You can only blame your problems on the world for so long before it all becomes the same old song

There's a show on WE called "The Locator" that I cannot get enough of. The sum of it: a man gets letters from people who are searching for lost loved ones and he finds them and reunites them. It sounds simple and -frankly- like typical reality show claptrap, but it's addictive. I might even say it's low on the added schmaltz factor because it doesn't appear to exploit people. When he puts people in the same room, he just turns and leaves and the rest of the show is about the two people, just talking. And I always cry because because for once, it feels like a reality show is doing something real.

I had a strange meeting with my dissertation advisor on Friday and it gave me wonky anxiety dreams all weekend. Guh. One of these days, I would love to know why my brain panics over every little thing and manifests itself in my sleep as (1) needing to get away from someone but being unable; packing useless things and never being done; or (3) trying to get someplace and never getting there. What strikes me most odd - and perhaps is the key - is that I no longer have a person to fear in my life and haven't for some time, I hate clutter and if I were going somewhere important, I'd likely abandon most of what I own without a second thought, and getting lost seems equally impossible because I have an uncanny ability to know where I am at all times. But these are things I naturally obsess over as well...

ANYway, we met Friday and I am feeling utterly stifled by the dissertation process, mostly because I don't entirely understand what it is. Sure, it's a "book" or series of essays, but I don't feel certain that I know what I'm supposed to get out of it, what readers expect from it, or why I need to do it at all. I am not intimidated by having to produce pages - I write easily and when necessary, can say in 100 words what could be said in 10; I don't fear rejection because I genuinely don't care what other people think of me anymore and certainly not snooty academic types. I just want someone to tell me: "do it this way" like I have the courtesy to do for my students. Perhaps it's the mathematical whiz in me that requires that sense of order, but vague expectation is not acceptable. Despite the fact they often ignore it, my students are at least informed about exactly what I expect of them, when, and how. It makes sense to me that at the advanced level this should not be necessary, and in some sense it isn't, but when it comes to the document that is ostensibly going to define you in the professional world, it might be nice for someone to guide me in the process.

Suddenly I am aware of what the problem is and it's not the answer I would have thought, either. Most of the people who are my so-called "superiors" in this game are not at all like me, and I don't mean that in a "duh" kind of way; what I mean is that most of the English profs I know are fretfully disorganized, artistic types who thrive on a certain kind of pressured chaos to function. And it makes them terrible leaders. Most of them couldn't tell me how to do a dissertation because they honestly do not know, or at least the way they do know does not resonate with my meticulously organized nature. For example, when I say, "I am feeling overwhelmed at writing 150 pages without knowing how it should be laid out," and my advisor responds with, "figure out what your priorities are and start writing; just send me something," he is not obfuscating. We are just speaking a different language and I need to translate.

Just what I need: one more fucking thing to do.

Throw your gauntlet...or a shoe

I was listening to NPR this morning on the way to work and there was a story about how India now has a problem with citizens throwing shoes at political candidates. So much so that some have installed nets to catch the shoes and others have asked people to take off their shoes before going into rallies and conferences for candidates. Apparently, this stems from the inspiration of the person who threw shoes at former (thank God) President Bush. I know that some people will claim that such acts are childish or inappropriate, but I think it's not only hilarious, but somehow apt.

Once I got so angry with a friend when he ditched me at a club that I chased him down in Capital Hill at one in the morning so I could take off a Doc Marten and chuck it at him. I can tell you it's quite satisfying. Too many people get away with bad behavior and corrupted ideology and while I of course do not decry the importance of a democratic government that does its level best to be fair and equitable, sometimes our need for this process goes too far. And sometimes not far enough.

Why won't the world revolve around me?

I'm at the end of my semester and my rope all at once. I never liked the 10-week term at DU, but the 16+ week at Metro sucks just as much. My freshmen are killing me. Not all of them, of course, but a few who cannot seem to process even the slightest request or keep track of assignments and what they entail. One of them showed up today after a three week absence as if she could possibly catch up; two more had the nerve to come up and ask me about the detailed task we spent the last class doing - right AFTER I said that if you miss a day, you have ask a classmate because I'm done repeating myself. I'm sick of questions in general and I want to scream from the top of my lungs that if you don't get it - whatever it is - then you probably never will and I can't help you.

Mind you, I do have a great deal of patience for genuine students; the ones I'm talking about fall under the hopelessly dim heading. What's worse is that I'm trying to do edgy and cool stuff so as not to be utterly bored, and the class I am about to explain it all to is even dimmer than the one prior, so I'm sure it will be filled with more ridiculous, already-answered questions. Guh.

