My friend Nancy assigned a poem, due on Monday, that needed to start with the line she provided. I love it when Nancy gives assignments, because without them, I tend to not write creatively as much as I ought. I don't have a title yet: forgive me. This is the first draft, fresh from my journal this morning.
I come from a long line
of tree climbers
We skinned-knee girls
of uncombed hair
and laughs too loud.
We taste the sky
and smell of dirt and still water.
We grow up to be teachers, mostly,
our booming voices
bouncing through classrooms
where we teach, as we climbed,
with our whole hearts.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
22 September 2012
24 April 2012
U (yes, u)
U R Kewt: Each semester, I get more and more papers from students that use text-y words. U know? i have put in my syllabus that u cannot use letters instead of words btw, but they still do. I expect it in the first papers, bristle for the second, and by the third papers, I just stop reading the second i get to "u c?" or "cuz". If I could tell students one thing, I would want them to know that it's insulting to me, as a teacher, when they hand in crap like that.
Undulating: Well, now, that's just a fun word, isn't it? I am afraid of eels and anemones and sea things that undulate. I don't mind strobe lights, though. So now you know. (do you like how I stopped saying u for you? Me too).
Umpteenth: I really like this word, but V prefers googol or googolplex. I try to explain to her that googol is now Google and so no longer means what she thinks it means, but she doesn't listen to me. I also like words like eleventeen, lots and lots, and boatloads. I especially like those words when they pertain to cream cheese based food, or time off from work.
23 April 2012
T is for Teaching
It's the last week of the semester, so I thought I'd go off on my semi-annual teaching rant. I teach at a community college, where students fall all over the spectrum, from very very bright to not so bright at all; from single mothers of six (!) to 16 year old Post-Secondary-Option students to nearly 80 year olds. Many of them cheat, or don't try very hard, or expect me to hand them an A just for showing up 51% of the time. I was all ready to tell you how exhausting it can be, semester in and semester out, to try to motivate people who are here because they believe it will help them get a better paying job, but beyond that they don't see the point in learning much. "Why do I need to know this?" "Will this be on the test?" Ach.
That part is true. It is exhausting. But on my way down the hall to write this post (from my classroom halfway across the college), two things happened that made me change my mind. First, I bumped into a former student, one who is very bright, just naturally. He's graduating next week, and looking forward to doing work besides bar tending for the first time in five years. He has grown so much, since I first met him, and completely understands the joy of learning. He'll go on to get his Bachelor's degree, and I know he will do well. A few minutes later, I passed a student from three years ago, a solid C writer who worked hard on every single paper, and moved herself up in just one semester to solid Bs. She told me excitedly that she's been chosen as this spring's student speaker for commencement. "I had to write an essay, you know. That's how they chose me. You have no idea how much you've helped me."
And so, I come to tell a different story. Many of my students are first generation college students, and many have challenges in their lives I can barely imagine. Many of them don't know anyone who's read Shakespeare, ever. And many of them come with open hearts, to try to learn, to grow as humans, to see the world in new ways. And they do. They learn and their minds expand and sometimes even when they don't want to they learn to like Shakespeare. This is why I teach, why I try semester in and semester out to motivate students who aren't even sure why they're here.
They have no idea how much they've helped me.
That part is true. It is exhausting. But on my way down the hall to write this post (from my classroom halfway across the college), two things happened that made me change my mind. First, I bumped into a former student, one who is very bright, just naturally. He's graduating next week, and looking forward to doing work besides bar tending for the first time in five years. He has grown so much, since I first met him, and completely understands the joy of learning. He'll go on to get his Bachelor's degree, and I know he will do well. A few minutes later, I passed a student from three years ago, a solid C writer who worked hard on every single paper, and moved herself up in just one semester to solid Bs. She told me excitedly that she's been chosen as this spring's student speaker for commencement. "I had to write an essay, you know. That's how they chose me. You have no idea how much you've helped me."
And so, I come to tell a different story. Many of my students are first generation college students, and many have challenges in their lives I can barely imagine. Many of them don't know anyone who's read Shakespeare, ever. And many of them come with open hearts, to try to learn, to grow as humans, to see the world in new ways. And they do. They learn and their minds expand and sometimes even when they don't want to they learn to like Shakespeare. This is why I teach, why I try semester in and semester out to motivate students who aren't even sure why they're here.
They have no idea how much they've helped me.
08 July 2011
My Little Dinner Party
I teach Judy Chicago’s art installation The DinnerParty in my Women in the Humanities course, and it never fails to make an impact on the students. So I thought it only fitting to create my own Dinner Party guest list.
1. Sylvia Plath: you sweet, broken genius. Come over and have tea. I’ll keep you away from the oven if you stay away from my daddy issues.
2. Elizabeth Cady Stanton: How fantastic to have one of the mothers of feminism at our table! Please, Elizabeth, stay awhile and help us fix this unholy mess of a country.
3. Marilyn Monroe: I believe she was way smarter than any of us gave her credit for, and broken like the rest of us.
4. Susan B. Anthony: a little redundant, what with E. C. Stanton, but I bet she’d be fun at parties.
5. Liz Phair: given the guest list, I think she’d be a kick-ass addition. Plus, she’s also the only one besides me who’s still alive.
6. 7, 8, and 9. My great-grandmothers, Beatta, Myra, Elizabeth, and Emilie. I never met any of them, and I think it would be cool to hang out with all 4. I know Beatta died of cancer, Myra is whom my mother is named after, Elizabeth had long, thick, white hair, and Emilie had five children including identical twins, one of which she named Emil. I don’t know if they like talking politics, or music, or Kennedys, but we’ll figure out something.
We would eat expensive cheese, drink cheap wine, and have lefse. Who would you invite to your party?
24 April 2011
Kirigami
While I wait for students to arrive for the conferences they signed up for, I work on the 2004 Kirigami calendar I bought at Barnes and Noble for 75% off 7 years ago. It makes me feel productive and I kinda think it's magic.
04 April 2011
Busy and Angry and Tired, oh my!
Busy: It's the last four weeks of the semester, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, that's right. It means I'm up to my neck in grading, the laundry's piling up, and the car needs washed. And yet....I want to blog. I want to frolic and share and love all of you, and piss on this giant stack of student papers. (Well, not literally. Once, when we had a black miniature poodle named Zuul with some anger issues, he peed on some student papers. Those were fun to hand back). It's funny how that works, isn't it? How just when we feel totally tapped out we seee something shiny and suddenly have all the energy we could want.
Tired: I'm tired of being busy and angry, I guess. I'm looking forward to my sabbatical but it still seems entirely abstract and far away. I want to set out a bird feeder, and cook something new, but mostly I just want to take a nap. And blog.
