Out of the Loop

My brother is getting married next summer. I am going to be a bridesmaid. Mr. J. kindly pointed out that I will be the oldest bridesmaid in the wedding party by about 10+ years. That's good for the self-esteem, yes? Although I suppose I may be able to hide a bit since I am one of eight bridesmaids.

So while learning that I was going to be a relic on public display didn't exactly make me feel young, nothing has made me feel older than this new phenomenon: Trash the Dress.

Have you heard of this? I had not. And I called myself a wedding planner's assistant!

My brother e-mailed me Friday to tell me that he and his fiancee were in the midst of planning their "Trash the Dress" shoot. I had no clue what he was talking about, so after he explained it, I did some Googling. Here's what I found:

"Amid the posy photos and puffed-up bios that comprise the wedding announcement section of Sunday Times Style Section, there was a fascinating article on the rising trend of so-called Trash the Dress wedding photography.Trash the Dress, you say? It's exactly what it sounds like -- following the blessed event, the bride straps on that gorgeous dress once again for a final farewell photo to the gown she spent a fortune to wear for one day only. Only instead of posing in some predictably idyllic setting, the picture is shot in a scroungy back alley or a mossy lake. These so-called Trash the Dress photos have become all the rage with brides who want to add something unconventional to their wedding albums. And unconventional they are -- particularly the photo at right in which a bride has set her wedding gown aflame, a la Joan of Arc. This shot was taken by a photographer named John Michael Cooper, who coined the phrase Trash the Dress. If you want to see more of his edgy, arty wedding photography, check out his website, which chronicles his collection of Trash the Dress wedding photos. Pretty cool, huh?"

Suddenly, I'm older than someone who lived through the Great Depression. Because, no - this is the opposite of pretty cool. Why would one spend thousands of dollars on a dress, wear it once and then trash it? I'm sure some of my younger readers could enlighten me on this one. For the sake of "art"?

I also suppose it doesn't help that I'm turning 37 on Friday. Whoopee!

So Many Gripes, So Little Time

Big changes in the life of Teacher Lady, y'all.

I am officially going back to Corporate America. That's right, bitches! I've been interviewing for a "real" full-time gig, complete with benefits and a 401k for a while now. I start the 8-5 grind the Tuesday after Memorial Day.

I have very mixed feelings about this and the day I got the job offer I wasn't exactly leaping for joy. And that was also the same day I posted final grades. So of course within about 6 hours, I got this pleasant little e-mail:

Mrs. Teacher Lady,Why is it that I checked my final grades 2 days ago and I had a Final Grade of a B in your class and today I check and it dropped to a C+? Joe You-Work-For-Me-And-Don't-You-Forget-It

I responded politely and professionally (believe it or not!) like so:

Good morning, Joe!I'm not quite sure. I download the electronic gradebook from WebCT Vista weekly, and most recently, I have your final score at 435. If you check the syllabus, you'll see that 435 lands within the high end of the C+ range of 418-439. Did I fail to enter one of your exam or reaction paper scores? If so, please help me out and we'll get this fixed. Teacher Lady

Of course, I was right and he was hallucinating but I didn't want to be unnecessarily bitchy and point that out. Do you THINK for one second I heard back from the punk? Something along the lines of, "Wow. I guess my e-mail had a really accusatory tone and I didn't realize it and also, since I missed ALL the classes between the first and second midterm which means I missed 5 out of 10 quizzes and since I didn't even HAND IN one of the three papers due, I guess a C+ is a damn good grade"? No. Of course not.

Mr. J., who is intimately familiar with such e-mails and much less reactionary than I am said he didn't think the e-mail from Joe had anything wrong with it and I was just reading too much into things. His exact words, "I don't think it sounds demanding or accusatory." On one hand, Mr. J. is so often the much-needed voice of reason in my life, this could be very true. On the other hand, I KNOW this student. This SAME student who came to me groveling before the second midterm with this sob story about how he bit off more than he could chew this semester and he really needed to do well on the second midterm and did I think he could do well enough to save his grade so he wouldn't have to drop the class? He did really well on the second midterm and I thought we had cleared things up, except for every subsequent class when he did show up, he spent the whole time leaning forward and whispering into the ear of the hot little sorority honey sitting in the desk in front of him.