What really sucks is that I am in an otherwise good mood for once. I planted flowers yesterday for my flowerbeds (in pots of course because I don't trust Colorado to stay unfrozen just yet), and shopped for lilac and hydrangea plants for what will be our new front yard. I've lost 12 pounds in less than two weeks. I'm running again, reading for fun, and undaunted by my dissertation.

If I could only escape the persistence of my freshmen and the endless pile of grading, life would be pretty sweet. But alas. Sigh. And the teacher who lives next door to me in the English department gets on all of my nerves at exactly the same time. He insists on always listening to classical music - loudly - and it's always the same piece; he has a parade of student meetings with his writers and I know that he requires them to come because they all seem beleaguered by his excessive commentary about their writing. All of which I get to hear because (a) his door is always open and (b) he talks really fucking loud. I'm certain also that he is sure that others are impressed by his perpetual chatter. We (or at least I) am not. Mostly because I know that he is just wasting his breath, as cynical as that sounds. He is new to this and while I should admire his enthusiasm, I only scowl at it because it emphasizes my complete lack of it - at least where teaching composition is concerned.

I long for the day when I no longer have to teach such a course. I have never understood why having advanced degrees in literature qualifies me in any way to teach composition anyway. We don't ask mathematicians to teach accounting, after all.

Sometimes it pays to complain

I have to laugh, and not derisively, at the following story. One of my students who has frustrated me this term more than a little bit is a basketball player; he is apparently a good one, too, because he is here on scholarship for it. He is a sweet kid and not terribly bright, but I admit to having a bit of a snarky attitude toward sports folk because I know how the various systems they have encountered in their lives have more often catered to them than not. When I get requests for grade progress, I tend to be more irritated because I fear that I am expected to treat the student in question with some kind of special concern and I don't.

But here's where my own bias has proven to be both a good thing for all concerned and a lesson in assumptions for me:

When this kid started not showing up to class and giving me lame-ass excuses about practices and road trips for the team, I promptly (and somewhat defensively) told him that I didn't care what he had to do where - things are due for him just like everyone else. I was incensed at his near dismissal of the midterm project and when I got the opportunity to comment on his "progress" to the person asking, I let it all out. Held nothing back. Said that in no uncertain terms that if his butt was not in a seat come class time on the due date with his midterm in hand, I was giving him an F and that would be the end of it. I expected backlash and backpedaling.

What I got was a prompt response from the head of athletics and a personal phone call from the kid's coach, stating that this kid would be in class, with his homework, and if I had even one more ounce of trouble, that I was to report immediately to the coach. Somewhat shocked and still skeptical, I awaited class time; sure enough, he was there, with his project that he clearly did himself, in hand. And it wasn't half bad.

This past weekend, I got an email from the coach, who was "checking in" to make sure that his player was doing EVERYTHING he was supposed to be doing. I wrote back and told the truth: his attendance is still spotty and he is often late, but assignments are getting done. The coach just called me in my office to tell me that the ball player will never again be late or he will be doing the penance he is doing this afternoon: running laps with a medicine ball. When I told the coach he was on time today, his response was, "I'd go get him from the track, but it's probably good for him anyway."

If only we all had someone threatening us with medicine balls and laps in the hot sun...goodness knows my work would already be done and I wouldn't be sitting here avoiding it. Ha.

"There's no need to be SNARKY"

I am shameless in my eavesdropping practices. It doesn't help that my office is across the hall from the hub of the English department, and thus as long as my door is open and I am quiet, I can hear various juicy bits of gossip. It also doesn't help that a few folks in the know around here must not realize how their voices carry, or they don't care in a more general sense who overhears. But I can still often follow even when they are using hushed voices. It's not that I'm opportunistic per se, just unbelievably nosy.

Apparently there is a person in the ED who does not know her place! This person wrote a SNARKY note to the person who runs the department and she did NOT like it one bit. Does not APPRECIATE being talked down to by some Affiliate faculty member. AS IF. After much debate over how to handle the snarky note in question, one asks the other to read the email aloud, to give it a TONE. The recipient of the note says, "I don't want to put my own TONE into it." Why is this hilarious?

And what does it say about me that this is the best I can do for entertainment of late? Perhaps I've already checked out to a certain degree and my mood is tetchy. My class was observed last week by someone I do not know well but have heard fairly unpleasant things about. I hate it when I have to endure the critique of one who (a) does not know me, and (b) is not himself a good teacher. I'm trying not to let my lack of a perfect score get to my core. What is this pressing need for affirmation all about, anyway?