Anyway, what a depressing, whiny post! Here, I will offer you something to cheer you up. V had two birthday parties to attend on Saturday, and we made the gifts for both. Here's the second party, at our local bowling alley (bowling parties are fun! I'd never been to one before!). We made our friend Oscar Costumes on a Stick, and he let his guests show them off with him.
Angry: Oh, lord, I'm angry at snow. I've never been mad at snow before, that I can recall, though probably I have. But it just.will.not.leave. It's filthy and grey and going to flood our river all to hell but it's taking its own sweet time.We still have 6' high piles all around. And just when the driveway is almost clear, we get another 7 inches. Even Shaun's getting in on this anger party: a couple of weeks ago he came home just furious at the weather. So we talk about moving, and watch a movie or two, and then spring finally shows up and we forget about moving until next winter. Gak. Stupid sneaky snow.
Anyway, what a depressing, whiny post! Here, I will offer you something to cheer you up. V had two birthday parties to attend on Saturday, and we made the gifts for both. Here's the second party, at our local bowling alley (bowling parties are fun! I'd never been to one before!). We made our friend Oscar Costumes on a Stick, and he let his guests show them off with him.
I think they were a success! And isn't this a much happier ending? I thought so.
14 March 2011
Spring break
So I'm on spring break and I have a mild to moderate amount of grading to do (about 70 three page essays), and a dining room table to clear off, and crafty things, and oh this always happens during spring break, when I start to feel stressed that I'm not getting enough out of every moment or doing enough around the house or accomplishing the things I always hope to accomplish on break. And this year it's even stranger because V's just getting over strep and Shaun just completed his 2 weeks in partial and it's so good to have us all together and feeling well but it's also so strange it's almost confusing and I should be blogging more and taking more pictures and so it goes.
20 February 2011
Freedom of speech and other misunderstandings
Last week, I ran across a news story of Natalie Monroe, a high school English teacher in a suburb of Philadelphia, who had a blog, on which she occasionally (around 25 % of her posts) ranted a bit about her students. And by "a bit" I mean she called them "rude disengaged, lazy whiners," and "utterly loathsome" among other things. She's been suspended with pay: her lawyer states he'll be filing a lawsuit soon, as it's a first amendment issue.
As a teacher (albeit for a college) with a blog, I also sometimes write about work. Some of my students are occasionally rude, or disengaged, or lazy, or whiners, and sometimes all at once, though I try hard not to write about them (unless they cheat. Plagiarists are the bane of my existence, though I will always protect their anonymity). I understand her frustration, and I'm sure it's magnified a hundredfold within the high school setting. To her credit, she didn't mention her students by name, nor did she use her own last name or the name of her school. She claims the blog was for herself, her husband, and seven friends, which is all well and good, but that's what phone calls are made for: blogs are public, usually, and so bloggers should always be mindful not to say anything here that they wouldn't want announced from the stage of the auditorium (actually, someone once told me that about e-mails. It's even more true for blogs, though, I'd say). Still, her feelings are certainly valid, and she has a right to express them.
But if she was V's teacher, I would have been crushed to read her words. Even if she insisted V was not one of the "rude disengaged," for me it would be heartbreaking to know that someone charged with my daughter's education was so clearly burned out, so obviously angry.
Now, Ms. Monroe points out that her writing has been taken out of context (she's removed all of the earlier blogposts, so I can't see them IN context), and that she did say positive things. Though I never saw the blog in its original form, I believe her. And I fiercely defend her first amendment rights. But I also defend the school's right to put a teacher on probation, and, after careful consideration, perhaps terminate her contract. Even as I type that sentence, though, I cringe, because I know of many teachers who certainly said worse things about my generation, but because it was pre-internet it stayed within the bar or home or gymnasium where it was uttered. And I have said things to my colleagues, angry and exhausted things, that I would be embarrassed to have the public know about. And I certainly don't want MY contract terminated.
But I didn't put those things on a blog for the whole wide world (or my husband and seven friends) to see.
I know this is all still relatively new territory. I know the internet is complex and distracting and marvelous all at once. And I know teaching as a profession is hard, hard work, but also full of incredible rewards. Perhaps, as Ms. Monroe herself has suggested, this controversy will lead us to more honest discussions about education in the 21st century.
Truthfully, students today don't engage in the same way my friends and I did when I was in college. I'm not sure how to best address the issues we all face in the classroom today, but I'm pretty sure railing against parents and students is not going to solve things. And though she claims her blog was only for venting purposes, and that she has not dwelled on these issues, I hope Ms. Monroe's time out of the classroom helps her to refocus, and remember the non-loathsome parts of the job, if only in case she ever ends up in front of a classroom that includes V. Because my daughter (and yours) deserves better.
As a teacher (albeit for a college) with a blog, I also sometimes write about work. Some of my students are occasionally rude, or disengaged, or lazy, or whiners, and sometimes all at once, though I try hard not to write about them (unless they cheat. Plagiarists are the bane of my existence, though I will always protect their anonymity). I understand her frustration, and I'm sure it's magnified a hundredfold within the high school setting. To her credit, she didn't mention her students by name, nor did she use her own last name or the name of her school. She claims the blog was for herself, her husband, and seven friends, which is all well and good, but that's what phone calls are made for: blogs are public, usually, and so bloggers should always be mindful not to say anything here that they wouldn't want announced from the stage of the auditorium (actually, someone once told me that about e-mails. It's even more true for blogs, though, I'd say). Still, her feelings are certainly valid, and she has a right to express them.
But if she was V's teacher, I would have been crushed to read her words. Even if she insisted V was not one of the "rude disengaged," for me it would be heartbreaking to know that someone charged with my daughter's education was so clearly burned out, so obviously angry.
Now, Ms. Monroe points out that her writing has been taken out of context (she's removed all of the earlier blogposts, so I can't see them IN context), and that she did say positive things. Though I never saw the blog in its original form, I believe her. And I fiercely defend her first amendment rights. But I also defend the school's right to put a teacher on probation, and, after careful consideration, perhaps terminate her contract. Even as I type that sentence, though, I cringe, because I know of many teachers who certainly said worse things about my generation, but because it was pre-internet it stayed within the bar or home or gymnasium where it was uttered. And I have said things to my colleagues, angry and exhausted things, that I would be embarrassed to have the public know about. And I certainly don't want MY contract terminated.
But I didn't put those things on a blog for the whole wide world (or my husband and seven friends) to see.
I know this is all still relatively new territory. I know the internet is complex and distracting and marvelous all at once. And I know teaching as a profession is hard, hard work, but also full of incredible rewards. Perhaps, as Ms. Monroe herself has suggested, this controversy will lead us to more honest discussions about education in the 21st century.