Now although I bitch endlessly about my students, for the MOST part, they get how insane I am (well, in general, of course) about not talking when anyone else is talking. And yet, every week, dirty looks, calling on him, asking him questions, doing everything but grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and throwing him out of the classroom . . . nothing. He insisted on having conversations with HSH throughout the entire 3-hour class. If I weren't afraid of getting sued, fired or ending up on the local news, I would have said, "Dude. Go buy a condom already and get it over with. You're disrupting my class."

So, it is with mixed emotions that I bid farewell to the classroom. I may return next year in the spring if my schedule permits, because I truly do enjoy my actual time in the classroom. It's everything else teaching involves that I hate.

As always, Rate Your Students summed it up for me. Check this out.

Old School Bitch-fest

I once read somewhere that "any unhappiness is life is caused by our expectations of others." And I know for me, this is true. I also heard once, "If you expect someone to be grateful for something you do for him, you probably shouldn't be doing it in the first place," or "You're doing it for the wrong reasons," or something like that.

And so today, it is an old school bitch-fest because I am SO over one of my students because I have expected him to be . . . grateful or at least say the words, "thank you" and he has not.

This is the student who came to me the third week of the semester because he was worried about the upcoming midterm. He hadn't yet received his check from his aunt, so he was unable to buy his textbooks. In a rare spasm of charitable behavior, I told him he could use my review copy until he got his check from his aunt. The next class, I loaned him the book, "Please guard this with your life," I said. He looked at me like I was the rudest person ever. "Why would you say that? Like I'm not going to take care of this book or something?"

On my planet, the appropriate thing is to say, "Certainly. And I'm so grateful you're able to help me out." I should have known. See, I didn't mean for him to not have to buy the textbook. It was a temporary solution. I keep one copy at my home and one copy at my office at school and that way I have one less thing to lug back and forth all semester long. So while I'm not exactly high and dry, it would be nice to have it back. The semester is almost over.

This is the same student who told me he would be much too ill to study for our midterm and he had a doctor's excuse, so I said fine. He then called me, the day before the midterm, rattled off his extensive class schedule for that day and then instructed me to call him that same day between 5:00 p.m. and 5:15 p.m. (remember him?)

He came to my office yesterday to take the make-up exam. About halfway through he said, "Do you have a tissue or something?" He had been sniffling away, but I had somehow managed to block it out while I graded some mental trainwrecks posing as papers. There were no tissues in the office, but there were some in the faculty restroom, so I went and got him some. Did he say thank you? No, of course not. And that's why I'm pissy. Because after all my previous evidence to indicate otherwise, I still expected him to have the manners God gave a goat.

And then he had the balls to openly sleep in class later. I'm surprised . . . why?

Duh. And I complain about students being stupid.

I'll Take "Things That Mystify Me" for $400, Alex

I ran into one of my students yesterday. She appears to be a quiet, unassuming type. Or - at least she's never participated in class, so she's quiet in my experiences with her.

However, clearly she had a bee in her bonnet because she marched right up to me and said, "I just wanted you to know that I thought the video you showed in class on Monday was pornographic. I was really offended." Believe it or not, I realize that as a "sex educator" my definition of what's appropriate is probably quite different than the average bird's. Hence, any time I have a guest speaker or screen a video, I tell students that they are permitted to leave at any time if the subject matter or the way in which it is presented makes them uncomfortable. I will not penalize them if they choose to exercise this option. My goal is to make them think, not to make them miserable (although considering how much they bitch in my course evals about how I expect "too much work" you'd never know it).

But my student (let's call her Misty) didn't leave during the class, so I was confused. The following conversation ensued:

me: Which part offended you, Misty? Was it the footage of different couples kissing?

Misty: No, that didn't bother me.

me: Was it the brief frontal nudity of the prehistoric male and female human ancestors?

Misty: No, I don't even remember that.

me: Well, I . . .

Misty: It was the footage of the uterus. I thought it was completely over the top and uncalled for.

me: You mean the little camera that was exploring the inside of a human uterus?

Misty: Yes. That was unnecessary.

For once in my life, I had my wits about me enough to ask a logical question.

me: Was it the fact that it was a uterus, or would you have been offended by footage of the inside of any human organ, like the stomach, a lung, the intestines?

Misty: No, I guess I would have been offended by footage of any organ.

me: Okay, well, um, thank you for your honesty. I will certainly take that under advisement.

