Still avoiding my dissertation…
ow operating dissertation-avoidance through some kid-centric products on my Etsy site. If you have a little one, whether a little boy or a little girl, I promise you I will have WAY TOO MUCH FUN procrastinating on my dissertation and customizing a journal or paper pack for your little peanut. A lot of the pics on my site focus on princesses because I just got a custom order for a friend’s daughter, but I have a large variety of themed papers and stickers (cars, sports, animals, Sesame Street, Harry Potter, etc.) just waiting to find a new home in a journal or paper pack.
I even have a new Go Green! journal for kids, which offers fun, creative ways to teach and encourage environmentalism and an appreciation of nature in your little one.
Some pics of my “For Kids” section, featuring a balanced mix of vintage and modern papers and lots of fun stickers and other prizes that I like to hide in the envelopes I include:
Academy of Linguistic Awareness.
Another brilliantly printed sentiment over at Printeresting:
Like, seriously.
*Note: There’s a difference between being CALLED “stupid” and being told that you may SOUND intellectually inferior due to a certain linguistic speech pattern. I mean, I can’t help but infuse the occasional “like” in my speech — even while I’m teaching, for shame for shame — and clearly I’m, like, MAJORLY intelligent. So…
P.S.) I love Printeresting’s header image on their blog:
The fear of pop-culture illiteracy, courtesy of The Onion.
he most reliable of all fake news sources, The Onion, released a study in 2005 that focused on the necessity of a minimum of four hours of TV-viewing per day in order to maintain pop-culture literacy. The study’s findings remain terrifyingly relevant four years later. Tell all your children. Sit them down and enforce a passive, sedentary lifestyle if you know what’s good for them. Oh, and make sure you give them an IV of caffeine- and sugar-rich soda while they sponge up all that mind-numbing drivel. Just you wait: you’ll win Parent of the Year!
What follows are some of my favorite excerpts from The Onion’s article:
Study: Watching Fewer Than Four Hours Of TV A Day Impairs Ability To Ridicule Pop Culture
Dr. Madeleine Ben-Ami, a professor of cognitive science and chief author of the study, explains:
“The average person requires a minimum of four to six hours of television programming each day to be conversant on the subject of The Apprentice or able to impersonate Anna Nicole Smith.”
Tracking 800 individuals between the ages of 15 and 39, researchers found that people who watch fewer than four hours of television a day have difficulty understanding the references made on VH1’s Best Week Ever, and are often unable to point out the absurdity of infomercial products or the cluelessness of American Idol finalists.
Mary-Kate needs an ice cream. Or five. (Photo source: Reuters)
The contrast between regular and irregular TV viewers was made plain by a simple experiment: Irregular and regular TV viewers were videotaped while watching footage of Michael Jackson.
“Note how this young man remains calm, observing the series of photographs quietly,” said Ben-Ami, pointing to one of two monitors running footage of individual study participants. “Meanwhile, his counterpart laughs uproariously, pretends to gag, and feigns sexual intercourse with a throw pillow. Seconds later, he leaves his seat to execute some kind of ’80s-style breakdance and injures himself, probably because of his excessive weight.”
“The first man doesn’t have a television,” Ben-Ami added gravely. “The other man watches an average of 40 hours of network and cable programming each week.”
Ben-Ami said she and her colleagues fear that, if it is not corrected, television illiteracy could result in an American sub-group unable to function in the modern world.
“Because the ridicule of pop culture comprises the bulk of today’s social discourse, a non-viewer is at a distinct disadvantage in the workplace, on campus, and in the dating scene,” Ben-Ami said. “An employee who can’t participate in jokes about Ashlee Simpson’s disastrous Orange Bowl appearance will sit dumbfounded while a more able coworker ingratiates himself to the boss by laughing. And just as the bird with the most colorful plumage attracts the most attention, so too does the bar-TV viewer who yells, ‘Have a sandwich before you faint!’ when Mary-Kate Olsen appears on screen.”
The study’s findings have triggered concern among parents across the country.
“I don’t want my 10-year-old to enter college without the ability to mock boy bands,” said Myra Savage of Phoenix.
Indeed.
Read the article in its glorious entirety HERE.
(*Initial “T” found HERE)
6 Colossal Dicktators
lease tell me that I’m not the only one who had not yet uncovered the glory that is Huffington Post Comedy’s Dickipedia, a wiki of dicks??? I just found out about it today, via Twitter, and at this point, I pretty much can’t comprehend how I existed in a pre-Dickipedian world.
So, to go along with abdpbt’s Listless Mondays (which I haven’t done in way too long), I thought I’d go ahead and list my 6 favorite dicks thus far, along with some of my favorite lines from their Dickipedia entries.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering: yes, women can be dicks, too. “Dick” is a gender-neutral epithet and equal opportunity.
6 MASTER DICKTATORS:
1. Dr. Phil:
Phillip Calvin McGraw, better known as Dr. Phil, is a psychologist, author, TV personality and a dick. He is also Oprah’s bitch.