Truthfully, students today don't engage in the same way my friends and I did when I was in college. I'm not sure how to best address the issues we all face in the classroom today, but I'm pretty sure railing against parents and students is not going to solve things. And though she claims her blog was only for venting purposes, and that she has not dwelled on these issues, I hope Ms. Monroe's time out of the classroom helps her to refocus, and remember the non-loathsome parts of the job, if only in case she ever ends up in front of a classroom that includes V. Because my daughter (and yours) deserves better.
16 January 2011
Sabbaticalizing
On Friday, I found out my application for sabbatical for this Fall 2011 had been accepted. Those of you not in academia may not be properly impressed: this means I get 3 1/2 months to work on a project of my own design, and get full pay and benefits during that time. And I don't have to teach a single class or grade a single paper. It's fantastic, and I'm so excited I might throw up.
I know some non-fans of academia find sabbaticals offensive: the state, which pays much of my salary, is giving me paid time to do this work. I understand this concern. I welcome those people to come in and take my job for a semester, juggle the lies and cheating and broken hearts and addictions of my students, and put in 60 hour work weeks. In fact, they should do that for six years, and then see if maybe a semester to work on something else doesn't seem a little...um...necessary.
All right, mild bitterness aside, my project is to begin development on an articulation agreement with MSUM's Women Studies department. Essentially, though we don't really offer minors at our community college, the articulation agreement would help students achieve a minor in Women's Studies that would easily transfer to MSUM. Isn't that cool? Plus it shows we're committed to Women's Studies, and will hopefully help us someday open a Women's Center on campus.
Whew. Too technical? Anyhoo, I'm especially excited about this because, though I'm an English nerd at heart, when it comes down to it, Women's Studies courses impacted me more than almost any other classes. I love the idea of helping to offer that kind of stuff to students.
And I love the idea of a whole semester away from the classroom, mostly because it will be so fun to come back afterwards.
Who's up for a road trip with me this fall? I've got some sabbaticalizing to do.
I know some non-fans of academia find sabbaticals offensive: the state, which pays much of my salary, is giving me paid time to do this work. I understand this concern. I welcome those people to come in and take my job for a semester, juggle the lies and cheating and broken hearts and addictions of my students, and put in 60 hour work weeks. In fact, they should do that for six years, and then see if maybe a semester to work on something else doesn't seem a little...um...necessary.
All right, mild bitterness aside, my project is to begin development on an articulation agreement with MSUM's Women Studies department. Essentially, though we don't really offer minors at our community college, the articulation agreement would help students achieve a minor in Women's Studies that would easily transfer to MSUM. Isn't that cool? Plus it shows we're committed to Women's Studies, and will hopefully help us someday open a Women's Center on campus.
Whew. Too technical? Anyhoo, I'm especially excited about this because, though I'm an English nerd at heart, when it comes down to it, Women's Studies courses impacted me more than almost any other classes. I love the idea of helping to offer that kind of stuff to students.
And I love the idea of a whole semester away from the classroom, mostly because it will be so fun to come back afterwards.
Who's up for a road trip with me this fall? I've got some sabbaticalizing to do.
14 December 2010
I'm so tired.
I don't want this to be a whiny blog post. But it might end up that way. Consider yourself forewarned.
First of all, the art show was a terrific success. We had 150-200 people attend, which is phenomenal, and our students were out-frickin'-standing. I was as proud as I've ever been, as a teacher.
Tomorrow, I give my last 2 finals, and then I grade until my eyes bleed, and I'll try to turn grades in by Friday. Please, god, let it be over by Friday.
Meanwhile, my mother-in-law has completed 5 of 8 chemo treatments; I haven't seen her since the beginning of September, and I miss her terribly. She's over halfway done, though, and we're all hopeful for the future.
Shaun, V, and I are all recovering from bad colds, and V and Shaun got the stomach flu over the weekend. For V it was just an awful 12 hour deal, but it's so much harder for Shaun with this happens. Hopefully he won't need to be hospitalized, but it is excruciating to see him suffer and not be able to help more.
V went in for testing last week with a neuropsychiatrist. You remember V from such uplifting posts as Our Out of Sync Child and the one about the Holiday Party last year, right? So, she's still got those issues, although in slightly different forms. She seeks structure, she doesn't handle routine changes well, she...she struggles, often, with things that other kids take in stride. One day a couple of months ago, after an especially difficult car ride home, she started sobbing in the backseat. Exasperated, I said "What is it now?!" She said "Mama, am I ever going to feel better?" We sat in the driveway and cried together. I don't know that she knew what she was asking, but we're trying to find the best ways to help. On Monday December 20, we'll presumably get a diagnosis. So I've been thinking of this a lot, lately, about labels and what they mean, and about how Monday will not change who V is one tiny bit: she will still be our goofy musical actress who can read like a 4th grader. Yet...today, I can still pretend she might outgrow it. After Monday, when this quirkiness goes beyond quirkiness and gets an actual name, well, then it's here to stay, I suppose. Of course, it's here to stay if it's not diagnosed, too: as my friend Todd pointed out, 10, 20, 30 years ago kids like V went to school undiagnosed all over the place, and many just struggled through, got left behind in some ways, and excelled in others. Shaun and I both remember things in our childhood that could have gone better had we had some of the interventions V's had. And so I wait for Monday, and hope I can remember that she's still our V, and not a diagnosis, and so much much more than we'd ever dreamed.
Shaun continues to watch his diet, though he's dropped off in his excercising in recent weeks, to help his heart heal. We're scheduled for a second echocardiogram on January 24, and hoping for good news. And if it's not good news, at least it hopefully won't be terrible news. He feels pretty good (aside from this damn flu), so I'm optimistic. I was going to say "we're optimistic," but Shaun has never, to my knowledge, been optimistic in his life. So I am.
And there's 37 other things occupying my brain, keeping me awake at night, causing the muscles in my neck to bunch up. My mom, for example, has been having new, excruciating pain in her hands these last three days. We're hoping to find some kind of diagnosis for her, or at least pain relief that doesn't lead to hallucinations. V's supposed to bring snack on Thursday. And start kindergarten next fall. And eventually graduate from high school. See? See why I'm tired?
I know I have so, so many things to be thankful for. I know many people have it much worse than I do. And still, I find the time through all this to write a whiny-ass blogpost.
Here's to happy diagnoses, longjohns, and Christmas cookies. And blog readers.
Amen.
First of all, the art show was a terrific success. We had 150-200 people attend, which is phenomenal, and our students were out-frickin'-standing. I was as proud as I've ever been, as a teacher.
Tomorrow, I give my last 2 finals, and then I grade until my eyes bleed, and I'll try to turn grades in by Friday. Please, god, let it be over by Friday.