I was not offended and honestly? I don't care. I will probably continue to show that video because I think it includes some amazing footage of both internal and external human anatomy. But here's where Misty's comment belongs in the "Things That Mystify Me" category:

I get that I am not my students' generation. There are many differences between my generation and theirs. For example:

• MTV came out when I was in 8th grade. We never had cable in our house so I really never saw it unless I was at a friend's house. The only way I saw music videos with any regularity was if I managed to stay up late enough to watch Friday Night Videos.
• In contrast, most of my students were born after 1984. (Or 1985? When did MTV come out, exactly?) They have never known a world without MTV.
• AIDS wasn't even "discovered" until 1981 and then the CDC called it "gay cancer" or GRID - Gay Related Immune Deficiency.
• All of my students were born after 1981 - they have never known a world without AIDS.
• Magazines like Stuff, Maxim and FHM appeared on the scene some time after I was out of graduate school. These same magazines (which are basically soft-core porn, if you ask me - and I know, because I had a year subscription to Maxim to see what the hell my male students were talking about) must have been required reading throughout junior high and high school for my male students.
• The Calvin Klein commercial that featured Brooke Shields created such a firestorm of controversy, I thought it must have been because she appeared nude (although I had never actually seen the commercial - I was 10 when it first aired.)
• In contrast, I have seen ads in Vogue magazine (one for Dolce and Gabbana stands out in my mind) that could only be called soft-core porn. In fact, if you're not actively trying to determine what the ad is for, you would probably think it was an advertisement for a brothel in Vegas.
• When I was in college, I heard that maybe some fraternities forced their pledges to watch "really gross films" that were "really raunchy." I had never seen one, but I had an idea of what they might include.
• Today, most of my students know who Jenna Jameson - the porn star(!) - is, and not just because she has a best seller on The New York Times list and an E! True Hollywood story.
• Playboy is back - as are all things bunny and even I have been sucked into the exploits of "Hef" and his "girls" at the Playboy Mansion.
• By the time I was 12, I had heard of Playboy, but I don't think I had heard of Hugh Hefner, and I know I didn't know what the hell was going on at the Mansion. Now all kids have to do is turn on E! Sunday nights and viola! They, too, can be privy to the goings-on in the life of an 80-year-old man and his harem three girlfriends.
• Don't even get me started on Fergie and "the Peas." Lordy, have you seen the London Bridge video in which Fergie "performs" at a "gentlemen's club"?

My point is, I assumed - perhaps erroneously - that my students have been exposed to so much more "raunch" than I ever was growing up that it would take a lot to offend them.

And lo and behold, it does - actual footage of the inside of a human organ. Now that's offensive.

How Did This Happen?

Did I mention I am also teaching freshman orientation? The woman who runs the program is an old friend of mine and she was desperate for faculty instructors. Because I never pass up an opportunity for blog material am practically a freakin' saint, I agreed to help her out.

The freshman moved (or should I say infested) onto campus last week.

My orientation class met on Friday. On the roster, I have all kinds of information and guess what?

These COLLEGE FRESHMEN were born the year I graduated from high school!!

That is sick and wrong and someone needs to fix that now.

And also? One of the female students told me she didn't like her name (we were doing an ice breaker about the origin of our names) because it was so "old-timer" - her name? Karen. Yeah, get out the walker and the Ben-Gay, Karen!

Karen is now an "old" name? I understand Ethel, Ruth, Ruby, Pearl, Hilda and Bertha and even Sadie (although apparently, the name Sadie is enjoying a comeback). But Karen?

Damn. I'm old. How did that happen?

Why I Hate Other Grad Students

If I thought undergrads were bad, it's only because I hadn't spent any time in a classroom with grad students in the past month.

I'm taking a summer class right now and it's one that is required for all doc students in the college of education. (Ordinarily, I'm just with the dozen or so other health ed people.) And you know what? Grad students are really, really rude. Health ed people must be universally poor or universally technologically challenged, because I've never been in a "core" course where another student has a laptop computer. In these general requirement courses? There are always at least 3 or 4 students who come to class, sit next to the outlet and set up camp with their laptops. But here's what I don't get. They don't use them to take copious notes. Oh, no. They use them to surf the 'net and catch up on e-mail and instant message gob knows who.