Sanctioned by the Texas State Board in 1989 for an “ethical violation” involving an “inappropriate relationship” with a 19-year-old patient, “Dr.” Phil was stripped of his license to practice psychology. (To date, Dr. Phil has not completed the conditions required by the Board of Examiners of Psychologists to regain his license, and remains unlicensed to practice psychology. Anywhere.)
In 1990, he co-founded Courtroom Sciences, Inc., a firm that advised Fortune 500 companies on how to use psychology to manipulate the justice system. It is through this company that he met Oprah Winfrey, who rewarded him with a recurring segment on her show, even though he really just wanted a Pontiac G6 like she gives everyone else. Every Tuesday for the next several years, Dr. Phil appeared on Oprah as “Relationship and Life Strategy Expert,” qualified by a failed marriage he kept secret for 30 years, plus numerous moral lapses, some illegal.
On his show, Dr. Phil pontificates on a spate of topics with which he has little expertise and, in some cases, upon which he is legally prohibited from offering advice. Of course, anyone accepting weight-loss or financial planning tips from a disbarred psychologist who has also run afoul of the Federal Trade Commission gets what they pay for.
Like any psychologist worth his salt, Dr. Phil is also an advertising shill for an online dating service.
2. Jon & Kate:
Image: http://multiples.about.com/
Jon Gosselin currently makes his home in Wernersville, a town whose Asian population literally quadrupled when he and his family moved there.
Kate Gosselin’s hobbies include berating her husband in front of a national audience, getting divorced in the most public and painful way imaginable, and ovulating.
The sextuplets were born on May 10, 2004, at the Milton S. Hershey Center, in Hershey Pennsylvania. As such, they came to be known as the “Hershey Kisses,” which, though embarrassing, is a hell of a lot better than the “Hershey Squirts,” as their nickname easily could have been.
Together, Jon and Kate Gosselin have the worst collective hairstyles of any couple since Kid N’ Play. Despite the plugs, Jon still somehow manages to sport a nasty meat yarmulke in back, while Kate’s can best be described as a forward-facing Flock of Seagulls.
3. Sarah Palin:
Image from RunnersWorld.com
The only thing Sarah Palin seems to enjoy more than having children is giving those children ridiculous names and inadequate sex education. Should she birth any further issue—and she very well might—it is entirely possible she will name it Trix Rabbit Palin.
Sarah Palin’s political views are totally cribbed from the “Focus on the Family” website. Pro-life, unless you’re talking about the life of a criminal; limited government involvement in people’s lives, unless those people have a uterus or are gay and want to get married; and guns for whoever wants them, as many as they like, unless they look Islamic, in which case they should be detained indefinitely, preferably naked and arranged in a human pyramid.
On August 29, 2008, Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain performed perhaps the greatest political mindfuck in American history by announcing that he had chosen Sarah Palin as his running mate. Palin celebrated by ovulating.
4. Donald Rumsfeld:
Like many dicks, Donald Rumsfeld is a product of the Ivy League, attending Princeton University, which is pretty impressive, considering how Jewy his last name sounds. While at Princeton, Rumsfeld roomed with another future Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci. You can imagine there wasn’t much partying in that room, but probably a fair amount of clandestine masturbation.
Nixon was recorded on tape calling Donald Rumsfeld a “ruthless little bastard.” This is the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid him.
Donald Rumsfeld is also noted for taking a special interest in crafting Defense Department propaganda, personally weighing in on interrogation techniques, and tacitly approving of the destruction of priceless cultural artifacts. So while many people—knee-jerk liberals, for instance, the kind of people who shop at Whole Foods—liked to call President Bush a Nazi, they clearly had the wrong guy.
5. Elisabeth Hasselbeck:
Elisabeth Hasselbeck is a former reality show contestant—not even the winner, mind you, or even the runner-up—who somehow became co-host of one of the most popular daytime talk shows of all time, and a dick. Though not especially well informed, Hasselbeck is, nonetheless, an irritatingly vocal supporter of conservative viewpoints. Also, she bears a striking resemblance to one of those “It’s a Small World” animatronic robots they have at Disneyland, if those robots were programmed by Sean Hannity.
Elisabeth Hasselbeck is a panelist on The View, the program that pioneered the format of four women jabbering over each other for an hour and a half, interspersed with commercials for Boniva and a special kind of yogurt that promises to regulate your bowels. In this capacity, Hasselbeck’s main duties involve baiting the other panelists to drop the F-bomb on national TV and attaining a level of shrillness that would make most testicles re-ascend. Of course, anyone with external genitalia really has no business watching The View, so it would serve them right.
The morning after Barack Obama won the election, Elisabeth Hasselbeck appeared on The View in funereal black to deliver her “concession.” Despite predictions, she did not choke to death on her own tongue.
The Hasselbecks have two children, a girl and a boy, Grace Elizabeth and Jonathan Taylor, apparently named after the washed-up teenie-bopper heartthrob who played the wisecracking middle kid on Home Improvement.
It’s a safe bet that Elisabeth Hasselbeck has never taken a dump in a public restroom, and even at home hovers over the seat.
6. Warren Jeffs:
Jeffs proves the age-old adage that anyone can be famous, but to gain real notoriety you need to get caught getting it on with an eighth-grader. Just ask Roman Polanski. Or R. Kelly.