Meanwhile, my mother-in-law has completed 5 of 8 chemo treatments; I haven't seen her since the beginning of September, and I miss her terribly. She's over halfway done, though, and we're all hopeful for the future.
Shaun, V, and I are all recovering from bad colds, and V and Shaun got the stomach flu over the weekend. For V it was just an awful 12 hour deal, but it's so much harder for Shaun with this happens. Hopefully he won't need to be hospitalized, but it is excruciating to see him suffer and not be able to help more.
V went in for testing last week with a neuropsychiatrist. You remember V from such uplifting posts as Our Out of Sync Child and the one about the Holiday Party last year, right? So, she's still got those issues, although in slightly different forms. She seeks structure, she doesn't handle routine changes well, she...she struggles, often, with things that other kids take in stride. One day a couple of months ago, after an especially difficult car ride home, she started sobbing in the backseat. Exasperated, I said "What is it now?!" She said "Mama, am I ever going to feel better?" We sat in the driveway and cried together. I don't know that she knew what she was asking, but we're trying to find the best ways to help. On Monday December 20, we'll presumably get a diagnosis. So I've been thinking of this a lot, lately, about labels and what they mean, and about how Monday will not change who V is one tiny bit: she will still be our goofy musical actress who can read like a 4th grader. Yet...today, I can still pretend she might outgrow it. After Monday, when this quirkiness goes beyond quirkiness and gets an actual name, well, then it's here to stay, I suppose. Of course, it's here to stay if it's not diagnosed, too: as my friend Todd pointed out, 10, 20, 30 years ago kids like V went to school undiagnosed all over the place, and many just struggled through, got left behind in some ways, and excelled in others. Shaun and I both remember things in our childhood that could have gone better had we had some of the interventions V's had. And so I wait for Monday, and hope I can remember that she's still our V, and not a diagnosis, and so much much more than we'd ever dreamed.
Shaun continues to watch his diet, though he's dropped off in his excercising in recent weeks, to help his heart heal. We're scheduled for a second echocardiogram on January 24, and hoping for good news. And if it's not good news, at least it hopefully won't be terrible news. He feels pretty good (aside from this damn flu), so I'm optimistic. I was going to say "we're optimistic," but Shaun has never, to my knowledge, been optimistic in his life. So I am.
And there's 37 other things occupying my brain, keeping me awake at night, causing the muscles in my neck to bunch up. My mom, for example, has been having new, excruciating pain in her hands these last three days. We're hoping to find some kind of diagnosis for her, or at least pain relief that doesn't lead to hallucinations. V's supposed to bring snack on Thursday. And start kindergarten next fall. And eventually graduate from high school. See? See why I'm tired?
I know I have so, so many things to be thankful for. I know many people have it much worse than I do. And still, I find the time through all this to write a whiny-ass blogpost.
Here's to happy diagnoses, longjohns, and Christmas cookies. And blog readers.
Amen.
08 December 2010
I teach.
Tomorrow, my students are putting on an Art Show. It's really more of a final project presentation, because I don't teach art; I teach Humanities and English. And in this course (which is actually 2 courses, one of which is taught by the Amazing Crystal), the final project we assigned the students was to create something (we offered them the opportunity to sculpt, paint, direct a brief film, take photographs, create a religion, write a story/poem/memoir/song...) that combined elements of the course in a personal way that could be understood by others. As it turned out, they all chose to create visual art (though a few poems will also be included within larger artworks), and so...Crystal and I invite you to a student Art Show tomorrow from 2-5pm. 
But that's not why I'm posting this. I'm posting this because this is kind of a scary thing: normally, my classroom stays semi-private: me and 15-40 students share a learning experience of varying qualities and quanities for 15 weeks, and then we finish up and go on with our lives. But now we're opening up that classroom to share it with the larger public, and with that brings the possibility for criticism, or press coverage, or, worse, no response at all. It's a whole new level of teaching that I don't usually wander into.
And yet, I'm not sorry, even while I'm slightly terrified. These 17 students have created work of which they should be truly proud. They each individually took in the texts we studied, thought deeply about them, and created something completely unique and truly powerful. I am so moved when this happens (and it does happen, quite often, in a good class), but can rarely share it with peers on any full level. But tomorrow? Tomorrow the whole damn town can come see these students, and the beautiful, thoughtful, sometimes disturbing, always intentional things they've created.
I'm very excited. And very proud.
(photos from yesterday's frosty morning, in our front yard)
22 November 2010
List #7: Things I wish my students knew
I'm probably never going back to college. I mean, I might take a class or something someday, but full time studenthood is all in my past. Still, if I ever do find myself on the other side of the desk, there are some things I would be sure to remember and do differently than I did when I was in school. And some things I knew better than to do when I was in school. This list is for my dear, dear students.
1. Be on time to class. Every time. Don't skip. The instructor notices if you skip. And don't text during class, or sleep. We notice that, too.
2. Be prepared. Every time. Faking the reading does not work in college.
3. Do not assume the teacher doesn't like you/doesn't have time to help you. Ask questions.
4. Do not assume the teacher likes you and has all the time in the world to help you. Ask questions, but be polite. And gracious.
5. If you have to miss class, how you word follow-up questions is very important. "Did I miss anything?" is profoundly different from "What did I miss?"
6. If your shit is hitting the fan this semester, do not point the fan at your instructor. Manage your stuff, and if you find you can't get your work done properly while your life falls to pieces, consider withdrawing. I will work with you, but I tell you from experience it is really, really hard to get things back under control once you've spun out. It's okay to drop a class. It's okay to get a C. Or worse. If you're going to be deported if you fail my course, realize that maybe you should've thought of that before you missed 6 weeks in a row.
7. Do not write me e-mails from your hotmail account. All your friends may call you HotCupcake93, but I will not. In fact, I delete all e-mails with the name "hot" or "cupcake," as a rule.
8. I will not get your paper graded in 24 hours. If you ask me, I will put your paper on the very bottom of my grading pile, where it will languish for months.
9. As a follow up to point #6, above, if you do have a personal crisis and you have no one to talk to about it, come to me. I'm not a counsellor, but I know where their offices are, and I will help you find help if you need it. I will keep your secrets, and will fight for you if that's what you need. I teach because I love my students, even if that's not always evident.
1. Be on time to class. Every time. Don't skip. The instructor notices if you skip. And don't text during class, or sleep. We notice that, too.
2. Be prepared. Every time. Faking the reading does not work in college.
3. Do not assume the teacher doesn't like you/doesn't have time to help you. Ask questions.
4. Do not assume the teacher likes you and has all the time in the world to help you. Ask questions, but be polite. And gracious.
5. If you have to miss class, how you word follow-up questions is very important. "Did I miss anything?" is profoundly different from "What did I miss?"