There is a younger (well, younger than me, anyway) woman who sits in front of me in class and yesterday? She played solitaire for the whole. entire. class. She's not even very good at it, by the way. And then she had the cajones to get all bitchy and say in her whiny-as-hell sorority girl voice (as a former "sorority girl," I'm allowed to say this) to our truly wonderful professor, "I'm confused. The syllabus isn't really clear about the assignment." I looked at a fellow health ed student who also happens to be in the class and we both rolled our eyes at the exact same moment. I pseudo-whispered, "Maybe if you weren't playing solitaire every fucking minute of class, you'd have a clue." I hope she heard me.

I don't know why professors allow laptops, honestly. (And wait: Before you go getting all "special populations" on my ass, I'm not talking about the visually impaired, or the hearing impaired, or any other person who needs a helper monkey. I'm talking about people with no "special needs" that I can see. Then again, I don't know. Is "manners impaired" now covered under the Americans with Disabilities Act?) I can look around the classroom and see what everybody is doing. And again - ain't nobody frantically typing every single word that drips from the lips of our learned teacher.

I also hate the way grad students get all openly rude and bitchy (even the men) with professors when they don't understand something. And honestly? 99.8% of the time, it's not because the instructor is confusing. It's because the student is being a needy idiot.

Finally? Grad students bring their cell phones to class and although they keep them on vibrate, you can still hear the stupid thing vibrating and then the student has to make a big deal of leaving the classroom to take the phone call in the hallway. Just to let us all know that "I. am. very. important. I must take this very. important. business. call." And half the time, they take the call right outside the open classroom door and it's not a flippin' business call. It's this:

"Well, you need to tell Timmy he has to eat the Jell-O. Yes. That's it. No."

Pause, pause.

"He can't have any other snack. That's what he has. No. He can't trade with Amber. Yes. Okay. All right, put him on."

Pause, pause.

"Timmy, honey. I need you to listen to your grammy. I'm sorry. Grammy's not runnning a restaurant. You can have goldfish crackers tonight when you get home. Because Grammy doesn't have any. All right, that's it, mister. Do you want to ride your bike tonight? Then you'd better listen to Grammy."

And then they have the nerve to come back into class looking all important and not the least bit apologetic. I think cell phones have really transformed our idea of what constitutes "an emergency." But that's another post. Point is: I'm not amused by you disrupting my learning by getting up and leaving. And coming back in. And getting up and leaving. And coming back in. Again and again and again. Newsflash: You're not more important than everybody else. Accept it. Okay. Rant over.

The Designated Mess

Remember a while back, when I blogged about the PITA awards? I have decided that PITA is a misnomer. Or perhaps just limits my options. There is another type of student I continue to run into and that is "The Designated Mess."

When I first started teaching, I figured that, you know, shit happens and every student would, over the course of a 15 week semester, have a little problem or two. One day Joe would be late to class. The next day Sally would need to make up a quiz. Then Greg's phone would ring and he would be so embarrassed that it would never happen again. To him or anybody else. The day after that, Tim would tell me that he needed to take the final early. Or late. You get the picture. Instead, it really works out like this: One or two students have every single little problem. Really. That's it. I'm sure this is not news to seasoned teachers and I know I've read this before, but it breaks down like this: 1-2 students each semester are responsible for 98% of my angst and anxiety.

This semester, Stinky Girl promises to be my designated mess. How do I know this? Let me count the ways:

1. Well, for starters, she's stinky. She looks exactly (I mean EXACTLY) like someone who just rolled out of a van in the parking lot at a Dead show. For those of you not in the know, this means a stomach-baring tube top and a long skirt and flip flops. She is also quite overweight. Wearing a tube top that bares her stomach and barely (no pun intended) contains her size Double-D breasts? In a classroom? Oy. I just want to hand her a nice sweater and say, "Here. Put this on. You're showing too much skin for anything except a rock video." Sometimes I wish we had a dress code. (And also? I know. I'm a heinous bitch. I get it.)
2. She was late to the first two classes. And her phone rang in both of them.
3. She is already monopolizing the discussion with not-exactly-related comments.
4. This weekend she e-mailed me to let me know that for some mysterious reason she had been dropped from my class. And couldn't I please add her back in? Well, if I were in my student advising center job, maybe. But as faculty? Please. I don't have that kind of power. Plus, at this point the only reason students are "mysteriously dropped" from class is for non-payment of tuition. Although she swore she was up to date on all bills.
5. She came to class Tuesday night only to drop off her first reaction paper and to tell me she wasn't staying because she had a killer migraine.
6. She didn't show up tonight.
7. Experience tells me this absence will trigger an e-mail from her in which she asks if she can make up her participation points, or borrow the videos I showed in class, or come over to my house and eat pizza so I can explain to her what she missed in class.