Jeffs is the son of Rulon T. Jeffs, the original unquestioned omnipotent leader of the FLDS. Known to his followers by the creeptacularly pervball nickname “Uncle Rulon,” the elder Jeffs proved hornier than Tommy Lee on an ecstasy binge, fathering about 60 children with several dozen wives. Upon his death in 2002, Warren Jeffs assumed his father’s place in the church, his father’s nickname, and, within one week, all but two of his father’s wives. This effectively made him “Uncle Brother Stepfather Warren.”
Jeffs spent the better parts of 2005 and 2006 facing, unlawfully fleeing, then ultimately hiding from, various statutory rape charges. Interestingly enough, he actually resurfaced in June 2006, for one day, to perform more child bride ceremonies. To many, this was the extralegal underage wedding officiant’s equivalent of the Beatles’ famous impromptu rooftop concert.
But, come on, a dick is a dick, so you might as well check out all of them in HuffPostComedy’s DICKIPEDIA DIRECTORY. But be careful: you’ll spend HOURS…
(*Initial “P” found HERE. All photos above from Dickipedia.org unless otherwise indicated)
I have a stalker. Her name is Dr. Gina.
he other week, I pogged about a creepy, ill-capitalized postcard that I had received in the mail from one Gina Hiatt, PhD. In just a 3″ X 5″ space, Doc Gina had the audacity not only to suggest that I may be an impostor who doesn’t “deserve” my degree, but she also declared herself the Almighty Creator and Possessor of a highly mysterious Dissertation Toolkit. One can only assume that the contents of said toolkit work to hammer out a Dissertation Toolshed that houses little Dissertation Worker Elves that massage dissertating hands on command in order to allay the inevitable carpal tunnel symptoms. Oh, but the hand massages can occur only after the Dissertation Elves whistle while they work to insulate the Dissertation Toolshed’s walls from any potential research-shattering wind gusts. That Doc Gina thinks of everything. I’m tempted to deem her the Ultimate Tool, but I kind of don’t want VH1 to sue me. Also… Sarah Palin.
Potential hand masseuse. (Image: http://thedigitalfortress.blogspot.com)
So, in my “P.S.” from the Doc Gina postcard pog, I mentioned that curiosity got the better of me and I ended up registering with www.TheDissertationToolkit.com so I could snoop around, research the Elves, size up the tools’ dullness, etc.. I was too appalled to follow through and take the Impostor test, though, because, I mean, WTF? Also, even if I were to place even minimal, microscopic stock in the psychology behind such a “test” and its scoring rubric, I would maybe want to know who has taken it upon him/herself to deem me an undeserving impostor. Who forms Doc Gina’s Impostor Police Department (DGIPD)? I mean, the DGIPD must be a highly deserving squad of PhD holders, right? Must.
But, as it turns out, I didn’t even need to surrender myself to the DGIPD, for Police Chief Hiatt decided to hunt me down personally — TWICE! — within only 60 seconds of my registration with her police state! She’s tracking my every move. I have, thus far, received eight emails from her — that’s about one email every other day. One such email, suggestively titled “Now is a great time to get writing momentum!”, focused on Spring Break as the perfect time to hike up my shirt and get busy with my dissertation. Dissertator Gone Wild. Guess when I received the email? Answer: the day before my Spring Break began! Coincidence? I think not. I am being watched, tracked, and yes, stalked. I may need to get a restraining order. Can you get a restraining order against the Chief of the Impostor Police? Sh*t. Not only is she tracking my academic calendar, but she’s also becoming increasingly aggressive with her sales tactics. If you’ll recall, my trip to her website yielded Doc Gina’s capitalistic endeavor, The Academic Writing Club. There are three options for Writing Club members: one 4-week session for $70, four 4-week sessions for $230 (holy crap! you save $50!), or “The Long Haul,” which is twelve 4-week sessions for just a measly $610 (clearly the best deal). It’s free to find out if you’re an impostor or not, but if you want the Elves, you gotta pay up. And they’ll hunt you down and totally f*ck with you — consciously and subconsciously, via totally tweaked out dreams — to beat you into submission.
The most recent email I received from Doc Gina was entitled “A story about procrastination…”. Thank you, but I can do without your threatening ellipsis, Chief. But, apparently you and the Elves already have me somewhat by the girl-balls, so I still clicked on the d@mn message, which duplicated a message that an Academic Writing Club member wrote to Doc Gina so as to extol the brilliance of the Club and the altruism of the Almighty Creator:
Image: http://www.bredekorsmo.com
I used to sit at my desk most of the day, getting nothing done and feeling horrible about myself. What I’ve noticed is that since joining the Club, I feel motivated to get my check mark and sign in and see how you all are doing. It’s been tremendously helpful to share this experience with others who are in the same situation, in getting me to be motivated and work in discrete chunks of time. I write more easily now, but even better is the fact that I feel better about myself, and have more time to actually have a life!
