight.

The movie is not, as many reviews love to point out, a happy one. And that's a good thing--the novel is so achingly bleak that a happy movie would do it a disservice. But it is also beautiful--the relationship between father and son that likely landed the novel its place on Oprah's book club list is present and well-developed in the movie.

I could rave all night about it. Was it a 100% faithful adaptation? No. It played with sequencing and filled in a few gaps from the novel, but it was true to the tone and themes. Go. See it. Take some tissues.

Unsent letters

2009-11-22T21:36:00.000-06:00

Dear You,

What you have is one of three likely things: a cold, the flu, or a sinus infection. It is not the end of the world, and many people get through them just fine without moaning about it every five minutes. Geez.

***

Hey You!

You're right, it has been a while. I miss you--and I don't. Sorta. Maybe. I'm still not sure how I feel about what's been going on with our friendship. I miss the old easiness we had, and I'm not sure we can go back. You're trying to, though, and I will try to let my pettiness go a bit. Bear with me because lord knows I'm trying too, but I'm an obstinate bitch sometimes, especially when I feel hurt.

***

You! Yes, You!

Would you just make up your freakin' mind already? Do it, or don't. It's that simple. The odds are 50% for either failure or success, but you won't know until you try. All I can say is... what you've got right now, well, it ain't workin' so well.

***
Hey You,

Not so sure what to say here. I think there's water under this bridge, but I don't know how deep it is, and you know I can't swim. I'm probably too stubborn to break the silence from my end, but... I hope life's looking up for you. And that shot at a fresh start? Go for it.

***

And last, You,

Know those plans we've been batting around? Let's do it. It'll be badass.

SS: Oracle

2009-11-15T13:02:00.001-06:00

Theme this week at Sunday Scribblings is "Oracle."

I gave myself an hour and 1000 words to run with it; I got it--1000 on the nose, after a smidge of editing.

---

“...and the thing is,” he said, eyes wide behind bottle-glass-lensed glasses, “is that you just can't know the future until it's just, just right there, and you're experiencing it.”

She tapped a manicured fingernail against the door jamb impatiently, waiting for the rambling philosophical treatise to end. “Mm hmm. And so far, you've told me absolutely nothing I couldn't figure out on my own.” She glanced behind her into her apartment, where her laptop and approximately fifty creative writing portfolios sat, waiting to be graded. Time was ticking away; didn't take an oracle to see that much. “What are you trying to sell? Pot or salvation?”

He looked indignant. “Ma'am, I'm not trying to sell you anything but comfort,” sounding for all the world like a bad pick-up artist.

“That's it.” She started to push the door shut, but he put his foot in the way, a ragged Converse sneaker with the laces untied. She had seen the same fashion sensibility in the freshmen she taught and quickly learned to typecast. Were he in college, he would be a philosophy major, a rambling would-be poet, or some other specialization that prepared him for a lucrative career in food service or retail. Or door-to-door sales. She'd never considered that possibility.

“Ma'am, listen to me. Just listen. I've got no sales. I've got no bad intentions. I've got nothing for you but answers—if you want them. Here.” He backed up, hands in the air in the universal language that said, “See? No harm.” In his left hand was a business card, looking for all the world like a home injet-and-cardstock production. It probably was.

Suspiciously, she took it. “What's this, a psychic service?”

“No, ma'am. Look Forward to the Future Enterprises is a service, free of charge for your first visit—”

“You are trying to sell me something.”

“Not technically, ma'am.”

She snorted but was by this time curious about the spiel.

“As I was saying, Look Forward to the Future--”

“You come up with that name?”

“No, ma'am, my friend did.”

“Ah. Continue.” She studied him over her own glasses, a stare that she knew to be effective in the classroom setting, a look that said, “get to your point, and stop holding up class with your inane chatter.”

“Ahem. As I was saying, we at, well, our business, will ask you a detailed survey of questions regarding important life decisions, restaurant-ordering habits, daily routine details, and such--”

“So I give over all this important information for what?” She could just see the details being turned over to a kindly Nigerian gentleman, the same one who had offered to deposit $1000 dollars in her bank account just the other day.

“We input all of this into a computer program that I've written.”

Interesting, she thought. Not a philosopher but a programmer, or perhaps a new hybrid—the philosophical programmer.

“Once the data is in the computer, you can ask questions about future concerns—job security, relationship prospects, even financial security. This gets factored in with other data, computing your general demographic statistics and relevant details like overall regional and job market trends to predict, with approximately 90% accuracy, the probable results.”

“90%?”

“90%.”

“That's a very confident assessment.”

“Humans are creatures of habit, ma'am. Even when they seem to fly off the cuff, it's usually part of an overall pattern of thought and behavior.” He straightened up, and without the slight slouch and downward stare, he passed for a confident young man. An eccentric one, but no longer likely a pothead. “A man doesn't just wake up one morning and stab his wife for no apparent reason; he's probably a passive-aggressive person, prone to letting the small things like a nagging wife, a soul-sucking job with tenuous security, a receding hairline—all those little stresses—just build and build until it has to go somewhere. He wakes up one morning, she says it's about time he rolled out of bed, and WHAM, he snaps. It wasn't random; it was inevitable.”