Why am I so bothered by my 3.98 GPA in a freakin' doctoral program? Because it's not a 4.0 and therefore I am not validated. Why do I care what someone I don't like and don't respect thinks about how I teach my class? Because I need to be told that my class is great, without flaw, and I'm the best damn teacher in the entire universe. Same thing with students. I have one of the highest average student eval ratings - probably on campus - and yet if one even slightly critical comment shows up among the hundreds of pieces of high praise, I am reduced to pandering to current students for the remainder of the day.

I think what makes my ears tingle at the eavesdropped gossip is because I expect at some point to hear how much they think I suck too. Even though most days I'm sure I don't. And here's the best part about my evaluation for this year: it's NOT negative. At all. In fact, if I'm being given a percentage grade, I got a B+, but like many of my delightful newbie students might cry: "I don't GET B's!" Imagine that performed with crossed arms, welled eyes, and a puckering lower lip. The seven year old in me wants to go and kick the shins of that guy.

Jesus is my car insurance

Yup, that was today's bumper sticker joy all the way from 84th Avenue to South Santa Fe. At first I thought it was just funny, but then I realised that this truck had real religious stickers all over it and then it became HILARIOUS. I am beginning to have an odd affection for the uber-Christians of late because they provide such a great deal of entertainment; one of my students asked me the other day - in complete seriousness - whether or not I was worried about going to Hell.

I told her that not only am I going to Hell, but I'm pretty sure I'm a contender for future president of said location. After all, if Heaven exists and will be populated by these self-righteous Bible thumpers, then who wants to go there anyway?

Enough of that one...

My daughter wanted to set up one of our old desktop computers in her room last night; when I asked her why (because they are not wireless internet capable), she replied, "so I can keep writing." At the risk of sounding like I might pry, I gently queried, "Oh? So what're you writing?" as if it was nothing at all - as if I didn't want to jump immediately for delirious joy. "A story," she said. Ah, flesh of my flesh, feels the urge to tell stories. Could a mother be any prouder? I love that she is becoming Mini-Me, and not the version of me I was at her age, either, but the me I'm proud for her to know. I adore the fact that she falls in love with rock stars, writes poetry to her blog on MySpace, makes fun of me for sitting at jigsaw puzzles for hours but will soon be unable to resist the temptation to put it together and join me as long as we can sing along to Fall Out Boy songs together. I love that she tells people exactly what she thinks and does not fear the consequences; I love that she has boundaries she sets for herself and these override all others, including mine. I love that she is only fourteen and that I trust her judgment and ability to self-monitor more than I do for most people twice her age.

And I wish I could claim credit for any part of it, but sometimes I genuinely believe she is just an older soul than I and came to the world again with more wisdom.

The drop-slip parade

The English department hums with activity today because it's the deadline for course drop; just outside my open door sit not one, but two, complete morons who feel justified in their indignation at their professor's lack of presence to sign said form. The young man grumbles about how much he "hates school" and the young woman agrees. I am tempted to poke my head round the corner and tell them that "school" - that is, COLLEGE - is completely voluntary, which is why you have to PAY for it. Sometimes I weep for the future.

Three times these two get up and knock loudly on the door next to my open one, as if they somehow expect that their part-time professor who lives in an 8x8 closet with no windows and three other part-time professors somehow didn't hear their knocking. Or that she teleported into the office. They grouse on about how she should be here (despite the fact she does not have office hours posted for this particular time of day) because they have THINGS TO DO. Not that they didn't have eleven weeks prior to this date to drop the course they dislike so vehemently. Or that they probably hate it because they see no value in educating their own dumb asses.

Can you tell I've kinda had it? I have to admit that even though I generally love to teach and find it - on the whole - quite rewarding, there are in fact days when it feels like polishing the brass on the Titanic. When I want to yell at the student who just sat through an entire class period of my explaining the assignment due in a week and still comes up after to ask me what the assignment is all about, and tell her that if she thinks my class is too hard and/or incomprehensible, then perhaps she should throw in the towel now. I believe in access to college for everyone, but in no way do I believe that college is for everyone or that everyone should go to college. I have no idea why this notion gets so much promotion, in fact; there is nothing at all wrong with NOT going to college if it's not your thing. One can get a whole host of perfectly respectable jobs without a degree, and I know many people who have. I don't look unfavorably on any person because of their education level.

I do, however, get ridiculously sick of people who are just plain stupid. Who don't bother to learn how to speak their own native language. Who never read a fucking book without being forced. Who have no idea what is going on in the world or that it doesn't revolve around their cell phones and personal drama. Who are not ashamed at their lack of ability to comprehend even the simplest narrative and have any insight at all about it. And plenty of them go to college for reasons I cannot possibly guess since their goals rarely seem to be about educating themselves.

There is a reason why Idiocracy is both funny and terrifying...