(You’ll notice that I talk about the Writing Club quite a
bit – I can’t help it! This is the heart of how we support
graduate students in completing their dissertations, and I
just love it. You can find more information at:
http://www.academicwritingclub.com/)
Curious. I’ve never seen a letter that advertises a club and includes links to the website of the person to whom the letter was written. I mean, Anonymous Letter Writer Person employs the second-person “you” in the fourth line — “to see how you all are doing” — so s/he is addressing Doc Gina and her/his fellow Club Members. So… where’d the parenthesis come from? I have an idea. But, then again, maybe this is a new letter-writing style of which I am not aware. Maybe I just don’t receive enough letters. But really, how can I when my mailbox is overrun with postcards from the DGIPD?
Police Chief Hiatt, PhD (image found here: http://www.academicladder.com/)
Well, in case Anonymous Letter Writer Person didn’t convince you to fork over $600 you don’t have (because you’re a freakin’ grad student), Doc Gina and her minions will shove extremely convincing testimonials in your face on their website, like the following from Assistant Professor ___ at ___ University. Maybe Assistant Professor has entered the DG Witness Protection Program or something and that’s why s/he refused to identify her/himself. But check out the compelling testimonial and tell me it doesn’t hook you:
“This Academic Writing Club ROCKS!
The discipline PLUS the support is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time (career–wise).”
- Assistant Professor
WHOA. I am BLOWN. A. WAY. By the way, the bolding is all Assistant Professor’s — not mine — so s/he must really mean it. Not just anyone can get away with using a monosyllabic in such a passionate manner. Also, I love that Assistant Professor stipulates that the AWC is the best thing to happen to his career, but not to his total life. Because then that might imply that Assistant Professor doesn’t really have a life outside of his career. Let alone sex. And, while I’m a bit perplexed that a virtual police state has proven to be the highlight of Assistant Professor’s career… who am I to judge? Clearly Assistant Professor knows something I do not. Clearly Assistant Professor’s elves are working double-time on Assistant Professor’s toolshed and hand massages. And anti-wind gust toolshed insulation. And forming a community of deserving dissertators. And… AH! You can’t get me, Gina!
RESTRAINING ORDER!
By the way, it’s come to my attention that Doc Gina also maintains a blog, appropriately called The Academic Police State. Just kidding. It’s called the Acidemiblog, and you can find it here. Careful, though: you know the blog is just another control tactic.
hee hee
(*Initial T found here)
Writer’s Block.
oday, I opened the mailbox and a little postcard came fluttering out. I bent over to pick it up and caught sight of the large bold letters creepily staring back at me:
STRUGGLING TO COMPLETE YOUR DISSERTATION?
My Pavlovian response to this question was, of course, to scream out “DUH!” and then immediately turn around to see if anyone caught me talking to a postcard/myself. Coast was clear. I proceeded inside my apartment, stripped myself of wool coat, overly stuffed teacher bag, and scuffed Danskos, and then I plopped on my couch and read the fine print of the creepy postcard that somehow predicted my internal disserterror:
Need practical, concrete & specific tips and techniques, along with creative, outside-the-box solutions that will help you finish your dissertation and maintain your sanity and self-esteem in graduate school?
The heavy use of coordinating conjunctions and odd choice of a random ampersand notwithstanding (why a bajillion “and”s but only one ampersand?! WTF?), I still felt as though Big Academic Brother had been peeking through my windows and decided that now was the perfect time to mock me via the US postal service.
So I immediately closed my drapes.
And then I turned the postcard over. And that’s when I discovered that there is apparently something called a “Dissertation Toolkit” that has been available to me this whole time, without my knowledge, thanks to the altruistic and not-at-all-capitalistic motives of Gina Hiatt, PhD. On the back of the postcard, Doc Gina lays out 10 bullet points that describe the “tools” she will generously make available to struggling dissertators (after having proceeded through website-led goose chase). Two “tools” with which I take issue, and which I reproduce verbatim here:
* How Academia Messes with your Mind (and what to do about it)
* Self Assessment: “Do You Deserve a Ph.D.?” Find out if you have Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome!
Gina Hiatt, Ph.D. (Clinical psychologist and gatekeeper of the tools)
OK, first of all, tool #1. If I have reached dissertator status, clearly I am already planted rather deeply in the academic soil. Therefore, I probably have already been “messed with” rather extensively, and I’ve probably played several rounds of trial-and-error with potentially (in)effective actions and reactions (or, more probably, I’ve chosen avoidance as my non-solution of choice). That being said, if I haven’t already been academically jaded, and if I did happen upon your questionable little “toolkit” only to find that I have been even more of a naïve moron than I had previously thought, well… I’d probably want to launch my Oxford French Unabridged (very blunt object) dictionary at my adviser’s very disheveled, Balzac-obsessed head. (notice I said that I’d “want to launch” the dictionary, not that I would launch the dictionary. I am as non-violent and non-confrontational as they come. See above comment re: avoidance.) Why would I want to read all about how my chosen career path is “messing with” me before I’ve even been legitimately accepted into that career path?! If I’m being messed with, I know it. So shut up, Doctor Gina.
Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to expand your “toolkit” to contain a guide that explains proper capitalization for document titles. Seriously.