And yet? I have 11 other near-perfect students who show up on time, who participate in a mature, intelligent fashion (well, for the most part . . . ) who don't ring during my lectures and who are adequately clothed. And Stinky Girl gets the blog entry. Go figure.

How to Behave in a College Classroom: Life According to Teacher Lady

Yesterday kicked off summer session. Only 5 weeks of Human Sexuality; only 12 students. It now takes me 20 minutes to go through my syllabus with my class; thanks to Inappropriate Sister, I added two bullet points. When I started teaching, my syllabus was three or four pages. Now it is six. If I stay in this game, by the time I retire, I imagine it will be 107 pages.

Unfortunately, I feel like so much of teaching is about "covering your ass." I swear, that's the first thing my advisor or department chair will ask me when I have a problem student, "Well, is it in your syllabus? Then you're covered." No one ever says, "Well, I don't think you're being unreasonable by expecting them to not bring Ebola-infested monkeys to class." They say, "Now, is there anywhere in your syllabus where you expressly prohibit bringing Ebola-infested monkeys to class?" I used to think certain things were just "common sense." Then I started teaching college.

Here's one I used to think was a "no-brainer." Do not bring a child - especially a sick child - to class with you. Last spring, I took a class from 10:45 - noon, then taught from 12:15 - 1:30. It was a fairly far distance to walk, but too close to drive (and no available parking, so driving would have actually made things worse), so I found myself often walking into class at exactly 12:15. This prevented students from asking me things prior to the start of class and this was sometimes bad. As in, "She didn't ask me before class, so I didn't get a chance to say, not just 'no,' but 'Hell, no!'" One day, I walked into our already overcrowded classroom to find one of my students (she was, I'm guessing, 20 years old) sitting there with her four-year-old daughter. (The chapter on birth control was more than a little too late for her.) Four-year-old daughter was adorable. And had one eye screaming, "I have conjunctivitis" and that eye was mighty pissed off and just about ready to pop off her head in a giant, oozy, crusty explosion. Since I had a lot of material to cover, I didn't really say anything. After class, the student came up to me - not to apologize, but to say to me, "Can you BELIEVE day care wouldn't let me drop her off?" Yes, as a matter of fact I can. And, did I mention, for some reason I am extra-super-susceptible to freakin' pink eye and I ALWAYS seem to get it when I have just purchased all new, very expensive eye makeup (and put in a new pair of contact lenses, of course) which must be thrown out immediately? But thanks for bringing your little conjunctivitis factory to class. That's great. I appreciate it.

So, there's the first rule.

Next rule:

Just so you know, kids, I can see you. Yes, that's right! You! Over there in the corner, text messaging up a storm. Or you, sleeping in a puddle of your own drool. Or you! Reading the student newspaper, with your feet up on the desk in front of you like my classroom is your own executive office. You two - writing notes on each other's notebooks. And, especially you two - chatting away about whatever is so important that you don't care if you disrupt the twenty other people sitting in your vicinity. I can see you AND I can hear you. Why do students think that entering a college classroom renders them invisible? Or do they think that where I'm standing, way, way up at the front of the classroom is not 20 feet, but 20 miles and therefore I can't see that well?

That one covers a lot: You are not invisible. Act accordingly.

Finally. (Sigh). This one never seems to stick. Ne. Ver. Turn off your damn phone. (And yes, it's in the syllabus.) Yesterday, the same student had her phone ring twice. Twice as in, once at the beginning of class, before I reviewed my "e-policy" and then again, over an hour later. Much as I love a good ring tone rendition of "Play that Funky Music White Boy," I just don't understand why she didn't turn her phone off after it rang the first time. And it's not just the ringing that's disruptive. It's the "Oh, my gosh, I'm so embarrassed, stop, stop, PLEASE stop ringing" digging through the backpack and shuffling of papers and everything else that goes along with it. Even though I have the satisfaction of knowing they will lose their participation points for that day (you'd better believe THAT'S in the syllabus!), it's just so annoying because really? Who is calling these kids? I have even put in my syllabus: Unless you are an EMT, physician, fire fighter or are serving in some other life-saving capacity in your spare time, your cell phone is to be turned off while you are in this class. Maybe I just happened to be surrounded by surgeons and fire fighters. Who knew? I feel safer already.