“So it was his fate, then, to become a murderer? Could your computer tell you all that?” Fate or free will—that timeless question so many of her students tried to grapple with to varying degrees of sophistication in their writing.

“Not precisely as such, no,” he admitted. “However, we could have calculated a high likelihood of violent behavior based on a series of small incidents, marital habits, job market fluctuations that lead to more intensive demands of employees, and even factored in health issues like his rising blood pressure.”

“That's... intriguing.” And frankly, a little disturbing, and even a little, dare she say, futuristic—no doubt, given the remotest possibility of accuracy with such technology, law enforcement agencies would love to have access to the findings, all, of course, in the name of the public good. “Interesting,” she said, more to herself than to the persistent salesman.

He returned to the original pitch. “Yes, many people find it so. And many of them don't like our findings. But we don't intend to sugarcoat the future. In fact, you'll find that a major feature separating us from the so-called psychics and fortune-tellers is the very way we don't shy away from unpleasantries. Should someone decide to proceed with the full services, we consider it our highest duty not to mislead. What we predict isn't a fate that is wholly inevitable—in fact, by making people aware of the possibility of their future actions, we sometimes found that we could avert the more... violent possibilities. A recent client recently sought treatment for bipolar disorder after having been off meds for six months, based on our findings.”

“Fascinating. I will consider it.”

“Thank you, ma'am. That's all we ask.”

With a nod, he turned and left.

She returned to the empty apartment, discarding the flimsy “business card.”

A minute later, she uncrumpled it, tucking it in her purse. Maybe.

Nanowrimo--one-third month update

2009-11-11T07:50:00.001-06:00

By this point of Nablopomo, I started flagging (if it hadn't already begun by day 3). By this point in Nanowrimo, I'm... still at it. I honestly expected to have abandoned it by now.

Rather than have to come up with something new each night, I can build on what I've already written, tucking in a bit more description in this scene and playing with the tension in that one and finding my characters settle into more of a routine and even do new things I hadn't expected them to. Last night, they got into a squabble that I wasn't planning for them to have, but that has turned out to be something that they needed to do in order to, well, grow. And Nanowrimo truly is teaching me the wisdom of drafting--this draft sucks, and I'm OK with that because I can edit later.

It still feels pretentious as hell to call this glorified bit of scribbling (all 35 pages of it so far) a "novel," but I'm feeling a bit more comfortable with the idea that I may have a bit of writer in me yet. You see, this thing about making myself write every single night even if I'm 1000 words short of the 1666-words-per-day goal is... well, it's having unexpected effects. It's becoming as much a habit as my afternoon cup of tea.

My little head is starting to spontaneously generate new story ideas, ideas that I would love to run with and see what comes of them. And I intend to, yes, but it's not happening until the end of November--I have a bad track record of beginning a bazillion new things and abandoning the original one for six months or even indefinitely. If you want proof of it, I can show you my list of started crochet projects...

Anyway, I just wanted my audience of three to know that I've not fallen off the face of the earth--just a bit busy with other projects :).

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Now playing: M. Craft - Dragonfly
via FoxyTunes

Another landmark

2009-11-04T20:40:00.002-06:00

A former student of mine posted a Facebook status update today, saying that she had applied for graduation in May.

That means the kiddos who were new freshmen when I taught in my first semester of teaching are getting ready to graduate and head out into the world. It's kind of a funny feeling. And a daunting one.

National what month?

2009-11-02T20:44:00.000-06:00

For the last two years, I have participated in National Blog Posting Month, or NaBloPoMo. It was largely an exercise in self-flagellation as the month wore on. Oh, I think I had the right idea, trying to make myself write, but my heart didn't ever quite follow all the way.

Which begs the question--why did I do it in the first place? Because I never felt I had the time or inclination to do National Novel Writing Month. November is never a good time of year, especially in academia as I struggle to finish everything that needs finishing in the last quarter of a semester--the papers get longer, the grading gets more intense, and the accumulated stresses have, well, accumulated. November is probably, honestly, never going to be a good time to decide to write a novel...

...which is exactly why this year is as good a time as any. I've had ideas for a post-apocalyptic tale knocking about my head for a few years now. Might as well run with it a bit. If it absolutely blows, or if I lose interest, so be it. At least I tried, and hopefully, I'll get at least a few thousand words more on it than I did when I started.

So, here's to writing, and more specifically, embracing the idea of what Anne Lamott gleefully calls the "shitty first draft."

Retreat

2009-10-27T15:14:00.000-05:00

I am an introvert, and the more people inundate my life, the more I want to withdraw. Alas, when the people are work-related and blood-related, retreat is nigh on impossible. So I've got to withdraw to someplace else.

This place may not actually exist anywhere, now or at any point in the future, but I have a cabin on a mountaintop. It's small and sparse--I built it myself, see. With my own soft-palmed hands. Heck, while we're at it, I felled those logs myself. Yeah, that sounds good. The walls have bookshelves in them, and the main room has a huge fireplace in it. Between that and the piles of blankets all around, I stay bundled up. The fireplace is perfect for curling up in front of with a book and a hot cuppa. I'm not sure if I've got cats yet; it's probably a good idea lest small critters decide to take shelter with me. I stock up on supplies in the winter, and then I don't see anyone until spring thaw; oh, that's the best part.