Next, tool #2: the “Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome”?!? Do I “deserve” my Ph.D.?!? My initial, very academic, doctoral response to this “tool” is an intensely guttural F*CK YOU. (what were you saying about people messing with me?) But, beyond the expletive, I guess I’d just like to state that, seriously, if ANYONE proves masochistic enough to put themselves through years and years of self-doubt, constant scrutiny and judgment from those who will decide your fate at the eventual defense, fatally dwindling self-confidence, loss of nights and weekends that do not involve reading/grading/writing/planning, living off of pizza and caffeine, massive guilt complex if we choose to read any non-dissertation-related material (“pleasure” reading? what’s that?), draining of all self-worth and self-esteem and self-assurance and SELF, development of multiple personalities that alternate between student/teacher/child/adult/inadequate/in control/powerless/powerful, etc.etc…. TRUST ME: THAT PERSON DESERVES IT. And if ANYONE, let alone some pseudo-doctor equipped with a so-called dissertation tool belt, tries to tell a dissertator that s/he doesn’t deserve the Ph.D. for which s/he has sacrificed all of the above? Well, once again: F*CK YOU.
And, newsflash: we ALL feel like impostors. We’ve felt like impostors and like we’ve been “playing school” from day one. A much more appropriate “tool” would be one that explains why we ARE deserving and why we are NOT frauds. Where’s THAT tool, huh?
Which brings me back to: F*CK YOU.
P.S.) Curiosity got the better of me and led me to Doc Gina’s website: www.TheDissertationToolkit.com. My first attempt, I got an error. Which then led me to believe my computer got a virus. And then I got scared. But then I tried again (see above re: masochism), and it connected. There are several PDFs (free access, go figure). I will spend time checking out the “Ph.D. Impostor” PDF and let you know what I find. I looked at it briefly, and it appears as though there is some type of suspiciously crafted Impostor Test. If I fail, sh*t will hit the proverbial fan. In any case, Doc Gina has also created the Academic Ladder Writing Club to foster a community among dissertators and relay methods to motivate and enhance dissertation writing. Does her altruism know no bounds? The Writing Club and all of Doc Gina’s dissertating tools are available to all… for either $70, $230, or $610, depending on your commitment. And if you’re deserving.
P.S.S.) If, by some chance, one of you readers has joined the Academic Ladder Writing Club, I would LOVE to hear your insights and how it’s helping you. Please comment or e-mail me!
Monday Monday (cue The Mamas & The Papas).
think we can all agree that Mondays, as a general rule, SUCK. 
Mondays are proof that the weekend is no more, proof that another freakishly long week has mindlessly begun to putz along, proof that I need serious caffeine and/or Peanut M&Ms to get through the first half of the day (let alone the second)… Yep, Mondays kind of blow. And it seems like “every other day (every other day), every other day of the week is fine, but whenever Monday comes (but whenever Monday comes), you can find me cryin’ all of the time.” And that’s not so nice, Monday. Not so nice at all.
But this Monday (as in, today) was very different. Granted, I still scarfed down a bag of M&Ms at approximately 2:15 pm, but I’d venture that I would have managed OK had I not. And that’s saying a lot. Please trust me.
So… here’s why The Mamas & The Papas proved irrelevant aujourd’hui:
1. We found out that my baby niece gets to say “later, dudes!” to the hospital staff tomorrow, where she will snuggle herself into a heavily padded car seat and head home to meet her doggy sibling and greet her new sleeping and playing quarters! Her twin baby brother has to stay in the hospital just a little while longer, but we’re all sure he’ll be hittin’ his own car seat really soon. I mean, duh, he has a dog to meet.
2. Speaking of baby nephew’s awesomeness… the inaugural whizz occurred today. And by “the inaugural whizz,” I mean that I had my first victim-of-an-out-of-control-peepisode during a diaper changing. It. Was. Awesome! Like a renegade missile attack, yet streamlined directly across my wool sweatered chest. That is, before he whizzed on his own head. Still trying to figure that one out. Impressive. I’m also still trying to figure out why I’m so thrilled to have been peed on by my nephew… Rather than any freaky-deaky urophilia tendencies, I prefer to assume that I merely feel as though he has “marked his territory” and, therefore, he thinks I’m a keeper. Not that I equate him with a dog peeing on a fire hydrant, but… whatever. I’m just a proud aunt who’s ecstatic when a “first” anything occurs, OK? 
3. I have a handful of ESL students in my writing course this semester, which I love, but which also proves an interesting dynamic within the class… and after class, during my office hours. Today, one of my adorable ESL students (let’s call him Ed), came to my office hours to discuss his comprehension of an assigned article (for which they must then write an analytical summary). Ed is a wide-eyed first-year student, somewhat soft-spoken and completely anxious to learn… he’s basically a dream student. And, as a longtime student of a foreign language myself, I can completely empathize with the difficulties he’s facing, his curiosities, etc. etc.. Anyway… it was a pleasure to meet with him and to discuss the text and the course in general. And then, toward the end of our discussion, he looked me in the eye and said, “You are a much better writing teacher than my last one.” And, OK, I realize that this is probably completely selfish/childish/lame/whatever of me, but… I wanted to freakin’ HUG the boy when he said that! I mean, I of course played it off professionally (and somewhat evasively) and simply asked him what course he had taken last semester, how he felt the course improved his writing, etc. etc…. of course I did not ask about the professor he had… but, meanwhile, a lavish party was unfolding in my mind. And this was the first “compliment” I’ve really received about my teaching in a writing course, so… I relished it.