And I was Worried I Wouldn't Have Anything to Blog About!

It's official. I am old. 35 is the new 82. Mr. J. says that when you start saying, "When I was that age, I would have never done that!" you're officially old. So that's me. Teacher Granny.

Today was my first day working with the incoming freshmen. I have seen the future and I am afraid.

My job is to take the schedule - advised by the advisors and "built" by the undergraduate student assistants - and enter it into the computer. Please don't ask me why there are so many steps in the process in this day and age. Look away from the clunky antiquated process and focus, people!

So, I'm at one end of the room sitting at the computer. The soon-to-be-freshmen sit in chairs along the wall and wait for me to say, "I can help whoever is next."

One of the freshmen was just adorable. Very Katie Holmes pre-crazy cute. As soon as she sat down and opened her mouth, I was scared. Who knew the Anti-Christ would come in that form?

It started innocently enough, "Hi, how has your day been?" "It's been crazy. So much to do. Plus, I'm the first person in my family to go to college." Now I opened up my stupid, fat piehole. "Wow, that can be difficult. Just make sure you get enough support from the right administrators and people on campus - they can be really helpful." Katie/Satan said, "I'm not worried. I'm the kind of person who will do whatever I need to do to get what I want. No matter what."

I didn't say anything, but my face must have shown fear because she quickly corrected herself, "I - I - I don't mean anything really bad like that, I mean, like, I always turn my papers in late and stuff and my teachers say they don't take late papers, but for me, they do."

Aah, well, that explains these cheeky little bastards I've had to deal with all year, now doesn't it?

I couldn't keep my mouth shut. "As someone who is also an instructor on this campus," I said icily, "I highly recommend you break that habit. My syllabus is clear - for every day a paper is late, you lose one letter grade." She laughed. "Yeah, yeah. That's what my teachers say, too, but they don't mean it for me. I'm always their favorite." I wanted to say, "Yeah, you're their favorite because they don't want to watch you sprout horns and a tail." Instead I said, "Let's get your schedule done, shall we?"

Earlier this morning, I had been told that all the freshmen English classes were closed. Now even the "viable alternates" were filling up. When I entered Katie the Anti-Christ's schedule, I showed her the visual representation of it. She got exasperated and bratty very quickly. "What!??!? What?! The advisor wrote down Tuesday and Thursday for my English class! Why would she change it to Monday, Wednesday, Friday? God, why would she do that!? WHY!?!? People are so stupid!" She wasn't so much fast approaching a temper tantrum as she was a postal employee incident.

I clicked around in the system. "Well, it looks like the one your advisor picked had filled up and so the student assistant chose this alternative for you. It's the same class, and it still fits in your schedule." Get this:

She sighed heavily, started erasing the entry and said, "God! This place is like the Bureau of Motor Vehicles! Nobody can do anything right. Everybody has to do the same thing ten times before they figure it out."

She had been on campus for six hours, and already had an attitude. I sat there in silence. What should I have said? "Classes fill up, you arrogant little brat and it doesn't mean people are incompetent?" Or, "Maybe, if you were a bit more organized and weren't, like, the two thousandth person to be going through this program, you'd have more choices?" Or, finally, (because I have access to their high school transcripts and test scores - oh, the illicit thrills!) "Perhaps if you weren't such a moron, you could go to an Ivy League school instead of this B-list one. But sadly, for you, you're going here and will be surrounded by incompetent morons for at least the next four years. It will be like living at the DMV. How'd ya like them apples, sis-tah?"

Her schedule rolled off the printer. "Here you go, your first schedule. Good luck and maybe I'll see you in the fall" (all the while thinking, "Hopefully my eyes won't melt out of their sockets if I do".) Then she was back to being a normal 18-year-old girl. "Now I'm off to find out where I live. Yea!!! It's going to be so much fun. I'm so excited. Wheeee!!!!" and off she went, skipping and giggling.

gob help us all.

Until June

The semester is over and I will not have tales of angst and stupidity to share with you until I start teaching summer session in June.

To tide you over until then:

In addition to getting blown off by Inappropriate Sister on Friday, I was also blown off by the author of the two worst sentences ever written. She wanted to meet with me at 9:00 a.m. on Friday to discuss her papers. Unlike Inappropriate Sister, she at least called me at 9:30 a.m. to tell me she had a scheduling conflict.