Friends and acquaintances have asked if they can come to my mountaintop cabin. A select few have been granted visiting permission. The rest get threatened with a shotgun.

It's cold. It's lonely. It's sounding more lovely by the day.

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Now playing: Richard Shindell - Waist Deep In The Big Muddy
via FoxyTunes

Directions

2009-10-17T22:52:00.001-05:00

It's a good idea when you go to an unfamiliar place to pay attention to the signs around you so that you don't get lost. Especially if you're 500 years back in time.

How not to impress your instructor

2009-10-07T23:21:00.001-05:00

Student asking, in preparation for their 100-point test on Friday: "What if I show up hungover from the night before? 'Cause I probably will be."

My response: "Not my problem."

It would be a shame if a silly thing like a 100-point exam got in the way of college partying.

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Now playing: HIM - Wicked Game
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A riddle

2009-10-05T17:36:00.002-05:00

Q: How do you ensure your students don't get perfect scores on their easy quiz?

A: Write a difficult question like, "After you have printed out this quiz, write your name and draw a smiley face."

Frustrating.

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Now playing: Mae - Suspension
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The flowers may be dying...

2009-10-02T21:18:00.003-05:00

...but the determined hippy can still find the makings of a bouquet.

So this is how it starts...

2009-09-25T16:05:00.000-05:00

Today in class, in passing, the topic of the '80s and '80s fashion came up. It's coming back, someone mentioned.

Yes, I agreed, and as far as I'm concerned, it could go right back where it came from. One of my returning students agreed.

Another student, however, piped up, "I like that stuff. I think it's cool. I wish I'd been a kid in the '80s."

Wistful

2009-09-23T21:16:00.000-05:00

For some reason, the last couple days have inspired me to track down songs that hold nostalgic value to me. Nostalgic, in this case, dates back to high school or so.

Hush. I know I am young yet.

This particular song stuck with me at the time, and I was surprised to find how powerful the words were when I re-visited it:

'Tis the season

2009-09-22T21:47:00.000-05:00

I generally watch two places when I'm out on my beloved walking trail: the foliage and trees, and the ground. The former offers a constantly changing backdrop to the walk, depending on the season--now, the nuts and berries are showing themselves, and the Virginia creeper is turning a splendid red. And the ground is just a good place to keep an eye on whenever a person is upright, y'know?

However, since autumn is now here, I most frequently found myself keeping vigilance in another direction: up.

Let's just say my reason has something to do with a recent Traumatic Experience involving Eight-Legged Carnivores (so traumatic, indeed, that it warrants capital letters. Yeah, that bad; also, click that link at your own risk). No incidents this time, save a large buzzing insect that threatened to dive bomb into my head. I credit the lack of web ensnarement tonight to my constant vigilance.

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Now playing: Shinedown - Heroes (Album Version)
via FoxyTunes

Peaceful

2009-09-13T22:23:00.000-05:00

Grainy image quality aside, I assure you this mini waterfall was quite lovely in person. I forget how peaceful the sound of running water can be. Also from the botanical garden visit.

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Now playing: Muse - Sing for Absolution
via FoxyTunes

Oi vey.

2009-09-09T22:53:00.000-05:00

One student of mine is... quite a character.

The third day of class, she came in and looked around blankly, unsure whether she was in the right place. I asked her the name of the class she was supposed to be in; it coincided with mine. I asked if it was supposed to be at 10:00; it was. She was still unconvinced until she looked around.

"The big guy!" she said, spotting the guy she'd been sitting next to for the previous two class sessions. "I remember you!"

I should have taken it as a sign. And I did take it as a sign... of her ditziness.

What I missed was the sign of no brain-mouth filter. Bless her heart, she likes to call out answers. They are frequently wrong answers or requests for information that she would have received had she been listening to my directions, but she does have great spirit. However, she rarely stops at the answers, rambling into whatever other thoughts flit through her mind--an aside or request for confirmation from her classmate, a personal question that I don't care to answer, and other irrelevant bits of fluff.

Of course, the conference will not be a "talk less for the sake of my sanity" talk. We will discuss how as much as I appreciate her enthusiasm, it is important for other people to get a chance to talk. I expect frequent reminders will be in order though...

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Now playing: Brandi Carlile: What Can I Say
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A bouquet for your Monday

2009-09-08T08:10:00.000-05:00

From this weekend's jaunt to the botanical garden I'd driven by for five years without ever having stopped by. Suffice it to say, I shall go back.

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Now playing: Live - The Beauty of Gray
via FoxyTunes

SS: Poetry

2009-08-29T15:30:00.000-05:00

The theme at Sunday Scribblings this week is Poetry. Incidentally, Sunday Scribblings prompts tend to yield bits of silly verse from me. Here's what I got this time with an explicit assignment to write a poem:

There once was a blogger named Twit
Who fancied herself quite the wit.
When told to write a poem,
She let her mind roam,
And the result was this verse of shit.

Limericks are fun :).