4. Oh, so remember back when I rambled about Revolutionary Road, and I mentioned a dude who played a supporting role, and I was completely blown away by him? “Him” is Michael Shannon, and he was nothing short of extraordinary. I immediately did the IMDB thing to find out what other films he’s been in (which I then promptly added to my Netflix queue), and to read his bio, find out if he’s married or destined for me, etc. etc.. Anyway, as it turns out: my future husband was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in RR! So that’s pretty awesome. Awesome for him, of course, but also awesome for me because the news of the Oscar nod oddly legitimizes my film/acting reviews and, in my mind, brings me one step closer to getting into red carpet premieres and schmoozing with the likes of Ebert & Roeper. Speaking of: god, poor Ebert and his non-existent voice, huh? I mean, he’s kicking cancer’s A, which is phenomenal, but… I can’t help but want to hug the little guy whenever I see him and his wrapped throat.
5. I weighed myself at my sister’s for the first time since early last fall (I don’t own a scale and generally tend to ignore their existence). After passing out, I promptly high-tailed it to the gym. I made it four times last week, and even though I got home late tonight and wanted to watch The Bachelor at 8pm (priorities), I still busted a move to the gym to get in 45 mins of cardio and 25 mins of weights tonight. And then I watched that psycho-”do what I tell you to do”-dominatrix Lauren get the axe. Nice work, Bachelor.
6. Speaking of reality TV… Olivia on The City is a slightly less diabolical Blair Waldorf.
7. The freakin’ Paper Source 2009 Wall Art calendar is finally on freakin’ sale!!!! I’ve been waiting for weeks! Once January 1st hit, I figured, “Awesome, Paper Source will hack the hell out of the calendar prices.” But no. They tried some “buy one, get one half off” bullshiz, which is ludicrous because, come on, who wants two of the same calendar?! Anyway, I kept revisiting their site (and their shops) to see if, perchance, they had come to their senses and knocked some bucks off of their calendar prices. But no. Until… now. Way to hold out, Paper Source. You almost got me. But now… your calendar is ALL. FREAKIN’. MINE.
Another Monday, another List in homage to Anna at:
Maybe paddles are overrated?
hings used to semi-work out for me. And I recognized that it was not by pure luck. And certainly not by any skewed notion of “fate” or “destiny,” neither of which holds much weight in my mind. I worked for stuff, and I like to think I did my work quite well. In the past year or two, however, my health has prevented me from working quite as well. Or even near to “quite as well.” And, unfortunately, things no longer seem to be semi-working out for me. Or even EVER working out for me.
For instance, yesterday morning I received a school-related email that, briefly translated, proclaimed the following:
WELCOME TO SH*T CREEK! (paddle ferociously, but at your own risk.)
PS) Paddles not provided.
So… that was fun.
And today marked the first day of the spring semester. It unfolded as first days usually do: a couple absences, a couple droopy eyelids, the token late dude with The Best of Bass Volume 1 pumping through his ear buds, the usual brown-noser (horrible expression — where the F did that come from? Must research.) who’s already committed the entire syllabus and first poem to memory thanks to course website technology, the token athlete who spritely raised her hand as I discussed “Attendance” to tell me that her Lacrosse coach would be getting in touch with me about games/absences… I guess what I’m trying to say is that there were no surprises. Today was so utterly, completely, unfailingly a First Day of Class… kind of disappointing, really. I’m teaching from 1-2 this semester, a time slot that has generally been targeted throughout academic circles as the worst for teaching/learning, what with the post-lunch food/friend coma setting in. I have a friend/colleague who literally chucks an eraser at a student’s head if s/he appears to be slipping off to Sleepy Town. Tempting as this well-reasoned pedagogical method is, I decided against it. For today.
So… that’s fun.
Oh, potentially good news, though: remember my anti-Aetna pog from last week? Well, I came across a lovely little tidbit of contradictory information on our university’s health services website that I feel may help my case, and which compelled me to write a letter to our health services director. Dr.Mr.HealthServicesDirector promptly and impressively replied to my message, and his assistant then set up a meeting so that Dr.Mr.HealthServicesDirector and I can discuss the matter in person next week. Also, he said that he was going to contact our university’s Aetna representative. So… while I realize that Dr.Mr.HealthServicesDirector is not the Aetna Angel of Granting Coverage, I am still hopeful that maybe, just maybe, something can be altered here, so that our university’s students receive the health care and coverage they deserve.
So… there’s that.
In closing, did you all hear about the white supremacist family in New Jersey who got a lot of flack (and media attention) a couple months ago after a local bakery refused to decorate a cake for their 3-year-old son, little Adolf Hitler Campbell? Well, apparently, little Adolf and his two sisters JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell, were taken into NJ state custody today. Check out the story and pics HERE.
Freaky Friday (not the movie)
oday I came across a couple of stories that caused me to come very near to choking on my tongue (is that possible?) and writhing to the point of near concussion. The second of these stories dates from February 2008 but, what can I say, sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake.