6. If your shit is hitting the fan this semester, do not point the fan at your instructor. Manage your stuff, and if you find you can't get your work done properly while your life falls to pieces, consider withdrawing. I will work with you, but I tell you from experience it is really, really hard to get things back under control once you've spun out. It's okay to drop a class. It's okay to get a C. Or worse. If you're going to be deported if you fail my course, realize that maybe you should've thought of that before you missed 6 weeks in a row.
7. Do not write me e-mails from your hotmail account. All your friends may call you HotCupcake93, but I will not. In fact, I delete all e-mails with the name "hot" or "cupcake," as a rule.
8. I will not get your paper graded in 24 hours. If you ask me, I will put your paper on the very bottom of my grading pile, where it will languish for months.
9. As a follow up to point #6, above, if you do have a personal crisis and you have no one to talk to about it, come to me. I'm not a counsellor, but I know where their offices are, and I will help you find help if you need it. I will keep your secrets, and will fight for you if that's what you need. I teach because I love my students, even if that's not always evident.
13 October 2010
Forced heterosexuality and other American ways
"Dear America, when you tell gay Americans that they can't serve their country openly or marry the person that they love, you're telling that to kids too. So don't be shocked and wonder where all these bullies are coming from that are torturing young kids and driving them to kill themselves because they're different. They learned it ...from watching you."
~Sarah Silverman
As a co-advisor for our campus's LGBT group at my college, and as a longtime supporter of gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and questioning students (and non-students), I've often had to talk to homophobic people about their point of view. Usually in class it comes up as a student says something is gay, as in "That movie was so gay." I generally start by asking them what they mean: does that mean the movie only finds other movies of its same type attractive? Does that mean some movies are so straight? As an English instructor, I tie it back to the power of language, and how if we're going to use a sexual orientation term to say something is stupid or lame, it will by association suggest that the sexual orientation we're referring to is also stupid or lame. Students learn quickly that I don't let those comments slide in my classroom.
But recently in class, I had a conversation that I'd never had before. We were talking about V's birthday, and how she was turning 5. One of the students said "Just wait until she's turning 13, and obsessed with boys." Much of the class laughed in agreement, but I said, quite honestly and without thinking, "or girls." The entire class gasped (except for the lesbian in the front row, who quietly applauded). I've never shocked an entire room of students so thoroughly and unexpectedly! We talked about it a bit more, and aside from pointing out that sleepovers would be a whole different deal if she's a lesbian, the students listened to my thoughts on the matter and no one stormed out, so I'll call it successful.
I always find it disturbing when parents or any one, espeically if they've never met my daughter, assume they know V's sexuality. I mean, she's freaking five years old. Maybe she does know which sex she'll want to marry, but I certainly don't, and I don't want anyone telling her that what she feels is wrong one way or the other. And I've seen it play out over and over and over, among my friends and my students, that a big part of the heartache of being LGBT is the family expectations, and the feeling that they are letting their family down. I don't want V to be sorry for who she loves. I want her to make good, affirming choices, and find loving healthy partners, and be comfortable in her own skin.
Last year, I had a gay student in the PSEO program, meaning he was a senior in high school, taking college courses. When we talked about V over a year ago, and I said I didn't care if she was gay or straight as long as she was happy, he said "But you'd still rather she was straight, right?" I get this a lot from people, but from him I was a little surprised. No, I said. I want her to be happy and love whomever the hell she wants, as long as they're good to her. Huh, he said. As a man who'd been aware of his own homosexuality for years, he was still astounded that a parent could say this about their own child. His family is a type of "christian" who view homosexuality as a sin on par with child molestation. They are very good, though, at loving the sinner and hating the sin, and when he came out at 15, his family and church supported him, provided he didn't act on his "sinful urges." When he got his first boyfriend at 17, his parents kicked him out of the house.
This young man was not a rebellious student. He loved his family and his church, but he also knew unequivocably that he was gay, and he couldn't change that. He lived with his non-denominational aunt and her family for awhile, and his father threatened to yank him out of classes, and took away his car. They stopped paying for his cell phone. Eventually, he had to move out of his aunt's house, and got an apartment with 6 or 7 other students. He worked hard at his part time job. He ran out of money over and over. He missed his family. He and his boyfriend broke up, and within another month, he moved back home. He promised to give up his "gay lifestyle" and petitioned to get back into the church. He dated a woman, but whenever he told me about her, it was obvious to me that his interest in her was tied to pleasing his family: I've never forced myself to have sex with someone to impress my parents, but that's what he was doing.
The last time I talked to him, he was hopeful that his church would change, and come to see homosexuality not as a sin. I couldn't bear to tell him that it's unlikely to happen in his lifetime. I told him that he was in the highest risk group for suicide, and made him promise to call me if he needed me. In another class, one of my colleagues told him she hoped, despite the rejection from his parents and his church, that he had someone who loved him unconditionally. He said he did. He said my name.
He's transferred, now, to a different college, and he still lives at home. He was engaged to marry his girlfriend, and I could see a light fading in him (though I've since heard that they've broken up). He doesn't want to leave his church, but he will have to, eventually. Or he'll live a lie.
At first when I started to get to know this student, I was furious. I wanted his parents & church brought up on child abuse charges: how is this not profound emotional abuse? But I know that will never happen. Most of the churches in America take a similar stance on homosexuality. Just look at the ELCA, who, when they agreed to allow openly gay and lesbian clergy (but only if they were in long-term relationships, which I find crazy), lost many congregations. I don't understand how much fear and hatred can be tied to an essentially private, personal matter, but I have seen more than once the ramifications.
I know V will feel pressure from the rest of the world to be a straight girl. And I know if she's not that her life may indeed be more difficult than her straight friends. But I don't want an ounce of that difficulty to come from her family of origin. In the meantime, I will vote for people willing to overturn "Don't ask, don't tell" and offer marriage rights to any two consenting adults. And I will allow V to figure out what sex she finds attractive. Because it's not up to me, or anyone else.
25 September 2010
Working hard, and hardly working.
Last night I went to see Billy Collins. I know, I know, you're all like, "THE Billy Collins?!?" and I can tell you yes, THE Billy Collins. He was funny and human and inspiring, and I left the reading with new poems bouncing around my brain, glad to have been near such a prominent national voice of poetry. It was pretty dreamy all around.