Why do students do this!? At least once a semester I have a student blow me off who also calls me (at least half an hour after they were supposed to show up) to tell me, "I'm going to be late," or "I can't make it after all." Do they think I'm incapable of telling time? Or do they think that college instructors sit around next to our fireplaces, smoking our pipes, wearing our tweedy jackets with elbow patches, passing the time discussing Proust and therefore have no concept of time at all? If you're half an hour late and you're calling me to tell me you're late, I think it's safe to say I'm already in the know.

So worst author ever says, "I guess I'll have to stop by later this afternoon." Well, I have more than one or two jobs. Right now I have four. I told her it would not be possible for me to meet with her that afternoon. She was irritated. "Well, I need to meet with you today, because I'm graduating tomorrow (boy, and I thought I had a problem with procrastination!) and my family is coming in from Texas and I need to resolve this today." The rest of the conversation went like this:

Me: Is it something we could discuss now, over the phone?
WAE: Well, it's about my papers.
Me: Yes, I noticed you didn't take the opportunity to rewrite those two papers.
WAE: Well, I decided to write five reactionary reviews instead of four.
Me: Okay. Why would you do this?
WAE: I thought that instead of rewriting that one, I would write five and you could grade five and then just give me the four best grades.
Me: Hmm. Interesting. And no.
WAE: But why? They're already written.
Me: Well, since it's the last day of the semester, I don't really think it's fair. After all, I didn't offer the rest of the class the opportunity to write five papers instead of four.
WAE: (Clearly mad at ME! At ME!!!!) Sighs exasperatedly. I'm not asking for the points for all five papers (I can tell she'd love to add "duh!" to the end of this sentence.) All I'm saying is that I wrote five and you get to choose the best four. (What a treat for me! How can I be such an ungrateful bitch?!)
Me: Well, I do appreciate a sense of enterprise, but the answer is still no. Also, I have 50 finals to grade and about 25 reaction papers since your fellow students like to wait until the very last minute, so why don't you tell me which of the five you'd like me to grade.
WAE: (Heavy sigh). I guess the one about the rape counselor.
Me: Excellent! Well, congratulations to you and good luck!
WAE: Yeah. Click. (Hangs up!)

Oh, how I wish I could be a fly on the wall when this student gets her first "real job." Can you imagine the conversations with her future employers!?

• I thought you could pay me $50,000 a year for doing nothing for around 25 hours a week; or,
• I know everybody else comes in around 8:00 or 8:30, but I thought I'd come in at ten, noon or 1:00 p.m. - You get to choose which one, though, so you're still the boss! or,
• When should I take my vacation, do you think? All of June, all of July, all of August or all three? Also, I'm open to taking off November-January. Your choice.
• I decided to pay local, state or federal taxes. Just let me know which of those works best for you, okay? I'm a real team player that way.

****************************************

Remember the Groundhog's Day of papers? The SAME student turned in the SAME paper for a THIRD time with the SAME mistakes!!! The pile of blood, the "knelling" and the "wearingly" were still there! And I know (now that I have my trusty blog) that I addressed these mistakes at least once (probably twice.) What does "rewrite and resubmit" mean to you? Apparently to my students, it means print out a new cover page with the word "rewrite" typed on it and you're set. Boy, these kids think I'm just dumber than a box of rocks. Maybe it is time to return to my brunette roots (pun intended).

And finally, the semester wouldn't be complete without quotes from some papers. These aren't hilarious misspellings - these are just basically poorly constructed sentences that make no sense. The final three sentences are (of course), courtesy of Inappropriate Sister. Enjoy!

The Bible’s writings on relationships would be a very influential piece of reading as well as becoming a confident person.

One of the women Claire asked was an Avon Lady named Louise; she said that the only place she was familiar with women going to was a yellow house a few blocks away supposedly performed abortions.

The movie seemed to touch on another side of discrimination by hinting towards women’s contributions in the workplace often being overlooked because, (like in Anchor Man) the real news in found and reported by men, and women should report on the puppy fashion show at the mall.

But Kiki’s response was telling, because she is part of the symptoms of this societies ills towards our minority population, (that has made the U.S. a lucrative nation with 200 years of free labor), yet still receives the worst stigmas, and institutional racism that goes unnoticed because Affirmative Action and Welfare and one black Victoria Secret model has tricked us.

It is proven that people are more fulfilled when they are laying down their life to help then when they are self-obsessed; kind of like the Patch Adams theory.