Freaky Friday Stories:
1. A Muslim family was removed from an AirTran Airways flight at Reagan National Airport on New Year’s Day after paranoid, non-Muslim passengers overheard a “suspicious” discussion. Passengers on an AirTran Airways flight overheard members of a Muslim benignly discussing “the safest place in an airplane” and, the next thing the Irfan family knew, nine nine of their relatives, including three small children, were taken off the flight and detained by security.
Sadly, Atif Irfan, a 29-year-old Alexandria, VA, lawyer, admitted:
“My wife and I are generally very careful about what we say when we step on the plane,” adding that they have received suspicious looks in the past. “We’re used to this sort of thing — but obviously not to this extent.” Irfan said he thought he and the others were profiled because of their appearance. The men had beards and the women wore headscarves, traditional Muslim attire. (Source: CNN.com)
Irfan felt that the FBI agents treated him and his family with the utmost decency and “professionalism.” Unfortunately, Irfan could not say the same for the representatives from AirTran who, he felt, disrespected his family and his faith:
“Really, at the end of the day, we’re not out here looking for money. I’m an attorney. I know how the court system works. We’re basically looking for someone to say … ‘We’re apologizing for treating you as second-class citizens.’ ” he said. (Source: CNN.com)
At first, unbelievably, AirTran would not rebook the Irfan family. Eventually, after having convened with AirTran officials, the airline offered to refund the Irfan’s airfare for their original trip (that they missed) and to reimburse them for the replacement tickets that they had to purchase themselves.
Good grief.
Finally, as of this afternoon, AirTran has issued the following “apology”/statement:
“We apologize to all of the passengers — to the nine who had to undergo extensive interviews from the authorities and to the 95 who ultimately made the flight,” the statement said. “Nobody on Flight 175 reached their destination on time on New Year’s Day, and we regret it.” (Source: Associated Press/MSN.com)
AirTran finally apologized to this poor family, yet lumped the entire passenger list into the same statement???
Please tell me we are better than this.
2. Anne Trubek’s article on GOODmagazine.com entitled “Stop Teaching Handwriting.” In case that title is too abstract for you, please allow me to translate: Trubek makes the (ridiculously negligent) argument that handwriting is hazardous to our children’s health and should be heretofore dropped from the primary school curriculum (following in the steps of the Kiwis). Trubek (not to be confused with that A-hole Alex Trebek) advocates for the elimination of penmanship instruction due to the near-fatal blows to her child’s self-esteem. See, if your kid, like Trubek’s, can’t produce a legible lower-case “g” then, well, your kid will need an unlimited supply of therapy and will most likely start twitching and convulsing every time s/he approaches someone by the name of Gregg. 
(*Sidenote: I grew up with a kid named Gregg Flagg. How traumatic would THAT be if you were “g”-deficient??)
Anyway, making an argument based on potential blows to a child’s self-esteem holds no relevance as far as I’m concerned. Anything and everything could cause a child to have increased low self-esteem. I mean, I experienced anxiety every day in my elementary school lunchroom because, unlike my friends, I never had actual fruit in my little brown bag. The closest I came was Del Monte Diced Peaches in Heavy Syrup. And a Hostess Apple Pie, which was really, like, 99% sugar. Meanwhile, my friends’ mothers clearly cared more for them, because they were busy wolfing down crispy apple slices and anally peeled orange skins in impressive, unending ringlets.
But, once lunch was over and I sulked back into our classroom, you know what always boosted my confidence level? Handwriting exercises in our huge writing tablets with our huge pencils and huge erasers nearby. My mom may have been anti-fruit, but I had near-perfect penmanship and knew exactly what to do with those dotted lines. Sometimes I even added little flourishes at the end of my hugely scripted words. Why? Just because I could, that’s why.
Amazingly, Trubek is a freelance writer (!) and a college professor; yet, she claims:
The only time I pick up a pen is to sign a credit-card receipt. Let’s stop brutalizing our kids with years of drills on the proper formation of a cursive capital “S”—handwriting is a historical blip in the long history of writing technologies, and it’s time to consign to the trash heap this artificial way of making letters, along with clay tablets, smoke signals, and other arcane technologies. (Source: GOODmagazine.com)
Artificial?!? SMOKE SIGNALS?!?!? I don’t even know what she’s talking about. How is the use of our own hand/finger motions artificial, but pressing a button to produce a letter NOT? Whatever. I’m just glad that carrier pigeons are apparently still on the “KEEP AROUND” list.
So… like Trubek, I am also a freelance writer and a college “professor” (ABD, d@mn it!). And, as I’ve transitioned from my role as grad student into my role as instructor, I have found that some students now prefer to take “notes” on their laptops rather than on old-school with pen-on-loose-leaf paper. Which begs another question: is loose-leaf paper becoming obsolete?? Poor Mead. Still, of the 20 students in my writing class last semester, only two of them consistently brought their laptops to class for note-taking purposes (or, as I occasionally suspect, for IM/Facebook/E-mail/surf-the-internet- purposes as well, which I generally try not to think about as I’m teaching). The vast majority of the class still uses an “artificial” pen and “artificially” writes in a notebook, often mapping the discussion in a way that would be rather impossible on a computer. Furthermore: have you heard of BLUE BOOKS?!?