Then I went to the after party. It was fun, for a while. They had my favorite beer in the fridge, red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, and hummus, plus lots of writery writers. I hung out with my colleagues, people I love who make me laugh every day. I talked with my beloved mentors, and muttered about dried mango with Billy Freaking Collins. Then I sat at a table of fellow educators from a different campus in town, one where I have worked in the past. One of the them, a dear friend to one of my colleagues, quickly began to tell me how wrong it was to have to teach 5 sections of English in one semester (the standard load at my and most Community Colleges), how we owe our students so much more, how we shouldn't even be expected to teach 7 sections a year (as opposed to our 10; 7 is standard load in 4-year colleges), how we should all take a full year sabbatical (which would be nice but is not practical for most of us). I blinked at him. I thought of how he is a star of this college's faculty, how he's very visible, likely loved by students. And I thought he was an absolute asshole. It made me feel sick, claustrophobic, and I was suddenly so, so anxious to get away from academia.
Perhaps it was the wine, or the inferred superiority of 4 year college faculty over the lowly community college faculty, but regardless, I don't care for anyone to tell me how much my job sucks. I mean, if I tell you how much my job sucks, that's one thing; it's kind of like nobody gets to say mean things about my sister except me.
The truth is, my current job is hard. I teach 5 sections a semester, which gives me 125-150 students to educate in up to 3 different courses. And as in any job, there is bureacracy and crap and un-fun stuff to deal with, though I find it to be less here than the other two colleges where I've worked. But also, I work alongside women and men who are passionate about teaching, who hold high standards for academic integrity and academic freedom, and who, as I've mentioned, make me laugh every day. If that means I have to teach twice as many students as he does, I'll take it.
What's sad about this, for me, is that I believe I actually have the better deal: yes, the work is hard. But the rewards are richer here, from where I stand, in every way, and I would never want to trade places with him. He can have his sabbatical (though lord knows we can all use one), and his bureacracy, and his perceived superiority. Good for him. I've got papers to grade, student names to learn, and colleagues to support and appreciate.
I don't have time to begrudge this job: I'm too busy enjoying it.
Then I went to the after party. It was fun, for a while. They had my favorite beer in the fridge, red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, and hummus, plus lots of writery writers. I hung out with my colleagues, people I love who make me laugh every day. I talked with my beloved mentors, and muttered about dried mango with Billy Freaking Collins. Then I sat at a table of fellow educators from a different campus in town, one where I have worked in the past. One of the them, a dear friend to one of my colleagues, quickly began to tell me how wrong it was to have to teach 5 sections of English in one semester (the standard load at my and most Community Colleges), how we owe our students so much more, how we shouldn't even be expected to teach 7 sections a year (as opposed to our 10; 7 is standard load in 4-year colleges), how we should all take a full year sabbatical (which would be nice but is not practical for most of us). I blinked at him. I thought of how he is a star of this college's faculty, how he's very visible, likely loved by students. And I thought he was an absolute asshole. It made me feel sick, claustrophobic, and I was suddenly so, so anxious to get away from academia.
Perhaps it was the wine, or the inferred superiority of 4 year college faculty over the lowly community college faculty, but regardless, I don't care for anyone to tell me how much my job sucks. I mean, if I tell you how much my job sucks, that's one thing; it's kind of like nobody gets to say mean things about my sister except me.
The truth is, my current job is hard. I teach 5 sections a semester, which gives me 125-150 students to educate in up to 3 different courses. And as in any job, there is bureacracy and crap and un-fun stuff to deal with, though I find it to be less here than the other two colleges where I've worked. But also, I work alongside women and men who are passionate about teaching, who hold high standards for academic integrity and academic freedom, and who, as I've mentioned, make me laugh every day. If that means I have to teach twice as many students as he does, I'll take it.
What's sad about this, for me, is that I believe I actually have the better deal: yes, the work is hard. But the rewards are richer here, from where I stand, in every way, and I would never want to trade places with him. He can have his sabbatical (though lord knows we can all use one), and his bureacracy, and his perceived superiority. Good for him. I've got papers to grade, student names to learn, and colleagues to support and appreciate.
I don't have time to begrudge this job: I'm too busy enjoying it.
02 May 2010
End of semester rant
I know I shouldn't take it personally but when they hand in research papers that we've been working on for six weeks, that I've taught them how to do correctly every step of the way, and the papers are utter, total garbage, but I do take it personally. Every. single. time. At first I think maybe I didn't teach them well enough. Maybe if I'd said it differently, or one more time...and then I think perhaps they just misunderstood....and then I realize that they just don't care. At all. One student, in his final paper, a formal research essay, wrote the sentence "That seems pretty damn good to me." Others use the letter u for the word you. So I sit and try to figure out why in god's name they think this is college level work?
And then I remember that they don't care, obviously, so I shouldn't either.
I have to remind myself that some, even many, of them do the research, and the writing, carefully and thoughtfully, and come up with things I've never considered and concepts they should be proud of. So why don't I focus on those? Why don't the ones that make my heart sing, that remind me of what it is I'm trying to do with my professional life, why can't I take those personally?
I have to work on not caring. That's hard for me.
And then I remember that they don't care, obviously, so I shouldn't either.
I have to remind myself that some, even many, of them do the research, and the writing, carefully and thoughtfully, and come up with things I've never considered and concepts they should be proud of. So why don't I focus on those? Why don't the ones that make my heart sing, that remind me of what it is I'm trying to do with my professional life, why can't I take those personally?
I have to work on not caring. That's hard for me.
27 January 2010
School Bag
My colleagues in the English Department and I have a shared journal that we started last fall: it's a standard sized composition notebook, and we can choose to pass or play. If we play, we have 24 hours to share something: a poem, a story, a rant, an observation. Some people have pasted in pictures, or taped in typed things. Lots of folks just hand write something, off the cuff. It's allowing us a little snapshot into each other's writing styles and thought processes that I'm enjoying immensely.
If you're one of my colleagues, and you'd rather be suprised when the journal comes to you, stop reading now.
This is my entry for today.
1-27-2010
Every semester I search for the perfect bag: big enough to hold 125 syllabi, or 75 student essays, and a couple of books, a handful of dried up dry-erase markers, and a tepid Coca-Cola. I want one that makes all this feel less heavy, literally and figuratively, than it is.
At the end of my 12th year of teaching, I still haven't quite found it.
I've come close; a green Hanna Andersen bag with technicolor flowers; a dark green messenger bag from old navy; a leather man-purse on clearance from Target. Each is flawed, somehow: lacks that essential pocket, or tips too easily, or is too hard to get into.
Over break, I found a vintage soft-sided suitcase at St. Vincent de Paul for $2. It's a carry-on type, like a super-sized camera bag, a softer response to the rigid train case. It has a front zipper pocket, and a decently long shoulder strap. The zippers are industrial strength, and there is no velcro. It's that particular, distinctive shade of Harvest Gold.
On the inside of the shoulder strap, in permanent ink, is the name "Mary Mitzel" and "Hope, N. D." in the script of someone who once had decent penmanship until age shook her hand. Just the fact that there's a town in North Dakota named Hope makes me happy: and I imagined Mary Mitzel packing this bag for a week or two away, folding slips and stockings and denture cleaner, than zipping the industrial zipper closed and locking her door behind her.
I know she's probably dead, or nearly so, because St. Vincent's tends to get entire estates, or what's leftover from estate sales. Or maybe she's gone into a nursing home recently, and won't be traveling anymore. I hope wherever she is, Mary Mitzel has fond memories of this gold bag, as I pack it with syllabi and pens and class lists for my first day teaching in a new decade.
In my 5:30 class, students ask if it's a bowling bag. "No!" I tell them. "It's a vintage piece of luggage. And it belonged to Mary Mitzel of Hope, ND." I'm kinda proud of myself, in that irritating way people who buy old stuff and call it vintage are.
From the back row, one of my students can't help himself, and blurts out "I totally knew her! She was a bitch."
Perhaps not surprisingly, this makes me like this bag even more.
If you're one of my colleagues, and you'd rather be suprised when the journal comes to you, stop reading now.
This is my entry for today.
1-27-2010
Every semester I search for the perfect bag: big enough to hold 125 syllabi, or 75 student essays, and a couple of books, a handful of dried up dry-erase markers, and a tepid Coca-Cola. I want one that makes all this feel less heavy, literally and figuratively, than it is.
At the end of my 12th year of teaching, I still haven't quite found it.
I've come close; a green Hanna Andersen bag with technicolor flowers; a dark green messenger bag from old navy; a leather man-purse on clearance from Target. Each is flawed, somehow: lacks that essential pocket, or tips too easily, or is too hard to get into.
Over break, I found a vintage soft-sided suitcase at St. Vincent de Paul for $2. It's a carry-on type, like a super-sized camera bag, a softer response to the rigid train case. It has a front zipper pocket, and a decently long shoulder strap. The zippers are industrial strength, and there is no velcro. It's that particular, distinctive shade of Harvest Gold.
On the inside of the shoulder strap, in permanent ink, is the name "Mary Mitzel" and "Hope, N. D." in the script of someone who once had decent penmanship until age shook her hand. Just the fact that there's a town in North Dakota named Hope makes me happy: and I imagined Mary Mitzel packing this bag for a week or two away, folding slips and stockings and denture cleaner, than zipping the industrial zipper closed and locking her door behind her.
I know she's probably dead, or nearly so, because St. Vincent's tends to get entire estates, or what's leftover from estate sales. Or maybe she's gone into a nursing home recently, and won't be traveling anymore. I hope wherever she is, Mary Mitzel has fond memories of this gold bag, as I pack it with syllabi and pens and class lists for my first day teaching in a new decade.
In my 5:30 class, students ask if it's a bowling bag. "No!" I tell them. "It's a vintage piece of luggage. And it belonged to Mary Mitzel of Hope, ND." I'm kinda proud of myself, in that irritating way people who buy old stuff and call it vintage are.
From the back row, one of my students can't help himself, and blurts out "I totally knew her! She was a bitch."
Perhaps not surprisingly, this makes me like this bag even more.
04 January 2010
Happy New Year!
Insert thoughtful, year-reflecting post here. Or perhaps a rousing summary of holiday festivities. Either way. 
Winter screws with me so much because we have two options: sunshine and bitter cold, or bleak greyness and milder cold. When I want to take outdoor photos, the light's better in the bitter cold. But then I'm out in the bitter cold.
I'd rather sit on the couch with this little sprout, in the early morning light. 
And take pictures of the outdoors through the window.
I'd rather sit on the couch with this little sprout, in the early morning light. 
And take pictures of the outdoors through the window.
Today was my semi-annual holy-crap-break's-almost-over-and-I've-done-nothing-whatsoever-that-I-meant-to-do-over-break freakout. So I'm going to take an official blog break (instead of my usual unintended/unofficial/I'm just lazy break). Classes resume on the 11th, and I should be back shortly thereafter. Please don't despair, dear readers. Hope your New Year is bright and not too cold.
11 December 2009
Where've ya been?
Sorry things are so quiet here, folks.
This is that time of year that things get too crazy for me: I have 70-5 to7 page research papers, 70 hand-written 2 page essays, and 40-3 page essays to grade in the next week. Plus an 8 page final exam to administer on Wednesday. And the house is a huge mess, and V's home sick from school with a cold that makes her whiny and demanding (even more than usual) and I spent $1100 yesterday to fix my car, and Shaun works this weekend, which means lots of hours home alone with a sickly 4 year old and not much time to grade, and I actually really want to walk on the treadmill but it's too loud and upsets V, so I have to wait until her naptime, and I think I've pulled some sort of ligament in my foot, because it hurts a lot, and I still haven't sent Christmas cards, though they're mostly written on and addressed, and having spent $1100 on my car really cuts into my holiday shopping budget, and I can't think of anything good to get V's teachers and therapists for the holiday, anyway, and I caught my second plagiarist of the semester yesterday, and really I just want to take a nap.
See? Now you know where I've been. Hope your week is shinier than mine.
This is that time of year that things get too crazy for me: I have 70-5 to7 page research papers, 70 hand-written 2 page essays, and 40-3 page essays to grade in the next week. Plus an 8 page final exam to administer on Wednesday. And the house is a huge mess, and V's home sick from school with a cold that makes her whiny and demanding (even more than usual) and I spent $1100 yesterday to fix my car, and Shaun works this weekend, which means lots of hours home alone with a sickly 4 year old and not much time to grade, and I actually really want to walk on the treadmill but it's too loud and upsets V, so I have to wait until her naptime, and I think I've pulled some sort of ligament in my foot, because it hurts a lot, and I still haven't sent Christmas cards, though they're mostly written on and addressed, and having spent $1100 on my car really cuts into my holiday shopping budget, and I can't think of anything good to get V's teachers and therapists for the holiday, anyway, and I caught my second plagiarist of the semester yesterday, and really I just want to take a nap.
See? Now you know where I've been. Hope your week is shinier than mine.
07 November 2009
Tumble outta bed and I stumble to the kitchen...
Lately, I've been working on several dozen projects at once, as usual. But none of them are particularly photogenic, so I find myself stumped with what to blog about. And then I remember there is no photograph requirement for blogging, except the ones I've developed for myself, so here I am thinking out loud again.
1. V's into telling stories. Constantly. She wants me to tell them to her, with her parameters: it usually involves Toy Story+Star Wars Garbage Chute Scene+Princesses+Will and V. This sounds cute and all but it really gets tiring to constantly think of new variations on this story. Recently I had everyone get trapped in ToysRUs, which was very popular, but has led to demands of trips to ToysRUs. I must remember to be careful where those characters end up.