So, I’m sorry, but I refuse to accept that handwriting is an unnecessary skill. Also: what about Post-Its?! EVERYBODY uses Post-Its. I mean, come ON!
Anyway. Enough about Trubek and her unfortunately ungifted-at-handwriting son. But, still, I bet he compensates for his illegibility in another area… like, say, dodgeball.
*Post-Script: I prefer not to enter “handwriting vs. computer” territory because it will only make me very angry and very sad. As someone whose art most often relies on my lettering skills, I find it more and more frustrating to hear proponents of technology-as-more-efficient. Certainly, computers and various software programs grant opportunities for quick, large-scale reproductions; however, the handwritten word will always hold more weight and intimacy and historical/personal relevance as far as I’m concerned. How sad our world would be if we no longer wrote each other notes or postcards or love letters? or Post-Its?
*Post-Post-Script: I am currently obsessed with the following book, and I suggest that you all take a gander if you have any interest/appreciation for the handwritten word:
*Post-Post-Post-Script: National Handwriting Day is January 23rd.
10 Things my mom would say if she walked in my living room right now
ith Christmas looming (TEN FREAKIN’ DAYS, ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME WITH THIS?!), I have entered the annual phase I like to call: MomPrep (MP). There are several components of MP, none of which I care to share with you at this juncture (you’re welcome); however, a residual effect of said MP is that I unfortunately “hear” my mother’s voice in my ear pretty much constantly so that I may begin to anticipate potentially frustrating/enervating/absurd motherly confrontations that would make me want to slam a candy cane up my nose. So to speak. The whole point is: once I can successfully identify Crazy Mom Patterns (CMPs), anticipation and recognition of predictable CMPs will allow me to save myself (and my gram, and my sister if she’s around) and our collective sanity and, therefore, our familial Christmas experience as a whole. So, basically, MP and recognition of CMPs represent the means by which I shall become my own Christmas Savior.
Amen.
So, as I sit now in my living room, ruminating on this Monday list, with ungraded student papers strewn about and CNN on in the background, I can’t shake my mom’s running commentary. Which really just means that I’m progressing nicely through my MP, don’t you think? Thank you.
Here are 10 things my mom would definitely want to tell me RIGHT NOW (because nothing can wait with my mom — that’s, like, step 1 of MomPrep.):
1.) “I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks cute. But… (adjusts plant-lamp ratio on end table) … there, that’s better.”
2.) “Wow, you’ve received a lot of Christmas cards… (goes to mantle and pretends to read/appreciate the cards… thinks I do not notice when she “fixes” the card order). Very nice.”
3.) “What’s that bright orange ticket sticking out of your mail file?” (umm, a parking ticket that is 99% hidden behind other envelopes, thereby further proving the existence of Mom-(ra)Dar)
4.) “Have you paid all your bills this month?” (yes.) “HOW have you paid all your bills this month? Do you still owe a bunch of money on your credit cards?” (ugh.)
5.) “Are all those papers graded?” (no.) “Well don’t you think you should stop typing and watching Larry King and get them graded? Aren’t grades due on Wednesday? Isn’t it going to take you a long time? How long does it take you to grade one paper? Why have you waited this long to start grading them when you only have a little over a day? Come on… how long have you been in school and teaching? You’d think that over a decade in higher education would teach you a thing or two about procrastination.” (you’d think.) *note: notice that my mom strings along a ton of questions without a break for me to have a chance to answer. This is a common CMP.
6.) “Why do you have my wedding picture hidden in the corner behind your coat rack? You can barely see it!” (umm… because, I don’t know, I guess, for some reason, I thought that maybe a photo of you with step-dad #3 could be viewed as an optional design feature that probably wouldn’t gel with the overall comforting aesthetic that I’ve tried to create for myself in MY HOME.)
7.) “And why do you have that horrible, old picture of me and your father on your bookshelf where everyone can see it?” (umm…)
8.) “Are you still seeing that guy who’s friends with your good friend?” (no.) “Well, what happened? I thought you really liked him? Do you think you’ll get back together.” (NO.) “Why not?” (ugh.)
9.) “I know you don’t have much money, so why don’t you just make Step-Dad#3 and me something for Christmas?” (because I almost feel more pressured to make you something?) “Well, Jesus, I’m trying to help you here. Fine, then spend $20 or $25 on us, tops.” (gee, thanks.)
10.) “You spend an awful lot of time on that computer. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could get paid for it? Have you still been looking for a part-time job? Have you called the temp agency? Do you know for sure if your Writing Fellowship will be renewed next year? because, if it’s not, that means you need to look for a full-time job, have you thought of that? and if you have a full-time job, how will you find the time to write your dissertation? and you need to finish your dissertation. What are you going to do???” (*coma ensues*)
Yeah… definitely still a lot of work to do in my MomPrep before I hit the road on Sunday.
Think happy thoughts, please. And I will think happy thoughts for all of you and your family (dys)functions this holiday season.
GLORY TO ANNA IN THE HIGHEST!