2. My job: As usual, it takes up great heaps of time and energy, which is fine. But I am teaching a new course in the spring (Environmental Literature) and another next fall (Humanities of World Cinema) that I've never taught or taken before, which is much harder than re-teaching courses I'm already familiar with. I'm in the process of gathering input from colleagues, but I'm also trying to ask friends and family, too. So I pose this question to the blog: What non-English movies have you seen that impressed you, and why? And what elements (books, movies, youtube clips, etc) should I include in Environmental Literature? I'm interpreting the course to be about both the world environment of weather, tsunamis, floods, and global warming, and the environments we're raised in, and the environments we create for ourselves. I've chosen a book of essays by Leslie Marmon Silko, a book of writings (poems, essays, fiction) about the midwest called Inheriting the Land, and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, because I'm an optimist. But I'd still like at least 2 more books, maybe as many as 5 more. Again, because I'm an optimist.
3. My hoarding hairball. I'm trying to figure out why I am more comfortable in a home packed to the gills with stuff, why I love acquiring things as much as if not more than using them. And how to translate this into a living situation that doesn't drive my partner and daughter and me completely crazy.
4. The new V television series, and Flash Forward, both of which are breaking my brain a little and making me happy at the same time.
5. Putting the blog into a book form, for my own records, for when the apocalypse comes and devours the internet. I'm working with BLURB, and am on page 83 of 290. It's tedious, mostly because I have so many photos that the software can't really handle it. So I'm going a page at a time, adding in the photos as I go.
6. Putting the zine into book form. This is an ongoing project, one I've been working on for over 2 years. Languishing the Zine started publishing in 1996 or 1997, and technically hasn't stopped yet. The book form has over 120 pages of very small type. Several months ago, I said to Tenessa (who is 34 today!) that I didn't know where to start editing 120 pages. She laughed at me, since she's a book editor, but I noticed she didn't offer to take it over for me. Unlike the blog book, this book will be available for purchase. Eventually. The other thing slowing me down is I'm missing some issues from 2002-2003, and I can't hardly print a comprehensive book missing two whole years.
As you can see, I'm busy with non-photographable pursuits right now. I welcome your advice, mocking, and open scorn. Sharing these things with the blog world makes them more real, so now I better go get to work.
1. V's into telling stories. Constantly. She wants me to tell them to her, with her parameters: it usually involves Toy Story+Star Wars Garbage Chute Scene+Princesses+Will and V. This sounds cute and all but it really gets tiring to constantly think of new variations on this story. Recently I had everyone get trapped in ToysRUs, which was very popular, but has led to demands of trips to ToysRUs. I must remember to be careful where those characters end up.
2. My job: As usual, it takes up great heaps of time and energy, which is fine. But I am teaching a new course in the spring (Environmental Literature) and another next fall (Humanities of World Cinema) that I've never taught or taken before, which is much harder than re-teaching courses I'm already familiar with. I'm in the process of gathering input from colleagues, but I'm also trying to ask friends and family, too. So I pose this question to the blog: What non-English movies have you seen that impressed you, and why? And what elements (books, movies, youtube clips, etc) should I include in Environmental Literature? I'm interpreting the course to be about both the world environment of weather, tsunamis, floods, and global warming, and the environments we're raised in, and the environments we create for ourselves. I've chosen a book of essays by Leslie Marmon Silko, a book of writings (poems, essays, fiction) about the midwest called Inheriting the Land, and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, because I'm an optimist. But I'd still like at least 2 more books, maybe as many as 5 more. Again, because I'm an optimist.
3. My hoarding hairball. I'm trying to figure out why I am more comfortable in a home packed to the gills with stuff, why I love acquiring things as much as if not more than using them. And how to translate this into a living situation that doesn't drive my partner and daughter and me completely crazy.
4. The new V television series, and Flash Forward, both of which are breaking my brain a little and making me happy at the same time.
5. Putting the blog into a book form, for my own records, for when the apocalypse comes and devours the internet. I'm working with BLURB, and am on page 83 of 290. It's tedious, mostly because I have so many photos that the software can't really handle it. So I'm going a page at a time, adding in the photos as I go.
6. Putting the zine into book form. This is an ongoing project, one I've been working on for over 2 years. Languishing the Zine started publishing in 1996 or 1997, and technically hasn't stopped yet. The book form has over 120 pages of very small type. Several months ago, I said to Tenessa (who is 34 today!) that I didn't know where to start editing 120 pages. She laughed at me, since she's a book editor, but I noticed she didn't offer to take it over for me. Unlike the blog book, this book will be available for purchase. Eventually. The other thing slowing me down is I'm missing some issues from 2002-2003, and I can't hardly print a comprehensive book missing two whole years.
As you can see, I'm busy with non-photographable pursuits right now. I welcome your advice, mocking, and open scorn. Sharing these things with the blog world makes them more real, so now I better go get to work.
28 October 2009
Research paper time again
Yes, it's that time in the semester: that time when my students choose persuasive research paper topics with which they will work for the next seven weeks. I encourage them to find something they care about, something that interests them, something they can really spend some time exploring, studying, and gathering sources for. They need to write a 5-7 page paper on this topic, and utilize at least 8 reputable sources.
Here are some topics asked about today.
Why the Vikings played so bad on Sunday.
Why my ex-girlfriend is so crazy.
How stupid it is for a Minnesota professional baseball team to have an outdoor stadium.
What should my major be?
Whether or not the Vikings will ever win a Superbowl.
Refutation of all organized religion.
Why the Vikings need a new stadium.
Do you see any themes? Many of these are actually acceptable topics (well, not the ex-girlfriend, or last Sunday's game, or your major). And I forbid writing on abortion, the death penalty, legalization of marijuana, euthanasia, gay marriage or gay adoption, and lowering the drinking age, which, as one student put it, takes out all the good ones.
Oh, research papers. So much to teach, and so little time.
Pray for us all. Unless you're the student who's going to refute all religion. Then, um, well, whatever.
Here are some topics asked about today.
Why the Vikings played so bad on Sunday.
Why my ex-girlfriend is so crazy.
How stupid it is for a Minnesota professional baseball team to have an outdoor stadium.
What should my major be?
Whether or not the Vikings will ever win a Superbowl.
Refutation of all organized religion.
Why the Vikings need a new stadium.
Do you see any themes? Many of these are actually acceptable topics (well, not the ex-girlfriend, or last Sunday's game, or your major). And I forbid writing on abortion, the death penalty, legalization of marijuana, euthanasia, gay marriage or gay adoption, and lowering the drinking age, which, as one student put it, takes out all the good ones.
Oh, research papers. So much to teach, and so little time.
Pray for us all. Unless you're the student who's going to refute all religion. Then, um, well, whatever.
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